The Risqué Resolution

by Jillian Eaton

  James’ mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “Natalie, come with me.”

  “Natalie, stay right where you are.”

  The woman, James decided instantly, was no fairy. No, she was far too obnoxious for that. A sprite, he thought with annoyance. The kind that were fabled to cause all sorts of mischief and mayhem. “May I speak with you in private?” he bit out.

  Lily arched one dark eyebrow. “Certainly.”

  He went to reach for her… with his left arm. The motion was so ingrained he forgot that part of his body no longer existed until it was too late. Thrown off balance by his own momentum he staggered to the side, bumping hard into the refreshment table. Pastries wobbled and grapes spilled out across the floor as he righted himself and, without a backwards glance, stalked to the nearest door and yanked it open.

  The door led to a narrow hallway, the hallway to a dimly lit parlor.

  Flames slumbered in the fireplace. James brought them to life with a few sharp jabs of a metal poker before throwing his body down into a leather chair and staring into the newly aroused flickers of orange and yellow light with an intensity that made his head ache.

  When the door creaked open he didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to. There was only one person fool enough to chase after a man who was so clearly unfit for social company, and he had no intention of talking to her.

  “Go away,” he said flatly.

  The quiet shuffle of slippers on wood, a whisper of crinoline, and a short, annoyed exhalation of breath announced Lily’s arrival. “You said you wanted to speak to me in private.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Well, that may be, but since I am already here you might as well say what you wanted to say.”

  James’ growl was nothing short of animalistic in nature. He curled his hand into the armrest, digging his fingers into the buttery soft leather, using it as an anchor to hold him to chair. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

  Lily sighed. “I know we have only just met, but I must admit I feel—”

  “I do not care,” James interrupted through gritted teeth, “what you bloody well feel. All I care is that you GET THE HELL OUT!”

  Absolute silence followed his outburst.

  James’ throat convulsed as he attempted to swallow the shame that accompanied losing his temper in such a vile way. To yell at a stranger for virtually no reason was bad enough, but to yell at a gently bred lady… Disgraceful. Beneath his tightly wound cravat his chest burned red and he buried his face in the crook of his shoulder while he waited for the inevitable tears to start and the door to slam.

  Only there were no tears or slamming of doors, and after what felt like a small eternity curiosity finally forced James to turn in his chair.

  “Yes, I am still here,” Lily remarked mildly. Standing in the middle of the shadowy room with her hands perched high on her hips, she stared down her nose at him and sniffed. “As you can see, I have not collapsed in a fit of hysterics nor have I rushed from the room crying for my mother. I am afraid it will take more than a bit of shouting to frighten me off, Captain Rigby. At the very least more cursing. You are quite loud, but not terribly inventive. Should I give you some better words to use the next time you feel like letting off a bit of steam?” Her lips curved. “I admit I know quite a few.”

  “Who are you?” he asked in genuine bewilderment.

  She stepped forward, moving so gracefully it seemed as though she wasn’t moving at all, except one moment she was across the room and the next she was leaning against the back of his chair, her face so close to his he could see a star shaped freckle high on her left cheek. The urge to kiss that delightful little freckle, to see if her ivory skin felt as soft as it looked, to know what she tasted like against his mouth, was so overwhelming James abruptly spun around and shoved himself forward, resting on the very edge of the chair, as far from Lily as he could possibly get without standing.

  “My name is Lily Kincaid, as I have told you” she said quietly. “Although I believe the better question to ask would be who you are, Captain Rigby.”

  He glared into the flames. “My sister told you who I am.”

  “You name, perhaps, and your rank, but those two things do not tell me who you truly are. I would think you were still a solider, for you hold yourself like one, but you do not wear the uniform. You possess the arrogance of a lord, but not the patience for the mindless social games that accompany such a title. A gentleman would describe you best, perhaps, except I fear there is nothing gentle about you.” Lily lowered her voice, lowered her head, and whispered into his ear, “So who are you, Captain James Rigby?”

  She smelled, James thought with an irrational surge of anger, like peaches. How the bloody hell could she smell like peaches in the middle of winter? The sweet, tart scent reminded him of a childhood long ago spent visiting a now dead aunt and uncle in the small coastal town of Brest. They’d owned a modest estate, and on the estate there was a poorly tended orchard of peach trees. He and Natalie had spent many an afternoon playing hide-and-seek in the secluded grove, eating fruit until their bellies ached and their chins were stained yellow from the sweet nectar of the peaches.

  How simple life had been back then… And how very much he did not want to remember, nor be reminded, of innocence lost and never regained.

  “Who are you to ask such a question?” Unable to remain still any longer, he lurched clumsily to his feet and turned so he felt the heat of the fire on his back, careful to keep the leather chair as a barrier between them. He had been too long without a woman to trust himself… especially around one as beautiful – and infuriating – as Lily Kincaid.

  “No one in particular.” Lily trailed her fingertips along the top of the chair, caressing the soft leather. James imagined what it would feel like to feel those fingers trailing along his own skin… and felt himself go hard. “I am just a woman,” she continued, oblivious to the physical effect she had on him, “who saw a man across a ballroom and thought ‘now that is someone worth knowing’.”

  “I am no one,” he said gruffly. Least of all someone fit for the likes of you, he added silently.

  Even if he wasn’t a cripple, even if he could make it through the day without drinking half a bottle of whisky, even if he didn’t wake up every night soaked in his own sweat screaming out the names of men who were long buried in the ground, he wouldn’t have been a match for a lady like Lily. She was too delicate. Too easily broken. Too… too everything right, where he was everything wrong. No doubt someone had put the idea in her head that it would be a passing amusement to indulge in a bit of heavy flirting with an officer, and pure happenstance had brought her to him.

  At the thought, James’ eyes narrowed and his mouth hardened. He was no toy to be picked up, admired, and cast aside at the whim of some bored debutante. Perhaps it was time for Lily to learn if you played with fire, you ran the risk of getting burned.

  His mind made up to teach her a lesson – he had warned her to leave, after all – James stalked around the side of the chair and stopped short in front of her. The firelight bathed them in its glow, casting flickering shadows that climbed the walls in long, sinuous strokes of black edged with orange and red. Beyond the study faint strains of music could be heard, a reminder of a ball James had already forgotten about. His thoughts veered to Natalie and obligations better served elsewhere, but then Lily wet her bottom lip with a tiny flick of her tongue and he couldn’t think at all.

  She tipped her head back, her unusually colored eyes steady on his. The air itself seemed to hum, filled with an electricity so potent it set the hairs at the nape of his neck on edge. His hand clenched, muscles tightening and bulging beneath his overcoat. One step closer. Another. The lapels of his jacket brushed against the bodice of her gown. Lily drew in a sharp breath. Her eyes closed…

  Without warning his determination wavered.

  Like a ship whose rudder had been knocked askew James was thrown off course and left reeling in waves of self doubt a
nd indecision. What woman in her right mind would want to kiss him? What woman would want to be held by a man who was less than whole? None, came the immediate answer, and certainly not this one. She’s too good for you, James. You’re a crippled ex-solider who is most likely more than a little half mad. Leave before you’re the one left, you bloody fool.

  Lily’s eyes opened. “Captain Rigby? What is the matter?”

  “I… I…” But words failed him and, without knowing what else to do, he shoved roughly past and fled the room as though the very demons of hell were nipping at his heels.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Well that had certainly not gone as planned.

  As she watched the door to the study swing back and forth, propelled into motion by James’ hasty exit, Lily made a soft humming sound of distress and sank into the nearest chair. All she wanted was a bit of conversation, and – if she were being honest – a kiss. The notion of James’ mouth covering her own had been a thrilling one, and it had taken all of her self control not to launch herself at him while she waited impatiently for him to go about the business of putting his lips on hers.

  Never one to shy away from passion, Lily had indulged in her fair share of kisses since coming of age, although she’d minded her manners and never gone any further than allowing the occasional hand to cup her breast in the dark shadows of a garden. She was willing to do more, but it would have to be with the right man.

  Was Captain James Rigby that man? It was too soon to tell.

  The initial spark of attraction she so desperately craved and so rarely received was there, which was most definitely a promising sign. Lily could count on one hand the number of men who had managed to turn her head since her debut and there was no denying she’d felt drawn to James the moment she spied him across the room.

  It was rather unfortunate he possessed such a churlish temperament, but she supposed if she had suffered through the horrors of war and lost an arm in the process she would be rather churlish as well. It was what lurked beneath the rough exterior that truly interested her.

  He was someone who had experienced the world. Who had lived outside the four corners of London and seen the gritty, raw side of life never witnessed by lords of the manor living safely within the confines of their estates sipping port and discussing the weather.

  The door creaked open, washing light into the dark study. Lily looked up expectantly, her heart beginning to pound as she anticipated James’ return, but the tiny jolt of excitement subsided with a faint flutter of disappointment when she saw it was her dear friend Sarah, not the enigmatic captain, who had come looking for her.

  “Lily? Is that you?” Squinting into the study, Sarah pushed the door open wider and took two hesitant steps inside. Dressed in a stunning plum colored gown with her golden hair twisted into a demure coiffure, she managed to look equal parts bookish and beautiful. Always the shyer and more demure of the two, Sarah had finally found her inner confidence after marrying Devlin, and Lily had never known her friend to be happier.

  “Yes,” she answered with a sigh, “you have found me.”

  “What in heavens name are you doing sitting by yourself in the dark?” Her skirts swishing against her ankles, Sarah moved briskly across the room and lit two beeswax candles before sinking into a chaise lounge opposite of Lily’s chair with a little oof of breath. “I am quite tired,” she admitted. “Devlin has insisted on dancing nearly every waltz, even though I told him having one’s husband fill up their card is not at all de rigueur.”

  “And you would not have it any other way,” Lily said with a grin.

  Sarah’s cheeks brightened ever so slightly. “No, I suppose not. But enough about me.” She waved her hand in the air, causing the firelight to reflect off her gold wedding band. “Has something happened? Why are you in hiding?” A line appeared between her pale eyebrows as she frowned. “Was someone untoward? If they were, tell me their name and I will have Devlin—”

  “No, no, nothing has happened. Even if it had, do you really think I would be sulking in a room by myself?” Even though that is exactly what I am doing, she thought silently. Sulking because, for once in my life, a man did not go out of his way to please me.

  Lily had never put much stock in physical appearance, but she was an intelligent woman, and she knew her beauty was held in high regard. As a result men had been courting her favor since she was a girl of fourteen, which explained all the kisses. It did not explain why James had left her in the lurch, choosing to brave the crowded ballroom – something he clearly despised – rather than kiss her. Her nose wrinkling as she recalled his expression of disgust, she shifted her right shoulder back and gave a discreet sniff. Well, she didn’t smell. At least she had that in her favor, if not much else where the ex-solider was concerned.

  “Lily, dear…”

  “Yes?”

  “What are you doing?”

  Lily let her shoulder drop and crossed her slender legs at the ankle beneath the voluminous folds of her gown. “Seeing if I stink.”

  Sarah released a startled laugh. “Why would you stink?”

  “I do not know.” Lily shrugged. “I just thought that I might and so I was checking to see if I did, but I don’t. At least I don’t think I do. Then again, perhaps one cannot smell oneself. You should do it.”

  But Sarah, her expression wary, was already shaking her head. “Do what? Smell you? Lily, are you certain nothing is amiss? You are acting very strangely.” Her countenance abruptly softening, she reached between their chairs to squeeze Lily’s hand. “I know you must still be mourning your father. I rather thought attending a ball this early might be too much, but you always seem to do best when you are the busiest. Do you want me to have a carriage brought round to take you home?”

  “A carriage is the last thing I need,” Lily said cryptically.

  “Well, if you don’t want a carriage, what is it you do want?”

  “A husband,” Lily said after a long pause. Gently extricating her hand from Sarah’s grasp she sat back, crossed her arms over her chest, and looked directly at her friend. “I want a husband.”

  Natalie watched her brother storm back into ballroom from the safety of the refreshment table. Wedged between plates of desserts and an oversized potted fern she was able to remain silently in the background, a true wallflower if ever there was one.

  It wasn’t that she did not want attention. In truth, she was starving for it. Unfortunately, it was when she received attention, especially of the male variety, that the problems began. Problems that had turned into symptoms of an illness she feared was ruining her life. An illness she knew the cause of, but not the cure.

  Shortness of breath.

  Perspiration on her palms.

  An embarrassing stutter.

  A deep, cloying fear that suffocated from the inside out.

  She hated that James triggered the illness. Hated that she was afraid of her own brother. Hated the wounded look that flashed across his face whenever she flinched away. He had returned from the battlefield needing help, and all she had to give was hurt.

  But how could she ever explain the source of her fear? At the mere thought Natalie’s eyes pinched shut and her heart rate sped up. An icy chill raced down her spine, extending all the way to the balls of her feet and out to the tips of her fingers. If she told he would know, and if he knew… With a soft cry she curled her hand into a fist and pressed it hard against her mouth to contain the sickness that threatened to spill up and out. If he knew, it would begin all over again.

  Needing to distract herself from thoughts best left buried, Natalie opened her eyes and scanned the crowded room for James. Amidst the laughing faces his stern, unsmiling countenance was easy to spot. He was already looking at her, and when their gazes met his head tilted to the side, his eyes flicking towards the couples who were dancing in silent question.

  “No,” Natalie mouthed, suppressing a tremble. It was all she could do to stand in the same room with so many men and not
scream bloody murder. To actually dance with one… To allow his hands to touch her body… Again the wave of sickness swelled within her breast, and again she managed to fight it back. No. No, she would not be dancing tonight, nor any other night, not if she could help it.

  She hoped if she attended the ball tonight things would be different. That she would be different, but now she knew there was to be no easy fix for her illness.

  James returned to his corner. Natalie remained in hers.

  What a pair they made, their current situation made all the worse by the fact that they hadn’t always been so miserable. Once they’d been happy, blissfully so, living in a world beyond war and nightmares and hot, breathy voices asking if you wanted a tickle before bedtime. Now their world was fractured, their happiness only a memory.

  What Natalie wouldn’t give to have things go back to the way they were. If not for her, then for James. He’d sacrificed so much. The life he knew. The family he loved. The future that would have been his if he hadn’t given it all up to go fight for queen and country.

  She wished she could be the one to bring him back from the brink of darkness, but she feared her own despair was so great she would only serve to tip them both over the edge. He needed someone stronger than she to show him the light. To show him how to live and laugh and love again.

  He had friends who wanted to help, but the ones who went to war with him had not returned and those who remained did not understand.

  No, he needed someone else. Someone who had not known him before. Someone who would not mind having their feelings hurt. Someone strong enough to ease his pain, but gentle enough to soothe his fear. Someone loud enough to drown out his past. Someone bright enough to help draw him into a future free from worry and regret.

  Someone, Natalie thought as a sudden idea took root, exactly like Lily Kincaid.

  Closing her eyes, she drew on what little faith she had left and wished for a miracle.