Lily pushed away from the fence and lifted her chin. “I am going with you, Captain Rigby.”
James paused with his boot half in the stirrup and looked incredulously at her over his shoulder. “Into the woods? You bloody well are not. Go home, Lady Kincaid. The winds are picking up and heavier snow will soon be upon us. It is too cold for—”
“A woman?” she interrupted, lifting one dark brow. “Please spare me your lecture on propriety, Captain Rigby. I brought Mr. Betram out here, and I will see him safely home. If your horse can carry two I will ride, if not I will walk, but be certain I will go with you either way.”
James stared hard at her. She returned his stare unflinchingly, her posture as rigid as any general’s. Hooking his fingers under the pommel of his saddle James mounted, swinging his right leg over without incident. He took the reins in hand, rubbing his thumb across the smooth leather. Biscuit tensed, his muscles rippling and shifting in anticipation of his master’s cues. He mouthed the bit, clanking the metal between his teeth and tossing his head.
“Open the gate,” James said at last.
“And?” Lily challenged.
“And you can ride with me.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Fate, Lily mused as she took in her new surroundings, was a complicated beast. Three hours ago she had been arguing with her mother and sister in the cozy confines of a parlor and now she was stranded with a man she barely knew in a small, forgotten caretaker’s cottage tucked away in the middle of the forest.
Snow fell mercilessly outside the small, two room cottage, covering everything in a thick blanket of white. Standing on her tiptoes – the better to see beyond the drift that was rapidly accumulating outside the kitchen window – Lily peered up at the darkening sky, exposed in slivers of gray and angry blue through skeletal tree branches that clicked and clacked with the wind. A quiet whine had her reaching down to skim her hand across the top of Mr. Betram’s head.
They’d found the wayward hound sitting in a thicket of brambles. He hadn’t barked when they approached; instead he simply wagged his tail and tilted his head, as though to say: what took you so long?
Unfortunately, by the time they retrieved Mr. Betram the winter storm had moved in with enough force to make a return trip nigh on impossible, and they’d been forced to seek shelter.
Lily had been the one to spot the cottage through the trees.
Sitting in the midst of an overgrown glen it was clearly abandoned, but the front door was unlocked and the furniture from the last inhabitants still in place. Besides a round wooden table with two mismatched chairs in the nook that served as the kitchen, there was a small writing desk, a musty smelling sofa, and a free standing bookcase stripped of books. Two wing chairs upholstered in faded blue fabric flanked a stone hearth and curtains, heavy with dust, framed the cottage’s four windows. There was a bedroom as well, complete with a bed, which both Lily and James were resolutely ignoring although she’d caught his gaze straying towards the partially open door on more than one occasion.
Mr. Betram’s fur was still damp from the snow and Lily wiped her palm on her skirt before she turned and directed her attention across the room to where James was kneeling in front of the stone hearth, attempting to start a fire.
His hand was cupped in front of his mouth and he was coaxing the flames to life with his breath, summoning them up from the depths of the kindling until they attacked the larger pieces of wood with a ferocity Lily found quite impressive.
“Have you done that many times before?” she asked, shuffling a few steps closer to the fire and extending her hands towards the warmth now emanating from the hearth. The flames crackled merrily, lighting the room in a soft glow. It was curiously cheerful, if she ignored the fact that she was stranded a good furlong from home with only a strange man for company. And yet, she did not feel ill at ease in James’ presence. In truth he’d hardly said more than a dozen words to her since they began their journey, and she certainly did not feel in danger of being ravished. If anything he’d gone out of his way to avoid touching her, both on the horse and off, and Lily was left with the distinct impression that he was far more uncomfortable with the situation than she.
Her thought was proven correct when he leapt to his feet and jumped warily to the side, as though she were some carnivorous beast intent of devouring him whole instead of a tiny woman trying to get warm.
“Have you done that before?” she asked.
“Have I done what before?”
“Started a fire without a tinderbox.”
For some reason, her clarification prompted a scowl. “Yes,” he said shortly. “I have.”
Captain James Rigby, she decided, was a man of few words. Which was perfectly fine, as she had more than enough for the both of them. “How long do you think we will have to stay here?”
Another innocent question, another scowl. He was standing to the side of the hearth, his countenance half in and half out of shadow. It made him appear forbidding. Ominous, even. Lily knew she should have been afraid. Any woman in her right mind would be. Instead she was… intrigued? Yes. Intrigued was as good a word as any to describe the fluttering sensation in her chest.
“When the snow stops and settles we can leave,” he said.
Lily bit the inside of her cheek. “But it may not stop snowing for hours, and by then it will be dark.”
James’ expression was unreadable. “Then we will leave at first light.”
At first light…
First light meant dawn. Dawn meant morning. Morning meant… She sucked in a breath. Morning meant spending the night here. With James. Alone.
For the first time, Lily considered her reputation and the possible repercussions that would follow if anyone found out where she’d been. She would be ruined, completely and irrevocably. Society was not kind to women who broke the unwritten rules; principle among them being one did not spend the evening alone with a gentleman without a proper chaperone. It hardly mattered if anything happened between her and Captain Rigby. She would be considered spoiled goods, and men seeking wives of high moral character did not want anything that was spoiled, no matter that they were hardly coming to the marriage bed a virgin themselves.
“Are you certain there is no way we can get home before nightfall?” Anxious now, she returned to the kitchen where her cloak was drying on one of the chairs. The fabric was still damp, but it was certainly wearable and all things considered she would much rather risk a chill than condemnation from her peers.
James remained by the hearth but his eyes followed her. When she turned with the cloak bundled tight in her arms he was staring at her unabashedly, an odd expression on his face. “I am sorry, but it does not seem likely. Biscuit will be unable to carry additional weight through the drifts and your dog—”
“I can carry him!” Lily cried. Except she couldn’t, not really, and the look James gave her said as much. He cleared his throat.
“I will not… I will not do anything untoward, if that is why you are concerned.”
“It’s not,” she muttered, looking away.
“You can sleep in the bedroom with the door closed, and I will be quite comfortable in front of the fire. I fear there is not any food, but hopefully we will be able to leave first thing in the morning and you will be home before breakfast.”
Lily set her cloak aside and slumped into one of the kitchen chairs. It wobbled to the right, but held firm. Perching her elbow on the table, she adopted a scowl all her own. “And then what?” she challenged.
James’ eyebrows darted together. “What do you mean?”
“Of course you do not understand. You are a man, and such things do not concern you.” Her agitation increased, although whether it was at herself or him or the male species in general she could not be certain. Stupid, she chided herself. You are so very stupid, Lily, and now you are going to have to pay the consequences for your impulsive actions. Unless… She straightened in her chair. Unless you really do become spoiled goods, and the
man doing the spoiling is forced to offer marriage.
She was grasping. She knew she was. Not to mention being quite underhanded, scheming, and devious – three traits she abhorred above all others. But with the deadline of Christmas breathing down her neck, what other choice did she have?
Family had always been of utmost importance to Lily. She would rather die than see her mother and sister be turned into beggars… Or, in this case, trick a man into marrying her by the worst means imaginable.
Her fingers began to thrum against the table. James would hate her in the end, and she would hate herself. But her mother and Elsa would have a future free from worry, and wasn’t that all that mattered?
It really wasn’t so different from what all the other women of her station did, she convinced herself as she watched James stoke the fire from beneath her lashes. Flocking to eligible men like pigeons to bread crumbs, pecking away until the poor fellow eventually gave up and gave in. She was simply being more up front about the whole thing. In a not-quite-telling-the-truth sort of way.
If her plan failed she would be no better or worse off than before, the only exception being she really would be giving up her virginity, but then everyone would think she had anyways so really, what was the point of holding onto it?
With each day passing by quicker than the last it really was her best chance at securing a husband. Her only chance, if truth be told. Again she wondered at the nuances of fate. What intricate threads of destiny and happenstance had brought her to this very moment, with this very man? Would her choices this eve create ripples of consequence that ultimately destroy her future? Or was this somehow, someway, how things were supposed to happen? Her fingers increased in tempo, striking the table hard enough to send little jolts of pain shooting up into her wrist.
“Can you stop that incessant tapping?” Standing, James turned in a half circle and skewered her with a glare that would have no doubt brought a weaker female to tears. Lily merely lifted her chin and stared down her nose at him.
“They are my fingers,” she said, “and I will do with them what I please.”
“Stubborn wench,” he growled under his breath.
“Arrogant brute.”
“Spoiled brat.”
Lily sat up a little straighter. Two could play at this game. “Caper witted bounder.”
“Featherbrained peagoose.”
“Bacon-brained fatwit!”
James choked out a laugh. It sounded rusty, as though he hadn’t laughed at anything in a very, very long time. “Bacon-brained fatwit?” he repeated, tilting his head to the side.
Lily shrugged. “It was the only thing I could think of.”
“Are you not in the habit of slinging insults?”
“No,” she said, biting back a smile. “Not precisely. I fear you bring out the worst in me.” In more ways than you can possibly imagine, she added silently. Guilt weighed heavily on her shoulders, but she shoved it aside. She could not afford to feel guilty. Not if she wanted to do what needed to be done.
But how? Planning on losing her virginity was far different than actually doing the deed. Lily was accustomed to doing things herself, but she feared this was one of the few things she would be unable to accomplish solely on her own. She would need James’ cooperation – his willing cooperation – if she wanted to set her plan in motion. Which meant she needed to stop insulting the man and start seducing him. Resolving herself to go through with the dirty deed, she did a quick glance around the room, taking stock of her surroundings.
Mr. Betram was curled up beneath the kitchen table, his soft rhythmic snores indicating he was sound asleep. Outside the small, cozy confines of the cottage snow continued to fall, banking up against the door and windows. There was no doubt about it. They would be stranded here for the remainder of the day and night… with no hope of leaving until morning.
“I am cold,” she said abruptly.
Lifting up one of the heavy wing chairs, James positioned it until it sat directly in front of the hearth. “Sit,” he said, gesturing with his arm before he stepped back. “I have to go find more firewood. There is not enough to get us through the night.”
Lily froze halfway to the chair. “You are leaving?” she asked incredulously.
“I should not be gone long. I noticed a shed not far from here on our ride in. It most likely is part of the same estate this cottage belongs to, and may have wood inside it. I will not be gone long,” he repeated, frowning at her expression. “You needn’t be afraid.”
“I am not afraid. I… Well, I…” But of course she couldn’t give voice to the real reason she wanted James to stay – just imagining it forced a horrified chuckle past her lips. Excuse me, but you cannot go anywhere because I need to seduce you. Why? Well, because I need you to take my virginity. Why? So you will feel obliged to marry me and my inheritance stays with my mother and sister instead of going to horrible Cousin Eustace. Oh, and by the by, all of this needs to be done before Christmas. Pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, Lily sank into the wing chair and stared blindly into the fire. Another bubble of panicked laughter threatened, but she swallowed it down. Out of the corner of her eye she saw James hesitate at the door, twin lines of concern digging grooves into the corners of his chin.
“Go on,” she said with a flippant wave of her hand. “Mr. Betram and I will be fine.”
“Do not go outside,” he said sternly.
Lily twisted in her chair to face him, digging her fingers into the dusty upholstery. “Outside?” she echoed. She forced a smile. “I fear only bacon-brained fatwits would dare go outside in this weather.”
The walls of the cottage reverberated as James slammed the door behind him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
James struck out blindly into the snow, squinting into the wall of white and doing his best to forge a straight line. He kept an old decaying oak tree on his left. A short, fanned out mulberry on his right. Sucking in the cold, clear air by the mouthful he doubled over a short distance from the cottage, bracing his forearm across his knees and drawing a ragged breath.
There was no wood to gather. A box built into the wall next to the hearth housed more firewood than could be burned all winter. It had been an excuse. An excuse to get him out of the cottage. To get him away from her before he did something for which there was no excuse.
He couldn’t breathe in her presence. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. She incapacitated him, sinking into his blood like the most deadliest of poisons, leaving him bewildered and off kilter, not knowing what way was up, what way was down.
The woman had made him laugh.
No one could do that, not even Natalie.
Running a hand through his hair – he had forgotten his hat inside – James pulled the curled ends taut with just enough pressure to cause pain. The pain cleared his head and helped him focus. He straightened, his resolve returning as he doubled back to check on Biscuit. The horse was tucked away in a three sided structure behind the cottage. He whickered contentedly as his master approached and James wrapped his arm around the gelding’s neck, breathing in the familiar, calming scent of horse and hay.
“Are you going to be all right out here old chap?”
Biscuit, attentive as always, bobbed his head and swiveled his head to stare at James, his dark brown eyes both inquisitive and somehow amused, as though he knew his master’s dilemma and thought it quite hilarious.
“Remember that gray mare you took a fancy to a few years ago?” James asked, speaking to Biscuit as though the horse could understand him, which James often thought he could. “Bellowed like a banshee every time she trotted past. You didn’t have any shame, did you?”
Biscuit snorted.
“I did not understand you then, but I fear I do now.” He imagined how Lily would be as a horse. Beautiful, of course. An elegant thoroughbred with long legs, a lean body, and a refined head. High spirited, with a flash of temper. Stubborn, with a keen sense of intelligence. Difficult to ride, no dou
bt. Impossible to train. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, rubbing a hand down his face.
He never should have stopped when he saw her on the road. Never should have dismounted. Never should have agreed to help find her damn dog. Now he would be forced to endure her presence not for a minute or an hour or even a day, but for an entire bloody night. A night in a cottage with walls so thin as to be nonexistent, listening to every toss and turn of her slender body as she slept. A night spent wondering what her creamy skin felt like… dreaming what her lips tasted like… imagining what—
With a curse James spun away from Biscuit and clipped the thought short. He needed to get himself under control, starting with exerting the same strict discipline over his emotions that he’d once used on the battlefield. Taking a deep, measuring breath he slapped a hand against his horse’s broad shoulder in a gesture of farewell and started back towards the cottage, drawn by the soft glow of firelight emanating from the windows.
The cold rush of air woke her. It swept across her skin like ice, rousing her from a contented slumber filled with blurred images of church bells and white lace and a tall, rugged man with dark hair and piercing eyes.
Lily sat up with a start, wondering at the sudden pain in her neck until she realized she’d fallen asleep in the wing chair with her head tucked into the crook of her elbow. The fire had died low, the embers smoldering a deep red, indicating at least an hour of time had elapsed since she first closed her eyes. She heard the click of a door being closed, the quiet trod of footsteps, and then…
“I did not mean to wake you.”
James’ voice, low pitched and gravelly. The sound of it did the oddest things to her belly, making her feel as though she’d swallowed a dozen butterflies and the poor trapped creatures were flitting to and fro inside of her, frantically beating their wings in an effort to escape.
She remained in the chair but peered around the side of it, the better to see him. He stood silhouetted in the doorway, still as a statue. A fine layer of snow was spread out across his broad shoulders. Flecks of white fell to the floor as he shrugged out of his heavy coat and set it aside on the window ledge. More snow glistened in his hair, melting to water as they studied each other, both unmoving.
The Risqué Resolution Page 5