Cornelia had resigned herself to joining her aunts and the colonel when all eyes turned towards the grand staircase.
Descending nonchalantly, Burnell gave Cornelia a slow smile and inclined his head politely to the others.
She ought to be cross with him but her relief was far stronger than her annoyance. More than that, the very sight of him made it suddenly difficult to breathe.
Do get a hold of yourself. Cornelia gave the back of her hand a pinch. It’s all for show, remember.
“Hope I’m not too late to partake of the fun.” Reaching her side, he dropped his voice low. “Glad to see you dressed more sensibly than on your last trip outside.”
By the look of the rambling garlands of holly and ivy painted on the inside of each sleigh, the children had been given liberty with the decoration. Meanwhile, ribboned bells interwoven through the harnesses created a charming tinkling as each pair of horses set off.
The duke and duchess stood on the front steps behind Thomas and Melinda, who waved, shouting encouragement.
“The reins are yours, I believe.” Burnell looped them through her hands so they wouldn’t slip.
“I can’t!” Cornelia hurriedly handed them back. “Once we get going, think of the speed. I won’t be able to hold the horses.”
“Easy there. Some things you only learn by trying.”
Not wanting to seem cowardly, Cornelia clenched her fists around the leather and flicked her wrists, setting the horses in motion. For a few minutes they drove in silence, Cornelia keeping her focus on the horses’ tossing manes.
It didn’t seem so difficult, after all, and they were soon some way from the abbey, all about them sparkling, frosted white.
She wasn’t sure what to make of Burnell, or her feelings where he was concerned but, right now, she was resolved to enjoy the surrounding beauty and the freshness of the crisp winter air. Everything here was unhindered and open, and there was no one to tell her what she should be doing or saying. Maddening as Burnell was, he never judged her in that way.
Snapping the reins again, she made the horses trot a little faster and her heart lifted with a sudden feeling of joy and freedom.
“Looks like you’re a natural. Shame it’s so darned cold though. We get snow in Texas, but not like this; leastwise, not that I remember.”
“There are blankets.” Cornelia indicated over her shoulder.
“That sister of mine thinks of everything.” Burnell retrieved one from behind, folding it over Cornelia’s lap, then did the same for himself.
His leg pressed briefly to hers as he reached over but he acted as if nothing was amiss.
He was clearly intent on avoiding awkwardness.
“What’s it like where you’re from—Texas, I mean?” Cornelia had wanted to ask for a while; she couldn’t help being curious.
“Nothing like here. None of your dainty hedgerows and squared off fields. Mostly desert and mountains and skies that roll on forever—leastwise in the part we’re from.” His voice drifted and he looked off towards the other side of the lake.
The tinkling sound of bells carried across the frozen water from the leading sleigh. Their horses were keeping a steady pace but the others appeared far ahead. Cornelia had a feeling they were taking the competitive element of the entertainment far more seriously than she.
“I’d like to see it…I mean, it sounds majestic.” Cornelia didn’t want him having the idea that she expected anything from him. She shifted in her seat. “I haven’t travelled as much as I’d like. Hardly at all, in fact.”
“The world’s a big place, that’s for sure. Plenty of sights to see if you’re not happy where you’re at.” Burnell shrugged. “We all make our own choices.”
It was the sort of answer she’d come to expect but his blitheness rankled nonetheless. He could travel on a whim, going wherever he liked; alone if he felt like it. She had the means to do so but not the liberty.
She’d done her best to guide her happiness but there were restraints upon what she might achieve. At the British Museum for example, Mr. Pettigrew would never give her more responsibility than she had at present. As long as she kept to her basement room and didn’t make a fuss, she was suffered to remain—nothing more.
As they rounded the bottom of the lake, the sleigh swayed and Burnell’s leg touched hers again but he didn’t allow the contact to continue, and his hands stayed firmly on his knees. Despite herself, Cornelia felt rather piqued. He’d made no reference to the kiss that had occurred between them. Clearly, it meant little, or he’d have broached the subject.
She cast a quick glance sideways. “I must congratulate you, Mr. Burnell. Both the baron and Lord Fairlea were eager to have me join them. News of my new-found popularity is sure to circulate London in time for the new Season. I may win myself a husband after all.”
Burnell’s expression was neutral. “Like I said—men always hanker for what’s sought after by others. Either that, or they want what’s supposedly forbidden.”
And what about you? She wanted to say. What is it you hanker for, Ethan?
Up ahead, the tracks led between overarching trees—a tunnel of sorts. Passing through, the branches, white with snow, dimmed the brightness of the sun and blocked them from view. If Burnell wished to slip his hand about her waist or steal a kiss, now would be the moment. To Cornelia’s chagrin, he attempted neither.
“I know all about what’s supposedly forbidden.” Cornelia sat up a little straighter. “At the museum, they think I don’t know what they’re up to, but I do!”
Burnell turned to her with raised eyebrows. “Sounds intriguing. Have you stumbled on a plot to blow up parliament, or assassinate the king?”
“Very droll.” Cornelia stirred the horses again. “I’m talking about the Secretarium.” She cast another oblique glance his way and was gratified to see him attentive.
She couldn’t keep the satisfaction from her voice. “They act all holier than thou but they’re utter hypocrites. I know perfectly well what they’re doing when they sneak in to view what’s behind that locked door. They keep everyone else out by saying that the artefacts are inflammatory, and only suitable for gentleman scholars to interpret—but I can vouch for there being nothing to cause any sensible person alarm.”
Burnell folded his arms, a small smile playing about his lips. “Overlooking the means you employed to gain access, what exactly did you see in this secret room? I take it my ears are scholarly enough to withstand the shock.”
Cornelia shifted in her seat. “Well, there were a great many Greek drinking cups—you know the sort of thing, adorned with fornicating couples.” She rolled her eyes. “And quite a few bronze nudes. I didn’t want to hang about too long, in case anyone else appeared, but most of the other items featured phallic imagery in some way. There were some rather pretty Roman rings actually, with little…well, you know, engraved upon them. I read a paper ages ago, which said that even Roman children wore those, as they were a talisman of sorts—for good luck and safety. They weren’t created to be titillating.”
“Uh huh.” Burnell cleared his throat and nodded seriously.
Cornelia was aware that she was probably saying too much, but it had been a source of indignation to her for many years. “It’s ridiculous—all that gatekeeping—as if no-one else is capable of deciding what they ought to be able to look at. Those objects are connected only by the theme of copulation, which is something most adult persons have experience of. It seems bizarre that people may do something themselves quite freely in their own homes but may not look on depictions of the act—or, at least, not in a public place.” It felt good to give voice to her exasperation.
“I suppose the museum worries that, if it put them on show, they’d have visitors lining up around the block. It wouldn’t do at all to have so many people clamouring to get inside the place,” said Burnell.
“Exactly!” Cornelia gave the reins another vigorous flick.
Burnell let out a bark of laughte
r.
“It might be humorous to you but the principles are meaningful to me.” She was about to give him several more pieces of her mind when she realized he’d moved a good deal nearer.
“There’s no getting away from it, Cornelia.” Burnell’s breath was soft on her cheek. “Clandestine pleasures are sweeter than the sort we’re handed on a plate.”
He pushed a curl from her face. “It’s why men are drawn to taming the most spirited colts. The satisfaction in pacifying the creature is all the greater when they fight hard.”
“I suppose that makes sense, but I’ll always be on the colt’s side.” Cornelia swallowed.
Burnell’s mouth was very close to hers and he smelled so good—of spice and shaving soap and leather. There was a faint scar above his brow and a bump near the top of his nose, as if it had once been broken.
I can’t help it. No matter what my head says, my body is a slave to its passions and if he doesn’t kiss me now I shall—
There was a sudden whinny from the horses. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of orange fur against the stark white snow—a fox, it looked like, dashing madly across their path—and then the world spun sideways.
Cornelia screamed as they were both flung forward.
“What happened?” Blinking, Cornelia looked about them.
The sleigh had departed some feet from the track. The horses' harnessing had gotten twisted in the process but they appeared more surprised at where they now found themselves, pressed up against a snow drift, rather than frightened.
The pair stomped and tossed their heads, as if keen to set off again but it didn't look likely, unless someone came to shovel out the runner embedded on the left side.
Burnell touched his forehead and grimaced. “I should’ve been paying more attention.”
“It’s not your fault.” Cornelia twisted in her seat, moving from the uncomfortable position in which she’d ended up. She winced as pain lanced her ankle.
Burnell’s concern was immediate. “You’re injured?”
“No, really, I’m fine.” But she sucked in her breath as she attempted to stand.
“Stop trying to move.” Burnell frowned. “It’s your foot is it? Here, let me look.”
Before she could protest, he’d raised her boot to his knee and pushed her skirts out of the way. With careful hands he unknotted the laces and eased off the shoe.
She did her best not to flinch as his fingers passed gently over her toes, pressing the sole and then the instep. His hands were surprisingly heated and his touch was firm.
It was worst luck that she was wearing her grey wool stockings rather than pink silk, and this old pair had several darns.
Only when he reached the nub of her ankle did she bite her lip.
“That pains you?” He stopped dead, placing a palm either side of the bone. “Flex it if you can.”
Gingerly, she did so, then wiggled her toes. There were no more shooting pains, but an undeniable ache.
“Just bruising, I think, but we won’t risk walking on it.” Swiftly, he pulled the scarf from his neck and began wrapping her ankle.
There was his scent again—so very masculine. Cornelia found herself looking at the tanned skin of his nape. He wasn’t pale, as English gentlemen were.
His time in Texas and Mexico had seen to that—and his neck wasn’t the only part of him burnished gold from the sun.
She’d seen far more, of course.
She’d seen everything.
As he knotted the fabric, drawing her foot further into his lap, she gave a small whimper.
He looked up gravely. “Are you feeling faint?”
She was—but she didn’t think it had anything to do with her ankle.
“I’m really alright.” She sighed, yearning for him to touch her some more or, better yet, to put his arms about her.
He was a self-satisfied rogue and he was going to waltz out of her life in the blink of an eye. She’d never see him again. There were a hundred reasons why this was a bad idea but, still, she wanted to bury herself in his warmth.
He smoothed down her skirts, covering her ankle again. “With the sleigh buried in the snowbank like this, it’ll need digging out. I’ll unharness the horses and you can ride back if you feel up to it. It’s not so easy without a saddle, but there’s not far to go.”
She heard the words but was no longer listening.
Staring at his lips, she was awash with the need for there to be no more distance between them.
Last night, he’d taken her unawares. She’d been vulnerable and upset. But this time… she wouldn’t be able to call it an accident. She knew what she was doing, even if it did feel that she was hurtling towards something she couldn’t control.
Burnell pushed his hand through his hair. “Otherwise, I could carry you. Once we get you back, I can ride out to fetch the doctor. I should be able—”
Grabbing the lapels of his coat, Cornelia kissed him.
Did she feel how his heart was beating?
He should never have placed her foot in his lap. She was injured but, being the selfish bastard he was, he’d been thinking all the while of how much he wanted to get his hands further under her skirts—right to the top of those godawful stockings, where he knew how silken her skin would be.
All he’d done was swathe the ankle in his scarf and she’d looked at him like he was some kind of saviour.
Never mind that it was his fault she’d crashed the sleigh in the first place, leaning in to kiss her like that. She’d have been paying attention otherwise, or he would have been, and they’d have had a chance to pull up the horses, maybe.
But it seemed her mind had been on the same track as his, for the way she was kissing him right now had nothing meek or mild about it. Her mouth was melting soft and velvet smooth but eager in a way that showed she wanted him, and badly.
Reaching around her waist, he pulled her as close as he could get, letting her feel his responding hunger. She made some small noise, then twined her arms about his neck, pulling him down to deepen the kiss.
God, she was beautiful, and kissing her was making him wish they might stay like this forever, wrapped up in one another and the rest of the world far off.
He was no saint of course. He wanted her kiss, but a whole lot more besides and, if it weren’t for the temperature out here shrinking his balls to the size of peas, he’d have slid her down on the blankets to give her what was on his mind.
With a groan, he cupped her breast but there were far too many layers between them to make the caress satisfactory. He’d need to unbutton her coat for that. Only then would he be able to weigh the yielding softness in his palm, and rub his thumb over her hardening nipple. He’d bet every dollar he owned that she tasted as good there as her sweet lips promised. He’d bet she tasted good everywhere.
Dear God! Thinking about that made him hard—getting her under him and running his tongue every place a man could give a woman pleasure.
As if reading his mind, she leaned into him, pressing her breast against his hand and biting his lip gently.
“Cornelia.” His voice dragged out gravel rough, filled with need.
Opening her eyes, she met his gaze, her pupils liquid dark, pulling him into a hidden place.
He wanted badly to go there with her, but she was hurt and it was bitterly cold.
Pushing back, he rested her injured foot on the banquette.
They couldn’t stay here; they couldn’t do this.
Little more than a yard separated them but when he looked at her again, the distance was unfathomable.
Chapter 12
Three days later…
The doctor had declared Cornelia to be suffering from a sprain, and the foot was to be elevated as much as possible.
Very kindly, the duchess had placed one of her personal sitting rooms at Cornelia’s disposal, located on the same floor as her bedchamber. Comfortable as Cornelia’s bedchamber was, she had no wish to be confined there altoge
ther and, using the wooden cane the duke had unearthed, she was able to navigate the corridors without any trouble.
The room was dressed prettily in primrose yellow and, Cornelia understood, was used mostly when the duchess wished to embroider, since the south-facing windows allowed plenty of light.
She’d spent the first hour merely surveying the walls, which bore portraits of centuries of female Studbornes, each taking the role of a character from classical mythology. There was the usual smattering of Aphrodites and more than one Athena but it seemed the tradition had inspired past duchesses to engage their imagination, for there was a rendering of Cassandra, Danaë and Arachne. One matron wielded a savage looking blade, portraying Clytemnestra, while another—blessed with a particularly fearsome expression—gave a convincing rendition of Medea.
The current Lady Studborne hung in state above the fireplace as Pandora, though her box sat thankfully closed, and her expression remained serene. Presumably, the evils of the world had fled elsewhere, leaving this Pandora with the comfort of hope, held secure within the casket.
Cornelia wished she could say the same for herself. Whilst it was a relief of sorts to excuse herself from the various organized festivities, she could not escape the worrisome feeling that she was missing out. Not that she gave two hoots about Blindman’s Buff or Pass the Slipper, but her situation allowed Burnell to roam loose among the wolves.
Cornelia reached over Minnie, who lay recumbent in her usual position, and raised the lid on the chocolates Mrs. Nossle had generously donated from her private supply.
She sucked dejectedly on a violet creme.
Of course, it was no business of hers if Burnell suddenly took a liking to playing the unprotected sheep. When the predatory antics of Lady Pippsbury and Mrs. Bongorge became too much, he knew where to find her.
The Lady's Guide to Scandal Page 12
