He swung his gaze about the darkened interior. The low ceilings with beams blackened from fire and pipe smoke were coated in cobwebs and dust. Niall had to duck to avoid one that had a jagged crack jutting it out at an odd angle, and looked though it might split in two at any moment.
With the rain came a chill and a meager fire had been lit. Most of the matrons huddled around the feeble glow. He turned his attention to them, scanning the faces under worn caps and threadbare coats. He didn’t know Mr. Wilshire at all so he hoped he could find him. His aunt had described him as a heavy-set man with thinning hair and a face reddened by alcohol abuse. That could have described many of this sorry lot.
Shaking his head, he headed over to the bar before he drew too much attention to himself. Mr. Wilshire was husband to his aunt’s housekeeper so there had been no reason for him to know him but according to Mrs. Wilshire, he’d been missing for two days, most likely drowned in a vat of ale, the woman had said bitterly. Aunt Joyce had pleaded with him to help.
As far as he was concerned, the man should stay missing. He was clearly a terrible husband to Mrs. Wilshire if this was a common occurrence.
“What can I get you, sir?” The innkeeper stopped in front of him, spat into a glass, then gave it a thorough wipe with a cloth.
Niall ignored the unsanitary act. It was not as though he had never stepped into such places before. Travelling down from Scotland had meant many a night in places ridden with bedbugs. But he’d never choose to come here.
“A coffee, if you have it.”
The man lifted a thick, unruly eyebrow then shrugged. If Niall could say nothing complimentary about the place, he could at least say the service was quick. Within moments a mug of steaming coffee was set in front of him, the fragrance bitter and thick.
“Is there a Frank Wilshire here?” Niall asked, taking a sip of the hot liquid, feeling it spark through his veins. He managed to keep the wince from his face. This coffee could wake the damned dead.
The innkeeper leaned on the bar. “Why do you want to know?”
“His wife misses him,” Niall replied, meeting the man’s cold stare.
A smile cracked across the innkeeper’s heavily lined face. He chuckled. “Well, she’s welcome to him. He’s spent all his coin and is hassling my barmaid.” He indicated to a group of three men who had cornered a girl who looked too young to be working in such a place.
One of the men pulled her onto his lap while she tried to bat his hands away. The man had to be Wilshire as the two others were lanky and younger.
“Are you planning to do something about that?” Niall asked the innkeeper.
He shrugged. “Maisy is used to it.”
Used to it or not, Niall could not stomach seeing a girl being pawed by a drunkard. He took another sip of coffee and paced over to the threesome. The two younger men’s laughter quieted when they spotted him and they averted their gaze.
Niall folded his arms across his chest. “It’s time to go home, Wilshire.”
“Says who?” the man pinned the struggling girl to his chest and made kissing sounds. She tried to push his face away but he grabbed her skinny wrists between one hand.
“Says your wife,” Niall bit out.
Wilshire gave a dismissive sound that was cut off by Niall grabbing his collar. Shock froze the man’s expression and he released the girl. She hastened away, murmuring her thanks.
“Time to go home.” Niall dragged the man to the door and pushed him outside. The rain had increased, running in rivulets down the bumpy dirt road. Niall swiped a hand over his damp face and glowered at the obviously still drunken man.
“You have no right,” Wilshire spluttered, trying to straighten and taking two steps sideways instead.
“Your wife wants you home. You’d serve her better there than wasting your coin here.” Niall took a threatening step toward him when the man tried to step past him and back into the inn. “Do I have to drag you home? Because I do not mind hauling you through the streets though I think your wife will have something to say about that.”
Wilshire pulled his jacket lapels together and straightened. “You don’t need to do that.”
“Good. I’d suggest apologizing to your wife too.”
As the man made to move past Niall, he took a swing at him. “You bastard. You cannot tell me what to do.”
The punch was slow and easy to avoid. Niall gripped the man by his collar once more and shoved him up against the wall of the inn. “I have no time for drunks like you. Be grateful I’m in a charitable mood or I would have repaid that swing.”
“M-my laird—”
Niall swung his gaze around. “Lavinia?”
Looking damp but as beautiful as ever, she stood shivering in a too thin pelisse and delicate pale pink dress. He looked to Wilshire and eased his grip on him. The man touched a hand to his throat and glared back.
“Will you go home peacefully?” Niall hissed. “I have no desire to spill blood in front of the lady.”
Wilshire gave a slight nod and straightened his cap, ducking his head briefly to Lavinia before hastening away, his gait unsteady.
Niall watched him until he had vanished along the road. He’d have to check with Mrs. Wilshire later and ensure the man had returned home safely. Turning his attention to Lavinia, he readjusted his cravat and blew out a breath.
“I am sorry you had to see that.” He pushed a hand through his damp hair, reminding him he had left with such haste that he was not exactly dressed as a gentleman nor prepared for the rain. His shirt stuck to his skin and droplets trickled down the back of his neck. Regret tore jagged rips in his gut. She should never have seen that. No doubt...
“Mr. Wilshire was drunk again?”
He nodded. “Mrs. Wilshire was concerned for him.” He eyed her shivering form. “Come, we need to get you out of the rain, lass.” He glanced at the inn and shook his head. “Not there though. No place for a lady,” he explained briefly as he took her arm and led her quickly along the road.
“I saw an abandoned barn,” he said, aware of how delicate her arm felt it in his grip and how damned cold she had to be. What the devil was she doing here alone and in the rain? What an awful time for her to come across him. He was already aware there were rumors circulating that he was nothing more than a brutish Scotsman with a love for brawling and drinking. Now his actions had likely proved those rumors true even if they were not.
The small stone building was masked by ivy and tucked into the trees but it meant it was dry, if a little dark. He led Lavinia under the shelter of the building where she removed her floppy bonnet and pushed several strands of hair from her face.
“I—” She started.
“What—” He paused. “Forgive me.”
“No, please go on.”
She shook her head.
He drew in a lengthy breath. “I was going to say, I imagine you think me nothing more than an angry, brawling Scot now but—”
“No!” She shook her head vigorously and the veracity of her response made him blink. “I mean, no, of course I do not.”
“You don’t?”
“I am sure you had good reason.”
“Wilshire swung at me and I was having a time trying to persuade him to return home,” he admitted. “I have no time for drunks,” he muttered.
Her eyes widened at the veracity of his statement.
“I have known too many men throw away their life to alcohol.”
“Oh.”
“An uncle and a cousin to be precise. Having seen them ruin their lives through drink, I don’t even touch the stuff,” he told her.
She looked up at him, her lashes damp from the rain and her eyes wide. It made his knees weaken.
“Did you really think I would assume the worst of you?”
He shrugged. “I am not unused to being misjudged, especially since coming here. I have heard the whispers about me. After all, I’m a Scot. What else would I be but a fighter and a drunk?” He said the last
part with a twisted smile.
“I’m sorry that people have said such things. We are but a small village and people are always looking for any excuse to gossip. I hope...I hope you are not upset.”
He chuckled. “It does not bother me. Unless, of course, it impacts your opinion of me.”
“Never,” she whispered.
“Good.” He swiped a droplet of rain from her face with a thumb and let it linger on her cheek. “Now what brings you out here?”
A little color eased onto her pale cheeks. She smiled shyly. “I was, um, looking for you.”
“Oh aye?”
“Mrs. Wilshire had said you were looking for her husband. I know he likes to drink here.”
“And you came alone? To the inn? In the pouring rain?” He shook his head in wonder. “You’re a daft lass.”
“Perhaps I am.” Her smile expanded. “But I could not wait a moment longer.”
“For what?”
Her chest rose and fell and she glanced at the floor before meeting his gaze. “To tell you...to tell you that I—” She bit down on her bottom lip. “That I like you a lot, Niall. More than I have ever liked anyone. You make me feel...” Lavinia laughed. “It is hard to explain. But I want you to kiss me more, and hold me, and—”
He stepped forward. “You don’t need to explain. I know it all too well.”
Her throat bobbed. “You feel it too?”
“Aye, how could I not? I’ve never met a woman like you. So determined, so giving, so funny.”
She tilted her head. “You think I’m funny?”
“Aye.”
“No one thinks I’m funny.” Her lips curved.
“They do not know you.”
She sighed. “No, they do not. Especially my mother. She thinks I need a rich duke and is determined that I should find one during the season.”
“I’m no duke but I swear I can look after you. You and your sisters. I would do whatever I needed to do to ensure the safety of your futures.” He took her face in both hands and lifted it to look into her eyes.
“Your aunt would not like it.”
“Nor would your mother.” He held his breath. He understood all too well how duty of family could drive a person. Hell, he’d spent the better part of a decade working so hard that he had constant calluses on his hand so he could look after the family estate. And the only reason he’d come to England had been because of duty. If Lavinia could not disappoint her mother, he’d understand.
He’d not be happy about it, but he’d understand.
“I know.”
The word came out soft and regret-filled. If his heart could have dropped out of his toes, it would have. He released her face.
When he went to take a step back, she jumped forward, gripping his arms. “I know,” she repeated. “But I do not care. For once in my life, I want to be selfish.”
Her lips were upon his before the words had filtered through to his brain. A startled sound escaped him and any voice he had left was swept away, lost to the sensation of her soft mouth upon his. He wrapped his arms about her body and flattened her to him, relishing her gasp of delight.
Lavinia opened her mouth to him while her hands dug into his upper arms, the sweet bite of her fingertips flaring heat through his veins. He pushed the kiss deep, deeper than before, tilting his head to taste every part of her mouth. She returned the kiss with desperation as though unable to kiss him enough or as intensely as she wished. Every part of his body ached, his heart thudded in his ears. Her body was soft against his and curving into him. Beneath his hands, he felt the rapid rise and fall of her ribs and the way she undulated against him.
He tore away to eye her. Lips full, eyes glassy, hair starting to dry and frizzing around her face, he didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so beautiful. “Christ, lass,” he muttered, drawing a long breath. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you but—”
“Less words, more kissing.” She wound her hands up around his neck and tugged him down to her.
He chuckled. “Aye.”
Hauling her as tightly into him as possible, he peppered erratic kisses down her neck. She tilted her head to allow him better access and he bit into her flesh lightly—not enough to mark but enough so that she would remember this. Remember him. Whatever Lavinia faced from her mother, she’d not forget this—he was determined.
Kissing his way back to her mouth, he tangled his tongue with hers. She whimpered and staggered back under the onslaught until her back pressed against the stone of the barn. Niall used this to his advantage, flattening his body to hers, effectively trapping her. It allowed him to feel every inch of her while she rocked her hips up into his. He took her face in his hands and pushed his fingers under the loose hair at the nape of her neck.
Hands running up and down his back, she drew in a shuddering breath and slipped her fingers under the fabric of his shirt. Her fingers were cool but seemed to leave trails of fire across his lower back. He swallowed hard and slowed his kisses so he could ease back and take her hands in his.
She blinked at him with heavy lids. A question flickered in her gaze.
“I might be a Scot but there are better places to kiss a woman.”
“I thought perhaps—”
He shook his head and squeezed her hands, bringing one up to his mouth to lay a kiss across her knuckles. “You need to be certain, Lavinia.”
“Does that mean you are?”
He grinned. “How could I not be?”
She gnawed on her bottom lip. “What if I am certain?”
“Even then, I would not take you in a barn of all places. You deserve more than that, lass.”
“I suppose first I need to think of how to tell my mother.” She made a face. “It will not be easy.”
“I could come with you if that helps.”
She shook her head. “I would not make you suffer so.” Lavinia chuckled. “My mother is hard enough to handle on a normal day.”
Niall gave her hands another squeeze and brought both up to his mouth, looking at her as he pressed both to his mouth. “Well, whenever you do it, I’ll be waiting.”
Chapter Eleven
“Ouch.” Lavinia flinched when the pin jabbed into her side.
“Keep still,” ordered Julia, the pins in her mouth muffling her words.
Lavinia forced herself to still and tried not to watch where Julia was putting each pin into the gown. It was better not to know where she was going to stick them or else she’d flinch each time.
“Just...please be careful, Julia,” she begged.
“If you had not come home all soaked the other day, the dressmaker could have done this,” muttered Julia.
Lavinia grimaced. She’d hoped to be able to slip in unnoticed but the housekeeper had spotted her sneaking in through the back, soaked to the skin. Subsequently, Mama had suffered a near fit of panic that Lavinia was going to die and had cancelled the fitting with the dressmaker. With only a little while until the ball at Nicholas’ house before the majority of their guests departed for London, there was no time to rearrange with the busy woman. The rest of her gowns would be completed before she had to go to Town.
If she still had to go to Town that was. With any luck, once her mother understood there was no changing her mind, she could avoid the season all together.
“I could have just worn one of my old gowns,” Lavinia muttered, more to herself than anything.
“Yes, but you know Mama wants you looking your best. One last chance to impress everyone and all that.” Julia gave the fabric at the back of the gown a tug. Lavinia instinctively twitched in anticipation of the next pin.
“Keep still,” she barked.
“I hope you are not going to keep shouting at Lavinia,” said Emma as she walked into the drawing room clutching a sheath of music. “I need to practice.”
“Oh Lord. Can you not wait until we are done?” Julia shared a look with Lavinia.
“With all the matchmaking we have been doin
g...” Emma glanced around and uttered lowering her tone, “I have had no time to practice.” She sat in front of the piano and laid out her sheet music with a flourish.
“If we let her practice here, I cannot be held responsible for how many pins I stick in you.” Julia gave a mock shudder. “Every wrong note she hits could be an extra pin in you.”
Lavinia shook her head with a smile. “Let her practice. I’ll suffer the pins.” After all, how could she not indulge her sisters when it was likely she might not even live with them before long. If she could only get up the courage to speak to her mother, things with Niall could be settled and she would be on her way to Scotland before long.
Her stomach bunched at the thought and she had to resist the need to press her fists against it. The thought of leaving her sisters filled her with dread but she could not wait to be away from this village—away from all the expectation.
And of course, in Niall’s arms.
She sighed.
“You are thinking of him.” Julia gave a smug smile. “You always sigh and your cheeks color when you think of him.”
Emma’s fingers jumped awkwardly across the piano, allowing Lavinia to avoid a response. All she’d done since seeing him three days ago was think of him. Of course, he had not exactly proposed but he had spoken of looking after her and her sisters. Niall was not the sort of man to say such things frivolously, she knew that much.
So all she had to do was tell her mother that she wanted Niall to court her.
It would be easy.
And she’d do it today.
“Ouch!” Lavinia glared at Julia.
“Well that’s what you get for drifting into dreamland.” Julia set the pins on the table at her side. “I think I need a break. My hands are cramping.” She swung a look at Emma. “And I need some peace and quiet for a moment.”
“I heard that,” trilled Emma, playing an awkward version of a country dance. At least that’s what Lavinia assumed it was. It was hard to tell.
“Good.” Julia stuck her tongue out at her then strode out of the drawing room.
Emma shrugged. “If I do not practice, how am I meant to get better? Not everyone is perfect, especially not Julia.”
Lavinia and the Laird (Bluestocking Brides Book 0) Page 8
