by Gina Lamm
***
Fury tightened Micah’s hands on the reins as he rode away. How stupid! How utterly thoughtless she’d been to wander toward the docks alone—and after dark! His teeth ached from the clenching of his jaw, and he desperately fought the dark visions that assaulted him as he cantered away. If he’d been just minutes longer, she surely would have been dragged off, never to be seen again. The thought shot ice through his veins, and his heart pounded with anger and something else that he determinedly ignored. He was responsible for her as his guest, that was all. It was merely that and nothing more.
“Dunnington!”
His jaw tightened in vexation. Glancing over his shoulder, he was unsurprised to see the beautiful white horse and its female rider closing in on him. As much as he’d like to gallop away from Collette, he pulled up on the reins instead. It would not do to be so rude to a woman he’d once cared for. Hart tossed his head, snorting.
“Easy,” Micah muttered, patting the glossy black neck of his horse.
“Micah, darling, have you not gotten my letters? I’ve been writing to you for ages now, and you’ve not replied.” The full, pouting red lips and sweet voice would once have tempted him, but no longer.
“My apologies,” Micah said simply.
Collette raised her beautifully arched brows at him. “Well, I am here now. Let us forget these silly misunderstandings, shall we?” She smiled at him, fluttering her dusky lashes in an alluring manner.
It would have been alluring if he was still a grieving, lonely man. But Collette had played him false too many times to take him in again so easily. Her last betrayal, telling secrets about his personal life to the highest bidder, was unforgivable. “I beg your pardon, Miss Dubois, but I am late for an engagement.” Micah gave her a shallow bow and clucked to Hart. The gelding snorted and took off as if he was delighted to be distancing himself from the female. Micah couldn’t agree more.
As he neared Miss Lyons’s home, it was not his ex-mistress that occupied his thoughts but Jamie. Micah tried to put all thoughts of Miss Marten from his mind but to no avail. How frightened yet brave she’d looked as she took on her attackers. How relieved she’d appeared when she caught sight of him. How her breasts had pressed full against his chest when she hugged him in gratitude.
He shifted in the saddle, denying the warmth that bloomed at the thought of her body against his own. He’d enjoyed that too much and would think of it no longer. Miss Felicity Lyons. He’d think of Miss Lyons and their upcoming evening together.
He tried not to notice how quick the warmth in his loins died at the thought.
Nine
Mrs. Knightsbridge wrung her hands when Jamie told her the story. It was hard to tell which made the housekeeper more upset: the ruffians who had nearly attacked Jamie or the fact that she’d gone out unescorted, no hat, no gloves, and risked someone finding out that she lived with the earl—not to mention making the acquaintance of a professional paramour.
The only upside was Jamie didn’t even have to complain to get a bath brought up to her room.
When she’d been scrubbed and stuffed into another deathtrap, ahem, gown, she was allowed to go down to the dining room for dinner. Mrs. Knightsbridge refused to leave her alone. She wasn’t sure if it was because of Mike’s threat of “dire consequences” or Mrs. K’s own plans for her. The housekeeper used the mealtime as an excuse to teach Jamie about the finer points of dining in company. Apparently Jamie, and everyone else she’d ever known, had been doing it wrong all these years.
There were rules about when and where to sit. How to get food onto her plate. How to pass things. How much and how fast to eat, what to talk about, what to never mention, and even when to get up from the table. It was enough to give her indigestion. But she listened to it without complaint. She’d been enough trouble for one day.
Jamie was done eating way before Mrs. K was done talking, so they went into the music room to continue the lessons. When the housekeeper asked Jamie about any talents she had, and then discounted the fact that she could tie a cherry stem in a knot with her tongue, Jamie confessed that she could play the piano and sing.
“Well, let’s hear it then,” Mrs. K said, shooing Jamie toward the piano bench.
Jamie rolled her eyes but sat down. Stretching out her fingers, she wondered what to play. Mrs. K would be expecting something trilling and charming and suitable for polite company. The devil on Jamie’s left shoulder whispered that she should play some Lady Gaga, but she ignored it. She was trying to behave, at least a little.
Jamie played the “Moonlight Sonata” first, and then sang a couple of the cleanest things she knew. She figured everyone would like the Beatles, and apparently she was right. Mrs. Knightsbridge beamed when Jamie was done.
“See? I told you. His lordship cannot help but be impressed with your talents. Now if you would only show the same passion for the other areas of study…”
“Mrs. K, I’m sorry, but I’m really tired. Can we call it a night?”
The plump lady smiled at Jamie and nodded. She placed a warm hand on Jamie’s cheek. “Of course, dearie. Get some rest. You will see in the morning that things can be quite nice here.”
As Jamie ascended the stairs, Muriel chattering happily behind her, she wondered what sort of stuff Mrs. K was smoking. She’d need it to get through the rest of her time here apparently. How much longer could Wilhelmina go without contacting her sister? Jamie hadn’t expected to be here this long, and it was starting to concern her. What if she could never go home? She shook herself, trying to chase the dark worries away as she entered the Lemon Room.
Muriel helped her out of her dress, and after the maid had gone and Jamie pulled the covers up to her chin, there came another scratching at the door.
She sighed and opened her eyes. “What, Baron?”
He was relentless, continuing to whine.
“You’re like playing tennis with a brick wall,” Jamie muttered as she opened the door. Baron wagged his tail and hopped onto the bed, balling his bony body up in a surprisingly tiny round.
Jamie climbed into bed behind him and stroked his slick fur. He fell asleep nearly instantly. She propped her chin up on her fist and watched the hound’s chest expand as he breathed.
She’d come really close to getting into serious trouble today. If Mike hadn’t come when he had, she had no doubt that those grubby, smelly men would have done horrible things to her.
I’ve been treating this like a big joke, she thought as she rubbed Baron’s silky ears. I haven’t been taking this seriously and I nearly ended up raped, as well as a potential dockside murder statistic, because of it.
She flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling.
This was serious. This was potentially life-threatening, and she was through wasting time. She was going to have a heart-to-heart with Mrs. K in the morning, and if the housekeeper wouldn’t help her get home, she’d go looking for Wilhelmina herself. Jamie wasn’t cut out for this time. She wasn’t cut out for Mike. She needed to get back home, where she knew the rules.
She stared at the ceiling for a very long time, listening to Baron breathe.
***
Micah sent Thornton to bed as soon as the butler took his coat. It was too damned late for the old man to be waiting up for him, but no matter how the earl admonished him, Thornton refused to retire early.
Looking longingly toward his estate room, Micah sighed and, instead, trudged up the stairs, holding a candle aloft to light the way. What a horrid night. After the debacle with Miss Marten, and then the encounter with Collette, he’d been in a foul mood. Miss Lyons hadn’t enjoyed the play, making comments about how awful the villain was and how so very naughty, and wouldn’t he just leave the poor hero alone? That in itself would have been bearable, but she’d also chattered nonstop about that cloth-headed Sir William Knightley, the bloke who’d been courting her before Micah himself. He’d very nearly wished to strangle her, but when he uttered a cross word, she’d bu
rst into tears. He’d taken her home and gone to his club, where he’d lost several hundred pounds in the card rooms. He reached the top of the stairs at last. Wanting nothing more than to retire, when he saw a white-clad form standing in the corridor by his bedchamber, he frowned.
“Go back to bed, Miss Marten.”
“Wait,” she said, coming closer to him. “I’ve got a robe on. I need to talk to you.”
He sighed heavily and set his candle down beside hers on the small side table outside his door. “Can it not wait until morning?”
She shook her head. “No, it can’t.”
He gritted his teeth and crossed his arms over his chest. Her knuckles were white as she clutched the neck of her dressing gown closed, her braid lying over her shoulder. He ignored the itch in his fingers, the one that longed to see if her hair was as soft as it looked. “Be quick about it, then.”
She blinked several times, tongue darting out to wet her lips. She opened her mouth, blew out a breath, and then closed it, clearly at a complete loss for what to say.
The image of her at the mercy of those ruffians by the docks leapt unbidden to his mind, and he didn’t even attempt to stop the words that broke her extended silence. “If you meant to apologize for earlier this evening, please do not. I’m sure you have learned the dangers that can befall a woman unescorted on these streets. I trust you will not be so foolish a second time.” His voice dripped with anger.
Her high brows and soft mouth disappeared in an instant, replaced by a mask of outraged temper. Her eyes snapped as she said, “I already told you that I wouldn’t. I’m not stupid, you know.”
He barked out a laugh. “It is difficult to believe you when you have insisted upon doing foolish things since your arrival, Miss Marten, not the least of which seems to be earning my ire.”
His blood heated as she dropped the neck of her dressing gown and it fell open, revealing the soft curve of her breast beneath her night rail. She set her candle next to his and put both hands on her hips, exposing more of her front to his gaze. Her display would have been more alluring had her face not looked so cross. “I wouldn’t insist on doing stupid things if I had a blessed clue what was right and what was not here. This place has more rules than a dictator’s regime.”
“I do apologize if the accommodations are unsatisfactory. Perhaps you would care to end your stay?” She couldn’t go. Not now. She’d probably attend the mill at the heath if he wasn’t around to prevent it. Senseless, beautiful wench.
“You know I can’t go anywhere right now.” Her frustration was plain in her voice.
“Ah, yes. You must stay near the magic bureau. Well, it appears you will have to make the best of it then.” He didn’t even attempt to hide his triumphant look.
She glared at him. “You don’t believe me at all, do you? You think I’m crazy, a liar, and weird to boot. I don’t know why I ever thought I wanted to kiss you.” Her chest heaved as she clenched her jaw.
He found the challenge too much to ignore. He stepped toward her, but she didn’t back down. Tilting her head back to accommodate his height, she kept her eyes locked with his. The fight in her was very tempting, he had to admit, and he was done fighting the temptation.
After a long moment in which his gaze never broke from hers, a shuddering breath left him. “Jamie”—she trembled sweetly as he said her given name—“for anyone to kiss you, you must remain silent.”
When her mouth opened with surprise at his statement, he wasted no time. Closing the gap between them, he kissed her.
Her body was stiff against his, but her lips were as smooth and soft as he’d imagined. He was tender with her, coaxing her submission with gentle movements that asked rather than demanded. As she relaxed against him, he drew her body a bit closer to his, relishing the feel of her soft form through the thin cotton of her night rail. His tongue traced her lower lip, and he nearly groaned when she opened her mouth wider, allowing his tongue to delve inside. The moist heat there fired his blood, arousing him further.
He tasted her deeply, thoroughly, but he wanted more. His breath mingled with hers, his hands resting on her slim back, but it wasn’t enough. But at the slight pressure on her back, she pressed her soft breasts fully against his chest, and he tore his mouth from hers in surprise. Her lips shone softly in the candlelight, and her eyes were dark with passion.
He stepped back, and the cold air rushed into the gap between them. It was not far enough. He could not take her. She was not a courtesan; she was his guest. He could not take advantage of her gratitude. It would be unforgivable. She started to move closer to him, but he stopped her with splayed fingers in the air.
“I… I…” He shook his head, raking his hair back from his forehead. “Forgive me, Miss Marten.” Without looking at her or saying another word, Mike grabbed his candle and disappeared into his bedroom. The click of the latch sounded like a gunshot, and he thumped his closed fist against the table by his bed.
He was an ass. A lecherous ass.
***
She stared at the shut door, wondering what in the holy hell had just happened.
Her bare toes started to go numb in the drafty air of the corridor. When she wrapped her brain around the fact that, yes, Mike had kissed her and, no, he wasn’t going to open that door again, she picked up her candle and padded silently back to the Lemon Room.
Baron poked his head up out of the covers when the door squeaked open, but lay back down when he saw it was Jamie. She didn’t go to bed. Instead, she grabbed the slippers that rested in front of the fire and stuck them onto her feet. When she left the bedroom this time, she could hear the dog’s even breathing once more.
As she passed Mike’s bedroom, she stopped for a second. She pressed her ear against the cold wood of the door. No noise inside the room. She shook her head, inwardly berating herself for her continued stupidity.
Maybe Mike’s right, she thought as she made her way to the music room. Maybe you are a fool. Know what? No maybes about it. You’re a dumbass, Jamie Marten.
After checking to make sure she was completely alone, she let the music room door click shut behind her. She set the candle down on the side table and sank down onto the bench.
Her fingers on the piano keys played as soft as a whisper, but the confusion and pain were plain in her song. The house was large enough that no one should hear her faint notes down in the secluded room. Music was her only solace in this strange world, and even at whatever the hell time it was, she had to have some relief from the swirling emotions eating her up inside.
Ten
It wasn’t easy to avoid Mike for the next few days, but Jamie was determined. She stayed in her room until she saw him leave the house, hiding behind the curtains like a princess in a tower. Acting like a chickenshit wasn’t the best course of action, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t face him yet. Muriel smuggled books up to the Lemon Room for her, so she wouldn’t go bored out of her mind. Jamie started to get a newfound appreciation for Shakespeare. Those plays were as tawdry as any episode of CSI she’d ever sat through.
Mrs. Knightsbridge kept up the countess lessons, but Jamie thought the housekeeper knew that her heart wasn’t in it. Jamie didn’t tell her about the ill-fated kiss in the hallway, but it seemed kind of obvious that something had happened between the earl and his uninvited guest. After a few fruitless sessions of prodding Jamie for information, Mrs. K let it go.
But when it came to the dancing lessons, the diminutive housekeeper was as ferocious as an ogre. She forced Jamie down into the music room, talking her ear off all the while. Without regard to propriety or her fancy duds, Jamie flopped down on the settee beneath the window while Mrs. K chattered.
“Come now, you must do this. A proper countess must be able to perform the country dances, and it will be acceptable for you to waltz once you are wed…”
“Mrs. K, for the billionth time, there’s not going to be any wedding. Mike has zero interest in me. None. He can’t stand me, and the
feeling is very much mutual.”
Jamie had never been the best liar, but she thought she delivered that pretty well. It didn’t stop the doubt from creeping over the housekeeper’s round face, though. She acted like Jamie hadn’t said a word and continued shuffling sheet music.
“As I said, when you are wed, then permission will not be a problem. Ah yes, here is his lordship now.”
The thudding footsteps in the hall confirmed her statement. Jamie jumped up from the settee, truly a feat since she was still stuffed into those damn unforgiving stays. “Wait a minute, you didn’t say he was going to be involved with this. I can’t dance with him. I can’t even be in the same room with him without someone attempting murder.”
There was an evil sort of twinkle in Mrs. K’s eye. “Well, how can you learn to dance without a handsome and capable partner? Your lordship, thank you for attending us.”
Mike didn’t even look over at Jamie as he entered the room. He looked, well, fricking fantastic in his dove-gray coat and tight fawn pants. His boots were so shiny she thought she could see her face in them if she bent down. Of course, he might kick her in the face if she tried. Jamie sighed inwardly. She’d really fucked everything up, once again.
“Yes, Mrs. Knightsbridge, I understand you needed my assistance?”
The housekeeper nodded happily, her round cheeks bright. “Yes. I will accompany you on the piano if you will be so kind as to guide Miss Jamie in the steps of the cotillion.”
The horror on Mike’s face would have been funny if it wasn’t so damn painful. His eyes flared wide, panic clear in their brown depths.
Am I really that bad? Jamie looked down at the rose-colored muslin dress she wore and smoothed the skirt down self-consciously. These damn petticoats made it look like she had thunder thighs. Fashion back in her time was really more flattering to her figure. Maybe that would help Mike be able to tolerate her more.
“Cotillion? Mrs. Knightsbridge, I cannot—”
