A Warriner to Tempt Her Page 11

  The small sitting room was cosy and filled with evidence of his family. Children’s drawings stood along the mantel: simple depictions of flowers or stick people. One had the uneven letters Uncle Joe scrawled across the top. On another wall she recognised the work of his brother. A painting of Dr Sensible, complete with spectacles and medical bag, dashing to yet another emergency. His medical degree was framed next to it. The Countess of Markham had mentioned he had graduated top of his class in just two years when Bella had first volunteered at the foundling home, a note of pride in her voice at such an epic achievement. The Warriners were a close family. A loving one.

  Alongside a large, comfortable chair were medical journals, many well thumbed. A few more bore evidence of his hurried spidery handwriting where he had written his own notes in the margins. She picked them up and leafed through them, and his scrawl on one made her smile. The physician’s surname had been crossed out and next to it was the word cretin, while the title of the work had been similarly adjusted from A Treatise on Leech Bleeding in Infants to A Treatise on How to Frighten Infants and Put Them off Physicians for Life.

  Dr Warriner’s ideas on medicine were scandalously modern, but she liked them all the more for that. It suggested a man who weighed up all the evidence, tested the validity of results and refused to be cowed by the decrepit establishmentarians, like Dr Bentley, who rigorously adhered to the old methods because they were too lazy or too ignorant to learn the new. He was a man who might, if she could find the words to confide in him, help her fight to become normal again. Demolish the damaging walls in her head and finally see the sky. Did she trust enough? Riding in a carriage and confessing you were addled were two entirely different things and right now it would be more prudent to take things one small step at a time.

  Chapter Ten

  At the sound of the horses Bella felt simultaneously guilty for snooping and unnerved at what she was about to do. She understood it was a big step. A turning point. She was decisively facing her fears even if it was with a man her heart instinctively trusted. Before she allowed any of those fears or doubts to creep in, she hurried outside and found him stood next to the horses, aimlessly stroking the mane of one of them.

  ‘This is Withering. He’s a shameless flirt.’

  ‘Withering? What an odd name for a horse.’

  He smiled as her hand came up to stroke the animal. ‘I named him after James Withering, the doctor who discovered the common foxglove could...?’ He eyed her expectantly, testing her knowledge.

  ‘Treat patients with heart problems. I’ve read his work. Can I assume the other horse is also named after one of your medical heroes? Laennec, perhaps?’

  ‘No. I had not read any of Laennec’s work when I purchased these two. This is Davy.’

  ‘Of course, after Humphry. The chemist.’

  ‘A great scientist. His work on phlogisticated nitrous air intrigues me. The idea that physicians might use his gas during surgery to alleviate pain—just imagine the possibilities if such a thing were possible?’

  His mind was fascinating. The way he looked when he was hypothesising was also fascinating. Boyish, brilliant, devilishly handsome. And he was not wearing his spectacles, she noted. Without them he appeared more rakish, a word Bella never would have thought to associate with him before, but one that suited him right this second. The bright blue-and-white racing curricle added to the dashing image and was again not something she would have attributed to him. ‘This looks fast.’

  ‘It is.’ He grinned and it did odd things to her pulse. ‘I purchased it specifically because it flies like the wind. In case of medical emergencies, you understand.’ A blatant lie judging by his pleased expression. ‘And so useful. I had the back modified to hold my medical supplies rather than a tiger. I have far more use for bandages than a footman.’ There was a large matching blue-and-white box nestled between the back wheels, secured with a very sturdy padlock. ‘This magnificent machine is practically a mobile hospital. You name it, it’s in that box. A good physician should always be prepared for every eventuality.’

  ‘Does the big box slow it down?’

  ‘Not at all. It weighs less than the average tiger and these horses are lightning quick. If you are not of a nervous disposition, I shall treat you to full speed when we get to an open bit of road. It’s the perfect day for it.’

  ‘I’m not of a nervous disposition.’ A blatant lie when this last year she’d had nothing but. However, the idea of racing down a country lane with him was thrilling and certainly not at all the sort of pursuit two serious scholars ought to engage in. Which added to the excitement. Racing sounded naughty and frivolous. Freeing. Bella was almost giddy at the prospect. ‘Would you let me drive it? Just for a bit?’

  ‘I might be persuaded to hand over the ribbons. Come. Let me help you up.’

  ‘Thank you, Doctor.’ Gingerly, Bella stepped closer to the curricle, not quite believing that this was her, being so brave, so fearless, so like her old self, and his hands came to rest on her waist.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s time we dispensed with the formalities? We are about to drive scandalously fast. Perhaps it’s time you called me Joe?’

  She nodded jerkily because he was touching her. He had such big hands. They almost spanned her waist and she could feel the heat of them all the way through her stays. It was, for want of a better word, rather nice. Her own hands automatically went to his shoulders as he lifted her effortlessly off the floor. They were very solid, the muscles bunching beneath her palms as he carefully deposited her in the seat. Like a little boy with a new toy, he bounded around the curricle and hoisted himself up beside her. His body took up a great deal of the small space, resulting in his broad shoulders lightly brushing her arm as he gathered the reins together. Then, before she had time to reconsider, they were off, trotting out of the deserted square and out on to the wide lane behind it.

  For the first few minutes he allowed the horses to warm up before he beamed at her, his handsome blue eyes twinkling with mischief. ‘Hold on to your bonnet, Bella. I’d hate for you to lose it.’ She barely had the time to comply. The horses kicked into a gallop and the nimble curricle bounced on its springs. A joyful giggle escaped her lips as they tore up the empty road, Withering and Davy going faster and faster, both enjoying the run as much as their passengers. ‘There’s a slight bend in the road coming up—you might want to grab on to something.’ His laughing deep voice was louder to be heard over the rattling of the wheels. ‘Because I’m not slowing down!’

  Bella took one hand from her hat to hold on to the rail, then decided two hands were probably called for. The tiny carriage hugged the road tightly as they turned, the speed dislodging her bonnet to dangle loosely by the ribbons around her neck. She could feel the full force of gravity on her hairstyle, the wind and her smooth, slippery locks proving too challenging for the many hairpins her maid had secured it with this morning. She probably now looked a fright and couldn’t muster the enthusiasm to care. This was thrilling and naughty and totally, wonderfully frivolous. When had she last truly had fun like this? Too long, she decided, and she wanted more. Fun made her fizz inside, tiny bubbles of joy which began in her tummy and popped out of her mouth in laughter. This was living and she had missed it.

  When she suddenly felt the curricle slow, she ruthlessly suppressed the tiny shiver of panic, refusing to allow her vivid and toxic imagination to spoil the beauty of the moment.

  ‘Would you like a turn?’ Joe brought the horses to a stop and jiggled the ribbons in her direction, smiling from ear to ear.

  ‘I would, but have to confess I have never driven a curricle before.’ Honesty was probably best, even if he withdrew the offer. His infectious smile never faltered.

  ‘Ah. A novice. It’s dead simple. Here, let me show you.’ He passed her the reins and then began to explain how to control the horses, his hands directing hers lightly on the thin strips of soft leather as he did so. They hovered reassuringly close by as she
set off at a pace reserved for octogenarians with rampant rheumatism. ‘That’s it. Loosen the ribbons slightly. The tighter you hold them, the slower the horses will go. Poor Withering and Davy will die of boredom from this sedentary speed and I assume you want to get home before the witching hour.’

  Over the next mile her confidence grew. It really was easy. A bit like riding a horse, except from a small distance, and the scientifically named mounts were wonderfully responsive and obedient. Joe was now leaning one long arm along the top of the seat behind her shoulders in case she quickly needed his assistance, not touching but intimately close, offering pointers occasionally but perfectly at ease with leaving her in charge. She adored that he trusted her enough to delegate. Something he did all the time, whether it be mixing potions, treating tonsils or driving his precious curricle. With him, Bella rarely felt addled or irrational at all. His attitude was empowering, addictively so. When they approached the final hazard-free straight close to her house, Bella could resist the temptation no longer. He sensed she wanted to fly and adjusted his position accordingly, bracing his booted feet to hold his big body steady.

  The trailing arm came around her waist, the other rested gently on her elbow. Very close. So close she could feel his warm breath whisper across her cheek as he issued instructions. Bella felt herself stiffen for a second before the inconceivable happened. Instead of feeling frightened at being at the mercy of a man, she felt safe. Protected. Joe became a blanket of security which emboldened her to be daring because he believed in her. When the horses sprinted, her body was pushed back towards the seat and further into his strong arms, and the open fields and bushes sped past in a green haze.

  The unexpected laughter was borne out of sheer euphoria. Bella felt completely free and unfettered for the first time in over a year. Empowered and invincible. Young and carefree. The horses’ thundering hooves in tandem with the glorious beating of her own excited heart.

  Joe helped her slow the horses as her house came into view, his chest and arms enveloping her back, and the feeling of safety disappeared. Suddenly, he was no longer her protector, yet nor was he a threat.

  He was just a man.

  A very handsome man who looked like sin and smelled better. Windswept and with his deep blue eyes shining, Joe was devastating and for the first time in her life Bella was not a scholar or a dutiful daughter or a less attractive sister. Neither was she a scared, wounded bird.

  She was a woman.

  A woman who was experiencing the very first stirrings of what she suspected was desire.

  She had read about the symptoms. The erratic heartbeat, warm palms, fizzing nerve endings and overwhelming need to lick her own tingling lips surely could be nothing else. His eyes dropped to those lips slowly and he blinked. His hands let go of the ribbons and he unwrapped himself from her body. The sudden exposure of her back to the soft summer breeze made goosebumps break out all over her skin. Or perhaps that had been caused by Joe? Bella didn’t know, yet they added to the odd sense of anticipation and need.

  Joe, on the other hand, had already jumped to the road. ‘I assume you don’t want to be dropped off any closer to home, what with your father and all.’ He busied himself securing the reins before walking around to her side and offering up his arms to help her down.

  Once again, those warm hands spanned her waist. Once again, she had to feel the strength in his impressive shoulders as he lifted her down, although it was more significant now that she was so aware of him and so aware of herself as well. When her feet touched the floor, she was scandalously close to him and she didn’t care. Being close to Joe was good. Their bodies were inches apart. Her hands had slid down to his chest, marvelling at the feel of it beneath his thin waistcoat and shirt. His hands remained resolutely on her waist, seemingly content to linger there. Neither of them made any attempt to sever the contact and neither dared speak, in Bella’s case because she didn’t want to break the spell they were under. She had no idea why he was quiet. When those fathomless blue eyes dropped to her lips again, the air between them became charged. Her body warmed further and her breath became ragged. Although she had little experience of men, good men, she knew with certainty he was about to kiss her.

  Bella felt herself begin to rise on tiptoes, felt his fingers flex on her waist, his heart hammer beneath her fingertips, and then panicked. The real her inside was screaming at her to step forward and let it happen.

  Revel in this marvellous, magical unexpected moment.

  That Bella wanted his kiss. The other, frightened, broken Bella feared it.

  In the end broken Bella won. Her hands flattened against his chest and decisively pushed him backwards until he released his hold. He looked befuddled. As if he were as confused by what had just happened as she was. His dark eyebrows drew together and he simply stared at her. A question in his eyes and one she didn’t want to have to answer.

  The awkward stiffness returned to her limbs, and without thinking her arms came up to hug her body as she began to back away like a frightened deer. ‘I should go. My mother will be worried.’

  ‘Yes. Of course.’ He stared down at his feet, then back up. She could almost hear the brilliant cogs of his mind whirring, yet she had no earthly idea what he was thinking. Probably that she was odd. Which, of course, she was. He took a step forward and she winced. Something which halted him in his tracks. ‘Is everything all right, Bella?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ She wanted to run. To cry. Irrational fear began to claw at her gut. ‘Thank you for bringing me home.’ Bella didn’t wait for a response. Waiting would mean explaining and she didn’t have the words. She spun on her heel and began to march away. The march soon became a run and within seconds she was hurtling towards the gates of her father’s rented house and didn’t stop running until she was safely inside.

  * * *

  After a largely restless night in his old bedchamber at Markham Manor, Joe intended to complete his daily rounds quickly to get to the foundling home by late afternoon. In truth, there was nothing pressing requiring his attention there, apart from the dark-haired conundrum who was occupying an ever-increasing number of his thoughts. It had been Bella who was responsible for his lack of sleep and not all his night-time pondering had involved her lovely legs and beautifully rounded bottom or her brilliant mind. A great deal of his night was spent remembering the terror in her eyes before she had run away. Why the hell had she run away? From him?

  Yesterday, she had worked alongside him companionably for hours in his house, then dazzled him on the short drive back to hers. That infectious giggle at his irresponsible driving, the wonder in her eyes as they had flown down the road, the glorious sight of her hair tumbling over her shoulders like ebony silk—all of it made his heart stutter and his body yearn to know her better.

  Then the dreadful reaction at the end of her driveway when he’d almost kissed her. The way her body had stiffened and her lovely dark eyes had become wary, darting between the road and him as if she couldn’t wait to be rid of him; her small fists clenched, ready to pummel him if he dared come any nearer.

  It was insulting.

  Humiliating.

  And, damn her, worrying.

  Her rapid about-face from cheerful assistant to fearful woman bothered him much more than it angered him, especially when moments before they had been getting along so well. The way she had sprinted down the driveway had made him feel like a Viking marauder again, yet for the life of him he had no idea quite what had happened to cause it. It was not as if he had kissed her. He’d almost kissed her. He’d desperately wanted to kiss her, but there had been several inches of fresh air between their lips at all times.

  To the best of his knowledge he also hadn’t flirted. He’d been tempted to. Driving her home, just the two of them, felt like something a courting couple would do and for some inexplicable reason that felt right with her. However, nerves and his conscience got the better of him and he decided against it. Joe might have resisted flirti
ng, but he acknowledged he’d failed to resist the urge to touch her, so perhaps that had upset her. For half the journey his hands had enjoyed the warmth of her skin as he’d instructed her in the subtle art of curricle driving. Not such a subtle art in reality, but he had been a most attentive tutor, using any excuse to get closer to her until he had practically cuddled her in his lap.

  That might have upset her—although at the time she had seemed perfectly comfortable with it. Then, of course, only a few weeks before, he had been fawning over her sister. Well, not quite fawning, he hoped, but he had tried to call on the family as a thinly veiled attempt to call on Clarissa. Something the intelligent, bookish Beaumont might have worked out when he had turned up on their doorstep uninvited. Joe supposed his sudden change of heart might appear disingenuous.

  Maybe she had seen his attempt at dropping the correct formalities as an attempt at shamelessly wooing her instead, mercenary and crassly contrived now that his brief association with Clarissa had come to a crushing end? Another clumsy attempt at courting an heiress after failing with the first one. The world and his wife were convinced money was all the Warriner family wanted and there was no denying the Beaumonts came with money. Such behaviour would naturally infuriate a woman, so he supposed he could hardly blame her.

  He was still furious at himself for allowing Jake to rile him into calling on the family in the first place, when he knew it was a mistake. But Joe had been angry and wanted to prove Jake was wrong about his consistently poor choice in women. He had also wanted to reassure himself he did have real feelings for Clarissa that were based on fact, rather than the construct he had created of her in his mind. Yet Jake had had his measure, it appeared, and that galled.

  Joe had never lusted after Clarissa. Not once in his wildest fantasies had he imagined her in the throes of passion or rumpled in his bed. In his stupid head, she was too perfect to dare to allow his thoughts to wander in that direction. Not a real flesh-and-blood woman at all. Therefore, the ethereal, mythical Clarissa had been a construct. A shadow. A ghostly, untenable image of perfection conjured out of nothing real. An enigma—a boy’s dream of perfection rather than the sort of woman the man found attractive.