by Julia Kelly
Her arms gripped the hard muscle of his biceps. She wanted to be closer. They were far too dressed for a kiss like this. A simple tug was all it took to undo his neck cloth and slide her hand into the gap of his shirt.
She squirmed on his lap, shifting intentionally to hear him groan for her again. Instead, he pulled back just enough to pant, “Jane.”
“Yes?” she asked, breathless against his lips.
With one swift move he had her on her back, his body pressing her into the bracken that smelled fresh and clean as fallen rain.
This was what she’d denied herself by staying on her side of the curtain last night. The weight of him, the power of him over her, around her. No one else had ever challenged her to give up everything she knew to be logical and good just for a chance to be a little bit wild. He was the devil’s invitation realized.
His lips skimmed over her collarbone and up over her throat. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he murmured in her ear.
“We probably shouldn’t,” she said, running her hands down his back and up again, reveling in the feeling of firm muscle under his black coat.
“You should tell me to stop kissing you.”
He nipped her ear, eliciting another gasp as her whole body seemed to light up with awareness.
“You should push me away and call me a brute and tell me that I promised I’d never lay a finger on you,” he murmured as he kissed her temple again.
She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, guiding him so that he met her eyes for the first time since he’d pulled her to him.
“I’ve discovered I don’t like that promise,” she said.
But if she thought that would encourage him, she was sorely mistaken. Instead, he let out a long, labored sigh and rested his forehead against hers. “I’m a blaggard of the worst kind if I take advantage of you after a scare like this.”
“I think you’ll find I’m not objecting,” she said, running her hands down his arms. She knew she sounded like a hussy, and she didn’t care one bit. She felt as though she’d been lit from within, like a lamp that had lain long dormant.
“But I should,” he said, his voice strained. “We can’t do this, Jane. It isn’t right.”
But it felt right. She wanted it to be right with every ounce of her soul.
He gingerly lifted himself off of her and settled back on his haunches in the foliage. “I can’t take advantage of you.”
She sighed. He was right. Of course he was. This was insanity, encouraging a man to touch her like this. To kiss her like this. And yet she couldn’t get up the effort to be embarrassed or ashamed about it. Not when it felt natural and good, as though he was meant to kiss her and she was meant to kiss him back.
But she could tell by the set of his jaw that there was no arguing with him.
“All right,” she said. “We’ll continue on as though this never happened, if that’s what you want.”
“It isn’t what I want, but it’s what needs to be. I promised you we’d find Lady Margaret and you would be unharmed. I mean to keep that promise.”
She wanted to shout at him that he wasn’t harming her. She wasn’t some delicate flower that would be bruised at a single touch, but there was only so much rejection a woman could take and maintain her already bruised confidence.
“I appreciate your honorableness, Lord Hollings,” she said as he rose from the copse.
He opened his mouth and then closed it as though debating whether or not to say what was on his mind.
“What is it?” she asked, looking up at him.
“I was just thinking perhaps you could call me Nicholas.”
She stared at his outstretched hand, realizing that somewhere on the road that day she’d ceased thinking of him as Lord Hollings.
“Then,” she said, taking his hand, “you must call me Jane.”
Chapter Six
Jane and Nicholas both made an effort to fall back into the pleasant familiarity of their earlier conversation, but there was something new in the air. The kiss. Neither of them seemed to know how to speak without acknowledging it, and so they rode on mostly in silence.
They stopped at every inn they came across to inquire whether the proprietor had seen a young lady of remarkable beauty with a handsome man in tow. All they got for their efforts were shakes of the head and a few words of apology. Even worse, they were losing time by stopping, but there was no other way to conduct their search. Lady Margaret and Mr. Lawrence must have rested somewhere along the road. It was the only logical path the couple could’ve taken, for the railway would put them at risk of being spotted before they could reach Scotland.
When evening fell over the English countryside, Nicholas found them a room in Twycross. Just like the night before, they played at the charade of husband and wife. Jane held her breath when he shut the door behind them, wondering whether he’d take advantage of the intimacy of a shared room to kiss her. Nothing. All he did was string a cord across the room and cast a sheet over the line to build those battlements dividing them once again.
She’d thought about rounding the makeshift curtain—even going so far as to put her hand against the cloth—but the fear that he might say no propelled her to the far edge of her side of the room. She’d undressed for bed and slipped between the covers, her eyes fixed on the barrier until sleep claimed her.
If one day in the saddle felt like a novelty, three days were a trial. Perhaps that was why on the third day with no sign of Lady Margaret, the storm clouds were beginning to gather over Jane’s head, threatening to break.
She managed to keep her foul mood at bay until they reached the fourth inn they’d visited that day, this one in the town of Sutton-on-the-Hill. She rode up to the mounting block so that she might alight and stretch her legs, but Nicholas had already jumped down and was at her side. He held out his hand, waiting expectantly.
“It must be becoming a bother, all of this helping me up and down from the saddle,” she said a touch peevishly.
If he picked up her tone, he didn’t show it. “It’s always a pleasure to help a lady.”
“I don’t feel particularly ladylike right now. I’m tired and hungry and all I want to do is sleep for two days straight.”
He gave her his own weary smile that left her wondering if he’d tossed and turned as she had. “We’ll be off the road soon enough.”
She wanted to believe him, but it felt as though this nightmare of a quest would never be over. Her position was almost surely lost. She had somewhere to go—Mary had made that clear—but a place to live was only part of the battle. She needed an income. As a governess, at least she’d had that. She could believe that her life had some purpose, and she could exercise a modicum of control over it. If she gave that up and lived off the charity of her friend, she’d have nothing.
“Jane,” Nicholas said, still looking up at her.
With a sigh, she put her hand in his and let him help her from her saddle. As always, his free arm went around her waist, and as always, her entire body flushed with heat. She’d admired his handsomeness before, but now, after that kiss that scorched her to her very soul, she wanted him the way ladies weren’t supposed to want anyone.
He set her down lightly, her skin still tingling with the ghost of his touch.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“It’s my pleasure.”
She glanced up at him, wondering if she’d imagined a gruffness in his voice that hinted at ardor, need, anything. But when she studied his expression, all she saw was the pleasant smile of a gentleman performing a duty for a lady. He’d probably offered that same assistance a thousand times over the years. This was no different, except that the woman he’d momentarily had in his arms was not some gentleman’s daughter best suited for a ballroom. It was just her.
“Do you want to come with me for this one?” he asked,
nodding toward the front door over which hung a sign painted with a gray dog.
She needed a break—just a few minutes when she wasn’t seduced by the mere proximity of him. If only she could have that, she might shake some of the dangerous temptation that had settled in her and focus once again on the purpose of this foolhardy journey.
“I’ll stay out here,” she said.
Nicholas glanced about the innyard, no doubt assessing the people milling about. A stable boy was saddling a horse, and two men dressed in green livery were conversing near a large old-fashioned carriage.
“Go,” she urged. “I’ll be fine.”
“You’ll call out if anything happens? I’ll be just inside.”
She couldn’t help the smile that touched her lips as she waved him on. “Nothing’s going to happen.”
Whether he sensed her desperation to be left alone or just wanted to move on quickly when this too would prove to be an unfruitful stop, he nodded once and strode off.
Jane watched his retreating form and then huffed out a long breath, her arms crossed over her stomach. Finally, she was alone. Finally, she could just be.
With slow steps, she began a promenade around the yard. Her muscles, stiff from sitting on the horse for hours, screamed at her, but it was no worse than the bruises she’d sustained after her fall the day before. She hadn’t lied when she told Nicholas she was fine—she was—but when she’d undressed that night she’d hiked up her shift to examine an angry purple bruise on her hip. It made riding sidesaddle uncomfortable, to say the least.
Jane toyed with the edge of one of her cuffs as she approached the carriage parked near the stable. It might not have been à la mode, but it was a beautiful vehicle, all black lacquer with the carved details of the wheels picked out in gold leaf. Through the glass-paned windows she could see maroon silk curtains and the black quilted walls of the interior. She would’ve given her right arm to be able to climb inside and make the rest of this journey in comfort.
She was just passing the side of the carriage when something caught her eye: a carved crest on the door. She leaned a little closer to get a better look.
“Can I help you, miss?” a voice came behind her.
She jumped up like a child caught doing something she oughtn’t and spun around. One of the men she’d seen in livery before was watching from a few steps away, no doubt taking in her travel-stained clothes and her hair that was surely beginning to spring free from the twists she’d tried to tame it into that morning.
“I was just wondering who owns such a beautiful carriage,” she said.
The footman straightened and puffed out his chest. “The Marquis of Harlewood.”
Jane’s stomach dropped to the soles of her shoes. “And does the marchioness travel with him today?” she asked, her fists clenching so hard that her fingernails cut half-moons into her palms.
If the footman thought it odd that she asked specifically about a peer’s wife, he didn’t show it. “Lord and Lady Harlewood have just stopped for a late luncheon. The marchioness prefers to travel by carriage rather than by train.”
“Well, I do hope the marquis and marchioness have a pleasant journey.”
She pivoted on her heel, trying to figure out some way to hide in an open innyard when she spotted Nicholas walking toward her.
“Good news,” he called out. “The innkeeper remembers a young lady of Lady Margaret’s description riding through yesterday night. Apparently the gentleman with her inquired after a change of horses, but the Gray Dog wasn’t able to accommodate them, so they rode on.”
“Nicholas.” She grasped his hand and practically dragged him across the yard to the stables.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, frowning down at her.
“We have to leave,” she said, panic edging into her voice. “Find the stable boy and tell him we must go now.”
He stopped her, grasping her arms gently to hold her in place. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
She cast a glance over her shoulder where the footman she’d spoken to watched them with curiosity. “I just want to press on.”
His eyes narrowed a bit. “Jane, tell me the truth.”
“Do you see that carriage over there?” She watched his eyes flick up to look over her shoulder. “That belongs to the Marquis of Harlewood, whose wife is the particular friend of Lady Rawson.”
All at once, Nicholas was propelling them toward the stable. “Will Lady Harlewood recognize you?”
“Maybe. Probably?” She shook her head. “Almost certainly. Their footman said they were taking luncheon at the inn.”
At the stable door, Nicholas feigned a casual look around. “Well, that footman won’t stop staring at you, which, normally, I wouldn’t blame him for, but right now is a problem.”
Despite the fear pressing down on her chest, she couldn’t help the light flush that spread over her cheeks. Nicholas hadn’t so much as touched her since their kiss, and she’d been beginning to wonder whether she’d dreamed it. Still, there were more pressing matters at hand, like how to get out of an exposed yard without drawing attention when the marquis and marchioness could walk out at any moment.
“What do we do?” she asked.
He gestured to the boy who had taken their horses and then dug into his pocket to pull out a coin.
“What can I do for you, sir?” the boy asked, his eye fixed firmly on the glint of the metal in Nicholas’s hand.
“We need to make a fast departure,” he said. “This stable has a back entrance?”
The boy nodded. “There’s a path through the fields that links up to the main road eventually. It’s not an easy one with all of the rain we’ve had, but it’s there.”
“There’s a half crown for you if you can have our horses ready around back in less than five minutes.”
“I’d only watered them because I wasn’t sure if you’d be staying for long,” said the boy.
“Good. And is there somewhere my wife can sit for a moment where she’ll be undisturbed?”
The boy screwed up his forehead, thinking. “There’s the tack room. It isn’t much, but no one except me goes in there this time of day.”
“That will suit us just fine,” said Nicholas.
Jane’s hands were shaking by the time the boy showed them into the tack room and ran off to prepare the horses. She let Nicholas steer her to a low bench meant for riders to pull on their boots and gently press her down into a seat. Then he dropped to one knee before her.
“Everything is going to be fine,” he said, his hands rubbing up and down her arms.
Except it wasn’t fine. She’d been holding together all of her threads of hopes in the stubborn belief that maybe she could fix this before she lost complete control, but the truth was plain. No matter what she did, Lady Margaret would be discovered and Jane would lose her position. Two lives could be ruined with one moment of recognition.
And then there was the matter of Nicholas and his sisters. If he and Jane were spotted, he would be honor bound as a gentleman to ask her to marry him. A marriage between them—a gentleman with a title and a woman who taught for a wage—would cause a scandal. One that two unmarried ladies with few prospects, like Nicholas’s sisters, could ill afford.
“Until now it’s all seemed so far away,” she tried to explain. “It was as though London was another world. But these people know me. The moment they see me without Lady Margaret, they’ll know something’s wrong.”
His mouth set in a grim line. “And when they realize you’re with me, they’ll jump to all manner of conclusions. I know.”
“If I’m dismissed without a letter of reference, I’ll never find work again,” she said, wringing her hands.
“I will not let that happen.”
It was such a simple statement—something a man might throw out to placate a worried wo
man—yet she believed the conviction in his voice. In his own quiet way, he’d shown her how solid and steadfast he truly was. This man wouldn’t leave her side.
Almost before she knew what she was doing, Jane cupped his face, her thumb grazing over the swell of his cheekbone. His eyes flicked up to hers, melting her heart like spun sugar in hot water.
“Jane,” he murmured, his voice rough and just a little strangled, as though he were using every bit of his strength to hold himself back.
“Yes, Nicholas?”
But she was never to get her answer, because the stable boy popped his head in and announced that their horses were ready.
Nicholas let out a long, frustrated breath and stood. “Let’s go.”
Nicholas wasn’t sure whom he hated more: the Marquis of Harlewood for happening to stop at the Gray Dog or himself for wanting to risk getting caught just so he could kiss Jane in the tack room.
He was going to hell for wanting to corrupt her—that much was certain—and he’d go happily if he could just taste her once again. The tenderness with which she’d cradled his cheek had undone him. Never before in his life had he wanted a woman as powerfully as in that moment.
Passion throbbed through him with an urgency he couldn’t wish away. It wasn’t just that he wanted to bury himself in her until he forgot every worry about the money he was supposed to be getting from Merlin, his sisters’ seasons, and the future of the Hollings barony. If that had been all she was to him—a quick distraction from a turbulent time—that’d be one thing, but she was far more dangerous than that. He wanted all of her.
It didn’t matter whether she was laid out underneath him, like the day her horse had unseated her, or sitting across the room, hands folded in her lap as proper as could be. Jane made him want to know her completely: body and soul, heart and mind.
