Miss Compton's Christmas Romance Page 2

  “Thank you, miss,” the coachman said when she handed it to him. He glanced at her luggage. “That will have to go on top of the carriage or in the boot. Which do you prefer?”

  “I’ll put it in the boot,” Leonora told him. She picked up her valise and turned, only to find her path blocked by what had to be over six feet of solid masculinity. Leonora looked up and immediately bristled upon realizing not only that the man was Mr. Becker’s friend, but that he, upon further inspection, had eyes that weakened her knees and lips that quickened her pulse. He was, as it were, impossibly handsome, and that was almost more annoying than anything else that had happened that morning.

  “May I help you with that?” he inquired.

  Oh Lord, his voice was lovely too – like plush velvet sliding over her skin.

  Leonora squared her shoulders. “No thank you. I can manage perfectly well on my own.” She stepped around him quickly, before his angular jaw and broad shoulders could cause her to change her mind, and went to the boot. It already contained a trunk and a couple of other valises, which meant she would have to heft her own up and over in order to secure it. She glanced around. Surely there must be some Bull and Mouth employee available to help?

  If there were, none came to offer assistance. Leonora blew out a breath and proceeded to lift her valise, bringing her other hand underneath it while her reticule dangled back and forth from her wrist. Feeling the weight in her arms, she steadied herself against the carriage, bracing her body while struggling to push the darn thing toward the top of the boot.

  “Are you sure you don’t need help?” the handsomest man in the world inquired.

  “Absolutely,” Leonora panted. She was now holding her valise at shoulder level, supporting it against another valise that was in her way. Just a few more inches...

  “Have you always been this stubborn?”

  “I am not stubborn...just...” Ugh! She managed to wedge her shoulder underneath the valise, but its size and shape made it unstable, and before she could manage to steady herself properly, she felt the entire thing lean to one side. Oh no. She reached up attempting to grab it, but that only quickened the inevitable outcome.

  Her valise slipped from her shoulder and started to fall, until it was caught by a pair of large hands.

  Like Thor wielding his mighty hammer with seemingly little effort, Mr. Becker’s friend lifted the piece of luggage with infuriating ease and placed it securely in the boot. He stepped back and turned to face her, his toffee-colored eyes catching a ray of rare winter sunshine in the process. The effect was dazzling. More so when the edge of his mouth lifted to form a crooked smile with a perfect dimple placed right at the corner.

  Leonora swallowed. For heaven’s sake, her hands were trembling, though she quickly decided that this was from her recent exertion and not at all because of this handsome man’s attentions. She had no interest in him, she reminded herself. Not when he kept company with the sort of man who would happily force a woman from her home and place of business during Christmas.

  Deciding she would not allow him to divest her of her manners, she raised her chin and met his gaze boldly. “Thank you, sir.”

  His smile broadened. “Mr. Dalton.” He glanced aside for a second before returning his attention to her. “Mr. Philip Dalton. How do you do?”

  “Very well, now that my luggage is on board. Thank you once again.” She managed a smile before attempting to go around him, only to have him step into her path. She glared at him and tried again, but just like before, he was quicker, and she found her escape route cut off once more. A horn sounded their departure. Frustrated, she blew out a breath. “Will you please allow me to pass?”

  “Certainly. Once you give me your name.”

  Leonora hesitated. She’d been trying to avoid this, to prevent the need for further conversation, to simply keep her own company and ignore the fact that the most attractive man she’d ever met was friends with the loathsome Mr. Becker. Which said everything she needed to know about Mr. Dalton’s character.

  Still...to deny Mr. Dalton the courtesy of her name when he specifically requested it would be no less rude than Mr. Becker wishing her a wonderful holiday season after threatening her with debtor’s prison.

  The horn sounded again and Leonora sighed in defeat. “It is Miss Compton,” she said.

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Mr. Dalton told her while allowing his gaze to linger on hers. The sun from earlier disappeared, darkening his eyes while his smile faded just enough to afford him with a roguish appearance. It occurred to Leonora then that he was studying her mouth, prompting her to involuntarily lick her lips, which in turn caused him to suck in a breath.

  Fearing she might lose her footing even though she was standing perfectly still, Leonora reached for the side of the carriage, hoping to steady herself. Mr. Dalton offered his arm but Leonora shook her head. “Thank you, but I can manage.” The last thing she needed right now was to touch him. Good lord! The effect would probably cause the blood in her veins to ignite, and that would not be the least bit healthy.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Perfectly sure. Just...You go ahead. I’ll follow.”

  He frowned. “I cannot do that.”

  Oh. Right. Ladies first and such. She sighed. What a nuisance that was at the moment. A concept she became increasingly aware of when she passed Mr. Dalton and felt the heat of his gaze on her back.

  Just ignore it.

  This of course was easier said than done when she climbed inside the carriage and saw that the only two remaining spots were next to each other on the same bench. Smiling tightly in the hope of making the most of the fact that she would soon find herself sandwiched between another young man and Mr. Dalton, she greeted the other passengers – a pair of older women and a girl roughly fourteen years of age – and took her seat.

  As expected, Mr. Dalton sat beside her, his long legs and broad shoulders shrinking the interior even though he appeared to make some effort to press up against his corner in a futile attempt to offer more space. Leonora tried not to think. Indeed, she did her best to make her mind go completely blank. She absolutely refused to consider the way the entire length of Mr. Dalton’s leg and thigh connected with hers, which naturally caused her brain to focus exclusively on that.

  Closing her eyes briefly, she prayed for the strength to avoid succumbing to madness, and deliberately shifted. Which of course brought her right up against the young man to her left. He moved his arm slightly as if to allow her more room, then said, “One never knows who one might have to sit next to on these long journeys. I’m glad to finally have a pretty young woman like yourself beside me.” His hand dropped to the spot where her leg met his, turning slightly, so his fingers pressed firmly against her knee. “Name’s Smith. James Smith.”

  “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure,” Leonora lied as she scooted back in the direction of Mr. Dalton. For reasons she could not explain, he seemed less threatening than Mr. Smith, whom she did not like at all. There was something oily about him, which made her want to remove herself from his vicinity as much as possible.

  Mr. Dalton grunted as if surprised by her sudden closeness, and then the carriage moved forward with a jolt, jostling them all together as it rolled over cobblestones. Mr. Smith appeared to take advantage. He fell against her, and this time his hand landed right in her lap.

  “I do beg your pardon,” he murmured while allowing his hand to slide slowly against her thigh. He retrieved it with a chuckle.

  Leonora shuddered, then caught herself and straightened her spine. “Touch me again and—”

  “It’s always like this in the beginning,” one of the older women across from Leonora said, interrupting her whispered attempt at a threat. “It gets better once we’re out of London and the roads are all made of dirt.” She turned to her companion, who remarked on a building they were passing, and the two began a curious comparison of architectural elements. Beside them, the young girl seemed perf
ectly happy to ignore everyone by burying her nose in the book she was reading.

  Leonora wished she’d brought one herself, but Mr. Becker had distracted her during her final preparations for the trip, and she’d lost her focus. Which meant she could either watch the people opposite her, talk to the men beside her, or sleep. She closed her eyes. Everything was going to be fine. She would arrive in Sheffield and say goodbye to Mr. Dalton forever, visit her sister, and return to London with renewed determination and a plan to solve everything.

  “You were saying?” Mr. Smith whispered close to her ear. “Something about touching each other.”

  Leonora clenched her fists. Perhaps she ought to have hired a carriage after all. Travelling by stagecoach was certainly not turning out as she’d thought it would when she’d imagined herself enjoying the company of strangers.

  “No,” she informed Mr. Smith. “What I was about to tell you is that I know of ways to make a man cry.”

  “That’s no way to repay my attempt at being friendly.” He grinned. “I brought some bread and cheese along with me. Would you like some?”

  “No, thank you.” All I desire is to be left alone.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel uncomfortable. That wasn’t my intention. So perhaps you’ll allow me to buy you a meal later on instead? To make up for my poor manners?”

  Mr. Dalton produced a low snort and leaned forward so he could look at Mr. Smith properly without Leonora blocking the view. Naturally, the effort caused his leg to shift against hers, which in turn stirred to life a whole series of hot little embers that pricked at her skin. It was most unsettling and had to be stopped or she’d never survive this journey.

  “You are being rather forward,” Mr. Dalton told Mr. Smith. “Perhaps the lady would like to be left in peace.”

  And now he was fighting her battles for her. Brilliant! Typical male arrogance.

  Leonora turned, intent on having her own say in the matter, but then Mr. Smith moved and addressed Mr. Dalton. “Have you a claim on her, sir? Or are you merely intent on being obstructive?”

  “As a matter of fact,” Mr. Dalton said smoothly while Leonora opened her mouth with every intention of stopping this ridiculous conversation from progressing any further, “she’s my wife.”

  What?

  She had meant to ask that question out loud, but his outrageous proclamation had rendered her utterly dumb.

  “In that case, I do beg your pardon,” Mr. Smith sputtered. “If you could just...just...forgive me.”

  Mr. Dalton’s hand curled around Leonora’s, cocooning it in his warmth. “Don’t worry, Mr. Smith.” He leaned in closer to Leonora, who held herself ramrod straight for fear of doing something completely stupid, like actually liking the feel of his much larger body pressing firmly into hers. “I know my wife is a stunning beauty.” He leaned back and added so softly that Leonora was sure only she could hear him. “You’re not the first to think so, of that I can assure you.”

  Completely bowled over by the flattering compliment since she had never really considered herself much to look at, Leonora stared at the opposite side of the carriage in bafflement. The old ladies there were now discussing grandchildren while the young girl continued to read. It wasn’t that Leonora thought herself dull, but she would have said she looked ordinary if someone had asked. Yet in the space of only half an hour, she’d apparently managed to stir the interest of two men, though one was clearly an absolute scoundrel.

  “Are you not tired?” Mr. Dalton asked her.

  “A bit,” she replied without even thinking. She turned to look at him, which proved a mistake, because the way he was looking at her...

  Sucking in a breath, she averted her gaze and tugged on her hand. He released it without hesitation, and she instantly felt herself cool in response. Forcing herself to stay calm, she turned back toward him while pinning her gaze on his greatcoat collar. As long as she didn’t look up at his face, she might pretend he was every bit the man she intended to dislike.

  “Why would you say that?” she whispered.

  “Because you were being harassed.”

  “I was not being any such thing.” She paused before adding, “Mr. Smith was merely being polite.”

  Mr. Dalton snorted. “No. He was not.”

  Obviously, but at least they were arguing now, and that felt better than whatever else had been happening between them since they’d met. It felt more manageable.

  “Are you talking about me?” Mr. Smith asked.

  “No!” Leonora and Mr. Dalton said in unison.

  “I could have sworn I heard my name,” Mr. Smith said.

  “You were mistaken,” Mr. Dalton assured him. “My wife and I are having a private conversation.”

  Leonora glared at Mr. Dalton. “I am not...” He raised an eyebrow, and she reluctantly let the rest of her sentence die. Because she was stuck in a carriage with two men vying for her attention until she reached the inn where she planned on spending the night. Mr. Dalton, she believed, might be discouraged, but she had a feeling that Mr. Smith would not, which meant that making herself unavailable to him was the best course of action – one Mr. Dalton had swiftly provided.

  “Fine,” she agreed, to which the annoying man smiled.

  “You’ve made the right decision, I’ll wager.” He leaned his head back against the wall of the carriage, and without elaborating further, he closed his eyes.

  Leonora glanced at Mr. Smith, whose interest was now on the scenery outside the window. Perhaps Mr. Dalton was right. It certainly seemed as though Mr. Smith would leave her alone from now on. But what Mr. Dalton had failed to elaborate on were his own intentions. Had he merely saved her out of gentlemanly politeness, or did he have designs on her himself? She would have to figure that out later. For now, the only thing she wanted was rest, so she settled herself against the squabs and closed her eyes once again.

  THE FIRST THING LEONORA became aware of when she woke was the juxtaposition between the hard surface of the seat beneath her and the soft wool molded against the side of her face. Next came the sway, reminding her she was in a moving carriage travelling north. The surface she was leaning against rose and fell ever so gently, like a living thing. Something solid was wrapped around her, holding her steady. Leonora’s mind fought its way back to wakefulness in an effort to make sense of these curiosities. Sleep slipped into the background, bringing everything into sharper focus. She was at an angle, which had to mean...

  Her eyes shot open.

  “It’s so nice to see a young married couple showing affection for each other,” the old woman sitting directly opposite Leonora remarked.

  Leonora blinked. “We are—”

  “Very much in love,” Mr. Dalton murmured. He squeezed her side and she realized it was his arm she could feel at her back. He’d wound it around her and was holding her close – too close, considering they’d only just met.

  Intent on escaping his embrace and the butterflies it stirred in the pit of her belly, Leonora shoved herself upright only to have him pull her closer. “Our...engagement was swift,” she told the woman tightly. “So much so it was over before I had time to fully adjust.” Turning slightly, she prepared to give Mr. Dalton a pointed look, but the flicker of amusement brightening his eyes tempted her to smile instead.

  No.

  He was a troublemaker, completely improper, and the sort of man who used charm and dashing good looks to his advantage. So she tamped down her momentary amusement and added, “The wedding was the same. I don’t even recall speaking my vows.”

  The old woman grinned. “I can understand why. You husband is very fine indeed, and considering how pretty you are, I’m sure your children will be something to behold.”

  Leonora gulped. “Children?”

  “We hope to have many,” Mr. Dalton said. His free hand reached for hers, and before Leonora could protest, he’d woven their fingers together, and as if that wasn’t enough, he leaned in close to her cheek, brush
ing her skin with his lips. “Isn’t that right, my darling?”

  Indignation lit up inside her, extinguished seconds later by the pleasure of his thumb stroking over her wrist. Logic called for her to revolt, to name him a liar and a scoundrel, no different and possibly worse than Mr. Smith. After all, he’d merely offered her a meal, although to be fair, he had touched her leg as well, but that was different, that was...uncomfortable and awkward and utterly disagreeable while Mr. Dalton’s touch...

  If she were honest, she rather liked the way he made her feel.

  Even though it’s wrong?

  It really was, in more ways than one, for it wasn’t just the lie that should give her pause but the liberties he’d taken since. She was, after all, a young woman travelling alone, and some would argue that he’d taken advantage. She should think he’d done so considering what she already knew about him. And yet, she sensed that he would have let her be if she’d been adamant about it – that the only reason he was holding her now was because she’d allowed it, because she’d somehow granted him permission when she’d remained silent.

  Why did you do that?

  Because she’d secretly liked the idea of being the center of a his attention, because she was going away from London, from all that she knew and because she had a brief chance right now to be whatever she chose, including his wife. It was also because she’d spent years devoted to plants rather than people. Her debut had been a fantastic failure for that very reason – because none of the gentleman she’d had a chance with, like the Earl of Radcliff’s nephew, Mr. Young, had shared one ounce of her passion. As soon as she mentioned fruits and flowers, their eyes glazed over, and she’d eventually stopped trying.

  Still...she’d seen Mr. Dalton in animated conversation with Mr. Becker. There was a good chance he knew of Mr. Becker’s recent property acquisition and his intention to profit from it, and if that were the case, could she really continue this farce? She shifted again, pulling away with enough force to tell him she wanted some space between them. He removed his arm from behind her and let her hand go. She masked the gesture by rummaging through her reticule.