by Gill, Tamara
The bartender, a tall, muscular-looking gentleman glanced at him and grinned. “Oh aye yes, and everyone else by the looks of it. I’m full up. You’ll have to find somewhere else to park ye ass tonight.”
“I’m more than willing to sleep in the taproom if there is nowhere else.”
“Taproom is full also. I have three carriages and two more wagons out the back. Full of the gentry and their staff who lost their way earlier today. I dinna have room for ya in here. You can sleep in the stables if ye like, but it’ll cost ye a shilling.”
“Thank you for your generosity,” he said, doubting the man would hear the sarcasm in his tone. Arthur went back outdoors. It was now full dark, and he headed over to the stables that were down one side of the building. The chill air made his bones ache, and entering the barn, he sat on a nearby hay pile that was sheltered a little from the wind.
He sat there for a time, rubbing his hands together, but it was no good. He would never get to sleep and not only that, he doubted if he’d survive the night. Who knew Surrey could get so cold? How he would give anything right at this moment to be back in London, in his warm, comfortable home on Berkley square where he could stack his fire until it was roaring and no cold could seep into his bones.
He glanced out the stable doors, and from here he could see Miss Evan’s little cottage, the candlelight flickering in the room behind her curtains. He stood, pacing and trying to warm his limbs. His mind whirred at imposing on her again. Arthur mumbled expletives. He could not disturb her for a second time in a matter of hours, especially after the day she had endured. He flexed his fingers, even in his kid-leather gloves, they were stiff and sore. His feet were tingling with lack of blood flow.
“Damn it,” he swore. Arthur stood and started toward her residence. It was the most absurd, intrusive action he’d ever taken in his life, but it was either ask for shelter or freeze to death. Some men, strong men, may withstand a night in the stables, in the open without a fire or blanket, but he was not one of them.
He debated his choice all but a moment as he stood outside the green-painted threshold before rapping hard against the wood.
Miss Evans opened it, and now, without her black bonnet, black mourning gown and the large traveling cloak, she was unlike anything he’d ever beheld in his life.
She’d looked like a crow in the carriage before, but now… Now she was nothing of the kind.
He bowed, not sure what to do when one was at a loss for words, and so he fell back into that of a lord, remembering his manners when meeting a lady. “Miss Evans, I am throwing myself at your feet. Please pity me and allow me to stay here this evening. There are no rooms left at the inn, and having been sitting in the stable this past hour, I realize that I will not survive the night if I’m made to stay there.”
Her eyes widened and she looked past him toward the inn before her attention snapped back to him. Her eyes, now that he could make out their color better, were a light green with the smallest fleck of blue through them. They were large, almond shaped, and her cheeks were the sweetest shade of pink. As for her hair, it was long and dark and he had the oddest feeling of wanting to see if it was as soft as it looked. Visions of it cascading over her bare shoulders in the throes of passion filled his mind and he cursed his wayward thoughts.
Miss Evans was not one of the many women in London who fell at his feet. She was an independent, honorable woman. His thoughts were dishonorable and not helpful.
At her continued silence, he said, “Please, Miss Evans. I will pay you handsomely if you will allow it.”
His words caught her attention and she stepped back, allowing him to enter. “Very well, you may sleep before the fire, Mr. Howard.”
Arthur headed straight for the fire, standing with his back to it and promising himself to kill his friends when he saw them again. “Thank you so very much. I shall pay you whatever you want, just name your price.”
She raised her brow. “Any price, Mr. Howard? Are you a rich man?”
She came and sat on the settee before the fire and he chuckled. He was a wealthy gentleman, a viscount no less, and one with multiple estates and lands both in the country and London. She could name any price she chose and he’d pay it. Anything was better than freezing to death outside. For one, his grandmother would be very disappointed indeed should he die in Surrey before marrying one of the many heiresses of her choosing. A Duncannon married for wealth and connections. To freeze to death without fulfilling the family duty would be a catastrophe.
“Whatever you want, Miss Evans. The choice is yours.”
She sat back on the lounge, and he looked down to see that she only had a pair of socks on her feet. The scene was awfully intimate, something a husband and wife may do late at night when all their staff were abed. She lifted her legs and placed them under her bottom and his lips twitched.
Arthur looked down at himself, his knee-high boots made by the best cobbler in London. His buckskin breeches and kid-leather gloves along with his riding jacket that was worth more than he would assume this small cottage cost. Not to mention his great coat and fur cap. He looked about, seeing a lot of books, but little else. The lounge Miss Evans sat upon was threadbare and worn, and the distinct smell of animal fat told him she did not use tallow candles.
“You have a lot of books here,” he stated, matter-of-fact.
She glanced about. “Yes, they were my father’s. We used to live in Felday House three miles from town. My father fell on hard times, and we were forced to move.”
He frowned, not liking that so much pain and suffering had befallen the generous—and if he were not mistaken—intelligent woman before him. “I’m sorry, Miss Evans. That must have been a terrible blow to your family.” He removed his gloves and slipped them into his pocket. “Another faux pas it would seem on my behalf since I was at Felday House just today. For what it is worth, the home was beautiful.”
She shrugged. “It’s been four years since I moved here, and I’ve been away at school most of that time. Soon I shall be going away again, closing up the cottage and starting my new life abroad.”
“You are leaving?” Arthur pushed aside the odd twinge of regret he felt at hearing such news. Why would he be feeling such an emotion? It wasn’t as if he knew her enough to be impacted by such information, and after today they would likely never meet again. And yet, the thought that he would never see her again made him melancholy. A state of being that he was not used to.
“I am. I’ve been offered a position as an assistant to Mr. Shelly, an Egyptologist from Cambridge University. He’s traveling there to study the culture, the history and historical sites of course. I’m going to help him with those endeavours.”
Arthur wasn’t sure how to answer such a statement. To meet a woman who was going to embark on such a journey… Well it simply wasn’t something that was done by the fairer sex. How splendid and intimidating at the same time.
“How extraordinary of you.” He marvelled at her. “Are you not frightened? I would not think Egypt would be the easiest country to live, nor the coolest.”
She laughed and her features lit up with the action. Not for the life of him could Arthur take his gaze from her pretty face and sweet nature. It was not every day one found someone on the road who would take a stranger into their home. Who was both beautiful and smart. Something told him the woman before him could hold an intelligent conversation that did not incorporate only discussions on current scandals or fashion.
“I should imagine not,” she said. “But I think I shall like the warm. I’m so very sick of the cold.” She shut her eyes, holding her face against the ceiling as if she already could feel the warmth of the sun on her skin. “I leave tomorrow for London to catch a ship the following day, so I had better like it, mustn’t I?”
Arthur laughed. “I suppose you must.” Warm now, he sat, but instead of sitting on the lone, leather-back chair to his left, he went and sat next to Miss Evans.
“May I know your giv
en name, Miss Evans? You may call me Arthur if you please.”
She turned and her inspection of him caused his blood to pump faster in his veins. How very odd. He’d never been so discombobulated with a woman before, and perhaps it was simply because the woman next to him was clever and soon to be more worldly than he as well.
“You may call me Hallie. Since you’re staying here, I suppose it’ll be all right.” She leaned back on the settee and Arthur studied the fire.
“Have you thought about what you would like from me in payment for letting me stay here? I meant what I said when I said you may have whatever your heart desires.”
Hallie pursed her lips and he swallowed. Damn it, he really needed to gain some manners. Next he’d be spouting love poetry at her feet if only she’d bestow him a kiss with her pretty mouth. He studied her profile a moment, his body tensing at the sight of her biting her plump bottom lip.
Bloody hell. He cringed. What a cad he was. A typical London rogue with no consideration for others.
“I do require some funds for my trip. I have very little, you see. Father did not leave very much, and although the cottage will be let while I’m away, I will not have access to those funds while in Egypt.” She looked him over, and heat licked up his spine. “So for helping you today on the road, and this evening, I should like fifty pounds, if you will.”
Fifty pounds… Well, she did play a hard bargain, but one he was willing to concede to. He nodded, but he in no way planned on leaving her such a small amount. The woman beside him deserved a whole lot more than that, and he would give her double before he walked away on the morrow.
“Consider it yours.”
Her eyes brightened with pleasure. “Thank you, you’re most kind. I had worried how I would pay for things while away. The position with Mr. Shelly pays very little, and your money will stop me from having to sell some household goods and valuables that I have here.” She stood, folding a small rug she had draped over her legs and placing it on the settee. “I do not have a lot left from Papa you see, so I was sad to have to sell things to do what I know he wanted me to do in my life. How favourable that your friends would play such a trick on you after all. How opportune for me.”
Arthur stood, sensing she was going to leave him alone. “The honor has been mine meeting you, Miss Evans…I mean, Hallie.”
She smiled and once again the vision of her threw him off balance. How was a simple gesture leaving him floundering? “I will see you in the morning, Mr. Howard.”
“Arthur, please,” he said, wanting to hear his name one more time on her lips.
“Arthur…” she repeated, turning away.
Panic seized him that their time together was coming to an end. He reached out, stalling her. “Before you go, may we have a toast, in honor of your father?”
She seemed to think about it a moment, before she nodded. Arthur watched as she walked into her small kitchen just off the room, the sound of a cupboard opening and closing and the clinking of glasses telling him that she had agreed.
He threw her a small smile as she came back in with two glasses of red wine, handing him one. “To my father. A man of wisdom and kindness.” She saluted and Arthur did the same.
“To Mr. Evans.”
He watched as she sipped the wine, one single droplet sitting on her lip. Without thought, he reached out, wiping it away with his thumb. Her gaze tore to him, her eyes wide and shocked. He expected to see reproach in her vibrant green gaze, but he did not. If anything, her gaze dipped to his lips and the hairs on the back of his neck rose.
Hell, she was a beauty. A hidden treasure out in the middle of nowhere.
Having had his fair share of women, he could read the signs of need as well as anyone, and his body stirred at the need emanating from her. Arthur leaned forward, clasping her face. He stopped, but a whisper from her lips. Their breath mingled, the scent of her, warm and sweet, intoxicated his soul. Never had he ever met someone so unique. A woman so unlike those he was expected to marry. She was intoxicating.
“I’m going to kiss you, Hallie,” he said, brushing his lips just the slightest against hers. As he expected, they were soft, pliant beneath his own.
What he did not expect, however, was for Hallie to kiss him back. No maidenly kiss, but a deep and thorough exploration of his mouth. The axis on which his world spun, tilted, sped up and whirled into unknown territory.
And he was lost with her in the middle of nowhere and happily so.
Chapter 3
London season 1824
* * *
Hallie stood beside her closest friends in all the world at the Duke and Duchess of Whitstone’s opening ball for the 1824 London season. Everyone who was anyone had accepted the invitation to the duke’s London home, which was rarely opened these days due to the fact the duke and duchess ran a successful horse racing estate. Such a large enterprise kept them busy most of the year.
But, as with people of such high rank, there was at times a duty to the peerage and His Grace had responsibilities at the House of Lords.
“So many people here. I’m sure we’ll not all fit in this room if people keep arriving like they are.”
Hallie absently nodded at her friend, Willow’s observation, thinking she may be right. The duke and duchess had planned well however, and there were other options for their guests. A large supper room had been opened all evening, along with a card room that Hallie could see from where she stood was full of gentleman gamblers already.
The four terrace doors were ajar, allowing a little of the outdoors to venture inside. The night was mild and a stroll or conversation outside would not be uncomfortable. To be in England and a society that she had never circulated within before was odd. Hallie watched the ton at play, her mind always divided these days. Part of her life meant she had to take part in this world. Be seen due to her friendship with Ava, the Duchess of Whitstone. But her heart also remained with her son, who right at this time would be sound asleep if her cousin, who was bringing him up, had stuck to Hallie’s routine.
Hallie checked her gown, thankful her friend Ava had loaned her a dress suitable for the evening. She had very little, other than an education and a cottage in Felday, which she could not return to at present since it was being leased. But one day she would return home with her son. The thought of her upcoming dig in Somerset would help in achieving that goal, and if she could secure more work that was similar, her financial independence would be secure.
A footman passed with a tray of champagne and she procured one, needing fortitude to face the evening, or at least one person who would be here that she’d not seen in three years, not since the night of the fire at Ava’s estate.
Lord Duncannon. The very man that had used her home and then before she was even out of bed the next day, up and left without a word. He was a rake, and a charlatan, both charges she could lay at his door. That the Duke of Whitstone was best friends with the gentleman made little sense, and she had more than once asked Ava how it could be that her lovely, charming husband could be friends with such an ass.
Hallie shook her head, shamed over her actions that night in Felday. What she had done was so out of character it made one think she’d lost her mind. Quite possibly so, considering what she did.
“Oh, look, Ava and His Grace are opening the ball with a waltz. How lovely,” Evie said, watching them with both adoration and longing.
A gentleman came up to Evie, another of their school friends who had been sent to France and asked her to dance. Hallie smiled, glad her friend was enjoying herself. Even if she only danced once this evening, it would be enough for Evie and make the ball one to remember in her opinion.
“Stop squeezing your champagne glass, Hallie. You’ll break the crystal stem off.”
Hallie relaxed her fingers around her glass, unaware she’d been holding it so tight. “Sorry, I’m tired is all. The voyage from Egypt was long and I do not believe I’ve yet acclimatized to the cooler weather. Nor have I sle
pt very well since I have to have so many heavy blankets on me just to stop myself from freezing.”
“Or,” Willow said, inspecting her as if she were inspecting a new pair of kid leather gloves. “You’re nervous.”
Hallie frowned, turning back to watch the dancers and ignoring her friend. Had she somehow found out about her and her child? Not one of her friends knew of her disgrace and nor would they ever, not if she could manage it. Her son was happy and living with her cousin in Berkshire and he would be raised without the besmirch of bastard clouding his name if she could help it.
“What do I have to be nervous about? I’m about to start my own excavation in Somerset. I will be away from the dreadful ton and will have no one but myself to contend with for the next three months. I am the happiest woman here, I am sure,” she lied, preferring to be with her little boy, but she could not. She had to earn money to ensure he was safe. Nothing else mattered.
“So if I were to tell you that Lord Duncannon was staring at you from across the ballroom floor, you would not react?”
Her legs went weak at the idea of him watching her. As best she could, she glanced at her friend, feigning indifference. “Tell me it isn’t so.” She did not want to see him and certainly she did not want to speak to him. Mr. Arthur Howard indeed. He had fooled her all those years ago, but he would not fool her again. It had been bad enough upon her arrival in London that she’d learned he was the newly appointed benefactor to the London Museum, the location that she was to deliver Mr. Shelly’s latest finds from Egypt. It was the last of her duties with the Egyptologist, who had declared this to be his final dig in Egypt and so her employment under the gentleman had come to an end.
Thankfully the day she had delivered the artifacts, Lord Duncannon had been absent and she’d not been unfortunate enough to have to engage with him.