An Unexpected Gentleman (The Haverston Family Trilogy Book 2)

by Alissa Johnson

  She shook her head, found it wobbled a bit on her neck. “What is the point of such an exercise?”

  “It’s merely a way to pass the time,” he said lightly. “For example, I would be at home, in my favorite chair in the library. I would have a book in one hand and a snifter of brandy in the other. There would be a hound at my feet and a roaring fire in the hearth.”

  “It’s too warm for a fire,” she pointed out.

  “It would also be winter. Now you.”

  Oh, well, if he was asking where she would rather be at the moment, that was simple enough to answer. “I should like to be at home as well, with my nephew and—”

  “No,” he cut in. “You’re thinking too small, Adelaide. May I call you Adelaide?

  She knew she ought to refuse, but there seemed to be some sort of disconnect between her common sense and her mouth, because what she said was, “Certainly.”

  “Excellent.” He nodded. “You’re imagining the common, Adelaide, the mundane.”

  “It’s very nearly what you said.”

  “Yes, but the small and mundane are new to me. I wish for them now because I’ve already experienced the significant and unusual. Wouldn’t you rather be in London, or Bath, or sailing across the channel on your way to Florence?”

  Fascinated, she shifted in her seat to better face him. “Have you been all those places, Mr. Brice?”

  “Connor,” he invited. “And, yes, I have.”

  She could scarcely imagine it. As a young girl, she’d dreamt of traveling. Her parents had met in Prussia, the country of her mother’s birth. They’d married two months later in Italy and spent the next year traveling the continent. Adelaide had listened to their tales of travel and whiled away hours imagining herself on the peaks of the Alps and playing in the waters of the Mediterranean. Her parents often spoke of returning with the family, but war and her mother’s declining health had kept them from making the trip.

  “I would not be adverse to a voyage,” she admitted.

  “To where?”

  She thought of going to France. Her parents had always expressed regret that they’d been unable to enter the country because of The Terror. She could visit it for them. It was an appealing sentiment. It was also mawkish and highly improbable. There were impractical dreams, and then there were impossible ones. France was most assuredly of the latter variety.

  “It doesn’t matter to where,” she said with a shrug. “So long as it’s new. Any place more than twenty miles from my home would suffice. I’ve never left Scotland.” It was less than a half day’s drive from her home to the border, and less than five miles from where she sat now, and yet she’d never made the trip.

  “You’ll have your chance after the wedding.”

  Her eyes flicked in the direction of the house. “I’ve not yet received a proposal.”

  “But you expect it.”

  There didn’t seem a reason to deny it or play coy. “I do. I thought perhaps tonight.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “For a bridal tour?” The pleasure of the game dimmed. “I won’t go anywhere. Sir Robert does not care for travel.”

  “I see,” he said. It was astounding, really, how much understanding could be conveyed in those two little words.

  That sort of understanding made her uneasy. It was too similar to pity for her liking. She didn’t want Connor to feel sorry for her, in part because it pricked her pride, but mostly because it was depressing to think that there might be good cause for sympathy—that a marriage to Sir Robert would, in fact, be a pitiable state of affairs.

  “He has many other fine qualities,” she blurted out.

  If Connor was taken aback by the emphatic statement, it didn’t show. His lips twitched. “I am agog to hear them.”

  “He is a baronet,” she reminded him.

  “In possession of five thousand pounds a year. Yes, I know,” he replied with a nod. Then he just sat there, obviously waiting for her to elaborate on Sir Robert’s fine qualities. Which was unfortunate, because “he is a baronet” was really all she had at the ready.

  It took a full thirty seconds for her to think of something else. “He is considered handsome by the ladies.”

  “And do you agree?”

  “Well . . .” She frowned, picturing him in her mind. Sir Robert brushed his hair forward in a severe manner, so that nearly every strand ran parallel to the ground. And he had a penchant for brightly colored waistcoats and overlarge cravat pins. “I think Sir Robert is, possibly, on occasion . . . much dressed.”

  “Much dressed,” Connor echoed and ran his tongue along his teeth as if tasting the description. “That is very diplomatic.”

  “Diplomacy is a useful and admirable tool.”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes it’s a crutch and a barrier.” He bent his head to catch her gaze, and she saw the inviting light of humor in his eyes. “Sir Robert and I are not friends, Adelaide. He’ll not hear of your opinion from me, nor believe a word of it, if he did. I wager you can’t speak of it to your friends or your family. Why not speak of it to me?”

  He made it sound so tempting, so simple. And perhaps it was. Why shouldn’t she speak her mind, here where only the two of them would hear? Why not say aloud what she had always thought?

  “He’s rather like a parrot caught in a mighty tailwind.”

  Connor’s deep laughter filled the courtyard.

  Appalled, she slapped a hand to her mouth. Then made herself drop it when she realized she was mumbling behind her fingers.

  “I didn’t mean to say that. I should not have said that.”

  “I’m delighted you did.”

  “It was most unkind.”

  “Not at all. Unfortunate styles of hair and dress are easily remedied. Unkind would be to point out he has an oversized nose. Poor man can’t do a thing about that.”

  “You’ve an oversized nose.” Good heavens, what had come over her?

  “You see? Very unkind.” He tilted his head just a fraction to the side. “You’re a little bit foxed, aren’t you?”

  “Certainly not.” She gave the idea further consideration. “How does one know?”

  “In this case, one is informed by an objective bystander. You’re a little bit foxed.”

  That would certainly explain what had come over her, and why her thoughts seemed to flit about her head like hummingbirds arguing over a flower. Just as she thought one was settled, another buzzed it aside. She tried to work up a proper fret over this new dilemma but couldn’t concentrate long enough to see it done.

  She blew out a short breath and slumped back in her seat. “I can’t see him like this.”

  “Sir Robert? Why not? You’re tipsy, not inebriated.”

  “He doesn’t approve of spirits.”

  There was a short pause before he spoke. “You must be joking.”

  She bobbed her head, realized that didn’t make any sense, and shook it instead. “No. I am in earnest. He doesn’t believe a lady should partake and is most adamant on the subject.”

  “The man’s a hypocrite. He’ll be three sheets to the wind before two. I wager he’s already a sheet and a half there.”

  “A sheet and a half?” She laughed at the saying, but didn’t believe it to be true of Sir Robert. Oh, he enjoyed his wine and she’d smelled spirits on him a time or two, but she’d never seen him lose his head. Not the way her brother did when he overindulged. She shook her head to dislodge the thought. She didn’t want to think of her brother now. Or Sir Robert for that matter. She felt a little silly, a little reckless. She wanted to enjoy the sensations.

  She leaned toward Connor and smiled at him. “And what am I?”

  “Slightly foxed,” he reminded her.

  “Yes, but in keeping with the theme of sheets . . .” she prompted.

  “Ah.” He smiled back, that lovely, lovely smile she was certain she could stare at all evening. “You’re embroidery.”

  She straightened. “That’s not linen.�
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  “But it’s to be found on linen. It decorates. It adds value. It gives life to the tired and bland.” He reached up and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “It makes the everyday extraordinary.”

  The warmth of his fingers sent a pleasant shiver along her skin.

  “I think perhaps we’ve gone off topic,” she whispered.

  “Just one that makes you uncomfortable.” His lips curved with amusement as he let his hand fall from her cheek. “Doesn’t Sir Robert pay you compliments?”

  “Yes.” She wondered if it would be unforgivably forward if she asked him to return his hand.

  “Tell me what he’s said.”

  Connor’s steady gaze and smile made it difficult to think. It took her several moments to come up with an example. “He has told me I have lovely eyes.”

  “They’re passable. What else?”

  “Passable?”

  Humor danced in his eyes. “What else?”

  Defensive now, she scowled at him. “He compared the color of my cheeks to rose petals.”

  “Fairly unoriginal of him. What else?”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “I’m clever.”

  So help her God, if he contradicted that . . .

  His lips twitched. “I believe you just made that up.”

  “I did not.” She had made up the bit about her cheeks and the roses, though. “I bested Lady Penwright yesterday at a game of chess. Sir Robert was suitably impressed.”

  It was very nearly impossible to lose to Lady Penwright in a game of anything, but as Lady Penwright had never made mention of a Mr. Brice—and the lady did so like to make mention of handsome gentlemen—Adelaide felt it safe to assume Connor was neither familiar with the lady nor her lack of gaming skills.

  Apparently, Connor wasn’t concerned with either.

  “He doesn’t deserve you.”

  She blinked at the non sequitur. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Sir Robert doesn’t deserve you.” He spoke quietly, but clearly. The humor was gone from his features, replaced by an intensity she found alarming.

  She stood and walked a few feet away, though whether she was trying to distance herself from him or from what he said, she couldn’t tell. “A half hour’s acquaintance is not a sufficient amount of time to make a judgment—”

  “Uninspired flattery,” he cut in. “A gentleman much dressed. A man afraid to travel. Disapproves—”

  “I never said he was afraid.”

  “You don’t want him,” he said softly and rose from the bench.

  “Of course I do.”

  “No. You want the security his income will provide.” His eyes caught and held her gaze as he walked toward her. “You don’t even like him.”

  It was mesmerizing, the way he moved. He closed the distance between them in the long, unhurried strides of a man confident in what he sought and convinced of his success in obtaining what he desired. She had ample opportunity to back away. But she couldn’t move. She couldn’t drag her eyes away.

  “He’s been very kind to me,” she heard herself whisper.

  “And that’s enough for you, is it?” The light of the moon disappeared behind his tall form. “Kindness and an income?”

  He was so close, she had to tilt her head back to see his shadowed face. “Yes.”

  “Don’t you long for something more?”

  Yes. “No.”

  A small smile tugged at his lips as he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “You do.”

  Her hands flew to his chest in a futile effort to create the illusion of space between them. She shook her head, or thought she shook her head. It was difficult to say. And it made very little difference either way. He simply pulled her closer, bent his head, and whispered against her lips.

  “Sweetheart, everyone wants more.”

  And then he was kissing her, his mouth moving over hers in a series of soft brushes and tender caresses. He was so careful, so gentle, she could almost believe that he was unsure of her, that she had the option of pulling away. But the iron band of his arm around her waist told a different story. He wasn’t unsure, merely patient. He kissed her with gentle demand, as if he meant to coax her into an inevitable submission. Even if it took all night.

  The wait wasn’t quite that long. The supple dance of his lips warmed her blood and drew a sigh from her mouth. Her limbs grew heavy and her head light. She leaned against him, felt the hard beat of his heart against her palms and the strength of his large body through the barrier of their clothing.

  His hand cupped her face and his thumb brushed along her jaw to press lightly on her chin. She opened her mouth without thought, and his tongue darted inside for a taste.

  She heard her own gasp, and the amused whisper against her mouth.

  “Do you want more?”

  In that moment, she wanted everything. She nodded and was rewarded with the feathery brush of his lips against her temple.

  “Then don’t see him tonight.” He covered her mouth before she could answer, lingering just long enough to tease at that promise of more. “Don’t see him.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, stretching up for him when he pulled away.

  He kept just out of reach. “Swear it.”

  “I swear.” She was only vaguely aware of saying the words.

  “Remember,” he whispered. He pressed his lips to hers briefly, skimmed a hand along her cheek, and let her go.

  Disoriented, she stood where she was as he backed two steps away. If she’d felt steadier on her feet, she might have followed him. Instead, she said the first thought that popped into her head.

  “You said there was more. You promised—”She broke off and winced. Even tipsy and dazed, she knew when she was making a fool of herself.

  Connor merely smiled. “You made a promise as well. Keep yours first.”

  “Oh.” Something about that struck her as terribly unfair, but she wasn’t willing to embarrass herself further by arguing. It seemed wise not to say anything at all, in fact. She’d never kissed a man before and hadn’t the foggiest notion of what was expected of her now. Should she make polite conversation? Stare longingly into his eyes? Offer a quick farewell? The last seemed rather appealing, all of a sudden.

  Connor leaned a bit to look around the hedge. “Our obstacle is gone.”

  “Oh. Well.” What marvelous timing. Feeling equal parts dazed, awkward, and relieved, she forced her legs into cooperation and turned for the house. When she realized Connor wasn’t following her, she turned back. “Are you coming?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll watch from here.”

  “Well,” she said again, and feeling as if she ought to make some gesture, that one of them ought to do something, she smiled and gave a wobbly curtsy. “Good night, Connor.”

  “Sweet dreams, Adelaide.”

  His spoke the words like a caress and Adelaide felt the warmth of them, and the heat of his gaze on her back, as she navigated her way across the lawn through the shadows. Her last thought before she opened the back door to the house was that the night had certainly not gone as expected.

  Chapter 3

  Connor strolled to the door after Adelaide went inside. The night, he decided, had gone mostly as planned. He leaned back against the cool stone of the house and took a moment to savor his success . . . And the lingering taste of Adelaide Ward on his tongue. He’d known she’d be sweet. The hint of tartness was a pleasant surprise.

  He avoided surprises as a rule. Or, more accurately, he avoided being taken by surprise—catching other people off guard was an entirely different matter. In the case of Miss Ward, however, he was willing to be charmed by the unexpected.

  He was willing to be all kinds of things with Miss Ward. Naked came to mind. For now, however, he’d settled for engaged. The challenge would be to convince her to settle for the same, but he would manage it. The lady’s circumstances, courtesy of her degenerate brother, had already done half the work for him
.

  Wolfgang Ward had wasted the family fortune on a string of business ventures so risky they’d been little more than poorly conceived wagers. Rumor had it that Wolfgang’s late wife was in part to blame for his choice of investments, but Connor hadn’t found anything to substantiate the claim. Moreover, the bad gambles had continued on after the wife’s death in childbirth.

  That had been nearly two years ago. Wolfgang had been given ten months to celebrate the birth of his son and mourn the passing of his wife before he’d been hauled off to debtor’s prison . . . Where, unbeknownst to Adelaide at the time, he’d proceeded to procure his heaviest debt yet. The source and extent of that debt remained a mystery to her still.

  Only a dark spot of providence had kept Wolfgang’s sisters and his son from the poor house—a small inheritance to Adelaide and Isobel from a distant cousin. It wasn’t enough to free Wolfgang from prison, but it was sufficient to keep the women and child housed and fed . . . for now. There couldn’t be much left, and Wolfgang’s creditors were clamoring to have what little remained. It wouldn’t be long before they convinced the courts that a woman was no place to leave an inheritance.

  Adelaide was running out of time and money.

  Connor smiled grimly. Fortunately for her, he had plenty of funds. Time, however, was a concern. He’d bought a day, maybe two, with tonight’s little ruse. He needed more.

  The fact that tonight had been a ruse caused Connor only passing discomfort. There was a time and place for a guilty conscious. Namely, when one has done something wrong. He didn’t doubt for a second that he was in the right.

  “What you scowling for, boy? Couldn’t have gone better, you ask me.”

  Connor merely lifted a brow as Michael Birch appeared from around the corner of the house. The heavyset man rubbed his hands together in excitement as he limped his way over on a bad knee. Though edging past middle age, Michael’s red hair retained its rich color and his round face was as smooth as the day they’d met. Connor had been fifteen then, just as he’d told Adelaide. The rest he’d made up. It didn’t take Michael six months to spot a liar. Deceit was the man’s stock and trade.

  “It went as planned,” Connor said by way of a response.