by Lauren Smith
“No, I’m quite all right, thank you.” It was odd to be on the receiving end of help like this. She’d spent most of her life taking care of herself and Audrey in much the same way.
“If you need anything else, just use the bell cord by the bed. We always have some staff remain awake at night because—” The maid suddenly covered her mouth. “I shouldn’t have spoken, miss. It’s not my place to—”
“It’s all right, Sybil. I’m sure it has to do with Lord Pembroke’s mother and her illness.”
The maid bit her lip and nodded. Gillian thanked her again and pulled back the coverlet and the bedclothes before she climbed into bed.
She blew out the candle by her head and snuggled down into the soft feather mattress. It was far better than the slender cot she slept on in the attic of the Sheridan townhouse. Her accommodations at home were better than many ladies in service, but nothing could compare to a fine mattress like this. She closed her eyes, smiling a little.
“Feeling better?”
She jolted up at the sound of James’s voice. He had slipped into the room silently, holding a book and a candlestick.
“Yes.” She brushed her hair back from her face and watched him as he closed the bedroom door and walked over to a chair by the fireplace.
“Good. I didn’t mean to wake you. Please, rest. I’ll be here if you need me.” He waved the book in his hand, then settled into a chair by the fire. Gillian wondered if his broad shoulders ever tired of the burdens he carried. He bore so much responsibility, and she couldn’t help but feel sorrow at the knowledge that there was no one to care for him.
She was still a bit shocked that she was sleeping at the Earl of Pembroke’s house and he was in her bedchamber. Despite her weariness, her nerves sprang to life, and she knew she wouldn’t get to sleep anytime soon. She slipped out of bed, went over to the chair beside him, and eased herself into the seat. He glanced up in surprise.
“I can’t sleep. Not yet. Would you read to me?”
He looked down at the book in his hands, and a lock of his dark hair fell over his eyes. She couldn’t take her gaze off his face, the way the firelight shadowed the elegant ridges of his jaw and cheekbones. His features had been crafted by the goddess of love to tempt any sane woman into thinking scandalous thoughts. Gillian remembered how soft those lips were, how they’d felt teasing hers, the wicked flick of his tongue sending delicious shivers down her spine.
“You wish for me to read to you?” He raised the book so she might see the spine, which was embossed Lady Gloria and the Earnest Earl. “Are you quite sure?” His voice was low, a seductive glint in his eyes, but there was humor twitching at the corners of his lips. “After all, the last time I read to you…” His gaze lowered to her lips as he paused, and then he met her eyes. “We got quite lost, as I recall, and not in the pages.” She flushed as she realized he could somehow tease her and arouse her passions at the same time.
“I believe I’m willing to risk getting lost again—in the pages, I mean.” She had a feeling this man could read anything to her and she would cling to his every word and syllable. She bit her lip to keep from laughing at herself.
James opened the book again, leaning toward her in his chair as he turned back to the first page.
“Best to start at the beginning, I think.”
Gillian tucked her legs up in her chair and leaned on the left arm to get comfortable. The warmth of the fire and the heat between her and James filled the room, making her feel soft, feminine, and all too aware of him as a man in a way that made her head dizzy for completely different reasons.
“‘It always seems that when a lady most needs adventure, such an adventure comes knocking upon her door. For Miss Gloria Bellarmy, the knock was indeed an actual knock upon her door, in the form of a tall, dark stranger in need of help.’” James continued to read the Gothic novel, his deep voice pronouncing the words in a seductive tone and sending Gillian into a tranquil mood.
She closed her eyes, picturing the scenes of the book. But rather than Miss Gloria as the heroine, it was she who was accompanying the mysterious man to his beautiful but crumbling home off the coast of Cornwall. And it was James who seduced her in the dining room, who carried her off to bed and made love to her with a savage intensity that aroused rather than frightened her. The dreams were exquisite. She almost whimpered in protest when her body was suddenly lifted off the chair, and she came awake in James’s arms.
“You were asleep,” he whispered huskily. “I thought I ought to take you to bed.”
“Take me to bed?” she murmured, her body humming at the thought. Gillian looked up to his face and slowly curled her arms around his neck as he carried her to the bed.
“Yes, you need rest.” He set her down, but when she didn’t let go, he stayed hovering over her. Their faces were inches apart in the candlelight.
“Gillian.” His voice was rougher now. He was on the edge, and she could feel it too. The invisible edge that if they crossed they would fall into scandal and sin, but did it really matter? The hunger she had for him outweighed the rational thoughts she had clung to earlier.
“Would it be so bad to—” She didn’t finish the thought but simply lowered her gaze to his tempting mouth. Lord, please let him kiss me. She trembled in his arms with the force of her hunger for him.
“It would be very bad…and very good.” He braced one arm on the other side of her as he leaned even farther over the bed. “But I promised I would be a gentleman.”
Gillian’s body was already humming at the thought of him kissing her again. There was something about him that deprived her of good sense. A gentleman who had a wild side, a gentleman who loved deeply and fought madly to protect those he cared about, including her.
Damn the consequences. She moved one of her hands to his cravat, tugging at the white neckcloth, unraveling it until it was loose enough to slide off him. She let it drop to the floor. He glanced at it, and when he looked up at her again, his luscious lips split into a wonderfully wicked grin. Sparks shot down her body as she reached for the buttons of his waistcoat at the same time he reached for her nightgown at her waist. They both laughed softly, their faces brushing cheek to cheek as they rushed to remove the other’s clothing. It was as though Gillian’s natural self-consciousness had faded into the night, and all that remained was a creature of touch, taste, and scent as she explored each bit of James’s body with her hands and mouth as she undressed him.
By the time he’d been stripped of his clothes, he was lifting her nightgown over her head. She didn’t have any time to be shy. He was crawling on top of her, kissing her madly.
“Open for me, love,” he whispered against her lips. She opened her mouth, but he gave a gentle tap on her knees, and she tensed.
“Easy now,” he said with a chuckle. “We’ll go slow.” James nuzzled her cheek, and she clutched his shoulders as she slowly opened herself to him. The heavy weight of his body was welcome; it made her feel grounded like an ancient tree in a wild forgotten garden that was growing deep roots to the center of the earth itself. That was how bonded, how connected he made her feel to him.
They seemed to kiss for hours, the gentle urging lips, the questing hands and sliding limbs as they explored each other. She’d never felt such a slow building need inside her before, one that seemed to exist outside of her as she sought something greater.
“Is it always like this?” she asked against his lips.
“Like what?” he replied, his tone husky.
She raked her fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck, and he shuddered. “Like…like I’m on fire all over, like I need you in a way I barely understand.” She would have blushed at her own openness, but in that moment, she didn’t care.
“No, it isn’t always like this. I feel the same,” he admitted, a boyish smile on his face rendering her speechless. Lost for words, Gillian kissed his chin, his throat, digging her nails into his shoulders as he slowly entered her. The tightness, t
he hint of pain flashed inside her womb like a shooting star and then faded into a sensation of fullness. He completed her in that moment, made her whole in a way she’d never imagined. This was the reason women fell in love, the reason why rakes were so dangerous. James wasn’t a rake. He was a gentleman, just as he’d promised. But he was a gentleman who knew how to use his body in the most wonderfully wicked ways.
“Move with me,” he encouraged between kisses. Gillian raised her hips as he lowered his, and the sensation of fullness increased until she almost couldn’t breathe. Then he withdrew, and she gripped him harder, urging him to thrust back in. They shared a soft moan as their hips came together over and over.
“You feel like heaven,” he growled. “Bloody heaven.”
“So do you.” Gillian gasped as he thrust back into her, and a wave of pleasure suddenly and frighteningly swept over her.
She inhaled and cried out. A second later James covered her mouth with his, muffling her cries. Then he thrust into her again and buried his face in her neck, kissing her softly as he collapsed on top of her. For a moment, she feared she couldn’t breathe, but he lifted his body and rolled to the side. Gillian’s bare body started to cool, and for a second reason and logic threatened to sweep her away, but James lifted the covers over them and pulled her into his arms, kissing the shell of her ear.
“Sleep. I’m here to watch over you.” His promise followed her into the darkness as sleep closed in at last.
James held Gillian in his arms, watching the candles slowly burn down. He had been reckless, taking her like that, and yet he did not regret an instant. She was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, but he knew he was going to have trouble convincing her to marry him. There were secrets in her eyes and sorrow upon her lips, and he wished he knew what it was that filled her with fear and hesitancy. He lived his entire life feeling distanced and alone from others. It was hard to find a young lady in society who would marry a man who wished to keep his mother close, a mother who suffered from an early onset of an illness of the mind. Many young ladies he had met had mentioned they would wish to see his mother retired to the country, out of sight, out of mind, but James couldn't do that. Gillian seemed to understand him and had compassion like no other woman he’d met. She was the sort of woman he could marry.
He brushed a stray lock of hair back from her face, and she snuggled closer to him. The light floral scent that clung to her hair made him think of those long-ago summers when he was a boy in the country. His father had been alive and his mother well. He and Letty had dashed about the tea tables beneath the vast canopies of the pavilion tents that were full of friends from the surrounding villages and estates.
Summer days full of warm sunlight. That was what it felt like to hold this woman in his arms. She was a strange and wonderful magic he couldn’t quite believe he’d managed to capture. When his mother had first fallen ill and had lost so much of her ability to follow conversation and remember details of the present, he’d promised he would find a way to make her whole again. His mother had held his hands in hers, the premature gray at her temples lending a melancholy elegance as she smiled sadly and spoke to him.
“Promise me, James, that you will find a way to harness the rainbows after the storms life gives you. Your father was my rainbow captured in a jar. You need not worry about me. Chase your own wondrous mystery to its colorful end and catch it before it’s too late.”
He had not completely understood her; a boy of sixteen rarely wants to think about the philosophies of life. But now he wondered if Gillian might be his rainbow in a jar. But how to catch and keep her?
“I want you to belong to me,” he murmured against her forehead before he placed a soft, lingering kiss there. Come morning, he would begin chasing his rainbow to its wondrous and mysterious end.
4
Gillian jerked awake as something moved beside her. She froze when she realized there was a man in her bed. Not just any man. The Earl of Pembroke’s large naked body lay beside her, his arm stretched around her waist, his fingers curled against her skin. His long legs were tangled with hers. A faint chill trickled over her bare upper body where the blankets had fallen down to her hips. She blinked drowsily and realized with some confusion that she wasn’t even in her own bed.
What in the blazes?
She touched her head to brush her hair back and winced as a sharp pain blossomed around her right temple. A wild blur of memories from the previous night came back to her. The perils of the hellfire club, the fight, then the insanity of their escape, and…the intimacy she’d shared with James right here in this bed. She’d opened herself up to him, shared her body with him and he with her.
She had slept with James. No, Lord Pembroke. He could never be James. She was a servant, and he was a lord. He had to be kept in his position and she in hers.
I’ve made a terrible mistake.
Yet Gillian couldn’t deny how wonderful she felt. Her body was sated in a way she’d never imagined, and when she tried to slip out of James’s hold her body protested, wanting instead to sink back down in the warm bed with him. She forced herself to move, lifting his arm around her waist and setting it down at his side. He murmured something soft in his sleep and rolled onto his stomach away from her. A sigh of relief escaped her as she slipped out of the bed.
It took a few minutes to collect her things. Her gown was wrinkled and still covered with droplets of blood and white plaster dust, which she did her best to shake off.
“Lord, what a mess,” she muttered, then froze as James moved in bed, flipping his pillow before settling back.
Once she was dressed, she peeled back the curtains by the sash window. Dawn was but a faint pink line upon the trees and the tops of the houses of the London streets. She believed she had enough time to find a coach and get home before the Sheridan house awoke to find her gone. Letting Sean Hartley, her friend and footman, know what had happened was one thing, but she did not want the rest of the staff to know her grave mistake.
Biting her lips, she slipped her boots on and laced them up, then crept to the door and eased it open. She slipped into the hall and checked for servants, finding no one. Gillian knew they would be rising any moment. The cook down in the kitchens would be wrapping her apron around her waist and checking on the bread from the night before. Footmen would begin making their rounds lighting lamps, and maids would soon start opening curtains and preparing breakfast trays for James and his family. Gillian knew these routines all too well because it was her world, the world of whispered orders and bells, of tea trays and laundry. Her world was not one of luscious beds, fine gowns, and glittering balls. That was the world James belonged to.
At least I have the memories to keep me warm in the long, lonely years ahead.
Gillian crept down the stairs and reached the front door.
“Miss Beaumont?” Dr. Wilkes’s voice froze her in her tracks. She looked over her shoulder and saw the doctor emerge from a downstairs room.
“Oh, good morning, Dr. Wilkes. How are you?”
The doctor smiled. “Well. And how are you feeling? I would like to look at your head before you leave.”
“Oh, but…”
“Please,” he said. “I am a doctor, and it’s my nature to worry. It will only take a moment. I was just seeing to the dowager countess with her morning medicine. She’s in the drawing room. If you don’t mind, I prefer to keep an eye on her while we are alone.”
“Er, yes, of course.” Gillian followed him into the drawing room. An older woman was seated in a chair facing the window overlooking a lovely garden. The purple morning light set off in the bright hues of the wisteria climbing the walls around the windows. The woman’s hand was splayed on the glass, as if she yearned to touch the colorful blossoms outside.
“How is she?” Gillian asked the doctor.
Dr. Wilkes’s voice was full of compassion. “A little more distant today. She has her good days and bad days.”
Gillia
n’s throat tightened as she thought of James having to care for his mother on those bad days when she was barely there.
“Now, let’s have a look at you.” Dr. Wilkes brought her close to the window by James’s mother so he could examine her head. “Looks clean, but there’s a bit of swelling. It will likely bruise. How do you feel?”
“A little tender is all.”
“Any cloudiness or muddy thoughts?”
“No.” Her thoughts were scattered, but it had nothing to do with being hit in the head and everything to do with the man who had made love to her.
“Hello,” a soft feminine voice said, making Gillian tense until she realized it was James’s mother. She was watching Gillian with curious brown eyes.
“Hello,” Gillian replied and looked to Dr. Wilkes, who offered an encouraging smile.
“Abigail, this is Miss Gillian Beaumont. She’s a friend of James’s.”
“Oh?” The woman’s face lit with a smile. “You know my James?”
“Yes.” Gillian tried to ignore the heat rising to her face.
“He’s such a good boy, always following his father about. So like my Henry.”
Gillian’s smile faltered as she realized his mother was thinking of the past as though it were the present. Gillian recovered quickly, adapting.
“What is Henry like?” she asked the older woman.
“Henry?” She smiled dreamily. “He’s a perfect gentleman. I married him when I was only seventeen. He was twenty-four and oh so handsome. All my friends were terribly jealous. I didn’t care that he was the future Earl of Pembroke, however. To me he was simply Henry. I was only a squire’s daughter, you see. I never thought he would even notice me, but, well, I was a wonderful dancer. The best men love to dance as much as we women do.”
Gillian sat down in a chair beside the dowager countess. “Oh?”
“Yes. I had tiny, quick feet back then.” She giggled. “Henry came down from London that year, and we danced at his father’s Christmas ball. He told me years later that he never regretted dancing with only me that night, though his parents were quite scandalized.”
