She rolled her eyes. “The very one.”
“I take it you harbor bad memories of your courtship.”
“You could say that.”
When she refused to elaborate, he adopted a tone of nonchalance. “I actually met the viscount once, but what I most remember is his fine boots. I asked where he’d had them made, and he told me the name of a fancy cobbler in Oxford Street. That was the extent of our conversation.” He studied her a moment. “I talked to his wife a bit longer, however. She was pretty, but a simpering fool without a brain in her head. She doesn’t hold a candle to you.”
“Is she lame?” she snapped as her gaze shot to him, hard as stone.
Ah, at last she’d said it. The bitter words made him want to haul her onto his lap and demonstrate how very little her lameness meant to a man of good sense.
He chose his answer carefully. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
She sucked in a ragged breath. “It means she’ll make him a better wife than I.”
“Why? It’s not as if you’d have to cook and clean for him, or do anything that required full use of your leg. You have servants to do everything, so it shouldn’t make a difference one way or t’other.”
“On the contrary, it makes even more of a difference. Well-bred young ladies should be perfect embodiments of womanhood.” She recited it as if it came from a rule book like the one the groom had handed him out of her bag earlier.
“Ballocks,” he retorted.
She gaped at him. “Wh-what?”
“You heard me. Ballocks, all of it. Maybe
you
think you have to be perfect, but nobody else does. I doubt even Farnsworth thought it.”
Her eyes glittered in the dimming light of the carriage.
“Frankly, I have no idea what he thought. Unlike you, I’m no expert on the opposite sex. What I do know is that Lord Farnsworth courted me only as long as he believed I had a fortune. Once he discovered I did not, he ran as fast as his fine boots from Oxford Street could carry him.”
“Then he was a fool, lass,” he said earnestly, “and you deserve better.”
She caught her breath, emotions flowing across her face in rapid succession—surprise, then hope, and finally disbelief. After a moment, she tore her gaze away.
“Actually, he was much cleverer than the ones who came after him. He had the good sense to pretend to care for me. He was always giving me elaborate compliments and treating me with cordial concern.” Her tone grew brittle. “But I was on my guard for the others. Besides, since they knew from the outset that I had a lame leg and only my rank to recommend me, their attempts to woo me were rather halfhearted.”
The way she lumped all the men together inexplicably irritated him. “Did you ever stop to think that it might not have been your leg that repulsed them? P’raps they got tired of your bitter tongue and frosty manner. P’raps Farnsworth did, too.”
“I did not
have
a bitter tongue when Lord Farnsworth was courting me; that came later. You see, I was fool enough to believe his compliments. I fancied myself in love with him.” Her soft sigh tore at him. “Indeed, I was always perfectly amiable to him. More than amiable.”
The words hit him broadside. He suddenly found himself hating Farnsworth with great virulence, not only for hurting Helena, but for gaining her love before he dealt the final blow.
And what the devil did she mean,
more than amiable?
“Is that why you’re so good at kissing?” he said without
thinking. “Because you practiced so much with Farnsworth?”
She blinked at him. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“Your being ‘more than amiable’ to his bloody lordship, that’s what.”
She drew herself up in outrage. “I only meant that I was sociable, not that I…you couldn’t possibly think that I…” Her voice hardened. “Oh, that is so much like a man—to boast of his own association with half the strumpets in London, then criticize a woman for even speaking to another man in a friendly way. You seduce me into kissing
you,
but chide me for possibly kissing
him!
How dare you?”
Struck speechless by her ire, he stared at her a long moment. Then he shook his head, shocked by the strength of the jealousy she’d roused. She had a good reason for her tirade, though he’d be damned if he let her know what had provoked his unguarded speech.
And must she speak of their kiss as if he’d forced it upon her? “I’m sorry, lass,” he said, struggling to contain his emotions and sound sincere. “You’re perfectly right. It was a foolish and unfair thing to say.”
Apparently she sensed he wasn’t saying everything, for she cast him a wary glance. “It certainly was.”
“You can kiss whoever you want,” he assured her.
Though I’d prefer it to be me.
He squelched that thought, and deliberately turned the conversation back into safer waters. “Certainly, you can be amiable to whoever you want.”
“Thank you so much for giving me permission.” She tipped up her nose, apparently still miffed. “But I know you think me incapable of amiability.”
“Not a’tall. You were perfectly amiable during our luncheon today.”
And even more so afterward
…Bloody
hell, why couldn’t he keep his randy thoughts off that kiss?
“You’re not saying that just to flatter me, are you?” She dragged her pelisse about her as if the flimsy fabric would provide some protection from him.
A smile tugged at his lips. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Because you do have a tendency to flatter women, you know.”
“Do I?” Was she thinking of that bloody Farnsworth, the one who paid her insincere compliments?
“You do. Even Griff says you could talk your way into a queen’s good graces.”
He shrugged. “That isn’t flattery. Flattery’s when a man lies to a woman about what she is. I don’t do that. I look for the hidden part of a woman, the virtues inside even the shyest or most arrogant, and I speak to that part, the best part. That’s all.”
“You mean, the way you ferreted out the one virtue of that nasty woman at the inn—her willingness to work hard?”
“That mightn’t have been her only virtue, y’know. I realize she rubbed you wrong with her comment about the Irish, and I didn’t much like it myself. But a woman like that has a hard life. It can turn even the best woman sour. You can’t hold it against her if it comes out in foolish opinions. You never know—she might have been robbed by an Irishman once.” He lowered his voice. “It’s no different than you, seeing every man as untrustworthy because of Fickle Farnsworth.”
“But I don’t!”
“Oh, but you do. Or you wouldn’t be so suspicious of my compliments.”
“I have good reason for being suspicious, and well you know it. Last summer—”
“Let’s settle one thing: I meant every compliment I paid you last summer, no matter what you think. I’ve never lied to you, not once, except to pretend to be Griff.” He’d been evasive, but never out-and-out lied. “What’s more, I promise never to do so.”
He glanced down at her hands, curled up into defensive fists in her lap, then back to her wary face. “And surely you can’t think I had any motive for kissing you this afternoon except honest desire.”
Her eyes glittered. “The ‘nice dowry’ Griff gave me had nothing to do with it, I’m sure.”
The words fell between them like a cannon shot, setting off a wild, hot fury in his breast. She might as well have slapped him. Indeed, he would’ve preferred it. Nor did it help that she’d confirmed his suspicions about her—that she’d turn on him in a heartbeat. “That’s a low blow, Helena, and one I don’t deserve.”
Remorse instantly flooded her cheeks. “All right, perhaps it is. But I do have some reason for it. You were willing to take money from Griff to court us—or have you forgotten that?”
He glowered at her. “P’raps I should disabuse you of some foolish notions you have. I’m not so poor or lacking in prospects as you think. I left Griff’s employ because I was already earning more on my own than as his man of affairs. But even before that, I’d started putting away substantial monies. At present, I have ten thousand pounds in a fund that I touch only when necessary. If I continue to live modestly, and my business continues to grow, I’ll have twice that sum in a year.”
He took a grim satisfaction from the look of shock on her face. She was so bloody conventional. She couldn’t think outside the narrow lines drawn for her by her governesses and father and God knew who else.
“Yes,” he continued, “I did accept Griff’s offer of money to court you three. That’s how I started my fund in the first place—by doing unusual tasks for Griff. But he didn’t pay me to give you false compliments, nor would I have done it if he had. And in fact, I never took a penny of what he offered me. I’m not the least worried about my financial future, so I assure you that no dowry of three thousand pounds could tempt me to kiss a woman I didn’t desire.”
With that little speech, he knocked on the ceiling of the carriage to signal the driver to stop. He’d rather ride up there in the wind and the cold than spend one more minute in Helena’s frosty presence.
“Daniel—” she began.
“Don’t. I’m too bloody angry right now to hear any more. If you can’t see that a man might desire you for something other than your damned money or station, if you insist on thinking so little of yourself, then I don’t s’pose there’s much I can do about it. But I don’t have to put up with your thinking so little of me.”
The coach shuddered to a halt, and he flung open the door. He’d been right to caution himself against her. Figures encased in glass domes weren’t meant to be set free; they were meant to be kept on their little pedestals and admired from afar.
Because trying to free them gave a man nothing but glass shards in his fist.
Here’s to the man who drinks dark ale
And goes to bed quite mellow.
He lives as he ought to live…
For he’s a jolly good fellow.
“Three Jolly Coachmen,”
anonymous ballad
H
elena sat on a chair in the common room of the Rose and Crown, waiting for Daniel to return from speaking with the innkeeper about a room. Thankfully, she could walk with the help of her cane now, though not stand for any length of time.
Daniel probably would have balked at carrying her in, anyway. He hadn’t spoken to her since their arrival. Not that she blamed him after her patently unfair accusations.
She knew he was not pursuing her for her dowry or anything ridiculous like that; he wasn’t pursuing her at all—at least not as a wife. Plain desire had fueled his kiss, not courtship.
But when he’d implied that she’d shared intimacies with Lord Farnsworth, it had made her so angry! Especially when he wasn’t the least ashamed of all
his
dalliances.
That was why she found his compliments suspect—because he gave them so indiscriminately. She’d never wanted to believe other men’s compliments as badly as she wanted to believe Daniel’s, which made him dangerous to her peace of mind.
Now there’d be no compliments at all. How she wanted him to greet her with his easy smile again, to fuss over her again.
To not be so very angry at her.
She sighed. She had sunk low indeed to be craving the attentions of such a rascal.
Daniel entered the room, his manner as stony as when he’d left her there. “The innkeeper says there’s only one room available. We’d best go on to Tunbridge Wells.”
“But you said this was the best place to—”
“I know what I said. We’re
not
sharing a room, and that’s the end of it.”
“I don’t mind sharing, if we have to.”
His gaze pinned her in place. “
I
mind.”
“It’s only for one night.” She lowered her voice as the innkeeper entered. “And if it will help us find them, we should do it.” At least it would give her the chance to apologize. He could hardly avoid her in close quarters.
“Meaning to change your mind, sir?” the innkeeper asked as he approached. “Your missus looks right peaked, and the room I got is large enough for two.”
And Daniel
had
said this was the ideal spot for gather
ing information. “Yes, my dear, I’m much too tired to go on. Can’t we just stay here?”
Daniel glared at her, a muscle working in his jaw. She swallowed. Lord, it was going to be a very long night.
He swore under his breath and turned to the innkeeper. “Have you an extra mattress I can throw on the floor?”
“You won’t want to sleep there, sir—”
“My wife’s leg pains her at night, so we don’t share a bed. We won’t be staying here unless you provide us with a second mattress. I’m willing to pay for it.”
The innkeeper shrugged. “I suppose that can be arranged.”
“All right. Then give us the room.”
Helena sagged with relief. Truth be told, she did not wish to spend one more minute in that wretched coach, with or without Daniel.
The innkeeper beamed. “I’m sure you’ll find the accommodations more than sufficient, sir. Come right this way and I’ll show you to your room. Then I’ll see to having the mattress brought up.”
As the man headed for the stairs, Daniel approached to help her stand, then put his arm around her waist so she could lean on him. “Don’t think this changes anything between us,” he muttered as they made their way behind the innkeeper.
“I don’t.” Though surely he could not stay angry at her forever. “I
am
sorry, you know. I should never have said what I did.”
“It’s too late to take it back. At least now I know what you really think of me.”
“But Daniel—”
“Enough, Helena. I don’t wish to discuss it.”
Now who was being unfair? She felt his ire in the stiffness of his arm, in the way he touched her as little as pos
sible. She missed his teasing and solicitude. She’d been foolish indeed to make him so cross.
They climbed the stairs in silence. She didn’t need his help half so much as she pretended, but her enjoyment at having his arm about her waist prodded her to keep up the pretense.