***
James found his breeches mended so skillfully he couldn’t see the stitches at all. The Robbins girl plainly had a great deal of patience and a steady hand.
“I let them out a little for you, sir,” she said, blushing faintly, eyes averted. “So they should be more comfortable.”
“Yes, I see.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you.” She’d done a better job of it than his fancy French tailor, he mused darkly.
Lady Mercy Danforthe stormed into the kitchen, face like a freckled thundercloud. “She says you’re to take me around this stupid little village, Robbins. I’m forbidden to play on the spinet or talk to the adults. I’m supposed to be content with your dreary company.”
“But I was just in the middle of all the mending, Lady Mercy.”
“I don’t care. You’re to take me out at once. It was her idea, not mine.” She glowered at James. “I hate her—that bossy woman.”
“Yes,” said James, “she is an acquired taste.”
The Robbins girl jabbed her needle into the cushioned lid of Eliza Cawley’s little sewing cabinet. “Very good, my lady. I’ll just get my coat.”
“Well, make haste.”
James looked down at the imperious creature. Lady Mercy had been without a father for the last few years, and her brother, clearly, was not up to the task of her guidance. Since James planned to take on fatherhood himself, perhaps now was a good time to practice. After all, becoming a good father required a great deal more than simply donating the seed, whatever Miss Vyne thought. He knew that much from his own experience as a son.
When the Robbins girl had dashed out into the narrow hall, James leaned down to the petulant Lady Mercy and whispered in her ear. “That little girl is your age and has eleven siblings. Her family are so poor that they had to send her out to work. I daresay she has many other things she would rather do with her time than escort you about. The least you could do is be polite to her.” He paused. She finally looked up at him, biting her lip hard. “I see your brother hasn’t taught you any manners, but nobody, Lady Mercy, is ever going to like you without any. People you may one day want to befriend will look for excuses to rid themselves of your company, and then you’ll regret many things that you’ve said in the past. I suggest you add some kind words to your vocabulary. Words like please and thank you will be a start. Are we clear?”
She was silent, mulish.
“Are we clear?” he repeated.
“Oh…very well.”
“Good. I don’t want to hear you being rude to her again. Now go. Be a child for once and play with children your own age. Make friends. Don’t be in so much haste to grow up.”
***
Her aunt’s garden was a patchwork of neat flowerbeds divided by narrow grass strips and a gravel walkway that led under a willow-branch arbor. Ellie marched along at some speed to get it over with, but Trenton dragged his feet, slowing to a complete stop as they turned with the path, and stood behind the tall yew hedge that screened the cottage from view.
“Miss Vyne,” he said abruptly, “I would like to make you an offer of marriage.”
Stunned, she almost toppled sideways into the knotted frame of the arbor. “I beg your pardon?”
“For some years now you must know I have cherished—”
“Trenton Shale, did your father put you up to this?”
He faltered. His thin cheeks paled. “He is most eager for the match.”
“But I don’t have—”
“I must save you, he says, from the scandals you get yourself into.” When the young man began to fall to his knee in the gravel, she grabbed his sleeves and forced him upright.
“Pull yourself together, Trenton. You don’t want to marry me. Why did you not tell your father that?”
He looked as if he might argue, but when she folded her arms and tapped her foot, he saw she was not to be trifled with. Sighing heavily, he replaced his hat and assessed the hedge with gloomy eyes. “He has discussed the matter with your stepfather, Miss Vyne. The admiral has given his permission—indeed, his encouragement.”
She stared.
“Admiral Vyne has not written to tell you?” he asked plaintively.
“No, he has not.” Her stepfather had not written to her in a good many years, except to ask for her help with a creditor. Well, I never know where you’ll be from one day to the next, Mariella, was always his excuse for the lack of correspondence, although his messages had no trouble finding her when he required an outstanding bill paid.
The admiral was always somewhat absentminded. Still, it was difficult to believe he’d forget to tell her this charming nugget. So he’d given up waiting for her to find a husband and got one for her himself.
“May I ask when Lord Shale met with my stepfather?”
“Just last month, Miss Vyne. After I left Cambridge. Papa decided it was time I married.”
She’d heard that his father took him out of university because he’d fallen in with some bad influences. Lord Shale was very protective of Trenton, his only son and heir.
“He thought Admiral Vyne may be desperate enough to let you marry me,” the young man continued. “He was right, as it turned out. The admiral is of the opinion that you will not get many more offers at your age, and my chances of marriage are slim. I’m not one for girls, Miss Vyne. I never have been.”
For the first time in their acquaintance, she felt sorry for Trenton Shale. She could almost forgive him for stealing all her Easter eggs at the hunt. Almost.
She studied the twisted branches of willow arbor and tried to let her thoughts settle from the surprised dance into which they’d just spun. “I’m sorry, Trenton, but I can’t marry you.”
He bowed his head. “I didn’t think for a moment that you would. But I had to ask. Father insisted.”
Still amazed by all this, she exclaimed, “After all these years, I wonder how he fixed upon me as your bride.”
“My father believes you might provide him with a strong, healthy grandson. A ‘good breeder’ was the term he used.”
She had just snagged her skirt on the arbor and was tugging it free. It took a moment for the words to register. “A good…?” When she pulled herself loose of the willow, the force sent her tumbling into Trenton, and he steadied her with his hands on her arms.
“And the count de Bonneville told us you were coming into the country. We were following you on the road yesterday, you know. It was no coincidence. I told Father that he wasted his time, but he was adamant that I try.”
“The count de Bonneville?” Surely he must mean someone else, she thought.
“Yes. I have become acquainted with the gentleman recently.” Trenton shifted his feet uneasily on the gravel path.
“The count de Bonneville?” she said again.
“Indeed.”
Ellie stared at the hedge, her mind struggling to make sense of that. “May I ask where you met the count?”
“In Bath last spring and in Brighton this summer. I lost rather a lot of money to him.”
Who the blazes was out there pretending to be the count de Bonneville? And in the same places she traveled, on the same schedule. She thought of the shadow following her lately. Now she knew she was right all along to sense danger.
“Miss Vyne, you look very pale. Are you ill?”
She scraped fingertips over the nape of her neck where the tiny hairs had begun to tingle again, starting a chain of goose bumps down her spine. “Not at all, Trenton.” Were her antics about to catch up with her, just when she hoped to put it all behind her?
“What shall I tell Father? I never can do anything to please him. As his only son, I’m a great disappointment.”
Ah, approval. That was what everyone wanted from the people they cared about. She used to think it didn’t matter to her. She thought she could go through life pleasing only herself. But it wasn’t true. She knew that now. The world was a cold place when one was always on the outside, never properly belonging anywhere
. Just once she’d like to be warm, loved for who she really was, faults and all. To belong somewhere, in someone’s arms.
Thinking hard, she stared again at the hedge over Trenton’s shoulder then managed a tight smile. “Don’t tell your father anything. We have just enjoyed a pleasant stroll together in the garden. There is no need for him to know anything more than that. He can hardly expect you to woo me with one conversation.”
“I suppose not,” he replied doubtfully.
She took his arm, and they walked on.
Someone was masquerading as her count for their own devious motives. Ellie did not know what to make of it, but the cold fingers of fear suddenly had a firm grip on her heart.
Chapter 16
When the Shales left, she went up to the spare bedchamber and found James trying on his mended breeches. He stood in the light of the casement window and examined his reflection in the cheval mirror.
“That Robbins girl is a talented seamstress,” he muttered.
“Yes, we poor country girls all have hidden talents.”
He glanced at her. “Poor country girls?”
“That’s what I am. Do not forget it.”
He sank to the chair by the little crooked writing bureau. “Come here then, my country maid. I have a hankering for your hidden talents.”
But she hesitated. “Smallwick,” she began carefully, “you do know I haven’t a penny for a dowry, don’t you?” Most men married to increase their wealth and consequence, not decrease it. “The admiral cannot afford—”
“I have no intention of asking Admiral Vyne for anything. Except your hand, of course. I’m marrying you because you need my money. And because you are too hard-hearted to fall in love with me and make unnecessary scenes. I need a wife, and you need coin. It’s a simple trade.”
Yes, he had chosen her for purely convenient reasons. She should never read more into it.
“Now why this sudden reminder of your financial state?” A line gathered between his brows. “You’re not trying to get out of paying my wages, are you, madam?”
“Wages? We never discussed wages.”
He patted his broad, muscular thigh. “Come here, country maid.”
Ellie advanced slowly until she stood between his knees. He put his hands around her waist. “Get astride me then, Miss Vyne, and I’ll take the wages you owe me in kind.”
“You’re awfully bold for a servant, Smallwick.”
“Ladies who employ me don’t generally complain. Get astride me.”
“Very well then. You have three more tries to win yourself this convenient wife you need.”
Now he looked up, branding her with a very hot blue gaze. “Four.”
Luckily for him, she wasn’t inclined to dispute it just then. His presence brightened up that small, cramped chamber. The light outside was gray and drear, but where it slid through the window and fumbled over his gilded hair, it changed, became sunny, reminding her of kinder, gentler seasons.
“How long will it be before we know?” he asked.
She was confused, too busy watching the gold in his hair as it transformed the winter light to something merrier.
“If I have performed my duty?” he pressed.
“Duty?”
“Your menses? When should we expect them?”
It wasn’t delicate to mention such things—or so her sisters would remind her. That James Hartley even took note of a woman’s cycle was, frankly, shocking. “Two weeks or so,” she mumbled.
“Good.” He smiled up at her like a hungry leopard. “We needn’t trouble ourselves with it yet then. Nothing to interrupt us.”
“No.” Dear Lord, she hoped she wasn’t blushing like a grass-green maid.
“Where’s your aunt?” he said as his hands slowly lifted her skirt.
“She went out to visit a friend.”
“Her gentleman friend?”
She scowled, still refusing to believe her demure aunt capable of that. “Just out.”
“And Lady Mercy?”
“Still with Molly Robbins, hopefully getting some of the sauce knocked out of her by the village children.”
He eased her down astride his lap. “Grieves could be here soon. Any minute.” He blinked, softened his mouth, licked his lips. “And we’re all alone in the house.”
She looked out over his head and surveyed the empty lane. A troop of swans ventured onto the common from behind the tavern, where a patch of flooded ground had, over the years, become grandly and optimistically referred to by the villagers as The Lake. Across the way, a row of chestnut trees, bare now of leaves, waited mournfully for spring again. In full summer, the Norman spire seemed to grow out of those trees, but in winter, the gray stone church was visible through the stark branches, and there was no illusion.
“What if my aunt comes back soon?” She reached down into his lap and felt the hard ridge already waiting. He was a wonderful playmate, these games with him a splendid way to take her mind off her fears.
“We’ll keep an eye out through the window,” he replied, his voice deepening.
He touched her between her thighs, not waiting for her agreement. “But someone might see,” she gasped.
“The swans?”
“Be sensible.”
“Can’t. Sorry.” His fingers slid through the slit in her linen drawers. “Ah. You’re as eager as I am, madam,” he purred, pressing his fingertips over her sensitive flesh, knowing exactly how much pressure to exert, where to touch her, and when to retreat. Leaving her breathless. “You’ve been yearning for your next servicing by the ever-diligent Smallwick, I see.”
She shook her head, speechless, overflowing with desire.
“Well, I’m sure it wasn’t young Trenton Shale who got you in this state, madam.”
His manhood, she realized suddenly, was already free and standing to attention. When had he opened his clothing? The man had too much practice. “Now brace yourself, madam. Here I come.” He lifted her and then lowered her again, grunting as he thrust upward through the slit in her drawers.
Ellie exhaled a small cry of wanton delight. As she clutched his hair, she brought his face to her bosom, and his warm lips sank into the full curves, his tongue lapping at her through the material. She shivered, head back, riding his lap slowly, trying to make it last, holding off the worries a while longer.
***
He tugged her sleeves down, breaking a few hooks in his haste. The lacy straps of her chemise followed suit, and then her breasts popped free. While her eyes were closed and she was preoccupied with the first surge of climax, James surveyed her upper body greedily; a possessive flutter of delight traveled fast through his veins. Her curves fit against him so perfectly. It was a match unprecedented in his experience.
When he’d looked out on the garden earlier, he’d seen her with Trenton Shale—the lanky boy had held her arms, keeping her partially hidden from the parlor window by that high hedge. James, from the vantage point of a small window at the top of the stairs, saw all. At first, he was furious, wanted young Shale’s head on a plate. Then he came to his senses. She owed him her time, and he would not let her renege on their agreement.
He thought again of the many times he’d watched her dance with other men, seen her laugh and chat so amiably with them when she could barely spare him a solitary word of conversation.
But this vexing woman should be his plaything and no one else’s. His. He tightened his grip on her bottom and bounced her hard in his lap, up and down on his shaft, watching her breasts tremble, inches from his lips, the excitable peaks tightening under his fierce regard.
Finally, unable to resist, he opened his mouth and latched onto the nearest honey-sweet, rosy-pink treat.
***
Ellie’s eyes opened just enough to see Mrs. Flick walking across the green, her steps hurrying to escape the swans, which had a reputation for violent behavior when the mood took them. She remembered they’d never had much fondness for Mrs. Flick. Perhaps it was h
er sour face or the somber black taffeta she wore.
Oh Mrs. Flick, she mused, if only you could see me now. Getting my exercise indoors with my Male Peculiar.
She giggled, and was tempted to open the window and shout a greeting to the lady.
But there was a limit to the amount of scandal even she could survive.
***
Laughing together, they ran down to the scullery. He held the washbasin while she pumped the water.
“Hurry before your aunt comes home, Miss Vyne.” Cold water splashed over the rim to wet his arms and the flagged floor. “Look at the mess you’re making.”
“It might help, Smallwick, if you kept the basin still!”
Playful, they couldn’t wait to touch each other again. With the washbasin swaying about in his arms, they hastened back upstairs, and there, in her room, they washed each other off. After, they made love again, this time on the bed under the low, crooked rafters.
There was no debate about the number of times they had left. Neither was counting anymore.
Chapter 17
The Kanes’ farmhouse was decorated inside and out with lush bowers of evergreen sprinkled with bright crimson holly berries. A profusion of candlelight glowed amber through all the windows, and a small band of musicians played beside the inglenook hearth. There were no more than five and twenty adult guests and half as many children present. In London Society, it would be termed an intimate gathering, but for Sydney Dovedale, it was a grand occasion.
A fat bunch of mistletoe, tied with ribbon, hung over the front door, and as they crossed the step, James captured his lady’s arm, leaning down to steal a kiss. Ellie shrank away.
“Smallwick! Behave yourself. The festive season is no occasion to forget your place.”
She enjoyed playing the role, it seemed, too much to abandon it. Most people at the party must recognize him as James Hartley, yet she insisted on treating him like her manservant, just to confuse everybody. Also probably to avoid remarks about The Feud, or any serious questions.
Since her aunt had no carriage or horses of her own, Farmer Osborne had offered them all a ride up the lane in his own cart. Ellie expressed a desire to walk, but James, reminding her it was dark, cold, and likely to snow, had persuaded her to ride in the cart.
The Wicked Wedding of Miss Ellie Vyne Page 21