Her Royal Payne Page 23

  She took his hand. “I’ve heard other soldiers say the same thing. I’m sorry you were sent to war. That there is such a thing as war.”

  He squeezed her hand. “So am I.”

  “You spoke of your father earlier.” His grip tightened on her hand. “Lady Lorraine said everyone thought your father would forgive you when you came home a war hero. He didn’t, I take it.”

  “No, he didn’t. Killing some of the enemy and saving a few of our own men pales in comparison to the sin of marrying without his permission. Marrying a Catholic, nonetheless. I don’t suppose Lady Lorraine mentioned my late wife was a Papist.”

  He was hurting her hand with his grip, but Modesty didn’t think he realized it. “She did, actually. I’ve always thought the Protestants and the Catholics had more in common than they did differences.”

  His grip loosened and he gave her a dubious look. “Don’t let your father hear you say that.”

  Modesty looked down.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think before I spoke.”

  She smiled at him. “I understand the sentiment. Most people are intolerant.”

  He smiled back at her. Now was her chance to ask him. She wouldn’t have another opportunity so perfect, and she’d been wanting to know. Summoning all her courage, she asked, “Is that why you wish to never marry again? Because your first marriage caused the break with your father?”

  The shouting from the arena quieted and it seemed silence hung in the air. Rowden released her hand, and though she wore gloves, her hand felt cold. “That’s not why,” he said, standing. “It’s because when she died, she and my unborn child, she took half of my heart to the grave with her. I’d rather keep the other half,” he said. “Though I can’t imagine anyone would want such a paltry thing at any rate.”

  He walked away, raising a hand to a man she recognized from the drawings as Tom Cribb. Modesty watched as he stripped off his coat, waistcoat, and shirt. She saw what no one else saw, though. He still wore his armor. He hadn’t spoken those words to her to hurt her, but they’d stung nonetheless. She understood him perfectly. He had nothing left to offer her. He’d loved and lost that love and wouldn’t risk his injured heart again.

  But as much as Modesty wanted to accept that, to walk away—figuratively, if not literally—it was becoming more difficult every day. Because her heart, which had never thought it would feel love, was falling more and more in love with Rowden Payne. She deserved more than what he could give her, and yet she wanted him all the same.

  Watching him step into the ring in nothing but breeches made her face heat. His chest was muscled, his arms powerful, his back broad. He’d put his hands on her in the coach, and she wanted to take those same liberties. She wanted to touch him, kiss him, hold him. And all of his warnings and cautions hadn’t lessened that desire even one ounce.

  THE COACH WAS STUCK. Chibale and the other passengers stood on the side of the road as the coachman and the outrider tried to dig one of the wheels out of the mud. Chibale had his suspicions the coachman had been drinking. His face was quite red—though that might have been from the wind—and he’d also driven straight into a muddy section of road when a drier path was an easy option. Some of the other men moved to help push the coach, and together they freed the wheel from the mire. Unfortunately, the coach still didn’t sit right, and a cursory look underneath revealed a broken axle.

  Chibale put his head in his hands. At this rate, he would never make it to Hungerford. He wanted to be there for the mill, but that wasn’t his main concern any longer. His main concern was protecting Rowden and Miss Brown. If Notley was in Hungerford, and Chibale had no doubt he was, he would go after both of them. Miss Brown would be the easier target and by hurting her Notley could—as the saying went—kill two birds with one stone. Hurting her would hurt Rowden. And that was the point. Notley wanted to hurt the people he blamed for his own situation.

  Chibale had to make it to Hungerford and warn Rowden. And yet here he was, standing on the side of the road, in the freezing cold, watching the coachman and outrider discuss the situation. If the distance hadn’t still been so great, Chibale would have walked and risked freezing. But he wouldn’t make it before the mill started even if he ran.

  He eyed the horses the coachman was unhitching from the coach. He could steal one of them, but he was no horseman, and he would probably be thrown off or pulled off by the coachman before he got very far. Filled with frustration, he began to pace. The movement had the added effect of keeping him warm. At first when he heard the sound of wheels approaching, he didn’t believe it. And then he glimpsed a coach in the distance. Chibale paused and blew out a relieved breath. The coach could travel to the next town and send help back.

  And then as the coach drew even closer, Chibale’s smile grew. He knew that coach. It stopped abreast of the broken public coach and Aidan Sterling lowered the passenger window. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked.

  The coachman told him about the broken axle, and Sterling listened, his gaze landing on Chibale then back to the coachman. “We will send help back at the next posting house.”

  The coachman thanked him.

  “Mr. Okoro,” Sterling said. “Why are you standing on the side of the road? I thought you’d be in Hungerford by now.”

  Chibale approached the coach. “I had personal business and couldn’t leave yesterday.”

  Sterling pulled out his pocket watch. “Well, if you stand about here all day, you’ll miss the mill.” He opened the door. “Get in.”

  Chibale climbed in and settled back on the seat as the coach drove away.

  Sterling offered him a brandy, and Chibale took it.

  “I heard your coaches were the most luxurious ever built. I see that wasn’t exaggeration.” Chibale admired the fine curtains and upholstery as well as the custom wood cabinets and the painting on the ceiling.

  Sterling waved a hand. “Have to do something with all of this blunt. I don’t like traveling, so this is my way of making it more bearable. You should have written to let me know you were departing today.”

  “I didn’t know if I was.” Chibale told him about the vandalism at Madame Renauld’s and what he’d discovered about Notley.

  “Little weasel,” Sterling said. “I’ve always hated his sort.” He rapped on the roof of the coach. “Change of plans,” he told the coachman. “Take us straight to the exhibition. And hurry.”

  SOMETHING ABOUT HAVING Modesty watching him gave Rowden more energy. Even Cribb commented on how light of foot he was and how sharp his jabs looked. Of course, it didn’t hurt to have Tom Cribb coaching him, but it was Modesty that made the difference. He could spot her out of the corner of his eye. She sat on the edge of her chair, leaning forward, eyes large and focused completely on him. Those eyes. He had a weak spot for them—especially now when he recognized the look in them.

  He’d seen it in Aidan’s coach when he’d kissed her and touched her. It was desire. She wanted him.

  Plenty of women had looked at him like that. Plenty had done more than look, but he hadn’t ever felt toward any of them like he did toward Modesty. He wanted her too and badly. He channeled that raw frustration into his training and punched harder, moved faster.

  When he was finished, he went to the corner, accepted a towel and water from Cribb and wiped his face. It was no surprise Trogdon was nowhere to be seen with the oranges. Cribb leaned his elbows on the ropes. “You fight like that tonight, the German doesn’t stand a chance.”

  “I’ll fight like that tonight,” Rowden said, aware of the men standing around, listening. He could see them putting their heads together, probably already placing bets. If he did win, he and Chibale would take home a bulging purse. He hadn’t thought much about retiring before, but if he won tonight, he would leave when he was at his best. Rowden preferred that to spending several more years being pummeled in the arena.

  He glanced at Modesty, who was trying not to look at him. But what woul
d he do when he retired? He could always buy out Colonel Draven and work with Mostyn in the studio. He liked coaching. He could do that all day and come home to...Trogdon.

  His manservant had just entered the tent carrying a basket. As soon as he saw Rowden, he shifted it from his hands to his arm. Rowden rolled his eyes, wondering how long Trogdon would drag this on. He grabbed his shirt from the ropes and pulled it over his head. “Did you buy the oranges?” he asked.

  Trogdon paused midstep. “About that, sir.”

  Rowden saw Modesty walking their way and held his temper. “Go on.”

  “They were out of oranges.”

  Rowden refrained from pointing out that was because Trogdon had wasted time, not going when Rowden had told him. “What did you find?”

  Trogdon offered the basket, and Rowden removed the covering since Trogdon was still pretending his hands were injured. Inside were half a dozen lemons and limes. Rowden started to open his mouth to chastise Trogdon but then he glanced at Modesty. She had a worried look on her face and glanced at Trogdon sympathetically.

  “Good work,” Rowden said.

  Trogdon’s head snapped up. “Sir?”

  “You know I don’t like oranges. Much rather have lemons or limes, and they’re all citrus. Good work.”

  Trogdon stared at him. “I did well, sir?”

  Rowden glanced at Modesty, who was beaming.

  “You did.” Rowden took a lemon from the basket, peeled it and took a bite. He winced at the tartness but preferred it to the taste of oranges any day. “Let me take that,” he said. “Why don’t you go back to Battle’s Peak and apply salve to your hands? I told the housekeeper to leave a bottle in your room. Maybe they’ll be feeling better tonight.”

  Trogdon stared at him. “Mr. Payne?”

  “Yes, Trogdon?”

  Trogdon shook his head. “Just checking, sir. I’ll do that, sir.” He left, and Rowden set the basket down and pulled the rest of his clothing on. He’d expected Modesty to turn her back, but she watched him quite hungrily. She’d probably forgotten she wasn’t supposed to ogle men. Rowden shook Cribb’s hand again and ducked under the ropes. One glance at his rumpled shirt and the coat hanging over his arm told him he should go back to his rooms and prepare before going anywhere, but he didn’t want Modesty to wait any longer.

  “I know I look a bit of a wreck, but I’ll stay in the coach,” he said.

  She froze and he inadvertently tugged her forward before he realized she’d stopped. “What’s wrong? You don’t want to go?”

  “I do,” she said. “It’s just now that the moment is here, I’m...scared?”

  “It’s your father’s mistress who should be scared,” he said. “Give her that disapproving look you gave me the first night we met. She’ll burst into tears.”

  Modesty laughed and started walking again. He liked hearing her laugh, liked knowing he could make her smile, make her happy, make her...well, best not to think of that.

  Rowden left her with the basket at the edge of the field and went to find Aidan’s coachman. Most of the coachmen were playing dice or cards, but Aidan’s was standing by his horses, ready. Rowden waved to him and walked back to Modesty. She looked so pretty standing with the basket in both hands, the green of her dress peeking out from under a blue pelisse, and her hair blowing gently in the breeze. But he caught a movement a little behind her and frowned when he spotted Notley. The man was leaning against the edge of a stall, hands in his pockets, looking deliberately innocent. But Rowden didn’t like it. Notley had obviously followed them. The man was making it clear he was watching them.

  Modesty turned to see what had caught Rowden’s attention, but he moved beside her and put his arm about her, effectively blocking Notley’s view of her. He pulled her close and when the coach pulled up, he opened the door and lifted her inside. He gave the coachman directions then took his seat opposite her just as the coach started away. He set his coat down and reached for the buttons of his shirt. “I’ll just fasten these and tie my cravat,” he said.

  “Don’t bother,” she said. His gaze met hers just as she moved across the coach and slid onto his lap.

  Eighteen

  Modesty didn’t allow herself to think. She just acted. She probably couldn’t have stopped herself even if she’d wanted to. She’d never wanted anything as much as she wanted to touch Rowden Payne in that moment. Watching him half naked in the arena, his muscles flexing and rippling as he punched and shuffled, she’d felt uncomfortably warm.

  And then she’d felt uncomfortably aroused. The place between her legs where he’d touched the day before throbbed and ached, and she had to squeeze her legs together to keep from shifting uncomfortably. Even her breasts felt tender and heavy. He looked like those statues of the Greek god Apollo she had seen at the British Museum, before her father had made her leave, saying the art was indecent. And now she understood why her father hadn’t wanted her to see those statues because the things she was thinking when she looked at Rowden were indecent.

  She slid onto his lap, and his arms wrapped around her as though she had done this a dozen times and he always reacted thus. He pulled her close, sliding her against his chest and gripping the back of her neck to pull her mouth down in a kiss. His lips and his tongue tasted of lemon, and his body was warm from his earlier exertions. She was warm being pressed against him, and she untied her pelisse and let it drop down. His hands were on her back, while her hands were in his hair, her lips on his mouth, his neck, his ear.

  “Modesty,” he groaned, and she liked the way his voice sounded. It was low and husky. Her lips met his again, and then she realized what his hands had been about. He’d unfastened the back of her dress, and now the shoulders slid down. Rowden’s mouth was hot and tantalizing on the bare skin of her collar and shoulder. His hands came up, cupping her breasts, and she moaned because they were so heavy with need and his touch felt so good. She had never imagined anything could feel so good. She pushed her own bodice down and out of the way, and Rowden’s mouth kissed the tops of her breasts, visible above the chemise and stays she wore.

  He tugged down the chemise and stays until her nipples were visible, puckering with the sudden exposure to the air. Rowden lifted his mouth and looked at her. Modesty should have felt embarrassed, but her nipples hardened, and she found she liked his gaze on her.

  “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” he murmured, his breath warm on her skin. One hand came up and cupped her breast, and his thumb slid over her distended nipple. She gasped in a breath, the sound somewhere between pleasure and pain. His thumb moved back and forth over her nipple while the other hand reached under her skirts.

  She shook her head, trying to hold onto her thoughts, even as her mind reeled from his touch. “I wanted to kiss you, touch you,” she said.

  “Then touch me.”

  It was all the permission she needed. Her fingers moved tentatively to touch the skin of his throat. He stilled as she touched him, brushing her hands down into the V at the neck of his open shirt. “More?” he asked.

  She nodded, and he adjusted her on his lap and lifted the hem of his shirt then tugged it over his head. He tossed it aside. Modesty looked down at his bare chest and licked her lips. He was so beautiful. She had been itching to touch him, and now that he was in reach, she didn’t know where to start. She decided to begin with his shoulders, which were broad and well-defined. She put her hands on them and skated down over his muscled biceps and to his corded forearms. His hand slid under her skirts again and rested on her knee, stroking it lightly and playing with the ribbon holding her garters.

  Her hands went to his shoulders again, but this time she allowed her fingers to creep down over his chest. She placed a hand over the center of his chest and felt his heart beating fast and hard. In surprise, she caught his gaze.

  “You think I’m unaffected?” he asked. “A beautiful woman is touching me. You, Modesty, are touching me. Of course, my heart is racing.”


  She licked her lips again, and her hands moved lower, down to his taut abdomen and the tight row of muscles there. He flinched a bit as she ran her fingers over his belly, and she smiled at him. “Ticklish?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Should I stop?”

  “Never.” But he seemed to be at the end of his patience because he pulled her close and kissed her. Modesty’s bare breasts pressed against the skin of his chest, and she felt heat flare between her legs, even as his hand slid higher onto her thigh. Her legs were on either side of him, giving him easy access to her rapidly heating core. As he moved to touch her inner thigh, he kissed her neck then her breasts. “I want to touch you where I touched you before. I want to give you pleasure again.”

  “Yes,” she said on a breath as his fingers brushed over her.

  “You’re so warm.” His mouth took her nipple as his finger slid inside her. She clenched around him without even thinking of what she was doing. He sucked her nipple as he withdrew his finger and slid the wetness over that part of her that felt the most pleasure. Slowly, he stroked and tapped until she was squirming with need. The road grew bumpy, and she braced her hands on Mr. Sterling’s beautiful painted ceiling. The pleasure and need in her grew until she looked down at Rowden. The expression on his face was so similar to those she’d seen at church when people were worshipping. That’s what he was doing now—worshipping her. With a gasp, her body came apart, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Then she collapsed upon him, pressing her lips onto the skin of his shoulder and tasting salt, sweat, and Rowden.

  EITHER THE COACHMAN had taken a detour or Fanny Smithson’s farm was further from Hungerford than she had thought, but it was another twenty minutes or so before they arrived. The delay gave Modesty time to rearrange her clothing, and with help from Rowden, refasten her bodice. Although Rowden was not all that helpful as he insisted on kissing her back and shoulders and making her wish they could start all over again before he finally finished fastening all the tapes and pins.