The longing in his loins grew. He could take her for his own, that was true. He would more than enjoy her, and he could give her such pleasure, such security that this Bentley fool never could.
The memory of his last mistress rose to the surface. True, she had wanted marriage and he had been forced to break it off, but he did not think Miss Rebecca Kirkland to be cut from the same cloth.
“I will admit,” he said slowly, “I had never considered the female sex to be so…mercenary.”
Miss Kirkland raised an eyebrow. “Mercenary?”
“Controlled,” James said hastily. “Control over one’s emotions has always been traditionally seen as the gentleman’s province, and yet you seem nothing but calm over your broken engagement with Mr Bentley.”
“Just because I am able to control my feelings does not mean that I do not have them,” she snapped back at him. “Do you not think that I realise just how limited my choices in life are now? Do you not think that I see the impossible position that I am now placed in? But I would rather have limited choices, and a potentially ruined name than marry a man who was only interested in me as a means to an end.”
If James had thought that she would be unable to surprise him, even now, he was once again proved wrong. Miss Kirkland had a spirit in her, a fire that was stronger and more fiery than any woman that he had ever met – any man, even. The Viscount of Paendly had never found himself wanting in female companionship, but he had experienced more surprise, joy, and confusion with Rebecca – Miss Kirkland – in the last twenty four hours than in his entire lifetime.
“And I will admit,” and now Miss Kirkland’s gaze moved away from him and back towards the window, watching the scenery as it rushed past on their voyage across England, “I almost wish that I was sullied, my innocence gone. I will have to accept all the loss of dignity and reputation without any of the pleasure.”
James’ mouth fell open, and a pleasurable but painful lurch in his loins told him all he needed to know about his body’s response to her words. So, he had not touched her. She did not know the exquisite joy that a man could give a woman. The conversation was evidently at an end from Miss Kirkland’s perspective, but James did not need words to continue. His body knew what she needed now, and if he was not wrong, he would find a way to satisfy her.
5
It was a clattering rattle that jerked Rowena from sleep at first, but the intense look from Mr Paendly kept her awake.
“James – Mr Paendly?” Rowena shook her head in the attempt to rid herself of the confusion of sleep. Did she really call him James? The faint smile across his face seemed to suggest it, and she tried to prevent the flush moving across her cheeks. How long had she been asleep? It must have been a while, as there was no light pouring through the carriage window now. It was almost darkness, and there was a stiffness in her shoulders where she had been leaning.
Mr Paendly raised an eyebrow at the sound of his Christian name, and Rowena swallowed. Time to turn the focus of the conversation back to him. “Were you staring at me, sir?”
Now it was his turn to colour. “You drifted into sleep about two hours ago,” he said in an apologetic turn. “You looked so peaceful that I had no desire to wake you, and I thought that you may not have slept entirely well last night.”
Rowena sat up properly, and became very conscious that her hair – usually pinned back elegantly – was now completely loose, flowing down her shoulders and curling around her collarbone. She had always disliked her hair; golden blonde, yes, but thin and wispy, with little life in it.
She stared out of the window once more, but it was too dark to make out anything in the rushing scenery beyond it. “Where are we?”
It was only then that she realised that Mr Paendly was no longer seated on the opposite side of the coach to her, but had moved, undoubtedly while she had been sleeping, to sit beside her. He was close; too close. She could feel the heat of him, smell that musky warmth that made her want to lean towards him. His right hand was lying beside him, near her own. If either of them moved but two inches –
“If I am not mistaken in our location, we will soon be arriving at the King’s Head Inn,” said Mr Paendly in a quiet voice, a low and intimate one.
Rowena tried to convince herself that it sounded intimate because he was seated close to her; what reason did he to raise his voice? But she could not ignore the way that he was looking at her. There was something different than before; a hunger of some kind, but also respect and admiration.
It caused a thrill to flow through her body and awaken parts of her that she did not even know were there.
“The King’s Head Inn?” She repeated quietly. “I do not know it. Is it close to Aylesbury, Mr Paendly?”
She felt, rather than heard him chuckle. “You know, considering what you have told me about your elopement, I think that we are far beyond the need for such formalities. You called me James when you awoke. I think…no, I know that I would like you to do so from now on.”
A frisson of excitement sparked through Rowena’s body as she tilted her head to smile at him. “And I suppose that you would like to call me Ro-Rebecca, in return?”
She could have kicked herself for almost letting her real name slip: how foolish was she, to fall for a handsome smile like his? For he was handsome, there was no denying it. His charm had been working on her from the moment that he strode over to her at the Wingston Inn, and invited her to join him on his voyage. And now here she was, another day drawing to a close, and for all she knew, she was just as far from her destination as when she started. All these detours, how did she know that they were even necessary?
“Yes, Rebecca,” James’ words cut through her thoughts and she almost gasped aloud. “If you have no objections, I would like to call you by your name.”
It was a sharp thrill to have him speak what he thought was her name. Rowena smiled, and felt the rush of power to her head.
“You still have not told me, James,” and she put a little emphasis on his name, “where we are.”
For a moment, she saw what appeared to be a flash of triumph in his eyes, but it was gone in a moment. “The King’s Head Inn, but thirty miles from your home in Aylesbury. We will rest there for the night.”
“Well, I hope they have more than one room available,” Rowena said sarcastically.
For a moment, she imagined what would happen if there was not. Would she invite James Paendly to join her in the chamber? Would they perhaps sit on the bed – would he lean over to her and take her face in his hands and –
“We shall just have to hope,” James said with a laconic smile.
Rowena’s imagination stalled, she turned away to hide her confusion. But it did not matter, she thought to herself. After all, what were the chances that she would suffer the same indignity for the third night in a row?
But when they arrived at the King’s Head Inn, it appeared that she would.
“What do you mean, just one room available?” James spoke fiercely to the innkeeper as they stood in the hallway, and Rowena was not surprised to see the gentleman take a step backwards in the face of his fury. “For God’s sake man, you run this establishment, you must be prepared for busy evenings!”
“I am most sorry sir, but I cannot conjure up additional rooms when I feel like it,” spluttered the man, attempting to stare James down but failing miserably.
James’ frown deepened. “And you are telling me that there are no other rooms available – no rooms whatsoever?”
Rowena stood quietly as the two men argued, and found herself falling into the attraction that she had attempted to hide from. James was a man to behold when roused: the anger that flowed through him did not darken his character, as happened so often with men, but instead illuminated it. He seemed to come alive only when determined, and whether that stemmed from anger with this man or curiosity with her, the sense of boredom that seemed to shroud him the rest of the time simply fell away and revealed the true man beneath.
An
d he was devilishly attractive, even Rowena could admit that. Tall, and commanding, his very presence seemed to demand respect and admiration. She watched the way that he spoke with his hands, gesturing with almost every word, and could not help but smile when the poor innkeeper stumbled away saying that he would triple check to see if any other room was available.
“My my,” she said quietly under her breath. “Where has this vigorous James been for the rest of my coach ride?”
James chuckled darkly as he turned to smile at her. “Boredom, you know, has been the greatest challenge of my life. ‘Tis something that I have been forced to fight against and I must admit that you are going a long way to removing it.”
Rowena’s breath caught in her throat as pleasure blossomed within her: pleasure at his words, at the idea that it was she that transformed him – but she was unable to say anything before the innkeeper, sweating slightly now despite the chill of the night, returned with a bow.
“Sir, madam,” he began with a nervous look at James. “I have done all I can, but I must tell you plainly that there is but one room.”
Rowena glanced up at James, and saw with pleasure that though there was irritation in his eyes, there was no malice there.
One room. One room, and the two of them. What would it be like, she wondered, heat rising in her chest and sinking down into that place between her legs, to be alone with James Paendly, alone in a room, alone in a room for the night.
Her imagination took hold and it was full of deep kisses and hands pulling away her garments and the wild heat that overtook two in love.
In love? Rowena tried to check herself as she lowered her eyes demurely to the floor. Young ladies did not have thoughts such as those – they should not even be aware that it was possible to have thoughts such as those! In love with James Paendly; it was not possible.
It could not be possible. She barely knew him. And yet she knew his kindness, and his passion, and the way his eyes widened when he attempted to hide his true feelings, and the twist of his fingers as he fidgeted. He was a strong man in body and in morals, and yet there was something that he was holding back. Something he wanted to keep secret: from her, from the world.
Could she even consider loving a man who was holding something so important from her?
The innkeeper hurried away, and James laughed wryly as he turned to her. “Well, it looks as though it will be the coach for me again tonight! Will you not join me in some supper here first? It will do the both of us good, I think, to get a proper meal inside us before we go to…before nightfall.”
Rowena swallowed, and found her mouth was very dry. “That sounds like an excellent idea.”
James stretched out his legs and revelled in Rebecca Kirkland’s company. It did not take him long to notice that he was seated with the most beautiful woman in the room. It would have taken a great deal of self-control not to glory in her company, and he saw no reason to resist.
Perhaps she saw it too. She could not be completely blind to her own beauty, thought James as she tilted her head back slightly to allow her golden hair to drift down her back. How was it possible that a woman with that amount of beauty could be unaware of it?
The turn of her wrists as she rested them on the table, the sparkle of the diamond earrings in her ears: there was nothing like her. Though his instinct was the speak and suggest that they share the one room that had been offered to them by the innkeeper, he was no fool. After what she had suffered with that oaf Bentley, there was no chance of Rebecca risking her reputation a second time.
No matter how much he may want her.
The wait for food seemed to increase exponentially as James found himself facing this beautiful woman for the first time in public. All the words that he would otherwise have confidently spoken seemed to vanish as he looked at her.
Where was that food?
“So,” said his beautiful companion with a sly smile. “Now that we have delved into my own darkest secrets and revealed why I have taken this voyage across England, I think that it is high time that you revealed your own secrets.”
James started, and stared at her with a slight frown. Surely, she could not know – there was no possibility that she could know.
The clatter of plates and knives around him seemed to fade into the background as he stared into her deep brown eyes.
“You have been so interested in my own journey that we have not really investigated your own,” said Rebecca with a smile.
James returned it, but hesitated. True, he felt very close to her – closer than he had done to anyone, now that he came to think about it – but that did not mean that he could speak freely.
“I wonder when the food will be ready,” he said, avoiding the subject entirely. “I hope that whatever is being made is to your liking. If you sampled the same stew yesterday that I had, you must be – ”
“I do not like dishonesty,” she interrupted, eyes unwavering. “And I expect equal honesty, James. I have shared my secret with you – is that not fair?”
James hesitated and was relieved that the moment was broken by a serving boy laying down two large plates before them, with what looked like finer fare than he had previously been served.
“Ah, good,” he said vaguely. “This looks…” His voice trailed away as he saw the look on Rebecca’s face. Sighing, James said quietly, “‘Tis not really my secret to tell.”
If he had hoped that the suggestion that she was prying into another person’s private business was going to dissuade her, he could not have been more wrong. Rebecca’s eyes alighted with intrigue, and as she leaned forward to speak in a low voice her hand brushed his own – and fierce sparks of heat, attraction, desperation rocketed through his body.
By God, he wanted her.
“I will tell no one, you can be assured of that,” murmured Rebecca, and James tried to concentrate on the words she was saying, rather than the way that her lips curled around them. “And as I am almost sure that you did not tell me your true name, there is no way that if I did decide to betray your trust, it could ever mean anything to that person in any case.”
It was impossible to prevent his eyes widening, to stop his jaw dropping, to control the look of shock that covered his face.
“Why do you think that?” He asked quickly.
She grinned. “Because I did not give you my true name either.”
For a brief moment, James considered pushing aside the plates, tipping them onto the floor, ridding the table of everything so it was ready for him to pull this startling woman up onto it ready for him to ravish her.
The desire did not fade but his sense did return to the surface. They were surrounded by other travellers, and despite her elopement, this beauty was still a virgin. Her first time deserved to be something special – no matter his deep desire to teach her exactly what she had been missing.
Instead of growling his demand that she accompany him to their room, James laughed jerkily. “I should have known.”
Rebecca – or the woman that he had known as Rebecca for the last two days – smiled. “Am I right?”
James nodded, took a bite of his roasted meat and vegetables, and swallowed before he continued. “Partly, I suppose. My name is James, and I often go by the name of Paendly. But it is Viscount Paendly, not Mr Paendly, in the circles I mix in.”
He had hoped, and it was a slightly embarrassing hope at that, that she would be impressed by his admission. His title had never failed to widen eyes or cause deeper curtsies before.
But all his companion did was laugh. “Are you telling me that I am on a voyage with a viscount?”
James shrugged as he grinned. “I suppose you are, Miss…?”
It appeared at first that she was not going to give him her real name, those brilliant eyes staring at him suspiciously. Eventually it appeared that he was to be trusted.
“Rowena,” she said quietly, turning to her own food. “Rowena Kerr.”
As soon as she said the words, James co
uld not help but smile at her. Rowena. Yes, that suited her far more than Rebecca: there was a strange mysteriousness about Rowena, a sort of mythic magic.
“Rowena,” he murmured, and it sent a chill through his spine, almost like a premonition. He had a feeling that the name Rowena was going to be very important to him for the rest of his life.
“Now, it is self-evident why I hid my identity,” she said quietly as she played with her food. “What I am unclear of is why you felt the need to lie?”
James shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He should not even consider discussing this with her: a woman he had met not three days ago? But she had shared her secret with him – a secret that, if he chose to, could be the ruin of her.
“I only hid who I was because…” It was difficult to get out of, this habit of secrets and lies. “Because I was on an errand for a friend who found themselves on the wrong side of the law.”
He knew Rowena well enough by now to hear the scoff in her tones as she said, “Wrong side of the law.”
“I have no desire to persuade you,” he said with a smile after another mouthful of the delicious meal. “Please do feel free to disbelieve me.”
His nonchalance was evidently far more intriguing than if he had attempting to argue with her. Rowena’s eyes glittered with interest and as she leaned forward, James attempted not to notice the swell of her breasts.
“Tell me more,” she whispered.
Now struggling to manage the hunger in his stomach with the hunger in his loins, James dropped a little of the meat from his fork as he tried to eat. This woman was consuming him from the inside out, and James was finding that there was nothing that he would not do for her.
It was frightening, to have so much of your control taken from you, but he found that he would give it to her willingly for just one kiss.
Rowena was watching him expectantly, and after swallowing his food, James spoke in a low voice. “My friend is from France, from a noble family, you understand. He is hunting down a French spy.”
Ravishing Regencies- The Complete Series Page 39
