by Sue London
“I need to help them.”
She pulled back to look at the townsfolk forming a bucket line to the well. Of course they should help. It wasn’t only her home that would burn down. She nodded and wiped at her tears with the backs of her gloves. Then she joined Reggie in the line passing water to douse the shops. It was backbreaking work and they were at it for hours. By dawn she couldn’t tell what was sweat, tears, or splashes from the buckets, but she was soaked and covered in soot. She and Reggie had kept her belongings close at hand, but she hardly had the strength to gather them when the bucket line broke up. He helped her gather her things and took her arm.
“Hopefully we can get a room at the Inn.”
She let him tug her along, hardly able to put one foot in front of the other she was so sore and tired. The innkeep was reluctant to sell them only one room as they weren’t married, but Reggie leaned across the counter in a threatening manner.
“If you think I will leave her alone after they burned her shop down you are daft. And if it’s funds for a second room you are after you can try billing my brother. I wouldn’t recommend it, but you can try it.”
The innkeep held out a single key. “The best room in the house, m’lord. Top of the stairs and to the right. Door at the end of the hall.”
“Thank you, kind sir.”
Reggie took some more of the burden out of her hands and motioned toward the stairs with his chin. She climbed the stairs slowly, aching in every possible place that one could ache. Somehow he managed to get her and their meager belongings in the room.
“Rest,” he said. “I’ll see about having them send up a bath and something to eat.”
When he slipped back out the door she looked at the tidy bed and then at her own bedraggled clothing. She sat in one of the straight-back chairs instead. It seemed she dozed off because she startled awake when he knocked before entering again. Two servants set up a bath and toted hot water up to fill it. It seemed like a dream, really. She’d never had servants or been able to stay in a private room at an inn. The only time she’d seen such luxuries was at Sabre’s house in Derbyshire. Even Francie’s uncle, although a gentleman, didn’t have the funds for a large number of servants. Was this what Reggie’s life was really like? He was overseeing the bath as though the servants were his crew to command.
When the bath was full and the servants had left he crouched down in front of her, taking her hands. “You can bathe first. Will ten minutes be enough time?”
He was talking to her as though she were addled, and she had to admit that perhaps she was. “It takes me ten minutes to wash my hair,” she observed.
He chuckled and kissed her hand. “Fifteen, then? I don’t fancy taking a frigid bath myself.”
“I will do it in twelve. You can set your watch by me.”
He dug into his satchel and pulled out a pocket watch. After winding it he said, “Very well. Twelve minutes it is.”
She regretted her confident words when he stepped out of their room and she hardly felt like she had the strength to stand up, much less complete her bath in less time than usual. But he was correct, time meant the bath was cooling. She struggled to stand, disrobe, and then eased herself into the steaming water. Ouch, but she should have let him bathe first! It felt like she was being boiled alive! She scrubbed with the little bar of soap as quickly as she could, and was out of the water in record time. She wrapped herself in a bath sheet and threw her cloak over her shoulders before opening the door.
“Reggie?” she called out.
She heard his boots on the stairs almost immediately. Once he reached the hallway he hurried toward her. “Is everything all right?”
“Bath too hot,” she complained simply, stepping back into the room to let him enter.
“No such thing,” he said with a laugh, walking over to test the water with his finger. “It’s already cooling.” But then he turned back to look at her in the light from the window and frowned. “You’re bright red.”
“Too hot,” she said again and tucked the cloak closer around herself.
He tipped her chin up. “I’m sorry. We won’t do that again.”
“Where should I go while you bathe?” She looked down at herself and flapped the fabric of the cloak. “I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Just go lie down on the bed.”
“Scandalous,” she said.
“Then don’t watch.” He pulled his shirt off first. She’d almost grown used to seeing him without his shirt on. Then he removed his boots. And after raising an eyebrow at her continued staring he unbuttoned the falls of his breeches. She felt an entirely different heat than that of the bath bloom in her cheeks and turned away. She was only so bold, it seemed. She crawled under the blankets with her back to him, curling up like a cat. She’d thought they might chat while he bathed, but she felt asleep within moments.
***
Reggie hadn’t dawdled in a bath in ages. Soon it would be too chilled to enjoy, but just now it was still pleasantly warm. His eyes returned to the bed again. Francie’s hip curved up just enough to make it clear there was a woman sleeping there. He wasn’t sure quite what he would do after the bath. Join her in bed? Although fair exhausted from fighting the fire, he apparently wasn’t too exhausted to consider what that might lead to. He knew he wanted her and now she had nearly nothing. Just an uncle in London, a cash box, and an old pistol. And a tattoo. He chuckled to himself. His feisty, unpredictable Miss Walters. She lived like a pauper but was cousin to a countess.
He should ask her to marry him. He should tell her… Well, tell her everything. How his father was a viscount. How his family might be slow to warm to her but it didn’t matter because she was marrying him, not the entire Burnham lot. How he knew he couldn’t live without her now.
He rose from the bath but couldn’t find anything to dry himself with. He settled for one of his cleaner shirts. Francie didn’t stir on the bed. Should he join her? He shouldn’t go too far away or that defeated the point of protecting her. When he’d been downstairs the constable had come to chat with him about the fire. Seemed the boys from London were no longer to be found anywhere in town. It was highly suspected they’d started the fire. Out of petty revenge, Reggie assumed.
It didn’t matter now. The only thing that mattered was keeping Francie safe. And, hopefully, convincing her to marry him. He didn’t know how the wicked little beast had wound him round her finger so aptly, but she had. She was stuck with him now. He stopped arguing with himself about what to do and slipped under the covers with her. When he pressed up against her back she sighed in her sleep. He kissed her on her damp head and pulled her closer.
This was his heaven, he thought, with his very own sharp tongued angel.
He didn’t know how long he’d slept, but it was dark outside their window and he could hear men in the tavern downstairs. Francie moved restlessly in her sleep, though he wasn’t sure if she was bothered by a dream or the noise.
“Shh.” He smoothed her hair away from her face and she rolled over to snuggle into his chest.
He wasn’t sure precisely how many tests the Lord would make a man go through but just now seemed a particular challenge. He had only to kiss her awake. She would be willing. More than willing. He didn’t know if she loved him as he did her, but he knew that she wanted him. She didn’t even entirely know what that meant yet, but he would teach her. He ran a palm over her hip, her ribs, and up to the swell of her breast. She sighed but didn’t move away. His thumb teased at her peak until the nipple stood hard and rigid against his touch. He wanted her with such an intensity that he was lightheaded. What would her nipple taste like against his tongue?
God, was he so craven as to seduce her before proposing marriage? He supposed that he should address his suit to her uncle, but did that figure if he’d already compromised her? What would he do if they spent their whole trip to London screwing, only to have her uncle say no?
He pushed himself from the bed before he could t
alk himself into continuing. She sat up, not able to see him in the dark.
“Reggie?”
“I’m fine.” He knew his tone was curt, but he was a hair’s breadth from making a disastrous decision with her. She was what mattered, not his desire to fuck her senseless. He pulled on his trousers and boots. “I’m going downstairs to find out what’s going on. Get some rest, we leave for your uncle’s in the morning.”
“Reggie?” She sounded confused.
“Keep the door locked while I’m gone,” he said as he slipped through it. “Don’t open it for anyone you don’t know.”
He fled down the stairs to join the men drinking. Everything had seemed so simple, even a few days ago. Before he’d realized how much she meant to him. He could have lost her in the fire. He could lose her if her uncle didn’t approve the marriage. He could lose her if she simply didn’t want to marry him. Bloody hell, his chances seemed dire.
But she had an affection for him, he was certain of that. And couldn’t an uncle that hadn’t seen her in years easily be swayed by the son of a viscount? He didn’t know, but he needed to find out before he drove himself mad wondering about it.
Chapter Eighteen
Francie flopped back on the bed. Well, that was frustrating. He’d not listened to her. She needed something to wear and a comb if she was ever going to leave this room. Although. She turned over and drew his pillow to her, inhaling deeply. This would always be the first bed they’d shared. Of course, they’d shared a floor first, but it had been burned up. She hugged the pillow closer. Everything was gone. She’d tried so hard after Mama died. Mama had pleaded with her not to wear black. That mourning never helped the dead or the living. So instead Francie had put her energy into the shop. She’d wanted to make Mama proud. Now everything they’d had was gone.
By the time Reggie returned to their room she’d been openly weeping into his pillow for awhile. She turned her head away from the light of the hall, and once he’d closed the door she put her own pillow on his side of the bed.
“You’re still awake?” His voice was soft.
“Yes.”
Apparently even that single word alerted him. “What’s wrong?”
She turned over on her side away from him. “Nothing.”
He pulled his boots off and they thumped on the braided rug. “I don’t believe you.”
“So?”
“Bloody hell, Francie, I’m trying to be an honorable man. Please don’t make me come over there and kiss it out of you.”
She thought for a moment. “What if I want you to kiss it out of me?”
He groaned. It grew muffled at the end so she imagined he covered his face with his hands. “I retract calling you an angel. You are the devil incarnate.”
“I pity the woman who marries you. You’re going to be one of those long-suffering husbands, aren’t you?”
She turned over to look at him again and could just make out the white of his shirt in the gloom. His arms moved, she thought to cross. “And I pity the man who marries you. You will be an intractable wife.”
“It’s a blessing we know each other so well. I can warn off all comers who might find themselves otherwise entranced by your good looks and passable charm.”
He laughed. “Passable charm?”
She sat up, enjoying their jest. “I’ll admit that I may not have seen you at your best. Shot, bored, and sleeping on floors. Hmm. If you added a bottle of rye to that it would be quite the sad tale.”
“I have a bottle of whiskey, thank you very much, and that makes me sound both sophisticated and dashing.”
“You are quite the rogue,” she agreed affably. “Drinking contraband on the floor of a dress shop. No, wait, that still sounds sad.”
He laughed, his arms relaxing down by his sides. “I’m glad the fire didn’t blunt your wicked tongue.”
“I used your sharpener on it right before we left.”
It seemed she could be bold and wicked, but she couldn’t force her tongue to tell the truth. That she loved him.
They both subsided into silence, with him still standing near the door and her sitting in the bed. Once it had been quiet so long she felt awkward she said, “Come to bed.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
He sighed. “Being honorable.”
“But I made your pillow all wet and snotty,” she said, holding it out.
“You were crying?” He pushed away from the wall and she smiled. Lud, but he was easy for her to lure.
“Well,” she said. “This morning the shop I grew up in burned down, last week someone threatened to put my cousins in a brothel, and not three months ago my mother died.” Despite her bravado her voice cracked a bit at the end.
He walked to her side of the bed and pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be an ogre.”
She enjoyed his warmth and berated herself for not being brave. Tell him you love him, you foolish girl. What if he manages to be honorable all the way back to Irish Island without you?
Instead she asked, “So we’re going to London?”
“It seems wise. You have family there. We can find out what Harry and your cousins are up to.”
“I can introduce you to cousin Jack.”
“I thought we’d agreed to call her Lady Jack.”
She smiled into his shirt. “All right, we’ll call her Lady Jack.”
***
As much as he was sorry her shop burned, Reggie felt like at last he had something to do. He procured a dress for Francie from Mrs. Sparks. Left his address with the constable and postmaster. Sent another letter to Jeremy and one to his mother. Rented a carriage and four. By mid-morning he was sitting across from her as the carriage bumped over the road leading out of Cleadon. He watched her face for signs of grief at leaving her home of many years, but she seemed to be watching the passing scenery with curiosity rather than distress. It was, to his eyes, a sparse and chilly land. He wouldn’t even choose it among all the places he’d seen in England, much less from around the world.
She had her hands clasped tightly in the lap and wondered if she was cold again. It was tempting to sit next to her and warm her fingers with his own. But where would that lead? There was entirely too much privacy in a carriage. Then she tucked her fingers the sleeves of her pelisse and that decided him. He crossed the small space separating them and sat on her bench with a sigh, tugging her hands into his own. At least now he could stretch out his legs and put his booted feet on the bench across from him.
“Did I seem so miserable?” she asked.
“I assumed that next you would be shivering. Do you hold chilly rocks while I’m not looking?”
She shook her head, smiling.
“Well, hopefully London will be warmer.” His thumb rubbed circles on her palm under the edge of her fingerless gloves. This pair were knit in a pale rose wool. Far too provincial for London. He would need to take her shopping soon after their arrival. The last thing he needed was his mother meeting her dressed as she was now. The cast off dress from Mrs. Sparks daughter was too loose at the waist and too tight at the bosom. Francie’s pelisse had seen better days, with wearing at the cuffs.
“I’ve never been to London,” she said quietly. “Is it warm?”
He laughed. “Not really. But there is so much to do, and so many to do it with, that it seems to be.”
She nodded as though that made sense to her. “I went to Newcastle when I was younger. There was more energy there than in Cleadon, if that makes sense.”
“Exactly,” he agreed. He crossed one booted foot over the other. “What do you look forward to seeing most in London?”
“I don’t know. What is there to see?”
“Well, everything. Gardens, museums, the Thames.”
“You can pick,” she said. He loved that she assumed they would be exploring together. “It will be your last visit to the city before you return to Bermuda for some time.”
That was preci
sely the truth, wasn’t it? And he needed to figure out how to take a part of England with the name Francie Walters with him. “I hadn’t thought about that. I guess we’ll be seeing everything!”
She laughed. “You won’t be able to choose?”
“Why choose when you can have everything you want?”
She turned her head away to look out the window again. “Can you heve everything you want?”
He squeezed her hands. “I know it’s been difficult, Francie, but I want you to be happy. Let me show you London. We will eat ices at Gunters and ride through the park in the fashionable hour. You can see wonders from around the world in the museum and the fireworks at Vauxhall Gardens.”
That caught her attention and she turned back to him. “Fireworks?”
He rested his arm behind her shoulders and leaned toward her. “It means going to Vauxhall. A girl could lose her reputation there if she’s alone with an unsavory man.”
She smiled so wide her cheeks dimpled. “Are you an unsavory man?”
“I could be. For you.”
Blast, but his intention of staying away from her was sinking like a ship with a breeched hull. She pulled him close for a kiss and he couldn’t find any resistance in himself. And he used to think he was so bloody honorable.
Chapter Nineteen
Something had changed between them and Francie couldn’t quite put her finger on it. When they sniped at each other his retorts didn’t have the heat they did at the beginning. There was an overall gentleness in how he treated her that hadn’t been there before. Was it pity? Or something else? She could see how it might be difficult to be mean to a girl whose home had just burned down. She knew people who could do it, but apparently Reggie wasn’t among them. But she hoped that it might be something more than pity or sympathy. That he had developed feelings for her, just as she had for him. Was it too much to wish for?
