Alcott Hall: Second Sons Book Three

Now that they were in the light of the stable yard, Warren could get a proper look at the lady perched on his lap. Christ, but she was pretty. All smooth, perfect skin and bright blue eyes. The apples of her cheeks bloomed red, both from the bitter chill and her frayed nerves. She was practically shivering in his lap, and it wasn’t all from the cold. He wanted to keep holding her, keep making her blush. But Harry had to go and ruin it.

“Well, Miss Nobody, tis been a pleasure,” he said, flashing her a toothy grin. The man never stopped smiling. “You get along inside now, and warm yerself up.”

“Thank you, Mr. Tram,” she said. Her voice was delicate and sweet, like marzipan. “I’m ever so grateful to you,” she added.

Harry’s grin spread wider. “Did yeh ‘ear her, Warren? I like this one.” He poked a thumb at her. “Darlin’ you keep callin’ me Mr. Tram all proper like, and my hay cart’ll be yer chariot from ‘ere to Aberdeen. Yeh just say the word.”

She stifled a giggle, the soft vibration fluttering against Warren’s chest.

Harry hopped down off the cart. “I’ll go find Young Jim,” he called.

Warren shifted the young lady off his lap and she gasped in surprise, the sound catching in her throat.

“Sorry,” he found himself saying. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Let me just climb down first.”

He slipped over the side of the hay cart, his feet landing on the cobblestones, and turned around, offering out both hands to her. “Come on then, lovely.”

He was taking liberties by calling her that, but he was in too deep to stop now. It slipped out the first time, but the way her cheeks bloomed pink just did something for him. As long as she kept blushing, he was going to keep saying it.

She slid to the edge of the narrow, wooden seat, inspecting the edge of the cart and the ground. He could practically see the gears in her mind working out the problem. Could she get down without him? Did she want to try?

“I’ll not let you fall,” he offered, giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

She took a deep breath. “Right then.” She bent down, both her arms outstretched towards him. Her hands were wrapped in a pair of ridiculously fuzzy grey mittens. They didn’t suit her prim and proper style at all.

Most likely also pilfered, he mused.

What the hell happened to this young lady? Where did she come from? Why was she here? And why was she dressed in a man’s overcoat? He could see the fine cut of her fashionable hat and the blue satin of her dress beneath the coat. She was moneyed to be sure. Who was she running from then? And why did Warren have a growing feeling of protection against her getting caught?

He sighed, pushing down all his questions. Whatever the identity of Miss Nobody from Nowhere, she was far and away outside his sphere, that was for damn sure.

Not your business. Leave well enough alone.

But then she was placing her hands on his shoulders and dropping from the cart, those fuzzy mitts wrapping around his neck as she slid down his body. To hold her on his lap was one thing, but to feel her pressed against him was another entirely.

She murmured her thanks, her feet settling on the cobblestones. His hands were still firmly at her waist and hers stayed on his shoulders. He towered over her, the top of her head barely reaching his sternum. He titled his gaze down, surprised to see she was looking up at him. Questions danced in her eyes too. She traced his scar again. There was something about the way she did it that didn’t make him bristle. There was a question in her eyes, but no pity, no revulsion. Just quiet curiosity.

He hardly noticed that his thumbs were brushing over her hip bones, feeling how delicate she was, even through the layers of her coats. She stilled as she felt it too, her lips parted on a soft breath.

Goddamn it.

Lowering his face, Warren cupped her cheek with a calloused hand and kissed her, catching her little squeak of surprise with his mouth. She stiffened immediately. He expected it. But she didn’t pull away. She stood still, like a fawn lying low in the grass, waiting to see if the danger might pass.

He was gentle, his lips teasing her.

God, just one more taste of this sweet fruit. My own Eve. Pure. Forbidden.

His thoughts ran wild.

And then she shocked the hell out of him. Trembling in his arms, her lips parted, and she was kissing him back.

He knew without asking that she’d never been kissed. Some primal part of him crowed, knowing he was taking this, knowing she was giving it. He’d be her first. Let her marry some puffed up dandy with gold in his pockets and a limp cock. In this moment, she was his. She belonged to him. Until this kiss ended, he would own her, possess her. Let this kiss be the kiss she kissed for the rest of her days.

He pressed her back against the cart, his mouth opening as he dared her to join him. She whimpered, her tongue flicking against his, and he was gone. Cock hardening, his hands slid up her sides, desperate to feel out the shape of her breasts through her bulky clothes. Would they be little plums, ripe and firm in his hand? Her frame was so slight, they had to be small. Fuck, he imagined taking a pink nipple between his teeth, teasing her until she squirmed. A mouthful was just enough to cherish. He had to know, had to feel—

“We should back it up first!”

Young Jim came running across the stable yard, forcing Warren to break their kiss. He muttered a curse, stepping quickly away, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes darting left to take in Jim. The lad didn’t come fully around the cart. He stopped at the back, working on the knots of the tarp, calling something over at Harry.

Warren’s eye darted back to his prize. Miss Nobody looked at him with those wide eyes, her lush pink lips parted, still glossy with his kiss. He couldn’t help himself. Stepping forward, he raised a hand, brushing him thumb over that bottom lip, rubbing his essence into her skin.

Never forget that kiss, he said without words.

Holding his gaze, he saw her unspoken answer. I won’t.

“Why did you do that?” she murmured, the tremor in her voice belying her trembling. But this little fawn wasn’t cold anymore. She was on fire. Alive. She was inching closer.

But the real world was too damn close. Jim was steps away. Warren could hear Harry on the other side of the cart. They needed to move. He needed to get her inside. “Because you looked like you needed it,” he replied honestly.

He wasn’t interested in investigating how good it felt for him, or how much he may have needed it too. Right now, he needed to put some distance between them. “Besides, now your lips aren’t cold,” he added with a cocky grin. “Let’s get you in and warm the rest of you.”

Stepping back, he gestured for her to walk ahead of him. Recovering her senses, she darted away from him. His little fawn was ready to flee.

He caught up easily, taking one long stride to every three of hers. “So…are you ever going to tell me your name?”

“No,” she replied, leading the way down the lane that led to the back of the house.

Whoever she is, she knows where she’s going.

That should give him pause.

“Why not?” he asked.

She didn’t look his way when she replied. “Because I like the way you’re treating me now. And when you learn my name, you will only see me for what I am, not who I am.”

Damn, he wasn’t expecting that answer. Her honesty nearly stopped him in his tracks. Recovering, he caught up to her retreating form. “Fine,” he said, trying to keep his walls in place. “Miss Nobody it is.”

“It’s Lady Nobody, if you please,” she replied, a smile in her tone.

He relaxed. So, she was a skittish little fawn, but not a terrified one. Good. “Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Nowhere.”

She let loose a girlish giggle and the sound pierced him in the chest. Her innocence broke him. He was a scoundrel for kissing her. He should apologize. Drop to his knees and kiss her boots. He should demand that the duchess lash him in the stable yard.

“And you are Mr. Warren,” she said. “John Warren.”

Why did she always speak to him without meeting his gaze? It was a little maddening. Did he have to earn it? How? “Aye, but you can call me Warren,” he replied.

She glanced his way, those large blue eyes piercing in their honesty. “Surely, if you feel forward enough to kiss me unasked, I can be forward enough to call you John—”

“No,” he growled, his steps coming up short. Well, this was a goddamn surprise, and not a pleasant one. He wasn’t expecting her teasing request to hit him quite so hard. Hearing this pretty girl say his Christian name was making his cock twitch, but it also felt like a smack to the head.

She noticed his frustration and it was clear she was blaming herself; he could see it in her eyes. She was retreating, closing off, chewing that bottom lip. He wanted to step forward and jerk it loose with his thumb, claiming it for himself. No one was going to bite that lip but him.

Fucking hell—

He dragged a hand through his long hair, messy after an exhausting day of work. This was going sideways fast. “I prefer Warren,” he said lamely, offering a weak smile to help smooth it over.

She let go of that bottom lip at least. His cock thanked her for it. She gave him a little nod and then turned away, continuing her walk toward the side door. She definitely knew where she was going. When was she here last? He was about to ask, when she halted, and he nearly bowled her over.

She stared up at the wide expanse of the wooden door.

He watched her look at the door, a smirk growing on his face. “Are we just going to stand here and look at it?”

She spun around. “I wasn’t invited,” she blurted.

“What?”

“I wasn’t invited,” she repeated, covering her face with those ridiculous fuzzy mitts. “Oh god, they don’t know I’m coming. No one knows I’m here, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know—”

“Hey, hey—” He stepped forward, putting both hands back on her shoulders. “Easy, just take a breath.”

She tried to comply, lowering her hands, and breathing in through her parted lips.

“I know,” he said gently.

Those eyes went impossibly wide. “What? How can you know?”

He laughed. “Because you showed up here with no trunks. What lady travels into the countryside without a caravan of trunks? Dresses for every occasion, hat boxes, a maid carrying a case of her best jewels. No one was ready to receive you in the village, and no one is looking for you now. You’re some kind of runaway, of that, I’m sure.”

That let all the wind out of her sails. Her shoulders sagged. “I’ve never knocked on a door before,” she murmured.

“What? You mean…never?”

“Never,” she replied.

“Christ.” He dragged a hand through his hair again. He knew this young lady was sheltered, but this was…what kind of life did she lead that she never had occasion to knock on a door? “Well, surely you understand the mechanics of the act, right? Raise fist, knock on wood?”

She scowled at him, knowing she was being teased.

“Come, we’ll do it together.” He grabbed her by the wrist, tugging her forward.

“Mr. Warren, please—”

“One more first for you tonight,” he said, pulling her right up to the door. He dropped her wrist, smirking down at her. “Go on then. Raise fist, tap wood. Or, if you like, grab the big brass ring there and give it a few swings. Save your sweet little fist a good bruising.”

“I’m not a complete dunderhead,” she huffed. “I have knocked on a door, sir. You mistook my meaning.”

“What did you mean then? Because you seemed to imply that every door in your life has opened for you. That you breeze through life without obstacle, happy and carefree.”

That earned him the reaction he was craving. Fire. Frustration. Damn, she looked beautiful incensed. “You do not know me, Mr. Warren.”

Stepping past him, she raised her hand wrapped in the silly mitten and tapped three times with the brass knocker. Sinking back to stand at Warren’s side, they waited for the door to open.