“But my brother owns this place. How can you set up a mine here, without letting him know?”
He shook his head. “I’m not on your brother’s land. You’re on Ricksborough land.”
“The old lady’s?” she asked, startled.
“My great-aunt,” he said. “She left it to me in her will, although she’d had no contact with my family for years. Some kind of rift. A few weeks ago, the manager here wrote to me and said the seam was probably richer than he’d initially thought. The old lady used it to furnish herself and dependents with domestic coal. The opportunity seemed heaven-sent. I’m here as a representative of the new owner, the Duke of Blackridge, and I brought my foreman.” He paused before he spoke again. “Armstrong is very protective of me. I had no idea he’d protect me to the extent of half-suffocating you.”
But she was here, and talking to him. And worried. Why she should be so worried about him she had no idea, but she couldn’t help herself. “With that yellow cloud, how can you think you’re keeping anything secret? It’s probably alerted half of Derbyshire by now.”
He shook his head and smiled wryly. “Yes, you’re right. That was unfortunate. It was an impurity getting burned away. It won’t be a regular occurrence. I know little about the practicalities of mining. I’m learning as fast as I can.”
Leaning forward, he dropped his clasped hands between his open legs, and rested his elbows on his thighs. “I mean it, Dorcas. You can’t tell anyone I’m here, not yet. I can discover more as McCrae, the Scottish steward than I can as myself. Only Armstrong knows who I truly am.”
“But anyone who sees you will notice you at once. You know they will. Your height, for one thing.” How could he expect to remain here now that the family was in residence?
“Only people who have seen me before.” He grimaced. “It’s the one thing I can’t disguise.” He rubbed the scruff of beard on his chin.
Dorcas wanted to touch it. She forced her unexpected response away. Even Gerald remained clean-shaven at all times. They never saw him until he’d shaved and “made himself decent”, as he put it. The black bristles fascinated her.
For the first time since she’d woken up, the realities of the situation hit her. Like a brick.
She was here, alone with a man, in a rough camp, surrounded by men who didn’t care if she lived or died. What was she thinking? And why wasn’t she afraid?
Breaking contact with her, he got to his feet and turned his back, returning to the three-legged stool he’d first used, fully six feet away, which was all that could be achieved in this small space.
Something had made him do that. Was it the intimacy of the connection between them? Dorcas felt it, too, but she wouldn’t run away from it. Not like he seemed to be doing. Except—she went through what he’d told her again.
Still with his back to her, he nodded, as if to himself. Then he turned, slowly. “Dorcas, you have come to mean something to me. A great deal, in fact.” He turned around.
Dorcas caught her breath. What she saw there had nothing to do with her unhappiness when she thought he’d abandoned her. That expression made her face reality. People talked about connections, the dance of courtship, but this was nothing like that.
“I’m concerned for you most of all,” he said. “You missed those attacks by the skin of your teeth. I can’t allow that to happen to you. I won’t. Staying here, close to you, means I can watch and wait. I ensured you were cared for in Hampshire and on the journey here. I couldn’t do it myself; I was too weak at that point. I’m better now.”
“What about your wife? Shouldn’t you be with her?” Speaking the word aloud hurt more than she’d imagined it would.
The smile disappeared as if it had never been there. “My what?” His voice rose to a shout.
Dorcas craned her neck meeting his furious gaze. “I read it in the papers.”
Grant clapped his hand to his forehead and spun around. He strode to the entrance to the tent, wheeled around and returned. It wasn’t very far. Four strides took him the length of the tent. “What are you talking about?”
“You married Lady Elizabeth Askew. Don’t think because we left London we didn’t hear.” Bitterness bled through her voice. She tried to stand, but it was too soon. Her head swam, and she was forced to subside back onto the bed. For now. She would have her say and she would leave. She wouldn’t betray his confidence, but she couldn’t have anything to do with this. Or him. His concern for her was none of her business. “You sent that insulting letter, then we left London. Please don’t take me for an idiot.”
He stared at her, eyes wide. “I wrote you a letter from my bed, that was true. I asked you to wait, that I was ill, and I needed to see you.”
Her hands clenched into fists.
He shook his head, groping in his pocket for a handkerchief, which he applied to his streaming eyes. “You truly think I could marry Lady Elizabeth? What foolishness is this?”
He pulled the stool closer and sat, widening his legs for balance, and giving her a view of strong thighs and a bulge she tried hard to ignore. “What did the letter you received say?”
“That you had made a mistake and a union between us was impossible. ‘We cannot marry under any circumstances, you must understand that our union is impossible.’ That was what you said.”
A frown pleated his brow. “I said no such thing. That sounds more like my mother.” He closed his eyes and groaned, took a few deep breaths. He opened his eyes. His mouth tightened. “My mother wanted me to marry Elizabeth. She’d set her heart on it. But I told her no. Therefore, she took matters into her own hands. That is typical of her meddling.” He reached for her hand, but Dorcas snatched it back. “I’m so sorry, Dorcas. I swear, I’m not married.”
“You said in the letter that we had been carried away in the moment. Do you think that now?”
“No!” His protest was vehement and heartfelt. She could see from the distress in his wide, dark eyes and the tightening of the lines around his mouth. “I want you, Dorcas. Only you.”
“Then why didn’t you come to me, or even write back? Why did you let me believe you didn’t want me? I wrote back to you, telling you how despicable I thought you were. Asking you to meet us, so we could resolve the situation. But we heard nothing.”
“I never saw any letter. My mother would have intercepted it and most likely destroyed it. I swear that’s the truth, Dorcas. I meant to ask you to be my wife, to make everything proper between us.”
“You did.”
“Was that shortly before the attack on me?”
She nodded. “The day before. You came and asked me formally, and you and Gerald agreed to write the contract.”
“When I came to properly, almost a week after I was hurt, I couldn’t remember the events leading up to the attack. I still can’t.”
She made a sound of distress and, without thinking, reached for him. He captured her hand, wrapped his fingers around it. She let it lie there.
“I know what happened because I sent for Baker, my quartermaster. He told me everything he remembered. He was hurt, too, his arm broken in the fight. But he is recovering, and I’ve ensured he won’t want for anything until he feels ready to take to the ship again.” He paused, and opened his mouth to say something else, but she broke in.
“You don’t remember anything?” she asked, half-relieved that he didn’t recall the intimacies they’d shared.
“Nothing.” He smiled. His voice became more intimate, gaining a teasing tone. “Why, is there something I should particularly remember? Something that happened before the attack?”
She swallowed. “No,” she said, but she didn’t meet his eyes.
“I see.” His voice was softer, more intimate.
Another thought struck her. “But why did the journal say that Lady Elizabeth had married the Duke of B…?”
“Because she has,” he said. “She married the Duke of Beauchamp.”
Dorcas thought for a moment, then her eyes
widened. “The Duke of Beauchamp? Isn’t he seventy years old?”
“Seventy-five,” he said, smiling. “She was determined to marry a duke, don’t forget. We’re old friends, Elizabeth and I, and there is a lot to admire about her. But recently, she has allowed this feud between the Illingworths and the Dersinghams to overcome her better self. Even before that, we would not have suited, and I think, deep down, she knows it. She was determined to trap me to spite you and your sisters, but she knows me well enough to understand that I was never meant to be with her.”
“That would have infuriated her,” Dorcas said. Now she felt foolish, linking two events that had nothing to do with each other. But the announcement had seemed final, coming on top of that letter, and his continued silence. For she’d written him more than one letter. She had not dared to go to his house, terrified of a humiliating rejection that would have been carried around London faster than a heartbeat. Perhaps she should have overcome her fears and gone anyway, trusted that he meant what he’d said, that his kisses had intent behind them.
“Oh.” Looking at him now she couldn’t doubt him. Neither could she fault his story. She knew his mother disapproved of the match; she had made it clear on their visit to Ranelagh. And the lady was a determined one. She would take advantage of her son’s temporary weakness for sure. “We still have the letter. We can see if it is your mother’s writing.”
“It will be,” he said firmly. “It has her stamp all over it.” He squeezed her hand. “Have we cleared the air, Dorcas? Do you believe me?”
He leaned his hand on his cheek, making her want to touch it again. She took another sip of the cool beer, letting it wash down her throat. It didn’t help to cool the heat that curled deep inside her.
“Yes, yes we have.”
“I found the marriage license.”
Chapter Fifteen
Dorcas’ eyes widened and she stared at Blackridge. “What? We aren’t married.” A smile feathered across her lips. “I would have remembered.”
He smiled back. “I’m sure you would. But the day of the attack, I attended Doctors’ Commons and applied for a special license. I didn’t remember, but when I came around, I discovered the office had forwarded the license to me. And it had your name on it. That was all the proof I needed that my mother had lied.”
“Do you still have it?”
He nodded. “But I didn’t want to come to you until I was well again. I’d begun thinking about paying you a visit, but you got here first.”
“Oh.” She worried her lower lip with her teeth. A marriage license made everything so real.
“We can marry whenever you wish. Although I would prefer it to be with the goodwill of your family, and without undue haste. If your brother agrees, then three weeks.”
“What does it have to do with him?” she demanded indignantly. “I’m of age, you know.”
His response was to laugh and kiss her hand. “Not with his approval, but with his blessing. I like your family, and I don’t want any kind of scandal to attach itself to us. Let’s do this the right way. The license is good for three months, so we have some time yet.”
“Oh.” That sounded reasonable. And for the second time, she could look forward to a wedding with this man. The thought made her breath quicken, for any number of reasons.
She rose. “I have to be going before Gerald sends someone after me.”
“I know.” He touched her arm, the bare part beneath her elbow-length sleeves, under the cuff. The touch felt far more intimate than it should be. His finger moved, stroked, sending shivers up her arm to the rest of her body. Delicious ones.
“Please promise you will tell nobody you saw me here. Not yet.”
She didn’t have to think about her response. “Of course I won’t tell anyone. A secret shared isn’t a secret anymore But let me come back to see you.”
She hadn’t meant to say that. But it had just come out, far too easily.
He smiled down at her, a touch of tenderness marking his harsh features. “I’d like that. But I don’t want anyone to recognize you.”
“I have gardening clothes. More like these. I can wear them.”
He closed his eyes, and guided his finger slowly up her arm, as far as it could go unless he tore her gown. “Yes. I shouldn’t say so, but yes. Your presence here has been a delight.” He opened his eyes, gazed down at her. “I still want to marry you very much.”
Dorcas caught her breath. “After I was ill on your ship, you saw me at my worst. You’d seen it before, and I thought maybe that gave you second thoughts.”
His soft “No!” came as balm to her soul.
“You could have been being kind. Twice now, I’ve had the megrims while you’ve been there. It’s not pretty. I don’t faint attractively, or anything like that. I moan, I vomit.” She glanced down, ashamed of mentioning her weakness. “We don’t know what causes it. No idea. We’ve studied what I eat, what I do, even the scents around me. I can’t stand perfume when I’m having an attack. It’s one of the signs.” She traced an imaginary pattern on the coarse fabric of his sleeve.
Before he could respond, she shook her head. “I’m very sensitive about my megrims. Too much, my mother used to say. She thought it was imaginary, too, called them Dorcas’ starts, but she was forced to accept it eventually.”
“She doesn’t sound like a sympathetic mother.”
“No, no she wasn’t.” Too early to tell him what their parents were like. She wasn’t even sure she could make him understand. Growing up, she’d thought all parents were like hers, but discovered they weren’t after Gerald had taken them to London. She chose not to elaborate, and gave him a generalization instead. “Many mothers aren’t.”
“Indeed.” Considering his parent, nobody would know that as he did. Although his mother wasn’t cut from the same cloth as hers. One day, she’d tell him why the siblings preferred to live in London, why they moved when Gerald reached his majority. And why their parents scarcely noticed.
Now, she didn’t want him to release her. But he did, only to slip his hand in hers and lift the tent flap. The sudden blaze of light stunned her, but she’d grown accustomed to the dimmer light, that was all. Her hand still in his, she stepped outside. “I’ll be your sweetheart,” he murmured. “You’re a maid at the big house, and you sneak out to see me.”
She warmed to the notion. “Very well.”
A few friendly whistles attested to his words. The men might not have heard what he said, but they knew the two of them had spent nearly an hour in the tent, alone. What else could they be doing? Dorcas hung her head.
“No,” he said softly. “Hold your head up. Look them in the eyes and defy them.” He passed a man who touched the brim of his hat, but a grin cracked his gnarled, weather-beaten features.
Dorcas held her breath, steeled herself and gave him a cold look worthy of a queen.
The grin disappeared. Dorcas blinked, but by then they had moved on. Grant stopped to talk to someone else. “This is Betty. She’s a parlor maid at the house, and as soon as I have the money, we’re getting married.”
The man nodded. “Good luck to you both. Lord knows times are hard.” He jerked his head in the direction of the timber structure dominating the scene. “This’ll make things better.”
Grant nodded. “Couldn’t agree more.”
They passed on, while Dorcas digested the brief exchange. He helped her over the stile, and they turned into the shadow of the hedge. She stepped over a piece of timber that had once been part of a tree. “You mean they want this?”
“Of course they do.” He helped her negotiate another piece of detritus. “I’ll have to get them to clean up the site when I get back. I don’t want an accident.” Straightening, he met her gaze and smiled. He squeezed her hand, bringing to her attention the fact that they were still linked, even though they were leaving the settlement behind. There was no need to keep up the pretense now. But when she loosened her hold, he tightened his grip. “Sorry,
” he said, dropping her hand. “I was enjoying it.”
So was she. But it was too late now, she couldn’t grab his hand and hold on. Nor could she think of anything intelligent to say. “Oh,” was the best she could do. Then she plucked up her courage. “I liked it, too.”
She had never been closer to anyone than to Grant. She couldn’t call him Blackridge or your grace now. He was just—Grant. And he was calling her Dorcas.
He caught her hand again. “Now that I’m here, I won’t leave in a hurry. Not without you.”
And at last, he bent his head and kissed her.
Tipping her chin up, she met his lips with an eagerness that matched his. Their hands parted, and she put hers on his broad shoulders in an attempt to balance herself. He slid one arm around her waist, pulling her close so her breasts grazed his chest. Between them might be layers of fabric, but she felt the touch as if they’d all melted away. She moaned into his mouth, and he responded, cupping the side of her face with his free hand, his touch gentle, as he ravaged her mouth with deep plunges of his tongue.
Her body shook, her knees became unsteady, but he continued, and held her steady, so she could lean into his kiss. The stubble from his incipient beard prickled her chin and cheeks when he moved, but only to guide her to lean her head on his chest, so he could hold her more securely and kiss her, deeper and harder.
Dorcas responded as well as she knew how. Following her instincts, she kissed him back, caressed his tongue with her own, settling her hand against his chest. His heart thumped under her palm, steady and sure. She felt safe, but only from the outside world. Not with him. But she was willing to go where he took her.
He lifted her, and she gasped as he stepped to the fallen tree at the side of the narrow path, and sat, settling her on his lap. “You have to stop me soon,” he murmured. “Promise you will.” He nuzzled her cheek, her forehead, and nudged her head to one side to give him access to the tender skin on her throat. Wherever his lips landed, he tasted. Tiny kisses rained down on her, gentle touches to her earlobe, a nip making her gasp before he followed the line of her tendon down her throat to the hollow at the front.
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