Her Secret Lover (Aphrodite's Club 2)

But I’d have to help you run off to London first, wouldn’t I, my pretty lady?

“I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to do,” she went on, oblivious to his mocking thoughts.

He slowed to let her go ahead, the lane narrowing into a path leading to the top of a rounded hill. The magnificent view opened up before them. It was one of Gabriel’s favorites, but Antoinette was too wrapped up in her scheming to notice.

“Coombe…” She turned to him, a frown wrinkling her smooth brow. “Do you think you’d like a life like that? Of course, it would mean leaving Wexmoor Manor, but there’s so much more out there in the world. I’m quite certain you wouldn’t miss it.”

He hunched down over his horse’s neck, twisting the reins between his gloved fingers, making himself look miserable. “This is me home, miss. I was born here. My—me ma died when I was a little ’un and Sir John took me in. I’ve never known any home but here at the manor.”

Her expression softened. He’d touched her heart, it seemed, or else she was a very good actress. “I know this is your home,” she said gently, “but sometimes it’s necessary to leave the past behind, if you want to better yourself

.”

“Is that what you did, miss? When you went to be Lord Appleby’s bedmate?”

Her eyes flashed but she tamped her anger down. “In a way, I—I suppose…But we’re not talking about me, are we, Coombe? We’re discussing you. Don’t you want to better yourself?”

“Better meself? I have a warm stable to sleep in and Mrs. Wonicot’s cooking. How can I do better’n that?”

Her impatient sigh was clearly audible. “I meant to make a better life for yourself. Sleep in a proper bed, for instance, and eat in a dining room instead of in a corner of the kitchen. Wear fine clothes, live in a fine house with—with servants.”

“Is that why you sleep in His Lordship’s bed, miss? To make a ‘better life’ for yourself?”

No, she definitely didn’t like to be reminded of that. He saw the color stain her cheeks as she struggled not to give him a sharp set-down. But he’d spoken with such guileless innocence she could hardly reprimand him for insolence, even if she didn’t have the added agenda of keeping him sweet.

“I…Well, not quite,” she managed at last through tight lips. “You shouldn’t listen to gossip, Coombe.”

He decided to push her a bit further. “Oh aye? Mrs. Wonicot says you’re bad, miss. She says a woman like you might make me do things…things I oughtn’t.”

Antoinette’s eyes narrowed. “Indeed.”

“But I don’t think you’re bad,” he added hastily. “You’ve always been kind to me. Once Mrs. Wonicot gets an idea in her head, then there’s no stopping her. Me and Mary have a laugh about it sometimes. Mary’s very pretty, don’t you think, miss?”

Her face brightened as she saw a chance to bring the conversation back to her favorite subject. “Do you have a girl, Coombe?”

A girl? Hmm, there was a question.

“I like girls, miss, but they don’t like me.”

He waited. He could imagine what she was thinking but she could hardly be honest, not if she wanted his help.

“Perhaps you haven’t yet met the girl who will accept you for what you are, Coombe.” She spoke carefully but with a kindness that he found touching.

“How will I know when I meet her, miss?”

“I don’t have a great deal of experience in such matters, but I think you’ll know because you’ll want to please her, Coombe. Chores that seem tedious and boring will fly by because you’ll be seeing her. And when you look into her eyes and touch her hand, when you kiss her, you’ll feel as if you are sharing something very special.”

They were silent, both looking out over the breathtaking view of green fields and woods and distant blue hills.

“This is beautiful,” Antoinette said, as if only just noticing what was before her.

“Yes, miss. Barnstaple is over that way, we go there sometimes to market, and once some visitors came to the train station and we had to collect them in the cart. St. Nells is over there, on the coast. It’s not so far. And London is beyond Barnstaple, that way, but you can’t see the smoke and soot of the chimneys from here, so Mrs. Wonicot says.”

He was attributing a lot to Sally Wonicot, but he didn’t think she’d mind.

“London.” Antoinette sighed.

“Aye. Is there a special reason you want to go there, miss?”