by Rose Gordon
Paul's green eyes went wide behind his spectacles.
“What did you say, Paul?”
Paul continued to stare at him. “I'm sorry, but do I know you?”
“Yes. It's Henry.”
“Banks?”
“Yes,” Henry bit off. “The same Henry Banks who bested you in lawn chess last month at my brother's estate. Now enough about that; tell me what you heard.”
“Why are you wearing a mustache?” he asked without preamble.
Henry twisted his lips and looked over Paul's shoulder to make sure Laura was still in the room and hadn't been whisked away while he was enduring this nonsense.
Paul turned to look at Laura. “You fancy her,” he said simply.
Henry gritted his teeth. It might be true, but there wasn't any need to say it.
“I once put on a mustache and pretended I was someone I wasn't to spend time with a young lady who I fancied.” He cast Henry a queer look. “I didn't pretend to be her father, however.”
Henry bridled. “It's not what you think. Not that I owe you any sort of explanation, because I don't. Now, what is it that she said to that fellow?”
“Viens ici que je te saute.”
Every drop of blood that had been roaring in Henry's ears was now in his toes.
Due to the lack of blood flowing to his brain, he took a momentary leave of his senses—something he'd prided himself on never once doing during his nine years as a spy—walked straight over to where Laura was dancing with that cad, wrapped his arm around her and carried her from the floor.
~Chapter Fourteen~
“Put me down!” Laura demanded of the madman who'd inhabited Henry's body and carried her from the middle of the floor. She let out a slight shriek when he tightened his hold.
He ignored her demands and the curious stares from the onlookers as he carried her straight from the ballroom to a little room off to the side, where he promptly did as she asked and put her down—on the soft surface of a plush settee.
“What was that about?” she asked, crossing her arms. She knew it was foolish to ask. He'd never tell her. While a gentleman could demand a lady's motives and use physical force, if necessary, to get her to expose them, a woman could make similar demands until her throat was raw and still wouldn't have an answer.
“Parlez-vous du français?”
She bit her lip. “Oui.”
“Comment faire vous vous sentez de moi”
She swallowed, hard. Then she lifted her chin. “Viens ici que je te saute.”
“Vraiment?”
“Oui,” she said without hesitation.
Henry sneered, “Madam, do you have any idea what you just said to me?”
She pulled her lower lip between her teeth but didn't say anything.
“I didn't think so,” he said thickly, sinking to the haunches to close the gap between them. He lifted his hands to cup her face. “Perhaps you'd like for me to show you?”
Laura moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. Was he about to kiss her? The very idea was laughable. He had no genuine interest in her, for if he did, he wouldn't have kept finding her dance partners.
“I'm not in need of any demonstration,” she said in a broken whisper.
His eyes held a gleam she'd never seen before and she shivered.
As if he didn't hear her weak protest, he brought his lips to hers.
His lips were surprisingly soft, she noted.
Just as quickly, he jerked away as if he'd been burned and muttered a mild curse. He stood, removed his hat and raked his hand through his hair.
“That's what I was saying?” she asked, dumbfounded. She mindlessly lifted her fingertips to her lips that were still tingling from the three seconds they'd been pressed against Henry's. “I was asking for a kiss?”
“No.” His voice was sharp. He cleared his throat. “What you were asking for might involve a kiss, but only as a mere afterthought.”
She furrowed her brow. “I don't understand.”
“You were suggesting the two of you go away together so you could allow him to sample your wares.”
Her eyes grew wide. “I said all of that?”
He scowled. “No. What you said was far more vulgar—including you asking to sample his wares. I was merely phrasing it nicely.”
“Oh, dear.” She had the strangest urge to laugh. The faces of the twenty or so different dance partners she'd said that to flooded her mind. That's why they'd been smiling and it had taken a firm reminder that her “father” was waiting for her return. Good grief! A burble of laughter welled up inside of her and she was no longer able to control it.
“You think it's humorous?” Henry's face was expressionless, save his clenched jaw.
“Well, yes,” she said with a giggle.
“And what if one of them had tried to fulfill your demand?”
“My demand?”
“To come close so you can initiate intimacies with him.”
She laughed even harder, her body convulsing with it. The idea that she'd ever initiate intimacies with anyone was more comical than a man wearing a purple suit of clothes, white cream on his face, and a hat with bells while standing on stilts, juggling and singing about his longing for a wife.
“I don't know why you find this so funny, madam; but those words whispered to the wrong man could lead you into more trouble than you can imagine.”
“Like you,” she suggested between peals of laughter.
“Yes.”
She sobered instantly, their eyes locking. His were still dark and intense. She swallowed her unease. She'd been uncomfortable in his presence before, but never like she was now. “I hope you know when I said that, that I wasn't issuing an invitation. I was just...”
“Spouting nonsense?”
She nodded. That was exactly what she was doing. Robbie had said those words to her, or other ladies within her earshot, on more than one occasion, but she never knew what it meant.
“I know you did not know what you were saying. But still, you'd better be careful who you say that to; and if you ever say it in my presence again, you'd best be ready to fulfill that promise.”
A shiver skated down her spine at the roughness in his voice. Would he try to kiss her again? Did she want him to?
“I do believe it's time for us to take our leave from here.”
“And where shall we go?” She hadn't meant to ask it, but now that she had...
“Home.”
Home. What a foreign word. “I presume you mean your home,” she murmured, standing.
He lowered his lashes as if he didn't know how to respond, not that she'd expected him to. It was the truth. Where they'd been staying was his home, not hers. She hadn't had a home in many years, only places of residence.
Laura walked over to the door and waited for Henry to join her. Something was odd about him. He was unusually quiet and stiff, yes stiff. His movements weren't as graceful as they usually were, and he appeared a bit...distracted.
“Would you like to wait here while I have the carriage sent?”
“No. I'll go with you.”
“Very well.” He opened the door for her and then escorted her down the hall.
“Is something amiss?” she asked when she could no longer stand the silence between them.
“No.”
She frowned. “I hope you don't intend to blame me for giving away your identity because of my blatant lack of knowing French.”
He flashed a half smile at her and with a thick French accent said, “I wasn't aware my identity was revealed, madame.”
“Then why are you upset? What have I done?”
He froze, his eyes searching hers. “Nothing.”
“It's not nothing. What has made you turn so cold? One minute, your lips are on mine, and the next, you've become a monosyllabic statue.”
“I wasn't aware statues could talk, in one syllable or five.”
“They can't,” she burst out. “You know exactly what
I mean. You—you—” She closed her mouth with a snap. He knew what she meant; he was being obtuse on purpose.
“What do you want from me, Laura?” He peeled off his mustache and leaned in closer. “Do you want me to kiss you again?”
Heat flooded her, but she couldn't deny it. Kissing him was different than anything she'd ever known; not that she could tell him that. His male pride would soar and he'd never see any reason to be kind to her again.
“Hmm?” he asked, closing the space between them.
She could practically feel his lips against hers, though they were still a hair's breadth away.
Then, they were on hers again, sending the same delicious sensations through her body. Soft and gentle, his lips moved over hers. Henry's hands came up to cup her face, holding her to him. She didn't mind and wanted desperately to wrap her arms around his neck to keep him there, but fear held her back.
He parted his lips and drew her bottom lip in between his and gently raked his teeth over it. She gasped. He repeated the gesture, this time running his tongue over her lip just afterwards. “Henry,” she said on a sigh.
He froze.
She froze.
He pulled back from her, his eyes still dark with desire but also narrowed on her. In them, she saw the question his lips had yet to speak.
A chill ran over her. What would he say when he learned that she'd known all along?
“Laura.”
She squeezed the fan in her hand; both of his hands still holding her face. “Yes?”
“What did you just say?”
Were she a sarcastic sort, she'd have repeated the word yes; but she knew what he'd meant, and she also knew it would not be in her best interest to trifle with him. “I said, Henry. Your name. If you'd rather I didn't, I could call you Mr. Ban—”
The rest of her sentence was cut off when his lips took hers again. This time, his kiss was different, more passionate. He parted his lips against hers and ran the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips. She gasped his name, and devilish man that he was, he took advantage of her surprise to push his tongue into her mouth.
A small measure of panic built in her chest, momentarily dampening her enjoyment of his kiss. Would he gag her or slobber on her?
Her thought was banished in an instant as Henry slowly brushed the inside of her left cheek, then her right, taking time to taste her. She instinctively moved closer to him. His kiss was so different than any she'd ever experienced before, and for as wanton and unladylike as it was, she craved more and wasn't ready for him to stop.
But he did.
Panting, he pulled back. “Let's go.”
“Go? Go where?” she asked, blinking in confusion.
He showed no sign of being annoyed or irritated with her inane question; instead, he reached for her hand, laced their fingers together, opened the front door and said, “To Scotland.”
~Chapter Fifteen~
Scotland was at least a four-day journey.
Or rather: Scotland was at least a four-day journey that would be wrought full of suffering.
For him anyway.
There was no use in denying it; Henry desired her. He'd thought her a beauty before and desired her before, but when she actually said his name and knew it was him she was kissing and not his brother... All restraint vanished. He knew he shouldn't marry her. She didn't deserve that. But she also didn't deserve to be dishonored, and that was exactly what would happen if he didn't marry her. And not by one of those lecherous gentlemen they'd met tonight. No, he, Henry Banks, the very same fellow who'd once promised his father that he'd never bring shame to his family by dishonoring a young lady—he could gamble or drink in excess, for all Father cared, just as long as his vices never harmed another soul—would be the first lecherous gentleman in line.
Hopefully, now that he planned to marry her, he'd be the only gentleman in line.
With her head in his lap, Laura slept as the carriage gently rocked along through the night.
Perhaps he should have waited to take her to Scotland. A contented sigh passed her lips and she turned to get more comfortable. Perhaps not. Taking her to Scotland was the only solution. Paul could have cried the banns for them for three Sundays in a row, beginning this Sunday, of course, but that would still have made it two weeks before they could be wed. That would be too long. They could have traveled to London instead, he supposed; but with her having been married before, and an American at that, it might have taken a while to get the special license from the office of the Archbishop of Canterbury.
No. It had to be Scotland. And it had to be now.
He reached down and traced the soft edge of her jaw with his finger. Her skin was soft, just the opposite of his. Just like her personality: so soft and delicate, the opposite of his. He swallowed. He would take care of her. He'd protect her and keep her safe from any harm. And if he couldn't, he'd die trying.
Henry closed his eyes. Even from himself, he'd protect her. He might not legally be married to her yet, but taking her off with the intention to do so was all the formality a gentleman with the surname Banks needed to feel the responsibility and dedication of a husband.
~Chapter Sixteen~
Laura's mind couldn't decide between being excited that Henry was taking her off to Scotland in order to marry her, she presumed; or be frightened by the same exact thought.
Once they were married, he'd have expectations.
She squeezed her eyes shut. She'd just have to meet those expectations.
Through the low moonlight that peeked through a thin break in the curtains, she could see the outline of Henry's chiseled face.
He hadn't said much to her since they'd left Bath. He'd helped her into the carriage and given directions to the coachman; then he'd climbed in next to her and helped her get comfortable. At first, she'd leaned against his shoulder, staving off a wave of exhaustion from all of her journeys and adjustments; but when she could no longer fight sleep and was instead fighting to keep herself steady, Henry had helped ease her down to rest in his lap.
And now she was wide awake. Of course.
It was her own fault though. She should have asked for a blanket to put under her head instead of letting him air it out and place it over her. But now she had to suffer the unimaginable fate of having her head rest against his firm, muscular thighs.
She shifted to get more comfortable and swallowed at the sound of his grunt. Was she hurting him?
What an absurd thought. It wasn't possible for her delicate head to be hurting a man of his size.
The carriage rocked on and Laura continued to stare shamelessly at the shadowed man in the carriage with her.
He reached up and ran the pad of his finger along the edge of her jaw until he reached her chin, then continued to the other side using the back of his finger. How strange. Did he know she was awake or was he just trying to be gentle? He was a puzzle. She'd pegged him for a hard, unfeeling jackanapes. Now, she had no idea what he was. All she knew for sure was that in a matter of days, he'd be her husband and she his wife. And with that thought, another wave of half-uncertainty, half-excitement overcame her and pushed her off the edge into a state of sleep that almost robbed her mind completely of the memory of her head resting against Henry's muscled thigh. Almost.
~Chapter Seventeen~
“Laura.”
Laura blinked her eyes open. The sun was rising, illuminating the inside of the carriage with an orange glow. She twisted and tried to get up, but Henry's hand came down on her shoulder to stay her.
“You don't have to get up unless you need to use the privy.”
Laura stared at him. “I sure hope that was not your idea of a romantic statement; because I hate to be the one to inform you of this, but it wasn't.”
He chuckled, “I didn't intend for it to be. I was just letting you know that we've stopped to change the horses, and if you need to use the necessary, now would be the ideal time to do so.”
Her abdomen did feel a bit f
ull... “How long, until we reach Scotland?”
Henry's bottom lip came out and he squinted his eyes and cocked his head to the side. “I'd say just less than three days now.”
“Then I'd better use the necessary.”
“I thought you might.” He helped her up, grinning as she fruitlessly fussed over her hair. “Come along. If anyone asks, we'll tell them we're eloping to Scotland; they'll understand why your hair is so out of sorts.”
Laura's mouth fell open. “You wouldn't dare tell anyone that.”
“Oh, and would you rather I lie to them?” he asked, his grin still firmly in place.
“No, but neither do you have to say anything at all.”
“I suppose I can do that. If anyone asks why such a fancy lady and gentleman are traveling so early in the morning and looking like they're on the run, I'll just ignore them.”
Laura straightened the lace on her sleeve. “Good. See that you do just that.”
Eyes full of laughter, Henry helped her down and then escorted her inside the inn. With the exception of the innkeeper, nobody else was stirring inside. Henry ordered them some coddled eggs and kippers to be served in the dining room and then led her back outside. “The privy is just over there.” He pointed at a little building made of grey rotting wood with gaps so wide between the planks that a silver dollar could fit through without needing to be turned.
“I'll go when we stop again.”
Henry looked to her, then to the outhouse, then back to her. “Are you sure? I'd wager that one will have no foul odor whatsoever.”
Despite herself, she laughed. “No. I imagine it won't. Neither will it have a shred of privacy. I'll wait.”
He looked doubtful but nodded. “All right; why don't you come with me to the stables?”
At the stables, their coachman was leading two grey horses out to the carriage.
Henry whistled to the stable hand.
“Sir?”
Henry's shrewd eyes traveled up and down the boy's thin form. “Do you think you can take care of those horses for me until we come back?”
