An excerpt from a Gentleman Never Tells

A GENTLEMAN NEVER TELLS

(Available now on eBook in the UK, releases Sept 28th on audio and paperback. Available Feb 2024 on all formats in the US & CA)

The carriage starts rumbling along, and Taya pulls out a fan, wafting it leisurely in front of her face, blowing her unmanageable hair around her face. My God, what is she doing? I don’t know, but I’m beginning to think that the hair matches the owner. Unmanageable. Let it be known, that fan is not there to cool Lady Taya Winters down, for London is hardly boasting soaring temperatures today. No, that fan is a tool, and by God it works.
She gazes out of the window, smiling over the top of it, and I swallow, as Sampson declares his departure, virtually diving out of the window.

‘What the bloody hell are you doing?’ I blurt, practically lunging for his leg to save him from falling to the cutting stones. Of course, I miss it, for the man moves fast, and I look out of the window, turning my head to see up onto the roof.

He’s sitting up there, relaxed, taking in the view. ‘Such a waste to be cooped up like chickens in there,’ he says happily, turning his eyes to me. ‘Behave, won’t you, Melrose, while I am up here, and you are down there with my sister?’

I huff and pull myself back into the carriage, and I get as comfortable as one can in such a situation. Which is what, I ask myself. What is the situation? Just an attractive lady? I am used to those. But this one? Perhaps it is because she is forbidden, for everyone wants what they cannot have. I reach into my pocket to retrieve my story and distract myself by reading for a time, so I may ignore the rather pleasant feeling of her eyes on me. I frown, feeling around in my pocket. My heart begins to race. ‘Oh no,’ I murmur, scanning the floor at my feet. The bench either side of me. My lap. ‘Bugger it all, no.’

‘Looking for this?’

I peek up and find Lady Taya waving a foolscap folio before her face, the piece replacing her fan. I gasp and reach forward, snatching it from her grasp, and she recoils, surprised. My God, did she read it?

‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

I scowl to myself and tuck it away, looking out of the window. ‘I apologise, I did not mean to act so sharply.’

“What is it?’ she asks.

‘Private.’

‘Oh? You won’t tell me? Not even if I promise to keep it a secret?’

I peek at her, and she starts wafting that fan again, her smile hardly seen. Unmanagable! ‘Oh please,’ I say, unable to stop myself. ‘Your tactics are insulting.’ Does she think I’m that shallow? And then it occurs to me that perhaps she does. My God, does everyone think I am so shallow? One dimensional? That a seductive smile and a silent promise may influence me. I feel sick. Wait. What is she promising?

Frank!

She laughs, and it is like sweet whispers in my ear. ‘I do not have tactics, Mr Melrose. I’m simply curious.”

‘Well, my lady,’ I smile, and it is forced. ‘A gentleman never tells.’

‘Tells what?’ she asks quickly and strongly, coy, letting her smile loose. She needs to stop smiling at me immediately. And laughing. In fact, she shouldn’t talk to me or look at me either.

I raise my eyebrows and return to admiring the view, ignoring her question, but am disturbed from the challenge of pretending she isn’t here when she starts shifting in her seat. I peek out the corner of my eye, watching her, as she rootles in the top of her dress. What is she doing? I gulp, my eyes rooted on the creamy flesh of her chest, until she eventually pulls something out and unfolds it. She settles again, pulling a pencil from her pouch, and starts tilting her head back and forth, concentrating as she studies the paper, taking the pencil in every so often and flicking it here and there. I frown, craning my head to see what it is she is doing.

Her hand stills. She glances up. And I quickly divert my attention to the view. I can feel her smiling eyes on me, and I sigh, looking at her, making her aware that I am aware of her tactics, though why she is doing this is beyond me.

I scowl and she smirks. My God, she’s infuriating. I try to settle, I try so hard, but I continue to fidget terribly, the tension thick. Sexual tension?

‘So,’ she says, and I blink, snapped from my brief silent wondering. ‘What do you think to this marriage between my brother and your sister?’ she asks.

‘Is it not a trifle too late to be asking for opinions on this joining?’ I don’t look at her.

‘Perhaps,’ she muses. ‘But do you think it is a good coupling? I love my brother dearly.’

‘As I love my sister, too, my lady.’

‘Well, my brother is a duke. Our family is renowned.’

It is as if she thinks it her responsibility to look out for her brother. For Christ’s sake, her brother is an athletic, six-foot four-inch bison of a man, and she is a petite, slender, willowy female with, I realise now, an air of self-importance about her. ‘Your family, my lady, were renowned for being dead.’ She flinches, as do I. Did I just say that?

‘I beg your pardon?’

God damn me. ‘I mean …’ Hell, what do I mean? ‘My sister is a beautiful woman inside and out.’ I level Lady Taya Winters with a serious look, forcing myself to withstand the beauty which is now glaring back at me. ‘Our family owns the most successful newspaper in London, and soon beyond.’ How dare she question our position. Our worthiness. We’ve worked hard for it. I inwardly wince. Papa has worked hard for it. Eliza has worked hard for it. Me? ‘Stop the carriage!’ I yell, making Taya shoot forward abruptly when the horses skid to a stop.

‘Oh my!’ she shrieks.

‘Hell!’ Sampson shouts from the roof.

I catch Taya and ease her back onto her seat. ‘I think I shall walk from here,’ I say gently, getting out of the carriage, feeling suffocated by both the enclosed space and who is in it, and by my apparent shortcomings.

‘Mr Melrose, I didn’t––’

‘Good day to you, my lady.’

‘Where are you going, Melrose?’ Sampson yells, righting his splayed body on the roof.

I slip on my hat and start the long walk home, pulling my story out of my inside pocket and reading it for the thousandth time, getting tingles from top to toe once again. Imagine, I think, as I wander alone, how new eyes will feel reading it for the first time if I myself am awed? This is better. Air to breathe freely. My focus reset.
The nerve of that woman. Dislike her. I must dislike her, and she has given me good cause.

It will be a hell of a lot easier than lusting after her.