by Cheryl Holt
“I can—when I’m in the mood.”
“With you having inherited, will you remain in the navy? Or will you resign and return to Benton to take charge?”
“I haven’t decided. It’s a conundrum that vexes me.”
“Were you aware that the servants are betting over it?”
“I should find out what odds they’re offering. Perhaps I can win a few pounds.”
“You will not siphon money from your staff, Lord Benton. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“You ride such a moral high horse.”
“Someone should.”
“I like it when it’s you. It saves me the bother.”
“You haven’t answered my question,” she said. “Will you remain in the navy?”
“I constantly debate, but I can’t reach a conclusion. If I trudge to Benton, I’ll have to figure out what to do with my sister-in-law and her family. Benton is their home, but I can’t bear the notion of living there with them. Yet I’d feel too guilty to kick them out.”
“Ah…you have a conscience after all.”
“Yes, I have a conscience. I just don’t let it nag at me very often.”
He stood and filled their plates again. He refilled their wine too, and it occurred to her that it was very delicious and she’d already had two glasses. She had to slow down and be careful, but when he was being so interesting and chatty, she had no desire to slow down.
“What about you?” he asked. “Tell me your entire life’s story.”
“My past is so dull that you’d fall asleep in the middle of it.”
“I doubt it. I deem you to be quite fascinating.”
“I have no idea why you would.”
“Honestly, Jo Bates, you are incredibly captivating. Hasn’t any man ever told you so? Don’t claim I’m the first fellow to notice. I’ll never believe you.”
She was always unnerved when a handsome man used words like fascinating and captivating. Mr. Cartwright had mesmerized her with flowery compliments, but she was wiser now. A bit of flattery wouldn’t kill her, and she was too smart to take it seriously.
“I had a beau once,” she said.
“What happened to him?”
She calmly and blithely replied, “He changed his mind.”
“Well, he’s an idiot. I officially declare it.”
“I agree with you, and it was his loss.”
“Absolutely.”
He lifted his glass, and she lifted hers, and they toasted his pronouncement.
For a moment, she worried he might press her for details, but he didn’t. He forged on to other topics.
“Who was your father?” he asked.
“A gentleman farmer.”
“Wealthy though, wasn’t he? The evidence is clear from how you dress and carry yourself.”
“I suppose he was rich, but he died deeply in debt. We had to sell our property and move to a small house that my sister inherited from her grandmother. We were lucky to have it.”
He frowned. “I hate to hear tales of woe like that.”
“It was a grueling experience.”
“How old were you when he passed away?”
“Thirteen.”
“And your mother?”
“Gone too—when I was a baby.”
“What’s your sister’s name? Maud?”
“Yes.”
“Any other siblings?”
“No.”
“But she’s difficult.”
“Did I tell you that?”
“Yes—or maybe I gleaned it from some of your comments.”
“I should be more circumspect.”
“Don’t you dare,” he said. “I’ve commanded you to spill all, remember? You can’t hold back any information.”
“You’ve learned about my deceased father and my grouchy sister and how we’re living in reduced conditions. That’s the sum total of my existence.”
“Who was your mother? Who was her family?”
“I hope you won’t faint, but my mother was Maud’s nanny.”
He blanched, then laughed. “My goodness, how shocking.”
“Yes, it was very shocking.”
“Were the neighbors scandalized?”
“Definitely. She was viewed as a seductive, up-jumped tart, and it’s the main reason my sister and I don’t get along. Her mother was very grand, and my mother wasn’t, and she never lets me forget it.”
“Your mother must have been extremely beautiful to have enticed your father.”
“People insisted she’d cast a magic spell on him. Either that or my father had lost his mind.”
“Was she beautiful? Am I correct?”
“Yes, she was.”
“Your auburn hair and blue eyes”—he pointed to them—“they came from her?”
“Yes.”
“I understand why your father couldn’t resist.”
She loathed being the focus of attention and having to talk about her family. She never liked having to justify her mother’s marriage.
The simple fact was that a rich man had grown besotted with her, and she’d latched on to the security he’d offered to provide. What woman wouldn’t have latched on?
Jo stood and dished them each a piece of apple pie. They finished their desserts, then declared themselves stuffed. She’d intended to thank him and escape to her bedchamber, but before she could, he was leading her to a parlor down the hall. It was small and cozy, and a cheery fire burned in the fireplace. There were two chairs positioned in front of it.
“Shall we sit?” he suggested.
“Haven’t you had enough of me?”
“Not yet.”
She sighed. “I probably shouldn’t, Lord Benton.”
“Don’t be a nuisance, and don’t aggravate me. Sit down.”
“All right, all right,” she groused.
She plopped down, as he puttered about, pouring himself a brandy and another glass of wine for her. Then he settled into the other chair, and they stared at the flames. A companionable silence blossomed. It was so effortless to be with him. It was pleasant and addicting.
“What is your plan for Daisy, Bobby, and Jane?” she asked after a bit. “Have you reached any decisions?”
“I have to have a serious conversation with Richard and Barbara, but I’m so keen to avoid a fight with them. I’ll likely procrastinate as long as possible.”
“Mr. Slater wants them gone by July fifteenth.”
“I can certainly counter that edict, and there’s no rush, is there? The three of them have lived at Benton for most of a decade. If we require a few more weeks or months to make arrangements, there’s no harm done.”
“I don’t trust Mr. Slater though. Daisy told me he’s awful to their governess, Miss Watson. I guess he yells at her, and the children hear him.”
“I’ll put a stop to that.” He scowled over at her. “What is your opinion? If their maternal relatives could take them away from Benton, wouldn’t that be better? Their cottage—conveniently located in the middle of nowhere—seemed rather lonely to me. In the Benton area, they’ll always be notorious as Neville’s by-blows. What if they could reside where their ancestry wasn’t a ball and chain?”
“It depends on the situation the maternal kin can supply. I’d hate to have their circumstances deteriorate.”
“No, I wouldn’t allow that.”
“Would you consider letting them stay on at Benton? What if no one can devise an alternative? What then?”
“The problem is that I understand Barbara’s position.” The comment wasn’t really an answer. “Their presence has been incredibly galling to her, so I need to ponder her view and contend with it.”
“Of course you should.”
He wasn’t inclined to discuss it further, and he grabbed a book off a shelf. He handed it to her. “Would you read some poetry to me?”
“Poetry? That sounds positively domestic
, Lord Benton.”
“Well, I’m feeling quite domestic, and just for tonight, would you call me Peyton?”
She gazed at him, thinking how much she liked him, how much she was enjoying herself. It was insane to dig a deeper hole for herself, but why not? “How about if we agree on Commander Prescott for now?”
“I’ll take what I can get from you.”
They frittered away the next two hours chatting and reading to each other. It was all very dear, very special. She caught herself wondering why they had to part in the morning, and the fact that she would engage in such a flight of fancy was alarming.
Peyton Prescott was from a different world and on a trajectory that would propel him to the highest circles in the land. She had no place in that world, and she was being ridiculous.
“I should go up,” she finally said.
“Must you?”
“I have a big day tomorrow, and I should sleep as much as I can.”
“Will you and your sister quarrel?”
“I’m certain of it.”
“I’m sorry for how my family’s issues have impacted you.”
“My family is involved in it too, and my sister and I always have discord. My relationship with her has never been easy.”
He shifted in his seat to study her, and his fond expression was frightening. She could have tarried forever, basking in his glow.
“I’m glad we spent this evening together,” he said.
“So am I.”
“You were so afraid it would be horrid, but admit it. It was very fun.”
“Yes, it was.”
“It saddens me to suppose our connection will be brief,” he told her. “Would you like to keep in touch? Could we correspond? What would you think of that?”
She chuckled at the absurdity of the notion. “Are you actually the type of man who would sit down and write a letter?”
“Not usually, but for you, I might make an exception.”
Her imagination scrolled through a dozen thrilling scenarios where they were friends, where they penned letters and shared confidences and sent each other little gifts. It was such an exciting prospect, but she simply couldn’t participate.
If they had any enduring contact, she would attach too much meaning to it. She would mope and pine away and fall in love. She was a romantic ninny, and she would never tamp down her expectation that he was about to arrive and declare himself. She’d drive herself mad with unreciprocated anticipation.
“We shouldn’t correspond,” she said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. It’s not a good idea.”
“I disagree. I never have bad ideas.”
She laughed. “Never?”
“No, and I would always be interested to hear how you’re getting on.”
“There are never any changes in my life, so you wouldn’t need a letter to find that out.”
She realized he was in no hurry, and if she didn’t terminate the encounter, she might never escape. She stood, so he had to stand too. A thousand unvoiced remarks swirled between them.
“I won’t say goodbye tonight,” he said.
“No, it’s not goodbye. Not quite yet.”
“We’ll have breakfast.”
“I’d like that.”
“How about at nine o’clock?”
“Nine will be perfect.”
They hovered, neither able to walk out. Then he dipped down and kissed her. She’d like to insist she was surprised, but that would be a lie.
After all, she wasn’t a complete innocent. She’d previously been betrothed, and she recognized budding desire in a male.
It was a sweet embrace, just a quick brush of his lips to her own. As he pulled away, she smiled and said, “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“I couldn’t resist.”
She tried to make light of the situation. “Are you claiming I’m irresistible?”
“Definitely, and I want to do it again.”
He bent down and captured her lips once more, but the second embrace was nothing like the first. His arm slid around her waist so their torsos were pressed tight all the way down. Her breasts were crushed to his chest, their feet and thighs tangled together.
He kissed her deeply, passionately. He kissed her as if she were the last woman on Earth and he were the last man and they were the last two people who would ever kiss. Ever. His tongue was in her mouth, his hands in her hair. His busy fingers roamed over her shoulders and back, learning her shape.
It was delightful and dangerous and very, very wicked. She joined in with a great deal of relish, and while she comprehended that she shouldn’t have, she couldn’t seem to force herself to care.
She couldn’t guess how long they continued, but it was long enough that the fire dwindled and the temperature grew cold. Gradually, they drew apart. She peered up at him, vowing to never forget how grand he looked at that moment.
“Come to my room,” he fervently requested. “Say yes.”
He overwhelmed her so thoroughly that she nearly consented before she somehow mustered the fortitude to decline. “I never could. I can’t believe you asked.”
“I hate for the evening to end like this. Come with me.”
“No,” she firmly responded. “Never.”
“It would be marvelous.”
“In some other universe perhaps, but not in this one.” She stepped away, instantly regretting the loss of his bodily heat. “Goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He reached for her, and she jumped back. If he touched her again, she might not be so adamant in her refusal. She whirled away and ran for the stairs.
He murmured her name—desperately, ardently—begging her to stop, but she ignored him and kept on.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jo was across the street from the Claremont Hotel. It was where Maud always stayed when she came to town, but Jo had never stayed with her. Maud would never have thought to bring her along.
Maud had a small trust fund from her grandmother, so she had a bit of money. She spent it on herself and never shared any of it with Jo. Jo tried not to be jealous—her sister was who she was—but on occasion, it was difficult to accept their disparate situations.
The hotel was close to Maud’s favorite dressmaker, and she was in a clothing frenzy, desperate to have her trousseau completed before the wedding. She’d made a deposit in order to get the seamstresses sewing, but the remainder of her bill would be paid after the ceremony was over and her dowry had been released to Mr. Townsend.
At least Maud was hoping Mr. Townsend would pay the bill. Jo doubted Maud had ever discussed it with him, just as she wondered if any of the shopkeepers realized Maud’s ploy. She was charging to her account like an aristocrat.
Jo fretted about problems Maud never paused to consider. They had no father to guide them in their fiscal decisions which had proved disastrous in their dealings with Mr. Cartwright. She didn’t like Maud’s betrothed, Mr. Townsend, but she had no one with whom to share her qualms. Not Maud, that was for sure.
By Mr. Townsend’s meager standard, Maud was a great heiress. He was a fifth son with no prospects, and his oldest brother, Charles, was Maud’s lawyer. Charles had introduced them and had pushed the match.
Maud—with her house in the country, trust fund, dowry, and elevated bloodline—was actually quite a catch. That is if a person ignored her temper and rages.
Jo might have felt sorry for Mr. Townsend and his not being apprised of Maud’s true nature, but he was a dodgy character. He and Maud deserved each other.
There was a break in the traffic, and to her surprise, he emerged from the hotel where he’d probably been visiting Maud. With his trim physique and dapper suit, he looked successful and fashionable, but he was neither, and Jo was in no mood to chat with him.
In light of the marvelous, dangerous evening she’d passed with Lord Benton, she was in a conflicted state,
her emotions a tad pummeled.
They were to have had breakfast together, but she’d risen early, packed her bag, and tiptoed out without a word. Lest he worry, she’d penned a thank you note and had placed it on her bed. The tone had been cordial, but cool, providing no hint of her overwhelmed condition.
She was absurdly attached to him, but their stunning attraction couldn’t lead anywhere. She kept recollecting how he’d begged her to sneak up to his room, and the memory left her weak in the knees.
When her marriage to Mr. Cartwright had approached, she’d had a blunt talk about marital obligation with their widowed cook. The woman had explained what it entailed, and while Jo didn’t grasp all the particulars, she had a fairly good understanding of what was expected.
If she’d accompanied Lord Benton to his bedchamber, was that the sort of behavior he’d intended? Would they have removed their clothes and climbed under the blankets to touch each other in intimate ways?
Her imagination was on fire, her patience exhausted, her disposition weary, and she couldn’t bear to spar with Thompson Townsend.
She shifted out of sight, the crowd milling around her so she was shielded from view, but the woman next to her suddenly shouted, “Thompson! It’s me!”
She was brash and flashy, as if she might be an actress or singer. Her blond hair was intricately curled, and she was wearing a bright red gown that was cut very low in the front. An elaborate bonnet was perched on her head, and exotic feathers trailed behind.
He recognized her voice, and he smiled and waved, then hurried across the street, darting past carriages and proceeding directly toward the woman. He rushed up to her and kissed her on the mouth—right out in the open where anyone could observe them.
“Was she there?” the woman asked him.
“Yes. We had breakfast, and I gave her a little gift, so I’ve done my duty for the day.”
“Thank the Lord.”
“Let’s get going.”
They turned, arm in arm, and there was no chance to avoid them. In two quick steps, they nearly ran into her.
Mr. Townsend blanched, and it was obvious he was engaged in mischief. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but he swiftly regrouped.
“Josephine! Why are you in London?” he asked. “I’m…ah…astonished to see you here.”