An Unexpected Gentleman (5 page)

It was mesmerizing, the way he moved. He closed the distance between them in the long, unhurried strides of a man confident in what he sought and convinced of his success in obtaining what he desired. She had ample opportunity to back away. But she couldn’t move. She couldn’t drag her eyes away.

“He’s been very kind to me,” she heard herself whisper.

“And that’s enough for you, is it?” The light of the moon disappeared behind his tall form. “Kindness and an income?”

He was so close, she had to tilt her head back to see his shadowed face. “Yes.”

“Don’t you long for something more?”

Yes
. “No.”

A small smile tugged at his lips as he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “You do.”

Her hands flew to his chest in a futile effort to create the illusion of space between them. She shook her head, or thought she shook her head. It was difficult to say. And it made very little difference either way. He simply pulled her closer, bent his head, and whispered against her lips.

“Sweetheart, everyone wants more.”

And then he was kissing her, his mouth moving over hers in a series of soft brushes and tender caresses. He was so careful, so gentle, she could almost believe that he was unsure of her, that she had the option of pulling away. But the iron band of his arm around her waist told a different story. He wasn’t unsure, merely patient. He kissed her with gentle demand, as if he meant to coax her into an inevitable submission. Even if it took all night.

The wait wasn’t quite that long. The supple dance of his lips warmed her blood and drew a sigh from her mouth. Her limbs grew heavy and her head light. She leaned against him, feeling the hard beat of his heart against her palms and the strength of his large body through the barrier of their clothing.

His hand cupped her face, and his thumb brushed along her jaw to press lightly on her chin. She opened her mouth without thought, and his tongue darted inside for a taste.

She heard her own gasp, and the amused whisper against her mouth.

“Do you want more?”

In that moment, she wanted everything. She nodded and was rewarded with the feathery brush of his lips against her temple.

“Then don’t see him tonight.” He covered her mouth before she could answer, lingering just long enough to tease at that promise of more. “Don’t see him.”

“Yes,” she whispered, stretching up for him when he pulled away.

He kept just out of reach. “Swear it.”

“I swear.” She was only vaguely aware of saying the words.

“Remember,” he whispered. He pressed his lips to hers briefly, skimmed a hand along her cheek, and let her go.

Disoriented, she stood where she was as he backed two steps away. If she’d felt steadier on her feet, she might have followed him. Instead, she said the first thought that popped into her head.

“You said there was more. You promised—” She broke off and winced. Even tipsy and dazed, she knew when she was making a fool of herself.

Connor merely smiled. “You made a promise as well. Keep yours first.”

“Oh.” Something about that struck her as terribly unfair, but she wasn’t willing to embarrass herself further by arguing. It seemed wise not to say anything at all, in fact. She’d never kissed a man before and hadn’t the foggiest notion of what was expected of her now. Should she make polite conversation? Stare longingly into his eyes? Offer a quick farewell? The last seemed rather appealing, all of a sudden.

Connor leaned a bit to look around the hedge. “Our obstacle is gone.”

“Oh. Well.” What marvelous timing. Feeling equal parts dazed, awkward, and relieved, she forced her legs into cooperation and turned for the house. When she realized Connor wasn’t following her, she turned back. “Are you coming?”

He shook his head. “I’ll watch from here.”

“Well,” she said again, and feeling as if she ought to make some gesture, that one of them ought to do
something
, she smiled and gave a wobbly curtsy. “Good night, Connor.”

“Sweet dreams, Adelaide.”

He spoke the words like a caress, and Adelaide felt the warmth of them, and the heat of his gaze on her back, as she navigated her way across the lawn through the shadows. Her last thought before she opened the back door to the house was that the night had certainly not gone as expected.

C
onnor strolled to the door after Adelaide went inside. The night, he decided, had gone mostly as planned. He leaned back against the cool stone of the house and took a moment to savor his success . . . and the lingering taste of Adelaide Ward on his tongue. He’d known she’d be sweet. The hint of tartness was a pleasant surprise.

He avoided surprises as a rule. Or, more accurately, he avoided being taken by surprise—catching other people off guard was an entirely different matter. In the case of Miss Ward, however, he was willing to be charmed by the unexpected.

He was willing to be all kinds of things with Miss Ward. Naked came to mind. For now, however, he’d settle for engaged. The challenge would be to convince her to settle for the same, but he would manage it. The lady’s circumstances, courtesy of her degenerate brother, had already done half the work for him.

Wolfgang Ward had wasted the family fortune on a string of business ventures so risky they’d been little more than poorly conceived wagers. Rumor had it that Wolfgang’s late wife was in part to blame for his choice of investments, but Connor hadn’t found anything to substantiate the claim. Moreover, the bad gambles had continued on after the wife’s death in childbirth.

That had been nearly two years ago. Wolfgang had been given ten months to celebrate the birth of his son and mourn the passing of his wife before he’d been hauled off to debtors’ prison . . . where, unbeknownst to Adelaide at the time, he’d proceeded to procure his heaviest debt yet. The source and extent of that debt remained a mystery to her still.

Only a dark spot of providence had kept Wolfgang’s sisters and his son from the poorhouse—a small inheritance to Adelaide and Isobel from a distant cousin. It wasn’t enough to free Wolfgang from prison, but it was sufficient to keep the women and child housed and fed . . . for now. There couldn’t be much left, and Wolfgang’s creditors were clamoring to have what little remained. It wouldn’t be long before they convinced the courts that with a woman was no place to leave an inheritance.

Adelaide was running out of time and money.

Connor smiled grimly. Fortunately for her, he had plenty of funds. Time, however, was a concern. He’d bought a day, maybe two, with tonight’s little ruse. He needed more.

The fact that tonight had been a ruse caused Connor only passing discomfort. There was a time and place for a guilty conscience. Namely, when one has done something wrong. He didn’t doubt for a second that he was in the right.

“What you scowling for, boy? Couldn’t have gone better, you ask me.”

Connor merely lifted a brow as Michael Birch appeared from around the corner of the house. The heavyset man rubbed his hands together in excitement as he limped his way over on a bad knee. Though edging past middle age, Michael’s red hair retained its rich color, and his round face was as smooth as the day they’d met. Connor had been sixteen then, just as he’d told Adelaide. The rest he’d made up. It didn’t take Michael six months to spot a liar. Deceit was the man’s stock and trade.

“It went as planned,” Connor said by way of a response.

Mostly
as planned, he amended silently when the back door rattled and cracked open. Gregory O’Malley’s ancient visage appeared in the space. His wrinkled and weathered face split into a wide grin. “What say you, lad? Will she be having you?”

“Eventually.” Connor watched the old man emerge from the door. Gregory was spry for his age, but it was a toss-up as to which creaked more, the door hinges or the old man’s bones. “Did you follow her?”

“Aye. It’s straight to her chambers she went.”

“You stopped outside the sitting room earlier.”
That
hadn’t been part of the plan. Gregory had been instructed to walk slowly down the hall, past the door, and take a seat on the bench.

“Sure and I did.” There wasn’t a whisper of regret in Gregory’s voice. “A man’s needing a spot of fun now and then. And a lass is needing something to think about.”

“You’re fortunate she didn’t think of swooning.”

Michael made a scoffing sound in the back of his throat. “Our girl’s more spine than that.”

She did, in fact, but neither of the men were in a position to know it. “You’ve never met her.”

“Seen her, haven’t I?” Michael countered. “Coming alone to visit her worthless brother in prison with a babe in her arms and naught but a prayer to protect her.”

“Aye,” Gregory agreed. “It’s spine she has. She’ll make a fine wife . . . You will be marrying the lass?”

Michael leaned toward Gregory. “He were scowling and brooding a minute ago.”

“Worried? Our Connor?”

Connor gave them a facile smile. “I’m not worried. She agreed not to see Sir Robert tonight.”

“And tomorrow?” Gregory asked.

“We’ll see.”

The two men exchanged looks but said nothing.

Connor debated how much to tell them. “The courtship is further along than I realized. She’s expecting an offer.”

“Well, there’ll be time to woo her after the banns are read,” Michael said at length. “Not final till they’ve paid a visit to the vicar.”

“And the marriage bed,” Gregory added.

Because the image of Adelaide and Sir Robert sharing a bed turned his stomach, Connor pushed the thought, and the subject, aside.

“It’s no simple matter for a lady to break an engagement with a baron.” He straightened from the wall. “And Miss Ward is a bird-in-the-hand sort.”

Michael looked to Gregory. “Well, here’s hoping she agrees to marry him tonight, then.”

Gregory nodded sagely. “Aye.”

The logic of that escaped Connor.

“Why?” he asked Michael.

“She’ll have broken her promise to you, won’t she have? And the sort of woman willing to break a promise now is the same sort who’ll break a promise later. But if she keeps to her word now, and gives her word to Sir Robert later . . .” He trailed off, shared a look with Gregory, then offered Connor a bolstering smile and pat on the arm. “Well, with any luck, we’ll find she’s not to be trusted, eh?”

“She’ll not break her promise.”

“Then you’re in a bit of a fix.”

“Don’t scare the boy.” Gregory lowered his voice and leaned in a little. “Look here, lad. Used to be, if a man were wanting a particular lass to wife, he took her, and there was an end to the matter.”

Connor gave the old man a bland look.

“He’s not suggesting you steal the girl,” Michael explained.

“I’d never be suggesting such a thing.” Gregory looked suitably abashed. He sidled a little closer. “. . . But there
was
a time a man gave the notion a proper thinking over.”

“I’ve thought it over.” He’d had a fantasy or two that fell along those lines, anyway. That was close enough. “The answer is no.”

He started out across the lawn toward the line of trees beyond the garden. The men fell into step behind him.

“Told you it wouldn’t work,” Michael whispered.

“Boy’s gone soft.”

“No more’n a body expect, what with all your coddling.”

“
My
coddling? Was it me who talked him out of shooting the bastard in Montserrat, I ask you? It was not.”

Connor smiled at the exchange and let the sound of their bickering fade into the background of his mind. He was accustomed to their squabbles. Like the scrape and groan of a favorite old chair, he took pleasure and comfort in the familiar noise. He took strength of purpose as well. These men, who had once been his saviors and mentors, were now family. He owed them. He’d have been lost to the gutters of Boston if not for Michael and Gregory. And they’d have spent the last year of their lives as free men instead of caged in a prison cell if it hadn’t been for him . . . and, in a more direct manner, Sir Robert.

If it was the last thing he did, Connor would see Sir Robert suffer the cost of his crimes.

Adelaide Ward would be the first payment.

 

A
delaide wasn’t any less tipsy by the time she stumbled her way into her room. She was, however, putting considerably more effort into pretending she was fully sober. She ran hands down her gown and tried to focus her thoughts. When that failed, she tried focusing her eyes instead.

Isobel was still up, reading a book in a chair by the window. They shared the same slight stature and finely boned features, but Isobel had their mother’s dark blonde hair and a set of mild blue eyes that hid a stubborn, and oft-times impetuous, temperament.

Isobel flicked a narrowed glance at Adelaide before returning her attention to her book, neatly reminding Adelaide that they had argued before the ball.