Scandal and Miss Markham

by Janice Preston

  ‘I did.’ Her upper lip curled. ‘He claimed to know the Worcester area well, but he has never heard of Henry Mannington. It was an utter waste of time. I should never have bothered with him.’

  ‘Well, I hope you have learned your lesson.’

  Thea glowered at Vernon. ‘Learned my lesson? What lesson might that be?’

  ‘The lesson, my dear Dotty, is that although you may be less vulnerable as a youth than a woman, you are still not invulnerable.’

  ‘I dealt with him, did I not? I did not wait for you to rescue me. I am not some lily-livered society lady to swoon at the slightest provocation.’

  And there it was again. A challenge, and a hint of scorn, as though every member of the aristocracy was capable of nothing more than a life of idle pleasure. He would not rise to it, suspecting she said such things to cover a deep-rooted feeling of inferiority, to convince him—and herself—that she and people like her had value. And yet he no longer needed convincing of that. The stories she had told him about her world and that of the people who lived around her...he could not help but contrast the toughness of their lives with the ease of his and for the first time in his life he felt an urge to get involved in politics and to try to make a difference in the world.

  ‘Put your claws away, Thea, I am aware you have courage, but you still cannot face every challenge head on. And nor should you, when you have me by your side.’ Her expression remained stormy. ‘Come, you know it makes sense.’ He covered her hand with his. It twitched, but she did not pull away. ‘If I am constantly worried about what you are up to, I shall not be able to concentrate on finding Daniel. And that is our main concern, is it not?’

  She bit her lower lip, her brows still bunched. ‘Is that your main concern, Vernon? Or are you more interested in finding your cousin? What will you do after we have tracked him down?’

  He sat back, removing his hand from hers. ‘Is that what you believe? That I will abandon the search for Daniel if I find Henry?’

  ‘No. Yes. I do not know. If I am honest...’ she captured his gaze, searching ‘...I have wondered more than once about your motivations. You owe me nothing and you do not even know Daniel, so it is natural to question why you have put yourself out to help us.’

  Vernon drummed his fingers on the table, thinking how to explain.

  ‘In a strange way, I am enjoying it. And that is thanks to you.’

  ‘Me?’

  The intimacy of dining à deux made him speak more honestly than he might otherwise.

  ‘Yes. You. You have not complained...not once...about your discomfort. You have borne the rigours of this journey with a smile and you have helped to ensure the time has passed more quickly.’ He captured her gaze. ‘I have enjoyed your company, Thea.’

  She stilled, her eyes searching his. Then she dropped her gaze and stood up.

  ‘I am weary. I wish to retire.’

  Vernon rose to his feet. ‘I shall allow you to get settled before I join you.’

  An unfortunate choice of words and wholly inappropriate given their circumstances—words that stirred his imagination and fired his pulse. A flush of pink coloured Thea’s cheeks, suggesting she, too, found his phrasing embarrassing.

  ‘Goodnight.’

  She avoided eye contact and slipped from the room, leaving Vernon to kick himself for such unaccustomed gaucheness.

  * * *

  Thea climbed the stairs, one hand clutching at the banister, the other pressed to her chest in an attempt to steady the erratic thump of her heart. Last night had been difficult enough, knowing Vernon—a stranger...a deliciously attractive stranger—had been sleeping in the adjoining bedchamber with only a door between them. Tonight, though... Vernon might no longer be such a stranger, but that fact made her insides quake even more violently. They would be in the same room. All night.

  She paused on the top stair, considering the past two days. How swiftly the time had appeared to pass, yet she felt as though she had known Vernon for much, much longer. And, as desperately as she fought it, she could not deny that the more time she spent in his company, the more she liked him...as a friend and, increasingly, as a man. A charming, intelligent, fascinating and kind man who—every time she felt his astute green gaze upon her—aroused the most wonderful and exhilarating swirl of anticipation deep in the pit of her belly.

  Anticipation that was unwelcome. It was hard enough to trust Vernon with finding Daniel, but she must fight her growing feelings for him. She must protect her heart.

  I can never trust another man. Not after Jasper.

  She entered their bedchamber and made haste to undress, breathing a sigh of relief as she unwound the binding from her breasts, massaging them with her hands to ease them. She crossed to the washstand and used a washcloth to bathe the area, sighing with pleasure as the cool water soothed her itchy, sweaty skin, reaching around with difficulty to cleanse her back, too. The heat had increased her discomfort, but she dared not abandon the binding—her breasts might be small but, if someone was to catch sight of her at the wrong angle, her charade would be exposed and...

  She shuddered as she pictured the ensuing scandal. Since they had left the Royal Hotel, during the lulls in conversation, she had found the time to look back upon her decision to follow Vernon. Her initial certainty that she need fear no repercussions if her escapade was uncovered had soon faded. The truth, she knew, was more complicated than that. It was not so much that she risked censure and being shunned—she did not have much time for pleasure and rarely attended their neighbours’ parties, despite being invited. But that episode with Pooley had confirmed her worries about what conclusions would be drawn about her morals and her character if her conduct ever became known. Those conclusions, she was certain, would lead many men to think her little better than a whore and they would not hesitate to proposition her at every opportunity. She had seen it before with women who acquired a reputation. They became ‘fair game’.

  Which led her to wonder about Vernon’s true opinion of her. Over the past day or so she had detected a certain gleam in his eyes, a gleam she had recognised as the interest of a man in a woman. Did he, too, now view her as fair game? Had her impulsive action in following him, and her subsequent insistence upon accompanying him, led him to believe she would willingly share his bed? She hoped not. She hoped he would remain the gentleman, but she had nevertheless redoubled her efforts to conceal her growing fascination with him. She aimed to play the part of his nephew so well he would forget she was female.

  She completed her ablutions and scrubbed her skin dry before delving into her saddlebag for the shift she wore at night. She donned it and then brushed her hair until it shone, tamping down her regret as she looked at her reflection in the mirror, mourning the loss of her ringlets even though she had cursed them most of her life. She tried to ignore the wash of heat at the memory of Vernon’s fingers running through her curls as he tidied up Thea’s choppy effort, consoling herself that her short hair was all the better to continue the illusion she was a boy, but her heart still ached at the sight.

  As she cleaned her teeth there was a light tap at the door.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ she called.

  She rushed to the bed and jumped in, pulling the covers up to her chin. ‘You may come in.’

  Vernon sauntered in—tall, assured and with a wicked gleam in his eye that stole her breath.

  ‘I don’t know, nevvy,’ he said, with a wink and a grin. ‘For a young lad you are surprisingly bashful...worse than a bride on her wedding night.’

  Thea relaxed at his teasing. She had feared he might use his charm and attempt to seduce her, but his manner reassured. He was telling her, without words, that she had nothing to fear. Perversely, that provoked a nagging doubt about her desirability and that doubt was followed swiftly by irritation at her own inconsistency. One minute she was f
retting he might think her a female of low morals and try to take advantage, the next she was upset that he did not find her attractive enough to seduce.

  ‘Now, I have no wish to make you blush,’ Vernon continued as he removed his jacket, ‘but I have no intention of sleeping fully clothed tonight so I suggest you look away.’ He turned to face Thea, reaching for the knot in his neckcloth. ‘Unless, of course, you wish to ogle my chest again?’

  Thea’s cheeks burned. ‘You flatter yourself, my lord,’ she growled.

  Vernon chuckled, aggravating her more.

  ‘Your chest holds absolutely no interest for me. You forget I have a brother and have lived my life seeing the men working in the fields.’

  ‘My apologies.’ Vernon sketched a bow. ‘I had not realised you were quite so au fait with the male form. I need not worry about offending your sensibilities then.’

  He tossed his neckcloth on to a chair and reached for the fastening of his breeches.

  Thea tore her gaze from the auburn curls visible in the V-shaped opening at the neck of his shirt. With a loud hmph, she threw herself on to her side to face the wall and gritted her teeth against the devilish chuckle from the other side of the room. She screwed her eyes tight shut, but her imagination supplied plenty of delicious images to accompany the sounds she heard—the swish of cloth, footsteps and then the splash of water. Unable to help herself, she opened her eyes and peeped over her shoulder.

  Vernon stood at the washstand, shirtless, his back to her as he bent over the bowl. The candlelight danced across unblemished skin and she watched, fascinated by the play of muscles across his shoulders and back as he continued his ablutions. Her hands itched to touch, to stroke, to discover if his skin was as smooth as it looked. His breeches stretched tight, outlining taut buttocks—thrust temptingly in her direction—and long, lean thighs and her mouth dried as her skin heated. A thrilling sense of anticipation swirled in her belly, then slowed, arrowing in to the juncture of her thighs, provoking a strange restlessness.

  An insistent need.

  Thea resisted the urge to move, to turn on to her back, to push aside the covers, to extend her arms and invite him to hold her. How would it feel to throw aside morals and caution and pride, and follow that craving? She lay motionless, still watching as Vernon hummed a tune she did not recognise under his breath, seemingly perfectly relaxed.

  Desire.

  She recognised it instinctively although she had never before experienced it. Not even with Jasper. Particularly not with Jasper. The thought of her former betrothed, her vicious betrayer, had the same effect as though Vernon had snatched up that basin of water and dashed it into her face. She faced the wall again, bending her neck so her face was buried in the covers and only the top of her head would be visible should he glance her way.

  She counted inside her head, willing him to hurry, to snuff the candles and to settle down in the chair, upon which Thea had spread one of the blankets from the bed. There were several minutes of silence.

  What is he doing? Is he looking at me?

  The thought made her feel all...fluttery inside. She would not look. If she looked...if their eyes should meet...

  The bed dipped and her pulse raced even as her body froze. Her hair stirred and then his hand was upon her head.

  ‘Are you asleep, Thea?’

  Thea! Not Dotty! Her heart quailed. She needed him to be teasing and provocative. Not kind.

  ‘No.’ She kept her face buried in the bedclothes. His hand moved to her shoulder and gently squeezed.

  ‘You have nothing to fear. I shall not take advantage. You are perfectly safe.’

  The bed moved again and she heard him move around the room and then the creak of the chair as he sat. A grunt. A bump. Another grunt and another bump. ‘Sorry for the noise,’ he said. ‘Just removing my boots.’

  ‘I made no objection,’ she replied, her voice muffled under the bedcovers.

  God, she was so hot, stifling, with her head under the covers, breathing in warm, stale air, almost gasping for the cool relief of fresh air.

  She heard him shifting around in the chair, probably trying to get comfortable, and felt sympathy. They had both complained of aching muscles from spending so long in the saddle. A night in an armchair would provide little relief for poor Vernon.

  ‘Goodnight. Sweet dreams.’ His voice, deep and comforting, wrapped around her.

  Thea straightened her neck, taking her face from under the covers, grateful to breathe the relatively cooler air of the bedchamber. The candles had been snuffed out; the room was dark. And intimate. Thea suppressed a shiver.

  ‘Goodnight. I hope you sleep well.’

  How strange it felt to say that to someone whilst she lay in bed.

  It was a very long time before she slept.

  Chapter Twelve

  The following morning, Thea remained huddled under the bedclothes, feigning sleep, until Vernon left the room. Breathing a sigh of relief, she turned on her back and thrust the covers down. Vernon had stirred early and she wondered if he, too, had found sleep elusive.

  Doubtless he did, but his discomfort would be as a result of sleeping in the chair. Unlike Thea, whose mind simply would not allow her to rest.

  The maid had brought fresh water not long after Vernon had begun to move about. Looking at the chair, there was no way to tell that anyone had slept there—the blanket was folded neatly at the foot of the bed and, turning, Thea saw he had even dented the pillow next to hers, to make it look as though they had shared the bed. She arose, and crossed the floor to peer through the window, glazed with leaded, diamond-shaped panes. Vernon was just emerging from the stables—their room overlooked the yard at the rear of the inn—and he happened to glance up as Thea watched. His stride faltered and he smiled—a glorious smile that made her breath catch—as he waved. She returned his greeting even as her heart quailed at the effort she must henceforth make to conceal her growing desire to be held in his arms.

  She spun away from the window, quashing her nerves. She must concentrate on Daniel, nothing else. She hurried across to the washstand.

  * * *

  Worcester.

  At last!

  It had been a day of frustrations. Vernon did not know why, but his every attempt at conversation had met with a short reply that effectively ended the exchange. There was none of easy repartee and banter of previous days. He had never known Thea to be so quiet for so long, but she had barely said a word the whole day. Neither would she look at him.

  He longed to offer her comfort, but he could not. He could not risk any intimacy building between them, although it would have been so very easy to relax his principles and take her in his arms. But he would not whilst they were flung together in this unnatural charade. And, when they returned to real life, he was certain that his growing obsession with this little spitting kitten, who could also play and have fun and make him smile, would disappear and they would each return to their very different lives and, hopefully, be able look back upon this trip as an adventure.

  Whether they would look back with joy or with sorrow depended, of course, on what they might discover about Daniel’s fate. And maybe that was what was bothering Thea. They were that much closer to discovering the truth and she must dread the possibility of the worst news.

  Vernon stifled a yawn and then circled his neck and rolled his shoulders in an attempt to work the cricks out of them. Never in his life had he spent a more uncomfortable night than last night. It was not only the chair, although that had grown harder and lumpier as the night progressed, but the knowledge that, not ten feet from him, lay a woman who had, almost without him noticing, crept into his heart.

  They rode side by side, following the road down and through the city, until they arrived at a stone bridge, spanning a wide river, which was still running high
and fast after the recent rains. Downstream, to their left, the huge mass of Worcester Cathedral squatted close to the riverbank, dwarfing the buildings around it. Upstream of the bridge, buildings lined the far bank of the river but downstream, opposite the cathedral, was green pasture land.

  ‘That is the River Severn,’ Thea said.

  A sideways glance revealed a groove between her brows and tightly pursed lips. She looked like a woman deep in thought—a woman deeply worried, a woman exhausted. Vernon caught hold of Star’s rein and steered both horses to the side of the bustling road, bringing them to a standstill.

  ‘We could reserve rooms at that inn we passed in the centre. The Crown.’

  ‘The Crown? Are you sure?’

  She nudged her mare closer to Warrior...so close that Thea’s leg pressed against Vernon’s, sending the blood rushing to his groin. He gritted his teeth and tried to banish the image branded on his brain: Thea, curled on her side in bed, the thin blanket moulded to her frame, draping her narrow waist and accentuating the curve of her hip and the roundness of her bottom.

  She leaned towards him. ‘You said we should stay at an inn outside the town, where we shall be less likely to run into somebody either of us knows,’ she whispered. ‘If Mannington does live to the south-west, as Parkes told us, then would we not be better to find an inn over there?’ She pointed across the bridge. ‘We are more likely to find someone who knows him in that direction.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘Heaven knows, we haven’t learned anything of any use up till now, despite all our enquiries.’

  Her face was set, lines of fatigue bracketing her mouth. Vernon hauled in a breath, castigating himself for not standing firm and sending her home at the start. That thought was followed swiftly by the realisation she would not have gone. He had tried. She had been determined to come with him. But he had never known her to be so despondent. He missed his lively, bouncy firebrand.

  ‘Cheer up, Dotty,’ he said.

  If anything was calculated to pull her free from the doldrums, it was him calling her Dotty. She barely glanced up, her eyes dull as she pulled her cap from her head and swiped her forearm across her glistening brow, in a gesture worthy of any young lad. Her cropped copper curls glinted momentarily in the bright sunshine before she replaced her cap, transforming her once again into Theo. Vernon had thought it would become progressively easier to think of her as the youth she portrayed, but it became harder by the day.