“That,” she snapped, turning to glare at him, “is none of your business. I have no desire or design to tell you anything, Mr Paendly, and I would greatly appreciate it if you could keep your impertinent questions to yourself.”
This time she did not look away, but remained glaring at him. James felt a thrill of delight rush through his body mingled with irritation at her tone. What, was this chit to deny him?
“I am unaccustomed to not getting my own way,” he said lightly, but with a little force behind his words. “And this is my carriage that we are sitting in, is it not? I think I have the right to enquire.”
“And I would say not,” Miss Kirkland said, with an eyebrow raised. “Who are you to demand such answers from me? You are neither brother, nor father, nor…nor husband. You can keep your questions, sir, for I will answer none of them.”
James smiled at her, slowly. The hesitation around the word ‘husband’ was enough to tell him where her concern lay, at any rate. So, what was it – running away from her husband, was she?
“We have a long journey ahead of us.” His voice sounded far more calm than he felt, as the irritation of being refused grew.
But Miss Kirkland seemed unimpressed by his words. “We do indeed,” she smiled, “and so I would recommend that you do not make it intolerable for me.”
Without another word, she turned back to the window.
James’ jaw dropped. Was such insolence to be borne with? He was the Viscount Paendly, and no one had ever spoken to him in this way in his life!
But then, he reminded himself, Miss Kirkland did not know that – and the impulsive decision that he made to keep that fact from her worked at his imagination. How would she have behaved, he wondered, if she knew that she was speaking to one of the richest men in all England?
He watched her for a moment, and saw the increased breathing, watched her breasts shudder as she tried to control it, saw the twitch in her hands as she tried to stay calm, stay still.
Something dark and hungry rose up in James, and he found himself staring at those breasts a little longer than was strictly appropriate. By God, but she was beautiful.
“Is there something that you would like to say?”
James started as his eyes moved upwards by a foot, and he saw a flushed yet furious look on Miss Kirkland’s face. So, he had been caught – but he was not ready to be overridden by this woman just yet.
He smiled. It was time to have a little fun with Miss Kirkland, and call her bluff.
Without breaking eye contact with her, he raised a hand and knocked on the roof of the carriage. With an abrupt judder, the coach began to slow down, and eventually stop. Now that they were not moving, the patter of the rain on the roof was louder, more insistent.
Miss Kirkland looked away from him, staring outside the window to see where they had stopped – and James saw her eyes widen as she realised that they had come to rest at nowhere at all.
He risked a quick look outside his own window, and his smile broadened. It truly was an empty part of the road, with no buildings in sight whatsoever.
“Why have we stopped?” Miss Kirkland’s voice had lost that steel which had riled him so, and James was pleased to hear that there was a hint of nervousness now.
James smiled at her. “Why, Miss Kirkland, it is quite evident to me that you are not enjoying the ride. In fact, nothing could be more clear.”
She glared at him, without speaking, and so he continued.
“I have no wish to impose my company on you, as it is clearly so repugnant,” he said smoothly, and reached across her – being careful not to touch her legs, much as he may wish to – opening the carriage door with his left hand. “Out you get.”
Miss Kirkland stared at him, then the open door, and then her gaze flew back to him. “You cannot be serious.”
“I am setting you down here,” said James grinning, raising his voice slightly so that it could be heard over the noise of the hammering rain.
The glare that Miss Kirkland shot him at the moment was terrible to behold, but it shot a thrill through James’ body that had nothing to do with the coldness in her eyes, and was more connected to the heat rising from his stomach.
Astonished by the power of her eyes as he was, James kept silent and watched her struggle with herself silently.
“You cannot be so stupid as to think that I wish to get out!” She eventually burst out.
James laughed, and it seemed to infuriate her even further.
“My God, you are happy to abandon me in the middle of nowhere, on my own, with darkness approaching?”
James shrugged. “Miss Kirkland, it is not in my nature to keep young women prisoner in my own carriage when they must certainly have no wish to be here with me. I think it only right to give you the chance to disembark.”
Her dark brown eyes flashed with anger, and she stared outside and back at him several times in quick succession, but said nothing.
“You see,” he said quietly, and her eyes came to rest on him as he spoke, “unless you are talking, and enjoying our conversation, then really there is no point in you being here.”
For a moment, James though that he had gone too far. Was this cruel, this pretence, for of course, there was absolutely no chance that he would genuinely abandon a lady like this.
But she was not to know that. Miss Kirkland had no idea that she was travelling with the Viscount Paendly, and that gave him the upper hand…for now.
She was hesitating, clearly torn. James tried not to hold his breath, desperately hoping that she would not call his bluff. Was he really capable of such a thing?
But as he watched, he saw control reasserted across her face, and Miss Kirkland smiled scathingly at him. Without saying a word, she reached out and pulled the door too, and then knocked on the top of the carriage roof.
As Smith drove the horses forward and the carriage started to move once more, Miss Kirkland smiled mockingly and leaned back into the cushions, saying, “And what would you like our first topic of conversation to be, Mr Paendly?”
Astonished, shocked almost to silence, James stared at her. Her prettiness was transformed to beauty as she smiled at him with irritation just visible beneath it. There was something incredible within her, some depth of steely grit – and James just had to discover it.
3
Rowena watched Mr Paendly open his mouth, and tried not to become completely distracted by the way his jawline became even more pronounced as he did so, but he was unable to utter a sound before he was jolted forward.
The carriage had come to an abrupt halt.
“Smith, damn you!” Mr Paendly shouted, and Rowena flushed at the curse word whilst hating herself for it at the same time. Was she to be constantly restrained by her parents’ upbringing, always finding fault in none but the upper classes? It was surely not Mr Paendly’s fault that he was not better mannered.
He shot her a smile. “And before we could talk properly, ‘tis a crying shame.”
As he hammered once more on the roof crying out for his driver, Rowena found that the tension she did not even realise that she was carrying in her shoulders was starting to dissipate. Relieved that they were not to converse at this moment after all, she glanced through the window to see where they had stopped.
She blinked, eyes attempting to become accustomed to the growing darkness, but could still see nothing. So why had they stopped?
“Ah, Smith,” said Mr Paendly severely as the door on his side opened. “What is going on?”
“’Pologies m’lord,” said the gruff voice coming from a man that Rowena could barely see. “‘Tis all this rain, it’s been the devil for the river, sir, and it has burst its banks.”
“Banks?” Mr Paendly said blankly, but Rowena had heard enough to feel sharp disappointment. She had been hoping to make it to at least Aylesbury by nightfall, and now the way before them was blocked.
“Aye sir, the banks of the river,” Smith seemed to be explaining. “The bri
dge has gone completely, washed away. There is no route through.”
Rowena watched Mr Paendly out of the corner of her eye as he started to process this news. “No route through?”
The unseen Smith must have shaken his head, as Mr Paendly dropped back into the coach with a deep sigh.
“Well, Miss Kirkland, what do you suggest?”
Rowena coloured slightly as his gaze rested on her once more, and she became conscious once more of how damp her clothes were. “Suggest?”
Mr Paendly opened his hands wide. “You can see the situation that we find ourselves in – and I would be a fool not to notice the strong disappointment that you feel. You cannot hide it from me.”
Instead of colouring, to her delight, Rowena found herself grow even more stern. “And why should I hide it from you, Mr Paendly? I can pretend no great wish to stay with you in this carriage for longer than is required, and now your driver is telling me that that time is to be elongated. I will not hide it: I am displeased.”
She watched his response closely; watched to see that tightness in his jaw as his frustration with her threatened to boil over, the clenching of the hands, the swallowing down of retorts that were not gentlemanly.
And yet, none of those expected actions came to pass. Instead, he merely stared at her, as though he could see those very thoughts in her mind, and was intrigued by them. She tried to hold his gaze, hold it as long as he could. Ignoring his handsome features and the way that he made her feel remarkably warm did not help.
And then Mr Paendly smiled, and looked back at his servant. “Smith, turn back. I think I saw a coaching inn not a few miles back, we passed it on our left hand side. We are losing the light, and there is little point in attempting to find an alternative place to stay.”
“Yes, m’lord,” came the reply from Smith, and Rowena felt the shake of the coach as Smith placed himself once more at the front by the horses.
“You have no objections?” Mr Paendly was still smiling at her, but this was a broad smile, a teasing smile, the sort of smile that a brother may have given her, if she had ever had one.
Rowena had hoped to remain quiet, unnoticed, and undisturbed for the remainder of the journey to the coaching inn, but of course, it was not to be.
She shook her head, but Mr Paendly seemed insistent. In a sly voice and with a smile bordering on cheek. “Now then, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted? Ah yes. You were about to tell me why you are so interested in getting home as soon as possible.”
Rowena glared at him, but she was not entirely sure whether he would follow out his promise to deposit her by the side of the road, and the last thing she needed was to be mistaken for a vagabond.
Sighing, she tried out her most petulant tone in the hope that it would mask her words, and this curious Mr Paendly would not see any deeper meaning to her words.
“La, sir,” she said with a curling smile. “Can a lady not have a friend to call on? A…a friend with a very agreeable brother, if you must know.”
In an instant, she saw the disappointment in his eyes, and she had to restrain herself from broadening her grin. There we are; living up to the stereotype that others had of you sometimes had its advantages, clearly.
“So what were you doing at the Wingston Inn, Miss Kirkland?” He asked, the interest fading from his voice, and reverting back to the tone of polite, but relatively indifferent conversation.
Again, she had to resist the urge to be startled at the unfamiliar name – she had to remember that she had introduced herself as Rebecca Kirkland, she really must!
“I was on my way home, sir,” she said archly with a smile.
She could see the irritation now in his eyes, in the way that he tilted his body almost unconsciously to face her.
“But where had you been?” Mr Paendly shifted in his seat, closer to her, and Rowena tried not to shrink away from him. It would never do to offend him. “Which friend, where do they live?”
Rowena hesitated this time. Surely her web of lies was getting wide enough as it was; any more, and she would start to become entangled in it herself! There was no reason to continue adding layers of deception, was there?
Colour was once again rushing to her cheeks, and she fought it, trying to slow her breathing. If this Mr Paendly, whoever he was, knew the truth about her – about why she was at the Wingston Inn, and how she had got there, and with whom – he would of course consider her dirty, damaged, worthless. Her reputation, such as it was, would be ruined. She would never be able to hold her head up again.
Rowena swallowed. She had to get back home as quickly as possible.
“I could ask you the very same question,” she said with a smile that she hoped did not shake. “What were you doing there, at the Wingston Inn?”
Although she was not entirely sure what response she was expecting, Rowena was certainly not expecting Mr Paendly to frown, turn away from her, and move back towards his side of the carriage.
“I cannot tell you,” he said gruffly. “That is none of your concern.”
Rowena could not help it – a sarcastic laugh escaped her, and she shook her head. “Well in that case, sir, we have nothing more to say to each other. You wish to reveal nothing, and neither do I. Let us remain in frosty yet companionable silence for the rest of the journey.”
He would have retorted, she was sure of it, had the coach not at that moment slowed to a shuddering stop and light from what could only be an inn flooded through the now grimy window on Rowena’s side of the coach.
The door nearest Mr Paendly opened, and she heard Smith say, “I will enquire which rooms to take your luggage to, m’lord, and the lady’s too. I will not be a moment.”
The slamming of the door was the only sound to break the silence in the proceeding two minutes. Rowena relished the end of the questions, but it was impossible for her not to feel uncomfortable in the presence of such a man. Even in silence, even without looking at him, Mr Paendly had such a way of controlling the space that he was in, utterly. She could feel him watching her, and a strange feeling grew in her: the hope that he liked what he saw.
It felt like hours but could have been two minutes when Smith returned looking embarrassed, and tried to whisper something to Mr Paendly. Rowena caught the phrase ‘just one’, and saw a look of shock on her travelling companion’s face.
“Just one?” She said sharply. “Just one what?”
Now that they were outside an inn, there was enough light to see Smith’s face, and she was surprised to see quite a young man, barely a few years older than herself, surely. She could also see the spread of embarrassment across his face, and he looked nervous as he glanced at his master.
“Well, madam, just one room.”
Rowena stared at him, and he cringed as she repeated, “Just one room.”
Smith nodded, and trying to stand a little closer to his master as though that would give him some sort of protection from her ire, he said quietly, “Yes, madam, just one room. The innkeeper says…he says that you are quite welcome to share.”
Rowena stared at him in complete horror.
James, on the other hand, could not have been more delighted.
Sharing a room – with Miss Kirkland? Finally, a chance to see what exactly was beneath those tantalisingly clinging clothes. Sodden wet they were now, but they would be infinitely better removed from her.
“Share?” She said in absolute disgust.
It was impossible to hide from himself the deep attraction that he felt for this Miss Rebecca Kirkland. She was sharp, she was witty, but she was also hurt in some way. Something wasn’t quite right about her – that turn she gave him about her friend’s brother, almost as impressive as an actress on a stage!
For that was what it was, wasn’t it? An act.
“You cannot be serious, Smith,” she was saying in icy tones. “Either you are attempting to offend me directly, or you are hoping that I will say something that is disgraceful. Which is it, Smith?”
A small part of him that James would barely admit to was hoping that all this fuss that she was making about not telling him about herself was a ruse – something to get him even more interested in her than he already was.
Smith was spluttering beside him, unable or unwilling to answer Miss Kirkland’s accusations.
James smiled. Perhaps even this was a front, hoping that he would then press her to accept a place in his bed.
It just took one look at her face to see that her outrage was genuine.
“If you think that I am taking one step into that chamber with you,” she said firmly, pointing a finger menacingly at him, “you are very much mistaken, Mr Paendly. I have never been so insulted in my – ”
James tried not to imagine exactly what that would look like as he said, “No one is forcing you to do anything, Miss Kirkland.”
She laughed bitterly. “Says the man who threatened to abandon me at the side of the road not an hour ago!”
Shuffling slightly uncomfortably in his seat, for that was not his finest hour, James was about to speak when Smith interrupted him.
“I will go in and order supper, m’lord.”
He was gone before James could order him back, but perhaps that was for the best. There did not seem to be any other way of cooling Miss Kirkland’s temper.
“I cannot repeat any more strongly,” she said slowly, not taking her eyes from him, “that I absolutely could not do it.”
James stared at her without speaking, and she coloured slightly. Would it be possible, he wondered slyly? Was there any way that he would be able to convince her to share his bed? He knew his own attractions, had seen them create impressive effects each time that he was in town, though the desperate attempts for young ladies to be seduced by him was wearying after a while.
Not so with Miss Kirkland. There was something so pure about the way that her eyes widened at the very idea, and yet the soft swells of her body cried out to him that this was skin ready for pleasure.
But her eyes were averted now, and she had swallowed, and when her voice spoke once more all of that prepossession had disappeared. “I am no scarlet woman, sir, and nothing you can say to me can convince me to share a room with you.”
Ravishing Regencies- The Complete Series Page 37
