‘Mary.’ He shook his head firmly. ‘It’s December, and bitter cold. There’s not time for a large carriage.’
‘Surely you have something smaller? Faster? I heard you raced a curricle to Brighton last summer.’
Dominick laughed. ‘You want to take a curricle out in this weather?’
‘I’ll hire a brougham, then. You could drive that. Or we can ride; I still have a good enough seat. One way or another, I am going.’
‘Mary,’ he said again. The sound of her name, plain old Mary, in his rich, dark voice, made her toes curl in her boots. ‘What if someone saw us together? The respectable widow Lady Derrington with that rake Lord Amesby—what an on dit that would make. You haven’t thought this through.’
That was true enough—she had not been thinking at all ever since she’d found Ginny’s note. But she was so tired of always thinking everything through so carefully, so prudently. Of always being so blasted cautious. Being cautious had got her into this mess.
‘I have thought about it,’ she said. ‘I can’t sit at home and fret while you go after them. My sister needs me, and I need to make this right.’
‘Mary … ‘ he began, a sharp edge to that word now.
‘No, Dominick. We must go together. I have made up my mind, and I do not change it.’
‘I do remember that,’ he said. He shut the book, bracing his fists on top of it. ‘I have never met a lady so stubborn.’
‘I’m no different now.’ Mary rose from her chair and moved slowly to his side, as if drawn by the bright beauty of him. ‘Dominick. You turned me away before, when we were young. Please don’t turn me away now. Help me to help my sister.’
For an instant there was a flash of pain in his eyes, before that unreadable veil fell back into place. He reached out and gently brushed the back of his hand over her cheek. The soft touch left a trail of pure fire along her skin.
‘The only honourable thing I ever did was to turn you away back then,’ he muttered. ‘I can’t be so noble twice.’
‘Then don’t be!’ Mary reached up and pressed her hand over his, holding him against her. His fingers curved, cradling her cheek. ‘Let me go with you. I promise I am strong. I can face whatever we find.’ As long as he was there, she could face it.
He stared down at her, and she felt as if the very air around them crackled with tense awareness. She could see nothing but him. His head tilted, bending towards her. Was he going to kiss her? Mary’s lips parted, and she found herself leaning infinitesimally towards him, longing to know if he still tasted the same. If his kiss would make her feel as wondrously, burningly alive as it once did.
But then he turned away from her and braced his hands against the desk, his shoulders stiff. Mary drew in a shuddering breath. What a great fool she was, to long so much for a kiss from him! Their youthful romance had been so long ago; they were no longer the same people they once were.
She had come here to enlist his help in finding Ginny. She had to remember that.
‘Can you be ready to depart within two hours?’ he said roughly.
‘I—yes, of course,’ she answered. She had no one to answer to now.
‘Meet me back here, then. I will see to our transportation. And Mary … ?’
‘Yes?’
‘Charlotte told me about your son. I am so very sorry for your loss.’ His words were simple, but his tone was full of understanding and terrible pity.
Mary nodded, even though she knew he could not see her, and rushed from the room as if demons nipped at her heels. She impatiently dashed away the hot tears from her eyes—tears at his simple words of kindness.
If she was so unsettled by being in his company for an hour, what would this journey north, just the two of them, feel like? Would she go mad? Throw herself at him on the carriage seat? Something unfortunate was surely bound to happen.
Yet somehow, despite everything, she almost felt like giving a shout of laughter as she turned towards home.
Dominick strode down the street, ignoring the people who hurried around him on their way home, happy Christmas smiles on their faces. A few of his acquaintances even started to greet him but, seemingly put off by his scowl, soon went on their way.
He had found the livery stable that had rented a vehicle to his cousin, but they had had no idea which direction Arthur Heelis had intended to take. They’d rented Dominick a brougham, though, a little two-seater carriage, and warned him of the harsh weather that was surely on the way.
Damn Arthur for a fool, anyway, Dominick thought, as a puddle of cold water splashed over his boots. Not only had he run off with Ginny Smythe, when he knew he could not properly take care of a wife, but he had headed to Scotland in the dead of winter. At least when Dominick had taken Lady Newcombe away they had tried to make it to warmer climes.
Not that it had done poor Eleanor any good in the end. And now he faced the harsh effects of an elopement by Mary’s sister.
Mary. Well, if Arthur was a fool so was he, for agreeing to take Mary with him on what was bound to be a long and arduous search. When they were younger he had turned her away because he had feared he could not control himself around her. He still feared he could not.
When she looked at him with her large dark eyes he could deny her nothing. And when she parted her soft pink lips …
He wanted to catch her in his arms, to drag her so close there was not even a breath between them, and kiss her until they were both senseless. To see if she still tasted the same—sweeter and more intoxicating than any wine.
If they were together for days on end, bound by this wild quest to save her sister, would he be able to control himself at all? Or would the old memories be irresistible, bursting free after all their years of restraint and determined forgetfulness?
He would soon find out. But he had kept from ruining her life once; surely he could do it again? He was too old to marry now, too set in his ways and no good for any woman, let alone one as inestimable as Mary. He would find her sister for her and exorcise Mary Smythe from his memory once and for all.
Chapter Four
Perhaps this was not such a good idea after all.
Mary huddled on the carriage seat, wrapped in a pelisse and a cloak, the fur-lined hood drawn around her face. Yet still the cold wind bit at her skin. The sky, a purplish-grey bruised colour, seemed to lower around them every minute. The clouds looked ready to unleash a fury of rain at any moment.
When they found Ginny at last she would have to shout at the girl until they were both senseless for putting them through this! Then she would sit by a warm fire the rest of the winter.
She peeked at Dominick, who sat silently at her side. She could barely see him, wrapped as he was in a greatcoat and hat, a scarf muffled around his lower face as he urged the horses onward. He had hardly said a word since they had set out, but every once in a while he would reach out and tug the lap robe closer around her.
She stared out at the road again, at the hedgerows and trees concealed in the mist. They seemed to be the only two people in all the world. Everyone else was sensibly tucked up at home by their fires, leaving them all alone. It felt almost like a fairy story—two people on a magical quest.
Except she did not feel magical in the least. She felt cold, tired, and distinctly unsettled to be so near Dominick and yet still so far away.
She shifted on the seat, tucking her hands deeper into her muff. The hot brick at her feet had long gone chilly, but she pressed her feet closer to it anyway.
‘Are you all right?’ Dominick asked her, his voice muffled.
Mary was startled by the sudden sound in the midst of all that silence. ‘Yes. Just cold.’
He nodded. ‘It will be nightfall soon. We’ll find an inn to stop at for a few hours.’
An inn, where there was sure to be a fire and warm things to drink. It sounded wonderful, but … ‘If we stop, they will get even further ahead of us, yes?’
‘They can’t travel at night, either,’ he said s
ensibly. ‘My cousin might be a romantic young puppy, but I’m sure he would never put your sister in danger. Just as I won’t put you in danger. Besides, we should enquire if they’ve been seen along here. We’ll set out again at first light, and try to make it to my Aunt Beatrice’s home by tomorrow night. Perhaps she’s heard something of our runaways.’
‘Aunt Beatrice?’ Mary asked, seeking conversational distraction from the damp cold. ‘You have an aunt?’
Dominick laughed. ‘I’m not so solitary as all that, Mary. I do have some family.’
‘I know you do—everyone does.’ She had just seldom thought of Dominick in such ordinary terms as having kinsmen and obligations, as she did. When she was young he had seemed like a golden prince, complete in himself. Now she was not sure what she thought of him. ‘Tell me about your aunt.’
‘She is the Dowager Lady Amesby—the widow of my uncle. Sadly, it was the deaths of her husband and son that made me the heir. My father was her husband’s younger brother.’
‘And Captain Heelis?’
‘He is the son of their younger sister. Unfortunately Aunt Kate was always a flighty sort. She lives in Ireland now, so she can’t talk any sense into her son’s head.’
Mary laughed. ‘I’m sure I should be glad to meet Lady Amesby, then, especially if her house has lots of fireplaces. My own father’s sister, my Aunt Hester, always tried to save on expenses by lighting just one tiny fire in her own sitting room and severely restricting candles. She did not like children to laugh or talk too loudly, either, and had my sisters and I quite terrified of her. We hated to visit her, but our father made us go there every year.’
‘No fear of talking too loudly in Aunt Beatrice’s house. She is rather deaf. Luckily for me, that means she hasn’t heard any of the gossip about me, and thus thinks I am still an upstanding fellow.’
Mary was beginning to think he was not so bad herself. No one with a completely black heart would go with her in the dead of winter to chase after her eloping sister. But she could not forget Lady Newcombe, or the blonde woman at the museum. Dominick, you naughty man … The ladies did still flock to Dominick, as they always had. He would never look twice at her now.
She shivered, and Dominick shifted the reins to one gloved hand, putting his arm around her shoulders and drawing her close. ‘We will stop soon, I promise.’
Mary couldn’t help herself. She rested her head on his shoulder, leaning into him as the carriage lurched on through the wind. ‘I suppose searching for an inn under inauspicious circumstances is appropriate for Christmas.’
‘Perhaps so,’ he answered. ‘But I can think of better ways to celebrate.’
She closed her eyes, relishing the warmth of him through all their layers of wool, linen and fur. ‘I can, too. When I was a girl, my sisters and I used to go out and gather greenery. We made wreaths and swags for all the mantels and picture frames, and tied enormous red and gold bows around everything we could find. We didn’t have much pin money, but we would save up and buy each other books and drawing pencils and lacy handkerchiefs, and hide them until Christmas Day.’
‘And did you have a great feast on the day?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Mary smiled at the memory. ‘Roast goose, baked ham and plum pudding. After church, all my parents’ friends would come home with us for dinner. Then there was music and dancing. It was—wonderful.’
His arm tightened around her. ‘Did you keep such traditions when you married?’
Mary opened her eyes, suddenly cold again at the reminder of her grown-up Christmases. ‘No. My husband and his mother did not care for Christmas. We would just go to church and then spend the day reading or walking. Drew and I would sometimes sneak out and buy each other a small gift, though, and sing a Christmas carol or two when no one was about. When I had my son I tried to make it special for him, but … ‘ She couldn’t go on at the thought of those old Christmases.
Dominick said nothing, but Mary thought she felt him gently pat her shoulder through her wraps. ‘Christmas is still a few days away. You can be back in time to spend it in Town however you would like … ‘
‘Perhaps.’ Somehow she doubted it, though. Finding Ginny was like looking for a star amid the clouds.
They soon found an inn, and its proprietors were shocked to see anyone out in such weather at all.
‘Of course you and your wife are most welcome, sir,’ the innkeeper’s wife said as her husband saw to the carriage. She showed them to a parlour. ‘We have plenty of rooms to offer you, and a nice hot venison stew for supper. We didn’t expect any travellers in such unholy weather, and so near Christmas.’
‘We had some family business to see to at once, or we would not be abroad, either,’ Dominick said as Mary removed her damp cloak and bonnet and sat down by the blessedly warm fire. ‘We were very grateful to find your establishment before nightfall. But you have seen no one else for a time? Not even another couple?’
‘You’re the only guests we’ve had for two days at least,’ she answered. ‘Only a very few carriages have gone past on the road, even.’
‘Of course,’ Dominick answered. ‘Everyone sensible is at home.’
‘If there’s nothing else, sir, I will just go and see to the food and have some water heated for washing,’ she said, hurrying away and leaving them alone again.
Mary watched as Dominick laid his coat to dry by the fire and sat down beside her. Silently he reached for her hands and slowly peeled the leather gloves from her fingers. She stared down at his touch against her. It made her feel so—so strange. Warm and shivery all at the same time—taken out of herself. Not even the most passionate kisses from her husband—which had never been very passionate—had made her feel even a fraction of the way this simple touch did.
And when the landlady had called her Dominick’s wife— she definitely did not want to consider the thrill that one word had given her!
That was surely a very dangerous sign indeed. She knew she should pull away from him, but she just couldn’t. She loved the way he made her feel again, after so long in the frozen dream of sadness.
‘Your hands are so cold,’ he muttered, gently rubbing at them, bringing her skin to tingling life.
‘So are yours,’ she whispered.
‘You should have let me come on this journey alone. Then you would be tucked up by your own fire at home.’
‘And endlessly worrying about Ginny.’ And worrying about Dominick, too, on this search all by himself. ‘I couldn’t bear that. It’s much better that I be at least somewhat useful. Besides, this fire is just as cosy.’
He let go of her, and turned to stare into the crackling flames. She wished she knew his thoughts, but he seemed very far away from her.
‘Did you have grand plans for Christmas?’ she asked. She propped her feet on the hearth, wriggling her toes in her boots as they slowly came back to life.
‘Not as grand as roast goose, plum pudding and dancing,’ he said. ‘My friend Lord Archibald is having a party. Perhaps I would have gone to that.’
‘Indeed?’ Lord Archibald was a notorious rake. She could just imagine the sort of party he would have. There would surely be women like the one Dominick had been with in the museum, just ready to give him a wonderful time. A time full of the fun she had almost forgotten.
Dominick gave her a crooked smile, as if he read her thoughts. ‘Or perhaps I would have stayed home and finished unpacking those crates of new books.’
There was no time to ask him anything else, for a line of servants bustled in with their supper and more fuel for the fire. By the time they had finished eating and retired to their adjoining but separate rooms, Mary was deeply tired.
Yet she found she could not sleep. She lay under the quilts, listening to freezing rain beat against the window.
And listening to the sounds of Dominick moving around in the room next door. It seemed her ears were intently sensitive to every noise—the splashing of water as he washed, the creak of floorboards as he w
alked, the rustle of cloth as he changed clothes. The sigh of the mattress as he laid down.
She closed her eyes tightly, but that did not help. She just saw him in her mind, lying in that bed so very close to her own, listening to the same rain. Did he lie awake, too? What did he think about?
And what did he wear to bed? A nightshirt and cap, as William had? Or—nothing?
Oh, blast it all. Now there was a new image in her mind, an image of his lean, bronzed body bare against white sheets, his golden hair rumpled on the pillows. Surely it was the landlady’s assumption that she was Dominick’s wife that made her think such things? Made her imagine his touch, his kisses.
She rolled over, pressing her hot face into the bedclothes. Go away, go away, she told the images, and slowly they faded away. But she still could not sleep.
Chapter Five
‘We shouldn’t be out in this, should we?’ Mary shouted over the howling wind, the pelting of freezing rain against the carriage. She could barely see three feet of the road ahead of them, and leaned tightly against Dominick’s side. The muscles in his arm were taut and hard as he held tightly to the reins.
It had not looked so very bad when they had set out from the inn that morning. The clouds had even cleared a bit, and they had been able to stop and make enquiries at hostelries and villages along the way, tracing rare sightings of Ginny and Captain Heelis. Until this storm had rolled in, like a sudden onslaught to block their quest.
‘Of course we should not be out in this,’ Dominick shouted back. ‘We should be safe in our own homes, as all sane people are.’ He tugged hard on the reins as the frightened horse veered off the road.
Mary bit her lip in a sharp pang of conscience. If not for her and her sister Dominick would never be in this situation. He would be enjoying his Christmas season, not mixed up in her troubles again.
A Christmas Betrothal Page 12
