A Lady Never Tells

by Candace Camp

  “I have something.” Mary reached for the bag that sat at the foot of her bed, acutely aware of how little she was wearing and of the way her breasts, free of the restraint of her chemise, swayed as she moved.

  She cast a surreptitious glance at Royce as she dug through the bag. His eyes, she noted, were not on her face but on her body. She flushed as she pulled out the small jar and held it toward him.

  “Here. ’Tis only a home remedy, but it helps wounds heal, I’ve found.”

  He stepped forward and took the jar, his fingertips grazing hers. Mary could not suppress another shiver.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  Mary nodded, not daring to look at him. She hurried to the chair beside her bed and picked up her dressing gown, quickly slipping it on. She turned back to Royce as she tied the sash.

  There was something in his heavy-lidded gaze that took her breath away. Her hands trembled on the bow she was tying. She curled her hands into fists and dropped them to her sides to hide the movement.

  He walked over to her, and Mary looked up into his face. His eyes were dark and mysterious in the dim light, pulling her in. “Turn around so I can put this on you.”

  “What? Oh.” Mary tore her eyes away and pivoted so that her back was to him.

  “You have no idea who the intruder might have been?” he asked, carefully pushing her hair away on either side of her wound. His fingers slid through her hair, and the locks twined around them and fell away.

  “I—um—not really.” Mary struggled to conceal the breathlessness in her voice. The nape of her neck lay bare, and she felt vulnerable and exposed—and tingling with anticipation. “I could not see his face. He wore a cap pulled low and a mask over much of his face. What I could see did not look familiar.” She considered telling Royce about Cosmo, but she was reluctant to bring him up. It could not have been Cosmo, anyway; the man was too large.

  Royce gently touched the cool ointment to her head, his finger gliding over her scalp, soothing the pain—and at the same time sending a spark sizzling through her veins.

  Mary closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “We don’t know anyone in England; we have only been here a few days. How could we have made any enemies?” She concentrated on ignoring the delicate touch of his finger upon her scalp, forcing herself to think about Rose and her attempted abduction.

  “I don’t know.” Royce’s voice sounded rougher, deeper, and there was a changed quality to his breathing. His hand skimmed over Mary’s hair as he pulled it away. “There. ’Tis done.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice was shaky. She did not want to turn around and look at him, afraid that something of her inner turmoil would reveal itself.

  “My pleasure,” he told her, and she felt the low rumble of his voice all through her. He was so close that their bodies were almost touching. She could feel his heat through her clothing.

  He leaned closer, murmuring, “When you needed help tonight, you called out to me.”

  He was right. She had not even thought about it. His name had jumped immediately to her lips. “There was no one else, was there?”

  “The landlord. Other guests. But you called my name.”

  He touched the nape of her neck, trailing a forefinger down the length of it. Mary sucked in her breath, unable to hide her reaction.

  “You are so lovely …” Royce bent and pressed his lips to the tender skin of her neck.

  Mary shivered. “I do not think—”

  “Good. Don’t think.” His voice was thick.

  Royce’s hands went to her shoulders, turning her around, and Mary could not find it in her to resist. She tilted her face to look up at him. His eyes were dark and fierce in the dim light, his skin stretched taut across his cheekbones. For an instant, they stood gazing at each other, immobilized by the desire storming through them.

  He bent toward her, his face looming closer, until Mary closed her eyes on a soft sigh. Then his mouth was on hers, swift and hungry, and there was nothing else in the world.

  Chapter 14

  Royce’s arms went around Mary, pulling her up to him. His mouth consumed hers; his hands swept over her, following the soft curves of her body beneath her clothes. Impatient, he went to the tie of her dressing gown and yanked it undone. His hand slipped beneath the robe, roaming over the body that was now separated from his touch only by a thin nightgown.

  Mary jerked in surprise at the feel of his hand moving over her stomach and hips, but she did not draw away. The sensations rippling through her were far too pleasurable. His fingers skimmed over her torso, moving up to touch her breasts. Her nipples tightened almost painfully in response, and something deep inside her warmed and opened in a pleasurable aching. Her arms rose and twined around his neck.

  His mouth left hers, kissing her cheek, her ear, her throat in a leisurely journey that stoked the fire in her abdomen. His lips were like velvet, caressing the tender skin of her throat as he tasted and explored. Mary let out a soft groan, shaken by the hunger he aroused in her. She was restless and eager, driven by feelings she had never known before, and at the same time was filled with a luxurious lassitude, unable to move or even think beyond this moment.

  Royce toyed with her nipples through the soft cloth of her nightgown, arousing them to hard, thrusting points, and with each movement, as if connected by a cord, the ache between her legs grew and throbbed. Mary squeezed her legs together, realizing with shock that she wanted to wrap them around his body.

  He made a low noise deep in his throat and seized the lapels of her dressing gown, shoving it back and down her arms, dropping it on the floor. Sinking his fingers into the fleshy mounds of her buttocks, he pulled her into him, molding her against the hard ridge of his desire. Mary felt his flesh quicken and pulse against her. Her breath rasped in her throat. She looked up into his face and saw the raw desire stamped there. He bent to kiss her again, and she went up on tiptoe to meet him.

  At that moment, Rose made an unintelligible noise and turned over in the bed.

  Mary froze, suddenly aware of the world around her. She was wildly kissing Royce, letting him touch her intimately—indeed, reveling in that touch—and all the while her sister was lying in bed only a few feet away!

  She pulled back and saw the same realization dawning in Royce’s face. He muttered a curse and turned away, running his hands over his face. Quickly, Mary wrapped her dressing gown around her again and jerked the sash tight. Her face felt flushed—partly from embarrassment and partly from the desire that still pounded through her. She could hardly bring herself to look at Royce.

  “I beg your pardon.” Royce did not look at her. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “My behavior was inexcusable.” He marched to the door and opened it, then turned back. “Lock your door—and that window.” He hesitated, then finally, with a stiff nod, said, “I shall see you tomorrow morning.”

  He turned and left. Mary stood for a moment, staring at the blank door. She could not seem to move or even think. Finally, she went to the door and turned the key, then checked the window to make sure the latch was in place.

  Slowly she sank onto the bench at the foot of the bed. She pressed her fingers to her lips, still tingling from Royce’s kisses. What had she done? What had she been thinking? And how in the world was she going to face Royce again?

  The group that assembled the next morning around the breakfast table was a sluggish one—all of them bleary-eyed and quiet, their movements a trifle slow. Even Miss Dalrymple was not her usual self, not even correcting the girls once.

  Mary, her eyes smudged dark with lack of sleep, came into the room last. She cast a quick glance around the chamber, her eyes lighting immediately on Royce, then just as quickly flitting away to each of her sisters. She slipped into her seat and was grateful to have a cup of coffee poured for her instead of the ubiquitous tea.

  As she sipped it, she studied the others once more. Rose yawned, her eyes dull, her gestures listless. Even Lily, usually full of chatter, was silent, toying
with her food. Anger welled in Mary. She might be a little sleepy—she’d had the devil of a time trying to fall asleep again last night—but at least she was not suffering from the effects of a narcotic. Clearly the dose had been large—the man could have seriously harmed one of them. What if one of her sisters had simply not awakened from her sleep?

  She brought her cup down with a snap. “Do any of you remember anything about last night?”

  Everyone but Royce turned a blank stare upon her.

  “What do you mean, Mare?” Camellia frowned at her. “About supper?”

  “No, about the enormous din I created screaming.” Several mouths dropped open. “You were drugged. And someone tried to abduct Rose.”

  A babble of questions followed this pronouncement, and Mary went through the story in more detail—leaving out everything that had happened after she and Royce returned to her bedchamber. There was a long moment of silence after she finished.

  “I cannot believe we missed the whole thing!” Lily cried rather petulantly.

  “I know. The only excitement in days, and we were sound asleep,” Camellia added in disgust. “I wish I had had a crack at the man.”

  “Yes, your gun might have come in quite handy,” Royce offered, a twinkle in his eyes. “I presume you sleep with it under your pillow.”

  “Don’t be daft.” Camellia sent him a scornful look. “It was in my bag, not even loaded.” She brightened. “I shall take it out now, though, and carry it with us. Do you think there’s a chance he will try again?”

  “Camellia!” Rose exclaimed. “Don’t even say such a thing!”

  “Well,” Miss Dalrymple said with the air of one making a pronouncement, “I must say, I have never had this sort of thing happen at any of my other places of employment.”

  “I daresay,” Royce agreed mildly. “No doubt the earl would have been reluctant to hire you if kidnappings had been a regular occurrence at your places of employment. However, I suspect that you might as well get used to such things now.”

  Miss Dalrymple goggled at him.

  “Who do you suppose it was?” Lily asked. “Do you think it was like the wicked Duc de Montclair, and he saw Rose from afar and lusted after her?”

  Miss Dalrymple let out a gasp. “Miss Lily! Mind your language.”

  Wrapped up in her story, Lily went on, “Maybe he saw you in London, Rose, and he followed us here, and then he stole you, intending to have his way with you.”

  “Honestly, Lily, you and Camellia act as if you’re glad someone tried to carry me off !” Rose glared at her sister.

  “No, of course not. But you must admit, it’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to us.” Lily fell silent, looking somewhat chastened.

  Rose turned to Mary, a question in her eyes, and Mary knew she was thinking about Cosmo, just as she had. Mary gave her a subtle shake of her head, and Rose said nothing.

  “I know who it could be!” Lily exclaimed, snapping her fingers, her momentary constraint vanished. “That man who followed us the other day! You said that the man last night was large, and so was he.”

  “That’s true,” Mary agreed, looking thoughtful.

  “Perhaps he followed us the other day because he was …” Lily cast a glance at Miss Dalrymple. “… interested in Rose. Maybe he’s been watching us, trailing us, just waiting for an opportunity to take her.”

  Royce shrugged. “Perhaps. Or maybe someone staying here caught a glimpse of her and decided to abduct her. I checked this morning, and none of the guests fled the inn in the middle of the night. But the intruder clearly did. There are footprints in the mud below your window, and they led out to the road.” He paused, then continued, “Whoever it was, I hope that after last night’s failure, he will have given up. Still, I think it would be a good idea to take some precautions.”

  Camellia nodded. “I’ll take my pistol in the carriage.”

  “I never imagined that I would say such a thing, but I think that would be a good idea. The driver usually has a gun on long trips, and I shall tell him to have the groom carry it at the ready. No doubt it will be unnecessary, but better to look foolish than to have to face Oliver and tell him I lost one of his new cousins along the way. Now, it is still some distance to Willowmere. Traveling at a comfortable pace, we would have to stop again tonight at an inn, which I am reluctant to do. Therefore, I intend to make a small detour. My own estate, Iverley Hall, is not far off the route we will take. I think the extra distance is worth it to spend the night where I know we will be secure.” He cast a look around the table and, seeing no protestations or questions, gave them a nod. “Good. Then I will leave you lovely ladies to pack your things while I talk to the coachman.”

  “I like him,” Camellia announced as the door closed after Royce.

  “Me too,” Lily agreed. “It must have been terribly romantic, his running in to rescue you like that.” She heaved a sigh.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Mary replied dryly, “since I was unconscious at the time. When I woke up, he was slapping my cheek.”

  “Slapping you!” Miss Dalrymple repeated, aghast. “No, no, I will not believe it. A perfect gentleman—”

  “Oh, not like that,” Mary told her, annoyed. “Just … you know … trying to wake me up.” She demonstrated on her own cheek.

  “It is best if you don’t mention it at all.” Miss Dalrymple shook her head disapprovingly. “A gentleman should never enter a lady’s bedchamber.”

  Mary rolled her eyes. “Even when she screams for help?”

  “If word got out, it could ruin your reputation,” the chaperone countered, rising to her feet. “Now, I am going to get ready to leave, as Sir Royce suggested, and I expect you girls to do the same.”

  As soon as Miss Dalrymple left the room, Camellia rounded on her two older sisters. “All right. What aren’t you two telling us? Don’t deny it; I saw that look between you earlier. You know something more than you’re letting on to Sir Royce.”

  “Mary saw Cosmo the other day,” Rose said.

  “What?” Lily’s voice rose. “And you didn’t tell us?”

  “I wasn’t sure it was him,” Mary protested.

  “You could have told us anyway! You never tell us anything.”

  “We aren’t children anymore,” Camellia addded.

  “I know. I’m sorry. I would have told you, but Sir Royce and Fitz were there, and then when we got home, we were so busy. I didn’t think it was important, anyway.”

  “All right,” Camellia said somewhat begrudgingly. “Never mind all that. Where did you see him? Did he talk to you?”

  “No. I saw him at a distance. That’s why I wasn’t sure it was him. It was at the Tower, when I left the rest of you. I thought I saw him some way off, and I went looking for him, but I lost him. And then …” She shrugged, a blush rising in her cheeks as she remembered what had happened after Royce found her. “Anyway, I just saw him for a moment, and it wasn’t up close. I could have been imagining things.”

  “You didn’t imagine what happened last night.”

  “No. But that man couldn’t possibly have been Cosmo, he was far too big. Besides, even with a mask, I think I would have recognized Cosmo.”

  “Is that why you didn’t tell Sir Royce either about seeing him?” Lily asked.

  “Yes. I knew it couldn’t be Cosmo. And I just …” Mary sighed. “I don’t know. I never told the earl or any of them about Cosmo. I’m not sure why. Maybe I was afraid it would make Lord Stewkesbury more suspicious of us. Or perhaps I was simply embarrassed. Cosmo Glass is not the sort one wants to admit knowing.”

  “That’s true enough.” Camellia nodded. “I wouldn’t have told them either.”

  “Besides, whether it’s Cosmo or someone else, all any of us can do is keep an eye on Rose and make sure that nothing happens to her.” Mary looked at Rose. “Unless you would rather I tell Sir Royce?”

  Rose shook her head and offered a wan smile. “No. I’d just as soon no one here
even heard of the man. You’re right. I just need to be careful.”

  “We’ll all be careful.”

  It was late afternoon when their carriage pulled into a long driveway, cool and green with overarching trees lining the way to a regal block of a house. Made of red sandstone, it glowed in the mellow light of the sinking sun. Sets of mullioned windows glittered across the front, and both ends were anchored by sturdy square chimneys, with another pair rising from the center. Somehow both stately and warm, the house had a welcoming air about it, and Mary felt at once that they would indeed be safe here.

  “What a wonderful house!” she exclaimed as she swung out of the carriage, taking Royce’s proffered hand to step down.

  He smiled, and his hand tightened briefly around hers. “Thank you. I think so. Welcome, ladies, to Iverley Hall.”

  A butler emerged, his smile letting Mary know at once that this man was a far cry from the earl’s Hooper. He was followed by a middle-aged woman, smoothing down her apron and beaming. After the inescapable greetings, introductions, and instructions, the middle-aged woman, who turned out to be Mrs. Appleby, the housekeeper, led the sisters to their rooms herself, apologizing all the way because only a few of the rooms were ready for visitors.

  “We wasn’t expecting the master for three or four weeks yet,” she confided in Mary. “Usually, Master Royce is good about letting us know when he’s coming and whether he’s bringing guests—” The housekeeper stopped, looked horrified. “Not that I’m complaining, you understand, miss. I’m sure he would have sent word if there’d been time.”

  “No doubt he would.” Mary smiled at the woman. “It was a sudden decision. I am sure he has full confidence in your housekeeping.” She cast a glance around. “It is clear that the house looks lovely, even in Sir Royce’s absence.”

  The older woman pinkened in gratification. “Thank you, miss, it’s good of you to notice. We do our best, we do. It’s always grand when Master Royce comes home.”