Lisa Bingham

by The Other Groom

  “The food is good, even if the waiters tend to fuss. But the real treat is the assortment of ice cream and cakes that follow.”

  Evie’s eyes grew wide.

  Louisa reverently echoed, “Ice cream?”

  For an instant she looked so much like his childhood friend that he could have laughed. How many times in the orphanage had they dreamed of rich foods and smooth, sweet ice cream? Although neither of them had ever tried the stuff, they’d heard about it and longed to taste the sweet treat.

  “Do you think I could tempt either one of you to break off your shopping for an hour or so?”

  “By all means, Mr. Smith.” Louisa gestured for Evie to collect the packages they’d left on a nearby bench. When the shopkeeper returned and began to help the girl, Neil took the opportunity to bend close to Louisa.

  “Is that all I can tempt you to do, Mrs. Winslow?”

  He saw a tide of pink rise in her cheeks. “Behave, Mr. Smith.”

  “I have been the model of decorum all day, Mrs. Winslow.” Out of sight of Mrs. Beem and Evie, he traced a finger down the length of her spine. “I would like you to know that such measures of restraint have been very…taxing.”

  He felt her breath quicken.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. It is difficult to spend so much time with you.”

  She stiffened. “I didn’t think my company was so onerous.”

  “Quite the contrary. It’s keeping my hands away from you that has become the chore.”

  Her lashes flickered shut for only a moment, and he thought he heard her say, “As it has become for me.”

  Then she stepped away, calling, “Come along, Evie. Let’s discover for ourselves how wonderful this ice cream can be.”

  “…as Mr. Rochester…”

  Louisa allowed her voice to trail away into silence. Evie lay fast asleep in her bed, her arms tightly clutching a beautiful china doll.

  Even now, Louisa felt a tug of tenderness at the sight of Evie’s affection for the doll. Soon after finishing a tantalizing meal of roast chicken, new potatoes, hothouse asparagus—and all of the sweet, delicious ice cream they could eat—the three of them had been on their way back to the seamstress, when Evie had seen the doll.

  Louisa had often seen finer creations in the arms of her young charges. But this doll’s bustled skirts, gold curls and paperweight eyes had immediately entranced Evie. She’d stared longingly at the toy for several seconds before resolutely turning away and following Louisa into the next shop. There she’d patiently put up with being measured and having countless fabrics and trims held up to see how they complimented her coloring. With the promise that the seamstress would come to the Winslow estates for final fittings at the end of the week, Louisa had finally ushered Evie into the waiting carriage.

  And there, wrapped in paper and tied with a satin ribbon, lay a package.

  Seeing Evie’s name on the tag, Louisa handed the object to the girl. Evie had torn the outer coverings free with the eagerness of a child at Christmas. When she’d seen the doll, her eyes had filled with tears—as had Louisa’s.

  She’d known the instant she’d seen the golden curls who had purchased the toy. Glancing down at John, she’d offered a gruff, “Thank you,” unable to say anything more past the tears that knotted her throat.

  Those tears flowed more strongly when Evie launched herself at John, offering him an exuberant hug before self-consciously returning to the carriage.

  Standing now, Louisa crossed to the window, pushing aside the curtain and staring out at the darkness beyond.

  She still had no idea why Charles had arranged for a bodyguard. John had insisted that there were those who wished to harm her, but other than Boyd, she’d sensed no discontent from anyone. She had been treated with respect and gentility.

  So why was John here?

  More importantly, how long would he stay?

  She wrapped her arms around her waist, suddenly chilled.

  When had she begun to depend on him, even…care for him?

  Shaking her head in impatience, she crossed the room and began to hang Evie’s new things in the wardrobe with savage efficiency. But she had barely begun the job before she was inundated by a wave of restlessness and discontent. A loneliness she couldn’t deny.

  Hanging the last of Evie’s petticoats on a peg, Louisa closed the doors, resting her forehead on the cool panels.

  Had she no shame? No pride?

  But even her inner castigations were unable to derail her thoughts. Squeezing her eyes shut, she knew she was on a one-way track toward disaster. She was a widow, a guardian. She should be a bastion of respectability.

  But she was also a woman.

  Behind her, the door opened, and she knew immediately who stood there. She could feel him with every part of her being. She knew the instant that he found her in the darkness. She felt his gaze as if it were a hand stroking down her spine.

  A yearning swelled within her, filling her with a sweetness that she had come to know well. As she turned to face him, she felt the tension of her body ease into a deep, delicious languor. She became infinitely conscious of her own femininity.

  “She’s asleep?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any problems?”

  Louisa shook her head.

  “She missed two doses of her tonic,” John said softly.

  Louisa flushed when she realized that she’d forgotten such an important detail.

  “She seemed a little more clear without it,” he noted.

  Louisa realized he was right. The more the day had worn on, the sharper Evie’s awareness had seemed to be.

  “Perhaps her dosage needs to be changed. I’ve always thought she’s seemed…drugged.”

  “Yes.”

  Silence pooled between them, reminding them that Evie was safely sleeping and any precautions they might need to take would have to wait until morning. Until then…

  When John took a step forward, Louisa met him halfway. The moment he touched her, she felt as if she were home, melting into his arms with a familiarity that frightened her.

  Her arms swept around his neck at the same instant that he took her weight, lifting her against him, his lips covering hers.

  A storm of sensation rushed through her, sapping the strength from her body and leaving her trembling but oh, so alive. Clutching at his broad shoulders, she met each of his caresses with one of her own, absorbing the taste of him, the feel of him.

  When he finally drew back for breath, she rested her face in the hollow of his shoulder.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered.

  “Why not?”

  For a moment, she couldn’t think of a single objection. “My situation is…complicated,” she finally managed to say.

  “The only thing that complicates matters is you.”

  She nodded, wondering what he would say if he knew just how complicated her life had become. “So why am I so willing to make things even more difficult?” she murmured.

  She felt him take a deep breath, felt the beating of his heart beneath her cheek. “I’ve asked myself the same question, but I don’t have any answers. I only know that…around you—” he tipped her chin up “—I can’t seem to resist the temptation.”

  Then he was kissing her again, his mouth firm, insistent. She willingly opened her lips, allowing him to search her intimately. She was so tired of being “good.” She didn’t want to push him away any longer. When he held her in his arms, she felt beautiful and desirable.

  “What have you done to me?” she whispered against his cheek, gasping for air. “I have always been a sensible person.”

  “Always?” There was a smile in his voice.

  “Most of the time.”

  “And have you never been tempted to do something outrageous?”

  Her laughter was rueful. “Yes, but I have rarely allowed myself to give in.”

  He drew back suddenly, taking her hand. “Then come with me. Now.�
��

  Before she knew what he meant to do, he was tugging her out of the room, down the hallway and out the rear door.

  The night was thick and black around them as they left Beatrice and Evie sleeping in the house behind them and made their way to the nearby trees.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Shh. Don’t talk. Just surrender to the experience.”

  She didn’t need a second invitation. Laughing softly, she allowed him to pull her along a convoluted path, her skirts whispering in the grass, stray branches teasing her hair from its pins.

  Soon she became aware of the gurgle of water and she wondered at its source.

  “Is there a brook up ahead?”

  “Wait and see.”

  She didn’t know how she was supposed to see anything at all. The thick leaves overhead obscured what little light the moon might have to offer. But before she could wonder any more, the trees suddenly gave way to a small clearing.

  “Oh, John,” she breathed.

  In front of her lay a deep pool surrounded on all sides by verdant grass and patches of wildflowers. Overhead, the moon shone high, seeming to hover in the center of a frame of leaves and tree branches.

  “Let’s go in.”

  She gasped. “I couldn’t possibly. I—I don’t have… I couldn’t…”

  Before she could protest any further, he silenced her with a soft kiss.

  “For once, don’t analyze what you should or shouldn’t do. Follow the dictates of your heart.”

  The dictates of her heart…

  What would he say if she were to tell him that her heart begged her to do anything that would allow her to be closer to him?

  John gave a low, throaty chuckle. Drawing her to him, he stroked her back with his hands. Strong hands. Broad hands. They were big and powerful, yet still had the ability to soothe her or bring her to a fever pitch of desire.

  “Don’t think so much, Louisa. Follow your instincts. It’s only by listening to one’s heart that anyone can be truly happy.”

  Happy.

  Was she happy? She’d been given everything she’d ever wanted—a home, wealth, a family. So why did she feel so hollow inside? Why did she sense that in accepting the sudden windfall, she was missing or forgetting something?

  “Are you happy, John?” she asked, grasping his wrist when he would have touched her face. She wasn’t sure why, but she wanted to absorb his answer without the clouding affects caused by his touch.

  “I have known happiness.”

  “When.”

  “As a child. I had an…unconventional upbringing, but there were moments of superb happiness.”

  “What made them so wonderful?”

  “A good friend.”

  Louisa smiled, realizing that in that respect they were alike.

  “Was childhood your only source of happiness?”

  “No. I was lucky enough to be raised on a sprawling bit of land that offered me a chance to work hard and see things grow.”

  “But you still feel…unsatisfied.”

  “That’s an interesting choice of words.” His tone was wry.

  She felt the heat of embarrassment seep into her cheeks, but refused to be derailed.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yes. Unfortunately, I do.”

  He thought for a moment, holding her in the circle of his arms, his fingers laced together.

  “No. There are things I still long for.”

  “Such as?”

  “Children. Sons.”

  “Would they have to be sons?”

  He stared into the darkness, but she sensed that he was seeing something with his mind’s eye.

  “No. I don’t suppose they would.” There was a hint of wonder in his response, as if he’d never considered the alternative before.

  “What else?”

  “A wife.”

  “That goes without saying.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  Again, she felt the heat seep into her cheeks.

  “Does Betty know of your plans?”

  “Betty?”

  He stared at her blankly and she prompted, “The barmaid you spoke of.”

  “Ahh, yes. Betty. She’s a real corker.”

  “And is she to be the mother of your children?”

  He didn’t speak for the longest time. Instead, he regarded Louisa with such intensity, such thoughtfulness that she would have squirmed away if he hadn’t held her fast.

  “I don’t know if Betty is the gal for me, after all.”

  Louisa’s stomach flip-flopped, but this time, it wasn’t from nerves. Instead, it felt very much like pleasure. Joy.

  “Why would you say that? I thought the two of you seemed very much alike.”

  “Mmm. Perhaps. But in the last few weeks, I’ve broadened my outlook. I’ve begun to see that there are other types of women.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I’ve discovered that women can smell sweet and smile prettily and act with all of the gentility and propriety that a person could ever imagine. Yet simmering beneath that facade of respectability is something else.”

  Louisa felt as if the breath were being squeezed from her body. “And what would that be?”

  “The sensuality of a siren.”

  “Didn’t sirens lead sailors to their doom?”

  “Yes.”

  She felt his body tense. Moonlight revealed the gravity of his expression.

  “What about you, Louisa? Will your sweet passion lead me to my doom?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Louisa opened her mouth to offer an immediate denial, but the words wouldn’t come.

  Would she lead him to his doom?

  Or would she cause both of them to suffer for her weaknesses?

  In that instant, Louisa realized that she was trapped in the life she had chosen. As much as her heart might urge her to surrender and indulge in this man’s heated embraces, she knew she mustn’t. She was a newly widowed woman in a society where appearances were everything. If she was to ensure the proper place for Evie—and indeed, for herself—in Boston’s upper elite, she must behave in a way that was above reproach. Indulging in a romance with one’s bodyguard did not fit into the scheme of things.

  Neither did losing one’s heart to one’s employee.

  The thought was so shocking, so wrenching, that Louisa shied back, covering her mouth with her hand.

  Had she allowed herself to fall in love with John Smith?

  No, not love. This surely wasn’t love.

  But it could be.

  Horrified at how she’d stupidly allowed her emotions to hover on the precipice of commitment, she took another step backward, then another, and another. Then, knowing she must flee from her thoughts as much as from the man, she picked up her skirts and raced back to the garden house. She didn’t stop her headlong flight until she had closed herself in her room, shut the door behind her and turned the key in the lock.

  Sobbing, she rested her forehead against the wood. How could she have done such a thing? How could she have allowed herself to become emotionally involved with that man? He was everything she had fought to escape, the very life she had sought to avoid. He was living from job to job, pay to pay. He had no real home to call his own and his only real family was…was…

  A barmaid named Betty.

  Sinking to the floor, Louisa cried even harder, her heart feeling as if it were actually cracking in her chest.

  Why hadn’t she been smarter? Why hadn’t she found a way to make him leave? And barring that, why hadn’t she guarded herself against him more carefully? She’d been such a fool, such a brazen, wanton, lonely fool….

  Swiping at the tears that coursed down her cheeks, she crossed to her bed and threw herself upon the mattress.

  Too late, she had learned that money truly didn’t buy happiness. She’d thought that she would lead a life free from responsibilities—or at least none greater than running a household and arrangin
g flowers. All too soon, she had found that even wealth had a host of taxing duties that could not be denied.

  So what was she going to do? She had already tried everything in her power to make John Smith leave—and it was evident that she would not be able to resist him if he were near.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she realized the time had come to “make a scene”—something she had hoped to avoid. On Mr. Pritchard’s next visit, she would consult with the man and see if he could have John removed through legal avenues.

  Even if it meant hiring another man to take his place.

  The tears came again, stronger, faster.

  No. No man could ever take his place.

  After their stolen embrace by the pool, Neil became more troubled with the mysteries surrounding his old childhood friend.

  When he’d asked if she would lead him to his doom like the sirens of old, he had expected her to laugh at the comment—or better yet, to respond to the challenge. But to his infinite regret, he had seen her expression settle into something akin to horror. Then she had turned and fled.

  What had caused such a reaction? Until that moment, Neil had known that she shared his passion and his overwhelming need. When he’d drawn her into the forest, he’d envisioned that they would laugh and swim, kiss, perhaps even…

  Make love?

  Staring up at the ceiling of the screened porch, where he’d been assigned to sleep, Neil rested his arm on his forehead, his fingers absently tightening into a fist, then releasing again.

  What had gone wrong? Something had scared her.

  But Neil could think of nothing. She’d gone with him quite willingly. The way she’d reacted to his kisses had been heartfelt and immediate. And then…

  What? What had he done?

  He grew still when he realized that it might not have been anything that he’d said or done, but rather what they had been about to do.

  Had the thought of making love to him scared her? If so, was it because she was innocent of such intricacies of physical love?

  Or was she familiar with lovemaking and didn’t want him to know that fact?

  His eyes squeezed shut as he remembered the look that had settled over her features. Not hesitancy, not even fear. But horror.

  Dear sweet heaven above, was she pregnant? Had she known that by undressing in front of him—even if it were only for a midnight swim—she would reveal her condition?