by Louise Allen
‘Tell me, Jane—are your parents white of hair and addicted to drink?’
‘Certainly not. Neither drinks to excess and Mama is only forty-six and hardly uses any... I mean she has no grey hair and Papa is forty-eight and has just the slightest touch of silver at the temples. Why ever should you suppose—? Oh, unkind! You think I have made them go grey with anxiety.’ She would have added more, but the carriage made a sharp left and right turn and came to a halt. ‘We are stopping.’ She peered through the glass and fanned herself with her hand, laughing at her own idiotically racing pulse. ‘I thought we had been waylaid for a moment. Where is the Heath?’
‘We have crossed it, bickering. The sound of our acrimony must have scared away the hordes of skulking ne’er-do-wells who might suppose the chaise contained a bear with a sore head and a cockatrice. This is Colnbrook and the George Inn. Do you wish to enter?’
Jane studied the façade of the inn. It looked respectable and Mama always maintained that on a journey one should take advantage of whatever decent amenities came one’s way. ‘I think so.’
* * *
She came back into the yard to find Ivo leaning against the chaise while the postilion argued with the ostler over the proposed horses for the change. A be-whiskered ancient had hobbled up and was clearly in the throes of a long and gruesome story.
‘...and down they’d go into the boiling vat beneath. Ah, famous for its meat stews was the Ostrich,’ he was saying with a cackle as she reached Ivo’s side. ‘And the landlord made himself rich on all the possessions he found in their bedchamber.’
‘And what happened to this villain of a landlord?’ Ivo enquired.
‘’Twas in ancient times, so they say. Before King Henry’s day, even. Hanged, drawn and quartered he was, his guts wound out on a windlass before his very eyes, his todger cut—’
‘Yes, thank you. Have a pint of the best, that must have made you thirsty.’ There was a clink of coin and the ancient tottered off, his thanks floating back to them.
‘What on earth was that all about?’ Jane demanded as the postilion finally agreed on a new pair and Ivo helped her into the chaise.
‘A murderous innkeeper at the Ostrich, opposite. The bed was part of a mechanism that tipped the sleeper into a vat in the cellars, so the story goes.’
‘No! How terrifying. I shall have to check every inn bed in future or I will have dreadful nightmares.’
‘Ridiculous,’ Ivo said briskly. ‘No one could get away with that for long in this modern age.’
‘But what if one was the first victim? Goodness, but it would make a dramatic painting, would it not? The poor sleeper half-awake, clutching at the sheets in terror as he slid inexorably to his doom... The evil landlord stirring his bubbling cauldron below. But perhaps too gruesome to be commercial. I shall have to tell my friend Melissa about it—I am sure she can incorporate it into one of her novels.’
‘Hardly a very suitable pastime for a lady, writing about such things.’
‘You sound like my father when he found me reading a novel. And it is not a pastime: Melissa intends finding a publisher for her work.’
Ivo’s silence was more stinging than words would have been. Jane turned a shoulder on him and stared out of the window.
* * *
‘If you are going to sulk all the way to Newbury...’ he said after they had passed through two villages.
‘I am not sulking. I am refraining from conversation with someone who is prejudiced and antiquated in his views.’
‘You, Miss Newnham, are a severe trial to my patience.’
‘Then please feel free to descend at the next change of horses and make your own way to Bath. As a soldier I imagine you are used to marching.’
‘I am—was—a cavalry man.’
‘How dashing.’ She turned to look at him. ‘Oh, do not look like that! I was not being sarcastic. The cavalry has such glamour. I would love to have painted you in your uniform astride your mount. What colour was it?’
‘Percy is black with one white foot, sixteen point three hands tall and is in livery stables in London until I can retrieve him.’
Jane relaxed a little. Ivo sounded warm and human when he described his horse, perhaps she was misjudging him.
‘Can you draw horses with any degree of competence?’ he asked.
That truce lasted all of ten seconds!
‘Competently,’ she admitted. ‘Not as well as I draw people.’
‘Then I fear you will receive no commission from me. Percy has been through too much on my behalf to have to make do with mere competence.’ The twist of his mouth was mocking when he added, ‘And you are attracted to painting solely what is glamorous or flashy? Will your subjects only be beautiful women and handsome men? I note you did not wish to paint my portrait until you heard about the uniform.’
‘That is unfair.’ Jane tipped her head to one side and studied him. When she met his quizzical gaze she realised it was the first time she had done so while he was aware of it. ‘You cannot be described as handsome,’ she said, as dispassionately as she was able. ‘Your features are irregular. However, your figure is good, if not elegant, your hair is thick and dark, which lends an air of drama... One would need to pose you against some rugged outdoor scene, I believe.’
‘Do you intend to be as ruthlessly frank with all your intended sitters?’
It was attractive that Ivo did not appear to be personally wounded by her assessment. ‘Of course not,’ Jane said.
And then he smiled and something inside her seemed to take a sudden sharp breath. Not handsome, but when his face was lit up with genuine amusement and that smile was directed at her, he was...
Oh, my goodness.
He made her want to smile in return. He made her want to touch him. He made her feel...female.
‘Why am I different, then?’
‘You are a friend.’ Is he? The word had come to her lips without any thought—she knew next to nothing about Ivo’s character, he spent most of his time disapproving of her and yet friend did not seem inappropriate. It was considerably safer than the purely factual description.
Large, male creature with decided animal magnetism who is sitting so close to me in a confined space that I can feel the heat of his thigh through my skirts.
‘I am flattered.’ It was impossible to tell whether he was laughing at her. ‘And we are past Slough and this is the famous Salt Hill where the Four Horse Club gathers on its excursions. Did you know they drive out from London at a sedate trot all the way? They stop at various hostelries for food and drink, arrive at Salt Hill, spend the night and trot back the next morning.’
‘Every time the same route? How boring. I would want to explore—and at faster than a trot if I had a team of four in hand. How thrilling to drive,’ she added wistfully. ‘Where will we change next?’ She found the road book and opened up the strip map. Geography seemed a much safer topic than Ivo’s looks.
‘Maidenhead, so we have fresh horses before we tackle the infamous Maidenhead Thicket, although its highwaymen may be as thin on the ground as Hounslow Heath’s these days. Even so, I think we had best tuck your jewels and money under the seat.’
‘I see the place, it is marked on the map. You know, I have always thought that Maidenhead is a most improbable name for a town—I mean, maidenheads and virginity are not a topic for polite society, yet here is a place actually referring to the matter.’
Ivo made a sound somewhere between a choke and a laugh. ‘I suspect it is a corruption of some Middle English words that have nothing to do with, er, virginity.’
‘That is disappointing—I had imagined it as an exotic place of dissipation. Oh, stop laughing at me, Ivo, it is not my fault that young ladies are kept so sheltered that one cannot even ask a question about a place name.’
‘No, it is not, but the longer I associate
with you, Miss Jane Newnham, the more I am convinced that actually locking up all young ladies before marriage would be an excellent plan.’
Chapter Five
They arrived at the Pelican in Speenhamland, near Newbury, at six o’clock without any excitements along the road and certainly without an encounter with a highwayman, romantic or otherwise.
The yard was bustling and their postilion drew up in one corner, giving Ivo space to hand Jane out into a gap between chaise and wall and away from disembarking passengers and the flurry of boys leading out changes of horse.
He held the door for her, at the same time looking around to scan the yard. ‘I cannot see anyone I know.’
‘Is it likely that you would, if you have been out of the country?’ Jane asked, giving him her hand and stooping to keep her bonnet brim from touching the top of the door. ‘Oh, we forgot the valuables.’
She twisted round, lifted the seat, extracted the bag and turned back, off balance, missing the top step.
The fall was inevitable, but as she tumbled, the bag gripped hard in one hand, she knew Ivo would catch her and he did, holding her secure with both hands around her waist, even as he gave an involuntary grunt of pain as she hit his injured shoulder.
‘I am sorry!’ She looked up as he bent his head and their lips brushed, a fleeting sensation of warmth and the alien flavour of another person. Back on her feet, she found she was staring up at him, panting slightly.
‘Are you hurt? Have you twisted your ankle?’
‘No,’ she managed to gasp.
‘Then what is wrong?’
‘I have never been kissed before.’
‘That was not a kiss.’ His eyes seemed very dark, his voice deep.
‘No?’ Somehow she could not make herself let go of his lapels. ‘Oh. How disappointing, I have always wondered what it was like.’
‘This is a kiss.’ Ivo bent his head, pressed his lips to hers and pulled her in close to him.
It was almost as quick as that fleeting, accidental brush, but it sent tingles down to her knees and into parts that no young lady should experience tingling in an inn yard. Ivo let her go abruptly, leaving her with an impression of strength, a clean spicy scent in her nostrils and the taste of him on her lips.
He licked my lips. Is he supposed to do that?
‘I trust that has satisfied your curiosity?’ Clearly, whatever it had done for her, it had not given Ivo any pleasure, judging by his exceedingly starchy tone.
‘Quite. Thank you. I must say, I cannot imagine what all the fuss is about.’ With a dismissive sniff Jane made a little show out of checking the bag of valuables and straightening her bonnet, and was fairly confident that she was not bright pink when they emerged from the shelter of the chaise to make their way to the inn door.
Ivo was clearly not in a mood to take any nonsense from the innkeeper who began by informing them that he had no private suites, then that he might possibly find one, but at a price that made Jane blink.
‘We are here for one night only,’ Ivo said crisply. ‘My sister is tired, we require a small, quiet, private sitting room and two adjacent bedchambers at a price that would not pay for their entire refitting in Bond Street style. I had heard that the Pelican was a superior establishment, but if mine is an unreasonable request, doubtless we can find adequate accommodation elsewhere.’
It was a tone Jane had not heard from him before. There was definitely an officer’s air of command in it, but there was also a quiet confidence that he had only to state a reasonable desire for it to be gratified. Given that his clothing was disreputable, his face was discoloured with multiple bruises and he had not given name, rank or title, the confidence seemed to her to be misplaced. It appeared she was wrong.
‘Just let me check, sir. The girl may have made an error...’ The innkeeper vanished into the Pelican and Ivo turned to glance back at Jane.
‘No wonder,’ she said as she saw his face.
‘No wonder, what?’
‘That he fled to check. You look so grim he must have thought you would sack and pillage his fine establishment if he did not accommodate us.’
Ivo grunted and turned back. Probably his shoulder was hurting him, Jane thought. She could not imagine what else could have put him in such a bad mood.
* * *
‘Fortunately we appear to have had a cancellation, sir.’ The innkeeper re-emerged, clicking his fingers for the boy to carry Jane’s luggage. ‘Exactly the arrangement of rooms you requested.’
‘Good.’ Ivo checked and found that Jane was waiting meekly by his side. Doubtless she was plotting some new devilry. ‘Come along, Sister.’
What had possessed him to kiss her, even fleetingly? He could tell himself that it was the painful blow to his shoulder that had momentarily disordered his senses, but he knew perfectly well that the feel of a trim, curvaceous feminine waist under his hands, the ingenuous invitation in those wide eyes and parted lips, the disappointment when he told her that her first kiss had been no kiss at all—those had all been enough to overset his common sense.
He had never met a female so straightforward in what she wanted. There had been no flirtation, no hints and subtle encouragement. Their lips had met by accident, so her thoughts had turned to kisses—and, being Jane, she had not hidden her curiosity. This was a dangerous woman, he thought grimly as they followed on the innkeeper’s heels, up a flight of stairs and along a corridor. And an outspoken one.
‘I cannot imagine what all the fuss is about’, indeed! Women did not normally complain about the quality of his kisses, even such fleeting ones...
At which point his sense of humour caught up with him.
Your nose is out of joint, that’s what’s the matter with you, Ivo Merton. She did not swoon on to the cobbles in ecstasy and so you are offended.
And a good thing, too—what would he have done with a swooning female?
‘I think this will do excellently, provided the beds are aired.’
Ivo jerked his attention back to find Jane surveying a small parlour with a housewifely air while the innkeeper bristled defensively.
‘Damp beds at the Pelican? I can assure you, ma’am, no such thing has ever occurred!’
‘In that case, please have hot water sent up. At what hour do you wish to dine, Brother?’
‘In an hour,’ Ivo said, conscious of a decided sensation of inner emptiness. That was what he needed: a good dinner, some decent wine and a solid night’s sleep. After that he would be able to cope with anything, including one innocent young lady who apparently had been born with as much sense of self-preservation as a kitten—and just as much inclination to chase whatever caught her eye or her fancy.
* * *
By eight o’clock, with a succulent beefsteak and the best part of a bottle of claret inside him, he made a determined effort to bring Miss Newnham to a better understanding of the realities of life for a well-bred young lady of marriageable age.
‘You cannot go about kissing men in inn yards.’
‘You kissed me,’ she pointed out calmly without a hint of accusation.
‘Only because you wanted me to,’ Ivo protested, feeling any authority he had slithering away beneath his feet.
‘I did not. I merely said... Oh, I expect you are right, I must have appeared to have been asking. I admit I was curious. Do you kiss any woman who asks you?’
‘No.’ He was feeling hunted now. ‘And a gentleman’s life is not strewn with such offers either. Leaving that aside, you cannot be too careful. Reputation is a fragile thing and impossible to restore once blemished.’ He was quite pleased with that pronouncement—it sounded like something the starchiest matron would say.
‘Fiddlesticks.’ Jane waved a well-nibbled chicken leg at him. ‘My friend Verity, the one who married the Duke, was quite ruined because she spent the night on a tiny island with
him—and they were discovered by the current Bishop and his entire entourage. Now she is completely respectable again.’
‘Virtually anything may be forgiven by marriage to a duke,’ Ivo said acidly. ‘Unfortunately, there are none spare to come to your rescue in this case.’
‘Mama was only complaining about that recently,’ Jane said. ‘She has been scouring the Peerage in the hope of finding me one. An heir would do, but she is discovering that is a problem as well. But as I told you, I have no desire to be married to anyone and I will be carrying out my business under my new name, so Jane Newnham can be as ruined as she likes and it will not matter.’
Ivo wondered if it would be completely unmanly to bury his face in his hands and give way to sobs and decided it would be. ‘You would refuse a duke?’
‘Not if I was madly in love with him as Verity is with Will. But it is highly unlikely, don’t you think? To discover an unknown duke on the marriage mart and one with whom I shared a deep love?’
‘Indeed it would be.’ He imagined that Mr and Mrs Newnham, who by now would surely have received a distraught ladies’ maid confessing that she had lost Jane, would settle for any respectable, solvent, gentleman under the age of seventy who could remove their errant daughter to a life of safe domesticity. ‘There are another fifty miles to cover tomorrow. Somehow we are going to have to deliver you to your cousin without her realising that you have travelled from the outskirts of London with a strange gentleman and not even a maid as a chaperon.’
‘That seems simple enough, surely? I can tell the postilion to drop you off at the gates of your grandfather’s estate and then I continue on to Batheaston.’
‘That would take you almost fifteen miles out of your way, diverting off the route and back again, and I cannot like leaving you to finish the journey alone.’ He thought while he waited for her to serve him from a dish of Rhenish cream. ‘I could get down at the entrance to the village, I suppose. I am concerned that you might be seen with a man in the chaise with you.’
