The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance) (70 page)

For Momma, who always believed in me.

I wrote this fairy tale for you.

And for Crank, Sugar, Sass and Danger. Life would not be nearly as interesting without you.

Perry left his brother’s house under a moonless sky without a backward glance— like a coward. The past month had sent his life into a spiral and he was unable to right himself. In the space of a Season his brother, Gideon, the Duke of Roxleigh, had gone from recluse to fiancé, and Perry had gone from rake to guardian for three young French ladies.

He sat in the dark carriage, tossed to and fro in the seat as it traversed the country ruts, and pondered. Guardian. Respectable.

He shook his head and leaned back into the squabs of his landau as it rolled away from the seat of the dukedom. He stretched his long legs across to the opposite seat, folded his arms, lowered his chin, and let his lids close. The carriage lulled him and he slumbered heavily.

Half asleep, Perry felt a tingling sensation and his foot twitched. He snorted, pressing his head further into the plush paneling. When the sensation skimmed his knee he kicked and moved his boot to the floor, pulling at his trousers to stop the nerves that spread through his leg. When it returned, farther up his thigh, he stomped his foot to rouse the sleeping limb and arrest the incessant tingling. Then he felt what was quite clearly a feather-light touch against his shoulder, so he relaxed his eyelids, allowing a narrow view from beneath his thick eyelashes. He searched the shadowy depths without moving. When he saw a hand move toward him he snatched it, wrapping his fingers tightly around the wrist and pulling it across his body.

It was then he knew two things without a doubt: first, that there was a woman in his carriage—for the slide of a woman’s bosom across his chest was all too familiar—and second, that she trembled. Whether from fear, anger, or passion—of that much he was unsure. But his gut told him fear.

She slipped to the floor with a squeak and a thud as he sat up and lowered his other foot. He felt her hand press weakly against his knee as his eyes attempted to adjust and he stared intently, willing his vision to clear the thick darkness between them. Without taking his eyes from where the intruder’s face should be, he banged a closed fist against the roof, then yelled, “Gardner!”

They ground to a halt and he heard the coachman jump down. The door opened swiftly and Perry backed out—without releasing the delicate wrist.

“Light.”

Gardner took the lantern from the forward bracket and handed it to him. Perry reached through the open door, casting the flickering glow throughout the carriage, bathing a small bundle huddled on the floor.

“Please, milord, I beg ye.” Her voice was tiny, her arm stretched out above her head as he held firm. He lowered the lantern to see who was piled on the floor of his carriage but she ducked, turning her head away.

“Please, milord.”

“Turn your face to me or I will drag you from this carriage and abandon you in the field.”

The mound of fabric shifted, then shivered, and the girl rose like a flower opening to the errant sun, her pale skin reflecting what light was available and increasing it as she stepped down, following the luminescence. She cowered before Perry and slowly looked up.

Her pale, fear-stricken face implored his concern without permission.

“Lilly.” His breath caught.

Her features were small but for her large, wide-set cinnamon eyes. Her lips were a soft pink, almost the same color as the blush that carried up her cheeks, and her nose turned up at the end just a touch. Her soft brown hair framed pale skin, but his recognition came from what crossed it. Tiny, pale, pink scars traveled her cheeks, forehead, chin, down her neck...

“Aye, milord,” she said, dropping her gaze. His own gaze flashed back to her face.

“I— You do not understand. I return to London. You should be at Eildon...with your sister.” He released her wrist, running his hand down his greatcoat as though to erase the memory of his handling.

She tilted her head back and his eyes narrowed as she studied him. She’d no doubt survived much worse than the glare of a rogue, of that much he was certain, but her particular assessment of him caused a tightness in his muscles. He shifted to release the tension. “That will be quite enough,” he said, adjusting his stance and pulling his greatcoat closed, hiding too slowly his manifest eagerness at her inspection.

She paled when he moved, as though she were suddenly aware of her untoward appraisal, and her gaze caught the ground as she fell to her knees, tangling her fingers in his long cape. “I beg you, milord, take me to London. I canna stay here. I left Meggie word, so she’ll not be worried. I need to go. Everyone’s so nice here. I need to get away from all the— They all care too much, milord. I beg you, I’ll outride if I must…if you’ll have me.”

If there was one thing he understood about people’s feelings, it was that they were difficult to hide and there were some—like pity—that were impossible to stomach. The sky lit with a strike of lightning and thunder followed close behind, signaling the men there was no time to dawdle.

“Outriding is not necessary. I require you to ride with me so you can explain exactly how it is you came to be in my carriage without my—or my driver and outrider’s—knowledge.” He gave a stern glance to Kerrigan, his trusted man. “At any rate, there’s not much of a threat that I would ruin you.”

Perry heard each word as he spoke, the devil on his shoulder laughing at him, but was simply powerless to stop the advance. He flinched when he heard her swift intake of breath, and his men grunted uncomfortably behind him.

“I—I did not mean— No. I meant that I intend to
sleep.
” He handed her rather unceremoniously back into the carriage, then followed her up, lighting the interior lantern before allowing Kerrigan to shut the door.

Perry took the seat across from her, careful not to look on her with an inch of pity. “Tell me then, what is your intention?”

“I heard you and His Grace,” she started in a small voice.

He shook his head and she cleared her throat.

“I was sent to clean His Grace’s study. When the two of you came in, I hid. All that yelling—I was afraid. I am sorry for that. I tried not to listen, but when he told you to get to London, I decided ‘twas my chance to go as well.” She twisted her hands in her skirts.

Perry rubbed his chin as he held her gaze, his thumb stroking the rough edge of his jaw.

“I—I arranged to leave a note for Meggie. I didn’t want her to be worried, and I packed a bag and snuck in here. I was hidin’ under the seat here, see.” She ducked her head and waved her arms toward the space below the seat she was sitting on. “I can squeeze in fairly well, and ‘tis dark…” Her voice faded.

He shifted his gaze to her hem when she motioned below the seat, then returned it to her face as her skirts adjusted to cover the ankle he wasn’t aware he’d considered. As a man dedicated to the pursuits of pleasure, he was well aware of every tic of his body. He knew what every fleeting thought, shiver, twitch, and clench was leading him toward.

At the moment, he was attempting to decipher a peculiar twitch in the region of his thigh. Or more like his hip. Perhaps somewhere between the two. It was an awkward discomfort that made him want to stand and stretch his muscles. Or press his hand to it, to relieve the tension. He was quite sure moving his hand anywhere near that region would not impress.

Along with the twitch was an overwhelming need to wrap her up in his arms and glower at any approaching ruffians. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I will take you to London, but I insist you stay with me. I will not allow you freedom— My brother would have me flayed. You will have a position within my household and at that point, we will return to the strictures of Society that are to be somewhat disregarded to manage this trip.”

“Yes, milord,” she said quietly, but he saw the smile she attempted to suppress.

He examined her. He had never paid much mind to servants; they brushed past him to retrieve whatever it was he needed—save a select few of the most buxom females—but beyond that there was never much consideration. This small woman was quite fetching, really, quiet and sweet, with a precious little mouth that was ripe for kissing, and something more. The twitch became incessant and he clenched his jaw.

He knew why she was damaged, and shuddering at the thought, he realized that must be the reason for this overwhelming need to protect her. He also knew that due to one vile man, she had much to overcome. As for the constant reminder of the scars that crisscrossed her flesh, he recognized that she couldn’t even have a conversation without someone taking notice.
I suppose the questioning stares of strangers would be of more comfort to her than the pitiable looks of those who knew. I would certainly prefer it that way.