Page 32 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)

“No, no need. I can see myself inside. Don’t trouble yourself,” Stonehaven called back. “I’ve got my handsome stick to guide me, remember,” he added, raising the item and swishing it back and forth like a sword.

“But, my lord—”

Bea waited, noting the anxiety on George’s face, and the answering stubbornness in Stonehaven’s.

“I said, I can see to myself,” Stonehaven said, his voice stern. “Don’t fuss, George. I appreciate your concern, but I’m not wet behind the ears.”

George sighed. “Yes, my lord.”

A moment later and he was mounted, trotting away down the lane towards the town.

Bea waited, watching Stonehaven use the new stick that George had carved for him to traverse the uneven path.

George had showed it to her that morning, looking pleased as punch at his efforts.

It was a handsome piece, made of blackthorn, sanded smooth and polished to a high shine.

Bea thought it was a testament to the friendship between the two men, to the trust Stonehaven had granted George, and the pride George took in that trust. She wished she had seen Stonehaven’s face when George had given it to him, certain he would have been deeply touched by the gift, and by the skill and effort that had gone into making it.

She craned her neck, looking down as Stonehaven approached the front door, but he never opened it.

The window was directly above the porch, so Bea could not see him properly.

Why was he waiting? She swung the window open with as little noise as possible and Bea leaned out, just in time to see Stonehaven disappearing around the side of the house.

Her heart skipped. Whilst there were no man traps lying in wait, he had not been around the side of the house before and surely there were dozens of things that could trip him. She did not wish for him to suffer such a setback so quickly after his triumph.

“Oh, drat it,” she muttered, wringing her hands with indecision.

Her father was out, Izzy had taken the children to the beach with Mrs Mabbs, and Mrs Adie and Polly would be up to their eyes with preparations for dinner.

Deciding she had better just take a peek, just to be certain he hadn’t fallen in the fishpond, Bea hurried downstairs and out of the front door.

It didn’t take long to find him. The curses and expletives that filled the air would make a sailor blush, but Bea ignored them in favour of hurrying to his rescue.

“Don’t move!” she called out. “You’ll ruin your coat.”

“Damnation, is it a bramble bush?”

“No, my lord. A very beautiful rambling rose, though there are no flowers now. I’m afraid you are well and truly tangled, however.”

“Well, it’s not very beautiful from where I’m standing,” he groused, still tugging on his sleeve, which had been snagged all the way around his arm.”

“Do stop pulling!” Bea said sharply. “Be still!” she commanded, using the ‘obey or regret it’ tone she occasionally had to bring out when her nephew was in a naughty mood.

Stonehaven stilled, his expression forbidding.

Bea swallowed and reached up, carefully disengaging the thorns from the fine material of his coat.

One by one, she unhooked the vicious spikes, concentrating on the job and trying to ignore the way her senses seemed to burst into life at his nearness.

He relaxed by degrees as she untangled him, seeming to lean closer to her with each passing moment.

“Sally,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “Come to rescue me again.”

She felt her lips curve, though her gaze remained fixed on the rose thorns. “Don’t be silly. You don’t need rescuing, just to go about with a bit less urgency. There’s no fire, you know.”

“Are you scolding me?” he asked, a smile in his voice that made heat rise over her skin, pricking the back of her neck.

“What if I am? Someone ought to,” she said, reminding herself Sally was far bolder than she. “Oh, and your poor hands. You’ve scratched them very badly with all your struggling.”

Now that she had freed him from the tangle of the rose, which had become somewhat riotous over the summer, she looked at his hands, holding them gently and turning them back and forth. His fingers tightened upon hers, making her heart skip.

“Is anyone watching?” he asked.

“Watching?” she repeated blankly, looking around them. They were standing to the side of the vicarage, the wall on one side of them, a hedge to the other. They were open to the road and back garden, but there was no one around. “No, my lord.”

“Good.”

Before she could tell herself she ought to disentangle her person from his embrace, never mind the rose, Stonehaven had pulled her close, holding her tighter than the bramble had caught him, but gently, tenderly.

Without conscious thought, she melted into his arms, turning her face up to his as to the sun, welcoming his kiss with the same unthinking joy.

His mouth was demanding yet sweet, his lips warm and soft and she met his passion with her own, kissing him with such bold enthusiasm it ought to make her blush.

Instead, she inhaled the scent of him, fresh air and leather, the musky tang of horse, and a vigorous male body.

Pressing closer, she felt his breath catch.

She revelled in the heat of him that reached her through layers of linen and wool, imprinted the feeling of strength and safety he gave her, so she might remember it when he had gone, and she was alone again.

He released her too quickly, but when she looked up at him, she saw his colour was high, realised he too was breathing unnaturally fast.

“I’m sorry. I should not have done that. I’m a wretched fellow,” he said, managing to look at once contrite and delighted.

Bea laughed, charmed by him as she always was. “And I should not have let you, but here we are.”

“Here we are,” he repeated, but there was a wistful note to his voice now.

Bea swallowed, reminding herself that he was not hers, would never be hers. In truth, she was dallying with the fiancée of a woman she was beginning to consider a friend and that was a terrible sin to commit. That neither party loved one another, did not change the facts.

“You had best ask Mrs Adie to wash those scratches, or they’ll get infected.”

“No.”

“No?” she looked at him quizzically.

“You do it,” he said, his voice gruff, looking stubborn and embarrassed in equal measure.

“Oh, no. I-I can’t—”

“Please,” he added.

She was about to agree, for what would she not do if he asked it of her—a question that made her quail with terror.

“No. No, you’re right,” he said abruptly. “Don’t think of it. I ought never to have asked.”

He pushed away from her, about to walk headfirst back into the rose bush when she caught hold of his hands.

“This way. It’s all right. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

He shook his head, his expression one of disgust. “I ought never to have said anything. It’s wicked of me to put you in such a damnable position. If you were discovered, it would be my fault, it would—”

“I’ll be careful,” she told him, guiding him back onto the lawn and around the back of the house.

Bea held her breath, praying she would see no one, even knowing everyone was away from home and Mrs Adie and Polly were well occupied.

She walked with him to the back door on the terrace; he could find his way safely from there.

“I’ll be up as soon as I have some hot water ready. ”

“Sally,” he said urgently. “You don’t—”

“You’d best go up, or I’ll be there before you,” she said resolutely, hurrying away from him, knowing he would hear her retreating footsteps upon the gravel path.

Stonehaven closed his bedroom door and leaned back against it, heart hammering with anticipation. Sally was coming to him and, bastard that he was, the knowledge made his blood rise, and his chest fill with a joy so expansive he felt he might burst.

He ought to have stopped her, ought to have insisted, but he could not. He was weak, as desperate as a lovesick youth and loathsome in his desire to have his own way.

“She’s coming to clean the scratches. That’s all,” he said, his voice brooking no argument. “I’ll let her see to the mess I’ve made and let her go.”

He tried to finish the sentence by saying ‘upon my honour,’ but the words stuck in his throat.

If he said that out loud, he’d have to stick to it, and he did not want to, did not wish to be a gentleman for once in his life.

He wanted Sally, wanted the comfort and the simple happiness he felt in her company, wanted to devour it and her and keep them both for his own.

“Bastard,” he muttered in disgust, wondering if there were anything he could do to make things right.

He wanted Sally’s life to be one of happiness and ease, and if he could not be a part of it, could he not help her?

Yet offering her anything financial would taint everything he felt and likely insult her so deeply she would never forgive him for it.

Making his way to the bed, he sat down with a sigh and then shot to his feet again as there was a soft knock at the door.

“Come in,” he called, his voice too loud.

He gripped the bedpost, feeling the scratches on his hands pull and not caring as he heard the door open. She said nothing, but he heard her moving around, setting something down, a metal basin from the sound, water sloshing as she did so.

“Sit down, please,” she said politely, and he noted her voice, not for the first time.

Usually, she spoke with a more pronounced Sussex accent, softening consonants and expanding some words whilst shortening others.

Yet today she was nervous, he could hear the breathless quality of her voice, and he realised suddenly that she was well spoken, far more than one might expect of a servant.

Had her family been gentry, perhaps fallen upon hard times?