Cloudy with a Chance of Marriage

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A full thirty seconds passed after Lady Hartley departed, then Captain Arrow tugged on Jilly’s hand and pulled her up from their shelter behind the book table.

She knew her hair was a mess and her mouth was slack and her spine wasn’t as rigid as usual, but the realization of what she’d done with him still hadn’t hit her hard enough to allow her to regain her usual decorum.

However, it was coming toward her, slowly, from the fringes of her conscience, like a cat wending its way down an alley and then detouring at several more side streets before arriving home, especially when Otis appeared at the door, much earlier than expected.

“I forgot my sample handkerchiefs!” he cried, and went dashing upstairs to retrieve them.

Jilly and the captain exchanged a look as he sped by. It had been a close call. She strode to her father’s mirror and straightened her hair. She also adjusted her apron and told herself it was time to return to business.

She might be a wanton, but she was, first and foremost, a bookseller.

Meanwhile, Otis came back downstairs, mentioned that they were out of bread, a lapse he would remedy, and went racing out the front door again.

When he was gone, the captain said, “I’m going to be working on some house repairs.” He spoke plainly, leaving her no opportunity to indulge in embarrassment. “And if I have time, I’ll begin the next booth. So if you need me for anything before this evening—”

“No,” she stammered. “I’ll be fine.” She attempted a polite, professional smile, but it was difficult to look at him the same way ever again. “You take entirely too much upon yourself, Captain.”

He laughed. “Very well. I will acknowledge that you’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself.”

He said it like a caress.

She finally blushed.

“Thank you,” she managed to say crisply. “You’ve given me my ledge.” And taken me to the moon and back with your hands and mouth. “I’ll spend part of the afternoon arranging books on it to my liking. I’m quite particular.”

“I’ve noticed,” he said, his mouth teasing.

What did he mean by that? she couldn’t help wondering.

“And then with the time I have left before the ball,” she forged on, “I’ll check on Susan and Otis, look for the diary again—I really must find it—and I might pay a visit to the Hobbs family.”

“You’d best stay out of it,” he said with no heat in his manner, which was a good thing because she would have objected strongly.

“Out of what?” she asked, attempting an equally light tone.

“Out of the Hobbses’ business.”

Hmmm. For a man who had just pleasured her so well, he was amazingly able to inflame her senses in an entirely different way.

“I don’t plan to interfere,” she said, heat rising up her neck. “I’m only offering my friendship to Lavinia. Nothing more.”

He merely gave her a look that said he knew better—and waved good-bye.

She watched him walk back to his house and felt very guilty all of a sudden for wanting to convince Mr. Hobbs—in a subtle way, of course—of the error of his ways.

And then she felt terribly alone when Captain Arrow opened his front door and shut it behind him.

When he was with her, she was so focused on him she lost all sense of reason. But when he was gone, she couldn’t ignore that voice in her head telling her that her life could go terribly wrong at any time if she were foolish.

Hector could find her.

She sighed and began to search the shop for the diary. Would she ever be able to truly relax? In the moments after she’d been suspended in total pleasure, she had. Her limbs were still weak from the captain’s caresses, but deep in her heart, she was troubled. Would every new, wonderful experience be tainted by the dread that her husband would find her?

Every day she was around Captain Arrow, her resolve to hide from life—because she must—weakened.

Meanwhile, she conceded that perhaps a small amount of her anxiety stemmed from the fact that the diary had gone missing. She couldn’t lose it—somehow, it gave her comfort. It felt like a connection to a solution of some sorts to Dreare Street’s woes. Hadn’t she gotten the idea for the street fair from its pages? And she loved reading about someone on Dreare Street who’d been happy. It gave her hope.

It would be so frustrating never to see the journal again when she’d only read the first third!

She also had to admit that Lady Tabitha’s friendliness was bothering her, as well. Perhaps it was catty of her to think such negative thoughts, but the femme fatale’s generous invitation to accompany her and her party to the ball and provide Jilly a gown made no sense, coming as it did on the heels of the very cool welcome she’d given her when she and her friends had first walked into Hodgepodge.

In short, Jilly couldn’t trust the woman, although Lady Tabitha had given every indication she was trying to be helpful.

“Ah, well,” she said hours later when it was time to turn the sign in the window over to read CLOSED. She was unsettled. Perhaps her jealousy of Lady Tabitha’s good looks and confidence was making her overly sensitive.

She still hadn’t found the diary, but she had managed to make a beautiful display on the new ledge. Every moment of her pleasure in the endeavor had been tinged with a heated memory of Captain Arrow’s form leaning over the ledge, making it with careful hands and looking up at her with laughing eyes.

She closed her eyes and pretended he was holding her hand again, telling her that if she needed him, he was nearby. And then she let herself go over every moment of their scandalous liaison on the floor of Hodgepodge.

She opened her eyes and drew in a breath. She was leaning against the door jamb, her face up to the late afternoon sun, which had come out for a moment from a swirl of clouds and smoke overhead and warmed her lips the way she imagined the captain’s lips would.

If she weren’t careful, she thought as she pushed herself off the jamb and began walking down the street toward the Hobbses’ residence, she’d make a fool of herself and fall in love with Stephen Arrow. He was the least likely man to ever settle down with one woman, and—

It was a moot point anyway.

Why even daydream?

She was married.

Once again, the untenable nature of her situation reared its ugly head, mocking her attempt to live a normal life. She would never know normal again.

A minute later, she was at Mrs. Hobbs’s door and about to knock on it.

“Miss Jones!” The voice came from behind her.

She turned and her breath caught in her throat. There was Captain Arrow, walking toward her with a slow grin and a twinkle in his eye. “I know what you’re up to,” he said, “and it won’t be easy. I’m here to offer my support.”

“You are?”

How could she not daydream about lying with him again and allowing him to kiss her senseless when he said things like that?

He knocked sharply on the door. “I told you I’d partner you in this whole endeavor. And things may go better with me here.”

“‘Better?’” Her warm feelings once more dissolved instantly at his implication. “I’m perfectly capable of handling the Hobbs family myself.”

He cocked a brow. “I know, but are they capable of handling you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she replied in an affronted whisper. “I’m not the one who allows people to hang out my window. I don’t go about indiscriminately—”

“Yes?” His golden irises almost disappeared, and he looked at her as if he were making love to her again.

He was like a harpist plucking the exact right string to make her core thrum with desire for him, even against her will.

“Never mind,” she said. “I’m a respectable—some might even say boring—bookseller.”

“Are you finished?” His tone was amused yet somehow gentle, as if he knew exactly what she was feeling, that her insides were melting, and that she wanted to slide against him and—

Never mind, she told herself. They were highly improper thoughts. Ones she must forget.

She stuck her chin in the air. “Yes, I am.” She refused to be stirred by him unless she chose to be stirred by him, which she most definitely didn’t choose at this moment.

“Good.” His eyes were locked on her own.

She felt stormy and weak inside, all at the same time. She wished he’d go away.

But then he leaned over and whispered in her ear, “You’re never boring.”

And blast it all, she wanted to kiss him all over again.

She whipped her head around to look stonily at the door and could swear she heard him chuckling.

The door opened then, and Captain Arrow took her firmly by the elbow. “We’re here to see Mr. and Mrs. Hobbs,” he said pleasantly to a ginger-haired butler with a stooped posture.

“Yes, we are,” Jilly threw in for good measure, just so the captain knew she was perfectly capable of handling the situation.

“You people aren’t allowed in,” said the butler. “I can tell ye that right noo. So begone wid ye.”

And he slammed the door in their faces.

“He’s Scottish,” said Jilly, feeling deflated.

“Yes, we know what that means,” Captain Arrow said. “A warrior at heart. He’ll never let us through unless—”

He knocked again.

The door was immediately flung open. “I said ye’d best begone—”

Captain Arrow stuck his foot in the door just as the butler tried to shut it.

“Listen, Sassenach—” the butler snarled.

“Only half English,” Captain Arrow said equably. “I’m a Fraser on my mother’s side.” Then he reached into his pocket and threw the man a flask through the crack in the door. “Taste it. It’s Highland whisky from Ben Nevis.”

“I don’t believe it.” The butler sneered. “The English don’t know anythin’ about whisky. Ten to one it’s that silly French brandy.”

“Try it,” Captain Arrow said.

The butler looked at him suspiciously, then lifted the flask to his lips. The look in his eyes said it all. “Only a true friend of the Scots would have Highland whisky,” he said begrudgingly and opened the door wide. “Where’d ye get this?”

“I told you,” said Captain Arrow. “My mother’s people were Frasers. I’ve got more I’ll be glad to share with you. Show up at my house any time and take your fill.”

“You’re not jokin’?”

“Certainly not,” Stephen assured him, “and feel free to bring a friend or two. Now if you’d be so good—”

“Step right in,” the butler said.

A moment later they were walking down a corridor toward a sitting room.

“I could have done that myself,” Jilly whispered to the captain. “Without the flask.”

“How?”

She speared him with a look. “I have my ways.”

“Oh?” He squeezed her elbow. “Perhaps you could practice your—ahem—ways on me later.”

Practice on him? She knew very well what sort of practice he meant, although—

Although she’d never, ever, um, practiced what she was sure he was imagining. She wasn’t even sure what to do.

But I’d love to find out.

“H-how dare you suggest such a thing,” she protested, but even to her own ears, her injury sounded feigned. Shocked and appalled at her own weakness, Jilly had to look away from her neighbor once again. He was much too good at stirring her up in improper ways.

He merely touched her lower back firmly and led her in a gallant fashion toward the Hobbses’ sitting room, but she couldn’t help recalling the purposeful yet careful way he’d held her on the floor at Hodgepodge, as if she were precious.

That memory softened her. It did more than that, actually—it bewildered her. Almost brought tears to her eyes.

Hector had never treated her so.

She’d never felt … womanly in his presence. Like a goddess adored. Yes, that’s how Captain Arrow had treated her, like a goddess.

In the sitting room, she made the decision to allow him to help her with the Hobbses, after all.

Mrs. Hobbs rose from a chair, where she was knitting. “Welcome,” she said with a broad smile.

“Sit down, Lavinia.” Mr. Hobbs used a firm tone from his plush red armchair, where he was reading a newspaper.

Mrs. Hobbs did sit down, and she looked none too happy about it.

Her husband lowered his newspaper an inch. “I told Lavinia we don’t have time for your nonsense, but she insisted we should see you. So say what you have to say and get out.”

He put the paper back up in front of his face.

“Mr. Hobbs,” Jilly said, “could you please lower the paper?”

He merely shook it.

“Mind if I take a seat, Hobbs?” Captain Arrow asked.

Mr. Hobbs lowered the paper and scowled at him. “If you insist.”

The captain leaned back in a lovely Chippendale chair and pulled out a pair of cheroots. “Care for one?” He held it out to Mr. Hobbs. “They’re the finest I’ve ever found in the Indies.”

Without waiting for an answer, the captain lit the cheroots from a nearby taper—Jilly was impressed by his sangfroid—and the men both began to puff away. Mr. Hobbs looked like a grumpy dragon, Jilly thought, scowling and puffing, scowling and puffing.

Captain Arrow took what appeared to be a few blissful puffs and let out a long sigh. He smiled and leaned over to Mrs. Hobbs and asked her about her knitting.

Good. Now Jilly could concentrate on Mr. Hobbs.

She cleared her throat. “Mr. Hobbs, you’re a hardworking man.”

“Yes, I am,” he said, and rattled his paper.

She racked her brain. “You—you deserve to come home and have your home be your castle.”

“Indeed, I do.” He coughed, and a curl of smoke floated above the page.

Jilly took a chair, pulled it up next to him, and folded her hands in her lap. “I know you can’t see me through your paper,” she said, “but that’s all right. There’s so much fog on this street—we often can’t see each other. Sometimes it tends to make one feel a bit … alone.”

Silence from behind the paper.

Jilly squeezed her fingers together harder. “I just want you to know, Mr. Hobbs, that your family isn’t alone. It might seem like it, but it doesn’t have to be that way. And if you feel like your castle is under siege, there are actually people on the street who want to help you fight for it.”

She waited, and he lowered his paper just enough that she could see one eye. “No one can help me,” he mumbled around the cheroot.

Oh, dear. He sounded angry and despairing, all at once.

“But I think we can,” said Jilly. “We can earn enough money from the street fair to—”

Mr. Hobbs dropped the paper in his lap and pulled the cheroot out of his mouth. “The bloody lease is just the beginning,” he hissed. “My financial woes extend far beyond the requirements of that lease.”

Mrs. Hobbs turned at the sound of his voice. “Mason?”

He looked at her. “These people can’t help us, Lavinia.”

He put the cheroot back in his mouth and the paper back up. Mrs. Hobbs’s face fell. Jilly looked at Stephen.

Do you need help? his expression asked.

She gave him a brief shake of her head, but a part of her simply felt happy to have someone to rely on.

She inhaled a breath and went back to Mr. Hobbs. “I can’t make any promises beyond the lease, Mr. Hobbs,” she said in a firm, no-nonsense tone. “But one step at a time. One step. With the weight of the lease removed, you’ll be able to think more clearly about the rest.”

“The rest,” he said contemptuously from behind his newspaper.

“Yes, the rest,” she asserted. “Meanwhile, your wife and children can help with the fair. Anticipate success there, Mr. Hobbs. And with that momentum, you can go forward. Giving up isn’t an option. In fact, we’d like you to help with the fair, too.”

He lowered the paper. “No.” His tone was still flat.

“Very well.” Jilly stood. “But we do need Mrs. Hobbs and the children.”

“Mason?” Mrs. Hobbs’s voice was thin.

Mr. Hobbs looked at the frayed Aubusson rug then back at his wife. “You can help with the fair,” he said. “But—”

“But what, dear?” Mrs. Hobbs asked him.

“Nothing.” He stood and sighed. “Miss Jones, you’re an interfering young lady.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said.

She heard Captain Arrow behind her give a small cough that sounded rather like a laugh. “You won’t regret this, Hobbs,” he said.

Mr. Hobbs’s brows drew across his nose. “We’ll see about that.” He flung his hand toward the door, the cheroot still smoking between his fingertips. “Now out with you both.”

“Thank you for coming,” said Mrs. Hobbs with a happy smile.

“Come over tomorrow with the children,” Jilly said, “and we’ll talk about what you can do.”

“I look forward to it,” said Mrs. Hobbs.

Jilly hugged Mrs. Hobbs, then took Captain Arrow’s arm. Together they strode out the door, past the butler, who winked at the captain, and out onto the street.

She looked at Captain Arrow, and he, at her.

At the same time, they laughed.

“Well done,” he said.

“Thank you for sharing your whisky and cigars.”

“My pleasure.”

The biggest thing she’d noticed at the Hobbses’ was that she and the captain did well together. Not that she would tell him that. He’d be sure to remind her they meshed perfectly in another way, too—a way she was sure she should forget but already knew she wouldn’t.