An Unexpected Gentleman (The Haverston Family Trilogy Book 2)

by Alissa Johnson

  “Ah. Yes, I know.”

  She pulled back to gape at him. “How could you possibly—?”

  Green eyes sparkled mischievously in the sunlight. “I told you I had men watching.”

  “Yes, but . . . You meant that literally?” She dropped his arm and glanced over her shoulder to where she and Isobel had watched the man disappear into the woods. “He was literally watching us?”

  “Settle your feathers, wren.” He laughed and ushered her toward the carriage. “Graham was watching the house and grounds, not peeking into windows.” He glanced sideways at her bruised cheek, and a hardness flashed over his features. “I should have let him peek in the—”

  “No,” she cut in with a severe look. “You most certainly should not have.”

  She settled into the forward-facing seat and took a moment to appreciate the vehicle’s interior of plush leather and richly grained wood. It wasn’t proper for her to be riding in a closed carriage, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. In a few weeks, they would be married, and it was unlikely anyone would be about to see her, at any rate.

  Connor took the bench across from her and gave the roof a quick rap with his knuckles. The carriage started with a soft jolt.

  “Are you angry?” Connor asked. He didn’t look worried by the idea, merely curious.

  “No, I’m not angry.” She thought about that. “Exactly. I am little perturbed. Was it necessary to leave a man, that man, creeping about my woods?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked out the window, a disturbing thought occurring to her. “Are there still men creeping about my woods?”

  “No one at present.”

  That was not a full answer. “Do you trust him? This Graham—?”

  “Sefton. I trust he wants the considerable amount of coin I pay.”

  She slumped in her seat. “You’re not going to give a direct answer to any of my questions, are you?”

  Connor reached over and tipped her chin up with his finger. “I mean to keep you safe. If that requires hiring a man or two to keep an eye you on when I can’t, so be it. Are you going to fight me on this?”

  Strictly speaking, that wasn’t a direct answer to her question either, but it was hard to take offense at the sentiment.

  “I don’t wish to fight with you,” she replied, choosing her words carefully. “But I would very much appreciate it if you would inform me in advance of such matters.”

  He frowned thoughtfully and let his hand fall. “I can do that.”

  “I might have slept better these past few nights knowing there was a guard about.”

  “And I should have thought of that,” he said softly.

  Willing to accept that as a kind of apology, Adelaide shrugged. “No harm done, really.”

  He studied her face. “You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?”

  “Not really.” Not since before the house party. That seemed an ages ago. “Kind of you to mention how noticeable it’s become.”

  His lips twitched, but his voice was gentle. “We’ve a drive yet. Close your eyes, rest a bit.”

  Surely, he was jesting. “I can’t sleep with you sitting across from me, watching.” No one could sleep like that.

  He left his seat and settled beside her. “How’s this?”

  A thousand times worse. Their legs and arms were brushing, and she could feel the heat of his skin permeating the layers of clothes between them. The scent of him tickled her nose, and she knew that if she turned her head so much as a fraction to the side, she would be all but kissing him. It wasn’t an altogether unappealing notion, but liking the idea and instigating the act were two different animals.

  She stared straight ahead and tried to think of something else.

  “Do you know—”She stopped to clear her throat. “I’m not all that tired, really.”

  “I see.” And from the sound of it, he most certainly did. “Try to rest anyway. Just for a little while.”

  Feeling foolish, she scooted away from him, leaned against the side of the carriage, and closed her eyes. It would never work, she thought. She’d never be able to fall asleep with Connor sitting right there.

  Chapter 17

  Adelaide woke curled up against Connor like a sleeping kitten. His arm was around her, anchoring her to his side. Her feet were wedged up in the seat next to her, her head nestled against his shoulder, and her hands . . . Good Lord, her hands were in his lap.

  She snatched them away and righted herself so fast it made her head spin.

  “I . . . I didn’t . . . How did I . . . ?” She swallowed the question as sleep retreated and her mind cleared. “Never mind.”

  If she’d cuddled up to him in her sleep, she didn’t want to know.

  “My apologies,” she mumbled. He would tease her now. Lord knew, he’d yet to pass up an opportunity to poke at her dignity.

  But he surprised her by gently capturing a lock of her hair that had been pulled from its pins during sleep. “Don’t apologize for this. You were tired.” He rubbed the strand of hair between his fingers a moment, a crease forming between his eyes. Finally, he tucked the strand behind her ear and let his hand fall away. “That was my doing.”

  She opened her mouth, intending to argue, but then she realized he was quite right. It was, at least in part, very much his fault.

  Too groggy to give the matter any more attention, she glanced out the window and asked, “How long was I asleep?” It felt as if it could have been days. Surely it had been at least half an hour. Why hadn’t they arrived? Growing concerned, she turned from the window. “Where are we going?”

  “On a picnic,” Connor reminded her. Then he grinned and added, “in England.”

  Which was highly effective in banishing the remnants of sleep.

  “England? You’re not serious.” She stared at his grin a moment longer. “You are serious.”

  “I am indeed. We’re—”

  “Stop!” She half stood and stretched up to pound on the roof. “Stop the carriage!”

  Laughing, he took hold of her fist and brought it down. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m stopping the carriage.” She’d rather thought that was obvious. “I can’t go to England.” She’d rather thought that was obvious as well. What wasn’t obvious was why he continued to laugh.

  He tugged on her hand, toppling her off balance and onto his lap. “You look a picture, half awake and rumpled—”

  “Let go.” She struggled against him. How far had they come? How long had she been asleep? “Turn the carriage around. I have to go back. Isobel will be in a panic.”

  “Isobel knows where we are. I spoke with her when you went into the kitchen to fetch the apron for George.”

  “You did? She knew?”

  “Yes, and I am to tell you . . . Quit squirming, love . . . Thank you. I am to tell you that you are to not to argue, not to worry, and not to forget to bring her back a memento.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You just made that up.”

  “Only part. She does want the memento.”

  That did sound like Isobel. “I cannot take a trip to England. I have duties, responsibilities—”

  “We’re not going to London. We’ll be back by nightfall.”

  “Oh. Just for the day?” She sighed an enormous breath of relief. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “How long do your picnics generally last?”

  Embarrassed that she’d failed to put two and two together, she pressed her lips together and refrained from comment.

  “Besides,” Connor said, his voice turning low and wicked. “I like seeing you flustered.”

  “I . . .” She trailed off as she became increasingly aware of her position on his lap, of the strong arms that held her close and the hard thighs beneath her legs. His mouth was mere inches from hers, and his green eyes swirled with the unmistakable lights of laughter and desire.

  He held her with such care, just as he had in that first night in the garden—as if she
was special, as if she was something he treasured.

  Suddenly, she had the compelling need to be bold, to be courageous in the way she remembered from childhood, before responsibility had pushed dreams aside.

  Without another thought, she leaned forward and kissed him. It was little more than a soft, untutored press of her lips to his, but it was exciting to her—a thrilling and liberating act.

  Better yet, Connor seemed to appreciate her effort. He smiled against her lips and murmured approvingly. And then he was kissing her back, taking her mouth with devastating skill. He teased her with small, artful nibbles that sent her pulse racing, and drugging her with long, deep tastes that made her fingers curl into the fabric of his coat.

  She heard herself gasp, felt his breathing quicken and his hand settle at her hip. And then . . .

  The carriage slowed and bounced over a rut, jarring them apart.

  Connor swore.

  Adelaide ignored both interruptions and leaned forward again. She wanted more. She wanted everything. But Connor thwarted her by taking her face in his hands and pressing a kiss to her brow.

  “The carriage, love.”

  Yes, she thought dimly. They were in a carriage. She sought his mouth again. “Hmm.”

  “It’s slowing. No, sweetheart . . . God, you taste good . . . No, we’re here.”

  “Here?” She pulled back and blinked at him, feeling like a half-witted owl. The sound of the wheels became muffled as they rolled onto grass and, finally, the meaning behind the words seeped in. “Oh, here. England!”

  “Yes.” Connor smiled ruefully as the carriage came to a stop. “What fine timing.”

  Poor timing or not, Adelaide was suddenly eager, even anxious, to greet the next stage of her adventure. This was, without question, the most wonderfully exciting day she’d had in years. Pushing herself off Connor—who objected with a mild grunt—she threw the carriage door open and hopped down without assistance.

  “Where are we?”

  “About a half mile past the border,” Connor replied, following her. “Or, if you prefer, slightly more than twenty miles from your home.”

  Her smile was slow, and matched a growing warmth in her chest. “You remembered.”

  “Of course I remembered.” He gestured at the scenery. “What do you make of it?”

  “It’s . . .” She looked away and took in the rolling hills and fertile farmland broken by dark stands of woods. A delighted bubble of laughter filled her throat. “It’s the same. Entirely the same.”

  “But it’s England.”

  “Yes, it’s England.” It was new. It was more than twenty miles from her home. It was something she’d wanted and nothing like what she’d expected. It was brilliant.

  Connor unpacked what was, to Adelaide, a perfect feast.

  Chicken and lamb, cold beef and potatoes. There was watered beer, wine in a carafe, and apple tarts for dessert. All were spread on a blanket, and in short order, she and Connor were sharing a meal on a gentle hill that overlooked the English countryside.

  “What will you do with that fifteen thousand pounds?” Connor asked conversationally. He was reclining on his side, his long legs crossed at the ankles and his weight propped up on his elbow. The prone position ought to have made him seem less substantial, but to Adelaide, he looked like a Titan in repose.

  “Find a nanny for George to start,” she replied. “Perhaps even a tutor. I fear he is behind in his education.”

  “He’s two.”

  “Almost,” she corrected and shrugged. “His vocabulary is not what it should be, I think. Isobel and I have tried—”

  “He’s a fine boy,” Connor cut in, his authoritative tone suggesting she not argue. “A sharp lad. And he’s fortunate to have you. Did something happen to make you think otherwise? Did someone say—?”

  “No,” she said softly. Sir Robert was the only person to have disparaged either of them, and his opinion mattered not a jot. Connor’s quick defense, on the other hand, meant quite a lot. More than the money and Ashbury House. Those were necessities. If he wanted her for a wife, he had to provide them. But faith in her and an affection for George—those were things he gave by choice.

  Oh, yes, she thought, there was something redeeming in the man before her. And perhaps there was something to be made from their union.

  “Adelaide?”

  Connor’s voice brought her back to the moment. “I worry, that’s all.”

  “Well, don’t. Tell me what else you’ll do when you’re wealthy.”

  “Well . . .” She frowned absently. “Isobel needs new gowns, as do I. Our home could do with a new roof, and doors, and—”

  “You’re speaking of the small again, the mundane.”

  “They’re not mundane to me,” she muttered, feeling a little put out.

  “Those are things you need. What do you want?”

  “I want the things I need.”

  “But now you can want more. Be imaginative,” he insisted. “What will you do when your responsibilities are met? You’ll have thousands of pounds left. What will you do with them? And do not tell me you plan to put every penny into savings.”

  “Not every penny,” she grumbled.

  “Creative, Adelaide. Try—”

  “I should like to take George shopping,” she cut in, surprising herself. She’d not realized until that moment how much she wanted the chance to spoil her nephew. Oh, wouldn’t it be lovely to shower him with toys and treats? Evidently, Connor didn’t think so. He looked a bit pained at the idea.

  “What?” she demanded. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Most boys aren’t fond of spending time in shops with their aunts.”

  “They are when they’re shops like Mr. Fenwick’s bakery,” she replied smartly. “I’ll let him buy anything he wants. Everything he wants. All he’ll need do is point his finger. And I’ll not make him save the treats either. He may eat whatever he likes.”

  “He’ll make himself sick, a boy that age.”

  “Much you know of it. You thought he could be bribed with a bit of flattery. George has the constitution of a bull. He’ll tire out before he can do himself harm.” She could picture him now, sticky with sugar and fast asleep on the pile of new toys she intended to buy him.

  “What else?”

  Warming to the exercise, she grinned and reached for a slice of apple. “I’ll take Isobel to the booksellers. She has a great love for the written word. And she’ll have new watercolors and brushes. The finest to be found in town.”

  “You could have finer delivered from Edinburgh or London.”

  “Then that’s what I’ll do. She can use the ones from Banfries until they arrive.”

  “And then what will you do?”

  And then . . . Well, then it was Wolfgang’s turn, wasn’t it?

  “I’ll pay Wolfgang’s debts, of course, and . . .” She wasn’t sure what came after that. She wasn’t sure there was anything that could be done for her brother.

  “You won’t be paying your brother’s debts,” Connor said. “That’s for me to handle, and I am.”

  “You are? But—”

  “Sir Robert is one of the creditors. I won’t have you dealing with him.” He gave her a hard look. “The matter is not up for debate.”

  “Far be it from me to keep you from spending your own money on my brother’s debts.” She wasn’t a compete twit, for heaven’s sake. “I was only wondering . . . How long will it take to free him, do you think?”

  “Sir Robert will try to make things challenging, I imagine. But there’s only so much he can do. Another day or two, no more.”

  “Oh.” She bobbed her head, but couldn’t force herself to take a bite of her apple. Her appetite was greatly diminished.

  Connor dipped his head to catch her eye. “What is it?”

  “Would . . . would you think less of me if I told you I am not eager to have him home?”

  “No, a shared parentage does not always gu
arantee affection. I should know.”

  “It is not the same as with you and Sir Robert. You never really knew your brother.” To her way of thinking, Sir Robert had betrayed blood but not family. “You certainly never loved him.”

  “No. I never did.” He paused as if picking his words carefully. “Would you like me to wait to pay Wolfgang’s debts? There are excuses—”

  “No. No, of course not. I don’t want him to rot away in prison.” But neither did she want his animosity to rot away the first bit of happiness the family had found in years. “Perhaps a commission could be purchased for him.”

  Connor shook his head. “I offered. He declined.”

  Adelaide’s mouth fell open. That Wolfgang should not take advantage of the opportunity was disappointing, but hardly shocking. That Wolfgang had been offered the opportunity without her knowledge was astonishing.

  “You went to see him? You spoke with him?”

  “We had a discussion, of sorts, yesterday. I offered to buy him a commission and he sent his regrets by missive this afternoon. He was decidedly unimpressed by my visit and my offer.”

  Adelaide grimaced, imagining the kind of insults her eternally ungrateful brother had likely tossed about. “You should not have gone to the prison without me.”

  His lips twitched. “Yes, Mother.”

  She sighed and wished she could pace. “I didn’t intend that as a scolding. But you’ve already taken on the responsibility of Wolfgang’s debts. You shouldn’t be saddled with his anger as well.”

  All signs of humor fled from his face. “That’s for you to carry?”

  “I’d just as soon not,” she assured him. “I only wish . . . I don’t know how to help him. I’ve tried everything, but somehow . . . I so often make mistakes.”

  Connor set down a glass of wine and looked at her with a kind of impatient puzzlement. “How can such a capable woman have so little appreciation for her own worth?”

  “I’ve appreciation. But I’ve . . . I have no training for this.” She shook her head, frustrated that she couldn’t find the words to make him understand. “It was always assumed I would either marry a gentleman of modest means or remain a spinster with a modest income. My mother saw that I was given the skills necessary to thrive in those conditions. I know how to needlepoint and paint in watercolors and organize a dinner party. But I know nothing of business or how to keep a reckless brother out of business. I was never taught how to be the head of a household.”