More Than A Lover

‘I do not mean the foppish affectation of a dandy,’ she said, her face serious. ‘But a manly elegance that cannot help but please the female eye.’ Her colour deepened.

Surprised and ridiculously pleased, he smiled. ‘Thank you. I mostly feel horribly clumsy. You instil me with confidence.’ Heaven help him, it was the truth. A wave of warmth rushed through him, and to hide it he served himself a far larger portion of pudding than he had intended. Almost miraculously, for the first time in a long time, the sweet treat did not taste of ashes and death.

Clearly he was about to make an idiot of himself, hoping for something that wasn’t there, when he’d given up hoping for anything.

Mrs Lane bustled in. She eyed the table with a satisfied nod. ‘Will there be anything else for you, sir...ma’am? Shall I bring the tea tray, Mrs Falkner?’

‘No, thank you,’ Mrs Falkner said, looking becomingly prim and proper. ‘It has been a long day. It is time I retired.’

Time to take her prim and proper self away from temptation, no doubt. Because if he wasn’t mistaken, she was beginning to thaw to him. The very idea made his blood heat.

‘Brandy or port for you, sir?’ the landlady asked.

Brandy was not nearly as tempting as Caro Falkner. ‘I, too, am ready for my bed.’ Or her bed, judging by the embers of desire ready to leap to life at the first sign of encouragement.

Mrs Lane frowned. ‘It doesn’t seem right, sir, a fine gentleman like you bedding down in the stables with our Freddy when I have a perfectly good room on the third floor you can use.’

Mrs Falkner looked startled.

Blast the landlady. Did he have to explain the proprieties and put Mrs Falkner to the blush? She hadn’t wanted his presence on the road. She certainly wouldn’t want him beneath the same roof without a chaperone. ‘I can assure you I have slept in far worse places. Besides...’ he said as he saw Mrs Falkner about to protest, because her stiff manners hid a warm heart. ‘I wish to be on hand to keep an eye on his lordship’s horses.’ Mr Lane had walked them behind the cart he’d used to fetch Garge’s remains.

‘I understand your caution, sir,’ the landlady said, clearly worried by the idea that harm might come to the ducal beasts. ‘As soon as you and Mrs Falkner are finished here, then, I’ll send t’lass to clear away the dishes.’

‘I am finished,’ Mrs Falkner said.

She began to rise. He pushed back his chair, helped her to her feet and walked her to the door. ‘I wish you a good night, ma’am.’ He bowed.

He watched as she mounted the first few stairs and something inside him wished he was going up there with her. That somehow he could have the life the lack of a piece of paper had denied him. Husband. Father. Provider. But if he could not have that, he would at least play the role of protector. On Charlie’s behalf, of course, not his own. Guard duty in the rain. It would be like old times.

How pathetic was he, thinking of such discomfort with longing? On the other hand, a few hours in the cold might well help cool his ardour.

* * *

Caro put down her book with a sigh, tiredness making the words waver on the page as if they were under water. She rubbed at her sore eyes and squinted at the clock on the mantel. Two in the morning. Exhaustion dragged her towards sleep, but every time she so much as thought about closing her eyes, the memory of poor Josiah Garge floated to the forefront of her vision and she started planning the words she would say to his wife, which brought her wide awake again.

Perhaps a glass of milk would help her sleep as it had in the past when her mind would not settle?

At home, she would not have hesitated to slip down the stairs to the kitchen. But in an inn? Albeit a small one.

If she continued to lie here wide awake, she would be drained tomorrow and she had too much to do to be taking to her bed when she got home. Not to mention that Tommy would be disappointed if all she wanted to do was sleep when she arrived home.

She slipped out of bed, put on her dressing gown, tying the belt tight and making sure her cap was securely fastened. If she did run into the landlady, she was no less decently covered than she was during daylight hours. At least she would not run into Mr Read, since he was sleeping in the stable. She found the man’s presence disturbing to her peace of mind. Not only was he far too attractive, he made her want to give in to her weakness and lean on his strength.

Men like him might seem to offer strength and support, but in their wake they left only heartache. A bitter thought, but true nonetheless. Look at the women at the Haven who had been similarly abandoned.

Her chamber door, when she pulled it open, protested with a loud creak. She held her breath, listening for sounds of movement downstairs. All was quiet. She picked up her candle and tiptoed down to the ground-floor kitchen across the hall from the taproom. Hopefully, Mrs Lane would not object to the raiding of her pantry.

She hesitated. Perhaps she really should return to her room and ring the bell for the maid. It just seemed so unfair to rouse the poor girl in the middle of the night. From her own months of working as a chambermaid, she knew only too well what it felt like to be roused from the depths of slumber by some patron with a petty request they could easily see to themselves.

Cautiously, she approached the closed kitchen door and opened it. Fortunately, this one did not make a sound. Candle held before her so she would not trip, she looked around for the door to the pantry. Pots and pans hanging from a ceiling rack reflected back the flickering flame in little points. The dark-red glow of a banked fire cast shadows over a settle beside it. Part of that shadow shifted.

She stifled a gasp.

‘Mrs Falkner?’ A deep male voice. The shadow loomed upward, blocking the light from the hearth.

Heart thudding, she raised her candle higher to reveal the dark planes of a harsh face and the white linen of a man in his shirtsleeves. ‘Mr Read. What are you doing in here? I thought...’

His expression changed from surprise to careful blankness. ‘I beg your pardon. I merely availed myself of our landlady’s offer of a warm spot by the fire to dry my coats and—’ he raised his hand, which held a goblet ‘—a snifter of brandy before I retire.’

A snifter he’d earlier refused. It was then that she saw his coat hung to dry upon a clothes horse. ‘You have been out in the rain?’

‘I took a walk. I assume you cannot sleep either?’

‘I thought to warm up some milk.’

He gestured with his glass. ‘This might serve you better.’

She made a face. ‘Horrid stuff. Mrs Lane forced me to drink some earlier.’

No doubt thinking her disgruntlement amusing, he flashed a swift smile. A rather naughty-boy smile that made her breath catch in her throat. ‘Come now, it did help, did it not?’ He winked.

An answering smile curved her own lips before she could catch it. ‘How ungentlemanly of you to remind me of finding me asleep in my chair,’ she scolded lightly.

His expression stiffened as if she had said something wrong.

It was all right for him to tease, but not the other way around? How typically male.

‘Would you like some brandy or not?’ he asked gruffly.

‘I suppose it might help,’ she admitted.

‘Please,’ he said. ‘Sit, while I fetch another glass.’

He was gone only a moment and returned bearing a lit branch of candles, giving the kitchen a nice warm glow and chasing away most of the shadows.

He placed a chair for her on the opposite side of the hearth, handed her a glass. He sat and, taking up his drink, raised a brow.

She took a sip of the fiery liquid and forced herself not to cough, though there was nothing she could do about the watering of her eyes. She shuddered and swiped the tears away with the back of her hand. ‘I’ll never get used to it.’

He gave a low ironic chuckle. ‘The more you drink the easier it becomes.’

She tried again, but the smell of it set her off coughing. ‘I honestly don’t think I can.’

‘Then I will warm you some milk.’

‘I can do it.’

‘Please,’ he said softly. ‘Let someone care for you for once. Tonbridge tells me how hard you work for what he calls your ladies, as well as your son.’