Page 49 of A Lady's Wager
She felt no desire to argue. Receiving comfort was something she had little experience with, yet it felt like something in her soul had broken open, and a longing for this thing she did not know was aching within her. Wynn’s arms came around her and pulled her back against his chest so that she could feel the rise and fall of his breathing. Their middle-aged bodies fit together perfectly, and she felt her anxieties fading into his embrace. Had it only been this morning that she’d sat across from him and said in six different ways that she did not need or want this? He kissed her neck, and she felt the heat travel through her body, but he did not kiss her again. “It is going to be alright, Etta,” he whispered. She closed her eyes, settled into his arms, and chose to believe him.
ETTA AWOKE THE NEXT MORNINGin the bed with Rachel, who was turned toward the wall and curled up so small that she looked very much like the child she was. Etta had fallen asleep with Wynn’s arms around her, feeling as safe and secure as she ever had, but she had a fleeting memory of him bringing her to this bed in the early hours of morning. She remembered a kiss to her forehead before hearing the creak of the hinges confirm his departure before she’d fallen back to sleep.
She stayed where she was in the morning light for a long time, enveloped by all that had happened. London and her life there felt so very far away, and she allowed herself to imagine a different life than the one she had worked so hard to build for herself. A shared life. A partnership. He hadn’t offered such a thing, and it seemed preposterous that he would—but if he did, would she want it? Could she want it?
When a sheepish Rachel finally awoke, Etta was already dressed, wig in place and the hat with the single pheasant feather pinned upon it. She still did not know what to do, but the memory of Wynn’s comfort helped her know how she wanted Rachel to feel—supported and optimistic. “Good morning, dearest,” Etta said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Rachel sat up, pulling her knees to her chest, still in yesterday’s dress. Etta reached for Rachel’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
“We have some decisions to make,” Etta said softly, reining in her desire to be the one making those choices. “What do you want to do?”
“I do not want to return to London,” Rachel said.
Etta nodded, having expected that. “We shall have to return long enough to still any gossip and pack your things. I’m sorry, I wish we could do differently, but the risk is too high for that.”
“And then you shall send me home?”
“I’m not aware of any other options, my dear.” If Etta had a place in the country where they could hide together, she might consider that, but she only had her home in London.
Rachel’s chin trembled and she rested her head on her knees, staring at the bedcovers.
“Are you hungry?” Etta asked.
Rachel paused, as though having to think hard about the question, then nodded.
“Ready yourself and then meet me in the parlor.”
Rachel agreed, and Etta let herself out of the room and down the stairs. She smiled when she saw Wynn stand from a table near the base of the stairs. A smattering of other patrons were seated in the dining area, so Etta nodded toward the yard and he followed her. The door to the inn closed behind him, and he took her hand, pulling her toward the stables behind the inn. As soon as they rounded the corner of the building, however, he stopped and pulled her toward him, stepping backward so that his back came against the wall of the inn. She thought he might kiss her, the energy between them so strong, but he instead put his hands at her waist and looked over her face.
“Are you alright?”
She nodded, looking at his mouth.
“And Rachel?”
“She’ll be down for breakfast in a few minutes. I dare not be gone long.”
Wynn nodded. “I know a great deal has happened these last two days, and I want to apologize if anything I have said or done has been inappropriate or—”
She raised a finger to his lips, stopping the words she did not want to hear. So help her, if he apologized for last night… “Wynn,” she said softly.
He could not speak with her finger against his lips, so he raised his eyebrows and kissed that finger.
She smiled. “You have been…unexpected, to be sure, and such a gift. I do not know exactly how to make sense of it, and—”
He put a finger to her lips, which made her smile—how silly they must look right now, each shushing the other. And then he moved his finger and inclined his head toward hers as she too moved her finger away from his mouth and made up the distance. It happened so fast, so naturally choreographed. She pressed her lips against his softly at first and then with greater intensity that he matched with fervor. His hand came to the back of her neck and her arms went around him as they both let everything else fall away for just a minute. The pleasure of his body pressed against hers and his mouth against her mouth was all-encompassing and primed her focus on him and only him. There were reasons not to lose herself in this, but for the moment she could not think of a single one.
When his grip softened and the passion stilled, she fell against his chest and let herself breathe in the lingering tendrils of the wanting and the being wanted. He wrapped his arms around her back and held her tightly, planting a kiss on the top of her head. This was not love—she would never believe that—but it was…something. She wanted more of whatever it was, and yet the responsibilities of life were stacking back into herconscious mind: what needed to be done and what could not be avoided. Exploring Mr. Wynn Firth moved down her to-do list rather quickly. A sad but unavoidable reality.
“Rachel,” she breathed against his chest. Saying a hundred things in just one word.
“Yes,” he replied, then pulled back so that they were looking at one another. “I would like us to continue this exchange later.” He kissed her lightly, then pulled back so that he could look at her again. “But on the pressing topic of your niece, I have an idea.”
AND SO IT WAS THATRachel returned to London for one long and uncomfortable week, which allowed them to attend a few events where they could pretend that all was well. With the help of her friends, Etta planted the seeds of information that supported the idea that Rachel had never planned to make a match her first Season and was going to Shrewsbury with her friend Lydia Firth for the duration of the summer.
The final London event they attended was a dinner party hosted by the Duchess of Monroe. Rachel had done a remarkable job of keeping her composure through these social events that she hated attending, but then, Etta had realized, she’d been pretending to enjoy them all Season long. Only knowing she was nearly done made it possible for her to endure the final days.
The Firths had managed an invitation as well—the duchess was good friends with Wynn’s younger sister—and it took a great deal of focus for Etta not to get carried away with the shared looks from across the room. She felt irritated that the social protocols and need to keep gossip at bay prevented her from interacting with him the way she would like. Trappings and fripperies had never felt so confining and foolish.
