“Oh, my poor dear!” proclaimed Mrs. Bongorge. “Such injuries can plague one for years, but massage can work wonders.” She looked speculatively at his booted foot, as if contemplating offering the service on the spot.
Cornelia contained the impulse to scream.
“I’m sure you were brave about it, Mr. Burnell.” Again, she smiled through gritted teeth. “It was a badge of honour among the Maya, I understand, to endure excruciating pain. I seem to recall a ritual of bloodletting from the genitals. What was it they used?” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Stingray spines wasn’t it, or obsidian blades?”
A look of horror passed over Lord Fairlea’s face and he promptly crossed his legs.
Burnell made a show of wincing and laughed. “I tip my hat to you, Mrs. Mortmain. You’re exceedingly well-read.”
“But look!” Mrs. Bongorge alighted on the pile of books on the chaise. “Here is Mrs. Mortmain’s reading material beside her. Perhaps she would let me see. We are all capable of improving ourselves, with the right tuition. Perhaps I shall learn something.”
Before Cornelia could intervene, Mrs. Bongorge picked up The Lady’s Guide to All Things Useful and turned the pages with the tips of her fingers.
“My goodness. What a strange little volume.” She wrinkled her nose. “Treatments for warts and chilblains? Surely you have no need of those remedies, Mrs. Mortmain?” She perused some more, then tilted the book towards Burnell. “Look! A chapter on how to make a man fall in love! You must read it, sir, and let us know if the advice is apt.”
She cast an exultant leer at Cornelia. “We shall be learning all your secrets, lambkin.”
Taking the book, Burnell turned a few pages, then shot Cornelia a grin. “Now here’s something more interesting. Advice on achieving satisfaction from the marital bed.” He scanned a few lines. “It says here that ‘any union without true love may result in sour and spiritless offspring’. Well, how about that. Sounds like, to ensure a healthy brood, the act should be performed with the greatest enthusiasm. I call that good advice right there.”
Lord Fairlea turned a sudden shade of pink and adjusted his cravat. “Rather near the bone, old chap. Not really a subject for discussing in front of ladies, even if it is in Mrs. Mortmain’s book.”
“Give me that!” Cornelia snatched the volume from Burnell, giving him a death-by-daggers glare.
Burnell held up his hands in surrender. “I’m judging nothing, sweet one. All brides like to prepare for what awaits them on their wedding night. It’s only right and natural.”
“So true.” Cornelia threw the book onto the chaise, making poor Minnie jump. “And you’ve no need to be anxious about your little problem.” She smiled sweetly. “There’s a whole chapter dedicated to that very thing, and several remedies that may serve in time for the nuptials.”
“Well I never!” Lord Fairlea’s mouth opened and closed several times.
Mrs. Bongorge’s expression veered from shock to dismay. She laughed nervously. “I’d no idea…that is to say, no idea you’d set a date…that the engagement was formalized.” She rose from her seat. “A spring wedding, I assume? Even when it isn’t one’s first, there’s so much to organize.”
Lord Fairlea also found his feet and, offering hasty felicitations, took Mrs. Bongorge’s arm.
Only as the door closed behind them did Cornelia realize the mess she was in.
Cornelia contemplated throwing her books at him—all of them, Desert Adventure included—but it wouldn’t change what had just happened.
“Look what you’ve done!”
“What I’ve done?” Burnell looked taken aback. “It wasn’t me who passed intimate comments on my lovemaking ability.”
“You goaded me into it! Besides which, it wasn’t me who started talking about preparing for the wedding night.”
Minnie sat up and whimpered, looking between the two of them.
“Calm yourself, Cornelia.” Burnell frowned. “You’re frightening that little dog of yours.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down! And leave Minnie out of this.” However, she dropped her voice several tones and gave the terrier a kiss between the ears.
“That horrible woman will be spreading gossip to the first person she meets, telling them I’ve lured you into a proposal by beguiling you. They’ll say I’ve tempted you with my body—like Eve with Adam, offering what he couldn’t resist. They’ll say I’m wicked, a siren of the worst sort, a harlot who couldn’t wait to get you into bed.”
“Whoa there!” Burnell smothered a chuckle. “That’s a lot of seduction, and I don’t remember any of it. Leastways, not as much as you’re describing.” He looked about for the bell pull. “I’ll order tea. That’s what everyone says you should drink when you’re overwrought.”
“I don’t want tea! I just don’t want to be judged! That’s the trouble with the ton. Everyone knows everyone and nothing remains a secret.”
“They aren’t judging you.” Burnell rested his elbows onto his knees.
“Yes, they are.” Was it so impossible for him to understand? “They judge everyone.”
“I don’t feel judged.” He shrugged.
“That’s because they’re too busy admiring your…your….” Cornelia dropped her head into her hands. Did she really have to spell it out for him?
“My assets.” He added helpfully.
Cornelia nodded wearily. She’d been going to say ‘arse’ but his word choice was adequate.
“We are supposed to be convincing everyone,” Burnell went on. “That flighty piece Mrs. Bongorge shouldn’t give you more bother, at any rate—not now she thinks we’re actually planning the ceremony.”
Cornelia fought a wave of sickness. Goodness knew how she’d recover from this. In truth, there was only one outcome that would prevent her from becoming a pariah, and it was the one option that wasn’t on the table.
It was her own fault, of course, getting into this situation, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t entitled to feel angry with him.
Putting Minnie onto the floor, she brushed down her skirts and gave him her sternest expression. “Don’t you realize what’s going to happen? Once this reaches London, no one will come near me. Whatever hope I might have had of finding a husband will evaporate. People already say awful things about me, and they’ll be saying worse now. I’ll be a walking scandal.”
Burnell’s face softened. “I can see you’re upset, but it’s like I always said. Those rumours have been following you round the whole time, Cornelia. It’s time to own them and turn them to your advantage. Let them see the firecracker, remember?”
“Remind me, what sort of man I’m likely to attract from association with you, Mr. Burnell?”
“That depends; what sort of man do you want running after you?”
“I don’t wish for anyone to run,” Cornelia said. “If the right candidate came along, a sedate walk would do just fine.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Any man worth his salt should be sprinting in your direction, not merely walking, and I’d lay bets that none who’ve crossed your path so far are worthy.”
Cornelia narrowed her eyes. He made these sorts of comments far too readily, but she’d learnt not to take them at face value.
He picked at some fluff on his trouser leg. “And, you’re a widow, Cornelia. I hear there are different rules. You could take a lover if you wanted, or more than one. Have a ball; forget all about marriage.”
And there it was.
No mention of him caring for her. No hint that he might step up and whisk her away from all this chaos by actually making a real proposal. She knew this was only a game to him, but didn’t he realize she had feelings?
“It may surprise you but I’m not looking for casual affairs. I want a life partner; a soul mate. Someone whose kisses mean something.” She willed herself not to cry, to remain expressionless. “If bedding women like Mrs. Bongorge makes you happy, don’t let me detain you, but my guess is that you’re h
ollow inside, Burnell—that you’re dying little by little, and it’s because you’re afraid!”
That made him sit up, and he was no longer giving her that condescending smile—as if he knew everything and she was a simpleton unable to work out how to fit together the pieces of the puzzle.
Her pounding heart was making her ankle throb but she wasn’t going to hold back now. “That’s why you’ve been burying yourself in your work and why you’re going to run back to the wilderness. But digging into the ghosts of the ancients won’t expel that sadness. You’ll only escape it by creating something new; something that’s only yours.”
A shadow passed over Burnell’s face. “You’re doing a mighty fine job of preaching Nellie, but I don’t see you following your own advice, embracing a brave new future.”
“If you’d known my first husband…” Cornelia thought of a hundred things she might say, but she didn’t see why she should explain herself. Her problems were not Burnell’s. “I don’t wish to talk about him but the experience was sufficient to leave me with an unpleasant taste in my mouth.”
“And you thought kissing me would take that away for a while?” Burnell slapped his knee but there was no light-heartedness behind the gesture. “Well, I’m glad to have been of service. Perhaps you don’t need advice on that front after all.”
She moved her foot from the supporting stool and pushed herself up, using the cane resting beside. “Now you’re talking sense. It’s you who need guidance; not me. Something’s keeping you from opening your heart. You’re oblivious to what’s right in front of you, and you’re too cowardly, or too stubborn, to see.”
Her insult brought him to his feet, glaring fiercely. If it weren’t for the low table separating them, she wondered if he might shake her by the shoulders.
“You know nothing about me; nothing about the choices I’ve made.”
“That’s true,” countered Cornelia. “I hardly know anything at all, and I suspect it's because you prefer to sail through life pretending you don’t need anyone else. The great Ethan Burnell does just fine on his own!”
Their gazes met, his flashing fire.
A wave of heat passed over her—anger and something else. She was limp and shivering all at once. She’d said too much, laying herself bare with every word, and consumed by a sensual, maddening ache, overwhelmed with desire for his touch.
Could he see it in her face?
For the longest moment, he said nothing but she refused to prompt him. She wanted to tell him how much she cared but she couldn’t risk hearing that the way she felt about him was one sided.
When he did break the spell, a muscle was working in his jaw. “I think we’re clear now, Mrs. Mortmain. You don’t need me or my help. I won’t interfere or expect anything else of you. I brought you here to help me with this little ruse, not to fall in love.”
In five strides, he was at the door and, as it clicked shut behind him, a terrible wave of emptiness flooded through her.
Chapter 14
Late evening…
Curled on the chair by her fire, Cornelia looked up from The Lady’s Guide to All Things Useful and sighed. There were numerous intriguingly titled chapters but she’d been attempting to read the same paragraph for several minutes, without the faintest luck.
All she could think of was Burnell, and the situation in which she now found herself.
He’d tell the duke and duchess she supposed, and the news that the understanding between them was over would soon reach the ears of the other guests. When Burnell had first proposed the scheme, she’d known this would be disagreeable, but she’d intended to maintain the charade until their day of departure. At least, then, she’d have had the chance to escape the immediate speculation within the house and, by the time she’d re-entered London Society, the story would have gained an air of mystery—of glamour even—the great explorer having returned across the Atlantic.
Now, there was a full day tomorrow before Christmas itself, and who knew when the snow would melt sufficiently to allow them to return to the station. Were the trains even running? She’d heard more flurries were expected overnight and, if that were the case, the tracks would surely need digging out again. It seemed she was stuck, and in the most awkward of circumstances—for the gossip would be not just of their broken engagement but of the state of her honour.
The words from her own lips had been sufficient to damn her but, no doubt, Mrs. Bongorge would find ways to embellish, making the story even more colourful.
There would be no choice at all. Though her ankle was markedly improved, she would have to pretend otherwise as an excuse to remain in her room, asking not to be disturbed by anyone other than her aunts, and the duchess herself.
Meanwhile, she couldn’t escape her memories of Burnell’s kisses. Not once but twice, she’d allowed him to press his lips to hers.
Balderdash!
She hadn’t allowed him anything of the sort.
In truth, she’d been the one to instigate both embraces. And she’d enjoyed every heated, wicked moment.
He had such tempting lips, firm and soft at the same time; and the way he pulled her into the hunger of his kisses—not just passionately but as if he would keep her safe from anyone or anything that might dare to harm her.
When he wasn’t being an utter arse he was really quite wonderful. Clever of course, but comical too; even though she’d hated him making up those ridiculous stories, part of her had wanted to laugh. He was handsome and strong, and courageous. Goodness only knew what he’d overcome during his time in the jungle, and Lady Studborne had hinted at the unhappiness of his past.
To have achieved all he had, he must have a will of iron, and she admired him more than she could say—except that wasn’t what she’d told him. Instead, she’d called him cowardly, and berated him for being hollow inside. She’d pressed him to share the secret places of his heart when he was clearly still in pain. She, of all people, ought to have compassion for how that felt.
Blinking back her tears, she gave her nose a good blow.
She wasn’t in love, of course. An infatuation perhaps.
To love a man set upon returning to the jungles of Central America would be foolish. To love a man who categorically stated that he had no intention of marrying would be more foolish still.
But, they might have parted friends. She’d never see the wonders of Palekmul but he might have agreed to correspond. She could have partaken in the excitement of the discoveries yet to come via the exchange of letters. She might have shared that part of his life, at least.
“I suppose we ought to go to bed, Minnie.” Cornelia rose to add a last log to the fire while the terrier made a circuit of the room, indulging in final sniffs before turning in.
With a sudden bark, Minnie headed to the panelling and scrabbled with both paws.
“Stop that, naughty dog! Come away!”
It wouldn’t be the first time Minnie had scented a rat inside the walls of a house but Cornelia could hardly allow her to carry on in this manner. Those sharp claws of hers would leave scratches, and they mightn’t be so easy to polish out. Minnie did as she was told but not without a look of reproachful longing.
Cornelia was just placing the guard around the fire when a quiet knock came upon the door.
Oh bother. Not more hot milk! As thoughtful as it was of Nancy to keep bringing her drinks, she really didn’t want another or she’d be obliged to make use of the chamber pot in an hour.
However, there was no hot milk—nor chocolate, and it was not Nancy who pushed open the door.
Ethan swallowed.
She wore nothing but a gossamer silk gown and robe. Her long hair, lit to a honey hue and curling over her shoulder, hung almost to her waist.
With the firelight’s glow, the material was rendered transparent, revealing her body’s every lush curve—from the fullness of her hip to the swell of her breasts. Her nipples, rosy beneath the silk, were barely concealed—soft buds made for a man’s
mouth. She was evidently unaware, for she did nothing to cover herself.
Ethan’s blood ran hot.
He wanted nothing more than to close the distance and sink his face in her hair, to plead that he was sorry and beg her forgiveness. He wasn’t vexed with her—only with himself, and he would find no rest until he’d kissed away the anger between them.
He stepped closer. “I need you something terrible and I think you need me.” His voice caught. “I can’t walk away, Nellie.”
He got no further, for she flew into his arms.
As he encircled her waist, her body curved into his and she tipped back her head to meet his kiss.
After these days of pretending not to care, of telling himself he was in control, he was here, and she was warm in his embrace, responding with breathtaking passion.
The knowledge that she wanted him swept away his uncertainty. There was so much he wanted to say, and he’d been planning to confide in her—tonight, if she would listen but, for now, he’d prove his feelings in other ways. He wanted to touch and taste, to worship her as she deserved.
Talking could wait.
He kissed her again, long and hard, while his hands moved over the sheer fabric, stroking the arch of her spine and the dimples above the curve of her bottom, then taking her breasts full in his hands.
She gave a small whimper as he grazed her nipples with his thumbs, teasing them taut. Drawing back, he pulled the ribbon of her robe, parting the garment to reveal the flimsy nightgown beneath.
“Cornelia.” Groaning her name, he brought his lips to her breasts, kissing through the silk, gently at first but then harder, letting her feel the edge of his teeth.
She gasped. “This is madness. We can’t—”
In one fluid motion, he scooped beneath her knees, lifting her into his arms.
“What are you doing?” But she knew, of course, looping her hands about his neck, letting him carry her.
Reaching the chaise, he laid her carefully upon it and her hair, unbound, tumbled against the cushions. He’d never seen her more beautiful—in the firelight, looking back at him so fixedly, and her lips parted, awaiting more of his kisses.
Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1) Page 46