She raised her eyes to his and read his intent. Before she could think, he bent his head close to hers and kissed her. First gently, and then with more insistence, he awakened her passions. When he lifted his head, she held on to his jacket. She didn’t miss his deep sigh.
He bent to retrieve her new bonnet from the floor and handed it to her. “Shall we take our luncheon?”
Taylor took a breath and nodded. “I should assist Mrs. Mott.”
“She’s more than capable of carrying out your instructions without your assistance, I wager.”
Taylor conceded, and permitted him to lead her to one of the linen-covered tables. He left to confer with the cook, and Taylor took the opportunity to gaze about the room from her new vantage point.
She saw with some satisfaction that the dining room appeared quite pretty in the midday light shining through the now-sparkling mullioned windows. Flowers filled the little silver vases set on each table, and even the floor shined from care. The serving girls each wore their usual simple gowns, but the aprons covering both Annie and Polly’s dresses were pristine white. Polly threw her a nod as she hurried to serve the diners filling the space. Over the past few days, Taylor noticed that more women began to frequent the inn, which made her happy.
Annie brought a basket full of fresh, crusty bread and Taylor smiled up at her friend.
“Thank you, Annie.”
Annie nodded and brushed her hands on her apron. “The pub’s more crowded every day, Taylor,” she said. “Looks like a respectable inn.”
Taylor agreed. The patrons were indeed different than those that had frequented the place upon her arrival weeks ago. Surely it was word of Mrs. Mott’s fine fare that drew them in each afternoon, but she liked to think that perhaps she too had something to do with it as well. Ale still poured freely in the evenings however, drawing the usual collection of gentlemen.
“That dress be pretty,” Annie said. “Thompson knows how to treat a lady. Not that I seen him with one before.”
Taylor blinked up at her. Did the girl believe her to be a kept woman now? Would others in Homerton be as quick as those in Sussex to believe her shameful? Her cheeks began to burn.
“Annie,” she began, “Blake and I . . . that is, we . . .”
“We know about his offer for ya’, Taylor,” Annie said with a wide smile. “Word travels fast in the village.”
Taylor let out a sigh of relief. Blake returned then and, after accepting Annie’s congratulations, he took a slice of warm bread and began to eat. Taylor followed his example and the two of them passed a pleasant meal together.
* * *
The next morning, Taylor tried to push aside her misgivings, at least for a few hours. He hadn’t stayed with her last night. He’d kissed her with so much heat she’d nearly burst into flames but he hadn’t stayed. Her heart raced even now as she thought of his lips on hers. Of his hands on her body. She’d still been sore, though. No doubt he knew that. It was but another point that proved he was far more worldly than she.
Perhaps Blake regretted his offer of marriage, but she had no doubt he’d keep his word. About the marriage and about finding Robert.
She’d seen enough of his honor in her time at The Hideaway, and taken with what she remembered of the boy she’d loved in Sussex, she knew he was stubborn as well. But what if he couldn’t find her brother? The prospect caused a knife of pain through her heart. Surely Blake would feel the loss as keenly, but he’d feel guilt as well. Guilt that he’d lost his friend and broken his promise. Would their union survive that? She ran her fingers through her hair and let out a string of mild curses.
Sally bustled into the room, the picture of efficiency as she directed the tub and towels and buckets of water brought by the lads who assisted Mrs. Mott. “Your bath, Miss,” she said with a nod.
Taylor thanked her and once more ensconced in the solitude of the chamber, she pinned her hair upon her head and sank into the steaming, fragrant water. Blake was stubborn. But her father and Robert hadn’t raised her to be a simpering miss who let her life be directed with no will of her own. Hadn’t she come to The Hideaway alone and found herself a place here? True, the place she was now poised to occupy hadn’t dared present itself to her when she’d first arrived, but she had taken that chance in any case. And Blake would keep his word to her despite any of his own misgivings. To find Robert and to marry her. Would he take such liberties with her and then treat her as nothing more than one of his many mistresses despite their new arrangement?
“Not bloody likely.”
She scrubbed her skin and hurried with her bath. Sally returned as Taylor sat in the little chair, clad in chemise, petticoat, and new stays. The girl remarked upon the weather and the like, her comments requiring no true response from Taylor save for a nod or murmur of agreement. Thankfully, Sally soon fell into her habit of humming, comforting Taylor with the routine of soft sounds and nimble fingers as she plaited and wound her hair.
The lady’s maid took her leave. Taylor’s conviction wavered as she chose a dress to wear. The pretty little day dresses already hung in the small wardrobe, no doubt the work of the ever-mindful Sally. Taylor let her hands drift over the lovely flower-sprigged gowns, the bright pink and yellow and green in sharp contrast to the serviceable dresses she believed her lot but two days past. Guilt had purchased this finery, she thought with a twinge. Her fingers danced upon the dull brown dress next to the soft green one. No matter, she thought as she took the green one from its pinning. He wished to wed her, did he? Then she’d look the part of the happy bride-to-be, down to her new tan slippers.
She left her chamber at last, bound for the kitchen to assist Mrs. Mott in seeing to the needs of the morning diners that seemed to increase in number with each passing day.
“Good morning, Mrs. Mott.” Taylor sniffed the pleasing scents of spices and sugar and baking bread. “Mmm, breakfast smells wonderful.”
The cook’s round, ruddy face wore a grin. “Ya’ look fine, Miss Shelby. Mary Smythe has the prettiest dresses.”
So everyone knew of Blake’s generosity, then. Well, she wouldn’t dwell on it. With a smile and a nod, Taylor reached for an apron hanging on a peg beside the wide worktable. She donned it and set about transferring several plump pastries from warm tray to platter.
“These look delicious,” she mused aloud. “I daresay word has spread of your talents, Mrs. Mott. The dining room is quite bustling.”
“Aye, and me bakin’ all the day long.”
Taylor knew the woman enjoyed the newfound demand on her fare despite the sharp words. She prepared another tray, this one laden with Taylor’s favorite sweet rolls, and offered the cook a grin as she took them up and returned to the dining room.
“Mornin’, Taylor,” Annie said.
The maid took up two empty teapots and returned to the kitchens.
“More tea?” Mrs. Mott exclaimed from the other side of the door. “Bloody thirsty devils.”
Taylor laughed and arranged the platters on the sideboard. A nod of greeting came from Polly as the girl handed her a plate. Taylor served herself fluffy eggs and a sweet roll and set the plate down on a nearby table. She removed her apron and draped it over the empty chair opposite. She stood for a moment, glancing about the dining room.
“Thompson left,” Polly said.
Taylor looked over at Polly. “Oh?” she asked, acting nonchalant.
The dark-haired maid shrugged one shoulder. “Thought ya’d want to know.”
“I . . . thank you, Polly.”
The girl took up an empty platter and returned to the kitchen to refill it with more slices of ham. Taylor took her seat and ate her lonely breakfast, her mind on Blake and the mission that drew him this morning. Yet again he kept information from her. No doubt out of some desire to protect her. From what? Information? Worry? They were to be married, for goodness sakes. She had every right to know where he went. What if he was putting himself in real danger? Shouldn’t she know?
<
br /> Her confrontation would have to wait for the conclusion of his business, then. So be it, she thought as she sipped from the teacup Annie brought her. When he dispatched the day’s duty, she’d make him see she wasn’t a delicate bit of fluff that didn’t deserve to know where he went and what it all meant.
* * *
Blake crossed the narrow street, bound for the little church set at one end of the village. Surrounded by a tree-dotted common, the sturdy building seemed to watch him from narrow windows set within the stone walls as if knowing his shame of two nights past.
Blake closed his eyes for a moment, setting aside so useless an emotion as guilt. He’d vowed to marry Taylor. And if he couldn’t trust himself to keep from her, he’d see to it that her honor was swiftly restored to her. He opened his eyes and continued on his way. No one would learn that he’d taken her with only the promise of marriage. She deserved more than such wretched treatment. Once more Robert’s earnest face appeared before him.
“I shall be honorable, Robert,” he murmured.
Congratulations greeted him as he walked, along with good mornings as he nodded absently to the citizens of Homerton.
“Mr. Thompson!” the dressmaker called, stepping out of her shop.
Blake turned and nodded in greeting. “Mrs. Smythe.”
“I’ll send the rest of Miss Shelby’s dresses to The Hideaway this afternoon,” she said with a grin. The woman glanced around him, no doubt seeking Taylor’s presence. “Pray, wish her good day?”
He nodded once more and continued on his way.
“Thompson.”
Blake happily dismissed the subject and faced Timmy Grassam, who frowned from the doorway of the butcher’s shop. Blake hid his grin at the man’s obvious discomfort.
“Timmy,” he said. “I trust this day finds you well?”
The man snorted and scuffed his booted foot on the stone step. “Gettin’ shackled, I heard,” he grumbled. “Pretty wench, heard tell.”
Blake wouldn’t discuss his upcoming marriage with this scrap. “How is your wife, pray?”
Timmy snorted again and opened his mouth. At the pointed arching of one brow, the man lost his belligerence and fixed a look of bland acceptance on his thin face.
“She’s well. The babe’s makin’ her a bit daft. Cries all the time.” He laughed without humor. “You’ll see that soon enough.”
Blake started.
“Grassam, you worthless—” The butcher himself poked his head out of the shop. His dark scowl smoothed to a grin of welcome. “Thompson! Good day to ya’. Grassam, get your bones back in there.”
Timmy muttered something and ducked back into the shop. The butcher grabbed Blake’s hand, nearly crushing it. “My thanks to ya’ again, Thompson,” he grinned. “Aye, the boy ain’t much but me girl loves him. Hear you’re marryin’ the pretty little chit.”
“Yes,” Blake said. “I’m going to see the vicar directly.”
“Marriage be a tricky business,” the butcher said, leaning close to him. Blake kept from grimacing at the smell of blood and bones and grizzle. “But with a lass like that one . . .”
The man let his words trail, but Blake could summon no anger. Marriage to Taylor would differ greatly from the sorry connection this man’s daughter had made. Taylor would have a safe place here in Homerton, save for the measuring glances of the male residents. He had little hope that would change. He’d simply make certain the maid, Sally, accompanied her into the village.
Timmy’s words echoed in his mind, his comment about his wife’s coming child. Blake hadn’t given thought to Taylor bearing his children. True, it was a natural consequence of what they’d shared. He groaned and dragged his fingers through his hair. Why the devil hadn’t he withdrawn from her? Because being with her, taking his pleasure deep within her body, moved him beyond reason. The image of a fair-haired little sprite popped into his aching mind, a girl with her mother’s sweet smile and strong spirit. Ah, he was in a bad way. At least he’d managed to keep from her bed since that first time.
He passed the little church and approached the vicarage set to its right. The squat cottage, with its well-tended gardens, brushed-cleaned drive and stone steps, seemed to welcome him. His rap on the door brought its swift opening, and the vicar’s plump wife stared up at him in disbelief from across the threshold.
“M-Mr. Thompson?” she asked.
If his errand had been less serious, Blake would have laughed at the surprise rounding her eyes. “Mrs. Gaines,” he said with a bow. “I have need of your husband’s services.”
The lady snorted. She wore suspicion on her ruddy face as she clicked her tongue. “Truly? I would’ve thought you’d be the kind of man for Gretna Green if you were of a mind to taking a wife.”
“I wish to wed my fiancée here in Homerton, Mrs. Gaines,” he said. “Your husband is the man to bind us, I daresay.”
She didn’t lose her air of disapproval or disbelief. Blake turned his winning grin on the woman and she reacted in the anticipated manner. The woman brought one fluttering hand to her breast as she giggled like a girl half her age.
“I’ll call the vicar,” she said. “Pray, come in and wait in the parlor.” She stepped back to allow him entrance. “Mr. Gaines!”
Blake smiled his relief and stood in the tidy parlor to await the vicar.
Chapter 15
Taylor arranged the small, upholstered settee in the front room of The Hideaway. Forced to cool her heels until Blake returned from whatever task drew him this day, she thought to try her hand at decorating the place.
A trip to the cramped little attic above the sleeping chambers had yielded the settee, among other pieces of furniture. The items were a bit worn as well, but with a good dusting they would prove as suitable. The ivory fabric of the settee, with its faded pink and green flowered print, gave a soft feel to the room. Taylor brushed back one loose curl and placed her hands on her hips, surveying the tiny space.
A small window set near the corner looked out on the street. A bit of lace would nicely shield that view, a curtain like she and Sally had made for her chamber. Her gaze fell on the roughly-hewn bench which sat beneath the window, its back straight and its seat narrow and unforgiving. The piece surely didn’t fit in the pretty little sitting room she envisioned in her mind’s eye.
“Sally,” she called.
The girl came swiftly to her side. “Ooh, Miss! You was right. That settee be pretty in here.”
Taylor smiled. “I do wish this room were larger, but with that ghastly wooden bench out of here, the space will do nicely. We can add one of those darling little tables we found abovestairs.”
The maid nodded again and the two of them set to moving the heavy piece. It scraped against the wooden floor as they inched it toward the entry. The door opened then, and Taylor glanced toward it to find Blake scowling at her.
“Taylor, cease,” he said.
“Blake, you’re back.”
“What are you doing?” he asked.
He closed the door and stood before the bench, which nearly blocked his entry. Taylor glanced at Sally, who bobbed a curtsey and quit the place.
Taylor brushed her hands on her apron and sighed. “I thought the room would serve as a parlor, Blake. It seems to me The Hideaway could use one.”
Blake arched his brows in obvious surprise. “I hadn’t thought . . . that’s too heavy for you to move.” He looked past her at the settee. “And who, pray, brought that in here?”
“Two of the stable lads. There’s more furniture in the attic.” His brow knit in befuddlement and she arched a brow at him. “Have you never looked?”
He shrugged. “I never cared to.”
Taylor shook her head and removed her apron. She ran a hand over her hair, lamenting at the loose curls that met her fingers. Not precisely the manner in which she’d thought to approach her betrothed. But her father hadn’t raised her to shrink from her duty.
“Blake, I’m glad you’re back,” she
said. “I need to speak with you.”
Blake’s gaze flicked about the pub, no doubt looking for something to keep him from having to speak with his bride-to-be. He probably thought she wished to speak of the other evening. Not bloody likely, she thought with a flash of heat. Taylor fought a twinge of sadness at the resignation on his handsome face and flashed a bright smile.
“It’s important, but not as dour as you might believe,” she said.
He blinked, then offered her a grin as insincere as her own expression. Oh, a wretched start to be sure. He waved her before him, and they went to his office. She spied the chair behind his desk, the one in which he had held Polly in so familiar a fashion. She wouldn’t think on it. Besides, that was all behind them.
“What is it?” he asked, closing the door.
Taylor took a breath and settled herself on the chair facing his desk as she had on previous occasions. He gazed at her with open interest so she took another deep breath and forged ahead. “I know why you press your suit, Blake.”
Blake stared hard at her for a moment. “You know why I press my suit? Pray, enlighten me,” he said, reaching out to touch her nose. He showed her a smudge of dirt on his finger, which he wiped on his breeches. “I believed this discussion over yesterday.”
She swallowed and worried a fold of her pretty new green dress. “I know you feel guilty over what we . . . that is, because you and I . . .”
She saw him attempt to hide his smile. “What is it that you and I did, Taylor?”
“Don’t think to tease me, Blake.” She took a breath. “I know you believe me one of your missions. I’m not a case for you to solve. I don’t believe we should carry this any further.”
Anger showed on his face, his brows drawn together over stormy eyes. “Is that so? You can’t deny what we shared, Taylor. I made my honest offer before we—I had no other recourse but to make an honest offer. Then and now.”
She bit her lower lip in response to his harsh words.
“I can still go to London,” she said, hopeful. “Perhaps when Jason—”
A Hero and A Gentleman Page 14
