The Lady Is Daring

by Megan Frampton

  “True. What else?”

  “If all else fails, you can tell her that unless she returns with you that your reputation will be irreparably damaged. Whereas if Society has the opportunity to think that you have just done a good deed by finding your sister, rather than running away with me, that they might reward you rather than scorn you.”

  “Especially since you were passed around my sisters like a plate of biscuits,” she added.

  “Ouch!” he said, reeling back in mock hurt. “You certainly know how to wound a man’s pride.”

  “Oh hush,” she replied. “At least you were passed around. I was offered to someone with the assurance that he wouldn’t get to know me before we got married in case he decided to refuse after all.” She looked up at him, shaking her head. “Can you imagine how that makes me feel? I don’t want anyone to ever feel as though they’re not wanted.”

  “Which is why you’re going after your sister,” he said in understanding. “You want her to know that no matter what she does, you love her.”

  “Within reason. I mean, if she were to repudiate Linnaeus, for example, in favor of some lesser system . . .” she said, her voice trailing off.

  “You’d classify her as Idiotus Sisterum?” he said with a smirk.

  “Exactly.” She beamed at him, and he basked in the glow of her smile.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, miss?” the maidservant asked.

  The room was not quite as clean and tidy as Mrs. Hastings’s offerings, but it was warm and cozy. Or perhaps that was just Ida, since she’d had a few more ales sitting downstairs with Bennett.

  He was down the hall, and she resisted the urge to go to his room, to discover what other kinds of things they could do together.

  “Thank you, I am fine.”

  The servant nodded, and left the room, leaving Mary in her chemise. They’d purchased a night rail at the shop, so she withdrew it from the bag and laid it on the bed.

  She felt restless and oddly unsatisfied, but not in an unhappy way; just as though there was something else she could be doing, and wanted to be doing, and wasn’t.

  You know what that is, a voice said inside her head.

  I do, she admitted.

  Before she removed her chemise, she put her hands on her upper chest, then over her breasts, then down to there, where it hadn’t stopped aching. But in a good, entirely uncomfortable way.

  She pressed against there with the heel of her hand, relieving some of the ache. Hmm. That felt interesting.

  She raised one of her hands and put it back onto her breast, feeling how her nipple was hard and her breasts felt heavy. She ran her palm over her breast and sighed at the sensation. This was what it might feel like if he touched her. Here. There. Everywhere.

  It felt good. She continued to press against her mound with her other hand, wanting more, and then she got onto the bed, twisting onto her back and dragging the bottom of her chemise up to her waist.

  She brushed her fingers against herself, gasping at how it felt—so good, but there was definitely something more. Bennett would know what to do if he were here. How to find the something more she craved.

  She put her finger right there, right where it ached the most, and then, tentatively, began to rub, her back arching as the pleasure spread throughout her body.

  Meanwhile, she rubbed and squeezed her breasts, kneading them and feeling the hard nipple press against her palm.

  She added more fingers to where she was rubbing down below, and that seemed to do something even more intense.

  “Oh God,” she whispered as she kept rubbing, thinking of him, and his hard body pressed against her, his hands pinning her against the door.

  His mouth plundering hers as he kissed her, and she kissed him back, her hands in his sleekly styled hair, mussing it up.

  And then she felt the moment when everything broke, and she spasmed down below, a warm rush of pleasure washing through her body, leaving her limp and satisfied.

  Not as satisfied as if it had been him, but definitely satisfying nonetheless.

  She sat up and removed her chemise, regarding her night rail with displeasure. She would sleep without anything on tonight, just to feel what it was like. This was an adventure, and the point of the adventure was to try new things. Things like kissing a man she was not intending to marry, and rubbing oneself to extreme pleasure, and sleeping nude.

  She slid under the covers, gasping at how it felt for her skin to be directly touching the sheets. She’d never been so raw and exposed before. In so many ways.

  Hmm. This was the satisfying ending he’d referenced, wasn’t it?

  How much more satisfying would it be if it were with him?

  “You look well-rested this morning,” Bennett said as she came to the table.

  She blushed and nodded. “Yes, I slept quite well, thank you.”

  She was wearing one of her new gowns, in dark green with very little ornamentation. Serviceable. The severity of the gown’s cut only highlighted just how beautiful she was, her dark hair pulled back from her pale, delicate face, her dark eyes holding a warm glint of laughter as she sat down.

  Oh, he was besotted, wasn’t he? Damn it.

  “The maid came to help me get dressed this morning,” she said. “And I asked her if she knew where Haltwhistle was. She said she thought it was only a few days from here. But that we’re headed in the right direction. When I first looked at the atlas in Mr. Beechcroft’s library, I thought it would be at least a week. It will be less than that, at least. You must be wanting to return home to London.”

  Not at all.

  “I suppose,” Bennett said, gesturing to one of the passing barmaids.

  “Yes, sir?” she asked.

  “Tea and whatever you have for breakfast, please,” he replied.

  “No ale?” Ida asked in a wistful tone.

  He chuckled. “When you return to your parents’ house, you’ll have to ask them to serve up ale at their dinner parties.”

  “I highly doubt I will be in the position of making any demands when I return home,” Ida replied, a rueful look on her face. “I wonder if I will be allowed to stay in the house, actually. I was hoping for some brilliant solution to spring into my brain, but so far my ideas for the future include moving into Mr. Beechcroft’s library, Della and I opening some sort of home for scandalous women, or me getting banished to the country.”

  “The offer stands, you know.”

  She glanced away, biting her lip.

  “I know you don’t want to, but you could marry me if that is your only choice. I won’t have you suffer because of this adventure. I promise I would leave you to live your own life.”

  Even though it would be the most difficult thing he had ever done.

  “You’re doing the right thing, you know,” he continued. “Going to find Della, even if you don’t know that she wants to be rescued.”

  “A damsel in distress who might not be in distress after all?” She uttered a derisive noise. “I won’t be the cause of you not having a choice in your life. It would be hypocritical of me to even consider it, given how much I chafe against it in my own life.”

  What if I want to choose you?

  But he couldn’t say that to her. Not now, not without losing that trust he’d gained. And more than that, they had become friends. Friends who kissed at times, but friends nonetheless.

  He wouldn’t risk losing that friendship.

  Even though he felt as though he were in danger of losing his heart.

  “I’m starving,” she said after an hour or so of not speaking.

  Not that it was an awkward silence; it actually felt comfortable, as though they were at peace with themselves and one another.

  Every so often, they’d pass another carriage, or see cows in a nearby field, and meet one another’s eyes.

  “We should be able to find a place to stop soon,” he answered. Only a few more days of travel with her. Only a few more days to glory
in the splendor of her, her wit, her kindness, her fierce intelligence.

  It already hurt. Bennett focused on driving the carriage, not allowing himself to think too much about it. Just about the road ahead, and keeping his eye out for a place to stop for the night.

  They drove past a few cottages, then followed a road that appeared to lead into a village, which was confirmed within a mile or so. This village looked smaller than the two others, and he glanced around at the few people who were walking around, looks of open curiosity tempered with suspicion on their faces.

  “Which way to the inn?” he asked one of the pedestrians. The man didn’t answer, just pointed down the road and kept walking.

  “Taciturn group,” Bennett said, keeping the horses on the road the man had pointed down.

  The inn came into view a few minutes later, and Bennett regarded it with a critical eye, conscious of how Ida was glancing around them with interest. No doubt more learning experiences to add to her knowledge.

  The inn was shabby, a few chickens strutting about in front. It appeared to be the only option, however, which meant he’d have to make a decision that would be more difficult for him than for her. “We’ll say we’re husband and wife,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t want you to sleep in your own room at this place.”

  “Yes, I agree,” she said, and he exhaled in relief. And nearly as much anticipation.

  “Can we help you?” an older grizzled man asked as he stepped out into the light from the inn, wincing as he did. That did not bode well for the inn’s potential airiness.

  “Yes, my wife and I will need a room for the night,” Bennett replied, deliberately eschewing his normal aristocratic tones. He had found he was a good mimic, so it wasn’t difficult for him to adopt the speech patterns of his London merchant acquaintances.

  “We’ve got a room, if you’re certain,” the man said in a skeptical tone, glancing between the two of them. Apparently they did not look like the inn’s usual clientele, which made Bennett even more determined that they would share a room, despite its potential for far more frustration.

  “We are,” Ida said, altering her own voice. Bennett looked over at her, surprised at her adept reading of the situation as well as her own ability with a different accent.

  “Then we’ll get your horses taken care of and show you up to your room.” The man whistled, and a young boy ran up, his eyes wide at seeing the carriage. “Take the carriage round to the back, and water and feed the horses,” the man ordered. “If you’ll step this way, we’ll see what we can do about some food.”

  He did not sound confident.

  Matching Bennett’s own thoughts.

  Bennett took Ida’s hand in his, drawing her close to his side.

  It was dark inside, as Bennett had expected, and there were a few patrons who already seemed the worse for wear.

  “Sit there,” the innkeeper commanded. Not the pleasantly bossy tones of Mrs. Hastings.

  Bennett helped Ida into her seat—even though she didn’t need any help—and took the chair opposite, aware that the inn’s inhabitants were staring at them.

  “Good evening, everyone,” he said, gesturing broadly. “My wife and I are here for the night. We are heading to Haltwhistle. Does anyone happen to know its whereabouts? My wife”—and then he leaned forward and chucked Ida on the chin, delighting in her look of stifled outrage—“lost the map.” Silence. “Of course I will buy a round for the room, if anyone has the information.”

  “I do,” a voice said from the far corner. A broad man dressed in plain farmers’ clothing walked toward them, removing his cap as he did. “It’s only about ten miles from here, you can just follow that road you came in on.”

  “Oh, excellent!” Ida blurted out, forgetting to unculture her tone.

  Bennett shot her a warning glance, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. “Thank you,” he replied, rising. “A round of drinks for everyone here, if you please,” he called out. The innkeeper nodded as the room’s inhabitants cheered.

  “Ten miles,” Bennett said to Ida as he lowered himself back into his chair. “It shouldn’t take more than half a day. We can be there tomorrow afternoon.”

  They both sat in silence, Bennett wishing the man had said it was at least another week’s worth of travel.

  “I can’t believe it was that easy,” she said at last in an awed tone.

  Bennett raised his eyebrows. “So easy. You merely had to steal a carriage with me inside, drive north together, spend a few nights at some of England’s finest lodgings, agree not to get married, and hope that nobody from our world would see us.”

  She narrowed her gaze at him, folding her arms over her chest. “Hmph,” she said. “I think it feels as though it were easy because it was—it was so pleasant.” Her cheeks were flushed, as though she were confiding in him again.

  He had to admit to liking how that felt.

  “It was pleasant,” he agreed. “But it’s not finished yet, not by a mile. Or ten,” he added with a smirk. “And once we get there, you’ll need to persuade your sister to return. And then hope we make it back to London without anybody from our world seeing us. Then we might have a chance of you not having to move into Mr. Beechcroft’s library.”

  “Food.” The innkeeper placed two wooden bowls on the table sharply, making both of them jump in their seats. “You owe me for the food, the drinks, and the lodging. I’ll take that now, if you don’t mind.”

  Bennett wanted to retort at the innkeeper’s belligerent tone, but shut his mouth when he saw Ida shaking her head slowly, as though she knew he wanted to engage.

  “Here,” Ida said, withdrawing the money from within her gown somewhere. She placed it into the innkeeper’s outstretched palm, then bestowed a patently false smile. Not that the innkeeper was paying attention; he was staring down at the coins in his hand and walked off without acknowledging the payment.

  “Not quite up to Mrs. Hastings’s standards,” Ida said, picking up her spoon. She dipped it into the bowl and brought it to her mouth, then wrinkled her nose and took a bite of whatever it was.

  What was it?

  Bennett debated picking up his own spoon and eating, but judging by the play of expressions on her face—surprise, contemplation, and then a dawning horror—he decided he’d probably rather go hungry.

  “That is awful,” she said, confirming what he’d seen on her face.

  “We should just head up to bed,” Bennett said, glancing around their surroundings. The other inhabitants had gotten less interested in what they were doing, but it seemed that they had gotten more interested in whatever alcohol the innkeeper was serving them. “I doubt this clientele is here for the food, so they must be here for the drink.”

  “Of course,” Ida replied. “We should go to bed.” And then her eyes widened as she realized what she’d said, and she licked her lips, which only made Bennett think about it more.

  Damn it, he wished he weren’t so honorable. Because if he weren’t, he wouldn’t have a moment’s hesitation about what they might possibly do together, alone, with a bed in the room.

  But he was honorable. Even if his cock had risen to the occasion, making him wince as he rose as well.

  Hoping she didn’t notice.

  Chapter 11

  Demand your own adventure.

  Lady Ida’s Tips for the Adventurous Lady Traveler

  She couldn’t help but notice what was happening there as he stood. If she were another kind of woman, she’d probably be horrified and appalled that his body had reacted to her words with such—alacrity.

  Instead, she wished she could ask him about it. Did it hurt? What would the inevitable result of it be?

  But for once she didn’t just ask questions in pursuit of knowledge. Not because she wasn’t curious—of course she was—but because she had to imagine that it would be a difficult thing to discuss.

  “I took our bags up myself,” Bennett said as he walked close behind her. She could feel his pr
esence at her back, which made her feel all tingly. “I will wait in the hallway while you change. Just call out when you are under the covers.”

  He opened a door at the end of the hall, gesturing for her to step inside. She hadn’t had strong expectations of the quality of the room, given the exterior and the inedible food, and her expectations, low that they were, were met. The bed dominated the room, its coverlet a jarringly cheery red color in the midst of mismatched dark furniture and smoky windows.

  Their bags were at the foot of the bed, and she turned her head to nod at him. “I won’t take long.”

  He nodded. “I wouldn’t expect you would,” he replied, closing the door.

  She withdrew her night rail and twisted her hands behind her so she could undo her buttons. Thank goodness she was flexible enough to do it herself; she did not want to ask him for help. It was awkward enough, having seen his . . . alacrity downstairs in the public room.

  She got dressed quickly, launching herself toward the bed and pulling the cover up to her chin. “I’m in bed,” she called, then winced as she realized what she’d just yelled.

  Hopefully only he had heard her.

  He stepped inside, closing the door firmly behind him. He glanced toward her, then cleared his throat as he looked away, moving to crouch on the floor in front of his bag.

  “If you don’t mind closing your eyes for a minute,” he said in a strained tone.

  She felt a giggle lurking in her chest, but suppressed it. He would not appreciate being laughed at. Or he would appreciate it, and then they would both be laughing, and then other things would happen. As they had in the carriage.

  Although she had to be honest, that was entirely her doing.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, hearing the noises of fabric shifting. Squeezing her eyes more tightly when she was tempted to open them to see what he might look like with less clothing on.

  “Here,” he said, and she felt a thump as something landed on the bed. Not him, fortunately. Or unfortunately, she couldn’t say which she’d prefer.