A Scandalous Connection, page 13
The coat slipped over her shoulders. It was warm, and softer than it looked. She felt an impulse to snuggle in, but arched her back stiffer yet. She could feel Mr. Endicott’s breath on her hair, for he was pulling the other side tightly around himself. A hopeless case, for the carriage coat had been made to mold to his body, not to float like a bag about his elegant person. Sharing was going to offer more of a challenge than he had bargained for. Still, with an impish smile, he made a valiant attempt to snuggle into his share, an event that pulled Raquel closer than she cared to be, so that she gasped, both with annoyance and with sudden, unexpected pleasure.
The warmth made her realize just how cold it was, for where the coat missed its mark, she was freezing, and even her hands, through her gloves, felt icy. For an instant, she wished Mr. Endicott had found her muff, but the thought was banished as the entire thing slipped about her person and Mr. Endicott changed seats.
“You are freezing. I am a villain not to have insisted on finding your pelisse.”
“You would have been a villain if you had.”
He smiled, then, the curve deliciously lighting up his features.
“Bravo, my lady! I think that is the first kind word you have had for me. I shall treasure it.”
“Now you are being ridiculous. And you freeze on my account. I will not have it.”
So, beneath the starch and the ice, there was a tender heart. He had suspected it when he saw her concern for the maid. Some other ladies of his acquaintance would have turned the servant off for the dire inconvenience. Further, they would have submitted to a fit of hysterics upon finding themselves without chaperonage. Lady Fortesque-Benton, for all her evident faults, had done neither. Thomas had liked her the better for it. He did not think he would lust after her as much as he did if there was not some raw degree of admiration. He had had beauties aplenty in his lifetime, and he knew all too well that dewy eyes were skin deep. He always reacted the strongest to character, though well-formulated curves never went amiss. Lady Fortesque-Benton apparently had both in abundance. Demian was a fool if he called her cold.
“Even so, you shall have to, madam. The coat was not made for two, and though you have several times called me a brute, I am not a cad. I will not wear my cozy carriage coat while a lady freezes.”
“My pelisse, then . . . ”
“I’ll not stop the horses a second time. They need to keep moving to retain their warmth.”
Raquel nodded, for once without argument. She wrapped the coat around her, smelling the pleasant scent of . . . she knew not what. It was indescribable, but most decidedly reminded her of the man gazing at her darkly. She relaxed into it, acknowledging that it was more than the warmth of the cloth that elevated her spirits.
Mr. Endicott, she noted, did not complain, though his arms must have felt quite frozen against the icy wooden panels. It was too bad that there was no hot brick at their feet, but then she would have had to share, and sharing was dangerous with the likes of the man opposite.
The horses, plodding now that the snow was a little thicker, ground to a halt. Thomas was prevented from doing anything decidedly rash by the obvious advent of his coachman, who had deserted his perch and leaped into the snow, to the bewilderment of six perfectly matched bays.
“The snow be right deep, sir. Reckon as we had best stop afore the wheels are stuck.”
“We are not far from Darris. Indeed, I would be surprised if we have not already crossed the southmost border. Can we not push on, Mallard? I most particularly desire to reach our destination before nightfall. It is possibly no more than five miles, ten at the most.”
“No sayin’, guv. I reckon as I won’t like to take any chances wiv them ’igh steppin’ beauties.”
Thomas frowned. “No, you are right, of course. How far back was the last posting inn?”
“That be the Lion and the Anvil, sir. Reckon as it was six miles.”
Thomas nodded, his eyes alert and alive in thought. They flickered over to her, tucked snugly in his capes, then back to the whitening lands.
“Too far. If we turn back, we will be holed up there for a fortnight. I can’t risk that. Yes, yes, I am aware of the horses.” He gestured to the coachman, who seemed about to interrupt.
“There is a sentry’s cottage not far from here. I will escort her ladyship there by foot. The snows are still light enough to take that risk. You, my friend, shall have to turn this rig around. Stable the horses at the inn and make sure they are rubbed down well. Check Apple-white’s left hock. I think she might be pulling to the left.”
“Aye guv, wot I thought too. But the missus . . .”
“. . . will be fine. Take this for your board and the stabling expenses. I believe it should keep the innkeeper happy a while.”
Mr. Endicott drew his purse and laid it carelessly in the coachman’s hand. The man nodded as if it were of little consequence, so Raquel surmised he must indeed be a trusted minion, quite used to the queer starts of his employer. He doffed his dark, speckled hat and turned toward the bays. Thomas shouted after him.
“Wait, I will help you. There is a bit of an incline. You will have need of the extra hands.”
The coachman lifted his gloved hands in grateful response before disappearing from view. The sky seemed to darken a shade. Raquel heard the cry of a bird—possibly a falcon—and the quick rustle of a small animal darting to some burrow. Otherwise, the world was quiet. Even the horses were still, their hooves no longer beating steadily across the path. Raquel saw but could not hear the coachman muttering. His words were blown forward on the breeze.
“I should not have brought you here.” Thomas’s tone was rough from concern. In the closed chaise, he sounded abrupt and impatient. Raquel nearly agreed with him, for his simple assumption that she would “be fine” rankled. Still, she could see he was not quite as sanguine as he would have her suppose, for he eyed her appraisingly—despairingly—and brushed several disheveled hairs from his forehead. The glance he flickered at her held warmth and annoyance and unusual sincerity. Perversely, Lady Fortesque-Benton, who had been thinking precisely the same thing for half the journey or more, shook her golden head.
“I would have come anyway. I am notably headstrong.”
She was rewarded with a slight smile for this, but Mr. Endicott’s thoughts had moved on.
“Stay here. I shall see to the horses. The path narrows from here onward, so if this confounded chaise is to be turned around it has to be now. You do understand?”
Lady Raquel nodded. She had been brought up with horses and understood perfectly the need for caution. But Thomas had not stopped to see her response. He’d already opened the door and alighted. The cool rush of air made her gasp for breath. Outside, she could hear the coachman’s exhortations to the horses, then the grind of carriage springs as she lurched across the chaise, back to the seat Mr. Endicott had just vacated.
It was still warm from his breeches, and despite the cool air, Lady Raquel flushed. She was so close to Darris! So close to the end of this strange, unsettling episode. And yet, it appeared to be only beginning. She held her breath, hardly knowing whether she was pleased or sorry to see the coach thus summarily dismissed and diverted. Certainly, there was no question that night was now dangerously imminent.
Mr. Endicott had promised she would reach Darris by nightfall. He was with an ame’s ace of his promise, but two miles or six miles or seventy miles was all the same when a young lady was about to lose her reputation.
Raquel bit her lip. Tears were for fools and she was not a fool. So she calmly placed her hands in her lap and watched what maneuvering she could from the window. What she couldn’t see she felt, for despite the excellent springs, the carriage jolted considerably, so she was certain she would be stiff in unmentionable places.
She concentrated on not allowing her teeth to rattle and on averting her gaze from each flicker she spied of a white lawn shirt outside. It looked grievously thin in the cold, but Raquel knew better than to distract her escort by beginning the greatcoat argument all over again. He was a hard man. He would not thank her, she thought, for her trouble. So she pulled the coat firmly about her person—no point in them both freezing—and awaited his pleasure.
Twelve
The horses had long disappeared down the path leading to the Lion and the Anvil. The snow was not thick, but slippery and wet and cold to the ankles. Lady Raquel’s skillfully selected carriage dress was sodden, and she was forced to concentrate on every step to avoid the indignity of slipping. Delicate flakes of snow clung to those fiercely masculine capes, but safe beneath the greatcoat’s folds, Raquel was shielded from the worst of their biting frost. She wished she could say the same of Mr. Endicott, who was silently forging a path. She could see his muscles plainly beneath his shirt, which was now so soaked it was practically transparent. Raquel allowed her thoughts to wander immodestly over his form.
If she was forced to endure this drudgery, she might just as well afford herself some pleasure. Most unmaidenly, but then, Mr. Endicott never had brought out her maidenly instincts. When she was with him, she wanted to curse and pummel and . . . no, she would not allow herself to linger long over such nonsenses. And his shirt was neither wet nor deliciously transparent. It was as stiff as a board and freezing. In shock, she realized that he must be suffering a great deal more than he seemed, with his jaunty walking stick broken from an old, gnarled yew, and a stride that was far longer than her own.
“Stop!” She panted, trying to catch up. Mr. Endicott stopped, eying the state of her dress with critical calm. “We are nearly there, I can see the gray quarry stone walls.”
Lady Fortesque-Benton nodded, catching her breath. It had been slightly uphill all the way and she was unused to such exertions.
“Shall I carry you?” The question was so at odds with his dismissive manner and brusque stride that she thought he was mocking.
“I am not a doll. I can manage, thank you.”
He nodded stiffly. “A pity. Pretty as a doll, of course, but sharp-tongued. I keep forgetting.”
“I am not sharp-tongued!”
Mr. Endicott did not stop to brangle with her. He shook his head and walked on, but Raquel noticed that his steps were slower to match her own. She wondered if it was because he was tiring, or because he was trying to be considerate. She decided he must be tiring, and rather gloomily squelched on. Her bonnet was frozen and she had little doubt that the several pastel-colored feathers that adorned it must be suffering a similar fate. In short, she looked, as she felt, a complete dowd. The thought did not console her wet feet, but she trudged on without comment or complaint.
If Thomas thought the better of her for it, he did not choose to say. Instead, he pointed to the welcome sight of the sentry’s cottage and strode on ahead to open the door. It took some minutes to pry open, but thankfully it was not locked.
“Come in.” He held open the door so that she had to walk past him to step inside. She did, blinking at the darkness of the interior.
“Dank and musty, I am afraid. The sentry, such as there is, was moved up to the castle years ago.”
Raquel nodded. She did not need to be told why. The house was in obvious disrepair and the duke’s finances bleak. That, she knew, was why she had received his handsome offer.
“I shall have the house restored when . . .”
Her eyes dropped. Thomas was regarding her dryly.
Raquel flushed. “Don’t look so superior! It is not uncommon for the bride to have funds. I believe it is perfectly respectable.”
“Oh, perfectly. But I would tread carefully, if I were you. Demian may not like a hundred plans put to him before you have even seen the castle.”
“Why should he not? He surely cannot wish his estate to continue this obvious decline?”
Thomas shrugged and rubbed his fingers together. They were aching with cold and his entire chest felt numb. It was bad enough when they were walking, but now that they were stationary the cold seemed to bite deep. He eyed his greatcoat longingly and checked the pile of firewood. Not much, but enough to sustain a reasonable blaze. Without answering Raquel’s question, he knelt by the hearth and reached for the tinderbox, concentrating on creating some warmth, if not much in the way of light. It was several moments before he was successful.
Raquel took in her surroundings with distaste. There were corners thick with cobwebs, and though there were several chairs, they were all hard and entirely devoid of padding. She dared not inspect the larder, for she was certain it would be empty. The well outside looked far too ancient to be of any use, though there was still a wooden bucket that looked serviceable. If she filled it with snow, water would not be a problem.
“Where do you think you are going?”
She had not thought Thomas was still aware of her existence. Evidently he was, for he turned from the fire and regarded her with suspicion.
“I am going to fill the pail. We may need water.”
“Very true, my lady, how provident you are!”
Was that amusement or sarcasm in those eyes? Raquel did not know, and frankly she did not care.
“You are frozen. Take the greatcoat and I will search out some blankets. There must be some somewhere.”
“Only horse blankets. The rest of Carlew’s possessions were sent up to the manse.”
Did he think she would shudder at the thought of horse blankets? Certainly, the grim satisfaction of his tone made her think so. Raquel ignored him and removed the coat wordlessly.
His brows raised.
“That is for you, my lady. It is freezing here, and I have no wish to argue.”
“Do only ladies freeze? Not the masculine sex? How interesting. That was an aspect of anatomy which my governess failed to teach me.”
“Did she teach you anatomy? How shocking! I thought water-colors and dancing were more suitable lessons.”
“Well, you are wrong. I had a very superior governess and have learned several of the more masculine studies—which, by the way, I find fascinating.”
This came with a quaint little glare that was meant to be arch and cool, but rather lighted Thomas’s soul more than the paltry fire flickering in the grate. He did not give her the satisfaction, however, of gaining the upper hand.
“Excellent. Then if you have had anatomy lessons, you can have no objection to my removing this frozen, confounded shirt. No, take that thing away. It is pointless brandishing a greatcoat when I am soaking to the bone.”
So saying, he nimbly—for one with such frozen fingers—undid his cravat and began on the small fastenings of his shirt with practiced ease and none of the self-consciousness that suddenly flooded Raquel’s being.
“You brute! You deliberately provoke me.”
“Ah, brute, again, how delightful. And did you say I provoke you?” He moved closer as his cold white shirt touched the cobbled floor. Raquel gasped, for she had never before seen a man naked to his waist, nor so unutterably beautiful. Nor so intolerably rude, insolent, overbearing and thoroughly annoying.
She stepped back.
“Yes, I did. But I did not mean . . .”
“What did you not mean, my lady?”
He was dangerously close to her now, close enough to kiss her.
There was a brief moment when Raquel thought he would. She felt quite faint at the prospect, and had to will herself not to sway toward those dark, fearsomely blue eyes.
“I did not mean provoke in the way . . .”
“. . . a man provokes a lady. How terribly disappointing.” But Mr. Endicott did not look disappointed. Rather, he looked amused and sanguine and rather disbelieving.
“You lie very badly, Raquel. Is that a failing or your fortune, I wonder?”
But he did not stop for an answer, and he ducked neatly when the only earthenware pitcher in the entire place was hurled at his head.
“Temper, temper, my lady!” Leisurely, he reached out for one of the horse blankets and handed it to her. It was gray and scratchy but quite dry.
“I shall take up your offer. Not the one in your eyes, Raquel, but the one of my greatcoat. I shall need it when I head up to the castle.”
“Head up . . . you are not leaving me here?” For the first time, alarm entered her voice.
Thomas sighed. “You are dry and warm here. You are also safe. If you step up with me to the castle, you shall be neither of those things.”
“Why not?”
“It is cold, snowing and wet. There is only one garment of any use between both of us. You shall also be horribly compromised if we arrive together without a chaperon.”
“Oh!” Evidently, that thought had not occurred to the poised, cool, society heiress. It seemed eons ago that she had ever been poised or cool.
“But safe!”
He looked at her quizzically. “I think not, Lady Raquel. There is a limit to a man’s endurance, I believe. And though I hesitate to mention it at such a time, your ankles are delectable even if your hems are not.”
“Oh!” Suddenly, her face was warm, though the chill air told her the cottage was damp. And he had been eying her ankles as they walked, not her dowdy bonnet feathers or her sack of a greatcoat! Why did she want to hum and grin foolishly when she should scold? And why did she do neither, just stare at him with her eyes wide and her lips parted idiotically?
Thomas laughed. “So you see, Lady Raquel, it is best I depart immediately for the castle. Doubtless Demian will then send a brigade of people down to tend to you. As the newest duchess-to-be of this region, I suppose it is all you deserve.” But the laughter left his eyes and the faint contempt crept back into his voice.
“Yes, I see. Thank you.” Raquel quelled the urge to beg him to take her with him. It would be no more than an hour or two, surely, that she would be left to her own devices in this godforsaken cottage. It was not exactly the reception she had imagined for herself, but then neither was worrying herself sick about a man whom she detested heartily and who was entirely ineligible. Or was he? It was not as though he had no power, or social entrée, or . . . but no, he had no rank. The obstacles were insurmountable and she was being ridiculous thinking in such terms. The duke awaited her.
