“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Nothing. No one has followed us that I can tell.” He shifted toward her in the saddle. “Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
“You don’t have faith in your ability to evade miscreants?” She shot him a small smile. “Could it be we are assigning motives where there are none? What if the men were merely opportunists and unaware of my identity? Not so farfetched a coincidence, considering the area of London.”
Garrick harrumphed. He didn’t believe in coincidence. One did not abduct Sir Hawkins’s only child without an eye to the consequences. The entire might of the British underground network would be brought to heel in order to locate her, and no quarter would be given. The risk was great. What reward had they hoped to gain?
Would Sir Hawkins betray his country and honor to save his daughter? Garrick had seen him sacrifice others without a moment’s remorse, and he thanked the gods Sir Hawkins hadn’t been tested.
The journey passed pleasantly enough. They discussed favorite foods and theater productions.
“I didn’t know you enjoyed the theater.” Victoria’s smile was one of surprised delight.
“I attend matinees on the odd afternoon with the rest of the rabble.”
“So do I!” Her huff dimmed her surprise. “You follow me on my trips to the theater.”
While it was a statement, he answered, “I do, but only as a safeguard. I’ve come to enjoy the outings as much as you. There were many times I had to stop myself from discussing the productions with you.”
“I’m not sure how to feel. Grateful or resentful.” The squelch of mud under hooves filled her pondering silence. Finally, she said, “We could have gone together. So much wasted time.”
Her conclusion startled him. He’d assumed her resentment revolved around his encroaching on her independence. If he dwelled on their squandered time, he might go around the bend. Instead, he kept his voice light. “Tell me about the books you enjoy.”
Victoria told him about the books she’d been reading, and he told her about funny things that had happened to him in service for her father. He didn’t talk about the bad, not because she wouldn’t understand but because he feared she would offer him comfort he would be hard-pressed to deny.
Dusk was falling when the edge of Danbury came into view. Larger than Upton Heath, it would be easy enough for Victoria to arrive unnoticed and join her parents.
When the inn came into view, Garrick nudged his chin. “You go on. I’ll keep watch over you from here. If you need me, I’ll come.”
Their gazes melded for one long, agonizing moment. “I’ll always need you, Thomas.”
She nudged her horse forward, dragging his beleaguered heart behind her.
Chapter 8
Riding away from Thomas sundered her heart. It was the end of a chapter. A cliffhanger, at that. Victoria had no clue what came next. Was it to be a farce, a tragedy, or a romance?
Victoria stepped into the inn. Her mother and father were in heated conversation at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the rooms. With a tight mouth, her mother glanced toward the door, and Victoria was met by a blank face.
Dear Lord, Victoria had forgotten about the extra padding and horrendous dress. Perhaps it would be best if she didn’t take off Thomas’s hat. She stepped forward and cleared her throat. Her mother’s eyes widened, and she said something that had her father whirling around. He took her in head to toe. The corners of his mouth quirked as he approached her.
The almost smile was shocking enough. The kiss he laid on her cheek was absolutely astonishing. “I should have known,” he murmured before slipping out of the door, presumably to discuss matters with Thomas.
What should he have known? Could he see the imprint of Garrick hands and mouth and…? Her cheeks heated and banished the chill of the ride.
Her mother whisked her up the stairs and into a cozy, well-appointed room decorated in blue brocade. A stand with a white-and-blue porcelain basin and pitcher stood next to a bed piled high with blankets. A fire had been laid, and an emerald-green velvet chair stood in the corner.
“What on earth are you wearing?” Her mother’s first question a surprise.
Victoria had expected an interrogation about her almost kidnapping and her night alone with Thomas. Or even inquiries about her emotional and physical well-being. Not curiosity about her attire.
“A dress.” Victoria tossed Thomas’s hat on the bed. She wasn’t usually so recalcitrant, but the past twenty-four hours had been life changing. Except, she wasn’t sure anything would actually change in her life. Her mother would still expect her to pick a husband at the house party.
“I have been too lenient with you.” Her mother’s tone took on a glacial edge. “You’ve been allowed too much independence. I’m afraid it’s ruined you.”
Although her mother didn’t mean ruination by fornication, a weary laugh popped out of Victoria.
“This is no laughing matter. We must hope Lady Eleanor and Lord Berkwith stay silent on your scandalous behavior.”
“Considering they would be implicating themselves if they speak of it, I’m sure they will remain quiet. Anyway, Eleanor is my friend.”
“A friend would not have allowed you to meet with a man unescorted and unprotected.” Her mother’s severity quashed any humor Victoria felt. “If whispers of your indiscretion turn into shouts, you won’t have a choice but to marry Lord Berkwith, and none of us want that.”
Revulsion turned Victoria’s insides to mush. For one thing, she had no interest in a popinjay like Lord Berkwith. Even worse though, was the fact Eleanor fancied herself in love with him, and Victoria wedding him would be the ultimate betrayal.
“How is Eleanor? Did you speak with her?”
“She was nearly hysterical and took to her bed, but the Stanfields are still planning to attend the house party.” She harrumphed. “Unless they have locked Lady Eleanor away.”
“Perhaps Lord Berkwith will offer for Eleanor.” The earnestness in the lord’s eyes had swayed her opinion of him, but did he truly love Eleanor? Or was she simply a pretty, pliable, suitable lady with a very attractive dowry?
“Men like Berkwith only care about what someone can do for them. Eleanor is a sweet girl. She deserves better than to be saddled with a man like him.” It was perhaps the most honest conversation Victoria had ever had with her mother about the nature of love and marriage.
“Why did you marry Father?” The question popped out, and by the way her mother’s eyebrows rose, it surprised them both.
“From the moment I met your father, I recognized his intelligence and ambition. I was ambitious too.” Something similar to her father’s rock-hard fortitude shimmered in her mother like the reflection on a lake. Perhaps they weren’t as ill-suited as Victoria had assumed.
Victoria had never considered her mother ambitious, but she supposed it depended on one’s viewpoint. Her mother had been the daughter of a country squire. Now she was the wife of a man who had earned a knighthood and was welcomed along the edges of society. If Victoria made a good marriage, the Hawkins family might be accepted into the heart of the ton.
“You will bathe, change into something appropriate, and then join us for dinner. Lord and Lady Tilbury are also staying here on their way to the Barclays.” Her mother’s tone turned speculative. “As is their son Lord Percival. A second son, but with prospects. Your presence—smiling and charming—will go a long way to quash any talk. If anyone inquires, you traveled from London with us and have been resting in your room.”
“Of course, Mother.” Victoria didn’t have to force an agreeable tone. Considering the alternative was a possible marriage to Lord Berkwith, she would play her part to dispel any talk. It seemed Lord Percival had emerged as a dark horse for her hand. How could she hobble his chances?
Her mother swept out of the room, and Victoria only had time to remove the padding under her dress before her mother’s maid, Margery, appeared. Not five minu
tes later, a knock on the door signaled the arrival of a shallow tub and pitchers of steaming water.
Her bath was perfunctory, even though she wanted to revel in the warmth and ease her soreness. The long hours of riding, plus her morning activities with Thomas, had left her aching in all sorts of places. She dressed in a long-sleeved gown of dark blue with golden accents around the modest neckline and matching gold braiding around the cuffs and hem.
Margery pinned Victoria’s hair up, her frustration with the escaping curls manifesting itself in a rough jab with the final pin. Victoria stared at her reflection. How odd that she didn’t look any different when everything had changed.
“Your mother will be waiting.” Margery bustled out without a backward glance.
Victoria didn’t move for a long moment, wishing the girl in the wavery looking glass could offer a nugget of wisdom. She was at a tipping point. One direction would send her into a safe, albeit unhappy, marriage with a virtual stranger. The other direction was shrouded. That future could well be a disaster, but hope lurked. Could she abandon the faint hope of true happiness for comfort and acceptance?
She didn’t have the strength to untangle her feelings tonight. Tonight she would paste on a smile and pretend nothing had changed. Her determination was challenged the moment she entered the private dining room of the inn.
Thomas had tucked himself into a corner and surveyed the scene like his nickname, the Hawk. He had bathed as well, and his dark hair was still damp. She was staring, yet she couldn’t stop herself.
She knew what his hands felt like on her skin, knew what he tasted like, knew the pleasure of having him between her legs, and she wanted more. She wanted to wake up next to him every morning and discuss politics and science and art while threading her fingers through his hair.
She almost threw her head back and laughed like a mad woman. Untangling her feelings proved to be simple once she’d cast aside her fears. She loved Thomas Garrick and would happily sacrifice a life as some lord’s wife to be with him.
Would he be willing to step into the unknown at her side? No, not completely unknown. The future would be riddled with challenges. Thomas would lose his position for betraying her father’s trust. She had been focused on the risks she would incur by wanting Thomas, but he would lose far more. What if he didn’t consider her worth the risk? The thought soured her appetite.
“Victoria.” Her mother snapped her name.
Victoria gathered herself. The gentlemen were standing and waiting for her to take her seat between her mother and Lord Percival. His father, the Viscount of Tilbury, was at the head, and Sir Hawkins and the viscountess were across the table.
“I’m so pleased our travel plans coincided,” Victoria murmured while taking her seat and forcing a smile.
Thomas was behind her and her nape heated. His big hand had grasped her there and guided their lips together. Was he recalling the same moment?
Her father was watching her closely. Of course he watched everything closely. It was why he excelled at subterfuge. A glass of wine was placed in front of her. Victoria glanced at her mother, who nodded. Perhaps her mother understood Victoria needed help to loosen her tongue.
She drained half the glass before taking a bite of food. The warmth settled in her belly. While she wasn’t relaxed, she found herself answering questions and making small talk with Lord Percival, even though she couldn’t remember a blink later what they had discussed.
Finally, dinner ended. As everyone would rise early to travel to the Barclay’s manor house, the party broke up and retired to their rooms, eschewing after-dinner port or any gossiping among the ladies. Lord Percival fell into step alongside Victoria.
“I enjoyed our dinner conversation immensely, Miss Hawkins.” Lord Percival was a nice-enough-looking fellow, if a bit spindly and sallow-faced.
“As did I.” She prayed he wouldn’t quiz her on her favorite topic.
Shooting her a shy smile, he took her hand and pressed a light kiss on the back. “I hope to further our acquaintance at the house party.”
“That would be very pleasant, my lord.” She retrieved her hand from his grasp and didn’t linger.
Her father waited in the hallway outside of her room. “I would speak with you a moment.”
Dread tied her stomach into a knot. “Of course, Father.”
Was he going to ask her if Thomas had acted inappropriately? Or would he know that she was the one who had instigated their encounter? Would she lie to keep their secret or tell the truth? She lowered herself into the velvet chair, which she realized immediately was a mistake. Even though he wasn’t a large man, his presence filled the room as he paced.
“I have been unable to locate the men who attempted to abduct you. What can you tell me?”
“There were two men. Big. Rough.”
“How were they dressed? What did they smell like?”
She blinked at the questions, then closed her eyes. “Woolen jackets. One dark blue, the other brown. Unpatched, but worn heavily around the elbows. The man who grabbed me smelled like…” She took a breath through her nose, searching for the scent in her memories. “Onions? Ale?”
Her father hummed thoughtfully, and when Victoria opened her eyes, he loomed over her, pulling at his chin. “What about their accents?”
“They did not speak.” She let her father stew over her answers for a moment. “Any theories?”
“While threats against you and your mother have always simmered, the group I suspected was behind the plot doesn’t appear to be guilty. That doesn’t mean they are innocent though. I shall keep digging until I discover the truth.” He sighed and fixed her with his unflinching gaze. It could intimidate even her. Heat prickled her face and chest. “Your mother seems to think you’ve avoided ruination.”
Victoria managed to make a sound that landed near acknowledgment, if not a full-throated agreement.
“I suppose we’ll see.” He raised a brow as if inviting confessions.
“I suppose we will.” The truth burned a hole in her heart, but she said nothing more.
His eyes narrowed. “I’m posting Garrick outside your door tonight.”
She popped out of the chair. Having Thomas outside her door was a temptation she would never be able to resist. “He’s exhausted, Father. It was a long night and day. Let him rest.”
“He’s the only man I trust you with, Victoria.” He touched her cheek. Her breath stalled. Her father wasn’t given to gestures of affection, and he had bestowed two in a matter of hours.
As soon as he stepped out the door, her mother’s maid took his place to help her into her night rail and to stoke the fire. “Is there anything else you require, miss?”
“Nothing. Thank you, Margery.”
Despite the chill in the air, Victoria didn’t retreat to the bed. She chafed her arms and paced in front of the hearth. She should be exhausted, yet a restless energy zinged through her blood, making her heart pound faster. She wasn’t sure what she was waiting for until a rustle sounded in the hall.
Before common sense could override the impulse, she opened the door, grabbed Thomas by the sleeve, and pulled him into the room. She leaned against the closed door, blocking his escape. He had lost his collar and cravat, and his white shirt gaped open at the neck, revealing a tantalizing dusting of dark hair.
Neither of them spoke. They merely stared at one another. Unlike at dinner, his gaze was unflinching and heated. She shivered, but not from cold.
“I shouldn’t be here.” He kept his voice at a whisper.
“I know,” she whispered back. Her father could conceivably check to make sure Thomas was outside her door, but why would he? He trusted Thomas implicitly.
“Lord Percival seems quite taken with you.” Was his tone edged in green?
“I don’t care a jot about him.”
“Will that matter to your mother?”
An ever-growing panic gripped her throat and squeezed. He was right, of course. Her mot
her was determined she would marry well, and while Thomas might be the best man, he did not qualify as a gentleman in her mother’s estimation.
Yet something in his tone gave her hope. If his aim was to put their mistake behind them so Victoria could secure an advantageous future, why would he bring Sir Percival up? “Does it matter to you whom I marry?”
“It shouldn’t.” Bitterness coated his words.
“Yet it does.” The lilt in her voice quavered the words between a statement and a question. The ground they tread was unsteady and dangerous, and she needed him to reassure her.
“Dammit, Victoria.” He looked… stricken. “You know it does. I can’t bear the thought of you in another man’s arms.”
She closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him. After a blink of time that lasted an eternity, he pulled her tightly against him, running his hands up and down her back, from her buttocks to thread into her hair, tugging it free of the loose braid to tumble around her shoulders.
“This is madness. Sir Hawkins—”
“Doesn’t matter. Only we do.”
Thomas’s chest inflated with a huge breath as if he was preparing an argument, but instead, he buried his face in her neck. Her skin was primed for his touch. His lips sent shivers through her, and she closed her eyes. Her nipples tightened.
“If only that were true. This is impossible… impossible,” he murmured.
She felt his words as much as heard them. Yet he didn’t push her away. When he moved, he shifted her across the floor with him. She prayed the bed was their destination. It wasn’t. He sat in the velvet chair and drew her down with him, positioning her across his lap.
He stroked her hair and held her tightly. She felt too much like a child being comforted after not getting what she wanted. Unacceptable. She pushed off his chest. Any frustration with him vanished. Exhaustion bruised his eyes and sadness blunted his features.
She scrambled around until she straddled him and then took his face between her hands. His night whiskers tickled her palms. She smoothed his dark eyebrows with her thumbs before leaning in to kiss him gently on the mouth.
Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1) Page 138