The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance)

by Jenn LeBlanc

  She nodded her head almost so slowly that he didn’t recognize her acquiescence. He stood quietly, thankful that she simply agreed, probably only to be done with him for a time, and he went to the door to find the innkeeper coming up the stairs with a large tray. Perry swept the door wide, allowing the man to enter.

  “I would ask that you have someone see to my traveling partner. Prepare her a bath and provide her with night clothes, as I believe her things are well sodden. I will take a bath in the next room.”

  The innkeeper placed the large tray on the table. “Should I wait til ye’ve had time to sup?” Perry nodded. “I’ll start the kettles on the fire and have my girls tend your miss soon.” He bowed and left.

  “Come. Eat. You must be starved. I know the usual order of things, but we left before our supper was finished so you certainly had not yet eaten.”

  She looked out from under a veil of long brown eyelashes and her stomach growled in a rather unseemly command of its own. Perry laughed and pulled the old wooden chair out from the table, waiting for her.

  She rose from the bed and walked toward him, then gave a small curtsey. “Milord—”

  He waved her off. “No more of this. You are apologetic, I am apologetic, we are both pardoned, let us eat.” He motioned to the seat of the chair with an inviting smile. His comfortable rakish demeanor was setting off everything inside her. She wasn’t charmed as she should be and it right put him off. Not that he wanted her charmed, but pliant would be acceptable. Easier. She seemed an immoveable force.

  Lilly removed her traveling cape and folded it across the chair, then turned and sat, silent as he pushed her up to the table and started piling food on a plate. He glanced at her when he placed it in front of her, finding that she looked like she might at any moment cast up her accounts. He paused, attempting to discern what he’d done this time.

  “Milord. I’m not proper company. You canna serve me, I canna—” She started to stand, tears welling in her big eyes.

  “I can and you will.” He picked up the full plate and handed her the empty. “I’ll allow you to serve yourself, but you’ll not move from my table or I’ll consider that a cut direct.” If she wouldn’t acquiesce to his traditional style of convincing, he would try being more blunt.

  She was studying him. He wondered if she would decide it better to deal with her own reservations about propriety or to offend him. She exhaled slowly. “As you wish.”

  He smiled and she returned it slowly as he sat at the table across from her and pulled a napkin across his lap. She quietly filled her plate, then—though he’d have believed it impossible—even more quietly she started to eat. Her movements were delicate, fluid. Her mouth opened over and over again to accept the food she’d chosen.

  His mouth went dry and he found it difficult to swallow even the juiciest bit of fruit as he watched. He placed his fork on the table next to the plate and forced his gaze to the window.

  As he’d pulled the napkin across his lap his smile shifted to triumph, and she understood at that moment what a rake was. Irresistible, irreverent, incorrigible and impossible, it was no wonder women were so drawn to them. Then she ate, and he watched. No matter how quiet she endeavored to be, his eyes were always on her, inspecting her.

  When the innkeeper’s girls pushed the slipper tub into the room, the viscount wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin then stood, clutching it in one hand. “I shall take my leave.”

  He pushed the chair to the table. One of the girls smiled at him, and he asked for his portmanteau to be brought to the other room before bowing to Lilly. “Miss.” His mouth hung there, as if he intended to say something else, but then he snapped it shut and stood straight, turning for the door with his napkin still in hand.

  Perry entered the room next to hers and heaved a breath, leaning over with his hands on his knees. He felt like a rutting schoolboy, hard as a rock from a soft breeze. “What the bloody hell,” he grumbled, throwing the napkin across the room. It fluttered, then wafted to the floor quite unsatisfactorily.

  He stood, dragging his fingers through his already disheveled locks before undoing his neck cloth while he walked to the tub. He tossed the neck cloth away as well, the long piece of fabric catching on one of the bed posts. He felt a sort of relief wash over him; he was at least finally able to let his guard down now that he was away from Lilly.

  She was damaged. Damaged. There was no accounting for his attraction to her. It was uncalled for, inappropriate, unseemly, simply wrong. Regardless, she was certainly able to get his ire up, as well as other things. Perry turned when the door opened without a knock, and one of the inn girls walked in with his bag.

  “Milord, I’ve been sent to tend ye,” she said, dropping the heavy bag and approaching him with a wicked grin.

  His jaw dropped and his eyebrows shot up. He was used to women throwing themselves at him, but this was rather unexpected. He didn’t particularly remember paying this one any heed; he wasn’t even sure if she’d been in the other room at all. How inconvenient.

  She reached up and unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt as he gawked. She looked at him questioningly, her brows knit together. “If I am not to your liking, milord, I can leave you be.”

  He smiled, not sure whether to turn her out or accept the invitation as she reached for his trousers.

  “Oh, I see,” she said with a bit of disappointment, then she turned. “No matter. I’ll ready your bath, milord.”

  He looked down. Had it not been only moments ago he was fighting an erection? Perry shook his head. This was a right horrible turn. He watched her move around the room, her round bottom swaying beneath the layers of heavy skirts, her bosom ripening over the wide collar of her shirt, which was gathered up with ribbons at the shoulders. He concentrated…hard. One little pull and the whole thing would unravel before him, her sweet perky breasts spilling into his greedy upturned hands. He looked down again and—nothing. Nothing!

  He shook his head and stripped clothing went soaring about the room like kites as the woman looked on in shock, then he sank into the tub like an ungrateful toddler. He dozed as he listened to her moving about, no doubt picking up his strewn clothing. Then he felt her hands on his scalp and he leaned forward, allowing her access. When she finished he leaned back and slipped beneath the water, shaking the soap from his hair before resting his head against the edge of the tub.

  He moaned softly as he thought back to the carriage. The way Lilly’s gaze had raked over him, assessing his countenance like a stern governess…or a wanton mistress. She’d looked up at him with eyes like hot buttered cinnamon melting on toast.

  He shifted in the tub, sloshing a bit of water over the edge. He heard a distant squeal, but continued his reverie. The corner of her mouth pulled up in a teasing smile as she reached for him, pushing her hand below his waistband and—

  He jolted, sitting up in the tub and surveying his surroundings. The woman stood, wet from neck to knee, her white shirt clinging to her bosom as her eyes begged him to understand.

  “What, uh—”

  “Milord, you seemed to be, euh, interested—” She motioned to his nether region.

  “I beg your pardon, I was…not. I mean to say that I was perhaps daydreaming and…well, and I was—not,” he said carefully.

  She turned to leave and he stood in the tub, water pouring from his rigid body. “Wait,” he said gruffly. She turned back and he watched as she assessed his figure; warm, wet, and hard from stem to stern. She sighed and smiled.

  I’ve done this before. I’ve used a willing girl to sate my need, he thought as she approached. He closed his eyes and pictured her: sweet, soft, quiet, submissive. And he continued picturing her as he felt the warmth of this woman’s mouth envelop him, evoking a groan as he wove his hands through her hair.

  Lilly sat curled up in the bath, her translucent chemise adhering like paper to her skin. She’d tried to explain to the girl that she wasn’t above her station and she wasn’t suppo
sed to be tended to, but the girl wouldn’t listen.

  “I was told to tend you, and if you think for a minute I’m set to be whipped for disobeying your laird, you can forget it,” she said sternly in her thick Irish brogue. The girl grimaced as she stared at Lilly’s face and she shied away. Lilly felt thankful for the veil of water that seemed to obscure the rest of her body from her notice.

  How can ladies stand this? ‘Tis horrible being fussed over, I canna stand her hands on me. ‘Tis no wonder why I was born to my family; I was not meant for this. She closed her eyes and reluctantly allowed the ministrations. She felt like there were hands all over her, even though the girl was only washing her hair.

  Lilly felt something sharp graze her shoulder and she screamed like a hawk taking flight for its quarry. She stood in the bath, then tumbled backward out of the tub. She scampered for the other side of the room.

  “Miss? What did I—”

  The girl was cut off by the door behind her slamming open, and she moved aside.

  “Lilly,” Perry bellowed, the sound careening from his belly like a freight train. He stood in the doorway, a lion preparing to attack, surveying. He had naught on but a robe, and water pooled at his bare feet. He saw Lilly across the room, huddled behind a chair.

  “What the bloody damn hell happened?” he roared as he crossed the room in three strides. He grabbed the counterpane from the bed as he passed and swung it like a cape, covering Lilly’s bare shoulders before he lifted her petite frame and carried her to the bed.

  “Milord, I beg pardon,” the inn’s maid said. “I was only trying to get the tangles out. I don’t know what happened.” Tears threatened to overrun her cheeks.

  “Go— Just go.” He tried to put Lilly on the bed. “Have my case brought over,” he said over his shoulder as she rushed from the room. Lilly wouldn’t release him, and he soon discovered that his robe had come undone, his nakedness sure to be revealed if he forced her to let go. He turned and sat on the edge of the bed, holding her in his lap. This was a right unsavory turn of events.

  Perry swept his hand in steady circles over Lilly’s back, calming her until the innkeeper entered with his case. “Milord, I—”

  Perry cut him off with a wave. “No, that will be all. It wasn’t the girl. She did no harm. Just see to my men.”

  The innkeeper nodded and pulled the door closed, yanking at it to fit it back in the frame. Perry heard his footsteps plodding down the hall and he turned to the bundle in his lap.

  “Lilly,” he said gently. “Oh, sweet Lilly.” He pulled the counterpane away from her face, trying to find her in the thick folds. He saw one eye, then the other, looking up at him from the small hole he’d made. He chuckled quietly. “You look quite like a mouse.”

  She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she replied, then opened them again. “I’m so sorry.”

  He shook his head. “There is no need for you to apologize— Is there?” Suddenly he wasn’t sure what had transpired. Then remembered exactly what he’d been doing next door. “We certainly have made a mess of this place, have we not? Next time my carriage pulls up they will tell us they are full, I am assured of that.”

  She smiled brightly, and it lit the dim room. He was awed; he’d never seen such a brilliant smile. The scars faded a bit when she smiled, and her eyes sparkled as she wiggled.

  “Lilly, wait. Hold on now,” he cautioned. “You need to let me…uh, just—stop for a second and let me…” He placed her on her feet facing away from him and stood to retie the belt, then he cleared his throat. He pulled her back to the bed and sat her down as he looked around the room. “I suppose she hadn’t yet brought you the nightgown I requested?”

  She shook her head.

  “No, of course not,” he grumbled. He went to his portmanteau and pulled out a clean white shirt and pushed it toward the little hand that grasped the edge of the thick counterpane.

  She took it, the blanket slipping just a touch before she caught it back up.

  Perry looked around the room again, then moved toward the dressing screen in the corner. “I’ll just go—” He motioned to the screen as he pulled a pair of under drawers from his bag and stumbled behind it. He stared into the dark corner, one hand on each wall, and breathed as deeply as his rattled nerves would allow. He shook his head and pulled the drawers on under the robe, wishing, for once, that he’d packed pajamas, but he always thought them an unnecessary bother.

  He leaned one shoulder against the wall as he listened to her small sighs and grunts as she tried to get the shirt on. He turned and peered around the screen. The tented counterpane in the middle of the bed shook and moved as though there were a wrestling match beneath it. He smiled as he saw the soggy chemise tossed out to the floor with a wet thwack, then the wrestling match continued.

  The blanket stilled and he turned quickly, averting his gaze. She cleared her throat and he looked around again, finding her on the bed, her hair a mess, his white shirt engulfing her petite frame, the counterpane pooling around her legs. He swallowed hard, struggling to remember who she was and who he was.

  He walked slowly to the chair next to the fireplace. “So, would you like to tell me what caused the ruckus?”

  Her smile faded instantly. “I’m not accustomed to being…tended. I mean, beyond—” She waved her hand in a circle. “The girl would not listen. She insisted on washing me, and I just—” She cleared her throat. “She scratched me. I—it, um… the sharp—” She stopped, looking up.

  Perry wanted to reach out and hold her, protect her, but he forced himself to remain still, watching as her mind wrestled. He tried to show his understanding, hoping his patient expression would calm her.

  “I was walkin’ home from the dairy after Mama sent me to fetch milk. Of course, what else would I do at the dairy?” she said nervously, twisting her hands in the blankets. “He offered to bring me home. I refused. I didn’t know him. It wouldn’t be proper.” She inspected her hands for a while, then spoke again, so softly he could hardly hear her. “I thought that he’d left, but he’d waited. He grabbed me by my hair and rode on.” She stroked the long strands and looked out the window. “He took me to the wood…”

  Perry followed her gaze, saw the night deepen its folds across the countryside, the pinpricks in the blanket of night twinkling their innocence over the meadow behind the inn. She took a deep breath and turned back to him.

  He looked on her with care, diligently controlling his expression. He had been informed of her injuries in general terms. He understood how they were likely caused, he could see the scars left behind, but he wasn’t aware that Lilly had ever told anyone exactly what had happened. He didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to be the keeper of this knowledge, but he didn’t want to stop her, either, because he could see she needed this. He could feel it in his bones.

  Perry sat back in the chair, his legs crossed at the ankles and stretched out before him, his hands clasped at his waist, eyes on her; waiting, hypnotizing, imploring, demanding—patiently. The next breath she took seemed to take all the air from the room, and his own lungs stilled.

  “He pulled me into the forest. I screamed, but nobody heard. At least, I thought I’d screamed.” She looked up at him for a moment. “I remember screaming, I do. I remember it—but nobody came.” She glanced down as her breath hitched, and she picked at a loose thread on the blanket, then simply said, “I tripped, fell. He took me.”

  Perry moved then, his discomfort of mind too great for his body. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and lowered his head to his clenched hands. She waited. He looked up slowly. The next rushed from her.

  “He, mmm, he used the crop when I would not do as he said. I tried to fight him, you see, but he dinna like that, or, mayhap he did because— Well.” Her eyes filled with tears and her voice trembled as her chin shook. “Do men like that?” she asked earnestly.

  He could feel the strain in his features, knew he attempted to shake his head. Didn’t belie
ve he was successful.

  She shrugged and looked back to her hands which were busy unraveling the edge of the counterpane. “There was a picnic there. Where he had stopped. He took a bottle from the basket and broke it against a tree. He—ah…” She trembled violently, gathering her knees up and hiding her face for a moment. “I tried to get away, I did, please believe me, I tried. But he dragged me back, pushed my face into the ground as he—”

  Perry stood. He felt his muscles twitching with the tension, his feet not following his command to remain still as he strode across the room and sat on the bed next to her. He reached out, his hands hovering mere inches above her, then they grazed her arms as she jerked away.

  He was afraid to touch her, afraid to hold her, but needed desperately to comfort her somehow, to make her feel safe. He had tried to be patient, but he couldn’t listen to this. He couldn’t hear this, not from her. His brain finally snapped back into control and he gathered her trembling form into his arms.

  She jumped at his touch and tried to push away but he held her, controlling her fighting limbs as he held her gently but securely, whispering tenderly. He wasn’t sure it was the correct thing to do, to resist her fight, but it was what felt proper.

  “Hush, Lilly. You were so brave. You did scream and you fought, and it was not your fault. You were good, you were strong, you tried, it was not you. It was him, that horrible wretch of a man. It was all him.”

  He took her face between his palms and looked into her watery brown eyes. He felt her struggle to remain still. “You carry no fault for this. He carries it, all of it.” He closed his eyes, suddenly realizing how Gideon had felt when he’d figured out what Hepplewort had done to Francine. Hepplewort hadn’t even completed the task with her; Lilly, on the other hand, had suffered the brunt of that man’s anger because of that loss.