Page 26 of A Wager at Midnight (Betting Against the Duke #2)

Chapter 26

S CARLETT —A C ARRIAGE , A M ARRIAGE

S itting next to Mrs. Cantor in Stephen’s carriage, I try to relax. It takes him a few minutes to give Benny some sort of signal or directions. Now that we are underway, Stephen stares at me, and then my notes. Will he quiz me?

His long fingers flip through my sketches. The silence is unnerving. But I do look at him. It’s been a week of not seeing or speaking, just letters. Over the past year, he’s visited Anya House at least a couple of times a week. A woman can get used to his handsome face. At least his lips have a shine.

Be bold, Scarlett. “Sorry for our tense leaving.”

Yawning and nodding, Mrs. Cantor looks at me. She pulls out her knitting—a scarf in progress.

His gaze captures mine. “No need to fret, Miss Wilcox. I have a surprise for us. Just be patient with me. It’s my first time.”

“You ignoring me, reading . . . criticizing my work. If this is your way of showing a lady a good time, I’m highly disappointed.”

“Girly, just sit there, while I go through the Georgie bundle dat yuh sent.”

He makes me smile, but I give him a little pout. “When did I become my sister? We Wilcoxes are not interchangeable.”

“No, the Georgie bundle is an expression from home for big package. You’re a big package to me.” He studies my papers, but he says, “Her features were all good; her smile was sweet and attractive; and in her eyes, which were very dark, there was a life, a spirit, an eagerness, which could hardly be seen without delight.”

Stephen catches my gaze. “I’m delighted by you, Scarlett Wilcox. Your Humbled Servant. S. A. Carew.”

He quotes himself quoting A. Lady. A nervous giggle slips and I cover my mouth. He takes down my hand. My satin gloves slide against his palm, but he strengthens his hold. “Tell me your thoughts on your patient.”

Heated hands. Skin on fire. How am I supposed to have thoughts? “Stephen Adam Carew, thank you for the compliment and for you treating my research with care.”

“Why blush? You know I’ve always respected your opinion. And you read my note.”

“It’s different said aloud. The words hold new meaning. I go to lectures and often read the speakers’ past works. Makes more sense said aloud.”

His head dips. I think he will kiss my fingers. Feeling the warmth and wet hot air along the tips of my thin gloves could be a torture. “Sometimes actions mean more.”

Before I do something reckless like jump into his arms, I sit back, careful not to mash my chignon against the seat. “If I close my eyes, I can imagine you speaking of tests and scientific observations on gout. It was a splendid lecture at the Royal Society.”

“That was over two years ago. You showed up as a man at Somerset House that long ago?”

“Yes. Mr. Thom, dear Mr. Thom, has been taking me. Now the duke makes sure I have a proper escort.”

“Proper.” He rolls his eyes, then his gaze falls again on me. “Can’t believe someone as beautiful as you can hide in plain sight.”

My cheeks warm, but I refuse to be easy prey for his flattery. “Like you and the duke today?”

His brow rises. “You know about his little hideaway?”

“Yes. I saw when he had it built. It’s being kept hidden until the duke does a big reveal. Seems like a lot of work just to hide from Katherine.”

“Never do that.”

“Hide from Katherine? Oh, that’s the pastime of my literal past.”

“I meant hide from me. I want you to be able to say or do anything you want with me.”

Silence comes to us again. Stephen shifts from reading my confused thoughts trapped in my head to my notes.

“There’s no quiz, sir. Don’t feel bad if you’ve had no time to review them. I know you are busy.”

A smile crosses his lips. “This will be my fourth read.”

I suppose that means I’ve passed some sort of test. When he finishes the last page, his eyes lock upon mine. I feel his fire.

“Uhm.” I clear my throat. “So how will you introduce me to the aunties?”

“As Miss Wilcox, I suppose. They should know the family name. They’ll also mention that the Wilcoxes have stayed across the Thames and not frequented Cheapside.” He sets my notes to the side and stretches. “It’s somewhat a shame that your family has not socialized more.”

“As Mama always said, three daughters of marital age with a plaguing illness makes things difficult.”

“Patsy Wilcox was no Mrs. Bennet. Your mother was a very levelheaded, practical woman.”

Referencing more of his novels. That’s fine, I’ll watch his lips move. Always liked that, and I must say, he always looks good, but this emerald coat with shiny brass buttons is new. His face is nicely shaven. No bumps along his chin which sometime torment him. The natural wave to his hair is brushed to the side.

“Scarlett, is there some other way to address you?”

Oops. Forgot to pay attention to his words. “What do you suggest?”

“Perhaps something a little dearer? But you did reject marrying me.” He rubs his jaw. “Pity. Fiancée is a nice title for you.”

“You can joke, but this is an important detail to get right. At the exhibition, I was both Scotland Wilcox and Scotland Carew.”

“How about a compromise. I can introduce you as Scarlett Carew?” He shakes his head vigorously. “That can’t work since you were so against marrying me. Has that changed?”

“Such a tease. Do you think I actually believed you when you asked? I remember your talk of planning and grand gestures. Blurting a proposal out on a carriage floor doesn’t seem serious.”

“But I was serious. I am serious.”

He’s teasing. I release a nervous chuckle. “I’ve already failed your standards. I’m not demure or quiet. The Wilcoxes are proud, but I’m not sure if you count coal people as pedigreed.”

His fingertips rub together. “You like to torture me. You want me to compliment you again? Fine. You’re absolutely stunning, Scarlett. I’ve never seen someone so beautiful. You’ve obliterated my idea of the perfect woman.” He sighs like a teapot releasing steam. “I said it. Happy?”

“Happy.” I mimic the way his proud shoulders fall. “And you should know I let myself be pinned with these tortuous rubies just to be tolerable for you today.” I roll my eyes. “And I sort of like obliterating things, but the duke told me a man’s ego can be a fragile thing. Or was that my sister?”

“I’m not fragile.” Stephen looks me dead in my eyes. Then he looks away. “Well, maybe a little fragile. Please don’t turn that sharp wit on me today.”

He scoots forward, closing the distance between our legs. “Scarlett, I love the aunties. They support the immigrants of London. But they can be a bit . . .”

“Domineering. Demanding. Demented.”

“Pushy. Pushy is the word I was looking for.” He sits back rubbing at his knees. His buff breeches look very good on him. The hue highlights his bronze skin. “The ladies mean well. And I know they want me to be happy. But they don’t know how my tastes have changed.”

The cogs in his mind, I see them turning. His brow has dampened. Is he perspiring? Is he thinking about what to say next? Why is he being so careful around me? “What has changed?”

“Well, they know I have an eye for women who are demure and pretty. You fit the part today.”

“You mean I’m pretending to be pretty.”

“No. That’s not what . . .” He puts his hands to his dampening forehead. “Why am I tongue-tied?”

Taking off my long off-white gloves, I stretch to his side of the carriage to test his forehead for fever, but we end up holding hands.

Mrs. Cantor coughs. She shakes a finger at me, and I let go of Stephen. Pity, I like the way my palm feels surrounded by his.

He huffs and shakes his head toward my chaperone. “We have to look comfortable about each other if we must pretend to be courting.”

Without saying another word, Mrs. Cantor closes her eyes. Tentatively, Stephen reaches for me until he clasps my hand.

“Scarlett, I owe you an apology. I’ve been unbearable treating you as a child when you’ve grown up.”

“Well, I do do things that can be aggravating.”

We laugh and it feels like forever since we’ve done that together. He keeps rubbing along my knuckles, then he thumbs my wrist. We stretch until his lips meet a spot that causes me to shiver, a good shiver along my spine.

Mrs. Cantor’s snores sound like trumpets. The noise imitates the racket the duke’s men made sawing lumber for his secret room. I chuckle again.

Stephen’s gaze bears down on me. It’s hot, fiery. “What’s so funny, Scarlett? Have I done something—”

“No. Not you. It’s the duke and Katherine. They’re unpredictable. I thought they’d reached a truce, but he’s starting to hide from her. My sister looked so confused returning from the study.”

Stephen pushes at his low-cut hair. The wavy curls bounce about his fingers.

The nurse’s snores ramp again. He gives her a quick look, then pivots to me. “Lady Hampton stung him pretty well. She moved his chess pieces.”

“Katherine touched his game?”

“Yes. Torrance seemed disturbed by it.” Stephen chuckles again. “I guess she knows him well. Two people perfectly suited can learn to trust again. A woman should be able to give all of her with no regrets. All,” he says again, “all of her wits, all her secrets.”

Stephen isn’t talking about my sister. His words are for me. Can I trust a man who wants to be my husband, who suddenly sees me?

“What are you thinking, Scarlett? Tell me.”

“I’m envious of men. You get science and adventure. Men can have everything physical that comes with marriage and intimacy. And yet be able to walk away and go on with their life. Perhaps that’s what Katherine can’t forgive.”

“Scarlett, I’m not walking away. I’m here. I want to marry—”

“With your love of novels, Mr. Carew, do you read aloud? I should like to know your sensibilities on the subject.”

“Sensing you want to change the topic.” He folds his hands across a waistcoat that isn’t black or indigo but brown with hints of green that match his coat. That’s new, too. “I have great sense and sensibilities on the topic. But I rarely read aloud. Many merely want a physician to talk of nothing but medicines and ailments. That’s not what I want to do right now. I’m sitting with a pretty woman. I’d rather entertain her.”

“Talking of medicines would be entertaining. I guess I have a singular fascination with it.”

“I have a singular fascination as well. It’s called Scarlett Wilcox.” He shifts his hat, making space on the bench beside him. He wriggles his finger at me. “Come here.”

The tone is low, spicy.

I guess Stephen is being playful. I can play, too. Peeking at him through lowered lashes, I toss him a look over my shoulder. “You want me at your beck and call, and yet you will not talk about medicine.” I shrug. “Not sure this will work. You’re cute and all but, sir, I’ll be bored.”

His head rears back. “Ma’am, I take that as a personal offense . . . and challenge.” Stephen glances at Mrs. Cantor and waves a hand in front of her. The nurse doesn’t move.

His smile deepens and he places those skillful hands on my knees and tugs me forward. This satin dress makes his motion easy to slide me closer.

“If I wore breeches, things would be more difficult, sir.”

“Scarlett, if you wore breeches, I’d know exactly how to get to you. Not sure your chaperone would sleep through our . . . your racket. I believe you will be noisy when passionate.”

My curiosity at what he will do gets the better of me, so I fall into our language, taunting. “Such bold talk from the man who bores me.”

One quick tug sends me flying off the seat. Before I drop onto the floor, Stephen scoops me into his arms and plops me onto his lap. “Boring, Scarlett? Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Heated palms to my face, he tastes my lips. “You’re salty, Scarlett. How do I sweeten you up?”

The notion to offer a fake yawn flees with his hands tightening about me. Then in the most delicious manner possible, he whispers, “I have copies of the Medical Repository of Original Essays and Intelligence. The reports were edited by a Mr. Mitchell. The pages have detailed observations about disease.”

His breath floods my ear. I smell and taste sweet peppermint in his kiss. “One essay, my dear, was on cholera.”

“Cholera? That’s a digestive disorder.”

“Uhmmm.” Stephen’s palms slip beneath my cape. His fingers lazily stroke the tender skin of my chest hidden by the lace fichu. “Yes, typically, it’s not fatal.”

“Not fatal, good.” These words barely fall from my mouth before he’s claimed it. This tenderness could be fatal, fatal to all my dreams. Stephen holds me firmly upon his muscular thighs. I dare not squirm or I’ll miss the way his hands sweep along my back. When he strokes that spot between my shoulders where the tension builds when I spend an evening poring over science papers, I squeal a little.

His chest rumbles with smothered laughter. “Noisy. Just like I thought.”

When his caress works free a knot along my neck, I squeak, then slam my lips together.

“You will awaken Mrs. Cantor. Would that be our eighteen hundredth compromising situation?”

“Lost count.” I put my arms about his neck, and listen to him list the symptoms of cholera, then I kiss him. I love the feel of him, the strength of his caress, the gentleness of his hands.

His fingers settle mercifully on the small of my back. “There’s more I wish to teach, to experience with you. Never a moment will be boring. I promise.”

Trust him? Trust myself? If I were modest, I’d hop away, steal myself from the pleasure, the closeness and torture of wanting Stephen Adam Carew.

I’ve settled for pieces of him—his attention, his time.

I’m used to that, for I’ve always loved him and always hated myself for being so weak for a man who couldn’t see me.

When his hand surgically slips to my thigh, and a bare palm strokes my knee, I know we’ve gone too far. I’m not ready for womanly consequences. “We must stop.”

“Are you sure? I thought you liked my compromise. I whisper to you about medicine, whilst I find every spot along your skin that makes you noisy. See, good compromise.”

“There’s nothing more to search for. I’m not wearing disguises.”

“Must be sure.” He kisses me again, and I savor everything. The peppermint, the heat, the feel of his heart pounding against mine.

“No more. I concede. You’re not boring. And it’s just me in the dress. It’s just me.”

“That’s exactly what I want, Scarlett. Just you. Now let me tell you more signs of cholera.”

With my palms to his cheeks, I angle his face to seek his deepest kiss. I can’t resist anymore. I give up my power and tell Stephen Adam Carew, “I love you.”