Chapter 3
Lady Ferguson was beyond delightful, Will assessed, as his cracked heart warmed at her wide smile and enthusiasm for...well, everything. He couldn’t distance himself from such lure. He didn’t want to for that matter. But he had to.
If anything, for the lady’s sake.
He sat opposite her in the carriage on their way to the soldier’s bulwarks, thinking with a little space he’d talk himself out of his juvenile meanderings about how pretty she was. She sat at the fore of the landau, which he’d thought odd. Social dictates being what they were, women usually had the choice seat, facing the horses. Yet when asked, she’d insisted to stay where she was. Now she stared out the window at all that passed. Pointing to buildings and taverns, she’d ask what place of business it was, who sold what, and she’d smiled wistfully at a gang of lads. He couldn’t help but ask about that.
“Are you thinking to yourself that you wish to save them, the street urchins?”
Her grin dimmed, but it was infectiously vibrant nonetheless. “They’re like little Oliver Twists.”
“Pardon?”
Her eyes widened, then she slightly shook her head. “I mean, yes, one day they will be saved. One day children won’t be running about like such.” She sighed. “Well, that’s not really true, is it? There’s still much violence against children. And we’re no better—I mean,” she sipped in a breath, “I mean that I hope one day children will have wonderful guardians, so they never have to live on the street ever again. And don’t tell me you disagree. I know your voting record in Parliament, my lord. I know you voted repeatedly for laws where children can remain children and not have to work for a living, where orphanages are regulated, and other laws that assist children.”
For a moment, he couldn’t speak. He was astonished that she knew his politics, as well as his infernal bleeding heart. Swallowing, he did his best to hide his shock. “How does the lady know of my voting record?”
She glanced out the window again, almost appearing to grimace. “It’s public record.”
“Yes, that it is.”
Being quiet often had more positives than negatives. Almost everyone he’d met would divulge all their secrets to him, merely because he was a silent man. However, at that moment he wished to ask her a million questions. How he ached to know more about her. He wanted to say what he thought, rather than censor himself, as usual. But that was never a good idea. Besides, what good would come from getting to know the lady? She would leave soon enough. Lastly, the thought of such a gorgeous woman taking a fancy to him, of all men, was utterly preposterous. At one time, it felt like so long ago, he might have been noble enough for her, but now he was cynical, mayhap too dark, having lived with too much shame of all the things he should have done.
She started to say something else, but stopped herself and looked out the window. Peeking at him, she did it again, where she opened her perfect pink lips, but then shook her head and glanced out the window.
His chuckle occurred faster than he could have stopped it, and the words he spoke as well. “All right, now you have to tell me what is on your mind.”
She giggled, then licked her lips. Lord, his mind stopped working for a few seconds, until she said, “You vote rather...you’re rather forward thinking. You’ve voted to abolish slavery, although you shared the vote with only twelve other Parliamentary members. You’ve voted for girls to have education similar to boys. You’ve never spoken in Parliament, but your voting record indicates that you are,” she smiled widely, “beyond your time, it would seem. Do you ever think you were born in the wrong...?”
“Every day.”
He’d done it again. Spoken without thinking, and he hadn’t even let her finish her sentence. His heart pitched against his ribs. His throat constricted.
Her smile waned in a thoughtful pose. “As much as I want to know more about your tactics, as much as I want to understand how you became so brilliant militarily, I wonder...” She never finished, but looked down at her hands, where her fingers twisted with tension.
“You wonder...?”
“I wonder about you.” She bore into his eyes with her own honey brown orbs. “I wonder about the man behind the redcoat.”
She may as well have shot him, for he was done. Done shoving his words away. Done gagging himself. With her candor and fierce honesty, he was simply done with his façade, as if he’d ever had a chance against her, the temptress. Further, although he doubted she’d meant anything but to know more about his mind, he couldn’t help but like the innuendo of her wanting to know him without his coat. Mayhap without his shirt too?
Focus, he reminded himself, he needed to stay focused on just the conversation.
“Ask me whatever you’d like, my lady. I fear, I have no idea how to repress myself with you.” And that was why he was so much better when he did censor himself. He’d just sounded like a brute capable of rape. Brilliant, indeed.
She bit her bottom lip, trying her best to cover a cough of a laugh.
“God, I meant—”
She held her hands out to him. “I think I understand.”
“I meant—”
Just then the carriage jerked to a halt, sending the lady flying. In the little amount of time before impact, Will tried to scoot from his seat, tried to reach out to catch her. But she landed in a heap between his legs. Her head almost smacked into his groin. Her hands grasped onto his hips for balance.
And there she stayed for a second too long.
The woman was more than likely shaken from the fall, yet Will’s mind filled with the indecent image of her being exactly where she was, only without so many clothes on. He could perhaps not have his clothes on either. Of all the times! Lord, he was a pervert.
He snatched her by her tiny waist and lifted her back to her side of the carriage.
“Ouch.”
“Did I hurt you, my lady?” Yes, did my crotch assist in any way? Why couldn’t his body simmer down?
He crouched before her, trying with everything in him to pull his hands from her abdomen.
“No, it was when I fell. One of my knees...” She leaned forward, letting Will have an awe-inspiring look at her décolleté. Then the woman pulled up her skirts, and showed him her bleeding knee. A small trickle of scarlet oozed down her torn white stocking, and for that he should have stopped himself from ogling at her thigh. But for about two and a-half seconds he did enjoy the view.
He gathered himself together though. Thank God the woman had never been with him during battles. She would have rendered him stupid in no time at all.
“May I assist you, my lady?”
She blinked down at him as he continued to kneel before her.
“I could bandage you, if you’d allow me?”
A very slow smile grew on her visage. “Only if you call me by my first name. I’m sorry, but I’m so tired of being called ‘my lady’ or ‘the lady.’ I’m not used—I’m—I think we’re beyond formalities now.”
He swallowed and looked down at the blood on her leg, reminding himself that she was hurt, and that was all that mattered—not her beautiful breasts that had been inches from his face, nor her thin, agile-looking leg, nor her warm, flirtatious words. Besides, he was more than likely misunderstanding her. She was a goddess, and he was...weary at best.
“Yes, my lady—Minerva.”
She groaned, and he quickly removed his handkerchief from his waistcoat to soothingly wipe away the blood.
“I’m so sorry you’re hurt, my—Minerva.”
“Not Minerva.” She sighed. “Call me Erva, please.”
He nodded and kept his eyes on his work, cleaning her wound. It was already bruising and puffing about the skin. That was all he needed to pay heed to. Although, he wanted to know why the sobriquet? Why didn’t she like her name? Then his eyes caught through her torn stocking the barest of a light mark on the inside of her knee. He’d heard of white birthmarks, but this—this was a bird. It was just a
shade lighter than her skin, but there it was, a little flying bird.
He blinked and looked up at her. Before he could utter a word, a loud knock sounded upon the carriage door.
“Begging your pardon, my lord, but one of the axels is broken. Is everyone in your party well?”
Will was glad no one opened the carriage’s door. He tied his handkerchief around her dainty knee, pulled her skirts down, covering her, and straightened as best as he could, then opened the door.
“The lady is hurt.”
“Oh, I’m fine.”
“Shall I run for a doctor?” one of the footmen surrounding the carriage door asked.
“No,” Erva hollered over his shoulder. “No, please, I’m fine. It’s just a little cut, and it’s all done bleeding now.”
Will glanced at her, wondering if he should call for a doctor anyhow.
“Pardon again, my lord,” the carriage driver said. “But the axel, it’s—”
The carriage pivoted to the side roughly, like a ship in a storm. He then realized that the front axel had indeed broken and had somehow stayed in shape this long, but was now heaving to. Erva clutched at her seat, but Will acted quicker. Grabbing her as fast as he could, he jumped from the carriage as it shifted to its side and fell like a wounded elephant.
Only then did he think of his cargo. Her arms tightly held him around his neck. Erva’s breath came in fast gulps against his chest. One breast pressed against him, and he thought he felt her heart beating against his. Her scent of night jasmine wafted about him like a spell and entranced him to look into her eyes. They were the color of dark wild clover honey. So breathtaking. Her gaze conveyed intense gratitude. With her in his arms, he felt...noble. Gallant. When he was a boy, he’d run about his manor, saving the maids from dragons with a stick for his sword. Once rescued, they’d thank him profusely and lavish him with laughter, hugs, and tickles. It had been one of the happiest moments of his life. And that was how he felt now.
“My lady,” he could only murmur.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“By God, my lord, but you are fast. I never saw a man so quick. You saved the lady.”
Will didn’t look up to see which footman was talking. He didn’t care. Not while Erva’s eyes spilled her potion through his veins. His blood pounded, pounded her name.
“Are you all right?” he finally asked.
She nodded. “You?”
He nodded as well, since words seemed a tad beyond his grasp presently.
“Shall I fetch the doctor now?” another footman asked.
Finally, Will forced his eyes from hers and was about to nod, when she said, “Oh no, I’m fine. Really. It’s just a tiny cut.”
It was more than that though. Will had seen for himself the swelling of her delicate joint.
“My lady, I believe you are more injured than you let on,” he said, while not daring to look into her eyes again.
“I’m fine. I swear.” She giggled. “I’ll prove it to you. I’m sure I can walk.”
“I’ll get another carriage, then we can await a doctor at the manor.”
He was surprised when he felt her cold, gloved fingers catch his cheek and force his gaze back to hers.
“Listen to me, please. I’m fine, William. Put me down, and you’ll see for yourself.”
Those words shook him more than he would have liked, more than he wanted them too. Listen to me. His wife, now passed away for almost ten years, had repeatedly begged him to do the same. It took her death to understand the lesson of it, to not run about thinking he was acting for someone else’s best interests, but to truly take heed of what those best interests could be. It was one of the reasons why he preferred to be quiet, so he could listen, so he could prove to himself that he wasn’t such a bad husband. But no matter how attentive he was, he never felt free from the guilt.
He swallowed and nodded. “My apologies, my lady. What would you prefer? Shall I set you down? Or would you like to wait a bit? I won’t send for the doctor, unless you approve of it.”
She blinked. Her smile was slow but grew wide and heated with something that cusped into...well, what it was he wasn’t certain. It seemed more than gratitude. But he dared not hope for what he wished it to be.
“Thank you, and what did I say about calling me my lady?”
“My apologies again, my—Erva.”
Someone cleared his throat. Somehow, Erva and he had created a cave that felt as if they were alone, as if the world didn’t surround them. Will looked at the footman, who smiled back, probably waiting for orders. Lord, one day it would be heaven to not tell someone what to do.
“Erva,” he asked, “What shall we do about your knee?”
“Nothing.” She grinned. “I want to go see your men.”
He looked to the footman again. “Call for another carriage, please.” He gazed into Erva’s wild honeyed eyes again. “Are you sure about seeing my troops?”
“Yes, please.” Erva’s voice was husky yet smooth.
Raw energy shot straight for his groin at the sound of the lady’s response. He’d have to think of...that field hockey sport the Americans played, anything to stop obsessing about the way Erva smelled, looked, and worst of all, the way she felt against him.
The woman was cracking through all his toughened walls. And he’d only met her less than three hours ago. He was in trouble and knew it. But he wasn’t sure if he wanted to do anything about it.