by Galen, Shana
“Your Mr. Pope said we must leave tomorrow.”
“I’ll deal with Mr. Pope. I’ll hit him over the head if that’s what it takes, but we won’t be here long even if I persuade Pope.”
“The colonel will find us.”
“Exactly.”
She shifted. “I don’t see how he has any say over what I do. I am not his wife’s sister.”
Stratford had to admire her tenacity. “He is no more likely to let an unescorted lady go traipsing about the countryside than I am.”
“I will not be unescorted. I will have Loftus with me.”
The dog raised his head and looked at her. She smiled, reached over, and petted him. “That’s right. You know your name, don’t you?”
“Emmeline,” he began.
She held up a hand. “I do not want a lecture. My mind is made up.”
“Then you must tell your mother as much. You can’t run away from your problems. Believe me, I tried.” He didn’t know why he’d said that. He hadn’t meant to say it. And of course, now she was looking at him with those bluer than blue eyes.
“When you went into the army.”
“Most younger sons join the army or navy. That wasn’t running away. Joining a troop with a slate of suicide missions? That was running away.”
She blinked at him. “I always wondered if what I’d heard about Draven’s troop was an exaggeration. People say you were the best and the brightest.”
“And the most expendable. No heirs, only a few spares, and very few men with any family. We weren’t expected to live, and we were prepared to die.”
“I think you probably had something to do with bringing twelve of those men back.”
“We all played our parts. The point is my problems did not disappear while I was away. I came home and very little had changed.”
She shook her head. “You changed. I could see it the first time I saw you again. You were not as angry. You were more at peace—or perhaps you were looking for peace.”
How strange that she saw him so clearly. The war had driven the anger he’d always felt at the baron’s dismissal of him away. He’d stopped being defensive and looking for reasons to argue and began to appreciate solitude, peace, and simplicity. He’d always known anger hadn’t been logical, but now he could act on those beliefs and put the anger away.
She placed her hand on his arm, and he swore his skin burned through the layers of clothing. “Do you think you’ve found it?”
He looked into her eyes, and he couldn’t help but think that every time he’d ever looked at her, he’d found peace. And then he was moving without thinking. He was reaching for what he wanted, without a plan or a strategy or even the benefit of reason. His hand cupped the back of her neck. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t resist. And when he lowered his mouth to hers, what happened next was completely unexpected.
INES
“Miss Neves.”
Ines came awake suddenly and looked up. The room was shadowed, but there was enough of the fading early evening light left for her to see Mrs. Brown. Ines jumped to her feet. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, miss. I came to tell you Mr. Langford has finished. You can go in and see Mr. Murray, if you like.”
Ines gripped Mrs. Brown’s arms. “He’s alive?”
“Yes, of course. He’s awake too and asking for food.”
Ines felt her knees buckle, and she had to sit back down. She hadn’t killed him. She wouldn’t spend the rest of her life punishing herself for his death. She began to rise again and then realized that it was still early. He might still develop a fever and die. But she couldn’t allow that to happen. She would do everything she could to keep him from taking a fever. She stood. “I need to see him, Mrs. Brown.”
“That’s why I came to fetch you, Miss Neves.”
Ines followed Mrs. Brown to the parlor, taking a deep breath before stepping inside. Then she squared her shoulders, opened her eyes, and put on a smile. She walked into the parlor and smiled in earnest. Duncan Murray really did look better. He was sitting up, the blanket pulled mid-chest, with a clean bandage around his arm. His color was better, and he was arguing with the surgeon.
“My father and my grandfather both drank whisky for everra ailment. Everra Scotsman kens whisky can cure anything.”
“I am not a Scotsman, Mr. Murray,” Mr. Langford said, “but I maintain you have had enough to drink and would be better sticking to tea or broth.”
“Christ and all the saints! The man is trying tae kill me.” He noticed Ines and pointed to her. “That makes two of ye.”
Ines ignored the reference to her brother-in-law. “How is he, Mr. Langford?”
“See for yourself, miss. We revived him a bit with a tonic, but he will need plenty of rest the next few days.”
“I am not certain that is possible, senhor. Mr. Pope has said we must be out of his house in the morning.”
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Brown said.
“Should I speak with the man? Mr. Murray should not be traveling, if it can be avoided.”
“It will do no good,” Mrs. Brown said.
“I, for one, dinnae want tae be shot again. He’ll aim for the heid this time,” Murray said. “If we had a coach, I’d leave tonight.”
Ines rubbed the throbbing spot between her brows. “But we do not have a coach, senhor.”
“We’ll leave it tae Stratford. We’ll need two coaches. One tae take ye and Miss Wellesley back tae London, and one tae take me tae Scotland.”
Langford, who had lifted his surgeon’s bag, set it back on the table. “You cannot possibly be proposing that you travel alone to Scotland, sir. You shouldn’t be traveling at all, much less halfway across the country.”
“I will go with him,” Ines said.
“No,” Murray said even before the words were out of her mouth. “I’ll order Stratford tae take ye home.”
Ines put her hands on her hips. “You may give all the orders you like, senhor, but I will see you home safely. It is my fault you are injured, and it will be my fault if you die on the way to Scotland.”
Murray furrowed his brow as though she were speaking in Portuguese again. Langford lifted his bag. “Well, I see that is settled then. Miss Neves, if I might have a moment of your time, I will instruct you on how best to change the bandages and clean the wound.”
She went with the surgeon, listened to his instructions, and gave him her assurances she would do exactly as he’d specified.
“I am trusting you with him, Miss Neves. He feels much improved now, but he will need your help for the next day or so. The wound is fairly minor, but even a small wound can become infected and fever may set in. If that happens—”
“I am to take him to a doctor immediately. I understand, senhor.”
The surgeon looked about, his kind eyes sharpening on the dilapidated entryway. “I always wondered what it looked like inside the great house,” he said, almost to himself. “It’s a shame, isn’t it?” He cleared his throat. “I am aware it is vulgar to speak of payment, but I do not suppose I will receive any response if I send my bill to Mr. Pope. Could you direct me to someone who might be able to pay for my services?”
Ines frowned. She hadn’t thought of this, but of course the man would need to be paid. What an idiot she was! And she had no money. She had not expected to travel any further than a street over from Draven’s house in London. “Give me a moment,” she said, turning to go back into the parlor.
Mrs. Brown was fussing with the pillow behind Murray, and he waved her off when Ines returned. “I hope ye were nae serious aboot traveling tae Scotland, lass.”
“Never mind about that now,” she said. “I need coin to pay the surgeon. He has no faith if he sends the bill to Mr. Pope, it will ever be paid.”
“Typical,” Murray said. “First the man shoots me then he makes me pay for the privilege of staying alive.” He gestured to his coat, which was in a heap on the floor, having been cut off his a few hours earlier. “
If ye dinnae cut it tae shreds, my blunt is in the pocket.”
She found the purse full of coins as well as a wallet with notes. She took them both out to the surgeon and paid him. When she was finished, she actually felt quite proud of herself. She had handled all of this business herself. And Draven thought she was not ready to live on her own above a shop. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She had made a mistake regarding Mr. Murray, that was true, but she was doing her best to make it right. She would see him safely home to Scotland. She owed him that much.
And she would not think too much about how she would much rather be in Scotland, facing the ire of Murray’s mother, than back in London and stuffed into one of Mr. Podmore’s carriages. She was not yet ready for this adventure to end. And she could not possibly go back to London after having spent two days and two nights with Duncan Murray and still not have been kissed. If anyone found out—and this was London, so of course everyone would find out—Draven would have a difficult time convincing any of the stuffy middle class merchants to marry her.
And that thought made Ines smile. Podmore would be absolutely appalled at the idea of her having run away with a disreputable Scot. They would all shun her, which meant she might finally get the freedom she’d been hoping for.
And if she had a little fun on that road to ruination then all the better.
She marched back into the parlor and found Murray alone. He’d managed to send Mrs. Brown away, and now he eyed her suspiciously as she set his money on the table near the couch. “Ye look pleased with yerself.”
She nodded. “I have never paid anyone before. Catarina always handled the finances for the shop. I feel happy.” She moved a chair to face him and sat. “And since I am responsible for what happened, I will reimburse you the fee for the surgeon.”
Murray held up his hand.
“Do not refuse. I have money. Our lace sells well, and I receive a tidy sum every week. Benedict never lets me spend any of it.”
“He wants tae take care of ye.”
“Not every woman wants to be taken care of, senhor. Some of us want a taste of adventure.”
Murray’s look of suspicion turned wary. “Is that why yer insisting on coming tae Scotland with me?”
“I would be lying if I said that was not part of the reason.”
He leaned back. “I appreciate yer need for adventure and yer wanting tae keep me alive, lass. But I’d rather nae be kent as the man who ruined yer reputation.”
“Oh, you need not worry about that.”
His brow lifted. He looked so handsome when he did that. “Because yer a shopkeeper and dinnae have tae worry aboot reputations?”
“Because I want you to ruin my reputation, senhor.”
He shook his head. “I think more than my arm was wounded. I’m nae hearing ye right, lass.”
“You heard me.” She slid off the chair and moved to sit beside him on the couch.
“I dinnae think that is a good idea.”
“You do not know what it is like to have the most uninteresting men in the world knocking on your door and wanting to walk with you in the park or take you for ices. Then all they can speak of is carriage wheels or shoe patterns. I want to stab my eye out, senhor.”
“I have some idea what ye mean. I just spent weeks in London looking for a bride. I never kent there were so many ways tae discuss the weather. But I think ye should go back tae yer chair.”
“I want to check your forehead and make certain you have no fever.” She reached out and he feinted to the right.
“I feel bonny. Nae need tae touch me.”
She pressed her hand to his forehead anyway. “I promised Mr. Langford I would check for fever every hour.”
He winced, as though her hand burned him. But she didn’t remove it. Their eyes met. “As ye see, lass. Nae fever.”
She nodded and leaned over him.
“Now what are ye aboot?”
She ran a hand down his shoulder, pausing at the white bandage. “Making certain the dressing does not need changing.”
“It has nae been on but an hour, lass.”
She made a sound of assent but leaned closer to inspect the linen. She was aware this brought their bodies in contact, and that Murray stiffened. “Do you know something, Senhor Murray?” she said as she examined the bandage.
“What’s that, lass?” he asked, voice tight.
“I have never been kissed.” She heard his quick intake of breath and met his gaze. His expression was pained.
“Why are ye telling me this?”
“Because when you feel up to it, I want you to be the first man to kiss me.” Satisfied with what she saw, she straightened and then stood. “I suppose I should find Mr. Fortescue and tell him we will need a coach in the morning. And perhaps Mrs. Brown can help me clean this dress.”
Murray just stared at her, his mouth open.
“If I leave you for a moment, you will not decide to walk around, will you, senhor? You will sit and rest?”
He still didn’t respond, just stared at her.
“Good. Then I will be back in a moment. Perhaps I can find you something to eat as well.”
She was almost to the door when he called after her, in a hoarse voice, “And whisky, lass.”
“Of course. I imagine you do need a drink.”
Nine
EMMELINE
Emmeline had not realized how much she wanted Stratford to kiss her. She didn’t realize it until he cupped her neck and pressed his lips to hers and moved tentatively over her mouth. His lips ignited her body like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Suddenly, she was warm and tingling and needing to touch him.
She grasped his shoulders then slid her hands up to the back of his neck, curling her fingers in his hair and pulling him closer.
This kiss.
She wanted more of it. She wanted more of him.
He hesitated for just an instant at her urgings, and then with one hot motion he pressed her mouth open and entered her. His tongue slid against hers, and she would have gasped if only she’d been able to breathe. But she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel. And the more she felt, the more she wanted to feel, needed to feel. She was thirsty for more of this kiss, for more of him. She imitated his gesture, her tongue mating with his in a delicious slow slide that left her eager to crawl into his lap and get closer. But her kiss must have shocked him, because he pulled back and looked at her.
“Where did you learn that?”
She tensed. She’d forgotten that ladies were supposed to be inexperienced and untried. She should have pretended she didn’t know what to do. But she was so tired of pretending. She was running away so she wouldn’t have to pretend any longer. Emmeline lifted her chin. “I’ve been kissed before,” she said defiantly. What she didn’t add was those other kisses had never felt like this.
“Whoever kissed you like that should be knocked on his arse.”
“You are kissing me like that.” She couldn’t keep a smile from spreading across her face. Why had she worried Stratford would want her to pretend? Why had she thought he might expect her to live up to some silly unrealistic expectation? She was three and twenty. Of course, she had been kissed.
And she wanted to be kissed again. By him. “Don’t stop.” She pulled him back, and her mouth took his with an urgency she could feel all the way down in her belly. If she worried her passion might put him off, she quickly forgot the concern. He deepened the kiss until she feared she would explode from the heat. When he pulled back, he kissed her so lightly that she wanted to crawl into his lap and make him press his mouth to hers and give her what she wanted.
She knew she was shocking him. She knew he was acting rationally. They must slow down or do something they might both regret. That was Stratford—logical. Reasoned.
She understood because she had been kissed before, as she’d said. The first time had been when she was only seventeen. The handsome son of an earl ha
d kissed her on a sunny day in a garden. She’d kissed him back, and he’d pulled away and told her she should behave like a lady. She’d been less eager to kiss anyone after that. She’d given in to a few tepid kisses by men who had soft, clammy lips and who kissed so awkwardly she was embarrassed for them.
Then, of course, there had been Lord Rosemont. He had a bad reputation, and everyone knew he was looking to marry an heiress. Emmeline was not an heiress, and he had never paid any attention to her. Except one night when they were both at a ball and she had gotten lost returning from the retiring room. That had been her story, at any rate. She had not wanted to go back to her spot on the wall, and so she had taken a detour, stopping to look at the family portraits and peek in the music room. He had been in the music room. It was obvious he was waiting for someone, and it was not her.
She should have turned on her heel and left as soon as he made his presence known. He’d cleared his throat, and she’d turned from studying the harp to see him leaning against the pianoforte, all dark, curling hair and sultry blue eyes. But he was so beautiful that she hadn’t been able to move. His gaze slid down her dress, his eyes touching her in ways that were wholly inappropriate, and it was as though his perusal touched her.
“Do you play?” he’d asked. She’d frowned in confusion, and he’d indicated the harp. “Do you play?” he repeated.
She shook her head.
“That’s too bad. I’d like to see you play.”
She’d felt her cheeks heat because he knew ladies did not play the harp. It was considered unfeminine as a harpist had to hold the instrument between his legs. And then Rosemont had not said he wanted to hear her but see her.
“Have I shocked you?” he asked, moving toward her. He moved slowly. She could have stepped away at any time. But she stood still until he was right before her, so close their bodies almost touched. “Shall I shock you further?”