Page 50 of A Sham Engagement

He was then presented with the dilemma of whether to tell Robert the truth about what had befallen young Master Edward, which would involve revealing the child’s relationship to his lordship, hitherto a well-kept secret. As a consequence, Alcock dithered.

Robert, tired after a long day, grew annoyed, but held his tongue as a good footman should even with a butler from a different establishment. However, his face betrayed him. Alcock, tired and grumpy with his master’s proclivities, gave in and told him everything. And with the alarming story committed to memory, Robert, accompanied by a suitably anxious Agatha, began his journey home again, trying to work out how he was going to break news of her niece’s disappearance into the back streets of London to his mistress.

Chapter Nineteen

Benjamin equipped Jack with a battered old cocked hat before they left, insisting his smart top hat would be out of place. Elenora had to agree with this, as even with this greasy monstrosity on his head, Jack, with his height and bearing, still looked every inch the gentleman and would stand out all too well where Benjamin was taking him. Fear that he wouldn’t be safe nearly overwhelmed her, but was overcome when she pictured Edward, terrified and alone with the rough men who’d snatched him.

Once Jack had the hat, Mrs. Sharpe prodded Benjamin out of the little sitting room, leaving Elenora, still seated near the fire, alone with Jack. Somehow, even though she’d been alone with him much of the afternoon and on the rush here, this lack of chaperonage now felt much more serious. She swallowed down her anxiety for Edward, and wondered what the situation called for her to do.

As the door closed behind Mrs. Sharpe, Jack took a few steps toward her, the expression on his face for once uncertain. He had the cocked hat tipped back at an angle that could have been called jaunty, had not the situation they were in been so serious. Despite her worries, she couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was.

On an impulse, Elenora rose to her feet as he approached her, unclasping her cold hands. She offered no resistance when he reached out and took them in his, the feel of them strangely warm and reassuring. If only he didn’t have to do this, but she knew better than to try to persuade him not to.

A frown settled on her face. If only she were a man herself, and could go with him to protect him, for she was certain above all things that he would need protection. And how odd it was to find within herself that instinct to protect someone who looked more than capable of protecting himself. And he was going in the company of a young man who knew the slums intimately. Surely he would be safe? Common sense, though, suggested he would not. She had to swallow again, as that persistent lump kept on rising to her throat no matter how hard she tried to quell it.

He drew her closer to him, his thumbs running over the backs of her hands in a disturbingly intimate gesture that once she would have shied away from. Now, she gazed up into his eyes, fighting the instinct to let her own drop to his mouth, as how much easier would that have been? How cheating. She owed it to him to look him in the eyes.

She surprised herself by what she could see. His handsome face was etched in pain, his eyes anxious, but something else lurked there too.

He licked his lips. “I’m going into danger tonight, as you well know. And I want you to know how much I appreciate your wish to aid me. I cannot take you with me, Elenora, not only because you are a woman, but also because I value you too highly. I cannot put you in the same danger as Edward.”

He valued her? She blinked a few times in confusion, unused to the notion of being valued. Did her family value her as this man, so recently a stranger, did? Perhaps only as the instrument of preventing their financial ruin. Jack could have no such ulterior motive.

“I wish I were a man, so I could come with you.” The words tumbled out.

The smallest wry smile twisted his lips. “I am heartily glad you are not.” He hesitated as though for once unsure. So unlike the man she’d been coming to know, the forthright, determined man. This was a different individual altogether. A man unsure of himself.

With difficulty, she kept her eyes on his, curious as to what he would say next, aware that he had something he very much wanted to unburden himself with.

The smallest of smiles twitched his lips. “For I could not do this if you were a man.” And he leaned toward her.

She had the briefest of moments as the realization that he intended to kiss her dawned. Not enough time to dodge, even, and present him with her cheek. And anyway, did she even want to if she could? What would a kiss from him be like?

Then his lips found hers, and the kiss, quick and hard, was over in a second. His lips were cool and out of instinct, she closed her eyes for that moment as she felt them press against her own closed ones. And then he was gone, leaning back away from her but still retaining her hands in his, eyes claiming hers.

Good heavens. Her eyes flicked wide in shock and her breathing quickened, for no one had ever kissed her before, not like that, on the lips. Her sisters had not even dared to kiss her on the cheeks. She’d made it well known to them she wouldn’t like it. Ever. And yet this had been… nice. She couldn’t, for the moment, think of another word to describe it. “Thank you.” That response felt decidedly inadequate, once said, and heat swarmed up her cheeks.

The wry smile returned. “Thank you for allowing me to do so. And when I return, with my son, I should like to kiss you again, if that would please you?”

She couldn’t find an answer. No words would come. All she could do was stare at him, quite forgetting how hard it was to look someone in the eye. And nod. Just the tiniest of nods, as she couldn’t be certain of what she wanted. Only that she’d liked him kissing her and that repeating it might spoil it.

He released her hands. “Mrs. Sharpe will keep you safe.”

The door banged shut behind him and she was alone in the tiny, cluttered sitting room.

The clock on the mantlepiece ticked so loudly it seemed to fill the small space, each tick echoing back at the next and bouncing around the papered walls.

He’d kissed her. A man, not any man, but Jack Deveril, the rake, had pressed his lips to hers. In a kiss. And she’d liked it. Her heart hammered at the restriction of her stays, thudding rhythmically hard and fast like never before, and she was still breathing fast. As though she’d been running, or more than that. Racing. Her legs suddenly weakened at the knees, and she sank down again onto the chair she’d just vacated, the heat of the fire unnoticed.

The door opened and Mrs. Sharpe bustled in. “A nice cup of tea with sugar is what you need, my dear,” were her first words. She leaned out of the still open door. “Ruth, make yourself useful and brew a pot of tea for Miss Wetherby, and bring it into the parlor.” She turned back to Elenora. “You’ve gone white as a sheet, miss. What you need is something to eat, I should think. Did you have any dinner tonight?”

Elenora could only shake her head. Was she about to disgrace herself and faint? Something she’d never done in her life, not even when she’d missed a meal at Penworthy due to some escapade. Mama had always advised her to take smelling salts with her wherever she went, but her reticule was sadly lacking in those supplies as she’d always pooh-poohed Mama’s words.

She’d never thought of herself as a girl given to fainting fits. Unlike Augusta, who indulged in them far too frequently for all of them to be genuine. She gripped the arm of the chair until her knuckles whitened and took steadying breaths. Had being kissed done this to her? Surely not? Was she as base and simple a creature as the vapid girls in Augusta’s favorite romance novels? Brought to this state by the touch of a man?

The kettle must have been hot, because the older of the two girls who’d been in the little parlor earlier soon arrived with a tray covered in a white lacy cloth and laid out for tea. When she’d set it on the round table beside one of the fireside chairs, Mrs. Sharpe dispatched her off to find bread and butter and cake. An air of distinct disappointment about her, shoulders slumped and tread leaden, the girl, who must have been Ruth, departed.

Mrs. Sharpe poured tea into two elegant china cups. “Do you take cream?”