Chapter One #2
His lips twisted at her telling torrent of words.
Basic was right. The room had a small bed, strewn with woollen blankets, a thick faded rug covering the wooden floor and a worn, chipped cabinet up the corner.
Still, he found himself wanting to reassure her.
‘It will do—it is only for one night after all.’
He shrugged off his sodden coat, glad to be free of it at last, and threw it over the door so that it could dry out. When he turned back towards her, her eyes dipped to his chest, and he looked down to see his damp shirt was clinging to his skin.
She snapped her gaze back to his, a flush of heat flaring in her cheeks. ‘I will send up some supper shortly.’
Her arm brushed against his as she rushed to step past him, to escape through the door, and a jolt of lust awakened his blood.
Using one of the rough blankets to pat his shirt dry, he was almost glad when she was gone.
He didn’t like the direction of his thoughts.
He knew better than to seduce a serving maid and cause a scandal.
His family had already suffered enough disgrace to last a lifetime.
Besides, affairs of the heart only led to grief.
If he knew what was good for him, he would eat some supper and get a good night’s rest before tackling the mess he’d made of his vehicle—and his life—in the morning.
Only all his good intentions went out the window when Beatrice returned with a tray full of bread, cold meats, cheeses and pickled vegetables.
Taking the wobbling tray from her, their fingers grazed, making his skin burn and his resolve waver.
When she reached into her apron pocket and produced the rest of the bottle of brandy, he knew he was done for.
‘I smuggled this up here for you,’ she whispered conspiratorially. ‘Please take it as my apology for the part I played in ruining your evening. I didn’t mean to startle you in the road. Where were you heading in such haste?’
‘Truth be told, it was more who I was trying to escape from.’
‘Oh?’
‘My father.’ He shrugged, leaning against the door-frame.
‘Then perhaps I’ve assisted you in your perfect getaway,’ she teased. ‘Can I help you with anything else before I hang up my apron for the night?’
He looked at her sharply, but her face was serious.
Innocent. There had been no hint of suggestion in her words.
He almost wished there had been, for he wasn’t ready to let her out of his sight.
She was so refreshingly sweet, not like the conniving, predatory women he knew in the ton, but captivating.
Real. And in that moment, his fierce attraction didn’t care about status, his resentment towards his father’s control pushing him to throw caution to the wind.
‘Share this with me,’ he said, brandishing the bottle in his hand. ‘Join me for a picnic supper on the rug? Let it be my apology for almost running you down.’
Her beautiful tawny-brown eyes widened. She bit her lip—was she tempted?
He held his breath. She glanced over her shoulder, down the stairs, perhaps wondering if anyone had seen her come up there, or if they thought she had already retired to bed. Turning back to face him, she gave a small nod. ‘Just for a little while.’
Bea stepped into the chamber and looked around, wringing her hands, unsure what she was doing.
Usually she cleaned or made up the bed in this room; now she was uncertain how to behave—she had never been in this situation before where she’d had such an invitation from a stranger.
An overwhelmingly attractive stranger. But men such as this one never walked into her life and she was fascinated, so she had found herself accepting his offer.
He was striking, his expressive blue eyes rimmed by thick lashes, and he had high, sculpted cheekbones and a wide, angular jaw, which was cleanly shaven.
She had been taken by him the moment she’d looked up into his wet and furious face outside, knowing he was angrier with himself than he had been with her.
The door clicked shut and she jumped, spinning around. He leaned against it, watching her as she stalked around the chamber, unsure where to put herself.
‘Mr Smith. Is that your real name?’ she asked him. He must be a man of the ton, and yet she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the details, fearing it would somehow create a divide between them—a gulf that had so far been ignored.
‘No, it’s not. It’s Edward.’
‘Edward,’ she repeated, smiling. It put them on an even keel. She lowered herself down to sit on the rug—it felt far too inappropriate to sit on the bed.
‘Forgive me, I offered you a drink,’ he said, coming off the door and pouring some of the brandy into the glass before offering it to her. She took a nervous sip and the amber liquid burned her throat, making her cough a little.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, his lips twitching.
‘It’s stronger than I thought,’ she said, recovering herself. The alcohol instantly warmed her stomach, helping to ease the knots of tension just a little.
She returned the glass to him as he came to sit beside her on the rug, leaning his back against the bed and stretching out his long legs. He took a sip himself, their gazes meeting over the rim.
Her stomach chose that moment to rumble and she was mortified, but he threw his head back and laughed. He reached for the tray and brought it down onto the floor between them. ‘Please, do help yourself. I think you need sustenance more than me.’
‘I’m always famished after my shift.’ She popped a piece of cheese in her mouth, a burst of creamy flavours yielding on her tongue. ‘So, what were you saying, about your father? Why are you trying to escape him?’
He sighed and took another sip of brandy. She could tell he was deliberating telling her what was troubling him, but after another swig of the alcohol, he relented.
‘You were not far off when you mentioned the tale of Phaeton earlier. Mine is also a story of ambition, identity—and disaster.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m sure it can’t be as grave as it appears.’
He topped up the glass again and passed it back to her. She was prepared for the strength of the alcohol this time and was pleased when she swallowed it smoothly.
‘I finished my studies at Oxford and have recently returned from my Grand Tour of Europe, but my father and I do not see eye to eye on what I intend to do next. There is a dilapidated mill on the Thames I desperately want to purchase and revive. It is an incredible space,’ he said animatedly. ‘It could be perfect…’
‘Yet your father doesn’t approve?’
‘Exactly. As the second son, I am required to make my own way in the world, but in those few professions deemed acceptable—the law, the military, the church or politics.’
‘And you don’t want to go into any of those?’
‘Right again. My father is offended—he believes I am rebelling against him and our class. I am not,’ he said, shaking his handsome head, a strand of hair falling across his eyes.
‘The last thing I want to do is cause a spectacle. I hate gossip with a passion.’ He shuddered.
‘But I do want to make something of myself, strike out and do something on my own terms, something I’m passionate about, before I am forced to marry—and marry well. ’
‘You do not wish to be wed?’ she asked.
‘I was a young witness to the performance of my parents’ shambolic marriage—each angry word they hurled at each other was a wound to my heart. I would lock myself away in the library and read, my hands pressed over my ears until every argument was over. I am in no hurry to experience the same.’
‘Wait, you had a library?’ she teased.
He smiled, shrugging. ‘There are so many things I wish to do before I settle down. I want to create something. I want to leave a legacy beyond children and land. My father cannot seem to understand that.’
‘So you are torn—between your passion, your ambition and duty,’ she said.
He grimaced. ‘I do not want to disappoint my father. But I also want the chance to make a mark. To prove myself.’
‘You said you have an older brother. What does he have to say about it?’
Edward sighed. ‘He cannot do any wrong in my father’s eyes.
I have always known my place in the world—second best. As I was not his heir, my father never really made me feel needed, or important.
But despite the obvious favouritism towards him, my brother and I have always been close.
He says he will support me, whatever I decide, but warns I should proceed with caution.
My father has threatened to cut me out of his will if I pursue this. ’
Bea gasped. ‘Would he really go to such extremes?’
‘I do not know. He is a ruthless man.’ His face darkened. ‘I have seen him do far worse.’
She tilted her head, studying him, thinking about Edward’s predicament for a moment. She could tell he desired the man’s approval, despite their strained relationship. ‘I think you have to ask yourself—can you live with yourself if you don’t meet his expectations?’
‘I am unsure.’
She leaned in and placed a hand on his forearm. ‘More importantly, can you live with yourself if you don’t meet your own? You have to live by your own values, no one else’s.’
He looked down at her fingers curved over his skin, where he had rolled up his shirt sleeves, and she instantly retrieved them. She was shocked she had been so familiar and yet he didn’t appear to mind.
‘That is an interesting way to look at it,’ he said. He stretched out, putting his hands behind his head, studying her intently. ‘Enough about me. What of your passions, Beatrice Puddifoot?’
‘You can call me Bea. We are friends now, after all,’ she said, her playful tone returning.
‘Did you always want to work in an inn, Bea?’
She guffawed. ‘No, it was definitely duty that led me here. Necessity, after my mother died.’
He frowned. ‘I am sorry to hear that,’ he said. ‘And for your loss. I know what it is like to lose a mother.’
‘I am sorry for you too then.’
‘Your father…?’ he asked.
‘I never knew him either.’