by Kelly Boyce
Judith turned her attention back to Lord Glenmor in the distance. “What had he originally hoped for?”
Mrs. Laytham looked at her, surprise in her bright blue eyes. “Why love, my dear. What other reason is there?”
* * *
The early November cold bit through Benedict’s wool coat and the clothing beneath to nip at his skin. He should return to Mother and Miss Sutherland and make use of the fur blankets they had buried themselves beneath, but the idea of doing so left him rattled.
Instead, he braved the cold air, waiting for it to cool the heat that had burned through him when he’d caught Miss Sutherland in his arms. Perhaps the bitter air would freeze out the tantalizing memory of his mouth brushing against her soft skin. He’d released her quickly, like a hot coal caught in his hands, though every fiber in his body wished to pull her back. She smelled of spring flowers newly bloomed, filling the air with promise and possibility.
He clamped down on the pipe in his mouth. Madness. That’s what this was. Sheer, utter madness! How was it she had enchanted him so? There were far more beautiful women out there. Why, he could name of any number of them. And yet, as he stood there in the cold wishing Cutler would complete the repairs with all due haste, no names of ladies more enticing than Miss Sutherland came to mind.
How was that possible? She was a narrowly built, slip of a woman, a bit taller than average, who did nothing to enhance any of her features, dress to her best advantage, or even behave in a coy or flirtatious way.
No, Miss Sutherland did none of that. She spoke directly, dressed plainly and laughed…well, to think of it, he didn’t recall ever hearing her laugh. Surely, he would remember if she had, as it appeared he remembered every other bloody detail about her.
Benedict pulled his father’s pipe from his mouth and closed his eyes, letting his head hang back as a long sigh escaped him. This would not do. When he reopened his eyes, he stared down at the pipe’s smooth contours and wondered what his father would have done in his situation. The answer caused him to smile, but proved little help at all.
When faced with the choice of marrying for love, or marrying according to expectation and obligation, Father had said the devil with it all. He’d stolen Mother from her home in the middle of the night and together they escaped to Gretna Green. He braved society’s disapproval and being ostracized from his family. He turned his back on the fortune due him and struck out on his own. And in the end, he’d died far too young. An eventuality that likely would not have happened, had he done what was expected of him.
Benedict squeezed his hand around the pipe as the wave of pain and helplessness that came over him whenever the memory of losing Father and Roddy bled through him all over again.
“Was it worth it, Father?”
“Are you talking to yourself, my lord?”
Benedict spun on his heel and nearly dropped the pipe from his hand, catching it in time but not before looking like a juggling fool. “Has no one ever told you it is impolite to sneak up on people?”
She lifted one dark eyebrow. “Has no one ever told you it is impolite to point out a lady’s follies?”
He clamped his mouth shut and glared at her, though, in truth, he was angrier with himself for barking at her than at her interruption. He usually had better control of his emotions than that, but something about her set his control teetering on edge. “Forgive me.”
She acknowledged his apology with a small nod. “To whom were you speaking?”
He’d rather that she let the matter drop. He had no wish to explain his penchant for speaking to ghosts, and even less that he spoke to them about her in particular.
“I was talking to myself.” And that was no better. If he kept this up, she’d think he was a lunatic, ready for the asylum. Maybe she was right.
“Ah.” A hint of a smile played about her lips, drawing his attention. “That must have been a sparkling conversation.”
He furrowed his brow. Had she just insulted him? “Forgive me if my conversational skills are not up to snuff. I have much on my mind.”
“Bride-hunting and such.”
“Yes. No. I mean, that is to say…” Had he always been such a bumbling idiot? He took a deep breath and tried to collect his wits. “Is there something I can do for you, Miss Sutherland?”
She waved her hand to the carriage behind her. “Your mother suggested I fetch you before you freeze to death in the frigid cold. Come keep warm beneath the furs.”
“It is hardly frigid.” Though, it had grown colder and he could not claim the idea of slipping beneath the furs with her did not appeal to him greatly. Unfortunately, the image in his mind looked drastically different than the situation she suggested. For one, in his scenario, Miss Sutherland had far less clothing on than she did now, and his mother was nowhere in the picture.
Hell and damnation!
“My lord?”
“No. I am perfectly fine where I am.” Fine being a relative term, of course.
“Is the idea of spending even a few moments in my company more than you can stand, my lord?”
Something in her voice caught him before he could answer in the affirmative. She believed he disliked her. The realization hit him like a strong, sudden wind. There could be nothing further from the truth. Just the opposite, in fact. The more time he spent in her company, the longer he wished to remain there. Her intelligence and wit made her stand out from the other ladies of his acquaintance, but it was more than that. Some indefinable thing he could not put his finger on, for whenever he thought he had it pinned, it shifted and became something else.
Maybe it wasn’t even one thing. Maybe it was simply the totality of everything she was, and the longing to uncover all that still waited in the wings, yet to be revealed.
But she was not his to discover, nor would she ever be. His future lay elsewhere, and as such, he could never speak the truth to her. Never set the disquieting feelings he held for her free.
“I assure you I have not given the matter any consideration one way or the other, Miss Sutherland. As I stated, I have other things on my mind. Forgive me if I have not been the best of traveling companions.”
She stared at him a long, quiet moment and within that moment he became caught in her gaze as if an invisible thread tied them together and he could not pull away. He wanted to say something else, to soften the claim he’d just made, but his voice deserted him. All that rested between them were the white puffs of air from their breaths.
He clasped his hands behind his back. If he didn’t, he might reach out and touch her. Let his fingers run along the strong line of her jaw, the sweep of her cheekbone painted a soft rose from the cold air surrounding them. Despite her attempt at plainness, he saw beyond that and in that moment realized her true beauty. Not the simpering, coiffed type of many of the ladies populating his list of potential brides, but something more profound. Something that would grow over time and deepen. Something that would continue to take his breath away each time he saw her.
He could not afford this.
And yet, he could not release himself from it.
“Miss Sutherland—”
“Yer lordship!”
Cutler’s voice startled Benedict, snapping the peculiar miasma his brain had entered into like a twig made brittle from the cold. He blinked, expecting the world around him to look different than it had a few moments earlier, before Miss Sutherland arrived to torment him.
He looked over her shoulder toward the carriage where his driver stood. “Yes, Cutler?”
“Repairs are made, m’lord. We can set out for the inn.”
Benedict nodded and motioned toward the carriage, indicating she should go ahead of him. “It appears we will both be out of the cold and in front of a warm hearth soon enough.”
She gave him no answer, but simply turned and headed back toward the repaired carriage. He kept his gaze focused at some point in the distance, away from her, for fear if he looked any closer she might recapture his att
ention and leave him standing there, stupefied once more.
To hold such power must be a frightening thing.
To be at its mercy, even more so.
Chapter Four
Judith walked to the window and stared down into the courtyard below. The inn was comfortable, the room tidy, clean and warm. However, the delay of one night while the carriage was more thoroughly repaired proved most vexing. The more time she spent in the presence of Lord Glenmor, the more conflicted her feelings surrounding him became.
When she had approached him to suggest he come share the warmth of the furs with her and his mother, something had passed between them. And though she could not define it, it had left her exhilarated. An unexpected current had rushed through her, wrapped around her, and heated her from the inside out until she had no need of furs or fires or warm chocolate and comfortable inns.
Had he felt it too?
In the silence that fell between them, before Cutler interrupted, they had shared a special moment. He had started to say something—something important, she was certain. Though what she based such certainty on, she had thus far failed to identify. Certainly not facts. For the fact was, he’d clearly stated not a moment before that he did not think of her. That other things—not her—occupied his mind. To hear him tell the tale, he was barely aware of her existence even when she sat in a carriage not more than two feet away from him.
And yet…
She gave her head a sharp shake.
Her nervousness over her impending arrival at Lord Ridgemont’s had obviously muddled her brain. What other explanation was there? No one in their right mind would even consider such silly things. Lord Glenmor was an earl, a Peer of the Realm. Men of his station did not fraternize with ladies of no consequence, and by the measuring stick of London society, that was where she fit.
To think otherwise was sheer madness.
To return to London after what had happened in the past, even more so.
The doubts she fought so hard to keep at bay crept in. What was she doing? What did she know about being a paid companion? And what if she was horrible at it and they let her go? She’d be no further ahead and likely her chance of gaining a reference would be void. Then what? A governess? She had little experience with children, save for her young cousin, Callum. She was educated, so she could apply to teach somewhere, but the idea did not appeal. A nursemaid? Illness only served to remind her of her father and his suffering, a pain she did not wish to revisit.
She pressed her forehead against the cold glass of the window and stared down into the courtyard. Night had encroached and moonlight reflected off the snow-covered ground, creating a natural light that illuminated the outbuildings closest to the inn. Quiet had settled about them as if everyone had already sought their beds for the night, but the oblivion of sleep eluded her. She needed to clear her mind of its doubts and thoughts of Lord Glenmor and the moment they had shared. The kind of sharp relief only found by filling her lungs with fresh air and allowing the peaceful quiet of the night to surround her.
Judith left the window and reached for her wool cape, wrapping it around her shoulders as she left the room. Venturing out was ill advised, but being outside always served to calm her mind, and if she had any hopes of sleeping this night and arriving at Lord Ridgemont’s home well-rested and ready to tackle her new position, she needed to do something.
Lifting the cape’s hood over her head, she took the back staircase to avoid the impropriety of being seen by other guests still in the taproom. The young girls working in the kitchen looked up in surprise as she passed through. She offered a smile, as if there was nothing odd about a young lady traipsing through their cook space at such a late hour.
The cold air hit her exposed skin as she stepped outside to stand beneath a lantern hanging from its hook, the only light beyond what the moon provided. She hugged the wool cloak closer to her body. She had left her fur muff upstairs and regretted her forgetfulness. As pretty as the night looked from her upstairs window, the actuality of the cold took her breath away. Still, she gulped it in.
She wasn’t out long before the unexpected sound of footsteps crunching in the snow interrupted her peace. She whirled about. Stepping from the shadows, like an apparition conjured by her own imaginings, Lord Glenmor appeared, the unlit pipe gripped once again in his gloved hand as if it were a permanent part of his anatomy.
He stopped short when he spotted her, then quickly stepped closer. “Miss Sutherland? Is something wrong? Are you quite all right?”
“Lord Glenmor.” His sudden appearance startled her and for a moment, anything beyond his name eluded her. The small pool of light cast by the lantern stretched out and illuminated the concern etched into his face. It struck her, as it always seemed to, how distractingly handsome he was. Why he didn’t have a bevy of young women vying to become the Countess of Glenmor, she could not say. Most ladies of the ton she’d had the misfortune to associate with seemed interested in only a few narrow attributes when choosing a husband—how handsome he was, how large his coffers were, and how lofty his title. Given Lord Glenmor possessed two of the three; one would think he would be much sought after.
Provided the lady in question could provide the third—a large dowry.
Which left her completely out of the running. Not that she was vying for the position. “Are you not well?”
“I am quite well,” she said, wresting thoughts of Lord Glenmor’s bride choices from her mind. His marriageability was none of her concern. “I only wished to partake of some fresh air before turning in for the night.”
His concern turned to censure. “It is not safe for you to be out here alone. You should return to your room with all due haste.”
She looked about them, her gaze scanning the empty space of the courtyard between the inn and the outer buildings. She was alone, save for Lord Glenmor, and she hardly considered him a threat. At least not to her physical well-being.
“I assure you, I am quite capable of taking care of myself, my lord. Besides, you are here now. What possible danger could I be in?”
He took a step back at her answer. “We cannot stay here together—alone. It would be improper.”
She pursed her lips, needled by how horrified he was at the possibility of any kind of impropriety between them. Not that she cared to court such scandal, but that was neither here nor there.
She sighed and her breath crystalized in the air, a white puffy cloud of frustration. The closer they drew to the city, the more rules and restrictions began to apply. Giving up the freedom of going where she wanted, when she wanted, without the constant need for a chaperone or someone else’s approval chafed. As did the implication that Lord Glenmor had any right to order her about in this regard.
“If you are concerned as to what your presence here will do to my reputation, please feel free to remove yourself.”
His shoulders stiffened. “I cannot leave you here alone.”
“And yet you cannot stay for fear you’ll compromise me and, heaven forbid, be forced to make reparations for such. That is quite the conundrum you find yourself in, my lord.”
“One that would be easily rectified if you would simply return to your room like a proper young lady.”
She laughed. Such a stuffy claim from such a young and handsome lord seemed so out of place she couldn’t help herself. “Oh dear, you are quite the fusty sort, aren’t you?”
Surprise registered on his features and he took a step back as if to avoid the label she’d pinned on him. “Fusty? I am nothing of the sort. I am trying to be a gentleman and save you from yourself.”
“I don’t require saving, my lord, certainly not from the likes of you. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” Had she not been doing just that for the past few years? Granted, she had learned a harsh lesson along the way, but that only served to increase her knowledge of what to expect from Lord Glenmor’s ilk. His type played at being chivalrous, but the act was nothing more than smoke and mirr
ors used to lure in the unsuspecting.
His lips, full and generous and rather mesmerizing, pulled into a thin line and the lamplight caught the hint of stubble along his jaw. The warm, sky blue of his eyes hardened. “Is this what you consider capable? Flitting about in the middle of the night without a chaperon? Is this the type of behavior you plan to exhibit as Lady Henrietta’s companion? I daresay you will not be long employed if such is the case.”
His words cut, scraping against her fears and doubts. She sucked in a swift breath. But before she could answer with a sharp rebuke, Lord Glenmor let out a short huff and closed his eyes. His long lashes created crescent shadows against his cheeks and diverted her attention.
Her weakness irked her. His handsomeness was a distraction she did not care for. In truth, this unwanted draw toward him left her mortified. Was it still so easy for her to be fooled by an attractive face? Did the scars from her past imprudence not stand as warning against such a thing?
“Forgive me. I should not have spoken so harshly,” he said. His words were soft, brushing against her skin as if the cloak and dress she wore did not exist. “It is only that I promised your uncle I would ensure your safety. I take such a responsibility very seriously. It would give me great relief, Miss Sutherland, if you would return to your room.”
Her strong reaction to his tone, this weakness she could not seem to overcome, angered her. “It is not my responsibility to give you relief, my lord.”
He raised one eyebrow and Judith’s cheeks burned at the inadvertent double meaning of her words.
“What I meant to say, is that—”
Lord Glenmor held up a hand, cutting her off. “Please, Miss Sutherland. May we end this verbal sparring and simply return to our rooms? It is late, the night is cold, and we have an early morning and long day of travel ahead of us. We should both seek out our respective beds and get some sleep.”
