A Gentleman Never Surrenders Read online

  This was why she feared falling for a man who wouldn’t treat her as an equal. Owen had tried to seduce other women with the intent to marry for money, but with her he’d actually succeeded. He was the exact opposite of a man who would see her value and her partnership in a marriage. Yet Owen was just the sort of man to entrap her heart. Beneath those wicked smiles and playful kisses was a tortured, lonely soul, damaged by war and loss. She wasn’t a fool. She could see the pieces of himself he’d struggled to put back together. He had almost convinced her he was a heartless man who went from conquest to conquest with no thought to the woman he’d bedded. But that was an act. Owen Hadley, at least the man she’d first met, was an imposter. The real Owen lay beside her in bed, and she was still puzzling him out. Who was the real Owen? What demons haunted him in the dead of night? What secrets did he try to bury?

  There was something more to him and his motivations but she couldn’t figure it out. What advantage did he gain in seducing her? She and her fortune already belonged to him in every legal way that mattered. His every touch, every kiss and lingering gaze that heated her blood made little sense. Was he determined to steal her heart as well?

  Milly lost count of the minutes as they lay in bed together, staring at each other, hands linked, legs locked. It was only after a long while that Owen spoke.

  “We should get out of bed. I’ll have breakfast brought up while you see to your needs.” He was the first to break that slowly building connection and she regretted the loss of his touch. He removed himself from the bed and reached for his robe.

  Milly waited until he was changed and out of the room before she slipped out from under the bedclothes and washed her face at the basin of cold water on the dresser. The icy splash on her heated skin felt good and jolted her into awareness. It erased the thick warmth she had inside at the thought of crawling back into bed and enticing Owen to join her. What a terrible idea! Milly gave herself a little reprimanding shake of the head.

  She didn’t bother with a bath; she could do that when they reached Wesden Heath that evening. Running her brush through her hair, she combed out the tangles and fastened it into a loose knot at the base of her neck and secured it in with pins. A few stray wisps escaped in flyaways near her temples, but they couldn’t be helped. After she searched her luggage, she found a new navy blue coat with braided black trim and a fresh blouse. She stripped out of her nightdress and pulled on fresh stockings and underclothes before she turned to stare at her corset, which lay across the rumpled bedsheets.

  She never dreamed she’d dare go without it, but she didn’t want to ask Owen to help her get into it. With a little growl of frustration, she stuffed it in her travel case and finished dressing. When she was done, she studied her appearance in the small mirror above the dresser. It didn’t look too obvious that her breasts were unbound. The skirt was a little tight around her waist, but she could breathe much easier without the whalebone crushing her ribs.

  “Well, it’s not as if he’ll notice,” she muttered just as the door opened. Owen strolled inside, his gaze boldly raking over her.

  “Won’t notice what?” he asked.

  Milly shook her head, swallowed, and glanced away, but she could feel the creeping heat in her cheeks.

  “Nothing,” she murmured, and hastily locked her travel case. Constance would blister her ears for such a mess of the clothes squashed inside but Milly would have to endure it.

  “Ready? Breakfast is downstairs.” Owen held out a hand and Milly accepted it, despite every instinct warning her to stay away from the man who could break her heart if given the chance.

  As they came down the stairs into the common room, Mrs. Hunter waved them over to a table.

  “Here, dears, have a seat.” She gestured to a cozy little table just big enough for two. The common room was empty of the boisterous crows of the previous night and was filled instead with lodgers quietly enjoying their morning breakfast.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hunter,” Milly said as Owen helped her to sit before he took his own chair across from her.

  “We’re so happy to have you here. Mr. Hunter says newlyweds are good luck.” She winked at them and left them to eat.

  “Make sure you get enough to eat. Cook won’t have made much for dinner and I don’t want you to go hungry tonight.”

  Owen’s statement froze Milly in place, her hand hovering over a tray of johnnycake with potatoes. “You mean…” She paused, reached for the pot of coffee, and helped herself before continuing. “We need to fill the larder at the house?” What sort of self-respecting cook would let the stores get so low that they couldn’t support even two people for dinner? Maybe Owen’s debts on the estate were truly high enough that he couldn’t keep the household running properly. Was the household that bad off that the larders were empty? The thought made her shiver.

  Owen didn’t meet her gaze as he filled a plate with eggs, bacon, and some steamed finnan haddie, a delicious fish that Milly had always enjoyed at home. The presence of the dish here at a small inn was a surprise.

  “The haddie was made special for us. Want a bite?” Owen chuckled when he noticed her staring at the dish with longing.

  “Yes, please.” She offered her plate. “Now about the kitchen—”

  “We’ll see to that once you’re settled into your rooms at Wesden Heath.” Owen’s tone wasn’t sharp, but she had the distinct impression she’d somehow been reprimanded and knew by the cool look he gave her that he would not discuss the matter any further this morning.

  She wanted to lay into him and tell him how wretched he was for refusing to answer her questions, but being churlish would achieve nothing. If he wanted to play that particular game, then she would, too…only, she would win.

  After breakfast, the hired cab was pulled around, their luggage loaded, and she and Owen were back in the cab together, riding along toward his home in complete silence. To pass the time, she read a book and thankfully was lost in the story until something tapped the book’s spine repeatedly. She lifted her head and saw Owen’s hand was inches away, fingers rapping lightly on her book’s cover. She shot him a mutinous glare.

  “I like it when you wrinkle your nose. It’s rather adorable, you know.” He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I do not wrinkle my nose. Good heavens, a lady would never—”

  “Spare me whatever ladies would never do. I have no interest in dying of tedium. Now, what is that you’re reading? You’ve been so engrossed in it we’re nearly home. About eight miles is all.”

  Milly blinked and looked out at the late afternoon sun kissing the tops of the trees in the western sky.

  “It’s been that long?” She started to close the book but Owen deftly snapped it out of her hands, reading the title.

  “She by H. Rider Haggard.” He flipped through it, skimming a few pages. “What is it about?”

  Milly would have ignored him, but she loved talking about literature. The few suitors in the past who had tried to talk to her had always discussed fashion and other nonsense, as though they didn’t believe she could converse on anything else. Books were the way to her heart, not clothes.

  “Two Englishmen venture into Africa and stumble upon a lost kingdom. The queen, Ayesha, or She Who Must be Obeyed, takes a fancy to the younger of the two gentlemen.”

  Owen chuckled. “She who must be obeyed? Now I understand your fascination. Women with the need to control and dominate men must stick together, eh?”

  The comment was meant to be teasing she supposed, but it felt barbed, like the prickle of a cocklebur against her skin. He thought she wanted to control and dominate him? She didn’t; she merely wanted to assert control over her own life and not be the puppet of a man. Tears of anger and something else she didn’t want to admit to stung her eyes and she looked out the window away from him. She wanted to verbally lash out, but she didn’t wish to do it in front of the driver.

  “It is no concern of mine if you fail to see the broa
der aspects of literature,” she replied icily. Then, mastering her face, she turned back to him and held out a gloved hand. “Please return my book to me.”

  He held it out, but the moment she reached for it, he moved fast. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pinned her back against the seat.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Milly. Never think that my teasing is to that end. I can be a bloody fool when I’m not thinking clearly.” He was close enough that his warm breath fanned her cheeks and she had trouble focusing on anything but how soft his lips looked as he spoke. He was apologizing in his own way; she saw the regret in his eyes, only just tempering a heated passion she was beginning to recognize.

  Her breath quickened as he reached up to brush the backs of his fingers against her cheek. The tenderness of it made her tremble in his arms. A cruel-hearted fortune hunter wouldn’t touch her like this, would show such a soft side. Realizing this made her shake even harder as her heart clenched and her body heated. His eyes were warm as they gazed upon her, and desire was there mixed with something else she was afraid to hope for. She had to speak, had to break this slowly building enchantment he was casting over her.

  “You are a fool quite often,” she replied, but her tone was husky. When his gaze strayed to her lips, she knew he wanted to kiss her and she knew that she wanted that kiss, too.

  “That I am.” He gave her time to fight him, to resist the inevitable kiss, but she didn’t.

  Arching her back to get closer, she curled her fingers around the lapels of his coat, tugging him into her. The kiss this time felt different…She wanted it as much as he did, and she had been furious with him for being so thoughtless, for saying things without thinking. She nipped his lips and a throaty little growl escaped his mouth. The primal sound startled her, and she couldn’t escape him, not even if she wanted to.

  The way he kissed was sinful, scandalous, as though he was determined to explore every inch of her mouth, to learn the way she tasted. Milly wanted to know the same about him and loved it when he opened his mouth, letting his tongue and hers flick and stroke against each other, but then it changed…He thrust his tongue repeatedly into her mouth, in a way that liquefied her entire body. A wave of heat rolled through, filling her mind with a strange fog. Her breasts felt heavy, and aching. She needed…A large hand covered her left breast, squeezing it.

  “Where’s your corset?” His low chuckle teased her as he nibbled that special spot just below her ear.

  “Couldn’t put it on without help.” How she was able to get those words out when he was caressing her erect nipple through the thin layers of her blouse and chemise, she would never know.

  “Little minx, I like that about you.” He was teasing, but this time Milly refused to let it upset her. Maybe to him being a minx was a good thing? It did feel wonderful to let go and embrace this wildness that seemed to run through her like quicksilver. It took everything in her not to crawl into his lap and press every inch of herself against him. She’d never known she could be like this; she’d longed and dreamed she would be, with the right man, but she’d lost hope of that after her first London Season. Owen made her forget how she’d closed herself up to the world; he made her feel like a flower tasting the kiss of the sun for first time in centuries.

  “God, I love how you taste,” he moaned against her lips.

  She gripped his hair, loving that it was long enough to thread her fingers through and grasp.

  “Do you always talk so much?” She nibbled his bottom lip, exploring its sensual shape with her tongue.

  “Not if you want my mouth to do other things.” The sensual purr and everything his words could mean made her shiver. He lifted her legs into his lap, his free hand sliding up underneath her skirts and pausing at her upper thighs to play with the silk ribbons of her stockings. The teasing touches tore a hungry moan from her and she kissed him. Hard. A wetness pooled between her thighs and she shifted restlessly, trying to encourage him to move his hand higher.

  A loud pop and a sudden jerk sent Milly and Owen flying forward. Owen threw out a hand, smacking it hard against the back of the front seat, his other hooked around her waist, keeping them both from getting injured by colliding with the seat in front of them.

  “What the devil?” he growled. “Driver, what’s happened?”

  Milly clung to Owen as she tried to clear the fog in her head and make sense of her position. On Owen’s lap, her skirts rucked up to her knees, her hair a messy tangle.

  Good heavens…

  “Sorry, sir. It seems we ruptured a tire on the motorcar.” The driver climbed out of the cab and tossed his hat on the seat, then walked around the vehicle to assess the damage.

  “Well, hell.” Owen laughed. “If not for the tire, we might have forgotten where we were.” This comment was more of a musing to himself than to her.

  Milly was suddenly self-conscious again, and she tried in vain to fix her hair and jerk her skirts down. Her cheeks flamed and she retrieved her book from the floor of the cab and clutched it like a shield to her chest. Her heart was racing, the frantic beat so hard she felt it clear to the tips of her toes. She had never let herself act so freely, and half of her was caught up in the sheer delight of it while the other half of her wanted to crawl into a cave and hide to protect herself from how exposed she felt kissing Owen.

  Owen got out of the car and walked over to the driver, his hands tucked in his trouser pockets as he and the driver studied the front tire. Milly noticed his dark hair was mussed and a light breeze kept ruffling it. The strands had been soft and thick, and touching them had been…exciting. Seeing the way she’d left her mark on him, even in a small way, was oddly satisfying.

  He is my husband. I can kiss him whenever I wish, can’t I?

  Owen kicked the tire with his shoe tip and then after a few more words with the driver, he opened the door to the backseat. He braced one hand on the roof of the car as he leaned toward her.

  “Milly, sweetheart, we have to walk the rest of the way. We don’t have any means to get to Wesden Heath tonight except by foot. Can you make it? The driver says we’re about seven miles from the estate.”

  “We have to walk the entire way?” She glanced around at the rolling hills of green landscapes. In the distance a few thatched roof cottages could be seen.

  Owen frowned slightly. “We might have to. Unless we can find a local farmer who could take us the remainder of the journey.” He offered her a hand and she took it, letting him assist her out of the cab. She clutched the book, not wanting to leave it behind.

  “What about our luggage?” she asked.

  Owen glanced over at the driver, then back at her. “He will bring it tomorrow, or we can try to carry it.”

  Milly weighed the options. Constance should be settled at Wesden Heath with most of her clothing.

  “I think I can manage without it,” she replied.

  The gleam of approval in his eyes filled her with warmth.

  “Very well, let’s get started. We have a long walk ahead of us.”

  Chapter 7

  Seven miles was a long way for a well-bred lady to walk on a country road in dainty black boots, but Milly made not one peep of protest or uttered one complaint. Owen had to bite his lip to keep from grinning. She was so…different than he’d thought. The Milly he’d thought he’d known had been an arrogant, cold-hearted young woman. And it was all a mask.

  The real Milly was passionate, intelligent, and determined. But she was frightened of him, not physically but emotionally. He couldn’t forget the way she’d looked when he’d teased her about her book. She had dared to open up to him about how she liked reading about strong female characters, but he’d said something he shouldn’t have and rather than lash out, she’d retreated. He recognized that type of behavior only too well. He’d done the same with his father when they’d quarreled. She was starting to care about his opinions, and thinking he didn’t like something hurt her. Owen and his father had never seen eye to eye on any
thing, and every fight had cost him part of his heart.

  I’m going to have to be careful with her. Prove to her that she can trust me, that I do value what she says.

  The revelation surprised him. He’d never dared to let a woman influence him before.

  “How are you holding up?” he asked as they reached a small stone bridge that crossed a narrow stream. White geese toddled ahead of them, honking and squawking.

  He didn’t miss the flash of pain on Milly’s face as she walked, or the slight limp on her right foot, as though she’d gotten hurt. They couldn’t be far now. This stream abutted his property.

  “I’m fine.” Her response came out through gritted teeth.

  Owen didn’t like knowing she was hurting. It was his job to protect her.

  “We have half a mile…” He paused by the bridge and caught her by the arm.

  “Why are we stopping?” She glanced down at his hand on her arm.

  “Why don’t you rest for a minute?” He patted the gray stone of the bridge.

  She looked ready to protest, so he gripped her by the waist and hoisted her up to sit her on the bridge’s edge.

  “Oh!” She clutched at him, shooting a panicked glance over her shoulder at the little stream below.

  “I’ve got you,” he soothed gently.

  She leaned into him, not letting go of his arms. Neither of them spoke for a minute. The babbling noise of the water traveling through the green rushes on the river’s edge was calming. A familiar sound, one he’d grown up with all this life.

  “It’s so peaceful here,” Milly admitted, her expression softening as she watched the setting sun.

  “It is,” he agreed. The Cotswolds had always been a place of magic, the way the hills seemed to cocoon the little houses and the gardens in a tiny, protected sphere. Time did not tick into the future here. Except for the seasons changing, Owen would have sworn that this part of England never aged.