He found her in the library, in a chair beside the fireplace, her legs tucked beneath her. The burgundy fabric would absorb her scent. When she was no longer here, it would no doubt become his favorite chair in the residence.
He didn’t think he made a noise, but she looked up and smiled at him, her lips forming the slight curve that he had begun to crave. “I wasn’t expecting you back tonight.”
“I wanted to ensure the horse got fed properly.” Walking to the fireplace, he set his elbow on the mantel, striving to ignore her bruised and battered face. He should have hit Morris once more, just for good measure. No, twice more. A dozen times more.
“How did things go with Morris?” she asked, as though reading his mind.
“He and I came to an understanding. He won’t be abusing any more horseflesh.”
Her smile widened, gratitude filled those lovely green eyes, and he felt like a rotten bastard. He should tell her everything now. Take her home. Before he’d left, he’d seen Somerdale on the gambling floor. He would only gain access to her dowry if people knew she was dead. He was either patiently waiting for her to wash ashore, not knowing she’d already washed up, or he didn’t know she’d been in danger of drowning. The latter seemed more likely. Which meant he was probably telling the truth about the uncle. But why was the uncle not trying to find her?
If she regained her memories, she might know what had happened. If he told her what he knew she might remember—and in the remembering he would lose her. “Have you had your dinner?”
“No. I didn’t want to go for my lesson when I knew packages would be arriving. By the time they were all delivered, I was quite exhausted from the day. I had a bit of cheese.”
The silk, satin, and lace he’d spotted on Ebenezer Whistler’s counter was in his residence, might even be on her person if she’d been impatient about feeling it next to her skin. He imagined skimming his hands over silk and flesh, slipping things off, slipping things in. Christ, he should return to the club before his imagination prodded him to do something they’d both regret. He saw her again, bravely facing down Morris. Courageous girl. Foolish but courageous.
He didn’t want to admire her, but dammit all to hell, he did.
I’m back off to the club was what he’d meant to say. But what he heard coming from his traitorous mouth was “I brought some food from the club. Care to join me?”
They spread a blanket in the garden, set the large wicker basket at one end, and served themselves. Twilight eased in around them as the bustling noises from the streets quieted, creating an intimacy that Phee wasn’t certain she could ignore. While he didn’t have a proper garden with flowers adorning it, she no longer minded. Daisy wandered along the brick wall where the grass was tallest, nibbling here and there, obviously content with her lack of duties. Phee was equally content.
Drake still wore his jacket, waistcoat, and neck cloth. She wished she had changed out of her uniform, but she wanted to save her other clothing for a special occasion, although tonight seemed rather special. Marla’s earlier words echoed through Phee’s mind, and she couldn’t deny that an unusual camaraderie existed between her and Drake that seemed to defy the societal conventions of master and servant. If it wasn’t allowed for her to have tea with Mrs. Turner, how was it that she could enjoy a picnic with Drake? She didn’t know quite how to define their relationship. She knew only that she was terribly glad he was here.
She was also extremely grateful for everything that had come from the basket. The wine was superb. The beef was the most tender she’d ever eaten. Or at least that she recalled ever eating. She thought she should be more bothered by her lack of memories, and yet new ones were being created and she wanted to treasure them.
“I don’t understand why you don’t dine at the club every night,” she said. “It seems it has the most incredible cook.”
“I did eat there before you came here,” he said.
“I think you should return to eating there, and just send dinners ’round for me. This”—she held up a Brussels sprout she’d speared—“is remarkably tasty.”
“I suppose I could consider altering your duties.”
“A smart man would, as it will take me forever to learn to prepare food that is this delicious.”
“Forever? You have no doubt you’ll become an amazing cook?”
“I believe I can do anything I set my mind to.” She stopped, considered. “Yes, I really do believe that. Sometimes I have a thought and it feels as though it’s part of my soul, something I pulled up from deep down in that well of nothingness. Like today with Daisy. I knew I could not stand by and watch that horse be abused. I saw people walking by as though nothing were amiss, and I just couldn’t do the same, carry on as though I wasn’t witnessing an injustice.”
“I had no idea you could move so quickly. One moment you were examining asparagus and the next you were loping toward that brute. At first I thought you’d caught sight of someone from your past, that your memories had returned.” Grinning, he peered at her over the lip of his wineglass. “But then you were terrifying the poor gent.”
“He’s hardly a gent, and I don’t believe I terrified him in the least, but I was so angry. I didn’t know I had it in me to be that furious. I’ve been thinking about it, though, and I’m rather certain I’ve done it before.”
“Beaten men to a bloody pulp?”
She smiled, so enjoying the ease with which they conversed. She could tell him anything, trust him with her deepest secrets. If she had any. “Rescued animals. I think that’s why I had such a hard time with the pheasant, looking at me as it was.” She thought some more, nodded with certainty as images came to mind. “I want to have a place in the country where I can nurture animals that are broken in body or spirit.” She beamed with wonder. “Yes, that’s my dream. I knew I had one but I couldn’t remember it. But that’s what it is. I know that’s what it is.”
“Most ladies dream of marrying.”
She shook her head, conviction in the depths of her soul. “I don’t want to marry.”
Stretching out on his side, resting on an elbow, he studied her as though she were an odd specimen he’d found beneath glass. “I suspect when your memories return, you’ll feel differently.”
Again, she shook her head, more forcefully this time. “No, I’m quite sure. I will not marry. I have no desire to do so. Perhaps that’s the reason I chose service. Marla told me that few in this trade marry.”
“I suppose that’s true enough. I’ve known of couples in the same household marrying but it’s rare.”
“So I shall never marry and I shall hoard my wages until I can acquire a place in the country.”
“Based upon the number of purchases you made today, it will be a long time before you realize that dream.”
“We’ll see.”
“Yes, I suspect we shall.”
She didn’t think he was mocking her, but rather had as much faith in her convictions as she did. She might be an old woman, bent over with a walking stick, but she would acquire her dream. She had no doubt of it.
When she was so full that she thought she might burst, she lay down and gazed at the darkening sky. “I’m rather glad you don’t have a proper dining room. If you did, I suspect we’d eat there, and this is so much more pleasant.”
“Yes, it is.” His voice was low, and it contained some emotion she couldn’t quite identify.
Rolling her head to the side, she found him studying her intently. She was fairly certain he wanted to kiss her. She knew she wanted to kiss him. She also knew that Marla was correct: her relationship with Drake flirted at the edge of being something more than servant and employer. Had she always been drawn to him like this? Had they enjoyed more moments like these? It seemed a tragedy to have experienced them, and then to have forgotten them. She knew that if she asked him to elaborate about their relationship, their past, he would simply inform her that she needed to remember it on her own. She wondered why he didn’t want to influence her memories. Had they once been in love? Did he want her to fall in love with him all over again? She thought she could tumble quite easily.
“When is my day off?” she asked.
He seemed surprised by her question, and she wondered if he recognized it for what it was: a distraction from dangerous places where her thoughts should not journey.
“I’ll have to check the schedule.”
“Which I suppose is in your office at the club.”
With a nod, he took a sip of wine.
“Not very efficient of you,” she told him. “The way you keep everything at the club. Especially as you have such a nice desk here.”
He studied his wine and she didn’t want to consider that perhaps she shouldn’t have taken him to task, that she might have ruined what had become a most enjoyable evening, nor did she want to admit her reluctance to consider that the reason he kept everything at the club was because he didn’t trust her. Not that she blamed him, as she had looked into his box, even knowing that she shouldn’t have.
He shifted his gaze to her. “What would you do with a day away from here?”
“I’m not quite sure, especially as now I’m saving my pennies.”
“Pretend money would be no object.”
“Oh, well, in that case”—she smiled brightly—“I could go anywhere.”
“Anywhere,” he repeated. “So where would you choose?”
She couldn’t imagine it, being able to go anywhere in the world. “The seaside I think.”
Surprise crossed over his features. “Not someplace exotic and faraway?”
She rolled her head from side to side. “No, I prefer simple, familiar, someplace that makes me feel safe. I’ve been to the seaside before. I can see the ocean, hear the rush of the waves and the cry of the gulls. I like the seaside. Have you been to faraway, exotic places?”
“I’ve traveled a good deal of the world, thought I’d seen everything of beauty.” Setting aside his wineglass, he leaned over and trailed his fingers along her chin. She wasn’t certain how they’d come to be so near one another. “Your courage humbled me today, when you went after a man twice your size.”
“I wasn’t being brave,” she said softly. “I was just angry. If I had stopped to think, I don’t believe I’d have gone after him like I did.”
“I think you would have. I’m seeing sides to you that I never imagined existed.” He stroked his thumb over her lower lip, causing warmth and pleasure to weave through her limbs. She wasn’t certain she’d be able to move them if she tried. Not that she wanted to move. She didn’t want to break the spell. “You’re far more complicated than I ever realized.”
“Isn’t that true of everyone?” she asked.
“It seems especially true of you.”
With his nearness, butterflies were fluttering madly in her chest. She feared as much as she anticipated that they were on the verge of doing something entirely inappropriate. But she didn’t want him to cease his attentions, to stop touching her.
“Where would you go?” she asked. “If money were no object and you could go anywhere?”
“I would remain right here.” He lowered his mouth to hers, his tongue teasing her lips to part, before thrusting deep and sure.
In the farthest recesses of her mind, she worked to decipher his words, wondering if the here he referred to was his garden, London . . . her. Her, she decided as the kiss became hungrier, all consuming. Something strong and potent existed between them. She might not remember it, but she knew it with certainty. He would no doubt claim that he had taken advantage again, but how could he deny them this when it seemed so right, when everything within her yearned to be nearer to him? He’d saved her, he’d saved Daisy. This gruff man who seemed irritated with her most of the time, who seemed so unwilling to share himself, was doing so now in a most intimate and thorough manner. She relished the barriers between them dissipating. Perhaps she had a bit of Marla’s romantic bent within her. Even though she knew no good would come of this. Their status was vastly different, an immeasurable chasm separating their places within Society. He had means, influence, and power. He ruled over a gentlemen’s club while she ruled over dust and cobwebs.
Yet he never made her feel less. He never made her feel beneath him, even though at that precise moment, he shifted his weight and she found herself quite literally beneath him. He managed to hold himself so he wasn’t crushing her. One hand cradled her cheek while the other skimmed along her side until it settled on her hip, strong fingers kneading. Clutching his shoulders, she wished he’d discarded the jacket and waistcoat earlier, would not have even minded if the shirt were gone. Would he consider her completely wanton if she began loosening his buttons?
She knew proper etiquette and comportment; she understood fully that her actions represented neither. But who was to care? She had no family, no stalwart friends to embarrass. Marla wouldn’t object. Phee thought if given the chance, Marla would change places with her in a heartbeat, although she had no plans to give Marla the opportunity.
She loved his throaty growls, the eagerness of his mouth. Her heart sped up, her body warmed. Twilight had given way to darkness that brought a cooling to the air that should have chilled her and had her wanting a wrap. Instead she was fevered, discovered she wore too many clothes. He made her long for things she instinctually knew no respectable woman would yearn for. Yet she didn’t seem to give a fig that her reputation was at risk.
She wanted him to know that she desired his kiss. She didn’t want him to apologize for it afterward. She wanted him as captivated by this vortex of madness as she was.
It was madness, total and complete madness. Drake knew it even as he seemed unable to stop himself from tasting her again and again. She intrigued and fascinated him, this woman who would go to the seaside if she could go anywhere. When she traveled to Paris simply to order her gowns. This woman who didn’t complain about her limited wardrobe, when he suspected in her other life she had dozens of dinner gowns, ball gowns, morning dresses, walking dresses, riding habits.
They’d shared a dinner on a blanket in an untended garden, yet contentment eased in around him as surreptitiously as night washed away day. She had shared her dreams, her aspirations, which were not at all what he would have expected of her. Marriage to a duke or a prince, queen of a realm. Not a spinster’s life tending broken animals.
She smiled and his gut tightened. She laughed and his chest grew taut. She sighed and something deep, feral, and possessive growled within him. He couldn’t explain any of his reactions, didn’t want to analyze them. She touched him in ways no other woman ever had. She made him yearn for things he’d thought beyond his grasp: wife, children, home.
He had no business kissing her, and yet he could no more deny himself this pleasure than he could cease to breathe. It didn’t help matters at all that she welcomed him with open arms and pliant mouth. This warm, willing creature beneath him was nothing at all like the frigid, stiff—
A hard nudge to his shoulder had him breaking off the kiss. Enough light remained that as he looked back he saw the silhouette of the blasted horse. It lowered its head and bumped his shoulder again. “See here!”
Giggling, actual giggling, wafted toward him, creating that tightness once again in his chest. Turning his attention to Phee, he was torn between amusement, frustration, and relief. The madness was abating, his senses were returning. Things never should have gone this far.
“Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. With her hand, she covered her mouth. “I know it’s not funny, but it is rather.”
“Don’t apologize. You saved her this afternoon, she saved you now.” He shoved himself to a sitting position and began putting the items back into the wicker basket.
“What do you mean by that?” Phee asked.
“I had no business kissing you.”
She pushed herself up. “So you keep saying. Are you married?”
“That’s a ridiculous question. If I were, my wife would be here.”
“Would she?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Am I married?”
“No.”
He could feel her gaze boring into him. Why were there so many dishes to be put away? Why was it taking forever to end this ghastly mistake? He should have never returned here with dinner. He should have stayed at the club.
“Is it because of the difference in our positions?” she asked quietly.
“Yes,” he answered succinctly. Tossing in the last of the items, he thought he heard a plate crack. Lovely.
“Our different places in Society matter to you,” she said.
“They matter to you.” Twisting around, he faced her. Feeling a need to lessen the tartness of his earlier response, he trailed his fingers over her cheek. “You’ll remember that someday.” He was quite sorry that she would.
Heaving himself to his feet, he reached down, offered his hand, and helped her stand. Before he could step away, she was cradling his cheek.
“Why would it matter to me?” she asked.
Placing his hand over hers, holding it in place, he turned his face and pressed a kiss against the center of her palm. “Because in spite of how it might all appear, you believe me beneath you.”
“It makes no sense. Why would I think that?”
“Because of who and what I am.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
“I know I’m not.” Bending over, he hefted up the basket. “I need to return to the club. Deliveries arrive there in the morning. I shan’t return here until almost noon.”
“Then I shall sleep in and you will never know.”
The tartness in her tone alerted him that she was moving on from what had just passed between them. He should be grateful, but as an image of her sprawled in his bed flashed through his mind, he wished for other things, uppermost that he could join her there, without guilt or remorse. “Sleep well.”
Then he walked quickly from the garden before his resolve left him. How was it that Lady Ophelia Lyttleton had become the most important thing in his life?