He gave a reassuring smile. “Alexander offered to help, should I need to escape. I didn’t expect to take him up on his offer so soon, but I assure you, nobody will suffer.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” she replied. “What will happen when you return? Will you be able to relinquish some control so you can finally take some time for yourself? Would you be able to let someone take initiative?”
The thought brought all kinds of images to his mind, pictures of her telling him what to do in that bossy tone. Demanding that he kiss her, or touch her in very specific spots.
But then reality intruded. She’d asked about what would happen now that he’d left; what about her?
“Does anyone know where you’ve gone? Much less that you left?”
Her quick, sharp inhale told him what he needed to know. Ida, you impetuous carriage-stealer. He spoke in a firm tone of voice. “We will stop in the next village. We need to send letters letting everyone know we are safe.”
“Everyone but Pearl and Eleanor are going to think we’ve eloped,” she said in a resigned tone.
“We should tell them that,” he said.
She swung herself on the seat to stare at him, and he turned to look at her face. He was surprised to see just how shocked an expression she had. “It’s the only way,” he explained. “If our families believe that we have eloped, they will both be pleased at the outcome, just not the process. My father wants me to marry, as does your mother. I assume I am a better catch for you than Lord FourFeet, and so your family won’t chase after you.”
“Likely if my mother considered it, she’d realize that I might not be sufficiently compromised, so she should leave me be.” Ida spoke in a flat tone of voice, making him hurt for her. He knew why the duchess didn’t understand her youngest daughter—she was far too complicated and intelligent—but why couldn’t the duchess just love her?
She deserved to be loved.
“That’s settled then,” he replied, turning back to face the road. Not wanting to face his own desires. “We’ll stop at the next village to write our letters, and we might as well stop there for the night as well.”
Ida knew she owed Pearl a letter—she’d promised, after all—but she hadn’t anticipated her letter would include:
I have run away with Lord Carson, the gentleman that nobody in our family has married yet.
Pearl would be aghast. The Ida of three days ago would be aghast as well. The Ida of today?
Well, she was discovering that she liked being adventurous, and daring, and speaking her mind. Sharing her thoughts.
Her sisters loved her, but they didn’t always understand her. Reasonable, since it seemed Ida didn’t always understand herself—why was she so determined to hide behind pillars? Why couldn’t she imagine a happy future for herself?
This Ida, the one at this very moment, was happy, even though the future was still uncertain, and Della was still missing, and Ida had no idea what would happen when she and Bennett returned to London.
“Well,” she said, wanting to share her happiness, but not entirely certain how. Or if he would want to hear her. Or if he would understand her. Or anything at all, really.
Was this how it felt to be a normal woman?
Hmm.
“Yes?”
“Now that we’ve been on the road for over a day.”
“Meaning we’re seasoned travelers?” he said in an amused voice.
She swatted his arm. “Not precisely. But it is very different from how we were just a few days ago.”
“How does it feel to you?” he asked.
She sighed. But not in an unhappy way. “It is an adventure. It is an escape, and it feels dangerous, and exhilarating, and wonderful.”
“And serviceable,” he teased.
“Yes, that. Service in finding my sister, after all.”
“About that—are you certain she wants to be found?”
“Uh . . .” Ida began.
“You’re not.” He did not sound surprised. “So you are saying that you took off in Mr. Beechcroft’s carriage heading for this tiny village called Halt-something.”
“Haltwhistle.”
“And you’re not certain your sister will even want to see you.”
Ida shifted in her seat. “That’s right.”
“Ida.” She had to admit to feeling a thrill at how forceful he sounded. What was wrong with her?
“My lord?”
“What happens if she won’t return with you? If she refuses to see you?”
“That won’t happen.”
He made one of her snorting noises. Had he always done that, or had he picked them up from her?
“It won’t happen because, and I know you can corroborate this, I am too stubborn to allow it to happen. Della will have to see me. I need to persuade her to return to London so we can be a part of Nora’s life.”
“Nora? Who is Nora? Another sister?”
Ida chuckled. “No, I believe five is plenty.”
“More than enough,” he murmured. She ignored him.
“Nora is Della’s daughter.”
“Her daughter?” He sounded surprised. “But you said your sister never mar—oh!”
“Precisely.”
“So not only are you planning on returning to London with your scandalous sister, you are also planning on returning with her natural-born daughter? And you are going to refuse my proposal?”
Ida nodded. “Yes. All of that.”
“What do you think will happen? Do you think you’ll just be able to pick up your life where it was? Because you’re an intelligent woman, Ida, I know you cannot think that is true. Society won’t allow it.”
“I know.” And it felt so freeing to admit it. “I expect I will be a pariah, as will Della. No honorable man will have me, and so my parents will be forced to send us both away. Perhaps I’ll be able to go live in a cottage somewhere, me and Della. And Pearl, if she wants to come.”
“You’d be happy there?” He sounded wistful. As though he wished to escape. Not necessarily with her, she wasn’t so presumptuous to think that—it was just one kiss, after all—but strike out on his own.
“I think so.” A few days ago she would have been more confident in her answer. But now the layers of herself were starting to peel, and perhaps she wanted more than she knew. “At the very least, I would like the freedom to try.”
“Freedom.” The word sounded as though he’d been forbidden to say it, whispering it in a quiet tone as though afraid of being overheard. “It is something we have, to some extent, and that we also take for granted.”
Her heart hurt at how aching his tone was.
She put her hand on his arm and rested her head against his shoulder. No, it wasn’t proper, but none of this was. And if she could give comfort to someone she was realizing might actually be a friend—a very attractive friend whose long, confident stride made her breath hitch—then she would.
He placed his hand on top of hers, squeezing her fingers.
They drove like that for a while, him caressing her hand as she breathed in his scent, a blend of soap and clean linen.
Surprising, since it had to have been some time since he last bathed. Even his cleanliness was perfect.
“What?” he asked as she shook her head.
I can’t admit I was thinking about how you smell.
“You’ve told me about your father, and his wishes for you,” she said, raising her head off his shoulder. But keeping her hand on his arm. “What about your mother?”
“My mother is an invalid.”
“I am so sorry,” Ida replied. Her hand was still on his arm, from before; odd that he hadn’t realized it until now. It felt so right, that felt odd too. But in a right kind of way. “I’d like to know more about her. If you want to talk about her.”
“I do. I will.” He took a deep breath. “My mother used to be very active. She was involved with my and Alexander’s upbringing, supervising our tutors, and spending time with us
when we weren’t at our lessons. Our father was often absent, but it’s rare to find fathers who aren’t, in our world, at least.”
“And in the world of men who have to work long hours to support their families,” she added.
“Yes, of course, I was thoughtless.”
“That wasn’t what I wanted to point out. Your thoughtlessness. I think I am more guilty than you of focusing solely on myself—my wishes, my feelings, my thoughts. I know that I was blindsided by Della’s departure. I wish I had paid more attention. Maybe she would still be with us if I had.”
And then I wouldn’t be here with you. But that was the most selfish thought of all—that he was at all happy to be benefiting from her family upset was inexcusable. Even if it was true.
“But I started talking about myself. I want to hear more about your mother. What is the nature of her illness?”
Her tone was matter-of-fact, not pitying or overly curious. Just as though she honestly wished to hear the answer, and wouldn’t use his response to be falsely sympathetic or tell anybody else.
The idea, honestly, of her being falsely sympathetic was so ludicrous he nearly laughed aloud.
“The doctors aren’t precisely sure. Except that—except that her decline began around the same time she discovered my father’s second family.” He took a deep breath, relieved that she hadn’t immediately peppered him with questions. As though she knew he would tell her everything, but that it would take time.
And since they were traveling to an unknown village where they may or may not have a mailbox or a place to sleep, apparently they had a substantial amount of time.
“My father has a mistress. Like so many men of our world.” He nudged her in the shoulder. “That is one circumstance where I think we can agree it is limited to our world.”
She laughed abruptly, and then her hand shot up to her mouth as though she’d surprised even herself.
“And he has two children with this woman. I’ve never met them.” That hurt more than he would admit, even to himself. “I’d like to, but I don’t want to make my mother more upset, if she were to find out. But I wonder about them—they’re about ten years younger than Alex and me, and my father is not the most—well, he’s not very affectionate. And Alex and I, we have our mother, and the security of our position. I don’t know anything about their mother. I just hope they’re happy.”
She leaned into him, curling her hand more around his arm. “When we return with Della, I would like to assist you in meeting your half siblings. I know how important it is to have the support and love from your family, especially if your parents aren’t . . . well, you know.”
He thought of her mother, and her obvious machinations to marry him off to at least one of her daughters, and he nodded. “I do know. We both know. I hope that when I have children I will be as kind to them as my mother was to me.”
“You will be,” she replied immediately. “You cannot help but be honorable and kind and thoughtful.”
“Thank you,” he said in a quiet voice.
Chapter 9
Don’t concern yourself with maintaining “ladylike” behavior. You are a traveler first, a lady second.
Lady Ida’s Tips for the Adventurous Lady Traveler
He had siblings he didn’t even know. Imagine if she didn’t know Pearl, or Eleanor, or even Olivia, who could be annoyingly bossy, but who would drop everything to help if she suspected possible danger.
And Della, whom Ida was risking everything to find.
She knew Bennett was as loyal to Alexander as she was to her sisters. And how much he likely wished he could protect and help his other siblings, the ones his father couldn’t possibly introduce him to.
Her heart ached for him.
“It’s fine,” he said, as though reading her mind. He was so empathetic; no wonder he was so persuasive in his sincerity. He was sincere. He was just that honorable and responsible, far more than likely most people were.
“How much longer until the next village? Did you see a sign or anything?” she asked. She hoped she could wait to find the facilities, since her bladder was starting to make itself known.
“Another hour or so. Hopefully the town will have a post office. I saw a sign a ways back.”
“As long as there is meat pie,” she said. “And ale.”
“And for the letters—are you going to tell your family everything?”
“Most everything,” she said in a prim tone. Everything except that the most responsible aristocrat, Lord Carson, was so much more than he first appeared to be. That he was kind, and thoughtful, and sincere, and his emotions were deep and heartfelt.
And she was altogether far too swoony about him, damn it.
“Ah, so you won’t be mentioning the kiss?” he teased.
She felt herself blush. “I will not. And besides, we weren’t going to discuss it again.”
“Such a prickly hedgehog,” he said in a humorous tone.
“Prickly rhymes with tickly,” she said, digging her fingers into his side. “Are you ticklish, Bennett?”
Why she even thought of that she couldn’t answer to herself. Just that even mentioning the kiss seemed to bring out a whole different side of Ida.
Plus, it seemed he was quite ticklish indeed.
He leapt in his seat and squirmed, his hand on her wrist as he attempted—unsuccessfully—to loosen her hold.
She edged over to get a better grip on him, putting both hands on him now, laughing as he twisted to try to get away.
And then he clamped his arm around her and dragged her body onto his as he stopped the horses, and there they were, she on top of him, his face lit with laughter, his eyes gleaming dangerously.
So of course she had to stop tickling him and start kissing him.
And of course he had to kiss her back.
As soon as their mouths met, Bennett had to say that outdoor kissing was possibly the best kissing experience ever. The sun was warm on his face, her body was molded into his, and there was no one about, but the possibility that someone could stumble across them merely increased the excitement.
He had not known he was a fan of exhibitionism. And yet here he was. Out here. With her.
He slid his fingers into her hair as he thrust his tongue into her mouth, shifting so her body lay between his legs, his hardening cock pressing against her.
“Mmm,” she moaned, that low sound that made him forget to think—not that he was able to think anyway, not with her kissing him like this.
Her hands were on his shoulders, holding herself up against him, and then she wiggled to get herself more firmly situated, then moving her hand to his cravat, which she began to unwind.
All while still kissing him. She was very efficient.
He yanked a few pins out of her hair, feeling the tumble of it come down on his skin, then moved his hands lower. Down her back, gripping her arse with his hand, then caressing its soft fullness.
He hadn’t known before, women’s fashion being what it was, but her arse was tremendous. Lush, and full, and round. He wanted to bite into it like a juicy peach. But that would mean having to stop kissing her, which he was not willing to do.
He gathered a handful of fabric in his hand and began to draw it up, imagining how it must look. His cock thickening at the image in his head: Her legs getting slowly bared as her dress moved up and up and up, until eventually he was able to gather the fabric up and bunch it at her waist, leaving her entire lower body exposed.
He opened his eyes but was momentarily unable to see because of the dark fall of hair around them, caging them in together. It was a welcome refuge, one where only they existed, where he could kiss her until neither of them could see, much less think.
But he wanted to see her body, so he reached up and swept her hair to one side, looking over her shoulder to what he’d revealed by lifting her gown.
Oh lord. It was so much better than his imagination.
She raised her mouth, her eyebrow arched in
that questioning way he was coming to adore. “This is not at all an equitable situation,” she murmured in her low, husky voice. She shifted so she could yank his cravat entirely off his neck, dropping it onto the seat. Her gaze focused on his neck, intent, her fingers beginning to slide the buttons through their holes as her fingers touched his skin.
And then she smiled, a wicked half smile as she started to rake her nails over his bare skin.
It was intoxicating, it was delicious torment, even more than when she’d been tickling him.
And the view.
He could see the pale globes of her arse, round and lush as he’d felt. She’d moved so her feet were on the seat, and her legs were on either side of his body, all that soft skin so close to his hands.
“You’re gorgeous,” he said in a growl, clamping his hand on her buttock. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the feel of her bare skin on his palm, squeezing its soft roundness, his cock hard and pressed against her.
“Thank you,” she murmured in reply, straightening to push his coat off his shoulders. “I would say the same to you, but I need to see more of what I’m assessing.” And she slid her palm under his shirt, caressing his chest, her fingers on his nipple, raking it with her fingernail, making him arch under her touch.
He couldn’t take it any longer; he put his other hand on the back of her head and dragged her face down to his so he could kiss her, both of their mouths widening to accommodate the other, tongue, and teeth, and lips all meeting in a glorious clash of passion.
Her breasts were pushed up against his chest, and it was awkward, but he couldn’t resist moving his hand from the back of her head to between their two bodies, his fingers wiggling down, finding the neckline of her gown, then sliding down farther to discover her skin.
At least women’s fashions had already forewarned him about her bosom; as round and full as her arse, and he squeezed it, making her moan all over again against his mouth.
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