Chapter Seven

December 18, 1818

Cornelius shoved his arms into the jacket of charcoal superfine that his valet held out for him. Oddly enough, he was in a halfway chipper mood, and honestly, he couldn’t fathom why.

“You have either gotten in a full night’s sleep or a delectable lady has shared your bed, for I can’t remember the last time you had such an uplifted attitude,” his valet said as he brushed at a piece of lint from the sleeve of the jacket.

“Ha!” Heat crept up the back of Cornelius’ neck. “On both counts you are wrong, my friend. Sleep was fitful, and I haven’t had a woman in my bed for upwards of six months.” Not by choice, for he hadn’t wished to put a woman in danger due to his penchant for nightmares and day terrors.

Burton snorted with laughter. “Then you are going through life all wrong, my friend.”

“Perhaps.” But it couldn’t be helped. He didn’t want to put anyone into harm’s way. “However, a woman is not necessary to one’s happiness.”

“Definitely wrong.” The valet shook his head. The anemic December sunlight made his red hair like molten lava. “Yet I have heard snatches of rumors that you are engaged. Is that true, and if it is, why haven’t you told me?”

Bloody hell.

“That happened purely by accident.”

“So, then the rumors are true?” Burton’s red eyebrows soared into his hairline.

Damn. “Yes, to a point. I swear she stole my aunt’s bracelet.” Quickly, he explained what had happened and why he’d done what he had. “Now I have a false fiancée and have promised her father that we would celebrate Christmastide with him. And worse, that Miss Marchington will be taken care of forever.” Crushing guilt filled his belly and chest. “To say nothing of the fact that when I was attacked on the street the other day, the minion of Lady Stover’s made threats against Samantha’s life.”

“Ah, and now you feel responsible for her.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. None of this is her fault, but she’s in the middle of it and doesn’t even know it.” Cornelius nodded. “What do I do?”

“What can you do?” Burton led him over to a chair and gently pushed him onto it. Then he kneeled and offered a newly polished boot. “You’re a man of honor, and that demands you’ll protect her for as long as you feel the need. Whether you tell her why or not is your prerogative. But don’t discount the value of companionship and company. She could help you in ways you haven’t thought about yet.”

“That is doubtful.” As he put his foot into the boot, he acknowledged to himself that talking with Samantha in Hyde Park yesterday had been interesting, to say the least. Learning some of her history had given him a basic understanding of her and what drove her.

At least a bit, but he hadn’t done the same for her.

“Would you care for my advice?” Burton held up the second boot.

“Do I have a choice?”

The valet rolled his eyes. “Let yourself enjoy the next few weeks. You rarely do anything for yourself.” He pushed the boot on when Cornelius shoved his foot into it. “For the last year or so, you have given yourself tirelessly to your club mates and have assisted them in winning their wives or saving their lives. Don’t you think that it might be your turn to find what they have, what they’re all working to defend?”

It took a few moments for him to answer, for his friend wasn’t wrong. Finally, he blew out a breath. “I can’t promise anything, but I will keep my options open in the event my mindset changes. Will that satisfy you?”

“For a time.” Burton nodded. “Where are you headed this afternoon?”

“I thought to call on Miss Marchington. Perhaps take her to a tea house or the British Museum if she wishes.”

“You are making quite the effort for an engagement that doesn’t have a future,” the valet said as he gave over Cornelius’ gloves. “But then, who am I to say?”

“Do shut up, Burton,” he said with a grin. “I’m off. Try to stay out of trouble while I’m out.”

The valid snorted. “Somehow I’ll wager you’ll draw the trouble to you instead.”

A half hour later, his driver Jenkins brought the closed carriage to a stop at the curb outside of Samantha’s townhouse. No sooner than he’d opened the door and put down the steps than a cry of warning rent the air.

“Look out! Runaway carriage!”

When the sharp whinny from a horse echoed as Cornelius stood to exit the carriage, it didn’t matter that the danger was apparently a street away. Hearing the shout and the horse infiltrated his brain and scrambled something in his mind so that he was no longer in the present. With a cry, he felt himself falling, but then he was firmly back in the past.

Somewhere in France

Summer 1810

Twilight was falling on some unnamed village. Cornelius and a handful of his brothers-in-arms were slowly filing back to their campsite after doing reconnaissance, which would conclude their watch this day.

A cry of warning rang out, quickly followed by the thunder of a horse’s hooves.

He glanced over his shoulder, saw the out-of-control horse and cart bearing down on their position, and while the bulk of the men scattered, the one closest to him and the one that had been closer to him than a brother during this stint of the war was slower to react.

“Smithfield, move!”

There was no time.

But instead of him shoving his friend out of the way, it was Smithfield who threw Cornelius beyond the danger of the horse as well as the cart. As he fell into the dirt, the inevitable happened.

Before Smithfield could move nor turn around, he was caught beneath the horse as it stopped abruptly and reared. Hooves flailed and the cart’s forward momentum forced both of them on top of Smithfield, easily trampling the man.

As Cornelius watched in horror, his friend was lost beneath the wreckage. His body was mangled. There was no doubt that some of his bones had been crushed, including the ribs. Smithfield’s cries of agony echoed in his ears as he dashed over to the site of the accident. By the time the cart driver ran over to the area and got his horse under control, the damage had been done.

“Smithfield!” Cornelius dropped to his knees at his friend’s side. There was nothing that could be done for him, yet it seemed horrible to let him die in the middle of an empty street far from anyone who cared for him. “Can you hear me?” As best he could, he made the other man comfortable. There was so much blood. The skin on one side of his face was shredded beyond recognition. His ragged breathing echoed horribly in Cornelius’ ears.

“Yes.” The man rested his good eye on him. “Harding, listen, I don’t have… much time…”

“Nonsense. We’ll get you patched up…” But he knew what was true. There was no hope for his friend.

Pain clouded the good eye as he gazed up at Cornelius. “Take care of my sister. She’ll be all alone now.”

“I will, of course, will write to her on the morrow. While I’m alive, she won’t be alone. I promise.” It didn’t matter, for he had no recourse but to watch the life drain out of his friend’s body while his other brothers-in-arms bore witness to the horrific death. “I promise.”

Damn but he hated war. If it wasn’t for that, none of them would be here now.

Present day

Oh, God.

Cornelius lay cowered on the floorboards of the carriage between the two benches as memories twisted through his mind. When he’d made that promise to Smithfield before he’d died, he kept it at the forefront. He’d written to Elizabeth the very next morning. They’d struck up a friendship that evolved into something more, and by the time he’d returned to England in 1813, he’d already asked her to marry him through letters, which she’d accepted.

And had eventually opened another assortment of horrors.

But he could never manage to forget the day her brother perished.

Jenkins came into his line of vision and shook his shoulder. “Lord Timelbury?” When Cornelius could do nothing except look at him without truly seeing, the driver shook his head. “I’m going to fetch help.”

Moments later, Samantha ran to the carriage with her black cloak flapping about her form. At the vehicle’s open door, she leaned in and touched a hand to his shoulder. “Cornelius?”

Though he saw her and heard her words, he wasn’t fully back in the present enough to trust himself to talk.

“Cornelius? My father is napping, but you’re welcome to come inside.” When he didn’t move, remained curled in a ball, she frowned. She glanced at the driver. “What’s wrong with him?”

Jenkins shrugged. “Sometimes, Lord Timelbury suffers from nightmares in the day. When that happens, he loses consciousness and becomes lost in them.”

As he watched, emotions flitted through her expression, and he died a bit more inside, for it was humiliating to be seen like this.

She nodded. “Is that what happened here?”

“I believe so. Should I take him home?”

Again, Samantha rested her gaze on Cornelius. “That might be best, but I’ll accompany him. He shouldn’t be alone. After he’s settled, you can bring me back here.”

Bloody hell.

“No.” He shook his head as the heat of embarrassment climbed his neck and went into his cheeks. “I can manage…” When all was said and done, he didn’t want her to see him this weak or know of his infirmity that he couldn’t control.

“You obviously are in no condition to make decisions.” She glanced at the driver. “Take him home.” Then she accepted Jenkin’s help and climbed into the carriage. Afterward, she assisted Cornelius onto one bench, and she settled onto the other.

“Thank you, Miss Marchington,” Jenkins said with a nod as he put up the steps, closing the door seconds later.

Silence reigned in the carriage for several minutes as it rolled in motion.

Eventually, she stirred. “Tell me what you’re feeling or thinking. Perhaps I can help you through it.” There was no judgment or pity in her voice, only mild inquiry.

When he met her gaze, he nearly tumbled into the blue pools of her eyes and the compassion there. “Ever since I came home from the war, my mind hasn’t been quite… right. In fact, as time goes on, it becomes more and more shattered. It’s difficult to discern what is reality and what are memories, especially when a sight or sound sends me right back to those battlefields.”

“There is nothing to be ashamed of. Many men suffer from the same because of their military service.” She offered a small smile. “In fact, other events can bring out similar experiences.”

He pressed his lips together. “I… I don’t know how to rid myself of the nightmares, but I refuse to use laudanum like so many others have done.” His shrug only lifted one shoulder. “When my mind is clear, I want it to stay that way.”

“I can’t say as I blame you. Opiates are becoming a scourge on society.” Those eyes were encouraging, and he thirsted for more of that calm she represented. “Perhaps you can’t banish the nightmares or the day terrors; they just are, but you might need to make room for those things in your life, because as you said, you aren’t the same man who went to war.” There was no disgust in her expression, and he appreciated her all the more for that. “Of course you would have changed since those years. It’s expected. War changes everyone, unless they were evil to begin with.”

“Yes, but how can I hope to invite anyone else into my life when my very existence is steeped in turmoil?”

“That is where trust and faith come in.” Another swath of silence reigned inside the carriage. “I can’t fix your problems—no one can—and I certainly don’t have a magical elixir for that. Neither should I be able to do that for you, but I can sit beside you.” So saying, Samantha moved from her bench to his and laid a hand on his arm. “Both physically and figuratively.”

“I… I honestly don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything.” Again, she offered a soft smile. “If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine, but I’ll keep you company. I know what it’s like to battle grief and worry by myself. Perhaps we can both benefit from having someone beside us. And in the event that you want to talk, do it. Above all, I want you to know you’re not alone. Believe me, that makes a difference.”

“Thank you.” It was as if he’d been granted an unexpected boon. Slowly, some of the weight lifted from his chest, and for the first time in a long while, he felt as if he could breathe again. “What you don’t know is that my friends at the club and I are under siege by a horrible woman and her cronies. That is adding to my anxiety.”

“Oh? Who is the woman?”

“Lady Stover. She is a countess who is growing in power within the beau monde . It is why…” He cleared his throat, for this was difficult for him. “It is why that, for the moment, I refuse to break our engagement even though it’s a sham. You need my protection from this threat.”

“Ah, that is why you said that yesterday.” Then a gasp escaped her. “That is who Mr. Arbuthnot has been spending time with. I knew I didn’t like him for a reason.”

Cornelius frowned. “Who is he?”

“The man my father wished for me to marry.”

Over my dead body.

The vehement thought surprised the hell out of him, for they were strangers. Weren’t they? Yet there was this odd connection between them that made him feel responsible for her. “As you can imagine, all of this has brought on unimagined stress which is feeding the nightmares.” He rubbed a gloved hand along the side of his face. Where the devil had his top hat gotten off to? “I’m sorry I’m broken, Samantha.”

She huffed out a sigh. “You are not broken. You are merely Cornelius. A man who came home from war and is trying to live his life.”

The driver rapped on the roof of the carriage. “Approaching Harding House.”

Slight panic filled his chest. He wasn’t ready to leave the cocoon of safety she’d woven around him with her words and company. “Jenkins, drive to Hyde Park and then loop back to Mayfair. I need some time.”

“Will do, Lord Timebury,” the driver replied.

Samantha caught his gaze. “Are you feeling more the thing now?”

“Truthfully? I am still… vulnerable.” Perhaps that was the most appropriate word. “And that makes me hate myself.”

“Do stop.” Again, she patted his arm. “We are all that at some point, but you aren’t alone.” Then she managed to shock him once more by slipping her arms around him after a moment’s hesitation. “For as long as you have need, you can depend on me to be there for you.”

“I’ll admit, I have never had that before.” It was rather… encouraging and somewhat exhilarating. The longer she held him, the more awareness crept over him and the longer her vanilla and floral scent teased his nose. “Thank you.” Then, because he’d apparently lost his damn mind and she so sweet in the simple plum-colored dress beneath the cloak, he shifted, wrapped his arms around her, and then brought his lips down on hers.

“Oh!” For a fleeting second, Samantha froze, met his gaze with surprise in her expressive eyes.”

He paused, wanting her permission to continue, but those damned pillowy soft lips cradled his as if exclusively made for him.

With a tiny nod she gave him all he needed, and beyond that, she sighed, resettled her arms about his shoulders, and applied herself to kissing him rather clumsily back.

It was much as if a match had been dropped onto a pile of tinder, and soon enough, heat consumed him. Needing so much more from her, Cornelius gently eased her backward on the bench, kissing her as he followed her down. Dear God, she tasted of tea, innocence and excitement; it was a heady combination that he chased with every frantic meeting of their mouths, and what was more, she didn’t seem all that skilled in kissing, which only served to fan the flames of desire licking through his blood.

Despite that, it took very little coaxing for her lips to part. The second his tongue touched hers and the glide of satin and silk made the connection with his brain, Cornelius was lost. That first kiss he’d given her on the day they’d met didn’t hold a candle to this one. Over and over again, he fenced with her, tangled with her tongue in a frantic dance, for it was frightfully obvious he hadn’t been with a woman in months.

For the first few moments, Samantha mimicked his kissing, but then she found her own style. She shifted on the bench, and he settled naturally between her bent knees. The insistent pulse of his erection pressed tight into the front of his breeches, and desperate to alleviate the tension, he ground his hips into hers. That provided only a modicum of relief, and if anything sent more intense need pinwheeling through that organ.

When a barely audible moan escaped her, the last vestiges of his sanity wavered. She nibbled and nipped at his bottom lip then left his mouth entirely to press featherweight kisses beneath his jaw. When she found a particularly sensitive spot he had no idea existed on his person, desire exploded throughout his body.

What the devil are you doing to me? And why the hell was he letting her?

There were no answers, not in that moment where he tumbled through heat and passion and want. As he settled himself more comfortably between her splayed thighs, he dragged his lips down the side of her silky throat. “Bid me nay, Samantha.”

“Why should I when I’m quite curious about what will happen next?”

That confirmed she was still an innocent, and that was heady stuff indeed. She was quite a willing participant, for she had his cravat undone in a thrice. Her lips were at the hollow of his throat, her breath steaming the skin of his chest she’d uncovered, and the sensations worked to drive him toward the brink.

“Very well, but try to stay quiet. I’d rather the driver doesn’t overhear.”

Need guided him; he no longer thought with caution or common sense. Daring much, he tugged the simple, round bodice of her dress down. A bit more manipulation freed her breasts from the fabric, and they were perfect, pale works of art with bright pink nipples that were quite aroused and very hard.

Feeling oddly reverent, he cupped her pert, full breasts, kneaded the soft flesh, and when a surprised moan pulled from her throat, he grinned against her mouth and dared to brush the pads of his thumbs over the nipples. Damn his eyes for still wearing gloves that prevented him from feeling the softness of her skin or experiencing the pebbled surface of those tips, but there was nothing for it. As her back arched the longer he played, Cornelius took one of those tempting buds into his mouth.

“Oh!” The low-pitched utterance spurred him onward. Clearly, he was the first man to give her such pleasure, and that worked to separate him from the remaining shreds of his sanity. While he continued to torment the nipple with his lips and teeth, he teased the other with his thumb. Would that he could divest her of the clothes to kiss every centimeter of her skin, feel the heat of her on his fingers. “Cornelius, this is…” Her words dissolved beneath another moan. “Ah, oh yes, do that again.”

Damn but he adored how responsive she was, how she found enjoyment from the smallest things. A chuckle escaped as he again flicked his tongue over that taut, tempting tip. Urgency tingled through his hardened length and his stones. There was nothing else he’d rather do than claim this woman’s body, and it didn’t matter that he’d only met her a few days ago. Perhaps that made him slightly mad, but he didn’t care. Samantha writhed from the attention. As he moved to take her other nipple into his mouth, Jenkins rapped on the roof of the carriage.

“Approaching Hyde Park, Lord Timelbury.”

The noise clanged into his passion-soaked brain, and he pulled away from the oh-so-erotic image of her sprawled along the bench. “Drat,” he whispered against her lips. “Thank you, Jenkins,” he said in a louder voice. “Now take me home, if you please. I’m feeling much better.” As he shot her a rueful glance, he eased off her body. “We should put ourselves to rights,” he advised in a barely audible whisper.

Confusion shadowed her blue eyes. “But I thought…”

So did I. Beside the fact that he’d never live it down if he ravished his false fiancée in his own carriage, the guilt of inadvertently putting her in danger due to his club ties would bury him before long.

Yet there was that connection and the way she understood his nightmares and fears. He couldn’t discount that. “I beg your pardon. That wasn’t well done of me.” Once he’d collapsed onto the opposite bench, he quickly tied his cravat into an easy knot. His heartbeat continued to thunder in his ears, to say nothing of the raging cockstand that wouldn’t settle as he glanced at her. “Even if we are engaged.”

There was a mischievous glint in her eyes as she tucked those gorgeous breasts back into her dress and then pulled the folds of her cloak around her form. “Then obviously the only reason you did such a thing was due to the engagement?” The sarcasm she’d managed to infuse into the question sent heat coursing up the back of his neck.

“Do shut up, Miss Marchington.” His lips twitched with amusement. “We were swept away by the moment compounded by the serious conversation we’d had previously. That is all.” Yet how was he to forget what she’d felt like or how he still craved the heat of her on his tongue?

The men at the club would certainly make jest of him when—if—they found out. He needed to forget about this incident and concentrate on keeping Samantha safe as well as retrieving his aunt’s stolen bracelet. To say nothing of pulling the wool over her father’s eyes through the holiday season. That was all.

After that, he didn’t care what happened.

Didn’t he?