My Notorious Gentleman (20 page)

She was well aware that he knew the darkness of this world all too well. Indeed, it had touched him, marked him, as she had seen for herself by the hatred in his eyes on the night of the Lievedon Ball, and his willingness to use her that night as a plaything. She also recalled what George had said, about how Order agents knew several ways to kill with their bare hands.

God only knew what all he had done in his years abroad. It unsettled her to lean so heavily in her moment of weakness on a man so expert in dealing out death, a man who had looked pure evil in the face, even unto the horrors of war. But yet, his battles against it had made him strong, while she felt boneless, melting into his embrace, devoid of strength.

Nor did she take any thought of the compromising position they were in, alone in the woods in each other’s arms. It wasn’t like that . . .

At least not until his embrace began to quiet her sobs and then, as though he couldn’t help himself, he bent his head closer and began slowly, gently kissing the salty tears from her cheeks.

The kiss, though pleasant, caught her off guard, called her attention to the very masculine hardness of his strong arms around her. Her awareness moved to the solid architecture of his broad shoulders and his muscled chest.

He caressed her hair and, still holding her, glanced at her face. He cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand and wiped her tears away with his thumb.

“That’s better,” he whispered.

She slowly lifted her gaze to his, her lashes starred with tears. He looked into her eyes, then his gaze drifted down to her lips, swollen from her crying, and his pale eyes filled with anguished want. “You’re so beautiful, Grace.” His low, shaky whisper seemed to escape without his permission. “Your heart is so pure. So beautiful,” he breathed.

Grace went very still as he lowered his head. When he pressed his lips to hers, she closed her eyes in wonder, the shock of it reverberating silently through her world.

His kiss was exquisitely gentle, a silken caress of his mouth on hers.

It intoxicated her as well as brought her solace.

He paused with an anguished gaze into her eyes.

Grace thought she ought to say something, but her mind was a blank. She felt emptied of all the bottled-up grief she had been holding back for far too long.

Emptied . . . and she longed to be filled with him.

She dug her fingers into his broad shoulders as her lips parted. Trevor kissed her more deeply with a moan, his hand cupping her other cheek.

She felt the passion in him instantly ignite, just like it had that night in the darkened room at Lievedon House. His tongue glided in her mouth, and his fingers burned like fire.

Dizzied with longing, she quivered as he ran his fingers down her neck; his chest heaved against hers. She let out a small sigh as his lips left hers, however.

Somehow, he forced himself back a small space, as though he did not trust himself to continue. Pressing one last, lingering kiss to her brow, he released her. She came back gradually to her senses as he eased off to a safer distance.

She dragged her eyes open and stared at him as she realized that here was something beautiful and good that could make the darkness of this world bearable.

He lowered his gaze, looking as routed as she felt.

He swallowed hard. “We should get the dog back to the village,” he said after a moment. “Perhaps Dr. Bowen-Hill would take a look at him.”

“Yes,” she whispered, still dazed.

Trevor paused and sent her a probing glance full of swirling, complicated emotion. Need glittered in his pale eyes, and wariness, along with too much defiance to speak some chivalrous apology that would have been a lie.

It struck her absolutely speechless to realize this man
wanted
her.
Her.
Not some Society golden girl.

He dropped his hungry gaze and looked away; with another low clearing of his throat, he turned his attention back to Nelson, whose snout was now buried in the soup jar.

Trevor took it away from him with a rueful smile.

Meanwhile, Grace fought her way back to sanity after her strange crying spell and that brief but mind-melting kiss. She brushed the last of her tears away as Trevor pushed to his feet.

But when he offered Grace his hand to help her up, and she clasped his fingers, his touch nearly lost the battle for her again. She had a decadent vision of pulling him down on top of her.
Forget about the dog.
Instead, she accepted his help and stood up, her legs still shaking beneath her.

He studied her with a sharp eye. “You all right?” he murmured.

“Fine,” she managed.

He nodded, staring at her for a moment longer.

Grace couldn’t believe it. Never did she dream a man would look at her like that, call her beautiful, and certainly not a man like Lord Trevor Montgomery.

Trying to clear away the sense of unreality, she smoothed her hair while he bent down and carefully picked up the dog.

It dawned on her belatedly to be helpful. She quickly put the lid back on the soup jar—no easy task with the way her hands were trembling. Then they returned to the path and walked back without another word between them.

When they stepped back out into the clear, Tom Moody came hobbling toward them at once. “You found him! Oh, Nelson! How is he? Is it bad?”

“We’re not sure,” she answered. “We’re taking him to Dr. Bowen-Hill.”

“I’ll come with you—”

“No.” Trevor marched past the man and went to place the dog in the back of Grace’s wagon.

The soup had cheered Nelson up considerably, but the presence of his harsh master made him fidget and whine nervously again.

There was one blanket left in the back of the wagon. Grace had meant to give it to Tom, but Trevor wrapped the dog in it instead.

Tom frowned. “He’s my dog. You have no right to take him! At least let me see him first—”

“I’d like a word with you,” Trevor cut him off, turning to him. “Stay with the dog, Grace.”

“Trevor?” she asked worriedly.

He ignored her, his big, muscled frame bristling as he approached the drunkard.

Tom backed away. “Now hold on right there. What do you want with me—”

Slam!

Grace gasped as Trevor drove Tom back hard against the wall of his hovel, his forearm across the man’s throat.

With his back to her, she could not hear the low-toned words Trevor had for him, but at length, he released the drunkard roughly. “You either clean up your act or get out of Thistleton. You understand me?”

“Y-yes, sir,” he stammered, ashen-faced.

“Good. Remember this warning. It’s the only one you’re going to get.” Trevor pivoted and stalked back to the cart with an icy stare.

Tom rubbed his throat, gazing after him in terrified astonishment.

Nelson wagged his tail as the ex-spy approached, but Grace gaped at him, astonished at what she had just witnessed.

“I’ll drive this time,” he said in a dark tone.

She did not see fit to argue.

Chapter 19

T
hey rode to the Bowen-Hills’ in silence, Trevor alone in the driver’s seat, Grace riding in the back to hold the injured dog steady. The spaniel seemed to be improving from the mere knowledge that they had rescued him from his abusive master, if a dog could know such a thing.

Grace, meanwhile, still couldn’t decide what to think about Trevor’s threatening Tom Moody. Perhaps the drunkard deserved the harsh warning, but seeing Trevor go after him like that was an unsettling reminder of the violence in which her new neighbor was so expert.

Petting the dog as much to soothe her own rattled nerves as to comfort the animal, she glanced again toward the driver’s seat at the tall, rugged figure of the man silhouetted against the evening sky.

What a mystery he was.

She was at a loss for what to make of the man, and yet everything in her wanted to be closer to him.

At length, she put Nelson off her lap before she lost her nerve, tucking him into his blanket. With a sense of daring, she climbed up onto the driver’s seat.

Trevor glanced back in surprise. He quickly offered her a strong, capable hand, steadying her as she stepped up from the back. At the risk of baring an ankle most scandalously, she sat down and took her place beside him.

As she settled into her seat, he gave her a smile. The sunset lit the mellow glow in his eyes.

She smiled back. With hardly any hesitation, she slipped her hand through the crook of his arm, a far bolder move on her part than he probably suspected.

“Something on your mind, Miss Kenwood?” His husky murmur, along with the intoxicating feel of his muscled flesh beneath her fingers, made her tingle all over again.

“Not really.”

“You’re smiling.”

She paused for a moment. “I think everything’s going to be all right,” she answered slowly.

“Ah, now you’ve done it,” he drawled, but he flashed a rueful grin.

She chuckled.

They passed another warm, delicious minute or so in companionable silence before she spoke again—wistfully, caressing his arm in spite of herself. “This town has long needed someone like you, you know.”

A
nd I have long needed someone like you,
Trevor thought, glancing cautiously at her. Of course, he dared not say it aloud.

He did not want to push his luck, considering all she had let him get away with so far today.

“What is it?” she asked, watching him with a fond half smile, her blue eyes shining.

He shrugged. “I’m just surprised you haven’t scolded me, that’s all.”

“For what?”

“Threatening Moody, first off.”

“I understand why you did it.”

“Good.” It was difficult to watch the road when he could barely take his eyes off her. “I noticed you didn’t scold me for kissing you, either.”

“No, I didn’t,” she admitted. “There didn’t seem much point,” she added with a teasing look askance.

“Careful, I may take that as encouragement.”

“Maybe it is.” When she bit her lip coyly, blushing in the twilight, he shuddered at the reminder of how those plump lips tasted.

He shook his head and dragged his gaze away. “Don’t do that, Grace. You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Lord Trevor,” she rebuked him in a playful whisper.

“Drop the title, please. We are surely on a first-name basis by now.”

“Very well. But don’t tell the neighbors.”

“In that case.” He leaned close and stole another soft kiss. “You’re addictive,” he whispered.

“Trevor? You wouldn’t toy with me, would you?” she asked shyly after a moment.

“Good God, no. Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Because . . . things like this don’t generally happen to women like me,” she said.

“Things like what?”

“You.” She dropped her gaze demurely. “You seem almost—too good to be true.”

“I’m true. And do you know what?”

She lifted her eyes to his in question.

“I’m going to prove it to you,” he told her.

“How?”

“You’ll see.” He smiled and left her to ponder this, for just then, they reached the doctor’s residence.

Trevor drew the carriage to a halt as sunset faded into night.

Grace suggested he stay with the dog while she climbed down to go explain the situation to the doctor and his wife. He agreed, and she headed for the door.

It opened before she reached it.

Mrs. Bowen-Hill peered out into the darkness. “I thought I heard someone!” For a man of medicine, a visitor at this hour could only mean one thing. “Miss Kenwood?” she exclaimed.

Grace quickly explained the situation.

“A dog?” the doctor’s wife echoed. “Well, of course, bring him in. I’ll fetch my husband.” As she rushed off, Grace beckoned to Trevor to bring Nelson inside.

Soon, the village physician was examining the dog on the table usually reserved for human patients. “Poor little fellow. But I agree with your assessment, Lord Trevor. I don’t believe he has any broken bones. Still, he’s going to need a bit more considerate care than Tom Moody is able to provide, at least for a while.”

“This dog’s not going back there,” Trevor replied.

“Well, someone’s got to look after him. Any ideas?”

Grace and Trevor glanced at each other.

“Don’t look at me!” she said. “My cat would never stand for it.”

Trevor glanced back wryly at the doctor. “Looks like I’ve got myself a dog.”

“Congratulations,” Dr. Bowen-Hill answered with a chuckle.

“Would it be possible for me to leave Nelson with you for a few days for monitoring? The evidence of further injuries may yet emerge, but I’m not going to be at home much to watch him as my deliveries come in.”

“I’ll watch him for you.” Mrs. Bowen-Hill had been standing at the head of the table in her usual role of nurse to her husband’s patients, stroking Nelson’s head and keeping him calm while the doctor probed him. “You may leave him here—but only temporarily! He’s too adorable, poor puppy.”

“My thanks, madam. I’ll take him home when he’s mended enough not to need constant care. And if Tom Moody doesn’t like it,” he added, “he can come and discuss it personally with me. But I have a feeling we won’t be seeing him around here much longer.”

Grace looked at him in surprise, then she gave the Bowen-Hills the blanket in which Trevor had wrapped the dog for transport.

Nelson was soon settled into a clean pallet in a corner of the kindhearted couple’s kitchen.

Trevor said his good-byes to the dog he had just spoken for, then Grace and he took their leave.

“That dog really got to you, didn’t he?” she remarked as they strolled back outside into the balmy, blowing night. Full darkness had descended.

Trevor slid his hands into his pockets with an almost boyish air. “I always wanted a dog, but the life I’ve had, always on the move—” He shrugged and shook his head. “It just wasn’t practical.”

She smiled. “Well, he’ll be much better off with you, that’s for certain. Come on, neighbor, I’ll drive you home.”

“Wait.” He reached for her wrist as she started to walk away, drawing her back gently to him. “I’m not going back to the Grange just yet.”

“You’re not? It’s getting late. Why don’t you have supper with us again tonight at the parsonage?”

“Thanks, but there are some people I need to talk to down in the village. Those old men should still be playing chess, no?”

“You mean old Clive Reese and Mr. Johnston? Gracious, by this hour, they’re usually done with chess and should be on to drinking games and cock-and-bull tales,” she answered archly. “Why do you ask? What do you want with our esteemed village elders?”

“I’m going to need some information. Especially from you.”

“Oh?” She tilted your head. “Very well, ask away.”

“What I’ve seen today has changed my mind about the Grange.”

His words sent her stomach plummeting down to her feet. Did he already regret moving here? “W-what do you mean?”

“There are more serious needs at hand than my remodeling plans.”

“What are you saying?”

“That I want to help.”

She stared at him in astonishment.

“You know this place better than anyone. You’re the heart of this village, Grace. I saw the proof of that today with my own eyes. So, tell me, if money were no obstacle, where would you begin?”

She went slightly dizzy at the question and leaned against the carriage. He waited patiently, his chiseled face limned in silver moonlight.

“Trevor, are you sure about this? You haven’t even moved in properly yet. I mean, it’s terribly generous of you, but—”

“I’m sure. This place is my home now, too, Grace. I’m not the richest man in the world—I’m just a younger son—but after all I’ve seen today, well, I don’t exactly need marble columns or crystal chandeliers quite yet. Not when I see some of these poor families going hungry. They’re my neighbors, too, now, after all, and what’s happened to them is not their fault.”

She stared at him in amazement. “That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s your doing,” he shot back with a fond smile. “You woke me up today once again, Miss Kenwood. Just like you did with your hairpin at the Lievedon Ball, when I couldn’t stop kissing you. You do remember that, I trust?”

“Yes.” She blushed at the reminder; his smile broadened as he held her gaze.

“I’m a well-meaning fellow, but sometimes I need a good kick to get my mind off myself—or a jab in the arm with a hairpin, as the case may be. So tell me where we start.”

She barely knew how to answer. “I might need a little time to think about it, but off the top of my head, I’d say . . .” She shook her head, her mind racing.

“Yes?” he coaxed her.

“Are you serious about this?” she exclaimed.

He nodded firmly, then furrowed his brow. “Why do you look so surprised? The Kenwoods aren’t the only people in Leicestershire who care about their fellow man. Besides, I’m beginning to think I was sent to this place for a reason.”

“So do I!” she blurted out, then snapped her mouth shut as he arched a brow.

He
was
rather an answer to a prayer, but she wanted to hear more, and she sensed that he needed to tell it.

She leaned warily against the wagon beside him. “Any idea of what the reason might be?”

“Well . . .” He let out a sigh and dragged his hand through his hair, then absently pulled away the leather cord holding back his queue, as though it were too tight and had begun to bother him.

As his dark mane fell free around his shoulders, Grace stared in admiration. He looked more like a pirate than ever. “I suppose I’ve always had one main, overarching purpose for my life ever since I was a lad. Train as hard as you can. Prepare for the next mission. Kill the enemy.” He shrugged. “Repeat.” Then he lowered his head. “Now it’s done. And the plans I had set up for after the war didn’t quite work out—thank God. So here I am.”

“Here you are,” she echoed softly.

“Fixing up the Grange in itself was not so much the point, Grace. It was finding something useful to do, that’s all. I don’t feel right,” he said slowly, “unless I have some worthwhile objective to accomplish. And by the night you found me at the Lievedon Ball, God, I was in such a state I barely knew what to do with myself. Angry at the world. Hating everyone, especially women.” He looked askance at her. “I probably shouldn’t admit that to you, should I?”

She smiled. “I was there. I remember. I saw you with my own two eyes, and I must say I agree. You were not a happy fellow.”

“Not exactly.” His roguish grin flashed white in the darkness. “But then I met you. So decent and so sane,” he teased softly. “And your father, too. When he suggested I look at the Grange, I decided out of boredom that I might as well, since I had nothing better to do. Then I arrived, and some beautiful, blue-eyed lady charmed me into buying the old wreck.”

She paused, wanting to assume he was talking about her, but Calpurnia also had blue eyes and had certainly tried harder than she to coax him into buying the Grange.

She gave a stilted nod, but had to test the waters. “Calpurnia’s very taken with you, you know.”

He furrowed his brow. “What? Who cares? My God, woman, can you be such a dunce?” he exclaimed mildly when she started to voice a flimsy denial. “I don’t like little girls,” he informed her. Challenge glinted in his eyes as he narrowed them, scrutinizing her. “Why do you pretend not to notice how I feel about you?”

Grace nearly choked with shock at the frank question.

“I-I’m not pretending anything—and I have no idea how you feel!” she insisted with a gulp.

“So you didn’t notice me kissing you at any point today?” he drawled.

“Well—yes, but—I just thought you were being—nice. B-because I was crying.”

“I’m not that nice,” he informed her.

She looked anywhere but at him, her cheeks scarlet, her pulse ticking in her throat like the second hand on a fob watch.

He laughed softly after a moment, as if he saw through her just as much as she had him on the night of the Windleshams’ dinner party, when he’d gone on, telling all his colorful tales. As if the truth were not much bloodier, darker, more deadly.

“Please don’t laugh at me, I’m shy,” she admitted in chagrin after a moment, still red-cheeked.

“Yes, you are. And it’s adorable.” Turning to face her, he leaned one shoulder against the cart and tapped her on the nose. “Yet you frustrate me. Are you frightened of my desire for you?” he whispered.

She could not tear her gaze from his, could hardly get the words out, but at least they were honest: “A little.”

“You needn’t be. I’d never hurt you. Surely you know that.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe it’s your desire that scares you most of all.”

Without a doubt,
she realized.

“Can we stop talking about this, please?” she begged him, equal parts mortified and aroused. “Was there something else you wished to discuss with me—about the village—my lord?”

He visibly stopped himself from protesting, and with a knowing smile full of patience, trailed a fond, sardonic gaze over her. “My lord, again. All right, very well, Miss Kenwood,” he said in sardonic formality, “I want you to tell me how I can help. Where do we start?”