Seduced in September

by Genevieve Turner

  But here in the deepening twilight, the sky a vicious orange, the air as cold as a winter’s midnight, his dire warnings took on new potency.

  She tightened her grip on Thomas’s hand, seeking the steadiness of it. They were simply taking a trip to the stables. Nothing to fear. Not even Mr. Coyne’s temper. Nor her own.

  The stable yard was black as midnight when they arrived. But of course there would be no lamps lit. They’d learned that today. She halted just before the breezeway and called down the endless black tunnel of it. “Mr. Coyne? Are you there?”

  Not even the horses nickered in reply, only her own words echoing back to her.

  “If he’s not here, can we return to the house?”

  The eagerness in Thomas’s voice mirrored her own secret feelings. But—“Let’s try again. Perhaps he didn’t hear us.” She took a deep breath. “Mr. Coyne?”

  Silence pressed back from the darkness.

  And then: “In my office.” As grudging and as cold as the night air.

  For half a moment, she imagined whirling about and running for the house, just as they had earlier. She curled her toes in her boots to work out the urge. She must show Thomas how a person met the consequences of their actions. Boldly, although carrying a repentant heart.

  So she took that first step into the dark.

  She kept her steps confident, trusting to her memory of the place to keep her from blundering into one of the walls. Thomas was less sure, falling farther and farther behind, until her arm was stretched to the limit, Thomas at the end of it. She pulled him forward, her chin high. The bravery would all be hers then.

  There was no light from Mr. Coyne’s office door, but she went on regardless. A flare came from the end of the breezeway and light suddenly spilled from an open door. He’d lit a lamp for them.

  When they came to the doorway, she pulled Thomas in front of her and settled her hands on her shoulders. Thomas might be here to abase himself, but she would continue to protect him. She stared just beyond Mr. Coyne’s shoulder, sitting as he was at the crude desk. She couldn’t read his expression anyway—no sense in meeting that gaze.

  “Thomas has something to say to you.” She did too, but that could wait.

  She squeezed the boy’s shoulders, willing her own resolve into him. Reminding him that he wasn’t alone.

  “I’m very sorry.” Thomas was looking at some spot near Mr. Coyne’s feet. “It was wrong of me to have a lamp in the stall. I know now what can happen.” His voice went low and thin. “How terrible the consequences can be. It won’t happen again.”

  Tears blurred the edges of the boy’s words, but only the edges—the center was resolute. Such a brave lad.

  A dark silence from Mr. Coyne, his expression grave and unyielding.

  Thomas lifted his chin. “If you wish to banish me from the stables, I understand.”

  Ah, the ultimate offer from Thomas—nothing would wound him deeper than that. Again she squeezed his shoulders, so small, but so strong in this moment. She didn’t think she could be prouder of her pupil.

  Mr. Coyne simply stared, the line of his jaw going sharp. If he didn’t accept Thomas’s apology, she didn’t know what she might do. Probably spend the night comforting a brokenhearted Thomas.

  But then the stable master’s shoulders sagged and he rubbed a hand across his face, as if he were inexpressibly weary. His fingers came together to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Of course you can still come to the stables.” His hand fell away. “Thank you for the apology. But it can never happen again.”

  Frost crept into those last words, and her skin prickled.

  Thomas nodded solemnly. “What shall I do to make it up to you, sir?”

  A wry twist pulled at Mr. Coyne’s mouth. “I think a few weeks of cleaning tack ought to suffice.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Thomas lifted his head and smiled widely. Spending time in the stables was no punishment to him, and the man handing out the punishment knew it.

  Mr. Coyne shook his head. “You shouldn’t call me sir.”

  Thomas pulled free of her grip and ran to embrace the stable master, this man he adored above all others. Mr. Coyne caught him with a surprised grunt, blinking hard for half a breath before enfolding Thomas in his arms.

  “There, there,” he muttered, continuing to blink.

  “You don’t want to whip me?” Thomas sobbed.

  Mr. Coyne ran a hand down his back. “No. That was my temper and fear talking. But you understand why I was so frightened?”

  Thomas nodded jerkily, his nose rubbing against the buttons of Mr. Coyne’s waistcoat.

  He went on, “To see you and Miss Vere in such danger”—his gaze caught hers, his eyes twin blue flames that drove the breath from her lungs—“it terrified me. I couldn’t bear for harm to come to either of you.”

  “I was scared too,” Thomas sobbed.

  The stable master drew a deep breath and said, “Now I must apologize to you, Thomas. I shouldn’t have let my temper get the better of me. It was wrong and I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?”

  Adele’s throat closed, and she slid her gaze toward the far wall. Such an intimate moment hurt to look on. And this wonderful apology from Mr. Coyne…

  No, she wouldn’t think on what that might mean for her own situation. She must go ahead with her plan.

  “Yes,” Thomas said, his voice clearing of the tears. “Of course I will.”

  She heard Mr. Coyne give Thomas’s back a few firm pats. “All right then, go off to bed,” he told the boy, his voice still rough with emotion. “You need your rest so you’re ready for your lesson tomorrow.”

  She looked back in time to see Thomas’s clasp go fierce, his arms tightening around Mr. Coyne. The stable master shut his eyes tight as he returned the embrace, then he gently sent Thomas back toward Adele. “Hurry. Before it begins to rain.”

  Her gaze remained on Mr. Coyne as she asked, “Can you find your own way back, Thomas?”

  Both of them went still.

  “I need to speak with Mr. Coyne,” she went on, her heart beginning to flutter. “Alone.”

  Mr. Coyne’s gaze shuttered, all the warmth he’d had for Thomas seeping away. “You can manage, Thomas. Now run along. Quickly.”

  Adele clasped her hands before her, her palms damp, and held hard to her composure as Thomas’s footsteps faded away.

  The wind rose, enclosing the two of them within its wild, dark howl. No one would hear what happened here thanks to that wind.

  “I won’t be meeting you for my lesson tomorrow.” Cold and clear, as steely as her resolve. “I won’t be meeting you for a lesson ever again.”

  It was time. The old duke was gone. She had no love of horses—there was no point. And after his outburst and hers… and his kiss… and her confessions… well, it was more than time.

  Something keen sparked in Mr. Coyne’s face as he nodded. “I understand. It might not make any difference, but I do apologize for my temper earlier. To you as well as Thomas.” As impersonally spoken as her earlier words.

  “Thank you for that. And I apologize for my own.” She wrung her hands together, wishing this was already done. “But no, your apology doesn’t change my mind.” She wouldn’t let that happen, no matter how his distant tone hurt.

  “And if I tell you it won’t happen again?”

  No, no, no—he must stop enticing her like this. She gritted her teeth and hissed out, “You make me do things I don’t want to.”

  Kissing him, confessing to her past, losing her temper with him—none of those things would have happened if he’d simply left her alone. He had to leave her alone before she lost her composure completely.

  “Don’t want to?” Incredulity made his voice rise.

  “Fine.” He wanted honesty? She’d give it to him. “Things I should not do.”

  “And where was the force in what I did to you?”

  There had been no force. She closed her eyes against the memory of his persu
asiveness—his hands, his voice, his gaze. “You tempt me without mercy.” She managed to get that out before her throat closed completely.

  “And you do the same to me.” He’d come close now, stirring the air near her as he spoke.

  “That’s why we should end our association now!” Finally, finally she could make him understand. “Before either of us is hurt.”

  Although it was too late for that—pain was already twisting through her.

  “As you like.” He drew a deep breath, uncertainty flashing across his expression. “Might I show you something? This last time we can be alone?”

  Her first instinct was to refuse, to escape back to the house while her resolve remained strong. But her curiosity rose, pushed instinct away. He knew her so well; she wanted a small scrap of his, before she left him forever. “What is it?”

  “It’s me,” he said simply and began unbuttoning his cuffs.

  His wrists were hard knobs of bone, perfect girders for the strength in his hands. He rolled up his sleeves, one turn on the right, one turn on the left, one more on the right, ever so slowly revealing his forearms. There was lean, tensile muscle, dark wiry hair, smooth skin.

  And scars. Foul, gleaming gouges that begin midway up his forearms and disappeared beneath the fabric of his shirt.

  She put a hand to her mouth. She’d felt those same scars where his neck met his shoulders, when she was kissing him. When he’d stopped her. Oh God, the pain from those—and they covered half his body.

  Her fingers pulsed with the urge to find his wrists, to give him the simple comfort of her touch—but she recalled the tight grip of his hand on hers when she’d encountered his scars before. So she kept her touches to herself.

  “How did this happen?” She might ask that at least, since he’d wanted to show her. He must want her to know.

  “A fire. In the stables.” There was no reaching for sympathy there. Just matter of fact recitation. Yet with those scars left behind, there must have been nothing simple about that fire.

  “These stables?” She’d never heard of any such thing happening here though.

  “No. It was a decade ago.” Still calm, unemotional. But judging by his reaction to the fire today, there was deep pain there. Somewhere. “I’m not certain how it started. But by the time we’d noticed the flames, half the stables were alight.”

  Ah. It came to her then, exactly what had happened. And why he’d been so terribly injured. “You tried to save the horses, didn’t you? Those things you spoke of to Thomas”—horses screaming, flesh melting—“you saw them all.”

  What will you try to save in the end?

  She had the sensation he hadn’t saved any horses, which was why it weighed on him so terribly, beyond the scars.

  Pain began to seep into his expression, anguish bracketing his downturned mouth. “Yes. I tried… I wanted to, so badly…” A harsh, hard-fought inhale. “I didn’t save any in the end. A beam fell on me. It took two men to pull me out, men who could have been saving the horses if they hadn’t been saving me.”

  Such bitter accusation in that last. She set her fingers on his wrist, just below the scars on his forearms, caressed the warm skin stretched over hard bone. If he didn’t want her comfort, he could tell her so, but she had to give him something after that wrenching confession.

  “I understand now,” she said. He didn’t remove his hand from under hers, which made her chest tighten. “Would you… would you prefer I keep this from Thomas?”

  He brushed the fingers of his free hand over hers, once, lightly. “I’d rather you didn’t tell him. No need for him to know why I exploded. He’s learned his lesson, and I’ve frightened him enough for one day.” He took his hand from hers and began to roll one of his sleeves back into place. “And you as well.”

  This time she set her hand on his forearm, right on those terrible scars. “I’m not afraid.”

  His limb stilled beneath hers, the strength in it tingling in her fingertips. His throat worked. “No? Not even after my display of temper?”

  She slipped her hand up, found the soft place in the crook of his elbow. “You do need to learn to curb that temper properly,” she said. He raised an eyebrow. “I only ever lose my temper with you. And no, I’m not afraid.”

  She wasn’t. Not of him. Anxiety and anticipation burned through her veins, made her limbs sizzle and tingle—but that wasn’t fear of him. It was her inability to discern her own intention here that made her so. After all these years, suddenly she had no idea what she might do. She knew what she should do—and she wasn’t going to do it. Balancing on the edge of that realization was slicing her nerves all to ribbons, not any kind of fear.

  The walls around them rattled as the rain began, the storm finally opening up.

  “Thomas made it back safely, I’m sure,” Mr. Coyne said.

  She nodded, her fingers pressing into his skin. The storm would drench her if she left now. She might even catch her death of a cold. She peered up at Mr. Coyne from under her lashes. “I’m certain Thomas is safely inside.”

  He tilted himself toward her, pitched his voice low. “But you’re not.”

  She shook her head and sank her fingertips into the hard ridge of muscle in his forearm. It jerked at her touch and her heart jerked in response.

  “I can take you back to the house,” he offered, his breath stirring the fine hair behind her ear. A flush spread from that spot all the way to her toes, making them stretch with pleasure.

  “I’ll be drenched. What if I catch cold?”

  My, who ever knew she had such coquettishness in her?

  His eyes darkened. “My cottage is close. And warmer than the stables.”

  She had no doubt of that. And she imagined that his bed was warmest of all.

  “I promise,” he said, “I won’t force you into anything.”

  He never had though. “But you will tempt me.”

  “No more than you tempt me. Come with me,” he urged.

  Was that what she meant to do here? Ruin herself utterly with him? She could still explain this, should she encounter someone on the way to her room. Sneaking back hours later—or even at dawn—would be impossible to explain.

  Perhaps she didn’t have to remain that long. Only until the rain stopped. And she could say that she’d sheltered in the stables all that time. By herself. Yes. That might work.

  Taking a step out onto the knife’s edge of prudence and recklessness she was balanced on, she nodded. Without a word, he drew her out of his office and down the breezeway. A pair of oiled canvas cloaks hung by the door. He took them both down and tucked her into one before wrapping himself into the other.

  “Ready?”

  She wasn’t certain if she was. This was a point of no return.

  “Yes.” That answer came from deep inside her, a place that Mrs. Fairfield’s teachings had never reached. A place she hadn’t known existed any longer.

  He smiled, his familiar, wicked smile. Her favorite smile of his. “Run fast, so we can dodge the rain drops.”

  So Adele ran and ran, her hand tight in his, following him through the dark to a place she didn’t know at all.

  Chapter Seven

  They couldn’t run fast enough to dodge the rain; it was coming down too hard. But the heavy cloak protected her from the worst of it and Mr. Coyne kept her tucked behind him, bearing the brunt of the storm’s fury. It was almost pleasant to be in the lee of his big, sheltering body. If not for the freezing, driving rain of course.

  By the time they’d reached his cottage—which was close—her hairstyle resembled something Medusa might wear, frigid water trickling down her back to pool in the space between the end of her corset and the beginnings of her drawers. She’d be truly miserable in a few moments with that dampness lingering there.

  Mr. Coyne pushed open the door, shutting them in when he closed it behind him.

  Embers glowed behind a screened hearth, bathing the main room in a soft, deep orange. The cottage was
surprisingly large, with a small kitchen off the main room and another open door, which lead to his bedroom. Adele swallowed as she stared at the neatly made bed there.

  But she’d chosen iniquity—she mustn’t blush.

  He took her heavy oil cloth cloak, her shoulders suddenly lighter at the loss of it. She shivered when the air hit the damp patches of her gown, her calves and back turning to fields of gooseflesh.

  “You should change,” he murmured as he slipped off his own cloak. “Come.” He led her to the bedroom, pulled a dressing gown from a hook, and handed it to her. “To wear while your dress dries.”

  She could not meet his eyes, but his tone was as quiet and reticent as she felt. If this had always been his aim—her, undressed in his bedroom—he wasn’t at all triumphant about it.

  “Thank you.” She clutched the dressing gown to her.

  “I’ll leave you to it then.”

  He shut the door softly behind him, his gaze averted the entire time.

  She pulled the gown closer to her, a warm scent rising from it. His scent perhaps, but different from how he’d smelled in the stables. Less of the sharp, sweet hay notes and more… cozy. She rubbed her nose against the worn, well-laundered fabric, much as she had with the kerchief that had held the bread.

  His room was neat, but spare. Exactly the kind of space she’d expect a fastidious bachelor to have. The bed was overlarge perhaps, at least if he was the only one occupying it. She didn’t even blush at the thought.

  Slowly, she unhooked her gown and pushed the sodden, chilled weight of it from her limbs. Then the corset, which was dark with damp. She shook her head as she set it aside. Please don’t let any mold bloom on that.

  Now for the chemise. And a decision. She could leave on her chemise and have that barrier between her skin and his dressing gown. A small, but important nod to propriety—this far and no further. But the chemise was almost as wet as her dress, and it stuck to her back and calves and was most uncomfortable. If she left it on, she’d be shivering beneath his dressing gown.