by Laura Martin
Selina felt her body tense at the idea of falling, quite literally, into his arms. Right now she was cold and scared and tired and she wanted nothing more than for him to embrace her, to hold her to his chest and make everything right. It was a dangerous urge to have, the sort of urge that could land a respectable young woman in a scandalous situation.
‘I will be able to climb down myself.’
‘Don’t be so stubborn,’ Lord Westcroft said abruptly.
Selina frowned at him, hitching up her skirt to allow herself to throw one leg up and out through the door, taking a moment to find her balance before doing the same with the second. Carefully she eased herself out, feeling the patter of the rain on her skirt as she emerged into the downpour. She glanced down—it really wasn’t all that far to the ground—and began to lower herself.
As she moved she felt the carriage judder slightly underneath her and immediately she stiffened, clinging on tighter to the edge of the doorway.
‘Just drop down, I’ll catch you,’ Lord Westcroft said, a note of urgency in his voice.
Selina felt the carriage shift again and before she could talk herself out of it she pushed back, dropping into Lord Westcroft’s arms.
She knew she wasn’t a petite, dainty young woman. She’d stood half a foot taller than many of the debutantes during her first Season, but the oof that slipped from Lord Westcroft’s mouth seemed a little unnecessary. He didn’t drop her, though, his strong arms encircled her waist and he lowered her gently to the ground. For a moment they just stood there, Selina cradled against his chest, the soothing beat of his heart calming her own. Then with a creak the carriage toppled further on to its side and Selina felt herself being pulled backwards out of the way of the splintered wood.
‘What a disaster,’ Lord Westcroft said, standing and looking at the wrecked carriage. ‘And all from a rut in the road.’ He gathered the girls to him, sheltering them as much as he could, seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from the carriage.
‘We need to get inside,’ Selina said. She could feel the rainwater soaking through every layer of her clothing and knew the girls would be equally soaked to the skin.
‘Can you hold the horses?’ Lord Westcroft shouted to the coachman.
‘Yes, sir. They’re calm enough, considering.’
‘As I said, I’ll send a few men to help you as soon as we get to the inn.’
They dashed off down the street, aware of the slippery conditions underfoot. As the coachman had promised The Red Lion was only a few hundred feet away, the freshly painted sign swinging in the wind, giving them something to aim for.
Selina felt winded as they staggered in through the door, glad of the arm Lord Westcroft offered. They had entered the main bar area, populated with a few hardy locals who all turned to look at the bedraggled newcomers as they let the wind and rain in.
‘Has something happened, sir?’ A middle-aged woman appeared from behind the bar, bustling forward at the sight of Priscilla and Theodosia’s pale faces.
‘Our carriage has overturned just a little further along the road. Have you any men who could hold the horses while they are unharnessed?’
‘Of course, come in, warm yourselves by the fire.’ She turned and disappeared for a moment and Selina could hear her calling to someone. A moment later a portly man appeared, concern etched on his face.
‘My wife says there’s been an accident, is anyone harmed?’
‘No, thankfully. We were travelling home and the carriage struck a rut in the road. The wheel has come off and the carriage overturned.’
Three strong young men hurried past and out into the dusk, all pulling on coats. Even from the briefest glimpse Selina could tell they were the sons of the landlord—all had the same stocky build and fair hair.
‘My boys will help your man see to the horses. Will you be wanting rooms for the night?’
‘Yes, please.’
The landlord eyed Selina and the girls.
‘I’ve got a fine double room for you and your wife, and a comfortable room next door for the children.’
At that Theodosia laughed, the first sound she’d made since slipping out of the carriage.
‘Miss Salinger isn’t my uncle’s wife,’ she said. ‘She’s our governess.’
‘My apologies, sir. Perhaps I should show you the rooms available and you can choose the best for your needs.’
‘Wonderful.’
‘Would you like to come through to the private parlour?’ the landlord’s wife asked, bustling over. ‘I’ve got a lovely fire roaring in there and we can see about some dry clothes.’
‘Thank you,’ Selina said, allowing herself to be ushered through, away from the curious gazes of the Whitby men.
Once in the parlour Selina wished for nothing more than to sink into the comfortable rocking chair positioned directly in front of the fire, but she knew it would be a long time until she would be able to relax. First she would need to see to getting the children dry and warm and then think about their accommodation for the night.
‘Take off your coats, girls,’ she said, fiddling with the fastenings on Theodosia’s coat, her fingers numb and fumbling.
‘You’re soaked to the skin,’ the landlord’s wife said, shaking her head. ‘I can lend you some clothes, but they might swamp you a little. And for the little darlings it will have to be clothes from my boys. We’ve only had sons, no daughters.’
‘Anything would be greatly appreciated,’ Lord Westcroft said. ‘Dry and not quite the right fit is better than wet and cold.’
‘I’ll bring them to you directly, sir. My name is Mrs Ruthers, anything you need you just ask.’
‘Thank you. I am Matthew Hampton, Lord Westcroft, this is Miss Salinger and these are my nieces, Lady Priscilla and Lady Theodosia. We are very grateful for your hospitality.’
Selina saw the woman’s eyes widen as she realised the status of her guest. North Yorkshire was not an area Selina knew well, but by the size of the estate and the grandeur of Manresa House she knew Lord Westcroft must be one of the wealthiest landowners in the area. And he was an earl. It would be quite intimidating for Mrs Ruthers to be hosting such a man.
She bustled out and Selina glanced at her employer. He was drenched like the rest of them, but otherwise looked unruffled at the events of the evening. She supposed his time in the navy and sailing backwards and forward to India had prepared him for any situation.
He knelt down next to her, gently helping Priscilla out of her coat, smiling reassuringly at his two nieces. Selina felt some of the tension she’d been carrying seep from her. They were safe and soon would be warm and dry. Given the circumstances there wasn’t much more she could ask for.
Chapter Thirteen
Matthew pulled the shirt over his head, twisting his shoulders from one side to the other to try to relieve the tension that had gathered there. It had been an odd day, the trip to the seaside more enjoyable than he’d expected and then the disaster of the carriage accident.
And the kiss. Even now, even after everything that had happened since, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Miss Salinger had folded into his arms, the sweetness of her lips under the salty tang of the sea spray and the reaction of his body as they’d come together. He knew it had been ill-advised, a kiss that could only complicate and jeopardise the delicate relationship between him and Miss Salinger, but he hadn’t been able to resist. She’d looked so perfect standing there with the wind whipping at her clothes and her dress, her expression defiant and her eyes always searching, always finding his.
‘You’re a fool,’ he muttered to himself. Only a fool would kiss a woman he needed quite so much. Without Miss Salinger he would have no one to look after the girls, no one to teach them, no one to be their constant, their advocate when he returned to India. He knew all of this, but still he hadn’t been able put sense befor
e desire.
He began to unfasten his trousers, imagining her in the room next door lifting off the oversized dress Mrs Ruthers had provided her with for dinner. He imagined her slipping between the sheets, completely naked, her body brushing tantalisingly against the cotton as she turned.
For a long moment he savoured the image, knowing it could never be more than a fantasy. He’d had a wife once. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again. He never wanted to have someone relying on him so completely—his history had shown he could not always be trusted to make the right decisions.
Not a wife... Matthew laughed, knowing the reaction he would elicit from Miss Salinger if he even hinted they should become lovers. It wasn’t the lack of desire, he could see she was attracted to him with every look, every action, but she would never act on it. He thought of the story she had told, her history, her mother’s history. She would never allow herself to be treated as her mother had been—a mistress with an illegitimate child.
Still, a man could dream. Vivid, sensual dreams of the woman just on the other side of the wall.
Just as he stepped out of his trousers there was a faint knock on the door. Matthew frowned. It was late, after eleven, and the inn had fallen quiet a little while ago with most of the patrons returning home during a let up in the rain.
After a few seconds there was another knock, slightly louder. Quickly he pulled the trousers back on and moved to the door, opening it to reveal the dark corridor beyond.
Miss Salinger stood outside, a huge white nightgown dwarfing her slender frame, looking like a spirit summoned from a dream. Her feet were bare and as she moved he caught a glimpse of slim ankles and calves underneath the billowing cotton.
‘Is anything amiss?’ He could see the concerned expression on her face, the lines of worry where she had been frowning.
Her eyes darted over him, lingering for a moment on his bare chest before she raked them back up to meet his gaze.
‘Priscilla,’ she said, her voice no more than a whisper. ‘She’s restless, mumbling in her sleep. I’m worried she may have a fever.’
‘I’ll come,’ he said, grabbing the shirt he had discarded over the chairback and pulling it on over his head.
She led the way, bypassing the first door which was her small single room and slipping inside the comfortable bedroom the landlord had suggested for the girls. They lay together in a high double bed, the sheets pulled up to their chins. Miss Salinger had opened the curtains allowing some faint light to filter in, but the sky was still cloudy and there was little moonlight to see by.
As they entered the room Priscilla shifted in the bed, rolling around. She began mumbling incomprehensible words, then as suddenly as she had started she fell quiet.
‘I always check on the girls at night,’ Miss Salinger said, her voice laced with concern. ‘Priscilla normally sleeps soundly.’
He crossed to the bed, taking in the silent, still form of Theodosia on one side and Priscilla with her hair tangled behind her on the pillow. Carefully he placed a hand on her forehead, holding it there for a minute before stepping away.
‘She does not feel overly hot,’ he said quietly, ‘And it would be very quick for a fever to take hold after getting a chill only earlier today.’
‘Mama,’ the little girl called out, her eyes still closed, but an expression of fear on her face. ‘Mama, no.’
‘Hush.’ Miss Salinger instinctively went to Priscilla’s side, wrapping her arms around the thin body and beginning to stroke her hair.
‘She’s dreaming of her mother.’
‘Please, Mama, come back.’
It was heartbreaking to hear the words tumble from her lips, to see the fear and desperation in her voice.
‘You’re safe, Priscilla. There’s nothing to worry about,’ Miss Salinger murmured reassuringly. Matthew watched as she perched on the bed beside her young charge and began rocking her gently. ‘Should we wake her?’ she asked.
‘No. If it is just a bad dream, it’ll come to an end soon enough. If we wake her, she’ll be terrified, unsure of where she is and what is happening.’
The governess gave him a piercing look. ‘You’ve had nightmares?’
Matthew shook his head. ‘Henry did, my brother. After our mother died he suffered terribly from nightmares. We shared a room when we were young. I woke him a few times, but it was never a success. It was better to just let him settle naturally.’ He remembered his brother’s troubled tossing and turning, the older boy reduced to shivering in his sleep from fear, and felt a pang of regret. He missed his brother, not so much the man who had sided with their father at the pivotal moment of Matthew’s life, but the boy he’d once been, the companion Matthew had done everything with.
‘Mama, Mama, Mama,’ Priscilla muttered again, her words becoming more slurred as her breathing deepened a little.
‘Hush. I’ve got you. You’re safe. You’re loved.’
Feeling surplus to requirements, he stepped to the other side of the bed and checked on Theodosia. She was sleeping peacefully, undisturbed by her sister’s tossing and turning.
‘I think she’s settling,’ Miss Salinger said, easing herself off the bed, moving slowly so as not to disturb either of the girls. They stood watching them for another few minutes, only moving once they were both satisfied Priscilla was no longer dreaming. Quietly they crept out of the room.
‘I’m sorry for disturbing you,’ Miss Salinger said, shifting quickly from foot to foot. She was barefoot, the cold floor turning her toes to ice.
‘Hopefully it was just a nightmare,’ he said as their eyes locked. Fever and congestion on the chest could be deadly and could strike down even the healthiest of children.
‘Hopefully.’
She hesitated and then turned to return to her room. Without thinking, Matthew reached out and gripped her hand.
‘Come have a drink with me,’ he said, not knowing himself why he was making the suggestion. He prided himself on his sensibility and a sensible man would be putting a solid wooden door and a lock between himself and temptation.
‘I think the landlord has gone to bed...’ It wasn’t a no and Matthew felt something leap and flare inside of him.
‘I’m sure they won’t protest if we help ourselves to one drink.’
‘They might think we’re thieves or vagabonds, broken in and drinking away their livelihood.’
‘What if I promise to pay them handsomely—three times what the alcohol is worth?’
She hesitated and Matthew could see the internal struggle waging inside her. She wanted to come and sit with him, to laugh and talk and banish some of the thoughts of the day, but he could see she didn’t quite trust herself.
‘And I promise to be on my best behaviour,’ he said, not able to resist giving her his most charming smile. ‘And if I’m not, I hear you have the most wonderful imagination for punishments—Priscilla tells me you favour a heavy Latin translation for when they’ve disobeyed.’
‘It seems to focus them,’ Miss Salinger said with a smile.
She wanted to go downstairs, to let go of her caution for a little while. Perhaps it was the shock of the accident, or perhaps it was an inevitable realisation that, no matter how hard she protested to Lord Westcroft, she enjoyed his company more than she dared admit. His company and his kisses.
* * *
Downstairs he pulled out a stool at the bar, watching as the governess elegantly climbed up and perched on the edge. He should have guessed about her upbringing earlier—there was a grace to Miss Salinger that seemed to be bred into ladies of a certain social class. She glided rather than walked, stood completely still without even the slightest hint of a fidget when the occasion arose and had perfect posture.
‘What can I get you, my lady?’ He gestured to the array of spirits behind the bar.
‘Brandy,’ she said decisivel
y.
‘A woman after my own heart,’ he murmured.
He chose the good stuff, a deep rich colour, strong and fragrant, and poured two generous measures out into the glasses. Placing the bottle down on the counter, he came and joined her on the other side, pulling up a stool so his legs were almost touching hers.
Miss Salinger sighed as she took a sip of the brandy, closing her eyes for a moment and allowing her head to loll back, revealing the length of her delicate neck peeping out from the much-too-large nightgown.
‘It has been quite a day,’ he agreed. ‘Not what I envisaged when I agreed to this trip to the seaside.’
‘Until the very end I think it was a success,’ Miss Salinger said slowly. He saw the exact moment she remembered their kiss as she recalled the events of the day, saw her cheeks pinken in that delightful way he was becoming so accustomed to.
‘A success,’ he agreed, raising his glass in toast to her.
She bit her lip, worrying it for a few seconds before raising her eyes to meet his.
‘It is certainly a day I won’t ever forget,’ he said.
‘This...what happened today must be nothing compared with your adventures in India.’
‘There have been one or two little scrapes. A walk through the jungle being stalked by a man-eating tiger, being chased from a village after being accused of doing magic and a rather hairy encounter with a great king cobra with a body as wide as a tree trunk.’
‘A little downpour and a minor carriage accident must seem dull in comparison.’
He looked at her, tilting his head to one side. He had enjoyed the day, disasters and all. When he had agreed to take his nieces to the seaside it had felt like an obligation. Although he was determined they wouldn’t grow up in the same stifled, unhappy environment he had, he still wasn’t sure how much to leave to Miss Salinger. His goal was to be fun, to be present, but not to be an essential feature in his nieces’ lives. All too soon he would have to leave, but in the meantime he was struggling to know how involved to be.