The Bad Luck Bride for comp

by Jane Goodger

  He dismounted and held the reins loosely in his hands, giving her a small bow of greeting. “Miss Hubbard, a pleasure. Why didn’t your sister say hello?”

  “She said she saw you from a distance and didn’t want to shout.” Alice couldn’t stop her smile, couldn’t stop the hope that caused her chest to hurt. Henderson was not only in St. Ives, he was very obviously heading to Tregrennar. When she was sixteen years old, she’d come across Joseph and Henderson walking on this very path; she’d been heading to the overlook and they’d been coming from town. Henderson had slung an arm around her shoulders for exactly ten steps, a brotherly gesture that didn’t even garner a raised brow from her protective brother. Ten steps of feeling that heavy arm around her, of having him so near she could feel the heat of him, his manly scent of horse, cigar, and sea. She wished fervently that he was still so comfortable around her that he would do the same, throw his arm around her so that she might just one more time know what it was like. “Why didn’t you write to say you were coming to St. Ives?”

  “There wasn’t time. I’m here to see Lord Berkley. You know him?”

  Disappointment pierced her, a sharp little slice that made it difficult to maintain her pleasant smile. “Lord Berkley died just this past week,” Alice said, keeping her voice even.

  “Well, apparently there’s another Lord Berkley in residence.”

  Alice stopped walking and looked at Henderson in surprise. “Not Augustus. I thought he’d gone to Australia or some such thing. America? There were some terrible rumors about him two years ago when his wife died. At any rate, no one has seen him in St. Ives for years. I’ve never met him, actually.” Alice willed herself to stop speaking as she tended to babble overlong when she was nervous. “Is this about famine relief?”

  “It is, though I fear I shall be disappointed again. Apparently, his father was the one with great influence in the House of Lords. I doubt if Berkley has even taken his father’s seat. From what I understand, the old Lord Berkley was a man to be reckoned with, but I have no idea if the son holds any influence.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot help you there. I know nothing of the man. Perhaps Mother can be of some assistance. Have you had any success thus far?”

  A shadow crossed over his features before he answered. “No, I have not. Otherwise I would not be here wasting my time.”

  Of course, Henderson hadn’t meant to be so cruel; he didn’t know she was in love with him, didn’t know her heart sang every time she looked at him, every time his beautiful blue eyes looked at her. How could he know? To say such a thing, however, only brought home how ridiculous her feelings were. Alice forced a laugh and prayed it sounded sincere. “And here I was thinking you’d come to St. Ives to have some of Cook’s cherry tarts.” Or to see me.

  “My God, Mrs. Godfrey is still with you?’

  “Indeed, she is. And I know when she learns you’re in St. Ives, she’ll be sure to make you your favorites.”

  “Then the trip was worth it,” he said, sounding like his old self and looking down at her with real fondness. Yes, Henderson was fond of her. Like he was fond of cherry tarts.

  Alice stopped and glared up at him with mock anger. “Mr. Southwell, I have just realized it is very close to tea time. Is it possible you planned your visit accordingly?”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “Indeed I have, Miss Hubbard, although I hadn’t thought there would be even a small chance of tasting Mrs. Godfrey’s cherry charts. My God—” His hand threw out to stop her mid-step. “An adder, Alice. Don’t move.” With his hand still pressed against her stomach, he pushed her back slightly, slowly, and Alice wasn’t certain whether it was the venomous viper that was making her heart thud in her chest or the feeling of his strong hand against her.

  Beside them, the horse had also sensed the danger of the adder, which lay in the sun, basking on a section of soft sand in the very middle of the path. “I didn’t see it,” Alice said, her voice shaking slightly. Though adders were not deadly in most cases, being bitten by one was exceedingly unpleasant. “I would have stepped directly on it.”

  The small brown snake flicked its tongue before moving off beneath the hedgerow, and Alice let out a sigh of relief.

  Grinning, Alice threw her hands over her heart dramatically and said, “Sirrah, you have saved my life. However shall I repay you?”

  “A kiss.”

  Chapter 7

  A kiss?

  Alice, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest, her skin going instantly clammy, smiled almost maniacally and had to stop the sudden urge to throw herself into his arms. Oh, finally, finally! “Very well,” she managed to say lightly. “I have been engaged three times, after all.” Alice knew she sounded calm enough, but inside she was such a jumble nerves she sincerely doubted she’d be able to take a step without keeling over. How many times had she wondered what it would be like to kiss Henderson? Those nights lying in bed, pressing the back of her hand against her lips and imaging she was pressing her mouth against his.

  Except that Henderson was standing there in front of her, arms crossed casually, looking for all the world as if he’d just asked to shake her hand. A thrush flew overhead and he was momentarily distracted, and when he turned back, he looked at her expectantly, with an almost bored look on his handsome face. He gave her a quick smile. “Perhaps not.”

  “Oh, no, that would be fine. A fair exchange for saving my life,” Alice said, knowing she was grandly overstating the matter. Although people had died of adder bites. Sick people. Small children.

  “Very well.” He looked as if he’d wished he’d never claimed such a reward, but Alice refused to give up on what might very well be the only time she’d ever get to kiss him.

  He took two steps, his blue eyes moving from her green ones down to her lips. He placed one hand on each upper arm, holding her gently. Henderson Southwell is going to kiss me. Now. Oh God! He was so near, she could see his beard starting to grow, the way his upper lip seemed sharply carved, but his lower fuller. With her knees knocking beneath her skirts and her heart beating madly in her chest, Alice leaned forward just a bit, and closed her eyes, her entire body focused on her lips and the touch that would soon be on them.

  There. Oh, yes.

  And then, to her horror, Alice burst out laughing. It was something she’d done all her life. She’d nearly laughed at her first fiancé’s funeral and had laughed standing in the vestibule waiting for Lord Northrup to show up. And she laughed now, even as her heart broke. How she hated herself at that moment, for Henderson immediately withdrew and Alice opened her eyes to see him looking down at her with an expression of puzzled bemusement.

  “I’m so sorry, Henny,” Alice said, still laughing, still dying inside. How could she explain her laughter? How could she tell him that she’d been dreaming of his kiss since she was fifteen years old and the thought that this moment had finally come had sent her into such a nervous state she could hardly stand? She couldn’t. And so she said the first thing that came into her head, the first thing that didn’t seem ridiculous. “It’s just that it’s almost like kissing Oliver.”

  He narrowed his eyes and let out a small answering laugh before dropping his hands and stepping back, and Alice felt so very cold at that moment, missing the warmth and strength of his hands on her arms.

  “Well, then.” He jammed his hands into his pockets and looked down the path.

  Alice truly felt like crying. She would never get another chance to kiss the one man she loved. Lord Northrup was a nice enough fellow and she did hold him in great affection, but she hadn’t loved him. Hadn’t nearly swooned when he’d kissed her, though the two times he had gathered enough courage to do so, it was mildly pleasant. Kissing Henderson had to be better than that, and now she would never find out.

  “I think we should have another go of it,” she said, with almost desperate nonchalance. “That hardly counted as a kiss.”

  His head whipped aro
und and his eyes took on the strangest glint. “You have surprised me, Alice Hubbard.”

  “Have I?”

  “Indeed you have. All right then, another kiss. And if you tell me that it’s like kissing your brother, I’m afraid I’ll have to bring your brother before the magistrate.”

  His words sent a thrill of anticipation down her spine, knowing she was about to be thoroughly kissed by a man who knew how to kiss a woman—if the rumors about him had been true.

  This time, there was no warning, no gentle hold on her upper arms. This time, he stepped forward, placed one hand behind her neck, and pulled her forward, flush against him so she could feel the hard plane of his body. Then he bent his head and she was being kissed, kissed as she had never been in her entire life. With three engagements and three near-marriages, no one had consumed her the way Henderson did at that moment. His was not the gentle kiss of a man courting a woman, his was the kiss of a man who wanted something more. Alice let out a startled cry, then a muffled moan when she felt his tongue invade her mouth and brush against her own, caressing, capturing, making her feel things no man had ever made her feel. A shock of sensation between her legs nearly had her knees buckling beneath her and she wanted, needed, something more. When she pressed against him with almost frantic need, throwing her arms around him in abandon, she felt his arousal and stiffened. Even though she had never felt a man’s part before, she knew what it was pressing hot against the juncture of her thighs, knew what it meant that it was hard and long.

  Letting out a low sound more growl than moan, Henderson stepped back, his eyes fierce and dark as Alice swayed toward him, as if her body was not ready to release him. Alice lifted a trembling hand to her mouth. What had just happened? Was that the way all kisses were supposed to feel?

  “Would you call that a brotherly kiss, Alice?” And then he let out a harsh laugh that Alice could only interpret as triumphant. As if that kiss was only a means to teach her a lesson, which she supposed she deserved. Apparently she had wounded his pride when she’d compared his kiss to a brotherly peck and he had used all his talents to prove her wrong.

  “Hardly,” she said, taking a shaking breath. “It was nothing like any kiss I’ve experienced.” There, she’d put him in his place, implying with her tone that she’d not been altogether pleased with the kiss and reminding him that she had been kissed—and more than once. Why she felt the need to gain the upper hand, she couldn’t say. Perhaps it was because she was standing there with knees still shaking, with a dull throb between her legs, and he was standing there, arms crossed casually across his chest, smiling at her. His eyes flickered at her words, but then his smile widened.

  “I do apologize. I am used to kissing women who have, let us say, a bit more experience.”

  “Please do spare me your false apology. You were trying to teach me a lesson and nothing more.”

  “Perhaps. You did seem in need of one.”

  Alice put her hands on her hips, outraged. “You needn’t be so smug. It wasn’t that good.”

  His burst of laughter was even more annoying than his smugness. “Of course it was.” He waggled his eyebrows. “But I have done better.”

  Alice wrinkled her nose. “I suppose it was passable. And certainly nothing I would like repeated.”

  Henderson took up the reins of his horse, which had been happily munching on the grass at the side of the road, and pulled out his watch. “We’re still on time for tea,” he said happily, and Alice shot him another look of annoyance. Food. How could he think about food when they’d just kissed…like that? With tongues and bodies and moans? Then he stopped and leaned toward her. “I don’t understand what you are in such a huff about. The prize was your idea, if you recall.”

  Alice’s cheeks flushed instantly, because in truth, that was what she’d been hinting at, though she would die before admitting such.

  “You are utterly conceited if you think that ever in a hundred years I would have guessed you would ask for a kiss,” she said with a toss of her head.

  “And utterly correct.”

  * * *

  Alice walked ahead of him, still in a snit, and he stared at her back, angrier with himself than he had ever been. He hadn’t meant for that kiss to be so carnal, but when she’d likened kissing him to kissing her brother, it had driven him a bit mad. Now he knew what she tasted like, how soft her lips where, the way she sounded when he pleased her. It was only a small leap to picture her beneath him, naked, looking up at him, her eyes drowsy with desire. The way her eyes had looked when he’d pulled away, like a woman who was aroused and wanted more, would haunt him this night and all the nights to come.

  Oh, God, how would he ever get that image out of his head?

  “Are your father and brother in residence?” he asked, being careful to keep his tone neutral.

  “No. They both stayed in London. Why?” She paused on the path and looked up at him from beneath the brim of her bonnet, her cheeks flushed, her lips rosy and slightly swollen. His cock, which had finally begun to grow small, jumped to life and he tugged on his jacket to make certain he was covered.

  “I should like to go fishing whilst I’m in St. Ives,” he said with a shrug. And I plan to ask your father for permission to court you. To marry you.

  And after that, he wasn’t sure what he would do. Henderson was still committed to helping those starving in India, but he wasn’t certain he would be able to leave Alice behind even for a few months. He would never make that mistake again. Once she was his…God, that was a beautiful thought.

  Feeling as if the steel band that had been surrounding his heart for four years had loosened, Henderson started lightly whistling a Gilbert and Sullivan song, and Alice cast him a small smile. Apparently he had been forgiven.

  “My mother will likely insist you stay at Tregrennar, you know.”

  Henderson instantly decided that would be a bad idea. It was difficult enough to be in the same town as Alice; living in the same house would be far too dangerous. No doubt Alice would want to continue their talks in the library, but he was not a young man anymore and she was not fifteen. She was a woman and he wanted her more with every breath he took. Sitting in the library, late at night, with her in her night rail—oh God, he was not strong enough to resist trying to touch her, not now, now when he knew how responsive she was. He would have to talk to her father immediately, for it suddenly became imperative that he stake his claim on her now before she went and got herself engaged again.

  Just then, they left the path and there it was, Tregrennar, looking gloriously familiar. “The old girl looks exactly the same,” he said, hearing the wistful note in his own voice. No, he could not stay at Tregrennar, not with echoes of Joseph still there. His heart tore as if it were only yesterday when he’d heard the terrible news that Joseph was dead.

  That night, after he’d left Joseph to find other amusements between the soft thighs of a local widow, he hadn’t given his friend another thought. He’d spent a pleasant evening with Mrs. Patterson, slaking his lust in the way only a young man can—with enthusiasm and little finesse. He was on his way back to Tregrennar when he decided to stop in the White Hart for a pint before making the rest of the walk back, and was surprised to find one of the lads Joseph had been planning to see that evening sitting at a table.

  When Gerald Grant had looked up, Henderson knew immediately that something was wrong. His friend’s eyes were red-rimmed, the hands that held the tin mug in front him shaking as he took a sip. Worse still, Gerald could not look him in the eye. “Where’s Joseph?” he asked, and somehow knew before he answered that something terrible had happened to his friend.

  Gerald motioned for him to sit, and Henderson pulled out a chair, lowering himself into it cautiously, as if taking care with such a mundane movement would somehow make whatever he was about to tell him untrue.

  “He’s dead, Henderson,” Gerald said, his voice breaking. “Fell off the damned stable roof.”


  “My God.” Henderson sat back, stunned, a burning lead ball growing in his chest. It couldn’t be true. He’d just seen Joseph. He wanted to tell him about his evening, about how Mrs. Patterson’s cat had leapt on the bed just as things were getting exciting. They were supposed to have laughed about it, and then Joseph was supposed to have looked at him with disappointment and a little bit of disgust for having sex with the pretty widow.

  “He didn’t just fall,” Gerald had said, his eyes bleak as he stared unseeingly at his pint.

  “What are you saying? What happened?”

  Gerald looked about to speak, but then shook his head, unable to say a word as his throat convulsed. “Damn it, Gerald, what happened?” Henderson had asked, trying not to reach over the table and shake the other man.

  “I’m not really sure what happened. We were having a grand time. It was Joseph’s idea to get on the stable roof. Said he wanted to see the stars better. So I hauled out a ladder and we all climbed up. You know the place, where it’s flat, the overhang where we bring the cattle in. We all sat there, talking about nothing. And then Joseph got up and started climbing. We all laughed.” He paused and stared at Henderson for a long moment. “He was always doing things like that. We thought it was a lark. Then he stood at the very end, at the peak, and turned toward us.” Gerald swallowed heavily. “We told him to come down, we did. It was bloody dark and all we could see was his silhouette and that roof is steep. Stupid, bloody idiot.” He choked down a sob and banged a fist lightly against the worn wood of the table.

  “What happened?” Henderson could feel his eyes burning, his throat aching, his heart tearing in his chest. It couldn’t be true, it could not. His mind rebelled and his heart felt as if it had been ripped from his chest. Nothing had ever felt like this, nothing had hurt him to the point of agony. He could still hear Joseph begging him to go with him. Come on, you can see your widow any old night. I really want you there.