by Jo Beverley
“I don’t know much about children,” she said, which was true enough. She’d encountered few, and due to her disgrace, she’d not even met Verity’s baby until this hectic visit.
“Nor do I,” he said. “I’m the youngest of my family. Perhaps if I had a horde of them underfoot I wouldn’t like them so much, but I find them refreshing.”‘
“Yes,” Chastity said thoughtfully. “Like a summer breeze, or a fountain on a hot day. You must feel the lack of children on the fields of war.”
“I wish I did. The place often seems to be overrun by half-starved imps from hell. I feel sorry for them, but I confess I don’t often find them refreshing. And yet they are no different in the essentials from Mary’s darlings, or that boy there sweeping the crossing.”
Chastity looked at the urchin. He had a post by a flambeau. If anyone approached, he nipped out to sweep the dust and droppings before his customers crossed, then deftly caught the pennies they tossed. She didn’t usually notice such children, hardly thought of them as children at all. The boy was probably about eight— sturdy, grubby, but with a quick, sly look in his eye.
“Is your heart torn?” Cyn asked dryly.
She saw the boy inspect a coin tossed by a prosperous cleric and make a rude gesture at his back. “No. But I don’t much care for that parson either.”
“The world’s full of children,” said Cyn, and led the way to cross where the boy worked.
“Doing well?” he asked the boy as they went by.
The urchin joined them at the roadside, waiting for his fee. “Fair to middlin‘, Captain.”
Cyn tossed him a coin. “That for knowing your insignia, or being a lucky guesser.”
The boy grinned at the sixpence. “God bless you, milord!”
Cyn laughed and threw him another. “Right on both counts.”
He and Chastity left the boy calling out ecstatic thanks.
“It’s so tempting to do that kind of thing,” Cyn said. “And so easy. But is it noble generosity, or just an economical way of feeling like God?”
Chastity shrugged. “I don’t suppose it matters to the child. He’ll eat well tonight.”
“He didn’t look particularly malnourished to me. He’ll likely spend it on gin.”
Chastity wondered if he jested, but feared he didn’t.
She thought they were going straight back to the inn, but he stopped and knocked on a door. The sign said the establishment was Darby’s Bank.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Knocking,” he said, rapping again.
“It’s closed.”
“There are people within.” He knocked a third time.
Lud, thought Chastity, does he think the nobility can get away with anything?
An angry clerk swung open the door, and began to tell him to begone. Cyn merely said, “Lord Cynric Malloren. Is Darby about?”
In seconds they were inside, with everyone in sight groveling. An eminent person, tall and silver-haired, came to bow and scrape Cyn into an inner sanctum.
Doubtless Mr. Darby himself. Obviously the nobility could get away with anything, the male nobility at least.
Chastity propped up a wall, and enjoyed the dirty looks she got from the clerks for this behavior. They soon bowed down over columns of figures again, however, doubtless anxious to finish and be off home for the day.
In a little while Cyn was bowed and scraped out again. He collected Chastity and headed on to the Three Balls. He radiated ill humor.
“What’s the matter?” asked Chastity mischievously. “Wouldn’t they give you any money?”
“They’d have given me the bloody keys to the vault,” he said curtly. “Sometimes I hate being a Malloren.”
“But you used it to get in there.”
He looked at her coldly. “In your cause.”
Chastity felt abashed. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”
He sighed. “I shouldn’t take my ill humor out on you.”
“How is it they know your name?”
“Know my name! Hell, old Darby dandled me on his knee. The Abbey’s not twenty miles from here and my damned brother’s on the board.”
Chastity had a number of questions but knew from his tone that silence would be wiser. The questions plagued her all the same.
Why was it that every time his brother’s name came up Cyn Malloren lost his lightheartedness? If the Abbey was so close, wouldn’t it have been simpler to take refuge there? Even the Earl of Walgrave wouldn’t try to ride roughshod over Rothgar. Did Cyn really think his brother would hand them over to their father?
They arrived back at the inn with these questions unasked and unanswered, but Chastity resolved to seek some answers before they parted. This rift with his brother seemed to be the only cloud in Cyn Malloren’s life, and being in love, she would do what she could to lift it.
The innkeeper was dealing with the young man who had scrutinized their arrival. Mine host smiled and bowed, but as soon as the man left he spat into the hall fireplace. “Bloodhounds. Nothing but trouble.”
“On the hunt?” queried Cyn. “What villain is loose?”
“Oh, no villain, milord. Just some poor young woman lost her wits and wandering. But that one’s been hanging about all day. Don’t they think I’d tell ‘em if she came here? Apart from the reward, it’d be a kindness, wouldn’t it? Now, sir, your room is ready and a tasty dinner will be on the table shortly. I assure you my wife is a fine cook.”
He led the way toward the stairs.
“I have decided to keep my groom with me,” said Cyn. “You have a room for him?”
The innkeeper nodded. “There’s space above the stables with your coachman, milord.”
Cyn flashed Chastity a guarded look. “I prefer that he sleeps close to me. He also serves as my valet when I need one.”
“Oh, right, sir. There’s a truckle under the bed.”
Again a meaningful look. Chastity kept her face as blank as her mind. She hadn’t considered this possibility.
“I would prefer separate rooms,” said Cyn. “He snores.”
“Lord, sir,” said the innkeeper in some distress, “I don’t have another room. This ain’t a big place, and I just have the three, all taken. It’ll have to be the truckle or the stables.”
Cyn looked at Chastity as if giving her an opportunity to choose. Her brain had gone numb, however. She knew she should do anything to avoid sleeping in the same room as a man, especially this man…
Cyn turned back to the innkeeper and said, “No, I’ll take the lesser of the evils. He can use the truckle. And provide an extra plate. Charles may as well eat with me.”
Within moments they were in a small room made smaller by the sloping of the roof. “Do try not to snore, young Charles,” drawled Cyn, “for if you wake me I promise to wake you in turn.”
Chastity looked around the cramped room and knew a wiser woman would have avoided this, but she couldn’t regret her folly. For all its limited space, it was a lovely chamber warmed by a well-built fire. The solid bed was made up with crisp, clean sheets. No speck of dust marred the mellow furniture, or the polished oak floor. A vase of dried flowers sat on a small table before the window, and potpourri scented the air. A washstand was set behind a screen in one corner, and a table was ready for the meal.
Once the truckle bed was pulled out the floor space would be almost gone, but otherwise it was charming. Chastity found herself imagining what it would be like if this were her wedding night, this her bridal chamber. It would be lovely. Perfect.
But if Lady Chastity Ware had just married Lord Cynric Malloren, they would be somewhere much grander. Here they were just master and groom, and she must keep it that way.
The innkeeper and a maid came in with the meal. Cyn said that they would serve themselves, and soon he and Chastity were settled before a princely repast. They had soup, sole, a pork pie, and a chicken. To complete the meal, there was cheese and apple tarts. Chastity ate for something
to do, and found she was genuinely hungry.
After an interval Cyn said, “The innkeeper is correct. His wife is an excellent cook.”
“Yes, indeed. And the whole inn seems well kept.”
“A gem, in fact. Perhaps I should mention it to Rothgar. He can bring it into fashion.”
Chastity chewed a mouthful of tender chicken. “Why does your voice have such an edge when you speak of Rothgar? Rumor says he is a devoted brother.”
She thought he would give her a sharp set-down, but he merely said flatly, “He is an extremely devoted brother.”
“Then why do you speak as if you hate him?”
His look was as piercing as a blade. “You’re an impudent stripling. I do not hate my brother.”
Chastity gathered another piece of meat onto her fork. “But you are angry with him.”
He dropped his knife and fork on his plate, and for a moment she thought he would lay hands on her. He grasped his wineglass instead and took a deep draft of the burgundy. “I am at odds with him because he does not want me to return to my regiment. It’s typical of his bloody interference, but I am no longer a child. It is merely a matter of persuading him that I am healthy.”
Chastity also abandoned eating in favor of wine. Her nerves were on edge, but she felt it important to continue the conversation in order to help him. “I can understand that he might be anxious if you were as sick as Mrs. Garnet says.”
He shrugged. “I suppose I was. I have very little recollection. But I am perfectly well now. Soldiering is my life, and he will not keep me from it.”
Chastity felt a great deal of sympathy for the Marquess of Rothgar. She too would keep Cyn safe at home if she could, but she knew he was not a tame spirit able to settle to farming, preaching, or the law. “Surely he has no power to keep you from the army if you are determined.”
He gave a sharp laugh. “You don’t know Rothgar. With his combination of wealth, charm, and ruthlessness there are few in England willing to cross him. As long as he tells the Horseguards I am unfit, all I can hope for is an ornamental position well away from action. I’ll not settle for that.”
“If he’s as concerned as you say, he’ll be after you.”
He refilled their glasses. “I’m hoping the fact Hoskins is with me will allay his fears, but you’re doubtless right, damn him.”
“Horrible Henry, his henchmen, Father, and Rothgar. I’m amazed we’re still on the loose.”
He suddenly grinned and raised his glass. “But we are, and I intend to keep it that way. Don’t worry, young Charles. We will succeed.”
They clinked glasses and drank, then fell to eating again. Chastity, however, was thoughtful. A good part of Cyn’s motivation for helping them was wrapped up in his tangled feelings for his brother. What would happen if Rothgar caught up with them?
Cyn began to talk again, this time of military life—the lighter side of military life. His stories filled out her picture of him, but in no way lessened it. He wasn’t boastful, but his courage, compassion, and resourcefulness rang through. He made her laugh, and once almost made her cry.
Then he switched to stories of the wonders of the New World, and carried her off to deep forests and magnificent rivers; described strange Indians, and abundant wildlife.
It was dangerous, this intimacy, and Chastity knew it, but she could not resist it. It was deliciously as if they were married and at ease with one another, as if this were in fact their wedding night.
She slid a wanton look at the inviting bed…
Stop it, Chastity.
She couldn’t. She was entranced by his hands on cutlery and glass, and grew light-headed on their slender, tanned strength. She noticed for the first time a dimple which appeared in his right cheek when he smiled, and the way his eyes changed from green to gold according to his mood.
Her body grew hypersensitive, even to the movement of her own clothes. Everything played on her senses: the tang of apple wood on the fire; the clatter of wheels in the street; raucous singing in the taproom; Cyn’s voice rich and pleasant across the table…
He broke off what he was saying. “You’re not eating, Charles. Are you finished?”
Chastity looked down at the cutlery in her limp hands, and set it down. “I think so.”
“What, no dessert?” he teased, and picked up a tart. “You can’t pass on these. They’re superb.”
He held it in front of her. “Open up.”
Chastity looked at the apple tart. It was covered with a glistening, golden glaze, and edged with a frill of rich, yellow cream. She licked her lips, then slowly opened them. He put the tart between her teeth and said, “Bite.”
His eyes captured hers over the pastry. She remembered a biscuit in Shaftesbury…
She sank her teeth through soft sweet fruit and crisp, crumbly pastry, absorbed the burst of flavor. As she chewed, she licked her lips, and felt the gloss of cream on them. She chewed on dizzily, still captured by his approving gaze. Man to woman, this would be flirtation…
No, man to woman, this would be seduction.
Was he trying to seduce Charles?
“It’s very good,” she said nervously.
“Is it?” he asked softly, and turned the tart to bite from the spot where she had bitten. He savored, and swallowed. Mmm,“ he murmured. ”A work of art.“ He slowly licked some golden crumbs from his lips. He took another bite, then extended the tart to her with a questioning look.
Chastity thought of Adam and Eve, and apples, and Paradise…
She hastily shook her head. She pushed to her feet, turned her back on temptation, and sought the cool of the window. “That was an excellent meal,” she said gruffly, ”but I’m full.”
“There are occasions for sheer wanton indulgence, my dear Charles. This may be one of them.” A concerto of meaning attended the simple words.
“That would be wicked.”
“And are you never wicked?”
His power over her was not diminished by lack of sight of him. Her heart pounded. Her nerve endings shivered for a touch. “I try not to be,” she said huskily.
Cyn watched her, almost dizzy with desire. When she’d insisted on accompanying him, and blithely agreed to share his room, he’d been sure she was a wanton. He was more than willing to play that game if she wished.
Perhaps a brief, lusty episode would rid him of his besotted affliction.
He’d amused himself wondering just when and how she would confess her femininity, and decided to leave the progress in her experienced hands. He’d relaxed too much, however, under the influence of good food and wine and her attentive gaze. The next thing he knew he was baring his soul, then flirting with her in the most blatant way.
And she’d confused him.
He feared his first impressions had been correct. She was an innocent who had made just one disastrous error. Though in that case, what had possessed her to come here with him tonight? Perhaps innocence of truly cataclysmic proportions.
Knowledge of her innocence created a desire in him that was brutal in its need, at the same time as it commanded him not to touch. His hand shook as he reached for his wine.
He studied her over the rim of his glass. He could see through her bulky layers of clothes as if she were naked. He ran his eyes down the pure line of her straight back, the rounded firmness of her buttocks, the shapely length of her legs. He ached to disrobe her slowly, to gently explore every inch of her silky skin, to taste the salt of it and drink in the musky perfume of her most intimate places. He longed to watch that bewildered naivete turn to wonder.
He stood abruptly. “We had best get to bed if we’re to be on our way early in the morning. There’s a necessary in the yard. I’m off to use it.”
Chastity turned to see the door close behind him. She blinked with surprise, but let out a long sigh. She knew they had both just had a narrow escape for which she should be very grateful. She wasn’t grateful. She felt raw with need.
She sighed. Perhaps
a name was predestination. Verity, after all, could not tell a lie. Perhaps being called Chastity meant she could never be wanton.
She straightened her spine. They had escaped that moment of danger, and she must make sure there would be no more. If she didn’t think she could accompany him without shattering her disguise, then she must go to Mary Garnet’s now.
She assured herself it would be all right. This would be the last night on the road, for they would make Maidenhead tomorrow.
She hurried behind the screen and used the chamber pot. She quickly shed her outer clothes, keeping on her good-quality shirt and breeches. Then she pulled out the narrow truckle bed and snuggled under the covers, pretending to be fast asleep.
It was a long time before he returned. She began to grow concerned about his safety, but there seemed nothing untoward when he finally appeared. Chastity watched him prepare for bed through slit lids, knowing it to be an intrusion but unrepentant. To her disappointment, he changed and washed behind the screen, emerging in a nightshirt to climb into the bed. She lay listening to his quiet breathing.
She had often slept with Verity, and knew the comfort of a warm body close in the night. She imagined what it would be like to have Cyn’s body beside her, brushing against hers, his particular aroma all around her. She tried to block such thoughts. They did no good, and certainly didn’t promote sleep…
Cyn’s sixth sense had told him she was still awake and made him cautious in his preparations for bed. Now, he listened for any sound that would confirm it. He half hoped for, half dreaded, an invitation of some kind. Still keyed up despite the long walk he’d taken, he knew that the slightest encouragement would be enough to overcome all his scruples…
Chastity felt the atmosphere of the room press heavily upon her. She was aware of his breathing, his presence so close. She had to stop this before she did something foolish. She imagined herself back in Nana’s cottage, helping with the housework, feeding the hens, reading one of the books with which she passed the time. She had discovered accounts of travelers and delighted in them, finding escape in going with them to distant lands…
