“Your parents should have protected you. They were greatly at fault, and I’m sure have had time to realise the fact.”
“They did protect me—too much, unfortunately. It quite drove me away from them. I was like a caged songbird. I despise keeping birds in cages, don’t you?”
He ran his hand up and down her back. It felt so good to have her in his arms. The vibration of her voice, the feel of her cheek against his chest, was starting to scramble his thoughts.
“I wondered. Would you… Might you consider allowing me to pay court to you? With your parents’ permission, this time, as I wouldn’t want to make enemies of them.”
He felt her shocked intake of breath. Deuce take it—he’d spoken too soon. “Please, don’t refuse me outright.” He couldn’t bear that. “Just give my offer consideration. And please understand, I’m not doing it out of pity. I genuinely think we’d make a good match. Mama likes you. You know your way around Spyle—”
Damnation, he was rambling now. He’d been so much more composed when he’d proposed to Josephine.
“You have lost someone too recently, Conall. There’s a hole in your life, and you think to fill it with me. That is no basis for a marriage.”
“Wise words, Miss Feelings. You know me better than I know myself. But be in no doubt, my attachment to you is genuine. I only wish I’d found you before that benighted Frederick Ebbworth did.”
She shivered in his arms, then pushed away. “Oh, Conall, can we leave this place now, please? I don’t think I can bear waiting about for Frederick to return.”
“Back to Spyle Court?”
“I don’t know. I’m so confused. What you just offered—I never expected it. I don’t know what to think or do.” She pressed a hand against her midriff, and he feared she was about to faint.
“Of course, we can go. We can go immediately. We can go to my London house if you want to get further away from here. Pack everything you want to take with you. I’ll run down and fetch the coach.”
She gazed up at him tearfully. “Thank you. Please hurry back.”
As he cantered down the stairs, he made up his mind to head for Essex, whether he informed Hestia of that fact or no. Once reconciled with her parents, she would have stability in her life. From that secure position, she could give his offer of marriage due consideration. And he would have already found favour with her parents by restoring her to them. Or so he hoped.
As he ran down the street towards the White Hart, fear almost drove him back again. What if Frederick were to return, and find her there alone? He must make haste. Never again would he allow that man to steal everything he cared about.
Chapter 11
It was late to be setting out on a journey, but the July days were long, so there was every hope they would make Newbury before dark.
Hestia gazed across at her handsome travelling companion, to find him, as she had expected, staring at her again. She shifted uncomfortably, wishing he’d brought a book, or that he’d look out the window, or fall asleep. His constant examination of her filled her stomach with a million fluttering wings.
Conall smiled, the breadth of his grin somewhat at odds with the dangerous air given him by the eyepatch. He’d removed his hat, and dark waves of hair tumbled over his forehead and ears. She wanted to tidy it, brush it back from the masculine brow and ruggedly-cut jaw. But for now, she’d settle for that smile. It made the butterflies in her stomach perform a mad dance, but it was not an unpleasant sensation.
“Are you trying to see into my soul, sir?”
The grin broadened. “Why would a man who only cared about facts want to do such a thing?”
“Then what are you thinking? Why do you stare at me so?”
“I am thinking about what might happen when we get to Newbury.”
They had agreed to stay at Conall’s London residence in the first instance. It had been shut up for the summer, it being an unfashionable time of year to be in the city, but he was confident it could be readied quickly by the staff who remained there. She’d agreed eagerly. London was far enough from Bath for Frederick to have no influence there, and they could sort out their problems without Lady Corsbury’s interruptions. Besides which, Hestia longed to visit the Great Metropolis again. This time, as a woman of full age, in the company of a man of Conall’s standing, she could take time to enjoy the place, instead of being herded hither and thither at speed by her overly-protective parents.
Her thoughts jumped back to what Conall had just said. “What do you mean by ‘what might happen’? We will stop at an inn and change horses, I imagine.”
“We’ll have to overnight at Newbury, Miss Normanton. As they are not expecting us, who knows what accommodation will be available?”
A thrill of excitement skittered down her back. Was he wondering if they’d have to share a room? Perhaps even a bed? But he’d no doubt do the gentlemanly thing and sleep on the settle, or whatever was available.
She laughed at herself. What was the point in being miss-ish when she was already ruined? Though being twice ruined was probably quite a bad thing in the eyes of Society.
“Don’t worry.” His voice was a purr. “I will give it out that we’re married. No one would dare question an aristocrat like myself.”
“But I don’t look like a lady. I have nothing of any quality to wear, and no maid to accompany me. Nor have you a valet. Or any luggage, come to think of it.”
“Mere details. You’ll be surprised how many doubts are assuaged by a show of confidence.”
“I can imagine.”
“Are you saying I’m pompous?” The dark eye looked almost black in the shadowy carriage.
“I shall answer that question once I’ve got to know you better.”
“Which I hope will be very soon.”
He’d responded so quickly, she couldn’t help but wonder if his thoughts were running along the same road as hers. She hoped not, because the sight of those dimples and the idea of sharing a room had opened up luscious visions in her imagination.
“As I have now revealed everything to you—” Bother. That was a poor choice of words.
He quirked an eyebrow at her, bringing her to the blush.
“I mean, now I’ve been honest with you, you can get to know me better without any deception.”
“Very well. I shall put some questions to you then, Miss Hestia Normanton. Who is your father?”
“Colonel William Normanton. He used to command the North Essex Regiment of Foot.”
“At Waterloo?”
“No. He retired a few months before that battle took place.”
“Where does he live?”
Could she trust Conall with this information? She let out a sigh. She was trusting him with pretty much everything else, including her person. What harm could it do?
“My parents live at Clement’s House, in the small town of Thaxted, in Essex. Do you know it?”
His expression was shuttered. Was he disappointed she was a mere colonel’s daughter?
“No, I’ve never set foot in Essex, despite the London house being on the eastern edge of town. I’ve never even ventured as far as Hatfield.”
He didn’t sound particularly interested. Which was a relief.
Leaning forward, so their knees were touching, he took her hand in his and began a rhythmic stroking motion across the back of it. “Tell me about yourself, now, Hestia. What do you enjoy, what age are you? What were your favourite lessons as a child?”
What did she enjoy? The feel of his warm fingers on her skin, for a start.
“I… um… I enjoyed Latin and poetry. I’m not overly keen on arithmetic, but perfectly capable of keeping household accounts. As I mentioned before, I very much like making pickles and conserves, and cooking is quite a comfort to me, especially making a good meal from very little. I am of full age—I turned one-and-twenty in early June.”
“Excellent. So, we wouldn’t need to go to Gretna.”
He was jesting, sure
ly. He hadn’t genuinely considered carrying her off to Gretna Green to wed her, had he? His eye was bright as he looked at her, but she couldn’t be sure if he was teasing.
“What else do you like?” He turned her hand over, and traced his forefinger across the palm, before circling the underside of her wrist. The impact of his touch thundered through her until she felt her whole body was poised and waiting for more. A great deal more. She gulped, then closed her eyes, letting herself enjoy the tingles of delight his touch ignited in her, but he immediately removed his hand.
Her eyes flicked open.
“Sorry. I thought I’d better stop if you wanted to sleep.”
While he was stroking her like that? Never in a million years. She wouldn’t want to miss a single glorious minute. “How can I sleep when you are tantalising me so?”
The dimples appeared, and her whole body warmed. “Welcome, or a nuisance?”
He’d think her fast if she admitted his touch was welcome. But what of it? He knew she was no blushing virgin—there was no point pretending otherwise.
“Welcome.”
He sat back, a smug look on his face. “Good. Unfortunately, we’ve hit a bouncy bit of road, and I cannot maintain my usual finesse. So, if you wish to sleep, feel free to do so. I can offer you a shoulder.”
It had, indeed, become very bumpy. The coach lurched, and their knees crashed together. Hurriedly, she shifted across to sit on the seat beside him. He placed an arm around her shoulders and cradled her against his side. “Less risk of bruises this way.”
“Very practical,” she muttered against his chest. He felt familiar and comfortable, but at the same time dangerous and unpredictable. The rhythmic rise and fall of his rib cage, the steady pulse of his heart beneath her ear, infused her body with joy—and an odd sensation of having, somehow, come home.
Chapter 12
“Wake up, Hestia. We’ve arrived.”
Wake up? She shifted and raised her head, her neck stiff. “Have I been asleep?”
Amusement bubbled in Conall’s voice as he helped her straighten her bonnet. “Almost all the way since Marlborough. I’ve been miserably lonely. See, it’s almost dusk.”
She peered out the window of the carriage and saw he was correct. “You should have woken me.”
“You haven’t missed anything, I assure you. Here, I’ll get out and help you down.”
Before long they were safely ensconced in a not-unpleasant pair of rooms at the Eagle Inn in Newbury. One of the chambers was a sitting room, where they dined on baked carp, pickled beets and fresh peas. Conversation was somewhat awkward—Hestia was very much aware there was only one bedchamber, which sported an ornate canopied bed made at least two centuries ago. There was no settle or pull-out truckle bed. Perhaps if she slept under the covers and he slept on top…
She drank rather more than she usually would, aiming to settle her nerves. Part of her was desperate for something to happen between them tonight. Another part was terrified she would disappoint him, so it was better not to even try. How quickly he’d become an essential part of her existence!
Moving across to the window, she gazed out, hoping for distraction. Night had settled as a starless void in the cloudy sky, and small orange points of light flickered out one after another as the citizens of Newbury sought their beds. She didn’t have long in which to decide whether or not she cared for Conall enough to give herself to him.
She did care for him enough. Her desire for him was genuine. But she’d been played false once—it would be all too easy to fall into the same trap again.
Conall’s voice made her jump. “I need to have a word with the landlord about tomorrow morning. I also want to check on Miners and Gaisford, and ensure they have good accommodation. I don’t fancy driving into London tomorrow with a grumpy coachman and an irritable footman. In the meantime, I suggest you get yourself ready for bed.”
The last was an innocent enough remark, but she couldn’t help but infuse it with another meaning entirely. She’d been with Frederick too long—he had totally spoiled her for other men.
A good dousing with cold water from the ewer on the tiny dressing table would sort out her unruly thoughts. Having done that, she fought with her clothing, then realised she’d need help with the lacing at the back. Bother! There’d always been someone else to do it for her. Now she’d have to ask Conall.
Thank heaven for the wine she’d had with supper. It made her braver than she would have been otherwise. By the time he returned, she was kneeling on the bed wearing only her corset and shift.
“Not that I’m complaining, but I thought you’d be undressed and in bed by now.” He peeled off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair.
“You can take that smirk off your face. I’m not in this state of undress in order to tantalise you. I just need some help. Please.”
“Pity.” He unknotted his cravat and put that on the chair too. “Just a moment. I’d like to get out of this.” He applied his fingers to the brass buttons of his waistcoat, and she watched the undoing of each one with increasing hunger. Had he no shame? And what was she doing watching him? Despite knowing it was wicked, she couldn’t take her eyes off him as he shouldered out of the waistcoat, unbuttoned and stepped out of his breeches, then sat on a chair to remove his shoes and stockings. This left him in just his shirt, which was—mercifully—long.
Good. At least he had some clothing to sleep in, and she would soon be unlaced, in bed, and able to rest.
But all thoughts of relaxing fled as he turned his back to her, drew his shirt over his head, then dropped it into the corridor before closing the door. She clapped her hands to her eyes as he came towards the bed, but not before her mind had taken an instant likeness of his body—which was, quite simply, magnificent. Where Frederick was slender and sinewy, Conall was broad and muscular, with a wide chest and narrow hips. Completely compelling.
The blood flowed into her face, and to other, more secret places as well. Could he detect her flush through her fingers? Wretched man. He knew exactly what he was doing.
“Stand up, please. I can’t unlace you on the bed. Well, I could, but the other way would be quicker.”
She started. His voice was right by her ear. How had he managed to move so fast in silence? Keeping her eyes averted from his unashamed nakedness, she stood, but her mind kept redrawing the image of his superbly masculine body, now standing right behind her, radiating heat into her back.
His fingers were swift and sure, his right hand no clumsier than his left. As soon as she was free of her corsets, her nipples peaked in sheer wantonness.
Cool air feathered her back, and moments later she heard the rustle of bedclothes.
“You can open your eyes now. I’m perfectly decent and in bed. You’ll have to forgive me—I needed to send my shirt to be washed and dried, so I have something clean to wear on the morrow.”
She opened her eyes, then pondered his use of the word ‘decent’. He’d pulled the covers barely above his hips, and was leaning back against the pillows, his hands behind his head, observing her.
Heat pooled between her legs. Glory, but she only had to look at the man, and she was already aching for him! If only she’d known there were men in the world like him, she’d never have settled for Frederick. The demands of her body were rapidly getting the better of her common sense.
“You look hot, sweeting. Shall I open the window?”
And expose himself to her again? A lump formed in her throat. “Yes please, if you would.”
This time, she permitted herself the luxury of devouring him with her eyes, admiring the white rounded buttocks, the firm thighs, the smooth skin of his back. So different to Frederick, who had weals across his, from an undeserved flogging he refused to talk about.
She pretended to look away as Conall returned, then realised he’d removed his right glove. As he sat upright beside her in the bed, she gestured at his hand. “May I see?”
After a moment’s
hesitation, he extended it towards her. She held it softly, examining the pits in the skin, the white scars and whorls of darkened flesh, particularly on the undersides of the fingers and his palm. He had his war wounds too, just like Frederick.
She kissed the scars, then relinquished Conall’s hand. “Does it hurt?”
“It aches. Even though the flesh is healed, the bones beneath are in a distressed state. I’m learning how to manage the pain, but I’m also training my left hand as a substitute in case of need. I even fence left-handed now, and ride one-handed too.”
She allowed her eyes to travel slowly up his torso, enjoying every mounded muscle and curve, until she met his gaze. Reaching gingerly for his eyepatch, she traced her fingers over the puckered skin at the edges. “May I see this as well?”
He grinned. “As I said before, this is the last thing you will ever get off me.”
Her focus snagged on the grin. Then his mouth changed, hardened. He leaned into her, one arm enfolding her, and kissed her. She went still, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder, letting him move his lips over hers.
This was how it began. Him naked, her, almost. The commodious bed, the sultry air, the titillating fragment of breeze that wafted across her bare arms and neck. She knew the drill. Yet this time, she suspected, would be very different.
“Kiss me back.” His voice was a low growl.
She complied immediately, her hand tangling in his hair, pulling his head close for maximum pressure, for maximum penetration when her lips parted, and his tongue delved into her mouth.
The heady unreality of desire enfolded her, and she drank greedily from Conall’s mouth, her hand dropping to his smooth shoulder again, then tracing his collarbone and the smattering of hair on his chest. Then, remembering what Frederick had liked, she broke the kiss and trailed her tongue down Conall’s breastbone and over his small male nipples. She sucked and nibbled delicately at each in turn until she was rewarded with the sight of an encouraging bulge under the covers, below his flat stomach.
Once Ruined, Twice Shy (Marry in Haste Collection Book 3) Page 7