No Ordinary Groom

by Gayle Callen

  “In a hurry to get back to me?” he whispered.

  “I beg your pardon!” she said in the coolest voice she could muster. But instead of dignified, she sounded breathless.

  At their feet, Killer whined and tried to thread himself between them. From somewhere behind Lord Chadwick, the housekeeper called his name.

  When he didn’t release Jane but just smiled lazily into her eyes, she gave him a little push. “My lord!”

  “I like the sound of that from you.”

  When they heard footsteps, he finally released her and she whirled away, tucking her hair back with shaking fingers and trying to calm her breathing. What had just happened to her?

  “Lord Chadwick?” the housekeeper said again.

  Jane turned to see the woman reach down and pat Killer’s head. Jane only wanted to glare at the animal.

  With his hands in his pockets, Lord Chadwick faced the housekeeper. “Yes, Mrs. Lambert?”

  “Your cute little dog solved a dilemma that has been frustrating me for many weeks, my lord.”

  Jane wanted to roll her eyes.

  “There’s been a thief raiding our kitchens, and your dog—Killer?—discovered him.”

  “I am delighted he could help,” Lord Chadwick said in a smooth voice.

  “It was one of the stable grooms all along—can you imagine?”

  Jane cleared her throat and ignored Killer’s answering growl. “But my lord, Killer did do some damage to other areas of the house.”

  He frowned.

  The housekeeper only laughed. “Chewed on a book, knocked over some milk—nothing much compared to the service he’s done us.”

  Jane sighed.

  “We want to bring him a special meal, my lord. Surely you don’t mind?”

  “Of course not.” He picked up Killer, and the dog settled in the crook of his elbow. “But let us celebrate outside, so Killer is not tempted to do worse. Then if you could tell us where the nearest inn is—”

  “Gracious, no!” she said, leading them through the great hall and out the front door. “You’ll have your dinner here.”

  “That is very kind of you, Mrs. Lambert,” Lord Chadwick said, “but—”

  “And you’ll spend the night with us,” the old woman added, blushing clear up to her lace cap. “The master would insist, after all the money you’ve saved him.”

  Jane watched her betrothed drip with charm and graciousness. The way this had all worked out, she almost thought he’d planned it.

  After Molly joined the servants and Killer was put upstairs in a bedroom, Will and Jane were left alone in a private family parlor, awaiting the announcement for dinner. The heavy velvet drapes were drawn against the setting sun, while candles and lamps glowed about the room. The soft lighting framed Jane, haloed her. Will knew he watched her too much, upsetting her, but he couldn’t help it. “Lord” Chadwick’s little inanities had deserted him. He only wanted to remember holding her in his arms.

  It had been a long time since he’d held a woman. Even that last year in India, he had only once or twice eased himself with a partner. Even then he hadn’t felt safe, and his pleasure had been furtive and quick.

  Looking at Jane made him think of long, warm nights spent learning to know her body and her pleasures. Here in England, he didn’t have to fear discovery or a deadly assassin. The only discoveries to be made were things about each other.

  But right now she looked anything but comfortable. She held a book in her lap and kept her gaze on it. The long strands of her hair he’d so recently touched were once again falling from behind her ear. He wanted to kneel at her side and free the rest of it, feel it brush his body as he held her.

  “I say, Miss Whittington,” he said, dropping his monocle into his breast pocket, “do tell me what book you’re reading. The one I have is dreadfully boring.”

  He wanted to groan at his own stupidity. But he couldn’t say what he was really thinking: Come up to bed with me, Jane.

  Slowly, she lifted her head. From the way she blushed, Will realized she must be remembering the afternoon, too.

  “It’s a book about a Frenchman’s journey through France,” she said in a soft, hesitant voice, as her face grew redder.

  Didn’t she know she sounded like a woman newly awakened? He cleared his throat. “Would I like it?”

  “I don’t know. It’s written in French.”

  “Lord” Chadwick didn’t know any languages. “Why shouldn’t a book in England be written in the Queen’s English so we all can enjoy it?”

  Her smile was strained. “Perhaps because the owners brought it from France.”

  “I daresay that means you’re fluent in French.”

  “And several other languages.”

  His smile died. Languages were his specialty, how he blended into a culture no matter where he went.

  Then he caught a glimpse of the title, La Peau de la Belle Femme, The Skin of a Beautiful Woman. Now he knew why she was having a hard time meeting his eyes. She’d probably thought the book was about beauty secrets.

  But he knew better, because he’d read another of the “Beautiful Woman” books. They were about a merry widow’s naughty romp through Paris. He could only imagine what was making her lovely eyes widen. But she didn’t put the book down. As he imagined what she was reading, a sultry feeling of arousal swept through his veins. His cravat was surely choking him.

  “Read me something,” he said in a low voice.

  Her breathing quickened, and he watched her breasts rise and fall.

  “In French? Even if you can’t understand it?”

  She spoke quite evenly, and he admired that.

  “I enjoy listening to you.”

  She met his gaze once more, and he saw that his challenge—or the book’s real contents—had fired her spirit.

  She began to read in French, going very slowly as she made up a description about the wine country in Normandy. Will closed his eyes, disappointed but not surprised. He’d hoped that she would read the actual text, since she thought he couldn’t understand the words. But her boldness only went so far.

  As she continued on, he found himself trying not to wince. Whoever had taught her languages had never left the schoolroom, for her pronunciations were stilted and, in some places, incorrect.

  She stopped, took a deep breath, and glanced up at him. “That was about the province of Normandy.”

  “Ah,” he said, nodding. “Are you well educated, Miss Whittington?”

  “Enough,” she replied vaguely.

  Good, he didn’t think a woman should be overly educated. The perfect wife should have some knowledge about several subjects, of course. He tried not to smile as he wondered if the risqué French book would give her knowledge useful on their wedding night.

  He lapsed back into silence, watching her. She returned his stare for a moment, then looked back down at her book, which trembled slightly in her hands.

  When the bell rang for dinner, she shot up so quickly that he almost laughed aloud.

  Chapter 7

  On the way out to the carriage the next morning, Jane felt her stomach flutter. Looking all too handsome in the bright sunlight, Lord Chadwick was waiting beside the open carriage door, holding Killer. When the little dog caught sight of Molly, his tail started wagging and he tried to break free.

  “Now, Killer,” he said, holding the squirming body, “you’ll be with her soon enough.”

  He smiled at Jane, and she thought he looked rather tired.

  “A good morning to you, Miss Whittington.” He bowed from the waist.

  She nodded and tried to step into the carriage unassisted. He smoothly caught her elbow and helped her up. When he helped Molly too, the girl giggled—and sneezed. The dog soon followed them in and lightly jumped onto Molly’s lap. As Lord Chadwick sat down, she started sneezing and wiping her eyes and nose.

  He frowned at her with concern. “Molly? Are you well?”

  “She is obviously not well,
” Jane said. “I have come to the realization that it is your dog causing her problems.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Are you certain?”

  Killer started licking Molly’s face, and the sneezing became so unbearable that Lord Chadwick pulled his dog away.

  “I’m so sorry, milord.” Molly’s voice was muffled from beneath her handkerchief.

  “My lord,” Jane said smoothly, “the poor girl is suffering. I fear we’ll have to send Killer back to London.”

  “No!” It was Molly who protested first, to Jane’s astonishment. “Oh, no, miss, Killer would be so miserable. He wouldn’t understand, and he’d think he was bein’ punished.” She blew her nose. “It’s me that’s got to go.”

  “No!” It was Jane’s turn to protest. Angrily, she noticed that Lord Chadwick was barely attempting to hide his smile. “Molly, you’ll feel better once the dog is gone.”

  “No, miss, I’m feelin’ pretty bad. It’ll be awhile before I recover. And there’s me papa, who’ll be very worried if I’m sick. Frankly, I’m missin’ him terrible.”

  Her last sentence faded, and Jane knew that there were real tears being mopped up by her handkerchief.

  Lord Chadwick opened up the door and swung out. “I’ll return shortly. I heard Mrs. Lambert say that she was driving into London to shop. I’m certain she can see you home, Molly.”

  After the door was shut, Molly sniffed loudly. “I’m sorry, Miss Jane.”

  “Don’t be, Molly. I had no idea you were so miserable.”

  “Killer helped me feel better—he did, miss. But now that I can’t even hold him…”

  “I understand.” And Jane did. And though she knew the wise choice on her part would be to return to London with Molly, her father was expecting her.

  She would travel unchaperoned with Lord Chadwick, which would not have seemed so dangerous if she hadn’t read some of that scandalous book last night. Even now she felt her cheeks heating with a guilty blush. Why hadn’t she put it back immediately when she’d realized what it was? And then Lord Chadwick had asked her to read from it. She’d made up something awkward, while in print were words about a man kissing the heroine’s breasts!

  She bit her lip and looked out the window, trying to forget that in her dreams last night, Lord Chadwick had done the same to her. And she’d liked it.

  Jane and Molly descended from the carriage when Lord Chadwick returned. Silently, she watched Mr. Barlow untie Molly’s portmanteau from the roof.

  “Stay with me, Jane.”

  She froze, feeling Lord Chadwick standing at her back, his breath soft in her ear. The use of her Christian name made her shiver.

  “Do you really want to go back to London, to sit there in that house where you’ve spent most of your life?”

  “I don’t just sit there,” she hissed at him, keeping her face turned away from the curious stares of Molly and Mrs. Lambert. “You don’t have any idea what I do with my time.”

  “Why won’t you tell me? You say not one word about yourself, Jane. Are you afraid of me?”

  She whirled to face him and pointed a finger into his chest. “I have not given you permission to call me by my Christian name. And I am not afraid of you! I had already decided to finish this journey to my father.”

  He grinned, and it was wicked and knowing and arrogant, as if he thought he was the one who’d persuaded her.

  Wearing a tight smile, Jane told Molly she’d see her in a few weeks, waved good-bye, and allowed Lord Chadwick to take her arm. She would have dearly loved to yank away, but she could not bring herself to cause a scene.

  The carriage tilted as he climbed in and sat across from her, that infernal dog in his lap. Jane could swear it was glaring at her more than normal, as if it was all her fault that Molly wasn’t coming.

  Jane crossed her arms over her chest and looked out the window. She would not give Lord Chadwick the satisfaction of looking at him.

  Barely a quarter hour had passed when suddenly he lifted himself off the front seat and dropped Killer where he’d just been sitting. With a squeak of surprise, Jane pressed herself against the wall of the carriage to avoid being sat upon. With a sigh, Lord Chadwick leaned back at her side, stretching out his long legs. His whole arm brushed against hers.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, wishing desperately that she dared to thrust her elbow into his side.

  He looked down at her, his face far too close.

  “My legs were cramped. And besides, I get quite sick facing backwards.”

  “You did not mention that yesterday.”

  “And what was I supposed to do, displace Molly from protecting you?”

  “Protecting me! I don’t need protection.”

  “That’s not what it seemed like. You were trying to keep a sick girl at your side so you wouldn’t have to be alone with me.”

  “She was not truly sick!” Jane insisted. “If your dog”—she pointed at the animal, and he growled at her—“would have been removed, she’d have been fine.”

  “Wishful thinking.” He leaned into his corner of the carriage and watched her. “I’ll repeat: you just don’t want to be alone with me.”

  “And what do you mean by that?” she demanded.

  “You’re afraid that I’ll ask to kiss you again, and you won’t be able to refuse.”

  “That is ridiculous.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared out the window. But his words had made a flush of heat start in her belly and rise through her. Beneath her corset, her breasts ached, and she cursed that book for giving her a glimpse of what she was missing.

  Will liked baiting Jane; there was something about her that made him lose control. Battling with her was actually…arousing. He looked forward to what she’d say when he told her about the plans he’d made for their wedding and honeymoon.

  But it was obvious she was in no mood to talk now, so he turned his head and looked out the window. A mist of rain and fog was rolling in, and he hoped Barlow was well wrapped.

  The carriage had been following a curve in the road, and out of habit, Will glanced back. He frowned when he saw a horse and rider in the distance. It was a gray gelding with black trappings, just like one he’d seen yesterday. The man wore a top hat and rode with an easy grace that struck him as familiar, even though Will couldn’t see his features.

  Was he being followed again? He told himself that the rider probably lived nearby and just happened to be out and about both days. But Will was only alive because he’d long ago learned to heed his suspicions. When the carriage stopped for luncheon, he would speak with Barlow.

  “Is something wrong?” Jane asked.

  He relaxed his muscles as he turned to face her. “Nothing at all. Why do you ask?”

  “You seem…tense, and you keep staring behind us out the window. Don’t you like to travel?”

  What to say to that? That he knew nothing else? “I miss the comforts of home,” he said, finding himself impatient with “Lord” Chadwick.

  “You could hardly call last night uncomfortable.”

  “It was an adequate house,” he said neutrally, not wanting to tell her he hadn’t even slept in the bed. “But a bit—”

  “Too small,” she interrupted.

  Will grinned at her. “You thought so too?”

  “No, but I knew you would.”

  “Know me so well already, do you?” he asked with amusement.

  “A few things.” She folded her hands in her lap and looked back out her window.

  Will studied her delicate hands and wondered what she’d do if he tried to hold one. A demure young lady might blush and allow him the privilege, since they were to be married. But he was beginning to know Jane, and thought she might pull away from him.

  Jane kept her eyes on the passing countryside and thought to herself that she didn’t know Lord Chadwick at all. Just…surface things, his amusements.

  “So where have you traveled?” she asked.

  When
she glanced at him he was gazing at her, leaning his head into the corner, his eyes half-closed—but watchful. That was something she knew about him. He seemed very aware of everything going on around him.

  “I’ve traveled…about.”

  She frowned. “Be more specific, please.”

  “It all blends together. I have no great love for journeys for their own sake.”

  “Have you been to the Continent?” she asked, her teeth clenched as she fought for patience.

  “Yes.”

  “But you don’t understand any of the languages, so that must have made things difficult.”

  “Not really. So many of the gentler people of society speak English. And an opera is the same no matter where you go, is it not?”

  Jane studied his face and thought, He’s hiding something. She didn’t know or understand why she had such a feeling, but it was a certainty inside her. There were things he didn’t want her to know. Surely this should give her father reason enough to let her escape this marriage. Her father would not countenance a man lying to his daughter.

  But instead of feeling relieved, she felt more and more curious by the minute. Lord Chadwick was an enigma, a puzzle she had to solve.

  That night, they stopped at an inn in Huntingdon, after spending the day jarred by uneven roads. Will could tell that Jane was in a poor mood. She’d asked to stop and explore the ruins of a castle that had been on the Great Northern Road since Roman times, but he’d had to say no. He’d made up an excuse about reaching the inn before twilight, and although she’d accepted his decision calmly, he could tell she was upset.

  He couldn’t allow her to wander the countryside, not until he knew if he was still being followed. He would find out tonight, long after she was asleep, even if it meant he had to search the county, leaving Barlow to watch over her.

  The inn he’d chosen overlooked the Ouse River and an ancient stone bridge spanning it. Since the coming of the railroads, inns had lost many customers, and they treated graciously the few they did get. While he rented two rooms and made sure Jane would have the assistance of a lady’s maid this evening and the next morning, he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She was standing in the doorway to the public dining room, obviously trying not to stare with too much fascination at the wide variety of customers. Perhaps she had an unrealistic interest in travel because she’d done so little of it.