“My . . .” Her eyes went round. “Of course!” she exclaimed, and then as if he’d told the grandest of jests, she dissolved into laughter. “My keyyy,” she slurred, when her merriment had faded to a giggle. She stared up at him with those doe-eyes. “Where is my keyyy?”
Rafe swiped a hand over his face, as a half groan, half laugh escaped him. He let his arm fall, and motioned to the bodice of her dress. “There, princess.”
She followed that gesture, and promptly slapped two palms over her breasts and squeezed them together, those same gently rounded swells he’d been worshipping two days ago. His blood thickened . . . and then she reached inside the top of her gown, fishing around, feeling about.
Rafe briefly closed his eyes, and prayed for strength.
“It is . . . missing!” she cried out. “Gone. Absolutely missing. What shall we dooo?” she wailed, her forlornness giving way to another bout of giggles. Edwina slid down, but managed to use the wall to stop herself from completely falling.
“It is there, Edwina.” For the love of all the saints in heaven, please, please find it, he silently implored her. “Look again.”
“It isn’t.” She thrust her bosom out, bringing his gaze there once more. “I’ve quite cheeeecked there, you knowww.”
Yes, he knew. Lord, how he knew. He also knew that the absolute absence of that key meant more of this prolonged torture. Raising his eyes to the cracked plaster ceiling, he felt for that metal chain, and withdrew it.
Edwina clapped wildly. “Youuuu are a magician, Mr. Audley, do you know that?”
Rafe inserted the key into the lock. It gave with a little click, earning him another round of applause from the thoroughly foxed Edwina Dalrymple. “Come along, princess.”
“And do you knowww, where they have magicians. Hmm? I shall tell you,” she said, as he caught her by the waist, and guided her into the room. “In Londonnn!” she cried, and clasped her hands to her chest. That quick movement unsteadied the lady, and she toppled forward.
Rafe caught her, and kicking the door shut behind them, he led her onward to the cozy-looking bed she’d turned down earlier.
“And there’s parlor tricks and museums and circuses, and you would love it soooo much,” she prattled on.
The lady didn’t miss a beat, selling him on a London visit even when she was deep in her cups.
Rafe set her down, and made to straighten up. Edwina caught his lapels, and dragged him down with her.
Cursing, he lost his balance, and fell atop her. He managed to catch himself on his elbows.
“I’ve decided you should stayyy.” Edwina wrapped her arms about him and held tight.
“Have you?” he asked, perspiration beading his brow. Think of something. Think of anything. That was, anything other than the feel of her soft form under his, and her questing fingers moving purposefully under his jacket, and tugging his shirt free. He tried.
And failed.
Rafe intercepted her movements. “You don’t want to do that, princess,” he said gruffly, straightening to put some space between them.
“Oh, pooh.” Edwina pushed herself up onto her elbows; her lush lips formed a perfect, and perfectly tempting pout. “I dooo.” She flared her eyes. “That is a rhyme.” She clapped wildly, and with a pained laugh, he used the opportunity to draw free.
“What am I going to do with you, princess?”
“I’ll tell you,” she spoke in a thick, sultry whisper, and with unsteady movements, Edwina got herself up onto her knees. “You’re going to come with me. I want you here and there and everywhere.” She again reached for him.
Cursing, Rafe caught her just as she would have pitched face-forward onto the floor. “I do want you, you knowww.” With her face buried against his jacket, her words came muffled against him, but clear. Still so very clear. He stared over the top of her head, and prayed for strength and patience. “I want to do what we did again. I’ve thought about it all these days, and I’d like to do it again.” Tossing her arms wide, she let herself flop onto her back.
He stared down at her where she lay, a silly smile on her crimson lips, and sighed. “Well, I cannot oblige this night,” No matter how much he might want her. Which he did. Desperately.
She rolled onto her side and pouted. “Yes, you caaan.”
“Not if I am a man of honor.” Which he was. He didn’t have legitimacy to his name, but he was also not one who’d ever take advantage of her, or any woman. Not in this way, and not in any way.
Edwina’s lashes fluttered. “But I want it.”
And with all his earlier insistences on his own honor, the devil was determined to tempt Rafe and taunt him, challenging him on that very thing.
She caught Rafe, and worked her hand under his jacket and up his shirt, stroking his chest. He groaned, and gently, but firmly, disentangled those searching fingers from his person. Edwina raised her mouth up to his, and he eyed that lush offering for a heartbeat. “How about I oblige you in a different way,” he said hoarsely, taking a step back, to allow for some distance.
“What are you offfering, Rafe?”
“I’ll join you in London.” The sooner he did, the sooner he could be free of her, and return to a life without the distracting and delectable Edwina Dalrymple in it. “We can leave tomorrow at noon.” The lady would need the morning to recover from her overindulgence.
She let out a squeal and then launched herself at him. “This is splendid,” she said, pressing kisses against his cheek. “It’s because of the magicians, isn’t it?”
“N—”
“And you aren’t allowed to change your mind, either. You are going to be ever so . . . glad you did.” And then, her thick, dark lashes drifted down, and her frame went heavy in his arms.
He looked down.
A loud, bleating snore spilled from a slumbering Edwina Dalrymple.
Catching her, he guided her back down to the mattress; her curls lay spread about her lace-ruffled pillow. Rafe removed her slippers, and then drew the covers up to her chin.
In sleep, a little smile danced on her lips, as she snuggled deeper into that mattress.
Another endearing snore escaped her lips, and leaving her to her rest, Rafe left. Locking the door behind him, he took up a spot on the floor outside her rooms and stood guard.
Chapter 15
The bad news was Edwina was dying.
The good news was that she’d managed to convince Rafe Audley to join her in London.
The very, very bad news was that she was going to have to begin a carriage ride while feeling like death was coming for her.
And it surely was.
Or, she thought he had agreed to accompany her. Everything about last evening was a blur. There’d been music. And ale. And even more ale. And her singing, too. She distantly and dimly recalled that.
Even thinking of the raucous crowd of the taproom sent pain shooting to her temples.
Edwina winced, and pressed her fingertips against them. If she weren’t so miserable, she’d have been properly horrified and ashamed of her actions last evening.
Alas, the figure staring back at her in the cracked, dirty bevel mirror mocked her for her outrageousness.
Good, she deserved this reminder of what happened when a lady behaved as less than a lady. Wasn’t she always telling her charges as much? That no good came from wickedness? Well, she’d learned that firsthand.
Except . . . a hazy memory slid in, of Edwina and Rafe in these rooms, with her on the bed, moving her hands under his shirt, and touching his naked skin.
She closed her eyes.
What . . . else had she done? There’d been no hint of blood on the sheets, but she also knew there didn’t have to be.
A hard knock rent the quiet and split her skull.
She moaned, and when that slight sound spilling from her own lips ne
arly finished off the remainder of her head, she bit her lip, stifling the remainder of sound.
No. Sound.
Nothing. There could be no noise. None at—
“Edwina?” Knock-knock-knock.
Rafe.
He was here.
Just as he’d promised. And instead of the expected relief and sense of victory that should exist at what this day represented, dread churned low in her belly. A stomach already sick from her excess, now nauseated at the prospect of facing him.
Nay, that wasn’t it.
At the prospect of facing what they had done. Or possibly done.
How could she face him?
“Edwina, did you survive last night?” Knock-knock-knock. That pounding grew more insistent, and it was a deserved punishment for the lack of restraint she’d shown.
Heading for the door as quick as she was able, given her current state, she unlocked the door and opened it, catching him mid-rap.
Rafe stood there with his fist in the air. He gave her an up and down. “You look like hell,” he said, by way of greeting.
She winced again, and cradled her head between her fingers. “That is hardly something you wish to say to a woman. When we begin your lessons, we will address that.”
“Is an appropriate amount of ale consumption to be included in our lessons, too?” he drawled.
“Oh, you lummox,” she muttered, swatting at his arm, and then immediately regretted those efforts.
And, unlike in the past when mention of lessons came up, this time he grinned. Granted, it was more of a cynical half twist of his lips. But there was a hint of humor, which is more than she could have said for any other expression he’d worn when faced with the prospects of their working together.
Not bothering to wait for an invitation, Rafe stepped past her and into the room.
It wasn’t the first he’d been in here . . . alone with her. But it would absolutely be the last. Joining him in his chambers in the duke’s household would result in nothing other than her sacking, a loss of employment, an assurance that she’d never work again in any respectable role.
“You did this, in your current state?” he asked, taking in the packed trunks and valises that sat in the middle of the room, and the now completely undecorated room.
“I did. After all, there is nothing worse than wasted—”
“Time,” he cut her off. “Yeah, yeah. I got all of that lesson the first time you gave it.”
They were dancing around it. And coward that she was, Edwina found herself wanting to continue evading talk of what had happened just hours ago in this room. However, they needed to speak on it. She did.
Alas, a pair of the duke’s footmen appeared at the front of the room, thus allowing her another brief reprieve.
Clasping her hands primly before her, she observed the young pair rushing about to gather up her things.
Before she’d met Rafe Audley, she would have been horrified at the mere thought of relinquishing her virtue. In her time here, however, she’d come to appreciate that there needn’t necessarily be shame in letting herself, a grown woman, know and taste passion, but neither did she want it to be . . . with her inebriated, and unaware of . . . any of what should be special.
Her two trunks stacked atop the other, the young men balanced them, and carted them off.
When they’d left, and she and Rafe were alone once more, Edwina found her voice and the courage to continue. “What happened last evening should not have happened,” she said bluntly. Every word uttered was a challenge to her throbbing head. “And I am embarrassed about my conduct and vow that you needn’t worry about me . . . about us . . .” Doing what they’d done, and that which she couldn’t remember.
And what deficit of her character existed that her failure to remember a night spent in his arms should inspire even more regret than what she’d done?
“Edwina,” he murmured, lightly grazing her chin with his knuckles, and bringing her chin up to meet his. “Nothing happened.”
Her heart stopped beating. “It d-didn’t?” Edwina faltered over her own faintly spoken question.
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
Of their own volition, her eyes slid closed, and she sent a prayer skyward. “Thank you. I don’t know why . . . I just had the memory of something happening and—” Something appeared in his eyes, and then was gone. “Oh, God,” She touched her fingers to her mouth.
Memories trickled in:
. . . I want you here, there, and everywhere . . .
The feel of his flat, firm, and naked belly under her fingers. His removing her hands from his person. Her legs went weak, and she slid onto the edge of the bed. “I . . . was inappropriate, wasn’t I?” she asked, her voice weak to her own ears. Except . . . she already knew.
“It is fine. The ale was strong. I should not have allowed you to . . . get that way.”
Those were the most honorable and noble words he might have said in response to how she’d behaved . . . how she’d conducted herself. And yet—
Edwina looked up. “I am in control of my own actions and decisions, last evening and always. The fault lies with me, Rafe.” Never again. Never, ever would she be so careless. What was it about this man that made her forget herself?
“We all have moments of imprudence. We should expect the people around us to not take advantage if we do.”
She drew in her breath. “Thank you. I don’t know what overcame me. I am always responsible and respectable and—”
“You let yourself freely live last night. Do not punish yourself for it.”
Tears stung her eyes. Why was he being so nice to her?
The footmen reappeared at the door, and she hurriedly stood; her stomach turned at the sudden movement. One of the boys collected the last of her valises and rushed off.
The other bowed deeply. “The carriages are packed. We are ready, Mr. Audley.”
We are ready . . . Mr. Audley.
“Thank you,” he said gruffly, discomfort at that formality written on his features.
Everything from that proper bow to the words uttered were, of course, directed at the duke’s son. Which was as it should be. The moment Rafe agreed to join his father, the footman had ceased to answer to a mere servant, which was what Edwina had always been. The walls were already beginning to go up. And it was for the best.
For the carriages might be ready, but she no longer knew she was ready for this . . . any of it. Being in close quarters with a man such as Rafe Audley. Letting her guard down, as she had.
Returning to London, and beginning her assignment, actually beginning, was what she needed to return to some semblance of normality.
“Is there anything else you require, Mr. Audley?”
He looked to her. “Miss Dalrymple?”
He let the decision be hers. For some reason it made her want to cry that he should include her in the final preparations for their travels. It was a small gesture, but a mighty one, where she was granted some matter of say when she’d never been before.
“There is not,” she said, around the swell of emotion in her throat. “We are ready.” And headed for the door, feeling Rafe following close behind.
Distance. That was what they needed. It was just that she had allowed herself to get too close and be too close to him. She’d been spending so much time trying to convince him, and not really working on the task at hand. That was why it was integral that she dive immediately into his edification.
The moment they reached the duke’s carriage, Rafe handed her up, his fingers folding briefly over hers, sending warmth burning through her glove, and racing up her arm.
“Miss Dalrymple,” Cailin cried happily, the moment Edwina took her place on the red upholstered bench.
“Miss Audley, it is so wonderful to see you.” For so many reasons. Not j
ust because her presence ensured Edwina and Rafe were not alone, that added level of defense against the pull he had over her, but also because she genuinely liked the other woman.
“Oh, no, you must call me Cailin.”
“I am afraid that won’t be permitted in London,” she murmured.
The young woman frowned. “I have no intention of letting Polite Society dictate how I treat friends.”
Edwina’s heart lifted. Friends? It was the first time, really in the whole of her life, that she’d ever had anyone call her friend. And yet . . . “That is the way of this world, Cailin,” she advised, managing to keep her own regret at bay.
Cailin snorted. “Well, I don’t like that, at all.”
Then she was going to like the constraints of Polite Society a lot less. However, there were so many more opportunities there for all the Audley siblings. As such, it was Edwina’s responsibility to help them see the benefits outweighed the unfamiliar proprieties that would be expected of them.
Rafe entered, and took the place beside his sister. His tall, heavily muscled frame managed to shrink the immense space of the carriage, making it feel impossibly small under his herculean size.
The servant shut the door behind them, and a moment later . . . they were off.
Onward to London, as she’d been attempting for days now.
Onward to her future, working among the peerage.
And onward, to the end of her time with Rafe . . . and his family.
And with that came a wave of sadness . . . the likes of which she’d never felt upon the completion of any assignment she’d taken. Yes, she’d had friendly enough charges, some who’d even been kind to her, but Edwina had always known her time with each family was finite, and as a result, it had been ever-so-easy to end it.
But what if that hadn’t really been the case? What if the reason she never felt bereft over a parting was because there’d not really been anyone worth being bereft over?
Along Came a Lady Page 19