Veiled in Blue (3 page)

“Is that what you were doing?” He gave no apology for his curiosity.

“As it happens, yes.” She swung the empty basket. “There is a home for poor, respectable women in the town. I took some scones and read the newspaper to them. They like to discuss the latest
on-dits
and scandals.” And go on and on and on about Eve finding a husband—as if that would ever happen. Eve’s portion was so small as to be miniscule, not enough to attract any man. She had reconciled herself to the fact. Even Eve’s mother did not create such a fuss, at least not on such a regular basis, but the ladies at the home thought their seniority conferred special privileges on them.

“Just like the fairy tale. And have you come across the big, bad wolf, I wonder?”

“Not until I started to walk home.”

His chuckle vibrated against her in the most intimate way imaginable. She forced herself not to squirm and closed her eyes, forcing concentration.

“I have been called many things, but not that.” He paused, guiding the horse around yet another rut. “Or maybe I have. But a man of my position has a reputation to consider.”

“As a man of business? Are you financier or lawyer?”

“A little of both,” he said, “But mostly concerned with land. I am not qualified in law, if that’s what you mean.”

He spoke to her as an equal. She found his attitude a pleasant change from the men who either took no notice of her at all or treated her like some kind of idiot who couldn’t hold a sentient thought in her head for more than five minutes. She would far rather talk to him about anything but the embarrassing staff that reared between them.

“How much farther do we have to travel?” he said.

“Another two miles, perhaps, sir.”

“I had travelled farther than I thought, then, when I came across you. I must have been lost in my own imaginings. It’s a wonder I didn’t stumble long before.”

“You’re paying attention now.”

“I have more than myself to consider.”

His words made her feel cared for, if only on a casual, temporary basis. Her anxiety subsided.

“Do you stay long in Somerset?”

“Longer than I had at first imagined.” He spoke dryly, as if reluctant.

Her defensive instincts rose. “It is a lovely county, sir. Have you visited before?”

“I have. Yes, it is indeed lovely. Somerset boasts some glorious views. Bath is not far, is it?”

Much to her relief, he spoke about general things and let her tell him about Bath, the kind of people who could be seen in the pump room and the delicacies obtained there. “I have not seen everything Bath has to offer, despite living there for a time and living so close for most of my life.”

“I have lived in London for some time, but I have not yet seen it all.”

“Did you ride all the way here, sir?”

He paused. “Not all. I hired this horse locally. Travelling in a coach can become tedious.”

Especially a stagecoach. They must have been invented to torture ordinary people. “Do you have to send the horse back?”

“Not immediately. I will use it to travel to Lord Ripley’s house. I’m looking forward to my visit. He insisted I come, despite his wife’s condition.”

Had his voice softened when he talked about Lady Ripley? She was a lovely woman, it was true, and stylish with it. Her husband adored her.

“She had no idea what she was getting into when she became involved with an Emperor.”

“An Emperor?”

“The Emperors of London,” he said, amusement touching his voice.

She wished she could see him properly, because the other half of his tone sounded wry, almost jaded.

“Ah, yes. A nickname.” She had heard it, but had not taken a great deal of interest in it. Nicknames were, in her opinion, a frivolity that only the rich could afford to spend time on.

“Their parents took an oath to name their children after emperors of the past,” he said, drawling his words in a way she had not heard before. Then it was as if he had snapped back to attention and his tones regained their crispness. “Lord Ripley’s given name is Alexander.”

“The greatest emperor of them all,” she said.

“Perhaps. Do you have a classical education, Miss Merton?”

“No, sir. By profession I am a governess, so I do have a reasonable education. I was taught the rudiments of Latin, but I teach the feminine arts.”

“Dancing, deportment and flirting?”

She took umbrage at his response, bridling. “Women must know more than the graceful arts if they are to live a fulfilling life.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He chuckled. “Are you surprised at my response?”

Her heart sank. He probably had a wife. “And your wife is of that ilk?”

“My wife is—” He paused, and the muscles in his arms stiffened. “My wife died six years ago.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

“Thank you.” His voice was steady. “Now we are both sorry for the death of someone we did not know.”

It took her a moment to untangle the sentiment. At first, she’d imagined—but that could not be what he intended to say. “It’s always sad when we lose someone.” She had the sensation of moving on uncertain ground, and resorted to the trite comment in order not to make a
faux pas
.

He answered with a grunt, and silence reigned for the last part of the journey. Even his erection had subsided, or he had managed to move it out of the way. She did not dare lean against him to discover the truth.

At last, they ascended the final gentle rise that gave them the view of the church tower.

“That’s the village,” she said.

He sighed, though whether from regret or hopeful anticipation she couldn’t tell. Probably the latter. The horse was certainly tired, its head drooping and its gait slower than ever.

“Appleton.” He drew a breath, as if to say something else, but must have changed his mind.

“It’s a sleepy little place,” she said.

“Have you ever been anywhere else? Apart from Bath?”

Some villagers had never even crossed the parish boundaries. “I’ve been to Wells. I haven’t visited London, although I would like to. Perhaps I can get work there.”

“Perhaps,” he said, but he sounded guarded, as if he didn’t think she could do it.

A spark of irritation flashed through her. “I’m a very good governess!”

“I’m sure you are,” he answered, and this time his smooth tones sounded perfectly sure.

This annoyed her more than his doubt.

“Are you concealing your true feelings?”

“In my position, I have to do so from time to time.”

That didn’t exactly answer her question, but she would not press him further. He was a stranger, after all, although this ride into the village had made her better acquainted with his more personal assets.

Her own arousal had settled into a simmering want, a vague sense of emptiness that she still had a great deal to experience in life. She would probably not have that pleasure, or otherwise, since she was in a limbo of respectability that demanded marriage and without the financial wherewithal to attract a suitor.

Her situation left her as the perpetual spinster, of which England had a distressingly high number. She had accustomed herself to the notion, at least she told herself as much. Only in the dead of night did she allow herself to dream about finding a handsome, young, wealthy man who would adore her. In clear daylight, she knew how impossible that was.

They rode over the rise and down to the village. Closing her eyes, Eve allowed herself a few moments of imagined pleasure. She snatched them from life, but she had to admit that being cradled in the arms of a handsome man was not something she would object to if circumstances were different.

His warmth lulled her into a false sense of security, and it was a jolt when he spoke again.

“Is that the inn?”

When she opened her eyes, the glow of the building confronted her. “Yes, you should find a room there.”

The inn blazed its welcome, torches shining brightly outside and lamps in the yard, as well as the lighting inside the main rooms. Upstairs a few lights flickered where guests must have been in their rooms.

“Thank you. Where do you live?”

“Oh, not far. I can manage from here, truly.”

“I must escort you to your door. No, I would not hear of abandoning a respectable female to the night.”

What would her mother say? However, short of leaping from the horse’s back, Eve had little option but to direct him to the other side of the green.

In her house on her side of the green, the curtains were open. A light flickered in the window, but only one. “I live here,” she said.

“Here?” He sounded surprised, his usual baritone rising.

The house was perfectly respectable, if a little on the small side, but it was far from a rough cottage. Brick built with a good slate roof, the place lacked only space. Her mother had pointed that out when Eve had returned home after her brief sojourn as governess in Bath.

It was almost fully night now. “I must have been mad to think I could get home before dark.”

“You will not do that again.” He spoke with certainty, as if he had some say over her movements.

He swung from the saddle and reached for her. The horse was too weary to take advantage of his lightened load and stood patiently while Mr. Vernon slid his hands around her waist and lifted her effortlessly to the ground. He did not release her immediately.

Eve held the empty basket like a shield, the only protection she had against more intimate contact.

He smiled down at her. He was half a foot taller than her, if not more. “Do you think you can take your own weight, or should I carry you to your door?”

“Sir!” Scandalized, she opened her eyes wider while heat rushed to her cheeks. The notion of all the residents of the green watching while he picked her up was unthinkable. Or almost. The small part remaining was her romantic self, the part she ruthlessly crushed. It lingered this time to whisper,
What if I let him?
in the dark recesses of her mind.

Showing nothing but polite gratitude, she thanked him kindly. “I daresay you will be away in a few days, so I doubt we will meet again. So allow me to thank you now. I am deeply grateful for your help, sir.”

Now, looking directly at him, she sensed danger lurking in the clean-cut features. This man had a wild edge, well concealed but there. Intelligence gleamed in his eyes, together with the wry humor he had displayed during their journey. For one reckless moment, she thought he might tighten his hold, force her to drop the basket, and kiss her. His lips were full, eminently kissable. Not that she had much experience.

The light left his eyes as if he’d forced it away. “I will release you now, ma’am, so you may test your theory. I do intend for us to meet again. Would you have any objection if I called on you?”

“You cannot. My mother is a widow.”

“I wish only to see how you are doing and if your ankle is well. Should you object to that?”

She did not. Why not allow herself another slight thrill, another memory? “No, sir. I am past the age of missishness. However you will be busy at Woolton, will you not?” With the owner, Lord Ripley.

“Not all the time.” He glanced up. “How far is the house?”

“Another five miles by road. Two if you walk across the fields.”

“I see. Then I shall stay here in the village. That way I am sure to see you sometimes, am I not?”

Treacherous hope rose in her breast, but Eve suppressed it. “Indeed you will. There is only one church. Even Lord Ripley and his lady attend, though I doubt we will see them this Sunday.”

“No, indeed. His lordship may well be taken up with the new addition to the family.” He paused.

By the light of the flickering candle in the window, she made out his clean, clear-cut face and the blue eyes glimmering with promise. His jaw showed signs of golden fuzz, so under the plain conventional wig, his hair must have been fair. She had never found herself drawn to fair men, but she would make an exception in this case. He was well formed, without fault, his hands strong and his shoulders broad.

“Have you finished looking?” He sounded amused rather than offended.

She dragged her attention from his feet back to his face. “I’m sorry. I was—”

“No matter. It’s flattering when such a beautiful woman pays me some attention.”

She stared up at him, but she could not deny his statement. She had a mirror. Not that her looks were anything but a curse.

Julius stretched and groaned as the twinges from sleeping in a confined space made themselves apparent. Sunshine bathed the grubby ceiling of the room the landlord of this benighted place had allotted him, what passed for drapery at the windows not equal to the task of keeping out the light. He picked up his watch and flicked open the cover, listening to the chimes ring out half past seven. Early for him, probably half the morning gone according to most of the residents of the village.

Horses clopped past, people called to each other, scintillating chat like “Nice day,” and “Will you be at the inn later?” The sounds were not too different from his bedroom in London. Except that his room there faced the back of the house, and here he couldn’t hear any street vendors or the rattle of carriage wheels on cobbles. Oh, yes, and this room was the size of his powder room. He glanced around. If he’d had this old, worn furniture in his house, he’d order it chopped up for firewood.

Particularly this bed. When he’d ventured to investigate what lay under the prickly horsehair mattress, he’d found a crisscrossed pattern of ropes. For the first time in his life he’d slept on a rope bed. After he left this place, he would never sleep on one again.

He swung out of bed and removed the chair he had propped under the door. Since the entrance to his room had no lock, only a latch, he had considered the possibility of being murdered in his bed and decided on the single chair, which, having one leg shorter than the other three, was of little use for anything else.

Outside the door, he found a can of water. At least he could shave.

Lamaire had provided him with soap, razor, comb, and other necessities, including, he was amused to discover, a small silver-topped bottle filled with the cologne he customarily used. He appreciated the inclusion of the small luxury, even more that Lamaire had remembered not to put it in one of his crested, monogrammed bottles. No doubt, the dressing case containing the bottle and its fellows was on the way to Alex’s house. As Julius should be, except he’d decided on this mad plan.