The Rusticated Duchess (26 page)

The answer was after lunchtime, but only because Gloria had Astrid and Eynon join her for the morning so that the older women could rest in the leading carriage. Gloria reasoned that they were unlikely to be pursued in that first leg of the journey and Clare could hardly disagree.

He organised a private parlour for the two of them in Wigton, and left the servants to eat in the tap. Gloria brought Eynon into the chamber, but thankfully the lad slept in a long Moses basket. He asked about it—Gloria explained that it rocked him on the floor of the carriage—or a ship—quite comfortably.

They ate efficiently while Clare watched Gloria. Closely. Her emotional state was difficult to judge, but he dared not ask her anything with serving lasses and Jenson likely to appear at any moment.

He waited until Mrs Sinclair and Mrs Pitcher took Astrid and the babe into the first carriage and Jenson was mounted before ignoring the steed waiting for him and climbing up into the second carriage and pulling up the steps behind him. The hired driver above him chuckled and shouted at the stableboys to tie the horse in the rear.

Gloria just looked upon him in shock. At least she’d left off the damn veil, so he could see her golden hair and the elegant line of her neck. He wanted to taste her skin there.

“We can’t be alone,” she whispered fiercely. “Even if my servants know, Winchester’s hoodlums will find out!”

Clare held her eyes, raised his fist and rapped on the roof of the carriage to signal the driver to go ahead. Gloria’s eyes widened, but he simply reached out and dragged her onto his lap, deliberately keeping her off-balance while he rasped, “It’s been entirely too long since I’ve kissed you.”

He tightened his hold, his fingers lifting her chin, and his mouth met hers.

She stiffened in his arms but then softened and responded, her lips parting for his caress and her hands clasping his shoulders. Clare soaked up her warmth, the scent of sweet pea in her hair and the taste of tea in her mouth. He nibbled on her lower lip and tucked her close to him, opening his capes to wrap them around her, holding her bundled form directly against his jacket. Even covered in layers of wool and velvet, she still fit perfectly in his lap, and Clare’s heart thudded heavily at the implication.

“Tell me now,” he said huskily against her lips, “why you don’t want to have more children.”

Within his arms, Gloria shuddered and stiffened, as if she suddenly understood that their location prevented interruption and escape.

He smiled. “I’m not letting you go, I’m not giving you the option of running away. There’s no wine, tea or other fluid to throw at me. You are going to tell me, Gloria, so we can face this hurdle, too.”

Gloria turned her head away and he let her have that, soaking up the warmth of her breath so high on his neck that her lips grazed that sensitive patch of skin where his jaw and neck joined his skull. He suppressed the urge to groan and stretch, offering her more skin.

“Do you trust me? Not every encounter risks a child. Let me show you how much pleasure exists without it,” Clare almost begged, using his gloved finger to stroke the shell of her ear.

She trembled again, her gloves moving to cradle the back of his neck. “You won’t forget?” she asked in a small voice.

“No, angel,” he murmured, his lips trailing over her brow. “No, I won’t forget. I’ve missed you these last days and nights.”

“I’ve been right here,” she whispered against his lips, but Clare shook his head, pulling back to see into her eyes.

“I’m tired of seeing you across the room, or across a table, and not having you where I can touch you, hold you against me. But most of all, I wish to see you smile in exhausted delight, naked and shivering against my skin.”

Gloria flushed and looked around, and he could see her mind whirling, trying to reconcile it.

“No, not here,” he chuckled. “We’d both freeze. Tonight.”

“How—”

“Hush, I’ll come to you.” Starting tonight they would face higher risks of pursuit and attack. He wouldn’t leave her alone again, not with a window in the room, not even on an upper floor.

“They’ll know.” Her bare fingers finally sank into his hair from the nape of his neck upward, capturing his scalp and holding his head still. She’d taken off her gloves, he realised, and shuddered when one hand released his hand and her fingers dipped inside his shirt collar and cravat, scraping the skin of his collarbone.

“They already know. Have you heard any of them object? Are they treating you differently? Behaving abnormally?”

He kept her there, soft and mindless, surprised she wasn’t insisting on every detail of his plan, every answer to every question. It struck him that her acquiescence was out of character, but he was grateful for it at the moment. Confessing that he would be sleeping in her bed because he couldn’t sleep well elsewhere would only expose his vulnerabilities. If she thought he was simply the last line of defence against a raid to capture her by force, all the better. It wasn’t that he intended to conceal the lust that seemed to be permanently inscribed on his already aching cock. He didn’t even want to count the days that had passed since Gloria’s body had been shivering, nude and complaisant in his arms.

Their lips came together again and again and Clare refused to wonder how much time was passing. He knew the time had come to speak, and told himself that if Gloria was to be his wife, he would just have to practise the skill of tackling difficult conversations head on.

“After you are settled into your lodgings, I’m going to see the Bishop of Carlisle,” he finally told her quietly.

Her head popped up. She frowned. “I thought we agreed only if it was necessary?”

“Of course, but what if we’re in England and not Scotland? One of the dispatches Colman is delivering to Norham is to ask the rector to remain available for a week or so. Scotland is safer overall since you are under the age of consent in England and your guardianship is questionable. We’d need a special licence regardless because we’re not waiting three weeks for the banns, and I’d rather not have to present evidence or testimony that we’ve consummated the match in both a civil and ecclesiastical court.” Catching her chin in his hands and lifting it so there eyes met, he added, “But I would fight any attempt to annul it.”

A shocked inhalation was her response, her eyes widened. “Th-that’s why you’re not being discreet!” she screeched. “You wanted them to know!” A second later, her gaze fell and a softer, agonised noise came from her throat while her hands drew away from him and she tried to escape.

Clare felt his muscles harden and his eyes narrow as guilt slugged him in the stomach. It wasn’t the reason. At least, it wasn’t the only reason. Still, he held her tight, trapping her against him, his arms resisting Gloria’s struggles to free her body from his lap.

“No,” he said distinctly, quietly, but it was enough to bring her eyes up to his. “Yes. I do want them to know. They do know. But that’s not the reason.”

“Why, then?” she asked, her voice quivering, and Clare was simply thankful that she’d left the topic of him flaunting their relationship. He’d gladly talk about that relationship. Still, she’d paused so he gathered her even closer, securing her. He knew better than to loosen her arms—she’d escape in an instant.

Gently, he nudged her scalp with his chin, tucking her head against his shoulder, and considered his answer. “I need them to help protect you from attack, not to protect you from me. That will divide their focus and put you at risk. You need them to respect our privacy when we are alone, so that they are trained to do so after we marry.” He paused and added softly, “And because, like it or not, it is very likely we will be married. Soon. They need to see me as their lord, as much as you are their lady.”

Gloria was silent, her face hidden from his examination by the very position he’d confined her in within his embrace. At least she did not vociferously object this time. She’d agreed to trust him to avoid pregnancy when they were intimate. The previous day she’d acknowledged the likelihood they would marry.

For now, it was enough. It had to be, despite the misgivings in his gut. She should be proud and happy to call him husband, eager for the match. That she was resistant but resigned grated at his conscience and his pride.

Her response to his touch soothed the wound, so he kissed her forehead and each eyebrow in turn. Her nose. Her eyes were shut when he loosed a hand and lifted her chin to press fleeting kisses over her eyelids and slide his lips over the line of her jaw until he found her lips. He kept them there, exploring hers, until the horses slowed and they wound their way through the city.

It was hours later when he finally slipped out of The County Hotel and briskly walked the streets. He’d taken Jenson to a tailor for gentleman’s attire and shared an early dinner with Gloria in a private dining room, then left her to the watchful guard of Jenson and Colman, in company of Mrs Sinclair, Mrs Pitcher, Astrid and Eynon. The lights of the cathedral drew him, but he passed by the large formal residence that faced the wide cross-street and proceeded to a smaller gentleman’s townhouse around the corner.

A man retained by the owner for decades answered the door, professionally impassive. Clare didn’t need to introduce himself, nor did the butler-cum-valet demand he wait in the tiny parlour that fronted the house. Instead, James led him straight back through the front hall to the tiny study at the back of the residence, that overlooked the small garden and the gate that separated this townhouse from the official residence around the corner.

“Jeremy,” the voice inside boomed, as the man behind the desk stood and came forwards to greet him warmly.

“Uncle,” Clare returned, clasping the older man in return. His father had been an only child, as Clare had been, but his mother had any number of brothers. This grave man had not always been burdened by responsibility, either political or practical, but he’d always been Clare’s uncle and staunch supporter.

“I’m surprised to see you here, as you no doubt know. Didn’t tell me you were coming. Now then, what are you doing in Carlisle? How long can you stay?”

Clare looked at him steadily for a moment, feeling like a schoolboy about to ask for a forbidden sweet. He straightened and put his hands behind his back, then dropped them awkwardly to his sides. “Lord Bishop,” he said, the formal words lifting his uncle’s brows in surprise. “I seek an audience with you on a matter of some urgency, though you’ll want more details before we are finished. I seek your favour for a special licence to marry.”

Carlisle blinked, then he sighed heavily and waved at a chair. “Of course you know I’ll say yes, dear nephew. But sit down and tell me about it—or at least, as much as you can.”

Clare sat.

Chapter Seventeen

Clare returned to The County Hotel late. He had a special licence in his coat pocket, a manservant wearing the episcopal livery to attend him, and a promise of four armed outriders to join their party in the morning as guards—or to serve as witnesses.

Even so, he was anxious as he climbed the stairs. It was true that he’d chosen the preeminent hotel in Carlisle to make no secret of their relationship, but he’d also done it for defensive reasons. The hotel staff provided a front line of security that would make it hard for gentlemen to push past without observation or violence. In addition, by staying at the finest establishments in Whitehaven and Carlisle the last two nights, their pursuers would look for them in upscale facilities on succeeding evenings.

He went directly to the large suite that his travelling party occupied. The four rooms consisted of a large chamber where Mrs Sinclair and Astrid shared a bed and Eynon slept beside Mrs Pitcher. Jenson had staked out the settee but woke, his hand on his holster before he recognised Clare. Clare locked the door after James shuffled in and tossed Jenson the key.

Jenson was as exhausted as Clare—the bishop’s armed guards would be welcome in more ways than one at Jedburgh. Clare whispered a short explanation and left the two men to fare as best they could. Jenson could sleep while James stood the watch for a time.

Gloria was in the second bedchamber. In a bed.

Even if Clare couldn’t thrust into her tight, hot sheath to oblivion and back, he craved the experience of sleeping beside her. Deliberately he turned the lock and left the key in place.

Of course she was soundly sleeping, even if she had been awake long enough to allow the candle to gutter. She’d lain on the bed, obviously waiting and wondering, gowned in a white flannel night-rail and heavy stockings for warmth in the chilled chamber. He hated flannel night-rails.

At least the door to the dressing chamber was closed.

Clare quickly stripped down and slid onto the bed, then faced her and the problem of getting her undressed and under the blankets. Delicately and deliberately he untied the loose garters and slid down her stockings, baring her shapely feet and well-groomed toes. He admired them, wishing they could have had a leisurely journey east so that she might have the luxury of hot baths and walks in the sunlight and a few days of shopping or visiting the gardens.

The gown was more difficult, but he eyed it with distaste. Untying the bows at her neck easily, he tried to envision himself easing it down her back to her hips as she slept.

Instead she rolled and the gown’s hem raised, revealing a glowing display of thigh that he could see in the dim light of the fire. The lust that constantly plagued him when she was near burst into an unquenchable fire. His arms reached beneath her and he lifted her, pulling the back of the gown up.

She moaned and turned towards him, but instead of pushing him away, her eyelids fluttered and she slid her hands over the flesh of his chest. He froze for a moment, but her husky voice murmuring his name was all he needed to hear.

His name. “Jeremy?”

“Hush,” he comforted, then pulled the gown higher, completely baring her from the navel down. But how to get it off her?

The warm cushion under her head smelt deliciously of the man in her dreams. Gloria knew it, craved the flavour of it. She shifted so that her tongue could swipe a taste from the sweet place where his neck curved into his shoulder. The pillow emitted a low rumble in response, and quaked.