A Gentleman Never Surrenders

by Lauren Smith

  “Maybe later this evening we could continue this?” she asked hopefully.

  He ran a thumb over her well-kissed lips. “There is no maybe; we shall continue this,” he assured her.

  “Good. Let me break my fast, then I’ll join you and Jack in an hour.”

  Owen nodded. “Excellent. I’ll be waiting.” He kissed her forehead and left her alone to eat. She was famished and had no problem tucking away her meal before she rang for Constance.

  After a bath and her usual morning ablutions, her maid helped her dress in a warm walking suit that had a long coat with military braiding.

  “You look very smart, milady,” Constance said, her eyes sharp with approval.

  Milly smiled. She’d given up trying to remind Constance she was merely a gentleman’s wife and no longer the daughter of a peer. She touched up her hair before Constance settled a large hat on her head with a navy-blue bow that matched the dark blue fabric of her walking suit. The skirt’s train was a little fuller than the current style of hobble skirts, but she despised when fashion made a woman’s mobility nearly impossible. Her skirt also enhanced her figure, taking the curves she possessed and displaying them leaner in places and fuller in others.

  “Are the men ready for luncheon?” she asked, temporarily removing the hat now that she’d been assured it looked well with her suit.

  “Yes, milady. They are waiting in the dining room.”

  “Thank you.” She rose from her vanity and lifted her skirts with one hand while she headed for the door.

  It would be her first time meeting Mr. Watson and she wished to make a good impression. He was one of Owen’s closest friends, after all. She wanted to care about the people he cared about and for them to like her in return. In the past, she wouldn’t have cared about making a good impression on a fortune hunter’s best friend, but now that she really knew Owen and had seen into his heart, it mattered. Her nerves were a little frayed and she tried to quell the restless fleet of butterflies in her stomach. Would Jack like her? Would she like him? Surely they would get along; they both cared about Owen after all.

  When she descended the stairs and walked toward the drawing room, she paused just outside the door at the sound of male voices. Her husband was laughing. The sound, heavens, the sound made her weak-kneed with desire and yet excited enough that if she spread her arms they might turn to wings so she could fly.

  “She’s convinced you to take up reading? Good God, Owen, I ought to shake her hand or kiss the lady. I’m so glad someone finally forced you to enjoy the finer things in life. I used to love reading before…” He trailed off a little. The man’s voice was low and rich, a bit like Owen’s yet different.

  That had to be Jack Watson speaking. The man liked to read. What else did she need to know that spoke well of his character? Nothing. A man who read was a man she could converse with.

  “Milly has a way of making me see things differently,” Owen said.

  “I can see that.” This time Jack laughed, the sound no less pleasant, even though it didn’t affect her the way Owen’s had.

  She chose that moment to enter the room, lest she be discovered eavesdropping on them.

  “Ahh, there you.” Owen came over to greet her, grasping her gloved hands in his as he kissed her on the lips, right in front of their guest. Her face flamed, but she couldn’t help it; she always responded to him strongly.

  “Mrs. Hadley, I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.” Jack came around the table to greet him. It was the first chance Milly had to get a good look at him. He was tall like Owen, but thin. She could see he’d once been a muscular man, full of strength. He might yet regain that strength, but it would take time, food, and physical activity. Yet despite his slightly diminished state, he still had a reserved sort of charm some men possessed, a quiet dignity that drew friends and influenced people. Owen was more like a bright fire to Jack’s single flame. Both burned hot, but in different ways.

  “Mr. Watson, I’m so glad you’re here.” Milly smiled and leaned a little into Owen as she spoke, hoping he’d see her touch as supportive. “My husband needs a friend to keep him busy and entertained lest he get in the way of my restorations to the house.”

  Jack snorted. “I highly doubt he has any need of being entertained while you are around. He talked of nothing but you while he…” Jack coughed, his face paling as he seemed to realize he’d confessed too much. “Well, I’m sure he’s told you how he’s helped me.”

  She nodded, her smile fading. “Yes. And we are both glad you’re feeling better.” She meant it.

  “I am.” He patted his stomach. “Wesden Heath has one of the best cooks in this part of the Cotswolds. I’ll likely outgrow my trousers if she keeps preparing such meals as I had last night.”

  Milly had to agree. Cook kept things simple, but hearty and tasty. She’d come from a world of ten-course meals with elaborate dishes and exotic garnishes. Expensive tables were displayed as a sign of Pepperwirth wealth. Wesden could not have been more different. Her old self would have been rankled at the idea of modest dishes and a home in great need of repairs, but marrying Owen had changed her. Being around him had made her see things different, value different things.

  “Shall we sit?” Owen offered, and they took their seats at the dining room table.

  Luncheon was brought in by a footman, a young man named Jennings who was another of the new staff. He grinned, as though delighted in his job, but when he saw Milly watching him he quickly wiped the expression from his face. That was something else that had changed inside her. She would have been disapproving of a servant who had caught her attention in such a manner, but, after spending the last two weeks of working with them, she’d gained a sense of camaraderie. When Jennings looked her way again, she offered him a small smile and he beamed at her.

  After the young man left, she turned her attention back to Jack and Owen. She froze when she saw her husband watching her, his eyes hot with desire, and there was a softer, subtler emotion shadowing the desire that she couldn’t quite read. She ducked her head and focused on her meal, trying to ignore how exposed she felt. In many ways, it was like the night when they had dinner at Hampton House, but without the anger and resentment that had been between them. This was…a heated exchange born of affection. Milly couldn’t help but smile as she finished her lunch.

  When she, Owen, and Jack were ready to leave, she collected her hat from Constance, who helped pin it on her head before she met the men at the front door. A hired cab was waiting for them.

  “You know,” she leaned in to Owen to whisper, “we can afford one of our own now.” The money she’d brought to the marriage could certainly cover a car and so much more.

  He glanced down at her in surprise. “Only if you wish it. I wouldn’t make such an expensive decision unless you wanted it, too. It’s your money, Milly.”

  Milly stumbled but Owen caught her by the waist and kept her upright. She was stunned. Hadn’t it always been his intention to marry solely to gain access to his wife’s funds? What had changed?

  “But I thought—”

  With a shake of his head, he cut her off. “My desire, my hope, was that any woman I married would love my home enough to make the costly decisions herself. I never planned to spend your money without your permission or counsel.”

  And just like that, tears stung her eyes. She was going to cry right there in front of him and Jack, like some silly ninny. That had been one of her darkest fears, that she would be trapped into marriage solely for monetary gain by a husband who would not see her as an equal and use her money without consulting her. Yet here Owen was, defying every awful expectation she’d had, except one. He did not love her, or if he did, he hadn’t yet told her. She wanted love, wanted it so much she’d forced herself to believe she could never have it, that life wouldn’t give her that one true dream.

  Could Owen’s like someday turn to love? Her inner voice was that of a younger girl, the one who’d lived in France and
dreamed of a man loving her as much as she did him, as equal partners in love and life.

  “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” He motioned for Jack to go on ahead of them to the car while he remained on the steps, holding her close. He cupped her face, wiping away a rebellious little tear that dared to drip down her cheek.

  “It’s nothing.” She flashed him a falsely bright smile. “Would you kiss me?” she asked.

  He chuckled. “It would be my greatest pleasure, wife.” He bent his head and stole her breath with a heady kiss that made her float on air. How could he always do that? Seize her heart and body with just a kiss?

  “Cab’s running. You two better get down here so we can go to town.” Jack’s hooting laugh made them break apart, sharing shy smiles.

  “Tonight.” Owen promised everything in that one word.

  “Tonight,” she agreed.

  Chapter 14

  Owen followed behind Milly as she nearly skipped ahead of him down the narrow gravel lane. The rows of houses leading into the village of Wesden looked like cozy little stone structures, each with painted doorways and puffs of smoke from their little chimneys. In the spring and summer a dozen bright colors would coat the windowsill flower boxes, and ivy would climb the walls of the home. The idyllic setting would capture Milly’s heart as it had his so long ago as a boy.

  Every few steps Milly would turn to face him, beaming. Her smiles were so much freer now, as though the façade she’d clung to for years was at last crumbling. When they’d left the house after luncheon, she’d looked so lost, so frightened, and he couldn’t figure out why. Kissing her had been an easy thing, something he’d come to adore, but he wondered why she seemed to need reassurance that he belonged to her fully and completely. She didn’t need that. He’d vowed he was hers, would always remain faithful.

  “Owen.” Milly paused by a flower shop as they reached the village proper. “Might we buy some flowers? I should like to start a hothouse garden. We could construct something in the spring. If we buy a few plants, I could tend to them indoors through the winter.”

  He took long strides to catch up to her.

  “What a charming idea, wife.” He tucked her arm in his as they entered the small shop.

  A brass bell jingled merrily above their heads, and Milly immediately began an intense examination of the flowers. Owen was content to watch her, drinking each expression that crossed her face as she removed her long gloves, touched bare skin to petals, and bent to inhale a particular flower. He came up behind her when she paused in front of a row of orchids. He touched a purple orchid inches from her hand.

  “Do you know why these flowers are considered scandalous?” he whispered into her ear. His other hand touched her hip, gripping her in a gentle but possessive hold.

  Milly’s breath caught and she held still. “No, why?” she whispered.

  “Because”—he paused, relishing the way he knew she would react when he spoke his next words—“they resemble a lady’s folds…the silken texture, the rich color, the opening ready for penetration.” He stroked the orchid’s petals in an intentionally seductive manner and chuckled when Milly’s breath quickened.

  “You’re wicked, you know that? Positively wicked,” she hissed, but when he nuzzled her cheek, he felt her lips curve up in a smile.

  “When we get home, I’ll stroke your orchid,” he promised huskily.

  She jabbed him lightly in the ribs, making him step back and clear his throat.

  The florist was watching them with wide eyes, and Milly blushed and tried to fix her gloves, attempting to pretend nothing had happened between them.

  As distracted as he was by thoughts of seducing his wife, he couldn’t help but wonder how Jack was doing. The excursion into town had nothing to do with the shopping. Jack had finally agreed to meet with Scarlett Brandon at one of the pubs. It was a tad improper, but Owen was not sure she would have agreed to come back to Wesden to meet Jack. It would have seemed awkward for his former fiancée to meet with his best friend under his roof.

  “You’re worried about Mr. Watson, aren’t you.” Milly’s gentle but accurate observation dragged him out of his thoughts.

  “Yes,” he admitted. “The man has been through hell and I’m not sure he can handle Scarlett or her situation.”

  “You mean the baby she lost?” Milly curled her arm in his and pointed at several flowers. The shopkeeper hastened to prepare a few cuttings for her to take with them.

  Owen blew out a breath. “I can’t begin to imagine what losing a life inside you does to a woman. It must be hellish, and for a man like Jack, he’s so sensitive, so good and kind, it might break him when Scarlet tells him about the miscarriage. But he needs peace in that part of his life.”

  Milly leaned into him, trying to comfort him. She probably had no idea that she was doing something like that; it was a tender gesture, one she would probably not have done had they not been as intimate as they’d become in the last two weeks. He felt so close to her and he had the strangest urge to ask her a question that surprised even himself.

  “Are you interested in having many children?” he asked softly. He’d never asked or wanted to ask a woman about that, and he was oddly nervous and excited at the prospect.

  Milly lifted her gaze to his, and he reveled in the startled, wide-eyed look there in her blue depths.

  “Children?” The one word escaped breathlessly from her lips.

  “Yes,” he chuckled. “How many do you want?”

  “Well, I…,” she sputtered, then blushed. “I don’t know. At least two?” She sounded so adorably unsure, and it made him suddenly desperate to get her into bed, or possibly on the nearest flat surface. He liked it when she was flustered, especially when he was the cause.

  “Milly…,” he purred, leading her to the door of the shop. “Why don’t you and I go to the nearest inn and rent a room—”

  “What about the flowers?” she interrupted, her voice still breathless.

  “Mr. Tabor, put them on my account, and I’ll send a lad here tomorrow to fetch them.”

  “Very good, sir.” Mr. Taber was smiling a knowing smile as he turned away.

  “Come on, we can find a way to occupy ourselves while we wait for Jack.” He nuzzled her cheek and stole a lingering kiss. Every time he touched her, his blood heated and a soft warmth filled his chest. It had never been like that with any other woman.

  “I might be tempted.” Milly’s blue eyes sparkled with her own rising passion.

  “Then let’s go find us a bed.”

  “Owen!” she gasped, but her delighted smile was all the encouragement he needed. They were halfway to the inn when Owen spotted Jack striding toward them. His face was ashen and his eyes were wide and stark with pain.

  “Jack?” he asked, pausing Milly by curling an arm around her waist.

  “I need to return to Wesden Heath immediately,” Jack said, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

  Owen exchanged glances with Milly. “You’re ready to return home?”

  Milly nodded, her lips pursed in a thin line.

  “Jack, I really think—”

  “Now, Hadley.” A silent rage tainted with pain colored his eyes.

  Owen signaled their cabdriver who’d waited for them at the edge of town. The cab ride home was tense. Jack stared morosely out the window and Owen exchanged glances with Milly, but neither of them said anything.

  A prickling sense of unease rippled through Owen as he and Milly followed Jack upstairs when they were back at the house. Something wasn’t right. He caught his wife by the arm and held her back.

  “Wait a moment. Let me have a private word with him.”

  She nodded. “Let me know if you need me.” She squeezed his hand before she let go and a sudden impulse to seize her and kiss her again swept over him. He pulled her into his arms, kissing her hard and deep. It was as though someone had trod over his grave and he was filled with a terrible sensation that he might never see her again. I
t was foolish; she was here. They were married. There would be nothing to take him away from her. Even reminding himself of that did not make it any easier to let go. She’d become a lifeline for him in the last two weeks, keeping him afloat through a storm he hadn’t realized he was caught in.

  “Is everything all right?” Milly whispered in his ear.

  “Yes, I’m sure it’s fine.” He gave her one last hug before he forced himself to let go.

  He walked to Jack’s room, not bothering to knock. They were going to have a talk whether Jack wanted to or not. When he turned the handle and swung the door open, he froze.

  Jack was standing by the window of his room, his suitcase lying open, items scattered on the four-poster bed. As Owen sought out Jack, the thinner man turned to him.

  “Don’t come any closer, Owen,” he said softly. The sunlight coming in through the window behind him glinted off something in his hand.

  Owen’s entire body seized with tension as he recognized a pistol in his friend’s hand. “Jack…,” he demanded, but didn’t move. “Jack, what are you doing?”

  His friend slowly turned to look at him, tears shining in his eyes. “Did you know, Owen? About the baby?” A hint of accusation followed his question.

  Owen hesitated, wondering how to answer. He and Jack fought side by side, covered in blood and sweat beneath the distant African sun. You couldn’t lie to a man, not after sharing that experience.

  “I knew. She came to me after you left, begged me to cry off because she couldn’t be married to anyone but you. Then she lost the baby.”

  Jack stroked his hand over the pistol, and the November sun, bright and bold, flashed like quicksilver off the metal.

  “I should have been there for her, helped her with the baby. I’m a damned coward. A d-damned coward.” The sound of his voice cracking beneath his pain tore out Owen’s heart.

  “No, you’re not,” he argued. Something inside him was fracturing, a wall of strength he’d built to keep the memories of the war at bay all these years.