Near the Ruins of Penharrow (A Cornish Romance Book 3)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  Jack blew out a slow breath, his brow high. She had overwhelmed him.

  “I never would have thought the process involved such intensity,” he said. “When one thinks of a mine, one typically considers only the men below ground.”

  “That be true. I’d never wish to do what they be doin’ down there in the dark all day. It be hard work and dangerous—just like what us maidens do. But it be worth it, for me family to live more comfortably.”

  He studied her for a moment. Under his unnerving smile, she turned away, exiting the decaying bucking room and retreating past the engine house toward the pathway. “I only be sorry we didn’t ‘appen on any ghosts while in there.”

  “It is a pity.”

  She paused when his voice sounded farther away. He remained by the engine house, viewing the sea over his shoulder.

  She really ought to be getting home by now, or at the very least on her way. Her parents would start to worry. But the call of the sea and Mr. Trevethan were too great.

  She joined him, and they faced the water together, watching the dark ocean swelling forward. The sun had vanished, leaving a grey world in its wake, but the soothing sounds of the sea warmed the air.

  “I take it that smile on your lips is not due to the evening you had.” His dark eyes focused on her lips.

  She hadn’t known she was smiling. “I had a more pleasant evenin’ than ye might think.”

  Despite the mishaps that occurred—flinging food across his jacket, suffering through Mrs. Parnell’s questioning, fleeing from his father—all of it seemed so inconsequential in that moment with this man beside her.

  “How can that be?” He leaned against the wall of the engine house. He folded his arms, crossing his legs at his ankles. “It ended precisely the same way the ball had ended, and we both know that was far from enjoyable for you.”

  She shot him a pointed look. “Perhaps ‘tis ‘cause I didn’t experience the same idle threats this evening as I did last.”

  “I can do so now, if you are missing it. Or perhaps I ought to simply suggest another walk in the gardens?”

  She ignored the thoughts that accompanied his words. “I think we both be better off if ye leave that suggestion unspoken, sir.”

  She turned away from him, wrapping her arms across her chest as a cold wind sailed around her neck.

  “Why? Are you concerned you’d be unable to refuse me this time?”

  She forced a flippant laugh. “I ain’t be worried o’er such a thing.”

  He pushed away from the wall and made to stand between her and the sea. “So confident?”

  His voice was low, deeper than the roaring ocean that was quickly fading from their view.

  “Just as confident as ye are, sir.”

  He took a deliberate step toward her, removing his gloves finger by finger. “Do you know what I think?”

  She raised her chin to maintain his eye contact. “What be that, sir?”

  “I think,” he began, his words slow and calculated, “that if I asked you to kiss me…you wouldn’t be able to refuse.”

  His eyes flickered to her lips, and her heart pattered against her chest. “I think ye be wrong, sir.” Her voice was weaker than she’d hoped it would be.

  “Do you?” he asked. He took another step toward her, his smile matching the one he held at the ball—low brow, determined eyes. Enticing lips.

  Only this time, she didn’t wish to express her frustration with him. This time, she wanted to do something else entirely.

  Another cool wind blew past them, and chills sailed across her skin.

  He removed his hat, depositing it on a dilapidated half-wall nearby with her gloves on top. Then he pulled her cloak from his arm and draped it around her shoulders, tying it at the base of her neck. His fingertips brushed softly against her skin, and his eyes lingered on hers.

  He adjusted the cloak around her shoulders, smoothing it as he slid his hands down her arms.

  “What do you say, Gwynna?” he whispered, peering down at her. “Do you think you would wish to say no?”

  She took a step away, but her foot hit against the wall of the engine house. When had she backed up so much? She had nowhere else to go as he closed the distance between them.

  Her breathing shallowed. “Per’aps.” What had his question even been?

  He pressed his palm on the wall beside her, tucking in his chin as he leaned closer toward her. He raised his free hand, his fingertips brushing a curl from her brow, and her stomach twisted with sheer delight.

  Then her throat tightened. She was afraid. Afraid he was teasing her, afraid she was the only one feeling the stirring in her chest. What did all of this mean? “I think ye don’t want it yourself, sir. I think ye be teasin’ I, just for the sake o’ teasin’.”

  She was testing him, pushing to see if he felt something in return. She watched him carefully, then fixed her attention to his mouth. His coaxing smile disappeared. She swallowed hard, as if her throat had closed off entirely and she could no longer draw in a breath.

  “You don’t believe I wish to kiss you?” he whispered.

  His hand brushed against her temple once more, then trailed down her cheek, lingering on her jaw. She pressed her hands against the wall, willing the rough feeling of the stone to knock sense back into her.

  It didn’t.

  “I believe ye would wish to kiss any woman,” she breathed.

  She spoke the words aloud, reminding herself of the truth. She was nothing special to him. He hadn’t known her from anyone, and he’d asked to kiss her in the dark at a ball, even knowing she was a bal maiden.

  “Perhaps that was true once,” he said, moving his thumb along her jaw and resting it at the tip of her chin. Slowly, he urged her head back. His breath tickled her lips. “But now, I only desire it…from you.”

  Sense screamed that he was lying, that he only desired her in that moment because no other lady was available. But soon, her desire pushed away any lingering apprehension. She wanted his kiss to be hers.

  “Do you know how I first recognized you at the ball?” he whispered.

  “No, sir.”

  His eyes flicked between her own. “It was your eyes. Even from across the room, I recognized their warm, rich color. Like honey right before it is poured into tea.”

  He tipped his head to the side, focusing once more on her lips that had since parted on their own.

  “I’ve never much cared for tea. But honey…” His upper lip touched hers as he spoke. “I crave it.”

  Any breath, any control she’d hoped to conserve was gone in that moment. Finally, she would have his lips for her own.

  “Do you crave me, Gwynna?” he asked, his voice husky. “Do you wish to kiss me now?”

  Her eyes struggled to remain open.

  Yes, Jack. Wrap me in your arms and kiss me ‘til the moon and stars be our only light.

  Only, she couldn’t admit to such a desire aloud. She would lose the last of her control, and then where would she be?

  She drew in a rattled breath. “No, sir?” she stated in more of a question.

  Jack blinked, his eyes caressing her lips as he released a slow breath. “No? I suppose you were right then. You can deny me.”

  Gwynna had only lied because she’d been certain he’d still kiss her. After all, what reason had he not to?

  But as he stepped away, her breath caught in her chest, ripe with regret. Should she call him back, reach for his jacket lapels and kiss him herself?

  “Come along, Miss Bell. We must return you to your parents and leave the mine before the ghosts join us.”

  Had she imagined his disconsolate tone and his sunken shoulders, or were they a figment of her own disappointed mind?

  He moved around the engine house, leaving Gwynna breathless with blinding disappointment.

  She’d never regretted her pride so fiercely.

  * * *

  Jack scrubbed his hands down his face as he rounded the corner of the
engine house. He had to shake this off now before that tempting maiden walked once more by his side and he pulled her in his arms and kissed her until morning.

  He was a total fool. He’d only been teasing her before about kissing her, but when he saw the desire in her eyes, a fire ignited in his chest. His heart hadn’t beat in such a way in years. Surely never when he’d kissed any other woman. Those moments had been purely carnal.

  He was attracted to Gwynna, of course. Her pink lips, the spatter of freckles across her nose. But there was something more than physical desire. He was feeling something more.

  And those feelings scared the devil out of him.

  Thank heavens her final declaration of “no,” though feigned as it was, had finally given him the strength to pull away.

  He had promised himself to leave Gwynna once his questions had been answered. Now that his debt was satisfied from his behavior at the ball, he was free to move on. Free to go to the assembly. Free to kiss other women without guilt. Free to continue the life he’d planned for himself—unmarried, alone, and without responsibilities.

  So that’s what he was going to do because he couldn’t risk feeling any longer.

  Chapter Ten

  Jack didn’t go to the assembly. Gwynna’s silhouette had disappeared into the small hovel she called a home, then he’d made his way back to Fynwary Hall by moonlight. After ensuring his father had departed, he’d informed the Hawkinses as to the safety of Gwynna and rode his horse for Coffrow Place.

  He told himself he was just too exhausted from the evening to attend another societal event. But really, he hadn’t been up to mingling with well-versed, practiced women who couldn’t brandish a hammer or describe the process of the mine’s dressing floors with aplomb.

  The next morning, after a restive night, he situated himself in the far corner of the drawing room with a book, hoping to rein in his thoughts that continually tried to gallop recklessly to the evening before—and how badly he’d wanted to kiss Gwynna.

  He’d never pulled away from a kiss before. Not from a willing woman, at any rate. And Gwynna had certainly been willing. Those full lips, her eyes on his mouth. His blood had never burned so intensely. Even now, energy coursed through his veins like the boiling water in the Roman pools at Bath.

  Apart from the kiss—or rather, lack thereof—something else had been nagging permanently since the night before. Something Gwynna had said to him. His eyes wandered away from the pages of his book, staring at nothing in particular across the room.

  “It must be some comfort knowin’ she’d be proud of ye and the man ye’ve become.”

  If only his mother could be proud of him. Yes, he’d finally claimed victory over controlling his gambling and drinking habits. But how could Mama approve of his pursuing countless women until he received what he desired? A few kisses with no binding ropes of commitment or responsibility.

  He raised his book, holding it directly before him to focus on Shakespeare’s words rather than this contrition that had burrowed its way under his defenses and was now battering him daily.

  Footsteps outside the room pulled him away from Hamlet’s musing better than even remorse could. His lips pressed in a line. He hadn’t planned on anyone being up for hours, what with their late night out at the assembly. If Father was coming to speak with him…

  But it wasn’t father. Amy walked into the room instead.

  Her footsteps faltered. “Oh, good morning.”

  “Morning.” He lowered his book to his lap. “I’m surprised you’re up so early. Did you not stay at the assembly for long?”

  She reached for her wrap strewn across the sofa. “On the contrary. We stayed later than anyone.”

  Jack turned to the next page of his book, though he had no recollection of a single word.

  “We missed you there.”

  “Yes, I do apologize for leaving the three of you to yourselves. My business extended longer than I expected.” Far longer. And far better. “I trust you enjoyed yourselves still.”

  “We did.” She paused in the doorway. “My brother and I were wondering though, what business a gentleman could have if he does not yet run his own estate and refuses to help his father with the one he will one day possess.”

  His brow twitched. Was that a slight or a hint at her displeasure? Either way, her words nettled his patience.

  “Hugh expects you’ve found another woman here to keep you company.”

  Her words painted a blush on his cheeks that he hoped wasn’t as red as it felt. He stared hard at the page of his book. “Does he?”

  “I’m inclined to agree with him,” Amy continued, jarring his nerves. Had his cousins seen Jack’s odd fascination with the bal maiden? “I must admit the idea is not so very farfetched, what with the kissing games you and Hugh insist on playing.”

  So she didn’t know about the bal maiden. Finally, he looked up. The clear disappointment dimming her eyes jutted up against his defenses. What right had she to be looking at Jack in such a way? Surely Hugh was the greater scoundrel.

  Irritated, Jack closed his book and settled further in his chair. “What is your intent, Amy, in bringing up such a topic?”

  She studied him with an unreadable expression. “My brother has already made his choice to live without regard for others. I merely ask of you, cousin, to not leave behind a trail of broken women here in Cornwall…as you did in Bath.”

  His brow furrowed, discomfort festering in his chest.

  Before he could respond, she walked away with a shrug, her words fading down the corridor. “But what business is it of mine what you do?”

  Clenching his jaw, Jack opened his book and stared down at the random page he’d turned to, willing his eyes to focus on the black words against the cream-colored paper.

  What did Amy know, anyway? Jack hadn’t kissed a woman since he’d arrived in Cornwall. Hugh, on the other hand, had to have shared affection with at least two or three—possibly more after the assembly last night. If Hugh felt no remorse, why should Jack?

  A trail of broken women.

  Had he broken them? And was he breaking Gwynna?

  “Jack?”

  Blast. He closed his book and scrambled to his feet, attempting to appear as casual as possible as he made to leave. “Father. I was just on my way out.”

  What were they all doing up? Jack should’ve just stayed hidden away in his room until he was sure Hugh was awake and could help distract Father. Amy was certainly not being of any help.

  “Were you not reading?” Father questioned, eying the book in Jack’s hands.

  Jack lifted it with disinterest. “Yes, but one can only manage Shakespeare for so long.”

  In truth, he enjoyed Shakespeare. But he’d lie about anything to leave. Besides, Father didn’t know what Jack did or did not like to read. He didn’t know anything about him, really.

  Jack set the book on a table nearby. “I believe Hugh has been hoping for a ride. I ought to be ready for him when he awakens.”

  “You will be waiting quite a while for him then,” Father said, entering the room more fully. “Amy and I rose early out of habit, but Hugh was behaving rather lively last evening.”

  Jack gave a quick laugh. “That’s Hugh for you.”

  And that explained Amy’s comments. She must have been mortified with her brother’s inappropriate conduct and decided to take it upon herself to correct Jack before he could embarrass her any more than her brother had.

  He progressed toward the door as Father spoke again. “Does he always behave in such a way?”

  Jack paused. “In what way?”

  Father watched him carefully. “Drinking heartily. Laughing above the sound of even the music. Sneaking off into gardens with women.”

  Jack raked his fingers through his hair. Was he to suffer through the same taxing conversation with Father that he’d just had with Amy? “He’s merely having a little fun, Father.”

  “I know. And there is nothing wrong with youn
g gentlemen enjoying themselves. But when rumors begin to emerge from all the pleasure, one must be careful.”

  Jack folded his arms, building even more of a barrier between him and his father. “What are you saying?”

  Father hesitated. “Merely that I hope you are better able to avoid rumors than your cousin has been, in your dealings with ladies of your own class…and the working class.”

  Fear hardened Jack’s stomach. Did Father know about last evening, Jack helping Gwynna, Gwynna dressing as a lady?

  He noted Father’s innocent expression and quickly set the worry aside. Not only had Mrs. Hawkins taken every precaution, no one had seen them after dark across the cliffsides. How could his father know?

  Annoyance replaced his timidity. Why did Father believe he could offer Jack advice? Had he raised his son, perhaps he was entitled to such guidance, but not now.

  “You needn’t worry about me, Father. I’ve taken care of myself since you sent me away. I can take care of myself now.”

  Jack hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud. He grappled with his emotions, struggling to remain detached, to bring back the familiar numbing sensation. He had no problem silently criticizing his inattentive father, but to his face? That would lead to a conversation he wasn’t willing to have.

  Sure enough, as Jack tried to depart, Father called him back. “Wait a moment, son.”

  “I must ready for my ride with Hugh.”

  “Please, wait.”

  Tapping impatient fingers on the doorframe, Jack faced him again. “What do you need?”

  Father paused, his shoulders sinking, eyebrows drawn high. Mama had always said Jack had his father’s eyes and brow. Jack had always ignored the resemblance.

  “I feel as if we haven’t spoken much, Jack, and you’ve been here a fortnight. Before we know it, summer will be at an end, and you will have returned to Bath.”

  Jack couldn’t wait for that. Although, leaving for Bath meant no longer seeing Gwynna. He blinked away the image of her wispy hair trailing down her neck, having fallen from its pins on their walk home last evening. He didn’t need anything keeping him in Cornwall or keeping him closer to his father.