“There’s no time to be missish. She must leave here with you, and to do so with reputation intact, she must be Mrs. Coombes.”
Hesitating, Alfred looked to William for support. In spite of the grave sin Lord Atwood was suggesting, his friend, the minister, appeared to be in agreement with their host.
“You swore to be her protector, did you not?” William asked.
He had, at the outset. This morning after talking to Lady Diane when he had made up his mind to fight for her affection, he had sworn again to be her protector, her shelter, her companion from now until forever. What choice did he have if it meant she came to no harm? “I would die to keep her safe.”
“You must compromise the girl tonight. Reverend Blackburn will marry you on the morrow, and she will be away with you by the afternoon.”
“What can I do to convince her to let me in? No maiden would be caught in a compromising position, alone in her room with a man not a relative.”
Lord Atwood ignored his question and walked to the door. Opening it, he yelled down the hall, “Gerard! Come here at once!”
The aged, hunched butler shuffled to the door and bowed, though it was more perfunctory than polite. “You bellowed, my lord?”
Atwood grunted. “Escort Mr. Blackburn to the kitchen, and have Cook find him something to eat. Then find him a room where he can rest.”
“I don’t wish to inconvenience you, my lord. I will be happy with a good cup of tea, a warm fire and a comfortable chair.”
“Allow me to repay your kindness to my niece. Eat. Rest. We’ll talk more after dinner.” With a yawn and a tired smile, Mr. Blackburn followed Gerard out of the study.
“This conversation won’t be fit for a man of God like Mr. Blackburn. I know he agreed to this scheme to expedite your marriage, but we will be kind and not force the man to listen to the discussion on how you will accomplish it.”
Alfred remained quiet, unsure of how he was to get her to come to him. Given time, his original idea had merit. Now his time was up, and he had less than twelve hours to bed and wed his host’s niece. Even if he knew how he was going to coax her into bed with him, he didn’t want to discuss it with his future wife’s uncle.
“I know you wanted to have her come to you, and had we unlimited time, I could see the benefits of making her chase you. This may not be how you envisioned your marriage, but—”
Atwood turned his attention to the windows. Something had caught his interest, for he craned his neck in either direction as he examined the gardens. “Why don’t you take a walk and clear your head. Maybe some time outdoors will give you the inspiration you need.”
He was about to remind Atwood it was raining outside, but he, too, looked out the window and saw sunlight and a familiar blonde head racing to the woods bordering the house. A silent agreement passed between the two men. He knew what he had to do.
Before leaving, he hesitated and cleared his throat, a question on the tip of his tongue. Embarrassment coursed through his body, coloring his face and ears, but he reasoned if he must do what Lord Atwood asked of him, he had to ask. “What if I’ve never taken a walk before, my lord?”
“What are you going on about? A sturdy country lad like you has gone on hundreds of walks. Get out there while the sun’s still out.”
“No, my lord. What I mean to say is, what if I’ve never taken a walk with a woman before.” He was too embarrassed to state he had never lain with a woman and didn’t know what to do. The theory of copulation was not a mystery. After all, he did grow up in the country and had studied anatomy at Harrow. He’d never gotten around to the practical application of it.
He pinpointed the exact moment Lord Atwood took his meaning. A rosy flush crept up his neck and turned his ears pink. He coughed. “Didn’t your father talk to you about, ahem, walking with women?”
“My father’s death was unexpected. Neither of us knew there wouldn’t be time for him to explain the finer details of taking walks.”
“Yes, but if you haven’t walked, you have taken strolls or promenades about the room?” the older man hinted.
He remembered Evie’s slight body pressed into his, his lips roaming over the fragile skin of her neck and ears, and flushed.
“I can see you have. You’re halfway there, though there are things you can do to make walking more comfortable for the lady.”
“Like what?” He was curious. To be sure he had heard the other lads at Harrow discussing their conquests, those rosy-cheeked maids from the village who tried to trap a peer into marriage by becoming with child. Those encounters were far from romantic and more resembled a business transaction than a romantic seduction between a man and a woman who cared for one another. Plus, his comrades must have been poor lovers, for never did he see them with the same woman twice, and aside from the actual description of copulation, they never included other details to indicate how one went about seducing a young lady. His father never spoke of these matters, so aside from the tales of conquest his school chums bandied about, his education was lacking.
“Wearing sturdy walking shoes always helps, as does a good firm walking stick.”
Now he was confused. He wanted information to make love to a woman, not take an actual walk, and these references to walking shoes and sturdy sticks had him all in a muddle. Wearing one’s shoes to bed did not seem right, nor did having a stick handy. Whatever was he going on about? “My lord? I don’t take your meaning.”
“Dash it all, my boy.” He threw back a glass of whiskey and ran a frustrated hand through his thinning gray hair. “Be prepared. Make sure your walking partner is comfortable. Ensure any pace you set is to her liking. If you should come to, say a hill, and she is not ready to climb the hill, don’t climb the hill. Am I clear?”
No. The only hills he could liken to her body were small, pert, and fit into the palm of his hand. She had not seemed to mind when he had explored those hills and fragrant valleys. He opened his mouth to comment, but the older man’s posture and restless eyes radiated distress. Atwood neither needed nor desired to hear about liberties taken between him and his niece, so he smiled. “Yes, my lord.”
His host’s smile when it came was one of pure relief. “Good. Good. Let’s get your coat and hat, and you can be on your way!”
Opening the massive oak plank that constituted his study door, Lord Atwood yelled again for the butler to fetch Alfred’s topcoat and hat and almost slammed the door on his wife.
“There you are, Husband. I’ve been searching the house for you.”
“I am here.”
“So I see. Gerard told me you were yelling,” she scolded.
“Don’t listen to him,” he said, taking his wife’s hand in his and tucking it into the crook of his arm. “He’s an old fusspot.”
“Was anything the matter?” She stepped aside to let Gerard enter. The butler helped Alfred into his coat, handed him his hat, and left.
“Nothing, my dear. Mr. Coombes and I were discussing the merits of a good walk.”
Alfred choked and glared at Atwood, who, if he weren’t mistaken, was enjoying his discomfort.
“I enjoy a good walk, too, Mr. Coombes. Nothing relaxes me more! Isn’t that true, Kendrick? We take a walk most mornings.” She gazed into her husband’s eyes, and Atwood, who had boxed himself into a corner, said in a strangled voice, “Enough, dear.”
“But Kendrick—”
Atwood ignored his wife and talked over her. “Good luck, my boy. Remember, tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, my lord. It will be done.”
Lady Diane regarded her husband, befuddlement clouding her pretty face.
Not wishing to be subjected to any further awkward questions, Alfred smashed his hat on his head and bowed before exiting.
“Have a good walk, Mr. Coombes,” Lady Diane called down the hall. “If you don’t mind my suggesting it, try taking deep lunges. It is most exhilarating!”
He heard Lord Atwood’s muffled laughter.
Wh
o knows? Maybe Lady Diane’s advice will prove to be more useful than her husband’s.
Chapter 16
“Yuck.” There was nothing but mud, puddles, and more mud at the end of her rainbow. She shivered and struggled to release her foot from the sucking, muddy ooze on the garden pathway. With a final wrenching pull, she yanked her foot free, grateful her slipper remained attached to her foot. She would hate to have to dig in the mud to retrieve it. Stomping off some of the earth still clinging to her, she straightened and did her best to remain dignified, a difficult feat when six inches of dirt caked her hems and cold, thick mud seeped into her shoe, under her arch, and around her toes. With each step she took, it made a most undignified squishing sound.
She plodded on, determined to enjoy the lull in the deluge of rain ravaging Surrey and the surrounding countryside. Who knew how much time she’d have before the clouds opened up again? Already more dark clouds loomed low on the horizon. She hugged her arms around herself and wandered through the garden, careful to avoid slippery patches of sodden earth. When she left the house, it had seemed like a good idea to go chasing an elusive treasure at the end of a rainbow, but under the thick canopy of trees sheltering this secluded path, she questioned the wisdom of venturing outside without an escort to help her navigate the wet patches.
“Or my shawl.” She rubbed her arms against the chill, wishing for her heavy, woolen wrap to protect her from the cool humidity. Gooseflesh dotted her arms and legs, and she debated returning to the house.
Perhaps she’d seek out her aunt. It had been exhilarating to speak with her after years of silence. They had spent so little time together before she had been called away to speak with Uncle Kendrick, and she longed to explore this new freedom with her. Yet the thrill she derived from her curse’s slackening powers did not quiet her questions or secure responses to their elusive answers. Why could she speak now and not before? What caused the loosening of speech? Why was she able to break her silence with some and not others?
After she lost sight of the rainbow, she had wandered onto a path leading away from the house and pondered those questions until her head swam. Unlike the last time she experienced a reprieve from her silence, it wasn’t because her curse was lifting. In fact, she didn’t believe there had ever been a curse. The old gypsy woman had been too specific—never to be heard again, yet didn’t she converse with her family? Her ability to do so didn’t follow the rules of the curse. Also, there was the incident at the inn. If the curse were real, would she have been able to scream at Alfred to get out of her room? This curse of hers was unpredictable. She didn’t claim to be knowledgeable about hexes, spells, and the like, but she did imagine if someone had the power to cast a spell as powerful as the one the gypsy had done to her, whatever magics went into forming it would be impenetrable and not prone to failure. Either the gypsy had inferior powers or the curse was a fake, and since she didn’t believe in gypsy curses, she concluded she had been living with a false curse for most of her life.
This brought up a new set of questions, and she was left with unsettling memories about the events with the gypsy all those years ago. Something tugged at the edge of her consciousness, a snippet of a conversation she’d overheard between her parents soon after being cursed. Though she tried to grasp the elusive memory, her footing wobbled as she rounded a corner, and whatever had been struggling to the surface faded. Her ankle turned, and she was falling. She closed her eyes and braced herself for impact.
Then she wasn’t falling anymore.
Strong bands encircled her body and secured her to something solid and familiar. She looked up at her rescuer, a happy smile lighting her face when she saw who it was.
“Alfred!”
He frowned. “My lady, what are you doing out here alone? You could have been hurt. It is much too wet for you to be out unattended.”
“The rain has stopped.” She sounded addled, but she wasn’t to blame. Her wits were still scrambled from the unexpected pleasure of being in his arms again.
He glanced around the garden path and up to the sky, held out his free hand, and rubbed his fingers together. When he pulled them back, it was to look at them in astonishment. “Ah! So that’s what is missing. I knew something had changed, but couldn’t determine what it was.”
She laughed. “Are you trying to tell me I’m being obvious?”
Though he did not reply, his eyes lit with mischief. “I must admit the sudden absence of incessant moisture had attracted my notice, but I ventured outdoors upon spying something much more beautiful.”
“What did you see?”
“Imagine my surprise when I peered through the window and saw a bright splash of color amidst the gloom of breaking clouds.”
“Hmm,” she agreed, resting her head on his shoulder like a contented cat. “The sun. As soon as it peeked out from behind a rain cloud, I ached to be outside.”
“I saw the sun, too, but something else caught my eye.”
“What did?”
“You.”
She fiddled with the buttons of his coat. “But why would I be of any interest to you? You are leaving.”
He nipped the sensitive skin of her neck and rasped low in her ear, “I’ve changed my mind.”
Apprehension seized her, and she had an inkling what a mouse must feel when being stalked by a hungry beast. Jaw muscles tensed and shimmied, and a hard, predatory gaze held her captive. The thick silence built until her head spun and she panted, the air expelling in short bursts from between her lips.
He strode down the path still carrying her in his arms. “I know several days ago we had talked about meeting in the greenhouse; however, I hope this will be a satisfactory substitution.” All too soon, he halted. They had arrived at a small gazebo flanked by a ring of tall trees and overgrown bushes. Creeping ivy climbed up and around the trellises, closing off the openings until the gazebo looked like a fairy house cloaked in leafy green. Though it was weathered, the boards beneath their feet were sturdy and showed no signs of rot. When at last he released her, it was with heart-stopping languor as he allowed her body to slide down the rigid hardness of his abdomen and thighs.
“Will this do?” he whispered into her ear. Her body, still encased within his arms, reacted instantly, and a flood of warmth pooled low in her belly.
She gulped and pushed away from him to walk to the far side of the gazebo. Nervous, she tugged at a stray leaf to occupy her hands. “I never knew Uncle had a structure like this on his property, or I would have visited much sooner. I always stayed above stairs whenever we visited. Uncle likes to tease me so.” She knew she was babbling and sounded inane, but she was helpless to stop. Gone was the straight-laced, responsible solicitor whom she had met all those weeks ago. Au revoir, Freddie, the fun-loving, carefree gentleman who had shared a spontaneous picnic of bread and cheese on the inn floor. This man before her was everything familiar yet strange. His voice and appearance had not altered, but now dark and brooding masculine confidence ensnared her in a powerful web of seduction and want.
He had always inspired a strong reaction in her, and for weeks she had fought it, but no more. The urge to fling herself into his arms intensified until she squirmed from her budding arousal. She studied him from under her lashes and noticed his tensed muscles, almost as if he waited for some signal from her. If she did decide to throw caution to the wind and hurl herself into his arms, he didn’t look like he’d mind.
“Federico,” she whispered, having settled on a name as foreign and mysterious to her as this man before her.
“Did you say something?” He stalked ever nearer.
She shook her head, though he did not look convinced. “No, I was commenting to myself how dry and warm it was in here.” Yet, despite her words, a chill broke out on her arms, and she wrapped them about herself for warmth.
“It’s sheltered from the trees, and the ivy provides a layer of protection against the rain and the wind.” He stood several feet opposite her, his own arms
folded across his chest. He was an imposing figure, and gooseflesh dotted her arms. She rubbed them and willed her passion to cool.
“Are you cold?” In two steps he was by her side, wrapping his own coat about her shoulders. “Let’s sit on the bench for a while until your chill passes.”
He steered her to a long wooden bench wrapping around two sides of the small gazebo and sat beside her. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, and she glimpsed a sight of her beloved Alfred, but it passed, and his arm surrounded her shoulders, pulling her in to his side. She sighed, contentment stealing through her bones as she snuggled against him.
“You’re not going to accept Newgate, are you?”
Remembering her plan to be coy, she fluttered her lashes and folded her hands in her lap. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business, Mr. Coombes.” She hadn’t considered how difficult it would be to do when he surrounded her, leaving no room to escape. His sandy brown hair was mussed, the curls dampened by the mist, and she longed to run her fingers through the silken strands. Her eyes must have given away her desire, for he clenched and unclenched his jaw. The same hungry predator from before stared back at her, and her breath hitched.
He tilted her chin until their eyes clashed. “But it is.”
“I don’t know.” She was confused at his change of heart. Hours earlier he had dismissed her and ignored the passion brewing between them. Now he cares? What is going on?
“What should I do?”
He shook his head. “No, no, my lady. My opinions, while strong, should have no bearing on what you decide.” He leaned down and nuzzled her neck with his nose. “Tell me what you want.”
She had but one desire. “You.”
“Me what?” It was hard to answer when his teeth found the tender flesh of her ears and nibbled like she was a rare delicacy.
Fear of rejection stayed her tongue. “I want to kiss you again.”
Without giving him a chance to respond, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his own. On a strangled groan, he gathered her into his arms and deepened their embrace. Taking the opportunity given to her, she tangled her fingers into the silken curls she had so admired and opened her mouth on a gasp of surprise when he nipped at her lower lip.
Silence Is Golden Page 13
