A Dash of Darcy Companions Duo 2 Page 6

  “And you think a gentleman or lady must always be either all virtue or all reproach?”

  Anne sighed and lowered her book again. “Yes.”

  “Is that so?” He folded his arms across his chest and smiled at her, his letter discarded on his lap. “And which does that make you? You speak of propriety, yet you would hide your actions and fly to Scotland to marry without approval.”

  Anne huffed.

  “It appears to me that you have indeed laid your integrity aside to achieve a noble goal.”

  Anne’s lips pursed.

  “You do not have to admit that I am correct. I can allow you to hold to your belief, no matter how flawed it might be.”

  “My belief is not flawed,” Anne grumbled, returning to her book. The story did not seem nearly so tantalizing now as it had a few moments ago.

  “Do you believe Pratt to be all virtue?”

  “I do.”

  “And you think he is true to you at every turn?”

  Anne slowly lowered her book. “I do,” she said hesitantly.

  Conrad lifted one brow in question. “I do not think any man can be completely noble. There are moments of weakness, shall we say. I do not believe we are capable of devotion in the same way that a lady is. It is not in our framework.”

  “Nonsense!”

  “I fear it is not,” Conrad replied grimly. “Have you received a letter from Pratt since he has been gone?”

  “It is too early for a letter.”

  “I have a letter,” he held up the missive in his hand. “Not from Pratt but from another chap who is also at Stanton’s.”

  “You are gentlemen. Sending letters to one another is not something that is suspect. Alistair could not send me a letter without it causing a stir. Therefore, we must be circumspect in how it arrives as well as with the frequency with which we correspond. The postmaster is not above gossip.”

  “I will allow you that.” He paused, his brows furrowed as if he were considering something. “My friend, Grenville, mentions Pratt.”

  Anne leaned forward eagerly. “He does? What does he say?”

  “I am not certain you wish for me to prove you wrong once again.”

  Anne leaned back and placed her book to the side. “What do you mean, prove me wrong?”

  Conrad smiled sadly at her. “Pratt may not be as true as he appears.”

  Anne gasped. It had to be a lie.

  Conrad lifted the paper he held and read,

  There have been no interesting compromises or instances of near disaster yet, so I do find myself somewhat bored. The ladies will come around eventually, I suppose. However, there is one matter of interest. It seems our friend Pratt might not retain his bachelorhood for much longer. He has shown a preference for Miss Northrup, which has ruffled Miss Hewitt’s feathers as she has likewise set her cap at him. He pretends to be brothered —

  “Pardon me,” Conrad muttered. “He forms his letters very ill at times.”

  He pretends to be bothered by the attention, but he has not attempted to dissuade them.

  “Alistair is polite,” Anne refuted both his friend’s accusations and her heart’s disquiet. Alistair had promised himself to her. All would be well.

  Conrad shrugged. “You are correct. Pratt is polite, and perhaps that is all it is. I just hope it does not lead to his downfall.”

  Anne picked up her book again and attempted to apply herself to the words. However, worry made her reread each line twice over. Finally, with a shake of her head, she closed the book. How could she enjoy reading when it was interrupted by thoughts of other ladies fawning over her betrothed? She fingered the chain that hung around her neck.

  Conrad crossed the carriage to sit beside her. “I have upset you,” he said apologetically as he slipped his arm around her shoulders in a comforting fashion.

  “He is polite,” she repeated.

  “Yes,” Conrad agreed as he tugged her closer to his side. “Pratt is very polite. I am certain that is all it is, and my disquiet is for naught.”

  “You should be on your side of the carriage, Mr. Conrad.”

  “May I not comfort a friend in her distress? Do you trust me so little?”

  Anne bit her lip. The way he was holding her was soothing. “You may stay as you are for a moment, but only for a moment.”

  “As you wish, Miss de Bourgh. Just tell me when I should release you, and I will.”

  Anne nodded and rested her head against his shoulder as he reached around her to where her book lay on the bench. With a gasp, she pulled away from him a little.

  “Pardon me. I was not kissing you. I was merely retrieving your book, so that I might read it to you.”

  It was possible, she supposed, that his lips had brushed her forehead by accident. Anne studied his face for a moment. He seemed sincere, and so she returned her head to his shoulder. As she sought a comfortable place to rest her head, he cleared his throat and began reading.

  Loud roars the north round Bothwell’s hall,

  And fast descends the pattering rain:

  But streams of tears still faster fall

  From thy blue eyes, oh! bonny Jane![1]

  * * *

  Bothwell's Bonny Jane by M.G. Lewis ↵

  Chapter 7

  Conrad tucked Anne’s hand in the crook of his elbow as he led her from the carriage to the inn where they would stop for the night. “Are you hungry?”

  Anne giggled. “My stomach has been rumbling loudly enough that I am certain you know the answer to your question.”

  “I would not be so indelicate as to mention such noises,” Conrad teased. As much as he knew this was a mission of revenge, he was finding it hard to remain completely untouched by Miss de Bourgh. There was something about the mixture of her delicate frame and strong determination that was a trifle beguiling. “We shall have to play the part of a married couple,” he whispered near her ear. “To protect your reputation,” he added in reply to her questioning look. “Now, do you wish to eat first or get settled into your room?”

  Anne ran her free hand over the wrinkles of her skirt.

  “Your room it shall be,” Conrad said with a smile. “You will enjoy your dinner much more after being able to wash away the dust of travel.”

  “Thank you,” Anne said as they stepped into the inn.

  “Wait here,” Conrad said, leading her to a table and pulling out the chair for her to be seated. “I shall see to our accommodations.” It would be much easier to arrange things as he wished without her there to scold him and make a muddle of his plans.

  Anne took in her surroundings. There certainly were a lot of people. Nearly every table was filled with people hurriedly eating. The din of the room was more than she had ever experienced before, but it was not unpleasant. This was life. This was what lay beyond the walls of Rosings and the roads of Hunsford. Here, there were masses of people from various walks of life. Some sat nobly as if presiding over the others who scurried and hurried. There were men in fine coats and children in dusty jackets and ragged hats. A cat wrapped itself around one of her legs, and she leaned down to scratch its ear.

  She jumped as a horn sounded, and the throng of people in the coffee room surged to its feet and pressed toward the door.

  “Stay close,” a mother called to her son. “Put the biscuit in your pocket, Rose,” she instructed her daughter. “We must go.”

  “Yes, Mama,” said a little girl with golden curls as she slipped her hand into her brother’s and followed behind her mother. Anne watched them until they were lost in the group of people clamouring around the stagecoach.

  It was not long until the clamour subsided and the room in which Anne sat slipped into a near peaceful existence. There were still a few who remained, but they dotted the room. Two maids worked quickly clearing away cups and plates, while a hostler entered and, after having a few words with one of the maids, made his way toward the door at the far end of the room.

  “I have our key.” Conrad
looked around the room. “There is a private dining room in the back. We will eat there.”

  Anne nodded and stood. She would have gladly eaten in the hustle and bustle of this room, but she supposed a private dining room would be more pleasant. She followed Conrad up the stairs and down a hall to a door that stood open. A servant was just exiting as they arrived.

  “Everything is here?” Conrad said as he handed the man a coin.

  “Yes, sir,” the servant replied.

  Conrad gave the man a nod of dismissal. “Our chamber, my lady,” he said to Anne with a sweeping motion toward the door.

  Anne’s feet would not move. “Our room?” she squeaked.

  He nudged her toward the door. “Yes, our room. The inn is full, and not all the patrons are of the trustworthy nature. There were not two rooms together, and I will be dashed to bits on the cliffs and cast into the sea if I am going to leave Pratt’s betrothed unprotected.”

  Anne entered the room slowly and took in the furnishings. “There is only one bed,” she said.

  “Yes, but it is large enough for two to sleep in it quite comfortably.”

  “We are not sharing a bed!”

  He tossed his hat on the table near the door and began shrugging out of his coat. “I shall sleep on my side, and you shall sleep on yours. There is no one here to say a word about our sleeping arrangements. All will be well.”

  Anne folded her arms and glared at him as he began to untie his cravat.

  “I do not wish to get it wet when I wash my face.” He flicked the piece of cloth over the back of the chair on which he had hung his jacket and began to unbutton his shirt. He chuckled as she gasped and turned away from him. “There is a screen in the corner. If you wish to refresh yourself behind it, I will bring the water over to you.”

  Anne hurried to hide herself behind the screen.

  “It is not improper to remove your hat,” he called after her in a teasing fashion.

  Anne’s fingers fumbled with the ribbons to her bonnet. She had not expected to be in a room with a gentleman. This was an incredibly vexing development. She peeked out from behind the screen at the bed. Good heavens! He had removed his shirt. She screwed her eyes shut and pulled her head back around the screen. Perhaps there was a way for her to remain here, all night. She blew out a breath and placed a hand on her rapidly beating heart. This was not good. Not good at all.

  “Your water, my lady.”

  Anne gasped and closed her eyes once again. “Go away,” she said, waving her hand at him. “You are not dressed.”

  Chuckling, Conrad placed the water on the floor at the edge of the screen and moved away. “I will keep my nakedness on the far side of the room.”

  “And under a shirt,” she chided.

  Conrad continued to chuckle as he pulled his shirt back over his head. Miss de Bourgh had to be the most innocent lady he had ever met. Many would blush and be horrified as she had been when seeing him without his shirt, but not many would clamp their eyes shut so securely. Most would only feign closing their eyes and would peek under their lashes. A seduction might not be possible. He tipped his chin up as he tied his cravat. The hint of a possible assignation would likely be enough to anger Pratt, but it would not make tonight so pleasurable as he had hoped.

  “I am fully clothed,” he called to her as he stretched out on the bed to wait. Her wine glass had not been refilled at any point during their meal at Rosings. Perhaps a bit more wine than normal would make his advances more acceptable. He blew out a breath. With or without wine he would have to proceed cautiously with this skittish filly.

  “Why are you lying on the bed?”

  A smile spread across his face at her accusatory tone. “My body is tired. Care to join me?”

  “I most certainly do not!”

  She was replacing her bonnet.

  “You do not need to wear that to dinner,” he said, pushing up on his elbows.

  Her lips pursed and her brows drew together, and he expected her to ignore him. However, to his delight, she did not. She removed her bonnet. He sat up and swung his legs off the bed. “You will be happy to know that this inn has very soft beds.” He crossed to the door. The way her cheeks grew rosy at the mention of that piece of furniture was entertaining.

  Opening the door, he extended his arm to her. “May I escort you to dinner?” His arm hung in the air for nearly a full minute before she stepped forward and took it. “You have nothing to fear,” he assured her. “I will keep you as safe as Pratt would keep my betrothed if I had a betrothed and I needed him to do so.”

  That seemed to be the words he needed to say, for her hand rested more firmly on his arm as they proceeded down the steps to the dining room.

  Conrad congratulated himself on the success of their dinner. Miss de Bourgh had remained relaxed, and he had been able to keep both the conversation as well as the wine flowing. By the time they were returning to their room, Miss de Bourgh was giggling at the smallest things and needed help to navigate the stairs. Her cheeks wore a rosy hue, her eyes sparkled with playfulness, and Conrad doubted there would be any difficulty in getting her to climb into bed next to him.

  He was correct.

  Anne’s head felt light and her eyes tired. The pillows and blankets of the bed called out to her. Her body craved rest.

  “What has you looking so sour?”

  “I had not considered how I was to dress or undress without my maid.” She rubbed her head. “I cannot think how I am going to prepare for bed.”

  “Turn around,” Conrad instructed, taking her by the shoulders and turning her. “I can manage a few fastenings.”

  “It is not proper,” she slurred.

  “I will not tell,” he whispered next to her ear, allowing his lips to nearly touch her. She flinched but did not scold him. He saw her eyes flutter before he pulled back to continue his work of helping her undress. Completing the task he had begun, he kissed her gently on the nape of her neck.

  She gasped but again did not scold. Slowly, she stepped behind her screen. “My trunk, please,” she called.

  Conrad obliged and carried the small trunk behind the screen.

  “Put it down right there.”

  Conrad pulled his eyes away from her. The wine had most certainly had a desirable effect on her, for she stood before him in only her chemise, stays, and petticoat.

  “I need help with this,” she turned her back to him. “I should have worn the other one,” she muttered as he began to untie her. “The other one ties in the front,” she said over her shoulder to him. “This is not at all proper,” she added.

  “No,” he leaned toward her ear, “but I’ll not tell,” he whispered. This time, he allowed his lips to brush her ear lightly.

  Anne gasped. “You must stop doing that,” she scolded.

  “Whispering?”

  “No, kissing me,” she said, turning towards him. She was not very sure on her feet, however, and the quick movement added to the dizziness she already felt propelled her into his arms.

  “One kiss of thanks for my assistance,” he asked, looking down at her nearly exposed bosom.

  Her lips parted, and her eyes grew wide. “I am sorry,” she said, trying to escape his embrace.

  “One kiss?” he asked again. Then, before she could answer him in either the affirmative or the negative, he pressed his lips against hers.

  “Now that was not so bad, was it?” he asked with a smile as he released her. Her right hand covered her mouth, and she said nothing in reply which was just as he had hoped. He took one more sweeping look at her and left her to finish preparing for bed. With any luck, that kiss would not be his last tonight.

  Anne’s hands trembled as she finished removing her stays and then her petticoat. She searched through her trunk. There was a comfortable day dress in there if her foggy brain was remembering correctly. That, rather than a nightrail, would be best for sleeping so close to a man that seemed very good at unfastening dresses and stays and whose
lips were so very soft.

  Conrad sighed and laced his fingers behind his head as he lay in bed waiting for the nearly fully clothed lady next to him, on the other side of a blanket dividing wall she had created, to fall asleep. The kiss had perhaps been too much. He should have waited until she was nearly sleeping to attempt anything.

  Now, he would only be able to arrange the covers and himself in such a fashion that when she awakened, she might believe that more had happened than was true. Her displeasure would likely be as intense as her headache in the morning, but for now, as her breathing became deep and even, he would enjoy drawing her to his side and running his hands over her slight but womanly form. If Pratt refused her, he would not be opposed to taking her for a wife. She was an heiress after all.

  Chapter 8

  Anne pushed Mr. Conrad’s arm off of her and sat up as the door to their room opened. Why was he once again not wearing a shirt? She scooted away from him and clutched the blanket to her chest.

  “Uncle!” she cried as Lord Matlock, followed by her cousin Edward Fitzwilliam entered the room. Anne slipped out of bed and straightened her dress as best she could.

  “Anne de Bourgh,” her uncle rumbled.

  Anne clutched her head. “Not so loud,” she begged. Her stomach roiled, and she sought the chamber pot.

  “Out of bed,” Lord Matlock ordered as he flicked the covers off of Conrad.

  Conrad scrambled to get up.

  Edward tossed him his shirt.

  “Who are you?” Lord Matlock demanded.

  “Conrad,” Edward supplied. “Clifton Conrad.”

  “Fitzwilliam,” Conrad acknowledged the younger man with a nod of his head. “Lord Matlock.” He bowed.

  “You,” Lord Matlock barked at Anne, “put on your shoes and come with me.”

  “My hair…”

  “Is fine,” her uncle growled.

  Anne huffed and crossed her arms.

  “Bring what you need if you must,” he added.

  “You,” he said, turning to Conrad, “dress and meet us in the dining room. Edward, see that he gets there in a timely fashion.” He turned back to Anne, who was just slipping her feet into her slippers. “Come along.”