by Kate Pearce
Chapter 4
A servant brought in their trunks, but Lucas couldn’t care less. He undid his cravat and left it hanging loose around his neck. His jacket and waistcoat had already been tossed on to a nearby chair. Edward had paced the room so many times now Lucas had lost count. His friend was driving him a bit mad. “Why don’t you go check on her if you’re that worried.”
“She’ll let me know when it’s time to visit her room,” Edward replied cryptically. “She has her own way of doing things.”
“Not sure I’m following you,” Lucas said. “But do as you wish.”
“I usually do,” Edward quipped.
Lucas wanted a glass of brandy or several. This was a brothel. There had to be somewhere in the place to find a bottle or two of his favorite liquor. He’d leave Edward in the room to stew. Somehow he doubted the duke would be alone for long either way. Lucas might have to find another place to sleep. He certainly didn’t want to interrupt the lovers in a passionate embrace.
He headed to the door and pulled it open. The girl he rescued was on the other side with her hand raised as if she were about to knock. Lucas wished, not for the first time, that he knew her name. He wanted to refer to her as more than ‘that girl’ in his mind. It would be nice to use her given name in conversation. Lucas wanted to know much more than that about her. “Hello,” he greeted her for lack of anything else to say. She had on a bright red dress that made her skin nearly glow. Now that she was dry and her hair no longer a tangled mess—she was even lovelier than he recalled. “Did you require something?”
“I do not,” she answered. “Callista asked me to come here and tell Edward to join her next door.”
So they were going to kick the girl out of the room. Lucas didn’t like that one bit. The young miss had been through an awful ordeal and almost died. She should be able to rest in comfort. He’d let her have this room since Edward was vacating it. “Please come in,” he offered. “Edward your lady needs you in the room next door.” Weston had stopped pacing long enough to stare out of the window across the room.
“It’s about bloody time,” the duke muttered as he exited the room nearly knocking the girl over as he went past.
“Forgive him,” Lucas offered. “Ever since he met the young widow he’s been obsessed with her.”
“I didn’t realize her husband had died. She doesn’t seem particularly upset. How long ago did he pass on?”
He hadn’t cared to ask the countess anything and Edward didn’t offer any details. Truthfully, it didn’t matter. Even if Lady Marin’s husband still lived he wouldn’t have asked questions. Lucas didn’t interfere with other people’s lives. They could make their own mistakes and choices. He had his own life to live and it came with more than enough difficulties for him to sort through each day. “I wouldn’t know,” he replied. “I’m not acquainted with the former Earl of Marin.” And he’d never presume to understand the inner workings of any couple’s relationship. Most ton marriages were arranged for money or continuation of the title. It was the reason his father kept pressuring him to marry and start a family, and Lucas didn’t have any plans to follow that particular dictate.
She came into the room and walked over to the window that Weston had been looking out of. He was at a loss what to discuss with her. He’d never felt so awkward in his life. Where was his infamous charm when he needed it?
“What about you?” She turned to face him. “Are you not a lord of some sort?”
“I suppose I am.” He hadn’t wanted her to look at him as a part of the nobility. Lucas had wanted her to see him as a man first. “Officially, my title is the Earl of Darcy, but I’d still prefer it if you called me Lucas.” He took a step toward her. “Will you tell me your name now?”
He hoped she would. If he could have one gift this Christmastide season he wanted to know her, and it could start with her name. “Lia,” she answered. “You may call me Lia.”
“Nothing else?” He lifted a brow. “Do you not trust me?”
She shook her head. “It has nothing to do with that my lord.” Lia stepped toward him. “I find it difficult to put my faith in anyone, but if there is one person in the world I can trust—I do believe it could be you.”
Lucas took another step closer to her. He was drawn to her in ways he could never explain. Ever since he first saw her in the carriage he’d wanted to help her, and now he would claim her if she allowed it. He’d never understood why Edward was so drawn to Lady Marin, but now perhaps he might. Sometimes it just took finding the right woman to make things clearer. “I’m glad you consider me worth trusting.” He brushed his hand over her dark hair. “I would never hurt you.”
“I do believe you.”
“Come,” he said. “Let’s go downstairs. Aine said that they were going to have a soiree of some sort and tell tales. I’d be happy to spend the evening with you if you’ll allow it.”
She nodded her head. “I’d like that.”
They walked to the door and went down the stairs to head to the salon where the festivities were being held. The sound of laughter echoed back at them. How many people had been stranded by the blizzard? Suddenly, he didn’t really want to join everyone. At least not just yet. He wanted a few more moments alone with Lia. “I need a drink. Care to join me in finding one before we go into the salon?”
“They might have refreshments already inside…”
“True,” he agreed. “But not necessarily the ones I want. You can go ahead of me if that is what you wish.”
She glanced toward the salon and back at him. “I think I’d rather stay with you. I don’t know anyone in there.”
“You don’t really know me.” He smiled at her and tried his best to be charming. “I understand your apprehension.” Her eyes were filled with a mixture of kindness and fire, and a deep sadness he recognized in himself. Something had happened to make her so distrustful. Lucas wanted to protect her from anything that could ever harm her. “Follow me I have a feeling I know where I can find some good brandy.”
“I don’t like any spirits,” she said evasively. “But I’ll still come with you.”
“Most ladies do not care for brandy,” he offered. “A lot do like sherry though. Have you ever tried it?”
She shook her head. “In my experience anything that can lead to someone becoming foxed or light headed ends badly.” Lia smiled softly. “I’d prefer not to have any if it’s all the same to you.”
“Of course.” He looped his arm with hers and led her away from the salon. They walked down a hall until they reached another room. He pushed open the door and smiled. A library… Not a usual room for a brothel, but he was glad to find it. In the back of the room was a set of double doors leading outside and completely paned with glass. Sheer curtains hung over them. He led her over to the doors and pushed a curtain to the side. The snow continued to blow outside.
“How long do you think the storm will last?”
“No way of determining that,” he answered. “Are you in a hurry to leave?”
She turned away from him not meeting his gaze. He had been afraid she might be running from something but he couldn’t help her if she didn’t trust him with the details. There had to be a way to make her more comfortable with telling him her secrets.
“I’m sorry.” She turned away from him. “There’s only so much I can trust you with.”
“What can you tell me?” he asked softly. “I promise whatever it is it’ll stay between the two of us.”
She remained quiet for several moments. He wished there was a way to reassure her, but she was so skittish. Finally, Lia glanced up at him. “My father decided to betroth me to a man he does business with. I can’t marry him. So I ran away.”
That explained a lot. “You don’t love him?” He didn’t like the idea of her being tied to another man. Lucas wanted her for himself. He wasn’t sure if it would be forever, but he liked the idea of spending the rest of his days unraveling the mystery of Lia.
“I could never love a man as despicable as the comte. He’s an evil man.” She smiled, but her lips were wobbly. “He’d have left me to die on the side of the road. He probably wouldn’t have even stopped to see if anyone needed help. At his core he is a very selfish man.”
Lucas hated him already. “As long as you’re here with me I’ll protect you. He won’t find you and even if he does I’ll make sure he can’t take you away.”
“Thank you.” Lia’s voice was barely above a whisper. A tear fell down her cheek. “I am so glad to have met you.”
Lucas wiped the tear from her cheek then leaned down and kissed the spot it had trailed down. It hurt him that she had to endure so much. A girl like her didn’t deserve to be treated with such disregard. He might come to regret it later, but he had to kiss her. He’d regret it if he didn’t... Lucas pressed his lips to hers and tasted her. Her lips were sweet and tasted like the most decadent dessert. She sighed and her lips parted giving him the opportunity to deepen the kiss. When he touched his tongue to hers he felt as if he finally found heaven and she became everything good in his world. For her he’d fight any demon that crossed their path, and if need be he’d lay down his life to protect hers.
The kiss gave him a sense of purpose, of knowing, and in that moment with this hedonistic kiss he realized what he wanted—her. Lia needed him, and he did her in return. They could face the world together. No one would come between them. He’d see to it. Lucas lifted his head and met her gaze. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
Her lips tilted upward into a contented smile. “Is it possible to fall in love in a matter of mere hours…?”
“Some say it’s possible to fall in love at first sight.” He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “I’ve been smitten since the moment I stopped to help you out of that carriage. Maybe even before I realized who I went to aid—something spoke to me earlier. I don’t know if it was fate or another higher being, but I do believe I was meant to find you tonight.”
“It’s a wonderful sentiment,” she agreed. “Either way I’m glad it was you.”
Lucas couldn’t be certain what his future would entail, but he did believe she would be by his side for all of it. His heart beat for her and he intended to spend the rest of his days becoming more acquainted with her. “I think we should go to the salon now and listen to these tales they are telling.” He kissed her forehead. “I don’t trust myself alone with you without plenty of chaperones.”
She laughed lightly. “I like your kisses. But you’re right. We should go where all the guests are and join the festivities.”
They headed to the salon in the midst of a tale of Christmas. All of the guests smiled as they listened, but Lucas only had eyes for his Lia. The rest of it didn’t matter. He was happy and hoped to always feel as blessed as he did in that moment.
The Ship Captain’s Tale
Elizabeth Essex
The coach was halfway to Canterbury, heading west by northwest on the Great London Road, when the snow began to fall. In no time, the drifts were as deep as bilge water, muffling the horses’ hooves and making the coach jibe and slew about the road.
Captain Daniel Kent took a firm grasp of the balance strap, and hoped for fairer weather, but he could hardly regret his late start leaving Ramsgate—duty always came before pleasure.
If three bells had come and gone on the afternoon watch by the time he left the harbor to meet the Admiralty’s waiting carriage, so be it. London—and the Lordships of the Admiralty—could wait. He had spent a lifetime putting duty before pleasure, and at five and thirty years old had nothing but his own cold satisfaction to show for it.
Happiness, he had let slip away—gone before he had the courage or fortitude to grasp it.
What had also slipped away was any chance at reaching London this night—by the time the coach neared the walls of the old city of Canterbury, the snow squall was blinding the horses and miring the carriage wheel-deep in a blanket of white.
“We can go no further, Cap’n,” the stalwart coachman called down over the hush of the storm. “We’ll have to find an inn in Canterbury.”
“Aye.” Daniel’s voice, scratchy and ill-used from months—nay, years—of bawling commands over the angry roar of the sea, sounded weary to his own ears. “We’ll put up at a reliable place I know.” Pray God the Admiralty’s coachman wouldn’t ask how he came by his knowledge of this particular port in the storm. “Down the end of Castle Street. The house with the big oak door and the big brass knocker of a Teutonic Maiden.”
But as soon as the coach was through the ancient Riding Gate and turned down the narrow lane to take him to the house of Frau Klaus, his coachman pulled to a slippery stop.
Daniel let down the window to see that another carriage—a hired post chaise with a single frozen boy riding postillion—had skidded across the roadway and come to grief with one wheel canted in the gutter.
They could go no farther.
Had he not been riding in a carriage sent by the Admiralty, Daniel might have been tempted to leave the vehicle and proceed to his destination on foot. But old naval habit died hard, and a captain never abandoned his men or his ship: the coachman and groom, not to mention the horses, needed shelter from the storm as much as he did, if not more.
So, Daniel jammed his hat upon his head and trudged forward. “Ahoy, there,” he called to the postillion lad. “Your axle is broken and you’re blocking the way.”
The lad afforded him a gloomy glare. “Yeah? Now tell me somefin’ I don’t know, guv.”
Daniel was in no mood to put up with miserably-mouthed boys. “You’ll unhitch your horses, young man,” he said in the voice he reserved for recalcitrant midshipmen. “And then you will see to shifting that carriage, or so help me—”
“An’ go where? I got ladies in ’dere, guv.” The shivering lad held his ground. “What’m I s’pose ta do wif ’em?”
“See them to an inn, devil take you! To the Fountain, or the Three Turns—”
“Tried ’em all, as well’s the Maiden’s Head.” The boy swiped the wet snow from his eyes with his equally wet sleeve. “In ’is storm the whole bleeding city’s already full.”
“Damn their eyes,” Daniel swore. There was nothing he wanted less than to get involved with ladies, but old habits died very hard, indeed—honor, as well as duty, dictated he act both the officer and the gentleman. He would direct them to Frau Klaus’ and hope they were either too old, or too sensible, to object to being housed in a brothel. “There’s a place just down the lane—”
“Captain Kent?” An astonishingly calm voice interrupted his tirade.
A female voice: hauntingly, inexcusably, wondrously familiar.
Daniel turned. And saw her. And the weight of the years—the punishing reminder of a thousand nights full of unvoiced, unmet longings—crashed into him like a loose cannon. “Charlotte.”
Visions of the last time he had seen her—her hand raised in farewell to him at the dock at Portsmouth nigh on ten years ago after the long voyage round the Horn from Mysore, India—filled his mind, along with a hundred other memories of her, laughing, smiling in that sweetly wise way of hers, or simply doing nothing but standing so blessedly near to him.
He made his frozen feet move forward so he could see her clearly. See the inevitable changes time had wrought. See the loveliness that remained remarkably undiminished. “Miss Stevenson.”
She was looking at him with the same sort of astonished wonder—as if she too, were looking long into the distant past, through the unreliable prism of the long, lonely years. “Captain Kent,” Charlotte breathed. “How strange, but fortuitous, that you seem to be the one to come to our rescue. Again.”
“Thank the Lord.” Peering querulously over Charlotte’s shoulder, her mother looked much the same as Daniel remembered from that fateful voyage—wearied and put-upon.
He recalled himself to his manners. “Mrs. Stevenson, ma’am. How do you do?”
“I
would do better to be out of this wretched storm,” the black-clad widow fussed.
Then Daniel would get her out of it—if fate had been kind enough to put Charlotte Stevenson in his path once again, he would do everything in his power to keep her there as long as humanly possible. “Aye, ma’am,” he answered her mother. “If you’ll follow me, there’s a house just up the lane. Let me take you there out of this filthy weather.” And hope that Frau Klaus would not mind such unexpected, inappropriate visitors.
“But the snow,” the older woman objected. “We’re not dressed for—” She gestured helplessly to her thin-soled, fashionable shoes. “It’s too deep.”
There was nothing for it. “If you’ll allow me,” Daniel said a second time, touching his already snow-covered hat in an entirely inadequate gesture meant to convey respect, before he scooped the widow out of the broken conveyance and carried her up the street in his arms like a large, well-dressed, black sack of potatoes.
A reassuring glance behind showed Charlotte—bless her unfussy, practical ways—pulling their valises from the chaise and following him with alacrity. A cable’s length up the street, Klaus Haus spilled warm light and the only slightly muted sounds of holiday merriment onto the snow.
A few hard raps upon the stout brass bosom of the warrior maiden knocker were necessary before the door swung open, and the warmth of the interior rushed out to greet them.
“Wondered when we’d see you again, Cap’n.” The tall, dark-haired wondrously endowed doxy he recognized as Nancy lavished him with a toothy smile.
But behind her was the well-rounded, brightly silk-clad lady of the house herself, Frau Klaus, who immediately bid him enter. “Why, Captain Kent. It has been an age since you visited last. Come in, come in!”
“Aye, ma’am. My apologies, but as you can see, I’ve ladies with me, in sore need of safe lodging.”
