The Scarlet Bride

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  Laura looked around at the fashionable array of gowns displayed throughout the large room. “Then we shall allow her to continue her ruse. She is obviously a very talented seamstress.”

  “Indeed she is,” Simon agreed. He glanced around the room. “I see a green silk that would look splendid on you.”

  She glanced up. “Should you desire to purchase it on my behalf, you will forget that notion. I cannot accept gifts from any man. Not even you.”

  He snorted. “I wouldn’t dream of insulting your sense of propriety with gifts.”

  His tone convinced Laura that he had more than considered purchasing her a gown. Despite his words to the contrary, he’d likely been mentally counting the coins in his pocket.

  Unwilling to argue, she let the matter drop.

  It was early enough for the truly fashionable ladies to still be abed, so the shop was empty of customers. There was a flutter of activity from the back of the shop and a small woman burst from an open door. Clearly flustered, she mumbled something about not being able to find good assistants and hurried toward them.

  At the sight of Simon, her eyes lit up. “Mister Harrington,” she exclaimed and clapped her hands together. “It has been far too long since you’ve graced my humble establishment.”

  Simon gave her a knee-melting grin. “Sadly, Mrs. Jensen, other obligations have kept me from seeking out your talents.”

  The woman giggled girlishly. “You flatter me.”

  “I speak the truth,” Simon countered. “You are the best seamstress in London. That is why we’ve come today.”

  Laura frowned as the woman finally jerked her eyes from Simon and turned to her. There was a flicker of jealousy in the pretty woman’s face, which she quickly masked. “I see that situation has changed. She is lovely.”

  Immediately, Laura knew exactly what sort of services had previously brought Simon to the shop. The woman thought she was a mistress he needed fitted for a new wardrobe. There was a gleam in the proprietress’s eyes in anticipation of a large sale.

  A prickle moved from the back of Laura’s neck and down her spine. She stiffened at the unintended insult.

  As if reading Laura’s thoughts, Simon quickly stepped between them. “I fear that you’ve mistaken the reason for our visit, Mrs. Jensen.” The woman’s face fell when he explained to her what he wanted. “We need a drab gown of an uninteresting color. Gray, brown, or tan would suit.”

  “Surely you would rather have something in blue?” the proprietress protested. “Or I have a delightful gown in yellow.”

  Simon shook his head. “Just the one I requested.”

  As she slunk off to find something befitting his request, annoyance flooded through Laura. Her curiosity about the dress vanished under more pressing concerns.

  “Do you often buy clothes for young women?” At his innocent expression, her annoyance notched up a peg or two. “This shop obviously caters to women. Unless you have a secret proclivity toward wearing garters under your breeches, then you have shopped here for someone other than yourself.”

  Simon smiled. “I may have passed through here a time or two. Mistresses do enjoy beautiful things.”

  She cocked her head. “How many mistresses have you had?”

  His eyes filled with mischief. “Dozens.”

  Though she knew he was teasing her again, she didn’t like the idea of his keeping multiple mistresses. Worse yet, that she’d been mistaken for one.

  Until recently, she’d never given much thought to the institution of kept women. Men had always dallied with women outside of their marriages. However, after spending time at the school, her eyes had been opened wide. She felt sad for both the wives, for being tied to unfaithful scoundrels, and the mistresses, for having to sell themselves to survive.

  Something in her face sobered him. He tipped up her chin. “There were only two, Laura.” He released her. “Eventually, I will inherit the title and carry the responsibility for my entire family. I’ve felt the weight of it since Noelle’s father died without sons and the line grew shorter. So if I ran a bit wild in my youth, I’ll not apologize for those years.”

  Looking into his eyes, Laura understood his plight. She, too, had borne the burden of family while caring for her ailing father. His was just on a grander scale.

  “Hmm. I’ve wondered about your protective nature. You see yourself as responsible for the welfare of everyone around you. You’ll vanquish our enemies and keep us all safe.”

  “Brenna calls me overprotective.”

  “She is correct. Would you care to explain why?”

  Simon took a moment before speaking. “When she was seven, Brenna nearly drowned in a pond. I should have been watching her. Instead, I was watching Miss Lizzy Mapplethorpe. I carry the guilt always.”

  This certainly explained much about him. “Is that when you donned your armor and started your knightly duties of saving damsels from dragons?”

  He frowned. “No. It just made it worse.”

  Laura laughed lightly. “Then you were born to the sword. You, Mister Harrington, live in the wrong century.” She imagined him on a great horse, dressed for war, wielding his weapons with skill and dexterity. A little shiver prickled through her as the image changed to his return to the castle to take his reward for keeping away invaders—tossing his lady over his shoulder and carrying her to his bed.

  Curiously, the lady in the image resembled her.

  “Perhaps,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “I have a feeling that you admire both my sword wielding and my persistence. If not for both, we would have never met.”

  Thinking about his steely sword quickened her pulse and sent parts of her twitching. Fortunately, that wasn’t the sword he was speaking of.

  “True. You did save me. My rescue had to appeal to your desire to protect. As for persistence, no matter how many times I tried to dissuade you from befriending me, you always returned. I cannot seem to rid myself of you.”

  Simon grinned. “You are not the least put off by my attentions. Perhaps at first. Not anymore.”

  After a pause, Laura shrugged. “You are pleasant to look at, if nothing else.”

  “When I pulled you onto my horse, I could not know what a tart-tongued termagant you would prove to be. It is trying to be your friend.”

  Her mouth gaped. “You—oh, you are impossible.” Laughter bubbled up. “You are heads and tails more difficult than I.”

  “That cannot be true,” he countered. “Women, by their nature, are the more difficult sex. They do not see things rationally as men do.”

  “Men, rational? You jest.” She looked toward the back of the shop and lowered her voice. Mrs. Jensen was walking slowly toward them, an unhappy look on her face. Laura hurried on in a hushed whisper, “Men duel over the smallest perceived slight and rage over a difference of opinion. Men are not rational in the least.”

  She smiled brightly and turned to Mrs. Jensen.

  “This was the best I could do,” the woman said grimly. She held up a dress of dark brown wool. It was completely devoid of lace or ribbon, and unfinished, as the hem was full of pins. She spoke to Simon as she held the dress up to Laura to check the size. “Surely the young lady would prefer something in lilac satin?”

  Laura stared at the drab gown. In spite of the lack of adornments, it was finer quality than the dresses she’d been borrowing from the school or, truthfully, her own. The question remained, what was Simon planning to do with her and that gown?

  Simon waved off the woman’s offer. “Just that dress. If you can quickly finish the hem, we will be off.”

  The woman held her tongue and walked off, muttering unhappily under her breath.

  “She is terribly disappointed,” Laura said, putting her hands on her hips. “Now will you finally tell me your intentions for me at the ball? I cannot attend the soirée dressed in that unpleasant creation.”

  Simon relented to her plea. “The ball, though last minute, will be attended by everyone. W
hen a duke entertains, the masses flock. I tried to think of a way for you to attend without drawing attention. A maid will be limited to certain areas, and you possess too many curves to pass as a footman.”

  “I could still hide behind the drapes,” she said dryly.

  “That would make it impossible for you to move about and you’d risk detection. A lump in the line of drapes would certainly be noticed.” He walked past her to the window and looked out to the street. “I think putting you in place as a companion is a perfect solution. You can attend the party and no one will give you a second glance.”

  Laura screwed up her face and joined him. “You cannot honestly think that will work. Even in a dress such as the brown wool, I will never be invisible.”

  Simon scanned her face. She did have a point. Hiding her beauty would be difficult. Even companions weren’t entirely unnoticed.

  “Eva can help with that.” If anyone could find a way to make Laura plain, it was the spinster-duchess. “She has a way with disguises. Eva can turn you into a drab companion with little effort.”

  Laura didn’t appear convinced. “So we have our disguise and I attend the party. And who am I supposed to be a companion for? I cannot be dragged around by you. I hardly think your society will accept that their scandalous Mister Harrington needs a companion—a chaperone perhaps, but not a female companion. They will think you are bedding me.”

  “I have bedded you,” he offered.

  She shot him an exasperated glare.

  “I know a woman who needs your help,” he said, quickly turning the topic back to the ball. “She is desperately in need of watching. It is only a matter of getting her to agree, and I have the perfect temptation to wave in front of her.”

  Suspicion welled in Laura’s eyes. “Who is she?”

  “I have an aunt who is, shall we say, an interesting character. She tends to tipple the sherry a bit too much. If anyone needs a chaperone-companion, it is she.”

  Laura’s face twisted into a grimace. “Perfect. Not only will I be putting myself in peril, but I shall spend the evening keeping your drunken aunt from knocking over the vases.”

  Simon chuckled. “The image of you diving after falling vases does amuse. It sounds like excellent fun, doesn’t it?”

  Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “I am so pleased that you are enjoying yourself at my expense.”

  A long-suffering sigh followed. He reached out a hand to her when the door opened and two women walked into the shop. Simon saw the hawked beak of the older woman and dread gripped him. He pressed forward, the motion of his body pushing Laura behind a table stacked high with bolts of cloth.

  “What are you doing?” she said, lifting her hands to push him back. He caught her wrists.

  “It is Mrs. Howard,” he whispered harshly. “She is a notorious gossip. Worse, she never gets a single fact correct when spreading her news. If she sees us together, it will be unpleasant for us both.”

  His body blocked Laura from view as the women passed deeper into the shop. It also put him in direct contact with Laura’s pleasing curves.

  His body twitched. His hardening extremities reminded him of her against a stormy background, sans clothing, gasping beneath him. His eyes warmed as his hands slid to her waist, forgetting Mrs. Howard entirely.

  “If you kiss me, I’ll be forced to slap you,” Laura hissed. “It will not be pleasant for either of us.”

  Surprised she’d read his thoughts, his eyes widened. “I wasn’t going to kiss you.”

  A low grumble passed her perfect lips. She met his gaze. “Your eyes gave your thoughts away, though I think your imagination went well beyond kisses.”

  A kiss wasn’t what he was after, but he had been staring at her mouth like a man starved. Their one night together had done nothing to assuage his lust. If anything, it made things worse.

  “My thoughts are my own, my dear Laura,” he said drolly. “If I wish to imagine you in my bed, there is nothing you can do about the matter.”

  Feminine voices caused Laura to take another step backward. She pulled Simon along with her. The stack of bolts provided an ideal barrier if one didn’t look too closely.

  “I am very happy I cannot read your thoughts,” she offered with a pained expression. “For I’m certain I would not be pleased with what I learned.”

  Her expression was serious, but her fingers were playing with his coat. He’d believed that her mind and body often warred when it came to him. The frequent stolen kisses in coaches confirmed his belief.

  He leaned forward and her hand went flat on his stomach.

  “I think we both know that I cannot keep from desiring you. I am a man and you are very beautiful. Seductive thoughts are always present when I’m with you.” He shrugged and lowered his voice further. “Truthfully, you need not be in eyesight for those thoughts to emerge and my body to arouse. You, love, are never far from my heated imaginings.”

  Her eyes warming, she flexed her fingers, and her mouth quirked. “Can you not behave?”

  “It is proving more difficult with each passing hour.”

  Her mouth opened and her breath fluttered. “For me also,” she whispered. Her other hand joined the first. Her heat burned through his waistcoat and shirt to mark his skin.

  “I must kiss you,” he said tightly.

  Warmth welled in her eyes. Finally, she nodded. “One kiss.”

  He glanced around quickly to see if their privacy was assured, then pulled her into his arms. As he closed his mouth over hers, she let out a breathless sigh of welcome.

  The touch of her lips lit a spark in him, and he eased her one final step backward until her back pressed against the wall.

  The voices of Mrs. Howard and her companion faded away. Laura moaned lightly as she rose up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  He kissed her deeply and desperately, knowing the shop was not the best place to steal a kiss. But it had been so long since their last one that he wasn’t about to quibble.

  Approaching footsteps broke them apart.

  Simon released her and put an arm’s length between them.

  Laura patted her hair and pretended to examine a bolt of yellow cloth as Mrs. Jensen assured the other women that she would return shortly and returned to Laura and Simon with the dress.

  A flush stained Laura’s cheeks. Again, she’d jumped willingly into his arms, a bad habit she’d thought she could overcome. Clearly, not even the possibility of getting caught by a notorious gossip could force her to behave.

  “Here is the dress,” Mrs. Jensen said and passed the package into his hands. Her lips were pressed into a disapproving line. “If you ever desire to purchase something for the lady that will bring you to your knees, come back. I have a red French silk that would be stunning on her.”

  Simon grinned and Mrs. Jensen’s starchiness slowly melted. He lifted her hand to his lips. “I shall remember your kind offer if there is ever a need.”

  Laura was convinced that the pretty widow was smoldering. If not for Laura’s presence, the shopkeeper might have convinced Simon to go into the back room to discuss something other than fabrics.

  Annoyance burned as Simon released Mrs. Jensen’s hand. They concluded their business and Simon led Laura from the shop.

  “You would look splendid in red.”

  A noncommittal grunt was all she could manage. Then, “Have you ever shared a bed with her? She looks as if she’d like to cover you in clotted cream and eat you.”

  She hated her tone. It was puzzling, even to her. She had no claims on him. Yet she sounded like a jealous wife.

  “Mrs. Jensen is nothing more than someone whose shop I have visited.” He steered her toward the coach. “Though I do find the pink flush of jealousy on your cheeks quite charming.”

  A denial sprang to her lips. She held it down. At the moment, she was muddled with a mix of emotions. His scent was present on her clothing. His taste still lingered on her mouth. In the heat of midday, a
light sheen of perspiration covered her skin. She was heated and achy and frustrated.

  There would never be innocent public touches between them. She’d never laugh into his eyes as he spun her around a ballroom. She’d never openly share his bed—all the things that Mrs. Jensen or Lady Jeanette could do quite freely. She would always be relegated to the secret part of his life, always a mistress, never his wife.

  Yet she hungered for him. His body called to her and hers responded. Even now, she struggled to resist the pull, the fight stealing her energy.

  Laura said nothing as he led her to the coach and helped her inside. Even then, as the coach jolted into motion, she remained silent. Still, she saw his eyes on her in the dim light and could not read his face. But there was something in his eyes…. Before she knew what was happening, she was on his lap, again, and kissing him with all the passion she’d felt since the night of their lovemaking. He only had a moment to clasp her against him when she deepened the kiss and was lost.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Laura knew she was making a mistake by kissing Simon—a grave mistake. Still, she couldn’t stop herself. The warmth of his arms, the strength in his body, the way he tasted, kissed; it was what she suspected flying felt like.

  The scent of sandalwood and spice teased her mind while his warmth teased her body. He drugged her and tormented her, and all she could do was kiss him breathless.

  His hand clasped her neck and she clutched his shoulders. Even with his arms around her, she couldn’t get close enough. There were far too many layers of clothing between them.

  After a moment, she broke the kiss. “I should move back to my seat,” she groaned and dropped her head back.

  Simon nuzzled her neck. “You should. Or you can continue to kiss me until we reach our destination.”

  She smiled and ran her hand through his soft hair. He lifted his head and their gazes locked. “That is the first of your recent ideas that pleases me most.”