He moved toward her instantly, unable to resist her call. “What is it?” he asked.
She held up two pieces of fabric for his attention. “I cannot pick between them. Will you offer your advice?”
He stared at the two little squares in her delicate hands. Hands he wished would smooth over his skin. “Er, well, the white with the blue stripe is nice.”
Mr. Martin nodded swiftly. “Your husband has very good taste, my lady.”
Audrey tensed at the error and her gaze flitted away from Jude. He frowned at her reaction, although it was to be expected, after all.
“Mr. Samson is not my husband, Mr. Martin,” she said softly.
Jude swallowed. “I’m Lord Woodley’s man of affairs,” he said, uncertain as to why he would feel a need to tell this man that. Perhaps it was more of a reminder to himself.
Mr. Martin flushed from his hair to his neck. “Oh goodness, I’m so sorry, Lady Audrey. A few of the ladies in the shop were talking about a recent marriage in your family and I-I only assumed. How foolish of me. I never would have implied that the daughter of a marquis would be wed to a servant.”
Jude flinched. Of course, his position in life was far more complicated than that, but in the end, it was also just that simple. He was a servant to the Woodley family. Not an equal. Not by his position nor his actions.
Audrey was now also blushing. “Oh, Mr. Martin don’t upset yourself. My brother did just marry, that must be what you heard about. And Mr. Samson is a good friend to our family and the grandson of a viscount, I could not be offended.”
The other man continued sputtering despite her soft words. “Well, I—but—”
She reached out and gently laid a hand on his arm. “Could you cut the fabric in the amount we discussed earlier? And have it put on my mother’s account?”
“Of course,” Mr. Martin blustered. “Of course, my lady. Please give your mother my fondest regards.”
“I shall,” Audrey said. “Good day.”
The other man took her subtle hint and bowed away, hustling to the back to fill her order. Audrey turned to Jude with a tight smile. “Shall we go and get our biscuits?”
He frowned. “Perhaps another time. Do you have other shopping to do?”
She shrugged. “I can do it later if you would prefer to return to the estate.”
He did not prefer to return to the estate. What he would prefer to do was gather her up in his arms right in the middle of this store, and kiss her just as a husband would do. But instead of saying that or doing it, he merely nodded.
“Perhaps that would be best.” He motioned for her to exit the shop first and she inhaled deeply as they stood on the stoop.
“God, I do miss fresh air when we are in London,” she mused. “Samson, do you think we could walk back?”
He jolted at the suggestion. “It is a mile.”
“Hardly a jaunt at all,” she said with another smile. “The footmen are here with the cart for the chaise, I see. Couldn’t one of them drive my brother’s phaeton home?”
Jude considered the request. She was correct that they would not have to abandon the fine vehicle and he could think of no other reason to deny her request. Save the real one, which he refused to share.
“I suppose the exercise would do me good,” he said. “Lead the way, my lady.”
She stiffened slightly at his address, but did as he asked and stepped out onto the road out of town. They walked along the side for a short while, then she cut off on a path that meandered through the hills toward the estate where they wouldn’t have to contend with dust from passing vehicles. It also meant they were alone.
Jude cleared his throat as they wandered further away from town. “You didn’t have to defend me, you know.”
She pursed her lips. “To the shop-keep, you mean?”
He nodded. She stopped in the path and turned on him, her dark eyes snapping fire. “Jude Samson, you have been a part of our family for over a decade. You are no servant.”
He shook his head. “I am.”
“Your grandfather was a viscount, your uncle is now.”
He shrugged. “Yes, and those facts allowed me to go to Eton and Cambridge and play beside the real lords of the manors. But the moment my father died, my mother and I were cut off from my family. My uncle hasn’t spoken to me in twelve years.”
She huffed out her breath and continued walking. “That I shall never understand, Jude. Why in the world would they be so cruel to you and your mother?”
“Do you really want to know?”
She nodded. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”
He cast a side glance in her direction. He almost always avoided this painful subject, but with Audrey it was so hard for him not to be honest. And he was holding back about so much else from her that the answer to this question seemed to bubble over like a pot overfilled and boiling.
“You have met my mother a few times. What do you think of her?”
Audrey wrinkled her brow as if she didn’t understand the question. “She is a fine lady, of course. Never anything but sweet-natured and kind to all. I like her a great deal.”
“Well, my father’s family did not. They had arranged for him to marry the daughter of a duke, but he had already been captivated by my mother. Madeline Dupois was the daughter of a noble family, but they were French, they were poor, and my mother was currently acting in the role of a companion to the mother of my father’s intended.”
Audrey’s eyes widened. “Oh my.”
“Yes. You can see that it caused a shockwave when he ran off with her. I was born the next year. I’m certain they meant to cut my father and mother off, but reputation got in the way.”
“Reputation?” she asked.
He nodded slowly, making every effort not to show his emotions on his face. “My grandmother adored my father. To protect him and to protect their own name, they had to smile out of one side of their mouths, while bitterly bemoaning my mother’s and my existence from the other.”
“Oh, Jude,” she whispered. “How awful for her. And for you.”
He shrugged. “When my father died, the family didn’t feel they had to keep up the pretense and we were swiftly disavowed. I believe my uncle even tried to have my father’s marriage declared illegal, but it didn’t work.”
She stopped again and turned to him, her brown eyes shining with tears. For him. For his mother. He stared at them, at the empathy Audrey was so capable of sharing.
It was just one reason he had grown to care for her over the years.
“Jude, I didn’t know it was so very terrible. I’m sorry.”
“I grew up knowing nothing different, but I know she felt the sting of their disregard. That is all that matters to me, not that they don’t care. They are not my family.”
Audrey nodded. “But we are. My family is yours.”
He pressed his lips together. He had always felt the same way. He’d always been accepted by the Woodley clan in a way he hadn’t even dreamed about from his own. But it was an illusion. One they kindly let him keep, but an illusion nonetheless.
“Audrey, you are making my point exactly.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your family is kind to me, they accept me, and I appreciate that more than you or they shall likely ever know. But I am nothing more than a common man with very little money. You defended me to the shop-keep as if somehow I could be your husband, but I never could. You are—”
“I am just a girl whose brother is a marquis,” she interrupted with a roll of her eyes. “I carry these odd expectations on my shoulders, yes, but in the end, I am just a girl.”
He almost laughed at that statement, ridiculous not only because of her position in life, but who she was at her core. Audrey was not “just” anything.
“No, you aren’t,” he whispered.
He moved forward and found himself reaching out. He almost groaned as his errant fingers brushed the satin perfection of her cheek.
He watched as her eyes grew wide at the touch, dilated with what he realized with a start was desire not unlike his own.
But that couldn’t be.
He jerked his hand back as if burned and for a moment they merely stood staring at each other. Then he turned away. “Come, I have much to do. I can’t linger all day.”
He didn’t wait for her response, but continued to walk briskly toward the estate that was just appearing over the hill in the distance. Walking away was one of the hardest things he’d ever done in his life.
Chapter Five
Audrey hardly even looked down as she ran a brush through her mother’s hair over and over again. Instead she stared straight ahead at the wall, her mind running over and over the exchange with Jude the previous day. He had touched her. And there had been nothing brotherly or friendly about it.
She could still feel his fingers branding her cheek even now.
“You are distracted.”
Audrey jolted and looked down in time to see her mother remove the warm cloth Audrey had brought for her to rest on her eyes earlier, in hopes of alleviating her continuing headache.
“Did I hurt you?” Audrey asked, horrified at the prospect.
Lady Woodley shook her head. “No, the brush was divine—it helps enormously. But I can feel you drifting away even without seeing you. Is anything wrong?”
Audrey shifted in discomfort. Her mother had always been able to see right through her, but she was a lady of the highest order, both in rank and behavior. Audrey doubted she would understand her current confusion about Jude.
“Dear?” Lady Woodley pressed.
“I’m sorry,” she said as she stood and set the brush down on the dressing table. “I was woolgathering. Thinking about the fabric I chose yesterday. Did you like it?”
Her mother nodded. “I do, indeed. I think it will be perfect with the new chaise. But I don’t think that is what makes you daydream.”
Audrey sighed. “Well, I was just…what do you think about Samson?”
Her mother’s brow wrinkled. “Why do you ask?”
Audrey hesitated. She would have to tread very carefully here so as not to reveal too much. “You know he accompanied me to the village yesterday. We walked home after since it was such a lovely day.”
“I see,” her mother said slowly, clearly not seeing at all, for which Audrey felt strangely grateful.
“You know, I realize that despite the fact he has been a friend to this family for so many years, I knew very little about his history. He told me a bit about the scandalous marriage of his parents and the reason behind his estrangement with his father’s family.”
At that Lady Woodley nodded, a troubled expression on her gentle face. “Oh yes, that is a sad tale. I know poor Madeline suffered in the face of their contempt. I always liked her.”
“I only met her twice, but she always seemed the perfect lady.”
“She is,” her mother said with a shake of her head. “Just not the lady that Lord Samson wanted for his son. And you did not cross that man. His eldest son is much the same way, I think. But why did that subject come up?”
Audrey blushed. “When we were looking at the fabric for the settee, Mr. Martin mistook Samson for my husband. Apparently the women in the village were talking about Edward’s marriage and he misheard or misunderstood and thought it was me who had wed. When he realized his mistake, he called Jude a servant. We were discussing whether I was wrong to defend him.”
Lady Woodley’s expression was one of utter confusion. “You felt you had to defend Samson over that?”
“Well, it isn’t true, is it?”
“I suppose not entirely. After all, Samson sits with a toe in both worlds. He was born to a family of rank and raised in privilege, at least to the outside world. But since his father’s death he has not been welcomed into that world very easily. And he is, in fact, somewhat of a servant to your brother, though we obviously all consider him a friend of this family.”
Audrey felt a strong urge to continue to argue, but her mother’s sharp expression stopped that. She nodded reluctantly. “I suppose you are right.”
“Why the sudden interest in Jude Samson?”
Audrey turned her back on her mother at the question, uncertain if she could make her face unaffected as she said, “He is a friend, as you said.”
“Hmmm,” her mother murmured, and Audrey faced her.
She didn’t like Lady Woodley’s look. As if she…suspected something. And this dangerous topic clearly had to come to an end.
“How are you feeling?” she pressed. “Any better today aside from the headache?”
Her mother’s face fell. “Not much. I think it may be a cold after all. I just don’t feel myself at all.”
Audrey frowned. “Oh, I hate to hear it. That means you should stay in bed, not help me with the decoration as we planned.”
“I know, I am disappointed too. But if I stay abed a few more days, perhaps this sudden weakness will fade and I can truly enjoy our time here. At any rate, I’m certain you are doing a good job in the first parlor.”
Audrey smiled. “I hope so. Do not worry, Mama. Just rest and I promise you that Jude and I will make the parlor as lovely as you have always pictured it.”
She was surprised when her mother did not immediately respond, but simply considered her carefully. Finally she nodded. “Yes. I’m sure,” she said softly. “I think I shall try to rest again, dear.”
Audrey stepped toward her and bent to kiss her mother’s brow. It felt warm but not overly so and she vowed not to overreact. “Feel better, Mama. I will come and check on you after luncheon.”
“Yes. Tell Jude I said hello,” Lady Woodley responded, still watching Audrey far too closely.
Audrey smiled as she left the room and leaned back against the barrier for a moment. She should have been disappointed. And a part of her was, for she would never wish suffering on the dowager. But a larger part felt a forbidden thrill at the idea that she and Jude would continue to be alone. Especially if she could coax him to put his hands on her again.
* * *
Jude leaned on the fence watching the horse master run a wild stallion around the paddock. He’d never known a man better at breaking horses than Warrick Blackwood. Even the ones everyone said couldn’t be broken fell to his discipline eventually.
“He’s a beautiful horse,” Jude called out.
Warrick nodded, for he was a man of few words. Then he walked over to the fence, giving the stallion the freedom to roam around the paddock for a moment.
“He will be,” War said, watching the animal closely. “Once he settles down.”
“Are you going to mount him today?” Jude asked.
War shook his head. “No. Slow and steady is the best way to break. Today we’re just getting used to each other.” He looked past Jude toward the house. “You have company, Samson.”
The horse master turned away and moved back to the horse, leaving Jude to slowly look behind him. Of course, it was Audrey coming down the path toward the paddock. She was wearing a dark pink gown and her skin looked like cream with the color against it. Suddenly he very much wanted to be a cat.
As she neared him, he saw the tension on her face. And why wouldn’t there be? Yesterday he had acted a fool by touching her. And even worse a fool by continuing to hide away from her. One more supper alone had likely sent her a bitter message.
“Good morning,” she said as she stepped up beside him. Her gaze flitted to Blackwood and the horse, and she smiled. “Enjoying Blackwood’s work?”
The horse master had managed to get the skittish animal to allow him close. He was next to him now, stroking the animal’s hide gently.
“He has the touch,” Jude admitted.
“Claire always loved to come down here,” Audrey said softly, darkness eclipsing her expression like a cloud on a sunny day. “She couldn’t get enough of the horses. I think she would have climbed in the paddock and helped War if he’d let her
.”
Jude clenched his fists at his sides and tightened his jaw. Seeing how much the subject of Claire hurt her made him hate himself all the more. It made him want to comfort her, although it wasn’t his place. Especially when it came to this subject.
“Did you need something?” he asked.
She flinched at his tone, obviously misreading his anger toward himself as anger toward her. But she straightened up almost immediately and met his eyes with the same dignity with which she met all obstacles.
“My mother’s cold continues,” she explained. “She intends to remain in bed again today.”
Jude drew back. “Should I fetch the doctor?”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t think that will be required. She is comfortable in her bed at present. But I’ll keep you informed if that changes. Certainly, we wouldn’t want to risk her health.”
“No, never,” he breathed.
She smiled at his earnestness. “But of course that leaves me at a disadvantage when it comes to what we came here to do. Would you help me?”
He turned his face. “Audrey,” he said softly, his tone laced with a discouragement he didn’t feel.
He most definitely did want to help her. Be with her. Pretend that there was something more between them. That they were talking about their rooms and their house and their life.
Her frown deepened and her hurt was reflected on her face as clear as anything. He hated himself for causing it. But how else could he protect her?
“We were friends, weren’t we?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Aren’t we?”
“We aren’t children anymore, Audrey…Lady Audrey. I shouldn’t be your friend.”
She shook her head. “Because of what we talked about yesterday?” she pressed. “Your place?”
He took a few steps away from her. Her question was the best answer and yet it wasn’t true. He needed to stay away from her because he wanted her. And if he got too close…
“Please.”
It was one word, but it carried such power with it. Please. Please help her. Please don’t walk away from her. Please pretend that he didn’t want to have her in every way possible. Please.
My Favorite Rogue: 8 Wicked, Witty, and Swoon-worthy Heroes Page 110