Page 8 of The Spinster’s Last Dance (One Night in Blackhaven #7)

T he following day, Delilah forced herself to translate all the remaining documents on her desk. However, since her mind had been wandering again, she left them to be read over again later, and took herself for a brisk walk to the beach.

It did her good. Since she was alone, she even picked up her skirts and ran for some of the way in her bare feet, and that was even better. Everything had got out of proportion for her, and the exercise seemed to clear her mind of confusion, particularly about Lord Linfield.

She should enjoy his friendship—which was all there would ever be between them—for as long as he remained in Blackhaven. The decision made her feel human again.

As for Antonia Macy… Delilah would indeed apologize for her rudeness and would tell Julius about Timothy Macy’s machinations. Then she would step back from what was decidedly not her business.

With both decisions made to her satisfaction, she sat on a rock to replace her stockings and shoes. To her surprise, the sky had darkened alarmingly. The first spots of rain were already pattering gently on her hat. The wind had got up too, riling the sea to quick, choppy anger with dashes of white froth. Seabirds played in the air currents as they made their way to shelter. She was about to be deluged.

A glance at the shore showed her she was within sight of Blackhaven, which meant she was more than halfway to the town. She would shelter there until the storm had passed.

By the time she had fastened her shoes back on, the rain was coming harder and she had to hold her hat on to prevents the wind whipping it off. She hurried onward, fighting the growing gale, and then racing the tide that was suddenly speeding in. On this part of the beach, there was no easy way up onto the road. The cliff was too high and too sheer. But she was sure there was a cave close by. She remembered playing there with Julius and Roderick when they were children. They had clambered over rocks—surely those rocks—and the cave had been high enough up to avoid the high tides of spring and autumn. Surely she would be safe there from a summer storm.

Since the sea was rushing over her shoes, she began to climb over the wet, slippery rocks. It took her feet and her skirts out of the water for now at least, but she had to hold on with both hands, buffeted by the wind and soaked by the relentless downpour.

She was no longer a ten-year-old child in short skirts, playing in the sunshine with two big brothers to help her. Her clothes hindered her almost as much as the weather. She could barely make out the cliffs through the driving rain, never mind spot the cave opening. The sea itself vanished into mist.

But something was moving through it—a horse, splashing through sea that was up to its knees, its rider in a large, dark overcoat, urging it on. He would make it to Blackhaven easily before the tide cut him off. Whereas if Delilah could not find the remembered cave, she would have to perch on the highest rock she could find and pray hard.

Resting, and deciding on her next direction, she saw the rider suddenly pull his horse to a halt. His head was turned toward her. Even with his hair plastered to his head, he looked familiar.

Linfield? Or was her mind playing tricks on her, making her imagine every man she glimpsed was him ? Perhaps she had a secret yearning to be a damsel in distress rescued by her hero.

Snorting with sudden mirth, she waved to him, gesturing him to ride on while she negotiated the treacherous, rocky journey to the cliff face.

When she glanced back, the horse was riderless, galloping on through the sea and vanishing into the mist. She knew a moment of fear for the rider. Then she saw him, climbing over the rocks toward her.

Oh the devil, now we are both cut off! She did not want him to see her as silly or helpless, though the craven part of her was glad of the company because she had begun to suspect she could not reach the cave alone. She couldn’t even find the wretched thing.

“Delly!” he shouted above the wind. “Wait!”

Even blasted by the storm, something in her warmed. Because it was Linfield. Because he had called her by the name only her family ever used. He must have heard and remembered.

At least he didn’t call me Lah-Lah .

Clearly, she was on the verge of hysteria.

He made much better time over the rocks than her, and the soles of his boots must have gripped better, too, for he reached her in no time, flinging one strong arm about her waist.

“Are you hurt?” he shouted over the combined roar of wind, rain, and sea.

“No, just wet! You should have gone on with the horse.”

“I couldn’t leave you stranded. What are you doing here?”

“Looking for a cave where I played with my brothers. It’s high enough to avoid the tide and will get us out of the rain and the wind. If I can only find it.”

He helped her over the rocks, catching her when she slipped. The sophisticated diplomat appeared more like a mountain goat, albeit a very wet one. He had lost his hat somewhere.

“Is that it?” he said suddenly in her ear, and in spite of the situation, awareness thrilled though her.

She followed his pointing finger to the cliff face, saw the higher rocks rising toward the darker ridge of stone. “Yes, that’s it!”

Climbing up was a lot more frightening as an adult. And once she reached the highest point of rock, the toeholds in the cliff looked impossible. Linfield took her by surprise, gripping her around the waist and swinging her upward as though she weighed no more than that ten-year-old child who had last been here.

Some instinct brought her knees up to the cave opening; she grasped the stone on either side and pulled herself in, quickly pushing herself aside and reaching down to help him. However, he landed beside her in a rush, filling the space that she remembered as much less cramped.

“Bliss,” he pronounced. “No wind, no rain.” He peered out. “The tide will never rise this high. God, you must be soaked to the skin.”

“I am,” she said shakily. “So are you.”

“You’re shivering,” he said, beginning to strip off his coat. “Come, sit down over here.”

She sat with considerable relief on the cave floor, her back against the wall. Crouched in front of her, he deftly unfastened her soggy cloak and cast it aside, before he sat down beside her and spread his overcoat over them both. Though the outside of it was horribly damp, the inside felt dry and warm from his body heat. She pulled it higher, and he pressed closer, throwing his arm around her and holding her to him for warmth. It felt dangerously natural.

“Where on earth were you going in such weather?” he asked.

“Nowhere, really. I was just walking and didn’t notice the storm in time. I decided Blackhaven was closer for shelter and kept on, only then the tide came in so fast and I knew it was cutting me off. I could see I would never reach the town before I was up to my neck in sea, so I started looking for the cave.” She shivered and burrowed closer into his warmth. “What about you? It’s not great weather for a leisurely ride.”

“I hacked out to Black Hill by the road and chose to come back this way.”

“Oh. Did you see Felicia?”

“No, I saw the twins before I even got to the house, and they told me you were on the beach. By then, I could see the storm approaching, so I came to find you. I almost didn’t see you.”

“I find I’m quite glad you did,” she admitted.

“So am I.” He hugged her, grinning with a boyishness she had never seen in him before. With his free hand, he shoved his clinging hair off his face, and then removed her sodden bonnet, his fingers struggling with the wet knots of the ribbons, pulled tight by the wind.

Shivering cold and dripping as she was, awareness sizzled beneath her skin. She had never been so close to a man who was not her father or her brothers. And this man… Like no one else she had ever met, his arm warm and strong around her, his fingers gentle against her throat, his hard body pressed against her side, his chest, his hips, his thigh…

The inside of her mouth was dry as he finally untangled the ribbons, plucked off her hat, and tossed it onto the cave floor beside her cloak. His gaze returned to her face, dropped to her lips.

“Better?” he asked softly.

She nodded. It was. She had never been so happy in her life than huddled with him beneath his coat, her clothes clinging uncomfortably to her skin. Because his fine gray eyes were warm and exciting and entirely focused on her. She must have resembled a drowned rat, and yet he did not look remotely disgusted. He looked…

Her stomach dived.

His lips parted and the flame inside curled lower.

She hurried into speech. “Why were you looking for me?”

“I like you.”

The heat deep in her belly seemed to surge through her whole being. She tore her gaze free, but somehow it didn’t make her any less aware. She wanted to laugh at him, or at least challenge him, but the words eluded her. There was only his closeness, his distinctive scent, heady amongst the freshness of rain and sea, and the smell of wet wool.

He said, “You must have been very lost in your own thoughts not to see the storm coming.”

“I suppose I was.”

“What troubles you, Delilah?”

She had not given him leave to use her name. Here, it hardly mattered. “Many things,” she said, aiming for lightness. “Changes in the air, my siblings…”

“I have rarely met a more charming and capable set of people than you and your siblings.”

“They are capable,” she said, trying to ignore the fluttering of her heart. “But they are vulnerable, too, because they care .”

“Who in particular cares? Sir Julius?”

She nodded. It must have been the strange, unique intimacy of the situation, but the urge to confide grew too strong. “She hurt him very badly ten years ago. Antonia Macy.”

For several moments, he was silent, although his gaze remained on hers. “As long as I have known her,” he said at last, “she has carried some deep sadness. I do not think he was the only one who was hurt. She is kind, funny, fiercely devoted to her son, and my sister loves her. If she and your brother have let go of the past, perhaps you should too.”

“Do you know her brother-in-law?” she asked.

His lip curled. “He is trying to wrest control of her son from her. I don’t know why, because he has no affection for the boy.”

“He wants her to marry Mr. Dunnett. I think he has some means of forcing her. If I didn’t distrust her, I would feel sorry for her. As it is, I am glad she has you and Miss Talbot. Only…”

Without warning, he bent and brushed his lips against hers. “How can you be so sweet and so prickly at the same time?”

“I am not sweet ,” she said, revolted. Her lips tingled and she had to look away, staring out of the cave mouth at the angry sea.

“Yes, you are. You can’t look after everyone, you know. Sometimes you have to let them solve their own problems. Trust them. But then, I think trusting is your problem.”

Her gaze flew back to him. She opened her mouth to protest.

“Do you trust me, Delilah?”

She closed her mouth again, unsure what to say, unsure of the truth. “I suppose I must, since I am here with you, sharing your coat so improperly.”

His eyes glinted. “Clever. Now I am bound to remain the perfect gentleman or lose that trust. What a pity.”

“You’ll cope,” she said wryly.

“I might. Just.” His hand on her shoulder slid upward to her neck, caressing just beneath her ear.

She caught her breath, but otherwise pretended not to notice. He couldn’t know how his touch moved her. Such a casual, almost distracted stroking, and yet it played havoc with her pulse. He appeared to be lost in his own thoughts, while she could think of nothing but those tender, relentless fingertips, spreading heat and weakness and something far beyond mere awareness. Desire.

She reached up and grasped his hand. “What will you do next, Lord Linfield?” she asked desperately. “Where will you be posted?”

His fingers stilled in her grip, though he made no effort to withdraw. “I have been granted a long leave of absence. But I must return to London next month. I suppose I will learn then.”

“Do you wish to go abroad again?”

“Probably. Do you?”

She didn’t need to think about it. “If I can be useful. I like being abroad, meeting new people.”

“Being the power behind the power. I think that is how Sir George saw you.”

“Did he?” she said wistfully.

“Undoubtedly. He was proud of all his children—he spoke of you often. If you were a man, he said you would be an ambassador before you were thirty. As it was, he appreciated all your advice, and all you did to smooth his path.”

She blinked. “Did he really say that?”

“Yes. You seem surprised.”

She shook her head. “I have to watch my tongue. I can be too blunt for diplomacy. Besides, for such an eloquent man, my father rarely spoke of feelings. Or praise.”

“Yet he was a man of deep passion.”

She nodded, emotion blocking her throat.

“You are like him.”

Heat flooded her. Right now, she felt like her rakish father. For the first time, she truly understood temptation rather than the mere frustration of vague, impersonal desires. She wanted to touch Linfield’s face, trace the outline of his sculpted lips, run her fingers though his damp hair…

“Which has been your favorite posting?” she asked quickly.

The question served its purpose. She could enjoy his stories and relate to the people involved, some of whom she knew. They conversed like old friends, exchanging opinions of places and politics, of art and literature. In fact, it was some time before she realized that she was still holding his hand. She released it, and it fell lightly to her shoulder. The closeness beguiled her, surely an intimacy that would never be repeated.

She wanted both his arms around her. She wanted to hold him, just once…

Madness. He was being kind to her, no more. And the time flew past too quickly.

“The storm is not letting up,” he said at last. “We can’t stay here much longer or your family will call out search parties.”

“The tide will be going out again.”

“Then we can at least get to Blackhaven and root out my coachman.”

“You cannot make the poor man drive in this! Think of the horses, too!”

“I see no other solution, do you? Much as I would love to hide away with you until after dark, your brothers would kill me, and by then they might well have cause. The road is safe enough, and I’ll pay poor old Alf a good bonus.”

He rose as he spoke, moving toward the cave mouth. Delilah shivered, drawing the coat up over her suddenly cold side. The loss of him felt like an ache, and he had only gone a step away.

A flash of thunder lit up the sky, illuminating his tall figure, the shadows and angles of his face. Her heart skipped a beat. What is happening to me?

“The tide is pulling away from the rocks. We should be safe to leave in another few minutes.”

I don’t want to leave. This is all I will ever have, and it’s so much more than a dance. And so much less than—

“Delilah?”

She blinked and rose, lifting the coat with her and shaking it out. “Yes?”

His lips quirked. “Nothing.” He came toward her, but only to pick up her cloak, still unpleasantly wet, and yet it would have to do. “I hope you won’t take a chill from today.”

“I’m healthy as a horse,” she said lightly. “I hope you don’t either, especially as you could have been warm and dry in your hotel all this time.”

“Where is the fun in that? One needs a little adventure in life. Can you bear this?”

He laid the damp cloak about her shoulders. She could bear anything if he touched her.

He picked up her hat and waved it about. “Better than nothing, but a little the worse for the weather.”

She reached for it, but he set it on her head and tied the ribbons. His fingers stilled, and she looked up at him, her heart beating and beating. He released the ribbons and lifted one hand to her cheek. He smiled as though the touch pleased him. She wanted to lean into his hand, only she could not move.

His hand fell away. Slowly, he took the coat from her. “What was I thinking? You should have this.”

“It’s ridiculously large for me. I’d only fall over it on the rocks. We can run once we reach the sand.”

“True.” He shrugged into the coat, then returned to the cave mouth, peering outside as though planning his route over the rocks. “Are you ready? I’ll climb down first and catch you.”

She nodded, going to stand beside him. She wanted to take his hand, lay her head against his shoulder. Her arms ached to hold him. Just once.

I’ve already had my last dance.

And yet he seemed to be waiting for something. He was looking at her now, not at the beach below, but she would not meet his gaze.

He crouched down, turned, and half slid, half climbed down to the rocks below. Then, planting his feet firmly, he reached up for her. Rain battered down on him, and on her as she held on to the cave floor and dropped into his arms.

There was no time to treasure the moment, although inevitably she would later on. For now, they merely clambered over the rocks toward the narrow strip of sand no longer bombarded by the sea.

In no time, it seemed, they were clear of the rocks, and running, hand in hand across the sand, blown on by the wind at their backs while the rain beat down. She smiled at the sight they must present, like playing children. Sheer joy in the moment, so different from her earlier scramble for safety, swept her up, and she ran faster, all but tripping over her sodden skirts as he held her up and pulled her onward.

Forked lightning flashed across the sky, followed almost at once by a crack of thunder like cannon fire.

He spun her around, and she fell hard against him, laughing. His mouth came down on hers, as electric as the angry sky. Something magical ignited inside her, making her gasp and throw her arms around his neck, grasping the dripping hair at his nape.

Never had she imagined a kiss like this, invasive and devouring and all she had never known she wanted. The wind ripped at her hat; the rain poured down over her upturned face and into her mouth. She could taste it on his lips. She could taste happiness .

As the storm lit up the sky, passion burned within her, absorbing everything. She caressed his face as she had longed to, the corner of his devastating mouth where it joined to hers. She reveled shamelessly in the hard masculinity of his body, arching into him.

“Oh, Delilah,” he whispered. “ There you are…” And then he was kissing her again, and she could have stood there forever. Or fallen into the sand with him, his weight upon her as this tempest of feeling raged.

At last, he tore his mouth free with a groan. She went after it, taking it back, and that was delicious too. But he had begun to shift, dragging her with him, and they had to separate enough to run.