by Darcy Burke
“Aren’t I?” He extracted his elbow from her grip. “I am the long-lost brother of Jason Lockwood, but rest assured: I’m no gentleman.”
LATER THAT NIGHT, Audrey huddled into the corner of the sheep barn. She’d curled into a ball on her side, facing the pasture where the murky shapes of distant shrubs and trees along the perimeter rose out of the near darkness. The moon was faint, its glow dimming and brightening as clouds drifted across it.
She ought to close her eyes and try to sleep, but she was too cold. Shivers racked her body intermittently, but there was no help for it unless she wanted to snuggle up with Mr. Locke. Right now, she wasn’t sure he was someone she wanted to snuggle with.
He’d taken quite a long time to deal with the horses. When he’d finally returned, she’d already eaten and had replayed his revelations dozens of time in her head. She could scarcely believe all he’d told her, yet it made sense, given everything she’d seen him do. No gentleman would know how to steal a cabriolet or fight the intruders in her grandfather’s house or kill a highwayman. Then again, no gentlewoman ought to know how to fire a gun, much less shoot a man. Yes, appearances could be deceiving and she would try not to judge.
At last she closed her eyes. If she didn’t sleep, she’d be miserable tomorrow, and they needed to make good time to reach Wootton Bassett. She thought of a fire and a warm bed. And a bath. How divine that would be.
She turned over, thinking it might be better to face the wall, where her warm breath might bounce off the wood and at least her nose wouldn’t be frozen. It was pathetic reasoning, but it was all she had.
A few minutes later she nearly jumped out of her skin when something came over her shoulders. Her eyes shot open and she turned her head to see Mr. Locke tucking his coat around her. He turned to go.
“Don’t.” It wasn’t fair that he should sleep in his shirtsleeves. She knew it was horribly improper, but what place did propriety have when one was freezing? “Sleep here. We’ll share the coat.”
He hesitated. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
“Nothing I have done in the past two days has been wise. Don’t make me start now.”
His soft chuckle gave her a burst of warmth. “If you insist.”
“I do.” She held the coat up to let him under it.
He settled down behind her and inserted himself beneath the edge of the coat, leaving most of the garment covering her. She felt his heat, but he wasn’t as close as he’d been when they’d ridden the same horse. “Move closer for heaven’s sake. I want to be warm, don’t you?”
“You’re a managing chit, do you know that?” He slid closer until his chest pressed against her back. “Better?”
“Much.” His heat was already seeping into her. He’d tried to threaten her earlier. By all accounts she should be frightened of him, but she wasn’t. He made her feel protected and secure. She’d heard the pain when he’d recounted his youth, and she wanted him to experience the sensation of knowing that someone cared what happened to him, that someone wanted to keep him safe. “How’s your arm? I wish you would’ve let me check it earlier.” He’d insisted it was fine, but she knew he was just trying to increase the distance between them.
“I’ll let you check it when we arrive tomorrow, all right?”
“Or, I could take a look at in the morning.”
“I want to be on our way as soon as it’s light.”
So they could get to Wootton Bassett and he could dump her there. That gave her tomorrow—and tonight—to convince him otherwise. “What will you do when you leave Wootton Bassett?” Her breath hitched as she awaited his answer.
“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“I think you should stay. Just for a bit. You need to rest your arm.” Her brain seized on a way to keep him from leaving. She turned to look at him. “You can’t leave until after I take your stitches out. You’ll need to stay for at least a week.”
The muted light from the moon cast a halo about his head and made his features barely visible. The edge of his mouth ticked up. “I will?”
“Yes. I insist.”
“You do like to manage,” he murmured. “But no, I won’t stay that long. I’ll find someone to remove my sutures.”
“It doesn’t sound as if you have a plan. Why not stay until you do?”
He was quiet a moment, perhaps considering. “If I tell you I’ll think about it, will you let me sleep?”
It was as much as she could expect. She’d continue her campaign tomorrow. “Yes.” Another idea struck her. “What am I to tell Miranda and her husband? That I just came for a visit by myself? Or will you wait to leave until after you’ve met them?” Maybe then it would be harder for him to depart.
“It’s probably best for everyone if I don’t meet them, don’t you think?” He shook his head. “No, don’t answer that. I’m afraid of what you think. It’s much easier and cleaner if I see you to your friends’ house and be on my way before making anyone’s acquaintance.”
Audrey deflated. He sounded resolute. Still, she could try to come up with some other plan tomorrow. For now, exhaustion was starting to get the better of her. She turned to her side so that her back was against his chest once more.
She listened to his breathing, deep and sure, and let it flow through her until his proximity and heat lulled her body into relaxing. As sleep threatened, she voiced just one more thing. “I know you want to leave me in Wootton Bassett, but if you decide to go to America, I hope you’ll take me with you.”
He did nothing to indicate he’d heard her, which was just as well. Likely, he would have reconfirmed his plan to drop her off and behave as if the last two days had never happened. As if the last two days hadn’t altered her life in the most unchangeable of ways.
Her body twitched as sleep claimed her.
Chapter Six
AS DUSK FELL the next day, Ethan glanced over at Audrey. He was glad they were riding into Wootton Bassett at last. She looked tired and had every reason to be, considering how little he’d allowed her to rest the past two days. They’d been awakened just after dawn that morning by the sheep farmer who owned the barn they’d been sleeping in. He’d damned their souls as he’d run them off. Ethan had expected Audrey to be upset, but she’d been quite pleasant all day. In fact, she was bewilderingly cheery toward him. His revelations hadn’t sparked fear, disgust, or worst of all, pity. She treated him much the same as she’d done when he’d been her waltzing student.
His gaze again strayed to her riding beside him, as it had many times during their journey. He’d studied her greatly, the subtle turn of her nose at the very tip, the graceful sweep of her brows, the supple curve of her lips. She appeared so elegant, despite the hopeless creases in her gown and the absolute ramshackle mess of her hair trying to fight its way from beneath her bonnet. Elegant and composed. Maybe it was the way she carried herself. Or the commitment she’d demonstrated to this adventure she’d chosen. Or the way she hadn’t run screaming when he’d revealed he’d murdered someone.
And he’d expected her to. It was why he’d done it. She’d been flirting with him, dammit, and he was already too attracted to her. Nothing good could come from their association and once he settled her in Wootton Bassett, it would be at an end. He’d post a letter to Jason asking him to ensure her safety when she returned to London and he’d enclose a letter for Carlyle. The man owed him, and Ethan would collect. Carlyle would find a way to protect her until Gin Jimmy realized Ethan was gone for good.
A chill settled at the base of Ethan’s neck. He’d never planned his life around the welfare of someone else. It was a bloody nuisance. And yet, he’d bound himself to her—at least temporarily—when he’d snuck into her house for waltzing lessons.
If you decide to go to America, I hope you’ll take me with you.
Her request had kept him up long after she’d fallen into slumber. He’d actually considered what she said. Fleeing to America where he could be Ethan Lockwood. And sh
e could be . . . What could she be? His wife? The dream he’d long envisioned of somehow regaining the life that had been stolen from him had never included domestic bliss.
That dream had started to become reality when he’d entered Society several weeks ago as Jason Lockwood’s long-lost bastard brother. People had been titillated by his mysterious background and his charming disposition, which was at such odds with Jason’s reputation as a potential lunatic who hosted notorious vice parties, a reputation Ethan took credit for creating.
Ethan had done a good job displacing Jason from Society years ago when he’d accidentally scarred his face in a fight. Then he’d ensured Jason’s staff had fled his town house, declaring him mad like his mother. Jason’s marital eligibility had promptly disintegrated and he’d been left with nothing but a frightening reputation, which he’d turned into one of scandal and decadence when he began hosting London’s premier vice parties.
But Ethan didn’t want that revenge anymore. Instead, he and Jason had begun to claim the brotherhood they’d lost amidst the wreckage their parents’ hatred had left. That was more valuable to Ethan than he’d ever dreamed anything could be. To feel a sense of belonging, of rightness . . . He wanted that. And he couldn’t get it in America, which meant he had to find a way to make it happen in London.
“I’m not sure where Bassett Manor is located.” The lilt of Audrey’s voice broke into his thoughts. Bassett Manor was the estate where her friends resided.
“Shouldn’t be too hard to find,” he said as their horses walked onto the High Street. “How many estates can one little village have?”
“Actually, there’s another nearby, Cosgrove.”
Bloody rich people. “Let’s just have a look, shall we?”
They rode up the street past some shops and a pub. Several coaches were parked in front of a large building. As they came closer, music drifted from the open doors.
Lanterns from the coaches and from the building illuminated the area and allowed him to see her face more clearly. She was smiling. His heart did a little trip, as if it had missed a beat.
“Can we listen, just for a minute?” she asked, guiding her horse to the side of the street.
He followed her and dismounted, his body protesting with its various aches and pains. He tied his horse to a post and helped her down. While he secured her mount beside his, she moved to the side of the building where a window was open and tapped her foot to the music.
They ought to find Bassett Manor, but he couldn’t deny her a moment’s joy after their grueling journey. Nor could he deny himself the joy of watching her.
The music stopped and then started again, but with a slower tune. A waltz.
She turned toward him. “Have you been practicing?”
He had, in fact. With some of the lightskirts at the Crystal, the flash house where he kept his primary lodging in St. Giles. They hadn’t been nearly as skilled or graceful as Audrey, but he’d closed his eyes and done his best to imagine her in their place. He realized he had the opportunity to enjoy the real thing. Perhaps the last such opportunity he’d ever have.
He went to her and offered his most courtly bow. “May I have the honor of this dance?”
She curtseyed in return. “You may.”
He clasped her hand and splayed his palm against her back as he swept her into the dance. He’d practiced enough to make the steps without counting, but he still worried about stepping on her toes, as he’d done the first time she’d taught him.
“You have been practicing. And with excellent results. You dance divinely, sir.”
He resisted the urge to nuzzle the graceful column of her neck. “I had an excellent teacher.”
“You seem the perfect gentleman.” Her tone had been light but now took a darker, more serious turn. She looked at him again with that infinitely warm and sympathetic gaze that threatened every wall he’d built around himself. “I’ll say it again, you can change what you are, who you want to be. Who you want to be with.”
He knew what she was asking. Temptation hovered before him just as surely as the promise of brotherhood was luring him back to London. Both were a risk and he was no stranger to risk . . .
“Ethan.” Her voice drew him back. Had she called him by his Christian name? No one save Jason had called him that since his mother had died. He’d been “Jagger” nearly as long as he could remember.
The music seemed to fade from his ears as he looked into her eyes. He slowed until they were no longer waltzing. She touched his cheek. His smooth, unscarred, pretty-boy cheek.
“Did you know I gave Jason his scar? I wish it had been the other way around.”
She shook her head. “Why?”
He smiled wryly. “A menacing facial disfigurement would’ve suited my lifestyle far better than his.”
She brought her other hand up and cupped his face. “Don’t wish that. Don’t.”
A part of him knew what she meant to do before she did it, but he was paralyzed by her touch, by the soft look of understanding and empathy in her gaze. And by God even if he could’ve moved, he wouldn’t have. He wanted her lips on his.
She kissed him, her mouth pressing against his with an innocence sweeter than any delicacy he’d tasted during all of his decadent years as Gin Jimmy’s right hand. During that time, Ethan had evaded death countless times, always with a fervor for life and an absolute refusal to surrender, but right now he thought he might welcome his maker, for nothing could be closer to heaven than her. Nor had he ever wanted anything more.
He wrapped his other arm around her and drew her up against him. Her tall, lithe body fit into his with sweet precision, as if their coupling was ordained by God himself. A silly notion, for God wouldn’t have paid any attention to Ethan Jagger.
Her hands moved from his face to the back of his neck. He took the action as an invitation and slanted his head. With his lips, he applied pressure to her mouth, coaxing, teasing. He held her close, anticipating she might flinch as he licked along her lower lip. She surprised him again by clasping him more tightly. Her lips parted in another invitation he couldn’t refuse.
He slid his tongue into her mouth. Cautiously, so as not to frighten her, he swept along her interior, relishing her velvety softness. She was hesitant, allowing him to kiss her but not responding in kind. It wasn’t enough. He wanted her to give what she was getting, to share in the rapture he felt.
He skimmed his left hand up her spine and fingered the curls that had escaped their pins and grazed the back of her neck. They were as soft and silky as he’d imagined. He wanted to twist his hands in them as he probed her mouth. And why not? He might never get this chance again.
He speared his fingers into her hair beneath her bonnet until he palmed the back of her head. Then he deepened the kiss, stroking his tongue into her mouth with mad possession, demanding her response.
Now she flinched. Or did she shiver? Whatever she did, she didn’t pull away, and that was all he needed. He tugged at her hair, pulling her head slightly back and arching her neck. He nipped at her lower lip. “Kiss me, Audrey.”
He’d looked at her shuttered eyelids as he’d spoken. Her eyes flashed open, their aqua depths sparkling like jewels. She stared at him the barest moment before pulling his mouth back to hers and doing exactly as he’d instructed.
Her kiss wasn’t perfect and it wasn’t graceful. Her teeth grazed his as their mouths connected, but the ferocity with which she clutched him to her and pressed her tongue into his fired his need better than any lustful imagining. But she was no dream. She was real and wonderful and everything he never knew he wanted.
He massaged her scalp as he plundered her mouth. The kiss burned through him. His cock grew hard as it had been the other morning when he’d rolled on top of her. That he could explain away as a typical morning problem. But he could no longer deny he wanted Audrey. He wanted her naked and moaning beneath him. On top of him. Every way he could have her.
Her fingers dug into his ne
ck. She copied him and nipped at his lower lip. His lust roared and he pulled her head back farther, exposing her neck, then put his open mouth on her flesh. He sucked and nibbled beneath her jaw, then licked a path to her ear. He’d just lightly closed his teeth over her sensitive lobe when a cough behind him froze his desire.
“Oh my goodness, is that Audrey Cheswick?”
AUDREY’S EYES FLEW open and she stepped backward. Ethan let her go—there was no point in trying to think of him as anything other than Ethan now—and her knees wobbled. She managed to focus on the couple gaping at them from maybe five feet away, standing between them and the street. She recognized them of course, as they were the people she and Ethan had come to find.
“Lady Foxcroft.” Audrey strove to keep the apprehension from her tone. She curtseyed, as one would do in the presence of the daughter of a duke. Then she repeated the action for her husband. Though he wasn’t a peer at all, he still deserved a curtsey, she reasoned. “Mr. Foxcroft.”
“Good evening, Miss Cheswick,” Mr. Foxcroft said. He gave both Audrey and Ethan a thoroughly assessing perusal. “You are, ah, a bit underdressed for the assembly.”
Audrey and her friends had known Lady Foxcroft as Miranda before she’d been expelled from London two and a half years prior for exhibiting scandalous behavior. Her exploits had, in fact, inspired Audrey to launch her own ill-fated adventure with the blacksmith’s son.
Miranda smacked her husband playfully on the arm. “Fox, they are clearly not going to the assembly. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be skulking about the window. What are you doing out here?”
The fear that had shot through Audrey when she’d heard the cough returned tenfold. She glanced at Ethan and hoped she didn’t look as panicked as she felt. He, on the other hand, looked calm and cool, not at all as if they’d just shared an incredible embrace that had been tragically interrupted.
“We’re actually looking for you.” Ethan smiled and the effect caused Audrey’s knees to wobble again. The man possessed devastating charm when he wanted to, and probably even when he didn’t. “We’re, ah—”