Engagement of Convenience

by Georgie Lee

  * * *

  Julia lay in bed, turning over on her back for what seemed like the hundredth time since she’d blown out the candle. Captain Covington hadn’t come to dinner. Uncle George said he’d gone to town, but by nine o’clock he still hadn’t returned. She’d waited up for him in the study, hoping to discuss Mrs Wilkins and put some of her fears to rest, but by eleven o’clock she could no longer endure the silent waiting so she went to bed.

  She rolled on her side, pulling her cool pillow close. The moon had set at least an hour ago, casting the room into darkness. Closing her eyes, she tried to sleep, but the memory of his lips, warm and tender, parting hers, kept her awake. She bit her lip, trying to banish the strange yearning coursing through her. Tracing a crease in the sheets, she remembered the feel of his neck beneath her fingers when he’d helped her off Manfred, his hands around her waist, his eyes riveted on hers. She imagined him laying her down in the soft grass, his body covering hers, his mouth doing things to her she could almost feel.

  Julia sat up, smacking her pillow in frustration. She’s never given a fig for any gentleman, yet the captain filled her with all sorts of sinful thoughts. They brought to mind another curiosity: Paul’s book, the secret one she’d discovered hidden in the back of his wardrobe a few years ago. She wondered if it was still there and if she could get it without being seen. Everyone else was in bed and she had not heard anything to indicate the captain was back from Daringford. She could sneak in and out of his room without anyone ever knowing.

  Rising, she threw on her wrapper, then cracked open the door and peered down the hallway. Small candles flickered in the sconces and a sliver of light showed under the door of Emily’s room, but her mother’s room was dark. Thankfully, she was a sound sleeper and Julia didn’t expect her to rise. She listened for evidence of servants walking about, but only baby Thomas’s muffled cries broke the sleeping silence. She sighed with relief, knowing his wails would cover any sound and keep Emily from leaving her room.

  The hardwood floors alternating with the soft plush of the rugs teased her bare feet as she stole down the hallway. Stopping at the captain’s room, she peeked through the keyhole to make sure he hadn’t returned unnoticed. Orange coals glowed in the grate, throwing some light on the flat bed with its unwrinkled coverlet. Twisting the doorknob, she froze when it squeaked, her heart pounding against her chest while she listened for any evidence of discovery. The only sound was the continued cry of baby Thomas.

  She pushed open the door and slipped inside, swiftly closing it behind her. The faint light from the fireplace barely illuminated the room, but Julia knew it well. It was just as Paul had left it with a large wardrobe on the right, a four-poster bed between the two windows and a washstand and chair against the far wall.

  Julia hurried to the wardrobe, pulled open the double doors and began feeling for the book. Her hands ran over the scratchy wool of Paul’s old uniforms, slid under the folded trousers and bumped a pair of worn Hessians. She caught them before they hit the floor and, with a relieved breath, put them back. Reaching in deeper, she thought maybe he’d moved the book but then her fingers brushed against the leather tome.

  She eased it out, careful not to disturb the folded garments or boots. Once it was free, she stood, clutching it to her breast. She traced the gold-edged pages, eager to open them and explore the forbidden content. The possibility of being discovered in a single gentleman’s room added a certain thrill to the anticipation, but having no wish to be discovered in such a compromising situation, she moved to close the wardrobe doors. Only then did she hear the heavy fall of a man’s boots in the hallway. She froze, her heart almost drowning out the sound. The footsteps drew closer, followed by the flickering light of a candle visible beneath the door. Julia searched for an escape, but there was no way out. As the doorknob turned, splitting the silence with its metallic squeak, she stepped inside the wardrobe and pulled the door closed behind her.

  The wardrobe door hadn’t fully closed, allowing Julia to see through the slight opening. Crouching low, her knees on the scratchy wool uniform, she watched the captain enter and place his candle on the washstand before closing the door. He removed his blue-wool coat and she clutched the book tight, afraid he might hang it in the wardrobe. She let out a long, silent breath when he threw it over the chair next to the bed. He poured some water from the pitcher into the basin, then splashed it on his face. Large drops dripped from his chin while he examined his face in the mirror, a dark scowl marring his features. Whatever he’d done that evening must not have been pleasant.

  He walked around the bed, sitting down hard, facing the wardrobe. Julia rocked back away from the crack, her legs crying out from the impossible position. She hoped he went to bed quickly for she had no desire to stay in such a cramped situation all night. He removed his boots, tossing them off to the side, then reached over his head and pulled off his shirt. Julia’s breath caught, but this time it was for quite a different reason. Through the crack, she examined his solid chest, the tight muscles of his stomach and his slim waist. In the candlelight his smooth skin glowed, soft and strong at the same time. She noticed at the base of his left collarbone the puckered skin of a scar. He stood and turned away from her, revealing a similar scar on his back. If only she could slip up behind him, run her fingers over his wide shoulders, trace the line of his spine to where it tapered down to his trousers and explore what lay covered by the fabric. He walked back to the washstand and she gripped the book, leaning further forwards to take him in. As he examined his scar in the mirror, his hands flew to his neck and he jerked up straight.

  ‘Damn.’ He tore through the fabric of his discarded shirt and jacket, then tossed them back on the chair in frustration. He dropped to his hands and knees, feeling under the bed. Whatever he searched for remained missing for he sat back on his heels, balling his fists on the edge of the bed, his anger changing to sad resignation.

  He must have lost his medal. He said he always wore it, but she hadn’t seen it when he’d taken off his shirt. She felt for him, knowing it must hurt to lose something so personal.

  Her sympathy vanished when he stood, his fingers working the buttons of his trousers. She moved closer to the crack, a delicious sort of anticipation filling her. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his trousers and she leaned forwards, placing her hands on the wardrobe door, waiting, eager, hungry to see all he was about to reveal. Suddenly the door swung open and she tumbled out, her knee hitting the floor hard, the book landing with a thud in front of her.

  ‘Artemis?’ The captain buttoned his trousers with one hand while the other took her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. ‘What are you doing in the wardrobe?’

  What she wouldn’t give for a good answer, but she had none. Instead she continued to stare at him, too embarrassed, shocked and bruised to answer.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded, his face inches from hers, his voice low and gruff.

  ‘You weren’t here and I wanted one of my brother’s books.’

  ‘From the wardrobe?’

  ‘It’s special.’ Her eyes darted to where the book had fallen, relieved to see it lay closed. Then the captain reached for it.

  ‘No, I’ll get it.’ She lunged for it, but he was faster, snatching it up and away from her.

  ‘I know this book.’ He turned it over in his hands, then to her horror flipped it open. He thumbed through the pages, his eyes widening, then his mouth settled into an amused grin. ‘Special indeed.’

  She wished the floor would open up and swallow her. It was bad enough to be caught in his room, but worse with him half-naked and with that kind of book. She followed the small line of dark hair leading down from his bare stomach into his trousers. His chest rose and fell much quicker than before while he examined the illustrations.

  ‘May I have my book back?’ She put out her hand, determined to reclaim as much of her dignity
as possible.

  He closed the book, then held it out, struggling to remain serious.

  She took it, clutching it to her chest like a plate of armour. Her mind kept telling her to turn and leave before she compromised herself even further, but she found her feet rooted to the floor, her eyes riveted to his.

  ‘I should be going,’ she whispered.

  He nodded, stepping closer. ‘Yes, you should.’

  She didn’t move, but continued to stare until he bent his face down to hers. She closed her eyes, feeling his soft lips envelop hers. The heat of it spread through her body and her mouth responded, parting to accept his tongue. It caressed the line of her lips, sending a shiver through her body.

  The book fell, landing with a thud on the carpet as he pulled her close, pressing every inch of him against her, his deep kisses making her forget about the noise and consequences. Only the captain mattered. As she leaned into his chest, her shift and wrapper did little to separate their bodies or hide his hard anticipation pressing against her stomach.

  She slid her arms around his waist and ran her hands up his back, her fingers brushing his scar before curling over the roll of his shoulders. She’d imagined being this close to him, but never realised how delicious it would feel or the way it made her whole being come alive. Suddenly, she understood something about those pictures in Paul’s book, but none of them captured the desire she felt in the captain’s arms.

  She inhaled the faint scent of smoke and wine in his hair as he traced the line of her jaw with his lips. Where had he been? She didn’t know or care as his teeth grazed her earlobe, his breath hot on her neck. Julia closed her eyes, his touch increasing the need coiling within her.

  ‘Captain?’ she whispered, unable to tell him what she wanted, but eager to follow him wherever his caresses led.

  ‘Artemis.’ His husky voice tickled her ear before his lips found hers again.

  He guided her to the bed and pressed her down on the thick coverlet. His body covered hers, firm and strong, as his hands caressed her arms, then trailed the side of her stomach. A shock went through her when he cupped her breast and his thumb stroked the nipple, bringing it to a tender point. Closing her eyes, she realised now how a man could make a woman forget herself.

  He slipped the shift from her shoulder, exposing her breast, and the cool air tickled her heated skin. She gasped, her fingers digging into his arm when he took her nipple in his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. Pleasure curled deep in her body and she moaned, wanting everything the captain offered. His deft hand traced the line of her leg, skimming the smooth flesh of her hip and sliding the shift up around her waist. While his tongue circled her breast his fingers brushed the top of her thigh until they found her aching centre.

  Clinging to him, she thought she would die when he caressed the delicate skin. No pictures in any book could have prepared her for this. She moved against him, her body tightening, craving, hungry, and soon she was without reason, her breath fast, her body bending towards something she couldn’t name, but it was there, in his fingers, his mouth, the smell of him. She arched her back, his mouth covering hers to muffle the cries as waves of pleasure tore through her body.

  He withdrew his fingers and she lay against the pillows, weak and trembling like a newborn foal, but at the same time eager and anxious.

  ‘Again,’ she whispered, kissing his neck, his need evident against her leg. She ran her hand over the firm muscles of his chest, following the ripples of his stomach down to his breeches, knowing there was more and wanting to experience it all.

  He took her hand and she opened her eyes, studying his face in the dim light. It burned with passion and wanting and something very much like guilt.

  ‘We can’t do this.’ He pulled her shift down over her legs, then stood.

  She sat up, confused and in some way wounded. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s not right. And there might be consequences.’

  What she wouldn’t risk to feel such pleasure again, but his sober face drained away her passion, replacing it with shame. ‘You don’t want me?’

  ‘I want you very much.’ He traced her jaw with his finger, brushing the hair back off her shoulder. ‘But I can’t dishonour you like this.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ He didn’t want her. No man did and the hurt cut deep. She pulled her shift tighter, her embarrassment more powerful than her sense of caution as she fled the room, struggling to hold back tears.

  * * *

  In her haste, Julia failed to notice Emily standing in her darkened room, her door ajar. Baby Thomas had finally settled to sleep and she’d heard a loud thump. She never expected to see her sister-in-law emerging from Captain Covington’s room.

  Chapter Ten

  Julia pulled back the bow, aiming for the centre of the target. Opening her fingers, the arrow flew, hitting the large white area outside the target. She nocked her next arrow with a huff, convinced nothing was meant to go her way this week. Even riding Manfred this morning hadn’t cleared her mind. Luckily the captain had accompanied Uncle George to Creedon to help make some decisions concerning the repairs, sparing her the embarrassment of sitting across from him at breakfast.

  Memories of last night tortured her. She let another arrow fly, watching it sail over the target to land in the grassy field. He was right—what they’d done was wrong—but the lingering sensation in the deepest parts of her and the delicious way he’d brought her to pleasure replaced the shame and increased her yearning. Only the thought of his quick dismissal made her blush with embarrassment.

  She pulled back the bowstring, struggling against her shaking hands to aim. How did one face a gentleman after such an encounter? How would he react to her? He would be discreet and she’d never tell anyone, but she feared when they were together with other people, the pleasure of their brief encounter would be written all over her face for everyone to see.

  She released the arrow and this time it hit closer to the centre.

  ‘Excellent shot, Artemis,’ Captain Covington congratulated from behind her.

  She whirled to face him, her chest tight with fear. A meeting was inevitable, but she hadn’t expected it so soon.

  A smile graced his features, but it fell when Julia pinned him with a hard glare. He stood near the equipment table arranging the arrows, his tousled hair falling over his forehead. She longed to run her fingers through the dark strands, then caress the smooth skin of his face. Plucking the bowstring, she willed the urge away and forced herself to remain calm. This constant craving for him made her feel like a runaway carriage no one could stop and she hated it.

  ‘There is a slight wind, otherwise I would have hit the mark.’ She tried to sound nonchalant, but it came out more irritable than intended.

  ‘I see.’ He held up the fletched end of the arrow, but not one feather moved. ‘I think the wind has died down. Perhaps you should try again.’

  She snatched it from his outstretched hand, then stormed back to her mark. Knocking the bow, she aimed and fired. The arrow missed the bullseye again but stuck in one of the centre rings.

  ‘Yes, I see the wind has increased,’ the captain observed dryly, his meaning all too clear. She realised this probably wasn’t his first awkward morning encounter with a lady. If only she were as well schooled in after-pleasure etiquette.

  Julia stepped aside, sweeping her arm in the direction of the range. ‘Please, take a shot. Being a sailor, you must know a great deal about how the wind blows.’

  ‘I do, though I’m not always correct.’ He nocked his arrow, pulled back the bow and let it fly. The arrow stuck in the outer ring of the target. Lowering the bow, he grimaced in pain before recovering himself. Despite her anger, she moved to comfort him before catching herself, feeling a little guilty at goading him once again into straining his wounded shoulder.

/>   ‘It appears you judged wrong this time.’ Julia clapped, the sound hollow in the quiet between them. Selecting an arrow, she stepped forwards, aimed and hit the target dead centre.

  ‘You seem to have a much better grasp of how it blows—perhaps you can advise me?’

  ‘A gentleman of your experience hardly needs my advice.’

  ‘My experience is not quite as developed as you believe.’

  Julia moved to choose another arrow but Captain Covington stepped in front of her, his eyes pointed. She smiled up at him, refusing to betray the fluttering in the pit of her stomach at his commanding presence. Despite her anger and embarrassment, having him so close only made her think of his hands on her bare skin, the strength and weight of his chest, the hot feel of his lips and tongue playing with hers. She turned away, laying the bow on the table and fingering the leather strap of her armguard. She did not want to have feelings for a man who only feigned interest in her or who might abandon her as he had another.

  ‘Let us be frank with one another. I apologise for my inappropriate behaviour. It will not happen again. Can you forgive me?’

  Something in the sincerity colouring his blue eyes while he searched her face for a response made her want to forgive him, to throw herself in his arms and reveal—reveal what? How could she express feelings she barely understood herself? If she told him, he would laugh and she couldn’t face more humiliation.

  ‘Perhaps we should end our sham engagement now.’ She worked the leather knot of her armguard, refusing to meet his face. If they ended the game, they wouldn’t be forced into each other’s presence and she could collect her thoughts and return everything back to normal. There was still time to find another way to get Cable Grange.