Henry took her hand and led her to the carriage. “Indeed. But they don’t know that I found you, love.”
“You say love like it’s welcomed.” Berty felt just the slightest bit irritated that he had shifted so completely in less than a day. Or maybe she had misunderstood earlier; regardless, she wasn’t inclined to forgive him… yet.
“Minx, you know well that it is, and I’ll simply bide my time till you realize it.”
“And what brought about this change of heart?” Berty asked as he opened the carriage door. “And no, thank you. I’ll ride atop with you. I have no desire to be stuck in that dark hole for the foreseeable future.” She eyed the darkness of the coach with wariness, even as she felt the safe and strong arm of Henry under her fingertips.
Henry hesitated, then nodded once, pulling her thoughts back to the present. Carefully, his warm hands surrounded her hips as he assisted her in making it up to the coachman’s bench. It was much higher than Berty expected, and she found the wide-open view welcome versus the closed-in prison of the carriage.
“Are you settled?” Henry asked, his voice soft and tender as he reached out and tugged a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Indeed.”
“Then let’s be off.” He snapped the ribbons, and the horses impatiently wound around the fallen tree, causing the carriage to lurch to the side, nearly unseating Berty. The evening was melting into night as they made it to the road, the song of crickets floating through the air even as the clouds gathered. Berty released a sigh of contentment, of peace as she finally felt truly safe.
“You never answered my question,” Henry encouraged softly, his arm winding around hers and pulling her in tight.
“The events of the day, right…” Berty bit her lower lip. “We were heading to Garden Gate and found it closed tight, then Alice encouraged me to visit Bath, and I agreed.” Berty paused, thinking over everything. “When we arrived, she all but disappeared immediately. I asked the coachman if he had seen her, and he said she’d run away from the thoroughfare of Milsom Street, which struck me as odd. I searched for her, and when I she finally did show up, I gave her a quick scolding, but her gaze kept darting behind her, and then her eyes grew wide as she looked past me—”
“She was glancing behind because she knew I was following her.”
“Thank heavens,” Berty said with deep feeling. “I don’t know what I would have done.”
“She panicked. I rather think that she would have just given apologies and excuses had I not been there. But that she suspected me, suspecting her… forced her to make some very poor choices.” His arm tightened on hers. “I’m sorry.”
“None of it is your fault, except the fact that I’m safe. You may take full credit and fault for that.” She winked at him.
“Shouldn’t you be in a fit of vapors yourself? I mean, you did just get kidnapped, gagged, tied up—”
“You forget that I knew that Captain Brockston was innocent,” she interrupted.
“Oh? And how did you know that?” he asked through a narrowed gaze as he directed the team toward the main road that would pass Garden Gate then back to the estate.
“When she looked past me, she pushed by and practically accosted Captain Brockston. I don’t know what was said, but she certainly appeared panicked as you said, and the next thing I knew, he was shoving the coachman out of the way, calling him a blackguard and scanning the crowd as if looking for a threat. Alice tugged on his coat and pointed to me, and with a quick apology, he forced both of us into the carriage and took the coachman’s position, and we took off at breakneck speed. Alice was quick to call him a lovesick fool before she withdrew a pistol and held it to my chest before gaining my assistance in being tied and gagged. She spoke in French as she continued to glance out the window. When Captain Brockston hid the carriage, she told him that I was in certain peril, and we needed to protect me, all while I sat there gagged and tied up at gunpoint.” Berty shook her head. “Now that the danger is past, I see the irony of it all.”
As she glanced to Henry, she noticed the tightness of his jaw and the strong grip on the ribbons as he took a deep breath through his nose. “I fail to see the humor—”
“I didn’t say humor. I said irony,” Berty corrected.
“Regardless, I see none of it, save pleasure that she is no longer amongst the living.”
“Yes, well… I’ve never seen someone killed before.” Berty blinked. “And I should think that I’d rather never see it again.”
“It’s difficult,” Henry replied, turning to meet her gaze. “But remember that she was attempting to withdraw another weapon, after already trying to shoot me twice and harm you as well.”
Berty took a deep breath. “Yes, well… I still believe I’ve had more than enough adventure for a while.”
“And here I thought you were done indefinitely,” Henry teased, clearly trying to lighten her spirits.
To a certain degree, it worked. “I find my opinions are as changeable as yours, sir. Which brings me back to my question. What brought upon the change of heart?”
“Who says it’s a change of heart? Though I do think I perhaps owe you an apology.” The night was falling quickly, and the shadows became less noticeable as the darkness closed around them.
“I should think so, but first, do you have a flint and steel? It’s rather dark.” Berty searched behind the bench seat for the lanterns that hung on the carriage, yet what good was it if she had no way to light them?
Rain started to fall from the sky, further eliminating her idea of lighting the lanterns, and she glanced to Henry, who had remained suspiciously quiet. “It’s raining.”
“I’m well aware… I’m thinking…”
Berty arched a brow, even though he would have been hard-pressed to see it in the growing darkness. “About?” She encouraged, albeit impatiently.
The rain began to pour down in earnest. “…that you should be in the carriage.”
“No,” Berty replied succinctly.
“You’re certainly going to catch a chill and we are still miles away from the estate,” Henry argued.
“Turn here.” Berty pointed, resisting the urge to take the ribbons from his hands and direct the coach herself.
“Why—”
“Do it.”
Reluctantly, Henry obeyed, and the horses took the fork in the road away from the main road and the duke’s estate and headed toward Garden Gate.
“Have you forgotten that it is locked and vacated?” Henry asked, irritated.
“It is of no consequence. The rain is coming faster and harder, I’m quite soaked already, and I have no wish to catch my death by riding another hour to the estate! See ahead? There’s just enough light to see the path. Take it.”
Henry sighed heavily but followed her directions and took the dim path that curved just before Garden Gate’s grounds began.
“Halt here.” Berty placed her hand on his, waiting till he pulled up the horses. “Follow me.” She stood carefully, only to have Henry gently push her back down.
“Wait, let me go first, and I’ll assist you.” He wiped his hand down his face, likely to remove the chilly rain, and as he disappeared from the side of the carriage, he called out to her. “Come.”
Berty rose and slowly found her footing, relaxing as his hands wrapped tightly around her waist and helped her dismount. “Thank you.”
His hands were slow to release her, his warmth lingering. “My pleasure.”
Berty resisted the urge to delay and enjoy the moment; rather, she took his hand and led him to the stone wall. “Place your hand against it and look for a stone that sticks out more than a hand’s length. It’s about this high.” She placed her palm over his hand against the wall. As she walked along, her hip located the jutting out rock, and she gave a small yelp.
“Are you unwell?”
“I found the rock,” she replied. She pressed against it, a gate opened, and she walked through. “Don’t dawdle.”
“How did you know?” Henry asked from behind her.
“Carlotta. This is her family’s old estate. It’s leased out, but because it’s vacant, I’m assuming it’s between tenants. She wanted us to know how to get in should we ever be in Bath and in danger. She’s quite thorough when it comes to our care.”
“I should say so,” Henry replied in an astonished tone.
“Will the horses be all right?”
“They are surely put out, but they will survive the rain. I can come and collect them once you’re settled. I’m assuming you know how to get into the manor as well?”
“Indeed. There’s a latch release on the servants’ entrance.”
She heard Henry’s chuckle and spun around. “What is so amusing?”
“You,” he answered directly. “I think you’re more spy than you realize. Innocent yet covert. It’s quite astonishing.”
“Yes, well… I have had very thorough training.”
“I can see.”
Berty rolled her eyes in the darkness and felt for the servants’ door as they approached the back of the manor. “Here.” She placed her hand on the iron mechanism hidden behind a mess of ivy. Tugging, she soon heard a clink, and Henry pulled open the door.
“Thank the heavens.” Berty spoke with a relieved tone.
“You sound as if you weren’t sure of your success,” Henry said teasingly as he fumbled around in the darkness.
“Careful.”
A muted thud preceded Henry’s low oath.
“Such language,” Berty bantered.
“That’s a rather low beam, Miss Lamont,” he said through clenched teeth.
“I did say to be careful.”
He sighed. “So you did. Do you have any idea as to where can we light a lantern or two so that I might avoid other injury to my person?”
“Here.” Berty fumbled along the wall till she felt a ledge. In short work, she had found several lanterns and lit them, bathing the hall in a warm and dry glow.
“Now to find something other than these sodden clothes.” Berty strode down the hall and into the main foyer. Henry’s footsteps sounded behind her as she crossed to the modest yet tastefully wooden banister and ascended the stairs.
“Do you know where you’re going?” Henry asked.
“Sort of,” Berty answered vaguely. She was assuming that there would be clothing in the chambers, but it was simply a guess. It was possible there was nothing but moths in the wardrobes, and if so, she’d have to scour the servants’ quarters.
After searching several rooms, she was relegated to the last option and soon discovered several frocks that would suffice for her, and an old gardener’s uniform for Henry.
“We should limit our access to one of the rooms so I can start a fire, and we can warm.” Henry ran his hand down her arm as she started to shiver. Holding her servant’s frock away from her sodden clothes, she barely resisted the urge to pull tightly into his warmth.
“Why aren’t you shivering?” Berty asked grudgingly.
“Men’s clothing is often more weatherproof than women’s,” he replied, but eyed her cautiously. Come, let’s use the library—”
“No, C-Carlotta always said it was drafty. Let’s use one of the rooms upstairs. I noticed that they were already stocked with wood.” Rather than wait for a reply, she marched back to the stairs, her body continuing to shiver as her thoughts focused solely on the prospect of a warm fire in the not-too-distant future.
As she walked into the room closest to the stairway, she set a lantern down and frowned at the fireplace. This was one area where she wasn’t skilled.
She turned to the door, and just as her impatient nature was catching up with her, Henry slowly walked in. She was about to scold him when she saw him cast a concerned glance to the middle of the room before meeting her gaze, then lowering it quickly. Taking a deep breath, he strode in and knelt silently before the hearth, setting up the logs for the fire.
Berty frowned and glanced to the middle of the room.
A bed.
A million thoughts flickered through her mind, yet as the fire crackled, all of them shattered into one — warmth. She knelt beside Henry, tugging her wet gloves from her hands and tossing them aside as the heat slowly seeped into her skin.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“It was my pleasure. I’m only sorry that you’re certainly quite miserable. I’ll give you a moment of privacy so that you might change into a dry frock.” He gave a quick nod and rose stiffly as he quit the room. The sound of the door clicking shut punctuated the air, and Berty rose slowly and retrieved her discarded frock. As she started to remove her pelisse, she found that her soaking wet dress was quite difficult to remove. The buttons at the back were nearly impossible to reach. “Drat.”
Worrying her lips, she strode the door. “Henry?” She cracked it open, watching as he turned around to face her.
“Yes?”
“I, er, that is… I need help.” She gave a helpless shrug and turned around, offering her back.
“Oh, I see.” His voice was smooth, just like his touch, as he carefully popped the buttons loose. When he finished, he released a breath. She heard him take a few steps away.
“I’m terribly sorry, but… well, it would…”
“What is it?” he snapped.
Berty glanced over her shoulder with a narrowed gaze. “Pardon?”
“My apologies. It’s just very… difficult.”
Berty arched a brow. “It’s also very difficult to untie one’s corset — practically impossible — so if you wouldn’t mind?” She gave him her back once more.
“Dear Lord,” he whispered then took two very slow steps forward.
His touch was soft as he tugged the strings, and Berty closed her eyes at the intimacy it created. With each pull and loosening of the restraints, she grew tense as anticipation built inside, yet she knew it was a fruitless longing. He would finish, she would walk back into the room, and that would be that.
So she tried to savor the moment… the sensation of his fingers slowly undressing her… the scent of rain and warm man surrounding her… It was heady… it was lovely…
It was over as he stepped back.
Berty glanced behind her. “I thank you.”
His gray eyes were hard, resolved, hungry. “I’ve chased you down, dodged bullets, and killed a traitor, yet I can honestly say this last request was the most challenging event of the day.” He closed his eyes. “Go into the room, Berty, while I can still call myself a gentleman — or at least enough of one.”
Berty sighed softly and closed the door then leaned against it. And all she could think about what how he was trying to be a gentleman.
The one time she wished he wouldn’t.
HENRY PACED THE floor, needing to do something rather than relive the sensation of her corset strings beneath his fingers. He prided himself in being a man who remained composed in all situations, yet he was completely undone, much like her corset just beyond the very permeable door.
Yet he refused to twist the handle and answer her questions with his body rather than his words.
It would be wrong.
Wouldn’t it?
The minutes passed, and his impatience grew as he continued to drip water from his clothes onto the run along the hall. He walked to the door, lifted his hand, and then dropped it. He didn’t want to rush her, nor did he think his self-control could survive seeing her in any state of undress.
Yet his mind ran headlong down that road.
Needing a distraction, he lifted his hand to knock.
“Yes?”
“Are you presentable?” he asked somewhat softly, trying to keep the ragged desire from his tone.
He heard her voice but couldn’t make out her words initially, till the moments ticked by, and clear as day she called his name.
“Henry.”
It was more of a commanding tone, and without a thought, he simply opened the door. And
met her very wide gaze as he tried not to notice the fact that she was indeed not presentable as of yet.
“I-I…” He turned to shut the door.
“Come in. I’m covered completely.” She gestured to the woolen blanket she had wound under her arms, giving the most delicious view of her bare shoulders. “I couldn’t very well dress while my skin was still damp.” She gave him a small shrug, drawing his attention back to her beautifully creamy shoulders, begging to be touched, tasted—”
“Henry?” she asked, pulling his attention back to her face… down to her lips…
“I do believe I should go—”
“You’re certainly as chilled as I was. But I must admit that I’m rather loath to leave the fire. Will you trust me to simply give you my back?” She blinked at him, her gaze hopeful.
Not trusting his voice, he simply nodded. What else could he do? Turn her out into the chilly hallway? And if he were honest, he didn’t want her to leave.
Ever.
A small smile tipped his lips as he slowly lifted his dry clothing from the arm of a chair. Berty primly turned her back to him as she sat before the fire.
He had never imagined he’d fall in love.
Yet now that he’d experienced it, he couldn’t imagine life without it. Rather, life without her. She was a hoyden, an heiress, a menace to his mind and everything that he needed, and he hoped that he filled some need she had as well.
He had nothing to offer, save his heart, his body, his unyielding devotion. Dare he wish that it might be enough to win her heart in return?
He was terrified to find out.
Yet what choice did he have? None, because while sometimes love was a choice, other times love was preordained. And he was quite certain he fell into the latter category. He’d never stood a chance at doing anything but loving her, which was probably why he’d held her so far away, so far above every place but the one place he needed her.
His arms.
He stripped his shirt off and draped it on a chair. His tan breeches were saturated and ruined. As he bent to untie his Hessians, the sound of water dripping to the floor caught his attention. Berty’s draped clothing was creating small puddles. Quickly, he removed his boots and started to slide his breeches off as they reluctantly clung to his damp skin. “I see what you mean. Though I think we’re more waterlogged than simply damp.” Henry spoke wryly.
A Hoyden and an Heiress (Greenford Waters Book 4) Page 9
