A Lady's Guide to Improper Behavior (18 page)

Bending his head against her shoulder, he held her hard against him, his breathing as ragged as hers. When he lay back again, he brought her with him, and she sank, completely spent, against his chest. And she’d thought riding horses the most delightful thing ever. Clearly though, she’d discovered something even better.

“Are you well?” he asked into her hair, his arms loose around her, keeping her warm and close.

“Yes. That was…extraordinary.”

“I wanted that with you. I needed it, I think.”

She lifted her head to look at him. “Because I make you feel alive?”

Bartholomew nodded. “Yes. And because I
am
alive. I forgot that for a time.”

Slowly and gently she ran her fingertip along the scar on his throat. He closed his eyes, but this time he didn’t flinch. It was a gesture of trust and surrender—and she realized that she was very likely the only person he’d ever surrendered to. “Tolly,” she whispered, sinking into his embrace again, “thank you. For trusting me.”

His grip around her tightened a little. “All I can say to that, Tess,” he murmured, “is that I am likewise honored.” Tolly’s chest rose and fell beneath her cheek. “And speaking of trust,” he said slowly, “I think I can tell you now. About India.”

H
e still didn’t want to tell her. But Theresa had shown her trust in him in the most telling way possible, and he needed to repay that very great honor.

Her being there meant his plans had to change. Whether she intended to risk just one moment of impropriety or not, as Bartholomew buttoned his trousers and hauled himself to his feet, he knew he was looking at his future wife. And the prospect filled him with fear and excitement, apprehension and affection all at once. He meant to do right by her, but in the past he’d failed at that task miserably. And he was about to tell her all about it.

And he’d already cheated; he’d meant it when he said he would stand by her, but this seduction had happened because he had a very good idea that after this she wouldn’t be too keen to stand by him. Having her only once would be torture, but not having her at all would be worse than death.

“Are you going to keep looking at me, or are you going to talk?” she asked, looking very content sitting in his most comfortable chair and wearing nothing but her shift. She may have hesitated for far too long about her behavior, but she seemed very easy with her decision now. He hoped she wouldn’t regret it overly much.

“I’d been in India for the past three and a half years, since the end of Bonaparte. I’m fairly fluent in Urdu, and so my commander, General Osprey, sent me out frequently to deal with local matters.”

Still barefoot, he limped to the window and sank one haunch against the deep sill. He felt more like pacing, but after the several exertions of the morning, his leg literally wouldn’t stand for it.

“All along we’d heard rumors of the Thuggee, how they would find men traveling on the road far from home, offer to keep them company, and then strangle or stab them to death in the night, dispose of the corpses, and make off with their belongings. Because the men were so far from home, it would be months sometimes before anyone even noticed they were missing. And by then, all traces would be gone.”

“It’s very clever,” she commented quietly. “Horrific, but clever.”

“The consensus at Fort William was that the Thuggee stories were exaggerated. After all, if they were
so deadly and never left any survivors, who was carrying the tales? At any rate, four or five units would go out twice a week to patrol the roads and make the locals feel safer. Frequently the local Punjabis would hire us to escort them from their homes to Bombay or Delhi. It was good money, and fairly easy work, and it made for friendly relations with the natives.

“I received orders to escort Aadi Surabhi, the eldest son of the local zamindar—chieftain—to Delhi. Aadi and I were about the same age, and we got on well.” They’d been friends, but dwelling on that fact wouldn’t change the outcome of the story any. “Ten days in, we caught up to a group of monks traveling in the same direction. They said they’d heard that the Thuggee were operating in the area, and they asked if they could camp with us.” He shrugged. “There were only eight of them, and together with Aadi’s men we were fifteen.”

“A logical decision.”

He sent her a brief, grim smile. “I thought so at the time. They were jolly fellows. The group’s elder had a fondness for tobacco, and he was really quite funny. He was called Parashar, after one of the Hindu saints. I liked him, as well. Another three days saw us into some very rugged country, and I kept scouts out looking for any signs of ambush.”

Bartholomew took another slow breath. “As we made camp, the monks began talking about some sort of celestial event that evening. They were all quite excited, and delighted to see that the sky looked to be clear.” He glanced at her, taking in her rapt expression, then looked away again. “Do you know why they were so interested in the sky?”

“No.”

“Because they could sit beside us, pointing up. When we looked skyward, they threw the garrotes around our necks to strangle us. It was all very quiet at first, just them breathing and us flailing about a little. Then the others came out of the brush. Apparently they’d been following us for three days, and knew when the attack would take place.”

“My God.”

“I managed to reach my boot knife before a third man could come in to pin my arms. I stabbed him, and broke away. Then I grabbed for my pistol and started shooting.”

“Tolly,” she breathed, horror in the sound.

“They outnumbered us at least eight or nine to one. We had guns, but most of us never got to them. I remember being stabbed in the side, with a half dozen of them hanging on me and trying to drag me down again. One group of them was digging through our damned supplies while others were still murdering my men. I must have passed out, and when I opened my eyes I was being dragged up to an old well. I could see them tossing in my men, along with Aadi, his people—everyone. I kicked free, grabbed a rifle, and shot Parashar.”

“Good for you.”

“A bit late to do any damned good. I dropped him, but someone else put a bullet through my leg. They must have been angry with me, because I was rather thoroughly punched and kicked before they dropped me into the well. I remember falling for what seemed like a very long time. The landing at the bottom
wasn’t so bad—until I realized that it was the bodies of my men, my friends, that had cushioned my fall.

“By searching them, I found another pistol, three knives, and a flint, along with a small bit of water in a canteen.” He closed his eyes for a moment, but the images were too close, things he would never tell her about the look of dead eyes gazing at him and the sound of the flies and the smell.

“I don’t know how long I was down there, but by using the knives I finally climbed my way out again. Since the Thuggee thought we were all dead, they hadn’t bothered to hide their trail, and with the help of a pony I stole, I found it fairly easily. And I remembered that one of the crates we’d been toting had been full of explosives.” He turned to gaze out the window. “I don’t think any of them survived that. One of the horses did, and I hauled myself over the saddle. When I came to again, I was at one of the local villages being pulled out of the saddle by another of our patrol units. You know the rest.”

He heard her stand up. A moment later her hand touched his shoulder. “Look at me.”

Bartholomew looked up into her gray-green eyes. “Are you going to tell me that it wasn’t my fault? I knew about the rumors, I knew the danger of allowing strangers into camp, but I thought Parashar was amusing. I jested with him. I shared my tobacco and my supplies with him. I gave the order to allow him and his men to join us.” And even with all that, at times he thought the worst thing he’d done was to survive.

Theresa leaned down and kissed him. She shone
so bright after the months he’d spent in darkness. Touching her felt almost too close to joy—joy he no longer had any right to.

“I am glad that you lived, Bartholomew James,” she whispered, her tears wetting his cheeks. “We never would have met, otherwise. And what happened to you can’t be allowed to happen to anyone else. If you’d died, the next group of travelers might already have met up with Parashar and been killed.”

Straightening, he leaned down past her for his shirt. “Don’t let Lord Hadderly hear you say that.”

“I don’t think I like Lord Hadderly or his East India Company very much.” She ran a palm down his back, her touch both soothing and arousing at the same time. He tried not to flinch when her fingers paused at the jagged scar left by the dagger they’d driven in just below his ribs, but he couldn’t quite manage it. “You’re alive for a reason, Tolly. Tell me you believe that.”

He shrugged again, pulling his shirt on over his head and straightening from his slouch. “I suppose I should have known I could rely on the Company’s greed to give me a purpose, but it doesn’t sound all that noble.”

“It doesn’t have to be noble. It just has to be done.”

If she’d said anything more comforting, he wouldn’t have tolerated it. In all likelihood, though, she knew that. She did seem to have a knack for cutting to the heart of the matter. Arousal spiraled through him again. Bartholomew caught hold of her hand and drew her around to face him.

“You are an unusual woman,” he murmured, taking her face in his hands and kissing her again.
He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. “And once you realize what a fix I’m likely to be in, you’d do well to run the other way.”

“I already know what a fix you’re in.” She brushed hair out of his eyes. “If you hadn’t…if you hadn’t survived that attack and returned to London, do you think I would be marrying Montrose?”

“You’re not marrying him. He’s too pretty.”

She squinted one eye at him. “I’m being serious.”

“Ah. Then I don’t know if you would be marrying him.”

“He’s asked me three times in two years, and mentioned it at least a half dozen times more. Alexander is—well, he’s perfect. I am not perfect. And so no, I would not be marrying him under any circumstances. Or anyone else, I imagine. Why do you think I made Michael promise to settle an income on me regardless of my marital state?”

Her skin was so soft and so warm. Sliding the arm of her shift down her shoulder, he followed the trail with his mouth.

“Tolly, are you listening to me?”

“Yes.” He pulled her arm free of the shift, turning his attention to her bared right breast. “You’re not marrying Montrose.” He flicked his tongue across the nipple, then took her breast into his mouth.

Theresa sank against him. “That’s not…oh, heavens…that’s not the…the point of what I was saying.”

He pulled her other arm free. “Is it not?”

Arching her back, she presented him with a lovely view of her breasts as he dipped down for the other one. His cock twitched in response, more than ready
for a deeper acquaintance with her however much his leg ached. In part he was surprised that she hadn’t hit him or pushed him away. But even after hearing his tale, she still wanted him. And that was the headiest thought he’d ever had.

“Tolly, how do we—how do I—You make me happy. And I’m not certain I de—”

“You’re not certain you deserve to be happy,” he finished. “The feeling is very, very mutual.” He wanted to remind her that her guilt was her own invention, but then she would say something about how he couldn’t have known what would happen to his men, and she was wrong. And then he wouldn’t be able to bury himself in her again, and at the moment he thought he might go mad if he didn’t.

Holding her against him with one hand, he swiftly unfastened his trousers and freed himself with the other. Taking her down with him, he half fell into the comfortable, overstuffed chair. “Theresa,” he whispered against her mouth, lifting the hem of her shift up around her waist.

Pulling her back against his chest, he stroked between her thighs, parting her folds with his fingers. She was damp for him. With a gasping moan that nearly did him in, Theresa lifted up and then sank down on him, around him.

Bartholomew held his breath at the tight, heated sensation as he filled her. This was where he wanted to be. No bloody past, no uncertain future. Here. Now. With Theresa. Splaying his hands over her breasts, he sat there with her until he couldn’t stand the growing anticipation and her wriggling any longer and began lifting his hips hard and fast against her.

Her breathing grew faster and shallower, and then she clenched her hands over his as she came around him.
Perfect
. Only when she began to relax again did he allow himself to find his own release deep inside her.

As his breathing slowed to normal again, he kissed her ear. “I think I owe Lackaby a raise for finally doing as he was asked.”

Theresa leaned back against his chest. “If all proper chits knew about this, London would fall into anarchy.”

He chuckled. “That would be a sight.”

She twisted to look at his face. “What are you going to do?”

“First, we need to dress. I have no idea how long that damned valet will stay away.”

“You’re the one who undressed me again,” she said, standing and wiggling her hips until the skirt of her shift fell back around her ankles. “And don’t attempt to change the subject.”

Reluctantly he buttoned his trousers again, then caught his waistcoat when she tossed it over her shoulder to him. “I went to Wellington this morning. Originally I was going to break into the Horse Guards to find the names of any other soldiers who have survived attacks in India, and then demand a trial to settle the issue of my supposed cowardice and incompetence. I would likely lose, but I would be very vocal about it.”

He saw her shiver. “Tolly, if they convicted you of cowardice, you could hang.”

“Yes, I know. But at the least everyone would be discussing the Thuggee instead of dismissing them as a rumor.”

“You can’t do that. You have to find another way.”

For a long moment he sat, watching her pull on her dress. Almost magically she seemed once more to become the proper chit he’d first encountered—except that the buttons going down her back were undone and her skirt a bit wrinkled. “You came to see me this morning,” he finally said. “That has instigated a change of my plans.”

“Please tell me that you still mean to do something.”

“Doing nothing would make the least bit of a stir,” he returned. And it would certainly be easiest on her. He motioned her closer, then stood to button the back of her pretty green and yellow muslin walking dress. “But I have a duty to several dead men.” Tolly took a deep breath. “I also now have a duty to you.”

“I am not a du…” She stopped, opening and closing her mouth again. “I won’t lie, Tolly. The idea of being looked at sideways makes me uneasy. But I wasn’t jesting when I said I meant to take a new path. And if anyone has a legitimate reason for making a stir, it’s you.”

He kissed the nape of her neck. “I will be as cautious as I can. Wellington’s sending over some notes. I’ll see what he has to say before I plan my next move.” Bartholomew stepped back into his boots, wincing again as he jarred his left knee. “What shall we say we’ve been up to with Lackaby as our witness?”

“Leave off your coat,” she said. “We won’t have to conjure any lie, because I’m going to cut your hair.”