The Coachman's Daughter

by Gayle Eden

  “When are we leaving?” she asked after a turn.

  His hand flexed against hers. “May as well go in the morning.”

  That got her eyes on him. “The others heading back to London?”

  “Yes, sometime during the day.” His gaze dropped to her mouth then moved back up. The waltz was nearly over. “You nervous, about meeting your Aunt?’

  “Yes. Not really nervous…I don’t know.”

  He breathed in her perfume; a heady scent of rain washed flowers, and watched a pulse beat in her throat. “Just don’t get any ideas about staying in York. You’ve promised Lisette.”

  “Yes, I have promised Lisette to attend her birthday ball. In London.”

  The last strains were playing.

  Their eyes met, clung for those seconds, and seconds before he let her go, Deme husked, “I want you.”

  He saw the slight widening of her eyes before Haven was stepping back, and then leaving the dance floor.

  Deme wanted to follow her. He wanted to drag her off somewhere private.

  He turned and crossed to join Marston, who murmured, “Who was that woman?”

  “The coachman’s daughter.” Deme found himself smiling. He glanced aside and saw Marston was observing her as James and Aiden embraced her. The man murmured, “You are in love with her, obviously.”

  The drink of wine did not quite go down, and when those silver eyes turned to his, Deme rasped, “No—”

  A smile teased on that craggy face. The Viscount offered, “You may not know me, but I know you very well, my lord.” Then, before he stepped away, presumably to attend a dance with Lisette—Marston offered, “You are half way tolerable when you are sober—but lie less convincingly.”

  Watching him indeed walk over and take Lisette’s hand, rather expertly leaving her no chance to deny him a turn on the floor, Deme muttered under his breath, “So it seems.” and knocked back the wine.

  His eyes found Haven again, now moving from the top of her head to the toes of her slippers—lingering on a smile she wore while listening to something Juliette was saying, “Bloody hell.” He swallowed and mentally shook his head. How the hell did this happen?

  * * * *

  Haven had a lovely evening. Between dancing with Jude, James, Aiden, even the Viscount Marston—and talking, laughing with Juliette and Lisette. She had a dance with her father, and saw her father’s fluster when the Duchess took a turn on the floor with him. She was not sure how Patrick learned but he also danced a reel with Lisette and his laughter made him look years younger.

  Haven was also amused watching Lisette dance with everyone and try to avoid Marston. She did have to dance with him once and far from silent, Haven knew he said something to Lisette, because the young woman was frowning oddly.

  The Viscount seemed amused. True, he did not reveal a lot, and true, his eyes were silver grey, but Haven was starting to think there might be more to Lisette’s protestations than met the eye.

  It was a wonderful party. Her sort of come out, even if it was in a small group and among family. It was the perfect sort of evening. Nevertheless, under it all hummed a smoldering tension every time she caught a pair of green eyes on her. They were on her, nearly every time she looked Deme’s way.

  Her last planned dance was with the Marquis of Wolford, Monty. And, that was almost as uncomfortable, as he said, after complimenting her, “Deme is more than meets the eye. More than even he takes credit for.”

  “I’m sure he is.” She cautiously looked in his warm brown eyes.

  “He seems almost tamed of late.”

  “Everyone must mature at some point. He has perhaps reached that point.”

  “Um” The Marquis searched her face then held her gaze. “The two of you can hardly keep your eyes off each other.”

  She flushed.

  That gloved hand squeezed hers comfortably. “I’m happy to see him looking at any woman like that.”

  “Meaning, you do not mind my low birth.” She came to a stop.

  Monty was nothing if not a seasoned man. “Meaning—that Deme has viewed the world through a brandy soaked haze for too long and used women as much as they have used him. I wouldn’t care if you were a scullery maid, Haven, so long as Deme felt something real for you.”

  “You give me credit where none is due.” She said when the music stopped. “One week of sobriety hardly makes him reformed either. a woman and a man looking across a ballroom floor, hardly attest to more than normal attraction.”

  Monty smiled as he took her arm and led her to the sidelines. He leaned down and said in her ear, “I understand perfectly. You two lie as bad as Juliette and I once did.” He bowed over her hand, kissed it. Then he winked.

  Pulse pounding in her throat, her color high, Haven watched him walk to his Lady wife and slide his arm around her waist. She let out a trembling breath and headed to the Duchess to say her adieu. She had an early morning, apparently.

  Her arm was caught half way there. She did not need to look to know it was Deme.

  He led her just out of the entry and into the parlor. Though the doors were opened to both, she felt the intimacy when he stopped by the row of windows and released her before coming to stand in front of her.

  Looking up at him, itching to push that fall off curls off handsome brow, Haven could hear his; I want you, in her mind.

  It was obviously on his mind too when he murmured, “Your eyes devoured me tonight.”

  “How arrogant of you to assume so.”

  He smiled rakish, “It is either say that, or do this….”

  She did not get the gasp out before had her in his arms, his mouth finding hers, his kiss dizzyingly sensual, and maddeningly stirring. His tongue swept through her mouth, tasting everything he wanted.

  Panting and flushing when he lifted his head, her lips damp. Though he did not release her, she rasped, “What are you trying to prove? Are you trying to create some sort of scandal?”

  “Prove…that I bloody well don’t care who sees me kiss you. No Wimberly gives a bloody damn for scandal. My whole life has been one.”

  His green eyes were locked with hers. “Listen to me, Haven Mulhern. I will finish what I started in that coaching house someday.” One of his hands moved to cup her cheek. It was an obvious gesture to make sure she attended what he said. “Every bit of it.” His lashes dipped half-mast and his thumb stroked her skin. He whispered, “I’m going to take you apart with pleasure.”

  He kissed her again, this time one of those too soft, too melting ones that turned her skin inside out and had her clinging to him.

  His mouth scored over her cheek. Deme said in her ear, “I have been mad wanting you. That is no surprise, is it? You knew it in that little office. You knew it when I let you walk out the door.”“

  Her eyes closed, and hands on his back she replied, “Let me…You talk as if I am already yours for the taking, my lord.”

  His hand moved from her face. His arms held her captive, lips grazing her hair. “I don’t care who belongs to whom. Let me pleasure you tonight.”

  “You are mad.” her husk came with burying her face against his chest before she lifted it and leaned back to look up at him.

  “I won’t disagree with that.” The smile this time did not reach his eyes. “As lovely as you look, as breathtaking in this gown, you are equally as attractive in your trousers and boots.”

  “Daft.” She shook her head. “How much wine did you consume?”

  He was not jesting now. “I have been denied little in my life, Haven. It never occurred to me that someday I would want something so desperately and not be able to demand it. I haven’t the right, and even if I persuaded myself that I did, I want you willing.”

  “And when you do, you will forget me. There will be others. You may be able to curb your drinking, but you won’t be a monk.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “I’ve no choice but to.”

  He closed his eyes a moment and th
en slowly released her.

  They stood there, eyes locked.

  At length, he sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I’ll walk you home.”

  She let him, collecting her silk lined black cloak. He refused one the butler suggested. It was crisp and foggy out. Haven sighed too when he reached and found her hand, holding it, as they made their way to the coach house.

  Inside, everything was illuminated via the lantern; he still held her hand whist regarding coach with her trunks already strapped.

  She used her free hand to push back her hood. “Who ordered that?

  “I did. “Don’t go in yet.”

  She scarcely heard him say that but halted and turned, and found herself looking at his profile. “There is more to my going than what is between us, my lord.”

  “Deme.” He insisted. “I know.”

  He turned too and met her gaze with one that nearly buckled her knees. “Do you know—what happened, in my past?”

  “Yes.”

  His gaze roamed her face and then came back. “It was a time I wish I could relive, in order to take back one moment, on that dueling field. I can’t however.”

  “And you’d trade your whole life because of it. It wasn’t done in malice on your part, my lord”

  “I tried. I tried to—” He looked away and around the area, before murmuring, “You never let me do too much damage.”

  “That’s debatable.”

  He smiled slightly self-mocking. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Those moments in that little office. I would be easier if I could numb myself with brandy.”

  “No one is stopping you.”

  “You are.” He whispered.

  “You are merely sick of a life you weren’t enjoying. It was inevitable you would change your pace at some point.”

  His cocked his brow but walked over to the thick stairs. Sitting down, he extracted a cheroot case, took one out and lit it.

  She walked a few paces and after removing her cloak and leaned against one of the square columns just a bit from him.

  For a while, he merely smoked.

  Their eyes touched on and off.

  Haven murmured at length, “I think this is the first conversation we’ve had that didn’t include sarcasm and insults.”

  “True—almost. You did say I was mad...”

  She watched him draw and release smoke. Part of her felt the pull of attraction; the other half was accepting that it was inevitable with a man like him.

  For Deme’s part, he watched her lean her head back against the column, watching him under her lashes, and he wanted to press his lips to hers, to kiss her throat, to slowly ease that gown off her body.

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” Her husk broke the next silence.

  “Yes.” Deme had let her read his thoughts deliberately.

  He stood and walked over to her. He wanted to touch her, kiss her, they both knew that, but he did not. He said before leaving her there, “Get some rest. We’ll leave at dawn.”

  * * * *

  The only one to see them off whilst it was still dark out, was her father. Everyone else was sleeping in. Deme had spent time talking with his parents last night after the party. He had gotten his baggage loaded afterwards. He also got a glimpse of the bronze skirt and jacket haven wore with white silk blouse under it this morning. It fit her well and looked quite dashing with embroidered gold closures on the short jacket. When she had walked to the coach, he noted the dyed ankle boots, very smart, and she had on supple white gloves.

  Last night he had come to the realization she had always had a fashionable wardrobe, and that she had good taste, an excellent eye for what suited her. She was a fascinating woman. That mixture of spit and fire, able to handle a coach, weapons, curse him and tell him what for. In addition, the elegant sophisticate last night, the lovely woman in a stunning gown who looked at him with half-mast eyes, secret thoughts. Even the one who laughed with his sister, or the part bold part shy erotic one during their brief encounter?

  Holding the coach door while she climbed in, Deme admired the gold and black cloak she wore too. The hood was not up.; the color looked good on her. She wore her hair down. It was silky and shimmering.

  “Quite a change, isn’t it.” He said when he climbed in and sat opposite. “Us sharing a coach.”

  Her father closed the door and she clasped his hand a moment before he stepped back and signaled the driver.

  She then gave Deme her attention. He felt that natural attraction magnify. They were close, on opposite sides, but close. Her lashes were darkened a bit, her color high and her lips moist.

  “Quite. Although weather or not we’ll survive each other’s company, remains to be seen.”

  He grinned glad she was in a sharp-witted mood. He got comfortable, slumping a bit toward the corner, undoing his coat, and propping his boots on the opposite seat. “I’m told I’m quite charming.”

  “You’re a sarcastic ass most of the time.” She raked her gaze down him but smiled too.

  He was going to enjoy this trip.

  “We’re you annoyed when your father told you of my offer.”

  “Vastly.” She unlatched the cloak at the throat. The well-appointed coach was warmed and so she pushed it back before shifting so that she laid it in the seat beside her.

  “It’s not much out of the way, the estates, and it saves us suffering some posting Inn. Are you excited now that we’re actually going, to meet your Aunt?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “It all seems so—finished. I mean, of course it will be nice. Father waited so long. I understand why. She shook her head. “I don’t know what to expect.”

  “Expect to meet someone who knew your mother, and can tell you about her.”

  “I will.”

  She eyed him a moment. “I’m trying to figure out what you’re up to.”

  “Me?” he arched his brow.

  “Yes. I believe you might actually, finally, take up some of your responsibilities, but I do not why you are even concerned with the revelations in my life to escort me. Nothing is really changed. My father is a coachman. I am certainly the same person, and will not suddenly transform into a woman who never wears trousers or whatever it is you may think a woman should. And a Marquis would not bother.”

  “We both know my family is unconventional. They took you in long before you or I knew of any—connections to the aristocracy. And I’m not just any Marquis.” His smile was mocking. “I’ve a bloody horrid reputation.

  “There’s that too.” her stare was dry. “If I cared for a reputation, which I don’t, it wouldn’t be much after everyone hears of this trip.”

  “Everyone won’t hear because my family is loyal. Even if they did, who gives a bloody damn? And—did you change the subject.” He laughed.

  She stared at his mouth then lifted her gaze. “Yes.”

  His smile faded a moment, his senses reacting to her looking at his mouth. “What was it…?”

  She looked away and out the window. “Your motives.”

  “Everyone will assume you’re my mistress.”

  Haven stared. “And that’s your motive?”

  “For the trip, no. My motive is genuine. I’m going north on business.” He searched her face. “For arranging it so that we’re together? Are you sure you want to know?”

  She nodded.

  He studied her under his lashes then drawled, “Very well. You are an adult and we have never been anything but blunt with each other. You don’t play games, so let us admit that we started something in that little office—true?”

  “Yes.”

  He watched her rake her teeth over her lip. “You are close to my family, our lives are somewhat intertwined. This attraction is not going anywhere and we can spend a lot of time playing cat and mouse, but that is not your way either. And, I lied. You know I lied, don’t you.”

  “Yes.” Her tone was rougher.

  He was relieved to hear her agree. “I s
houldn’t bother trying to deceive you, dear girl. You know me better than anyone. So here it ‘tis. We want each other. I am glad you are finding out about your mother and family, but in the grand scheme of things, other than, it will please you—it does not bloody matter. It didn’t before I knew.”

  She looked out the window.

  He heard the husk in his tone but it did not bother him at this point. “I asked you to be my mistress because I wanted you as a lover. You turned down the first. But it wasn’t the ideal way or time to debate that.”

  “And now is?” her brow rose.

  “Haven.”

  She turned to regard him.

  He said softly, “I’m yours for the taking. How is that? And you are right, I am not good enough for you either.”

  “For how long, for this trip, in between taverns and—”she sighed and leaned her head back, closing her eyes.

  “I won’t touch another woman. Why would I? Why would I seek something that never has been more than a release when I could have passion? And you are—a passionate woman.”

  “I don’t trust you, Deme” She had not opened her eyes.

  “I know that. You can, but I am just putting the truth out there for you. At any time while we are together, and we will be. I am offering, asking, to be your lover.”

  Haven groaned and opened her eyes.

  He smiled, full, white, and rakish. “I’ll beg a little, if you want me to.”

  She laughed rather helplessly.

  “Ah.” He enjoyed that sound, and let his gaze linger on her smile. “My charm is working already.”

  “Spoiled.” She shook her head.

  He arched his brow, still grinning. “I will you, in bed. Out of it too.”

  Haven sighed unable to bear that rogue in him. She knew her answer, and so did he. They both had, the moment they sat across from each other in the coach.

  They rode for quite a few miles in silence, but when she murmured, “What shall I do at the estates, on the way?”

  “Whatever you like. Mother trained you, I am sure you know more about it than I do. Examine the manor house, observe the staff, make sure I am fed, because I will be locked up with the books half the time and touring with the steward the next.”