Thea stared. This man, again, was nothing like the man she had come to know, but neither was he the haughty aristocrat of earlier. Was this how Vernon flirted with the females of the ton? Or was he mimicking those men he had told her of...the ones who made cakes of themselves, spouting poetry and prostrating themselves at the feet of a pretty girl, all for the sake of a pair of fine eyes? Those tales had kept Thea entertained during their long days in the saddle.
Miss Temple appeared impressed, however, for she started towards him, hands stretched out, crying, ‘My lord! Never! I shall not forsake you so cruelly.’
She caught his hand between hers and somehow their entwined hands were pressed to Vernon’s chest. Anger licked deep in Thea’s belly.
Mr Temple let forth a guffaw. ‘Delia, you are a naughty minx. Let go of his lordship this instant. And as for you, sir,’ he added as both Vernon and Cordelia broke apart, laughing, ‘I’ll thank you not to encourage my daughter in such nonsense.’
‘I cannot believe you saw through me so quickly,’ Vernon said, grinning. Then he sobered. ‘Not that I did not mean every word, of course.’
Cordelia laughed again and slapped his arm. ‘Of course.’
‘My lord! Tell her that ladies in London must not laugh uncontrollably nor make fun of gentlemen,’ Mr Temple said, his thick grey brows beetling. ‘We are going there in the fall, but you will be shunned if you make such a spectacle of yourself, Delia, and that’s a fact.’
Vernon raised his brows as he smiled ruefully. ‘I am afraid your father is correct, Miss Temple. I cannot conceive why, for it has never made sense to me that ladies are expected to control their emotions at all times, but it is so. You may smile, but it is frowned upon to laugh. Or to voice your opinion too forcefully. Or, indeed, to show enthusiasm. It is the height of fashion to be ennui.’
‘Well, that does not sound much fun to me,’ Cordelia announced. ‘I am not sure I wish to go to London after all, Pops. I can’t think of anything worse than spending my time a-fretting and a-flustering in case I’ve broken some unwritten rule.’
Thea, following behind once more, found herself in full agreement.
‘Well, well, we shall see,’ Mr Temple said. ‘There is time yet to change our plans. I must say...’ he tipped his head towards Vernon ‘...I have wondered if it is wise to take my Cordelia to London. I didn’t expect that news about Perceval. Shocking! I expect such lawlessness in America—it is very primitive in parts, with savages and such—but I never thought to hear of a British Prime Minister being assassinated and that’s a fact. Is London safe?’
‘It is as safe as anywhere, sir. No one can pre-empt a madman, such as the fellow who shot Perceval. It is quite unprecedented. Your daughter will be perfectly safe from gunmen, although I cannot promise the same safety against fortune hunters. I fear London society has its fair share of such men—as does Worcester, no doubt—and you will do well to be on your guard. You can never be too careful.’
Mr Temple slapped Vernon on the back. ‘You can be sure I’ve got my wits about me, my lord. It’ll take a real sly critter to put one over on Samuel Temple and that’s a fact.’
They reached a point on the bank opposite the cathedral and Temple turned to Vernon and thrust out a large hand.
‘Good to meet you, my lord. You too, Theo, m’lad. We get the ferry here, back across to the cathedral.’ A white and green boat, the name Betty painted on her bow, was moored by a small wooden jetty. ‘Shall we say dinner at six tomorrow? It’ll only be us and our friend Mr Mannington if he is back in time, so no need for young Theo to get himself in a fuss about it.’
‘Mannington?’ Vernon flicked a warning glance at Thea and she realised she had gasped out loud. ‘Is he from America, too?’
‘No. We met in Liverpool the night our ship docked. It was a lucky coincidence...we both have interests in the cotton manufactories in the Manchester area, so we travelled there together and then, blow me down, when we came here it was only to find he lives not four miles away. He persuaded us to stay here for the summer rather than go to Brighton as I intended.’ He nudged Vernon with his elbow. ‘He’s the cousin of a dook, y’know. One up on a viscount—eh, m’lord?’
Thea bit back a grin as astonishment flitted across Vernon’s expression. No doubt he was unused to such familiarity.
‘Oh, indubitably so,’ he murmured. ‘Although...much as I hate to correct you...a duke is, in fact, three up on a viscount.’
‘Three up!’ Mr Temple emitted a low whistle. ‘Well, I’ll be.’ He nudged Vernon once again. ‘I bet you wish you were related to a dook, eh, my lord?’
‘I am perfectly content with my birthright, sir,’ Vernon said.
A smile was by now tugging at the corner of his mouth. He bowed.
‘It was a pleasure to meet you both,’ he said, ‘and I thank you for the invitation to dine tomorrow, which we gladly accept. I, for one, cannot wait to make the acquaintance of a real-life cousin of a duke.’
‘Aw, shucks, now you’re pulling my leg, my lord. You’ll have to forgive me and my rough-and-ready ways. So long, young Theo, m’lad.’ He waved to the ferryman, leaning on his oars. ‘Come along, Delia, time we moved along.’
He raised his land in farewell and Cordelia smiled, first at Vernon and then at Thea.
‘Goodbye,’ she said. ‘I shall look forward to seeing you both tomorrow.’
Vernon remounted Warrior and they enjoyed a canter, still following the course of the Severn. As it curved, beyond the city, an encampment came into view and Vernon brought Warrior to a halt.
‘A gipsy camp, by the look of it,’ he said. ‘We shall turn back. It is better not to intrude.’
‘I have always found the gipsies to be friendly enough,’ Thea said, taking in the colourful wagons, the tents and the cooking fires. ‘I had not thought you to be prejudiced against them, not after what you said to the constable in Harborne.’
‘I am not prejudiced. They often camp on my land in Devon and work during the harvest or mend bits and pieces. They are friendly to a point, but they do not welcome outsiders and they are protective of their own.’
A tall man with dark, curly hair emerged from the nearest tent. He watched them expressionlessly, his hands relaxed by his sides.
‘That camp is their home, albeit temporary,’ Vernon continued, turning Warrior. ‘I have no wish to stir resentment.’
She smiled at him. ‘You are right.’ She reined Star around, pointing her head back upstream. ‘Come on. I’ll race you.’
Vernon followed with a whoop. He seemed to hold Warrior back at first, but Thea—familiar with both animals—knew Star needed no preferential treatment. Vernon clearly reached the same conclusion and he gave the bay his head. They finished nose to nose, both riders slightly breathless, the horses blowing.
‘We must walk them now and let the horses cool,’ Thea said, stroking Star’s damp neck.
The road back to the Crown was busy with carts and coaches and they were forced to ride in single file, precluding conversation, for which Thea was grateful. When they arrived back, Bickling came out to take charge of the horses.
‘You go on up,’ Vernon said to Thea. ‘I must speak to Bickling. I will see you at dinner.’
* * *
That evening, Vernon raised a forkful of pigeon pie to his mouth and chewed, eyeing the woman sitting opposite him at the dining table in their private parlour. He still cringed at the memory of his ridiculous posturing after Cordelia had asked Thea to walk with her. It had been the only way he could think to divert her—he didn’t believe Thea’s disguise would pass such close scrutiny—and so he had put on an act. Thank goodness neither of the Temples had been fooled into thinking he was serious; he did have some pride.
‘Miss Temple seems nice,’ Thea remarked after a period of silence.
He h
ad wondered how long it would take her to bring the conversation around to the American visitors. He still could not fathom her feelings. Was she angry with him? Or—and his heart twitched in hope at the thought—was she perhaps a little jealous at the attention he had paid to Cordelia Temple?
She was so easy to read in so many ways and yet when it came to her feelings for him she was a closed book. He felt...he groped for the right word. Off balance. That was it. An uncomfortable and unaccustomed feeling for him, especially where women were concerned. But then, his uncertainty about what she thought and felt was no greater than his uncertainty about what he truly thought and felt.
About her.
He did not deny he liked Thea. He liked her very much indeed. And the more time he spent in her company, the more he liked her. He looked forward to seeing her every day. But did his feelings run deeper than that? Yes, he wanted her physically, but was that desire partly driven by these extraordinary circumstances, and because he was honour bound to safeguard her virtue, even from himself...especially from himself? All he did know was it was getting harder to stick to his principles.
He had never before, he realised with a start, been such close friends with a woman he was not related to. And that thought led to another...what if she were a member of his family? The thought rattled him. He had no need to wed. His life was fulfilled as it was. Why look for complications?
He swallowed his food, conscious she was waiting for him to respond.
‘You did not give the impression that you much cared for her company,’ he said.
She pierced him with her hazel eyes, green specks glinting in the candlelight.
‘It did not take two of us to act like lovelorn fools,’ she snapped.
Vernon pondered that as he continued to eat. Was there a hint of jealousy there, or was this simply more of her scathing dismissal of the idle aristocracy? She did not appear to be waiting for his reply, attacking her food with more enthusiasm than he had yet seen.
‘Acting being the pertinent word here,’ he commented finally.
She raised her gaze to his.
‘My dear Dotty...’
Her eyes flashed her anger. It did help, somewhat, if she was irritated with him and teasing came naturally...it was easier to tease her than to find himself resorting to charm. God knew where that might lead.
‘You forget that I am not a viscount in need of a wife and family to continue my family name and to inherit entailed estates. I am still a bachelor for a reason... I have no need to wed.’
She swallowed her food. ‘Very sensible. I should imagine rakish aristocrats do not make comfortable husbands.’
‘You look for comfort in a husband?’
‘I look for nothing. I look for no husband, as you well know.’
‘But if you did look for one?’ He couldn’t help himself, even though this conversation could become treacherous. ‘Comfort would be your first consideration?’
Their gazes fused, the food forgotten.
‘I think an uncomfortable husband would result in an unhappy life.’
‘But what of passion? Desire? Did you not feel those emotions with...?’ His voice trailed into silence.
Her jaw set. ‘With Jasper? Mannington, I mean.’ She sighed, her shoulders dropping, and used her knife to push her remaining food into a neat heap at the side of her plate. ‘I felt... I don’t know...happy, flattered, eager to set up home together. I suppose I must have thought myself in love with him, but—looking back—I wonder if I was more in love with the notion of being married and having a family than with the man himself.’ A tight, bitter smile stretched her lips. ‘I was very soon cured of that nonsense.’ She put down her knife with a clatter. ‘Quite what my marital intentions have to do with your flirtation with Miss Temple I fail to understand, but I warn you...do not raise false expectations as to your intentions merely because it suits your purpose.’
‘She is no fool. I’ll wager she knows enough of the world to understand that not every man who pays her some attention wishes to marry her and she has her father to protect her from rakes and fortune hunters.’
‘And yet they are friends with J—Henry Mannington and I notice she hung on every word that left your mouth.’
Vernon shrugged. ‘Can I help it if I have that effect on women?’
Thea flushed a deep red. ‘Not every woman,’ she said in her endearing, gruff little voice. ‘You believe yourself to be irresistible, but you are not.’
‘Am I not, Thea?’
Vernon stretched across the table and captured her hand, holding just firmly enough to stop her tugging it free. It was tiny and warm and soft, the bones fragile, and his heart swelled with the urge to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless, to show her what real desire and passion was, to demonstrate what she was missing, what she had shut out of her life.
‘Vernon...’
She pulled again at her hand, but he tightened his grip. A light blush crept from her neck to wash her cheeks. Without any conscious thought as to his actual intention, he stood up and rounded the table, tugging her to her feet. He reached for her other hand and stroked her knuckles with his thumbs. Her lids lowered to shield her gaze, but he saw the tremble of her lip. Surely he could not be mistaken? She was not unaffected. She no longer tried to pull free, but her posture was stiff. Tense.
What would I give to know exactly what she is thinking? A king’s ransom, that’s what.
He released one hand and nudged her chin up so her face tilted to meet his gaze. Her eyes were wide—questioning and, yes, uncertain. Then they darkened as her pupils dilated, her shoulders slumped and he felt the warmth of her breath as it feathered across his cheek and heard her whispered gasp as it escaped her lips. A wave of desire sent the blood powering to his groin and he felt the heavy weight of arousal. He pulled her close to his chest, folding his arms around her. She was so tiny. Fragile. And yet she was strong, too, in her spirit and her resolve. The desire to protect, and to avenge, flowed through him and he breathed a deep sigh before letting her go, dropping his arms to his sides.
He had proved to himself she was not immune to him, but he felt an utter bastard, particularly because he still wasn’t sure these feelings she aroused in him were not just as a result of them being thrown together in this unnatural way.
But Thea did not step away when he released her. Instead, she reached up and slipped one hand behind his neck, pressing the length of her body to his. Her eyes asked a different question now, no longer uncertain but assured as she went on tiptoes and her mouth sought his.
Chapter Seventeen
Her lips were warm and sweet and open to his questing tongue. With a deep groan, Vernon gathered Thea to him, his exploring hands registering the strangeness of the rough cloth of her jacket and the peculiar rigidity of her back and sides due to the bindings under her shirt. His hands moved lower and he cupped her softly rounded cheeks, lifting to pull her hard against him. He thrust aside the warnings that screamed through his mind as he kissed her and allowed his hands to roam. Her fingers combed through his hair, caressing his skull. He should stop, but...
He did not want to. He wanted more. He wanted her.
He cradled her face in his hands, her cheeks silky to his touch as he devoured her sweetness. He speared his fingers through her soft curls, scattering butterfly kisses over her cheeks, her brows, her eyelids. He feathered kisses along the angle of her jaw and slid his lips to her ear, sweeping his tongue around the delicate shell, then caught her lobe between his teeth and tugged gently, nibbling. She moaned, pushing her hands beneath his jacket and around his back, caressing as she pressed closer.
Time stood still. Nothing else existed. Only Thea, in his arms, her soft lips open to him and her body nestling into his. His heart felt as though it cracked open, welcoming her in to fill a gap he had not known
existed until now, but a gap that had always been there. And it was Thea-shaped. She fitted perfectly. She made him whole.
It was Thea who ended that kiss, who stepped back, bringing her hands between them, resting them on his chest. Reluctantly, he released her, shoving his fingers through his hair.
‘Someone might come in.’ She pressed her fingers to her mouth, her eyes huge and luminous, her cheeks rosy. She uttered a strangled-sounding laugh. ‘That would take a bit of explaining.’
Vernon returned to his chair and stood behind it, watching her closely and, once again, uncertain of which path to take. He was cautious of forging ahead, as he’d like to. After her experience with Mannington, her trust would be slowly gained. It could not be demanded.
‘Should I apologise?’ he asked.
‘No!’ Startled. Vehement. ‘Why should you apologise? I kissed you.’ She sighed and dropped down on her chair, propping her elbows on the table and dropping her head into her hands. ‘Shameful as that must seem to you.’
Vernon gripped the back rail of the chair. ‘Shameful? Why should I think it shameful?’
She huffed a bitter laugh. ‘I might not be part of your world, Vernon, but I do know that my behaviour would be viewed as scandalous. And in my world, too, come to that.’
She avoided his gaze. ‘Whereas your behaviour...you would no doubt receive a pat on the back from your peers and an indulgent shrug of the shoulders from your womenfolk. Men are permitted indulgences such as stealing a kiss when the opportunity presents. A woman behaving in such a way is to be scorned.’
‘Then it is fortunate that no one other than you and I were witness to it.’ Vernon sat down again, feeling curiously deflated. Did it mean nothing more to her than a stolen kiss? ‘After all, what is a kiss between friends?’
Her eyes shuttered. ‘Indeed.’ Her tone was careless. ‘It was merely a...a trifling experiment between friends.’
Scandal and Miss Markham (The Beauchamp Betrothals) Page 17