Second Chance Marquess (Second Chance Series Book 1)

by Jessica Jefferson

  “How did you guess?” He smiled, his teeth so perfectly straight they appeared as if they’d been carved from the whitest and most polished of stones. “Now, what’s yours?”

  She bit her lip, reluctant to say.

  “C’mon,” he urged.

  “I’ll tell you, but that doesn’t give you leave to use it,” she clarified, hoping that would alleviate her of any culpability in such an improper, yet exciting exchange.

  “Wilhelmina,” she confessed reluctantly.

  He wrinkled his nose. “Wilhelmina? That’s your name?”

  She reflexively smacked his arm. “How dare you? I’ll have you know my grandmother’s name was Wilhelmina. It’s a perfectly respectable moniker.”

  “Yes,” he chuckled. “A grandmother would indeed be named Wilhelmina, but it’s completely unsuitable for someone like you.”

  “Someone like me? But you barely know me.”

  His smile melted into something more tender than bold. “I know enough to know that a name like Wilhelmina does not begin to do you justice.”

  “Oh really? Then what do you suggest?”

  “Hold on, it’s coming to me.” He sat up and narrowed his gaze while tapping the dimple at the center of his chin with his finger. “Willie!” He exclaimed. “I shall call you Willie.”

  “Willie,” she laughed. “That’s an awful name. That’s the name of a sailor or, or…a common criminal.” She tried to contain her hilarity, but was rendered defenseless against his humor.

  Only, he didn’t laugh. Instead, he sat back and stared at her again, his blue eyes intent on hers. “No, Willie is the perfect name for you. It’s not a sailor’s name, or a criminal’s. It’s the name of a terribly witty girl from the country with hair the color of corn silk and eyes greener than the grass we sit upon now. Willie is the name of the woman who’ll change everything for me, you mark my words.”

  She stopped laughing and stared at him with wide-eyed curiosity. He sounded so sure of himself, as if he knew exactly what was going to happen next. How could he speak with such confidence having only recently met her and knowing so little about her? And why did she find herself thinking almost the exact same thing, having the identical feeling that this was not some fleeting dalliance but rather the start of something that was going to affect her greatly?

  He leaned over, and for a brief moment their breath mingled. She could taste him even before he kissed her. And when he did, ever so lightly, he pulled away almost as quickly.

  “Willie,” he breathed.

  Chapter 8

  Willie felt the rain hit her forehead. It was dark and she was cold, wet. Slowly, she opened her eyes. More darkness.

  A flash of lightening bolted across the sky above her. She could see the trees towering over her. Where was she? Why was she out of doors and not in the carriage? The sky went dark again and she dared move her hands and feel around her. There were cushions, soaked, but intact. But they were to her side, not under her as they should have been. She was still in the carriage, but now there was a broken window where the ceiling should have been.

  “Willie?”

  She heard her name, recognizing the voice as George’s. It was strangely comforting given her current state of confusion.

  “I’m here,” she called out. It was difficult hearing anything over the rain.

  Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder. It was heavy and warm. She knew it well. “George?” She turned toward the direction of the hand.

  He was there, right beside her. “What happened?” she asked, willing her voice to be louder than that of the elements.

  “An accident. We’ve rolled down a small ravine. Are you hurt?”

  She took a moment to assess the damage. She fisted her hands, then opened and closed them, wiggled her toes, and twisted. Her back was sore, very sore. But aside from that, it appeared she suffered no injury that was immediately life-threatening.

  “I think so. You?”

  “It would take more than a little carriage accident to hurt me,” he remarked with his usual bravado.

  She said a silent prayer. Her father and stepmother had died in a carriage accident during her seventeenth summer. The idea that she had just survived what had devastated her small family years before was enough to take her breath away.

  And then her face felt wet, only it wasn’t the rain this time. They were tears, warm, wet, salty tears.

  “Willie, don’t cry. We’re all right. It’s just a little accident, it will all be all right.” George was with her now, cradling her in his arms. “The bridge is out and the coachman swerved to avoid falling in the stream. The hill was too steep and the carriage tipped.”

  She couldn’t make sense of any of it. It was overwhelming, the feeling of relief for having survived the ordeal and the trauma of a childhood cut short. All she could do was sob into the crook of George’s arm.

  He held her tightly against him. He smelled of rain now, and she leaned closer against his chest, which was hard but still comforting. His touch was warm as he stroked her hair and mumbled soothing words as sobs racked her body. It was as if she’d been inadvertently plunged into the past. This was the man she loved with all her being. He was George again and not this Marquess of Chesterton. He was sweet and loving and kind and hers.

  “Are the others hurt?” she asked, fearing the answer. “Your coachman? The groomsmen?”

  “Nothing too awful.”

  She relaxed, allowing herself to sink deeper into his arms. She was shaking, but it didn’t seem to matter. Everything was hazy now, as if she were moving in a dream state. Her lids grew heavy as she found an odd sort of security in the sound of the sleet tapping against the coach.

  “Wake up, Willie!”

  She forced her eyes open. “I’m sorry. I’m just so tired. My entire body aches, as if I’ve worked all night without any rest. My heart is pounding from the excitement, yet I’m barely able to stay awake through the exhaustion.”

  He was running his hand over her hair. It must have come loose from its chignon during the accident.

  “I’m afraid there’s quite a goose egg on your head,” he mumbled, his low voice soothing her agitated nerves.

  She blindly searched for it, then tentatively rubbed the sore spot once she’d found it.

  “Don’t worry,” he comforted. “It’s under your hair, so to preserve your vanity.”

  It was a ridiculous notion. She was just happy to be alive, her appearance was of no concern in light of what had just transpired. He knew she wasn’t vain, he’d always been the one to preen around like a peacock in the finest clothes old money could buy.

  “It doesn’t look serious, but you should take precautions. I had a stable boy fall out of the hay door from the barn’s loft once. The physician who treated him told me that injuries to the head often make you tired, but you’re not supposed to sleep immediately after. If you do, you’re more likely to die from your injury.”

  “What an utterly ridiculous idea,” she replied, relishing the feel of his warm hand stroking the length of her hair, pausing at her back. “I can’t imagine how one could have anything to do with the other.”

  “It didn’t make an awful lot of sense to me either, but the boy lived to dress my team another day, so I don’t dare question it.”

  She looked around at the upside down carriage, squinting to avoid a direct hit by the mix of sleet and rain. “I suppose we can’t stay in here, can we?” The temperature was dropping rapidly. It would be a pity to have survived the accident only to die from exposure to the elements.

  “No, I’m afraid not,” he chuckled. “My coachman suffered what appears to be a fracture of his ankle. The groomsmen have some general complaints, but they’re well enough to get on and only one of the horses has any obvious injury. I thought I’d take one of the others and ride back into the village we passed. I’ve traveled this road a thousand times before. There’s an inn about an hour south of here. I can get help for you there.”
r />   “I don’t need help.” She was more alert now.

  “But my coachman does,” he countered. “He looks to weigh at least fifteen stone, there’s no possible way he can walk sporting that injury. Truth be told, he can barely walk on the best of days. It’s a coaching inn so I’ll send back a coach to return all of you back to London. When you arrive, send another carriage back for me and I’ll proceed to Chesterton on my own.”

  “I won’t let you go without me.” Her heart thundered against her chest.

  Under any other circumstance, his logic made perfect sense. She probably should go back and rest. But knowing what was waiting on the other end of their journey, she couldn’t turn back now. And she didn’t want him to leave her there alone. At the moment, she was still quite shaken and desperate for something familiar to help calm her nerves.

  He frowned. “Fine. New plan – you’ll ride with me. That might work out better. At least this way I can make certain that you don’t sleep. The groomsmen can stay here and keep our injured party comfortable. Well, as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. Usually this road is quite busy. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were picked up by some other travelers before the coach from the inn makes it back.”

  “You said the horses aren’t injured. I can ride by myself.” She pulled out of his arms and tried to gather her wits about her. It had been all too easy to slip back into her old self, the naïve girl of eight and ten who always believed him to be the hero. She was older and wiser and quite capable of saving herself now.

  George sat up, his rain-soaked hair clung to his temples, black as pitch. “They’re not injured, but they’re spooked. Besides, the ride won’t be easy. The roads are awful out here. That’s what got us into this mess in the first place. Maybe if they’d been maintained, we wouldn’t have tumbled down the hillside. Of course, my man didn’t have many options, seeing the bridge looks to have been completely swept away.”

  “Your coachman made the right decision. Better to topple down a hill than drown in a stream. He has my gratitude.”

  George agreed. “Then let’s get on our way. The sooner we reach the inn, the sooner we can get him some help. I’ll leave them my flask. That should hold them over until someone arrives.”

  He pointed to the window at the top of the carriage. “You go first.”

  Following his command, she slowly stood, stretching her full length, her fingers barely grazing the hole where the window was. Most of the glass had broken away, but a few shards remained, pricking the tips of her fingers. To make it worse, her already heavy skirts were soaked, adding at least a half stone to the considerable weight. She knew she wasn’t at all strong enough.

  “I’ll give you a boost,” he said, reaching for her.

  “Absolutely not!” She wrapped her arms around her body as if to shield herself from further touches. “I’ll manage just fine by myself, thank you.”

  “You’re too weak. Let me help you.” He offered her a hand.

  She looked around for an alternative, anything at all, rather than have him lift her. The idea of his hands around her waist was both utterly terrifying and entirely too seductive. Fortunately, his valet case had come out from under the bench during the accident and was just the right height for her to use as a stool. With the additional support, she managed to pull herself out of the space where the window had once been.

  What she hadn’t counted on, was the opening for the window being slightly smaller than her bottom. She tried to wriggle through, but it was nearly impossible given her weakened state and wet skirts.

  “Let me help you,” she heard him say from under her. Suddenly, she was aware of the view she’d inadvertently provided for the man standing directly under her skirts.

  “Absolutely not,” she warned, wrenching her body back and forth through the hole.

  “There’s no way you’ll make it out without a little assistance.” His tone was far too confident for her liking.

  “I’ve come this far, I’m sure I can manage the rest on my own.” Her dress felt as if it weighed more than she did, the weight pulling on her causing her arms to tremble from the effort.

  “You’re being stubborn, Willie. Just like always. Don’t forget, I know full well what’s under those skirts and I know you’ll never get your bottom through that hole without a bit of help from me.”

  If she wasn’t already stuck, she would have slid back down and walloped him.

  “And from my vantage point, it looks like nothing’s changed much since the last time I admired the view from this particular angle.”

  That did it. “If you touch me George, so help me…”

  Then she felt him. George’s hands were firmly planted on her bottom. He gave her one firm push and she popped through the window like a cork from a champagne bottle. Once completely free, she looked down through the hole and glared at him.

  “Just like I remembered,” he said cheerfully, grinning from ear-to-ear.

  “I hope you’re happy with yourself,” she scolded. He should have been, having just robbed her of both her pride and modesty.

  “Not really,” he answered, still wearing that ridiculous, yet terribly appealing, smile. “If I’d been thinking clearly, I would have let you dangle for a few minutes more so I could appreciate the view a bit longer.”

  “Bastard,” she hissed. Wilhelmina slid off the top, or the side of the carriage and onto the ground, landing on her feet and sending a jolt of pain up her spine.

  “Damn him,” she mumbled under her breath, her pride hurting far worse than anything else.

  She shifted her weight from one side to the other, testing her legs like a newborn foal. “You laugh at me but how do you think you’re going to manage out that same hole?” His shoulders were far too wide, he didn’t stand a chance.

  Not to mention, his head was far too big.

  Suddenly, the door at the top of the carriage swung open and she watched in startled awe as he adeptly lifted himself out the carriage, perching up there like some sort of agile bird.

  She rolled her eyes, careful to appear unimpressed. “Do stop making such a production. We have little light left,” she reprimanded.

  He jumped down and strode toward the horses without any hesitation.

  George pulled one of the giant beasts toward her. “When was the last time you rode a horse?”

  The animal was at least fourteen hands. She swallowed. “It’s been a few months.”

  Years, actually.

  He held out his hand again. She took a step back, just as she would have from any venomous snake.

  “I can help you out the right way, or you can try it on your own and repeat the last little episode.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” she said, her voice wavering.

  “I thought you knew me better than that. Not only would I dare, but I’d enjoy every moment of it. Don’t tempt me, Willie.”

  She knew a viable threat when she heard one. Wilhelmina stepped up to the beast.

  “Now raise your arms slightly,” he commanded.

  His hands circled around her waist, the thumbs grazing the lowest part of her back. She was angry, but even rage wasn’t enough to mask the warmth his touch sent through her center.

  George lifted her up to the back of the mare without difficulty. She wasn’t dainty by any means, but he handled her with the same ease as if she were a mere wisp of a girl.

  With the all the grace of a newborn calf, she pulled herself to a sitting position atop the mare.

  “You get situated and I’ll be right back. I’m going to let the others know we’re leaving.”

  She nodded, thankful for the brief reprieve. Wilhelmina could barely handle his hands about her waist, how could she possibly expect to withstand him sitting directly behind her on the horse. Lud knew he’d be touching quite a bit more while she sat in a compromising position.

  “Are you ready, then?”

  His voice startled her, clearing the wicked thoughts from her mind
. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  It was as if he knew what she’d been thinking because he smiled before hoisting himself up onto the mare. He took a moment to situate himself, his body so close to her own she could feel the warmth radiating off him despite the bitter chill in the air.

  “You’re trembling,” he remarked. George reached around her, wrapping her in a blanket he must have found in the carriage. “Here, cover up with this. It’s large enough to share.”

  He enveloped them both, sliding his body even closer.

  The tremble had no doubt escalated to full on shaking, but not because of the weather.

  “Are you all right?” he asked one more time before their departure.

  She didn’t speak, uncertain as to how to answer the question.

  Chapter 9

  She was so close.

  George tried to focus on the task at hand, getting them both to the inn safely. The road was treacherous, great ruts where countless carriages had travelled before them. Manure mingled with the soil to create a dense mess of earth that sucked down the horse’s hooves with every step. The sleet pelted his head and back as he tried to protect his wayward passenger from the elements and shield her from the biting wind.

  He was physically spent having endured a carriage crash, then assisting to free his fat coachman out from under the arse of a horse, and then again, practically carrying him to shelter under a rock ledge. For a man whose life revolved around leisure, this had certainly been a particularly difficult afternoon.

  Yet despite this physically trying day, his cock was active as ever, standing at full attention against the lush arse of the woman he’d once vowed to forget.

  Had his cock not gotten the message? Did it not remember all the pain and heartache she’d caused him before? Did his cock not realize that there were quite a few other women in the world and it shouldn’t work itself into such a frenzy over this particular one?

  The traitorous little bastard.

  Well, not little…perhaps, pleasantly endowed bastard would be a more fitting description?