Secrets of a Gentleman Escort

by Bronwyn Scott

  Annorah widened her smile. She would get through this. She would let herself enjoy this and not think of all the ‘lasts’. ‘Thomas, this is Nicholas.’

  Nicholas offered the boy a hand to shake. ‘I’m here to help Miss Annorah with her books.’ That was a very clever way to put it without telling the child an actual lie, Annorah thought.

  Thomas was their personal welcoming committee. He ran ahead of them to the tree where the children were assembled, shouting the news that Miss Norah had brought a friend. There was the initial chaos of introductions as Annorah tried to introduce all the children by name and Nicholas at the same time.

  Vicar Norton was thrilled to meet Nicholas, declaring having three adults would make the reading circles so much better. ‘I’ve always found smaller groups are more conducive for learning. One can’t rely on others as much. It encourages responsibility for what one knows and sometimes for what one doesn’t know,’ he confided as he broke the children into their sections.

  Annorah shot Nicholas a covert glance to see how he was taking it all. Surely he hadn’t got up this morning, thinking to spend the day under a tree reading with children. Regardless of what he thought he’d be doing, he didn’t seem to mind this change of plan. He was smiling and nodding at whatever the vicar was saying and two children, Danny and Esme, had already attached themselves to each of his hands.

  Before long, all three groups were settled in the shade. Little Annie was in Annorah’s lap and all was as usual, except that her eyes kept straying to the spot where Nicholas sat, looking entirely at ease. Every once in a while she’d catch his voice saying things like, ‘Try that sentence again, you’ve almost got it. Remember, the A will say its name because the word ends in an E. There, that’s very good.’ Or, sometimes sternly, but never meanly, ‘Jack, you have to sit still. We’re not done yet.’

  The sight and sound of him working with the children did odd things to her stomach that had nothing to do with her impending dilemma. He would have made a fine headmaster; strict but kind.

  * * *

  When lessons were done, he played tag with some while Annorah made daisy wreaths with others. He was ‘it’ and he was sweeping the children up and swinging them around in wide circles when he caught them, much to their screams of delight.

  Annorah nearly lost her composure then. Watching him like this was as potent as the fantasy he’d woven last night. His hair had come loose from all the rough-housing, his jacket was off, his sleeves rolled up, a huge smile on his face as he played with the children. He looked like he was having fun, genuine fun, like he’d looked yesterday at the river. There’d been moments—tugging in the fish, swimming—when he’d looked like this, like Nicholas, a person.

  Of course, that was a ridiculous conclusion. He was Nicholas, he always looked like Nicholas. But this Nicholas was different in some subtle way. This Nicholas was real. Her heart constricted with the power of this revelation. The Nicholas who sat at her dinner table, who had strolled in her garden and made clever innuendo and sent her silk nightgowns was likeable, too, very likeable. But there was a slickness to that man that put him beyond reality. He was a fantasy come to life, in some ways a product of her imagination. That was not the case with the man who cavorted on the grass with the children. This Nicholas was so very real it nearly brought tears to her eyes to watch the simple pleasure of them playing. This Nicholas would be a magnificent father, with love and time to give aplenty. The other Nicholas was easy to like. This Nicholas would be far too easy to love. This was a man she could want.

  At last, Nicholas led his troops over to her and plopped down beside her. ‘Did you make me one?’ He was sweaty and messy and his blue eyes were laughing as she slipped a daisy wreath over his head.

  ‘You’re fun, Mr Nick.’ Thomas scooted on to his lap. He hadn’t left Nicholas’s side since they’d arrived. ‘Will you come again? Please?’ Thomas looked beseechingly at Annorah, his earnest little face breaking her heart. ‘Please say you’ll bring him back.’

  Annorah bit her lip and cast a silent plea Nicholas’s direction. What to say? The truth? Would it be better to tell a half-truth and raise false hope?

  ‘Thomas, I’m not sure I’ll be back,’ Nicholas began, jiggling Thomas on to his lap. ‘I’m only here for a short while to help Miss Annorah with her books. Then I have to go back to London. I’d like to come again, but I don’t know if I will be able to.’ Before Thomas could protest, Nicholas leapt to his feet. ‘Who wants to come with me? I have an errand to run before Miss Annorah and I go.’ Within moments, he was off, a gaggle of children surrounding him like a noisy cloud, leaving Annorah to pick up the books and chat with the vicar.

  ‘Your friend is good with them.’ Vicar Norton helped collect the books and slates. He was a likeable man in his early fifties. He and his wife had been here five years now, ever since the last vicar had died. ‘He’s a good influence on them. Too often men don’t have time to spend with their families.’

  Annorah smiled. It was one of Norton’s favourite topics from the pulpit; the importance of fathers being more than breadwinners for their families. ‘I think he enjoyed himself today, too.’ She wondered what Vicar Norton might say if he knew what Nicholas really was, which was not exactly ‘family man’ material. How was it that a man so good with children would opt for the life Nicholas had chosen?

  Nicholas and the children were back. Nicholas carried something and he stopped by the gig to strap it to the back. Annorah felt a butterfly of excitement flutter in her stomach. Did he have something planned for them? Is that what she wanted after last night? Could she settle for the return of Slick Nick? An idea came to her—maybe she could keep Real Nick a while longer if she tried hard enough.

  They said goodbye to the children and set off, but not towards home. The day was sunny and warm and going home would only have meant facing uncomfortable truths. ‘Where are we going?’ Annorah asked.

  Nicholas winked playfully. ‘To the fairy fort. I have it on best authority from the children that nothing is better than a picnic there. I trust you’ll know where it is if I get lost? I have to say their directions were a bit jumbled.’

  Annorah laughed as he began describing the children’s directions. ‘Don’t worry, I know where it is. I hate to mention this, but we don’t have a picnic.’

  ‘Yes, we do. The children helped me find the inn and talk Mr Witherby into providing us with a lovely lunch.’

  Annorah felt her cares recede. She leaned back against the seat, closed her eyes and let the sun bathe her face. There was nothing better than this, a warm day, a drive in the country and an impending picnic at the old ring fort. ‘You couldn’t have known, but the fairy fort is one of my favourite places.’

  ‘Then I’m glad the children suggested it.’ There was a touching softness in his tone that made her open her eyes. He was looking at her, a quiet smile on his lips.

  She paused before she ventured the next question. ‘Did you mind?’

  Nicholas shook his head, understanding her reference immediately. ‘Not at all. I like children.’

  A gentleman escort who liked children. That was a wondrous thing indeed. She would have to ponder what that meant. Nicholas D’Arcy was a man full of surprises and she had all afternoon to probe them. What a delightful pastime that would be and an important one if she wanted to keep Real Nick with her.

  * * *

  This must be what a honeymoon feels like, Annorah thought as she settled on the blanket and soaked in the warm sun while she watched Nicholas race up and down a length of grass with a kite outside the fort ruins, trying to catch the breeze. So far they weren’t having much luck with the kite, but she didn’t mind. She was having too much fun watching Nicholas run, barefooted. His boots had been the first to go when they arrived. He wore only his shirt and breeches and looked utterly boyish with his dark hair tied loosely behind hi
m.

  She offered a few suggestions as he passed. ‘Let out the string, no, not too much.’ The kite caught on a breeze and for a moment it was aloft. Nicholas shot her an exultant look and she smiled back, trying to ignore how the simplest glance from him could make her pulse race.

  The kite swerved and crashed to the ground. Nicholas retrieved it and tried one more time to launch it. On his second attempt he gave up and fell on to the blanket beside her in a dramatic collapse. ‘I give up! There’s not enough wind.’

  Sweat shone on his brow, a product of the warm day and his efforts. She wanted to remember him just like this: hair loose, casually clothed, lying on his side, one bare leg propped up. She closed her eyes, trying to capture the image of Real Nick.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  She opened her eyes to find him smiling gamely at her. ‘I’m trying to make a picture of you,’ Annorah confessed some of it. She wanted to remember everything about today: the last reading lesson, the children all gathered around them, how it might have felt to have a family, to be a family. It would seem a rather odd fantasy to fulfil for someone in Nicholas’s profession. He probably didn’t get many requests to play a family. ‘I just wanted to remember—’

  He didn’t let her finish. Nicholas pressed a finger to her lips. ‘There will be no talk of that.’ He moved into her, kissing her softly. Would she ever get used to the way he touched her? The way he could make her feel with a simple kiss? Don’t you dare get used to it, part of her railed. It’s not real and he’ll be gone anyway. But not yet. There was still time to fall: into his kisses, into his arms, into love. Those were dangerous words.

  No, not love. She didn’t dare. Annorah looked up into his eyes. This only felt like a honeymoon. It wasn’t a real one. This wasn’t the beginning of a life together. It was the end of the life she knew. But it was a good end. Here in the sun, she was glad she’d done it even if last night had shown her the limits of what a fantasy could do. ‘I’m sorry for what I said this morning, about last night.’ She would not apologise for wanting more, only for expecting it.

  Her words seemed to catch him off guard. ‘Are you?’ His eyes were darkening, turning to midnight in the middle of the day.

  ‘Yes, I’m glad you’re here.’ Here at the end of all she knew. Of course, he’d be gone when the real end came, when her aunt sent the carriage that would take her to Badger Place and the dreaded house party and the odious suitor who waited for her final decision: the wilds of the North or her freedom in exchange for Hartshaven.

  * * *

  ‘I’m glad I’m here, too.’ Nicholas smiled warmly and reached for her, drawing her close to him on the blanket. A shadow had fallen across her face, reminding him that for all the apparent perfection of her life, there was darkness in her. He’d seen it assert itself with the children. It had seemed an odd place for it to show itself. The children clearly made her happy and she was just as good with them as he’d imagined. But the darkness had been there, none the less.

  He found himself eager to dispel that darkness. Annorah was a summer woman, with her mossy eyes and wild honey hair. She shouldn’t be beset with darkness. He didn’t think anyone else saw it. She masked it admirably and people weren’t used to seeing a difference in those they saw every day. People also didn’t see what they weren’t looking for. No one had any reason to seek out the darkness in Annorah Price-Ellis, a woman who looked as if she were living a charmed life. But a man like him knew there was no such thing as a charmed life—perhaps that’s why he saw it and others did not.

  He felt his body begin to stir. He knew one way to dispel dark thoughts. Perhaps if he tried again, he could find a way to be more engaged for her. Perhaps he could give her a little piece of him. If she wanted to touch his core, so be it. She was an extraordinary woman, she would want extraordinary things. He could pull himself back any time he wanted to.

  At least that’s what Nick told himself on the picnic blanket in the middle of Nowhere, west Sussex. ‘I’m having a grand time, Annorah.’ Nicholas laughed. ‘You’ve awakened the country boy in me. My city friends would be amazed. Do you know what else is fun to do on a picnic?’ Nicholas whispered at her ear.

  It was a rhetorical question. He undressed them both, then moved over her, slow and sure, his mouth on hers as he entered her. This was langorous coupling at its best. He knew of no finer way to make love than on a picnic blanket, outdoors in a warm afternoon; there was nothing like feeling summer air on bare skin to release one’s inhibitions, to feel at one with nature. With the slowness, the tenderness, he was promising her he’d be there at the end of it, that she would not make the journey to pleasure alone today.

  Annorah moaned as she stretched into him and Nicholas let the joy of honest lovemaking take him. In the midst of the enchanted summer afternoon, he let his carefully curbed restraint slip its leash, finding true release at last—a slow, cresting wave that rolled endlessly over both of them before depositing them on its far shore. Whether Annorah knew it or not, he’d just given her all he could, all he’d not given anyone in quite some time, certainly not since he’d come to London. It was one of an escort’s many secrets: avoid emotional attachment at all costs. As with any business, there was no room for sentiment and money.

  In the aftermath of their lovemaking, he wasn’t sure why he’d done it. He wasn’t sure he’d even planned to do it when he’d started. In the heat of coupling he’d simply been overcome.

  ‘I think it might be true that this place is enchanted,’ Annorah murmured, curled against his side, his arm wrapped about her. She traced a circle around the flat of his nipple with her finger. He revelled in her touch and what it signified. She was becoming comfortable with him. He could nudge them towards more sensual play if she was willing.

  ‘Is it?’ Nicholas was drowsy beside her. He’d be happy to chalk his choice today up to the work of fairies. It was better than the alternative.

  ‘All the Iron Age forts are enchanted around here. They’re considered the natural abode of fairies.’ Annorah gave a soft laugh. ‘We don’t have pirate gold like your home, but we have fairies, especially in west Sussex.’

  ‘I never said it was pirate gold,’ Nicholas corrected playfully. ‘So, what kind of fairies are here?’

  ‘Oh, all sorts.’ Annorah propped herself up, warming to the subject. ‘There’s sweat fairies that help you with work, there’s pucks or goblin fairies. Really, there’s a fairy for everything. If you know the chants, you can call the fairies to you. There’s one my nurse taught me: come in the stillness, come in the night, come soon and bring delight.’ She blushed a little, perhaps seeing the words differently after last night.

  ‘It sounds very promising.’ Nicholas chuckled. ‘We’ll have to see if it works.’

  * * *

  They spent the rest of the afternoon staring at clouds and searching for shapes. She sang fairy chants to him and wove crowns from wild flowers, but even as the idyllic day passed Nick was aware of a creeping tension beneath it all. He was starting to worry. He had not bargained on this: on feeling a closeness with her, on wanting to ask her what the darkness was that she held inside. There was danger in that. If he asked, then he’d know and he’d want to help. Where had this rush of sentiment come from? He’d navigated women and their needs for four years without such a reaction. Perhaps it was the product of having let himself foolishly step over the line with the lovemaking. Maybe it was only the weather.

  * * *

  By the time they climbed back into the gig to go home, the blue sky had become overcast. Grey clouds had overtaken the fluffy white ones and a breeze had come up. ‘We could fly that kite now,’ Annorah joked, raising a hand to steady her hat.

  Nicholas cast a grim eye to the sky. ‘It will be a summer storm by tonight.’

  ‘Rain perhaps,’ Annorah contradicted, laughing at his seriousness. ‘Hardly a s
torm. But it’s a good thing we went fishing yesterday. The river will be too deep for it tomorrow.’

  Rain, storm, call it what you will. That would create a complication for him. He never slept well during storms—too many nightmares, too many memories that stirred to life.

  Chapter Ten

  By evening, he thought they both might be wrong. The sky had stayed gloomy, but the rain had held off. They stayed inside for dinner and afterwards they walked the second-floor gallery, where all the Price-Ellises past were on display. Nicholas had brought a second champagne bottle, pouring them brimming, bubbly glasses as they strolled.

  They were laughing again, heads together as she spun tale after tale of her family. There was Great-Uncle August, who’d wisely invested in canals, Aunt Flora, who married the shipping magnate and inherited all his millions when he drowned in a sailing accident. There was Grandfather George, the one who taught her to fish and who’d played ceaselessly with the grandchildren.

  ‘Who are these?’ Nicholas pointed to a set of portraits at the end of the line when her dissertation trailed off.

  She hesitated and Nicholas wondered if maybe she’d meant to stop the tour before she’d got that far. ‘Those are my parents.’ She didn’t want to say more. He could hear the finality in her tone, but he couldn’t let it be. Instinct told him he was close, close to the mystery and close perhaps even to the darkness she kept deep inside.

  Curiosity pushed him to ask, ‘What happened to them?’ His voice was soft in the darkness, coaxing an answer.

  ‘There was a fever here fifteen years ago. It hit a lot of families in the village, rich and poor alike.’

  Ah, Nick understood the underlying message. Even the Price-Ellises had succumbed; their enormous fortune could not save them from death.

  ‘Grandfather had already passed away by then, as had Flora and Augustus. They’d had good long lives, but my parents had been young. My mother went first, exposed most likely to the illness by caring for those suffering in the village. My father died two days later ostensibly from fever, but I’ve always thought he simply hadn’t the will to live without her. My aunt Georgina left after that. She packed up my cousins and me and we went to live with her husband’s family.’