Silence Is Golden

by Sara Ackerman

  What I wouldn’t give for a little peek. A warm flush traveled up her neck, staining her cheeks at her unladylike musings. What kind of lady wishes to see a man’s unclothed chest? She resisted the urge to fan herself, because it would draw attention to her discomposure. In spite of her censure, she was unable to stop herself from imagining.

  “Would you like to see it?”

  “I…I beg your pardon?” Did I accidentally speak aloud? In a panic, she tried to recall what he had said. Blast it all! She was not used to being an active participant in conversations. Most gentlemen were content if she smiled and nodded. It was a rare occasion when she was expected to respond. The men of her acquaintance were content to prattle on and used her inability to speak to their advantage. It seemed Mr. Coombes differed from his peers in this manner, too, and now required a response from her. As her wayward mind had been occupied in undressing her companion, she had no idea what he had told her.

  “You have been staring at my jacket ever since I told you my mother, a seamstress of no little skill, sewed it for me herself. I asked if you wanted to see her workmanship, since you seem to have taken an interest in it.”

  Embarrassed at being caught staring, she gulped but held out her hand to examine his jacket. He removed it for her to admire his mother’s handiwork. It was still warm from his body, and she stifled a girlish sigh. Silly hen. Focus on the task at hand.

  She examined the cut of the fabric and the tiny, almost invisible stitches. “It’s a fine piece. Your mother has an eye for faa…”

  Whatever she was about to say died in her throat, for as she was examining his jacket, he had loosened his cravat to make himself more comfortable. In dazed fascination, she watched him slip the silky fabric free from his shirt.

  He parted the fabric of his shirt. “Hmm, she was pleased with how it turned out.”

  As he spread apart the cloth at his neck and fanned the skin there, she received the coveted glimpse of his neck she had desired moments earlier.

  “It’s warm next to the fire.”

  A perverse sense of prudishness brought to her attention how exposed she was, and in spite of her proximity to the fire and the flush refusing to leave her body, she pulled her wrapper tighter around her middle. “Do your sisters share your mother’s interest for sewing?”

  “My sisters?” For a moment she was afraid she had misheard his description of his mother and siblings, but he threw back his head and laughed. “No, they are far from being expert in sewing. In fact, once my youngest sister…”

  She concentrated on his explanation about how his sisters were all inept at any domestic chores, trying to keep her mind from wandering. In a desperate attempt to regain control, she focused on his mouth.

  This way, I have something to look at while he talks, and I can avoid any more distractions! What a good plan.

  At least it was a good plan until Evie, who did not pay much attention to the mouths of her companions, studied this man’s mouth. It was fascinating to see the way his lips, firm and lush, moved to form the words he was saying. Who knew watching someone speak could be so enthralling? Moments later, when his tongue darted out to wet his lips, a lump rose and lodged in her throat. Because now she wanted nothing more than to touch her lips to his own.

  She groaned. What has come over me? Here I am on a mission to regain my betrothed’s affection, and I’m absorbed in perusal of another man.

  “Are you well?”

  “What?”

  “I heard you groan. Are you in pain? Is there anything I can get for you?” He rose, but she waved him back down and reprimanded herself for vocalizing her reaction to him. No more of this nonsense, Evelyn Grace Westby! Seeing he awaited a response, she tapped her chest and coughed. “I had something caught in my throat. I apologize for worrying you.”

  Despite her reassurances, he went to the sideboard and poured a glass of wine for her. Though she hadn’t asked for one, she was grateful to have something to occupy her hands and to help regain her equilibrium. With a smile of thanks, she took the glass and tipped her head back, swallowing the liquid in one gulp.

  Resettling next to her by the fire, he stretched out his legs, leaned back against a sturdy armchair, and rested his hands behind his head. Without his jacket and tie, he looked so much more at ease than he had as Mr. Coombes the solicitor.

  “Alfred” doesn’t fit him when he’s relaxed like this. He is much more of a Freddie.

  A secret thrill raced up her spine upon discovering he possessed more than one name. It would have been a shame to find him so boring that he had but one. Most people, she had found, lived within the limits set by society and were suitable for no other name than the one given at birth. They bored her with the uniformity their privileged birth required, and she pitied them. When she found those rare souls whose light had not been squelched by routine and conformity, they begged to be named, and she was more than happy to comply.

  This man in front of her held a vague resemblance to Alfred, her responsible, somber traveling companion, but he was more vibrant, engaging, and intriguing. She had best watch herself around him, for if Freddie put his mind to wooing her, she might not protest.

  “Now it’s your turn.”

  “My turn?” Even to her own ears, her question sounded a bit addled, but it couldn’t be helped. He provoked a powerful reaction from her body and mind, and her pulses still raced from his less-than-proper attire. “To do what?”

  “Why, to tell me everything there is to know about you.”

  She was shocked. Never had a man stopped talking of himself to inquire after her, and he appeared earnest in his inquiry.

  What an extraordinary man.

  In many ways, he was superior to the other men of her acquaintance and had destroyed her previous conceptions about how men and women interacted. She didn’t have to be a silent participant and pretend she was interested in what a gentleman had to say when she was not. The idea was liberating.

  “What do you want to know?” She was willing to tell him almost anything he desired, after his kindness to her.

  “After years of living with your curse, what’s the real reason you are seeking the gypsies?”

  I’ll tell him anything he wants to know except that. Her jaw snapped closed, and she scowled, crossing her arms over her chest. He was unperturbed by her mulish silence and for some odd reason was grinning like a deranged loon.

  He wagged his finger at her in mock reprimand. “You owe me.”

  She fumed, but in the face of his quiet insistence, she threw up her hands. “Fine!”

  How to tell the man I have been mooning about all evening that I am trying to break my curse for another? There seemed no delicate way to phrase it, so in spite of her capitulation she remained silent.

  “I can stay like this all evening, my lady. While patience is a virtue I do not usually possess, I find with you I have all the patience in the world.”

  When she continued her self-imposed silence, he took out his pocket watch and clucked his tongue. “Unless you have exhausted all topics suitable for two people to discuss in the space of three hours, and you now have nothing left to say.”

  He closed his watch with a click, and he replaced it in his vest pocket. “Please, accept my apologies for insisting you speak when you are fatigued from attempting to cram every English word known to man into a mere one hundred eighty minutes.”

  “Why, you’re being absurd—I didn’t even come close to—you are the most—”

  She ceased spluttering as she noted the bright twinkle in his eyes, the one sign of levity in his otherwise serious face. All of her righteous indignation deflated. “You are teasing me.” A small smile tugged her lips. “I didn’t know the serious Mr. Coombes teased.”

  “There are moments when even I, a stodgy, buttoned-up solicitor, have been known to deliver a tease when deemed appropriate.” He spoiled his serious image by tossing her a cheeky wink. She giggled at his silly antics, delighted to find he had
a playful side. His antics confirmed her suspicions there was a secret Freddie lurking underneath those layers of starch and propriety.

  “Come, now, my lady. We are friends, or depending who you ask, husband and wife.” Clenching and unclenching her fists, she stared into her lap, weighing the merits of telling him her real purpose. However she looked at it, she did not see how it was a good idea. It might hurt him, something she wanted to avoid.

  I’ll tell him…

  But whatever she was planning to say fizzled in her mind. Her cheek heated from an unexpected caress, and she trembled, her eyes closing to better savor the pinpoints of pleasure skating across her skin. His finger inched down her face to cup her chin and raise it. “Won’t you please tell me?”

  She gasped and opened her eyes to meet his, captivated by the banked embers kindling there. It was the same look he’d had when he saw her earlier, hot and primal, and it sparked an answering fire within her, urging her to lean into his caress. Her actions surprised him, and she identified the exact moment surprise transformed to something else. Something deeper, demanding she respond in kind.

  Inch by agonizing inch he closed the distance between them until his heated breath mingled with hers. She savored his unique fresh scent, fluttering her lids shut in anticipation of when their lips met.

  There was a delicate touch on her mouth, no more than the brush of a butterfly’s wing.

  This is what a kiss should be. Magical.

  The magic ended when she heard herself blurting out, “I need to break the curse to win back the love of my betrothed, Lord Alexander Newgate.”

  Chapter 5

  She had fallen asleep in front of the fire, the dying light of the flickering flames dancing over the soft contours of her face. Debating whether or not to leave her there, he decided to move her to the bed. He did not want her to wake with a crick in her neck after an uncomfortable night spent propped near the fire.

  Gathering her into his arms, he lifted her against his chest and marveled at how light she was. She murmured a sleepy sound at being removed from her nest but soon snuggled against him. Her head settled into the hollow between his neck and shoulder, and warm puffs of air escaped between her lips, fanning his skin. He resisted the urge to lean his head down and take the kiss she had denied him earlier.

  Pausing at the bed, he freed one arm to pull back the counterpane before lowering her to the bed. When he pulled back, her small hands entangled themselves in the folds of his shirt and stopped him. At first he feared she had awakened, for her grip was so tight, but seeing she still slept, he loosened her hold on the cloth. She mumbled at the intrusion but remained asleep.

  He released a sigh and pulled the covers over her slumbering form. Her freed hands moved to rest underneath a flushed cheek, giving her an angelic appearance of innocence.

  “Freddie,” she murmured, and smiled a smug, feminine smile. Those pink lips shattered any illusion of innocence.

  Freddie? No one except his youngest sister, Lavender, ever called him Freddie. Alfred had been too difficult for her childish tongue to pronounce. Even now at sixteen, Lavender still used her pet name for him, saying his given name was too confining and she knew a Freddie lurked inside him, and one day he would realize it too.

  Lavender was too perceptive by half.

  Does this woman also see within to the Freddie who existed before? Perhaps she was also wise beyond her years.

  Helpless to stop himself, he caressed a wayward blonde curl.

  “Witty, charming, and intelligent? What a deadly combination to unleash on the world, and when found in the living incarnation of every man’s fantasy, mankind hasn’t a hope for survival, let alone this humble solicitor.”

  He released the curl with an affectionate tug and backed away from the bed. If he didn’t, he’d be lost for good. Finding his discarded overcoat, he padded to the fire, where he made himself a makeshift pallet for the night. He stretched out and attempted to sleep, but his mind refused to quiet. Too much had happened this evening, and his mind was clouded. One thing remained clear. He wanted her. For several moments there tonight, it had seemed as if she desired him, too.

  I wish I could read minds! More than once this evening she had colored while he told her of his childhood and his interests, and each time he wanted to see what swirled inside her head. His experience with women being limited to interactions with his female relations, he didn’t know how to interpret the complexity of a woman’s expressions and actions, but several times during his monologue, it had almost looked as if…

  No, because what he saw simmering in her brilliant blue depths was an impossible notion. Even if it looked like she was admiring my form, it’s not possible. She was a good listener and had been interested in seeing his mother’s handiwork on his jacket.

  Yet there was the curious incident before she had her coughing fit. It still baffled him. He’d been telling her about his younger sister, Lavender, a terrible seamstress whose first—and last—sewing lesson culminated with the attachment of an old garment she was hemming to her dress and through her stockings. Throughout his story, she seemed to be studying his mouth. At first he feared there was something there, perhaps some crumbs of bread or cheese. After a casual inspection with his hands and finding nothing, he dismissed the notion. Once or twice, she had leaned closer, almost as if she wanted a kiss. He tried to ignore the idea, yet the temptation was too great. When he saw an opportunity to test his theory, he took it. He might not know a lot about women, but he wasn’t a complete idiot.

  His instincts were right, too, because when he leaned in to kiss her, he saw an answering flare from her, fueling his confidence and sparking his ever-present desire.

  But later…

  “I wish I knew what went on in her head.” He remembered the moment she had doused his amorous intentions with the icy news of her broken betrothal and her grand plans to break her curse.

  “Her plans. Here I build her up as a woman of intelligence and sense. Why she wants to re-secure the affections of a complete reprobate like Alexander Newgate confounds me!”

  Lord Newgate was a cad and didn’t deserve her. Unlike her, he harbored no misconceptions about Newgate’s character, having spent six years with him at boarding school. He was a bully who preyed on differences amongst men. Newgate victimized those who were not as titled, who lacked money, or who were weak and slow. Even as a young lad he had possessed the uncanny ability to find a person’s weakness and exploit it for personal gain.

  All Newgate had needed to target Alfred’s younger self was the knowledge his father was the solicitor and part-time bookkeeper for the boarding school he attended. Newgate, also a first year, used the information to cement his position with the older boys by hurling vile accusations about how his father was able to afford tuition to Harrow. Newgate secured his standing with the older boys and sealed Alfred’s fate as an unwelcome charity case. He despised him.

  Yet without Newgate’s taunts and threats, he might be a different person. The resulting shame from his ostracization motivated him to study and to prove he was not pitiable. Over the years, his hard work paid off, and he flourished at Harrow. When his time at school ended, he graduated in the top of his class and received several lucrative employment opportunities. Though he was honored to receive recognition for his hard work, he had wanted to see the world. Now, after five years of paying his dues, he was going to live his dream.

  His dream, it seemed, entailed an uncertain future with no employment. Penniless, untitled, and a wanderer, he was as unsuitable for her as Newgate. Despite these obstacles, he’d rather she marry him and live a simpler life than see her wed to a heartless, irresponsible rake. The image of Newgate sharing her bed had him gnashing his teeth, frustrated because he lacked a title and could not court her. Everything would change if he had one. The way it stood now, there could never be anything between the two of them but friendship.

  But I want more than friendship. Ever since meeting this feisty s
prite, remembrances of what he had given up all those years ago returned to haunt him. Now he longed for something more, something he had been resigned to never have.

  “This will not do. She is not for you.” Closing his eyes, he put aside his dreams and willed himself to sleep. For several hours, he tossed and turned until, sometime during the middle of the night, he spied her by his side with a blanket in her hand. Warm at last, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

  Chapter 6

  A large creak awakened her from a restless slumber. Heart pounding, she sat up and glanced around the room. She had not forgotten what he’d told her about the rambunctious guests below and hoped no one had decided to pay her a late night visit. Straining her ears, she heard a faint shuffling that alerted her to another presence, though it lessened the longer she listened.

  Someone has lost their way. I hope.

  Flopping back on the pillow, her pained head beat a steady tempo. She smacked her lips. Ugh, and why is there a foul taste in my mouth? Did I drink from the Thames? Placing her fingers on either side of her temples, she tried to recall what had happened the previous evening, but those events were clouded in a fog of pain and alcohol. The dull ache in her head impeded her ability to form a coherent thought.

  Perhaps I should be asking myself how much wine I had to drink last night? She remembered her elation at being able to speak, followed by several glasses of celebratory wine. Fuzzy bits swam about, but she was almost certain they had finished off at least two bottles of wine. She must have fallen asleep near the fireplace, and Alfred, ever the gentleman, had carried her to bed.

  Where is he? She looked around the dim room, locating him on the floor in front of the banked fire, his shoulders hunched against the room’s chill. It was going to be impossible to find sleep again this evening, so she took the counterpane off the bed and padded over to where he lay. Spreading the blanket over his sleeping form, she blushed at the intimate action, considering this is what he had done for her when he put her to bed.