She fastened her pelisse hurriedly as she walked out of the door, closing it gently behind her. Descending the stairs, she made straight for the public room, where the innkeeper was washing glasses.
“Sir,” she said, exaggerating the shaky tone in her voice, “I find the ale is not sitting well with me at all, could you tell me where to find the...” She trailed off, holding her hand to her mouth. The man practically leaped from behind the bar and herded her toward the front door.
Before she could make her escape, however, a familiar pair of broad shoulders crowded through the doorway, and she stopped where she stood, her hand falling away from her mouth to clutch at her stomach.
Chapter 18
“Worthy!” Edwin raised his head from his desk. He squinted at his right sleeve, which was covered in ink blotches, great circles of blue staining the white linen.
“Worthy!” The voice was closer now. Alistair?
“Worthy, come down here.” Edwin shook his head, ran his fingers through his hair, and stood up, a bit unsteady. He fumbled in his drawer for a clean shirt, pulled the old one over his head, and put the new one on. Never mind the cravat or the jacket; he was in enough disgrace not to have to worry about the niceties of fashion.
Now fully alert, he bounded down the stairs, spotting his friend at the foot of the stairs.
“Alistair,” Edwin said as came downstairs, “and...Lady Wexford?” he added in surprise. He looked from one to the other.
He gestured toward the sitting room. “Please come in.” Alistair started speaking even before they had reached the door.
“First off, the good news. Your father has regained consciousness, although he cannot speak yet.” Edwin clasped Alistair’s hand in relief. Alistair continued, giving a baleful stare at Lady Wexford.
“You were right. Right about Lady Wexford and Gratwick, and now Titania is in trouble. I’ve been watching Gratwick for some time now, yes,” he said, nodding his head at Edwin’s widened eyes. “His story doesn’t quite check out, so I’ve been assigned to watch him. The point is, I saw Miss Stanhope leave her carriage and get into Lord Gratwick’s. Alone. It looked as if he were forcing her. It wasn’t possible for me to stop them in time, and then I just happened to run into Lady Wexford, who was nearby. She tells me there is some sort of elopement planned. You and I know better.”
Claire moved forward, putting her hand gently on Edwin’s sleeve. “Titania and Lord Gratwick, well, they have fallen in love. Please do not think ill of my friend.” She moved a little closer to him, looking up at his face as if to dazzle him with her beauty. He stiffened, then moved away from her as he removed her hand from his arm.
“Henri!” Edwin bellowed. He turned to Lady Wexford. “I do not think ill of her at all, my lady,” he muttered through clenched teeth, “but you, on the other hand, are a lying, manipulative b—”
“Worthy!” Alistair clamped his hand on his shoulder.
Edwin drew a few deep breaths. His hands were clenched into fists. He stood in front of Lady Wexford, as close as he could without actually touching her.
“Where has he taken her?”
“I...I believe it is to Dover, and then on to the Continent. He has business there.” She lowered her head and stepped back a few tiny steps.
“Henri! Come here!” Edwin bellowed again, then turned back to Claire. “And what business do you have with him? How much did he promise you in exchange for procuring your friend for him?”
“My lord,” she whimpered, “all I did was arrange the meeting.”
Edwin turned from her in disgust, smacking his hand into his fist so hard it made a loud thwack that made everyone in the room jump.
“Alistair, I will go after her. You and Lady Wexford here will go to Miss Stanhope’s house and tell her aunt and brother what has happened...follow along when you can, and do not let this woman,” he said, pointing a finger at Claire, “out of your sight. She and her friend have a lot of explaining to do.”
Henri scurried into the room, his face red from the exertion. “Yes, my lord?”
Edwin grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the room as he spoke. “Get my horse ready, pack my saddlebag for a night or two out of town, and get me as much cash as you can. I am off to war.” With that, he bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time, the thundering echo of his feet reverberating in the room below.
Alistair took Lady Wexford by the arm none too gently, pulling her to the door. “You and I, Lady Wexford, are going to pay a visit to Miss Stanhope’s family. And if you do not tell them the truth, I will personally break every bone in your body. Is that understood?”
“EDWIN, THAT IS, LORD Worthington,” Titania gasped. He did not speak in reply, merely reaching for her and pulling her to him.
She sagged, suddenly exhausted, murmuring against his chest, “I cannot believe you are here. That you came after me. If you only knew how idiotic I felt for not alerting someone. Take me home, please?” she asked, lifting her face up to look into his eyes, which blazed green with deep emotion.
“Where is he?” he asked finally.
“Upstairs, waking up with quite a sore head, I hope. I knocked him out with the fire poker. I distracted him, then wham. I thought it was very clever. Not that I knew exactly what I was going to do when I did manage to leave here, but I thought I should do something.”
“And you thought leaving this inn unescorted was a brilliant idea?” Edwin said in a clipped tone, holding her even tighter.
“Why, yes, I did,” Titania replied, her tone growing markedly icier. “How could I know you would show up? I know I acted foolishly in agreeing to go with him in the first place—”
“Yes, you did,” he interrupted.
“But,” she persevered, “I believe I can take care of myself, and have I not proven it?”
“By knocking someone out with a poker and running into the night with nothing but your beauty and your wits to assist you?”
He thought she was a beauty. Love truly was blind.
“Look here, my lord, I did the best I could under the circumstances, and perhaps we should be on our way before Lord Gratwick awakens. I am not sure how hard I hit him.”
Edwin growled, pushing her away as he walked further into the room. “And now, having disabled your man, you expect me to slink out from here without confronting him?”
“It would be the sensible move, I think,” Titania said pedantically.
“Miss Stanhope—Titania—if you believe I will walk out of here without trying to make some sort of action to revenge your honor, you are completely confused as to what kind of man I am.”
“You do not have to beat Lord Gratwick in some sort of primitive display for me to understand what kind of man you are. Damn it,” she said, forever throwing all notions of a proper lady’s language out of her mind, “I love you, now let us get out of here.”
“I love you, too, and we will not leave just yet,” he replied firmly. “You will stay downstairs while I find Gratwick, and when I am done with him, we will have our own discussion about your penchant for getting into trouble. Since we are to be married,” he pronounced, “I would wish my betrothed to behave with a modicum of propriety, and you will wait here while I deal with Gratwick. Is that understood?”
Titania glared at him, almost as angry as she was happy. Married! He had forgiven her completely, at least.
Should she continue to argue, or just leap into his arms again? Titania was preparing to take the latter option when Gratwick appeared, rubbing the back of his head. He stopped short on seeing Edwin.
“I was hoping this was going to be a lively evening,” Gratwick said in his habitual sneer, “and you have not disappointed me. Now, my lord, will you fight? I look forward to finally feeling your face underneath my boot as I grind it into the floor.”
Gratwick removed his coat and his cravat, revealing a thin, sinewy frame with long, lean muscles. Titania was mildly impressed. He was not nearly as skinny as he looked.
He gestured to his shirt, then removed it as well, and sat on one of the chairs to remove his boots. Edwin was moving equally quickly, stripping off his jacket and shirt and shucking off his boots.
Both men, now shirtless and in only tight-fitting breeches and stockinged feet, stood watching each other warily. Titania looked from one to the other, wondering just why it was grown men had to behave like children whenever their honor was attacked. It certainly explained all those wars.
“This is ludicrous, my lords,” Titania objected. Both men turned to look at her, their expressions equally disdainful.
“Titania, my love,” Lord Gratwick said with an oily tone, “your overgrown lover and I have nothing in common except for the shared sentiment that you should now stay out of this. This is between us, and has been a long time coming.”
As he spoke, he lunged at Edwin, throwing a surprisingly quick punch to Edwin’s midsection. The blow connected, and Titania saw Edwin’s stomach muscles contract in reaction, the individual muscles standing out in relief against his skin.
Resigned to her role as observer, Titania retreated to the side of the room, where a large group of the local farmers had already gathered to watch the show. Where were they when she needed help, she wondered. Perhaps it was some magical male thing, where they could sense when to stay away, like when a female needed some assistance, and when it was wise to reveal themselves, like when a fight was brewing.
Men, she thought in disgust, then sat down and leaned her face on her hands. As she heard the labored breath of the combatants and the roar of the audience, she lifted her head, unable to keep her eyes from the action.
Gratwick was surprisingly light on his feet, and his punches came swiftly and accurately. Edwin’s larger frame and broad shoulders made him the stronger of the two men, but it also made him a bigger target for Gratwick’s relentless blows. The two men traded punches, the room now silent except for the occasional grunt, and Titania saw—with salacious interest, she thought guiltily—Edwin was getting sweatier, the muscles of his upper body flexing with his movements. Gratwick, she noted meanly, just looked thinner and paler the more he exerted himself.
After perhaps ten minutes of sparring, Edwin threw a quick, sly look at Titania, planted his feet and threw his right hand hard into Gratwick’s solar plexus. The blond man groaned, then fell down in a heap at Edwin’s feet. He was finally down. After a moment of satisfied perusal of his opponent, Edwin sauntered over to Titania, reaching for her as she stood up from the chair.
“You are a horrid beast,” she said, trying to keep the exultation from her voice.
“Yes, I am,” he said, “but you still love me.”
“Yes, I do,” she said demurely, looking conveniently down as she eyed his sleek, glistening stomach a little more closely than she had been able to before.
He put his fingers gently on her chin, then lifted her face up to look into her eyes. He spoke softly so only she could hear.
“Titania, it does not matter to me anymore why you lied. I love you. I do not care about anything else. Knowing you as I have come to, I am certain your reasoning rivals Plato’s, and I look forward to hearing the whole story. But only after...” he said as he gave a wicked smile, “we go upstairs so I can compromise you as thoroughly as possible so there is no chance of your marrying anyone else.”
Titania blushed and nodded, walking ahead of him up the stairs. Frowning for a moment, Edwin returned to Gratwick, still lying supine on the floor, and nudged him with his toe. Gratwick’s eyes opened briefly, then he closed them again with an audible groan.
“My lord, where are the papers?”
“What papers?” Gratwick opened one eye, the one that was slightly less puffy, and gave Edwin as much of a glare as it seemed he was capable.
“Do not be deliberately dense. I know you abducted Miss Stanhope, I presume you are not so stupid as to forget to obtain a special license. I find I am in need of it myself.”
Gratwick groaned again, then gave in to the inevitable, gesturing toward his coat, which was hanging on a wooden chair to the side of the room.
“There. Inside the pocket. Now leave me alone.” He rolled over onto his back and exhaled sharply.
Edwin strode quickly to the chair, pulling out a sheaf of papers from Gratwick’s pockets. He whistled softly as he saw the familiar writing. Without looking at Gratwick again, he nodded to the innkeeper.
“A friend of mine will be arriving shortly, and will take custody of the worm on the floor. Do not, under any circumstances, allow him to escape. I will deal with him, and my friend, in the morning.”
“Edwin?” Titania’s head peered out from one of the rooms. He took the two long strides to reach her, then pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
“It is over. Every war hero should return to a prize as delicious as you.”
He strode into the room, a small, simple chamber dominated by a large bed. He reached for her again, but seemed to change his mind as he looked down at his sweat-soaked body.
He walked over to the basin and flung water impatiently on himself, the drops joining the drops of sweat on his chest and back. He grabbed a cloth and briskly toweled his hair.
Titania watched him, glad to be able to feast her eyes on his masculine beauty.
Lord, but he was gorgeous. His chest was broad and smooth, the pectoral muscles sharply defined, his hips lean.
She felt suddenly warm, even though a cool breeze was wafting through the open window. His eyes traveled from her face down her neck, lingered at her breasts, then continued their lazy progress down to her feet. Hastily, she kicked off her slippers, wriggling her toes on the bare floor. She reveled in his sudden intake of breath, then walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. His back felt slippery and wet under her hands, and she trailed her fingers over its broad expanse, enjoying the way his muscles clenched as she lightly stroked him.
“Before I am rendered speechless,” he said huskily, “I have to tell you I found papers in Gratwick’s clothing implicating him in my father’s attack. Titania, I will be cleared.” She could feel his relief reverberate through his chest, and she leaned against his chest, folded in his arms.
If she could just have this man here always, she would never wish to escape, she thought as his hands began to caress her back, his lips nuzzling her hair. If it were not for food, her family, her books—and a general need for companionship, her practical self interjected—she would be content to stay here forever.
“Come sit with me, my love,” he said, drawing her over to the bed. She nodded, holding his hand as he led her, placing her hands demurely on her lap as he settled beside her. He picked up one of her hands and turned it over so the palm was facing up. Slowly, he lowered his head and placed a kiss directly in the center of her hand. She let out a small sigh.
“Tell me now if you are not comfortable with this. We can wait until we are properly married—as I believe I suggested when we were at the masquerade,” he said with a wry grin. “I can take another room here if you are at all hesitant. It is not as if you would be able to change your mind—I would just have to throw my money around to get your attention,” he finished, smirking at her.
“As it happens, my lord, people may wonder if you are marrying me for my money, but that is a big mess of a story, and I would rather be doing other things. No, I do not want my own room, I want to stay here with you and be thoroughly compromised. Now, do I have to throw myself at you, or are you going to help?”
He answered by placing his large, firm hands around her waist and turning her to him. He leaned toward her and captured her mouth lightly, just pressing his warm lips against hers for what seemed an eternity. She sighed contentedly, squirming a little closer into his chest as she raked her nails lightly over his nipples. He gasped at that, opening his lips and sucking her tongue into his mouth. She pushed on his chest hard enough to topple him over, taking advantage of his vulnerable position to climb on top of him.
“And now will you admit I am a better rider, my lord?”
“It depends on your horse, Miss Stanhope,” he replied, his voice a strained rasp.
Giving him a bold look, she hopped off the bed and slithered out of her gown, standing only in a thin chemise. He could see her nipples, hard and rosy, and see the soft, abundant curve of her breasts.
She lifted her chemise impatiently, tossing it to the floor and returning to lie on top of him in the bed. Quickly, he shucked off the remainder of his clothing, and pulled her to him.
She nipped his neck with her teeth as her hands began to explore again. He groaned, then found her mouth, kissing her with an assured confidence. He stroked her breasts, smoothing his hands around their curves, touching underneath where her breast met her chest, and placing his palms flat on top of her nipples. He traced the circle delicately around the nipple, then removed his mouth from hers and licked gently, then harder, where his fingers had just been.
As he sucked and kissed her breasts, his hands moved possessively down her body, only stopping as he stroked the soft skin of her thighs. He moved one hand back up to the breast he was not sucking, and rubbed its nipple as if to make sure it did not feel neglected. With his other hand, he found her most sensitive area and began to rub it softly, gently, until she could only think about him and what he was doing. A low, burning sensation began to thrum inside her, and she began to move against his hand, holding onto his shoulders with all her strength.
“I think you are ready, my love,” he said softly, lifting her hips slightly off him. She felt an odd, not unpleasant sensation as he began to thrust inside her.
“Whatever you do,” she muttered in his ear, “do not apologize for causing me any pain.”
“I would not dare, Miss Stanhope,” he replied as he pushed inside her, her hips completely pressed against his. She felt some discomfort, but it was overwhelmed by the sheer pleasure of having him inside her at last. She heard him take a deep breath, as if to gain control, and he started to move in a small, circular rhythm. She felt, well, nothing like she had ever felt before, and she could only hold onto him, squeezing her eyes shut as he moved against her.
A Singular Lady Page 23