by Anne Gracie
Lily thought about that for a moment, then said, “I don’t think I can.”
He frowned. “Did you not hear a word I said?”
She gave him a warm smile. “I did. Every word you said.” And a few he hadn’t. “But if you think I can forget my first-ever kiss, you’re sorely mistaken.” She took his arm again and they resumed walking.
After a moment she added, “And I’m sorry if you didn’t enjoy it because I thought it was . . . lovely.”
A kiss doesn’t hurt anyone, does it?
He checked that the coast was clear and hurried her up the stairs.
Did I do it wrong?
Lord preserve him from luscious innocents with big wide eyes and questions that buzzed in his brain. It—she was the last thing he needed—or wanted.
If you think I can forget my first-ever kiss, you’re sorely mistaken.
He whisked her into the tiny sitting room and closed the door firmly behind them. Now what? He found himself staring at her mouth, rosy and moist. Was it slightly swollen from— No. He dragged his gaze off her.
“Time for bed.” Her cheeks flushed a delicate wild-rose pink and he added hastily, “I mean, of course, to sleep.” The flush was from the walk in the cold air, he told himself.
She gave him a shy smile.
“Not yet, surely. It’s still quite early and the walk has woken me up.” He looked away. He did not need to see her smile, did not need to look into those wide gray eyes. I’m sorry if you didn’t enjoy it because I thought it was lovely.
“After all, I’ve spent most of the last two days and nights sleeping.”
He seized on the excuse. “Yes, but it wasn’t a natural sleep. Your body needs to recover from your ordeal, and after a bath and a good meal—and that walk—sleep is what you most need. You have a long journey ahead of you tomorrow.” He added briskly, “The landlord’s daughter will be up in a short while. I’ve arranged for her to sleep on a trundle in your bedchamber.”
“Betty? Why? For propriety?”
“Yes. I daresay she’ll be grateful for an early night too.”
“Thank you, you’re very thoughtful.” Her eyes were shining.
She was making him out to be some kind of hero, dammit, and he wasn’t. He’d arranged the girl to sleep in her room for his own protection as much as hers. So that nobody could be compromised.
“I’m sorry to be putting you to such trouble.”
“Not at all,” he said gruffly. “None of it was your fault. Don’t worry, I’ll do everything in my power to ensure you aren’t harmed by this.” He glanced at the darkening bruise, and without thinking he cupped her cheek gently.
She gazed up at him, her eyes wide, her skin warm silk beneath his fingers. Her breath was soft on his wrist. He swallowed, unable to look away. The scent of her enticed him unbearably, the scent of her body overlaid with his own fragrance. It was a delicious taunt, a challenge, a possession that would never take place.
That bruise against her pale skin was an obscenity. He heard himself say, “No one shall ever hurt you again.” It sounded like a vow.
Her eyes shimmered with emotion, her lips parted and, in an impulse he refused to examine, he drew her closer and kissed her.
Her mouth opened beneath his: eager, ardent, generous. The sweet-spicy taste of her spilled through him, addictive, feeding a hunger he didn’t know he had. She gripped his shoulders, pulling him closer as she pressed herself against him.
A voracious hunger burned in him, and he took what she offered.
A knock sounded behind him. “Are you in there, miss? It’s me, Betty, and me mum.” With an effort Ned mustered the remaining shreds of his self-control. He dragged his mouth from hers, steadied her, then turned and opened the door.
Betty and her mother entered, bearing bedding and nightclothes. They bustled about, making up the trundle bed.
Ned stood back, watching the women snapping and smoothing sheets, the view from the window—unrelieved darkness, there was nothing to see—anything but Lily.
She’d seated herself in the chair by the hearth and remained there, gazing into the fire as if fascinated. He couldn’t see her face, couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
He forced himself to breathe slow, deep breaths as he fought to regain a semblance of cool indifference. He told himself repeatedly that he was glad they’d been interrupted.
His body knew it for a lie.
What had possessed him, kissing her again? He’d spent the last part of the walk distancing himself from that first imprudent and inappropriate kiss, making it clear to both of them that it meant nothing.
And then to kiss her again. Madness. But her words had eaten at him. It was my first-ever kiss. Did I do it wrong?
He couldn’t leave her thinking that, could he? An ungentlemanly thing to do.
He snorted. So gentlemanly to kiss her half senseless. He glanced across at her. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t lifted her gaze from the dancing flames and glowing coals.
The truth was she kissed like an angel. A very earthy, sensual angel, ardent but untutored. A combination of eagerness and innocence that simply . . . unraveled him.
Blame the first time on the moon, the night, even the blasted owl—a moment out of time—but to do it a second time? What had he been thinking?
The truth was there’d been no thinking at all. Only reacting. What was he—a green boy to be unable to resist the innocent offerings of an unwitting siren? For siren she was, to him, at least.
But Lily Rutherford was not for him. He was standing in for her brother, that was all.
The women finished their arrangements. Mrs. Baines left first, adjuring Betty not to keep the young lady awake half the night with her chatter.
“I’m so glad you wanted me in here with you, miss,” Betty confided when her mother had gone. “Pa went and rented out my bed to a gentleman downstairs—I think he must be a lord or summat, I never seen a man dressed so fine and fancy in me life. I thought I was going to haveta put Jimmy out of his bed and him sleep on a mat on the floor until Ma told me your brother wanted me to sleep in here with you, for your reputation.” She threw Ned a sunny smile. “Pa’s in the doghouse but Ma’s right pleased with you, sir.”
The news didn’t please Ned at all. He’d decided to sleep on a bench in the taproom like Elphingstone, and keep an eye on the fellow. Lord knew where he would be lurking now. Ned didn’t trust him an inch.
He glanced at Lily, but there was nothing to be said now, not with Betty there—and that was a good thing, he told himself. He took his leave, saying, “I’ll bid you good night, then. Sleep well, ladies”—Betty giggled at the idea of being a lady—“and lock this door.”
He waited outside until he heard the lock click. As he turned, he glimpsed a long nose and a well-pomaded curl of reddish-brown hair slide into the shadows along the hallway. Elphingstone, sniffing around.
With a sigh Ned seated himself ruefully on the stairs. It was going to be a long, uncomfortable night.
The landlady was still on the landing. She eyed him curiously. “Sir?”
“Would you bring me a blanket, please?”
“A blanket, sir?” She took in what he meant and her eyes widened. “You’re going to sleep here? On the stairs?”
He gave her a cool look as if to say, Why not? It was not for her to question his actions. If he took a fancy to sleep on the stairs, that was his own business.
But her brow cleared and she gave him a warm, motherly smile. “I did wonder before whether the lass really was your sister—well, arriving with no luggage, and the state of her!—but I can see now you truly are her brother, sir, taking such good care to protect her from all possible harm. I’ll bring you up a blanket and a pillow too, sir—and a nice hot toddy.”
She bustled off, leaving Ned muttering irritably under his breath. Of c
ourse the inmates of the inn would speculate about the state of his “sister” arriving in an almost-naked state and with no luggage. He’d bet his last penny Elphingstone would have wormed that out of them already.
The landlady returned and, under her motherly eye, Ned wrapped himself in the blanket, smiling until she left him alone. How the devil had he landed himself in this fix? Lily Rutherford’s future was no business of his. She still dreamed of marrying for love, still thought that escaping from her abductor was all that mattered. And that she was safe now.
Safe! She was in almost as much danger of a forced marriage now as she’d been with that swine, Nixon.
He should have found her a safe place and left her there—with some respectable matron. Or in a convent, surrounded by nuns.
Ned sipped the hot toddy gloomily. Where was a nunnery when you needed one?
He could see exactly where this affair was leading and could see no way out of it. The last thing he wanted was responsibility for a helpless virgin, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t have left her in the state in which he’d found her: half frozen, filthy and still dazed from whatever drug she’d been given.
Stripping her of her wet clothes had been the only possible thing to do.
He hadn’t known she would be . . . delectable, even in her filthy state. Not that it mattered whether she was beautiful—her being female and unmarried was the problem. And him being an eligible bachelor.
Even if he had taken her to the home of a respectable matron—there were one or two living in the district, friends of his grandfather—then what? Respectable matrons gossiped with the best of them. The story would have inevitably spread and the scandal would have ruined her anyway.
It was a damnable mess, and his only hope of getting out of it without causing a major scandal was to get her back to London without anyone knowing.
It could be done. He’d managed several covert assignments in his army days. He’d smuggled people across borders and spirited them out of palaces and prisons. Getting Lady Lily Rutherford back into her home without incident or repercussions should be—would be—quite straightforward.
He pulled the blanket tighter and tried to sleep.
* * *
• • •
“You can blow the candle out now, thank you, Betty,” Lily said. Betty snuffed the candle and the room settled into darkness, the only light coming from the fire in the little sitting room; they’d left the door open for the warmth, though it wasn’t really cold. It was cozy, lying snug in bed, watching the glow of the coals.
After a few minutes, Betty said quietly, “He isn’t really your brother, is he, miss?”
Lily hesitated a moment. “No, but don’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t. Ma don’t think so, either, but she likes that he got me to sleep in here with you. Shows he’s a proper gent, she says.”
Lily smiled to herself. “He is.”
They lay in the darkness, the only sound the occasional crackle and hiss of the fire, and below them the murmur of men drinking in the taproom.
“He kissed you, didn’t he?” Betty said. “Just before Ma and me came in.”
“Yes.”
“I thought so. What was it like, if you don’t mind me askin’?”
Lily didn’t mind. Betty was no real substitute for her sister, Rose, but Lily was bursting to tell someone. She tried to think of how to describe the glorious sensation of kissing Edward, but before she could say anything, Betty added, “I been kissed a couple of times—not that I wanted it. The first time it was Hec, the stableboy—he just grabbed me one day, without no warning—and he’s ugly, miss, and old—forty or more—and his teeth are all black and broken. Ugh! It was horrible. I had to knee him in the you-know-whats to get away.”
“The you-know-whats?”
Betty explained the process with relish, and Lily recalled that Cal had once told her and Rose about a man’s most vulnerable place and how they could defend themselves if necessary. It seemed an age ago. In all the panic of her abduction, she’d forgotten.
“The second time,” Betty continued, “it was a feller who was just passing through, on his way to—I forget where. I sort of let him, coz I wanted to know what it felt like, and he was clean and youngish, with nice teeth and good clothes. And he was passing through, so it wouldn’t get all around the village and damage me good name.”
“And how was it?”
Betty snorted. “I reckon he’d had a bit too much of me Pa’s ale, coz it was all sloppy and mushy. Like kissing, oh, I dunno, a big warm snail. Ugh!” She laughed and Lily laughed with her.
There was a short silence, then a soft question came out of the darkness. “So what was it like for you tonight, miss—when Mr. Galbraith kissed you?”
“Bliss.” Lily sighed with happy remembrance. “Simply glorious.”
“Did he put his tongue in your mouth? I heard they do that, sometimes.”
Lily felt herself blush in the darkness. “Yes.”
There was a short silence. “Wasn’t it horrible?”
“Not at all. It was . . . wonderful.”
Betty considered that. “I wonder if I could get your Mr. Galbraith to kiss me—just so’s I know what it’s supposed to be like.”
Lily was shocked at the surge of jealousy that spiked through her. She said stiffly, “I think it’s only good with the right man.”
“I don’t s’pose he’d want to anyway, would he? Not after he’s kissed a lady like you.” Betty sighed gustily. “Trouble is, I’ve got a few fellers wanting to court me—the inn makes good money, and Pa’s made it known that when I marry I’ll come with a goodly sum—me marriage portion, I mean. And I like two of them fine, but not in any special way.”
“Have you thought of kissing each of them and comparing?” Lily suggested.
“Yes, but it’s risky, miss. I dunno what it’s like for ladies from London, but around here you let a feller kiss you and next thing the vicar is calling the banns. Or else your reputation is shot.”
“I see.” Lily pondered that. It wasn’t all that different in London, not for unmarried girls of good family. But kissing Edward was her secret, her very special, precious secret. Nobody in London need ever know.
A yawn surprised her. “We’d better get some sleep. It’s going to be a long journey tomorrow. Night, Betty.”
“Night, miss.”
Lily snuggled deeper into the bed, closed her eyes and relived every sensation of the kiss. Kisses.
He wanted her. She could feel it. It wasn’t just someone paying her an empty compliment. Edward desired her.
She’d been attracted to him from the first. Like all the other girls who’d flocked around him at Cal’s wedding reception, she’d been drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. She’d hung back, knowing a man like Edward Galbraith was completely out of her league.
But tonight he’d kissed her. On two separate, glorious occasions.
Oh, he’d claimed it was merely a case of passing lust—and maybe it was—but inside she was still tingling. And she was dazed. Dazzled. Delighted. She didn’t want to sleep, she wanted to dance and sing and twirl madly around. And kiss him again.
Edward Galbraith had kissed her, ordinary little Lily Rutherford.
Twice.
But even as she thrilled to the memory, guilt pierced her. She had no business kissing a man under a fitful moon, while her family was at home, frantic with worry.
* * *
• • •
“Any news?” Emm came to a standstill as she and Cal asked the same question simultaneously—and realized in the same instant what the answer must be. Cal had just arrived home. It was almost midnight, but Emm, though tired, had been putting off going to bed. Just in case . . .
“They didn’t go to France,” Cal said wearily, pulling off his soaked greatcoat and gloves an
d dropping them on a nearby chair. “Not from Dover, at least. Storms in the channel prevented anyone crossing for the previous two days. All the ships were still tied up. I checked every one of them, and every hotel and inn—as well as inquiring at every post inn on the way; there was no sign of either of—” He broke off as he took in his surroundings. Under the spatters of mud, his face paled. “What the devil are all these flowers for? Emm?”
Emm hurried forward and hugged her husband tightly. “Hush, it’s not what you’re thinking. We put it about that Lily has the influenza, and the flowers are from her well-wishers. We’ve also been inundated with fruit.”
He kissed her, a kiss full of rough desperation, then wrapped his arms around her and held her close for a long moment, rocking slightly. His weariness, his despondency were palpable. “Don’t worry, I’ll find her.” He released her, smoothed a curl back off her face, and gave her a rueful smile. “Sorry, I’ve made that pretty piece of nonsense you’re wearing all wet and muddy.”
As if she cared about the state of her dressing gown. Her husband was worn to the bone. He’d ridden from London to Dover and back, and from the wrung-out look of him he hadn’t had a wink of sleep in days.
“It will be Gretna, then.” He passed a hand over his stubbled jaw. “I just need a change of clothes and something to eat and I’ll be off.” He was swaying with exhaustion.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Emm said firmly. “You’re going to have a hot bath, then a hot meal, then sleep.” She tugged on the bellpull.
“I don’t need—”
Burton, the butler, arrived, still in his day clothes and neat as a pin. He picked up the discarded clothing, saying, “You rang, m’lady?”
“A hot bath and a hot meal for his lordship, please, Burton.”
The butler bowed. “At once, m’lady.”
“I’ll take the bath and the meal, but I can’t wait around—” Cal began when Burton had gone.
“How long is it since you slept?”
He shrugged. His beautiful gray eyes were bloodshot, with dark rings beneath. She said softly, “The night before the Mainwaring rout, was it not?”