Page 23 of Twelve Drummers Drumming

Jemima swallowed. She should not think such things. It was not seemly for a young lady.

“Where are we?” Captain Rotherham looked around. “I am not an inhabitant of London, and never have been, but I thought I had a generally good idea of where I was most of the time. Where have you taken us?”

At the wordus,Jemima blushed slightly. “Just a little way from my home, do not fear.”

Captain Rotherham glanced at her quickly. “I am more fearful we are just a little way from your home. I was hoping our walk would be substantially longer.”

Jemima looked up at him with a questioning smile, one that showed how doubtful she was that his sentiment was true.

“My, Miss Fitzroy,” he said quietly, “it saddens me you do not believe me—that you clearly do not consider yourself worthy company.”

Jemima laughed bitterly. “Experience is an excellent teacher, Captain Rotherham, and I have been its pupil for many a year.”

They fell into silence as they progressed down the road, then Jemima stopped.

“The quickest way is down this alleyway,” she said looking at Captain Rotherham, “and it would certainly prevent us from being buffeted about so much.”

“The quickest way?”

Jemima could not help but hear the disappointment in his voice. What did it mean?

Nothing, she told herself sternly. Nothing save that he was being polite, and courteous—as all gentlemen should be.The last thing you need, my girl, is to see more into this than there is. Do not make a fool of yourself.

She shrugged—as best she could with so many parcels in her arms. “I do not wish to keep you any longer from the business you are undoubtedly neglecting on my behalf.”

Captain Rotherham said nothing, seemingly struggling with deciding on how to respond. Jemima found that she was holding her breath.

And then he sighed. “As you wish, Miss Fitzroy. After you.”

Ducking into the alleyway on their left, Jemima was surprised to find it was a lot narrower with two attempting to travel through it. As she most often nipped through it on her own when she was going to be late for an appointment, she had never before had to share it with another. Captain Rotherham’s elbow grazed hers, and Jemima tried hard to ignore it—to no avail.

The sound of running could be heard behind them, but before Jemima had the forethought to move either to the left or the right, someone rushed past her and Captain Rotherham. They were running so fast that they were almost a blur, but from the little she could see Jemima could tell that he was in dark clothes, a lady’s reticule under his arm that certainly did not belong to him.

His shove had scattered their precious bundles to the ground for a second time, and Captain Rotherham had lost his footing, falling against Jemima and pinning her to the wall.

Her back to the bricks, Jemima’s eyes widened as she realized just how close the captain now was. So close. She could feel his heartbeat through his jacket, so fast was it racing.

Crutch fallen to the ground, Captain Rotherham had both hands flat against the wall on either side of her, and he steadied himself but did not move away from her. Jemima took a deep breath to balance herself but was immediately overwhelmed by the intensity of their closeness: the polish of his boots; the linen of his shirt; the musk of a man who had recently been hard at work. It was overpowering.

Being so close to him was almost torture.

Jemima was no fool. She was fully aware of what happened in the marriage bed, yet there was a mystery to it, something she could not completely fathom. But standing there, with Captain Rotherham so close to her, his breath mingling with hers, she started to understand.

Understood the irresistible tug that brought two people together. Understood the desire to touch and be touched. Understood how sometimes it was impossible to ignore, and one’s decision to remain aloof simply melted away…

“Captain Rotherham?” Jemima said weakly. It was all she could do to speak his name. “Are you…you quite well?”

“Hugh.”

The word came out as a whisper, and Jemima was not entirely sure she had caught it correctly. She raised a hand to steady herself but found instead she placed it on his chest, just below his throat.

“What…” said Jemima, her concentration slipping as she gazed into a pair of eyes she never wished to look away from. “What did you say?”

“Hugh,” he repeated in a hoarse voice. The look that he was giving her could only be described, Jemima thought wildly, as passionate. “Call me Hugh.”

Jemima flushed slightly, but she knew intuitively what she wanted to do. Raising her chin slightly, she leaned forward and closed the gap between them with her lips on his.

What came over her, she did not know. But she had to have him. Had to know what it was to kiss him, know what it was to be consumed by his touch.

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