An Escapade and an Engagement

by Annie Burrows

  There was nothing for it. She would have to go back to Richard’s room and wait for him to return. It was what he’d asked her to do in the first place. If only she’d just stayed put!

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth as she peered out into the darkened corridor. If only she’d just done as he’d requested, nobody would have known she was even out of bed. Richard would have got a spare key from somewhere and got her back to her room discreetly. But now, because she thought she knew best, she had doubled the risk of discovery by venturing along this same set of corridors twice over.

  The nearer she got to Richard’s room, the more nervous she became. She might have been able to explain away getting caught near her own room, but not all the way on the other side of the house.

  When she finally reached the sanctuary of his suite she was shaking so badly there was nothing for it but to make straight for the brandy decanter. She sloshed a generous measure into the glass she’d used before, then sank onto the chair, draping the blanket she had left there round her shoulders—more for comfort than anything. Then she took a large gulp of the drink she’d poured, hoping the warmth that burned down her throat and into her stomach would soon radiate out through her limbs and help her stop shaking, as it had before.

  Oh, what could be taking him so long? She peered at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was very blurry. She rubbed her eyes, but still could not make out the time. It was too dark in here. And her eyes did not seem to be able to focus on anything properly. And she was so tired.

  She curled her legs up on the chair and tried to wedge her head against its high back, but it was very uncomfortable. It had not been so bad when she was moving about, but now she was sitting still she couldn’t stop thinking about how cold and wet she was.

  She wanted to lie down. And Richard’s bed was just through that door. It had a huge bank of pillows where she could rest her head without getting a crick in her neck. And lots of blankets, topped with a quilt, that nobody was using right now. She picked up the candle to light her way into the room, the blanket slithering unheeded to the floor behind her.

  She felt a sense of rightness when she returned the candle to the nightstand where she had found it. She ought to have just done as Richard had told her and waited for him here. And maybe used some of the water in that pitcher on his washstand to clean herself up a bit, instead of wasting all that time and effort running about all over the house.

  She’d been really silly, tiptoeing up and down the corridors. She giggled as she recalled how, rounding one corner, she’d jumped when a grotesque shadow had loomed up—a shadow she’d created herself, because her hands had been shaking so much.

  She threw the covers aside and saw the beautifully white starched sheets. It would be a terrible shame to soil them with all the slime and moss that was stuck to the front of her sodden nightgown. In fact, now she came to think of it, it was entirely the nightdress’s fault that she was so cold.

  ‘Ugh,’ she said, pulling it off over her head. ‘Nasty, wet thing.’ She flung it away and then, completely naked, slipped into Richard’s bed and pulled all the covers up to her ears. Oh, that was better. She would soon get warm now. She gave a huge yawn, shut her eyes and fell instantly into the deep sleep of total inebriation.

  She had never partaken of spirits before. So she had no idea what effect two large glasses of brandy could have. She would never have dreamed that she might fall into such a deep sleep that not even dawn breaking could have the power to rouse her. Nor the sound of the maid coming in to draw back the curtains.

  She did not even wake when the girl, spying a female head on her master’s pillow, emitted a squeak of surprise. Not even when that girl, consumed by curiosity, tiptoed over to see if she could make out her identity, before gasping in amazement, and then running from the room, giggling.

  Straight back to the servants’ hall with the juiciest bit of gossip she’d ever had the privilege of broadcasting.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was growing light when he got back to the stable yard, where he handed Ajax, a horse he’d inherited, like so much else, from his brother Mortimer, into the care of a sleepy groom.

  He threw back his shoulders as he strode across the yard to the mud room.

  He wouldn’t have believed it would take so long. But he’d done it. He’d tied the entire affair up so neatly there would be no loose ends to come unravelled and bring so much as a thread of gossip to Lady Jayne’s door.

  And he’d learned something, too.

  Shutting the mud-room door behind him, he bent to shuck off his boots. It had been when Milly had melted into Fred’s arms the moment he’d confessed he was in love with her. If a confession of love was all it took to deal with all that spitting fury, all her rebelliousness, he’d thought, it was a great pity the idiot hadn’t just told her he loved her months ago and saved everyone a whole lot of trouble. She didn’t care a jot that the man had, as he’d put it in his own words, nothing to offer her but his heart. After all she’d said and done even Milly could see that having a man who truly loved her was worth more than any amount of silk gowns a lord could give her.

  Not a second later he’d seen that he’d been as much of an idiot as Fred. He’d thought he had nothing to offer Lady Jayne, either. But he did. His heart. It was hers. Had been completely hers from…well, to be honest, probably from the moment she’d begged him not to let her maid pay the price for her own misbehaviour.

  His mouth firmed with determination as he removed his second boot and aligned it with precision next to its mate. The moment he got back to his rooms he was going to explain the situation with Milly in such a way that there would be no more room for misunderstanding. Then he was going to tell Lady Jayne straight out that he was in love with her. And ask her to marry him.

  And if she refused—and he was almost certain she would the first time he proposed to her—then he was going to lay siege to her heart until she surrendered, however long it took. Because there was no question of him ever marrying anyone else.

  He ran up the stairs two at a time, feeling as if he’d thrown aside a heavy cloak that had been hampering his sword arm. It had been as he was riding back to Courtlands that everything had fallen into place. He knew who he was at last. Not a soldier without a uniform. Or a lord with neither the training in estate management to be a success in the countryside nor the inclination to fritter his wealth away in the gaming hells of the capital.

  No, he was just a man who was going to fight for Lady Jayne’s hand, and her heart.

  While he’d been removing his boots he’d been able to hear the rattle of pots and pans coming from the kitchens, and the smell of frying bacon assailed his nostrils.

  It was going to be devilishly tricky getting her back to her own rooms undetected now that the servants were up and about their business. But he would make time to lay the bare facts before her, at least.

  He flung open the doors to the suite that had once been occupied by his father, his eyes going straight to the chair where he’d left her.

  She wasn’t there. The blanket she had been using was crumpled on the floor, an empty brandy glass lying on its side next to it. But of Lady Jayne herself there was no sign.

  Well, wasn’t that just like her? The infuriating creature had slipped through his fingers yet again. He shook his head ruefully as he pictured her impatience mounting as the hours ticked by. Until she’d finally decided to take matters into her own hands. A sl
ow smile spread across his face. He couldn’t be annoyed with her for being resourceful and spirited. For behaving in the way that had made him fall in love with her in the first place. For being the ideal woman for him. Even if he’d still been a serving soldier she would have been perfect. The kind of dauntless woman who made an excellent officer’s wife.

  Well, since she was in no need of rescuing, he might as well go back to bed and catch an hour or two of sleep before breakfast. It went without saying that the pursuit and capture of Lady Jayne was going to be a challenging if not a downright exhausting business. But she was worth it.

  He was still smiling as he went into his bedroom, shucked off his greatcoat and threw it over the back of a chair. He had not wasted time putting on a neckcloth before dashing off in pursuit of Milly, so all he had to do was undo the top few fastenings of his shirt and tug it off over his head.

  He turned towards the bed as he unbuttoned the fall of his breeches, and froze.

  Far from going back to her own rooms, Lady Jayne had solved her immediate problems by creeping into his bed. Seeking warmth and comfort, no doubt. He only had to look at her, with her hair in plaits, her hand tucked under her cheek, the very picture of innocence, to know she wouldn’t have thought of anything else—more was the pity.

  With deep regret, he refastened his breeches and went to wake her up. Much as he loved the sight of her lying in the bed where he’d spent so many hours dreaming of her, nobody else must ever know she’d been here.

  He bent over her, a tender smile softening his features.

  ‘Lady Jayne.’

  The only response he got was a sigh redolent of brandy fumes. He winced, remembering the overturned glass on the sitting-room floor. How much more had she drunk while he was out haring all over the countryside? Quite a bit, to judge by the depth of her sleep.

  He considered kissing her awake, like the prince in Sleeping Beauty. Only he didn’t think he could be as restrained as a prince in a children’s story. He wouldn’t want to stop at just kisses.

  He stretched out a hand to shake her instead. And paused, his hands hovering a scant inch over the curve of her shoulder.

  Touching her, in any way, was just too great a risk for him to take while she lay there looking so utterly tempting.

  So he took hold of the coverlets instead, and swiftly twitched them off her, hoping the sudden cold might percolate into her consciousness.

  And gasped.

  She was completely naked.

  For a moment he stood there, his fingers clenched on the coverlets, stunned to utter stillness by the perfection of her form. The early morning sunlight caressed the curve of her hip, slid lovingly along the line of her thigh, put a slight shadow between the bountiful fullness of her breasts…

  He groaned as he went rock-hard.

  And for the first time since Orthez he had complete confidence that, if she were willing, he could spend the entire day in bed with her without exhausting the possibilities.

  He groaned again as he gently replaced the covers, in spite of wanting to just stand there, admiring her for as long as he could. She would be mortified if she ever knew he’d caught so much as a glimpse of her in all her natural glory. Which would not make her in the least receptive to a proposal of marriage from him.

  Her eyelids flickered and half opened. She smiled up at him. And guilt assailed him. She would definitely not be smiling at him like that if she knew how long he’d been standing there, drinking in the sight of her without a stitch of clothing on.

  ‘You’re back,’ she said. Then yawned, rolled onto her back and stretched her arms above her head. The covers slid down.

  He grabbed them before they reached a point that would have embarrassed her, and firmly tucked them up to her chin.

  And backed away from the bed.

  ‘Don’t, whatever you do, sit up,’ he warned her.

  She frowned. ‘Why?’ A look of comprehension flitted across her face. ‘Oh!’ Her cheeks turned crimson. ‘May I have my nightdress back, please?’

  ‘If you tell me what you have done with it, I shall be only too happy to oblige.’

  She pointed. He searched. And thrust the rather damp and grubby article of clothing into her outstretched hands.

  ‘Cover yourself up quickly,’ he urged her, turning his back, both to give her a modicum of privacy and to conceal his arousal. ‘We need to get you back to your room before anyone notices you are missing.’

  And they were running out of time. He ran his hand over the crown of his head, inwardly cursing at the realisation that explaining anything to her now, let alone proposing to her, was out of the question.

  ‘Have you got a key, then? Tried to get back in on my own. Couldn’t find the key.’

  ‘Damnation!’ He should have stopped off at the housekeeper’s room and got a spare.

  ‘Don’t want to wear this.’

  He looked over his shoulder to see Lady Jayne throwing the nightdress back onto the floor, her nose wrinkled in distaste.

  His annoyance evaporated at the sight of her snuggling back down among the pillows, closing her eyes and sighing. She obviously had not quite slept it off, but damn if she wasn’t the most charming drunk he had ever encountered!

  He couldn’t help smiling, but he still had to get her back to her room.

  ‘If you don’t like your nightdress, and I can hardly blame you,’ he said, recalling the green smears coating the front of it, ‘then you will have to make do with one of my shirts.’

  He went to his clothes press and picked out a silk shirt.

  ‘Come on, sleepyhead,’ he said, giving her shoulder a nudge. ‘Put this on and get up.’

  ‘No,’ she protested, squeezing her eyes tighter shut. ‘My head feels funny when I move. I need to stay in bed.’

  ‘Not in my bed, you don’t.’

  ‘No, Richard…’ she protested feebly as he sat her up and began to try and thread her arms through the sleeves of his shirt. It might not have been so difficult if he had not felt obliged to keep her decently covered by the sheets at the same time.

  ‘This is like wrestling a greased pig,’ he chuckled as he pulled the edges of his shirt together under the sheets. Only that kind of activity would not have left him with such a painfully urgent erection. He might not be able to see anything beneath the level of her shoulders, but his hands could not avoid trespassing into forbidden territory. Besides, he knew she was naked. He had seen every glorious inch of her.

  It was an exquisite form of torture, getting her decently covered in his shirt when all his instincts were clamouring for him to strip off his own clothes and join her in bed.

  Especially when she flopped back onto the pillows the moment he let go of her and closed her eyes again.

  No—she was the exquisite form of torture. Since the moment he’d met her she’d blown all his carefully constructed plans to smithereens, invaded his thoughts, robbed him of sleep, got him so tied up in knots he forgot what he was saying halfway through a sentence.

  And made him feel more alive than he’d ever thought possible.

  He stood looking down at her for a moment or two, hands on his hips. She had no idea what mayhem she was causing just by lying there. Tempting him.

  Trusting him.

  Hell’s teeth—the only way to get her back to her room would be to carry her. Which would mean dealing with all that nakedness…

  He swallowed hard.

  ‘I’m goi
ng to pick you up now,’ he warned her, just before rolling her over and over so that several blankets, as well as the eiderdown, enveloped her completely.

  ‘Good.’ She sighed as he hefted her into his arms. ‘You are very strong,’ she observed as she wriggled one arm free and looped it around his neck. ‘Is this a dream? Are you going to kiss me again?’

  She looked at his mouth and ran her tongue over her lips. And lowered her eyelids seductively.

  There was only so much temptation, Lord Ledbury discovered, that a man could resist. With her still cradled in his arms, he bent his head and kissed her.

  The little whimper of pleasure she gave ricocheted from his mouth to his groin, and the erection which had barely subsided since the moment he had seen her naked greedily sucked all the blood from the rest of his body, making his head spin.

  He was shaking so much that he barely managed to stumble into the sitting room before collapsing onto the armchair with her on his lap, though he did manage to keep their mouths fused together the whole time.

  ‘We have to stop this,’ he moaned eventually, tearing his mouth free. ‘It is madness.’

  ‘Don’t be a spoilsport.’ She pouted. ‘It’s lovely.’

  And then her inquisitive little hand began to explore the breadth of his chest, and all the reasons why he ought not to make love to her, right there and then, flew out of the window.

  He burrowed through the layers of bedding and slid his hand inside his shirt.

  The one that she was wearing.

  Her breast fitted the palm of his hand perfectly.

  ‘Oooh…’ She sighed, arching up into his caress. ‘More of that, please.’