He extricated himself from the tangle of skirts and limbs as Jessie pulled her daughter onto her lap in a crushing embrace. They were rumpled and grass stained and they’d lost their bonnets, but Daniel didn’t see obvious signs of damage or pain. He asked, “Are you both all right?”
“Nothing that matters.” Jessie ran frantic hands over her daughter’s limbs. “Beth, do you hurt anywhere?”
Only seconds had passed since the accident. As Daniel got to his feet, he saw that no one seemed to have been injured other than perhaps the driver, who’d been thrown from his vehicle. A man was soothing the wild-eyed horses while most of Gunter’s customers were gathering in small clumps, talking excitedly about the accident and their near miss.
Jessie was still sitting on the ground with Beth in her arms, so he asked, “Do you want me to help you up?”
“I . . . just want to sit here and shake for a while,” she said unsteadily, keeping her eyes down as she cuddled her daughter against her.
Recovering quickly, Beth turned to study the scene. “That man was a very bad driver,” she said disapprovingly.
“Very true,” Daniel agreed. He wondered if the blasted young fool had broken his neck when he was thrown from the curricle. Though Daniel wasn’t feeling very charitable toward the fellow, he’d better take a look at him.
The Ashton ladies appeared, a little ruffled but undamaged. “Do you want me to take Beth?” Lady Julia asked.
Jessie drew a deep breath. “Not yet, thank you, but could you get another ice for her? The bowl dropped when . . .” She swallowed hard, then glanced up at Daniel, her aquamarine eyes stark. “When Lord Romayne pulled us to safety. I haven’t thanked you yet, my lord. When I think of what almost happened. . .” She shuddered.
“If you had been a little slower, all three of you would have been gravely injured or worse,” Lady Julia said quietly. “Well done, sir.”
He gave her a twisted smile. “I’m just glad I was fast enough. Now to see if the driver has survived his idiocy.”
“I’ll stay with Jessie and Beth and leave him to you,” Lady Julia replied. “He rolled softly, like a drunk, so he might not be badly hurt.”
“I’ll get Beth her ice,” the duchess said. “Would you like one, Jessie?”
Jessie managed a smile. “No, but I would dearly love a cup of tea!”
“It shall be done.” The duchess moved toward the shop, and in one swift gesture collected a waiter and gave the order.
Daniel was reluctant to leave Jessie, but duty called. He crossed the stretch of grass to where the curricle driver lay in a muddy lump. The fellow was moaning and blood was dripping into his face, but at least he wasn’t dead. Lady Julia had been right about both the soft landing and the drinking; the boy smelled like a bottle of brandy had been poured over him.
Daniel knelt beside him and started a swift examination. “Congratulations,” he said dryly as he used a handkerchief to wipe the blood from what turned out to be a messy but shallow laceration of the skull. “You’re not as dead as you should be. Does anything seem broken?”
The driver blinked. “Don-don’t think so.”
“Mr. Shelton,” said a disgusted voice. It was Kirkland, who’d turned the horses over to another man and come to investigate. “You are not only a fool, but a dangerous fool. I shall suggest to your father that he take your horses away. By the mercy of the god of horses, it appears that they won’t need to be put down, but your curricle is fit for nothing but firewood.” He continued with a tongue-lashing that surely peeled the fellow down to raw, twitching nerves.
Daniel listened admiringly as he finished his examination and used his handkerchief to put a crude bandage on Shelton’s head. An older man joined them. “I’ll take you home, lad, and my footman will lead the horses after us. You were lucky.”
Shelton pushed himself to a sitting position dizzily. “Luckier than I deserved,” he muttered, his voice shaking. He glanced toward Beth and shuddered. Daniel suspected that the young man wouldn’t drive so recklessly anytime soon.
Having done what was necessary, he rose and looked over to Jessie. She was on her feet now, her composure restored and looking quite achingly beautiful as she sipped a steaming cup of tea. Beside her, a grass-stained Beth was happily digging into another ice. Daniel gave silent thanks that the accident had caused no serious injuries.
Except, perhaps, to his heart or possibly his brain. He no longer cared about the fact that Jessie, Lady Kelham, was utterly wrong for him. Despite their differences, he saw only one possible course of action.
He’d just have to ask her to marry him.
Chapter 11
“You have a visitor, Lady Kelham.” The Ashton footman presented a silver tray with a card set neatly in the middle. “He’s in the small salon. Will you receive him?”
Jessie took the card, wondering if it was one of the two older gentlemen who had been calling on her assiduously. But they came in the afternoon, not the morning, and eyed each other like wary cats when they visited at the same time.
LORD ROMAYNE. A mere two words that made her pulse jump with an alarming mix of emotions. Her mind had been churning since the near-disastrous visit to Gunter’s the day before, and his lordship had been far too present in her thoughts. It would be easier to say she wasn’t at home, but she owed him too much to hide. “I’ll see him.”
After the footman withdrew, she checked her appearance in the mirror that hung above the mantel in her small sitting room. Black gown, firmly restrained hair, a very proper widow. But her eyes. How could she control her eyes?
Should she ask Julia or Mariah to join her? But they were both in the nursery with their babies, a time of day they loved. She shouldn’t interrupt.
Realizing she couldn’t delay any longer, she descended to the ground floor. Mariah had told her how much drama the small salon had witnessed over the years. Jessie hoped there would be no more today.
Dr. Herbert—Lord Romayne—was gazing out the window when she entered. He was his usual composed self, but there was tension visible in his lean, muscular body. He turned as she entered, his expression grave.
“Good day, Lord Romayne,” she said lightly. “Has no one mentioned to you that morning calls shouldn’t be made in the morning but in the afternoon? It’s an important mark of society’s basically irrational nature.”
He smiled a little. “I actually had the rules explained to me, but I wanted to see how you and Beth were doing after the unfortunate incident at Gunter’s.”
She chuckled. “You mean almost being killed by a drunken young fool who shouldn’t be allowed near a carriage? Beth is fine. She’s been asking when we can go back to Gunter’s for more ices. She and I have bruises and her dress was ruined, but that was all.”
“She might not appreciate the danger she was in, but you do,” he said quietly. “Did you have nightmares last night?” Seeing her flinch, he swiftly said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you again.”
Jessie swallowed hard. “I’ve been upset ever since it happened. When I remember that carriage bearing down on Beth . . .” She shuddered. “I knew I couldn’t move fast enough to save her, but I had to try. If... if she was killed, there would be no reason for me to live.”
She struggled for composure, but the horrifying vision of the carriage rushing toward her daughter seared across her mind again. Beth’s sweet, small, vulnerable body. The crashing hooves of frantic horses and a wildly out of control carriage . . .
She began to sob uncontrollably. Remembered fear was drowning her, until warm arms came around her. She buried her face in the doctor’s elegant coat. He said nothing, just stroked her back and held her as she shook.
As her paroxysms of fear subsided, she realized just how right it felt to be in his arms. He was warm and strong and kind. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax, until she remembered her acute physical awareness the day before when she was sprawled on top of him. For a mad moment, desire had been as intense
as fear.
Once again desire flared, intimate and disturbing. She forced herself to step away, smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry. I haven’t allowed myself to cry because I knew I’d fall to pieces. But if you needed proof of how powerful my gratitude is, I believe I’ve just demonstrated it.”
His breath had quickened, but his voice was calm when he said, “I hope that you’ll have fewer nightmares tonight.”
“One may hope.” Her smile was lopsided. “Please take a seat. I’ll ring for tea?”
“No need.” He hesitated. “I have another purpose for calling on you. One reason I’m in London is to look for a wife. I’ve heard that you’re also looking for a husband. I would be greatly honored if you would allow me to court you.”
She gasped and pressed one hand to her mouth. She had not expected this!
“Is the idea so absurd?” he asked. “This must be difficult when you’re so recently bereaved, but I’ll wait until you’re ready.”
Mariah or Julia must have told his sister, Laurel, that Jessie was looking for a husband. She muttered a silent oath that she hadn’t known at first about the close connections between Ashton House and the Kirklands. Perhaps she should have been more discreet about her goals, but she’d needed the ladies’ help. “You are well-informed, but . . . forgive me for being blunt, Lord Romayne. You are not the sort of husband I seek.”
His gaze was probing. “You may prefer an older man, Lady Kelham, but you can never replace your late husband. Though I can’t make myself older, in other ways, I think you’d find me a reasonable choice. I have my share of eccentricities, I suppose, but I’ve recently come into a substantial fortune, I have no terrible vices, and my reputation is sound. You can make inquiries if you wish.”
“Choosing a mate is not a simple matter of logic, my lord,” she said helplessly. “While you’re a very desirable potential husband and I owe you a debt that can never be repaid, that doesn’t mean we should marry.”
“You owe me nothing. Trying to save a child is every decent person’s obligation, not a way of keeping score.” Refusing to back down, he asked, “Do you dislike me? I’ve thought there was a certain harmony of mind as well as a powerful attraction between us, but perhaps that’s wishful thinking on my part.”
She bit her lip. She was a good liar when necessary, but she didn’t want to lie to this man. “You’re not wrong, but attraction isn’t a sound basis for a marriage.”
“Isn’t it a start?” he asked quizzically. “Shouldn’t we at least try to discover if we’d suit?”
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s ungentlemanly to ask a lady why she doesn’t accept you?” Jessie said with sudden exasperation. “A simple ‘no’ should suffice!”
His mouth curved wryly. “As with the rule about morning calls, I’m aware of that, but I don’t choose to comply. This is too important. You’re too important.”
“Then I shall have to be even more blunt,” she said flatly. “You are a good man, Lord Romayne. You do indeed have an impeccable reputation as a physician, a surgeon, and a man whose life is devoted to helping others. You’re held up as an example of good Christian values. You’re even a vicar, for heaven’s sake! But that alone is reason enough to decline your flattering offer.”
“I noticed before that you don’t seem to like vicars,” he said thoughtfully.
“My father was a vicar,” she retorted. “I want nothing to do with another one!”
He didn’t flinch, but his expression became unreadable. “Though I’ve been ordained, I’m not a practicing cleric,” he said in a mild voice. “I founded a chapel in Bristol where nonconformists meet and hold services. I sometimes give a sermon myself, but medicine has always come first with me. If you intend to despise me for my low occupation, it should be surgery, not the church.”
“I don’t despise you.” She paced across the room, her steps taut. “I simply don’t want you for a husband. I shouldn’t have to explain why!”
“But I need to understand.” He took a few steps toward her, moving into the sunshine that poured through the window, making his hair shine like polished golden oak. “The best way to get rid of me entirely is to make it very clear what your objections are. Having been trained in medicine, I need reasons. Evidence.”
She swung around, her hands knotted into fists. “Because you’re a good man, Lord Romayne, and I’m a wicked woman! I should be wearing scarlet, not widow’s weeds, to warn men away from me!”
His gaze was searching. “Are you cruel? I’ve seen no signs of that. Are you a liar or profoundly selfish? I’ve not observed that either. How are you wicked?”
She wanted to spit at him. “I have no desire to reveal my sordid past, my lord! I have done what I must to survive, and that includes deeds that the world would condemn.” Not to mention the deed that could get her hanged. “I don’t belong with a man who is almost a saint!”
His eyes flashed with real anger. “I am no saint!” He closed the distance between them in two steps, wrapped his arms around Jessie, and kissed her with an urgency that seared her bones.
Desire might not be a solid foundation for marriage, but it overwhelmed her stunned senses. Her arms slid around him and she tilted her face up to his warm, vital mouth. His quickening heartbeat mirrored hers as her breasts pressed against his chest.
Her lips opened under his and their tongues touched in mutual hunger. She wanted to consume, or be consumed. Both. It had been so long since she’d experienced passion, and never had it been so fierce. Her pelvis ground against him and he hardened, his hands sliding down to cup her buttocks and pull her even tighter.
Desire flared still higher. She felt like melting wax, her existence dependent on him. . . .
The horror of that imminent surrender slammed her back to her senses. Dear God, what was wrong with her? The last thing she needed was mindless passion leading her into an abyss.
She shoved away from him. “You kiss very well for a saint,” she gasped. “But it’s time for you to go!”
“Saints are so often celibate. That does not appeal to me.” He caught her hand, his warmth and intensity weakening her resolve. “How can you deny what’s between us?” he said, his deep voice compelling. “Marry me, Jessie Kelham! I swear you won’t regret it.”
Her mouth twisted bitterly and she yanked her hand free. “Perhaps, perhaps not. But you would, Lord Romayne! This is only lust, as swift and destructive as a summer storm. After it passed, you’d curse the day you met me. And then you’d despise me for ruining your life.”
He blanched. “You have a low opinion of me and an even lower opinion of yourself if you believe that. Passion isn’t everything, but it can be a vital element of a good marriage. Please, give us a chance to find what else we have in common!”
Her exasperation with him faded, replaced by sadness. She’d think his earnestness romantic if she didn’t know how wrong he was.
But dear God, he was mesmerizing in his passion and sincerity! Wanton woman that she was, she yearned to lie with him. She wanted to taste the forbidden apple in a way that would damage neither of them. It had been so long, so long, since she felt vibrant desire beating through her.
Perhaps it was worth risking a brief, mad satisfaction. She swallowed hard, unnerved by the thought of her own brazenness. More likely, she’d drive him away, and that would be good. But she needed to try.
Catching his gaze, she said, “If passion is unhinging your mind, I have a solution. Let us have an affair. Wild and wanton but very discreet, because I don’t want a reputation that will reflect badly on my daughter. We’d both enjoy it greatly, and in a few days or weeks you’ll come to your senses. You’ll thank me then for my wisdom, and we can go our separate ways, cured of this unruly desire.”
The intensity that had lit him up like a candle vanished as his desire and hope drained away, leaving him older and grayer. “I think not, my lady.”
She released her breath in a sigh, knowing he was wise, but bitterly
regretting the loss of this rare, sweet connection. Because it was real, and powerful—but utterly wrong for both of them.
After a half-dozen beats of silence, he said in a colorless voice, “If your plan was to drive me away, you’ve succeeded.” He bowed ironically. “I thank you for your honesty and wisdom. Perhaps someday I’ll be grateful that you refused me. But . . . not today.”
He turned and left the salon, his hand fumbling blindly before he found the knob. The door closed behind him very gently.
Shaking, she sank into a chair and wrapped her arms around herself. She’d been right to destroy their budding relationship.
But why did being right have to hurt so much?
Chapter 12
Instead of heading for the exit of Ashton House, Daniel quietly stepped into another receiving room and closed the door behind him. Then he leaned back against it, knowing he couldn’t face anyone until he’d mastered himself. Assuming that was possible. He felt . . . gutted. A hollow man, now broken.
He supposed he should feel relieved that Jessie’s brazen honesty had prevented their relationship from developing any further. It wasn’t even a relationship, merely lust, as she’d pointed out so firmly.
The lower side of his nature had wanted desperately to accept her offer of an affair. He was still so aroused that his brain was barely managing to function.
But agreeing would have been wrong in so many ways. She’d acted as if a few afternoons of mad coupling would take the edge off their inconvenient desire, after which they’d cheerfully go their separate ways. But he couldn’t imagine any good end to such an affair, because he could not imagine a day when he wouldn’t want her.
How long had he been a hollow man? Certainly since Rose had died, but the seeds had been sown earlier by his parents, who wanted to be proud of their son without understanding him. Or wanting to understand. They doted as long as he did exactly what they wanted. He’d learned early how to get their approval.
His relationship with them nearly shattered when they disowned Laurel because she’d left her husband. They didn’t care how justified she might have been. The only thing she’d ever done that they really approved of was marry an earl, and they couldn’t forgive her for the breakdown of the marriage.
Not Always a Saint Page 8