by Gayle Callen
Frances didn’t try to run away, only gave him a brilliant smile. “Uncle Adam, I thought I was going to find a real hermit, and instead it’s just a picture of an old man all lit up.”
“Maybe there’s a real hermit, but hermits don’t like crowds. A transparency makes sense.” He put a hand on her shoulder until she looked up at him again. “You gave us all a fright, Frances, your mother especially.”
She winced. “I didn’t mean to run off, but I tried to find the fruit girl, and there were so many people I got carried away.”
“I specifically said the fruit girl would come to us, did I not?”
She lowered her gaze. “You might have . . .”
“There is no ‘might’ about it. You must return to the supper box and face the consequences of your behavior.”
She heaved a dramatic sigh and let him take her hand. By the time they returned to the box, Marian and his mother had also returned, and to his surprise, Marian took one look at Frances and burst into tears. She was such a cool, repressed woman, it was easy to forget that she seemed to love her daughter above all.
“Where did you go, young lady?” Marian demanded, a bit too shrilly.
Aunt Theodosia took her arm. “Marian, she’s here and safe. Do calm yourself before you have an attack.”
“How can I?” She rounded on Adam. “This is all your fault—giving a curious child coins and encouraging her to wander.”
It was partly his fault, and he bowed to her. “You are right, Marian. I should have consulted you.”
“Mother, it is certainly not Uncle Adam’s fault!” Frances cried.
As she was defending him, he realized all three younger women were still missing.
“You are a good girl to defend your uncle,” Marian said, “but do not think I don’t realize you willfully disobeyed me. If you wanted to see the Hermit, we would have seen him before the fireworks. Now we will remain here.”
“Oh, Mother!” Frances cried, flinging herself dramatically into a chair.
“Has anyone seen the three young ladies of our party?” Adam asked, frowning.
There was a brief silence before his mother said, “But you followed Sophia.”
“Too late to see where she went in the crowd. I’ll find them.”
He wasn’t all that worried about Sophia and Emmeline. They did not have an anonymous blackguard hinting at threats. But Faith . . .
Back out into the crowd he went, where every masked person seemed suspicious. Mouths open in laughter were false beneath peacock-feathered eyes. Groups of men with leering gazes made him think of predatory jungle cats. His younger self would have been one of those men. Faith may have had her mask, but if anyone was following her, he’d know who she was.
He did see Sophia and Emmeline from a distance, but didn’t chase them down. If they returned to the box, then people would know Faith was out here alone.
Adam didn’t see her on any of the open walks through the Grove, so he headed deeper into the gardens, where shadows blocked many of the gas globes high up in the trees, and people were now deliberately trying to hide their assignations. The ponds still drew too many revelers, but there were several ancient “ruins” farther away from the main pleasure garden walkways. Perhaps Faith thought a little girl might like to explore.
But big girls explored, too, and he caught a glimpse of Faith from behind, disappearing into the gloom of a Roman temple. Though he ducked behind a tree and watched to see if someone approached, no one seemed to be following, and the lamps didn’t extend down this path. He turned and followed her up the faux-marble stairs.
She gave a gasp and whirled around, the sequined mask pressed hard to her face as if for protection. The satin of her gown glistened by distant light, and suddenly she looked like the fairy in their supper box painting, distant, ethereal, lovely.
“Faith, it’s me.” He lowered his mask.
She lowered hers as her shoulders briefly slumped. “Your Grace, you startled me.”
“Of course you’re startled. You’re off in a remote place alone, putting yourself in danger.”
“Never mind that, we have to think about Frances. She must be so frightened. Heavens, I can find reason to feel frightened with so many strangers about. Has anyone seen her? Oh, could she have wandered to the Thames?”
Her voice was growing more fearful, her tone higher in panic.
He took her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Faith, calm yourself.”
“But Frances—”
“I found her and escorted her back to her mother.”
“Oh, Adam!” she cried.
And then she fell into his arms. It was what he’d dreamed of on sleepless nights, holding her, feeling the press of her breasts to his chest, the flare of her hips in his hands. He forgot all about where they were, why they were alone together. He forgot the risk of his dishonor and her ruin. There was still a corrupt beast inside him, waiting for this chance. All that mattered was that they were alone, and she was with him, and he wished he never had to let her go.
Wasn’t this how people felt when they wanted to marry? Now that was a shocking thought, but he couldn’t be surprised.
She lifted her head and looked up at him, and the faint moonlight or a distant globe just touched her face, made the sheen of her eyes seem to glow, glistened on her parted lips.
And then he kissed her.
Chapter 15
Faith had thought the duke’s appearance out of the darkness was startling, but nothing surprised her more than looking into his eyes, gleaming out of the dark shadows of his face, and realizing she’d thrown herself against him, so boldly wanton without even questioning it.
Her behavior had the usual male response—he leaned down, blotting out the world beyond, even her very conscience, and kissed her.
And suddenly she wasn’t Miss Cooper, spinster lady’s companion, anymore. She knew what to do to excite passion, how best to increase her own pleasure. She didn’t think, or she would have been lost in recrimination and regret.
She simply existed, here in Adam’s arms, languid with the knowledge of sensual pleasure. When he kissed her gently, it wasn’t enough to combat the urgent need that had been building inside her. She’d been dreaming of him, even that simple touch on her cheek, imagining his hands on her body, him filling her. She opened her mouth, boldly suckling on his lip, burning for him.
At last his tongue swept into her mouth and she met it with her own, dueled and rasped and tasted. She clutched his shoulders, pressed herself hard against him, even rolled her hips into his, inciting his shudder.
“Faith,” he said against her mouth.
“Touch me, Adam. Oh please, touch me,” she added on a moan.
His hands slid up and down her back, then settled on her backside and pulled her even harder against him, controlling their thrusts until she was panting against his mouth. Her own hands roamed his shoulders and arms, feeling the muscles of a man who’d done more these last six years than frequent gambling dens or ballrooms.
She gasped when he broke their kiss and pressed his mouth to her forehead, her cheek, her jaw. She arched backward, letting him sweep aside the shawl from her shoulders, revealing the gown’s bodice she’d been hiding. It showed too much, and though she’d regretted it earlier in the evening, such concerns were long gone. She moaned as he traced his open mouth down her neck, licked at the hollow in her throat, traced a path to the valley between her breasts. Barely able to think, she was caught in a haze of heat and passion and desperation.
Then his hand came up and caught her breast, pushing it higher, so that his mouth could skim the high curve.
She felt . . . lost, overcome—and suddenly very frightened. It was as if another woman had emerged from inside her, and all along she’d barely been held back.
Faith broke away from the kiss, unable to catch her breath, her breasts rising and falling in the moonlight, Adam watching her.
“Your Grace, I—I—” What could she say, how could she explain what kind of woman she was, without risking her position, her livelihood, her very soul, if she didn’t stop herself from wanting what she should not have?
“That kiss—” he began, then his words faded as he stared at her mouth.
She realized his breathing was labored, too, that he was just as affected. But what did that matter? He was a man, and could do as he wished. And now he knew what kind of woman she was, that she was sinful, that she was no innocent—at least at kissing, she reminded herself. There were many women who kissed, but went no farther.
But inside her disquieted mind, she could lie to herself no longer, could not ignore that she was already long ago ruined, by her own decision. At the depths of her poverty, she’d given in and taken a protector. She’d thought for certain that the degradation of being a man’s mistress would have wiped such carnal needs out of her, but apparently not.
“I—I should not—we should not have—” And then words failed her.
“I kissed you,” he said hoarsely, quietly. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I didn’t push you away.”
He arched a brow. “Maybe I’m irresistible.”
“Don’t!” she cried, then covered her mouth and looked around as if they might be seen. “Don’t tease me or make light of what we did. Don’t return to that young man you must have been, who didn’t take such things seriously. That’s not you anymore.”
He tensed, lowering his head and looking at her with flashing eyes.
“You know—you know I have kissed before,” she said. “I like it . . . too much. We cannot do that again—we must not! I am in your employ. I’ll lose everything if we’re caught.”
“I won’t let that happen.”
“No?” she said bitterly, backing away from him. “You are not God or a king. You can protect yourself, but not me.”
“I’ll always protect you, Faith.”
He said it with a sincerity that was almost frightening.
“Ohh,” she groaned in anguish, turning away from him before looking back. “Don’t do this. You don’t owe me any more on my brother’s behalf. And—and stay here. Let me return alone.”
“Find Sophia and Emmeline. If they’re still out there, they don’t know about Frances, so you can’t confess the knowledge. Just go back to the box with them. You’ll be safe.”
“Adam, I’m safe from everything but you.”
That hurt Adam more than he’d thought possible. She was right—and she was wrong, but he couldn’t explain. After lifting up her mask to cover her face, she turned and vanished into the shadows, her gown one last glimmer as if in a dream.
He stood frozen, feeling anguished and confused—and aroused. So very aroused that even now his body hummed with it, his need a source of guilt and also freedom.
Because she felt it, too. God, she felt it, too, and acted upon it. Her mouth was a revelation, her experience, her demand, her passion. Shockingly bold and sensual. Yes, she’d kissed him without reserve, but he wasn’t certain how much farther she’d ever experienced desire. She wasn’t one of the rich widows or actresses of his youth, although being near her, kissing her, reminded him of those days, the thrill of forbidden desire.
She was a mystery, a fascinating mystery he had to unravel.
And protect.
He ran then, mask back in place. Near the edge of the elm trees, he spotted her catching up to Sophia and Emmeline near the supper boxes, and in a moment, he could go back.
“Rothford?”
He knew Shenstone’s voice, even though the man wore a striped mask over most of his face.
“Shenstone.”
“You’ve been running?” his friend asked.
His voice sounded . . . odd.
“Frances was missing, but I found her. Then I had to find the ladies looking for her.”
He found himself wishing Shenstone would remove the mask. His body seemed stiff with tension. Had Shenstone seen Faith run from him?
“I’m glad the girl is fine. I have to meet with friends.” Shenstone nodded his good-bye and turned away.
Adam stared after him, thinking that these last few days, he’d seen little of his friend. “Care for a fencing rematch this week?” he called.
Shenstone acted as if he hadn’t heard. But later, during the fireworks, Adam watched his friend return, but not to apologize or even speak to him. He stayed with the ladies, Sophia and Emmeline, making them laugh, letting them hold his arms as they craned their necks to see the brilliant fireworks exploding overhead.
Adam didn’t know what was going on, but he almost thought Shenstone was working his wiles on Sophia—under Adam’s nose.
Faith spent the next two days forcing herself to be pleasant and normal, writing speeches with Lady Duncan, who was too polite to ask her what was wrong, if she sensed anything at all. Faith had trouble focusing on the book she was reading aloud to the lady, kept losing her train of thought about the speeches.
And at night she lay achingly awake, desperate for more of Adam’s caresses, staring at the play of shadows across her ceiling and wondering why God had cursed her to so enjoy the touch of a man not her husband.
She wasn’t naïve—of course young ladies swooned at stolen kisses from their suitors. But Faith knew what happened next, had lain beneath a man, felt his body moving over her, inside her, knew what ruin it led to—and she’d kissed Adam anyway.
She couldn’t even call him by his title anymore—she’d touched him too intimately, ached to do more. In her lonely bed, she dreamed he was there with her, touching her, and once she awoke from sleep, her hand settled on her breast. She’d cried then for what her year as a mistress had done to her, revealing her nature.
She couldn’t blame Adam, though he’d initiated the kiss. He was a man, and she’d thrown herself into his arms. He probably sensed what she didn’t want to confront in herself. He’d kissed her—and she could have broken away, demand he stop. Instead, she’d met his advances with bold, demanding ones of her own. What must he think of her? She’d barely been able to face him these last two days, had actually hidden when she could, if there was a chance he would pass by. In the evening, when they’d been with his family, she hadn’t risked meeting his gaze, had pretended that her needlework was all encompassing.
At last, her outrage and despair settled into resignation and acceptance. It was her nature to be wildly passionate. Surely there were other women who had to suppress such sins. She would bear it because she needed this position. And she would keep ever aware for a chance at other employment, even if the situation wasn’t as good.
It was all she could do, because thoughts of Adam filled her days and nights. If only she could hate him, but she . . . liked him, even admired him. He was so good and protective toward his family, and he’d changed his scoundrel ways.
But these feelings had to stop.
Adam’s investigator had left his card the day before, when Adam was away, indicating he would return on the morrow. Adam had been tempted to go to his offices, but that would look incredibly suspicious. Of course dukes were known to hire investigators—but dukes couldn’t seem desperate about it. So he was pacing his study Wednesday morning when Raikes was shown in.
“Your Grace,” he said respectfully as he took his seat across from Adam’s desk, “I have more details to fill in the picture of Miss Cooper, but first the maid. My associate here looked into her background, and it was not difficult to find. She is the bastard daughter of a gentleman who refused to support her and her mother.”
Adam frowned. “That is a man of the vilest nature. Do I know him?”
“He is Mr. Darby, with an estate in Sussex, but he is usually in Town for the Season. I would think you two do not socialize in the same circle.” The last was added dryly.
“I don’t recognize the name, but I will not forget it. So our maid might have very conflicted feelings on being forced to work for her livelihood.”
“She might, sir. Do you suspect her of something?”
Adam had not confided the truth of the blackguard’s letters, and he didn’t intend to. “I don’t know. I will keep her background in mind. If her work does not improve, I might be forced to release her. What about Miss Cooper? I asked you to look into where she lived before she was employed by the Warburtons.”
Raikes confirmed and fleshed out the details that Faith had already told him about her quiet country life, her friendship with the baron’s son, her father’s death, her brother’s enlistment. “For six months afterward, she and her mother remained together, and neighbors realized their situation was reduced, that they had to release their few servants, that they began to sell family items.” He frowned. “Then one day, Miss Cooper was simply . . . gone.”
“Gone?”
“She didn’t live in the village and no one knew what became of her. Since Mrs. Cooper continued to be able to afford her cottage, everyone suspected that Miss Cooper had taken employment as a governess or perhaps something as lowly as a shop clerk, and therefore her mother would not speak of it. You gave me the time frame she began her work with the Warburtons, and I was able to confirm that. But for a year, she is unaccounted for.”
What had happened to her? Was it something so serious she could be threatened with it?
“Thank you, Raikes. I need you to return and find out where she went. Someone has to know something. Search the surrounding villages. If she didn’t have much money, she couldn’t have gone that far. You don’t have to find her childhood friend, Timothy Gilpin—he’s already here. I’ll deal with him. But I do have another assignment for your associate. I need him to look into Miss Charlotte Atherstone and Miss Jane Ogden, chaperone and lady’s companion. They both work in Society, although Miss Ogden’s employer appears to be a bedridden widow. They are friends of Miss Cooper who will meet her today in Hyde Park, as they do every Wednesday afternoon. It will be easy enough for you to follow her there and see them for yourself, even follow them home to discover their employers.”