Authors: Joan Johnston
“Ouch,” he said. And then, “Ow, that hurts!”
“I did not make half so much noise,” she said with a teasing laugh. She dabbed once more. “There. I am done.”
The second kerchief joined the first.
When she smiled up at him so innocently, so sweetly, his common sense abandoned him. He tugged off her hat and watched as a yard of soft, silky hair slid across her shoulders. He let the hat fall to the ground, then caught her chin and raised her face to his.
He gave her no chance to deny him, simply captured her mouth with his and teased her supple lips with his tongue. She did nothing to return the kiss or reject it, but held herself perfectly still.
Marcus ended the kiss, but did not step back. He searched her face, wondering whether he should dare another kiss. Her golden eyes glowed with excitement … and apprehension.
A breath shuddered out of her.
The silence grew between them.
Marcus took whatever a woman offered and did his best to encourage more. But Miss Sheringham was his best friend’s cousin. He had realized it the moment she said her name. Over the past two years, Julian had often mentioned his “funny little cousin Eliza” with fondness.
Julian spoke of her freckles, her odd-colored hazel eyes, her too-big nose, and her thin-as-a-bed-slat body. “The minx manages to cause more trouble than a dozen other girls her age combined,” he had said. But Julian had sounded more charmed than annoyed by her outlandish behavior. There was also some scandal connected to her name, but Julian had dismissed it as nothing.
The woman standing before him did not quite fit the image Marcus had formed of her. Except for the part about causing trouble.
Her freckles were enchanting, her eyes mysterious, her high, sharp cheekbones and strong chin balanced the straight nose, and he had seldom seen a woman as well-favored with shapely feminine assets. Marcus had never bedded such a Long Meg, and he
wondered what it would be like to make love to a woman who was nearly as tall as he was.
In short, he was completely intrigued by her. He wanted to spend more time looking at her, holding her, kissing her. He was more than a little curious to see the female body beneath the concealing male clothes. Not just to see it, but to put himself inside it.
But she was Julian’s cousin.
A kiss he could take. More than that, she would have to offer him. He waited for her to decide.
“I have never been kissed by a rake,” she said at last, her eyes still dazed from the experience.
“Was it everything you expected?” he asked, his eyes glinting with humor.
“I am not in a position to judge,” she admitted. “I have nothing with which to compare it.”
Marcus stood stunned for a second, then threw back his head and roared with laughter. Julian was right. She was delightful. Enormously entertaining.
Then he realized what he had done. He had not meant to kiss her. Or rather, he had wanted desperately to kiss her but had not meant to mislead her. Since he had no intention of becoming a husband, he owed it to the chit not to attach her affections. An innocent like Miss Sheringham—not to mention Julian, if he ever found out—was likely to misconstrue his behavior as something more than it was.
What induced you to kiss her in the first place?
an inner voice scolded.
Curiosity. Novelty. The lure of something fresh and new.
Nothing more?
There could be nothing more. He had lived life
on the edge, but he knew better than to let himself get carried away by passion. No woman was worth the trouble such emotions caused. Not even the enticing Miss Sheringham.
“Come on, brat,” he said, using a term Julian had often applied to her. “It is time we got you to bed.”
“Are you planning to join me there?” she asked with an arch look.
For an instant he wondered if she meant her words as an invitation. He decided she could not possibly. He shook his head as he reached down for her hat. “Oh, no, my dear. Not me. You are entirely too dangerous.”
He handed the hat to her, careful not to touch her skin, and watched as she began tucking her hair back under the concealing beaver wool felt.
“You may have one of the rooms my batman secured for us at the inn before we decided to spend the night in the stable,” he said. “I will rejoin Reggie and Becky.”
“You must promise not to leave without me tomorrow morning,” she said as they made their way back to the inn.
“You may be sure I will be your constant companion until you reach your destination,” he said.
“I appreciate your kindness, Captain. More than you know.”
Marcus could not remember being called kind by anyone in recent memory. He was not the least motivated to help Miss Sheringham by feelings of kindness. After all, he was a rogue and a rake. If it were not for her connection to his best friend, she would have been lucky to escape his clutches with her good name
intact. But it seemed unwise to remind her of his reputation for moral corruption when they were about to set off on a journey together.
When they reached the door to the inn he bowed, one gentleman to another. “Good night, Miss Sheringham.”
She executed a quite competent bow in return. As she straightened, she gave him a gamine grin and said, “I look forward to traveling with a rake. It is only too bad I will be in disguise. It will not be half so much fun if no one knows it is me riding beside you. Good night, Captain.”
He stood gaping as she disappeared inside.
“What is taking Uncle Marcus so long?” Reggie whispered to her sister. “He left with Miss Sheringham hours ago. He should have been back by now.”
Reggie was not the least bit sleepy. Unfortunately, even with her eyes wide open, she could not see a thing, it was so very dark. She reached out and nudged Becky’s shoulder. “Are you awake?”
“Hmmm.”
Barely, Reggie decided. It was awful having a sister who always fell asleep before she did. Reggie felt bereft, abandoned, alone.
She took a deep, sighing breath and let it out. The pungent odors of hay and horse and manure were not at all unpleasant. They reminded her of the time she had climbed into the loft of the barn at Blackthorne Abbey and accidentally fallen asleep.
The household had been in an uproar, she learned later, looking everywhere for her. Father had finally
discovered her in the loft and woken her with a shake. He had actually picked her up in his arms and carried her down the ladder himself. The punishment he had meted out for worrying her governess had been a small price to pay for being held so very close to him for those few moments.
Reggie inhaled deeply. The smells had been the same that memorable afternoon as they were now.
“Becky?” When she got no answer, Reggie pinched her sister.
“Ummph,” Becky protested.
“Do you think Uncle Marcus will try to kiss Miss Sheringham?” Reggie whispered. “I have heard that is what rakes like Uncle Marcus do. Miss Sheringham seemed to like him well enough, even after their rough and tumble fight. Do you think she will let him have his way with her?”
“Hmmm.”
“I suppose not,” Reggie said. She picked up a piece of straw and used it to draw circles and squares and triangles on Becky’s back. The way Becky wriggled, she knew her sister was more awake than she pretended to be. “I have never seen a woman fight like a man. Did you not think she was magnificent?”
Without pausing for a reply she continued, “I want to be like her—not afraid of anything. I am sure it would help my confidence to be so tall, but it must be a nuisance to stand head and shoulders above everyone else, would you not agree?”
Becky grunted.
It was all the encouragement Reggie needed. “I was so surprised when her hat fell off, and her hair fell
all the way to her waist! Would you not say it is nearly the same color as Father’s favorite hound, Rex?”
When Becky did not offer a reply, Reggie nudged her with an elbow. “Are you awake?”
“Ow!” Becky rolled over to face her. “Of course I am awake. You have been talking without a breath ever since Uncle Marcus followed Miss Sheringham from the stable.”
“Then why did you not answer me?”
“You seemed happy to carry on the conversation all by yourself,” Becky replied.
Reggie stuck out her tongue. Unfortunately, in the dark, Becky could not see it.
“Put your tongue back in your mouth,” Becky said.
“How do you know I stuck it out?”
“I can smell your awful breath,” Becky replied.
Reggie breathed hard on Becky, who made a sound of disgust and rolled over, hiding her head in her arms. “Go to sleep!”
“Admit it,” Reggie said, speaking directly in her sister’s covered ear. “You are as fascinated by Miss Sheringham as I am.”
Becky groaned in surrender. “Very well. I admit it. Now may I sleep?”
“Oww!” Reggie grabbed her nose. “Why did you hit me?”
“It was an accident,” Becky said. “I was turning over to get more comfortable. I didn’t know you were there.”
Now that she knew her sister was also wide awake, Reggie began to ask questions in earnest. “Have you ever thought what it would be like if Father remarried, and we got another mother?”
“No.”
“I have. I think it would be nice to have someone like Miss Sheringham to hold us and kiss us and tell us stories at bedtime.”
“Mother never did those things.”
“She must have. Once upon a time.”
“Not in my memory,” Becky said. “Go to sleep, Reggie.”
“I can remember …” But the recollection was fleeting, shrouded by time. Reggie had thought it must be Mother she remembered hugging her and kissing her, because Father never had much to do with them. But what if it had been Father? Why had he stopped loving her? What had she done wrong? What could she do to make him love her again?
Reggie closed her eyes against the sting of tears. Why was Father so distant? Uncle Marcus acted more like a father than Father did.
It was her last thought before she fell asleep.
Eliza had little difficulty passing herself off to the innkeeper as a friend of Captain Wharton. And since the captain had already paid for the room, the innkeeper did not quibble about giving her a key. It was not until she closed the upstairs bedroom door behind her that she realized she had left her traveling bag, with clean clothes for the morrow, in the stable.
It would be far too dangerous to retrieve it tonight. She would go down and get it in the morning.
Quite simply, Eliza was not sure she could resist temptation a second time. It seemed she had no more willpower to refuse that handsome rogue’s entreaties than a baby offered a stick of candy. She had very
much liked the feel of his lips on hers. She had very much wanted to know what it would feel like to be held in his arms. Scandal be damned. She had very much wanted to be seduced by Captain Wharton.
That made no sense to her when she loved Julian so desperately. Could a woman be in love with one man and enjoy another’s kisses?
Crave
another’s kisses? Apparently she could. Maybe she was her father’s daughter, after all.
Eliza had never been told what sin, exactly, her father had committed. It seemed impossible he could have ruined some woman’s reputation. She had seen her parents together, and they were deeply in love with each other. Her father had been a good and kind man, devoted to his family. He did not drink to excess or cheat at cards or have any other vice that one associated with scandal. So what had Papa done?
It should not matter. Except she had grown more and more certain over the years that Papa’s disgrace had something to do with her. Had her mother Iain with another man before she married the earl’s son? Was she not her father’s child? Was that why the earl had disinherited his only son?
She had never asked her parents for the truth. And they had never offered it. Sometimes she suffered nightmares in which she was lost and calling for Papa. She was hungry and thirsty and her voice was hoarse from crying. But Papa never came.
It all seemed so real. She would awake drenched in perspiration, feeling desperate to escape, and realize she was safe in her own bed, in her own room. Maybe her dream had something to do with Papa’s
disgrace. Maybe she had been lost, and he had not tried hard enough to find her.
That did not seem a great enough sin to banish a man forever from his family and all of Society.
Over the years, partly to confirm opinions she knew had already formed about her, Eliza had defied Society to banish her. Thanks to the tabbies, she was scandalous without having done a single truly scandalous thing. She had her virtue, her personal sense of honor, and her own standards of behavior to which she had rigidly held. In one evening, Captain Wharton had convinced her to throw them all out the window.
But if kissing the Beau was wrong, why had it felt so right? Maybe that was the lure that led one to scandal. One deceived oneself into thinking that black was really white. That wrong was really right. That because someone was nice to you, he had your best interests at heart.
She had underestimated the seductive power of the Beau’s charm. She would have to guard her heart more carefully from now on. After all, it was Julian she loved, Julian she would marry.
Eliza undressed down to the female chemise and men’s smalls she had worn under Julian’s clothing and slipped between the bedsheets. Her feet were cold, and she tucked her legs up under her chin to try and warm herself.
As she drifted off to sleep, Eliza thought how disappointed Aunt Lavinia would be when she discovered Eliza had run away instead of attending the house party at Somersville Manor. Eliza had been reluctant to spend two full weeks in polite company,
since there was no way she could have blunted her sharp tongue for that long. But Aunt Lavinia had argued at length to convince her she should go.
“It will get you away from Ravenwood—and your cousin Nigel—for two weeks,” Aunt Lavinia had said.
Her aunt had apparently deduced from Eliza’s tone of voice when she spoke of Cousin Nigel that the two of them were not faring well together. A respite from his company would be lovely.
“With luck,” Aunt Lavinia added, “you may even find a husband.”