The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne (Intimate Secrets Book 1)

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The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne (Intimate Secrets Book 1) Page 45

by Blackthorne, Natasha


  The gentleman gaped at her, his eyes gone wide with shock that quickly transformed into raw-edged hurt.

  His pain sliced into her. She began rubbing her hands together. As though iron bands constricted her, she could barely breathe, so greatly did sympathy overwhelm her. “Please, sir—”

  She couldn’t think of what else to say.

  His expression hardened, his eyes frosted.

  “That’s just about enough.”

  At the sound of Mrs. Mason’s voice, Jeanne turned to the serving counter. The older woman narrowed her eyes. She reached behind the counter and pulled out a small pistol.

  Every hair on Jeanne’s body stood on end and she gasped. “Oh, please don’t—”

  “Don’t fret, dearie, I’ll take care of this,” Mrs. Mason said as she leveled it straight and steady at the gentleman.

  “Please, Mrs. Mason, put your gun away.” Jeanne forced the words past her tightening throat muscles. “I can handle him.”

  “I know how to deal with these uppity nobs. They get two pence to rub together in their pockets, some fancy clothes, and they think they are the lord of the manor.” Mrs. Mason said, keeping her pistol aimed at the gentleman’s chest. “Mister, I think you better leave.”

  He frowned. “Madam, do you have any idea to whom you are speaking?”

  “To whom am I speaking?” Mrs. Mason asked.

  The gentleman stared at her blankly. He lost that arrogant expression. He looked forlorn once more.

  Jeanne’s chest tightened again.

  “You forget yourself, where you are at. You’re not among your type here, sir.” Mrs. Mason walked closer to the gentleman. “I left my home in Pennsylvania over forty years ago when I married. And I have lived here among the British and made my husband‘s home my own. But I have never been settled to bow and scrape to your kind.”

  “My kind?” The gentleman asked.

  Mrs. Mason jabbed the gun into his chest. “I am sixty-seven years old. I’ll be damned before I cower to one such as you.”

  The gentleman held his hands up. “I mean no trouble.”

  “What else could you be about, coming here and terrorizing a sweet young thing like this?” Mrs. Mason harrumphed.

  “I thought we had something to discuss.” He gave Jeanne a cold, hard glance. It was so full of sadness, bitterness that it made her heart jump. “Apparently, I was mistaken.”

  “Yes, you certainly were,” Mrs. Mason said.

  He turned on his heel and left the shop. The little bell rang in the wake of his departure.

  Jeanne returned to the window and watched him staggering and veering down the street. The wind gusted again. It was such a cold day. He had no hat. Where would he go? Who would watch out for him?

  He wasn’t her responsibility.

  It was dangerous to reach out to others. Someone like him, with a disorder of the mind, would be a bottomless pit of need. Sucking her dry.

  He was turning the corner. She put her hand to the glass. Her throat began to burn again.

  A light touch settled on her shoulders. She started and twisted around.

  Mrs. Mason smiled. “It’s all over, dear.”

  It was over. She was safe now. He was gone and gone in a way that didn’t involve doctors treating him with all sorts of barbaric, useless torture. She should be relieved. She was relieved.

  He might still encounter dangers between here and reaching Esau. But how much was one person required to risk for a stranger?

  “Oh, you are shaking.” Mrs. Mason patted her shoulders. “Now don’t you worry. I know his type, a craven fox preying on the weak. But he’ll think twice about harassing you, now that he knows you’ve got some friends in this town.” Mrs. Mason pulled her away from the window.

  “I am so tired. I need to go home.”

  “No, you must wait. Be sure he is gone. You should finish your pie and have some more tea.”

  “Yes, of course you’re right.” Jeanne followed her back to the table and chairs. She took some coins out of her reticule and placed them on the table.

  Mrs. Mason shook her head. “My treat today.”

  “No, I insist.”

  Mrs. Mason waved dismissively. “I have to attend to the baking but you stay here and rest yourself. Ben will drive you home later. If that coxcomb comes back, you just call for me.”

  Mrs. Mason hurried away to the backroom.

  Jeanne stared into the steaming cup.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  She looked up. Raindrops pattered the window. No, not rain. Sleet. The drops stuck to the glass, then melted and slid down.

  What if the gentleman were truly ill and delirious with fever? Not insane at all? He had no hat. Was lost. Alone. The burn in her throat swelled into a sob. She slapped her hand to her mouth and pressed it back.

  A touch on her shoulder brought her into the moment. “Why don’t you just stay here tonight?”

  Jeanne shook her head furiously. “No, no, I have to go.”

  She tore from Mrs. Mason’s touch, arose from her seat, and hurried to the door.

  “Wait, wait. The gentleman may be waiting—”

  Jeanne jerked the door open and exited the shop.

  She ran faster than she ever had in her life. But she didn’t have far to go once she’d turned the corner. The gentleman was leaning against a wall. He looked as pensive as ever.

  As she approached his expression eased and he reached a hand out. “My darling, let’s go home.”

  The wind gusted, sending ice cold straight to her bones, and she pulled her pelisse closer to her chin. A passing coach rattled by, its wheels sending a sluice of cloudy grayish water up in an arc which came dangerously close to drenching them.

  She forced a smile. “Yes, let’s go home.”

  She’d get him into a carriage and on his way back to where he belonged. Surely that was enough. A gentleman like him must have servants who would watch over him. Her responsibility would be discharged.

  “Where the devil is the carriage?” Deep offense resounded in his voice, as though he’d never had to wait for a carriage before.

  “Didn’t you tell your driver to wait?”

  “Of course I did.” His voice rang with indignation.

  “Come,” she said firmly. “Let’s go back to the mews and see about your carriage.”

  The groom at the mews nearest the coffee shop said that the gentleman hadn’t left any carriage there.

  “Where did you come from before you arrived at the coffee shop?” she asked once they had walked out of earshot of the groom.

  The gentleman just stared at her with that highbrow look and compressed his lips. So, he didn’t know where he’d been or where he’d left his damned carriage. She sighed. “We’ll walk a bit and a hackney will come along.”

  He looked down from his lofty heights, almost sneering down his aristocratic nose. “We’re certainly not going to take a public carriage.”

  “Well, the carriage is—” She drew her brows together. “—being repaired.”

  “Being repaired?” he asked, as though such a thing were a complete impossibility.

  “Yes.”

  Her heart fluttered a series of frenzied beats. Shaky, panicked energy quivered down her legs. She drew in a deep, hitching breath. Calm, she must remain calm. If she stayed calm, he was less likely to have any sort of fit or rage, right? Perhaps she might play the loving mistress? “Darling, don’t you remember?”

  He stared at her then blinked several times.

  “Don’t you?” She made her voice very soft.

  He released her hand. “Blast it, I don’t remember.” His expression went blank yet his eyes widened. “I don’t remember anything.” He frowned. “Except that you were angry with me.”

  “Angry about what?”

  “Everything.”

  There was that devastated, desolate look again. The burn returned to her throat and she had to turn away. “It’s terribly cold. We’re being soaked. Let us
find a public conveyance and sort all of this out later, shall we?”

  He jutted his chin and his features took on an annoyed expression. Apparently, he was not used to listening to others or taking their advice. He blinked once or twice and then he took her hand again and strode determinedly ahead, pulling her with him.

  When they found a carriage for hire, the gentleman stared blankly at the driver.

  “Sir, where shall I take you?”

  “Darling, tell the man.” Again, she tried to make her voice soft. Loving.

  He turned to her. His eyes, now glassy again, reflected sheer fear. Her throat constricted. Again, she wondered if he were really ill with a fever. He didn’t remember where he lived. Or he couldn’t remember how to give directions to where he lived. Heavens, it was worse than she’d thought. Oh Lord. She did not want to deal with any panicked hysterics or self-defensive rages like with Papa. She swallowed hard and smiled at him in a hopefully reassuring manner.

  He jerked his gaze away.

  “Give him directions, Thérèse.” The resentment in his voice made her heart contract. She was intimately familiar with a man not wanting to appear weak. Not wanting to need help.

  Wetness pricked the corners of her eyes. Not from the rain but from frustration.

  All right, yes, mostly she cried from sympathy.

  She did not want this. This couldn’t be happening. She quickly gave the driver directions.

  She’d have to take him to her garret for now. The other women frequently entertained men in their rooms. Mrs. Pillmore required her percentage, of course. But it wouldn’t seem amiss to anyone. Oh, just imagine how Mr. High-And-Mighty was going to respond to being taken to her garret. But what else was she to do with him? Good heavens, he wasn’t a stray dog.

  The driver rushed to aid her into the carriage but the gentleman pushed him away, then poked his head inside.

  He began peeling off his greatcoat.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “It is appalling in there. You shall have to sit on my coat.”

  She stuck her head inside and caught the odor of mildew and a touch of stale urine. Well, clearly not the best but she’d come across worse. On a rainy day, this close to east London, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  “Please put your coat back on.

  “You cannot sit on those seats.”

  “You are becoming soaked through. Please, put your coat on.”

  His frown deepened. “Thérèse, why are you suddenly so disagreeable?”

  “The longer we stand here, the more thoroughly soaked we get from the sleet.”

  Was that a hint of a smile on his lips? “Your new bluntness is a refreshing.”

  He reached out, as though he were about to help her into the carriage. Then he swayed and listed backwards. His eyes rolled until only the whites showed. He pitched forward.

  A startled cry pierced the silence. Hers. She leapt forward, hands poised to catch him. He fell upon her and his weight overwhelmed her to the point her knees buckled.

  Then his weight eased. The driver was lifting him. “Let’s put him inside, milady.”

  Milady.

  She could have laughed at any other time. But the reality of her situation came crashing upon her. She was now responsible for an unconscious, mentally unstable gentleman. Together, they got him inside. She settled beside him and took a deep breath.

  The driver closed the door with a slam. The finality of the sound resonated deep in her chest.

  What a fine situation she’d willingly trapped herself in.

  Her nostrils began to burn. The connivance didn’t smell any nicer with the door shut. She wrinkled her nose. Thank God she didn’t live too far away.

  It began to move. To put it more bluntly, it began to rock hard enough to rattle her teeth. His unconscious form shifted and fell against her shoulder.

  “Thérèse—” His deep voice sounded sleepy. “The channel is so choppy this time of year. You mustn’t be afraid. Think about Paris. We shall have a grand time in Paris.”

  He locked an arm around her waist and drew her near. Sheltering her from the jarring motion with his body.

  His very solid body.

  The hackney rattled along and another strong jolt hit. She found her face pressed ruthlessly against his chest. The scent of his shaving soap was certainly better than the odors in the carriage.

  He pressed the curve of her waist then slid down to the swell of her hip. “You have gained some weight.”

  Heat suffused her face. Of course, his Thérèse must be a slip of a thing. No one could ever accuse Jeanne of being slender.

  “You never ran from me before.”

  “No?”

  “No.” He found her hand. “Can you forgive me? Will you come home and stay?” He didn’t plead. But there was a sincere, earnest, urgency underneath his calm tone that made her believe his sincerity. His remorse. It held her spellbound, unable to resist as he lifted her hand to his cheek. The stubble there was a faint rasp against her fingers.

  His skin burnt her like live coals. She gasped then jerked her hand out of his hold.

  She tore her glove off and put a hand to his forehead. Moist, blistering heat.

  Thurmp, Thurmp. Thurmp.

  Her heart pounded her ears with sudden, jarring violence. Her mouth went dry. God above. She’d been so focused on her dread of insanity, it had clouded her perception. Clearly, the man was dreadfully ill and delirious with fever.

  Totally her responsibility.

  She swallowed hard and in the semidarkness they rode in silence for long moments. Silence but for the subtle wheezing issuing from his open mouth as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

  Also by Natasha Blackthorne

  A Midsummer’s Sin

  What People Are Saying About A Midsummer’s Sin:

  “I loved this sensual tale from beginning to end. Both characters touched my heart. Natasha writes historical erotic romance that sizzles and heats up the pages. Her writing blends together perfectly. The details take you into her world and make you want to stay there.

  This story will stay with me for a long time to come. This is a must read!” ~ Let's Get Romantical

  “I remember when I first started reading historical romances…how I was so engulfed in the stories of love and just the premise of a woman being swept off her feet by someone who she totally wasn't expecting. I haven't read historical romances in a loooong while and Natasha Blackthorne is one of the reasons why I started to love this genre again…If you have not read a book by Natasha Blackthorne, then you simply must. You are missing out on some of the most sensual, sexual, historical writing ever.” ~ Salacious Reads

  ~~

  “Well, guess what? I LOVED this novella by Natasha Blackthorne titled A Midsummer’s Sin! It was lush, sexy with a story that warmed my heart. The best of all was how the author managed to give me a satisfying story within a novella, which doesn’t happen to me often. I also appreciated the author’s flowing writing style a lot.

  A Midsummer’s Sin has a very erotic yet different and beautiful storyline with an appropriate setting. It’s a story of two seemingly mismatched souls healing each-other and becoming one...” ~ Punya Reviews

  ~~

  “I love Natasha's writing. It’s full of emotion without getting sappy, and chock-full of historical details without losing sight of the story. Her characters are rich and believable...I loved the hero, flawed but incredibly masculine and passionate. I highly recommend this book to others who love historical romance with a seriously erotic kick.” ~ Author Patricia Green

  ~~

  “I'm truly hooked on Natasha's works! I’ve not read much historical in my life, but have read a lot of romance and erotica. She meshes them all into sensual, seductive and touching stories that she has perfected telling ;)...This is a very powerful, short and satisfying read that I recommend to all and any that enjoy a sensually thrilling, historical story.” ~ Romance Book Junkies
/>   ~~

  “One of the things I love about a Natasha Blackthorne historical is her unusual time periods and locations…in this ultra-religious community, their union is strictly forbidden, so each encounter takes place either in the woods or the barn, making this the steamiest of summer sizzlers!” ~ Melissa’s Mysteries, Mocha's and More

  ~~

  HIS HARLOT: A MIDSUMMER'S SIN

  Honored with the “Recommended Read” award by Two Lips Reviews:

  “…a very sensual but romantic love story, and having the hero as a Puritan with specific views of sex and marriage, and the heroine a person with the same views though skewed by her own experiences only makes their struggle to find some common ground that much more dramatic.” ~ Two Lips Reviews.

  ~~

  ”Natasha Blackthorne spins a sweet tale of love and sin on a Midsummer's night...two unlikely lovers together for one glorious night...” ~ Sensual Reads

  He loved her but for all the wrong reasons...Can a former harlot and devout Puritan find forgiveness and love?

  Goodman Thomas Marlowe needs a wife. He loves his neighbour’s bondswoman Rosalind Abramson but for all the wrong reasons. The carnal passion he feels for her is at odds with his vision of the perfect marriage—something shaped by the memory of the pure, pious union he shared with his late wife. Valiantly, he fights to keep his feelings hidden.

  Rosalind yearns for the handsome Goodman Marlowe. Yet beneath his kind action lies a cool distance that tells her he cannot forgive Rosalind’s shameful past. She’s determined to deny an infatuation with a man who will never respect her.However,

  Thomas cannot focus on finding a bride while the unsuitable Rosalind is always so close and so alluring. Now he’s about to take a teaching position in another town. It’s the perfect escape for a man tormented by unacceptable desire.

 

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