Chapter Three

May 19, 1817

Somewhere in Mayfair

Cora stifled the urge to groan, for a megrim was working its way to the surface at her temples, and that wasn't ideal, since the rout had started thirty minutes ago. It had taken that long for Mrs. Bromington to make her way from the front door to the staircase due to her being quite the social butterfly.

"I don't know why you are already pouting, girl," her charge said with a smirk as she slowly climbed the treads. The candlelight winked off the necklace of round sapphires about her neck and her wrist. Her navy taffeta skirting rustled with each movement. "We will no doubt be here until midnight. I want to be sure and have my dinner before leaving. Best come to terms with that."

"I don't begrudge you the meal nor seeing your friends, Mrs. Bromington, but I will warn you I have a megrim lurking, so I might need to find a quiet place." And they often plagued her when she was under pressure or anxious about something. So had it been since she'd come into the widow's employ.

"Mind over matter, Miss Hasting." Mrs. Bromington tsked her tongue as she gained the second floor with Cora in tow. The lace lining her widow's cap ruffled slightly in the breeze brought on by the force of her hand fan. Tight gray curls beneath gleamed, for the hair had been washed earlier that morning. "Strong women don't let things like that dictate their mood."

My dear heaven, please give me patience to not pitch her down the stairs.

"Ah, then I shall try to learn from your more substantial experience," she muttered while they moved out of the way of foot traffic.

Not that she was given a choice about whether she'd wished to come tonight to this house across Mayfair, for Mrs. Bromington wanted to visit with her friends. One of which was the mother of the host. The rub there was the fact that her employer thought Cora not good enough to attend the rout as a guest, which would mean rubbing elbows of women like her. Since the widow had quite a fortune left to her by her husband, she considered herself better than Cora, whose family was in reduced circumstances, regardless of class position or her being the daughter of a baron. Apparently, according to her charge, women who are in such dire straits and forced to take paying positions didn't deserve to speak with their betters or enjoy entertainments.

As if I am not alive or breathing. To say nothing of being impressed upon to wear a decent gown so I won't embarrass her while walking the corridors.

In essence, while Mrs. Bromington enjoyed herself tonight, she expected Cora to go belowstairs with the staff and wait until she was called, as if she were a dog. Or, if she couldn't manage that, then to keep herself away from the core of the society event and out of sight. After all, she was a companion, not a guest.

According to her whim. It largely depended on who the widow wished to impress.

"Watch your tongue, Miss Hasting," Mrs. Bromington warned with a slight curve to her lips as if she found their exchange amusing. "I won't tolerate sass."

"As if you have tolerated anything since I came into your employ. Probably ages before that, too," Cora shot back before she could recall the words. With a gasp, she met the older woman's gaze. "I apologize. That was unkind."

The widow rapped Cora's shins with the tip of her cane. "That'll be enough, girl. You have no reason to be so ungrateful. At least in this position, I'm keeping you from making a living on your back."

Oh, dear lord.The heat of embarrassment went through Cora's cheeks. "Of course I am grateful to you." But that doesn't mean I don't wish you at least a tiny bit of misfortune for your acerbic tongue. At the last second, she stopped herself from rolling her eyes and tamped down the wild urge to say exactly what was on her mind. Being nine and twenty was hardly girl status any longer, and neither did her current circumstances dictate a certain treatment. "Do you see your friends?" she asked instead, as they both peered inside the crowded drawing room.

"Yes, I do." The widow waved a gloved hand to someone across the room. "I shall require your assistance promptly at midnight."

"I will wait for you at these doors." After sweeping her notice about the area, her gaze alighted on a grouping of two delicate chairs with light blue velvet cushions waiting at the end of the short corridor. "In fact, I will be there should you need me later in the evening." A longcase clock struck the nine o'clock hour, and she stifled another groan. "I hope you have a delightful time tonight."

Three hours until I can go home.The megrim worsened slightly. Let us hope I don't need to retch before the night is over.

"Thank you for your regard." The widow's expression softened. "Be certain you eat something tonight." Just when Cora thought the woman actually cared, Mrs. Bromington went on to say, "It simply won't do to have you drop from weakness or hunger when I need you to escort me downstairs later."

Of course.She pasted a smile onto her stiff lips. "I certainly won't fail at my position. Perhaps I will pop into the library downstairs and hope the quiet will help with the megrim."

"Good girl. It's a difficult time to be sacked, what with the wealthy in Town leaving for their summer estates soon." Then the widow moved into the drawing room to mingle with the guests already milling about.

Cora fumed for a few seconds while she watched her charge talk and laugh with acquaintances. Why did the woman treat her with such contempt? Though, to be fair, perhaps she was still grieving over losing her husband not so long ago, or perhaps the fact she didn't see her children that much caused her to be maudlin and lash out. She snorted and turned away, moving back into the corridor. Truth be told, Mrs. Bromington was just a vile, unhappy, bitter woman and that was why her family didn't wish to gather round her much.

Truly, it was a wonder she retained any friends at all.

Her parents had known—and were currently battling—various hardships, but neither of them treated the people about them with anything less than respect. Perhaps it depended on the temperament of the person; no doubt Alice Bromington had been born sour. Not that it mattered. Surely, this position and the need to make a living wouldn't prove permanent. Soon enough she could be away from the widow, but right now, it was her lot, and she had to make the best of it. Because the admission of a megrim hadn't been a lie, Cora slowly traversed the staircase, holding the skirting of her jonquil satin gown away from her feet lest she accidentally trip and take a tumble. The widow wouldn't like that, would she?

By the time she gained the lower floor, many of the guests had already migrated to the second floor and the drawing room, which left her the freedom to explore where she would in peace. The townhouse was significantly larger than the widow's, but was what wealth would bring a person, yet locating the library was easier than she'd anticipated. With one last glance about the immediate area to make certain she was alone, Cora pressed the polished brass door latch, pushed the wooden panel open, and then slipped inside the room.

Immediately, the scents of leather, ink, and old paper assailed her nose. Quickly and quietly, she closed the door behind her. The farther she moved into the room, the more relaxed she became. This was what Papa's library at Landover Hall used to feel like before he'd been forced to sell off some of the more expensive volumes. Those had been sad days, for each loss of a published work had stabbed Cora in the soul.

But this room! Oh, it was glorious, and with only a couple candles lit in tall silver candlesticks, shadows swallowed most of the room. Groupings of leather furniture rested throughout the room, and the sofas, chairs, and footrests were all quite inviting. Small, round tables inlaid with both rose and ivory were scattered through, some containing short stacks of books, some decorated with bric-a-brac, while other lower tables waited to be in service. Easily she could envision the owner of the space taking tea in this room or even enjoying snifters of brandy or glasses of other spirits while reading to his heart's content.

If only she had that luxury as well.

For the moment, it was enough that she'd been able to slip into the room. The silence was a stark contrast to the noise and merriment throughout the rest of the house. At the side, French, paned doors opened to a side garden that would no doubt lead to the rear garden behind the house. Moving across the room, her slippers made no sound on the luxuriously thick carpeting. Once at the doors, she turned the latch and easily pushed one of them open. Immediately, a cooling breeze came into the room, and she gladly lifted her face to it, breathed in that fresh air. It reminded her so much of being in the countryside that another wave of homesickness came over her.

I hope Papa is doing better now that some of the burden is being lifted from his shoulders.

For long moments, she stood at the garden door while peering out into the darkening night, but before she could move away and settle into one of the inviting sofas, the soft snick of the corridor door opening and closing seemed to echo in the silent space.

She frowned. Who the devil could that be? Mrs. Bromington come to harangue her again? Truth be told, she didn't much care, for this was her time, so she continued to focus her attention on the shadow-filled garden, briefly contemplated fleeing from the townhouse and never returning to the widow's employ.

Cologne betrayed the intruder as a male. The subtle hints of clean freshness tickled her nose, accompanied by the smell of sea and salt. It was one of her favorite things about living in the countryside, but she frowned, for the cologne was quite familiar, both comforting and arousing.

"There you are. I had been searching for you since the rout began."

Oh, no!

Now she knew why the scent made her feel that way, and the sound of his voice reinforced that knowledge. Gooseflesh popped along her skin, but she still didn't turn around; she couldn't, not while his very presence here had immediately thrown her into a storm of confusion, rage, and need. Deciding to play along in order to determine what exactly he wanted, she said, "Oh? Why is that?"

"You are beyond tempting in that yellow gown, so I followed you, wishing to have you alone."

The whisper of his voice, the resurrection of his scent in her memories, the way his presence filled the space, all left her at sixes and sevens. "Did you believe I wished to be alone with you?" Already, they were flirting with scandal, and if Mrs. Bromington discovered her with this man, there would be hell to pay, and loads of it, yet it was somewhat flattering to know he'd deliberately sought her out after the horrid history between them.

"I had hoped, of course." He came up behind her, and when he placed his hands on her upper arms, pulled her back against the hard wall of his chest, sensations threatened to swamp her. "Though I realize we have only seen each other socially, I wondered if you would be amiable to me paying my addresses to you."

Wondering what had become of his gloves flew right out her head as she was presented with this riddle. What was this, then? The odd string of words yanked her out of the warm cocoon she'd temporarily fallen into. Cora frowned. Obviously, he had mistaken her for someone else. Her emotions went crashing into the pit of her belly. Keeping her voice low so he wouldn't be able to identify her, she said, "Well, Mr. Wetherford, that is quite an offer…"

Obviously, he harbored no feelings of guilt or regret. The thought sent a stab of annoyance through her chest.

"If you must use a title, I am Captain Wetherford, but I would prefer you to call me Peregrine when we are alone." When he nuzzled the crook of her shoulder, Cora froze.

Dear heavens!He used to always do that to her, and the fact he did so now had butterflies waking in her lower belly that she thought long dead. "A captain." That was surprising, for when she'd known him, he had only recently joined the navy. No buying a commission for him. That integrity had been one thing she'd adored about him… until he'd erased that by abandoning her. "How exciting. Are you in London on leave?" One of her fears at the time had been he'd choose the sea over her.

"I am retired now." The barely there glide of his lips over her skin had tingles playing down her spine. "And I believe I am ready to settle into the next phase of my life."

"How lovely." The megrim all but forgotten, Cora leaned slightly back against him, letting herself sink into the warmth of him, and as his arms came around her and he continued to place feather weighted kisses along the side of her neck, she softly moaned. Yes, this was beyond wrong, but it had been such a long time since she'd seen him. If she were honest with herself, buried under the hurt and resentment and anger, she had truly missed him, for he had been the first and only man she'd given her heart to. "The stories you must have to tell." Though he obviously thought her another, part of her was curious to know how far this charade would go.

"Aye, and I would like to share them with you if you wish to enter into a courtship." When he gave her earlobe a light bite, Cora nearly melted into a puddle at his feet.

Drat him!He would give such attention to another woman, intend to marry said woman where he had fled from her, but had hardly given her a thought? Pushing the musings from her mind, she hoped she had misunderstood him and that he knew who she was this whole time, that he had deliberately sought her out. Cora, girl, you are a ninny. Stop that at once!

"Mmm," was all she could manage, for he'd moved his hands up to cup her breasts, and she teetered on the edge of being lost. How well she remembered how he'd made her feel years ago, how lovely that madness had been when they'd coupled. This was exactly the distraction she needed to wash the bitterness of her employer away.

"Ah, I do adore a responsive woman," he whispered against the shell of her ear. The captain continued with his caresses, and the moment he applied the slightest pressure, Cora shook with need. "Let us discover if we are compatible carnally, for that will make everything else much easier."

"True." She hoped he hadn't recognized the sound of her voice, and if he hadn't, damn him. Did he not remember how her body had felt against his, in his hands? Then flutters of pleasure swamped her, for as he continued to tease her breasts through the thin satin of her gown, her nipples hardened, and need for him intensified. How she wanted to feel his hands, his fingers, his lips all over her body! At least once more, to remember and perhaps in an effort to forget as well. As she made a sound of encouragement at the back of her throat, he chuckled, brushed his lips along her nape and then slowly slipped the fingers of one hand beneath her bodice, beneath the shift and stays to rub along that pebbled tip. "Mmm, yes." Of their own accord, her hips bumped into his, and there was no mistaking the rampant evidence of his desire.

"Ah, sweet Cecily, you feel all too wonderful." He followed the erroneous identification by a teasing pinch to the nipple and a light nip at the crook of her neck.

Dear heavens, the man hasn't lost his potency.

"I could say the same of you," she said in a barely audible whisper, for despite her annoyance with him and his apparent inability to remember her, she wanted him, wanted this, for it was as her maid had said. With the right man, it was truly remarkable.

"Will you allow me to discover that sweet nectar only you possess?" As he spoke, Peregrine slipped his free hand down the front of her gown, past her abdomen to rest briefly as her mons, but when he drew up her skirting, Cora trembled.

"I… I suppose…"

"I shall take that as permission."

This is wrong, this is wrong!But why did it feel so incredibly right? Perhaps she was naught but a desperate woman, for she nestled her body closer to his, and when his fingers wandered through the curls between her thighs, she widened her stance slightly to give him greater access. "Touch me, Peregrine." Would that soft utterance be what gave her away?

"So silky, so lovely, so wet," he crooned into her ear. The warmth of his breath, the rhythmic circling of the swelling button at her center had the power to sweep her away into a world she hadn't visited in far too long. Regardless of the consequences such a thing might bring if she allowed him to go much further. "Do you want me that much, then?"

"I have always wanted you." Perhaps had never stopped, and that was the crux of her problems. He had already made his choice, and she hadn't been it. She needed to move forward in her life; so did he. Though she shook with lust and need, Cora found her backbone and her self-respect. "Enough. This is wrong." Shoving away from him, when their connection was severed, she turned about with a half-sob half-cry of regret. "I am not who you apparently think I am, Captain Wetherford."

"Shit!" Shock reflected in his eyes and lined his face as he stared at her. "Cora?" He shook his head. "I thought you were Miss Beaufort; you are wearing the same color gown as she, have similar hair."

Truly, the man was a nodcock if he couldn't figure out at least subtle differences, yet shock slammed into her all the same, for she'd almost let him do unspeakable things to her out of need and memories. "I never thought to see you again, and now I discover you are back in London, wishing to not only court another—marry her—but also fall into scandal with her. Willingly, this time, apparently." Why hadn't he wished to do that with her?

"I… I…" He held up a hand, palm outward. "I don't know what to say except to apologize profusely."

Cora shook her head. Heat burned through her cheeks. "I assumed you had sailed away—ran away—like a coward because you couldn't bear the thought of marrying me, of marrying anyone. Yet that has just been proved untrue." She bit her bottom lip as she took a step backward, and then another until she was nearly through the French doors and into the garden. "After what you did to me, after how my reputation was shredded, I don't wish to see you again."

So saying, she fled into the garden as tears filled her eyes. I am naught but a fool, and I do not need that man.