by Lauren Smith
“You shouldn’t do that,” he cautioned her gently as he closed the book and set it on the shelf ledge by his hip.
“Do what?” She tried to back up, but her bottom hit a shelf behind her.
“Lick your lips. It makes a man wonder how you taste, how you feel…” He reached up, cupped her cheek, and stroked the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. The touch burned in the most delicious way.
“Lick my…” She processed his words and then gasped.
James chuckled. “I’m trying to be a gentleman, but Lord you are tempting me.” He lifted her chin up and then lowered his head until their mouths were inches apart.
“I fear that if you do not demand for me to step away, I will kiss you.” His voice was strained, his brown eyes rich and warm. Staring into them made her feel dizzy, and her body felt languid, as though she had lain beneath the summer sun in a bed of cool grass for hours.
“Kiss me?” The words escaped as a question, but James didn’t seem to consider them as such.
“Hmmm, if you insist,” he murmured softly. An instant before their lips met, her eyes closed, and she melted against him when his mouth touched hers. He kissed like an angel, all fire and sweetness with a hint of wickedness where his tongue traced the seam of her lips. She jolted in surprise and her lips parted, allowing him to slip his tongue between them. He opened his mouth over hers, and she moaned at the delicious feeling of being helpless in the wake of the heated passion sweeping through her. She could feel the faintest scrape of the stubble on his chin against her skin, and it burned deliciously as he nuzzled her neck.
This was how a lady was ruined. This was the glory they risked so much for. She’d never understood her mistress’s yearning for love and marriage and a man…until now.
James cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek as he gazed down at her in wonder and fascination. “Why can’t I resist you, Miss Beaumont?”
“I don’t know.” She blinked, dazed by the fact that she and the Earl of Pembroke were pressed chest to chest against the bookshelf.
“Have you ever felt like this before?” he asked.
“No, never. I was beginning to worry something might be wrong with me.” She half laughed, but the sound was tremulous. She shouldn’t have confessed that—a lady wouldn’t have.
But you’re not a lady, her inner voice reminded her sharply. You’re a servant, and he believes you are gentle-born.
“Have you kissed many other men?” James’s question was full of curiosity and a hint of jealousy.
“No, but then, I’ve never wanted anyone to kiss me before,” she explained in a scandalized whisper. The simple curve of his lips made her smile too.
“Good. The thought of you with another man might drive me mad.”
Worry creased her brows. “Are you a jealous sort of man?”
James shook his head. “Never. But you make me feel different.”
He didn’t seem to know what else to say, and she didn’t want to speak, either. She bit her bottom lip and peered up at him from beneath her lashes. She couldn’t be as bold as Audrey, but she hoped he would take her actions as an invitation.
He did. He curled his arm around her waist and brought her back into his arms. She placed her palms on his waistcoat and curled her fingers into his lapels as their lips met in another fiery kiss. He moved his mouth over hers, and she couldn’t help but moan at the way he made her feel, on fire everywhere. No wonder Audrey was chasing rogues about, begging for kisses. If they all felt like this, she could understand.
“James? James? Where are you?” Letty’s voice carried through the shelves, and he hastily stumbled back from Gillian just before his sister found them. She held a trio of historical volumes and was watching them curiously.
“Did Miss Beaumont find her book?”
“Er… Yes.” James held out the book, and Gillian tried not to laugh at the almost boyish guilt written on his face. Letty was younger than her brother, and it was clear James tried to be on his best behavior around her, as though striving to please her. The notion was charming. It reminded Gillian of her mistress’s older brother, Cedric, Viscount Sheridan. Despite being a notorious rogue, he was impossibly sweet to his sisters.
“Excellent.” Letty grinned at her. “James, would you buy these for me?” She shoved the stack of books into his chest. He fumbled as he clutched at them. “I want to talk with Miss Beaumont.”
James’s eyes twinkled as he looked at them. “You wish to talk about matters of a feminine nature, I assume?” He held Letty’s books and began to turn around, but then Gillian caught his arm.
“Oh, you have mine. I shall need to pay as well.”
“Nonsense. I’ll buy it for you.” He tucked the book firmly between two of Letty’s where Gillian could not reach it.
“Oh, please, I really must insist.” Gillian made another valiant effort to reach for the book, but James tsked and shook his head.
“Consider it a gift from me for a delightfully unexpected change in my day. If you hadn’t been at the modiste, Letty would’ve spent all day trying on bonnets.” James rolled his eyes, and Letty pretended to pout. Before Gillian could argue, James vanished with the books, leaving her alone with his sister. She’d been ignoring the truth of her deception for the last hour, but reality had returned once she was out of James’s arms.
This isn’t my world. I should not be here, letting them both assume I’m one of them. How can they not see? Her hair was simply styled. Her dress, while more fancy than that of a usual lady’s maid, was still a servant’s dress.
“He is right, you know. I would’ve stayed there all day. I’m certain he would’ve perished on Madame Ella’s fainting couch waiting for me.”
Gillian giggled at the thought of James lying prone on a fainting couch, a ghastly expression on his face, one arm thrown over his eyes in despair while Letty dropped more bonnets on his lap.
“He’s a wonderful man, my brother, quite wonderful,” Letty said, watching Gillian with a keenness that remind her all too well of her mistress when she was plotting something.
“Er… Yes, I imagine he is,” she answered carefully.
Letty studied the books around her, a pensive look upon her face.
“He deserves a good wife, you know. Quite a few ladies have set their caps for him, but…” Letty trailed off. She sighed and met Gillian’s confused gaze. “Well, none of them are interested in a love match. I believe my brother deserves that, don’t you agree?”
There was a hint of warning in Letty’s tone that Gillian understood. If she wouldn’t love James, she needed to leave him alone. Which of course she must, because earls didn’t marry ladies’ maids.
“I agree,” she said quietly. “I have no designs upon him, truthfully, Miss Fordyce.”
Letty smiled. “If you did think you were developing feelings for him, that would be acceptable.” Her answer surprised Gillian.
“But—” she began.
“I want no title hunters for James. It’s love or nothing. After our father passed away, our mother grew…forgetful and unwell, and it’s up to me to protect him, at least in the ways of the heart.”
“A noble endeavor,” Gillian agreed. If she’d had siblings to look out for, she would have done the same. She had two half-siblings, a sister and a brother, but… Well, they didn’t even know about her, and she could never tell them. She was a bastard child, after all, and a servant.
Letty looked ready to speak again, but James returned, books stacked in his arms.
“Shall we deliver these to the footman? I don’t want to be carrying books into Gunter’s. They might end up sticky if someone’s flavored ice melts.”
“Good point, James.” Letty, James, and Gillian left the shop. Gillian still couldn’t believe she was here on the streets with an earl and his sister, acting the part of a fine lady, but the deception had gone too far, and she could not go back now.
They climbed into the carriage that bore the Pembroke cres
t and gave the books to the footman, who tucked them in a leather coach box. When they reached Gunter’s, James offered to let them stay in the carriage. The weather was fine, and Gillian and Letty agreed it would be more pleasant to eat their ices in the carriage rather than go indoors where the crowds were sure to be.
Young men, employees of Gunter’s, ran across the street to carriages and back again, carrying ices. Letty waved to a few ladies in another carriage and turned to James and Gillian. “It’s been positively ages since I’ve talked with Miss Dawkins and Lady Fairchild. Do you mind if I go and see them?”
“Not at all,” James replied before glancing to Gillian, who nodded, but blushed.
It was perfectly acceptable not to be chaperoned at Gunter’s. It was one of the few places in London that escaped the stigma of being a place where a lady could be ruined simply by being alone with a man. Letty hastily departed the carriage and went to join her friends. Gillian now sat facing James. A flutter of nerves stirred in her belly, and she resisted the urge to place a hand over her stomach.
“Afraid to be alone with me?” James teased. “We’re quite safe here.”
Gillian blushed. “I’m not afraid. I’ve just never been to Gunter’s…” As a lady, she added silently. She’d followed her mistress there plenty of times, but never to indulge in confectionaries or converse with gentlemen. She was watchful and silent unless her lady needed her.
“Never been to Gunter’s? Lord, where have you been, Miss Beaumont?” James leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. He studied her curiously.
“Where have I been?” she echoed, confused by his question.
“Clearly you haven’t been in London. I mean, if you haven’t been to Gunter’s.”
“Oh…” She scrambled to come up with a story of where she’d been. “I live in the country and rarely come to London.” She searched her memory in vain for a place he’d likely not have been to. “I’m from Lothbrook.” It was a small village, one she’d never heard of until recently when Audrey had used her influence as the secret columnist Lady Society to reunite a young woman from Lothbrook with a rakehell who’d fallen in love with her.
“Lothbrook,” James mused thoughtfully. “Where have I heard that name before?”
“Oh—”
Before Gillian could find herself in deeper trouble, she jumped as a Gunter’s employee suddenly appeared by the carriage and held out two dishes with ices inside.
“Thank you.” James handed the lad his payment, and when Gillian attempted to argue, he tsked and waved a finger at her.
“Miss Beaumont, do you really think a proper gentleman would allow you to pay for your own ices?” The teasing look in his eyes made her flush all over, and she felt bold enough to respond by showing a flare of minor annoyance with him.
“After what occurred in the bookshop, you are claiming to be a proper gentleman, Lord Pembroke?”
James dipped his spoon into his ice and took a bite. As he licked his lips, his lashes lowered to half-mast.
“I confess. You’ve discovered my flaw. I’m more rogue than gentleman, and I don’t plan to apologize for that kiss, not when you tasted sweeter than this ice.”
Gillian gasped. His openly sensual words were too much.
“I know, I am terribly wicked.” A smile touched his lips, the soft intensity of his words making her melt.
“Yes, you are.” She tried to sound accusing, but her tone was breathless.
“And you like it,” he added quickly.
“Yes, I… Wait, no. I most certainly do not!” She dropped her spoon into the ice dish, scowling at him. This was not right. The devil. A rogue, talking of kisses and sweet tastes with a stranger, a stranger he didn’t even know wasn’t worthy of his attentions. She covered the rising despair of this with irritation.
“Please finish your ice before it melts and my gentlemanly gesture goes to waste.” He used the tip of his spoon to point at her dish.
Gillian stared at the melting ice, and with a little humph she finished eating it, all too aware of James watching her. She’d never been so frustrated by a man in her life, nor had she ever been in such an uncomfortable position, either. How could Audrey stand to be around Jonathan when she felt this way? Gillian had a sudden appreciation for her mistress’s ability to keep her head around the man she was attracted to.
When she was done, James had an attendant from the store collect the dishes. Then he cast one glance at his sister, who was still deep in conversation with her friends a few carriages away.
“It seems Letty won’t be returning anytime soon.” James started to move toward Gillian to join her in her seat, but he froze when someone called his name.
“Pembroke? Fancy finding you here.” A familiar voice made Gillian tense and glance about.
A handsome gentleman approached their coach on a horse. The fine gelding started as the gentleman tugged lightly on the reins. It was Mr. Ambrose Worthing, the rakehell she and Audrey had helped a few weeks ago in Lothbrook. She liked Mr. Worthing, but he knew she was not a gentle-born lady. She had to say something to stop him from exposing her masquerade.
“Mr. Worthing! It’s so good to see you again,” she said, meeting his gaze intensely.
Mr. Worthing’s lips parted, and it took him a mere moment to catch her silent warning.
“Miss Beaumont. Lovely to see you again as well,” he echoed.
“How are you, Worthing?” Pembroke asked with a grin. “You and the wife settled in?”
“Yes, who knew married life would suit me so well?” Mr. Worthing chuckled. “I always thought I’d be dragged to the altar, screaming for help. But once I knew Alexandra was the only woman I could ever love…well, it made marriage a necessity.”
James laughed. “It seems like everyone I know is rushing off to get leg-shackled.”
“You’re not tempted in the slightest?” Mr. Worthing jested, glancing determinedly at Gillian. Her heart leapt into her throat.
James barked out a laugh.
“Perhaps I am a bit tempted.” His eyes locked with Gillian’s, and she couldn’t look away. The honey-fired depths of his eyes seemed to draw her in, trapping her until she forgot where she was and who she was with. Gillian never could have imagined how dangerous a pair of brown eyes could be.
“Well, I can see I am intruding,” Mr. Worthing cut in, with a hint of mirth in his tone. “But I’m glad I did meet with you, Miss Beaumont. I have a letter for you.” Mr. Worthing reached into his waistcoat and removed a folded bit of parchment. He held it out to Gillian, his gaze serious. She took it. There was no name upon the outside, merely two letters—LS—which Gillian knew instantly meant it was intended for Lady Society.
“Thank you, Mr. Worthing.” She was about to tuck it into her reticule when Worthing spoke again.
“I’m afraid it’s rather urgent.” Once again, his eyes were serious.
“Oh!” She fumbled to break the seal. As she took out the letter, she glanced once more at Worthing.
“If you need to reply, send it to my London address,” Worthing said. He nodded in farewell to Pembroke, who watched them curiously.
“Thank you.” Gillian watched Mr. Worthing dig his heels into his gelding’s flanks and ride off. Only then did she unfold the parchment to read the letter.
My dear LS,
It has been rumored that Gerald Langley seeks to lure you to his hellfire club tonight. He believes he will at last have the revenge he seeks. I pray, nay, I insist you stay home this evening. You’ve done Langley enough harm. You need not endanger yourself further.
Yours,
Worthing
Gillian read the words once more, her heart pounding. She’d known tonight’s scheme to infiltrate the hellfire club had been a very terrible idea. But she couldn’t have imagined it would be so dangerous. She would have to warn her mistress at once.
“Is everything all right, Miss Beaumont? You’ve gone very pale.” James moved to sit beside her.
“Y—yes,” she stammered, unnerved by his closeness and the contents of the letter. She jumped when he placed his gloved hand over hers. His palm was warm and his fingers strong, but gentle as they curled around her fingers.
“My lord, you mustn’t. People are watching us.” She glanced away, wishing she’d worn a bonnet today so she might’ve hidden her face from searching eyes.
“Let them see. I like you, Miss Beaumont. And I’ve only known you but a few hours.”
Gillian laughed, but the sound was watery. “My lord, you do not know me at all.” Her heart clenched. “I am most grateful for everything you’ve done today, but I’m afraid I really must go.”
She pulled her hand free of his, hating how she missed his touch. She’d never thought she would fall for any man, certainly not one like the Earl of Pembroke. It was time to go, to end this silly charade before her heart was truly broken. She climbed out of the carriage, glancing about for her own coach and found it at the end of the street.
“Miss Beaumont, please, let me escort you.” James climbed down, trying to take her hand again. Gillian’s eyes stung with tears, and she blinked them back. What is wrong with me? I’ve never hurt so. But having to convince James leave her alone was making her bleed inside.
“Please, my lord. You should remain with your sister.” Then, before she could let him convince her to stay, she rushed toward the waiting coach farther down the street.
Just as she reached the coach, a man emerged from the mews between two shops and gripped her arm. Something sharp dug into her side, and she opened her mouth to scream.
“Hush now, pet. I’ve got a knife, and it’s sharp enough to cut you through your stays and make a nice little hole. We wouldn’t want that, now would we?” The man was dressed like a gentleman, but the heavy scruff on his jaw and Cockney accent assured her he was no gentleman.
“You’re going to be good, aren’t you?” the man asked quietly in her ear. “Nod, if you agree.”
Gillian nodded her head hesitantly.
