She tried to ignore the small voice inside her insisting that she could not bear to say goodbye. Not yet. Mayhap, not ever.
‘I must go,’ he murmured at length, though he’d never wanted anything less. Here it felt as if they were isolated, a step apart from the world. He wondered what it would be like to get to know her. To simply dance, flirt and indulge in witty banter. As soon as the thought arose, he almost laughed out loud. His witty banter was as good as his spying.
‘Do you find something amusing, Mr Carlyon?’ Charity asked, noticing the sudden quirk in his lips.
Jago threw caution to the winds. ‘Only that you must know of my attraction to you, Miss Shackleford, and I was wondering how it would have been if we’d met in a ballroom.’
‘And you find that droll?’ she quizzed, her heart beating frantically in her chest.
He shook his head and stepped nearer to her. Charity held her ground, staring into golden eyes that made no attempt to conceal the depth of his attraction. ‘I was imagining us in conversation,’ he murmured wryly. ‘And you must know I am not an articulate man.’
‘I think anyone who uses the word articulate is one by default,’ she whispered, feeling compelled to lessen the suddenconnectionbetween them.
As if in a dream, she watched him raise his hand and lift the solitary strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear ‘So beautiful,’ he murmured, his voice hoarse.
Charity made no move, simply marvelled at the longing in his gaze. Her eyes travelled down to his generous lips, and she felt a sudden throb, deep in her core, as she wondered how it would feel to have him kiss her. His sudden indrawn breath told her he was well aware of the direction of her thoughts. His face almost harsh with effort, he made to step backwards. Without thinking, Charity reached out and touched his chest. ‘Please,’ she whispered.
With a low groan, Jago stepped forward and pulled her to him, his hands like brands on her shoulders. For a long second, he stared down at her, his torment clear. Then she reached up, touched his cheek with featherlight fingers, and he was lost. His arms encircled her, his big hands fanning and sliding over her shoulders even as his mouth came down on hers, seeking, demanding,taking. It was as if a dam had suddenly burst inside him. Lost in a sea of sensation, Charity’s body knew exactly what to do. She lifted her hands to his head, threading her fingers intohis hair, pressing herself against him with a soft mewl. His lips were hot, velvety as they plundered hers, and she felt his tongue slip in between her open mouth, tangling with hers, tasting her.
She gloried in the feel of his body, hard and hot against her. So large, so much stronger than she, but there was no fear, simply a sense of being enclosed and protected.
And then suddenly, shockingly, he stopped, holding her fast, motionless, with arms like iron bands. Confused, her body still throbbing with unfamiliar sensations, she looked up at his face. His eyes were closed, his breathing ragged as he sought to get himself under control. At length, shuddering, he rested his head against the top of hers, murmuring her name softly. He loosed his iron grip and enfolded her into his arms. But the embrace was all too brief, and seconds later he set her firmly away from him.
‘Forgive me,’ he murmured, ‘I…’ Before he could say anything else, Charity touched his lips with her fingers. ‘Please, don’t say anything,’ she whispered. ‘Not now.’ He stared down at her for a second, and she wanted to howl at the regret in his eyes. Then abruptly he nodded and stepped back.
‘I’ll be waiting for you in Stoke Fleming,’ was all he said, before turning and striding swiftly to the door. He paused to check the landing was clear, and then he was gone. Seconds later, she heard a faint knock on her father’s door.
As soon as the door shut behind him, Charity sank on to the bed, pressing her fingers to her own lips in disbelief. She could never have imagined in her wildest dreams that a simple kiss could affect every part of her. Even now, her whole body tingled with a strange restless need. She thought back to the regret in his eyes. Was it because he’d had to stop, or because he believed kissingher had been a mistake? There was no way to tell, but she vowed that as soon as they were safe, she would most assuredly find out.
∞∞∞
In the event, their departure from the Castle Inn was uneventful. The innkeeper was both amiable and courteous as he took their coin and wished them a safe onward journey to Plymouth. Nevertheless, as she climbed into the carriage, Charity’s back prickled with a sense of being watched. It was only as the carriage quit the inn’s courtyard that she felt her anxiety lessen slightly. Thankfully, a maid had thought to heat her foot warmer, and even wrapped in cloth, she could still feel the warmth through her boots. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the upholstered seat, and hugged Freddy to her.
‘How long will it take us to reach Stoke Fleming?’ Percy was asking.
‘Never been there,’ Reverend Shackleford shrugged. ‘According to Cardell, it’s a small village about three miles from Dartmouth.’ Charity opened her eyes. Clearly Jago had not trusted his real name to her father. ‘Does John know where to go,’ she frowned, suddenly concerned that the coachman might well take them on a wild goose chase.
‘He says so,’ her father responded cheerfully, his trust in the Duke’s retainers absolute.
‘Have you written a note to Agnes telling her we are delayed?’ Charity asked. It would not be the first time her father had vanished into thin air without so much as a by your leave to hiswife. And judging by the guilty frown on his face, this occasion was no different.
‘What the deuce am I going to tell her?’ he defended. ‘I daren’t tell her the truth in case old Jack gets wind of it. And, even if I could, it’s not like she has anybody to call upon with Grace off in Torquay and Nicholas in London. And on the off chance she did actually manage to get a message to the Duke, or for that matter any other of me other sons-in-law, by the time they’ve organised a rescue party, we’ll either be safe at home or in matching plots.’ He gave an aggrieved sigh.
‘Well, you’ll simply have to instruct John in what he is to say,’ Charity said firmly.
‘You want me to tell him to lie?’ the Reverend asked aghast.
‘You lie all the time, Father,’ she retorted in exasperation.
‘I do not,’ was his instinctive outraged response. In answer to her sceptical look, he added, ‘I may have been forced on occasion to stretch the truth slightly, but only in the direst of emergencies. And anyway, that’s entirely different to advising someone else to tell a plumper.’
Charity sighed. ‘Very well, I’ll tell him. And if we are not returned by the time Grace gets back … she faltered slightly. ‘Well, as you say, we’ll be home before then.’
The exhilaration she’d felt after Jago Carlyon’s kiss diminished slightly as the reality of their situation struck her anew, but the coachman’s sudden shout diverted her mind away from their predicament.
‘I reckon that be your cull over there, near the ‘edge,’ he shouted down, slowing the carriage. Peering through the window,Charity felt her heart pick up pace as she spotted Jago standing in the shadow of a large oak tree. Seconds later, she was climbing down, her bag in one hand and Freddy in the other, shivering at the unwelcome chill as the afternoon sun began to dip.
Stepping towards the coach driver, she gave him the message for her stepmother, her voice gruff. As she spoke, she felt her throat tighten. John was their last link to home. Once he’d left, they’d be truly on their own. Ridiculously, she felt her eyes begin filling with tears, and she dashed them away with her hand, coughing to hide her weakness. ‘Take care, John,’ she finished huskily.
