Page 23 of The Captain of Betrayal
"As I live and breathe," the authoress said, placing her fork down upon the table. "You do have the look of her."
It took all of James' strength to resist spitting his mouthful of fish onto the pristine table cloth in shock. It would never do to disgrace Polly at their first meal together, nor disgrace himself in front of his employer's wife. Olive, Duchess of Everleigh, was watching the proceedings through almond shaped eyes which looked as riveted by the turn of events as James was.
"Did you know my mother?" he finally asked, excitement bubbling within. He knew nothing of his mother; she had never mentioned anything about her past, and before the secret of who his father was had been revealed, James had never thought to question it. Now, older and wiser, he knew that his mother must have run away to Newcastle after she had conceived, and that somewhere out there, he had another family. He only wished that he had been more curious about her origins when he was a boy, for once she had died, her secrets had died with her.
"A little," Mrs Actrol smiled with nostalgia. "She summered here three times, just when Mrs Barker first opened the boarding house. She was a beautiful young woman, with a very bright mind. Her father was a Reverend, in Sussex I believe, who didn't much care for the bluestocking movement. She used to tell him that she was visiting with friends, when she did not return for her fourth summer, I simply assumed that her father had somehow found out."
As Mrs Actrol finished her tale, there was only one set of eyes that James sought out; Polly's. Like his own, hers were misty with tears at this unexpected revelation, and James had never felt so understood by another living soul. Only Polly could know what this meant to him; she was the only person who remembered his mother had even lived.
"Isn't that a turn up for the books," Polly interjected, standing to clear the plates from the table. "And another surprise is how delicious that fish was--cooked by a Duchess, no less!"
Her cheerful chatter broke the spell of silence around the table, and mercifully the other guests began to talk amongst themselves about the Duchess of Everleigh's hitherto unknown culinary skills. James felt a wave of gratitude to Polly, for distracting her guests from the curiosity that was his life, to more mundane matters. He too stood and began collecting plates, ignoring Polly's admonishments to sit back down. He followed her from the dining room into the kitchen, his shoulders sagging with relief as the door closed behind him.
"Oh, James," Polly took the plates from him and set them down on the table top, before pulling him into a warm embrace. No words passed between them, but he could feel her heart beating against his chest and that was all the comfort he needed. James leaned his head against Polly's, inhaling the sweet scent of her and after a few minutes had passed, his feelings changed from grief to desire.
She fitted perfectly into his arms; her forehead just reached his chin, allowing him to nuzzle the crown of her head. As if she sensed the change in the atmosphere between them, Polly made to step back, but James held her tight against him.
"I must put the kettle on, for tea," she said, her halting speech and the quick rise and fall of her chest revealing that she too was affected by their closeness.
"Let them wait," James urged, for he could not. With a confidence that just yesterday would have seemed foolish, he bent his head towards hers and captured her lips with his own. She tasted so sweet, her soft lips were like honey, intoxicating him so that every sensible thought left his head.
Just hours before he had vowed to court Polly slowly; to go at a pace that suited her and not rush her into anything she was not ready for. He had waited a decade to find her, he had reasoned —what harm could a few more weeks do. Now that he had her in his arms, with his fingers running through her luscious auburn locks and her body pressed against his, the very idea of going slowly was laughable.
There was a church next door, he knew that, he could simply sling her over his shoulder, force the Reverend to perform the necessary victuals, and have her in his bed in less than an hour.
The idea was most appealing.
He must have growled, or moaned, or made some sort of untoward noise that revealed his base desires for her, for she suddenly pulled away, visibly shaking with nerves.
"We must not," she whispered, her hand unconsciously going to her lips, which were swollen from the force of his kisses. "Whatever will the ladies say if they're kept waiting for their tea?"
"Hang their tea," James offered, rather unhelpfully he knew, but elegant conversation was beyond him. In all his years he had never experienced a kiss like that; one that had reached into his very bones and turned them to jelly. Despite his misgivings, James allowed Polly to pull away from him, sensing that if he pushed too hard she was liable to bolt. From the flush of her cheeks he knew that she felt just the same as he.
"Though if there is a cup on offer, I wouldn't say no," he continued cheerfully, as Polly placed a kettle full of water upon the wood burning stove.
"Oh, of course you must," she replied brightly, over the whistling of the kettle as it began to boil. "Take yourself into the parlour, I'll bring it in myself."
She ignored his offer of help, shooing him out of the kitchen with an impatient hand. Her demeanour was so bright and gay, that if it wasn't for the becoming flush on her cheeks and the swollen beauty of her mouth, James would have sworn that the kiss had never happened.
He took himself into the parlour where Mrs Actrol pointed to the free seat beside her on the sofa. Another round of interrogation was the last thing he desired, but luckily Mrs Actrol was engrossed in conversation with the Duchess on matters political. James allowed the talk of Whigs and Tories to wash over him, too overcome by the turn of the day's events--particularly its last few minutes--to engage in idle chatter.
When Polly bustled into the room, he sat up a little straighter, watching her as she moved amongst the ladies, to make sure that she was alright. She showed no outward signs of distress, which was a relief, for he knew that he had rather taken liberties which were not his to take. Not yet, at any rate.
The only sign of what had passed between them was the slight blush on her cheeks as she handed him his cup and saucer, and how quickly she turned her gaze away. He was nervous on her behalf; knowing that if any of the guests even guessed at what they had done, that she would suffer endless questions from them--and not a little embarrassment. Luckily, no one appeared to have noticed their prolonged absence, or that Polly's hair had come a little undone from its pins. In all, he rather thought that they had both gotten away with their romantic interlude, that is until he stood to leave and Mrs Actrol beckoned him to lean down so that she could whisper in his ear.
"I haven't seen a girl so thoroughly kissed in a long time," she whispered, bestowing him with a most unladylike wink.
James was so startled that all he could do was nod in reply.
"It was lovely to meet you, Captain Black," Mrs Actrol continued in a louder tone. "I do hope that you visit again."
"Oh, I intend to," James replied, and to Mrs Actrol's obvious delight, he gave her a discreet wink back.
He glanced at Polly, who was pushing a strand of loose hair behind her ear, and inwardly reaffirmed his vow. He would be back, and one day soon, he would be seated here with Polly at his side--his wife in every way.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
For days after her encounter with Captain Black, Polly's lips felt tender and bruised. A feeling that was most likely a figment of her imagination, for when she checked the mirror--which she did regularly--they looked perfectly fine.
