Sinfully Ever After (Book Club Belles Society) (21 page)

“But women are supposed to remain chaste until they marry,” she snapped. “The world is unfairly biased against women.”

“That ain’t my fault too, is it?”

“And what about Sarah’s mama?” she demanded.

Now he paused, took a breath. Here he must proceed carefully. If he told her everything, she might tell Charles and that would put little Sarah in danger. Rebecca might not mean to tell, but when her temper was up, she had a tendency to explode with sparks that she couldn’t restrain. He’d seen it and felt their heat several times now.

“Sarah’s mama was a merry lady and a very good friend. She did not know an easy life. Not the sort of life you and your friends enjoy, Miss Sherringham. She couldn’t read or write, but she
was
clever in her own way. And like you,” he glanced down at her as she held the swaying lantern and frowned up at him, “she was averse to the idea of marriage. Liked to look after herself.”

“Would you have married her then, if she wanted you to?”

“I…do not know what I would have done.”

“But Sarah is your child.”

What else could he say, with the Clarendons breathing down his neck? For the little girl’s sake, he lied. “Yes. She is my daughter.”

Rebecca frowned and looked away again. They were now within sight of the manor house gates and there was a twinkling light ahead of them, proving that another couple had got there first, obviously having the same idea as Luke.

“Make haste, Miss Sherringham,” he muttered, pointing with his cane. “I don’t like to lose!”

Becky pushed open the gate and Luke lurched after her. “Which direction to the apple trees? We’ll find mistletoe growing there, I’m sure.”

Now she realized what the clue “
Berries
that
bring
peace
” meant. As he’d teased her earlier, Becky’s mind was working at a slow pace that evening, but he was wrong to think Charles the cause. She was consumed with thoughts of
him
, not Charles. Trying to make sense of this man who she thought she understood.

Oh dear—mistletoe—he wouldn’t try to kiss her again, would he? He did say they should make the most of this opportunity.

At least his company on the walk had been interesting and informative. When he wasn’t trying to show off for her, not trying to use his charm on her, he was quite…tolerable…company, she supposed.

She glanced down at her basket and the little wooden horse he’d made. He was very clever with that knife of his, chiseling the figure of a horse so speedily. Becky suspected he’d done that before and she wondered where, or for whom. She always admired people who were talented with their hands, but he was very casual about it.

They reached the apple trees and there, sure enough, they found mistletoe. He set the basket down and reached up into the branches, using his handy knife to sever a bunch.

“When I was young,” he grunted, “there was a bower of mistletoe put up in the servants’ hall below stairs.”

“I suppose you captured the hapless housemaids beneath it.”

“I didn’t have to capture them. They hung about under it, just waiting for me to pass.” He looked down at her, grinning.

Yes, she could quite imagine it. Not that she wanted to.

He continued, “Each time a kiss was taken, a berry was plucked off the bower. Then, once the berries were all gone, no more kisses could be stolen beneath it.” With a deep sigh, he examined the clump of pearly berries he’d cut free. “I always thought it was a very sad sight, that empty bower of mistletoe. Meant all the jollities were over for another year.”

Was it the moonlight catching his sad face that made her want to cheer it up? He looked wickedly handsome. Even youthful perhaps. “I very much doubt you waited a full year for more
jollities
,” she exclaimed in a whisper.

And that was something else she couldn’t explain—the sudden need to whisper. After all, who would hear them, and what did it matter if they did?

But there was another couple somewhere in the orchard, for they’d seen the lantern from a distance. That must be the reason why she had fallen instinctively to whispering. Let the other couple struggle to find mistletoe among the moonlit trees; she would not let her voice lead them to it.

With the colonel’s arms reaching overhead again for more mistletoe, he seemed even taller and she, standing beside him, felt very small, awestruck by his powerful musculature. She had forgotten the faint odor of manure on his boots, for that was overcome by masculine sweat and something else. Lemons and sage? Perhaps Sarah had attempted to douse him in scent before they came out that evening. Poor Sarah. Hers was an uphill task, but she was quite a stubborn little thing.

As he handed the mistletoe down to her, Becky plucked one of the berries from the cluster. “I daresay you want a kiss from me now,” she whispered. “The way you used to take them from those housemaids.”

Surely that was why he told her the story.

But he looked startled when the berry rolled into his palm from her fingers.

“You may have just one,” she added, pert. “It is Christmas, and Jussy assures me it’s the season of good will to all men. Even you.”

“Even me, eh?”

Becky nodded. Despite the cold air, she was rather hot. And looking up at his mouth was making her hotter.

A sudden gust of wind blew through the broken pane of glass and the lantern flame went out, leaving them in moonlight. Her pulse was speeding recklessly, just as it was when he tickled her palm and raced the gig with her in it. Just as it had when he kissed her before.

“One berry to make
our
peace,” she said.

“I would like that. I don’t want us to be at war, Rebecca.” Whenever he said her first name, it made her throat feel tight, as if something lurked there waiting to fly out. She was rarely called “Rebecca” these days unless she’d done something wrong and had to be reprimanded. Or unless they were being formal in Mrs. Makepiece’s house, of course.

“But I’m not going to kiss you again,” he said softly.

She thought she’d misheard. Had he not told her that they should make the most of this time alone?

“Like I warned you at the party, Miss Sherringham,” he muttered, “you’ll get no more kisses like that from me, until our wedding night.”

She knew her mouth had fallen open, but if anything came out, she didn’t hear it.

“I’m a gentleman now,” he added, with just a hint of smugness. “Gentlemen don’t kiss young ladies on their lips.” His hand moved through the darkness and he pressed a finger to her upper lip, bringing it down to meet the lower. “Proper gentlemen. Like me.”

She could taste his skin on her lips. Appalled, she stared through the shifting moonlight as that breeze rattled the branches above them and cast shadows across his face.

“That is what you said you wanted,” he reminded her. “A gentleman.”

* * *

She could not hide her disappointment. It gleamed gold in those rich brown eyes. Even in the shadows and moonlight, he saw it.

Luke moved his finger from her soft, tempting lips and ran it slowly along her cheek to feel the cool, smooth skin. Except it wasn’t cool as he’d expected; it was very warm. He let his knuckles play carefully over it and felt the weight of sheer need in his chest. The need to make her his.

“Damn you,” she exclaimed. And just when he thought she would slap his face and run off, instead she launched herself forward, knocking him off balance until his back hit the trunk of the apple tree. She planted her mouth to his. He should have stopped it, but he didn’t. Couldn’t. It was years since he’d felt this aroused, this much sheer desire for a woman.

She nipped his lower lip with her teeth and then whispered breathlessly, “You like a woman with bite.”

Powerless, dazed, he let her kiss him again, savagely. Her tongue swept his, tangled with it, exploring forcefully, impatiently.

Desperate to regain some control, Luke grabbed the curve of her waist. His conscience told him to push her back, to end the kiss. But he wanted every inch of her for himself. So he tugged her closer and let his hands slide downward to grip that delightfully rounded bottom hidden from him under too many layers.

Shouldn’t have done that. Didn’t stop doing it though. Lucky Luke was back full force, breaking through the “gentlemanly” veneer he’d tried on for her.

Now his erection pushed at her through their clothing and she slid her hand down to it. He shuddered, cupped her bottom harder, almost lifting her off her feet. Already his mind was thinking of where he might lay her down without getting too much dirt on her coat.

Christ, if she didn’t protest, in a minute—

Her lips left his and Luke was left gasping for air, his eyes closed.

Don’t let her win
, the voice of reason shouted in his head.
She’s trying to prove you can’t be a gentleman. That you are still that sinner, the old Lucky.

The cunning, slippery wench.

When Luke opened his eyes, she was gone, taking the basket with her.

* * *

Running through the moon-dappled orchard, not looking where her feet landed, she tripped over a knotted tree root and fell into another pair of arms.

“There you are! I’ve been searching for you.” Moonlight kissed his golden cherubic curls as he beamed at her. “Now we can finish the game together. Surely that grumpy old captain won’t mind swapping partners. I hear one woman is much the same to him as any other.”

“Colonel,” she corrected breathlessly. “
Colonel
, not captain.” Thank goodness he couldn’t see inside her to where she was a complete and utter disordered mess. She had just touched the colonel’s manhood through his breeches, felt it move and thicken against her exploring hand. She’d kissed him like a madwoman, unable to stop herself.

What was he turning her into?

“Colonel, captain. Six of one, half dozen of the other.” Charles laughed merrily.

“Well, no…not at all. It’s quite different.”

“Ah, who cares? Come on, what have you got in your basket?”

Becky was reluctant to show Charles the contents of the basket and he had to snatch it from her to see. He looked at the wooden horse, picking it up and turning it over in his hand.

“Where did you find this? Is it yours?”

She swallowed and replied as carelessly as possible. “He made it.” Taking the basket now seemed selfish. These were things he’d found and made. They did not belong to her. She was a thief, as well as a hussy.

“Very clever, I daresay. The sort of thing a man learns to do when he has idle time on his hands.” Charles tossed the wooden horse back into the basket with a flip of his wrist.

“I shouldn’t have taken it. Really, it’s his. So is the mistletoe. He solved the riddle.” She took the basket back from Charles and looked over her shoulder into the dark orchard, wondering where Luke was.

“Lord, I’m cold!” Charles exclaimed. “Let’s go back to your father’s house at once for that hot chocolate I was promised.”

“But we haven’t found all the things on the list.” In truth, she’d forgotten the weather. She looked down at her basket, forlorn. Lucky Luke had been her knave, and he had said she was his flower.

Foolish man. What a thing to say to her. She was the most unflowerlike woman that ever lived in Hawcombe Prior. Everyone told her she was a tomboy. They put her in breeches to play all the male parts in the play, and when she joined cricket games on the common, no one liked standing up to bat if she was bowling.

“Where is Lucy?” she asked, finally remembering that Charles was supposed to have a partner.

“Oh, I expect the captain has sniffed her out by now. They can finish the hunt together and bore each other instead of us, eh?”

“Colonel,” she corrected him again. “Not captain.”

She thought of Lucy and her proud bosom possibly distracting Lucky Luke in the moonlight. It did not make her feel any better, despite the fact that she was resolved not to be sorry, not to regret kissing him like that and stealing the things he’d found. A man like Luke would not care about the rules of any game, so why should she?

* * *

Luke saw the other woman standing with her lantern, calling out rather feebly for young Master Clarendon. Then he knew at once where his own partner had gone after kissing him and fleeing into the moonlight.

As he limped through the orchard to join the abandoned young lady, he raised his free hand to his mouth and felt for a bite mark. He was surprised she didn’t draw blood. She, it seemed, was hungry tonight.

So was he.

Desire shuddered through his body, through his veins like a potent elixir. But somehow he must conquer it, because he was trying to follow the rules for once.

Ringlets-and-Rouge didn’t know she’d been deliberately spurned but assumed she’d simply gotten lost in the dark orchard. Luke, therefore, was her rescuer and she did everything but swoon into his arms.

“Come on, Miss Brook. Let us find our way to the major’s house.”

“It’s
Bridges
,” she exclaimed, her delight at being rescued turning quickly to irritation. “Lucy Bridges! Sometimes I think I might as well not be here. No one pays attention to me!”

He laughed softly. “My poor Miss Bridges! Come take this old lame fellow’s arm and we will lament together at being mistreated.”

She pouted. “I’m quite sure you were never overlooked, Colonel.” But she took his arm and they walked on together.

“Tell me about Miss Sherringham and Charles Clarendon.”

The young lady was pleased to do so, telling him all about Rebecca’s list of attributes required in a husband and how Clarendon fulfilled them all. “I’m quite sure she would marry him had he asked her. Some said it was only a matter of time. But then you came along, of course, Colonel. And now no one knows what to think.”

He sighed, for he was suffering much the same bewilderment.

What he really needed to do was get a look at that list of hers.

The players gathered in Major Sherringham’s parlor where he had the merry job of judging the results after several glasses of his favorite port had been consumed. Justina and Diana had brought an egg, mistletoe, a childhood doll, the flower from a bonnet, and a knave from a pack of cards. They would have been declared the winners, but then Sarah returned with an unusually disheveled Elizabeth Clarendon and they had all the items on the list.

Much to Luke’s alarm, his daughter had completed her treasure trove with something the others had not found—a sign of royal gratitude.

She took it from her basket and set it down before the major with a proud flourish. “My father’s medal,” she said. “For services to crown and country. I think that fulfills the requirement.”

Every face now turned to Luke, most in open amazement.

“I found it in my uncle’s desk drawer,” Sarah explained, smug. “Which I know is where you told him to keep it. And when I went through your knapsack, I also found this.” She took the last item from her basket and unfolded it. “A knave.”

There, laid on the table beside his medal, was the playing card across which he had written,
Gyngersnappe
Ohs
Lucky
Wonne
Kisse
.

Now they all looked at it, all read it. He had no idea how many of those present would put the pieces together.

So that was where Sarah had seen the name “Lucky.”

He dared not look at Rebecca’s face. After their kiss in her kitchen, he’d taken the card with him, kept it with his belongings. Would she mock him for that? Her scorn could be fairly withering.

He grabbed the card and slipped it into his pocket, but the major had already picked up the medal to admire it and the others gathered around to do the same.

“Why, ’tis the sultan’s medal,” the old man said, turning it over to show the eight-pointed star and crescent moon.

“All a long time ago,” Luke muttered.

“You should be proud of it,” exclaimed Sarah. “Why hide your medal?”

Because it was not something he wanted to talk about, and he’d asked Darius, upon his return, not to speak of it. His brother had tried to hand the medal over to him, but he didn’t want to look at it. He did not want to be rewarded for surviving when many good fellows with loving families at home had died horrifically. The fact that he—a man for whom no one much cared—had lived to be given a medal on a ribbon seemed somehow ridiculous.

“Some paid for these with their lives,” was all he could say to the waiting party in the major’s parlor.

The fire crackled in the hob grate, and he felt Miss Sherringham’s eyes staring. Everyone looked, of course. But he felt her curious gaze the most, and her silence seemed deafening. For the first time in his life, he actually wished for a woman to speak. She did not, however. And what did he want her to say, in any case?

Again the room fell respectfully but awkwardly silent, until Miss Clarendon cried impatiently, “It would seem we have won then, as we have the most items from the list!”

Her brother rubbed his hands together and added cheerily, “Where
is
that hot chocolate we were promised?”

Eventually the major was prompted to declare the Clarendon woman and Sarah winners of the treasure hunt.

Luke took Sarah to one side. “I hope you know that one should not go prying in another man’s belongings. Certain things are not your business, young lady.”

“Why not? You’re my father, which means that everything about you is my business. I know who Gingersnap is and I’m sure they can all guess. Sakes, here comes that awful Miss Clarendon. I tried to lose her a few times in the hedgerows, but she trailed me like a foxhound. Even when I led her through a muddy ditch and she got her boot stuck, I thought she would give up, but no such luck.” She tucked a curl behind her ear. “It seems Miss Sherringham had more success at being rid of you. After all the trouble I went to, you let her fall into
his
clutches.” She shook her head. “Tsk, tsk. What am I to do with you?”

He began to suspect that Sarah had more than a little influence over the proceedings of that evening, from the choosing of names out of a bonnet to the writing of those lists. She had inherited her mama’s cunning.

As if she read his mind, she laughed. “Oh, don’t fuss, Papa!”
Papa
. It was feeling less strange already to hear her say it.

Once the hot chocolate was brought in, Luke edged toward the parlor door and slipped out into the dimly lit hall. Now where would a woman keep such a list as that one Rebecca supposedly maintained of manly attributes? A diary, perhaps? He couldn’t negotiate the stairs with his cane without making considerable noise, so he’d start in the kitchen. After all, that was where she’d kept their playing card IOU. Taking a candle in a brass holder from the hall table, he crept along the narrow passage but had only gotten two steps when the parlor door opened and Gingersnap came out.

“Where are you going, Colonel?”

He thought quickly. “Looking for something I thought I left here.”

“Oh? What?”

“A fob watch.”

“I didn’t see you with one.” She walked toward him.

“It’s gold. Costly. I’d like it back.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for it, of course.”

He backed up. “You’re not going to bite me again, are you?”

Her eyebrows arched high. “I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“Haven’t decided whether you like it yet?” He smiled wryly. “You shouldn’t have run away while you had me cornered.”

“I didn’t have you cornered.” She hesitated. “Did I?”

“I was at your mercy.”

Apparently this idea pleased her. Her eyes shone with amusement and she bit her lip, possibly remembering the taste of that kiss.

Limping by her, he beat a retreat back to the parlor before either of them might be tempted.

* * *

The Clarendon woman took his arm and almost dragged him to a chair by the fire. “What a charming daughter you have, Colonel. So very sweet. I am quite smitten with her already.” She hovered over him like a nurse over a patient. “Although she did take me on quite a ramble. Mischievous creature! But I did not let her out of my sight, to be sure. I confess I thought tonight’s game would be very trying on my nerves, but my spirits are brightened considerably.”

“Are they?”

She barely lowered her voice and said, “Well, there is so little here to keep my interest. There is no culture here, no fashion, but I must go where my brother goes.”

“You must?”

“To keep an eye on him, of course! We expect great things from Charles and he cannot be allowed to make a misstep.”

When Luke glanced up, he saw the Clarendon woman staring across the room at her brother and Rebecca. “Great things, madam?” The lad looked like any other overprivileged, slack-jawed, weak-chinned, pampered youth to him.

Whatever his sister’s plans and ideas, Chinless Charles seemed to have others on his mind.

Luke’s mood became darker the longer he sat there.

Knowing the social climbing habits of the Clarendon family, should the grinning idiot not be using his talents on the earl’s daughter at Lark Hollow, where he had supposedly been staying? Instead he was here, practicing his skills on Rebecca Sherringham.

Exactly what sort of hunting had Clarendon come here for?

* * *

“So the old man is a war hero,” Charles whispered. “He’s rather tight-lipped about it. How many fellows do you suppose he slaughtered in battle? From what I remember, he has a violent temper—one only had to look at him the wrong way. Almost sent my brother Kit to his maker some years ago. Fighting over a woman.”

Since Luke didn’t want to talk of his medal, Becky had decided it was wrong for them to do so, but she couldn’t stop her ears from hearing. “Which woman?”

“Who could say? He had plenty of them but always kept an eye out for those who belonged to other people. Greedy, arrogant. Thought every woman ought to be his if he took a fancy to her. Kit took exception to that, naturally, and stood up to the bully.”

Becky looked over at Luke. He had confessed a great deal to her tonight and seemed almost relieved to do so. Although he’d said nothing about having brawled with Charles’s brother, there remained the fact that he did have a very odd look on his face when he heard that Clarendons were expected in the village. There was also the broken nose.

“I do not like the way that fellow watches you,” said Charles. “I am quite put out and feel as if I ought to slap the fellow with my glove.”

She looked at him askance. “I really don’t think that’s necessary.”

“But I will not have him trying to take you from me. I shall stand up to the boorish oaf.”

Becky was bemused. “I wasn’t aware that I was yours, Mr. Clarendon.” In a gentler tone, she added, “We both know we can only be friends.”

Now he looked saddened, but he did not reply.

“Excuse me, I must visit with the other guests.” Her father was enjoying himself tonight with a party of young people filling his parlor, but he was already getting a little too rowdy and had twice bellowed at Mrs. Makepiece that she should “cheer up” and loosen her stays. Becky knew she would have to take the wine away from him before he began removing parts of his own clothing.

She was shocked, in fact, to see that Mrs. Makepiece had walked across the village to join them there for the end of the treasure hunt. The lady usually avoided gatherings at the major’s house, because she found his manners boorish—and he, knowing this, took delight in being so in front of her. The fact that Major Sherringham was her landlord and yet she viewed his family as inferior to her own must be extremely galling for her. Yet tonight there she was, suffering the major’s comments while she discreetly eyed Colonel Wainwright and his medal.

As Becky rose up from the window seat to perform her duties as hostess to her guests and guardian to her wayward father, Charles gripped her hand. “Bored of my company already?”

“Of course not.”

“Good, because I have no plans to leave Hawcombe Prior. I am, in truth, growing inordinately fond of the place. And of the delightful young ladies who live here especially.”

Becky kept her face composed, remembering that she was resolved to be ladylike. Not to roll her eyes and be scathing. Not to be “forceful” and dismissive in that dreadfully unfeminine manner.

Besides, he held her hand tightly, and if she pulled away, it would be noticeable to others.

“I am very glad you like our village.” She looked over at his sister, who was talkative this evening, regaling Lucky Luke with a story about her “wretchedly wearisome” journey along winter roads to get there. If the man heard a word she said, it would be a miracle. Surrounded by ladies, he had his hands on his broad, muscular thighs, fingers splayed and tapping out a slow tattoo, while he glared fiercely across the parlor at her and Charles. “I do not think Elizabeth shares your enthusiasm for Hawcombe Prior. She must be eager to return home to your father in Oxford.”

Charles snorted. “She’s not in Father’s good books either at the moment.” He paused and his eyes clouded over, then hardened. “I mean to say, Papa is never in a pleasant mood. It is very hard to make him happy these days. We are better off out of his sight until one of us at least is back in his favor.”

She thought how odd his family must be. Never had she been out of her father’s favor. “And your elder brother comes here for Christmas dinner tomorrow?” It would be interesting to meet Kit Clarendon again. She could find out more about Luke’s past.

“If he can tear himself away from his present company at Lark Hollow.”

She caught Luke’s eye again and felt the heat rise under her dress when she remembered how she had kissed him in the moonlit orchard. Somehow the kiss hadn’t been enough and so she’d bitten him. It was partially frustration, to be sure. But it was mostly lust, and wonder. And something dark, hidden from her.

He was turning her into a sinner. And he was doing that while he himself sought reform. Slyly turning the tables on her.

Suddenly Charles reached over and, while she was lost in her thoughts, he captured a stray lock of hair that trickled down her neck to rest upon her shoulder. “One day you must let me cut a curl of your luscious hair, Miss Sherringham. I am quite besotted with it.”

“What would you want it for?”

“So that I have a little of you with me always,” he whispered, his gaze lingering on the coil of hair around his finger. “We must exchange trinkets to mark our friendship.”

She laughed, brushing his hand away lightly. “Sounds rather silly to me. A piece of hair isn’t much use to anybody.”

“You must promise me not to flirt with Kit when he comes,” he said, placing his hand over hers on the window seat between them. “I shall explode with jealousy.”

She solemnly promised that she had no intention of flirting with anybody. His blue eyes adored and entreated at the same time, fixing her immoveable in their warm rays. Again he paid no attention to the others in the room, his sunny smile for her alone.

But Becky had begun to realize that she preferred the moonlight.

Cognizant of being watched by almost every eye in the parlor, she withdrew her other hand from beneath his and laid it in her lap.

* * *

Charles Clarendon’s sister had pulled up a chair to perch at Luke’s side again, and for the past ten minutes had regaled him with some story about which he could not possibly care less. She was the sort of wench who complained about everything when she’d never had a true problem in her life. He eyed her for a moment, his irritation with almost everyone and everything in that room mounting rapidly. Suddenly he growled, “You’re going to be disappointed, Miss Clarendon.”

Her brows delicately curved, matching the arch of her little finger as she sipped her chocolate. “Disappointed? How so?”

“Whatever you’ve heard about me, I’m not a rich man, so you’re wasting your time. I’m no more worth your attention than anyone else in this room, so go and warm your buttocks elsewhere.”

Two hot spots of color rose high on her cheeks. “I beg your pardon?”