by Darcy Burke
Audrey would remind him that he said that. “Yes, you should. Although, I must commend you on refraining from cursing.”
This elicited a laugh of such warmth from him that Audrey couldn’t help but laugh with him.
“Believe me,” he said, “it took a great deal of effort.”
“Did you do that for me or for the children?”
His gaze was steady, direct. Soul-stirring. “The children can’t hear me.”
For her, then. She nearly forgot they were in the middle of broad daylight in sight of dozens of people and leaned forward to kiss him.
He shook his head and pushed himself up to a sitting position. “Not here,” he murmured.
“Not here” perhaps meant someplace else. She could hardly wait.
With a grimace, Ethan got to his feet. Audrey scrambled up. Fox and Miranda were twenty or so feet away, laughing. The children were chanting, “Fox won! Fox won!”
“Damn shoulder,” Ethan said. “I should’ve won.”
Audrey wished she could check his wounds. She hoped he hadn’t disturbed the sutures. They weren’t due to come out for several more days. “You’re swearing again.”
He shot her an apologetic glance. It was a first, and caught her off guard. But she recovered quickly in order to take advantage. “Why did you tell them we were going to America? You’re not really planning on doing that are you?”
His answer came swiftly. “No. They’re coming,” he whispered. He wrapped his good arm around her waist and drew her close. “Well rolled, Fox.”
Audrey leaned into Ethan. Though she knew there was no future for them, she gave herself up to the ruse. For today she would pretend to be Ethan’s fiancée. And she would cherish every moment of it. Tomorrow—forever—would come soon enough.
NINE
As the winner of the rolling contest, Fox had chosen dancing as their after-dinner entertainment. To have an adequate number for dancing, Miranda had invited two other couples. The Knotts, Rob who was Fox’s steward and his wife Felicity, were longtime friends of Fox’s. Beatrice Stratham was Miranda’s distant cousin—her parents had taken Miranda in after she’d been exiled from London. Beatrice’s husband, Donovan, was a former MP who’d lost his seat after admitting to accepting bribes. Miranda had told Audrey that Fox had been instrumental in exposing Stratham, which, understandably, made for a strained relationship between the two men. However, since their wives had become close, they suffered each other’s company when required.
Ethan escorted Audrey from the dining room. “What sort of dancing will there be?” he whispered near her ear.
She leaned toward him. “A lot of the kind I believe you termed ‘silly.’” That had been during their first waltzing lesson.
“I haven’t the slightest idea how to do anything but waltz.”
She patted his arm as they entered the drawing room. “You caught on to waltzing fairly easily. I’m sure you’ll do the same with country dancing. I’ll make sure Miranda and Fox call the first dance and we’ll go last. That way you can see how it’s done.”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “I’ll just nod and pretend I understand what you’re saying.”
Audrey smiled at him and laughed softly. “You can pretend you know how to dance as well as I pretended to be drunk when we borrowed that cabriolet. You’ll be as fine as you look.” She dipped her head to hide the blush that stole up her cheeks. She couldn’t help herself; he did look fine. He’d been outfitted in a splendid costume that fit him well enough for her to wonder if someone had made alterations to his clothing as Felicity Knott had done to Audrey’s gown. She’d added a flounce to the hem of one of Miranda’s old dresses so that it now suited Audrey’s height.
“Thank you,” he said, addressing her embarrassing comment. “However, I’m certain I pale in comparison to your brilliance this evening.”
Now her blush was for an altogether different reason. Thankfully they were summoned for the dance. She gave him an encouraging look and led him to the makeshift dance floor.
Over the next half hour, Ethan made an extraordinary effort to keep up. If anyone noticed he’d never performed a country dance in his life, they didn’t say so.
Stratham, a somewhat short—shorter than Audrey anyway—but attractive fellow smoothed back his dark hair. “I say, Locke, been awhile since you danced?”
Or at least, they hadn’t.
Ethan shot the former MP a scalding look, but quickly masked it. Not that Stratham would have noticed. He spent most of his time fawning over his wife, who was expecting their first child.
A small array of refreshments had been laid out, and the gentlemen now took an opportunity to enjoy a glass of spirits. Beatrice and Felicity were discussing her impending motherhood while Miranda came to Audrey with a slight grimace. “I have to beg your pardon for Stratham. He can be a bit of a blurter.”
Audrey nodded understandingly. “It’s all right. Ethan doesn’t dance very much, and when he does, it’s typically a waltz. Like the other night at the assembly.”
Miranda flashed a smile. “Is that what you were doing?”
Audrey’s face heated, much to her chagrin, but she was a hopeless cause when it came to subduing her self-awareness.
“I must beg your pardon,” Miranda said, touching Audrey’s arm, “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“It’s all right. I’ve a terrible habit of blushing. All the time. It’s a nuisance.” She’d almost said “bloody nuisance,” speaking of terrible habits. Ethan was apparently leaving his impression.
“How long do you think you and Mr. Locke will stay before you continue on to America?” Miranda wrinkled her nose. “My apologies, but it’s just so far away. Like I said this afternoon, I just don’t see why you need to go that far. Why not go to Gretna Green and then come back to England?” She cocked her head to the side and smiled softly. “You could come back here, in fact.”
“What do you mean?”
“Fox was telling me about Mr. Locke’s interest in the orphanage. He seems like a man looking for his place in the world. And we really would love to find some people—the right people—to help us enlarge the facilities at Stipple’s End. Imagine being able to help even more children.”
Ethan was interested in the orphanage? Audrey was surprised by this. More than surprised. She was intrigued. “You’d let us come to stay? To live?”
Miranda patted her arm. “It’s something to think about.” She looked over at Felicity and Beatrice, who were coming toward them.
Audrey forced a smile as she tried to push the conversation to the back of her mind. It was difficult—Miranda had given her more than something to think about: She’d given them another option.
However, it included one crucial aspect she and Ethan had never discussed, and one she wasn’t even sure either of them wanted: marriage. She liked Ethan and was attracted to him, but there were so many things she didn’t know about him. Put that with the things she did know, and she had to admit a future with him seemed unlikely, no matter how wonderful he made her feel.
She just had to convince him to stay. Perhaps time would make things clearer?
Later that night, Ethan eased out of his shirt. Undressing had been easier with Audrey to help him. He could’ve accepted the offer of a valet from Fox, but had declined. He’d tried using one when he’d entered Society several weeks ago, but it was an unusual thing to become accustomed to, and the notion just hadn’t stuck. Perhaps that was because the man Ethan had employed was a criminal like him. He hadn’t wanted to invite an unknown into his inner circle. It seemed he couldn’t even trust someone to take care of his clothing.
Furthermore, a valet provided by Fox would’ve seen his wounds, and Ethan didn’t need to explain stitches to a retainer who would blather it to all and sundry. He knew servants, and they were a gossipy lot.
He had, however, asked for a basin of hot water so he could bathe. Barefooted, he padded to the glass in the corner to scrutinize his
wound. It had bled a bit, leaving a small, dark stain on the bandage, but it thankfully hadn’t seeped through to his shirt.
After unwrapping the bandage and dropping it to the floor, he prodded at the flesh. It didn’t look angry and it was feeling better, though the hill-rolling had been agony. He’d been cursing his foolishness all afternoon, through dinner, and throughout their post-dinner entertainment.
Ethan didn’t remember when he’d had such a wonderful time. He hadn’t thought of Gin Jimmy or Bow Street or his brother or anything but keeping up with Audrey and learning several new dances—country dances, which he’d never imagined he’d enjoy and which he’d never remember on the morrow. Though he might not recall the steps, he’d remember the evening forever.
Damn, it had felt good to be normal, if only for a day. He was sorely tempted to stay another day, but he worried it would turn into another and another. Still, would that be so terrible?
Miranda’s invitation for them to remain and help with the orphanage, though likely spoken in fun, actually held appeal. He’d never imagined he could be happy anywhere but London, but seeing the difference Fox made to so many young people gave him pause. When he thought of the boys he could help—boys from London that he could bring here and educate . . . They’d be safe from London’s crime and grit, from the temptations that would inevitably lure them to a life of bitterness and regret.
A life like Ethan’s.
A gentle click had him reaching for the knife in his boot, but he wasn’t wearing anything on his feet. He turned from the glass and instantly relaxed at the sight of Audrey creeping into his room.
He hurried to the door and closed it swiftly, leaning against the wood and peering at her, garbed in a dressing gown wrapped tightly about her middle. The gown barely reached her ankles, giving him the opportunity to appreciate her naked feet. Pity there wasn’t more of her to see.
She immediately fixed her gaze on his arm. “I came to see to your injuries.” She took his hand and dragged him to the fireplace where a fire burned brightly. The day had been warm, but the night had turned quite cold.
Ethan allowed himself—happily—to be managed by her. Perhaps his perfect day wasn’t over after all.
She looked at his knife wound and frowned. “There’s dried blood.”
“Hardly any. I’m fine.”
With a mild scowl, she went to the basin with its now-tepid water and dabbed a cloth into it. She returned to him and cleaned around the stitches as best she could. “Does that hurt?”
“No,” he lied. It actually hurt a little, but it was nothing compared to the pleasure elicited by her fingers stroking his skin.
“Where’s the poultice?”
“The drawer in that table next to the bed.”
She fetched the ointment and spread it on his wound. She drew a length of cotton from the pocket of her gown. “I brought you a new bandage.” She wrapped it around his arm and secured the ends. “There. No more rolling down hills.” She gave him a sincere, but captivating stare.
He held up his hands in surrender. “You win. Thank you for coming. I suppose you should go back to your room.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Not so fast. You owe me an explanation. You told me you didn’t have time to stay here, that you needed to be on your way. And then you go and tell Fox that we’re eloping to America. I’m not going to let you evade my questions. Not this time.”
She was so resolute, so adorably perturbed, he almost wanted to prolong her irritation. But even he wasn’t that cruel. “I had to tell Fox something.”
She edged backward from him. “You plan to leave, then?”
He frowned. He didn’t want her to go. “I must. At some point.”
“Why?”
He couldn’t give her all the answers she wanted. It was one thing to confess to killing Four-Finger Tom. That had been more than a decade ago. He wouldn’t tell her he was wanted for killing the Marquess of Wolverton, particularly because he hadn’t done it and he was afraid she wouldn’t believe him. She liked him. She looked at him in a way no other woman had ever looked at him, and dammit she was like sunlight to his blackened soul. She didn’t want anything from him, save his trust. Ironically—tragically—it was the one thing he just couldn’t give. “It’s complicated.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” she said softly, lowering her gaze to the carpet that cushioned their feet before the fireplace. When she raised her face once more, her eyes were so clear and blue-green, he thought he might be looking out at the sea. He’d seen it twice. Just last spring when he’d gone to Cornwall for a prizefight, and as a boy when his father had taken him to Brighton. That life was barely a memory, and yet after a day like today, it seemed within his grasp.
She straightened her spine and clenched her jaw. “Why did you take me with you?”
Because Gin Jimmy had sent men to take her. They thought she was important to him. And, dammit, if she hadn’t been then, she sure as hell was now. The best thing he could do for her, though, would be to leave her so that Gin Jimmy would think he’d tired of her. He never kept a woman long, so it made sense that Ethan would discard her at some point.
But what of Bow Street? It was one thing to start over in Wootton Bassett to avoid an irksome family as Lady Miranda had done, but something altogether different to escape charges of murder. Sooner or later, he was going to have to deal with that.
“I took you with me to protect you from those men who came to your house.” He watched her intently. “You remember what they said—that they’d come there for you.”
She suddenly looked very tense. “Who were they?”
“Men who work for my employer, Gin Jimmy. He’s a lord of crime, Audrey, a very bad man.”
“Why did they come for me?”
As always, he considered how much to reveal. In this case, he didn’t think it would harm her—or him—to know the truth. “They think you mean something to me. I suspect they saw me sneaking into your house when you gave me waltzing lessons.” Which meant they’d been following him for weeks. How long had Gin Jimmy suspected Ethan of turning against him? Or had he simply been keeping tabs on Ethan, who’d been sent into Society to keep an eye on the widow of one of Gin Jimmy’s “inside men,” an earl who, for a price, had identified opportunities for theft within the ton. That widow had ultimately been killed, a murder Ethan was also being charged with.
Audrey’s eyes rounded briefly before she turned to look at the fire. “I see. But you think I’m safe here, so you can continue on and I’ll stay? That’s what you planned isn’t it?”
There was no point lying to her. She deserved the truth—at least as much as it pertained to her. “Yes, I think you’ll be safe this far away from London. I planned to ask you to cry off. Then I’ll leave.”
She threw him a sad smile. “That’s magnanimous of you. However, it won’t spare my reputation.”
He couldn’t keep himself from edging closer to her. “You knew your reputation would be damaged the minute you stepped outside your window.”
“I did. And I’d do it again.” She turned to face him, just a mere foot or so away. He could reach out and touch her, but he didn’t dare. She deserved so much more than he could give.
“Ethan.” Her eyes turned soft. “I would do it again. I don’t want to go back to London—even if I could and it sounds as if it’s not safe for me there, at least not yet and maybe not ever? I don’t really understand how this is supposed to work. But you said you could protect me, so,” she took a deep breath, “take me with you.”
His heart hammered, sending reverberations of want and need through his body until they settled in his groin. Women had begged him for all manner of things: favors, his attention, money. Never had they asked for his company in so earnest a fashion, as if their very peace depended upon it. Still, he couldn’t allow her into the darkness that was his existence. Not now, and, to echo her words, maybe not ever.
“I can’t.”
“Why not? You said
I’m safer with you. Keep me safe. Let me do the same for you. I don’t think anyone has cared for you. I do. I will.”
The room swayed a moment and his knees felt as though they might give way. He could scarcely bear what she was offering, and yet his soul hungered for it like nothing before.
She stepped before him and cradled his cheek. “Don’t turn me away. I want to come with you—of my own accord. There is nothing for me anywhere. I’ve never felt as alive as I do with you. Together, we can figure out whatever we need to figure out. Or,” she smiled crookedly, “we can actually go to America and be whoever the hell we want.”
She’d cursed. For him.
Ethan crushed his mouth over hers in a blistering kiss. He didn’t want to coax or invite her, he wanted to own her, to tame her, to bring her completely under his control. When he decided he wanted something, he conquered it fully, and he wanted Audrey.
He thrust his hands into her hair, knowing it would tumble from its pins with the barest of effort. He wasn’t disappointed. With a gentle movement of his fingers, her curls cascaded over his hands and down her back. Violets and honey filled his senses.
He plundered her mouth with his tongue, pleased when she met him thrust for thrust. Her hands clutched at his neck as she pressed herself into him. She was taller than any other woman he’d held, which meant she fit against him in ways no other woman had. His cock burned against her hip. He adjusted her, pulling her so that he was between her thighs. He drifted one hand down her back and splayed his hand across her backside, drawing her tightly to him.
She moaned softly. Ethan continued to devour her mouth as he brought his hand around to the front of her dressing gown. He slid his hand beneath the fabric, wondering if—hoping that—she was naked beneath it. But she wasn’t. Her chemise prevented him from connecting with her bare flesh. It was just the interruption he needed for sanity to gain a foothold in his brain.
He pulled away abruptly and stepped back. “Audrey,” he croaked. “You should return to your chamber.”
