Indiscreet (4 page)

He was in a narrow passageway. It seemed like a miniature house. He almost felt as if he should duck his head to avoid hitting it on the ceiling.

She closed the door and stood facing it for longer than seemed strictly necessary. Then she turned to him and looked into his face. They were a very clear hazel, her eyes, with long brown lashes.

“There is no fire in the parlor,” she said. “I was not expecting callers. I was in the kitchen.”

There was an enticing smell of baking coming from the kitchen, and sure enough he could see as he entered it a tray of small cakes resting on a cloth on the table. It was a cozy room. It looked lived in. The rocker to one side of the fire had a brightly embroidered cushion on the seat. There was a lit lamp on the table beside it and a book opened facedown. The dog was lying on the chair.

He turned to look at Mrs. Winters. She was pale. Even her lips seemed to have lost color.

“Will you have a seat, my lord?” she asked suddenly, her hand indicating rather jerkily the chair at the other side of the fire.

“Thank you.” He crossed the room to it and seated himself as she did likewise on the rocker. The terrier had jumped down at her approach. She was graceful, he thought. Her back did not touch the chair, though there was nothing stiff about her posture. Then she jumped to her feet again.

“May I offer you a cup of tea?” she asked. “I am afraid I have nothing stronger.”

“Nothing, thank you,” he said. Now that he was here with her, he was enjoying the tension between them. And she was quite as aware of it as he. It was a greater tension than he had ever experienced with a woman before.

He watched her school herself to deal with the situation as she sat back down. She rested her hands in her lap, the back of one on the palm of the other, apparently relaxed.

“Did you enjoy your ride this afternoon, my lord?” she asked politely. “The countryside around here is pretty, is it not, even at this time of year.”

“Exceedingly pretty,” he said. “One part of it more than any other.”

“Oh?” Her mouth remained in the shape of the word. He imagined setting the tip of his tongue to the small opening.

“In the village,” he said. “At this end of it. We stopped to view it. Though I suppose it cannot strictly be called countryside.”

He watched her become aware of his meaning. She was one of the few women whose blush was becoming, he noticed.

She looked sharply down at her hands. “It must be pleasant for you to see your nephew and niece,” she said. “They do not often leave here. I suppose you have not seen a great deal of them.”

“Enough to suffice,” he said. “I discovered to my cost this morning that children have a tendency to believe that uncles are to be climbed upon.”

“And you do not like to be climbed upon?” she asked.

It was just too wicked a question to have been artless, though her blush deepened in the short pause before he replied.

“It depends entirely, Mrs. Winters,” he said, “upon who is doing the climbing. I can imagine it being very pleasurable indeed.”

She reached out one slippered foot to smooth over the back of the dog, which was stretched out before her. She lowered her eyes to watch what she did. Again it was an artful action. He felt his pulse quicken. But he was enjoying himself. He did not want to hasten matters, he realized, even if a late return to Bodley drew curious questions. He waited for her to renew the conversation.

Her eyes came up at last, hesitated on his chin, and then met his. “I do not know why you are here, my lord,” she said. “It is not quite proper.”

Ah. She was not as content as he to let the situation develop at its own pace. She wished to bring him to the point.

“I believe you do know,” he said. “And I assure you that no one saw me come here. There will be no gossip.”

“Someone who passes the length of the village street rarely goes unseen,” she said.

“I came by the postern door,” he said. “Perhaps you did not know that Claude and Daphne and I spent a great deal of time here with our grandparents when we were children.”

“Yes, of course,” she said. “Why are you here now? At my cottage, I mean?”

“I am bored, Mrs. Winters,” he said. “It seems likely that I will be at Bodley for several weeks, and while I am very fond of my brother and sister, and came here in company with two of my
closest male friends, I lack for congenial female company. I am bored, and my guess is that you are too. You are a widow in a place where there cannot be much in the way of social activity except when Clarissa condescends to invite you to the house. And there must be even less in the way of male company.”

Her hands were no longer relaxed. They were clasping each other. “I do not crave social pleasures,” she said. “And I have not looked for male company since—since the death of my husband. I am content as I am. I am neither bored nor lonely.”

She was going to pretend to indifference. Good. He was enjoying himself. And she was so beautiful to look at from some distance that he was in no hurry to lessen it. He did not want to touch her just yet. Anticipation brought its own pleasure.

“You are a liar, ma'am,” he said.

That silenced her for a few moments. Her eyes widened and she stared back at him. “And you are no gentleman, my lord,” she said at last.

He looked at her appreciatively, slim and prim and infinitely desirable.

“For the few weeks I am here we might as well alleviate each other's boredom,” he said.

“By such visits?” she asked. “They are not proper, my lord. I have no chaperone.”

“For which fact we may both say a prayer of thanksgiving tonight,” he said. “Yes, by such visits, ma'am. And do we really care about propriety? You are a widow and past the first blush of youth, if I may make so bold as to say so.”

“I—” She swallowed. “I do not believe your visiting here
would cure our boredom, my lord,” she said. “We appear to have very few topics of common interest on which to converse.”

She was priceless.

“Then I suppose we would have to entertain each other without words,” he said.

“What are you saying?” Her lips had lost their color again. They were lips that needed to be kissed.

“Did you never entertain your husband without words?” he asked her. “Or he you? With a wife of such obvious charms, I cannot imagine that he denied himself one of life's great pleasures.”

“You want me to be your whore,” she whispered.

“An ugly word,” he said. “Whores wander the streets, picking up random customers. I want you to be my mistress, Mrs. Winters.”

“There is no difference.” She was still whispering.

“On the contrary,” he said, “there is a great deal of difference. A man chooses a particular woman to be his mistress. If she is fortunate and is not living in straitened circumstances, a woman chooses the man who is to be her protector. It is not unlike a marriage in some ways.”

“In straitened circumstances,” she said. “Are you offering to pay me, my lord?”

He had wondered about it. He did not want to offend her, but she might be in need of more money. He was quite prepared to pay her.

“If you wish,” he said. “I am sure we can come to an amicable agreement.”

“You would pay me,” she said, “for lying with you? For going to bed with you? For allowing you access to my body?”

He could not have put it much more erotically himself.

“Yes, ma'am,” he said. “I would pay you. Though I would consider it as much my concern to give you pleasure as yours to give it to me.”

“Get out,” she said so quietly that it took him a moment to realize what she had said.

He raised his eyebrows. “Ma'am?”

“Get out,” she said much more distinctly, the flush returning to her face, her nostrils flaring. “Get out and never come back.”

The dog was sitting up and growling deep in his throat.

“You have led me to this moment,” he said, “only to tell me to get out? Have I misread the signs? There have been too many for me to be mistaken.”

She was on her feet. “Get out.”

He took his time about getting up. He looked closely at her. She meant what she was saying. There was no chance that she was playing hard to get. He
had
misread the signs. Or if he had not, he had misinterpreted them. She was a virtuous woman—why else would she have taken up residence in such a village? And she was a proud woman—he should never have admitted that he was prepared to pay her. She was attracted to him. Of that there was little doubt. But she had wanted a mild flirtation—something that did not interest him.

But perhaps if he had not rushed into a false interpretation, he might have led her by slow degrees from flirtation to dalliance to an affair. That might have taken weeks, though.

Now it was too late to find out how it might have turned out the other way.

“No,” he said as she opened her mouth to speak again, “you do not need to repeat it.” He got to his feet. “My heartfelt apologies, ma'am. Your servant.” He made her a curt bow before striding out into the passageway, picking up his hat, and letting himself out into the night.

The dog was barking inside the house again.

•   •   •

“TOBY.”
She sank back into the rocker and made no objection when the dog leapt up onto her lap and proceeded to make himself comfortable. She scratched his ears. “Toby, I have never been so insulted in all my life.”

She rested her head against the back of the chair and stared up at the ceiling. She laughed softly. Oh, yes, she had. Was there something about her that invited such insulting behavior?

Was there?

She had looked at him a few times and smiled at him twice when she had mistaken him for Mr. Adams. She had
not
looked at him this afternoon. And for that she had to suffer this? He had thought she would be his mistress? He had thought she would accept payment in return for opening her body to him on a bed?

“I am very angry, Toby,” she said. “Very angry indeed.”

She continued to scratch the dog's ears and stare upward as she cried, at first silently and then noisily.

What she would not admit even to Toby, of course, was that she had been wretchedly, horrifyingly tempted.

Her body was still aching for his touch.

C
ATHERINE
lay in bed the following morning, trying to feel symptoms that might keep her there. But her nasal passages were clear and there was no tickle in her throat; she swallowèd twice and tried to tell herself there was and that it would be wise to stay inside where it was warm rather than venture outside where she might worsen her chill and perhaps even pass it on to the children.

What chill?
She felt as healthy as she had ever felt. And from the brightness behind the drawn curtains, it looked like a perfect spring day outside.

No, she could not delay the inevitable. The truth was that it was one of the days for William and Juliana's music lesson and she dreaded going near Bodley House lest she run into
him.
She would die of mortification. The events of last evening seemed even
worse this morning than they had appeared at the time. He had visited her alone at her cottage. Her reputation would be severely damaged if anyone had seen him arrive or leave. And he had sat in her kitchen making improper advances and an even more improper proposal.

Oh, how dared he! What had she done to give him the impression that she would welcome such insolence? She knew the answer, of course. She had twice smiled at him, believing him to be Mr. Adams. But were two smiles irrefutable evidence that she was willing to be his whore?

She had tried so very hard to fit her new identity, to behave as a respectable widow. She had taken up residence in Bodley-on-the-Water and had done her best to be a part of village life. It had not been easy for a stranger to do. She had worked hard at being kind and friendly and neighborly. And she had won respect, she believed, and even affection from some. She had won a measure of peace and contentment.

“Oh, Toby.” She turned her head to look at her terrier, who was standing beside her bed. She laughed despite herself. He was always very patient when she was later than usual getting up, standing politely where she could see him, ears cocked and tongue lolling, letting her know by his persistent heavy breathing that he would be most grateful to be let outside within the next half hour or so. “Am I being a dreadful slugabed this morning?” She swung her legs determinedly over the side of the bed and pulled on her warm dressing gown. “Come along, then.”

He trotted out of the bedchamber ahead of her and bobbed down the steep stairs and along the passageway to the back door.

She spoke to his waving tail. “It is not fair, you know,” she said. “And I have not even the glimmering of a headache to keep me home with you. Do you suppose I could pretend to believe that there will be no lessons today, Toby, because the children's mama and papa have so recently returned home?”

Toby did not answer but trotted smartly through the door when she opened it for him.

And then she felt angry. It
was
a beautiful day. The sky was blue with hardly a cloud visible. She could hear the water gurgling over the stones at the bottom of the garden. There was a freshness in the air that made her shiver for a moment, though she did not close the door. By the afternoon, if there was no drastic change, it would probably be warm. It was the sort of day on which she would normally go for a long walk with Toby.

And she would go too if she still felt like doing so after returning from Bodley House. She would not be able to go out at all if she made illness an excuse for not going this morning.

Why should she not go? Just because she might accidentally run into Viscount Rawleigh? Why should she avoid him? She had done no wrong unless letting him inside her house last evening had been wrong. But his visit had taken her so much by surprise that she had not even thought of refusing his entrance.

She was not going to avoid him. Or hang her head if she saw him again. Or blush or stammer or otherwise give him the satisfaction of knowing that he had discomposed her.

She was still angry—very angry—that the female state made one so weak, gave one such little freedom. She was angry that the world of men had so little use in it for women except in one
capacity. She was angry that it was a man's world she lived in. For a few moments, until Toby came trotting back into the house and she closed the door, she felt the old raw and empty feeling of helplessness. But she was not going to feed such negative emotions. She had fought too hard for her peace to have it shattered by a heartless, arrogant rake who believed that because she had smiled at him twice she would smile a third time as he climbed into her bed to take his pleasure of her.

“Toby,” she said as she set about building a fire in the kitchen so that she could boil the kettle for her morning tea, “I should have got myself a female dog. Perhaps a female would not assume that the most comfortable chair in the house must have been designed for her exclusive use. How many times have I told you that you may
not
jump onto my rocker?”

Toby, wriggling into a position of comfort on the embroidered cushion that covered the seat of the rocker, panted at her and thumped his tail, pleased at the attention he was getting. He stayed where he was.

She was going to walk to Bodley House after breakfast to give the children their lessons, just as she always did, she decided. And this afternoon she would take Toby for a long walk. She would behave just as she would if there were no guests at the house. She was
not
going to start hiding or creeping about in fear that she might come face-to-face with him around every corner.

“And that, Toby,” she said firmly, brushing coal dust off her hands as the fire caught, “is that.”

Toby thumped his tail agreeably.

•   •   •

VISCOUNT
Rawleigh had been out riding with Mr. and Mrs. Adams, Sir Clayton and Lady Baird, Lord Pelham, Miss Veronica Lipton, and Miss Ellen Hudson. They had taken the route north over rolling hills, from which they were able to feast their eyes on several impressive views. It was a glorious day for early spring even if the air was a little nippy.

But the viscount was feeling decidedly out of sorts by the time they rode home. His sister-in-law had maneuvered matters in such a way that he had not only ridden with Miss Hudson most of the way—he had expected that and resigned himself to it—but had also been separated from the rest of the group for much of the distance. He was not sure how she had managed it—Clarissa could be very devious when she set her heart on a certain matter.

Did Clarissa expect him to drop from sight behind some boulder with her sister in order to kiss her soundly and so compromise her that he would be compelled to offer for her and even dash back to London for a special license? He had no intention of being tricked or even nudged in the direction of matrimony, especially with someone as essentially insipid as Ellen Hudson. Not that he disliked the girl or wished her ill, and perhaps it was even ill-natured of him to think of her as insipid. She would doubtless do very well with some gentleman who did not awe her into
incoherence. Unfortunately he appeared to have just such an effect on the girl.

He wondered as they at last rode their horses into the stable what Clarissa had in mind for the rest of the morning. A cozy tête-à-tête for him and Miss Hudson in the morning room, while all its other occupants were called upon to run mysterious errands that would take them out of the way? A request that he accompany Miss Hudson into the village to purchase some essential item, like a length of ribbon? He could be quite sure that whatever it was, there would be something.

He drew alongside Daphne and sent her a look that he hoped she would find sufficiently imploring. She obviously did. Her eyes went from him to Miss Hudson and she smiled with understanding and even perhaps sympathy. She winked.

“Rex,” she said loudly and brightly, linking her arm through his as soon as they had dismounted, “I promised our nephew and niece that I would look in on their music lesson if I was back in time from our ride. Do come along with me. You are, after all, their only uncle. Not counting Clayton, of course, who is their uncle by marriage. But Clayton is promised to play billiards with Nathaniel.”

“Be sure to praise their efforts,” Claude said, grinning. “Will was hinting just yesterday that playing that pianoforte is not a manly occupation. Yet Clarissa insists that it is a gentlemanly accomplishment. Encourage him to obey his mama, will you?”

Lord Rawleigh offered his sister his arm and walked determinedly away with her. Not that he was quite sure he had not merely exchanged the frying pan for the fire. It was Mrs.
Catherine Winters who taught the children music, was it not? He winced inwardly. He had no burning desire to encounter her again yet. But it seemed he was about to do just that unless the music lessons were already over.

For a short while last evening he had even contemplated having his bags packed and taking his leave this morning. He could return to Stratton for a few weeks and then proceed to London. But life was never that simple. He had accepted his invitation from Clarissa. It would be ill-mannered in the extreme to leave almost before he had arrived, especially as Eden and Nat might well decide to leave with him.

Eden and Nat! They had teased him mercilessly after his return last evening. They had guessed his purpose in deciding to take the evening air, of course. And yet the briefness of his outing had indicated to them that he had met failure. He would be a long time living this ignominy down, he guessed.

And now it seemed he was about to meet her again. So soon. But perhaps it was as well. There could be no avoiding her altogether if he was to spend another few weeks at Bodley. He might as well get this first meeting over with. Convince her by his manner that last evening had been a thoroughly insignificant incident in his life.

He doubted he had slept an hour last night.

“Poor Rex,” his sister said, laughing and squeezing his arm. “I can see that in some ways it must be wretched to have inherited the title and the property and the fortune and to be single and handsome. Not that it would be any easier for you if you looked like the ugliest of bulldogs, I suppose. You are irresistibly
marriageable to anyone related to a single female between the ages of sixteen and thirty. But if Clarissa had any sense, she would realize that this is a quite impossible match. Ellen has acquired no real town bronze yet despite a Season last year. Though she is, of course, a sweet girl. And pretty.”

“Thank you for rescuing me,” he said dryly. “And I daresay Miss Hudson is silently blessing you too. She looks at me as if she expects that at any moment I am going to pick her up with one hand and devour her. What did we do to deserve Clarissa as a sister-in-law, Daphne? I do believe I must have been mad to have accepted her invitation. I knew what was in store for me.”

“But it is so lovely to be together in one place, the three of us,” she said, squeezing his arm again. “It happens so rarely. We all live so far apart. I miss you and Claude despite a happy marriage. Do you still pine for Horatia Eckert?”

“I never did
pine,
” he said, his jaw tightening. “I fell madly in love during the short interval between the Peninsula and Waterloo, got myself betrothed in indecent haste, and might well have lived to regret it. It was as well that she also fell in love—after I had left for Brussels and with someone else.”

“With a practiced seducer and fortune hunter,” she said. “He is notorious for preying on young, inexperienced girls, especially when they have wealthy papas. He has even ruined a few innocents. Fortunately he has never yet achieved his goal of winning a wealthy bride. It is amazing to me that someone has not put a bullet between his eyes before now. Don't be too harsh on
Horatia, Rex. She was very young and very impressionable. And you were gone to war. And nothing came of it after all.”

“Perhaps,” he said through his teeth, “because the size of her fortune had been greatly exaggerated. I was well out of it, Daphne, and would appreciate not being reminded of it.”

“And therein lies a contradiction,” she said. “You would not be reluctant to talk of the matter if it had left you as unscarred as you always claim.”

“No man likes being reminded of his humiliation at the hands of a woman,” he said, wincing inwardly at his memories of the previous evening. “She did break our engagement, Daphne. That made me look somewhat—well, undesirable.”

“Undesirable? You?” She laughed again. “Rex. Have you looked at yourself in a glass lately?”

But he was not inclined to continue the conversation. He could hear music coming through the French windows of the room. The windows had been opened a little to admit the fresh spring air. Someone was playing scales.

The music lesson was still in progress, then. Damn!

“Ah,” his sister said, “good. We are not too late.”

The occupants of the room were unaware of their presence for all of a minute or two. All three of them had their backs to the windows. Juliana was sitting on a chair writing in what appeared to be a theory book. William was at the pianoforte, playing scales. Mrs. Winters was standing behind him.