by Burke, Darcy
“It’s a small bed. If we’re to have any rest at all, I think we should remove at least some of our clothing.”
We should remove our clothing? “You can’t mean for me to do the same.”
The thought of lying in the narrow bed next to her was excruciating enough, but if they were barely dressed? He wasn’t sure he had the fortitude or grace to endure it.
“You removed your coat and waistcoat at the Craven Cock.”
The word cock on her lips in this particular moment provoked a keen yearning he struggled to ignore. He was unable to keep from looking at her. “We didn’t share a bed there.”
“Your feet did.” She sent him a saucy stare, her lips curling into a sultry—sultry?—smile.
He nearly groaned again.
She stepped out of her gown and draped it over the back of the wooden chair. “I insist.” She removed her petticoat, and he turned away from her once more.
Against his better judgment, he removed his coat and hung it next to the one she’d worn from the Craven Cock. Next, he doffed his waistcoat and hooked it over his coat. He’d loosened his cravat earlier, but he hadn’t taken it off. He weighed whether to untie it…
“I am in the bed with the covers pulled up if you’d care to turn around. And I think you should take off your cravat.”
He realized his hand was hovering over the neckcloth. He turned to face her, and she was as good as her word. The covers were snug up to her chin.
A startling and alluring image of her snuggled in his bed at home sprouted before his eyes. The thought of coming home to her after a day of work filled him with a stark craving. Then he imagined her working with him, helping him care for people such as Mrs. Boyle’s orphans. It didn’t take much effort to imagine it.
Which made the reality sting. She wasn’t his wife, and she never would be. They were from two different places. A rector couldn’t hope to marry the daughter of a marquess. And the daughter of a marquess would surely not want to marry a rector.
He really ought to sleep in the vestry.
“Are you coming to bed?” she asked. “I’m cold.”
Are you coming to bed?
The question made his dream real again, and he was tempted to embrace it.
She shivered, and he decided to throw caution out the window. He tore off his cravat and draped it over the hook with his coat and waistcoat. Then he strode to the bed and slipped under the covers onto his back beside her before he could think better of it.
The bed was impossibly small. Well, not impossibly, because they were both in it. It was, however, a tight fit, and he’d be damned if it wasn’t wonderful.
She might be cold, but her petite body felt delightfully warm against him, and her lavender scent captivated his senses. She rolled to her side, facing him, which allowed them more room. It also made him want to turn toward her. But he didn’t.
“How do you do it?” Her voice was soft, and she rested her hand on his bicep. It was a gentle touch, but the connection—for him, anyway—was positively electric.
“Do what?” He resisted the urge to roll towards her.
“Take care of all the people of St. Giles. It must be such a burden.”
“It isn’t.” Surrendering, he turned to his side and faced her. “Not always, anyway. I’ve learned I can’t save everyone.”
“Is that the case with Joseph?”
He pressed his lips together. “I hope not. I’ll keep trying so long as we both have breath.” A familiar pang of sadness tugged at his heart. He tried to save them all but knew he couldn’t.
“You’re a wonderful man, Hugh. St. Giles is lucky to have you.” She leaned over and pressed her lips to his.
The kiss was gentle and beautiful and far too brief.
“Good night.” She settled back onto the pillow and closed her eyes.
“Good night,” he whispered.
It was some time before he slept. And when he did, he dreamed of her and a future that would never be.
* * *
The warm presence against Penelope’s back gave her a sense of comfort she’d never felt before. It took her a moment, as her mind and body woke, to remember that she was not alone in the bed. Hugh was with her.
Keeping her eyes closed, she smiled softly as she pressed backward, snuggling into his embrace. For it was an embrace—his arm was curled around her hip, his palm against her abdomen. His touch was shockingly intimate, but not unwelcome. In the span of one night, she’d turned into a wanton.
Or maybe she’d become the woman she wanted to be.
She reached back and touched his thigh, hesitantly at first, and then with more confidence. He was warm and muscular, and she wondered what he would feel like without his breeches on. She slid her hand down toward his knee and then back up, her hand gliding along the back of his thigh.
He twitched, his pelvis rocking toward her backside. Something firm pressed against her. Her eyes flew open as she realized what it was.
Her pulse tripped and gained speed. Then his hand moved, making her heart race even faster. His palm slipped down her belly toward her sex.
He curled his hand, cupping her, and she gasped.
Instantly, he stilled. Then he started to withdraw. She turned to face him. His eyes were open, his features drawn into a tight mask of almost pain.
“My apologies,” he said, his voice husky. She wondered if it was from sleep or arousal.
“There’s nothing to apologize for. Unless you plan to stop.”
He blinked. “Of course I plan to stop. What would you have me do?”
“Continue.”
He paled, and she brought her hand up to touch his face. His jaw was rough with the stubble of his beard. “That felt…nice.” She made a noise of disgust in her throat. “No, not nice. It was exciting. New. Is it wrong for me to want to feel what happens next?”
“No, it isn’t wrong. It is, however, wrong for us to lie together.” He also sounded pained.
“I’m not asking you to do that.” But suddenly, she envisioned it—at least what she knew of it. The idea of him, that part of him she’d felt before she’d rolled over, filling her where a delicious hunger now throbbed captured her imagination. “I can’t help wondering how it would feel. With you.”
He closed his eyes briefly, and a low groan sounded in his throat. When he opened his eyes again, the gold at the center seemed to burn especially bright. “Pen, you are tempting me to the very limits of my honor.”
“Would it be dishonorable to bring me pleasure?” She truly didn’t mean to push him, but this moment was too precious to let pass. What if she never had this chance again? “I could be in Lancashire soon and I may very well spend my life as a spinster.”
His brow creased, and he frowned slightly. “I hope not. To answer your question, it may not be dishonorable, but it’s certainly beyond propriety.”
“I don’t care about propriety. If I did, I never would have tried to make myself unmarriageable.”
“Propriety is an intrinsic part of your plan. Without it, there would be no reason to disappear and fabricate your ruination in order to avoid marriage. Absent societal rules, you would still be an acceptable wife.” He winced. “You know what I mean. I hope.”
He had an irritatingly good point, but she could make her own. “By orchestrating a scandal, I’ve demonstrated my disregard for Society’s stupid rules. And truly, if I’m going to be ruined, I may as well be ruined.”
“Except you also told me you may wish to wed someday.”
“Who knows if that will happen? As I said, I could spend my life as a spinster devastated by regret.”
“You present a solid argument.” He pressed his lips together, deepening his frown. “But I am a rector and this is my church. You must understand that I cannot be the one to satisfy your curiosity.”
She wanted to argue that it was more than curiosity, but she didn’t want to bedevil him. She still cradled his jaw, and now she moved her hand to the bac
k of his neck. Leaning forward, she kissed him briefly, then murmured, “I understand. But I will still regret it.” She touched her lips to his once more.
The groan in his throat was much louder this time and much more animalistic. He swiftly rolled over, covering her with his body as he pressed her into the mattress with his weight.
It felt strange and shocking and so very divine.
His mouth opened over hers, and she greedily met his kiss, touching her tongue to his as he thrust into her mouth. She clutched fervently at his neck while his hands brushed her hair back from her face. He settled between her legs, and she felt his sex against her once more. He was hard and hot, and she burned with desire.
Instinctively, she brought her hips up and sought more of him. He answered by moving against her, and though they were separated by her chemise and his clothing, the touch sparked an arousal so fierce, she gasped into his mouth.
He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, which she would have sworn was impossible. She felt absolutely devoured, and it was wonderful. She dug her fingers into his nape and tugged at his hair as the craving inside her intensified.
Their bodies moved together—mouths, chests, hips—and she knew she was racing toward something she couldn’t name. Something that would change her forever. Something only he could give her.
A spectacular friction grew between her legs. She moved faster, arching up from the bed. Moving her hand down his back, she clutched at his hip, urging him to give her more.
Hugh pulled his lips from hers and braced his hand next to her head. He sucked in a breath before practically panting her name. “Pen, my curate may arrive at any moment. He can’t find us like this.” He moved to her side, pushing himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. “We shouldn’t even be like this,” he muttered.
The sound of someone outside the door provoked Penelope’s alarm—and frustration.
“Bury yourself under the bedclothes.” Hugh vaulted out of the bed and dashed for his waistcoat, which he threw on over his terribly wrinkled shirt.
“These interruptions are becoming tedious,” Penelope murmured as she burrowed into the bed and pulled the covers over her head.
A moment later, she heard the door open. Hugh spoke quietly—so quietly she couldn’t hear what he said. Then she distinctly heard, “Let’s go into the vestry.”
When the sound of a door closing reached her ears, she peeked out from under the covers and saw an empty room. Pushing the bedclothes down, she stared at a crack in the corner of the ceiling. She felt like that inside—still together, but weakened. She closed her eyes to blot out the sight.
No.
She opened her eyes and threw off the covers before sitting up. She’d been cracked inside for as long as she could remember, but she wasn’t weak. Well, she had been in the past, but she refused to be anymore. That was why she’d executed this scheme. It hadn’t happened the way she’d envisioned—it had turned out far better.
And now it was time to end her adventure. It was time to return home and face the future.
Alone.
She wasn’t scared or sad. Why should she be? She’d always been alone, at least emotionally. Now she would be alone physically—no parents, no husband, no expectations she didn’t want to meet.
Alone was good.
Chapter 8
Hugh had grabbed his coat, cravat, and boots before leaving Pen to dress by herself. At least, he hoped she was dressing herself.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he paced to the opposite side of the vestry. After a moment, he turned and looked at Tom, who stood patiently—and quietly—near the hearth.
“It has been an unusual night,” Hugh said, not quite knowing where to begin. He’d only told Tom that he needed to speak with him about an important matter.
“Was there someone in the bed?” Tom asked.
Hugh exhaled loudly. “Yes. A young woman I rescued from being kidnapped by Joseph Tully yesterday.”
Tom’s brow creased. “I thought you were making such positive progress with him.”
“I did too,” Hugh said. “Hopefully I will again, but it was a disappointment to find him engaging in such activity. And with the daughter of a marquess, no less.”
“A marquess?” Tom’s eyes widened. “How did he even manage that?”
“It’s a long story involving Maisie Evans, I believe, and Lady Penelope, daughter of the Marquess of Bramber.”
“I know that name,” Tom said. “She’s visited the church.”
Hugh nodded. “On those charity outings with those annoying Mayfair ladies.”
A brief smile dashed over Tom’s mouth. “I take it she does not annoy you.”
“No.” On the contrary, from the moment he’d stepped in to save her yesterday, he’d been utterly captivated. Why he hadn’t singled her out during one of her visits to his church would pick at his mind. “I need to take her home soon, and I need your help.”
“You rescued her yesterday, but you’re just now going to take her home?” Tom sounded dubious and confused, not that Hugh could blame him.
“I know it sounds odd, but there is a good reason I didn’t return her to Mayfair yesterday. I’ll explain the details later.”
“What do you need me to do?” Tom asked.
“First, we require food to break our fast. Will you run out and fetch some bread, and maybe a bowl of porridge from Mrs. Dilley? Second, I need my gig and a change of clothes.” It was bad enough he was delivering her home after she’d been gone overnight. He couldn’t show up at the Marquess of Bramber’s house looking as if he’d slept in his clothes. Next to the man’s daughter.
Tom nodded. “I’ll leave immediately.”
“Excellent, thank you.”
Tom started to turn back toward the room where Pen was now hopefully fully dressed, but altered his direction toward the morning chapel. “I’ll just go out through the church.”
“Smart,” Hugh said. “Come in the back when you return.” He took a deep breath. “Tom, I feel as though I should address my behavior.”
Tom held up a hand and shook his head. “You don’t need to explain anything to me. I’m not your judge. You’ve always exemplified what it is to be a brilliant clergyman.” Tom’s tone held a firm note of admiration. “I have no idea of what behavior you speak, and I don’t need to. I don’t think less of you for being human. In fact, sometimes I’ve wondered.” He flashed a quick smile. “I’m off for breakfast.” He dashed off into the morning chapel, leaving Hugh alone to contemplate his misbehavior.
While Hugh appreciated Tom’s support, it didn’t ease his self-recrimination. He should have resisted temptation. But refusing Pen had been impossible. It wasn’t because she was an alluring woman who’d demonstrated her attraction to him or that he hadn’t been with a woman in more than three years. Well, maybe it was a little those things. Mostly, overwhelmingly, it was his admiration of her spirit and courage, and his growing affection for her warmth and wit. Though they’d just met, he felt as if he’d known her far longer, or perhaps it was that he was supposed to know her. Yes, the entire affair had the aura of destiny, something he wasn’t sure he believed in.
Until now.
The door to the small chamber opened, and Pen stood at the threshold. She was completely dressed, though her gown was somewhat creased at this point. She’d repinned her braid atop her head and smoothed the hair so that she looked ready for the day.
She stepped into the vestry and glanced around. “Where’s Tom?”
“I sent him to fetch breakfast. He’ll be back shortly. Then he’ll run to get my gig so I can take you home.”
Her expression changed, and if he had to describe it, he would have said she looked ill. “I wish I wasn’t going home today. I know it’s not possible, but I would stay longer if I could.”
He felt a pang of disappointment because he wished she could too.
She moved toward him slowly, and his body thrummed the closer she got. “I en
joyed last night—and this morning.” She stopped just a couple of feet away. Her gaze didn’t waver as she looked at him, and her meaning was clear: she had no regrets.
He didn’t either, he realized. If he had to choose between experiencing the few sweet moments when he’d tangled with her in the bed and not, he would choose the former every time.
“I did as well,” he said slowly. “Though it’s perhaps best Tom arrived when he did.”
She arched a dark, elegant brow. “I’m not sure I agree, but I do understand. It has been a very eventful night. In some ways, I feel as if I’ve been gone a week instead of just one night.”
Hugh chuckled. “That’s quite understandable. I certainly feel as though I’ve known you longer than one night.”
Her gaze heated. “I feel the same about you.” Though her response was soft, it carried a weight that settled in his bones.
The moment was heavy, but where could it go? He would return her to Mayfair shortly, and she might then be on her way to Lancashire. “Perhaps you’ll write to me from Lancashire,” he said.
A flash of surprise darted over her features. “I may do that.”
The urge to continue where they’d left off spiked through him. As a distraction and to put distance between them, he moved to the hearth. “Where in Mayfair do you live?”
“Grosvenor Street.”
He knew that was an excellent address, but then her father was a marquess. He was presumably very wealthy in addition to being powerful. Hugh felt a moment’s unease as he thought of the lie they were going to perpetrate. He was a part of it now. If he’d returned her home yesterday afternoon, he could claim innocence and good intention. Now, however, he was an accomplice.
Only if they learned the truth.
Tom returned, entering the vestry with his arms full of bread and a bowl of porridge, which he set on the table situated against one wall. Then he started toward the small chamber where Hugh and Pen had slept. “I’ll fetch a knife to slice the bread.”
“Mrs. Dilley’s porridge is the best in St. Giles,” Hugh said.
Penelope went to the table and sat down. “Aren’t you going to have any?”
