Indecently Daring by Emma V Leech

Chapter 6

Dearest Hester,

It is just as I feared. My nephew is the finest looking unmarried man for miles in any direction, and he’s turned himself into the dullest fellow I ever had the misfortune to know. Of course, I understand how it happened, but honestly, Hester, what a foolish creature he is. No doubt he is punishing himself, though for what I do not understand. As if there is aught for him to chastise himself for. So many young men make far worse mistakes, and he has paid dearly and worked so hard. Oh, I do not know whether to shake him or hug him. Neither, I suppose, for he would not allow such liberties, so distant and starchy he is now. How I miss my roaring boy, but I shall get him back, you see if I don’t. I might even enlist some help, for there is a lovely creature here I cannot help but believe is just what the silly man needs to bring him back into the world.

By the way, if I did not say so, I thoroughly enjoyed your nuptials, even if his grace looked unbearably smug. I’ll let him off, just this once, as he had good reason to be.

―Excerpt of a letter to Her Grace, Hester Grenville, the Duchess of Axton from her friend, Mrs Cora Dankworth.

12th January 1845, Holbrook House, Sussex.

Harry’s breath snagged in his throat as the ice gave way.

“No!” he cried, reaching for Alana as she plunged through the ice.

Her fingertips grazed his, and he saw her beautiful eyes wide with terror before she disappeared beneath the water. Without thinking, he leapt forward, crashing through the ice in his haste to reach her, knowing the weight of her skirts and petticoats would take her to the bottom in seconds.

Please God, please God, give me the strength, help me, please.

The words echoed through his brain as he dived into the black water, the temperature so frigid the shock of it was painful. Reaching out blindly, his heart skipped as he grasped hold of a hand. Harry pulled, with all his might, startled by the dead weight of the sodden clothes dragging them both down. His muscles and lungs burned with the effort and the searing cold as he swam hard back to the surface, hauling the girl with him.

They broke the surface, gasping and shivering. Harry swam until he could touch the floor, and then stood, pulling Miss Cadogan into his arms and carrying her out of the water. There were people on the bank now, though Harry could not hear what they were saying, too dazed to do anything but carry her sodden weight to safety. He glanced down, finding those blue-green eyes fixed upon him, her gaze for once devoid of laughter and mischief.

“Th-Thank you,” she said through chattering teeth.

Harry nodded, suddenly exhausted, as someone threw a blanket about his shoulders. Another pair of hands went to take Alana from him, but he shook his head, reluctant for reasons he did not wish to examine to relinquish his hold on her. Instead, he carried her the short distance to Saxenhurst Hall, though it felt like miles and miles, every step making his exhausted muscles scream. Thankfully, Henry Stanhope and his wife made quick work of providing warm beds and roaring fires.

Little more than half an hour later, Harry was sitting by the fire in Henry Stanhope’s study.

Henry had lent him some clothes, which were soft and cosy, if a little tight across the shoulder and a touch too short in the trousers. Harry ought to be warm now, but there was a chill set deep in his heart every time he replayed the scene in his mind’s eye.

“Here we are,” Florence Stanhope said, following a procession of maids into the room.

They laid a tea tray out before him, laden with thick ham and pickle sandwiches, and cakes and biscuits. Harry’s stomach gave an appreciative growl. Mrs Stanhope’s husband followed her in, and flashed Harry an approving smile.

“Well, you’ve had quite an exciting day so far.”

Harry snorted. “A bit more excitement than I ever want again, I assure you, but are they both well? Jeb and Miss Cadogan?”

“Perfectly fine,” Mrs Stanhope said soothingly, settling down to pour the tea as the maids filed out again. “Both of them are tucked up in bed with a hot bowl of soup, which is where you ought to be, I might add. Do at least eat something, please.”

Harry helped himself to sandwiches. He’d never been able to stand being fussed over; the idea of being tucked up in bed and waited on when he was perfectly well made him restless and irritable. “You are very kind, Mrs Stanhope, but there is no need. A hot cup of tea and a slice of that delicious looking cake and I shall be right as ninepence.”

“Oh, surely we can do better than tea,” her husband said with a frown. “I’ve a very fine cognac. Just the thing to warm the cockles of your heart.”

“No.” Henry shook his head. “No, thank you,” he amended, realising that had sounded rather sharp and ungrateful. He took a large bite of his sandwich, chewing determinedly.

Stanhope looked surprised by his refusal, but shrugged. “Very well. Tea it is, then.”

Relieved, Harry accepted a cup, then finished three sandwiches, three biscuits, and two slices of cake without the slightest twinge of remorse. He had surely earned them today.

He looked up at a knock on the door, and the butler appeared.

“I beg your pardon, Reverend Martin, but Master Jeb is anxious to see you.”

“Is he all right? Is he sick?” he demanded, surging to his feet.

The butler’s eyes widened. “No, indeed! Oh, no. In fine form, I should say. A fine little lad he is, and already a favourite of our housekeeper. No, it is only the boy wishes to speak with you.”

Harry let out a breath of relief. “I’ll go up at once. If you would excuse me,” he added to Mr and Mrs Stanhope as he hurried from the room.

He found Jeb sitting up in an enormous bed, surrounded by lace-edged pillows and covered in so many quilts and blankets he looked a bit like a disembodied head.

“Well, you’ve fallen on your feet, lad,” Harry said, striving to sound amused and to fight back the urge to hug the boy until his ribs cracked.

Honestly, he was getting sentimental in his old age. He knew he ought not to have a favourite among the boys, either, but Jeb was a cheeky little tyke and reminded Harry very much of himself at the same age.

Jeb returned a sheepish smile. “I never saw such a big bed in all me life,” he confided, sounding rather awestruck. “Is the lady all right? She’s not… not sick or—”

“I’m told she’s perfectly fine,” Harry said, perching on the edge of the mattress.

“You ain’t seen her?” Jeb asked anxiously.

Harry shook his head. “I haven’t seen her,” he corrected with a smile. “That would not be appropriate, seeing as she is tucked up in a warm bed like you are, but Mr and Mrs Stanhope assure me she’s fine, so there’s no need to fret.”

“She saved my life,” Jeb said, his lip trembling a little. “I was ever so… ever so… fri… frightened.”

The boy gave a hiccoughing sob and threw himself at Harry.

“Ah, there, there, Jeb. You’re a brave lad. A lucky escape you had, right enough, but I think the big fellow has plans for you yet.”

“The big f-fellow?” Jeb asked, sniffing and wiping his nose on his sleeve.

Harry handed him his own handkerchief. “God,” he explained gravely.

“You reckon he didn’t drownded me for a reason?” Jeb’s eyes had grown very wide.

Harry smiled, pushing the boy’s thick hair back from his forehead. “I think you’ve a good deal of living to do, Jeb. The world has a great deal to show you yet, and there are many adventures to have. So be a good lad and get some rest now, and don’t worry anymore. You’re safe, and everything is fine.”

“I… I don’t suppose me ma…?”

Harry felt his heart ache at the hopeful look in the boy’s eyes. It was only Jeb and his ma, who earned her living sporadically, sometimes as a barmaid, before she disappeared to who knew where when the whim took her. No one seemed to know who Jeb’s father had been, but Jeb had certainly never laid eyes on him. Sadly for the boy, his ma was unreliable and had a tendency to disappear for weeks, or even months, if a fellow offered to keep her. Poor Jeb had been running wild and causing mischief wherever he could until Harry had taken him in hand and into his school.

“I don’t expect she’s heard yet,” Harry said, praying that were true, though the woman didn’t seem to have much resembling a maternal instinct. He’d tried to speak to her, to offer her help where he could, in finding her regular work, and in gently showing her how much Jeb needed her in his life. But she thought Harry an interfering busybody who wanted to stop her from having any fun in life. As her life had little resembling fun in it outside of drinking and a series of widely and publicly criticised love affairs with unsuitable men, Harry could see how she’d think it.

“Or p’rhaps she’s too busy with a new beau,” Jeb said, his expression taut. “I ain’t seen her for a week or more.”

“I’m sorry, Jeb,” Harry said, wretched that he could not do more, could not make his mother love her son and take responsibility for him, to make her see the wonderful boy she was ignoring, for she was missing out on so much. By the time she realised her mistake, supposing she ever did, it would be too late.

Jeb shrugged. “I don’t care. I don’t need her, do I? Not with all this,” he flashed a grin, gesturing to the luxurious room and the fine bed, the fire in the grate.

Harry smiled as he was supposed to do, though his heart felt heavy as lead. He wished Jeb didn’t need her, but a boy needed a mother, needed someone. The idea of Jeb going back to the grim little home his mother kept for them all alone made his stomach twist.

“You’ll come and stay with me at the vicarage, once you’ve had a good night’s sleep.”

The words were out before he could think about them, but Harry realised he wouldn’t take them back.

The boy needed someone, and Harry was by himself, rattling about in the huge vicarage that had felt increasingly tomblike without his housekeeper. It would be good to have some company, and he’d sleep better knowing Jeb was safe and warm, that he’d eaten a good meal.

“I don’t need no charity!” Jeb bristled, pride squaring his scrawny shoulders, his narrow chin going up.

“Who said anything about charity, you ungrateful tyke?” Harry shot back, cursing himself for not having considered the boy’s pride. “I need help about the place, and it gets rather lonesome spending every night all by myself.”

“What sort of help?” Jeb asked suspiciously.

Harry racked his brain. “Well, er… collecting kindling for the fires and making sure they keep burning, cleaning my boots, making sure I don’t miss appointments. That sort of thing,” he said vaguely, hoping he’d not said anything too dire that would put the lad off.

“You need a wife, is what you need,” Jeb said frankly, folding his arms.

“Balderdash. A bachelor existence suits me very well,” Harry said firmly. “I need a housekeeper, that I’ll grant you, but Lady St Clair is finding me someone who’ll start any day now and, when she does, we’ll have to break her in gently and not scare her away. No toads indoors, do you hear me?”

“I s’pose,” Jeb replied grudgingly. “Still reckon you oughta marry. That Miss Cadogan is right pretty. She looks a fun sort too, not stuck up like some ladies.”

She looked like a deal of trouble, Harry thought, but he kept it to himself.

“No wife,” he said firmly, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Now, get some rest. I’ll be back for you in the morning.”

“Thank you, Rev,” Jeb said, yawning enthusiastically.

“You’re welcome, Jeb.”

Harry closed the door quietly behind him, making his way back down the corridor. His mind was occupied with the problem that was Jeb and what to do with him when a door cracked open.

“Reverend Martin?”

Harry stopped in his tracks and turned to the door to see Miss Cadogan peering through the narrow gap. She was in her nightgown, and her blonde hair tumbled about her shoulders in a mass of unruly curls. Aware of how inappropriate it was to see her in such dishabille, Harry dropped his gaze to the floor, which didn’t help when he noticed her bare feet against the polished wood. They were astonishingly dainty when viewed in the proximity of his own large black boots.

“Miss Cadogan!” he protested as an all too familiar excitable sensation thrummed through him. He stamped on it with irritation. “This is most—”

“Inappropriate, yes, I know,” she said impatiently. “And I beg your pardon, but were you with the little boy? Is he well?”

Harry’s frown softened at her obvious concern for the child, and he dared a glance back at her, struck by the worry in her lovely eyes. “He is, thanks to you, Miss Cadogan. You saved his life.”

She grew very pink at his words, opening the door wider. “I was scared to death,” she admitted, a catch in her voice. She looked very young, and very vulnerable, standing in the open doorway and something in his heart shifted, an oddly protective feeling growing inside him, no doubt a result of having hauled her out of the water.

“And yet you saved him. At considerable risk to your own safety, too. I can never thank you enough for that,” Harry said, meaning it, and trying hard not to notice how lovely she was, not to think about how soft her skin looked, how adorable she was all in virginal white, the lace ruffles at her throat and wrists making her look ridiculously angelic.

“And you saved me, Reverend Martin.” Her voice quavered.

“It was my pleasure,” he replied gently.

Miss Cadogan gave a little laugh, her lips trembling. She clamped them together, pressing her fingers against them, obviously holding onto her composure by a thread, and Harry knew a moment’s panic.

Oh, no. Don’t cry. Don’t cry,he begged her silently.

She swallowed hard, sniffling.

“You’ve had a most upsetting experience, Miss Cadogan,” he tried, using his most authoritative and vicarish tone in the hope she might heed him and keep her unruly emotions at bay. Fat chance, he thought grimly. “You need your rest, and standing about in your nightclothes with bare feet is not going to….”

A big fat tear rolled down her face. Damnation.

“Miss Cadogan, please, go back to bed,” he said desperately.

She burst into tears.

Harry dithered as she sobbed. He tried his best to fight the instinct to offer comfort, for that way lay danger and madness, and who knew where it would end? No, he ought to fetch Mrs Stanhope. She could offer comfort better than he could. Far better. Far more appropriate.

“It was s-so c-cold and dark,” she said, hugging her arms about herself which pulled the cotton nightgown tight across her voluptuous breasts.

Harry closed his eyes, willing himself to unsee the shadow of her nipples, the tight little buds peaked against the fine fabric. Heat simmered beneath his skin. Damn you, Martin, the girl is overwrought, stop being so thoroughly inappropriate. Torn, he glanced back at her as sobs that racked her slender body. She wasn’t pretty when she cried, he observed wildly, unsettled to discover it did not lessen her appeal.

“I th-thought I was going to d-die. I’m frightened to close my eyes in case I d-dream about it.”

His heart broke a little at her obvious terror.

“You won’t,” Harry said firmly, reaching for her and pulling her against him before he could think better of it.

He held her tight for a moment, horrified by how the feel of her arms going about him made his heart sing, made him want to hold tighter still and not let go. He fought to steady his breathing, to not notice the way her warm, soft curves felt pressed against him.

“I w-won’t?” she repeated, staring up at him.

Harry shook his head. “I forbid you to have bad dreams, Miss Cadogan,” he said sternly. “You have done a wonderful thing today and you deserve to sleep like a baby, so I am telling you now, there will be no bad dreams. I forbid them, and I forbid you to have them.”

He was talking gibberish, obviously, but her expression cleared at his words, her lips quirking up a little.

“You forbid them?”

“I do.” With a supreme effort of will, Harry forced himself to let her go and took a step back. Desperately, he avoided looking directly at her and tugged at his borrowed waistcoat, feeling ridiculous. “Now, back to bed. This is most inappropriate.”

And now he sounded like a pompous arse.

“I’m so sorry I was so rude to you,” Miss Cadogan said, regarding him with frank curiosity.

Harry waved this away, eager to end this inadvisable conversation, and put the dreadful creature out of his mind. The terrifying suspicion that might be an impossible task nagged at him, making him increasingly impatient. “No matter. I provoked you.”

“You did,” she said with a grin.

Harry opened his mouth to tell her she ought not agree with him if she was apologising, but he swallowed his words before he was foolish enough to speak them.

“Apology accepted,” he said. “Now, go to bed before you undo all Mrs Stanhope’s good work and catch pneumonia.”

“I’m never ill,” she said, studying him far too intently.

Harry made the mistake of meeting those blue-green eyes, and stared at her, captivated. He saw once more lovely Artemis, her hair all undone, tempting him, beckoning him to join her on the wild hunt. Desire uncoiled deep in his belly, stirring thoughts he’d not allowed himself to have for a very long time.

“Miss Cadogan, please go back to bed now, before I put you there myself!” Harry begged as his sanity unravelled a notch. He had not felt this excitable thrum of anticipation, of wanting, in years, had not allowed it, for he knew what kind of behaviour it led to.

“Now who’s being inappropriate?” she said, her eyes wide with surprise and laughter.

“I didn’t mean—” Harry snapped his mouth closed.

He had to get out of here, away from her, from the scent of vanilla and roses that drifted from her unbound hair, from her soft warm skin. Without another word, he turned on his heel and fled.