Hero, Come Back (10 page)

“Oh, do stop gawking,” she sputtered. “And find something to prop this window open.”

“What are you thinking?” he said, stomping into the room, his leg now the least of his worries. To his horror, there was an oddly fashioned rope—made out of, if his guess was correct, the sheets from her bed. One end was tied to the leg of the grand four-poster that took up a good portion of her room, while the rest lay coiled nearby.

“Mr. Reyburn,” she said, struggling beneath the weight of the half-open window. “Please, I need your help.”

He crossed the room and took hold of it. She sighed, then bent over to retrieve her rope. But by the time she’d turned around, he’d closed the window and flipped the latch shut.

“What are you doing?” she said, nudging him out of the way and starting to struggle with the heavy casement again. “It took me a good half hour to chisel that open, let alone the time to make the rope. And what with every servant and bothersome fellow coming in here pestering me with your mother’s questions, I haven’t much time to spare.”

“You can’t go out the window with that,” he said, pointing at her tattered sheets.

“And whyever not?”

He didn’t answer, just picked it up and held a width between his hands. Then to make his point, he gave it a good tug and watched her eyes widen with horror as her well-intentioned knots pulled apart. “If the fall didn’t kill you, Father would put you in irons for damaging his roses.”

She wasn’t thwarted for long. A wild light filled the lady’s green gaze, and she caught up her valise and started past him. “I must be away from here, away from this madness.”

He reached out and caught her, and without even thinking tugged her into his arms. “You aren’t going anywhere, not without—”

She began sputtering something, and as he stared down at her all he could see was the fire in her eyes, all he could hear was the passion of her protests.

Her passion—that was what did him in. He wanted nothing more than to throw himself into the tempest that was so much a part of her character—to steal a kiss that he suspected would make a man forget that he didn’t want to live.

And in that wild, delirious moment, suddenly all he wanted was to live—a life full of passion and adventure, everything he saw blazing there in her eyes. So this time he put aside any hesitation and caught her lips with his, kissing her hungrily.

Oh, it had been a long time, but he found that once he’d taken that devilish first step, his rakish desires had no trouble leading him back down the path of temptation.

And tempt him she did. While she continued to protest for a few moments, to his surprise, she didn’t send him flying into a heap. Just as quickly as he had taken her into his arms, she was clinging to him. She opened her mouth to him and welcomed his kiss.

A sense of awe filled his heart. Jemmy forgot his leg, forgot that she was a guest in his parents’ home, and kissed her thoroughly, tempting and teasing her until her arms wound around his neck, and she rose up on her tiptoes to get even closer to him.

Then came the unavoidable part of temptation, for once he’d tasted her lips, a kiss wasn’t enough. His fingers tugged off her bonnet so they could splay in the silken strands hidden beneath. Emboldened by his success, he pushed aside her pelisse, his thumb tracing the neckline of her gown, down to the rounded curves of her full, firm breasts. Beneath his palm he could feel the hard peaks of her nipples, the hammering of her heart—thrumming with the same desire that had his blood pounding.

Reverently he cupped her breast and started to stoke a new fire within her.

At this, she broke away from him, one hand at the neckline of her gown, the other covering her lips, her eyes alight with a newfound awareness.

Then the realization hit him. Egads, she’d never been kissed. And while his next thought was to kiss her again, Miss Smythe had other ideas.

She backed away from him until she hit the dressing table chair. “Why not?”

“Why not, what?” he asked distractedly, his gaze fixed on her lips. He took a step closer to her, to those damnable, kissable lips.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why can’t I leave? I thought you were going to help me.”

Oh, that again.

“I will,” he told her, dipping his head down to steal another kiss, but the lady wasn’t as willing this time. She dodged him and shoved a chair between them. He counted himself lucky that she hadn’t chosen to send him sprawling as she had earlier in the day.

“No more of…of…that,” she sputtered, pointing at him with an accusing finger. “I doubt such foolery will see me to Brighton.”

Jemmy grinned. “Ah, but it would make the journey more pleasant.”

She blushed quite prettily.

He took a step closer to her. “I promised to see you out of this bargain, and I will.”

“The sooner the better,” she told him. “Before this betrothal ball of your mother’s gets out of hand.”

Jemmy flinched. Nothing better to warm a lady’s heart toward one than being the bearer of bad news. “Too late for that,” he warned her. “Mother’s determined to empty London for your sake.”

Whatever color had been in her cheeks drained away. “What has she done?”

“Invited most everyone. The house is going to be overflowing. She’s determined to make a spectacular match for you.”

The bride-to-be shot a hasty glance back over at the window. He didn’t blame her. If he were about to be offered up before society like a sacrificial lamb, not even Finch Manor’s three stories and the thorniest collection of shrubbery in the land would keep him from escaping.

And neither would it prevent Miss Smythe, he guessed.

He shoved the chair aside and took her in his arms again. “I will help you,” he insisted, mostly because the last thing he wanted was her leaving without him. Not for the reasons some might suspect. He tried telling himself again that it wouldn’t do for her to go gallivanting across the countryside unescorted.

Why, it was scandalous and dangerous to boot.

Unlike being alone in her bedchamber and kissing her?
his conscience prodded. He shook off that notion. His intentions were honorable. Well, almost noble.

Though if he was entirely honest, with her lithesome and delectable body pressed against his, he knew his intentions were anything but virtuous. More like agonizing. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her and not stop there.

“I must be gone,” she said, struggling a bit in his arms, though even he knew that if she’d wanted to be away from him, she could have mustered the wherewithal.

“You can’t sneak out now,” he told her. “Not with everyone up and in a frenzy over this ball. Why, they’ll be at it until after midnight, I would guess.”

Even as he said the words, he saw her catch hold of that one piece of essential information.
Midnight.

Damn the chit. But before he could tell her not to consider leaving without him, there came a knock at the door.

“Miss Smythe! Miss Smythe! I have some more questions for you.”

They broke apart, staring at each other, mirrored expressions of horror on their faces.

“Your mother,” she whispered.

Jemmy groaned. Of all the perfect timing.

“Miss Smythe? Are you in there?” Lady Finch called out.

“A moment, my lady,” she said sweetly. Then she turned to Jemmy and whispered, “Hide!” She glanced around the room until her gaze fell on the bed. Catching up the counterpane with her free hand, she dashed her valise under the bed. In a flash, the rope followed. Then she pointed to the dusty, cramped space. “You as well, sir.”

Jemmy heaved a deep sigh but knew whatever discomfort he’d undergo to get down under her bed, it would be nothing to the deafening and painful peal his mother would ring over his head if she discovered him here.

Down he went, and once he was beneath the bed, she put the coverlet back in place and opened the door.

“Good evening, my lady.”

“Yes, yes, Miss Smythe, good evening.” His mother’s skirts swished impatiently past the bed as she bustled in. “It is imperative we discuss the order of the dances.”

Then to Jemmy’s dismay, his mother went through an agonizingly long list of waltzes, quadrilles, and rounds, discussing whom Miss Smythe should partner with for each dance.

Demmit
, why did his mother have to be so thorough? Meanwhile, dust clogged his nose, and he pinched it shut to keep from sneezing. Really, the upstairs maids were shamelessly neglecting their cleaning duties, but how could he complain since the inevitable question would follow.

And what exactly were you doing under Miss Smythe’s bed?

To his relief, his mother finally dispensed with her list and was about to take her leave when she paused before the bed. It seemed she had one last bit of advice to offer, though it wasn’t for Miss Smythe.

“Jemmy,” she said, her slippered foot lifting the counterpane.

He flinched. There was no way to deny his presence, so he answered her. “Yes, Mother?”

“I’ll give you five seconds to get out of this room, or I’ll tell Lady Kirkwood that I suspect you of harboring a
tendre
for her daughter.”

That was enough to send Jemmy scrambling up from beneath the bed and out of the room with only a breathless “Good night, Miss Smythe. Mother.”

It wasn’t until he was halfway down the driveway to the gatehouse that he recalled that he hadn’t warned Miss Smythe not to attempt to escape on her own. Now he’d have no choice but to wait up for her.

And hope he could stop her before it was too late.

A
manda endured three more visits from Lady Finch, two from her harried secretary, and one last one from the housekeeper, who issued an admonishment that she “should ’ave been abed hours ago.”

As if she could sleep. She was trapped in this reckless bargain, as well as by Lady Finch’s determination to see her well matched. Dear Lord, why hadn’t Wellington just sent the determined baroness to scold the French into an armistice instead of wasting so many years fighting? Amanda suspected the lady could have nagged Napoleon’s army into a full retreat with nary a shot being fired.

And despite Jemmy’s assurances that he would help her, she wasn’t about to wait for his assistance—not after that kiss they’d shared.

Dire consequences might await her in Brighton, but nothing in her innocent and maidenly dreams had ever prepared her for the searing heat of Jemmy’s kiss, or the way her knees quaked beneath her.

No, she had to leave before he had a chance to bewitch her completely and leave her confessing her wretched circumstances to him. For despite his rakish reputation, Amanda had no doubts there was an all too honorable man beneath that devilish kiss—one who would put nobility and honor before everything.

And she didn’t want his pity, his wretched integrity. But oh, how she longed for his kiss, his touch once again.

She dug beneath the bed and retrieved her valise. With the house finally as quiet as a rectory, she opened the door and made her way down the hall, resolute in her desire to flee.

Silently she bid a farewell to Lady Finch. Despite the baroness’s machinations, the lady had shown her nothing but generosity and kindness. Amanda did her best to ignore the guilt creeping down her spine for running out on the lady’s grand plans.

She tiptoed down the stairs and considered how she was going to get outside. Her father always had their house locked up at night tighter than Newgate, as if their quiet corner of Hertfordshire was filled with brigands just waiting for the opportunity to pillage their possessions.

But for some reason, she doubted the Finches held the same view of the world, and in confirmation of her suspicions, she found the front door unbarred and unlocked.

Silently she stole from their trusting home feeling like a veritable thief.

The moon shone a brilliant path down the drive. She smiled at this rare bit of luck and made her way toward the road at a fast clip, the gravel crunching beneath her booted feet, her valise bouncing against her leg.

As she got closer to the gatehouse, she slowed her pace, moving as silently as she could.

When they had returned from their shopping trip, Lady Finch had pointed it out, explaining that it was Jemmy’s refuge from the world, from his family. In fact, the lady had told her quite a bit about her son without Amanda even asking. Laments about his injuries, his lonely years of self-imposed exile.

“If only he had something to live for,” Lady Finch had said sadly as they’d driven past his bachelor residence. The lady’s comments had explained much about the changes in James Reyburn, and left Amanda at sixes and sevens over the enigmatic man who scorned life, but kissed with a boundless passion.

To her disappointment, the house was dark and quiet. He hadn’t even bothered to wait up for her, for surely he knew she wasn’t going to sit around and wait for calamity to strike.

Drat the man
, she thought.
Some hero he turned out to be
. Obviously her kiss hadn’t meant as much to him as it had to her, for if it had he would have—

“Good evening, Miss Smythe,” his deep voice called out, just as her foot was about to cross the sanctuary of Finch Manor. “Or should I say, good morning?”

She whirled around to find Jemmy perched on one of the great stone lions that sat on either side of the gate. He struck a match and lit a small lamp resting on the feline’s head. The steady flame illuminated the night, imprisoning her in a circle of light.

But before she could reply, another voice rose from the copse across the road.

“And I would say the same to you, sir,” came the voice of Bramley Hollow’s persistent constable.

Holmes!
Amanda’s head swung in that direction.

“Now, now, now, what have we here?” he said, walking out from his hiding spot, casting a large, looming shadow. “You wouldn’t be trying to escape, now would you, miss?”

Amanda glanced over at Jemmy, silently beseeching him to come to her rescue. He just couldn’t let her be hauled off to jail. He wouldn’t!

The wretch grinned at her. “Yes, Miss Smythe,” he said, “do tell the good constable what you are doing out at this ungodly time of night.”

“I was…well, I thought to get …what I mean to say is, that I needed…”

Jemmy carefully eased himself down from his perch and caught up his walking stick. “There you have it, Holmes. A logical explanation if ever there was one.” He took Amanda’s arm in his and swung her toward the house. “I suppose you’ve had enough air for tonight, haven’t you, Miss Smythe?”

“Why yes, Mr. Reyburn,” Amanda offered, her heart skipping a traitorous beat at the heat of his touch.

“Just a moment there, sir,” Holmes called out, catching up Jemmy’s lamp and holding it high enough to cast the light in their direction. “The lady was escaping, and that’s against the law.”

Jemmy stopped and turned around. “Do you think, Mr. Holmes, that if she were escaping she’d be so foolish as to go out the front door and down the drive?”

Holmes scratched his chin. “Suppose not.”

“Exactly,” Jemmy told him, tapping his cane to the ground. “Miss Smythe was doing nothing more than soothing her bridal nerves with a little fresh air. Isn’t that so?” He squeezed her arm, sending a reckless thread of warmth through her limbs. Why, he made her feel as if she could outwit the devil himself.

“Uh, yes. A walk,” she told the constable. “I was taking a turn in the garden and …and I…”

“Became lost?” Jemmy suggested.

“That’s it exactly,” she said. “I became terribly turned around. I fear I have the most wretched sense of direction.”

Holmes’s lips drew into a skeptical line. “Then I would ask, miss, do you always take your traveling bag with you when you go for a walk?”

Leaning forward, she cupped her hand to her mouth and said in a loud aside, “I didn’t want to leave my belongings unattended. I don’t like to speak ill of Lady Finch’s staff, but I would hate to lose my poor and meager possessions to thievery.”

Jemmy coughed and sputtered, and she couldn’t tell if it was from indignation or ill-concealed humor at her poor lie.

Holmes didn’t look all that convinced either. “And you, Mr. Reyburn, sir. What are you doing out here?”

“Stargazing,” Jemmy told him. To prove his point, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small telescope. He held it up for Holmes to see. “A passion of mine.”

“Humph!” the constable said. “That may be well and good, but I’ll still have to take the lady in. I’m not about to risk her making another wrong turn and ending up on the mail coach to London.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Amanda rushed to assure him. It wasn’t entirely a lie. She had no intention of going in the direction of London.

“Sorry, miss, but the law is the law.” He reached out to take her valise, when to her utter amazement, Jemmy stepped in front of her.

“Miss Smythe isn’t going anywhere, Holmes.”

Amanda’s breath stopped at his commanding words. First his kiss, now this possessive stance. All for her?

The constable’s jaw worked back and forth. “But sir, you know the law as well as I do. She was escaping, and that’s that.”

Jemmy remained rooted in place, feet firmly planted. “She has done no such thing. As long as she remains on Finch land, she hasn’t broken any laws.” He drew an imaginary line between the two lions with his walking stick. “Inside this threshold, she is under my family’s protection.”

Holmes’s eyes narrowed, and Amanda knew the man was caught in a wretched tangle. What could he do? Go against the word of the future baron?

“So be it, Mr. Reyburn,” he replied. “But if I catch her outside the gates, it’s to jail she goes until she can be properly wed. A bargain is a bargain, and my family’s been protecting Bramley Hollow for eight generations on that understanding. No one has broken a vow in all those years, and I mean to see her wed like she was promised.” He glanced over at Amanda. “And, miss, don’t fear for your possessions. I’ll be about. Nothing or
no one
will go astray before your match is made.”

“You are a credit to the village, Mr. Holmes,” Jemmy assured him, as he started to drag Amanda back up to the house.

“Mr. Reyburn, I—”

“Not another word, Miss Smythe, not until we are well out of earshot of our determined constable.”

She nodded and continued walking.

If it had been under any other circumstances, she would have thought she was dreaming, for the evening was made for romance, if not a poorly executed escape.

The moon shone bright and full of face, while the stars offered only a pale twinkling of secrets overhead. On either side of the drive, flowers lent their own fragrant air—the spice of early roses, the sweet scent of lilacs, the elusive air of peonies.

And beside her, through the magic of the moonlight and the romance of the stars, Jemmy walked along determinedly.
Jemmy Reyburn.
She couldn’t believe it. After so many years of wondering about him, now here was the man himself. All at once she wanted to ask him a bevy of questions. Did he like poetry? Had he ever dreamed of seeing the ruins at Pompeii? What had Spain been like?

And most importantly, had he ever loved someone?

As she had him…albeit from afar.

She continued along silently, her mind full of questions, her lips pressed together for fear of confessing too much to this man who unknowingly had been the hero of her lonely days and empty nights.

“You shouldn’t have tried to leave,” he said, breaking the silence.

Hardly the words of love she so longed to hear at least once in her dull and unremarkable life, but what did she expect from this man? He who kissed her senseless and called her “fetching” one moment, then barked at her the next with such dark passion.

“You needn’t concern yourself with my problems, Mr. Reyburn,” she said airily. “I won’t have you go to jail for my sake.”

“I don’t plan on going to jail for you, for I wouldn’t have been so foolhardy as to go out the front gates.”

So much for her knight errant. No braving the dragon or storming the walls in a blaze of fire on the promise of attaining her slender hand. “And what other route was I to take?” she asked. “I don’t know the countryside, as evidenced by my arrival at Mrs. Maguire’s cottage last night. But I do know the way to the nearest mail coach, and it is out those gates.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder, where Holmes probably still remained encamped in his lonely and determined vigil.

Jemmy groaned and shook his head. “How did you intend to get to the coach? Walk?”

He needn’t sound so incredulous. Perhaps she hadn’t thought out all the details, just as she hadn’t when she’d fled her parents’ house. Certainly there were difficulties to face when one took hasty action—as evidenced by this matchmaker muddle—but this slight delay aside, she knew one thing for certain, she needed to be gone from Finch Manor—for without a doubt if this man kissed her again and, by some miracle of fate, asked her to stay, she would. And that would spell disaster.

For her, and more importantly, she sensed, for him. “Well, yes, I did intend to walk.”

Instead of going in the front door, he led her around the side of the house and stopped in a small garden. “Miss Smythe, you have amazing faith.”

She notched her chin up a bit higher. “I fear I possess little else.”

There in the moonlight she spied a dangerous light in his eyes. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” he said.

His confession sent shivers through her.

“Do you know what could have happened to you—out on the road, at night, alone? There are men out there who, well, suffice it to say they aren’t gentlemen when it comes to unescorted, unprotected ladies. You could have come to grievous harm.” His brow furrowed. “I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you.” His hand brushed over a curl that had escaped her bonnet, and gently, protectively, he tucked it back inside. Then his hands went to her shoulders. His fingers, warm and steady, held her with determined resolve. “Promise me not to try anything so foolhardy ever again. At least not without me.”

Without him?
She couldn’t think of anything else she would want more. To spend the rest of her days with him. Oh, it sounded like heaven. Then she looked into his eyes and saw a dangerous passion there.

Something to live for.

Oh, no, not that. She couldn’t be that for him. There wasn’t time. Not before …The hope in his eyes tugged at her. Why couldn’t he see that it wasn’t possible?

“I can’t stay,” she whispered, panic and anguish rising in her chest.

He misunderstood completely. “I know. I’ll help you. I gave you my word I would, and yet—” His words came to a hesitant halt.

“And yet what?” she asked, despite her resolve to leave.

“I don’t want you to go.”

There it was, the words she longed to hear. How was it that now, of all times, the enchantment of the stars had drifted down and worked their magic on him?

She didn’t know how or why, but his grasp shifted, from holding her at arm’s length to pulling her into his embrace.

“God help me, you drive me to distraction,” he murmured, before he leaned over and claimed her lips in another kiss.

She tried to tell herself to stop him, that this was desperate folly, but from the moment his mouth captured hers, Amanda felt as if she were being swept heavenward once again. She couldn’t do anything but sigh with elation and give herself to him.

His tongue boldly teased her lips, and she thought she would go wild with hunger for him—tasting him, letting him devour her.

Amanda had never imagined a kiss could be so intimate, so wildly delicious. She celebrated by winding her arms around his neck. Her body folded wantonly against his. Oh, bother her fears, her worries. She’d never have another chance to do this…