Silence Is Golden

by Sara Ackerman

  He pulled away, and she whimpered at his absence until he renewed his attentions along the side of her face and down onto her neck.

  “Freddie,” she moaned, trembling at the now familiar sensations coursing through her body, “yes, yes, yes.” Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back, not even realizing that, while she had been enjoying his tender kisses, he had lowered her to the bench seat, his much larger body holding her smaller one captive.

  Untangling her hands from their nest in his hair, she ran them up and down the length of his arms and back, settling low on the taut globes of his buttocks as he leaned over her. For a lean man, he was a solid column of coiled muscle. She squeezed.

  He hardened underneath her touch. “You are a menace, my lady, a delightful, seductive, enticing menace.”

  She was shameless and reveled in the rippling firmness of his muscular thighs under her hands, fingering the corded ridges with featherlight touches. He groaned and lowered some of his weight on top of her, and she gasped when a different, more insistent sort of hardness captured her attention.

  “Do you feel that?” Tension made his words clipped and terse. “When I see you, this is how my body reacts.” He leaned over and licked the column of her neck, laving the tops of her breasts with his hot, greedy tongue.

  She arched into his touch. “Why were you going to leave me?”

  “Because I knew an alliance between the two of us would never work. I was hoping to spare you the pain of marrying beneath you.”

  The harshness of his words struck her like a slap to the face. Moments ago, she had been ready to declare herself to this man. She pushed him away and repositioned her bodice. Retrieving his discarded jacket, she placed it around her shoulders and pulled the edges together to form a barrier between her and his ravenous gaze. “Is your regard for me so little you imagine I would mind a simpler life than I am used to?”

  “Maybe not at first, but it would weigh upon you and dampen your bright spirits. My mother was the daughter of a baron and betrothed to a wealthy, neighboring landowner. The summer she was to be wed, she met my father when he came to draw up papers for her dowry. She fell in love and ran off with my father instead of marrying her betrothed. Her family disowned her. Friends no longer spoke to her. My mother lost her family, her position, and her dowry because she loved someone not suitable for her station.”

  “Did your mother regret marrying your father? Is she unhappy in the life she chose?”

  “She adored my father until the day he died, but I saw the toll a life of genteel poverty caused her, always worrying if there was enough to pay on accounts. Scraping by on what little there was.” He shook his head. “I want better for you.”

  “Your station or lack of fortune doesn’t matter to me.”

  He held her gaze with his own, those cloudy blue windows forcing her to tell the truth. She squirmed and shame burned within her. “Fine. At one time it would have bothered me, but not anymore.” She scooted closer to him and linked her hand through his. “Not with you. I could bear almost anything.”

  “Do you mean it? I can tell you your uncle won’t be pleased. He favors Newgate over me.”

  He does, does he? We’ll see. Already a plan was forming. “Leave him to me.”

  “What are you saying?”

  She unlaced their hands and rested hers on his thigh. Unease made her shy, and several moments passed before a burst of bravado gave her the courage to ask, “Do you want me?”

  He looked down at the burgeoning evidence of his desire and back at her, his blue eyes wild and stormy. “Yes.”

  Helpless to avoid staring at the object in question, a flush reddened her face at her own daring. Blast men’s fashion and its tight, revealing breeches! With a delicate cough, she forced herself to look away. Young ladies did not stare at— It wasn’t proper. Instead she studied a clump of ivy behind his left shoulder. It held no interest, and her traitorous gaze wandered again.

  One more peek won’t hurt.

  Her eyes flickered down, and she gasped seconds before her wandering hands were grabbed and pinned over her head, and a panting, virile man held her imprisoned against the gazebo post.

  “Don’t. Touch. Me,” he growled.

  He glared at her with fierce intensity, making her afraid to speak lest he take it into his head to trap her legs with his long, lean body. Hmm, not my worst idea.

  “Never or now?”

  “What?” His brows furrowed.

  “You don’t want me touch you, so I was asking whether you referred to this particular instance, or if you were banning me from touching you ever again. I would also like to point out we are, in fact, touching right now. Am I in violation of your request not to touch you? If yes, I’d like to remind you it was you who—”

  “You talk too much.” His arm snaked around her waist, and he pulled her into another scorching embrace. When she pulled back to suck in a lungful of air, he sat back, his eyes hooded, and watched her.

  “That was…nice.” She fanned herself and gathered the scattered remnants of her wits.

  “Only nice?” Purposeful intent mingled with predatory lust, and he advanced. “I must not be doing it right.”

  She jumped and retreated to the other side of the gazebo. “You’re doing fine. I want to know—no, I need to know—if you want me.” Have I gone too far? Will he understand what I’m saying, or will I have to spell it out for him? This business of love and romance was a lot of work, and the longer he remained silent, the more her insecurity and wretchedness increased.

  There were several beats of silence. “Do you want to know if I care for you?”

  Standing in miserable insecurity, she fiddled with the buttons of his jacket draped over her shoulders.

  He rose and was by her side in two strides. He did not touch her, but the heat of his body seeped into her own, and she swayed closer.

  “I do care for you.”

  Her eyes closed, and she sighed. “How…nice.”

  He chuckled. “Aye, it’s nice.”

  “I care for you, too.”

  “Good. It’ll be even nicer.”

  “What will?”

  “When you come to me tonight.”

  “I will come to you?” What he was asking was not done. An unmarried woman did not make an assignation to visit a bachelor’s bedchambers. Could she toss aside years of proper breeding to bed this man?

  Almost as if he sensed her hesitation, he ran the back of his hand across her bosom. When his hand came to rest on the underside of her breast and his thumb rubbed tiny circles over the straining flesh within, his gentle touch at once soothed and exhilarated her. She could not deny him. “Yes.”

  “And you’ll let me make love to you?”

  Her flesh pimpled. Wait! I was going to suggest the same, wasn’t I? Passion had overtaken her brain, and she cared not if it was her or him who proposed the idea. She wanted to be with him.

  Her knees wobbled, and she had to clutch his shirt front to stay upright. “Yes.”

  He placed a kiss on her forehead and offered his arm. “May I escort you back to the house?”

  “I’ll return later. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to enjoy being outside, I’d like to stay. You go on ahead. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll see you later tonight, my lady.” He bowed and strode out of the gazebo, leaving her alone and with the nagging sensation she had, once again, been outmaneuvered.

  ****

  He trudged to the house, guilt weighing down his steps. He had not liked using her body’s reaction to manipulate her into capitulation. It had to be done for her safety, he had told himself, and with her eager body pressed against his own, it had made sense. Now as the flash of lust receded and he returned to the stable solidity of the house, a symbol of civility and breeding, doubt assailed him. Shaking away his concerns, he entered through the greenhouse, pausing at the doorway as two servants walked past, before sliding through the door and down the hallway to the stu
dy.

  He knocked three times.

  Atwood opened the door and poked out his head. “Is it done?”

  “She will come to me tonight.”

  “You’re doing the right thing, son.”

  “I hope she doesn’t hate me when she finds out.”

  “She’ll forgive you.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to forgive myself.”

  He returned to his rooms, hoping for a few moments of quiet before having to go down for dinner, but upon opening the door, he saw he was not alone. “What are you doing here?” Anger reared its ugly head at the intrusion into his privacy. “Get out!” he ordered, but his visitor advanced, brandishing a silver candelabra in his hands. He grabbed the other man, and the two wrestled, Alfred doing his best to wrest the candelabra from his assailant’s hand. An overturned chair, disturbed during the tussle, tripped him, and he lost his advantage. A blindingly sharp pain shot through his head; he stumbled and fell to the floor with a most ungraceful thud.

  Chapter 17

  “Are you sure this is the way Mr. Coombes went?” She tore her eyes away from the muddy road littered with fallen trees outside the cozy carriage. It bumped and rattled over uneven ground, and not for the first time she questioned her sanity in leaving the safety of Atwood Manor for the perilous roads leading to Southampton. To be sure, this voyage was much more dangerous than when she had left London, for now weeks of nothing but rain had dampened the earth, making its surface unstable and almost impassable. In fact, they had almost had to turn back when they passed through Hasselworth. The bridge was out, and while she did not wish to return to Atwood Manor, Lord Newgate’s solution to this problem almost had her wishing she had insisted upon it.

  Instead of returning to the safety of her aunt and uncle’s comforting, brick-walled residence, they had driven several miles upstream to where the river was not so wide. It was still swollen, and the water overflowed its banks, but Lord Newgate had told the driver to urge the horses across. Despite the coachman’s worries, he did, and she had clutched the interior cushions in utter terror as water seeped through the door’s crack. At one point, the horses had bucked and reared, and she feared the coach would upturn, delivering her to the swirling darkness of the raging river, but their coachman was experienced, and before she had even the time to finish a prayer for salvation, the coachman regained control of the frightened beasts and steered them out of the water and onto the shore. The water receded, but her hands remained clenched around the curved edges of the seat in white-knuckled fear.

  “I am positive, my lady. We spoke before he left. Our conversation gave me the perfect opportunity to apologize for the way I had treated him during our stay at Harrow. We parted on more amicable terms.”

  “How good of you.” As if you have ever apologized to anyone in your life.

  “We talked for a few minutes of his plans to sail from Southampton to Jamaica.”

  “He told me as much himself yesterday.”

  “Ah, but you didn’t hear all of his plans. If you recall, I told you he left because he knew your uncle would never allow a union between the two of you, but he would wait in Southampton for at least a week before sailing, in the hopes you would show.”

  Yes, Uncle. His prejudice against the solicitor had complicated matters and had necessitated some rapid readjustments. After returning to the house, she had been too impatient to wait until evening to explore the pleasure Alfred had ignited within her, so she had snuck to his room and found it empty, and devoid of his personal belongings, including his baggage. She had been crushed, certain he had been toying with her affections, until she heard her uncle’s sonorous voice echoing throughout the house. She remembered what Alfred had said and was certain Uncle Kendrick had asked him to leave. Though he had told her of her uncle’s objections in the gazebo, she hadn’t believed it, not until she saw the damning evidence, or lack thereof, in his room. When Lord Newgate had found her on the staircase and told her the same, she knew Alfred was gone, so she hadn’t hesitated to accept Lord Newgate’s offer to escort her to Southampton, where Alfred awaited.

  “It is kind of you to take me all the way to Southampton, Lord Newgate.”

  “Why so formal? Are we no longer friends? Please, call me Alex.”

  “Thank you, Alex. You are not offended I have chosen him instead of you?”

  Worry caused her chest to tighten, not because she imagined her rejection had wounded him. No, the man cares for no one but himself, but his unhappiness at being passed over could make finding Alfred difficult.

  “I know when I’ve been bested. Mr. Coombes is the better man, and I wish you two nothing but happiness.” He opened up a small bag and pulled out a box. “A marzipan? I remembered they are your favorite. I purchased them in Hasselworth before we boarded.”

  Instinct told her not to accept, though it was her favorite sweet treat. Still she hesitated. “Please, I insist. Consider it a peace offering, to show there is no ill will. Believe me when I say I wish you and Mr. Coombes the best of luck.”

  When phrased in those terms, it would be churlish to refuse. She removed a glove and selected an almond confection. Popping it in her mouth, she savored the sweet offering and hoped it was nothing more than what he had claimed.

  Despite his reassurances, a nagging doubt lingered. What is he up to? Not for one minute did she believe he had conceded anything. Lord Newgate had once told her he never apologized and never gave up, and she believed him. Much like a towering oak, he was rigid in his beliefs and unyielding to change. He was concealing information from her and had been doing so since finding her sneaking down the servants’ staircase, but it didn’t matter. Mr. Coombes had left her, and she needed assistance to locate him. Even with her sense of self-preservation screaming in her head, she had made a deal with the devil, and like Old Scratch, he was hiding what he wanted in return for his services.

  “I find it amazing how you are now able to speak when the entirety of our acquaintance passed in silence. However did you break the curse?”

  “I stopped believing in it.”

  “If it was so easy, why didn’t you do the same years ago? Our courtship would have been much more enjoyable had you been able to speak.”

  She ignored the implied insult and resisted the urge to smack his face. “It wouldn’t have worked years ago, for there was no evidence to show I could speak to anyone but my family. When I spoke to Mr. Coombes, it was an accident. He scared me, and I reacted by yelling. After that, I suspected it was breakable.”

  “Ah, yes. The ever redoubtable Mr. Coombes. Frightening women since outgrowing his pantalets.”

  “It was a little scare, Alex, and you claim to be past your dislike of Mr. Coombes. There’s no need to mock him.”

  “Don’t take offense. I am teasing. Besides, Mr. Coombes isn’t the least bit frightening.”

  “Regardless, his scare allowed me to speak. Several weeks later, in a conversation with my aunt, I was distraught and spoke to her.”

  “We have been conversing for the better part of the afternoon, so are you distraught or frightened now?”

  “While those may have been the impetuses to break my silence, I have come to realize the curse was a fraud, perpetuated by my parents.”

  No longer did he wear his usual mask of indifference and disdain. For the first time since boarding this coach, he was interested. “To what end?”

  “My memory is still cloudy. I hope to speak with my sisters to see what they remember. However, once I decided the curse was a fake, I did remember several heated conversations between my parents talking about the gypsy woman who cursed us. I had to conclude they were in on it.”

  “How vile.”

  “Agreed. Once I find Mr. Coombes and we are married, I would like to travel to see my sister Amelia. Perhaps she has answers to some of my questions.”

  She did not wish to answer any more impolite or probing inquiries, so she changed the subject in the hope Newgate
would forget about her curse and leave her in peace. Also, dizziness assailed her, almost as if she had imbibed a little too much Yuletide punch.

  “Will we arrive in Southampton by nightfall?” The prospect of spending an evening with Lord Newgate was not one she wished to consider. The sooner she came to the port, the sooner she could be rid of Lord Newgate and his officious mannerisms.

  “The driver assured me we would arrive before dusk.” He leaned his head against the seat back and closed his eyes. “You should sit back and relax. We have several more hours to go.”

  Relaxing was the last thing she wanted to do. She needed to stay alert lest he try to take advantage of her vulnerable position, yet her head swam and her eyelids were tempted to droop. She had to do something to stay awake. “How about I tell you about my family?”

  “I know all about your family. We were engaged.”

  “Silly. You’ve never heard my side of the story, but I can speak now. I’ll tell you how my sisters tormented me in my youth.” She described her many exploits with her sisters, the curse, the time she snuck out of her aunt’s house and broke the crystal. The more she talked the harder she had to work to form her words. They sounded slurred to her ears, and forming a complete sentence was almost impossible. Someone, and she suspected Lord Newgate, had stuffed her head with cotton. Strong arms pulled on her shoulders so her head rested on a broad chest, and she gave up fighting to stay conscious. Her eyelids drooped and closed.

  Before Morpheus claimed her waking mind, she heard Alex’s triumphant whisper: “You’re not the only one who knows how to put someone to sleep.”

  ****

  She awoke with a jump, the light having faded to darkness. “Alex? Where are we?”

  His voice when he responded sounded far away, and she suspected he was not seated next to her in the carriage. “We have arrived in Southampton.”