The Summer of Wine and Scandal: A Novella

by Shana Galen

  Lochley closed his eyes. “But you never did earn any blunt, did you?”

  She shook her head. “Whenever I asked to be paid, she’d open her account book and tally numbers. I owed her for food and dresses and the roof over my head. Rents were higher in London. Everything cost more in London. I threatened to leave anyway, but she said she’d send the constable after me for stealing from her. I didn’t know what to do or how to get out.”

  “How long were you there?”

  “About six months. The worst of my life, if you can call that sort of existence a life. I hated myself. I hated the men. I wanted to die, and I thought about killing myself more times than I could count. And then one day my father stormed in. It was midday, and we were all sleeping. I heard him bellowing and recognized his voice. He’d come for me. Somehow he’d found David, found out where I was, and he’d come to take me home.”

  “I find I like your father more and more.”

  “You see now why he is a bit overprotective.”

  “Good man. Did he pay off the abbess?”

  She glanced at the ground. “He said she was a criminal and he would as soon pay the devil. I think she was a little scared of him. Even the footmen were scared of him. They let me go.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “Three years, but it feels as though it’s another lifetime. Except for the ride home with my father. That, I remember quite clearly. I sobbed most of the way, asking him to forgive me, and finally after hours of silence, he looked at me and said, Caro, there’s nothing to forgive. You are my child, my daughter, and nothing you could ever do would alter my love for you. It’s forgotten. It never happened.”

  “Would that more people were like your father.” He crouched down and took her hands. “He’s right, you know. There is nothing to forgive. You were not at fault.”

  “But I—”

  He squeezed her hands. “You can tell me anything you want, but do not try to convince me you did anything wrong. I was wrong to treat you as I did last night. I hope you can forgive me.”

  She gave a short laugh. “Now you are being ridiculous. Thank you for listening, for not condemning me. It means more than you can know. And now I should probably go home, and you return to the Friar’s House.” She rose and attempted to free her hands to shake out her skirts, but he failed to release them. She met his gaze.

  “I don’t want to go back to the Friar’s House yet. I cannot seem to forget the kiss we shared. If you’ll permit me, Miss Martin, I’d like to kiss you again.”

  Her heart rammed her chest. “How could you still want to kiss me? I told you I have been a whore in a brothel. Any man could buy much more than a kiss from me. I cannot count how many men did. You don’t want to kiss me.”

  He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “Do you think any of that matters to me? Does it change who you are? I told you. I see you.”

  “Then you see a former whore.”

  “No. I see a woman who is kind. She dirties her hands and dress to help dig a stranger out of a rut, even when the fool is too pompous to do it himself. I see a woman who is brave. She could have stayed in London and hidden, but she came back home to face rumors and criticism and held her head high. I see a woman who makes me laugh with her quick wit and her biting repartee. I see a woman who is beautiful in every way. How can I not want to kiss her?”

  Caro swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked back tears. She took a tentative step forward and allowed herself to be enveloped by his arms. Uncertainly, she reached up and wound her arms around his neck. He gazed at her for a long, long moment, then bent his head and touched his lips to hers.

  Chapter Six

  At the first taste of her lips, he wanted more. She tasted of sunshine and clean country air. Lochley forced himself to keep the kiss light and his hold on her light. Caro was free to end the kiss or move away at any moment.

  He pressed his lips to hers, learning the shape of hers and the feel of their silky skin on his. He ran his tongue over her bowed upper lip and suckled her plump lower lip. When she opened her mouth, he held back, allowing her to take the lead. Her small pink tongue touched his tentatively and then more boldly, stroking his tongue and tangling with him.

  He groaned and clenched his hands. The urge to pull her closer maddened him. Her hands threaded through his hair, and for once he didn’t mind that she upset his careful style. He liked the feel of her fingers on his scalp, his neck, his cheeks.

  Gently, she pulled back, and he released her. “I’m sorry. That was not the sort of kiss you wanted.”

  He all but sputtered to bring forth his words. “Your kiss was perfect. Do not stop.” He held up both hands. “Unless you want.”

  She grasped his hands and held them. “I like kissing you, but I think my past is too much of an obstacle.”

  “I don’t care about your past except that it hurt you.”

  She released his hands. “Then why won’t you hold me?”

  “You want me to hold you?”

  She nodded almost shyly.

  “Oh, thank God.” His arms came around her waist, and he pulled her tightly against him, feeling the softness of her breasts as they crushed against his chest. “I am mad with wanting to touch you.”

  “Perhaps not quite so tightly,” she wheezed.

  He laughed, loosening his hold slightly. He placed a finger under her chin, raising her lips. He kissed her gently, opening her mouth to taste and explore. His hand slid back to cradle her head, his fingers delving into the silky strands of her auburn hair. He’d never felt hair so soft or sleek. The kiss deepened as both of them teased and tested, and he felt her tense when he could no longer hide the evidence of his arousal.

  He pulled back and rested his forehead on hers. “I’m afraid I cannot control my body’s response. Give me a moment.” He took a deep breath, trying to force the thoughts from his mind of her lying naked on the soft leaves, her body streaked with sunlight and shadow.

  But she didn’t release her arms from about his neck. “I don’t want to give you a moment. I want you to kiss me again.”

  He studied her blue eyes. “Then my arousal doesn’t frighten you?”

  She gave him a faint smile. “I trust you, Peregrine. May I call you Peregrine?”

  He chuckled. “No one but my mother and grandmother do.”

  She made a face. “Lochley it is, then. I trust you.”

  “I wish you hadn’t said that.”

  “Oh?” She raised her brows, feigning innocence.

  “Because now I shall have to prove trustworthy when all I really want is—” He clamped his mouth closed.

  “All you really want is...?”

  “To kiss you again,” he said quickly.

  “Liar.”

  “Oh, you challenge my honor? I must prove honorable as well as earn your trust.”

  Her eyes danced with merriment. “How will you do that?”

  He kissed her forehead then her eyebrow. “I shall kiss you all afternoon.” He kissed her cheek and then gave her a peck on the tip of her nose. “And prove to you that I can restrain myself and behave as the perfect gentleman.” He moved to kiss her lips, but she put a finger over his mouth.

  “And what if I ask you not to behave as a gentleman?”

  He closed his eyes, fighting for control. “I will behave as one regardless.” His voice was little more than a rasp, but he said the words. He opened his eyes and met her gaze, his look intense until the humor fled from her expression. “You deserve my respect and more.”

  She let out a huff of disbelief. “I don’t—”

  “And you shall have it. Just kisses.” He brushed his lips over hers. “Chaste, innocent kisses.”

  “Chaste?”

  He furrowed a brow. “Very well, reasonably chaste and somewhat innocent.”

  “Lochley?”

  “Slightly innocent?”

  “Just kiss me.”

  He obliged.

&nbs
p; They arranged to meet the next day, and when Lochley declared he would go for a walk after breakfast, Bertie raised a brow. “Another walk, old chap?”

  “When in Rome,” he said with a shrug.

  Miss Gage nodded her approval. “Bertram is always saying the country air is good for my constitution. Perhaps I shall join you.”

  “No!”

  Both Gages looked at him with astonishment. Lochley cleared his throat. “I mean to say, I intend to take a long walk today. It might be too arduous for your delicate constitution, Miss Gage.”

  She scowled at him. “Not you too. I assure you, I can walk just as far and fast as you, Mr. Lochley.”

  He bowed. “I am certain you are correct. Tomorrow you must show me.” And he took his leave before she could argue further. It was a tenet of his never to argue with women. Even when he won, he never won. Best to avoid a quarrel altogether.

  Caro waited for him on what he’d come to think of as their stream bank. Certainly, it belonged to neither of them, but that fact didn’t stop him from claiming it mentally. As soon as she saw him, she rose. He wasted no time taking her into his arms and kissing her until they were both breathless. It astonished him how much he had longed for this meeting, considering he had pledged to do nothing more than kiss her. He could not remember the last time—remember ever, really—when he had simply kissed a woman for hours and done no more. Especially when the woman had the body of a temptress. He’d touched no more than her hair, her neck, and her waist. But with his hands on her waist, he could feel the sweet curve of her hips, and he was always aware of the press of those ripe breasts heavy against his chest. They would more than fill his hands, and his palms ached to slide against erect nipples.

  And yet he kept his touches chaste and respectful. Once or twice, she had rubbed her body against his hard length or run her hands over his chest, but he kept his steely composure. She had never been free to experience passion and explore her own desires. He wanted to give her the safety and freedom to do so.

  They spoke little for the first hour, allowing their lips to speak for them. Finally, she dragged him to the ground, pulling him over her, until he held himself above her on his elbows, careful not to crush her or take any liberties, although his throbbing cock argued that was exactly what he should do.

  Finally, he could take no more, and he rolled off her and lay with his arm over his eyes. She leaned over him, but he grasped her shoulder. “Caro, I am at the limit of my control. Give me a moment to bring my thoughts back to that which is pure and virtuous.”

  “As opposed to?”

  “Imagining you with your skirts tossed up to your waist and my mouth between your legs.”

  Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. Now this was interesting. He lifted himself onto his elbow. “Have I shocked you?”

  “A little. I know of such things, of course. I just never thought any man would want to do such things with me.”

  “Why wouldn’t I want to do such things with you? It would give you pleasure. At this moment I want few things more than to give you pleasure.”

  “But you would receive no pleasure.”

  “Your pleasure would be its own reward. But”—he held up a hand before the discussion went any further—“I am thinking of all that is innocent and moral.”

  “That must be an effort for you.” She said the words with a smile, but he nodded.

  “You have no idea. I told you I would never judge you. I have made my own mistakes.”

  She lay back, settling her hands on her abdomen. “Tell me. Why are you here in Hemshawe? Have you been exiled for your sins?”

  “Something like that.”

  “What did you do?”

  “This time?”

  “Oh dear. Was it a duel?”

  He scoffed. “No, of course not. I don’t fight duels... anymore.”

  “Anymore?”

  “The war cured me of that. I don’t find death romantic.”

  “Then it must have been a woman.” She squinted as the sun pierced the trees and shone in her eyes.

  “Wrong. I don’t dabble with innocents.”

  “I am not at all surprised.” She moved slightly, until her eyes were in shadow again.

  “And I don’t touch married women... anymore.”

  She sighed. “Anymore?”

  “To my credit, I had been misinformed that she was a widow. Imagine my shock when her husband burst into the bedchamber very much alive. I thought he was a specter.”

  She giggled. “I do not feel at all sorry for you.”

  “You should. It was the cause of much hilarity among the ton. Ackerman even did a print.”

  She sat. “Really? What did it show?”

  “I don’t wish to discuss it.” He’d left Town simply to escape the strangers who held their hands up in the sign of the cross to mimic his stance in the print. And what exactly would they have done if they’d encountered a ghost?

  “And so the incident with the irate husband is why you were exiled?”

  “No.”

  She flopped back. “There’s more?”

  “Well, if you have that sort of attitude about it, perhaps I shan’t tell you.”

  Her smile faded. “I am all seriousness. Do tell. Does this one involve a print?”

  “No!” At least not that he knew of.

  “I know it wasn’t a woman or a duel. What’s left? Gambling?”

  She was a clever woman. No one would dispute that. “The Duke of Argyll and I were playing cards at a ball, and I lost.”

  “What did you lose?”

  “Does that really matter?”

  She merely stared at him.

  “Fine, I lost a horse.”

  “Your horse?”

  He pressed his lips together. “No, one of my father’s horses.”

  “Oh, Peregrine.”

  He pointed at her. “You sound just like my mother.”

  “I thought it was appropriate.”

  “But before you accuse me of recklessness, understand that I did not lose. Argyll cheated.”

  “Tell me you did not accuse a duke of cheating.” She closed her eyes.

  “It is not an accusation if it is true. He cheated, and I wouldn’t give him the horse. Of course, he called me out.”

  “But you don’t duel... anymore.”

  “That is what I said. And so he hit me below the belt.”

  She opened her eyes. “Literally?”

  “No.” He twisted his lip. “I could take the Duke of Argyll. He went to my father and told him everything. Of course, my father felt honor bound to give the cheat the horse and then he exiled me.”

  “And you came here.”

  “Fortunately, Bertie had let the Friar’s House, or I’d be stuck in Shropshire with my Aunt Uriana.”

  “That sounds a fitting punishment.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Did I mention the Duke of Argyll is the one who cheated? He should pay a visit to Aunt Uriana.”

  “Poor dear.” She patted his knee.

  “So you see, I am no saint. You have your sins, and I have mine. At least your parents didn’t exile you.”

  “For that I am thankful. And I am sorry your father seems unable to sympathize with your plight.”

  He studied the smile that played about her lips. “Yes, you seem quite broke up about it. If you are not completely averse to being seen with me, now that you know the truth about my abhorrent behavior, perhaps you might allow me to escort you to the Hemshawe Fair.”

  She sat up abruptly. “What?”

  “I asked if I might escort you to the fair.”

  “Why?” She jumped to her feet.

  He rose more slowly. “Why? Because I like you.”

  “But if you escort me, everyone will know that you...that you like me.”

  “Good.”

  “Good? No, that is not good. Everyone will talk. You will be swept into a...a maelstrom of rumors.”

  “A maelstro
m? I hardly think it will be that bad, but I am made of sterner stuff. I worry more that your reputation will suffer because of my misdeeds.”

  She waved a hand dismissively. “You are a man. No one judges men harshly.”

  “That settles it, then. I will escort you. Shall I call on your father to ask permission?”

  “No!”

  “Are you certain? If he is overprotective...”

  “I mean, yes, call on my father, but no, that does not settle it. You are the son of a viscount. You cannot escort me. People will think you mean to court me.”

  He bent low and kissed her. “Darling Caro, I do mean to court you.”

  She merely stared at him.

  “And why shouldn’t I? You are the daughter of a gentleman. There is no reason I should not court you.”

  “Do you think your father will agree?”

  “I don’t give a fig what my father thinks. Damn it, Caroline. I want to take you to a country fair. We’re not eloping to the Americas.”

  But she didn’t smile. “I don’t know.”

  He took her by the shoulders. “I do. I have to go back soon or Gage will send out a search party. I’ll call on your father tomorrow. Kiss me once more to fortify me for the long afternoon of reading aloud and listening to Miss Gage play the pianoforte. Pray to God Mrs. Clotworthy sticks to knitting and does not decide to sing.”

  She laughed, but she kissed him, and this time he felt something more than passion in her response. Tenderness and affection mixed with desire so strong it made him heady. He walked back to the Friar’s House in a daze.

  He’d barely set foot in the entryway when Bertie pounced—rather, he stepped out from an alcove where he had obviously been lying in wait. Lochley was hard-pressed not to jump in surprise. “You startled me, Gage.”

  “Did I?” Bertie lifted his pocket watch and peered at the face. “Do you know I have been waiting for you for over an hour?”

  Lochley didn’t like where the conversation was headed. He started for the stairs and the safety of his bedchamber. “Whatever for?”