Smugglers had always operated along the coast, but as the war with Napoleon dragged on, the business of smuggling had become more common and lucrative and deadly. Cole hadn’t given smugglers much mind, but the safety of the coast was now his responsibility as earl. He couldn’t have contraband flowing through his land. Worse would be secrets and agents of Napoleon passing through Devon to do harm to England’s cause. He already battled guilt at leaving Wellington and his men in Portugal to fight on without him.
“Damn and blast,” he muttered. “Nothing to be done about it tonight. They’ll be gone before I could raise the guard.”
“If they’re using the caves along the cliff to store their goods, you might be able to catch them when they return to move their contraband,” Diana said.
A raindrop hit his cheek and slid down his jaw. Then another and another until the sky pelted them with what felt like shards of ice. Cole hopped to his feet and grabbed Diana’s hand. He pulled in one direction, and she pulled in another.
“Mother will be angry if I don’t return for supper.”
“Your mother will be angry if you catch cold and sicken. Linley House is closer, and I’m sure Lettie can rustle up some bread, cheese, and mulled wine.” When still she hesitated, leaning toward Grambling Manor, Cole said, “I’ll be obligated to escort you home, which means I’ll be soaked to the bone by the time I finally make it to my warm fire. Do you want me to take ill?”
“Oh, all right.” Her body gave way, and he tugged her up the path toward the gardens. Soon they were running hand in hand, their footsteps muffled by the rain.
Campbell opened the door for them. The butler was a dignified, white-haired paragon who had worshipped Cole’s father and hadn’t seemed to give much mind to Cole until he’d unexpectedly inherited. Campbell tended to wax morosely about the old earl’s finer qualities, apparently none of which had been gifted to Cole.
Lettie bustled in, her chatelaine jangling at her waist. “For heaven’s sake, Master Cole, what have you done to poor Miss Diana?”
Cole put on an affronted look. “How do you know Diana isn’t entirely to blame for our condition?”
Lettie clucked and threw an aggrieved glance in Cole’s direction while herding Diana upstairs. “Because I know her dear family, and more importantly, I know you. Change your clothes, Master Cole. Immediately.”
Diana glanced over her shoulder at him and stuck out her tongue. Cole stifled a laugh. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so freely. No, he did. It had been the night of the ball, during his dance with Diana. He’d engineered a waltz so he could hold her closer than he ought to. She’d dazzled him in her green scoop-necked dress and elegantly coiled hair, but her smile and twinkling eyes and wit had had him grinning at her like a ninnyhammer.
It was less Lettie’s scolding tone and more the fact he was becoming chilled in the marble entry that had him taking the stairs two at a time. Not to mention he was dripping everywhere, which Campbell was sure to bring up for years. After reaching his room, he stripped his clothes off and rubbed himself warm with a linen cloth in front of the fire before pulling on clean trousers, a shirt, and dressing gown.
He met Lettie in the hallway holding Diana’s dripping clothes, underthings and all. “Have you already had the fire laid in my study?” It was the room where Cole spent most evenings, reading and ruminating on his changed circumstances.
“Aye.”
“Could you send up a tray? Neither Diana nor I have supped, I’m afraid. Also, send word to Grambling Manor informing them Diana is well but soaked through and will pass the night here.”
Lettie raised her brows at him but nodded. “Miss Diana is drying her hair, but I’ll show her into the library when she’s ready. You are to leave the door open.”
Cole put a hand over his heart as if Lettie had wounded him. “Of course. Diana and I are old friends.”
“Old friends or not, I know you aren’t blind, Master Cole. Miss Diana has turned into a spirited beauty even if everyone is agog about that sister of hers.” Lettie narrowed her eyes on him. “And furthermore, I remember well enough how you would stare at her like you wanted to drag her off during church services when you were younger.”
Cole wasn’t sure whether to be mortified or horrified. If Lettie had noticed, who else had borne witness to his infatuation?
As if reading his mind, Lettie waved a hand. “No one else paid you any mind, but I’ve known you since you were a wee babe. Now wait in the library and behave yourself.”
Cole did as he was told but found himself pacing in front of the fire. A footman deposited a laden tray on a table placed between two wingback chairs. Bread, cheeses, and cured meats were piled alongside dried fruits and a decanter of mulled wine and two glasses.
Diana’s laughter drew him to the door. Lettie was leading Diana to his door like a sacrifice. Her hair was loose about her shoulders. The dressing gown she wore was one of his. It was masculine and enveloped her. She’d rolled the sleeves up and held the hem off the floor so she wouldn’t trip. White flashed between the folds. Lettie had mustered a night rail from somewhere.
Cole smiled and ushered her in. “Come, let’s sup before the fire.”
“That sounds lovely. By the time I managed to strip my wet clothes off, I was thoroughly chilled.” A shiver ran through her. In contrast, heat streaked through him at the idea of her peeling her clothes off one item at a time until she was left bare.
He poured her a glass of mulled wine and retrieved the brandy decanter for himself. As they ate and drank and warmed themselves, their conversation turned quickly to the potential smugglers working a stone’s throw away.
“I worry about the twins. Together, their mischief level multiplies. Mother has given up trying to tame them. What if they run across those men in their wanderings?” Diana buttered a slice of bread.
“If it’s locals trying to make extra coin, I wouldn’t worry so much, but I’ve heard of smugglers running more than just liquor. Some run messages to and from Napoleon’s spies to French sympathizers here. Those type of men wouldn’t blink over hurting two boys. War is a dangerous business.” He could feel her gaze on him, but he continued to stare into the flames. Images of the horrors he’d encountered danced in his mind’s eye like a macabre theater performance.
The touch of her fingers along the back of his hand broke his reverie. “I worried about you. Every night, I wondered where you were and if you were well.”
“Did you?”
She cleared her throat and snatched her hand away from his. “We all did.”
He ignored the qualification to her admission. “I thought of you often as well.”
“No, you didn’t.” She shot him a wry glance from under her lashes.
“I encountered a field of wildflowers that reminded me of the glen by the river in spring. I’ll never forget how you would lie in the middle and spin yarns about fairies and witches. Standing at the edge of that field a country away, I could almost imagine stepping into the flowers would bring me home to you like magic.”
Her eyes had widened and locked on his face. “I don’t believe you.”
He rose and retrieved a journal he’d kept while in Portugal. The pages fluttered open, revealing a set of pressed flowers. It had been mawkish and unlike him, yet through all the rough travel of the next year, he’d treated the pressed flowers like treasure.
She touched the crushed flowers lightly. “What happened earlier… that wasn’t a lark? Or a mistake?”
“Not to me.”
“But we agreed to forget it happened.”
“I’ll never forget.”
“Nor I.” Her voice was a whisper now.
He was desperate to pull her into his lap and kiss her again. With impeccably good—or bad—timing, Lettie bustled into the room and cleared her throat. “I’ve sent word to your mother, Miss Diana, and she is content that you pass the night here, safe and warm. Your clothes will be dry and pressed in the morni
ng. A warming pan is waiting in your room.”
“Thank you, Lettie.” Diana rose to follow Lettie but stopped in the doorway to send a glance over her shoulder to Cole. “I’m sure to get an earful tomorrow from Mother about going off at night and meeting strange men.”
“She’d be right to ring a peal over your head. You worry about what would happen to your brothers on the cliffs at night with a smuggling ring operating, but what about you? A beautiful, lone woman?”
She dropped her gaze to her feet. “I’m not—”
“Yes, you are,” he said, anticipating her denial. “Now go to bed and dream of mistakes you want to repeat.”
Chapter 3
Sleep eluded Diana. It wasn’t because of the accommodations. The mattress was soft, the sheets smelled sweet, and the warming pan made her wallow like a contented cat. The problem was the bed was too big and empty.
At Grambling Manor, she and Rose shared a room and a bed. Perhaps she missed her sister. Or, if she were perfectly honest with herself, perhaps she longed for someone else altogether. She reached out to the empty side of the bed and imagined Cole’s bulk in the space. He would fill the emptiness, and she wagered she wouldn’t even need a warming pan. What would happen if they were alone?
He would kiss her, certainly, but the mystery to be solved is what he would do to her next. Her mother and father shared a bed every night, and her mother intimated a wife was expected to perform some duty for her husband in their marriage bed. She pictured herself rubbing Cole’s feet. Which seemed utterly unexciting.
She forced herself to think of something else but found the new subject less than peaceful. Liam. Twice since coming home for Christmastide, Liam had snuck out of the manor after midnight. While her worry had been brewing, it boiled over now. Through the East India Company, he had made connections at the ports with a variety of seafarers, both respectable and not. What if he were involved with the smugglers?
After tossing and turning for another half hour or more, she rose and stoked the fire, enjoying the crackling burst of light and warmth. While Linley House was grand, it had never felt like a home. It had the coldness of a museum even when they were children playing hide-and-seek in the endless rooms or gardens. She had pitied Cole back then when comparing Linley House to Grambling Manor.
The room Lettie had given her was beautiful and twice as big as the room she shared with Rose. The bed hangings on her bed at home were tattered and frayed. Actually, Grambling Manor itself was tattered and frayed. But in a comfortable way. Or so she’d always thought. Faced with the grandeur of Linley House, she wondered if Cole pitied them when he stepped over the threshold into the shabby chaos of her family home.
Poking her head out the door, she encountered a house at slumber. No one to witness her darting into Cole’s study for a book dressed only in the borrowed night rail. Adept at moving around without waking her siblings, she floated with nary a sound to the study. The fire had burned low but provided enough light for her to see the closest shelves.
“The novels are kept over here.” Cole’s voice made her jump and muffle a squawk.
Her heart accelerated and not entirely from the scare. His dressing gown had loosened, exposing the vee of his parted shirt and a peppering of dark hair on his chest. He was half hidden in the heavy draperies at the window and holding a snifter of brandy.
“I wasn’t expecting you to still be here.” Diana crossed her arms over her chest in a fit of modesty. There was time and space to retreat, yet her feet shuffled her closer until she was at his side and staring into the darkness. The clouds had broken and raced across a half-moon. The keyhole-shaped bay lay in the distance, and beyond it, the sea.
“No? Were you at least wishing I’d be here?”
Blast it, she had nursed a tiny flame of hope. It was scandalous and wrong. Except, everything felt perfectly right. The world went on outside the small study, but for her, time ceased to creep forward. Worries and expectations disintegrated. All that existed was him and her. Man and woman.
Their gazes held, and in the intensity, attraction kindled into an inferno. He took a step as did she, so when they met, it was halfway. They were equally invested in the passion brewing between them. She twined her arms around his neck, and he held her close, one hand on the small of her back, the other winding in her hair.
“Your brothers would call me out for this.” No tease lightened Cole’s voice.
“This has nothing to do with my brothers.”
A smile flickered across his face before he leaned in. Their kiss in the woods felt a lifetime ago, and Diana was parched for his lips. She closed the distance and sighed against his mouth in relief. How could he have become integral to her survival in an afternoon?
If he hadn’t kissed her in the woods, she might have lived without him. Perhaps even married another, but she would have always recognized something was missing. Now she understood what that something was, and she would never be the same.
His hands moved along her back, pulling and tugging at her night rail. It was several inches too short and worn thin, the ribbons holding it together frayed. He scooped her into his arms, closed the door with his foot, and settled into one of the chairs before the fire.
“I pictured pulling you into my lap earlier, before Lettie interrupted.” He ran his hands up and down her arms. “Are you warm enough?”
How to answer? While the air was chilly, she felt feverish and moved restlessly against him. Her breasts ached, and the throb between her legs was back with a vengeance. “I’m… frustrated.”
Smiling, he nipped her bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. “I understand.”
“No, you don’t. You can’t.”
“Then explain it to me.” His voice rumbled with what sounded suspiciously like humor, but she couldn’t see his expression. He was kissing her behind her ear in a place that sent tremors through her.
“It’s embarrassing.”
He raised his head and smoothed her hair back from her face so she couldn’t hide from him. “How long have we known one another?”
“Years. All my life.”
“Above all else, I hope you consider me a friend.”
“Friends don’t kiss with their tongues,” she said tartly.
His smile crinkled his eyes. “True enough. All right then, we’re something more than friends.”
“Something more,” she repeated softly, wishing the definition weren’t so murky but able to accept it. Closing her eyes, she cupped her hand around his and rubbed her cheek against his palm, rougher than any gentleman in London, but then Cole had ridden all his life and gone off to war. She lay a kiss right in the middle.
His intake of breath was followed by her name coming on a long exhale. He kissed her again and again. Any gentleness or consideration he’d shown for her innocence was gone. He plied her mouth open and demanded a response.
She reveled in the wantonness and shifted to press her breasts against his chest, seeking a measure of relief. His hands left her waist to fumble with the neck of her night rail. The ribbon had become knotted, much like her cloak ties.
“Blast it all,” he muttered against her cheek.
With their lips separated, she was able to take a deep breath, and her brain turned like a windmill in the slightest of breezes. “Perhaps it’s a sign.”
“Yes. A sign you should stop wearing clothing that can knot.”
How could she not laugh? She let her head fall back with her giggles, and Cole took the opportunity to rip the night rail from neck to waist, cutting off her laughter. The fabric hung off one shoulder, leaving her breast exposed. She stiffened, too shocked to even cover herself.
“My apologies, Diana.” Even as he offered them, he didn’t cover her or look away. His half-lidded eyes took her in, and his mouth slackened.
Her nipple was budded and grew even tighter in the chilly air. Cole skated his warm, callused hand along the bare skin of her side, stopping to caress the underside of her brea
st with his thumb.
“You’re even lovelier than I imagined.”
“You imagined me like this?”
“Many times. So many.” He slid his hand up, cupping her breast and lifting as if testing the weight and shape. The squeeze he gave her had her grabbing hold of the lapels on his dressing gown and squirming. “Do you remember two summers past when I came across you and Rose at the brook trying to catch turtles? You were knee deep, your skirts around your thighs.”
She would never forget. She and Rose had been sent to gather turtles for soup. Wearing one of her oldest gowns, which was too short and worn for receiving company, Diana had waded into the brook, her skirts held high, laughing with Rose who had remained on the bank with her ankles demurely covered.
Cole had ridden up on them before Diana could even take a step toward the bank and respectability. She’d frozen and hoped enough silt clouded the water to mask her bare legs. There was nothing she could do about her damp, too-tight scooped-neck bodice.
He’d remained on horseback, the stallion pawing the ground as if ready to charge her. Instead of covering herself, she’d put her shoulders back and returned his stare with a defiance her mother’s lessons in ladylike deportment had never been able to quell.
The moment had sharpened her awareness. The cool rush of water on her bare legs. The constriction of her bodice making it difficult to take a deep breath. The tickle of fallen locks of hair along her neck and across the slopes of her breasts exposed to his gaze. Nothing and no one had existed outside her and Cole.
With only a tip of his hat, he’d whirled his horse and galloped away. Diana and Rose had shared a laugh, but Diana hadn’t missed the flush coloring Rose’s cheeks. Had her sister held a tendresse for Cole then? Later that night, long after Rose had dropped off to sleep, Diana had told herself she had imagined his roaming, appreciative gaze. A gauche girl like her could hold no attractions for a worldly man like Cole.
A WICKED WEDDING Page 3