She never would have dared leaving London.
Elisabeth watched Dashiell talk with a man at the kerb about obtaining rooms at the inn. The other man was stocky and squat which only served to emphasize Dashiell’s broad shouldered build and innate grace. He had the gestures and bearing of a gentleman yet he was not high-handed with that grace. She could tell he and the man were arguing, although she could not hear the entire conversation. She hoped it wasn’t bad news.
Dashiell held out an arm, gesturing for her to come over. ‘There must be some place we can sleep. We don’t require much. My wife is an astronomer. She is only here to study the comet,’ Dashiell was explaining to the man. ‘It’s very important. This comet occurs only once every seventy-six years. We must not waste this chance. The comet was lost after it passed perihelion but my wife has found it again….’
Wife. That was the second time he’d used the reference. Elisabeth took his arm and tried to look ‘wifely.’ The man hadn’t a clue what Dashiell was talking about beyond wanting to study the stars. But his expression was starting to change to something more amiable at the mention of strange words like perihelion. He was starting to think his guests might be important.
‘There’s a groom’s suite in the stables, if you don’t mind,’ the man offered finally. ‘It’s been empty for a few months since our groom took another position, but it should do.’
Dashiell reached into his pocket for some coins and pressed them into the man’s hand.
‘Thank you, sir. I appreciate your cooperation. Perhaps my wife can make a special mention of you in her reports to the Royal Astronomical Society? With your permission of course?’
The man smiled at that and bobbed his head. Elisabeth suppressed a smile. Dashiell had no idea what he promised. She should probably take him to task for it. She would make reports but they would be to Sir Richard Ogilvy, who in turn would make those reports to the Royal Society. She would be mentioned in anonymous terms such as ‘assistant’ and ‘colleague.’
They grabbed their meagre gear and followed the man back to the groom’s suite. Suite was a rather exaggerated term for the quarters. It only earned the moniker because it had a curtain partitioning the bed from the rest of the room.
‘He might have been a bit liberal with his description,’ Dashiell said with a good-natured laugh, setting down her valise on the rough-hewn table.
‘As were you.’ Elisabeth put her telescope and tripod beside their other things. ‘Wife? A fairly liberal description for a travelling companion, don’t you think?’
She was teasing as she said it.
But Dashiell frowned. ‘I hope you don’t mind. We wouldn’t have gotten anything if we weren’t married. It was all I could think of to sway our benefactor.’
Elisabeth went to him and put her arms about his neck. ‘I don’t mind at all. Make it count, remember?’ Perhaps for this day, for this night, he could be her husband and she could be his wife. Elisabeth stretched upwards on tiptoe and kissed him. A wife would do that. A wife could kiss her husband any time she wanted and if she was Dashiell’s wife, she doubted she’d get much else done.
Dashiell cradled her face in his hands for a deep kiss of his own. He brought her up against the hard planes of his body, his desire evident. There was urgency to their kiss, a need to be quickly fulfilled as if the carriage ride had proved too long and they could not wait a moment longer. His urgency was contagious and Elisabeth responded in kind, her fingers rapidly working his shirt.
He danced her back towards the bed but she murmured a protest. ‘Let me do the taking this time,’
Dashiell granted her request with a naughty smile. ‘Are you ready to ride astride, my lady? Your stallion awaits.’
Elisabeth gave him a playful shove and followed him down to the rope-strung bed. She was astraddle him; her skirts rucked about her thighs as she tugged off his trousers, leaving him entirely bare to her gaze. The sight of him stopped her in fascination. She had not yet seen him, really seen him in the broad light of day and it was mesmerizing. She took him in her hand, almost reverently stroking the tender tip of him, amazed at the contrast between the velvety tip and the iron length of him.
She watched a milky pearl bead and she let herself revel in the textures of him until he called out in rasping restraint, ‘It’s time, I won’t last much longer.’
His hands were on her hips guiding her movements until she was poised above him, the jutting tip of his hardness a teasing whisper at her entrance. She lowered herself onto him, taking pleasure in the look of rapture on Dashiell’s face as she took all of him. Elisabeth began an instinctive rhythm, slowly at first as she learned the feel of him, the pulse of him from on top. From here, she was fully in charge of their pace. His pleasure was her pleasure.
Beneath her, Dashiell groaned his satisfaction, his body tightening as she brought him, brought them, to their release.
Spent, she collapsed against Dashiell, her head on his chest. The fast thrumming of his heart confirmed she was not alone. She could feel the pace of his heart fast at first and then gradually slow to a sonorous, steady beat. ‘I think this is what it must be like when a star is born,’ she whispered. She’d not guessed how much power, how much confidence could be found in pleasuring a lover. It was heady and complete, and entirely unlike anything she’d ever known.
‘Well, we’ve birthed stars, Elisabeth. What next?’ Dashiell said with a mischievous grin she could not quite see from where she lay against him but she could hear.
‘I’m not sure anything could top that.’ Elisabeth smiled against his chest.
‘How about a hot bath and shopping?’ Dashiell murmured with a laugh.
‘Well, maybe those are a close second.’ She laughed, too, but the smile she hid against him was bittersweet. How would she give him up when the time came? How would she go on from here knowing she would never feel such release again? Elisabeth shoved those thoughts away. They had no place in the magic hours she and Dashiell had carved out for themselves. Nothing mattered until tomorrow.
Chapter Ten
Elisabeth could not remember a more enchanting afternoon. She had wiled a way afternoons in the best mansions of Mayfair, strolled the best gardens England had to offer on the arms of wealthy young men with supposedly good breeding, but none of those experiences rivaled the joy of roaming the rough-cobbled streets of Burnham-on-Crouch, her hand tucked through Dashiell’s arm. The wind was cold off the water and Burnham was surrounded by it; the main street of the village faced the ocean and the town was bordered by the north end of the River Crouch. But beside her, Dashiell radiated heat and Elisabeth hardly felt the chill at all.
It was Dashiell they shopped for. She had the luxury of her valise and the foresight of having packed a few things for an overnight stay. But Dashiell had left Sir Richard’s with nothing but the clothes on his back—and evening clothes at that. He needed more than his silver-buckled shoes if he meant to tromp the hills with her at night. The mercantile on Front Street had what they needed and they were able to purchase Dashiell suitable boots and trousers and a heavy shirt along with a razor and shaving supplies, although Elisabeth laughed, insisting she liked the rugged stubble that darkened his jaw.
The streets were full of well-wishers and holiday shoppers gathering up various goodies for Christmas dinner. Best of all, the sky stayed clear, unpolluted by coal smoke. Towards the end of their excursion, Dashiell began gathering goods for a picnic. They stopped for cheese, for bread, for ham and even a bottle of wine until the basket was full.
Elisabeth gave one last look at the sky before they returned to their little room behind the inn. Dashiell squeezed her hand. ‘The weather will hold. You will have a clear night.
Don’t worry.’ Dashiell reached inside his pocket for his watch and flipped open the gold case.
‘It’s five o’clock now. We should sleep so we’re well rested for another long night.’
‘I’m fine,’ Elisabeth insisted stubbornly, tossi
ng her cloak on the bed and sitting down to remove her shoes. ‘I think I’ll go over my notes one more time.’ But she promptly proved herself a liar after only two minutes of reading the star charts.
When Dashiell woke her, their crude room was dark except for a small lantern on the table. The basket of food sat beside it along with her telescope case and tripod.
‘Elisabeth, wake up, darling.’ He sat down on the bed, his weight warm and heavy beside her. He smelled of soap. Elisabeth reached up a hand to trace his jaw.
‘You shaved,’ she murmured sleepily. He’d changed, too, into the clothes ‘You slept,’ Dashiell scolded softly, ‘after all your protestations to the contrary. Come, get changed, I have the carriage waiting. It’s nearly midnight.’
That galvanized her. She’d slept for seven hours! Elisabeth dressed in her trousers and boots, hurriedly gathering her charts and notes. She looked around the room for anything else she might need but Dashiell had thought of everything. Her telescope was even waiting on the seat for her.
‘I think we’re ready, Sleeping Beauty,’ Dashiell teased, hauling himself inside and calling to the driver.
‘Did you sleep?’ She was going to feel awful if he’d stayed awake.
‘Yes, both my driver and I did. Don’t worry, we’re well rested to tote your supplies up hills. In the dark, I might add.’ He grinned good-naturedly.
‘I once heard that women find sincerity a very appealing quality in a man.’
‘Cleanliness, too.’ Dashiell winked and they both laughed.
‘Cleanliness, too,’ Elisabeth agreed. But she’d been serious earlier. Dashiell was gorgeously handsome, an extraordinary lover, and yet she might not have embarked on any of this adventure if there had not been something more beneath the surface of his good looks.
These were not things she could say out loud any more than she could voice the nagging fear that this would end and take with it all the brief happiness she’d found.
They found a hill above the town and after a quick survey, Elisabeth declared it would serve her purposes. The sky was clear. Inside she was rejoicing. In the next few hours, her dream would come true.
Elisabeth was nervous. Dashiell could see it in her motions. Her hands weren’t steady as she set up her telescope and she was full of frenetic energy while they laid their little camp.
‘Come eat something, Elisabeth,’ Dashiell called after she’d checked the telescope for the fifth time in a half hour only to find nothing.
He’d built a small fire out of the way of the telescope so as not to obstruct her visual path. Now, he busied himself melting cheese on bread. Elisabeth came to the fire and took the tin plate he handed her.
‘Where did these come from?’
‘The innkeeper. The glasses, too.’ Dashiell passed her a glass of red wine. ‘Relax, Elisabeth. The comet will be there. You’ve got your midnight clear.’
Dashiell turned his head skyward. It was a good night. December evenings didn’t get much clearer. Stars were out in full force against the dark, crisp sky. He looked out into the sky over the telescope and stared.
‘Elisabeth, is the comet visible to the naked eye?’ Dashiell began slowly, not wanting to get her hopes up and not understanding what he saw.
‘Yes, but the details can only be seen with a telescope, to the eye it will just look like a…’
Dashiell jumped up and grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet. ‘Never mind the dissertation. I think your comet has just arrived.’ He pointed to the place in the night sky where a light blazed between two stars.
‘Oh, my God,’ Elisabeth gasped and bent her head to the telescope.
‘We did it, Dashiell!’ she exclaimed a few seconds later, throwing her arms about his neck in unabashed glee. ‘We did it!’
He kissed her hard on the mouth and spun her around, her joy absolutely contagious. In the wake of her jubilation, he suddenly felt a great appreciation for the sciences on her behalf and for her…well for her, for Elisabeth Becket, Viscount Graybourne’s daughter, he felt a bit more than a ‘great appreciation.’ He felt something more appropriately named love, an emotion he’d long given up for myth.
He did not question it. He merely accepted it. At long last, he had finally, and he suspected irrevocably, fallen in love. He would not forget the night it happened; the fire, the melted cheese and bread picnic at midnight, the sky speckled with silver stars, one of them shining brighter than the others. Most of all, he would remember the sight of Elisabeth’s face when her dream came true.
Dashiell fingered the heavy gold signet ring on his fourth finger. There were things that needed doing and things that needed saying. He would tell her when they returned to the inn. He would tell her he loved her, he would tell her who he was and that he wanted to marry her and live this adventure forever.
Chapter Eleven
It was nearing four in the morning when Dashiell bundled their things back into the carriage. Elisabeth had declared with a yawn that she had all the data she needed for her reports. Even now, she dozed against his shoulder, her adrenaline pleasantly spent.
They pulled into the inn yard and Dashiell shook her awake. ‘Let’s get you to bed.’
Even in sleep, her wits were still sharp. ‘You’re waking me up to put me to bed? That seems counter-productive.’
‘That depends on your interpretation of going to bed,’ Dashiell answered with a warm laugh that said he was up for anything in spite of the late hours they’d been keeping.
‘You’re incorrigible.’
Dashiell gave instructions to the coachman to put up the horses and rest until the afternoon. Elisabeth swayed wearily against him. He steadied her with an arm about her waist. He’d see her settled in bed and come back for their things.
Dashiell pushed open the door to their room and halted, his grip on Elisabeth tightening. ‘Darling, I think we have company.’
He felt Elisabeth stiffen, shedding all her fatigue in an instant. ‘Dear Lord, my father.’
And six footmen, Dashiell added silently. Graybourne meant to take Elisabeth one way or another. Dashiell knew enough about angry fathers to know this was not going to be pleasant nor was it going to be peaceful.
‘Come away from him, Elisabeth,’ her father barked, rising from behind the table. He was a formidable figure even at fifty with his commanding presence and shrewd, dark eyes.
Elisabeth met his gaze evenly. She would not give in. This was her moment to prove she would not be ruled in such a high-handed fashion. This was the moment she’d talked about in the carriage and she seized it with one word. ‘No.’
Her father’s eyebrows went up. ‘No, is it? I suppose next you will tell me the two of you are in love. A few days ago I might have met this announcement with a certain amount of equanimity but not anymore.’
He moved around the table and waved a silver-headed walking stick in Dashiell’s direction. ‘Originally I thought Heathridge’s heir would be an acceptable match for my daughter but the more I looked into your background, Steen, and your uncle’s massive indebtedness, the more I disliked the idea.’
Heathridge.
Elisabeth gave a little cry, a hand rushing to her mouth to hold it back. The name struck her with the force of a physical blow. What had seemed like a fantasy now seemed more like a conspiracy. He’d known who she was since they’d left Sir Richard’s house, yet he’d said nothing of his own identity. She shot Dashiell a look in hopes he’d deny it. But he was pale and tense, bearing her father’s tirade with a stoicism born of acceptance.
Oh, God, it was true.
Her father wasn’t done. He fixed Dashiell with a hard stare. ‘Perhaps you guessed at my disapproval and absconded with my daughter to force my hand.’
‘I have nothing but sincere regard for your daughter,’ Dashiell said. ‘I will not stand here and be harangued without a chance to respond.’
‘Sincere regard?’ Her father scoffed at the notion, his eyes narrowing in anger. ‘Is it sincere
regard when you run off with an innocent girl and conceal your true identity from her? I can tell from the look on her face she had no idea who you were. Apparently you took no steps to correct that.’
‘Elisabeth, I should have told you. I was going to tell you today.’ Dashiell turned towards her, remorse filling his eyes. ‘Nothing we’ve done is a lie. The only regret I have is not telling you who I was. Please believe me.’
‘Enough of your twaddle, Steen.’ Her father cut in. ‘Come away from him, Elisabeth, I won’t ask again. We’ll go home and let your mother patch things up as best she can.’
She had to decide quickly. Dashiell was telling the truth. He hadn’t known ahead of time. Hadn’t he even said as much? He’d thought she was a thief. The look of surprise when he’d discovered she was Graybourne’s daughter could not be feigned, nor the incredulous words he’d uttered afterwards.
Elisabeth slipped a hand into Dashiell’s. ‘No, you don’t understand. He’s done nothing wrong. I climbed out of my window to see the comet. He happened to be in the garden…’
How to explain what happened next? They’d jumped into a carriage, driven off into the night and somehow between that night and this morning they’d fallen in love. At least she had.
Everything came down to that; every doubt, every fear, every risk she’d taken since she’d stepped inside his carriage. She’d fallen in love with a handsome man who hadn’t rejected her for who she was. Did she dare assume the same was true for Dashiell? Or were her feelings the stronger of the two? He could have any woman. She worried he’d had her in the worst sort of way, the way a confidence man has his mark.
Hot tears threatened. Was there an inkling of truth to her father’s tirade; that Dashiell Steen was an opportunist who saw a way to solidify an advantageous marriage for himself?
Her father was relentless. ‘Do you think he’ll marry you if I withdraw your dowry?’
Doubt swamped her, fueled in no small part by her father’s rhetoric and the realities she’d lived with for far too long.
An Illicit Indiscretion (A Sinful Regency Christmas) Page 5