Damaris frowned at him, though she doubted her expression would make much impression on him. He seemed in remarkably good spirits for a man who had suffered a blow to the head and been chased through the rain by brigands. Handing her the garments, he stepped into the room, so that she had to fall back and let him enter.
“Where is my dress?” she asked, taking the chemise and
petticoats. Her delicate stockings lay in a dainty pile atop the folded frilly underpants. Just the sight of Alec’s long fingers on the garments did strange things to her insides.
“Now, don’t fuss, sweetling,” he said in that same droll and insinuating way that told her he was thoroughly enjoying playing the role of husband.
Damaris found his act as annoying as he found it amusing, and it was made all the more so by the horrifying knowledge that deep inside she wanted to spring on him and kiss the smile from his face. It was even worse because his eyes roamed appreciatively over her form, and though the loose nightgown was too thick to see through, it was soft enough that he could certainly see her nipples tighten and thrust against the material just from the touch of his gaze.
“The good lady of the house is even now mending a rent in the skirt, but she fears you will find the gown sadly insufficient. The silk did not, she said, hold up well to a soak in the rain.”
Damaris let out a groan, clutching her underclothes to her. She could easily believe that her French silk gown had not fared well. “What am I to do?”
“Take a sip of tea,” he replied, holding out the cup. “I offered to bring it to you, which I must say earned me a great deal of admiration from our Mrs. Putnam and Maud, though I could tell that young Henry found me a poor figure of manhood for doing so.”
Damaris took a drink of the warm liquid and found that, surprisingly, it did help to restore her spirits. “Thank you.”
“You are most welcome.” He sat down on the bed, lounging back and watching her. “Mrs. Putnam says she will lend you one of her frocks, which will fit in perfectly with my plans. I suggest that we go forward as an ordinary sort of couple—a farmer and his wife, say. I discovered, by the way, that I am now Mr. Howard.”
“Oh. Yes, I told her my name, and then she assumed we were married, so…” She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks again, and she turned away, taking another drink. “I didn’t know what to say. I feared she would not be so welcoming if she knew we were not, I mean…”
“Quite right. And I was able to cover my surprise at my new name well enough that I think they suspect only that I am being discreetly quiet about my title.”
“I see.” Damaris smiled a little. Looking at Alec, she could see why they would assume he bore a title. Even lounging there in breeches and a shirt that looked somewhat worse for wear, his pale hair a tousled mess, he still looked every inch a lord.
He came off the bed in one sudden, lithe move and, laying his hands on her hips, pulled her into him. He bent to take her mouth in a kiss that left her breathless. He lifted his head, his eyes gleaming down at her. “God, but you are beautiful!”
She gave a little laugh. “I fear for your eyesight, Lord Rawdon. I must look a slattern; my hair—”
“Your hair is magnificent.” He emphasized his words by sinking his fingers into the heavy mass. “Black as night and
so thick a man could get lost in it. Ever since I met you I have dreamt of seeing your hair spread across my pillow. Of burying my face in it.”
His mouth was on hers again, urgent and hot. His hands cradled her head, holding her in place as his mouth ravished hers. All the hunger and heat that he had stoked into life in her earlier now burst into flame again. Damaris clutched his shoulders, her fingers curling into the cloth of his shirt. She ached with the need to touch him, hold him, feel him all around her, consuming her in his fire.
He tore his mouth from hers, his lips moving down the line of her throat, teeth nipping lightly at the tender skin, teasing her into shivers of delight. He groaned, soft and low in his throat, and the sound inflamed Damaris. She ran her fingers up into his hair, tangling in the silken strands. His mouth came back to kiss her deeply, and his hands roamed slowly down her body, caressing her through the soft cloth of the gown. Her breasts swelled as if to find his touch, and she moved her hips instinctively against him. He made a noise, part laugh, part moan, and he swept his hands down to grasp her buttocks, digging into the soft flesh and lifting her up and into him. His maleness pulsed against her.
Yearning blossomed between her legs, empty and aching to be filled by him. Only some last vestige of modesty kept her from lifting herself up and wrapping her legs around him. He kissed her face, her ears, her throat, as he bunched her nightgown up in his hands, lifting it higher until he was
touching her bare flesh, caressing her buttocks, squeezing and lifting, pressing her into him. His breath rasped in and out. He stumbled backward, pulling her toward the bed.
A knock sounded on the door. “Sir? Ma’am? I’ve brought your dress.”
Alec buried his face in her neck, muffling a curse.
“Just a moment!” Damaris managed to squeak out.
He squeezed her for an instant, then released her, turning away and going to stand before the fireplace and stare into its depths. Damaris brushed back her hair and straightened her gown and started to the door, her steps a little unsteady. There was nothing she could do to hide the evidence of her kiss-bruised lips, she knew, or the luminous glow in her eyes. She hated to imagine what Mrs. Putnam would think of her, standing in a stranger’s house and letting a man kiss her into insensibility.
She wiped her hand over her face, drew in a breath, and opened the door. Mrs. Putnam stood outside, holding Damaris’s dress before her. She took in Damaris’s face in a quick glance and looked down to hide a smile.
“I fear it’s the worse for wear,” Babs said with a sigh for the state of the luxurious material.
Though the tumultuous state of Damaris’s emotions left little room for thought of anything else, she could plainly see that the rain had ruined the delicate silk, leaving it streaked and warped. Mrs. Putnam had done her best with sewing up the tear, but nothing could make the dress anything but crumpled, shrunken, and stained.
“You are welcome to wear one of my gowns, if you’d like,” the woman went on tentatively. “They’re not what you’re used to, I know, but your mister said you wouldn’t mind.”
“Of course I would not mind,” Damaris assured her. “But I cannot take one of your dresses from you!”
“Oh, ma’am, I’d be honored!” Mrs. Putnam beamed at her so brightly that Damaris could not help but believe her.
“If you are certain,” Damaris said, adding, “I shall send it back to you as soon as I get home, I promise.”
Babs went to the dresser and opened a drawer, pulling out a simple gown of yellow cotton. It laced up the back and was decorated with a contrasting sash. “Would this suit?”
“It’s lovely,” Damaris told her, taking the dress. “You are very kind.”
“That’s that, then. Now, breakfast is almost ready, so you just put that on and come join us.”
With a nod and a smile, she left the room, and Damaris turned slowly to face Alec. She had not dared even to glance at him the whole time their hostess was with them. He had apparently been keeping his attention just as steadfastly on the fireplace, for now he pivoted toward her. His face was still stamped with the unmistakable lines of desire, his lips fuller and softer, his eyes the color of the center of a flame. He offered her a faint smile.
“Much as I would like to, perhaps ’twould be best if I did not stay to watch you dress.”
Damaris nodded and glanced away. “What are we—do you have any plans? Of what we should do, I mean.”
“Putnam said he would take us in his wagon into town. A mail coach comes through there every day.”
“A mail coach!” Damaris stared, laughter bubbling up in her at the thought of the aristocratic Rawdon riding shoulder to shoulder with farmers and merchants and grocers’ wives in a mail coach.
“Not my preferred mode of travel, I admit. But unless you have more of the ready than I, we are not plump in the pocket.”
“No, nor I. I have a little in my reticule, but most of it I put in my baggage for safekeeping, along with my letters of credit.” Damaris sighed at the thought of her vanished trunks.
“And while no doubt I could sell my tie pin, I cannot but feel we would be less noticed if we traveled like ordinary folk. Putnam has offered to lend me clothes and a hat. We shall be entirely unremarkable.”
Damaris refrained from pointing out that with his height and unusual coloring, Alec would stand out in any crowd no matter how ordinary his manner of dress. “Is it really necessary to disguise ourselves? Do you think those men will still be searching for us?”
Alec shrugged. “I shouldn’t think so. But, frankly, I would not have thought they would pursue you out of town and attack you on the road, either. I think it is better to make preparations, just in case they are persistent.”
“But what about your horse?”
“I shall leave Erebos here. I went out to look at him when I woke up, and ’tis clear Putnam took good care of him last
night. Fast as Erebos is, we are safer, I think, without him. We are too easy to spot, and, riding double, we slow him down. Besides, I could not persuade Putnam to accept any gold for taking us in and giving us their bed, but he was willing to board Erebos for a fee, holding it a business transaction, not a favor. I shall send a groom to fetch Erebos once we are home.”
“It was good of you to find a way to pay them.”
He gave her a sardonic look. “I am aware you think I am arrogant beyond measure, but I do spare a thought now and then for others.”
Damaris looked away from his bright gaze, abashed. “No, indeed, I know that you can be most kind. You have certainly been so to me. It is only… well, in my experience noblemen are not inclined to notice people of lesser station, much less take their problems into account.”
“‘Let them eat cake?’ “he quoted, watching her quizzically. “My grandmother will tell you that I have an unfortunate affinity for those of lesser station, but it was usually they who hid me.”
Damaris glanced up at him, startled by the peculiar remark. Had he said
hid
him?
Rawdon, too, looked faintly surprised at his words, and he went on quickly, “It is to be hoped that I have improved myself in your estimation.” He sketched a playful bow toward her. “Now, I will leave you to put on your fetching frock.”
Aside from the fact that it was obviously both too wide and too short for Damaris, Babs Putnam’s dress was not much different from the simple styles in muslin and cambric
that were the fashion these days. However, Damaris soon found out that it was nearly impossible to tie the fastenings up the back, at least the top ones, no matter how she stretched and twisted. Finally, she opened the door, intending to call to Mrs. Putnam to help her.
Alec was standing at the end of the short hall, looking into the room beyond, engaged in conversation with one of the younger Putnam children, a boy of about five. The boy was talking earnestly to Alec, who was gazing down at him with a bemused expression. The lad held out a colored wooden top as he jabbered away, his towhead tilted far back to gaze up at Alec. By the color of his hair, he could almost have been mistaken for Alec’s child. Damaris’s heart squeezed within her chest.
She thought of little Matthew, remembering his baptism, when Thea had handed Matthew to Alec and he had gazed down at the baby, his face a mingling of horror, awe, and a hint of yearning. Then, too, tears had clogged Damaris’s throat, even as she smiled. She watched now, her eyes shimmering wetly, as Alec reached down and took the top.
“Do you mean me to spin it?” he asked gravely, squatting down as he wrapped the string around the toy. “Well, Master Jem, it has been years since I have done this, you understand.” He gave a twist of his wrist, whipping the toy out onto the floor with the string, so that its tip struck the wooden floor and spun madly.
The boy let out a crow of delight, chasing the top, and Alec chuckled as he stood back up. Damaris could not help but
laugh, and Alec turned and saw her. His gaze brightened as he ran his eyes down her, taking in the too-large dress as well as the sight of her bare ankles sticking out beneath it.
“Mrs. Howard, what a sight for sore eyes you are.”
Damaris grimaced at him. “Do come here. I cannot fasten it by myself.”
“Ah.” Comprehension touched his features, and she thought his eyes turned even brighter. He turned back to the boy, saying, “Pray excuse me, Master Jem, I must answer my lady’s call for help.” He strode toward her, saying, “I am happy to serve as your maid, my dear.”
Damaris stepped back and closed the door after him. “I could hardly call Mrs. Putnam with you standing right there.”
“Of course not. ’Tis your husband’s prerogative, anyway, to help you dress.” His eyes danced, but there was a trace of heat in them as well.
Damaris could not keep her gaze from going to his mouth, remembering the taste and feel of his earlier kisses. She flushed and turned away, presenting him with her back. She pressed the sides of the dress to her back to conceal as much of her skin as possible, but it still sagged open in the middle, revealing a strip of skin down the column of her spine.