The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance) (83 page)

His smile faded.

“I— Would you do me the honor of accompanying me on a ride through London?”

“I would very much appreciate a tour.” Her smile broke the distinct concentration in her features as she endeavored to enunciate every word properly.

“Bring the book, perhaps we can stop at a park to read.” He turned and pulled her hand to the crook of his elbow, holding it in place. His curricle was ready at the base of the town house stairs, behind a pair of matched greys. While his brother was enamored with his Friesians, Perry favored the large hunters he stabled.

He handed her up to the sporting carriage, then climbed to the seat next to her.

“Would you like to see the Palace and the Tower?”

She turned to him with wide eyes and a vibrant smile. “Oh yes, please.”

He laughed and tickled his leader’s ears, and they went bowling through the streets of London.

“My lord,” she said slowly, turning the book in her hands.

“Yes, my sweet.”

“I can never repay your favor. Though ‘tis my greatest wish to do so,” she rushed, slipping the moors from her newfound accent.

“Lilly, you have no need to repay anything. I do nothing I do not wish to do.” He gave her a sideways glance, his primary attention still on the greys. “You should know this as well as you know my reputation.”

Perry smiled and concentrated on steering his leader through a busy section toward the Thames. He enjoyed this. He had become so engrossed in his brother’s new life and recent disregard for propriety, coupled with his own newfound responsibilities to his charges, that he had lost sight of what he always considered to be the crux of happiness.

Love—albeit a temporary and easily swayed feeling, in his experience. He believed the pursuit of love, the toe-tripping, mouth-watering, stomach-clenching wonderment of passion, was the noblest pursuit of all.

Love meant pure enjoyment, pure happiness; a feeling of freedom and possibility. He endeavored to find it with as many women as he could muster to his cause. Newfound love, precious and unknown, begging to be discovered and investigated, was a heady mix he found himself addicted to. And this with Lilly was no different, except that he was only feeling more and more passionate.

His smile faded as he considered this. In general his love waned with first completion. He frowned and snuck another sidelong glance at her. This was different. He could feel it burgeoning, increasing exponentially inside him. Begging to be released and set free.

He couldn’t breathe. He pulled the carriage aside and jumped free, tying the ribbons and handing a coin to a boy who ran up to hold the harness. He turned back to Lilly, palm out, eyes pleading with her to wait. She nodded and he walked toward the bridge over the Thames, knowing her gaze was on him.

What is this?
He looked back at her again, then stared into the depths of the ruddy watercourse. He turned, leaning his hips on the short balustrade bordering the bridge, and tried to catch his breath. Did he love her? He rubbed his thumb the length of his chin.

The need to protect Lilly had far outweighed any other thought he had concerning her. Perhaps that was all it was, this need. It was reasonable to believe that was the extent of it, but the fact was that he was drawn to more than just her vulnerable nature. Buying her dresses and doing his best to hear her laugh and see her smile had nothing to do with her safety.

The more he considered it, the more he realized he had been drawn to her from the beginning, but her injuries had hindered his progress. Any other woman would have been between his sheets that first night, particularly after she had begged him to have her. But he had refused, and that was difficult.

“My Lord Trumbull, have I somehow offended you?”

His stomach curled. He’d known she wasn’t going to stay in the carriage, but her patience had been commendable. He didn’t look at her, but all the same he could feel her reaching out to touch him. His muscles tightened across his back in preparation. She was gentle, timid, cautious. He straightened suddenly, coming to his full commanding height.

Lilly startled and attempted to back away but he caught up her shoulders, pulling her against him—neck to knee—his eyes searching. She felt him looking beyond her surface, sharing her breath, taking it and giving it back. Then he stole it, his lips sealing over hers. His hands moved; one at her nape—holding—the other at her waist—trapping.

Her arms, anchored by his at her sides, wiggled, attempting freedom. He shifted slightly and they wrapped about him beneath his coat, clutching at his back, her fingers stroking his spine. He shuddered and released her on a gasp, brought to reality in the space of a heartbeat.

“Peregrine.”

His eyes widened. “Lilly, I—”

A shocked mother steered her children back from whence they came, and a group of gentlemen scowled, staring from the base of the bridge. He released her reluctantly, smoothing her dress and straightening her short mantelet.

“I beg your pardon,” he said breathlessly, “I don’t know what has come over me. I— there is no recompense for my untoward behavior.”

“My lord, I must beg pardon of you, for I see no issue with your passion, though I know for you there is. I understand the restrictions of propriety, but have never had need to hold to them in the same manner as you. Perhaps it’s a freedom of my class you cannot enjoy.”

Perry glanced around again, for the first time seeing the people his vision was more accustomed to glazing over: the other couples on a lovers’ walk along the Thames. The lower class didn’t have as much use for the strictures of the peerage. He looked back to Lilly, then took her arm and placed it on his sleeve, guiding her back to his carriage.

“Say it again,” he said quietly.

“Pardon.”

“Say my name, Lilly.”

She stopped and looked up at him as they stood beside his curricle. “Peregrine,” she whispered, turning toward him.

His hand rose to her cheek and he framed her jaw, running his thumb from her ear to her chin. Without looking to see who watched, he lowered his mouth again, closing his eyes and absorbing all the sensation his mind could accept.

She acceded to his touch, her lips parting, allowing his tongue entrance. He smiled against her and she giggled. Then he heard a clicking behind him.

He turned to see the boy who held his harness kicking the cobbles at his feet, avoiding the ire of the well-born gentleman who had no idea how to behave. He handed Lilly up to the carriage then turned to the boy, giving him several coins from his purse. The boy smiled brightly, transgressions forgotten, then released the harness and ran off.

Perry laughed and vaulted to the box seat next to Lilly, grasping the ribbons. So this was what his brother had run into headlong. Funny, his own situation carried much the same impediments as they feared Gideon’s had. At least he knew who his beloved was, and where she hailed from. The only difficulty now was in figuring out how to get past that within the constraints of his position.

He groaned, remembering his stiff admonishments to his brother. He supposed this was his reward. He turned the curricle back to the street, intending to show Lilly the Tower then Buckingham Palace on the way back to Grosvenor, just as he’d said he would.

They bowled on along the Thames as Lilly watched the buildings. They were beautiful and intricate, but every once in a while she would look down a long street and catch the sight of the destitute, wandering aimlessly, spilling into the road where they pandered for coin. It saddened her. She caught sight of one girl about her age who looked like she had a scar tracing her jaw, and it stilled her to think of where she could have ended up had it not been for her family. She was compelled to reach out to Perry, her hand lightly grazing his knee.

Hepplewort entered his town house on Talbot Square under the cover of darkness. No need to tempt fate and draw unnecessary attention to his arrival.

“My lord, there is a gentleman in the parlor,” his butler said stiffly. “He refused to leave, and it has been most inconvenient.”

“Who is it?”

“He refused me his name, my lord, as he refused to leave until you arrived, without explanation.”

“I see, and you didn’t feel the need to contact the constabulary?”

“He inferred that would be a misstep on your behalf, my lord, and with your previous admonishment to tell no one of your arrival, we had no choice but to acquiesce.”

Hepplewort grunted and walked to the parlor door as his butler moved ahead of him. He waited for it to open, then stood outside, wary, the words of the Duke of Roxleigh booming in his head.

I know you, I know the things you have done, and if you think for one minute that you can continue, you are sorely mistaken. Consider yourself a recluse, never to be heard from again, by anyone, anywhere. Is that perfectly clear?

Hepplewort shivered, then shook it off; there was no way they could know he was here.

“Hepplewort!” It was a voice that shook him to his toes, but it wasn’t the one that scared him to death. He moved into the room and looked around. The man who belonged to the voice stood and turned on him.

“You have me at a disadvantage, sir, for I know not who you are.”

“Who I am is not as important as who I work for.” The large man stretched to his full height and towered menacingly over Hepplewort.

“Well, then, pray tell whom that may be,” he said nervously.

“I think you know. I also think you know you should not have returned.” Hepplewort kept the large chaise between them as he moved. “The men who set me on you don’t appreciate being ignored.” The stranger was tracking him.

“I imagine, seeing as how they have employed the likes of you. However, that still leaves me at a loss as to who
they
may be.”

“Quit playing games, you can’t be in debt to that many books,” the man growled.

Hepplewort stopped, his eyes wide. The respite from his panic was only momentary as understanding spread across his face, followed soon by terror. It wasn’t Roxleigh, but it wasn’t good.

“I— Yes, I dare say I’ve been forced to remain in the country. I was unable to return as I’d promised. My wedding, you see, it never did take place, which is why I didn’t return. It’s of no matter. I can make arrangements with Gunn himself while I’m here.”

“Yes, you will make arrangements with Gunn. In fact, you will be arranging things with Gunn at first light—you know where. And just to be sure, don’t forget that I’ll be watching. I knew you were here, I’ll know if you attempt to skip.”

Hepplewort nodded slowly, considering the toothy grin breaking across his intruder’s face. He was no gentleman. Regardless of his speech and carriage. The man moved toward the door, glancing over his shoulder with a gruff chuckle before he walked calmly through the entry and out into the night.

Hepplewort moved as quickly as he could to the front window, but the man was gone before he reached it. He let out a relieved sigh. He wasn’t sure whether this was better or worse than being on the wrong side of the viscount and duke.

He would have to meet with Gunn, he would need to square things with him sufficiently so he could find a bride and get back to his estate before Roxleigh and Trumbull got wind of him here in London. He knew they had not filed their grievance with the House of Lords as yet, because he hadn’t been formally summoned. He assumed they would deal with it after Gideon’s wedding, when a scandal would be less threatening. He hoped so, anyway.

Hepplewort turned and left the parlor. He wanted nothing more than to sleep.

“Will there be anything else, my lord?” the butler asked.

“No— Wait, yes. Have Cook send up a tray of cuts. No fruit, just cuts and sauce. Wine, too. Red.” A bit of drool collected on his lower lip.

The butler grimaced and nodded. “Yes, my lord.”