Regency Collection 2013 Part 1. Louise Allen

but I almost did, that is why I feel so smirched!’ She bent back her head so she could look up into his face. The moonlight caught her and he could see the unshed tears glimmering in her eyes. ‘I thought I ought to—Aunt said I ought to do it in order to catch him, and I almost did. How I could ever have contemplated it, even for a minute …’

      ‘But you didn’t,’ Jack repeated. ‘That is all that matters.’

      ‘I ran away and you rescued me.’ That seemed to provoke more sadness than comfort; there was an unmistakeable sniff from the region of his third shirt button. Acting on instinct, ignoring the voice of caution that was telling him firmly to find her a handkerchief and send her back inside to her aunt’s care, Jack caught Lily up in his arms and carried her into the arbour to where a wooden bench curved under the tangle of climbing roses.

      Lily found herself set down on Jack’s knees and held firmly against his chest. ‘Now, here is a handkerchief. Blow your nose and tell me all about it.’

      ‘No. I do not want to.’ It was a very large handkerchief. Lily blew her nose with more force than elegance and sat up. Jack’s arm stayed round her and she made no effort to free herself.

      ‘Tell me. It will all sound much better when you say it out loud instead of it churning round and round inside your head.’

      ‘All right.’ Lily began reluctantly, but Jack’s very stillness, the concentration with which he was listening to her, gave her confidence. Finally, she reached the end of her account. ‘And then I used my knee and, well, he stopped.’

      ‘I should imagine he did. What is his name?’

      ‘Lord Dovercourt. Why?’

      ‘Because I shall add him to the list, along with Lord Randall, of gentlemen who need to be taught how to treat ladies.’

      ‘But you cannot call them out! That is what you mean, isn’t it? Not teaching them some other way.’

      ‘By lying in wait with a knife, possibly? I am not a footpad, Lily. Why can’t I call them out?’

      ‘Because they would not accept a challenge from someone who isn’t a gentle—’ Oh, Lord! How tactless! ‘I mean …’

      ‘Who isn’t a gentleman? Perhaps. But somehow they need dealing with.’

      ‘You cannot fight them.’ Lily took hold of his coat lapels and gave them a shake. ‘Be sensible. What if you kill them?’

      ‘Which is likely.’ Arrogant man! They were all alike. She wished she had the strength to give him a really hard shake.

      ‘Then you will be hanged and a lot of good that will do your coal mine.’

      ‘True.’ There was a laugh in his voice and for some reason she felt quite odd inside. Not miserable any more, but certainly not calm either. Very strange indeed. What was he thinking?

      ‘Jack?’

      ‘Yes, Lily, my lovely?’ It was almost what Dovercourt had called her. It was certainly just as improper coming from Jack, but the words made the warm glow inside burn even warmer. She could feel the colour heating her cheeks.

      Lily leaned back a little, trying to see his face in the moonlight. ‘Your bandage! What have you done with it?’ She put up a hand, her fingers almost, but not quite, touching the wound. Even in the faint light it looked dreadful. Jack bent his head a little and the raw silk of his hair flowed over her fingers, caressed the back of her hand.

      ‘Jack?’ What am I asking? He seems to know. He bent over her. There was a long moment of perfect stillness, then his lips found hers and he was kissing her.

      He had kissed her the other day when he had no idea who she was or where he was, but this was quite different. Jack Lovell knew exactly what he was doing this time and shockingly, so it seemed, did she. Her body arched against his, trusting. Her lips softened under his, giving. His was not at all like Adrian’s mouth had felt. Jack seemed quite content to explore, angling his lips across hers, shifting and teasing. It appeared that he wanted to taste, not to take.

      Lily felt her mouth following his, learning from his. He did not try to do that revolting thing Adrian had done with his tongue. So wet and disgusting and … Oh! It wasn’t disgusting at all, not when Jack did it. Her lips parted, she opened to him and found she could taste too. Coffee, and a hint of brandy, Jack. Just Jack.

      She was sinking until she felt as if she were part of him, and it was so right. So perfect. Then he stopped.

      ‘Lily?’ Blinking, she opened her eyes. ‘I am sorry. I should not have done that.’

      ‘Why? Was I doing it wrong? It was very nice.’ A sudden horrid thought struck her. Perhaps he had not believed what she had said about Adrian. ‘Just because I … because just now, we … It doesn’t mean I let Adrian.’

      ‘Lily, my sweet, I know. You have no need to tell me.’ Lily found herself on her feet, being pushed gently but inexorably towards the house. ‘Lily—’

      ‘Lily? Are you out there?’ It was Aunt Herrick.

      ‘I am coming, Aunt,’ she called and turned back. The garden was empty. He was gone.

      ‘Hell.’ Jack wrenched off his dressing gown, balled it up and threw it into a far corner. ‘Hell.’ He sat down, yanked off his right boot and hurled it after the dressing gown; it landed with a more satisfying thud, to be followed by the left one. ‘What am I doing?’

      The answer, as the rest of his clothing was tossed onto the chair, was all too obvious: he was very attracted to Miss Lily France. Worse, he was acting on his fantasies. Irritably he climbed into bed and set himself to ignore the demanding ache in his loins. In fact, he was not sure that lust was all it was. Worrying.

      Why Lily France of all women? She was rich, spoilt, obsessed with shopping and social climbing and had wincingly bad taste in everything from interior decoration to men.

      She was also beautiful, brave, loyal, bright—when her brain was not addled thinking about titled husbands—and in need of a defender. And kissing her was heaven and hell all in one innocent bundle.

      Whereas I need an investor who can afford to take a robust attitude to risk—which rules out a woman. And I need an encounter with Adrian Randall like I need a hole in the head. Another hole in the head, he corrected himself. And I most certainly do not need a romantic entanglement with a woman. Any woman.

      So, borrowing money from Lily was out of the question. Wasting time thinking about Lily was out of the question. Making both Randall and the bastard who had insulted her this evening pay would have to wait until he had some plan to achieve it without, as Lily very reasonably pointed out, ending up on the scaffold.

      He had a duty to protect any woman who came into his orbit and who needed his assistance, but that was as far as it went. At home he had four women who were his responsibility, a mine, and an entire village whose livelihood depended on that mine. If he failed, he supposed he could always sell up and retreat to the farm, and the family would become yeomen farmers once again. There were worse things; it was how they had begun.

      But that was no help to the two hundred souls whose fortunes were inextricably tied to the mine. The men and lads who worked down it, their families, the small shopkeepers and tradesmen who supplied them.

      Was he going to go home having failed because he was becoming obsessed with a merchant’s red-headed heiress? No. Jack slid down under the blankets, smiling rather grimly as he realised that sobering thoughts and resolutions had had not the slightest impact on his state of more than uncomfortable arousal.

      ‘What have you been about, child?’ Aunt Herrick marched into Lily’s bedchamber in her niece’s wake and shut the door firmly in Janet’s face. ‘Lady Billington said tonight was a disaster.’

      ‘It was.’ Lily shrugged. It was hard to keep any sort