Edith Layton (7 page)

He’d married a lady, but he couldn’t say he knew her when he did or wanted to know her much better afterward. His mother had been a lady, not that he’d known her very long, either, poor lady—and poor lost boy. Ewen smiled bleakly. With all the pain they’d dealt him, on purpose and by accident, he should avoid ladies like the plague if he had any sense. But he’d done that for most of his adult life, since his marriage, and what good had that done him?

This went beyond a question of birth and breeding. Bridget Cooke was singular. She appealed to the man as well as the gentleman in him. She badly needed rescuing. He didn’t know if what he wanted to do could be considered rescuing her, precisely. Surely heroes were more virtuous, with nobler intent. But he believed he could better her situation, certainly. And his own, of course. If only she said yes.

He’d go to her aunt’s house at noon and discover his fate, he decided. But then Ewen thought better of it. The less he had to do with her well-connected relatives, the better. There was little chance of running into the father, for he was never home. But he didn’t want to meet up with that socially ambitious aunt or her fashionable daughter again.

So he’d have the house watched. It’d be easy enough to find a footman or a maid to do that, and he could wait until she was alone before he called. But was she ever alone? A companion wasn’t engaged to pass her time by herself, after all. Probably he’d have to send a note by private means—which entailed giving the butler a very handsome bribe for his silence—asking her to meet him, if only for a moment, outside, and alone. Yes, that would do it.

But he’d only ask her once more, and never again. He wouldn’t demean himself, even if he had the time or inclination.

Oh, but he had the inclination. Ewen’s hazel eyes glinted, reflecting the firelight as he stared into it as though hoping to see the future there. All he saw was flames.
Now there’s a just and true vision
, he thought cynically.
Because flames are all I feel now
.

The clock had chimed three bells, his eyes were just beginning to grow heavy, and the decanter at his side was empty when Ewen heard the sound at the front door. His head shot up and he listened closely. The house was still, the servants asleep; indeed, he wouldn’t have heard it had he not been so bedeviled and jumpy and aware of every little thing tonight.

He heard another scratch, and then the tiniest thump, and then another. Then, after an agonizing pause in which he wondered if he’d heard right, there was another. Timorous, embarrassed, but determined—someone was hesitantly but definitely tapping at his front door.

He rose to his feet and went swiftly through the sleeping house to the door, but he knew what he’d find before he got there. And that alarmed him.

He swung the door wide. She stood there, a traveling bag in one clenched hand, a crumpled handkerchief in the other. Her eyes were wide with fright as she stood on his doorstep in the darkest hour of the night, wavering.

“Bridget,” he said, and waited, because he didn’t trust himself to say more. She looked so lost, he was suddenly afraid for more than her state of mind. Her aunt’s townhouse was blocks away from his door. She’d come to him alone in the night. London wasn’t safe for a woman alone in the day, much less at this hour.

He searched her face for bruises, her clothes for disarray. But she seemed sound. All he saw was the bruised look around her eyes. She’d been weeping. It was only her spirit that was in chaos.

“I—I came to say yes. Yes, I will, Ewen,” she said hurriedly, her voice soft even in the quiet night. “That is, if you still want me, and if I heard you right. I know I should have waited for morning to tell you. I
wanted
to wait until morning, but I didn’t know where to wait anymore. It’s not easy to be alone in London at night.”

“You’re not alone anymore,” he said, taking her hand and her bag, leading her in and closing the door firmly behind her.

N
ow that she’d left her aunt’s house, Bridget wasn’t being screamed at, abused, or belittled. Nor was she alone, wandering through London, wondering where to go, running down dark streets to get away from strange men who thought she was for sale—or darting into the shadows at every noise, hiding from them.

She was in an elegant but cozy room, with a glass of something bracing in her hand and a comforting fire in front of her. The man she’d been thinking about all day and night was standing by her side, watching over her. She felt much worse now.

“I wanted to think it over, come to a reasonable decision,” she said into her glass, because she was so nervous about meeting his glittering eyes, “but they didn’t give me a chance. Aunt said if I didn’t promise not to see
you, I must leave immediately. So I did. It was a matter of honor, you see.”

“Ah, so you didn’t precisely want to come to me,” he said in that disturbing, rumbling voice.

“No. Well, yes, I did. But not like this,” she said uneasily. Which was the truth. After all her indecision and worry, she was at last here—alone with a man in his house in the middle of the night, and he a rake she’d been warned about, a man she was so attracted to that she could hardly think when he was near. Which he definitely was now. Plus he had nothing on under that brightly colored dressing gown, or at least she thought not. She’d got a glimpse of a muscular, lightly furred, and very naked masculine leg, and didn’t have the courage to look further. Did gentlemen wear clothes to bed? She gripped her glass tighter. She didn’t have the time—or safe vantage point—to even think about that now.

What she wanted to know was what he expected her to do now. Or rather, what it was
he
would do.

According to everything she’d ever learned, she was utterly ruined now, completely at his mercy, socially and physically. The rash thing she’d done must be inspiring the wildest notions in him. It certainly did in her. She couldn’t say no to anything he asked, not after this. The worst part was that she didn’t know if she wanted to.

“You see,” she said, explaining it to him and herself, “I had to leave or never have their respect again, or my own for that matter. I was so angry I saw everything outlined in red, I really did. There was a buzzing in my ears, too, the whole time I was packing. It was like some kind of seizure. I threw everything important I owned into
this bag and rushed out of the house. I felt wonderful when the door closed behind me…for about a minute, because then I realized I had no place to go. It was terrifying,” she said, finally looking up into his eyes.

There was such warmth and understanding in them, she swallowed and looked away.
The man’s sympathy is as thrilling as his lechery
, she thought in dismay. She wasn’t sure how to handle either one.

“It must have been dreadful,” he agreed calmly. “You and your aunt must have been fighting a very long time.” He glanced at his mantel clock. “Until at least two in the morning, I’d say.”

She squirmed. “Um, no. I left at about dinnertime.”

He said nothing. His silence said it all for him.

She picked her head up. “Well, it would have looked awful for me to come rushing here right after you asked, wouldn’t it? As if I couldn’t wait. As though I didn’t have another place to go to in the whole of London. Like I was some urchin, some street girl, without a home, connections, or a place of her own.”

But it was hard to explain the rest while she was crying. Her chin had started quivering at the word
home
, and then came the deluge, even as she fought for control. That was almost impossible to get now, because when her voice had started quavering and tears pricked her eyes, he’d come and perched on the side of her chair and taken her into his arms. She wept into his chest.

His chest was hard, yet resilient and warm, and soft hair prickled against her smooth cheek as it rested there. She was mortified, terrified, and much too interested in the strange new textures she felt and the feelings they caused in her. She pulled her head away and
looked up at him, her eyes wide and expectant, fascinated and frightened in equal measures.

“You look terrible when you cry,” he said with a crooked smile. “You haven’t got the hang of it at all. You’re supposed to let tears fall like rain, not fight them back like that. It makes your face red and your nose—”

“Thank you very much,” she said, snatching a handkerchief from her reticule.

He smiled. He liked her better this way: striving, valiant. An equal, not a victim. He intended to keep it that way—no illusions between them from here on.

“Where did you go, then, when you left your aunt?” he asked.

“I wandered. But that was a terrible thing to do. London is not the same at night—you’ve no idea. Well, I didn’t. There are men who dress like gentlemen and act like animals. One group of them saw me and cried ‘Halloo!’ and chased me, but I hid behind some shrubs. When I stayed in the light, I was noticed too much. The dark places were even worse. There were women in the shadows who thought I was going to compete with them,” she said indignantly, remembering what they thought she was competing for.

“Finally I found a church and sat in there,” she added more quietly. “It wasn’t my faith, but that didn’t matter; I wasn’t there to pray, but to think. No one bothered me,” she said, and hesitated. She decided not to tell him that nobody had troubled her but herself. Her conscience hadn’t let her alone. That had been what finally sent her away from her sanctuary.

“The quiet was a good thing,” she said staunchly. “I asked myself what I wanted to do, what I could do, and what I should do. And pride be hanged once my mind
was made up, because it was madness to stay out all night. So then I came here.”

“Madness indeed. I’m glad you came to me, Bridget. I’m only sorry you waited so long. But I knew how your aunt would react; if you’ll remember, I did tell you so. Yes, you may wrinkle your nose at me; I hate people who say that, too. Was she very cruel?”

“Very,” Bridget said sadly. “I doubt we’ll ever speak again.”

“You don’t want her at our wedding, then?”

“I don’t ever want to see her again,” Bridget said with a sniff, remembering how many euphemisms for a fallen woman her aunt had called her when she realized she was leaving, before she finally settled on
whore
. Cecily’s glee had been painful to see.

“Oh, I doubt that you’ll never see her again. The reverse, I’d say. She’ll come to see the advantages of having a viscountess in the family soon enough,” he said lightly, though it was hard for him to contain his exultation—she was here, she was his, he had won!

Bridget fidgeted. She’d been so busy considering the details of sharing his bed and his life, she realized, she’d never really thought over all the particulars of being a viscountess. Her eyes were troubled as she sought his. “Are you still sure?” she asked.

He knew what she was asking. “Those are slender shoulders, Bridget,” he said, putting his forefinger at the base of her neck and skimming across her collarbone, as if to illustrate, “but I’m sure they can bear the weight of my title. I promise you, it doesn’t hurt. And in time you may come to enjoy it very much.”

How did the man manage to make everything he said sound so thrilling and illicit? Or was it just her? She felt
as though the insides of her bones were itching, and she shivered. He sat back, but he still sat next to her. They didn’t touch, but she was very aware of him. He was such a large man, and she could feel the heat radiating from him. And now he was toying with a strand of her hair: curling it around his finger, letting his fingers graze her neck now and then. Just that. It was enough.

“So then,” he said, “I’ll get a special license and have the wedding as soon as possible. Is there anyone else you’d like to invite?”

“My mother!” she said, suddenly delighted. W
ouldn’t that be something
? T
o see
M
ama again and have her see me marrying a viscount
!

“Yes, that would be nice.” he said, “but as I recall, she’s in County Clare, isn’t she? I don’t think she could get here in time. I’m sorry, but the whole point is that time is of the essence.”

“Oh,” Bridget said, “yes, that’s so, I see. But wait,” she said, her eyes narrowing, “I never told you that! I just said she was in Ireland. How did you know?”

“I told you I’d looked into your situation, remember?” he said mildly. “I’d be a fool not to have, wouldn’t I?”

“I didn’t look into your situation,” she said, now a little anxious.

“Yes, you did.” He laughed. “I’ll wager you stored up every scrap of gossip you could get about me.”

“Well, it wasn’t much,” she admitted. “The servants didn’t consider me one of them, exactly, and so they didn’t share stories with me. The ladies certainly wouldn’t lower themselves to gossip with a mere companion. And I didn’t know any of the other companions well enough; I’ve only been in London a month, you know. Of course you know,” she finished gloomily.

“So you had to eavesdrop. Oh, too bad.”

She laughed with him.
Wretched man
, she thought,
to insult me so prettily
. But when she stopped laughing she saw that he was very still now, and staring at her.

She didn’t utter a word of protest when he bent to her, lowered his head, and feathered a kiss across her lips. It was brief and sweet for both of them. He left her dazed, her mouth unconsciously searching for more as he drew away. He tilted his head, considering her.

“It’s late,” he said very softly, touching her cheek lightly, “past time for bed. Where would you care to sleep?”

W
ell, that’s done it
, he thought with amused disappointment as her face flamed and her eyes flew open wide,
she’s definitely willing, but not able—yet
.

What will he think of me
? she thought, and bit her lip, because she knew just what she thought of herself. “I thought I might take a room in a hotel?” she said carefully, because she had begun to realize she had nothing to fear from him, but everything to fear from herself when she was near him.

She didn’t know if she had enough money in the world for a room in a proper London hotel for a night, but she didn’t know if she had the nerves for a night in an improper situation. She was wildly attracted to him, and he was a nobleman, and she was going to marry him, but all in all, she didn’t know him, and her aunt’s doubts and accusations were still ringing in her ears.

“A woman alone engaging a room at this hour?” he asked. “My dear, I don’t think a respectable hotel would admit you. And if I got the room for you…” He left the thought unspoken.

“But if I stay here, my reputation…”

He looked at her. She hung her head. O
f course
. I
left
A
unt’s protection to go to a gentleman, unaccompanied
. T
hat it was in the middle of the night hardly matters
. I
have no reputation anymore
.

“Bridget,” he said gently, “when we marry, my name will restore yours. But as for what’s left of tonight…are you afraid of staying here? Afraid of me?”

“That depends on what you want to do,” she blurted, and thought she’d die, right there in his comfortable chair, because now the thing was out and they had to talk about it and she might have to make that decision right away—as if they both didn’t know what it was already, she thought sadly.

But he didn’t want her sad. He wanted her joyous and giving and ready for him, entirely. He could wait. The thing was as good as done. A man with taste lingered over his pleasures, he didn’t gulp them.

“I want you to be happy,” he said with perfect truth, “and so to bed. Alone. Don’t worry, you’ll have your own room and bed. Until we’re married.”

It was a promise and a caution, and they both knew it. She nodded. He stood, took her bag, and led her up the stairs.

He showed her to a room and said good night.

“My servants are all asleep. Is there anything you need? I can wake them, or I can try to help you myself.”

“No, this is fine, this is lovely,” she said, wondering if he was going to kiss her again.

But he only nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

What she could see of the room in the rosy glow of lamplight was charming. There was a canopied bed with a satin coverlet, heaped with pillows. The fireplace was ringed by a fine filigree firescreen. The chairs and settee
were in the latest Egyptian style, light, with delicate legs and inlaid designs. The stretched silk on the walls was green and yellow, in the pattern of a Chinese garden, all over bridges and trees. It was a luxurious and tasteful room.

Bridget was uneasy for a moment, wondering if this was where he usually took his women. But then she saw a military-looking silver-backed brush on the vanity and realized it was probably his best guest room.

She yawned. It was very late. The ewer and basin on the table were empty. As much as she wanted to wash the soot off her hands and face after her hours of wandering the streets, she wouldn’t disturb him by asking for water. L
et sleeping rakes lie
, she thought with a smile, which faded as she realized that particular rake was going to be her husband in no time at all. She brooded as she took off her gown, wondering about the wisdom of her decision again. Her head had just emerged from the nightdress she’d slipped on when she heard tapping on her door.

She opened the door hesitantly, peering out. It was Ewen. She clutched the neck of her gown, although there was no reason to. Her grandmother might have worn such a nightdress without embarrassment. In fact, she thought, it might have belonged to her grandmother at that. She’d had it for longer than she could remember, at any rate.

“Fetching,” he said with a grin, looking at the long, enveloping plain white woolen gown. She actually felt herself blushing for not being more seductive. “I just wanted to tell you where the conveniences were. They’re down at the end of the hall. There are towels and such there, too. If you’ve any needs or questions, let me know. My room is there.”