The Summer of Wine and Scandal: A Novella (8 page)

That was his loss, then. She didn’t need him. Yes, she’d enjoyed talking with him. Yes, he’d amused her on occasion and intrigued her with his knowledge about wine, but it wasn’t as though she cared what he thought of her. It wasn’t as though she cared if she ever saw him again.

She perched on the log, and her fingers strayed to her lips. Staring at the sun glinting off the burbling stream, she brushed the pads of her fingertips across her mouth. She would have to forget the kiss he’d given her first. When she couldn’t remember the feel of his lips on hers, then she’d stop caring about him.

She heard a twig snap and leaves crunch underfoot and turned with amazement to see Lochley emerging from the woods. She didn’t say a word as he crossed the expanse between them and came to stand before the log. His legs were braced apart as though he was a pirate on a ship in the turbulent sea struggling to maintain his balance. He could have been a gentleman pirate with the scruff on his cheeks, those golden eyes, and that perfectly tied cravat puffed out like a peacock’s feathers below his chin.

“You came,” he said, breaking the silence. But for the rushing of the stream, there was no sound but her heart beating.

“I don’t know why I did. I did not think you would want to see me.”

He looked at the stream. “I didn’t think I would either.” His gaze focused on her. “I was wrong. I must apologize for—”

She rose. “No, it’s I who should apologize. I played the lady, and I allowed you to believe I am someone respectable. As you saw last night, I am far from respectable. The truth about me is worse than any of the rumors.”

“The truth about you.” He rubbed a knuckle over his chin. “And what is the truth about you?”

She lowered her head, shame making her cheeks heat. “You saw last night—”

“No.” His fingers grazed her chin, lifting her face so he could look into her eyes. “Those men don’t know you. You’re nothing but a bit o’ sport to them.
I
see you.” His golden eyes searched hers, as intense as she imagined a lion’s might be. “You’re much more than a bit o’ sport.”

“But last night, when you didn’t speak”—she waved her hand because the words seemed to escape her—“the look in your eyes, and I thought...” She didn’t know how to finish. She had not thought he would come to see her today. Now she didn’t know what to think.

His finger trailed away from her chin, leaving a frisson of heat in its wake. “I must apologize for last night. I have no excuse.”

She shook her head, denying his need to make amends.

“My only explanation,” he continued, ignoring her protests, “is that for a moment I forgot who
I
am. Who am I to judge you? I’m far from perfect, and I’ve made too many mistakes to count.” He adjusted his cravat. “That is not to say you made a mistake. I don’t want to imply—”

“No!” She grabbed his wrist and held it. “I mean, yes. Yes, I made a mistake. You’re right to call it that. I made a rather large mistake that snowballed into another and another until it was the most mammoth mistake anyone could ever make.” She released his wrist, aware of the heat under her fingers.

“Will you tell me about it?” he asked. “Only if you want to. I don’t mean to pry.”

She sat back on the log, her legs wobbly beneath her.

“I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s quite all right. I want to tell you. I’m never allowed to talk about it, and there are so many times I’ve wanted to tell someone,
anyone
. My mother begins to cry if I speak of it, and my father becomes enraged. It’s not something I can speak to my brother about, and I’ve been shunned like a leper since I returned. I have no friends. Even if I did, I couldn’t tell them. The things I’ve seen”—she met his gaze directly—“the things I’ve done would shock most respectable ladies.”

“They won’t shock me.”

“No, I daresay they won’t, but once I tell you, you may feel quite vindicated in judging me.”

“Try me and see. As I said, I’m no saint.”

She suppressed the urge to smile. The men who’d used and abused her had not been saints either, but that had never stopped them from condemning her. Men and women lived by very different rules.

Caro twined her fingers together in her lap, watching the sun dapple her skin through the trees. It reminded her of another summer when she’d been just a girl.

“I met him on a day like today. Sunny and warm, a perfect day for a fair. We went to the fair, the same one Hemshawe hosts every year.” She could still smell the scent of baking bread and sweet corn and underneath it the straw lining the pens of the animals being shown. She’d spent most of the morning by her parents’ sides, admiring the sheep and cows and pigs, eating too many sweet pies, and clapping with joy at the jugglers and other performers.

Her brother introduced her to the man. She was sixteen, and he was closer to Matthew’s age at one and twenty. “I don’t remember how my brother met him. Perhaps they had a mutual friend, or they’d done business together in London. My father and brother travel to Town a few times a year to deliver wine to merchants and settle accounts.”

Lochley nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“My parents must have thought that because he knew Matthew, he was acceptable. They were ready to return home, but I begged to be able to stay at the fair with my brother and enjoy the music that night. They agreed, instructing me to stay close to Matthew.”

“But this man managed to separate you from your brother. He wanted you alone,” Lochley said, voice tight.

She’d almost forgotten he was there. “Yes, that’s right.”

“I’ve heard this story before,” he said. “Not yours, in particular, but I know how it goes. He separates you, plies you with gifts and sweet words, tells you he loves you, and then begs you to run away with him.”

She blinked back tears. “You must think me horribly naïve.”

“I think you horribly brave. You escaped and came back home. You’ve held your head high, and that’s more than I can say for most. Tell me what happened when you reached London.”

“I had no money. I’d had to spend it on the journey.”

“Of course. He said his blunt was in London, and when you arrived you’d have everything you desired. Did he take you to the bawdy house right away?”

“No.” She took a deep breath, willing herself to say the rest of it. “He took me to his flat, where I met his wife, or at least a woman who claimed to be his wife. Now I’m sure it was an act they’d perfected, but she came out screaming at me and accusing me of stealing her husband. They made an awful scene. People had gathered on the street to watch. So many people.” She remembered the grimy faces and the open mouths as they mocked her.

“You’d never been to London.” He really had heard her story before.

“No. I didn’t know where I was. I have cousins in Town, but I didn’t know where they live. I had nowhere to go and no coin. David—that was his name—told me he just needed a day or two to sort things out. The woman wasn’t his wife at all, just a jealous former lover. He would send her on her way and come for me. Then we’d marry and be happy. He knew a nice woman, his aunt, who ran a lodging house. I’d be safe there.”

She supposed he knew the rest of the story. She’d gone willingly into the devil’s lair. The woman, a Mrs. Nicholson, hadn’t been David’s aunt but the owner of The Pleasure Den. Later, Caro realized she probably paid David to deliver young girls to her.

“I never saw David again.”

“How long before you realized Mrs. Nicholson was a bawd?”

“Not long. She sold me to a wealthy man whose taste ran to virgins. He raped me that first night.”

She saw his fists clench at his sides and could feel his suppressed anger. Once, she’d felt that same anger, but it had since faded. She didn’t want to taste bitterness every morning. Little by little, she’d laid down her anger and hurt and pain and made the decision to forgive herself for her mistakes. Perhaps one day she’d even forgive David and Mrs. Nicholson and all the men like Mutton Chops.

“I wanted to run away—”

“You don’t have to explain to me.”

She gave him a wan smile. “Perhaps I explain for me. I wanted to run away, but I had no blunt and no place to go. Mrs. Nicholson said it would go worse for me on the streets. At least in the Den I would have food and a bed. She said if I worked for her for a few days, she’d pay me and I’d have enough to go home, if that was what I wanted. What did it matter if I lay with another man or two? I was already ruined.”

Lochley closed his eyes. “But you never did earn any blunt, did you?”

She shook her head. “Whenever I asked to be paid, she’d open her account book and tally numbers. I owed her for food and dresses and the roof over my head. Rents were higher in London. Everything cost more in London. I threatened to leave anyway, but she said she’d send the constable after me for stealing from her. I didn’t know what to do or how to get out.”

“How long were you there?”

“About six months. The worst of my life, if you can call that sort of existence a life. I hated myself. I hated the men. I wanted to die, and I thought about killing myself more times than I could count. And then one day my father stormed in. It was midday, and we were all sleeping. I heard him bellowing and recognized his voice. He’d come for me. Somehow he’d found David, found out where I was, and he’d come to take me home.”

“I find I like your father more and more.”

“You see now why he is a bit overprotective.”

“Good man. Did he pay off the abbess?”

She glanced at the ground. “He said she was a criminal and he would as soon pay the devil. I think she was a little scared of him. Even the footmen were scared of him. They let me go.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Three years, but it feels as though it’s another lifetime. Except for the ride home with my father. That, I remember quite clearly. I sobbed most of the way, asking him to forgive me, and finally after hours of silence, he looked at me and said,
Caro, there’s nothing to forgive. You are my child, my daughter, and nothing you could ever do would alter my love for you. It’s forgotten. It never happened
.”

“Would that more people were like your father.” He crouched down and took her hands. “He’s right, you know. There is nothing to forgive. You were not at fault.”

“But I—”

He squeezed her hands. “You can tell me anything you want, but do not try to convince me you did anything wrong. I was wrong to treat you as I did last night. I hope you can forgive me.”

She gave a short laugh. “Now you are being ridiculous. Thank you for listening, for not condemning me. It means more than you can know. And now I should probably go home, and you return to the Friar’s House.” She rose and attempted to free her hands to shake out her skirts, but he failed to release them. She met his gaze.

“I don’t want to go back to the Friar’s House yet. I cannot seem to forget the kiss we shared. If you’ll permit me, Miss Martin, I’d like to kiss you again.”

Her heart rammed her chest. “How could you still want to kiss me? I told you I have been a whore in a brothel. Any man could buy much more than a kiss from me. I cannot count how many men did. You don’t want to kiss me.”

He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “Do you think any of that matters to me? Does it change who you are? I told you. I see you.”

“Then you see a former whore.”

“No. I see a woman who is kind. She dirties her hands and dress to help dig a stranger out of a rut, even when the fool is too pompous to do it himself. I see a woman who is brave. She could have stayed in London and hidden, but she came back home to face rumors and criticism and held her head high. I see a woman who makes me laugh with her quick wit and her biting repartee. I see a woman who is beautiful in every way. How can I
not
want to kiss her?”

Caro swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked back tears. She took a tentative step forward and allowed herself to be enveloped by his arms. Uncertainly, she reached up and wound her arms around his neck. He gazed at her for a long, long moment, then bent his head and touched his lips to hers.

A
t the first taste of her lips, he wanted more. She tasted of sunshine and clean country air. Lochley forced himself to keep the kiss light and his hold on her light. Caro was free to end the kiss or move away at any moment.

He pressed his lips to hers, learning the shape of hers and the feel of their silky skin on his. He ran his tongue over her bowed upper lip and suckled her plump lower lip. When she opened her mouth, he held back, allowing her to take the lead. Her small pink tongue touched his tentatively and then more boldly, stroking his tongue and tangling with him.

He groaned and clenched his hands. The urge to pull her closer maddened him. Her hands threaded through his hair, and for once he didn’t mind that she upset his careful style. He liked the feel of her fingers on his scalp, his neck, his cheeks.

Gently, she pulled back, and he released her. “I’m sorry. That was not the sort of kiss you wanted.”

He all but sputtered to bring forth his words. “Your kiss was perfect. Do not stop.” He held up both hands. “Unless you want.”

She grasped his hands and held them. “I like kissing you, but I think my past is too much of an obstacle.”

“I don’t care about your past except that it hurt you.”

She released his hands. “Then why won’t you hold me?”

“You want me to hold you?”

She nodded almost shyly.

“Oh, thank God.” His arms came around her waist, and he pulled her tightly against him, feeling the softness of her breasts as they crushed against his chest. “I am mad with wanting to touch you.”

“Perhaps not quite so tightly,” she wheezed.

He laughed, loosening his hold slightly. He placed a finger under her chin, raising her lips. He kissed her gently, opening her mouth to taste and explore. His hand slid back to cradle her head, his fingers delving into the silky strands of her auburn hair. He’d never felt hair so soft or sleek. The kiss deepened as both of them teased and tested, and he felt her tense when he could no longer hide the evidence of his arousal.