Chapter Three

A lady should never do anything with a man who hasn’t been introduced to her.

Lydia sighed with relief as she was lifted into a traveling coach and placed on a well-squabbed bench. When the man who’d rescued her climbed in after her, she scooted over until she was by the window. Immediately, the clean, crisp, wintery scent of him wafted to her nose.

“Ready?”

She shrugged, for she couldn’t really say definitively about anything. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” With a nod, he brought up the steps then closed the door, which put an end to the intrusive cold air as well as the rain.

“Transferring mud onto the bench. It’s already all over the front of your greatcoat.” As she spoke, she glanced over at him when he settled onto the bench beside her. Dear heavens, he was easy on the eyes. Realizing that made her heated merely thinking about it.

“It is nothing. Saving your life was more important than the state of my clothing.” A thud from the rear of the coach caused him to grin. The gesture completely transformed his expression and took a few years from his face. “My driver must have found some redeemable clothing items in your things that were strewn about the road.”

“At least there is that.” Though she’d need to have them laundered or find a way to do the chore herself.

“I’m sorry your reticule was stolen. I’d imagine your coin and other important items were inside?”

“Very little, I’m afraid.”

“Why is that?”

“The small amount of coin and jewelry I own has been sewn into the hem of this skirt and cloak. Those drivers will be disappointed at the pence they find in the reticule.” Would the ache in her head ever cease? Her fingers and toes felt as if they would snap off from the cold.

He watched her with that intense blue gaze, and dear heavens she wanted to hide herself in those pools. Would he judge her for who she truly was? It almost pained her to know that when he invariably asked about her history, she would give him nothing but lies. There was nothing for it, and it was habit by now.

“By the by, I’m Jackson Ramsay. The Earl of Greystone, actually.” One of his dark brown eyebrows rose in question. “That is my daughter Elsbeth. She’s currently sleeping, or so she wants me to believe.”

Lydia nodded as she glanced at the bench across the narrow aisle at the young lady whose back was to her. A bonnet rested at her feet and a pretty pelisse of light blue brocade hid most of her form from view. “To be fair, girls her age do tend to need more sleep than a full adult.”

“Hmm.” When he continued to regard her, she finally realized that she’d been remiss in introducing herself.

Thank goodness his daughter wasn’t enrolled in her school, for he seemed far too clever, and that meant she probably was as well. “I’m Lady Lydia Kingston.” It was a bit trickier to cling to the fiction she’d invented for herself when talking directly with a member of the beau monde , and an earl at that. He would be apt to know the peerage more intimately than perhaps the parents of her students.

“A lady? Then your father is highly titled? A duke, perhaps?” Interest wove through the question.

Drat, drat, drat.

“The Earl of Mountfort.” In the moment, it didn’t matter the name was completely pulled from her imagination, and had been for years, but she hoped he wouldn’t dwell overly much on that or try to trace the ancestry of that fictitious name. “I, uh, am the headmistress and owner of Kingston’s Academy for Young Ladies in London.”

“London? Now that is an interesting tidbit. How did that come about?” When he half-turned toward her, his knee accidentally knocked her leg. Tingling awareness zipped up that limb and lodged in her lower belly.

“Well, I’m a spinster.” Heat slapped at her cheeks, for the lie made her sound far more innocent and wholesome than she was. “To fill my time, I decided to open a finishing school.” One would think the story she’d invented for herself would simply trip off her tongue with ease, but that was never the case. It was a struggle each time she told it, especially to this man for whatever reason. “My father left me his townhouse. The one next door sat empty for a long time, so I convinced a friend to help me buy it. The complicated paperwork was obviously beyond me—” it wasn’t, “—and a few greased palms later, I’d doubled my real estate investment.” She shrugged and refrained from looking directly at him. “It took six months, but I finally started a finishing school for a very limited number of young ladies whose families might not have coin enough to send their children to a school on the Continent or to Bath or Brighton.”

At least that was the truth. The rest was… complicated.

Respect lined his face. “What motivated such a plan? You seem far too young to remain on the shelf in order to run a finishing school.”

Oh, dear. This wasn’t a question she was usually asked, so she didn’t have a rehearsed answer. “Uh, I suppose I had such a positive experience of my own at finishing school.” Her brain was still a bit fuzzy from the stint of unconsciousness. “The friendships I’d formed and the teachers I learned from were not to be forgotten. I wished to provide a positive experience to other young ladies, but what hinders many is the prohibitive cost of finishing schools away from London.”

Movement from the bench across from her location threw light on the fact that Lady Elsbeth might not be fully asleep, but the girl remained quiet and her breathing even, so Lydia couldn’t be certain.

The earl softly cleared his throat. “I don’t wish to move her because she can get grouchy and I am not in the mood to traverse that road again.”

“This is fine.” Her lips twitched with the want to smile. Men with a sense of humor were so much more attractive than those without. “I don’t mind the close proximity.” Which was true enough, for the warmth of him called out to her.

“I agree, yet you never answered my question regarding the fact though you may be past the first and second blooms of youth, you are still quite young to open a school. It is a great responsibility.” That dratted eyebrow rose again. Had he found the holes in her story already?

“Oh.” More heat invaded her cheeks, but most of that came from the intensity of his gaze and the way his eyes occasionally dropped to her mouth. “I’m eight and twenty, and once my parents died, I was left very much alone in the world. Since I had independent means, I did this to have people around me.”

“Who does your books?”

“I do. Trust is difficult to come by.” That slipped out before she could recall it.

A light of curiosity flared in his eyes. “And you are unmarried why?”

“For the same reason.” Not a lie. She doubted she would ever go beneath a man’s thumb again without serious thought. Why wouldn’t he let the subject go? “As to why I am unattached? It is because no one asked me.” If the words had an underlying tone of annoyance, she couldn’t help it.

Please believe me.

Of course she couldn’t tell him the truth, that six years ago, she’d married a man she thought would love her forever but in fact had turned out to be the worst sort of bounder—a man who hit her to make himself feel better and, in a sense, to control every aspect of her life while pickling his brain with cheap ale and gin.

“I see, though those men must not have, for you hardly resemble a dog’s breakfast, even with all the mud.”

“Thank you for the honesty.” Had the girl on the bench shook with suppressed laughter? It was difficult to tell, for she didn’t make another move.

Another swath of silence brewed inside the coach. When she couldn’t stand the force of his gaze any longer, Lydia turned her face to the window to watch the slowly passing scenery and hopefully forget how cold she was. “I rather think it will prove a cold winter.”

“Indeed, especially after how dismal the autumn has been.” Eventually, the rustle of fabric indicated he’d switched positions. “Why are you traveling by yourself?”

An easy enough inquiry. “My maid refused to go to the Lake District with me.”

“Ah, where in the Lake District? Elsbeth and I are going into the Highlands, a couple of days south of Edinburgh.”

Then it seemed they would travel together for a bit. What alternative did she have? “Near Ambleside. I have a cottage there that I need to set to rights in order to have it sold.”

“Interesting. It seems for a relatively young, unmarried woman, you have quite a lot of real estate. Why is that, I wonder?”

Lydia ignored the heat that had returned to her cheeks. “Merely fortunate.” What would she do if he asked about the provenance of the cottage? There hadn’t been a lie to explain that away, for it hadn’t been part of her new identity when she’d fled. “Uh, when we arrive at the next posting inn, I shall try to make arrangements to go forward on my own. You needn’t trouble yourself with my presence any longer.” And it would prevent him from delving deeper into her intricate web of made-up history.

“Nonsense. Ambleside is hardly out of our way. It’s two days from here. You can accompany us as far as that, and at least I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing I was able to help you on the journey.”

Well, drat.

“I appreciate that,” she said in a faint voice as she racked her mind for something else to say that would bounce the conversation from her. “Where are your valet and her maid?”

“All necessary staff for the journey is in the coach that is coming behind us with the luggage. We’re headed to my property in the Highlands. A hunting lodge, really, to spend Christmastide together and strengthen our familial bond.”

“That is a lovely way to spend the season.” Never had her own loneliness been driven home quite so hard. Usually, during the term break, she could survive knowing the girls would return in January, but in this moment, sitting in someone else’s traveling coach, hearing of his plans to be with family, a pang of longing went through her chest. “Where is your wife? Has she gone ahead or remained behind in London?”

The recent joviality faded from his expression and the light dimmed from his eyes. “Uh, no. Unfortunately, my wife died almost three years ago from complications of childbirth. She perished in early January.”

“Oh, dear.”

Sorrow clouded his eyes, but to his credit, he didn’t look away. “It was an unexpected pregnancy, obviously, since my daughter is sixteen. The midwife warned that due to her advanced age there was the chance for issues…” His swallow was audible. “One moment she was fine, about six months along, so I left the house to take a meeting with my man-of-affairs, and the next… Well, when I returned home, I was given the news that she’d been found by her maid on the drawing room floor, dead from severe hemorrhaging with the babe born prematurely. Neither survived.” There was so much emotion in the words that her own chest tightened.

“I am so sorry for your loss, Your Lordship,” Lydia whispered, for she wasn’t a stranger to that type of grief. No one knew the extent of her suffering and pain—again by necessity—and her loss hadn’t been an act of God or nature. It had been precipitated by her husband’s fists, but that didn’t matter. The result had been the same. “Losing a child—let alone a spouse—so immediately and so horrifically, is something that changes a person.”

When there was no movement from the bench opposite, she assumed Lady Elsbeth had indeed fallen asleep. Perhaps that was for the best, but part of her agonized that she couldn’t say why she emphasized, for it wasn’t part of the facade she’d drawn around herself.

He nodded, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “My greatest regret was not being there for her in that horrible hour as well as not being able to say goodbye. That has haunted me.”

It was an odd admission between strangers, but she understood why he would have spoken such a thing aloud. “I am sure she understood, and that she knew you loved her.” Though the lack of closure would leave a person bereft. And why the devil couldn’t she stop staring at his mouth? Of course, she’d be a ninny if she didn’t wonder what a kiss would feel like from him, but she was also a ninny for thinking such a thing in the first place. “Now I know why you wished to get away for the holidays with your daughter.”

“I fear if we didn’t escape London for a bit, I will lose Elsbeth as well. Not to death but to the evils contained within society. It is so empty and vapid at times, and I don’t want that for her.” He glanced at his daughter then back at Lydia. “At the back of my mind is the fact that she’ll go to a finishing school next fall, and then shortly after that, she’ll have her Come Out. It’s overwhelming to know that soon she’ll skate out of my life.”

With this glimpse into his life, her heart went out to him, for he was taking care of this alone without a woman to guide him or even his daughter. “Though it might feel difficult, I think you’re a good father. Young ladies are becoming increasingly thrust into the real world far too soon. There is far too much pressure for them to misbehave, or worse, marry early. I’m aware futures for women are limited, but I firmly believe young ladies shouldn’t be expected only to do what society dictates.”

Surprise jumped into his eyes. “That is a rather shocking stance for the headmistress of a finishing school. Isn’t your job to ready these girls for that same society for the purposes of bringing a titled man up to scratch?”

“Yes, there is that, but I make certain that the women I employ as intensive teachers instill confidence and bravery in the young ladies at my school. I want them all to know there is more to life than the domestic.” She held up a hand, palm outward. “There is nothing wrong with wishing to be a wife, a mother, or a hostess, of course, but that is not the only thing one can aspire to.”

Would he think her too radical? Definitively put her out at the next posting inn?

“I am glad for that.” Easily, he took her hand in his, and another wave of heated awareness shivered over her. Why would he do such a thing? “In many ways, I believe that the future of this country will be shaped, at least in part, by women. Whether or not that is in a leadership capacity remains to be seen, but women should have more ownership in their lives.”

For long moments, she rested her gaze on the earl. “It’s reassuring and somewhat hopeful that someone so high on the instep is forward thinking. Perhaps with more of that, laws will change in parliament and the consensus regarding women will change.”

“It will be slow going, for the men in charge can often prove pigheaded, but there must be change if England is to continue being a powerful nation.” He tightened his hold on her hand, and in fact, he tugged her a tiny bit closer. “It’s a pity you have never married, Lady Lydia. You could have proved a valuable asset to someone.”

She snorted even as cold wariness circled through her belly, for men weren’t to be trusted. “I don’t want to be an asset or a prop or something that enhances a husband, Your Lordship. I want to be a partner, on equal footing with my own thoughts and intentions.”

“Somehow, I can see that about you. Much different than the kind of woman my wife was.” When she narrowed her eyes, he hastened to add, “That is not necessarily a bad thing.”

“Ah.” It was difficult to breathe, suddenly, as the space inside the coach shrank or rather his presence filled it thoroughly, and all she could concentrate on was him. At least he distracted her from the pain in the side of her head.

“Since we are traveling companions, in private, do refer to me as Greystone or even Jackson should you wish,” he said in a soft voice as he tugged her another bit closer.

Lydia nodded. “I appreciate that.” She’d lowered her voice to match his pitch. “You may drop the lady if you’d like.”

“I do, in fact, like much about this.” Before she could wonder about the innuendo, he tugged her even closer and seconds later, he claimed her lips with his.

Shock and a hint of panic went through her all at once, and when she rested her free hand against his hard chest, she pulled back slightly in order to search his gaze with hers. Would he attempt to molest her merely because he could or thought his title afforded him that? But nothing in his eyes indicated a malicious interest. In fact, those blue depths had darkened slightly with desire, the same feelings that had been unaccountably awakened in her belly the second he’d scooped her into his arms and carried her to this coach.

Slowly, she nodded, and then tamped the urge to sigh at the luxurious feel of his soft but firm lips on hers as he once more kissed her, almost as if he were introducing himself to her in a more intimate way than conversing alone could. He didn’t push for more, didn’t demand entrance or surrender, he simply moved gently over her mouth before pulling away and putting a bit of space between them on the bench.

Shock went through his expression before vanishing behind a well-conditioned mask he’d no doubt learned from a young age. “Well, Lydia, the next few days should prove interesting as we travel together.”

“No doubt you are correct,” she said in a voice that shook even as butterflies awoke in her belly in a reaction that she thought had been murdered a long time ago.

God help her to keep her wits about her and stick with the lies she’d needed to tell, for the alternative was terrifying.