Beached with a Baronet

by Murdoch, Emily

  Moses flushed, and an unwelcome sense of embarrassment crept over him. “I was not always so discourteous to my houseguests, but usually I have some choice in them! Be seated, by God, and let’s have no more words about it.”

  Typically, this brutish manner of speaking worked well – at least, it certainly drove the servants to his bidding most efficaciously.

  But for some reason, it did not work so well with Miss Vaughn.

  With her grey eyes pointedly fixed on his own, she stood up a little straighter and made absolutely no move whatsoever.

  Moses could feel his temper rising, and he tried to force it down. This lady was gentleborn, and it would not do for her to run and tell tales of his animal manner – particularly as he had been avoiding society for so long.

  “Do tell me, sir,” Miss Vaughn said in a mock sweetness, “when was it that you last had a houseguest here? I admit myself astonished that it could be within the last twelvemonth, the place being as decrepit as it is.”

  Moses swallowed. It would do no good to rise to her bait, that was for sure, and he did not have to sit here and take such insolence from a mere whit of a girl.

  “You must be tired,” he said gruffly, rising from his seat. “I will leave you to finish your meal and – ”

  “Is there a Mrs Moses Wandorne who prefers to greet guests?”

  The dull pain that Moses ever hoped would one day disappear struck him in the chest, and he almost physically staggered with the sting it caused him. Blinking quickly as though a bright torch had been thrust in his face, he stared at his unwanted guest with painfilled eyes.

  But in the gloom, she must not have noticed the effect her words were having on him – she could not, surely, for her next words were a murmur. “Though I suppose there cannot be a Lady Wandorne, or the house would be in better repair.”

  And that was the moment that Moses snapped.

  “‘Tis none of your goddamn business!” He snarled. “Who are you to ask such questions – you have no right to be here, let alone enquire into my personal business!”

  He expected her to cower; he expected her to wince at his words, to feel the shame of them, to realise the pain that she had caused, although unwittingly.

  But Miss Vaughn did none of these things.

  “I am only making conversation!” She shouted back. “I am just as much stuck with your company as you are with mine, but at least I am attempting to make the best of it, with very little help I may add!”

  Two pink dots had appeared in her cheeks, and a furrow on her forehead joined them to complete the look of outrage – but Moses found, much to his discomfort, that the expression only improved her countenance.

  He stared at her in astonishment. This was nothing like Charlotte, who had been the epitome of meekness. Whereas she had been like a brook, bubbling in woodland, this woman was the ocean, crashing her waves down on whomsoever got in her way.

  Moses found himself pulled in her tide, unable – and perhaps unwilling – to fight the current that was pulling him to her. There was something about this woman, something beyond the prettiness of her face and the strange mind that could declaim Latin and recognise strange birds.

  Miss Chloe Vaughn was unlike any woman Moses had had the misfortune of meeting, and whatever uniqueness she possessed, he simply had to find out what it was. She was an enigma, a puzzle, and he could never leave one alone.

  Certainly not one wrapped in such a delectable form.

  3

  In the instant that Moses opened his mouth to speak, although with no idea what those words would actually be, the door opened once more.

  “Baxter,” he almost shouted, and the servant jerked in surprise.

  The butler bowed. “Apologies for startling you, sir,” he said a little reproachfully, as though fully aware that he had done nothing wrong for entering a room, “but you had requested a gown for Miss Vaughn, and ‘tis only now that I have procured one, seeing as it is not an item I often have on my…ahem … person.”

  It was all so absurd that Moses almost laughed. Here he was, desperate to be left alone and quite successfully so for almost a year, and now he was thrust with a woman dripping on his carpet who seemed quite unawed in his presence, and now a butler who, against all previous experience of his character, was attempting to make jokes?

  All he wanted to do, thought Moses as he gritted his teeth, was to be left alone. Did that have to be so difficult?

  “Why, thank you, Baxter,” Miss Vaughn swept towards him, gracefully putting the plate down as she moved. “It looks wonderful. There is a place, I take it, where I may change?”

  Lightning flashed across the window, illuminating the three of them in some sort of grotesque theatrical scene: the butler gaping at Miss Vaughn, Miss Vaughn evidently delighting in the effect that she was having on both master and butler, and he – he was utterly lost in her presence. He had never experienced anything like this before: she left him speechless, whether shouting at him or identifying unusual birds. What sort of sprite was she?

  And then she was gone. As the shimmer from the lightning faded, Moses looked around himself like a fool, certain that she had vanished into the light. She was like a dream, like a daydream that drifted into the mind and then vanished again.

  It was difficult to believe that she had been there at all.

  “Baxter, where did she come from?” He asked hoarsely.

  Baxter frowned, as though the question was impertinent. “I have no idea, sir. Miss Vaughn appeared at the front door with a certain amount of noise and a definite amount of water, sir, and she begged for entrance. I did not deem it wise to leave her out of doors.”

  “But she was alone?” Moses pressed. “None were with her, no one at all?”

  Baxter inclined his head, and Moses felt a flicker of irritation spark in his gut again.

  “Vaughn. Vaughn of Chequerbent,” he repeated in a low voice. “I have never heard of Sir William Vaughn, have you?”

  This time Baxter smiled slightly. “Why do you not ask the young lady these questions, sir? Surely she will have an easier time answering them than myself.”

  Moses coloured slightly. Baxter did not have to say the word, but he knew that he was being chided for his impertinence, and perhaps rightly so. There was no need for him to enquire about a young lady’s family; not unless you had particular designs on said young lady, and that part of him had died a year ago.

  Most of it. It certainly felt as though a small part of it was resurrected each and every time that Miss Chloe Vaughn looked his way.

  There was a servile cough. Moses looked up and saw Baxter looking at him with the first knowing smile that had ever graced his lips.

  “May I make a suggestion, sir?”

  Moses nodded curtly. Miss Vaughn’s fierce anger, the way her fingers twitched to touch the specimens but knew that she could not, the way the air seemed to change around her …

  He was smiling. Why was he smiling?

  Baxter’s smile broadened. “If you are so curious about the lady, sir, I suggest that you ask the one person that I can guarantee will have all the answers that you seek.”

  Something leapt in Moses’ stomach. So, there was a person who knew all of Miss Chloe Vaughn’s secrets, was there? “Who?”

  Baxter bowed his head and took a step to the side as the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen walked through the door. “Miss Chloe Vaughn, sir.”

  Moses found his breath utterly taken away and cursed himself inwardly to be so affected by a woman, by anyone. But just one look at her was enough to force his lungs empty. His head started to spin with the lack of oxygen, and with a control he barely thought possible, he reminded himself to breathe.

  The gown was a deep buttercup yellow, richly made from silk, but it was nothing to the woman that it encircled. Her eyes were brighter now that she was out of those wet things, her hair completely undone and flowing over her shoulders. There was an archness to her eye and a smile that threaten
ed to dance across her face at any moment, as though she knew, as if she could see inside his mind and read the confusion there.

  And then Moses saw that her fingers, slender but shaking slightly, were clutched to the capped sleeves of the gown, and they would not let go – and little wonder, for as she walked forward a ribbon danced in the breeze she created, and Moses almost groaned aloud as he realised that the gown was not done up at the back.

  “I…I was wondering, Sir Moses,” she said in a faltering voice, and then she stopped, as though his face was murderous and she dare not take a step forward.

  Moses swallowed and thanked his stars that he was seated and hence able to hide the very physical reaction that her reappearance had made to his body.

  “Yes?” He managed to force his typical gruffness back into his voice, but it was an effort. The last thing he wanted to do was be gruff to this creature, this nymph of beauty that stood before him, vulnerable, almost certainly naked from the back, and his body responded to the licentious thought that rocked through him.

  Miss Vaughn smiled nervously, but the colour in her cheeks spoke more of embarrassment than merriment. “‘Tis most unfortunate, but I must admit that I typically have a girl to help me into gowns this complex, and I find myself unable to … to tie the ribbon. At the back.”

  No matter how many times Moses swallowed, it did not seem possible to moisten his mouth. With a croak, he said, “What a conundrum.”

  “Is not it?” She was speaking now as though they had just been introduced at Almack’s and she was explaining that she had dropped her fan and could barely deign to pick it up, but Moses was not fooled. Behind the brevity, there was a deep crimson growing in her cheeks – and why not? This was a scandalous situation in itself, a young lady and a man alone in a house. And now gowns, and ribbons, and what he felt surely would soon be a request?

  He was not wrong.

  “And so I was wondering,” Miss Vaughn was saying cautiously, “if … well, if you would be so kind as to …”

  Her voice trailed off, and Moses rose automatically, the shining knight without armour ready to rescue the damsel in distress.

  The moment that the thought had crossed his mind, he cringed at it – and at every muscle in his body, which seemed unable to remember how to walk properly. With Miss Vaughn’s gaze on him, his legs did not move with the typical strength and grace that he had once been noted for. What in God’s name was wrong with him?

  The answer came as soon as she turned around to reveal yes, the slender curve of her neck, and the bare skin of her back. There was a sharp intake of breath, and to Moses’ shame he realised it was his own.

  He was but a step away from her now – and now he was right behind her, inches away, mere fingertips if he could have but the strength and reach out to her –

  “‘Tis a simple pattern,” breathed Miss Vaughn. “I do not think it will give you too much trouble.”

  Moses almost laughed at her words, but that would require breath, and he had none. His fingers were shaking now at the mere prospect of grazing that warm soft skin, but he could not stand here all night with a half-dressed lady before him.

  This damned dress had to be either off or on, and while he knew the preference that every inch of his body was crying out for, he would not countenance it. He was not a seducer of young ladies.

  “I can see the pattern,” he said hoarsely. “I will be but a moment.”

  Swallowing hard, Moses reached out his fingers and took the wayward ribbons in each hand. This was closer than he had ever got to a woman, and it was a challenge to keep his mind on the winding ins and outs of the ribbons as his fingertips danced closer and closer to that skin which he wanted to taste, not just touch.

  For one crazy, heady moment, he imagined it: pulling out the ribbon instead of weaving it through, and pulling down the gown in one silky fluid moment, turning her round to face him and seeing the startled look on her face but also the forbidden desire, her breasts heaving with shock and excitement, and his hands moving across her body to bring her closer to him –

  And then he was finished. With one shaky knot, the ribbon was secure, and Miss Chloe Vaughn was safe from his wildest fantasies.

  “There,” he exhaled.

  Unsure exactly what he was expecting, Moses was nevertheless disappointed when Miss Vaughn took an experimental step forward, as though to check that the gown was indeed securely tied, and then picked up her plate of food and returned to her seat.

  With a raised eyebrow, she stared unashamedly at it with curiosity that Moses was unaccustomed to. He scowled at her, and threw himself back into his own seat, but before he could reach out and retrieve his book – this time, the correct way up – she spoke.

  “You asked me before how I knew about the quail’s name.”

  Moses glanced at her. Miss Vaughn’s expression was open, and she was smiling at him gently as she finished her food – clearly famished. He nodded.

  “I am a natural philosopher,” she declared with a wry smile. “Or perhaps more accurately, I wish to be one.”

  Moses stared at her, and she laughed at his obvious incredulity.

  “Well, why not!” Miss Vaughn declared, but there was a hint of defiance in her tone which did not go unnoticed. “There are intelligent women up and down the country, Sir Moses, and are we to be restricted in our academic efforts merely due to a coincidence of birth?”

  “‘Tis sadly the approach of our universities,” Moses managed. A natural philosopher? This woman before him was surely more suited as a model for the greatest painters in the land, such was her beauty. “I do not think that they have admitted a woman…well, in all their times. ‘Tis more the stage for baronets and lords, like myself.”

  Miss Vaughn scowled, and he almost laughed at how well the vision of annoyance became her. “It is a dreadful scandal, that is what it is. Why educate our young ladies, I ask you, if we as a society are just to forbid them from venturing further? To offer them a sweet taste of education, a glimpse at the knowledge that lies just beyond our reach, if we are to curtail them just as their minds begin to blossom?”

  “And yet you must admit that few women are educated in such a manner,” countered Moses, almost despite himself. Was this really happening? Was he having a debate with an Aphrodite who had stumbled into his home, dripping wet, about the merits of an English education.

  Shifting in her chair, Miss Vaughn nodded sagely. “I was fortunate indeed. I was educated as befits a man, as the school motto goes, and it was there that I met one of my closest friends, Miss Rebecca Callaghan. She shares with me the love of knowledge that has been, for so long, barred to the fairer sex.”

  Moses did not reply but watched the countenance of Miss Vaughn. Well, her argument was sound. Had he ever seen evidence that a woman could not be as smart as a man?

  “You have certainly proved an intelligence beyond most of the woman that I have met,” Moses said gruffly, trying to ignore the stirring in his stomach as he spoke, “and some of the men, too.”

  Miss Vaughn laughed, and it caused a lurch in his chest that was not unpleasant. “I would never believe that the superiority was on purely one side at all – but I do think that the balance of academic power has rested with men for too long. How are we to prove ourselves, I ask you, if never given the chance?”

  Moses nodded slowly. “You are quite right, of course, Miss Vaughn. I have always believed that a girl, if taught properly, could be the match of her brother.”

  Something changed in the way that she was sitting – did she lean forward? Did she tilt her head towards him?

  “Exactly,” she said quietly. “Have you children, Sir Moses?”

  She could not know; she could never know the pain that the question inflicted on him. Moses physically started, and then turned his face away to the empty grate, trying to quell the rush of emotions that rose, unbidden, in his heart.

  When he had collected himself, his eyes glanced over to Miss Vaughn once
again. Her cheeks had coloured, and her eyes had fallen to consider her fingers.

  “One of my greatest faults, I have always been told, is my desire to question,” she spoke quietly. “To always be asking, always wondering. I think it will make me a truly inquisitive natural philosopher, but I often forget how intrusive that is for those who I have just met. I … I apologise for my rudeness.”

  This speech was so different from anything that Moses could have imagined would come from Miss Vaughn’s lips that his jaw dropped. A natural philosopher? Inquisitive? Apologise?

  The sense of awkwardness between them was growing slightly now, and Moses gritted his teeth. He had been raised in some of the best society, and he well knew now what was expected of him: a returned apology.

  His gaze flickered over Miss Vaughn; the way the single candle in the room still seemed to dance over her, glistening over her golden hair, which was still damp in places.

  “And I too owe you an apology,” he said gruffly, without much heart.

  “I wish you would not,” returned Miss Vaughn sharply. “There is nothing more irritating to me than a false apology, and so I hope you will not insult my intelligence by trotting one out just because manners demand it.”

  Moses’s jaw, so recently dropped, fell again. “I beg your pardon?”

  In the seconds of silence between them, Moses heard the rain lashing on the windows, but felt something like warmth growing between them. It was impossible not to respect Chloe – Miss Vaughn, and with every word he found himself, against his better judgement, against his inclination, against his very nature … trusting her.

  “‘Tis evident to me,” continued Miss Vaughn, but with a smile that was kind, “that society’s description of you was quite correct.”

  Heat – from embarrassment or anger, he could not tell which – rose in Moses’s face. “Description?”

  Miss Vaughn laid her plate down on the floor, empty save for a few crumbs. “Miser.”