Second Chance Love: A Regency Romance Set

by Wendy Lacapra

  Fifteen minutes late.

  At her appearance, his brows rose. Of course, she’d never made him wait before.

  “My maid has taken ill,” she explained. “I’ll be traveling without a companion.”

  His brows rose even further at this announcement.

  “Very well.” Of course, he’d not question her. He was in her employ, after all. “Might I suggest we delay? The western sky is dark, and my assistant says his hands and knees are paining him. In the past, these two factors have always signified an approaching storm.”

  She did not want to wait.

  “Is it raining now?” The weather had been too warm for snow.

  “Not yet, Mrs. Mossant.” His face remained impassive.

  Eve did not want to be detained at home with so much awaiting her in Pebble’s Gate. “I’d rather not delay our travel.”

  “Very well.”

  Mr. Waverly took up her small valise and held the door wide. A gust tore into the foyer and indeed, the air smelled like rain.

  Outside, her carriage waited, along with the driver and one outrider. As well as Mr. Waverly’s mount.

  Of course, he’d not expected to ride inside the carriage with her.

  Another gust lifted her hat, so that the string she’d attached it with tugged at her chin. The wind carried a few small droplets of rain.

  Bleak clouds hovered in the sky along the direction in which they were to travel. Rain was indeed a certainty.

  Poor Mr. Waverly wore a long coat and tall top hat. He’d be soaked in no time.

  “You must ride inside the carriage until the rain passes,” she suggested. If he wanted to do otherwise, that was his decision to make.

  A few misgivings stirred her conscience when thunder rolled in the distance.

  Again, his unassuming nod.

  Eve climbed inside and settled herself comfortably. Within two minutes, he joined her.

  She’d not expected his presence to be so overwhelming. However, within the tight confines of the carriage it was unavoidable.

  He settled himself across from her, setting his hat beside him but not removing his greatcoat.

  Eve had not looked at him so closely before. In her eyes, he’d represented security to her and his company had always been most reassuring.

  But in close quarters, with no other distractions, her mind trespassed on formerly untouchable ground. How had she not noticed his masculinity?

  He must be over six feet tall. Although a few silver hairs grew at his temples, he still had a full head of hair. Firm chin. Broad shoulders, she knew, even without the extra material of his coat.

  Jean Luc had lost most of his hair by their last meeting.

  Jean Luc was dead.

  She could still hardly believe it.

  “He really is dead?” She asked the question without thought.

  Dark gray eyes stared back at her solemnly. “I trust my associate to be accurate, but you’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

  “He will have been laid out in one of the drawing rooms. If any of the servants remain. He wasn’t ever one to inspire much loyalty.” She tilted her head. “I hate to imagine the sort who will attend his funeral.”

  “Nothing for you to worry over, ma’am.” Ah, yes. There was Mr. Waverly’s reassuring response. “You won’t be expected to attend. And according to my understanding, a butler and two footmen have remained. The housekeeper left last spring, and the butler has been unable to retain respectable female help, as I’m sure you understand.”

  Another grumbling of thunder sounded, this one closer. Eve shivered and tugged her coat more tightly around her. They rode for some time in silence.

  “I haven’t visited in over two years. I hadn’t thought to return so soon.”

  Mr. Waverly withheld his opinion on such a statement.

  Eve closed her eyes and remembered that last visit. The man she’d married hadn’t existed for years. She’d loved him once. So very long ago. Conflicting emotions threatened to overwhelm her.

  “Jean Luc was thrown from his horse shortly after Hollyhock was born.” She’d still been abed having suffered a difficult childbirth. “His physician assured me that he would survive, even walk again. What he failed to tell me was that my husband was consuming large quantities of Laudanum.”

  “Opium,” Mr. Waverly supplied.

  “Yes.” Things had been difficult enough in that she’d only been able to provide him with daughters. “It managed to rob him of what little good character he’d had to begin with.”

  She hadn’t spoken of this with anyone, although she suspected Rhoda had knowledge of most of it. “Initially, I assumed he was simply out of sorts, frustrated with his limp.” Frustrated with me.

  “And then I realized it was the tincture that changed him. He could not go a day without it. Without the medicine he became mean-spirited and violent.” Eve shivered at the memory. “I hate the stuff. I’m certain it was sent to earth by the devil himself. If I’m ever injured or ill, I’d rather die than touch the poison.”

  Because it was poison. A very special poison that stole a person’s soul.

  She’d remained with Jean Luc until the day he’d nearly thrown Rhoda down a set of stairs. She’d been playing in one of the corridors with her dolls and had impeded his path.

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  Eve swung her eyes back toward Mr. Waverly. “Thank you.” Oh, but she’d been going on and on about herself. Likely he contemplated far more important matters.

  “You never married, Mr. Waverly?” Before he could answer, an odd sense of envy struck her. Any wife of his could live in peace. She’d wager he’d be the most faithful, caring, and dedicated of husbands.

  He would never threaten to kill his own offspring. Yes, such a woman would be lucky, indeed.

  As he brushed his hand through that thick black hair of his, she noticed how elegant his fingers were. An interesting combination, efficiency and elegance.

  “No, ma’am.”

  She ought not to probe. Normally, she would not even think of it. And of course, it would be a shame to lose such an efficient and trusted man due to her prying.

  “With all the traveling I did as a younger man, I didn’t think it would be fair.”

  Indeed, if she’d been his wife, she’d not have been happy for him to go sailing around the world leaving her at home.

  “You could not have taken her with you?”

  A tight smile on his part.

  Of all the conversations she’d had with him, they’d never discussed personal matters. Especially not his. And now for some reason his gaze stirred unnerving thoughts in her.

  “I suppose.” His eyes darkened. Or was that her imagination? “If I’d found the right woman.”

  And what type of woman would that have been? She dismissed the question before it could escape past her lips.

  What on earth had come over her? He was her man of business. Even if her husband had not been a libertine, she was not the sort of lady to act flirtatiously.

  Lightning flashed across Mr. Waverly’s face. His nose looked as though it had been broken a time or two. Despite his present occupation, this man had obviously not spent the majority of his life sitting at a desk.

  “Do you regret it?” Eve’s daughters meant the world to her. Sometimes too much.

  He shrugged. “Can one miss what one never had?” Another roar of thunder grumbled in the distance, and he leaned to peer out the window.

  “I’m sorry.” Remorse swept through her. “For insisting we travel. If you wish, we may turn back. I just…”

  She had his full attention once again. “You just…?” he prompted.

  “I just…” She had to search for reasons that she didn’t fully understand herself. “I need to know it’s over. I feel as though I’ve been running from him forever. He’d threaten sometimes, to demand the girls remain with him.” She swallowed hard. “A part of me believes his death is too good to b
e true. And another part. There is another part that feels as though it’s died.” Oh, she wasn’t making sense.

  Dash it all, she would not shed tears for Jean Luc! She brushed at her eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I’m being ridiculous.” She sniffed. At the same time, a handkerchief appeared in her hands.

  “No need to apologize. At one time you built your dreams around him.”

  “Which is ridiculous. It was so long ago.”

  She would not allow herself to remember what their marriage had been like before he’d changed. He’d presented her with an illusion.

  But then a sob wracked her body. “I loved him once.” She bent forward and buried her face in her hands. This was so embarrassing and yet she could do nothing to stop the waves of feelings rolling through her.

  She had loved him once! A thousand years ago! She gasped on another sob. Of all the times to break down. Likely Mr. Waverly wished he were astride his mount, riding in the rain.

  Mr. Waverly crossed to the bench beside her and then a warm and comforting arm dropped onto her shoulders. “Of course, you did.”

  Eve allowed him to pull her into the soothing warmth of his strength. Oh, to be held by another human being. To be the comforted instead of the comforter.

  Jean Luc had lain to waste so many of her dreams.

  “It was as though one day, he was a normal gentleman, a father and husband. And the next he was a stranger. And then something of a monster.” Mr. Waverly’s stoic demeanor methodically drew the nightmares out of her closet. She’d never spoken of this with anyone. He’d hold her confidence, of that she was certain. “I’m sorry to burden you with all of this.”

  “Hush.” He reached his other arm up and held her tighter as the carriage rocked rhythmically.

  So solid. So dependable. The wool of his coat felt rough against her skin. He smelled of leather and soap and that elusive scent some men carried: maleness.

  “I spent a few years with the army. Would it help you to know that after a battle, a battle won, we not only mourned the loss of our own men, but those of our enemies? For each of them once represented a lifetime of potential. It is natural for you to mourn your husband. And I imagine you feel a good deal of relief.”

  She’d not realized he’d fought in any wars. His words gave her pause to wonder. The idea that one would mourn the death of one’s enemy. It made sense. And all the lost potential of their marriage.

  And so much relief.

  Another sob took hold of her.

  She would be mortified later, Niles presumed. That she’d allowed herself such an outburst in his company.

  She must not have wept the night before. She would have busied herself preparing for the journey. He wondered if the woman had allowed herself to shed a single tear over the last decade.

  He held her and shushed her occasional words of apology as the carriage rumbled away from the bustle of London. She’d grow calm for a few moments, only to be overcome again a few minutes later, with a fresh bout of sorrow.

  Most men would feel all sorts of awkwardness to find themselves in such a situation. He, himself, might feel quite uncomfortable if it was any other woman. But this was Mrs. Mossant, and he felt an odd gratification that she trusted him to such an extent.

  He’d never expected to experience physical closeness with her. He’d imagined it, ah, yes, under quite different circumstances.

  As her personal storm subsided, the gale outside did as well. Nigel made himself comfortable when he realized she’d fallen asleep. Emotional outbursts must be exhausting.

  Feminine scents swarmed his senses. He focused on identifying them rather than the effect they had on his libido.

  Lavender. Yes. And lemon. When he tilted his head forward, silken strands of hair tickled his chin and lips.

  Careful not to awaken her, he turned both of them and raised one foot onto the upholstered bench, supporting them both with his other on the floor.

  He would not sleep but she seemed to need it.

  Eve snuggled deeper against his chest.

  Ah, yes, she would be quite mortified when she awoke.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Mud

  At first she thought she was sliding off of her bed. She gripped tightly to her pillow. Except this wasn’t her pillow.

  Much more solid than a pillow.

  “Eve. Mrs. Mossant.” Her pillow shifted and then gripped her arms tightly. “Oh, hell!”

  And then the world tipped, shifted, and rolled. And rolled some more. Eve’s eyes widened in time to remember she was not in her bed, but in the carriage. Her stomach lurched and her breath stalled in her lungs as the world turned into a chaotic nightmare.

  Not the entire world, but her world, she corrected herself ironically as she watched her valise and then Mr. Waverly’s hat bouncing off the ceiling of the carriage.

  Crashing sounds, and the horses! Oh dear God, What of the driver?

  She had nothing to grab hold of except for Mr. Waverly, who seemed to be doing his best to brace them from being tossed about any more than necessary.

  By the time she was awake enough to gain her bearings, the carriage came to an abrupt halt. She vaguely heard the sound of horses running in the distance, and water trickling… Trickling right through the carriage.

  “Mrs. Mossant?” The sound of Mr. Waverly’s voice brought with it some reassurance. “Are you hurt?

  Ah, her head rested on his chest. And they both seemed to be lying on the ceiling of the carriage. “I am unhurt, but what of you?” He’d taken the brunt of the impact.

  She was afraid to move. What if they dangled over the side of a cliff? What if the carriage were to begin sliding again? Or rolling?

  “I believe I shall live.” Mr. Waverly was moving gingerly. “Be careful, there’s broken glass all around.”

  Pushing off of his solid chest, Eve did her best to free him without shuffling about too much.

  “Umph.”

  “I’m sorry. Oh, dear.” She’d planted her knee in a most unfortunate place. He groaned and then gripped her hips when she went to push herself off again.

  “Hold on, woman. Not there.”

  Of all things. She was grateful for the semi-darkness so that he couldn’t see the heat rising to her face. If she could only move her knee. “I’m— Mr. Waverly—”

  Before she could finish, he’d efficiently released her from her skirts and moved her leg to one side.

  Only now, she straddled him.

  Her breath hitched. They lay on the brink of death and she was most certain that he’d become aroused.

  Or perhaps it was merely his coat folded up awkwardly.

  “Do you think we are in danger of falling farther?” She whispered the words, almost as though the sound of her voice, in and of itself, might send the carriage careening farther down the hill.

  Mr. Waverly stretched his neck in order to examine their situation. As best he could, anyhow, what with her pinning him to the ceiling of this blasted contraption.

  A tree branch protruded into the interior, the culprit that broke the window, no doubt, but the other was intact.

  “I think we have quite safely landed at the bottom.” His voice sounded tight. In that moment, she realized his hands remained upon her hips.

  But moving was going to be a tricky endeavor, indeed, what with all the broken glass and what not.

  “Don’t move yet. If I can get my coat opened up, it might protect you from crawling on the glass.”

  “Oh, yes.” And then, “You’re bleeding.” He must have hit his head in their fall. Dark red was oozing onto his face from the top of his head.

  “I’m fine.” But he grimaced as though in pain, and for the first time since she’d known him, he sounded annoyed as he tugged his coat out from beneath him.

  In doing so, the fabric of his pants met with the naked skin of her inner thigh. Somehow her skirts had tangled up in his coat. While purposefully avoiding his eyes, she struggled to ignore the very s
olid part of him protruding from behind his woolen pants.

  “If you can climb over there…” He indicated the safe mound he’d arranged with his coat. “Perhaps I can open the door.”

  “Oh, yes.” A solid idea indeed.

  This time she moved with extreme care as she shifted her weight off him to kneel gingerly.

  “Can you get up now?”

  She stared intently at his hat, which had landed in the corner near one of her gloves. A tremor ran through her. “I hope the driver isn’t hurt! And the horses!” This was all her fault. If only she hadn’t insisted on leaving today.

  “I believe he cut the tether when we started sliding.” Mr. Waverly didn’t seem as concerned as he crawled toward the exit. Sounds erupted outside. Shouts and scuffling.

  “You two all right in there?” The driver tugged on the door at the same time Mr. Waverly gave it a solid push, sending them both tumbling into the mud.

  Which drew a burst of laughter from Eve. Unconscionable of her to do so. What was the matter with her?

  The two men scowled at her.

  “I’m sorry.” She covered her mouth. There was nothing remotely funny about their situation. She must be in shock. How was it that she’d contained her emotions so well for the past twenty or so odd years, and yet today she had unleashed a torrent of tears on poor Mr. Waverly and was now finding amusement at his expense? He was bleeding! They all could have been killed!

  The terror of it all was likely settling on her now, otherwise she would never have found merriment at the expense of others. The driver had landed on his bottom in the mud, and Mr. Waverly’s hands were covered as well. Her own hands shook when she reached for her glove and then stifled another inappropriate giggle when she glanced back up.

  Mr. Waverly balanced on all fours in order to climb out, and his backside jutted alarmingly close to her face. Before she could avert her gaze, she inadvertently noticed sinewy muscles stretching the gray woolen material of his pants.

  Once the doorway cleared, he crouched outside and beckoned for her to follow. They must not be sitting on a cliff then.