“Yes, wife. Now you may use your healing magic and make him well.” The farmer winked at Spalding as he helped him step down. “I’m Harold Johnson, my lord. As you’ve guessed, this beauty is my wife.”
Mrs. Johnson cackled, her round cheeks glowing. Gray strands threaded through her hair, and her face bore the lines of time, but she could easily have been a beauty in her day. “Go on now. There’s no call for foolishness. Bring them both inside so they can warm themselves.”
Spalding smiled his gratitude when he walked past the older woman into the room. A large fire burned on a great stone hearth, and he was drawn to it like a moth. He set his blankets on a chair, holding his hands out to the flames.
Miss Franklin sat on a stool next to him, stretching her arms and legs out to reach the warmth. He noticed her feet were bare, and reddened with cold. “Did you lose your shoes?”
“I did. But they’re nothing compared to what some lost.”
He offered her a smile. “You cannot compare yourself to those who drowned. You must appreciate the life you continue to live.”
Mrs. Johnson handed each of them a steaming mug of warm milk. “I’ve got some meat and bread, too, but thought you should be warm before eating.”
He nodded his thanks. “Is there a shop in town where Miss Franklin might buy a pair of shoes? And we both need clothing.”
“Oh, but I can’t afford to buy anything,” Miss Franklin declared. “What little money I had went down with the ship.”
“I shall take care of it. It’s not a hardship for me. They may send the bills to my father.”
Mrs. Johnson stirred the logs in the fire. “There’s a cobbler in the village. He might have something that fits each of you. And you, sir, may borrow some of my husband’s clothes. I’m afraid my gowns would never fit Miss Franklin, she’s such a wee thing.” She laughed as though she’d told a grand joke.
“Is there a coaching inn nearby?”
“Aye, in the next town. My husband will take you to the cobbler in the morning, if that’s soon enough. Then he’ll take you to the inn.”
“Thank you, that will do.”
Cupping the mug with both hands, he sighed. The tightness was leaving his muscles. His painful joints ached a little less. “Are you warm enough?” he asked Miss Franklin.
“There are moments when I think I’ll never be warm enough.”
Spalding nodded. “How did we get ashore?”
“I’m not quite certain. God’s hand, it had to be. Two sailors helped us onto the upturned boat. You were unconscious. I fell asleep at some point. When I woke in the morning, we’d washed ashore.”
Taking another drink, he let the reality of the situation sink in. “If the current had been flowing in a different direction…if the Sirene had sunk farther from shore, we wouldn’t be here.”
Miss Franklin shuddered. “I can’t allow myself to think that way. I must look forward. I will find my aunt and get on with my life.”
Spalding planned to do the same. His father’s name would get them what they needed to travel, and once he reached his family estate, Fenwick, it would quickly seem as though he’d never been away.
MASQUERADING AS A MISS
CHAPTER THREE
Wearing the warm nightgown and wrapper Mrs. Johnson had given her, Cassandra sat on the narrow cot formerly belonging to the Johnson’s married daughter. Only now did she realize she’d lost the shawl her mother gave her. The pain she felt was nearly as deep as when her mother had died.
As exhausted as she was, she couldn’t sleep. Her stomach was filled with the delicious stew they’d eaten for dinner. She’d washed the salt from her hair and dried it by the small fire in the bedroom. Between all of that and another mug of warm milk, she should find sleep quickly.
Her thoughts wouldn’t be still. Each time she closed her eyes, she tried to remember what her aunt’s name and address were. Lady…oh dear. She thought it ended in -stone, but that wasn’t much help. They couldn’t wander the streets in Gloucester asking if anyone knew a Lady Something-stone. It would seem like a silly game of charades.
Where was she to go? She had no money to stay at the inn, and none to purchase a seat in a coach, if she even had a destination. The Johnsons obviously didn’t have money to spare, so she couldn’t ask for a loan. She was dependent on the goodwill of Lord Spalding.
As it had several times during the evening, her mind returned to the wagon when Lord Spalding had almost kissed her. She knew that was his intention. The wagon hadn’t rocked in her direction, so his nearness wasn’t accidental. Her heart had pounded so hard she thought he’d have heard it, much like it did each time she thought about it. In some ways she wished he had kissed her. It wouldn’t have meant anything. It was likely a passing moment of gratitude for her small part in saving his life. Still, she’d remember the moment always.
A soft tapping sounded on her door before it opened. Lord Spalding stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
Cassandra clutched her robe closed. “My lord, is anything amiss?”
He remained near the door in the shadows of the firelight. He wore Mr. Johnson’s shirt hanging loosely over ill-fitting trousers. “No, nothing more than we already knew. I wished to speak with you alone. We’ll be traveling together for the next few days, and I want to be sure you have no concerns about that.”
Laughing, she said, “Traveling alone with you is the least of my concerns, as you might imagine.”
Spalding sat on the mattress beside her. “We’ll find a maid in the village, but I can’t offer more propriety than that. We can claim to be husband and wife to have a proper appearance.”
“Yes, that will be fine. Since no one knows me, I have little to fear as far as my reputation.” His nearness made her pulse race. Her robe covered more of her body than a gown would, yet wearing it with him in the room was scandalously exciting.
He silently watched her, his face betraying nothing of his thoughts. Cassandra caught herself before she leaned toward him. She still longed for that kiss, no matter how improper. Yet being a guest at his parents’ home would be quite awkward if they indulged in that sort of behavior. When he placed his hand on her thigh, she held her breath.
“Well then.” Spalding rose. “I shall see you at breakfast. Goodnight, Miss Franklin.”
Her eyelids grew heavy at last, and she took off her wrapper and snuggled deep under the blankets. She would work on remembering her aunt’s name in the morning.
* * * *
Cassandra and Lord Spalding arrived at the inn late the next afternoon, after buying the necessities they needed. There was one thing Cassandra hadn’t considered when Spalding mentioned they pretend to be man and wife. They’d have to share a room.
She tried to catch Spalding’s attention as he did business with the innkeeper, but the lord ignored her. He finally allowed her to speak when they were alone in their room, while Ann, the young woman Spalding had hired to be Cassandra’s maid, went to request some hot water.
“My lord, I realize we spent a night together on the lifeboat, but we must have separate rooms.”
“Separate rooms would be more scandalous if you think about it. That would prove we’re not married, yet traveling alone together.”
Cassandra gritted her teeth. “We can’t share a bed.”
“No. I will ask for an additional blanket and sleep on the floor.”
She nodded but was still uncomfortable with the situation.
After she’d had a chance to wash some of the road dust off her face, she and Spalding went downstairs to eat. The innkeeper said the men who came to drink each night wouldn’t arrive until later, so it was safe for Cassandra to eat in the dining room.
“I find myself confused over something,” Lord Spalding said. “How is it you don’t know your aunt’s name?”
“Mama spoke of where she grew up, but nothing about who her family was.” Cassandra’s face warmed. Who didn’t know her own family? Unless, of course, there
were secrets to keep. “When Mama was on her deathbed, she gave me her aunt’s address. It read Lady something. Perhaps it ended in stone.”
He chuckled, tapping a finger on the table. “Simple enough. When we arrive at Fenwick Abbey, my father’s estate, I’ll ask Mother to read all the titles in Debrett’s that end in stone.”
She knew he spoke in jest, but the idea made sense. “I could read it myself. There’s no need to trouble her. It’s a much better idea than visiting all the churches in Gloucester to ask the vicars about their parishioners. I find it odd, however, that my mother never mentioned her aunt and uncle when my friends and I perused their volume of Debrett’s.”
“You first told me you called her Aunt Wilhelmina, and now you recall she’s the wife of a peer. Maybe tomorrow her title will come to you.” His smile was encouraging, yet shadows beneath his eyes showed he was as tired as she.
Those hazel eyes were gentle, yet an intensity burned behind them. She was curious to know what he was like when he was in good health. With luck, that gentle side of him would remain until she’d found her way home. “Once we find my family, my uncle will repay you for your expenses.”
“The expense is of no concern.” He sipped his ale before taking another bite of roast beef.
“I fear I’ll need to borrow more from you until I know where I’m going. Perhaps I can find work.”
Spalding frowned. “I thought it was understood. You’ll stay with my family. You saved my life. You might not be descended directly from a peer, yet there is some relationship with one, which would allow you into most of the finest homes in London. Regardless, I would never leave you to fare for yourself in a strange place. Be assured you have a home with us until you find your own.”
After their meal, Lord Spalding allowed her to freshen up in their room while he remained at the table for a drink. Her fantasies of Lord Spalding came back while she washed her face. His smile…when it was genuine, it lit his eyes, lit the room around him. He had a way of looking at her that warmed her deep inside. Made her want to wrap her arms around him, press her ear to his chest and listen to his heart race. She was foolish to imagine kissing Spalding again.
Her father was no one of importance. Mama said so little about him, only that he’d died, and he wasn’t the man she thought him to be. While Aunt Wilhelmina had married a peer, Cassandra’s father was likely not a gentleman, or Mama would have mentioned it.
What could he have done that made Mama refuse to speak of him? The daughters of Mama’s friend in Jamaica had teased her that she was illegitimate, but Mama insisted that wasn’t true. Father’s death couldn’t be so painful after twenty-three years that she couldn’t bear recounting her memories. There was no logical reason for the mystery.
Cassandra hoped her great aunt would take her in, as her other alternative would be to seek employment as a lady’s companion. With no references, she was unlikely to find such a job. If she’d asked for letters of reference before boarding the Sirene, they’d be at the bottom of the ocean with her trunk.
Mama had sewn for the ladies in town, but the home they shared was far nicer than her income could have provided. There was another mystery—where had the money for their expenses come from? How could she reach the age of three-and-twenty without knowing anything about such important matters? Mama must have had reason to keep her secrets, but Cassandra couldn’t imagine what that secret could be.
Cassandra was so tired from the events of the past few days, she fell asleep before dark. Some time later, she woke to the sound of movement. Clutching the blanket to her, she opened her eyes, completely forgetting Lord Spalding was to share her room.
She caught him undressing. Unable to tear her eyes away, she watched him struggle to pull off his new boots. She rose and walked to him. “Allow me to help.”
Kneeling, she took his heel in one hand, the toe in the other, and tugged on the heel.
“Have you done this before?” Spalding’s voice was husky, seductive.
“I helped a neighbor’s son when he cut his leg through his boot.” She grinned. “Hopefully, I won’t cause you as much pain.”
When she’d removed the first boot, she pushed her hair over her shoulder and reached for the second.
“You realize how seductive this is, don’t you?”
Cassandra sat back, lifting her gaze to his narrowed eyes. “I hadn’t intended that, my lord.”
“Please don’t call me that. I feel as though I’m speaking to a servant. My friends and family call me Spalding. Certainly with all we’ve been through we are friends.”
Warmth spread deep inside her belly, pooling low, making her long for something she couldn’t name. “I’m honored to call you friend.”
He toed off the second boot and stood, drawing her into his arms. “I wish you wouldn’t say it like that. We are equals. It is I who am honored that you brought help to me on the beach.”
“It’s what anyone would have done. I wish you would stop thanking me for it.”
Spalding held her close, her breasts pressed against his chest, with only the thin fabric of his shirt and her chemise separating them. Her nipples hardened at the sensation. As if their bodies spoke together, she began to inhale when he did, and she wondered if her heart beat in the same rhythm.
“I must thank you once more.” He bent his head, slowly lowering his mouth to hers. His lips brushed gently over hers, and then he pressed a kiss on the corner of her mouth. When he captured her lips with his, he ran his tongue along the seam of her mouth. She gasped at the sensation spreading over her. His tongue darted into her mouth.
So this was what a kiss felt like. This burning and shivering and wanting, and every inch of her skin begging to be touched. His mouth was hard, possessive, demanding. If this was his thanks, how would he express his passion?
She didn’t think she’d survive a more passionate embrace. Cassandra wrapped her hands behind his neck, rising on her toes, needing to be part of him. The tingling between her thighs grew. She whimpered, not knowing how to satisfy a need she couldn’t name.
Spalding’s touch became bolder. One of his hands cupped her breast, squeezing gently. He plucked at her nipple, which tightened almost painfully. Her breast swelled to fill his palm and she pressed herself against the length of him.
Cassandra clung to him as if she were drowning, desiring him more than she did air. If he left her, she’d sink beneath the waves of heat washing over her.
Suddenly she became cold. Spalding unlocked her hands from behind his head and stepped back, breathing hard. “Forgive me. I gave you my word you had nothing to fear by sharing a room with me.”
Frowning, filled with aching disappointment, she shook her head. He couldn’t stop now. Her body insisted there was more to a kiss than what they’d just shared. What was the point of kissing if it left you wanting, unsatisfied? “I can assure you, what I felt was most certainly not fear.”
His head snapped up to meet her gaze, but he walked away. “I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I must deliver you to your family as pure as when you left Jamaica.”
She sighed and returned to her bed. He was right, damn him. Anything that felt as heavenly as what they’d done must surely land her in hell.
For a long time, as she waited for sleep, she wondered if hell was such a horrid place, after all.
* * * *
The next morning, Spalding directed the coachman to take the shortest route to Fenwick Abbey. Miss Franklin’s maid sat on the seat beside her as they rode in silence for the three days it took to reach the estate. While eating meals at the inns along the way, he made certain they stayed in separate rooms at night.
He and Miss Franklin made small talk as they traveled. She was a mystery and he wanted the details. He couldn’t politely pry beyond what he needed to know to find her family, which frustrated him. She wasn’t the chatty type, more like his sister Matilda than Agnes. Yet he could see Agnes become her dearest friend in no time. Agnes talked enou
gh to make up for any lack of conversation from others.
He was trapped in a hired carriage with two silent women and his own thoughts. His new boots pinched his feet, but were plenty serviceable until he could have a pair made to his measurements. His clothing fit much better than Farmer Johnson’s had. This linen was a finer weave, not as rough on his skin. He pretended not to notice how close the color of his waistcoat was to the green his mermaid had worn.
Those thoughts needed to end. Casandra was his responsibility now, until she was safe among her family. There could be no fantasies involving some other sort of relationship, and obviously no more acting on the passion between them.
She was so tempting, so beautiful. Her pale blonde hair shone with silver highlights where the sunlight fell on it through the window. Styled simply in a bun on top of her head, it allowed the beholder to focus on her delicate features. Her eyes…the color was as much a mystery as her identity. One moment they were a rich dark blue, the next as gray as a stormy sea. Those full, rosy lips…damn, what he wouldn’t give for just one more kiss.
* * * *
In the early evening of the third day, he recognized the trees along the road. After a turn in the road, the house stood in a rolling field of green, as proud and austere as the portraits in the gallery. The tawny stone walls showed the newer additions, if a hundred years or so could be called new. The original part was made of darker, rough stone.
He was never more grateful to see Fenwick Abbey. The front door opened as the carriage came to a stop. Browning, the wiry old butler, stepped aside for the footmen who scurried out behind him. Before a footman could reach the coach, Spalding had disembarked and held out his hand to assist Miss Franklin. Her wide eyes took in the home where he’d grown up.
“It’s quite imposing, isn’t it?” he asked.
“That’s a perfect word for it. Beautiful is another.” She straightened her gown and her bonnet. “I must look a mess after traveling so far.”
“Browning,” Spalding called out, “please see that Miss Franklin’s belongings are taken to her bedchamber immediately. And ask Jenny to assist Miss Franklin’s maid.”
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