The Railway Countess

by Julia Justiss

  ‘I suppose so.’ But she didn’t sound as enthused about her engineer as she had when discussing him previously. After taking a last sip of her ale, she set down her mug. ‘I must steel myself to return. Back to propriety. Back to performing my proper role,’ she concluded, a bitter note in her voice.

  While he watched, unhappy at her distress, she walked over to the screen of tall evergreens. ‘Sometimes I wish I could stay hidden away, like this garden.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have brought you to the lecture if I’d known it would make you sad.’

  ‘No, be glad you did. Despite having to go back, I’m still so grateful that I got to attend. You’ve given me the only taste of what life might have been I shall likely ever have. I shall be fiercely grateful for that for ever. More grateful than you can imagine.’

  He walked over to her, trying to think of something consoling to say, when abruptly she turned to face him. ‘This grateful.’ Lifting her chin, she reached up, pulled his head down and kissed him.

  The desire he’d been containing all day strained his control to the breaking point. While he fought to keep it from disintegrating completely, he couldn’t help responding to the kiss he’d wanted too much for too long.

  Just a bit deeper, just a bit longer, his senses urged. She didn’t help his unravelling restraint by meeting his lips with fervent eagerness, pressing her body against his.

  He wrapped his arms around her, his tongue tracing her lips. When she opened for him, he couldn’t keep himself from plunging inside, seeking her tongue and tangling it with his while he taught her the sweet dance of advance and retreat.

  A loud screech of carriage brakes and the shouting of two carters whose vehicles had almost collided on the road beyond finally recalled him from madness. Breathing hard, he broke away.

  Madness it was. Not just kissing her, which was madness enough. But kissing her when anyone from the tavern who happened to walk on to the terrace would think he’d just been passionately embracing another man.

  She stood staring at him, eyes foggy with desire, her breathing rapid as his own.

  ‘Good thing this place is so secluded,’ he said when he could catch his breath. ‘Not that I have any personal objections myself, but had anyone seen us, I might have got myself arrested.’

  Initial puzzlement was followed by comprehension, then her face blushed. ‘Better arrested than married,’ she retorted, ‘which is what could have happened if I were in female garb. One is only temporary, the other permanent. In any event, I suppose it’s time to leave. Papa should be on his way home by now.’

  Still unsettled, he gathered the mugs and let her walk with him back into the tavern to deposit them.

  Though he didn’t want to let her go. He wanted to take her back to her father’s office and follow her into that storeroom, kiss her again and caress the full length of those lovely legs whose presence titillated him with every step she took.

  A lady’s ball gown might get the prize for best displaying bare shoulders, the tempting upper curve of breasts. But a gown couldn’t compare to the breath-stealing impact of imagining how a pair of snug knit riding breeches would outline that trim bottom, rounded hips and slim legs. It was a wonder his overheated brain didn’t melt at the image.

  Still fighting to beat back his unslaked desire, he walked with her to the stables, retrieved his phaeton, then unashamedly took his last chance to frankly stare at her trouser-clad form as she pulled herself up into the vehicle.

  Turning to him after he’d set the vehicle in motion, she said with a brave smile, ‘We had a splendid adventure, didn’t we?’

  ‘Once I get you safely back into your father’s office, see you emerge dressed in your normal attire and sent home in a hackney, then I’ll agree it has been.’

  ‘An adventure that will remain our secret.’

  He liked the idea of having a secret she shared only with him. A rare, unprecedented experience, just as unique and exceptional as she was. A woman who made him burn with a desire as fierce as his admiration for her talent and intellect.

  He’d better be glad she was soon to return to her own world—before she tempted him beyond all prudence.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied, keeping his voice light, wanting to prevent a return of her melancholy, now that that adventure was almost over. ‘I’m not sure how I’m going to be able to see you in skirts again without remembering how you look in trousers.’

  She laughed, as he’d hoped she would. ‘Perhaps you’ll see me like that again some day.’

  Unlikely, much as he would love it. He’d love to see much more of her—without the gown or the trousers. He could envision having an animated discussion of bridges and railway viaducts over dinner...then carrying her up to his chamber and making love to her all through the night.

  Every night.

  Shocked at the direction his thoughts had taken, he quickly reminded himself that such a scenario would require the one sacrifice he wasn’t willing to make for her, or anyone. Marriage.

  While he wrestled with his thoughts, Miss Cranmore remained silent on the drive back, in marked contrast to her excitement on the way to the lecture.

  ‘Are you still regretting that glimpse into a life you cannot have?’ he asked quietly as he pulled up the team in the alleyway behind the office.

  ‘No. Not really. Well, maybe a little. But I would never have had even this taste—except for you.’ She put a hand up, caressing his cheek. Unable to prevent himself, he put his hand on hers to hold it against him.

  ‘What a marvel you are,’ she said softly. ‘I can’t imagine anyone else who would have done that for me. Not Papa, certainly not Mr Gilling. I’ll never forget it. If ever I can do you such a signal service, you have only to ask.’

  It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her—what? Stay with me? Let me make love to you?

  Desire really had addled his brain, he thought, allowing the ugly memories of his unhappy youth to overwhelm the enticing vision of her wrapped in his arms. If he were to risk marrying her, it was highly unlikely their initial harmony would last. How much more bitter would it be to begin on such a note of joy, only to have that harmony disintegrate over years of life’s disappointments and inevitable disagreements into a mutual indifference, even active dislike?

  No, it wasn’t worth the risk. When he married, he would choose someone who’d fulfil his minimum expectations. A woman who’d wed him to become a countess, who would run his household with efficiency, produce heirs—and leave him to experience the highs and lows of life on his own. He’d not be responsible for ensuring her happiness, or she his.

  A lifetime of failing to protect his mother’s had taught him what an impossible task that would be.

  Still, he hated to end what had been a magical interlude. ‘Are you sure you can get home safely? I’d feel better if drove you.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be prudent. I took a hackney to the office. Papa thinks I was going afterwards to Lady Arlsley’s, while Lady Arlsley believes I was to return home after tea with Papa. How could I explain turning up under your escort? No, better that I return in a hackney, as I always do after visiting Upper Brook Street.’

  ‘I’ll linger here, then, and keep watch until you are in that hackney on your way home.’

  ‘Watch out for me, like you did at the musicale?’

  ‘We protect each other, don’t we? That’s our bargain, isn’t it—Marcella.’

  She smiled. ‘So it is, Dellamont.’

  ‘My family calls me “Crispin”.’

  ‘Then I would be honoured... Crispin.’

  She slipped down from the vehicle and hurried over to unlock the door to the servants’ entrance.

  Crispin hopped down as well and went to his horses’ heads, rubbing their noses and speaking softly. He idled there until, a short time later, Marcella emerged, once again properl
y attired in skirts. He led the team beside her until they reached the nearby hackney stand, then waited until she climbed into a vehicle and waved goodbye to him through the window.

  Watching her drive off, he was able finally to completely relax.

  It had been an extraordinary adventure. Even now, he marvelled that he’d had the audacity and foolhardiness to go through with it. Although once he learned she was adamant about attending the lecture, he didn’t see what else he could have done. He had to protect her and make sure she didn’t come to grief.

  A warm feeling expanded in his chest at knowing he had given her a memory she would treasure.

  Now that the threat of disaster was over, he was beginning to think he would treasure it, too. He must set his to mind to figuring out how to guarantee he’d have the enjoyment and stimulation of meeting with her at her father’s office after their society bargain concluded.

  Because he didn’t dare allow himself to contemplate sharing anything more.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Two afternoons later, Marcella rode in the carriage with Lady Arlsley out of London towards Norwalk House in Highgate Village. Lady Norwalk’s annual garden party to display the beauty of her extensive grounds was one of the highlights of the early Season, her sponsor told her, the plantings magnificent and the view over the city to the south and the forests to the north incomparable.

  A country girl at heart, Marcella was looking forward to some fresh air and perhaps a longer walk than was possible in Lady Arlsley’s small city garden.

  A long walk with Lord Dellamont, who’d assured her he planned to attend.

  It would be a relief to be able to converse freely with him, something she’d not been able to do at the crowded rout last night. She had little more than a week left of the month she’d promised herself to endure the Season. Though she was tempted to extend that deadline in order to enjoy more of Dellamont’s company, it would be wiser to hold to it...lest she grow fonder of him than she was willing to admit, to him or herself.

  There was also the problem of her apparent inability to resist kissing him whenever an opportunity arose.

  Yes, she’d been beyond thankful for the gift he’d given her by agreeing to accompany her to the Stephenson lecture. But she was too honest to attribute her impulsive kiss in Lady Arlsley’s garden—or the longer, more lingering, more passionate one on the tavern terrace—simply to a need to thank him.

  The bald truth was she desired him, and had practically from the moment she first saw him. An attraction that had only deepened over time, while her consciousness of his presence when he was near grew ever more acute.

  She’d wanted his kisses, and thrilled at the response she evoked in him. She’d never felt anything more wonderful than soft pressure of his tongue caressing hers, setting off explosions of sensation all over her body and a heated ache at her very centre.

  Though she’d never experienced such feelings before, she was well aware of the dangers of indulging them. Were she and Dellamont interested in a relationship closer than friendship, she might be willing to risk ever more intimate moments. Like the feel of his hands all over her body that she dreamed about as she tossed and turned at night.

  But with him uninterested in marriage and her unwilling to consider wedding into the ton, even if he changed his mind about wedlock, continually subjecting herself to a temptation she’d already demonstrated she was ill equipped to resist could end in disaster.

  Disaster to her reputation...and her heart, which found him ever more appealing.

  She couldn’t in good conscience try to entice Austin Gilling into marrying her if she’d already given herself—or her affections—to someone else. She’d be a fool to risk losing the possibility of securing Gilling’s love and commitment to savour a passion she found incomparable—and that an experienced gentleman like Dellamont, if he thought about his reaction at all, probably considered only the normal physical response of a healthy male for an attractive female. Pleasant, but nothing out of the ordinary.

  It was time to return to her rightful place, to limited goals that were capable of being realised. Return this Cinderella to the ash-strewn hearth of domestic reality and leave the fairy-tale prince alone in his glittering world.

  Despite how incredibly sweet and stirring it was to have his lips on hers, his arms wrapped around her, she must prevent it from happening again.

  Besides, much as she desired him, she admired and cared for him even more. If she were sensible enough to resist his physical appeal, she would protect the possibility of maintaining her friendship with an exceptional man who appreciated the things she loved. Who accepted and even admired her unconventional talents.

  Since, much as her heart sometimes imagined otherwise, she knew nothing more than friendship was feasible.

  So she must concentrate on doing whatever was necessary to ensure she could continue meeting her dear friend after she abandoned society. At her father’s office, at least, and perhaps also riding in the park, properly chaperoned by her groom.

  It was simply unthinkable now that she could give Crispin up completely.

  Despite knowing that trading his almost daily escort for more occasional meetings was the smart, the prudent, the only course, the prospect still made her melancholy.

  At least she had the event today, a few more balls and a handful of morning rides to look forward to before she was forced to reduce their interactions.

  After the carriage halted, Marcella followed her sponsor out and through the gate into the walled Norwalk House gardens, curtsying to the hostess who’d set up a reception line just inside the door. After being directed to refreshment tables placed out on the lawn and given a map of the various paths and allées leading to a rose garden not yet in bloom, garden rooms of spring bulbs in a variety of hues, and several evergreen walks that led to a small maze, she accompanied her sponsor over to a group of Lady Arlsley’s friends.

  She stood at Lady Arlsley’s elbow after greetings had been exchanged, smiling politely, hoping Crispin would arrive soon and that Lord Hoddleston would not arrive at all.

  She’d encountered the Baron at each of the last two evening entertainments they’d attended, a ball and last night’s rout. Though she couldn’t avoid dancing with him, she’d been careful to make sure she was promised to someone else—last night, to Crispin—for the waltzes. But though the country dances kept him at a safe distance, he still walked too close to her as he escorted her on or off the floor and retained her hands too long after the movements of the dance dictated he release them. She made little attempt at conversation, leaving it to him when she was forced to endure his presence.

  He could have no doubt about her lack of enthusiasm for his company, but still he persisted. And when she wasn’t dancing or talking with him, she felt his gaze fixed on her from across the room—the greedy eyes of a cat waiting to pounce on a mouse.

  It was fortunate that she would quit society soon, before she felt forced to cut him, regardless of what Lady Arlsley might say. There seemed no other way to avoid him, since he persisted in asking her to dance and stopping by to converse, despite her several times baldly asserting that she had no intention of marrying him.

  To which he inevitably replied that he’d wait to see what her answer was after Dellamont dropped her—an event he predicted to be imminent every time he spoke with her.

  An event, sadly, that was imminent, if not in the way Hoddleston meant.

  To her relief, she spotted the Viscount’s tall form striding in through the entrance gate. Ready to be rescued, she turned to greet him as he walked over to join her.

  Smiling, he bowed and paid his compliments to Lady Arlsley and her friends before turning to Marcella. ‘A lovely day, isn’t it? Lady Arlsley, might I be permitted to take your charge for a turn around the garden?’ He held up his guide. ‘I have my map, so I promise I won’t get us lost.�
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  ‘As long as you keep to the main pathways where other couples are strolling. Do avoid the temptation of exploring one of the deserted side-allées,’ Lady Arlsley said with a knowing look. ‘Enjoy your walk.’

  Putting her hand on his arm as they set off, Marcella murmured, ‘Not exactly overwhelmed with concern for my reputation, was she, sending us off alone with thinly veiled hints encouraging impropriety? I thought, with Mary not present, she’d insist on accompanying us. Apparently she’d rather us take advantage of her permission to do something compromising.’

  ‘With hopes that another strolling couple would see and report it.’

  ‘The sooner to have me affianced or disgraced and off her hands.’ Marcella sighed. ‘I shall have to be on my best behaviour, then—something I’ve signally failed to be thus far.’

  ‘A delightful failure I wish I could encourage,’ Crispin said wryly. ‘But that wouldn’t be a wise move—for either of us.’

  ‘How unfortunate that wisdom must be so—unfulfilling.’

  ‘Whereas rashness promises so much delight?’ He sighed, too, and pressed her hand. ‘We must both be on our best behaviour—no matter how difficult that is.’

  It was probably unmaidenly to ask such a brazen question, but she couldn’t help it. ‘You also find it...difficult?’

  He halted, looking down at her, the intensity of his gaze unmistakable. ‘I’ve found resisting you difficult from the moment we met.’

  Both surprised and gratified by his response, she could think of nothing to reply but a brainless, ‘Oh.’

  ‘Exactly,’ he said, making her chuckle. ‘So, it is a lovely day, the sun bright with the hint of summer to come and that azure sky dotted with lazy white clouds. And Lady Arlsley, however ignoble her motives, has allowed us the chance to talk freely. Let us enjoy that gift and not mourn...what we dare not have.’