by Lily Dalton
“I like dogs. But not smelly ones.”
“I suppose I should endeavor to have them bathed.” He chuckled.
Oh, dear. She liked Cormack very much. It seemed only seemed proper that she offer him some explanation, even if the details weren’t precisely true.
“I am paying off a debt.”
“A debt, you say.” He glanced away, lifting the curtain to look out the window.
The movement provided her with an unexpected thrill, his face in profile, and the muscle that corded the length of his neck. She was quite the expert on noses, having enjoyed sketching faces in her youth, and his was distinctly Roman, prominent and regal, but it was his lips that made her think of—
She closed her mind to the thought.
Only she didn’t. Not successfully, anyway.
His lips made her think of kissing, rather desperately, even though of course, she didn’t want to kiss him. Not a stranger. Because that would be wrong. And impetuous! And not just a little unseemly.
“To whom do you owe money?” he asked. “The owner of the Blue Swan, I presume?”
“Yes, but it’s not me. It is my father’s debt.”
Her conscience complained about speaking the words. Untruths! It was Kate’s story to tell, not hers. Yet still the well-intentioned lies spilled from her lips, because she knew not what else to say.
His eyes narrowed. “Your father could not repay the debt himself because he is…?”
She whispered, “Unable to do so immediately, under the terms imposed. He doesn’t know, you see, that I have made alternate arrangements to satisfy the balance. He would never allow it, but something had to be done, else my family would find themselves on the streets…”
Her voice trailed away.
“I see.” He frowned, clearly disliking her answer. “How much remains to be paid?”
More questions! Without a doubt, she regretted having taken this path. She ought not to have said anything at all. But his eyes commanded her to speak.
Daphne bit into her lower lip. “Too much.”
“So you’ll have to return to the stage, once there’s a stage to return to?”
“I don’t know what will happen now.”
“It won’t be long until you find out. People like that don’t just forgive debts when things become inconvenient.”
“No, I suppose they don’t.”
The heat in his gaze intensified. He leaned toward her, his handsome face commanding her full attention. “So tell me, Kate, in addition to being a dancer to pay off this debt, and not a very talented one at that, did you also entertain patrons?”
“Entertain?” She blinked, flustered by his proximity, and his overwhelming maleness. Had he truly said she was not a good dancer? And wait…he had said patrons. She frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
Certainly he did not believe…well, she supposed he might, given the sordid circumstances in which he’d found her.
One dark eyebrow lifted. “The Blue Swan is a brothel.”
“Never,” she blurted, heat rising to scald her cheeks. “This was my first night ever to go to that place, and it was not at all what I’d expected.” She spoke the truth now. Not all her words were lies. “All I had was the address on a scrap of paper, and instructions that I would be a model in the tableaux.”
A sudden fear came over her, a dreadful worry that in her naïveté she’d misjudged the stranger beside her, that he wasn’t a gentleman but instead just like the others who had crowded against the stage, mindless with lust. He could easily overpower her and satisfy whatever male urges he wished.
But he did not. He instead eased back into the seat until shadows obscured his countenance, all but his sensual lips, which pursed and frowned. She sighed with relief.
“Good.” He nodded. Below his breath, he muttered, “Yes, good…I suppose.”
He conveyed a mixed message, one of approval but also disappointment. What if she’d answered yes? Would he have sought to make use of her services? All the wicked things Sophia had described came to her in a vivid rush. Her mind entertained a fleeting fantasy, one of tangled sheets, muscled limbs, and bare skin.
The very idea of being intimate with a stranger, with this stranger—
She exhaled, bemused.
—was not as appalling as it ought to be.
Perhaps it was the graveness in his eyes, above lips that she suspected always carried some semblance of a smile, that made her heart contract and her blood run hot.
He really was nonpareil. No man in her social circle compared, but that was because he obviously wasn’t a nobleman. No nobleman would travel about London in a shabby, half-destroyed carriage nor converse on such familiar terms with his driver.
“Who are you, Cormack?” she asked.
“Just…a man.”
“Are you a newspaperman? A store owner, or a sea captain? Please tell me—I want to know.”
“I’m…er, a merchant, actually. Saltpeter.”
That answered her question. After tonight, she most certainly would never see him again. A merchant would never be allowed into the ballrooms of the haute ton. Even if he was deliriously rich, which he obviously wasn’t, given the condition of his equipage, the upper echelon of the beau monde, to which she had been born, simply did not intermingle with men of trade.
Her adventurous nature awakened. No, she didn’t intend to ever marry, but…what would be wrong with kissing a handsome, intriguing stranger she’d never see again?
Everything inside her soared and spiraled and exploded into sparkly stars at wondering. Again, her gaze settled on his mouth, which slowly, as if it read her mind, turned up at the corners, making her catch her breath.
At that moment, the carriage executed a sudden turn and tilted steeply, as if on two wheels. Daphne toppled, the whole of her weight crushing into Cormack. His arms came round her, seizing her and holding her in place against his chest. The carriage bounced down again and continued on, to the sound of Jackson cursing at another driver, but Cormack didn’t release her. How she wished she wasn’t wearing the coat, which smelled of damp wool. He, on the other hand, smelled delicious, like rainwater and soap.
“How unexpected,” he murmured, his mouth so close his breath feathered across her lips. “But not unwelcome.”
“No,” she whispered. “Not…unwelcome.”
Just then the carriage jerked to a stop and a hard rap sounded against the roof.
A low growl emitted from Cormack’s throat. “What a pity.”
Gently, he released her to push aside the window curtain.
“I’ll be just a moment.” He slid from the bench, a vision of crouched male splendor and shining boots. With a turn of the handle, he disappeared onto the street.
Unwilling to release him from her sight, Daphne scrambled across the bench and lifted the curtain. Just a few feet away, Cormack stood like a giant in the midst of a street stall crowded with clothing, hats, and shoes. He gestured to the shop owner, clearly attempting to describe her. Apparently she had breasts. Daphne covered her mouth, smothering a smile. Very nice breasts, based upon Cormack’s raised eyebrows and sideways grin. The shop owner chuckled and set about searching his collection.
Within moments, Cormack returned.
“I hope it all fits.” He thrust toward her a gray flannel gown, a chemise and a petticoat, and a pair of shoes. She clasped them to her breast, bewildered.
He had purchased several items for himself as well. Once the carriage was again in motion, he tugged his shirttails from his breeches. Oh, no. Daphne bit into her lower lip, fixated, as he wrenched his shirt over his head. Shadows and light played on his damp skin. Daphne inhaled sharply, shocked, her mouth gone instantly dry. But she didn’t look away.
She’d never seen anything like him, nothing real and in the flesh. He could have served as a model for the Achilles statue she’d seen last week in the vestibule of the British Gallery. The only items missing were a helmet, battle ax, and sword. Oh, and
he was still wearing those breeches.
Not for long apparently. Dropping the sodden shirt to the floor, he unfastened the placket at his crotch. Fascinated, she glimpsed a dark spiral of hair on his lower abdomen that disappeared beneath the buff wool of his garment. He hooked his thumbs inside at the hips and—
She must have emitted some sound, because he looked up suddenly.
He flashed a grin, one that made her heart turn over inside her chest.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “Put the clothes on. They aren’t perfectly dry, being that I bought them off the street, but they are far drier and warmer than what you’ve got on. But first, mind giving my boot a tug?”
He presented her with the flat of his foot.
After a moment’s hesitation, she grasped the leather by the heel, and tugged it free. She’d never assisted a man with such a familiar task, and her mind buzzed with unexpected exhilaration of doing something so forbidden. If her mother knew—Lord, anything about tonight—she’d never recover. It was just another secret of this night that she would forever be forced to keep from everyone, including Kate.
After doing the same with the second boot, she averted her gaze while he changed his breeches for a pair of loose trousers, catching only the flash of bare skin out of the corner of her eye. And perhaps one stolen glance of a well-muscled hip and chiseled torso.
Daphne closed her eyes tight, knowing she would never forget this terrifying and thrilling night. That while she regretted placing herself in such danger, and had never before been so frightened in her life…she would forever hold these moments close. And when she was an old maid, living a life filled with nieces and nephews and quiet evenings in her room alone, she would fashion fantasies from these memories.
“Kate?”
She started, realizing he spoke to her, and opened her eyes to find him studying her with amusement.
“You won’t put on those clothes as long as I’m in this carriage, will you?”
“Of course not.”
Again, he smiled, and everything inside her melted because she knew he would do the right thing. Indeed, he rapped a fist against the roof. Immediately, the carriage swayed, changing directions and decreasing speed. Cormack perched at the edge of the bench, as if prepared to exit. But then—
He moved toward her, a shadow in the night, until he half-crouched, half-knelt with his hands planted on either side of her legs. Her heart raced, and she breathed him in, savoring his scent and his heat. Gray eyes stared straight into hers.
Her pulse jumped wildly, taken over by a dark and pleasurable desire for a stranger. Against all good sense she liked him this close, with his attention fixed so intently on her.
“Cormack,” she whispered.
He kissed her suddenly, catching her mouth slightly open. Before she realized, she’d leaned into him, kissing him back with fervent eagerness. His tongue slipped inside her mouth, something that ought to have shocked her but instead felt completely natural. She sighed, and touched her tongue to his, too. Oh, how sweet and warm he was, inside and out. Who needed dry clothes and a fire, when there was kissing?
He chuckled low in his throat.
She froze. Why did he laugh? Had she done something wrong?
She very well might have, because she’d never kissed a man, unless one counted young David Waddington from the neighboring estate, when they’d both been just twelve. It had been a hurried, sloppy affair with neither of them knowing what they were doing. Her brother, Vinson, had caught them behind the hedge and given David a fat nose, but refused even under intense interrogation to tell their father, the viscount, why.
On the contrary, Cormack clearly knew his way around a kiss. With a slant of his head, he kissed her more deeply, easing her backward into the cushions and thrilling her with the confident glide of his tongue over her upper teeth. With each brush of his lips, each warm breath into her mouth, the invisible velvet cord that ran along the center of her body tightened and quivered. Her toes curled into the cushion.
He exhaled and murmured near her ear, “Sorry—I couldn’t help myself.”
And apparently she couldn’t, either, but something told her to keep that to herself. The same something held her silent, preventing her from begging for more. Her upraising, she knew, and the expectation of her family and society that she would always behave as a lady.
His face hovered near her cheek, but he did not kiss her. He gave her an opportunity, she realized, to reject him, to protest. The moment lasted only that long—a moment—before he bent a few inches more and nuzzled the side of her neck, just below her ear—
“All right, then. You haven’t screamed…or poked out my eyes.”
He pressed his lips to the sensitive skin there. Her fingers curled in his shirt.
“Tell me if you’re opposed,” he murmured against her skin. “Tell me if I should stop.”
She couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t possibly understand why, and she wasn’t about to tell him. But his breath tantalized and tickled. With a sigh, she clasped his head there, and he found her earlobe. They sank into the corner, the shadow of his body closing over hers, a delicious blanket of heat and weight, his mouth again claiming her lips.
“Cormack—” she whispered against him, inhaling his breath. Kissing him back. “Yes.”
Beneath the coat, his hand found her bare skin, and smoothed up her thigh.
The carriage jerked to a stop.
He groaned, kissing her hard, and breaking away to stare at her through glazed eyes.
“Fortuitous timing.” He dragged a thumb across her toes and smiled. “I shall leave you to change into your new old clothes.”
He exited the carriage, leaving her to darkness and silence and the overwhelming realization she’d likely just had the most thrilling moment of her life. She’d been rescued and kissed senseless by a handsome stranger.
Now the moment was almost over. Why did she feel so dissatisfied, when she ought to feel relieved? Male voices sounded above her. The carriage started, nearly jolting her from her seat. In reality, they could be abducting her away to the country or taking her to the wharves to sell her off to a harem. She and her sisters read such sordid stories in the papers all the time, and thanked God for their protected lives. Yet her heart couldn’t summon the slightest impulse of alarm. She only felt exceedingly morose that in mere moments she would have to say good-bye to Cormack and his delightful kisses.
After dressing, in garments that fit her surprisingly well, she folded Cormack’s coat on the opposite end of the bench. A glimmer caught her eye, followed by a dull thunk, something fallen from its pocket. Bending, she retrieved the object, a medallion covered with the raised image of Medusa. Tilting its face toward the window, she made out the word embossed along the bottom: Invisibilis.
A memory danced along the back of her mind, teasing and elusive. She had seen the image somewhere, with the Latin word for “invisible.” But where? She returned the object to his pocket, and settled to wait.
Some time later, after countless turns, the conveyance rolled to stop. Outside, the strike of boots sounded against the pavement. Cormack himself opened the door, his face hidden by shadows, and extended his hand to assist her down. Just seeing him again made everything inside her feel light and excited. Behind him stood the familiar stone walls of the earl’s mews.
She’d been right to trust him. She was just steps away from being returned to her real life.
“Nice dress.” His gaze moved over her hotly, and he bit his lower lip in appreciation. “I’ll walk you to the door.”
“To the door?” she blurted, horrified. “Oh, no. It’s far too late for that.”
Though the lane was deserted, the sounds of music and voices traveled over the walls. Though nearly three o’clock, many balls were still underway. They proceeded toward the house. Thankfully, it was very dark.
“Even for the servants?”
“I’m a lady’s maid,” she explained. “Not a
scullery maid, and there are certain expectations with regard to my behavior. There would be questions, and my mistress would most certainly dismiss me. I cannot simply come and go, and keep company with strange men.”
He paused at the center of the lane, catching her arm, and then—her hand. “And yet, this strange man wishes to see you again.” She stared down, knowing she ought to break his touch. “Somewhere pleasant, apart from the madness of this night.”
His words were like magic to her ears. If only she could see him again. But that was what made this moment so excruciatingly painful. So beautiful. Once she crossed the threshold of her grandfather’s house, she wouldn’t be “Kate” anymore. She was the granddaughter of one of England’s most influential earls. She simply couldn’t, under any circumstances, consort with men off the street. Commoners, or merchants. But she couldn’t tell him the truth, even if she wished it. To do so would be to place her family’s reputation in terrible peril.
She removed her hand from his. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
His nostrils flared in a sudden display of displeasure. “Because you don’t like me or because—no, wait.” He breathed though his nose. Then, with a tilt of his head and a smile, he winked at her. “I know you like me. The way you kissed me back in the carriage quite gives you away.”
Her cheeks warmed, because he was right. “You are a conceited fellow, aren’t you?”
“Not at all. A man can tell.” He threw her a devilish look. “In fact, you want me to kiss you again.”
“That’s not true!” she exclaimed in mortification, though she could not help but laugh because he looked so mischievous saying it. “Even if it were—”
But it was. She wanted to kiss him, with a desperation that astounded her. But that would be sending the wrong message, which wasn’t fair to him, not when she liked him so much.
“It’s just that I can’t see you again,” she said, with a firm shake of her head.
“There is someone else, then.”
Someone else. Oh, yes. A whole gaggle of them. Her mother, her grandfather, her sisters, not to mention all of London society. All with expectations of her, very high ones.