by L. E. DeLano
“How much longer before we go?”
“Go? We just got here,” she says, surprised.
I glance over at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. “It’s been nearly two hours,” I complain.
Her face is sympathetic. “Are you still feeling unwell?”
I nod. Really, I just want to grab a pen and paper and write all of this down—I swear a thousand stories are swirling in my head—but I can’t very well tell her that.
“Bear up, darling,” she says, straightening my satin choker. “Only a few more hours and we’ll be on our way.”
I stifle a groan, and I’ve made up my mind to get off my feet when someone taps my shoulder.
“May I have this dance?”
I turn at the familiar sound of that voice, and I almost start laughing. Holy cow. Would you look at Ben!
He’s dressed in a severe black greatcoat, a green-and-gold waistcoat, and a top hat with a really tacky hatband to match the busy pattern on the vest. He even has a lacy cravat to complete the look, and the overall effect is like some sort of elegant peacock. This is so far from the nerdy, joking jock I know. I take his hand and can’t help but smile.
“Hello, Miss St. Clair,” he says, moving smoothly through the dance. “I do hope you remember me.”
I do. His family moved into town just a few months ago. I’m taught by a governess in this reality, so instead of attending school together, he and I were introduced at a cotillion last summer.
“Of course I do, Mr. Hastings. It’s nice to see you again.”
“May I offer my congratulations upon the happy occasion of your engagement?”
I smile even bigger. He’s so … formal. It sounds ridiculous.
“You may. And thank you.”
“I had hoped you might wait a little longer and choose your intended with more care,” he offers. “Since money is not a concern for you.”
What’s that supposed to mean? I stop paying attention to the dance steps and look up at him, and he looks kind of … sad.
“My parents thought it was best to have the matter resolved.” I try to keep the tone of my voice pleasant, but it’s hard. I still have a hard time understanding how parents can support their child marrying a stranger. It’s just crazy to me. Apparently, I’m not alone in that sentiment.
“I see,” Ben says carefully. He gives a slight bow over my hand as the music comes to a stop, and then he turns on his heel and strides out of the room, oblivious to the crowd of young ladies who are giggling as he passes. One of them peels off to come over to me.
“You’re Jessamyn, aren’t you?” she asks, waving her lacy fan against the heat of the ballroom.
“Yes. I believe we’ve met,” I say, remembering. “Olivia, right?”
“That’s right. And now that you’re engaged, I can finally stop hating you quite so much,” she says with an impish smile.
I give her a startled look. “Hating me?” What did I ever do to her? I search my memories, but nothing comes to mind.
“I’m teasing, of course.” She swats me playfully with her fan. “I’m just relieved to see you safely on the shelf, leaving room for the rest of us to pursue our dear Mr. Hastings. I’ve been swooning over him ever since he arrived in town, but he’s only had eyes for you.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” I say awkwardly. “He and I are simply acquaintances.”
She stares off toward the doorway, as if hoping for one more glimpse of Ben’s retreating back. “You will do me the favor of an introduction the next time he’s about, won’t you?” She turns pleading eyes up at me, and I shrug.
“Sure. Happy to help.”
“Oh, they’re starting another waltz,” Olivia notes breathlessly. “Mother considers them a scandal, but how else is girl going to get close enough to a man to really get to know him?”
“How, indeed,” I improvise, hoping I sound Victorian enough. I think I’ve got most of the lingo down around here, but I can’t even begin to copy the accent.
Olivia shuffles off with a wave of her fan, and I decide I’m going to try to find somewhere to sit down in this crush of people. It’s warm in here, too. How do women do this stuff in all this clothing? It’s crazy.
I walk along the outside edge of the crowd, sticking close to the wall as I spy the open French doors leading out to the gardens on the other side of the room. I make my way over to them, stepping out into the cool night air with a sigh of relief.
They have the pathway to the gardens lit with gas lanterns, and the smell of magnolia and jasmine mixes with the breeze off the water. It’s just beautiful, and I’m honestly enjoying myself until some semi-drunken dandy stumbles down the path and comes to a screeching halt in front of me.
“Well, look at what we have here,” he says, smiling widely. “Were you waiting for me?”
I actually look behind me to see who he’s talking to, and that’s my mistake—I should never have turned my back on him. He’s got his arms around me in an instant, and his alcohol-fueled breath is making me sick as he tries to press wet kisses all over my face and neck. I start to scream, but his hand clamps over my mouth. I struggle madly, my fingers clawing at him. I’m just about to rip out a handful of his hair when I feel him go flying, knocking me off-balance and sending me staggering down the graveled path. I barely have time to right myself before someone’s hand clamps down on mine and I’m pulled along the path and then out of sight through the middle of a bunch of bushes that snag at my skirts. I’m about to try to scream again, but as I’m pulled up against another hard body, a voice murmurs low in my ear.
“Easy, love. Didn’t mean to frighten you.”
I relax, sagging in relief.
“Finn,” I say, when I can get my breath again. “What are you doing here?”
“I saw your lump of a fiancé take himself off, and thought I’d step in to entertain you,” he says with a grimace. “I had no idea someone else had the same plan. Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
“No,” I reassure him. “I am just really freaking tired.” I sink onto a bench nearby, taking my weight off my aching feet. These high-heeled buttoned boots are torturous. I look up and he’s staring at me with his arms crossed, and his hand is stroking his chin thoughtfully.
“Well, hello there, love,” he says huskily. “What brings you back again?”
30
Here I Go Again
I pull my gloves off and wave my sweaty hands in the air. “I’m trying to avoid someone,” I tell him.
“You’re not here on an assignment, then?”
“No. I sort of … quit.”
He looks amused. “Did you now? How’d that go over?”
I make a face. “I’m sure I’ll hear about it.”
“So this is a social visit?” His eyes brighten, and something in my stomach tightens in response.
“Uh … I’m supposed to be out with someone.”
He takes a seat next to me. “It isn’t me you’re dodging, is it?”
I smile. “No, it isn’t you.”
“Well, that’s a relief. It’d be a bloody shame to have you avoiding me anywhere.”
“I’m not allowed to avoid you,” I say. “You’re training me. At least, over there you are.”
“Whatever you need to learn, I’ll be happy to tutor, as needed.”
A devilish gleam lights his eyes, and I flush under his regard. “I think you’ve tutored this Jessa enough.”
“Apparently not,” he disagrees. “You need to learn how to fight dirty, love. If you were going to be living a life with a privateer, you’d be spending a lot of time at the docks—which are not always the most savory of locations, unfortunately.” He pulls me up to my feet. “Here. Let me show you something.”
He spins me around, knocking me off-balance again, and wraps his arms around me. I’m still out of breath, and I try my best to calm my breathing down. It must be the corset.
Sure it is, Jessa.
&nbs
p; “The key to getting a man off you when he’s already got you in a stranglehold is creating some space,” Finn goes on. “This is best done with the element of surprise.”
He reaches out, taking both my hands in his, and sets his chin down on my shoulder as he instructs me. I can feel his cheek rubbing against mine, the stubble of the slight beard he has here. It feels incredible. And I have to remember to breathe.
He takes my left hand, curling it into a fist, and places it in the palm of my right hand.
“There now,” he says. “Wriggle your hands free any way you can, and get your fist braced in your other hand. Then use the added push from the fist into the open hand to propel your elbow back into his ribs or stomach. Aim lower, if you can. Go ahead,” he urges. “Give it a try.”
I turn my head, and I’m a hairbreadth from his lips. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Well, keep it gentle and keep it above the belt, then, if you please.”
He gives me a wink, and I can’t help but smile. I push with my right hand and drive my left elbow into his stomach, hearing the whoosh of his breath leaving him.
“Gads!” he complains. “You call that gentle?”
“Sorry,” I say sheepishly. “Now what?”
He straightens back up, rubbing his stomach. “Now that you’ve got him bent over, you can give him a knee to the head or slam your reticule down across his neck, provided you’re like most women and carry an arsenal in yours.”
I laugh. “I really have no idea,” I say. “Do I even know what a reticule is?” I wonder aloud. It’s coming to me.
“Your handbag.” He points at the bag lying on the bench next to my gloves. “With all that beading, you could have hit the cad in the eyes and blinded him for life.”
I look down at myself, raising my arms and slapping them down on my voluminous skirts. “I have no idea what to do with all this stuff,” I complain. “And if I don’t get out of this corset soon, I’m going to pass out.”
“I can help you with that.” The corner of his mouth lifts in an irresistible smile.
“Here? In a garden?”
He just looks at me, and the memory comes flooding back. Oh, yes. In a garden. More than once.
“Oh,” I say, and I blush again.
“I was merely going to suggest that you let me adjust your laces, love. Give you some more breathing room.”
I glance around, but we’re behind a set of bushes not visible from the main path, and there’s nobody out here now that dessert is being served.
“Okay,” I say, turning so my back is to him. His fingers are deft and quick as he unfastens my gown. I can feel the breeze on my skin, and I let out an involuntary groan at how good it feels.
His fingertips brush my skin, raising gooseflesh on my arms as he pulls at the corset strings, loosening them another inch. I feel him tie them off, then suddenly his hands are inside my gown, sliding over my shoulder blades as I feel his lips meet the back of my neck.
“You feel like my Jessa,” he murmurs.
I look over my shoulder and his lips touch mine softly, and then he turns me so he can deepen the kiss. I lift my arms to circle his neck and it’s like we ignite. My hands thread into his hair, clinging, and his hands move and shift across my back to my waist, pulling me in, and it’s all I can do to breathe, despite my loosened corset.
His lips slide down to my neck again and I’m gripping his shoulders hard when suddenly, he pulls away and flips me back around so he can fasten up my gown.
I hear the sound of heels crunching on the gravel walkway that runs along the other side of the bushes a moment later.
“Jessamyn? Are you out here?” My mother’s voice carries clearly in the night air.
I turn panicked eyes to Finn, who puts a finger to my lips, signaling me to keep quiet. He leaves the finger there, stroking it slowly back and forth as he smiles down at me. Finally, her footsteps fade into the distance, and I can breathe again.
I push his hand away and get hastily to my feet.
“Where d’you think you’re going?” he asks, reaching out for my hand.
“I—I really should get back.” I didn’t come here to make out with Finn. Did I?
I take a deep breath in an effort to calm my racing heart, and I’m grateful that I actually can. “Thanks for the adjustment,” I say. “That’s so much better. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” I scoop up my reticule and gloves, holding them both in front of me.
“I’ll walk you inside,” he offers, falling into step beside me. “No one will notice me in this crush.” He puts his hands down deep into his pockets, just like my Finn does. I can’t help but smile.
“What?” he asks.
“You do that just like my Finn. Your hands in your pockets.”
“Is he very like me, then?”
“In some ways. You’re a lot more … outspoken.”
“So are you,” he answers. “And that’s all right with me, love.”
His words do something funny to my insides. “Come on. I’ve got a party to escape from.”
We step through the French doors, and I can’t help but squirm a little. Finn steps closer, lowering his voice so we can converse.
“What are you doing?”
“My back,” I say. “It’s itching … ugh.” I look up at him. “You didn’t tuck in the ends of my corset laces. They’re bunched up between my shoulders and tickling me.”
He lifts his eyebrows apologetically. “Well, I can’t very well adjust them again here, love. You’ll have to retire to the ladies’ salon. I’m sure one of the attendant maids there can assist you.”
“You’d better get out of here before my father recognizes you,” I say. “And I need to get home.”
He reaches for my hand, pressing a kiss to the backs of my fingers. I can’t help but feel—and remember—how soft and warm his lips are.
“As before, Jessa … it’s been a pleasure.”
“Good-bye, Finn.” I know I’m staring, but I’m somehow helpless to stop. The corner of his mouth quirks up.
“Right through there, love,” he says, pointing the way.
“Yeah … I’m, uh … I’ll just be going,” I stammer. I turn to go, but I have to take one more look back. He’s still standing there with that lopsided grin, and the butterflies are swarming in my stomach.
I look off toward the crush of women coming and going from the salon and heave a sigh before I head off into the fray. I make my way inside and push through the throng to put my hand to a mirror. Just as I start to transfer, a shout goes up. I could swear I smell the faintest hint of smoke, and then I’m through.
And I’m staring at myself in a small, circular mirror next to Ben’s worried face as his arms tighten around me.
“It’s definitely bruising,” the lady from the historical society says as she shoves the compact mirror closer toward me. “Right there, on your cheek.” She’s kneeling next to me as well, and gently prodding at my face with her free hand.
My hand is resting on the mirror still, and I push it out of my way.
“I—I’m all right,” I say. I think I am, anyway.
Ben is shaking his head. “Holy…!” He trails off, aware that there are a couple of kids on the tour. His arms are still tight around me, and I’m shaking.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I look up at the small crowd of people gathered around me and my mind begins to slowly piece it all together.
I had been snapping pictures with Ben’s phone, fascinated by the device and half listening to the woman from the historical society as she told us all about the Clock Tower Ghost from here atop the roof of Founder’s Hall when one of the other women peeled away from the group and approached me. She wanted a picture of herself with the clock tower in the background.
I decided I needed to back up, since the spire of the clock tower was too high to fit in the picture along with them. Other me didn’t think to zoom in or out. I started walking backward, and I heard the
woman’s shout just as I realized it was too late. I backed into a handbag someone left near the low wall lining the roof. My feet tangled in the strap and I went over, dropping the phone on the roof as I twisted, screaming. My right hand grabbed and clung to the edge of the wall.
Ben shouted, I scrambled to grab with my other hand, and Ben’s hands closed over my wrists as he pulled hard. I came back over the wall, landing in a heap on the rooftop.
I can’t speak just yet, and I can hear Ben panting from the adrenaline and exertion. I manage to sit up.
“I’m okay,” I gasp. “I’m okay.”
“I’m so sorry,” the photo lady stammers.
“Did—did I break your phone?” I ask her.
“No, it’s fine. Are you sure you’re okay?”
I get up to my feet, but keep my hands on my knees, breathing deeply. I nod. “I’m a little scraped up, but I’m okay.”
Ben is on his feet again as well, and he pulls me full into his arms again, hugging me tight.
“You scared me to death!” he exclaims. “I think you just took ten years off my life!”
He pushes me back at arm’s length, looking me up and down.
“Are you okay? I thought we were gonna have to scrape you off the sidewalk with a spatula or something.”
“Me too.” I nod. “I think I wrecked my shoulder again.” I give it a rub as I rotate it gingerly.
“It’s not out of its socket,” Ben says, pushing my hand away so he can push and probe. I smack his hand in retaliation.
“That hurts.”
He reaches into his pocket, digging out his truck keys. “Let’s go get you checked out, just to be sure.”
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s just sore. I still have medicine I can take for it, if it gets worse. Let’s just go home.”
“You’re sure you don’t want me to call an ambulance?” Photo Lady asks.
“No, really—I’m okay. Just a little shaken.”
I look back toward the wall, and the handbag is gone. Whoever wants me dead, it definitely isn’t Ben. And they were right here, somewhere in the crowd. I scan the group, but I’m not seeing anyone suspicious. Several people have left, since this was the last stop on the tour anyway, and I’d brought the presentation to a stop.
