The Scarlet Bride

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  “The attic at last,” Mister Harrington said, then teased, “I’m sure, if pressed, you wouldn’t know Hepplewhite from Sheraton, as you have spent the last two hours nodding politely and staring off, at what I can’t imagine.”

  Cheeks warming, she wondered if he suspected where her thoughts had really been. “I—I have been thinking of my poor departed cousin. He would hate the dust.”

  He crossed his arms and narrowed his lids. “Truly? Two hours of thinking about that. Then my tour was duller than I imagined.”

  “It wasn’t dull at all,” she hurried to assure him. Goodness, how to get out of this without revealing her true distraction! “I was merely admiring the fine craftsmanship of the pieces. My cousin had a grand collection.”

  “Then it wasn’t the dust?” His mouth twitched.

  Flustered, she glared. “Why must you be privy to my thoughts? I am allowed to think whatever I wish without sharing them with you.”

  His grin was wicked. “You seem a bit flustered.”

  In an instant, she knew that he knew she’d been admiring him. How, she couldn’t know. Perhaps he’d seen her reflection studying him in a mirror? Gads, had he seen her admiring his bum?

  “It’s shameful to not cling to your host’s every word. But to have it rudely pointed out is worse.”

  Simon chuckled. He leaned to peer into her eyes. He was close enough for her to feel his breath…to touch her.

  “I shouldn’t tease,” he said, his eyes dropping to her mouth. “Unfortunately, I find intense enjoyment watching your eyes flash when I do.”

  Laura opened, closed, and opened her mouth again. She couldn’t speak with him so close.

  What was wrong with her? Her breath quivered in her chest and she felt shivery from toe to head. He’d done nothing to warrant such a reaction, and yet, she was so intensely aware of him that she could do nothing but stare into his eyes.

  The roof creaked, and with it, her voice returned.

  “Ha, I long suspected that you liked to see me flustered and annoyed,” she said breathlessly. “Now you have confirmed it.”

  His eyes stayed on her mouth. “You are not easily flustered.”

  Would he kiss her? He shouldn’t!

  To put distance between them, Laura walked to the end of the immense room and looked out. The sky was bleak and she could see rain moving across the landscape. She rubbed her arms. “A storm is coming.”

  Simon joined her. She could feel his heat, and her body responded with a ripple of something primal. A half step back and she’d be against the warmth of his chest, in his arms, feeling comforted and secure.

  It had been a long time since she’d been held, touched in a way that wasn’t forced and unpleasant. It took all her will not to take that step backward.

  Why had she become so attuned to him today? Perhaps it was the bleak fog she’d lived in this past year that had kept her from seeing much beyond her fear and pain. These last few weeks at the courtesan school had lifted some of those shadows. Time spent with Simon today had opened her eyes to the color and light around her. It was a wonderful place to be.

  She turned to him. “It’s so dark out.”

  His face was grim. “It might not blow over quickly. We may have to spend the night.”

  Spend the night together?

  “It has to blow over,” she said, staring at the trees, which were fighting against the wind and rain that lashed through their branches. “I told Sophie and Miss Noelle I’d return before nightfall.”

  She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. Though the two women knew she was safe, Laura wasn’t quite as sure of her safety herself. Even now, she could smell his subtle scent.

  “We can’t ride back in this,” he replied.

  A distant rumble confirmed his words. “If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect that you brought the rain to keep us trapped here.” She narrowed her eyes. “This has all the makings of a romantic novel. A lowly governess or maid is trapped alone with the brooding master of a huge manor house while a storm brews outside. She tries to resist his charms but cannot, as he is already too powerfully handsome to resist.”

  Humor filled his eyes. “I am pleased to know that you liken me to the powerfully handsome hero of a romantic novel.”

  Her mouth quirked as she casually examined his face and said dryly, “I shall try to keep my wits about me lest I become taken in by your manly charms.”

  Mister Harrington chuckled. “And I shall do my best not to tempt you to misbehave.”

  Smiling, Laura shook her head. “You are a rogue, Mister Harrington. Thankfully, there are no governesses in residence.”

  Lud, he was handsome. Perhaps the empty house and the encroaching storm were setting her mind abuzz with less than innocent thoughts.

  Of course, rain was as common as breathing in England, so this wasn’t part of some sinister and seductive plan he’d hatched. Still, the weather was working against her.

  He leaned forward to examine the sky, and the movement brought the side of his face near to hers. With a slight head turn, she could press her cheek to his.

  It took concentration to keep her attention on the sky.

  “I should tend the horses.” He pulled back. “We can decide our next course in an hour or two. Perhaps by then, the rain will have moved off.”

  Laura nodded. “I shall pray for sunshine.”

  “Then I shall leave you to your prayers.”

  Without his presence, the room felt empty. She rubbed her cool hands together, the air having taken on a chill without the sun. If they were to be imprisoned until the weather cleared, she should aid in their comfort. But where to start?

  A few droplets of rain clicked against the glass and brought her upright. The storm had kicked up. Though Simon was wearing a coat and hat, he would be drenched by the time he finished his chore. She could certainly help with that.

  With one last glance outside, she started to turn when an odd shadow beneath a tree stopped her. It looked like the dim silhouette of man. She squinted and leaned toward the glass, but the shadow had vanished.

  Her heart raced. She quelled images of Westwick hiding in the shadow of the trees, plotting his revenge.

  “It must have been Mister Harrington,” she murmured, not entirely convinced. He was with the horses. “My eyes are tricking me.”

  Shaking off her overworked imagination, she put her focus into making him comfortable when he returned.

  In spite of concerns that she’d get lost in this enormous house, she managed to find her way down to the second floor with only one wrong turn. It took less time to find the library.

  The makings of a fire were still laid out beside the huge fireplace. Edgar’s servants had been efficient.

  “Excellent.” Growing up, Laura had learned to do much for herself. Her family didn’t have a full household staff to tend to their needs. They were lucky to keep a housekeeper and maid. Fire starting was a skill she’d learned as a child. Soon the blaze lit the room and chased away the cold.

  “Where are you?” Simon’s voice and footsteps carried up from the vicinity of the staircase.

  Laura crossed to the doorway and called out, “I’m in the library.”

  She walked back inside. It took him less than a minute to find her. As expected, he was quite wet and bedraggled.

  The top of his head was dry when he pulled off his hat. The rest of him hadn’t fared so well.

  Laura hid a smile. “You should have taken an overcoat and umbrella when you went out. I’m sure my cousin left one somewhere.”

  “There was no time to look for one. The horses were suffering the elements. The tree offered very little protection from the pelting rain.” He pulled off his hat and gloves and tossed them onto the desk. Then he turned to the fire and back to her. One dark brow cocked up.

  “You did this?” he asked, amused.

  “I am known throughout the land for my fire-making skills.” Laura watched his grin and the body-racking
shiver that followed. Worry changed her teasing tone to one of seriousness. “If you don’t get warm, you’ll catch a chill.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Adding a few more sticks and some peat, Laura stoked the flame high. Still, despite the heat, his lips had a slightly blue hue. “You need to get out of that coat.” Without waiting for his agreement, or a gentlemanly refusal, she came around him and dragged the sodden coat off his shoulders. A damp trail of rainwater stained his waistcoat from neck to waist.

  He grunted when she freed his arms.

  “Oh, dear. Has something happened?” She took the coat to the nearest chair and hung it over the back to dry. She returned to him, concerned by his pained expression.

  “I led Horse into a stall, when scurrying critters in the loft overhead startled the beast.” He flexed his shoulder and winced. “The nag jumped sideways and knocked me into the wall. My shoulder bore the brunt of his actions.”

  Laura gently touched his arm. She felt no obvious damage. “Are you seriously injured?”

  He shook his head. “It is nothing a day or two of rest will not cure.” He looked down at her hand on him and followed the path of her arm back to her. Their eyes met and his eyes danced. “If there is an attack launched on this castle, I fear it will be up to you to vanquish the invaders.”

  Her heart softened. His face was damp and boyish beneath his mop of damp-dry hair. “I can use both pistol and sword with some skill. I believe I can fight off a few invaders.”

  “I have faith,” he replied, his eyes on her mouth.

  Laura’s stomach quivered. Her stomach had been quivering frequently today. He was very, very close. There was power in his torso beneath his shirtsleeves and waistcoat. She could see it when he moved. She suspected the whole of his body was the same hard muscle.

  Thinking of him in such a sensual way filled her with a rush of nerves. Clearing her throat, she pulled her hand from his arm, her eyes from his sculpted mouth, and took a half step back.

  The area around his perfect mouth was still an odd shade of blue. “You are freezing.” She ran a critical eye over the rest of his clothing. The entire front of his waistcoat and his cravat were wet, and his shirt clung in wet patches to his skin. In as much as her sensibilities protested her next thought, she had to consider his comfort before herself. “Your shirt and waistcoat will have to come off.” Laura flushed when she realized his breeches were also sodden. However, she did have her limits. “You may keep on your breeches.”

  A low chuckle deepened the heat on her cheeks. One would think she’d never seen a naked male figure. She should be well beyond girlish blushes.

  Simon tugged at his cravat, his fingers white from the cold. “The knot is soaked.” He pulled at it, shivered again, and still the item refused to budge.

  Laura sighed. “Allow me.”

  Forcing her attention to the cravat, she tried not to notice how close their bodies were. For every inhalation she took, he took one, too. His breath occasionally touched her face, her forehead, as she dug into the knot.

  “You must pay your manservant well,” she said through gritted teeth. “A hurricane could not get this loose.”

  She didn’t need to look up to know he was smiling.

  Finally, Laura managed to get a finger into the knot. At almost the same time she felt cold seeping through her dress at her waist. She looked down to find his hands there, just above her hips, splayed open and holding tight.

  In fact, they were standing thigh to thigh. The intimacy of the contact had gone unnoticed as she’d attacked the cravat.

  Slowly, she looked into his eyes and the pure, innocent stare she found there.

  He shrugged. “My hands were cold.”

  Laura frowned. “You are certainly free with them.”

  “And you are no longer afraid of my touch.”

  Not even her glare loosened his hold or wiped the satisfaction from his face. She wasn’t about to show her discomfort. He’d admitted enjoyment in seeing her flustered. So she turned back to the knot and pretended to ignore his touch.

  A notion better put to thought than to actual application. The cold from his hands tingled across her skin and caused her legs to wobble, just a bit. Fortunately, his hold kept her from stumbling when her fingers slipped from the knot. She frowned and attacked the cravat, her elbows braced against his body, her annoyance rising from both the knot and his touch.

  Soon, the wet cloth was loose. She unwound the cravat from around his neck and tossed it toward the coat. It dropped to the floor a full step short.

  “You are free,” she said. “You can release me now.”

  He did so without argument and removed his waistcoat. She took it from him and hung it next to the coat.

  She watched, fascinated, as he reached for the bottom of his shirt. Several quick tugs managed to do little more than crinkle the material.

  “I seem to have difficulty working both my shoulder and fingers.” He closed and opened his hands several times to ease the stiffness. “Gloves do little to keep hands warm when they’re rain soaked.” He wriggled his fingers, then blew into his cupped palms. “They are chilled to the bone.”

  Laura’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. He was either excessively susceptible to cold, or he was playing with her. The latter seemed likely. But his shoulder had been injured and he could have an underlying sensitivity to cold of which she was unaware. To mock him could be hurtful.

  With a sigh, she moved back to tend to the shirt. The linen offered resistance in the wet waistband of his breeches. With determination, she loosened it at his hips. She slid her fingertips under the hem and froze. The texture of his supple skin and the warmth of his body against her knuckles sent a shock through her. Clearly not all parts of him were suffering from the cold.

  She couldn’t breathe beyond shallow, uneven pulls. She didn’t look up out of fear of falling into his eyes. She knew the intimacy of the moment wasn’t lost on him either. He was tense beneath her hands.

  Laura wasn’t about to satisfy her unwelcome desire to caress his skin. She forced herself to finish the task with a forceful jerk. “You should be capable of removing your shirt now, sore shoulder notwithstanding.”

  He didn’t move. “I prefer you undress me.” His voice was a soft caress over her skin.

  Oddly, she wanted to refuse, knew she should refuse. Yet she stayed planted in place, unable to step away from him or remove her eyes from where the open shirt teased her to look at the hint of bare chest. His was a sensuous draw she couldn’t resist. Curiosity drove her onward and her hands upward of their own volition.

  “I should leave you now,” she whispered.

  “You should,” he said softly. “It will save us both.”

  “And yet…” Her voice trailed off. She was lost in something more powerful than she. Simon would have to end the madness.

  With her lips parted slightly, she flattened her palms on his waist and began a slow breathless progression up along his rib cage, the shirt sliding effortlessly as she went. His rippled stomach came into view, and below the shirttail, a thin trickle of fine hair traveled from his navel downward to vanish into his breeches.

  “I cannot continue,” she protested. Her words were without bite.

  “You can.”

  The spot at the juncture of her legs pulsed as she imagined him without a stitch of clothing on, his eyes heavy with desire as he kissed and caressed her eager body.

  Losing all sense of sanity, she lifted the shirt, and her gaze went to his firm chest and the sprinkle of fine hair she discovered there. Slowly, deliberately, she splayed her hands open, unable to help herself. His muscles flexed and his breath caught.

  Once the shirt was at his neck and his torso fully exposed to her hands and eyes, her body swayed forward and her boldness faltered.

  Mister Simon Harrington was completely and truly magnificent.

  Chapter Ten

  It took several rapid heartbeats for Laura to realize she wa
s a moment away from pressing forward against him. Her body ached to feel his arms around her, his thigh tucked between her legs, her breasts flattened against the broad expanse. He was so sinfully warm, so shockingly male.

  Her mouth went dry.

  Yet even as she struggled to steel herself from wicked thoughts, it proved impossible not to give his body, in the flickering firelight, a more thorough perusal. Her hands remained where they were, infused by his heat.

  “Are you having some difficulty getting my shirt off?” Simon asked, his voice low and gruff.

  “If your shoulders were not so broad,” she snapped weakly, and removed her hands, “I might have an easier time of it.” She flushed, realizing she had just offered up an offhanded compliment. Now he knew she’d been admiring his body. “Surely you can help?”

  Angry over her lack of control, she cursed herself under her breath and helped him free one arm. He wobbled slightly and stabilized himself by returning the freed hand to her waist.

  “A success, My Lady. Well done.”

  An exasperated sound escaped her clenched teeth. “I am pleased you are enjoying yourself.”

  The hand flexed. “Yes, indeed, I am.”

  This time she finally looked up, to meet his heated expression. How she ever found him charming was a mystery. “I cannot believe I thought you a gentleman. I have recalled that notion.”

  Simon chuckled. “Certainly you cannot blame me for this. I did not cause the storm, nor did I frighten Horse into knocking me into the stall wall. If you were a kind soul, you would pity me. I am in terrible pain.”

  Suspecting he was exaggerating his injury in order to touch her, or for her to touch him, she released a small harrumph.

  “Lift your arm,” she commanded. He did so. She placed her hands on his bicep and slowly slid them along his arm from shoulder to elbow, while he pulled the arm downward. Once the entire arm was removed, Laura slid the shirt off his head.

  Her mind turned to mush and she might have even moaned just a little bit. The deepest, most female part of her was aflame.