Her Proper Scoundrel (13 page)

Christopher rose to his feet as well.

“I must bid you good night,” Josceline said. “Thank you for a lovely evening.” All of a sudden, she felt awkward, shy.

“And I must thank you for the lovely company.”

Giving him a weak smile, she started towards the door. She kept her gaze firmly at her feet, afraid if she looked at him, her eyes would betray her desire to stay with him longer.

Head down, she wobbled to the door to spy a pair of polished black boots. She looked up.

Christopher leaned against the doorway, blocking her way. He straightened and held out an elbow to her. “It’s not a carriage, but it should get you home.”

“There’s no need.” She shook her head emphatically. “I’m perfectly capable of finding my room.”

“I would be sorely amiss if I didn’t ensure the well-being of my guests.” Again he held out his arm.

“Bully,” she muttered but she gave him a saucy grin as she took his arm.

A delicious thrill ran through her at the strong arm beneath her fingers. She tightened her grip, taking delight in the close contact and the last few precious minutes with him.

Most of the staff had long retired for the night and although Midland House was silent, their way was well lit. Candles flickered everywhere and as they walked through the dark hallways and stairs, dancing shadows surrounded them.

At her door, Christopher paused. She tried to tug her hand away but he refused, clasping it firmly to his elbow with his free hand.

Christopher hadn’t thought the chance to kiss her another time would arrive so soon but he meant to take full advantage of the opportunity. He glanced about. The hall was empty, the occasion ideal.

“Josceline,” he whispered, looking down at her questioning face. He couldn’t wait to taste her lips once more.

He’s going to kiss me again.

The frantic thought pummeled Josceline’s mind. A kiss she desperately wanted but a kiss which would only draw her deeper into hopeless dreams.

The world dropped away as she stared at the lips slanted tantalizingly close to hers. Her pulse raced then gradually slowed as desire for him trickled through her veins, thickening her blood, slowing her heart until she became stillness itself.

Desire and good sense waged a silent battle within her.

Desire won.

Just for tonight
. And tonight was not yet over.

She tipped her head upwards and lost herself in his dark gaze. A kiss to end a perfect evening. His arms tightened around her, his head lowered.

A screech sounded down the hallway behind them. A mewling fluffy white bundle scrabbled around the corner followed by two child-like wraiths.

At the sight of Josceline and Christopher, Philip and Tom skidded to a panting halt, eyes wide with apprehension. The kitten skittered past them and bounded away down the hall.

Beneath her chest she could feel Christopher’s groan. He dropped his arms and stepped back.

Josceline moved away, not knowing whether to laugh with relief that she had been rescued from her emotions, or cry with frustration over the lost opportunity.

“Boys, off to bed with you,” Christopher commanded.

His voice held annoyance, and dare she believe, a hint of regret?

“Yes sir, we’re sorry, sir.” Philip took charge. “Come, Tom, we’ll play with the kitten tomorrow.” Arm in arm, the two shuffled off and disappeared back the way they came.

Josceline took advantage of the interruption, letting good sense win this battle.

“Good night,” she squeaked, squeezing past Christopher’s shoulder to push open the door to her room and step inside. It swung shut behind her but she could still hear his throaty chuckle.

“Good night, Josceline. I vow, next time you shan’t escape so easily.”

Josceline plucked the handkerchief from its hiding spot behind the frame and stumbled to the bed. Plopping down, she held it close to her nose to inhale the scent of citrus and leather.

She couldn’t remember ever having enjoyed a meal so much. And it hadn’t been only the repast.

No, how she enjoyed his appreciative gaze on her, his questions as if he really wanted to know the answer, his way of making her feel as if she was an intelligent human being.

That night she slept with the handkerchief tucked under her pillow.

* * *

Christopher’s erection throbbed mercilessly as he stood outside Josceline’s room. How he wanted to follow her to her bed. But she was the daughter of a duke and merited his respect. She would make a fine wife for someone.

Why not him?

The idea took root. Josceline as his wife. Would she accept him as her husband? She would if he could make her love him. For that was what she had said earlier – she wished to marry for love.

A sobering reality hit him. If he took her to wife, he would have to disclose his terrible secret. Then there was the awkward notion of her birth. He wasn’t of her class.

But if he married her, he would be. Perhaps not actually, but technically he would move in her social circles. Lady Oakland and her ilk would no longer prove a barrier to him.

The more he thought on it, the more he liked the idea of Josceline as his wife. And the more he liked the idea, the more outlandish it seemed.

And the more outlandish it seemed, the more impossible it became to attain. Prudence would dictate he not follow the path of an unattainable fantasy.

Chapter Twelve

Josceline spent Saturday in her room mending. Two days had passed since the wonderful dinner with Christopher.

Two days where she’d dreamed of him constantly.

Two days where he’d been distant and preoccupied.

Two days where she’d gone out of her way to catch a glimpse of him.

Two days where he’d blatantly avoided her, so much so, he’d cancelled his dance lessons.

What troubled him? Had she been too forward that evening? She hadn’t thought so but to be sure, her memories of it were misty and overlaid with a golden haze of pleasure.

The needle slipped, pricking her finger. A drop of blood welled and she popped the finger in her mouth. Balderdash. That was the fourth time today and if she were to have any fingers left, she had better keep her mind on her task.

With a rueful moue, she held up a pair of already much mended stockings to inspect them – the thin silk of the heels made it difficult to sew. She bent her head and carefully began to stitch, grateful to the obliging Mrs. Belton who had provided her with needle, thread and scissors.

From where she sat she could see the sweep of the front drive. The dull pewter sky spewed a fine rain that silvered the cobblestones and washed away winter’s dust. A week or two more and cheery jonquils would poke their heads through to signal the start of spring, Josceline’s favorite season. A little smile played on her lips at the thought. Spring lasted about three months and then she and her foolish heart could be on her way.

At the sound of reckless hoof beats, she lifted her head to see Christopher on horseback pelting up the driveway. He leapt off his mount, throwing the reins to the footman before storming up the front steps.

Even from this distance, she noticed the murderous set of his face and the deep scowl on his jaw. A few seconds later, she heard him bellow for Tedham then the ferocious slam of a door shook the floor.

What could have happened to provoke this display of temper? It did not correspond with what she had learned of him during their dance lessons together. Even during those moments of frustration, his self-control – due, no doubt, to his naval background - was in evidence as he never raised his voice or grumbled.

She put aside her sewing. Mindlessly she stared at the spatters of rain pricking the window panes and tried to make sense of his behavior. It was none of her concern yet she couldn’t stop puzzling over it and what had happened to provoke it.

The little mantel clock chimed four times, a rapid ding ding ding ding disturbing her reverie as surely as if someone had rapped her on the head four times with a sharp knuckle. Time for tea. Pausing only to smooth her hair, she made her way to the sitting room, expecting to find it empty.

To her surprise, a brooding Christopher had already arrived. He sat in the leather chair, elbows propped on the arms, chin resting on his fist. One booted foot dangled over his knee, the other tapped the floor. His eyes were bleak as he watched her approach.

“What happened? You look troubled.” Uncertain, Josceline lowered herself into her chair. It wasn’t her place to question his mood but she had to know what had beset him so. She regarded him with steady eyes and composed face although inside her heart beat a happy cadence at the sight of him.

He looked for a moment as if he wouldn’t answer then he ground out the words, forcing them out as if they were as distasteful as sour berries.

“I paid a call to that idiot Lord Candel today.” He avoided her gaze.

“And what of Lord Candel?” She made her voice light. “He comes from a fine family.”
 

“The man is a scurrilous rogue,” he growled, “with the manners of an oaf. The butler denied me entrance. As I stood on the front porch, Candel gave me the cut direct. He walked past me as if I did not exist.” He glanced at her. “Do you know of him?”

“Everyone knows of the Candel family. They forged an illustrious military career on the Continent, garnering the undying gratitude of King George. Lord and Lady Thaddeus Candel are favorites at court and at all the assemblies for they are a gracious couple. The son, however, is a different matter. Oliver is a feckless rake and has been dunned out of London.”

“Oliver.” Christopher slammed his fist on the arm of his chair. “I followed him as he walked to his carriage to call him on his manners. It gets worse.” He stopped and looked her fully in the face. “He promised he would spread the tale of the two lads unless I stop harassing him.”

“A tale which tattling tongues will spread far and wide,” Josceline concluded. “Odd how two little boys can cause such hullabaloo.”

She meant it as a jest and was rewarded with a wry snort and a momentary lightening of his expression.

“The tale may have no bearing if Lady Oakland does not support it,” she added hopefully.

“We do not know what Lady Oakland believes.” The scowl returned.

Josceline sat for a moment, head spinning. “What is he to you?” she asked at length. “You spoke of him the night you stopped my carriage.”

Christopher hesitated. “The man owes me a gambling debt. And I mean to have it.”

“What is this debt you are so determined to recover that you are willing to face social ruin?”

With hooded eyes, he scoured her face long and hard. His reluctance to confide in her was palpable; she leaned towards him as if to tease the words out of him.

“A ship,” he answered finally. “A cargo ship, to be precise. The fool lost heavily at the gaming tables throughout that evening and at the end had only the ship’s deed to wager with. Wiser heads counseled him to withdraw but he refused, bragging that a single ship meant nothing to him.”

 
“There you may be mistaken,” she said thoughtfully. “The Candel family dabbles in shipping and owns ships that ply out of Bristol. Hence Oliver being here. How odd he would risk losing it. He is well aware of its value.”

He sank his jaw onto his fists and closed his eyes for a second. “When I bested him he accused me of cheating and refused to surrender the deed.”
  

 
Her ire rose at the unfairness of it all. “Certainly there were other gentlemen who saw the entire episode,” she exclaimed.

“Aye.” Christopher nodded morosely. “But none stood up for me for I am unknown here. I need that ship, Josceline.” He got to his feet and began to pace. “I simply don’t have the means to buy a vessel of my own. Needless to say, a captain without a ship is nothing.”

“You mean to become a merchant captain yet you don’t own a ship?” Josceline tried, and failed, to keep astonishment from her voice.

 
He nodded again, his lips twisted. “My original idea involved striking an arrangement with one of the local merchants here to earn a share in a ship in exchange for my services. I couldn’t believe my good luck when Candel wagered the “Bessie”. I know of her for since arriving in Bristol, I’ve investigated the local ship yards. She’s a sturdy vessel and well suited for the transatlantic trade. It seemed my prayers were answered.”

“Until Candel reneged. Well, knowing his reputation, I cannot say I’m surprised to hear of his duplicity.”

“If it were only the ship, I would hound Candel and be done with it. However, I need social standing if I mean to join the Society of Merchant Venturers. That will give me assured success for members are given the choicest berths and docks.” He rubbed his temples. “What rotten luck for him to have seen us leaving St. Peter’s.”

“Would it be too difficult for you to proceed with your original plan?” As soon as she said it, she wished she could take back the words for his face became a stone mask.