Chapter Eight
Lord Butterstone’s funeral was to take place in London at the end of the week. In consideration for Lady Butterstone, dinner had been a sober affair followed by a quiet game of whist when her ladyship had gone to bed.
After their card game when they all retired to their bedrooms, Jack stopped Harry on the stairs. “What on earth are you up to Harry? You’re playing a dangerous game with a lady’s reputation.”
Harry looked at him coolly. “One might ask you the same thing.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “I am?”
“The way Lady Ashley looks at you could set the room on fire.”
“She is merely grateful. I’m trying to discover who killed her father.” Jack wasn’t prepared to discuss Ashley, it would be disloyal to her, although he and Harry were usually frank with each other.
“Ho! And the sun doesn’t rise in the east!”
Jack continued to climb the stairs. “Leave this to me, Harry. I’m riding to London tomorrow. I may have this dealt with by the end of the week.”
“And then?”
Jack didn’t wish to examine his own feelings too closely. “I’ll be on my way.”
Harry nodded with a skeptical expression.
Jack grinned, a hand on the bannister. “How skillfully you have changed the subject. We were discussing you and Erina.”
“Might be wise to leave that for another day.”
“When ...?”
“When I work out what the devil I’m doing.”
Jack laughed and shook his head. “I’ll come down and see you two off in the morning.”
“Have you formed any ideas about Butterstone’s killer?”
“Early days, Harry. But we have learned more from his diary.”
As they walked along the corridor, Jack related what he and Ashley had discovered.
“Good lord! There’s some suggestion that Napoleon was poisoned by the English?”
“It’s possible. Butterstone stumbled onto something he wasn’t meant to know. Then he took it to someone at Whitehall who perhaps he should have avoided. I have to find out who that man is and what has happened to Butterstone’s brother-in-law, Lord Caindale.”
“It sounds like you’re opening a Pandora’s box. Are you sure you should get involved? After all, Bonaparte is dead.”
“Lady Butterstone and Lady Ashley deserve to know who killed their husband and father in such a brutal fashion.”
“I see. Take care, Jack.”
“I wish you all the best with the determined Lady Erina.”
“Thanks. I feel I’m going to need it.”
It was close to midnight, but Jack wasn’t tired. Apart from exercising Arion for a few hours before luncheon he’d done very little during the day. He’d been restless, eager to continue his search for Lord Butterstone’s killer.
He washed and stripped off his evening clothes, slipped between the sheets and blew out the candle. Resting, he considered his trip to London.
Jack sensed Harry wasn’t sure himself what lay behind his rash behavior. For him to squire an unmarried lady about the countryside without her father’s permission was breathtaking in its recklessness. Even if he planned to marry her. Erina, a forceful young woman, had made it plain they weren’t to wed. But even forceful young women could not make Harry do something he didn’t wish to do. If Harry disagreed he’d dig his heels in, and you knew you might as well save your breath. He had never lost his temper to Jack’s knowledge but got his own way most of the time by some means or other. It was a revelation to find him bending to Erina’s will as meek as a lamb. Curious, Jack wished to know why she would risk her reputation to go to Ireland.
The door opened, and candlelight flooded in from the sconces in the corridor. For a moment, a delectable shape was highlighted before the door closed and the room became dark.
Jack pushed back the covers and reached for the tinder box. He breathed in a familiar scent as a hand found his shoulder. “Don’t light the candle.”
He ran his hand down her arm and took her wrist, then with an arm around her waist, leaned back on the bed taking the lady with him.
Ashley sighed. “I hope I am welcome?” she asked, half lying over him.
“Can’t you tell?”
She giggled softly. “I feel like a young girl.”
“Surprising in a woman in her dotage,” he said, as his hands cupped her perfectly youthful derriere through her thin nightgown.
She laughed and reached up to touch his hair. “We must talk.”
The room was midnight black, it was impossible to read her expression, but her voice told him what he wished to know. “And we will, I promise.” He peeled the fine lawn over her head and threw it on the floor. His lips found the soft skin of her throat. He cradled her head in his hands and pressed kisses over her cheek and took her mouth.
She softly moaned and stroked her fingers through his hair. “I’ve thought of this all day.”
“As have I.” He enjoyed a tactile investigation of her body. Without sight, his other senses came to the fore. The smell of fragrant, aroused woman, the incredible softness and warmth of her skin, the shape of her delicate bones beneath, the rise and fall of her breasts. Her gently rounded stomach, the damp warmth between her thighs. What had begun as a slow appreciation became a rampaging passion sending his blood thumping through his veins. He took her swiftly while she moaned, her fingernails leaving a trail of sensation across his back.
They lay quietly afterwards as he held her, aware that she was silently crying. She mourned her father and perhaps Lambourne too. Jack frowned into the dark. Butterstone would be avenged.
~~~
Harry sat up in bed. “Erina! What are you doing here? Go away this instant!”
“Shush.” Erina opened his bedroom door wider and slipped inside. “I have something I must tell you.”
He reached for his robe. “Couldn’t it wait until breakfast?”
“Impossible. We won’t be alone.” She perched on the end of the bed and arranged her green silk dressing gown over her legs. “And I need to explain about our journey.”
Harry slipped from the bed, tightened his dressing gown belt, and sat on the sofa near the fireplace. “Dare I hope you’ve changed your mind?”
She eyed him for a minute. His tawny-brown hair was all tousled, rather endearingly. “I want to explain my reason for going to Ireland. And if you prefer not to take me, Harry, you can put me on the stage.”
He smoothed his hair back. “You expect me to put you on the stage and go off home to confess all to my father and yours?”
“Well, yes. I admit that might be difficult.”
“Difficult! Not quite the right word, is it? Shall we try impossible?”
Erina was getting a crick in her neck. She left the bed and came to sit beside him on the sofa. “Don’t shout. Someone might hear.”
He made a strangled noise in his throat. “You woke me up to make this appallingly foolish suggestion?”
“You weren’t asleep. Your candle was lit.”
“Maybe I like a candle burning while I sleep. Maybe I’m frightened of the dark.”
She giggled nervously. “I don’t believe that Harry. Now listen while I tell you about the letter.”
He folded his arms. “What letter?”
“Please just listen.”
Erina explained about Cathleen’s predicament. How after her mother died, her father had begun to gamble and drink heavily. And how the neighbor had taken advantage of him. When they had lost everything, her father shot himself. This neighbor, who now claimed to own their property, insisted she marry him or be cast out into the street.
Harry said nothing.
“So, will you still agree to take me?” she asked, a plea in her voice.
“That’s a very sad story. I am deeply sorry for Cathleen, but I fail to see how you, arriving at their home unescorted and with little money can be of help to her.”
“We won’t stay there above one night. I’ll just fetch her and bring her home. I’ve brought some jewelry with me. I’ll sell it to a pawnbroker in Dublin to pay for our fare.”
“Erina…” He paused. “What happens when you arrive home with Cathleen? Just supposing you do make it home safely. Will all be forgiven? Do you intend to spend your days caring for your disgruntled father with Cathleen as your companion?”
She shook her head, eased off her slippers and tucked her bare feet beneath her dressing gown. “No one will know. Our parents won’t put it about. My cousin will attend balls and dances with me.”
“And fall in love and live happily ever after?”
“You are making fun of me. I’m certain I can do this.”
He leaned forward, took her hand, and squeezed it. “If our parents hadn’t forced this engagement on us, would you have attempted this?”
“I would have tried.” She frowned. “I have to try. Cathleen is my mother’s niece. Mama would expect me to do something. But my father disliked my mother’s family. He believes the Irish are beneath us.” She brightened. “What about Captain Ryder? Doesn’t he intend to go to Ireland when he leaves here? He would be a strong and capable escort, and then you needn’t worry about me.”
Harry pushed himself off the sofa. “Jack has his own concerns. Go to bed Erina, I will take you.”
Did he mean just to the ferry? She would deal with that later. Erina jumped up. “Thank you, Harry.”
“Don’t mention it. Now shall we get some sleep? We’re going to need it.”
“Yes. We must make an early start. Let’s breakfast at seven o’clock.” She opened the door and peered into the shadowy corridor, the candles guttering. No one about. She turned to say goodnight and bumped into Harry who was right behind her.
His hands on her shoulders, Harry pulled her toward him. He pressed his mouth on hers in a firm kiss. For a moment, her head spun, and she placed a hand on his arm to steady herself.
“Think about that.” He gave her a gentle push into the corridor and shut the door.
Erina stood staring at the closed door with a hand to her mouth. Her heart was pounding. Harry had kissed her! She turned and hurried to her room.
Safely back in her bed, Erina considered what had just happened. She trusted Harry. In a way, he was like the brother she’d never had. But that kiss! What was she to make of it? Did he think her forward? No, he knew better than that. Could it be that he wanted to marry her after all? He’d never flirted or given her reason to suspect it.
Until the kiss. Which wasn’t exactly flirtatious? The kiss was more like a… a declaration. She should be annoyed. Very annoyed.
Was he trying to make her change her mind and go home? She turned over onto her side. And then onto her back. She touched her lips where the imprint of his seemed to remain. As they continued to Holyhead, she must explain to him that there never could be anything like that between them. She huffed and bashed her pillow, a strange heavy feeling in her chest, because she hated to hurt him.
Erina groaned. Everything was at sixes and sevens. Tomorrow at breakfast, she wasn’t at all sure how she should address him. Would he treat her differently now?