Normally, Cam would wish to spend some time planning a journey like this. Not because Lyme was particularly far, but because the weather at this time of year was unpredictable and one look at the skies as he lifted Gemma into the curricle was enough to have him seriously considering an attempt to put her off.
They’d secured hot bricks and his curricle was already equipped with blankets and furs, but he had a pang of conscience about taking her out on the road in the cold with the possibility of rain on the horizon.
“I’ve sworn George to secrecy,” she said as she arranged a blanket around her and rubbed her hands together. “Serena was, fortunately, with Jem in the nursery, so there’s little danger of her discovering we’ve gone until we’re at least into the village.”
They drove in silence for a long while, Cam lost in his thoughts, while Gemma all but vibrated with excitement about the coming interview with Crutchley.
“You do realize that as soon as Lady Serena notices we’re gone, she’ll assume we’ve eloped,” Cam told her just as they reached the far side of Little Seaford.
If he’d expected Gemma to be cowed by the notion of Serena’s assumptions, however, he was grossly mistaken.
“Of course she won’t,” Gemma explained. “I told George we were going to speak with Lord Crutchley and that we would be back not long after supper.”
“Gemma, do you have any notion how far it is to Lyme?” he asked, bemused at her blithe disregard for the limits of time and space.
“Of course I do,” she said with a shake of her head as the curricle hit a stone and she had to cling to his arm. “Why are you so cross about this?”
He had to admit, he thought as her violet scent teased him, being this close to her in a confined space would be no hardship.
“I’m not cross,” he said with a huff of disbelief. “But why do you assume our trip to Crutchley’s estate will only take a couple of hours. At this time of year, Lyme is at least three. And that’s in excellent weather, which this is not.”
She stiffened beside him. “What do you mean?” she asked. “I distinctly recall the day you came to rip up at me over the article for your benighted journal that you said you’d come from Lyme. It was early afternoon, so I assumed it was a trip to be made in a few hours.”
“It is,” he said patiently. “In late summer. But in late autumn, when the roads are in poor conditions thanks to rainstorms like the one that made it possible for you to find your skull fossil, it takes longer. Not to mention that the horses must rest.”
Gemma was silent as she pondered this information. “She’ll think we’ve eloped. So will Sophia and Benedick.”
“Yes,” he said. “Do you wish me to turn around? We can just as easily set out tomorrow. It was foolish of me to let you talk me into traveling today.”
She snorted. “Yes, it’s all my doing. Good heavens, Cam, do you not have sense enough to tell me when a plan is ill conceived? You seem to have opinions enough on every other matter.”
“You were very obviously excited about finding Lord Crutchley’s connection to the Lizard,” he said defensively. “I got caught up in it. And I’ve been thinking about other things.”
“What other things?”
“You know what other things,” he said with a glare. She had him so tied up in knots he didn’t know which way was up.
“Oh, you mean the—” she gestured with one hand.
“Yes,” he said glancing at her, then turning back to watch the road. “That.”
“Well, it’s hardly my fault that you cannot concentrate on anything else,” she said with a shrug. “I wonder that men are allowed to conduct business at all if they’re so incapable of prying their thoughts away from carnal matters.”
He ignored the slight, and turned back to the subject at hand. “Do you wish to go back?”
They were already well over a third of the way to Crutchley’s estate, but if they were to return without Serena any the wiser, they’d need to go now.
When she didn’t respond, he directed the horses to a roadside clearing.
“Why are you stopping?” she asked, frowning.
“Because I wish to know what you’ve decided,” he said, feeling more than a little frustrated with her. Gemma wasn’t normally given to behaving like a flibbertigibbet, but today was a marked exception.
“We have to continue,” she said with a slight shake of her head. “I hadn’t thought to alarm Serena, but knowing how long it will take us to reach Crutchley’s home doesn’t change my mind about the necessity for the trip. We need to know who stole the fossil. And who killed Sir Everard. He may not have been a particularly good person, but he didn’t deserve to be murdered.”
Cam leaned back against the padded seat of his curricle. The wind had begun to pick up and the horses were impatient to be on the road again if their huffs of white breath were any indication.
“You are the most maddening lady, Gemma,” he said, his own breath a visible vapor in the shelter of the curricle roof. “I thought you were intent on exploring whatever this is between us without the risk of being forced into marriage.”
At his words, understanding dawned in her eyes. “Oh, I see now. You’re worried this will mean we have to wed.”
“Not worried,” he said hastily. “Or, perhaps on your behalf. You’re the one who wishes to make a life for yourself alone.”
He’d told his brother he would try to convince her to change her mind about her plan for a solitary life, but he didn’t wish to win her over by default. He wouldn’t marry her unless it was of her own free will. He’d seen too many arranged and forced marriages end in unhappiness for both parties.
“I’m embarking on this journey of my own volition, Cam,” she told him, putting a gloved hand on his arm. “If it turns out that this hasty trip ends up causing me to abandon my plans, then I’m willing to live with the consequences.”
He wanted to protest that he didn’t want her that way, but it would be a lie. He wanted her any way he could get her. And the rapidity of his change of heart on that matter was something that frightened him. Only last week, he’d considered her to be one of the most difficult and uncomfortable ladies of his acquaintance. Now he was becoming certain that a life without her would be dreadfully dull.
“If you’re sure,” he said, placing his hand over hers. And when he caught her gaze going to his mouth, he gave in and leaned forward to kiss her.
It was just a brief meeting of warm mouths, but the contrast with the cold air around them made it that much harder to pull away. But he did so, despite wishing he could wrap her in his arms and keep out the cold. This was a public thoroughfare, however, and he wouldn’t expose her to that sort of damage to her reputation, at least.
Still, when he pulled away, she smiled at him and he was almost lost.
“We have to go,” she said firmly, before slipping her arm into his. “It looks as if it might rain.”
Now she noticed, he thought wryly, “Yes, it does,” he said aloud. “If we’re lucky it will hold off until we reach Lyme.”
But they weren’t lucky.
Not long after they had gone another mile, a fat raindrop plopped onto the rump of the left leader. Then more followed that and soon they were experiencing that most uncomfortable of circumstances, driving against the wind into a rainstorm.
Cam’s coat and hat were enough to protect him from the worst of it, but Gemma’s clothing was made for fashion and not practicality. Thus, her jaunty hat, while pretty, did little to protect her from the shower. Nor did her coat.
Fortunately, they reached a village not far from Lyme a short while later. The inn there, which Cam had had occasion to stay in before, was not particularly luxurious, but clean and comfortable. But its proximity to Lyme meant it was a favorite with tourists visiting the seaside, and even at this time of year it did brisk business.
As he drew the horses to a stop, Cam leapt from the vehicle and when he crossed the wet inn yard to Gemma’s side she was already being assisted to the ground by a familiar figure.
“Lord Cameron,” said Lord Paley briskly as he slipped his arm through Gemma’s and led her into the taproom. “You’d best get out of the rain.”
Cam felt the man’s presence like a punch to the gut. Of all the people to encounter on this benighted journey, it had to be Paley.
He didn’t mistake the way the blackguard’s hand rested on Gemma’s as they walked, either.
Paley might have agreed to leave her be but it was obvious he found her attractive. What’s more, why was he here at all? Wasn’t he meant to remain at Pearson Close until Northman gave him permission to leave the area?
He’d just stepped into the interior of the inn when he heard Paley say, “What a surprise to find the two of you here so close to Lyme, Miss Hastings.”
Gemma glanced at Cam before responding. “It was an impulse on my part, Lord Paley. I simply had to come to see Mary Anning’s collection. Especially after learning that Lady Celeste purchased some things from her.”
“So you were able to learn more about Lady Celeste’s collection, then?” Paley asked, looking far too avid for Cam’s comfort.
“Indeed,” she replied, her mouth a little pursed at his obvious curiosity. “And Lord Cameron was kind enough to drive me here.”
“What a dreadful bit of luck to encounter such bad weather, then,” Paley said, his eyes narrowed at Cam. “I would have thought Lord Cameron would take better care of his betrothed.”
And something about the fellow’s air of disapproval, coupled with the knowledge that Gemma’s reputation was in real jeopardy thanks to this happenstance meeting, Cam pinned Paley with a glare. “Indeed, she is no longer my betrothed, Lord Paley.”
At a gasp from Gemma and a frown from Paley, he continued. “She is now my bride. You may wish us happy.”
* * *
The sight of Lord Paley at the entrance to The Fish & Fowl had caught Gemma by surprise. Especially since she hadn’t considered the notion they’d see anyone of their acquaintance on their journey. It was foolish, she realized now, but she had genuinely been so focused on meeting with Lord Crutchley and questioning him about the lizard skull, and then on arguing with Cam, that it hadn’t occurred to her.
For someone who prided herself on her intellect, she was behaving remarkably foolishly these days.
But she noted that Cam seemed far more put out by Lord Paley’s presence than she was. If ever there were a man staring daggers, it was Cam and his eyes were, metaphorically at least, stabbing Lord Paley to bits.
“What a dreadful bit of luck to encounter such bad weather, then,” Lord Paley was saying. “I would have thought Lord Cameron would take better care of his betrothed.”
This ruffled Gemma’s feathers on Cam’s behalf. Especially given that she’d been the one to insist on making the drive today.
She was about to say so when Cam, looking like a man who was about to lay down a trump card on the table, said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “Indeed, she is no longer my betrothed, Lord Paley.”
His words surprised her, but they also gave her a sense of foreboding.
Because rather than moving away from her, as would a man who was ending an engagement would do, Cam pulled her to his side, and away from Lord Paley’s grasp.
“She is now my bride,” he said, his voice ringing with triumph. “You may wish us happy.”
Gemma stood as still as a stone for a moment while she watched Lord Paley’s eyes narrow on them both. Recognizing that whatever game Cam was playing at there must be a reason for it, she filed away her sense of outrage to be examined later, and turned what she hoped would be interpreted as a smitten gaze on Cam. He, meanwhile, looked genuinely pleased with himself.
“I … that is a surprise,” Lord Paley said with a puzzled frown.
“Nothing was planned. I hoped, but I was biding my time, you see,” Cam told him, squeezing Gemma’s hand in warning. “I came to Little Seaford with a special license in my pocket. I just had to convince Miss Hastings—that is, Gemma—to go through with it. My brother performed the ceremony.”
To Gemma’s relief, Lord Paley seemed to believe the story. And to Gemma’s surprise he pumped Cam’s hand in an enthusiastic handshake before asking if he could kiss her hand.
Bemused, she extended her hand to him and he bent over it. “I wish you both every happiness,” he said with a mix of wistfulness and congratulations. “I do wish I’d met you earlier, Miss Hastings.” Then correcting himself, he said, “Lady Cameron, I mean. You’re a lucky man, Lord Cameron.”
“I well know it, Paley,” her false bridegroom responded with a loving glance in her direction. Really, if she hadn’t known it was all a hum, she’d have been fooled completely. Cam was a far better actor than she’d first supposed.
Just then, someone opened the door of the taproom and a breeze came in and Gemma realized she was cold and wet and desperately uncomfortable.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” said Lord Paley, with a sudden expression of discomfort.
He thinks he’s interrupted our wedding night, Gemma thought with a start.
And Cam, who had likely read the other man’s expression in the same way, gave him a brisk nod and, keeping her close by his side, moved to where the proprietor had been standing aside waiting until their business with Paley was concluded rather than interrupting.
“Milord,” said the man with a deep bow. “I couldn’t help but overhear. I’d be happy to offer you our best room. But I’m afraid there’s only the one. The rest are full up thanks to the mail coach, which came in just an hour ago.”
Gemma bit back an exclamation of frustration. She might have been planning to welcome Cam into her bedchamber at Beauchamp House, but that was before he put himself into her black books by declaring them wed before Lord Paley. He would be lucky if she allowed him to kiss her hand tonight, much less sleep with her in the large bed looming before them. And besides, she had no intention of remaining here tonight. The weather would no doubt turn and they could get to Lord Crutchley’s home in time for an evening call.
She said none of this, however, just waited for Cam to reply to the proprietor.
“My—ah, wife,” her “husband” said with the air of a man who is not used to the notion of having a bride yet, “will need a hot bath and we’d also like supper in our room.”
“Of course,” he said with a nod, leading them up a wide staircase to a corridor of doors.
The room he ushered them into was, as Cam had told her, comfortable, but not particularly lush. But the floors were swept and the counterpane and windows looked newly cleaned.
Once the innkeeper left them, and shut the door behind him, Gemma turned to face Cam.
To his credit, he didn’t shy away from her scowl.
“You may rip up at me once you’re out of your wet clothes,” he said firmly. “I may be a liar and a rogue, but at least I won’t countenance you catching your death.”
She lifted her brows, but untied the ribbons on her hat and removed it. “It seems as if catching my death has been a real possibility in your company of late,” she said as she placed the straw confection, now sadly drooping with moisture, on the mantelpiece.
Meanwhile, Cam had shrugged out of his many caped greatcoat and blue superfine. His neckcloth was as limp as Gemma’s hat, and though it must be uncomfortable, he didn’t remove it.
“Do not give up your comfort for my sensibilities’ sake,” Gemma said as she began unbuttoning her pelisse. “After all, we’re as good as married now.”
Cam looked up from an examination of his boots—he was clearly trying to figure out if he should remove them or not—and was arrested by the sight of the bare skin above her bodice. It had been covered by the pelisse, which was long-sleeved and high-necked. As Gemma watched, his eyes darkened and she felt an answering flush run through her.
“I meant your cravat,” she said moving her gaze to rest on the knotted linen at his neck.
Wordlessly, he began to loosen the knot that someone—his valet?—had spent a great deal of time perfecting.
It was dreadfully intimate, Gemma realized, just this simple act of watching him unknot his neckcloth. She felt a flutter in her belly and her breath quickened at the realization. This was far more intense than she’d imagined it would be.
When he was finished removing his tie, he stepped closer to her.
She’d never seen a gentleman in shirtsleeves before. Never even seen one with his neck bare. His fine lawn shirt opened into a vee at the hollow beneath his throat, dark curling hair drawing her eye there like a bit of shale in a bed of lime.
“Are you very angry?” he asked softly, reaching out to touch her cheek. His hands were rough. Rougher than those of most gentlemen she guessed. Very likely because he spent much of his time digging in the soil and cleaning fossils and stones. The thought reminded her that she had far more in common with this man who had the ability to bring her to all sorts of strong emotions within the space of a moment.
And yes, anger was one of them.
“A bit,” she admitted, but she didn’t object as he pulled her against that broad chest she couldn’t take her eyes off of. With a sigh, she leaned into his warmth and allowed him to hold her. “You must admit it was a scurvy trick.”
To his credit, he didn’t laugh at her turn of phrase—an epithet she’d picked up from the footman, William, who had a brother in the Royal Navy.
“It was, indeed,” he said, kissing her on the top of the head as he pulled her closer against him, so that her softness was flush against his solid strength. “I couldn’t let Paley leave with the kind of gossip seeing us here together alone would have started, though,” he said, his breath warm against her ear. “I’d have had to call him out in truth, this time.”
“I know,” she said, her own voice sounding breathy to her own ears. “But, without warning. I wasn’t ready. I mean, I’d come to the realization that this trip was taking a risk. But…”
“There’s no way I’d have let you go after you let me into your bed, though, Gemma.” His voice sounded apologetic, but there was a hint of steel there that she recognized for what it was. Determination.
She pulled away a little so that she could look him in the eyes. “But you said you would let me go,” she said, frowning. “Did you lie?”
He sighed. “I didn’t lie. Let us instead call it a temporary agreement about which I hoped to change your mind.”
His mouth curved into a sensual smile.
Despite her annoyance with him, she laughed. “Do you really think you’re so skilled at this lovemaking business that you’d be able to sway me from my life goals?”
When he only grinned, she laughed again. “You are incorrigible,” she said breathlessly. He pulled her close again and took her mouth in a kiss that told her just how confident in his skills he was.
When a knock signaled the servants bringing up the bath, they pulled apart, but Gemma couldn’t help but touch her swollen lips.
She watched the play of muscles beneath his shirt and waistcoat as he directed them with the hip bath.
If he was as good as he thought he was, she mused, perhaps it was a good thing they were away from Beauchamp House for this.