“Do you mind if I stroll?” James asked Ophelia, tearing his gaze from Eleanor. “My legs are cramped.”
“Of course.” She moved toward the shop, flanked by her two bodyguards, without concern or suspicion. She trusted him, and that thought made him feel guilty, but not enough to stop him. As she disappeared inside, he returned his attention to Eleanor.
Although she stood tall and serene, a veritable goddess, there was something about her stillness that reeked of loneliness. Slowly, he started toward her, drawn by some invisible connection he didn’t understand. He only knew that he desperately wanted to protect her.
“I’d say emerald is my color, don’t you agree?” one woman asked the other, but Eleanor remained quiet, so still, so lost that she didn’t even notice him until he was directly behind her.
“Tell your friends you are taking a hack home,” he whispered near her ear. “You don’t feel well.”
She stiffened, but thank God, didn’t glance back. For a moment he thought perhaps she didn’t recognize his voice. He could not speak louder, he could not grab her hand and tear her away, as much as he wished. Desperate, he curled his fingers in silent frustration, unsure how to get her to agree, short of abducting her.
“Why?” she finally whispered.
The joy he felt at her response was maddening. Even though he knew it was uncouth to have feelings for his clients, it didn’t seem to matter. “I’m saving you. Now, tell them, head down the footpath, and then turn right.”
Whistling a tune under his breath, he strolled down the footpath as if he hadn’t a care in the world, merely a man out for a leisurely stroll. He paused where the street intersected with another, feigning interest in the passing carriages, but all the while he watched her from the corner of his eye.
Instead of ignoring his demand like a good lass, she actually took a few steps back from her friends. “I feel a slight headache,” he heard her say. “I really ought to return home.”
“Are you sure?” an elder woman asked.
James didn’t wait to hear more but turned on his heel and headed right, the euphoria of being with Eleanor again superseding his common sense. Ophelia would notice his absence, of course. He wasn’t sure where he was going or how long he would be gone, and he would most likely have to lie upon his return, something he rarely, if ever, did. None of it mattered. No, because the only thing that mattered was being with Eleanor once more, even if for a moment. A shiver of awareness caressed his spine, a tingling awareness that said she followed behind him. Spotting a cab, he lifted his arm and waited near the edge of the street.
“What are we doing?” Eleanor whispered behind him.
He latched onto her hand without even looking at her. “Come, hurry.” He gripped her waist and tossed her inside the hack before someone noticed. “Toward Westminster, please,” he said to the driver.
“Aye, governor.”
He jumped into the cab and closed the door so they were hidden from prying eyes, praying they had not been spotted. How stupid he was to put her in danger. Selfish, greedy, for he could admit he wanted desperately to see her, talk to her, touch her again. He was doing this for himself, as much as for her. Sadly, he didn’t feel the least bit of guilt.
“Where are we going?” she asked breathlessly, half-hidden in the shadows.
“Somewhere we can… talk.” He leaned forward and lifted her veil. The unwashed reek of the cab was slowly being invaded by the light scent of roses. “There. Much better.”
She flushed but didn’t look away, her gaze bold and daring. Obviously she wanted to be here as much as he wanted her with him. The realization was tantalizing indeed. Neither spoke about their mutual attraction. Neither admitted how reckless they were being.
“There is a little tea shop not far. It’s highly unlikely you’ll be recognized there.”
“If I am?”
She did not seem worried. The air practically vibrated with an odd mixture of tension, attraction, hope… but not worry. He shrugged, leaning back, feeling oddly relaxed. “I’d be happy to drop you off near your home. ’Tis your decision to make.”
For a long moment, as the carriage rattled through London, she didn’t speak. They were both tempting fate, and they both had so much to lose if caught. Neither seemed to care.
Finally, her shoulders sank and she fell back into the cushions, grinning. “No. I rather feel like some tea.”
James grinned in kind. He’d never seen her smile, he realized. Yes, a mocking smile, a cold, demure smirk, but never this… purity. Innocence. He could almost imagine her as a debutante, before her husband had ruined her. Yes, he’d known the moment he met her that her marriage was not a happy one; he’d also guessed that deep down she craved adventure, happiness, excitement. But didn’t everyone? “Are you sure?”
She leaned forward and nodded. “Positive. Now, tell me what you are doing here.”
Although the scoop of her neckline was demure by most standards, he couldn’t help but notice the creamy curve of her breasts. He clenched his jaw and forced his gaze upward. She wore a gown the color of the summer sky when a storm was approaching… a blue-gray that made her eyes sparkle.
“Lady Lavender has business in London.”
“I see.” She was quiet as she played with the tassel that hung from her reticule. “And do you always escort her wherever she goes?”
He shrugged, knowing there was an underlying question there. He might not be an expert in love, but he’d catered to enough women to know when there was something amiss. “Usually.”
“I see.”
And so did he, he saw very well indeed. He smiled as he moved across the coach and settled beside her. Much to his pleasure she didn’t move away. “What, exactly, do you see?”
She glanced up at him through her thick lashes. “You are her favorite.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps.”
She stared at his thigh where it pressed intimately against hers. Even through the layers of her skirts he felt her heat. Craved her heat. Her touch. Her kiss. His gaze dropped to her lush mouth, then lower to her elegant neck where a pulse fluttered like a butterfly.
“And will she not be angry when she finds you are missing? Or did she give you permission?”
He leaned closer to her, breathing in the clean scent of woman and rose soap. “Can I trust you with the truth?”
“Of course.”
He pressed his lips to the shell of her delicate ear. She shivered beneath him. “I snuck away.”
“Oh.” She was quiet for a moment and he wondered what she was thinking. When he’d never cared much before about his clients and their thoughts, he found he wanted to know everything about Eleanor.
“Why?” she asked, looking up at him. “Why did you sneak away?”
He drew back, noting her flushed cheeks with satisfaction. She liked him, perhaps as much as he liked her. Perhaps more. The realization sent his pulse pounding. He could have her… so easily here and now. She was ready and willing to be seduced, and he was an expert. Damn it all, she deserved better than a tickle in a carriage. “Because I noticed a woman who seemed utterly miserable. And I can’t abide it when a woman looks ready to cry.”
She clenched her jaw, that resolute look of determination hardening her gaze once more. “No need to worry. I never cry.”
He wasn’t sure whether to be amused or saddened over her admittance. “Never?”
“Not any longer.”
“Because your life is so wonderful?”
“No games,” she said, shaking her head. “We both know that I would not have visited you if my life was wonderful. I do not cry because… because he enjoys it too much.”
James stiffened, his amusement fading. Pure rage rushed through his body like nothing he’d ever experienced before. Hot one moment, cold the next… he no longer felt in control of his emotions. What the bleedin’ hell had happened to him?
He didn’t dare react, but remained calm, relaxed against the seat. “
Your husband?”
“I do not wish to speak of him. You have possibly ruined my reputation and my life. If this should be my last day, then I demand you make the deed worth it.”
He reached out, sliding his fingers down her smooth cheek and tucking a silky lock of hair behind her ear. “Very well.” He leaned close, so close his lips brushed hers. “Prepare, my lady Eleanor, for the most pleasant day of your life.”
He slid his fingers under her chin, tilting her head back and intending to thoroughly kiss the woman when the carriage slowed. “Blast it,” he muttered a mere breath away from her mouth.
Eleanor giggled. James drew back, surprised and delighted by such an innocent laugh. Her eyes shone with the light of a woman who had no idea about the wicked ways of the world. She looked… happy. He had made her that way. As much as it thrilled him, the thought also terrified him, for he knew their relationship was only temporary. What if she came to rely upon him? Hell, what if he couldn’t get her out of his mind?
When the carriage stopped, James was actually relieved. He pushed open the door, tossed some coins to the driver, and turned, reaching for Eleanor.
“’Tis raining,” she said, as she peeked outside. Her veil was back in place, her identity a mystery once more. He glanced up at the gray clouds. He hadn’t even noticed the drizzle.
He held out his hand and took her small palm in his, rethinking his rash decision to steal her away, rethinking his entire life. He wasn’t even sure what had induced him to bring her here, of all places. “Yes, but rain is good.”
She tilted her head to the side in a thoughtful manner. “Why?”
“Well, for instance, rain makes the flowers grow.” He nodded toward the foxglove growing in patches on the grounds of the church. A church he’d visited often as a child. Suddenly the memories came flooding back, churning through his body, tearing at his soul. He took in a deep, trembling breath and forced his attention to Eleanor.
Even though her face was covered, he could tell she smiled. “That is all you have to offer?”
“Rain will keep people inside.” He forced himself to speak although his heart was thumping madly. He looked around the area at the many unfamiliar faces, expecting to see his sister, even himself, in the eyes of the children who strolled by. “Which means it is less likely that we will be noticed.”
“I will grudgingly give you that.”
“Truly kind of you.” He tightened his hold on her hand.
She kept him grounded, he realized quite suddenly. When he’d gone through life in a numb, albeit content, existence… she’d forced him into the world. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that realization. “And you might be able to use the rain to your advantage. For instance, if someone asks where you were… you might say the carriage was stuck in the mud.”
She slid her arm through his, and although her body merely brushed his side, he felt her heat all the way to his soul. They started through the gardens of Westminster. “Do you always look on the bright side?”
“Why not? The alternative is to be bleak and miserable.”
“It’s very hard to be happy when those around you are determined to see you aren’t.”
“I’m sure it is,” he said, squeezing her hand gently. He didn’t like the look she wore; it was all too common where he had come from. Hopelessness, defeat. He wanted her smiling again. “Cremorne Gardens, have you been? We are going tomorrow evening.”
She stiffened, that proper missus still there, deep down. “Of course not. It’s not exactly a place for someone like…”
He quirked a brow, amused. “You?”
She looked away. “No, someone like my husband. As we are married, what I do affects him.” She gave him a forced smile. “Now, where are we? How do you know this area? I am not quite sure I won’t run into anyone I know.”
“I used to live only a few streets away a long, long time ago when my father was a driver for a wealthy lord.”
She jerked her head toward him, obviously surprised. “I see. And after?”
“This way.” He led her underneath a yew. “We eventually moved to a… cheaper spot.”
“I see.”
And it was obvious by the gentling of her voice she did see. When his father had lost his job they’d thought he’d easily find another. He hadn’t. Their money had dwindled, until… he drew her closer as a group of young factory working bucks came strolling by, their eyes a bit too greedy when they gazed upon Eleanor’s fine figure. Eleanor didn’t judge him, although she had every right. She did not look down upon him although she could have. He realized, with a start, that he was glad she was here. He wanted to share his memories with her.
“You are holding me rather close,” she whispered. “It’s rather presumptuous of you.”
“We have kissed.”
“That does not give you the right to handle me like I’m a doll, or child.”
“I would never presume as much.” He knew her game. She wanted to retain that façade of control, as if she had some say in her life, because in reality she had so very little. “I merely did not want to draw attention. Two well-dressed people walking as friends would draw attention. But like this… as a couple we don’t.”
It was a lie, of course. Eleanor would draw attention no matter where she went and with whom. Her bearing, her beauty… she was like no other.
They left the gardens and started down the lane. “We’ll pretend to be married then?”
He nodded. “It would be for the best.” She didn’t respond but he could tell that brilliant mind of hers was spinning. He wondered what she thought, desperately wanted to know. He tore his attention from her and gazed across the road.
“There it is.” He smiled, feeling an odd mixture of emotions. “Still here after all these years.”
It was a small corner shop that sold sweets and tea. He and his sister had visited the shop often for a treat when his father had worked nearby. But he realized quite sadly the memories were bitter and better left in the past. The rain thickened. Perhaps it was better not to dredge up a lost cause. Yet something pulled him to that building on the corner.
“Hurry.” He latched onto her hand and started running across the street, fearing that the tea shop would fade away into the approaching mist and he’d lose all chance to know who he had been. It was an odd mixture of longing and desperation that made him move.
“James!” Eleanor laughed as her feet slipped over the cobbled streets. But he held her tight; he would not let her fall. They paused at the door, catching their breaths.
“Are you well?” he asked.
She straightened her bonnet, making sure the netting was in place. “I suppose.”
They glanced at the windows, both wishing to step into the warmth but neither wanting to be recognized. Only two women were inside drinking tea and chatting near the counter. It had changed, he realized with a start. The shop might still be here, but it was different in some way. The area was more crowded with buildings and people. The shop itself had been a red brick that was now painted white. Everything and everyone had moved on without him.
“Shall we go in?” Eleanor asked softly, as if sensing the turmoil within.
He nodded and pulled open the door, a bell overhead jingling merrily. As he stepped inside, following Eleanor, the world became entirely too real. His past and his present did not belong together, yet here they were, clashing within that very moment.
“James?” Eleanor whispered, watching him curiously.
He forced his lips to turn upward. He was so bloody good at acting as if everything was well, it came naturally even when he wanted to scream, to hit something. He pulled out a chair from a small table near the window where they could watch others run from the rain, their umbrellas doing little under the fierce wind. “I’m sorry. Is this all right?”
“Yes, quite well.”
He nodded and headed toward the counter. His body was not his own. He couldn’t seem to feel his heart beat inside his chest
. His skin tingled, his lips numb. He headed toward the old man who was busy placing cakes underneath a glass stand. “Tea please, and a pair of those petits fours.”
The old man behind the counter straightened and nodded. It wasn’t until he stood that James recognized him. Shock and dismay chilled his very being. Deep wrinkles marked the area around his eyes and mouth. What hair he had left had turned gray. “Of course. Will bring it to you.”
Mr. Swift. The man who had always given them an extra peppermint, winking and whispering not to tell his wife. Mr. Swift, who had seemed old then, even older now. So much older. The world had changed, there was no going back.
From the kitchens he could hear Mrs. Swift singing, the sound so familiar that for a moment he almost felt six again. Rationally he hadn’t expected to see them here after all these years. If they recognized him, how would he explain his sudden appearance? How would he explain Eleanor? Unsettled, he turned and headed back to the table.
“They’re all so busy,” she said, watching the people race down the footpath, off to work or perhaps to the shelter of their homes. Except for them. They were here because neither of them truly had a home. Not anywhere safe and warm and comforting. And for the moment they belonged here in this tea shop as much as they belonged anywhere else.
“Most people are, aren’t they?” he replied softly. “Always in a hurry.”
“No.” She lifted her netting yet kept her back to the shop so the few patrons would not see her face. “Not my acquaintances. They lie around in bed half the day.”
He didn’t miss the fact that she called them acquaintances and not friends. Did she have any friends, anyone loyal to her? Anyone she could go to for assistance? He was prevented from asking when Mr. Swift appeared, tray in hand.
“Thank you,” James muttered, somewhat relieved when the man merely nodded and left them in peace. “Do you not have friends to chat with and visit?”
She lifted her cup and sipped, taking her tea plain. “Perhaps. But they don’t truly know me. My dreams and hopes.” She released a wry laugh. “I sound like an utter ninny.”