by Julia Kelly
Their breathing had slowed before he spoke again. “So you’re not a virgin.”
“Not anymore,” she said.
He shot up off the bed. She bit back a laugh, and his eyes narrowed.
“Oh, you’ll pay for that,” he said, dragging her up into a kiss that left her breathless.
“You’ll have to work on your punishments,” she said, settling her head on his chest. She knew she should make him dress and leave, but she was feeling so lovely and loose. It was the first time she’d felt fully unguarded and free in ages, and she wanted to hold on to it for just a little longer.
“Can I ask—?”
“If I usually invite strange men into my bed?” she finished for him.
“I was going to phrase it differently.”
She’d revealed a piece of herself to Moray she hadn’t intended to ever share with anyone except her future husband on the inevitability of their wedding night. Yet somehow she trusted him. Even though he was a newspaperman, she knew without having to ask that he’d never reveal how it was he knew she’d lost her virginity somewhere along the way. It would mean too many questions that would be hard for him to answer.
“My engagement was a long one,” she finally said.
“Ah.”
“I was in love, and I wanted to know what it was like. A young lady’s entire life relies on her being kept from temptation. We’re chaperoned and hovered over our entire lives, and then the moment we’re wed we’re expected to know how to keep our husbands in our beds long enough that we can fall pregnant.”
She pushed herself up on her elbow to study him. “I wanted to know what all of the bother was about. I suspected that if something was being kept from me, it was probably enjoyable.”
He chuckled. “And?”
She melted down next to him. “And I find myself enjoying it very much.”
They sank into silence with him absentmindedly stroking his hand down her back over and over until she could almost have purred with the pleasure of it.
“I owe you an apology,” he finally said softly.
“What for?” she asked sleepily.
“Pressing you. I wanted your interview because I don’t know how else to be. You were a story to be had, and my whole life has been built on feeding the Lothian’s pages.”
“What about the Tattler?” she asked.
“It has its purpose. It was the paper that made my business possible and it still helps ensure there’s money to maintain the presses, buy ink, and pay the staff, but the Lothian has the prestige and the circulation to compete with any newspaper in the city.” He paused. “There are others who are creeping up on us. I want an evening edition, to keep the business competitive.”
“And you needed my story to stay competitive too,” she finished for him.
He nodded. “I pursued you without thinking how painful that might have been for you. I’m sorry for that.”
“Isn’t that the way with every person you or your reporters dog with questions?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I won’t pretend that the business I’m in isn’t a brutal one sometimes. We’re the first people there when people are grieving. We do difficult, painful things. But we do good too. Last month we ran a series about Calton Jail that will hopefully help bring about reforms.”
“But the scandalous stories are what send people scrambling to buy a paper and help support those reform articles,” she said.
“Precisely.”
She let that roll around in her mind for a moment, examining what he’d told her from various angles until she made a decision—one she never would have expected to make.
“I want to tell you what happened. Not for the paper, but to just . . . tell someone else.”
He shifted so he could look at her where she lay, her head pillowed against the curve of his muscled chest. She knew that she didn’t have to tell him what incident she was referring to. There could only be one.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said quietly.
“But I want to,” she said, tracing her finger over the muscles of his stomach, which twitched under her touch. “I want someone else besides me to know the truth of what happened.”
He pursed his lips but nodded. “Whatever you say to me here, I won’t publish. I promise I won’t break your confidence. Not now. Not ever.”
It shouldn’t have warmed her to hear him say that. It was hardly notable—just a man being a decent person—but it had been a long time since any man had shown her that sort of courtesy, and so she clutched it to her heart as hard as she could.
“I found out that Julian had jilted me when I saw a cartoon in Punch,” she said. “It showed him hauling a wagon filled with gold bars behind him and Miss Cunningham on his arm. She was draped in an American flag and wrapped in pearls. The Cunningham family pearls are legendary, you know. A perfect strand with a teardrop pendant as big as a robin’s egg and earrings to match.”
“I’d heard,” he said, his voice tight.
She nodded. “I was in the cartoon too, sitting on a toadstool, looking bedraggled and forlorn. The caption underneath read, ‘The Americans triumph again.’ I never did understand the significance of the toadstool, but I suppose it doesn’t really matter.
“When I saw the cartoon I hired a cab and drove straight to Weatherly House, where Julian lived with his parents. I’d thought he lived there because they were a close family and they were loath to be apart, but during the trial I learned his allowance had been severely restricted a few years before I came out. He had to choose between bachelor apartments and being able to ride to hounds, gamble, and generally keep up appearances. You have to understand, appearances are a matter of great importance to the Weatherly family, and to the viscountess in particular.”
She paused, recalling the moment the cab had pulled up to the front of Weatherly House and she’d sent Madeline to the door with her card. Even years into their engagement, she hadn’t earned the right to be admitted to the house without going through the formality of checking whether the family was officially home to callers. That should’ve been a sign of what was to come.
“When I arrived, I was shown into Julian’s mother’s sitting room. He wasn’t there, and Lady Weatherly informed me in no uncertain terms that I was to consider my engagement broken. She explained to me that it was important that Julian marry well, and that while this Cunningham woman’s money was still new, it was enough to overcome all manner of sins, including her Americanness.”
“Did Weatherly ever try to come see you to explain himself?” Moray asked.
She shook her head, her hair falling into her face. “The next time I saw him was in court.”
“Damned coward,” he hissed, sweeping her hair back behind her ear for her.
She gave a little laugh, pleased to hear him defend her with such ardor. Not even her own brother had taken up the mantle of her cause with such indigence.
“Julian did turn out to be a cad of the worst sort,” she said.
“Then why sue him? You didn’t really think you would win him back, did you?”
She laughed. “No. Not for one moment. The decision to sue was my mother’s and hers alone.”
“Your mother pushed you to file suit?” he asked.
“Mamma was . . . ambitious. By the time I came of age, she was hardly strong enough to make it through one night of dancing let alone the endless parties and outings required by a debutante’s schedule. Not that her illness stopped her plans for me. My aunt, Mrs. Grimshaw, brought me out, although I was never presented at court. That was too tall an order even for my mother’s aspirations.”
His arms tightened around her and she snuggled into the comfort of a large, warm body wrapped around her in protection.
“She must have known that a lawsuit would only bring notoriety to you.”
“I think it was her pride that blinded her. Sometimes I wonder if she felt the slight even more than I did. The Weatherlys are a proud family, and
the viscount is a particularly traditional man. A mere solicitor’s daughter marrying his heir? That was too much. I was just barely acceptable when Julian was a second son, but after his brother died things changed. I’m also given to understand the viscount made some poor investments, and I was an impediment to refilling the family coffers.”
She realized she was still tracing circles on his stomach and flattened her hand against his warm skin.
“The day the suit was filed, everything changed. I was at the center of attention for the first time in my life, and I didn’t like it one bit. And of course there was the fear that Julian might expose the fact that we’d slept together before our wedding. I’d been so certain that he was going to marry me that, with some precautions, I’d been happy to give myself to him. But what had been a source of pleasure became a constant threat.”
“What happened after the judgment?” he asked.
She shrugged. “What I could’ve predicted from the beginning. It had taken years for the case to make its way through the courts. By the time damages were awarded, there were the solicitors to pay. Mamma died shortly after and there were some debts. Little remained of the thousand pounds after that. I went to live with Aunt and Uncle Grimshaw, but we hardly suited. And so I’m here.”
She expected this man who always had a ready answer to say something, but instead he gathered her in closer and kissed her. This kiss was all sweet giving, as though he was trying to convey through actions what he couldn’t articulate. She let her eyes flutter closed and fell into it headfirst.
Moray hooked one leg over the windowsill, knowing he’d already stayed too long and risked too much, but he couldn’t stop himself from reaching back for Caroline. She came to him as though it was the most natural thing in the world that he be absconding from her bedroom at nearly four o’clock in the morning.
“May I call on you tomorrow?” he asked. “Or today, I suppose it would be.”
She pulled back. “It’s Sunday.”
“I’ll come another day then,” he said.
Still she eyed him skeptically. “You want to call on me?”
She’d pulled her dressing gown on to see him to the window, so he slipped his hand under the wide bell sleeves in search of bare skin. Touching her was intoxicating, and he didn’t want to stop.
“I want to see you again,” he said. “And it isn’t just because of what we did tonight. I want to know you, Caroline. I can talk to you about things I wouldn’t trust anyone else with.”
His past. His poverty. Hell, even his birthright. She made him want to tell her every sordid little detail of it. To open himself up and confide as no one else ever had.
“Why?” The question was quiet on her lips.
He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know that I can explain it.”
“You’re seeking comfort and understanding.”
“Yes.” Although that wasn’t everything, he wasn’t ready yet to peel back the layers and examine all of the other feelings she inspired in him. For now, lust was enough.
She leaned into him, her lips barely feathering across his. “I would be lying if I said I didn’t want the same, but if you come Elsie will be here too. There’s no chance that she’ll allow us to be alone.”
He needed more time with her. Alone. He’d find a way, but arrangements could be made later. What he needed now was the reassurance that she wanted to see him again too. That he hadn’t dreamed this whole thing up.
When she’d first kissed him in her bedroom, he’d wanted to meet her anger by claiming her with his body and branding her with the memory of their lovemaking. But then pent-up frustration had transformed into passion. She was extraordinary, demanding more from him with shining eyes. And when they were all done she’d laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed in bed with a woman.
But he hadn’t realized just how she’d gotten under his skin until she’d told him the real story of her jilting. Then he’d wanted to cast his head back and roar with fury. That was the moment she’d stopped being a story. That was the moment he’d wanted to protect her with every ounce of his being, even if she’d already shown over and over that she didn’t need his protection.
She was instead a distraction, a delight, and a danger, and he couldn’t help but run right to her.
“I’ll find a way. I promise,” he murmured before pulling her flush against him and kissing her long and deep. It wouldn’t be enough to satisfy him—not after he’d seen the delight she’d taken in sex, playing and laughing just as much as she gave and took—but it would have to be enough for now. He needed to leave before they were discovered.
“Perhaps next time you could leave off the death-defying stunts.” She handed him his ruined gloves. “Here, take these. My maid will have questions if she finds them here.”
He stuffed the gloves in his pocket and then pressed another swift kiss to her lips.
“Good night,” he said, and began to climb down into the darkened yard.
Chapter Fifteen
“ENOUGH.” EVA SWUNG around in her wooden chair. “What is it?”
“What is what?” Moray asked, pencil poised on the paper in front of him. His head was pounding, perhaps because he hadn’t moved from his desk in hours. He hadn’t, he now realized, even stopped to eat. His entire focus had been one creeping suspicion that he’d tried to ignore for a while now: he cared for Caroline.
The feeling had snuck up on him. At first she’d been a challenge—a story he needed to secure—and he’d enjoyed pushing her and watching her snap back with retort after retort. But what had happened between them in her bedroom then had been unexpected and incredibly, undeniably right. When he’d climbed down out of the window, he’d left behind a little piece of himself for her to guard.
She needed a husband. She’d told him herself in her frank, matter-of-fact manner, and he knew he shouldn’t stand in her way. Yet he couldn’t deny that he wanted to see her again. He’d promised her he’d find a way, even if what he should be doing was letting her go and writing off their one night of passion to an intense foolishness on his part.
“You’re brooding,” said Eva sternly, “and it’s disturbing me.”
“I’ve been reading articles,” he said, gesturing to the stack of papers in front of him. “I’m not even speaking.”
“But I can feel you brooding.”
“That makes no sense,” he said, fixing his attention back on his papers.
“It’s that woman, isn’t it?” Eva asked.
He looked up. “What?”
“Caroline Burkett. She’s the reason you had me look into Trevlan’s background.”
“Why do you think that?” he asked.
The expression Eva gave him was one of near pity. “It really isn’t hard to connect the dots. You want to know about Trevlan, Trevlan’s been seen with her, and you danced with her at the Caledonian Hunt Ball. You never dance.”
He frowned. Eva hadn’t been at the ball. “How do you know that?”
“Really, Moray? You own a gossip rag,” said Eva, scooping up a freshly printed copy of that morning’s Tattler. She peeled back a couple of pages and then handed it to him. “Three inches down on the left.”
He scanned to the spot she indicated. The item read:
Miss C— B—, a lady of scandalous reputation who arrived in Edinburgh just this spring, was seen dancing with several gentlemen at the Caledonian Hunt Ball, including the eligible Mr. R— T—and Mr. J— M—.
He threw the page down. “How did this make it in without me seeing it?”
Eva shrugged. “You slept late Sunday.”
Heat flushed the back of his neck. She was right. After his late night with Caroline, he’d returned home and gone straight to bed. When he’d struggled into the newsroom Sunday afternoon, half of the Tattler’s Monday edition had been already set and printed, Eva and one of her deputies having taken over responsibility for the pages while he’d been absent.
Still, he
was fully within his rights to grouch about it.
“My own publication is reporting on me,” he grumbled.
“When your name can be connected with a woman of note, whom you yourself admitted the entire city wishes to know more about, you can expect it. And the reporter did her job so there’ll be no being angry about that,” said Eva.
“She did,” he admitted.
“Again, I’ll ask you what is going on that’s turned you into a broody, displeased bear of a man?” his friend asked.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, suddenly weary. “You’re right. It’s Caroline.”
“We’re calling her Caroline now?” asked Eva. “How familiar.”
If only she knew.
“I may be more . . . involved than I had intended,” he said.
“How involved?” she asked.
“I visited her after the ball on Saturday. Very late at night. By climbing through her window.”
He cringed, waiting for the onslaught of abuse he was sure to get for doing something so reckless, but instead Eva began to laugh. And she didn’t stop.
“What’s so funny about that?” he demanded.
“It’s just . . . it’s just the thought of you climbing through a lady’s bedroom window is preposterous. How on earth did you get your bulk up the wall?”
He looked down at his body and rolled his shoulders self-consciously. He’d spent too much of his youth hauling great iron plates and heavy drawers of type not to have developed a substantial set of shoulders and biceps, and the very fact that the mark of his physical labor had stayed with him to this day was a constant reminder of his humble beginnings.
“I’m not bulky,” he said.
“No, but you’re also not exactly a slip of a boy.”
She had a point.
“I climbed the wall on the back of her brother’s house. There was a drainpipe.” Not that it had done him much good.
“What were you thinking?”
“My intentions were pure,” he said, recalling that he’d really gone there to inform Caroline of Trevlan’s past. And he’d done that, only he’d also stayed for quite a bit more.