Safe in the Earl's Arms

by Liz Tyner

  His hand slipped to her waist, weakening her knees. Her mind flashed back on the memory of his body over hers. Muscles. Male skin so much different than her own. A new world at her fingertips.

  ‘I would have had the mermaids moved had I known I would be returning with you,’ he said.

  She fought for her voice. Too much newness surrounded her, and yet, none of it took her thoughts as Warrington’s presence did. ‘I did not know such paintings existed.’ Nor such a man as Warrington.

  He shrugged. ‘I would say they don’t anywhere else. I think my brother has found every one in the world and had the rest commissioned. One artist always has a painting to show Ben when he docks. Ben can’t resist any painting of a naked woman with scales.’

  He pulled Melina’s hand to his lips. ‘I prefer a true woman.’ He pressed a kiss to her fingers.

  She pulled her hand back, sliding her fingers along his. Without meaning to, she’d slowed her movements, her entire concentration on the feel of his skin against hers. Thumping footsteps sounded up the stairs—the movements were exaggerated on purpose to alert them of Broomer’s arrival.

  She turned her shoulders from Warrington so he couldn’t see her face. The paintings could be more proper. But she feared even if an artist painted seaweed over the creatures, they would still be unsuitable. A small painting propped in the corner would be turned to the wall as soon as she was alone.

  He put his arm around her. ‘I won’t have them near you if you wish. Or there is another chamber you could choose… One in particular would welcome you…’

  She firmed her voice. ‘I think this room is perfect for me. Perhaps the mermaids will keep wicked spirits away.’

  ‘I would not count heavily on it, Melina. I think they would welcome any wickedness.’

  She turned, needing to escape the sensations rocking her body, and he followed her from the room.

  Broomer appeared in the hallway. He held his hand up and gave a little twist of his wrist near his head. ‘Mrs Fountain’s hair stood on end when I said you’d be needing a meal, and pots began flying.’ He patted his stomach. ‘But from the smell of the beef, she’s putting on a fine feed. It’s waiting on ye.’

  Then he ambled to the stairs and Melina looked at Warrington. ‘He is so friendly and not what I expected a servant to be like.’

  Warrington met her eyes and she saw agreement. ‘Broomer left Newgate and landed on a ship to keep from starving about the time Ben first became an able-bodied seaman. Broomer hated every day of it, but they became close and Ben sent him here when they docked.’

  He tilted his head. ‘After Cassandra died, I couldn’t stand the way the servants watched me at Whitegate. First I’d been ill and then I recovered to discover my father had died of the same illness. We had cholera. Things were not smooth at Whitegate. Then, about a year ago, Cassandra became ill, just as my father and I had. Cass died. I worried that the servants thought I had poisoned her. I came here.’

  The light from a window at the end of the hallway illuminated his features, leaving shadows that darkened his eyes. She put her hand on his arm, rubbing along the smooth fabric of his sleeve. ‘I was miserable after my mother died,’ she said.

  Nodding, he held out an arm for her to precede him. ‘This house gave me a chance to step from the memories even if I could not forget them. Long ago, my father purchased the town house, saying it would be an investment, and I am thankful he did. I think even then he thought one of his sons would live in it. But we all use it.’

  He stopped outside the doorway to the main sitting room. ‘I was surprised the first time I walked in and the fish-women portraits graced the sitting-room wall.’ He looked heavenwards. ‘I could not tolerate them—felt I was in some sort of fish harem. The paintings had to be moved to the room you’re now in.’

  Warrington continued, ‘I’d get a bottle of brandy and shout for Broomer.’ He smiled. ‘Ben had sworn his friend could be more enjoyment than any Drury Lane performance. He spoke the truth. Broomer would come to the sitting room and spout tales left and right. Never asked a question of my life.’ He turned his head so she couldn’t see his expression. ‘Not even when I returned home one night with blood flowing down my back because a man I’d never seen before was waiting in the shadows to stab me.’

  If he’d not moved slightly back, she might not have noticed the way a muscle flexed in his jaw. ‘Why would someone wish to kill you?’

  ‘Jealousy over my wife—though at that point she was dead and it didn’t matter. But she was carrying my babe when she died. Perhaps…he felt betrayed.’

  The air was silent for a moment. She had to keep him talking. ‘Did Broomer go for the magistrate and a physician?’

  Warrington shook his head. ‘Refused. Said all he’d ever known a magistrate to do was lock up people if somebody else caught them. Said all a physician could do was make people die faster or slower and with more pain. I cursed him, sacked him and thought I might as well die. I gave in and let him tend my back.’ He raised a brow. ‘Don’t ever plan a friendly chess game with him, either. He doesn’t like to drag them out. I believe he has three boards set up in his chamber and I suspect if he were to find an opponent he believes is truly worthy of his skills, he’d stop at nothing to cadge them into a game.’

  He paused, the silence so soft she could hear the sounds of carriages from the street.

  ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ he told her. ‘I must arrange for a meeting concerning my voyage.’

  Before he turned to leave, he looked at her, his voice thoughtful, and said, ‘I do not know what my brother sees in mermaids. Anyone would prefer a goddess over a sea creature. They’re much more enticing.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Warrington waited until the house became quiet and walked the hallway to Melina’s room.

  Conflicting thoughts battered him. He’d meant to stay from her and he praised himself because he’d kept out of her bed. But now he stood at her doorway.

  He raised his hand to knock, but then he stilled and let his hand fall to his side. Melina couldn’t refuse him. After all, he’d paid. And now he provided everything she needed and had ordered clothing for her.

  The bed she slept in was soft, the pillows softer. The sheets even better. If she became warm, she could go to the sitting room, pull the bell for Broomer, and he would rise from his bed, ask her what she wanted and act as if he’d been waiting to be summoned, and go merrily back to his chamber after doing her bidding.

  Or she could take a candle—not a tallow candle or a burning flame from whatever could be fashioned, but a beeswax candle—and peruse the collection of books in the library all the brothers had contributed to.

  For the morning meal, Mrs Fountain would prepare her bread—hot, and dripping with butter—a rasher of bacon and chocolate, or tea, and even porridge, because Ben preferred the simple fare and Mrs Fountain always wished to please. If Melina were to ask for a different meal, Mrs Fountain would do all in her power to comply.

  He doubted Melina would even suspect such luxuries were at her fingertips.

  But she would know he was her benefactor and remember he was the man she gave her body to in exchange for passage. And now she lay in a room of his house, in comfort except for the hideous artwork, and she could not tell him not to lie with her.

  Mrs Fountain or Broomer or the maids could say they had another position and leave. But Melina’s father had abandoned her once, was likely to do so again, and the woman had no one or anything else. His fists clenched at the unfairness.

  Granted, the first night he’d taken her body in exchange for passage. He’d been rewarded by his own inner guilt. She’d been a virgin forced to sell her body or go to the Stephanos man she spoke of.

  And Warrington had once felt forced, as well. Forced to remain in a marriage. Forced by his own beliefs not to take a lover. Forced by the insistence of his own body to return to his wife.

  He turned, hoping Dane had added some interesting ti
tles to the books, but his feet would not take him from Melina. He searched within himself, trying to understand his need to see her and wondering why he could not shut off the craving he felt.

  A clunk. A thump. He stood outside Melina’s door and heard shuffling noises. Things being moved.

  He rapped softly.

  The door opened a crack and wary eyes peered out.

  ‘Is something disturbing you?’ he asked.

  ‘Not if— Yes. They are… Those women all…’ She changed her sentence. ‘In the dusk, the features of the paintings are dim, but the whiteness around the pupils glows. Eyes stare at me.’

  Inwardly, he smiled. He could imagine his brother relishing the eyes on him.

  She stood there, peering around the door, the thin shoulder of her white chemise showing well in the bare light and the skin of her neck filled with dark hollows, but they were inviting valleys.

  ‘The mermaids—they seem to get more evil the longer I am near them,’ she whispered, perhaps so the women could not hear her.

  He agreed, though he felt some loyalty to his brother’s choices. And in the light, the women did have a certain appeal to a man’s base side. ‘I don’t think they should be in public view, but in a man’s private quarters…’ He paused. ‘I think my brother prefers mermaids because he knows he’ll never find one and he uses them to keep—’ He stopped. ‘I can understand Ben’s views, but yours take preference tonight. If he were here, he would feel the same.’

  She laughed softly and the sound of it hit him in his stomach, a punch without pain. But with a certain power involved, taking some of his strength.

  ‘Melina—’ The night on the ship kept returning to his memory. He had wronged her. And he’d tried to stay from her to make it right in his mind. But he also kept calling himself a fool. She wasn’t staying in England and he felt relieved. He didn’t need another entanglement. He had Jacob to think of and Whitegate.

  He lived in a man’s world. Women brought tension. Goblets being hurled across the room, shattering. Servants upset. He’d truly been amazed at how well a house could run with only servants at the helm. A fractious woman could cause more upheaval with a misplaced smile than a general with a battalion of men.

  He looked into Melina’s face and gently shook his head. ‘I’ll move the paintings.’

  ‘Warrington.’ Her eyes darted down. ‘I know…’

  He didn’t like talking to her with so much between them and particularly standing in a hallway of his house. Broomer could step up the stairs at any moment, probably stomping to alert them of his presence, but all the same—

  He gave a soft push to the door and she stepped back, letting him enter without resistance—except in her face. She’d not braided the length of her hair, only pulled it tightly and put a ribbon around it. He’d never seen a woman leave her locks so free when she slept. He took in the dimly lit room and saw the backs of the art now propped against the walls.

  The chemise, too full for Melina, hung on her. The garment sneaked into the recesses of his mind because he knew it was the one thing touching her skin the whole of the night.

  ‘I made sure a dressing gown was placed in the wardrobe for you. He will not mind if you use it. Everything in here is for you to use as you wish,’ he said.

  She absently touched the tie she’d put in her hair, which caused a shifting in her clothing, pulling the chemise across her breasts. He instantly turned, not wanting more images of her lodging in his mind—causing a pounding ache that stirred from below and crept up to his chest until he could think of nothing else.

  Reaching to the paintings she’d turned to the wall, he took one in each hand, carried them to the hallway and placed them facing the wall. Then he went back for more.

  Passing her, he held two more paintings. ‘This is the one way we haven’t displayed them before.’ He sat the two beside the others in the hallway and returned to her. ‘This arrangement might be the best view of them.’

  ‘You don’t have to—’

  ‘Yes, I do. They are not what any woman would choose to have around her and only one male I know cares for them.’ A single painting remained in the room. ‘Melina, take the wrap and wait for me in the sitting room. Let’s give these immoral women’s spirits a chance to clear out of the bedchamber.’

  In moments she was covered and they walked to the other room. The familiarity of being in a woman’s presence in such a mundane way stirred pleasant feelings in him. Caressed him.

  Inside the sitting room, Melina curled into a chair and the candles he’d lit burnished her face, giving her features an otherworldly look. He stood at the door, but she didn’t turn her face to him, avoiding his eyes.

  ‘Melina, if you have any debt to me—have had any debt to me for passage or anything else—I release you from it.’

  ‘It’s not so simple. Not for me. I am in debt to you.’

  ‘No, Melina. You are not. Not any longer. It’s fully paid. You do not owe me anything. I am obliged to you.’

  He saw her gentle disagreement in her eyes. He couldn’t take her again. If he did, he’d know she only lay with him out of repayment and duty. He would not go to her chamber. He’d already had his fill of a woman’s dutiful coupling.

  He took another chair and lifted it, sitting it beside her, not so close the arms connected, but close enough she could reach to put her hand on his arm if she wished, or if they both leaned together, their lips could touch.

  Before he sat, he undid the buttons of his waistcoat and pulled off his cravat. He lowered himself into the chair, taking the neckcloth and folding it carefully, then placing it on the floor at the side of him opposite her.

  ‘I should have lit a fire, though it’s too hot,’ he mused, ‘because it would make more sense than sitting here staring at a cold grate.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Do you play chess?’

  ‘No. I embroider. I embroider, and embroider, and embroider. When I am not mending or making clothing. Every night we sewed, or did some quiet chore if we weren’t sleepy when darkness fell.’

  ‘Sounds lively.’

  ‘Sometimes we did argue for entertainment, I suppose.’

  He chuckled. ‘I have seen that happen in my own life.’

  He wanted to take her to his bed. She’d go if he asked. But if he did, he’d suspect— No, he’d know she let him touch her in repayment and he did not want that. He didn’t want her saying yes because she owed him. For that, he could leave the house and quickly find another pleased to toss up her skirts for quick, uncaring moments, and most happy see the back of him while she tucked the coin away. But he wanted to be with Melina.

  ‘If you wish it—’ Her words rocked into the room and he knew without doubt what she meant. Perhaps she could read his thoughts, but even the coal boy would know what a man contemplated when he saw Melina in bed clothing.

  ‘I realise that.’ Sadness tinged his words, but he didn’t know if she could hear the emotion and wished he hadn’t felt it.

  He looked at her. She didn’t accidentally open her dressing gown and lean in his direction when he spoke. The woman wasn’t a jade.

  And he could pull her from the chair and roll them on to the carpet and never feel the floor.

  ‘Perhaps I—’ He looked at his hands, fingertips touching, resting on his lap. ‘I shouldn’t. I think I might like you, Melina. And one probably does take advantage of friends, and all, but I fear if I do, it will seem base. Not like before. Before, we hardly had spoken. We were strangers.’

  ‘Better with a stranger?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘You only plan to speak to me tonight?’

  He put his hand on the arm of the chair, palm up, inviting. ‘Yes. I’ve not spoken with a woman much in so long. I’m surprised I miss it. I never saw a woman and said to myself, Oh, she looks lovely. I might wish to spend hours talking with her. But perhaps I wanted that more than I knew.’

  She didn’t move at first, but then put her hand in his. The t
ouch, delicate and warm, pleased him more than a seductive rub. More than a teasing smile, or a planned accidental brush against his body.

  ‘I shouldn’t have spoken,’ he said softly.

  ‘No. I like your voice.’

  ‘Are you comfortable?’ he asked.

  ‘I suppose.’

  Warrington watched the fireplace as if he could see flames. ‘You will not be amiss if you wish to go back to your room.’

  She didn’t move. ‘It’s all so new to me. Everything. This world. I had heard stories. Hours and hours of them, telling us what this land was like. But I still didn’t know. All of it. I didn’t know.’

  ‘Tell me about your days on Melos.’

  She began describing her mother, her sisters and her life.

  He didn’t have to prod himself to pay attention or stay awake. Her voice, filled with a woman’s softness, entranced him more than any sound he’d ever heard. Even when she sat back in the chair and her pauses grew longer, and her eyes slipped shut, he kept watching her, soothed by her presence.

  And a whisper inside himself warned never, ever to do this again. Never. He could not let his soul be shredded again by falling in love.

  When he heard a clock in the dining room give three chimes, he woke Melina, took her by the hand and led her to her bed.

  He kissed her forehead.

  After he left the room, he moved to his own chamber.

  He’d just kissed a woman’s forehead. He didn’t understand himself. But he did understand the simmering, pulsing need throughout his body. His temporary sainthood was leaving him. He was barely hanging on to his vow of celibacy.

  In his chamber, he poured water into the washbowl and used both hands to dip his face into it. He dried, wishing he could shake his body like a wet dog and quiver away his desire for Melina.

  His hands stopped on the flannel, resting. He could think of better ways to ease himself of his want for the dark beauty, and all involved her softness.

  He could show her so much, but then, he could end up with another man laying claim to his child. The spectre of Stephanos rose up, and tore at Warrington. He could not let Melina go back to Melos with his child inside her and he could not let a woman close enough to destroy him again.