Once Upon a Maiden Lane Page 6

  “I beg your pardon,” he said, his voice husky. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  Shouldn’t he have?

  She gazed at him thoughtfully. Color had crept into his cheekbones, and his mouth was reddened, highlighting his black hair and blue eyes.

  Lord Blackwell really was a most handsome gentleman.

  And she wasn’t entirely sure she’d wanted him to stop kissing her.

  She wanted more. More from the kiss. More from him.

  More…something.

  And, frustratingly, he’d decided that now wasn’t the time to provide it.

  Was he playing with her?

  Mary spun and strode into the garden to hide her face and compose herself.

  “Mary,” the viscount called behind her.

  She didn’t stop.

  He cursed under his breath, and she heard the crunch of gravel as he came after her.

  She squared her shoulders, focusing on the garden. She’d spent many an hour overseeing her charges in the back garden at Caire House and in public parkland, but she’d never simply walked in a garden for pleasure. For herself.

  It seemed somehow decadent.

  The Angrove House garden was rectangular and enclosed by a stone wall. A gravel path made a loop around the garden, with geometric beds in the middle. A few flowers bloomed in ordered groupings among the small, clipped boxwood hedges, and several apple trees were espaliered against the walls.

  Mary descended into the garden with Lord Blackwell by her side.

  “I hope I haven’t offended you,” he said at last.

  She was very conscious of his taller form. Of his heat, radiating to her.

  For some reason it made her particularly irritated. “Why would I be?”

  He darted a glance at her, his beautiful eyes narrowed. “I did embrace you without permission.”

  “You’ll be doing much more than that soon,” she said before she could stop herself—and then felt warmth climb her cheeks. Blast it.

  Out of the corner of her eye she could see one side of his mouth curl, but he didn’t take the opportunity she’d presented to say something risqué. “It must be very strange to you, this arranged marriage.”

  She looked at him and then away again. He seemed quite sincere.

  “It is,” she admitted, feeling a bit surprised at the thoughtfulness his question implied. “I don’t know why you suffer it.”

  “I haven’t any choice,” he replied, his voice low. She looked at him and saw that his expression was wry. “I must abide by my father’s pact with your father. To do otherwise would be to dishonor my family and my name.” He stopped and faced her. “I was born to someday become the Earl of Keating. This marriage is but a small part of that destiny.”

  “But…” She searched his face, looking for any doubts. “Isn’t there a part of you that yearns to fly free from all that? All the…the…constrictions of your title?”

  He hesitated, glancing away for a moment, and she thought he might simply give her a pat answer. An answer without any substance.

  Then he looked back at her, and while a corner of his mobile mouth curved, his bright blue eyes held a hint of melancholy. “Yes, sometimes. I’m not an automaton, moving without thought or emotion. I do sometimes think of rebelling against my father, abandoning London, and upsetting all his mechanisms.” His lips quirked. “But you see, it isn’t just myself that I have to think about. I have a mother and sisters. A rank that includes the responsibilities of land and people. Tell me, should I be so selfish as to think of only my wishes?”

  Her brows drew together as she parted her lips.

  He pressed one finger against her mouth, forestalling her reply. “And if…if I were to do so—think only of myself—have you considered that such a course would not bring happiness in any case? At least not to me.” His look was rueful. “I love my mother and sisters. I don’t want to be estranged from them. I even feel an affection for my father, though we see eye to eye on very little.” He inhaled. “No action is done in a vacuum. What I decide to do affects many others. That’s why I will fulfill my father’s promise to marry you.”

  Mary stared at him. This man wasn’t at all what she’d initially thought him. He was handsome, true, but under the outer charm was a thoughtful man. He might be an aristocrat, but that very lineage burdened him with duty and the expectations of others. More, he considered other people. Was worried about how his actions would affect them.

  She found that to be rather…noble, actually.

  Mary glanced away, disconcerted at the thought. She realized that she didn’t know who Lord Blackwell was at all…and she wanted to.

  She inhaled and turned back to him, squaring her shoulders and asked the question she’d been wondering about since yesterday in the sitting room. “You were originally engaged to Lady Joanna…and now you’ll marry me. Do you not care which woman you take as wife? Are we both the same to you?”

  He bowed his head. “I would’ve married Lady Joanna without complaint, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t have an opinion on the lady I wed.” He glanced up at her, his blue eyes piercing. “I find myself…pleased with the prospect of marrying you, Mary.”

  “Truly?” she asked softly, her heart warming at his words. “But you hardly know me, my lord.”

  “No, you’re right, I don’t,” he replied. “I had years in which to understand Lady Joanna, and now only a little while to discover you.” He stepped closer so that his chest almost, almost touched the tips of her breasts, and she was forced to tilt back her head to keep her eyes locked with his. He bent and murmured in her ear softly. Intimately. “Only a small time to learn your likes and dislikes. Your favorite foods. The thing that disgusts you the most.” He paced around her, and she was reminded of how he’d stalked her in the sitting room. His voice came from over her left shoulder. “What authors you like to read. What you look like when you laugh from your belly. How your tears fall. If you like to stroll in the morning or if you’d rather laze abed. If the sound of an orchestra makes your heart sing or leaves you unmoved. How to make you smile and how to make you sob.”

  His breath was hot in her right ear, and Mary shivered, closing her eyes to keep herself calm.

  “I want to learn all of you. I want you to know me in return. When I next kiss you, I want you to welcome my lips like a lover instead of a stranger.”

  She inhaled sharply. This was like a waking dream, for this man, this fascinating, handsome aristocrat to speak to her so bluntly.

  So passionately.

  “Do you want that as well?” He was in front of her now.

  “Yes,” she said, opening her eyes to meet his gaze boldly. “Yes, I do.”

  Henry watched Mary’s serious face. She looked determined, as if learning about him was yet another task that she must perform correctly in order to become Lady Cecilia. That wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want this to be a duty between them.

  It should be a wooing.

  To that end he held out his arm. “Shall we stroll whilst I outline my scheme?”

  She nodded, taking his arm, and they continued down the garden path, the gravel crunching beneath their heels.

  “I propose,” he said slowly, “that we ask questions of each other in turn.”

  She glanced up at him cautiously, her brows raised. “Any questions?”

  His lips quirked. “Yes, but I have a caveat: the asker must answer the question as well.”

  She thought over that for a moment as they neared a marble bench set beneath an arbor. The roses on the arbor weren’t in bloom, of course, but the orange-red rose hips made a pretty autumn picture nonetheless.

  “Very well,” she said at last. “That seems like a workable plan.”

  She sounded as serious as any lawyer debating a contract.

  He bowed, repressing a smile. “Then I’ll grant you the first question.”

  She didn’t hesitate. “Why were you at Adams and Sons the day we met?”

>   Henry looked at her quizzically. The question seemed too simple. “To buy books.”

  She frowned sternly. “Yes, but which books? Were you looking for a particular volume? Or had you gone simply to wander the aisles?”

  Ah. This was more interesting. “I do enjoy simply walking about a bookstore,” he replied. “How else am I to discover books I didn’t know I wanted?”

  A small smile lit her face. “I like doing that as well. I vow I could spend an entire day at a bookstore and never notice time passing.”

  “What book were you looking for there?”

  She shook her head at him, but the gesture was teasing instead of angry. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you haven’t answered my question yet. But I’ll go first: I was looking for volume seven of The Arabian Nights’ Entertainment in the newest edition, published in—”

  “Seventeen forty-four,” Henry finished for her. “I have the entire set of that edition in my library. I bought it at once when I saw the lovely red leather binding the printer used.”

  “You have it?” She stopped, turning to him in apparent excitement. “Oh, how lovely it must be to simply go out and buy whatever book catches your fancy! I’d been saving my wages for several months to be able to afford one volume alone.”

  Henry forbore to point out that soon she would be able to afford a dozen collections of the Arabian Nights. “I’d be honored to lend you the set.”

  “Thank you,” she said quietly, fingering one of the rose hips on the arbor. “I’d like that. But you haven’t answered about what books you were looking for at Adams and Sons.”

  “I had two quarries,” he said. “One, a book of poetry for my mother, and t—”

  A rose hip immediately to the right of Mary’s face exploded.

  For a second Henry’s mind went blank.

  And then came the bang!

  He lunged at Mary, grasping her around the waist and bearing her to the ground beneath him. He rolled as they fell, just enough that he hit the ground with his shoulder, protecting her from the impact.

  She squeaked and tried to push him away.

  “Hold still,” he growled at her.

  She froze, her eyes widening.

  They lay face-to-face, his nose only inches from hers, one of his legs between her own. Had this been any other circumstance, the position would have given him ideas. As it was—

  “What was that sound?” she asked.

  “Gunshot.”

  He could feel her breath on his cheek and the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. He lifted his head enough to glance behind them at Angrove House and saw no one. He scanned the surrounding buildings. What sort of imbecile played with guns in the middle of London?

  The door to Angrove House banged open.

  The earl rushed out, followed by the butler and two footmen. Angrove glanced wildly around and then saw them at the bottom of the garden. “My God, was that a gunshot I heard?”

  Whoever the shooter was, he seemed to have realized his stupendous error. There’d been no more shots.

  “It was a gunshot,” Henry shouted back. “But we are unhurt.”

  The earl was already trotting toward them with his manservants trailing behind. “God’s blood! What fool is shooting so close to the houses?”

  The least the man could do is ask about his daughter, Henry thought irritably as he gingerly levered himself off Mary.

  He looked at the woman below him. Her brown eyes were wide, and she had a leaf in her hair, but otherwise she appeared composed. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she replied at once. “Though my panniers may never recover.”

  His lips curled at that, though he was still angered by how close she’d come to being shot in her own father’s garden. “Perhaps I can buy you a new pair of panniers.”

  “I’ve been told that a lady must never accept garments—let alone undergarments—from a gentleman.” Her eyes were lowered, but her stern little mouth twitched.

  A bolt of awareness shot through him. She was flirting with him.

  He pulled her to her feet and plucked the leaf from her hair, whispering in her ear, “From any other gentleman, certainly. But I think you may accept gifts from your future husband—even intimate ones.”

  Before she could make a reply her father was upon them. “This is unconscionable! I’ve sent a footman to alert the watch so that we may arrest this miscreant.”

  Henry privately thought that it was extremely unlikely the watch would find whoever had been shooting. Surely once they realized that their shot had gone into a private garden they would’ve taken to their heels.

  The earl finally turned to his daughter and said politely, “I hope you are well?”

  “I’m quite all right, my lord,” Mary said. “Thank you for inquiring.”

  Her father glanced at her sharply as if suspecting sarcasm, but decided not to address the matter. “Well, let’s adjourn to the house in any case.” Angrove glanced uneasily at his neighbors’ rooftops. “I’m sure luncheon is about to be served.”

  Henry felt a spurt of rage that the shooter had cut short his tête-à-tête with Mary, but he replied calmly, “A good idea.” He held out his arm to Mary. “My lady?”

  He led her after the earl, but as they made the granite steps to the back door, Henry couldn’t help another look about. He frowned. The walls of the garden were at least ten feet high. In order for someone to have shot into the garden, they’d have to be on an upper floor of one of the town houses or a rooftop.

  A chill prickled the back of his neck.

  In either case it was hard to see how the shot could have been accidental.

  Chapter Seven

  Triton was appalled.

  “That is the worst bargain I have ever heard,” he told Clio. “Obviously I’ll have to go with you.”

  So he made a bargain with the Sea Wizard on similar terms—though his was not exactly the same.

  That night Clio and Triton swam to the shore and hobbled out of the waves on their land legs. Neither could speak, but that did not stop Triton from rolling his eyes at Clio.…

  —From The Curious Mermaid

  Mary could still feel Lord Blackwell’s hard, heavy body on hers as she followed the earl inside. He’d moved so fast when the rosebush had burst apart beside her. She hadn’t even realized what was happening until she was already on the ground, his weight pressing down on her.

  Covering her.

  Protecting her.

  It had felt…exciting.

  She contemplated that, trying to figure out why exactly having Lord Blackwell use his body to protect her should awaken such a thrill in her. Perhaps it was because she’d spent her life looking after herself. Oh, the orphanage had provided a home—a place to learn and food and a bed—but there were many, many children there. No matter how kind Lady Caire and her brother, Mr. Makepeace, had been, they’d had to divide their time—their attention—among dozens of children. Like the other children at the home, Mary had become independent at a very young age.

  To have one person—one man—focused entirely on her and her welfare was a heady experience.

  She wasn’t used to another person caring for her, and it had felt quite lovely.

  And besides her emotional reaction, there was another one. She’d felt small under him. Small and very much a woman. His shoulders had more than spanned hers, and his leg had pushed between hers. Even through skirts and underskirts, she’d felt the muscle of his thigh.

  Mary shivered. What would it be like to feel that thigh without clothing between them?

  “Are you all right?” Lord Blackwell murmured as they entered the house. The earl was striding ahead of them, leading the way. “I was rather rough throwing you to the ground.”

  “I’m well.” Mary glanced at him shyly and caught the relieved expression that flashed across his face.

  “Good,” he said, once again tucking her hand in the bend of his elbow. “I’d not like to hurt you in any way
.”

  She half smiled at that. “Surely a few bruises would be a fair exchange for not being shot.”

  He shook his head as he ushered her up the stairs. “Any injury at all is unacceptable.”

  “I thank you both for your concern.” She felt heat rising in her cheeks as she spoke. “And for saving my life.”

  Those devastating dimples came into play, though she thought she saw something grave behind his eyes. “Believe me when I say it was my pleasure.”

  His words made something warm inside her. It was very seductive, the way he cared for her. It made her long to surrender control. To unbend herself and let him worry about all her concerns and doubts.

  Seductive indeed.

  Perhaps too seductive?

  Mary bit her lip. The thought of relinquishing control, even to her future husband, made her uneasy. She’d been too long independent.

  They stepped onto the upper floor and followed the earl to the larger dining room. Mary could hear laughter from within. One of the footmen threw open the red-painted door and immediately Lady Angrove’s voice rang out. “William! See whom Joanna has brought back for luncheon.”

  Lady Angrove sat at one end of a long table, the marchioness seated to her left and Jo to her right. A large young man sat beside Jo, his light-brown eyes slightly protuberant beneath his white wig. He had a big chin and large nose and might have been homely if it weren’t for the wide smile on his face.

  He stood on their entrance, and Mary immediately recognized him. “Why, sir, it’s good to see you again, though I don’t think we were ever properly introduced.”

  “My lady,” he said, bowing. “I’m John Seymour, and I’m glad you’ve found your family.”

  “You know Johnny?” Jo asked, looking between them.

  The name jogged something in Mary’s memory, but Mr. Seymour was already speaking: “I was with Blackwell when he discovered Lady Cecilia at the bookshop.”

  “But you never told me.” Jo pouted rather attractively as Mary, the viscount, and the earl took seats. The earl was at the opposite end of the table from his wife, while Mary found herself between the marchioness and Lord Blackwell.