The Mistake

by Lily Maxton

  Adam, she remembered. It was Adam. He’d come to her after…well, after. And she’d fallen apart in front of him, for the second time in her life. Spoken the cruelest things she could think of. Spiteful words he hadn’t deserved to have flung at him simply because she’d needed to lash out and he was available. It seemed he was forever seeing her at her worst.

  For an instant, she wanted to turn her face into the pillow and go back to sleep. She wanted to let the world slip away so she could forget. But if she did that, she knew the world would just come back, more vengeful than ever. So she struggled to push herself up, a surge of defiance giving her energy. She wasn’t some fragile creature to be coddled—she needed to stop acting like one.

  She paused when she noticed the soreness between her legs. Paused, closed her eyes briefly, and pushed the weakness away. She threw back the bedclothes and pressed her feet to the wooden floor.

  Adam had taken her shoes off for her, though he hadn’t touched her clothing. She imagined it, the way he might cradle her foot in his hands and gently peel off the shoe. She wished she could remember him doing it, but she couldn’t. She must have fallen asleep by that time.

  Deep yellow sunlight still filtered in around the closed curtains. It must be evening. Riverton would probably be back in London by now. Her mind raced. Maybe if she gave Riverton time to get over his anger, he would be more reasonable if she approached him about the contract. Bedding him might be out of the question, but she could try to charm him. She’d been able to charm him once.

  She couldn’t accept that all the hopes she’d had for a better life for her child had just vanished like a handful of dust.

  But for the moment, with Riverton gone and probably still seething at her, there wasn’t much she could do, so she pushed him from her thoughts and moved gingerly down the stairs. When she reached the bottom of the steps, she halted. Cassandra was sitting in the chair by the fireplace, a cup of steaming tea in her hands.

  “Adam had some work to finish,” she said, in response to the unspoken question that must have been clear on Julia’s face. “He didn’t want you to be alone.”

  Tenderness merged with annoyance. It was an odd sensation to feel both at once. “I’m perfectly capable of caring for myself.”

  “Well, I’m here, regardless. Would you like some tea?”

  Cassandra started to stand, but Julia stopped her. “I can do it.”

  She bent over the low table where the tea pot and extra cups had been placed. She gritted her teeth as she reached for the pot and realized her hands were shaking. Through sheer determination, she managed to pour a cup without spilling any.

  When she straightened, Cassandra looked away, staring at some random spot in the distance. “If you would like to speak of anything, I’ll listen.”

  Julia lowered herself to the middle of the settee. “There is nothing to speak of. Nothing happened.” She sipped her tea. It was too hot and she winced when it burnt her tongue.

  The housekeeper’s head swiveled toward her. “It didn’t appear as though nothing happened. You looked…”

  “What did I look like?” Julia asked impatiently.

  “You looked broken,” she said bluntly.

  Julia’s fingers tightened around the handle of the teacup. “I am not that breakable.”

  After a moment, Cassandra said, “No, I suppose you aren’t.”

  They were alike in that way. Julia leaned her back against the settee. “Do you come here often—to this cottage, I mean?”

  “Not often.”

  Another drag of silence.

  “Are you in love with him?” Julia blurted out.

  A small rueful smile curled Cassandra’s mouth. “No.”

  How could anyone know Adam—share his bed, know his touch—and not fall in love with him? He was so good…better than Julia would ever be.

  “I was married,” Cassandra said.

  Julia stilled, and watched her. They’d spoken of many things during their visits, but not this.

  “My husband died in the war, and a part of me died with him. Love can be the most painful thing imaginable.”

  Julia thought of her father, dying slowly. She thought of the unborn child she already fretted over all the time. And she thought of Adam at sixteen, still innocent, still full of hope, tracking her to one of the seediest gaming hells in London.

  Yes, it could be. All too often, it was.

  “What was his name?” she asked.

  “Robert.” There was no hint of softness in Cassandra’s voice, no warm recollection. All of that had faded with time, Julia guessed, taking the happiness, but also the pain. “We married young. I’ve been longer without him now than I was with him.” It was a matter-of-fact statement.

  Sometimes numbness was the only way to survive this world.

  “Does Adam know about the child?” Cassandra asked.

  Julia hesitated, staring down at the tea cup. “No.”

  “Will you tell him?”

  What purpose would that serve? Tell him so she could see the light fade from his eyes when he looked at her? “I don’t know,” Julia said.

  Maybe telling him would be a kindness, though. When she left he would realize it was for the best—he might even be relieved to see her go.

  “Not yet,” she added. Just a little more time. Just a little longer. She changed the topic. Pushed aside the weakness. “Do you know if they make bonnets for babies?”

  Cassandra smiled.

  They were chatting comfortably of unimportant things when Adam pushed open the front door and stepped in. For a moment, he stilled, as if he’d forgotten she was there, or maybe he hadn’t thought to see her downstairs, talking and smiling. Their gazes caught and held as the conversation died.

  Irrationally, frustratingly, Julia felt heat rise in her cheeks. “Hello,” she said, rather stupidly.

  “Hello.”

  Another silence.

  Cassandra glanced back and forth between them, then stood briskly. “Well, I must return to the hall. These places don’t run themselves, you know.”

  “You cannot stay for a few more minutes?” Julia asked.

  The idea of being alone with Adam was discomfiting. It wasn’t that she was scared of him. She knew he’d never do anything to hurt her. But she was embarrassed by what had occurred and the brutal things she’d said. She’d been a courtesan for fifteen years, and she’d never once been ashamed, but now she felt the shame grabbing hold of her stomach and curdling in her veins.

  Cassandra shrugged helplessly. “There is work to be done.”

  Julia nodded. She watched as Adam gathered Cassandra’s bonnet and gloves for her from where they rested on the side table. With a critical eye she observed their interaction. They moved together with the comfort of people who knew each other well, and who liked each other. There weren’t any heated or longing stares, but the easiness was more than enough to send a sharp ache through Julia’s chest.

  Had this woman had the best of him?

  When Cassandra was gone, Adam turned to Julia, one hand against the back of his neck. “Do you want anything? There’s food in the kitchen.”

  “I’m not very hungry,” she said.

  “Would you like to bathe?”

  She hesitated at this offer. Bathing sounded wonderful. She could still smell Riverton on her skin. She wanted to wash him off like a stain. “I don’t want you to go through any trouble.”

  “It won’t be,” he said. “But the basin is in the kitchen, I’m afraid. It didn’t make much sense to keep it upstairs when I live alone.”

  There was no door to the kitchen. She didn’t think he’d spy on her, but he’d be able to hear every movement, every splash of water. Still, she would kill for a bath.

  “All right.”

  The basin he’d mentioned was shallow and circular, big enough to stand or crouch in but not recline in. Julia was used to more elaborate tubs that one could soak in, but it made sense that someone without male serva
nts wouldn’t want to go through the trouble of drawing a full bath.

  Adam went outside to fill a large can of water from the stream. She hovered in the entryway to the kitchen as he heated the water on a small cast iron cook stove.

  “Do you cook?” she asked curiously.

  “Not often,” he said. “A maid comes in from the village to clean and cook. But that’s all. I don’t need much.”

  She looked up, wondering if he was being accusatory, but he was at the stove. He wasn’t looking at her.

  “I apologize for what I said before.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at her. “You already apologized.”

  Had she? She couldn’t quite remember. It was all just a muddle of numbness and then too much emotion and then Adam’s arms wrapped around her. And then peace and safety.

  “I didn’t mean it,” she forced herself to continue. “You’re a gentleman…a true one. You don’t just play at it.”

  He grinned as he brought over the heated water. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  Her eyebrows drew together. “That can’t be true.”

  “I would remember,” he said. He didn’t sound angry, just vaguely amused.

  Her jaw snapped shut. She searched back through her memories. Perhaps he was right. But she assumed it was obvious she enjoyed being with him. She hadn’t thought it necessary to say every nice thing that popped into her mind. Anyway, if she did that, she’d probably be complimenting him all the time. “I might not always say nice things, but I certainly think them,” she murmured.

  “What else?”

  “What else, what?” she echoed.

  “What other nice things are you thinking?”

  She shook her head. “Really, Adam,” she said, and she was surprised that her tone was mildly teasing. Less than an hour ago she hadn’t wanted to get out of bed, and now she was feeling playful. It was Adam. Being with him brought out something in her, something long buried.

  Had she ever been this way with anyone else? As soon as she asked the question, she knew the answer. Knew it with dreadful clarity.

  “What?”

  “I don’t want you to get a bloated head.”

  He tipped the can, splashing a small amount of water into a pitcher that rested on the work table by the basin, then straightened. “No more hot water until you’ve told me,” he threatened.

  She glanced into the pitcher. There was about a half inch of water, barely enough to wash her hands. “I take back the part about you being a gentleman.”

  He simply stood there, holding the can hostage. She sighed, but she made it sound a lot wearier than she was actually feeling. “Oh, very well, you have nice eyes.”

  “They’re brown,” he commented.

  “They’re not just brown, they’re…” Deep and dark, like the soil he tended. Warm. Vital. Framed by beautiful dark lashes. “I happen to like brown.”

  “I suppose I’ll trust you.” He tipped the can, sending in another splash of warm water. “What else?”

  “Greedy, aren’t you?”

  “You’re not going to distract me.”

  She bit her lip to keep herself from smiling. “You make me laugh,” she said softly to his back. No one else made her laugh like he did. “You take pride in your work, but you still manage to be modest. You’re happy with what you have. You…you can be so gentle sometimes…” She trailed off, vexed with herself. She should have stopped before that last one. It made her sound too close to smitten.

  He looked back at her, once. “You’ve truly thought all of those things?”

  Now would be the time to back out. To distance herself. But her foolish mouth didn’t listen to the command from her brain. “I wouldn’t say them if I hadn’t,” she responded truthfully.

  He poured the rest of the water in the pitcher, then ducked out of the room. When he came back he was carrying a sponge and lump of soap and a linen towel. She brought the soap to her nose and breathed deeply. It smelled like him—crisp and a little spicy. It reminded her of the Sweet William in the flowerbeds at the side of Blakewood Hall.

  “I’ll be in the sitting room if you need me,” he said.

  She noticed as he moved past that he was very careful not to accidentally touch her. It was as though he was afraid of how she would react. She wasn’t sure she even knew how she would react.

  Julia quickly removed her clothes and stepped into the basin. She lifted the pitcher and poured water onto the sponge. Then she brought the sponge to her chest and squeezed, letting the water roll down her skin. It felt perfect. Warm, almost too hot, but not quite.

  She closed her eyes for a second, very aware of Adam in the next room. If he walked in right now, he would see her standing in a tub with water trickling between her breasts, as nude as Botticelli’s Venus rising from the oyster shell. And now that that had crossed her mind, he would also see that her nipples were beaded and ripe for his touch. Ripe for his tongue.

  She wanted him to walk in.

  Damnation.

  She was in dire need of a distraction.

  …

  Adam was trying to look through the notes he’d taken at the Duke of Hawksworth’s estate, but he wasn’t managing to soak in much information. He kept getting distracted by the fact that Julia was in the next room bathing. He heard her step into the tub, heard the soft splash of water from the pitcher. God, it was like his hearing had become unnaturally acute. Then she sighed, a small satisfied breath, and desire shot straight to his groin. It sounded like she’d just been thoroughly made love to.

  He groaned. What was wrong with him, to lust after a woman who’d recently been abused? Sex was probably the furthest thing from her mind, and he was like some kind of senseless animal, wanting her without regard for the consequences.

  “Adam?”

  He stilled. She hadn’t heard him groan, had she? “What?”

  “Can you tell me one of the Irish stories?”

  He sat up straighter, staring in the direction of the kitchen as though they could actually see one other. “Which one?”

  “Anything.”

  He searched his mind. All that came to the forefront was the story of Aengus and Caer. It would probably reveal more than he wanted it to. “I could tell you the story of Aengus and his wife.”

  “Aengus,” she said. “Was he the love god?”

  Adam smiled slightly. “You remember?”

  “I remember he slept with the woman who was intended for his brother, and then killed another woman for driving her off.” Julia sounded disapproving, like a prim governess.

  He smiled at the incongruity of that image. Julia would never look like a governess, and she’d be horrified to think that she did. “This one is better. Aengus doesn’t seduce his brother’s betrothed or murder anyone.”

  “I suppose that’s all right, then.”

  He leaned his back against the arm of the sofa, settled in, and closed his eyes as if taking a nap. He could hear water splashing as she bathed. It was nice knowing she was in the next room, even if he couldn’t see her. “Aengus started having dreams about a beautiful woman. She had dark hair and creamy skin.” Adam couldn’t remember if this was the actual description his mother had told him, or if his own desires had been added into the tale. “In the dreams, she would call out to him, but before he could reach her, she would vanish. Aengus knew she was real. He would search for her every day but he couldn’t find her. Eventually he stopped searching because the pain in his heart was too great—”

  Julia snorted.

  A faint smile curved Adam’s lips. “What?”

  “Poor Aengus,” she said drily. “I would wager his brother had pain in his heart when he found out Aengus was rutting with his betrothed.”

  Adam laughed. “This is after that. We’ll say he’s been reformed.”

  “I should hope so,” she said. “Even courtesans know there are some lines that shouldn’t be crossed.”

  “Even the redhead
ed ones?” he asked.

  “I think so. Although I suppose those men could have been brothers. I didn’t ask. Some things are better to stay unaware of.”

  “I agree,” he said. “Can we get back to the story? You do enjoy running us off topic, don’t you?”

  “I am not trying to run us off topic,” she said defensively. “I simply say what I’m thinking. And you asked about the redheaded courtesans.”

  “I’m curious about them now. Maybe I’ll seek one out to see if they really are as passionate as you say.” He didn’t mean it. He’d only said it because he wondered what her reaction would be.

  There was a moment of silence, and then, “I hope you’re jesting.”

  “And if I’m not?”

  “I would warn them all that you had the French pox and none of them would go near you.” She sounded like she was serious.

  He laughed, a warmth swelling in his chest at the suspicion that she was jealous over him. He’d certainly been jealous over her enough that he didn’t feel entirely guilty.

  She sniffed haughtily. “Continue the story, if you please.”

  He was smiling as he did, though she couldn’t see him. “But Aengus didn’t forget about the woman. Other people helped in his search, and after three years, a woman fitting her description was located. Aengus went to the lake of the Dragon’s Mouth, where there were a hundred and fifty girls chained together. One of them was the woman in his dreams, Caer. Aengus learned that at Samhain the girls would turn into swans, and if he could go to her when she was in the form of swan and call her by name, he would win her.”

  “That doesn’t make much sense,” Julia noted.

  “These stories seldom make sense,” Adam agreed. When she didn’t speak again, he continued. “So Aengus went and there were a hundred and fifty swans swimming on the water. At first, he didn’t know which one she was. But he closed his eyes and remembered his dreams, and his love, and when he opened them, he found her. He called out her name, and she came to him. She agreed to be his wife, but only if he would transform himself into a swan and fly away with her.”

  “Permanently?” Julia asked.