“Aye, sir.” The man strode out as though he couldn’t leave fast enough.
“A room or the carriage?” Mick asked.
Chapter 12
As his carriage traveled swiftly through the nearly vacated streets, he fought not to be disappointed that she’d chosen the carriage over a bed in his hotel. He had an irrational urge for her to christen every single one of them. He’d known eventually they’d end up in the carriage together because he’d instructed Jones to stay beyond sight for an hour and then return with the news no hansom was to be found. Although she didn’t want him kissing her, didn’t want him touching her, he’d insisted on traveling with her.
He couldn’t explain this irrational need he had just to be with her, to give her something Kipwick hadn’t. Or the jealousy that had coursed through him when she’d confirmed the earl had kissed her. While she hadn’t given him a name, he knew her betrothed was the only man to whom she would have given that privilege. Her kissing Mick had been an aberration. Although his ego took a measure of satisfaction in knowing she might have found the earl’s kiss lacking in passion, another part of him didn’t like learning that Kipwick might not be giving her his all. She deserved everything a man had to offer.
That thought he shoved back into the corner of his mind where it couldn’t prick his conscience. She deserved far better than what he was going to eventually offer.
“What is the fragrance you wear?” he asked. It would linger in his carriage, always reminding him that she’d once been a passenger, had sat mere inches from him. It would mock him, reminding him he hadn’t crossed over and taken her in his arms, captured her mouth in order to ensure her passionate noises also resided within the confines of the vehicle.
“Gardenia. It was my mother’s favorite. When I first apply it, I’m always swamped with memories of her hugging me before she would go to a ball.”
“You have a lot of memories of your parents.” He wasn’t certain if it was a statement or a question.
“Not so very many actually. Most revolve around my mother. My father was rather intimidating. So tall that I’d get a pain in my neck looking up at him. He seemed a giant at the time. In truth, I doubt he was even as tall as you. Our perspective changes as we grow older, grow taller. I would have liked to have had the opportunity to become less wary of him.”
He had no memories of the woman who’d given birth to him, didn’t even know what she looked like. As for his father, his height wasn’t going to intimidate him.
“What of your mother, what does she smell like?” she asked.
He’d never given it much thought. “Bread, fresh from the oven, vanilla, recently brewed tea.”
“She sounds warm and homey.”
“She’s always quick with a hug, was equally quick with a slap if we didn’t behave.”
“I suspect she fairly bruised her hand with you about.”
He grinned. “Even when I grew tall enough to tower over her, she was never daunted. Earlier you spoke fondly of your guardians. What sort of punishment would they mete out?”
“I never exhibited any behavior that required punishment. I was always quick to obey, wanting to please. Although if I’m honest, they are rather overprotective. Do you know, before tonight, I had never walked out of the residence unaccompanied? And I certainly never traveled in a carriage with a gentleman I barely know. I’m probably being exceedingly careless to do so now, yet I feel remarkably safe. I don’t believe you’d take advantage.”
“You are rather foolish to believe that.”
“No. If you were going to do something untoward, you’d have done it in your office, your lair where you rule.”
“You don’t consider the kiss overstepping the bounds?”
“Of course I do. It shouldn’t have happened.” She glanced out the window, presenting him with her profile, limned by the occasional streetlamp. Odd, how even with the shadows, he could discern the upward slant of her nose. He should have kissed it while he had the chance. He’d certainly do so the next time an occasion presented itself. Her nose, her brow, her cheeks, the top of her head. Damnation, he was reacting like a besotted schoolboy, wanting to kiss every quarter inch of her.
She turned her attention back to him. “As I mentioned, I’ve been protected. Sometimes I feel as though I will suffocate. I was curious as to whether all kisses were the same, so I welcomed the opportunity to discover the truth of it.”
“Are they . . . all the same?” For him it was a rhetorical question. He knew the answer, but he was curious as to whether she’d admit to or accept the reality of it.
She looked back out the window. “No, they’re not.”
She sounded somewhat disappointed, which should have pleased him. It didn’t. He didn’t like the notion of her being disenchanted with anything, even as he knew a time would come when he’d disappoint her most of all. The irritating besotted fool who apparently was considering taking up residence within him wanted to ask if she preferred his kiss. Based on the way she’d run, he might have thought she didn’t, but he also contemplated the alternative: that she enjoyed it far too much. A lady betrothed to another man might feel a need to run from the realization she’d chosen poorly.
“Kip and I have an understanding,” she said softly, as though reading his thoughts. “Although at the moment it’s on shaky ground.”
Her words pleased him far too much, made him want to cross over the narrow expanse separating them and kiss her—hard, thoroughly, to distraction. He didn’t push her, didn’t question her further because he didn’t want to expose his hand, to make her suspicious, to think he had too much interest in her relationship with the earl.
“The rain has stopped,” she said quietly.
“So it has.”
They settled into silence. He was surprised by how much he enjoyed merely being in her company, inhaling her fragrance—he might have Tittlefitz fetch him some gardenias for the offices, for the lobby. He wouldn’t mind being greeted by her scent when he strode into the hotel.
He didn’t spend a great deal of time in the presence of others, unless it was required for business or a family obligation. He preferred keeping his own counsel, his own company. He’d never been one for light, trivial banter. But with her, even the most trivial seemed important. He liked learning things about her. Not because he could use them to manipulate her, but because every aspect of her fascinated him.
The carriage came to a halt. He opened the door, leaped out and reached back for her, taking incredible pleasure from her placing her hand in his without hesitation. He wished they wore no gloves, no clothes at all for that matter.
“Very wise to have your driver park on the street,” she said.
“Our arrival will be less conspicuous, especially if someone is wandering about the hallways.”
“They were all abed when I left.”
“You assume once abed, people stay abed. I assure you, my lady, they do not.” He offered his arm.
“You don’t need to accompany me.”
“I’m not going to leave you on the street.”
“And if you are seen, my reputation will be ruined.”
Eventually it would be, but not tonight. He wasn’t yet weary of the chase. “We’ll keep to the shadows.”
He didn’t much like the relief that washed through him when her hand alighted near the crook of his elbow nor his desire to flex his muscles in order to remind her of his strength. He’d never before felt the need to puff out his chest or demonstrate physical domination, preferring instead the mental prowess needed for negotiating. He wanted her sitting in his office, watching as he conferred with solicitors and investors in order to ensure the deal favored him. She’d no doubt be bored to tears. Or perhaps not.
They strolled along the edge of the drive, keeping their distance from the lighted path.
“You’re welc
ome to use my hotel parlor anytime you feel the need to escape the restraints here.”
She peered over at him, her crooking smile soft, intriguing. He wanted to taste it once more. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
They reached the wide steps.
“Thank—”
“I’ll escort you to the door, see you safely inside.”
He had the sense she wanted to argue, then decided she’d gain nothing from it but a delay in being rid of him. At the door, he held out his hand. “Your key.”
She scowled at him. “It’s not locked.”
Only when he tried the latch, he discovered it was. “I fear it is, my lady.”
Her eyes widened. “It can’t be.” Brushing aside his hand, she gave it a try.
“I know how to open a door,” he said laconically.
“I don’t understand. It wasn’t locked when I left.”
“Obviously the butler made his rounds, locking things up, after you left.”
She sagged against the door. “I hadn’t considered he did that. To be honest, I’d never given any thought to those rituals. Someone is always waiting for my return, no matter the hour. Of course, they’d always known I’d left.”
Tonight they’d assumed she was abed. She looked devastated. All her plans ruined for want of a key.
She moved away from the door, stretched her neck, looking one way and then the other. “Perhaps I can find a tree to climb, a window that’s open.”
“And risk breaking your neck?”
“Better than having to explain to the duke and duchess what I’m doing out here this time of night.”
With you was left unsaid, but she telegraphed it clearly enough. He shouldn’t have been hurt by the implication she was ashamed to be seen with him. His entire life had involved facing the fact he was a shameful secret, and his rational self understood that no lady could effectively explain away being alone with a man, any man, in the dead of night. He always managed to master his emotions, but she somehow succeeded in leading them into rebellion. “I’ll get you inside with none being the wiser.”
Ceasing her survey of trees and windows, she swung around to face him. “How?”
“I’m a man of many talents.” He held out his arm. “Come on. We’ll go ’round to the back.”
When she placed her hand on his arm, he noted a small tremble. She was far more upset than she was letting on, and he recognized that she had every right to be. The future she’d planned could come crashing around her with the discovery of the night’s adventures. He escorted her around the side of the house and into the back gardens, then along the path that led to the servants’ entrance. Once there, he knocked briskly on the door.
“You’re going to awaken people.”
“Only one if we keep very quiet.”
A young lad of about twelve, no doubt the duke’s boot boy, opened the door and squinted out. His eyes widened. “Lady Aslyn! What are you doing out here?”
Mick held up a coin. “If you ask no questions, seek no answers and forget that you were awakened tonight by a knock on the door, I’ve a sovereign for you.”
The boy grinned. “I can forget. Easy as pie.”
Mick flipped the coin toward him, and the lad caught it handily. He turned to Aslyn. “In with you.”
“Thank you, Mr.—”
“No names.”
“Right. Thank you for seeing me safely home.”
“It was my pleasure.”
She seemed to hesitate as though there was more she wanted to say. Finally, she gave a little nod. “Good night, then.”
“Sleep well, Lady Aslyn.” Generous sentiment on his part when he hoped she slept not at all, preferring she toss and turn with thoughts of him.
She skirted past the lad holding the door, and he watched her rush toward the darkness, watched as it swallowed her up, and she disappeared completely. Everything within him wanted to go after her, wanted to save her from the heartache that was to come. But he’d waited so long, schemed so carefully. He couldn’t allow a mere slip of a girl with a tipped-up nose and a crooked smile to thwart him. Shoving back his doubts and ignoring the possibility of regrets, he tossed another sovereign to the boy. “That’s so if I ever call upon you to remember this night, you do so in extreme detail.”
“I can remember it all.”
“Smart lad. There will be four more of those for you if you recount those details to the persons I indicate.” He leaned down. “And just so all the details are clear, I go by the name of Mick Trewlove.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you, lad, should I need to find you, who do I ask for?” Since Aslyn hadn’t called the boy by name, he doubted she even knew who he was.
“Toby. Toby Williams. I’m His Grace’s boot boy.”
“Remember, Toby Williams, His Grace’s boot boy, not a word to anyone without my permission.” Turning on his heel, he headed back up the path, already arguing with himself, already knowing he’d just wasted a sovereign. He’d never call on Toby Williams to tell a soul what he knew.
Chapter 13
She hardly slept at all.
Sitting at a table in the gardens, reflecting on the tossing and turning and tangled mess of her sheets when she’d finally arisen from her bed, all she could surmise was that her body had been in need of . . . fulfillment was the word that came to mind. It was as though spending so much time in the company of Mick Trewlove had wound up her feminine yearnings until they’d felt a need to explode like a host of fireworks.
Guilt surged through her because she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him. She shouldn’t have gone to see him, shouldn’t have allowed him to get so close, and most certainly should not have succumbed to the temptation of his kiss. How was it that he managed to elicit all these urges when Kip didn’t? Quite possibly because he kissed her with far more enthusiasm than the earl, that he gazed upon her as though she encompassed his entire world. Kip never looked at her with intense heat burning in his eyes, with desire and longing and . . . want. It was the last that unsettled her the most.
Because there was a secretive part of her that yearned for more than casual touches, a gentle press of lips and polite conversation. There was a part that longed for the wickedness.
And Mick provided it. He was a . . .
She didn’t know how to describe him: a scoundrel, a rake, a rogue. A man. A man who made her very much aware she was a woman. Even now memories of his touch, his mouth playing over hers was enough to make her feel as though the sun had dropped from the sky and fallen into her lap.
“Not making any calls today?”
Startled, she looked up to see the duchess standing there. “No, I thought . . . I thought to just enjoy the gardens, some tea . . .” My own company for fear a stray thought of Mick Trewlove might cause me to blush unbecomingly at inappropriate times. “Would you care to join me?”
“You seem lost in thought. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“You could never intrude. Please.” She began pouring tea into an extra teacup that had been on the tray when the servant brought it to her, as though she couldn’t envision her ladyship not being joined by someone. “I’ve grown quite bored with my own company already.”
The duchess sat, elegantly and delicately, as she always did. A good strong wind would no doubt blow her away. “What were you thinking of? Your wedding?”
“In a manner. Did anyone other than the duke ever take your fancy?”
She smiled softly, as though in remembrance. “I had a swarm of beaux, but they were all pleasant, like a warm summer afternoon. Then I met Hedley, and he ignited a storm within me. With him, I felt alive.” She shook her head. “It’s difficult to explain.” Her gaze zeroed in on Aslyn. “Are you having doubts?”
Aslyn took hold of her teacup as though it could provide her with some sort of st
ability, when the bone china was likely to crumble if she held on too tightly. “I do love Kip. I just don’t know if it’s the sort of love a woman should have for a man she’s to marry. I suppose of late, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to the intimacy of marriage”—she released a self-conscious laugh—“and I’m just having a difficult time envisioning it.” With Kip.
“The experience can be quite lovely. I’m certain Kip will lead you into it gently.” Averting her gaze, she sipped her tea, a blush creeping along her cheeks. Aslyn realized she probably was not at all comfortable contemplating her son in bed with her ward. Not that she blamed her.
“Do you think the duke cared for anyone before you?”
The duchess sighed. “It’s quite possible. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know, but ladies adored him. He was so handsome and charming. I could hardly fault them.” She set her cup down and held Aslyn’s gaze. “Yes, I suspect there was someone before me. But whoever she was, she couldn’t hold on to him. And since we’ve married, he’s never strayed and that’s what matters.” Reaching across the table, she placed her hand over Aslyn’s. “Love grows with time and deepens over the years. You’ll have struggles and challenges, but you’ll lean on each other and your relationship will grow stronger.”
Aslyn worried that the trials they might face would not be ones they could easily overcome—not when they were the result of one person’s actions, actions that could be controlled, altered, changed if he so chose, which he apparently did not.
“I’ve always thought of Kip as a dear friend, as my . . . destiny.” She laughed lightly, embarrassed by the absurd remark. “I’ve never looked at anyone else, never considered anyone else, never doubted Kip’s devotion to me or mine to him.”
“Are you doubting now? Has he done something to warrant your qualms?”
How could she tell his mother about the lost pearls and comb? “I’m certain the reservations rest with me, with my recent worry that I’ve not experienced enough of life to know for certain I’m making the correct decision. I’ve never spent any considerable time in the company of another gentleman.”
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