Minx

by Julia Quinn

  He held himself above her, content for the moment just to watch her as her soul floated back down to earth. And then slowly—and with great regret—he pulled himself from her body.

  Her eyes flew open.

  “I don’t want to get you with child,” he whispered. “At least not yet. When the time comes, I shall derive the utmost satisfaction from seeing you heavy and round.”

  Henry shuddered, his words strangely erotic.

  He leaned down, kissed her nose, and reached for his clothing.

  She reached for him. “Please don’t go.”

  He touched her forehead, brushing aside a silky lock of hair. “I wish I didn’t have to,” he murmured. “I hadn’t really intended to do this, although”—he smiled wryly—“I can’t say I’m sorry I did.”

  “But you didn’t—”

  “It’ll have to wait, darling.” He kissed her gently, unable to help himself. “For our wedding night. I want it to be perfect.”

  She was so languid she could barely move, yet somehow she managed a small yet cheeky grin. “It would be perfect no matter what.”

  “Mmm, I know, but I’d also like to make certain that any new arrivals to our family don’t arrive any sooner than nine months after our wedding. I won’t have your reputation besmirched.”

  She didn’t much care about her reputation at that moment, but for his sake she nodded understandingly. “Will you be all right?”

  He closed his eyes for a moment. “In a few hours perhaps.”

  She reached out to touch him in sympathy but pulled her hand away when he shook his head and said, “Better not.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Please don’t apologize.” He stood. “I . . . ah . . . I think I might slip out of the house and go for a swim. There is a pond not too far away, and I hear it is very cold.”

  Much to her horror, she giggled.

  He tried to look stern but didn’t quite manage it. He leaned down and kissed her one last time, his lips gently brushing against her brow. Then he walked to the door and placed his hand on the knob. “Ah, Henry?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “We’d better make that four weeks.”

  Chapter 19

  Dunford sent a messenger to London the next day to place an announcement in the Times. Henry was inordinately pleased by his haste to announce the engagement; it seemed yet another sign he loved her with the same devotion she felt for him.

  Belle and John arrived the next morning in time to join the two couples for a late breakfast. Belle was very pleased although not terribly surprised at Dunford and Henry’s announcement. She had known, after all, that he was planning to propose, and anyone who had ever seen Henry so much as look at him would have known she would accept.

  After lunch the three ladies were sitting in the appropriately named sitting room, discussing Henry’s new status as a betrothed woman.

  “I hope he did something terribly romantic,” Belle said, taking a sip of tea.

  Henry delighted them both by blushing. “It was, ah, sufficiently romantic.”

  “What I don’t understand,” Emma said, “is when he had the opportunity to propose. He hadn’t done so before dinner last night, unless you were keeping a secret, which I don’t think you were because, frankly, I do not see how you would be able to keep so large a secret.”

  Henry coughed.

  “And then the two of us retired to the parlor, and then we all went to bed.” Emma’s eyes narrowed. “Didn’t we?”

  Henry coughed again. “Do you know, I think I really could use a bit more tea.”

  Emma smiled wickedly and poured. “Have a sip, Hen.”

  Henry’s eyes slid warily from cousin to cousin as she raised the cup to her lips.

  “Has your throat recovered?” Belle inquired sweetly.

  “A bit more tea, I think,” Henry hedged, holding the cup out to her hostess. “With a bit more milk.” Emma picked up the milk and splashed some into Henry’s teacup. Henry took yet another sip and then, glancing up at the two pairs of eyes regarding her with devilish purpose, drained the cup. “I don’t suppose you have any brandy.”

  “Out with it, Henry,” Emma ordered.

  “I . . . ah . . . it’s a bit personal, don’t you think? Really, I don’t see either one of you telling me how your husbands proposed.”

  To Henry’s surprise, Emma flushed. “Very well,” the duchess said. “I won’t ask you any more questions. But I have to tell you . . .” Her words trailed off, and she looked as if she were trying to figure out how to say something extremely indelicate.

  “What?” Henry asked, unapologetically enjoying Emma’s discomfort. The duchess had, after all, been enjoying Henry’s discomfort not two minutes earlier.

  “I realize,” Emma said slowly, “that part of the reason Dunford asked us to host you in a house party was because he realized we would not be the most stern of chaperones.”

  Belle let out a little snort of laughter.

  Emma glared at her cousin before turning back to Henry. “I am sure he supposed he would find a way to get you alone, and I certainly understand that he would want some time alone with you. After all, he does love you.” She paused and looked up. “He does love you, doesn’t he? I mean, of course he does, but he has told you? Men can be such beasts about that.”

  Henry’s cheeks pinkened a touch, and she nodded.

  “Right,” Emma said crisply. She cleared her throat and then continued, “As I was saying, I do understand your desire, er, perhaps that is the wrong word—”

  “ ‘Desire’ is probably quite appropriate,” Belle said, her lips twitching with barely restrained laughter.

  Emma shot another dagger-like glare at her cousin. Belle smirked back at her, and the two ladies continued this rather unladylike behavior until Henry cleared her throat. Emma immediately straightened, looked at Henry, and then, unable to resist, shot Belle one last glare. Belle responded in kind with her cheekiest of smirks.

  “You were saying?” Henry said.

  “Right,” Emma said, not quite as crisply as before. “All I was going to say was that it is certainly all right to want to be alone with him, and”—she blushed, the effect almost comical against her bright red hair—“it is probably all right to actually be alone with him from time to time, but I have to ask you to please contrive not to be very alone with him, if you know what I mean.”

  Henry hadn’t known what she meant until the night before, but now she did, and she blushed hard, much harder than Emma.

  Emma’s expression revealed she had a feeling her message was coming too late. “These things just seem to have a way of getting back to Aunt Caroline,” she mumbled.

  Henry started to feel embarrassed, but then she remembered that Belle and Emma were her friends. And although she hadn’t much experience with female friends, she knew that if they teased, it was only because they cared. She looked up jauntily, first into Emma’s violet eyes and then into Belle’s blue ones, and said, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

  The rest of the time in the country passed very quickly for Henry. She and her new friends made outings into the nearby village, played cards until the wee hours of the morning, and laughed and teased until their sides ached. But the most special times were when Dunford managed to sneak her away, and they were able to enjoy a few stolen moments together.

  These clandestine meetings always seemed to begin with a passionate kiss, although Dunford insisted that was never his intention. “I see you and get carried away,” he would say, always with an unrepentant shrug.

  Henry tried to scold him, but her heart clearly wasn’t in it.

  All too soon, however, she found herself back in London, deluged by curious callers who insisted they just wanted to offer their congratulations on her upcoming marriage. Henry was a bit bewildered by all the attention as she hadn’t even met the majority
of the well-wishers.

  The Earl of Billington stopped by, good-naturedly complaining that he hadn’t even been given a chance to court her. “Dunford stole quite a march on us all,” he said with a lazy smile.

  Henry smiled and shrugged humbly, not at all certain how to respond.

  “I suppose I shall have to nurse my broken heart tonight and brave another ball.”

  “Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Your heart isn’t the least bit broken.”

  He grinned, delighted with her forthrightness. “It would have been, had I been given the chance to get to know you better.”

  “How lucky for me you weren’t,” drawled a deep voice.

  Henry turned to see Dunford filling up the doorway to Caroline’s favorite salon. He looked big and tall and so very masculine in his blue coat and tan breeches. He gazed at her and quirked a very small, one-sided smile that was meant for her alone. Her eyes immediately turned to dreamy pools of silvery satin, and she let out a tiny sigh.

  “I can see I didn’t have a prayer,” Billington murmured.

  “Not a one,” Dunford said affably, crossing the room and sitting down next to Henry. Now that she was safely engaged to him, he finally remembered that he had always rather liked Billington.

  “What brings you by?” Henry asked him.

  “Just wanted to see you. Has your day been pleasant thus far?”

  “Too many callers, I’m afraid.” Henry suddenly realized her tremendous faux pas and turned to Billington, stammering, “Present company excluded, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “Oh, please do not think me boorish, my lord. It’s just that nearly a hundred people I do not know have come to see me today. I was really quite relieved when you came to call. I actually know you, and more importantly, I rather like you.”

  “A lovely apology, my dear.” Dunford patted her hand as if to say that she needn’t go on any further. At the rate she was going, she’d be professing her love for the earl any minute.

  Billington caught Dunford’s vaguely irritated expression and stood, a knowing smile on his face. “I have always prided myself on recognizing when I am de trop.”

  Dunford stood as well and escorted Billington to the door, where he gave the man a hearty slap on the back. “I have always admired that quality in you myself, Billington.”

  Billington’s lips twitched, and he executed a smart bow in Henry’s direction. “Miss Barrett.”

  A few seconds later she and Dunford were alone.

  “I thought he would never leave,” he said with a dramatic sigh, shutting the door behind him.

  “You fiend. You all but chased him out. And don’t think the door is going to remain closed for more than two minutes before Lady Worth gets wind of it and sends over a fleet of servants to chaperone us.”

  He sighed again. “A man can hope.”

  Henry’s lips curved into a feminine smile. “So can a woman.”

  “Really?” He leaned toward her until she could feel his breath on her skin. “What were you hoping for?”

  “Oh, this and that,” she said breathily.

  “This?” He kissed one corner of her mouth. “Or that?” He kissed the other.

  “I-I believe I said this and that.”

  “So you did.” He repeated both kisses. Henry sighed with contentment and allowed herself to sink into his side. His arms stole around her in a platonic embrace, and he nuzzled the back of her neck with his face. He allowed himself this pleasure for a few moments and then lifted his face to ask, “How much longer do you think we have before Caroline releases the hounds?”

  “About thirty seconds, I should think.”

  He reluctantly loosened his hold, moved to the chair opposite her, and pulled out his pocket watch. “What are you doing?” Henry asked, shaking with silent laughter.

  “Testing you, my dear.” There was silence for about twenty seconds, then he clucked and shook his head. “You’re off, minx. It appears I could have had a few more seconds of holding you.”

  Henry rolled her eyes and shook her head. The man was incorrigible. Then the door was abruptly opened. Neither of them could see who had done it. A liveried arm merely pushed it open, then disappeared. Both of them burst out laughing. “I have been vindicated!” Henry exclaimed triumphantly. “Tell me, how close was I?”

  He nodded in reluctant admiration. “You were off by only six seconds, minx.”

  She gave him a self-satisfied smile and sat back.

  He stood. “It appears our time alone has come to an end. What do we have now—just two more weeks?”

  She nodded. “Aren’t you glad I talked you into a four-week engagement instead of five?”

  “Beyond words, my love.” He leaned down and kissed her hand. “I trust I shall see you this evening at Lady Hampton’s ball.”

  “If you are there, then so shall I be.”

  “I wish you were always this biddable.”

  “I can be quite biddable when it suits my purposes.”

  “Ah, yes. Then I suppose I shall have to ask you to contrive to find purposes that match my own.”

  “I believe we are in agreement just now, my lord.”

  He laughed. “I’m going to have to leave. You have by far surpassed me in the art of flirtation. I’m in serious danger of losing my heart.”

  “I should hope you have already lost it,” she called out, watching him walk to the open door.

  He turned around, his eyes burning with emotion. “I haven’t lost it. But I did give it to a woman for safekeeping.”

  “And is she keeping it safe?” she asked, unable to keep a quaver out of her voice.

  “Yes, she is, and I would guard hers with my life.”

  “I hope it does not come to that.”

  “As do I. But that does not mean I would not give it.” He turned but paused before leaving the room. “Sometimes, Hen,” he said, not turning back around to face her, “I think I would give my life just for one of your smiles.”

  A few hours later Henry was finishing her preparations for that evening’s ball. As always, she felt a little shiver of excitement at the thought of seeing Dunford that evening. It was strange how, now that they had professed their love for each other, their time together had grown even more thrilling. Every look, every touch was so infused with meaning; he had only to glance at her a certain way, Henry thought wryly, and she forgot how to breathe.

  There was a chill in the night air, so she donned a gown of midnight-blue velvet. Dunford came by to escort her, as did Belle and John, who arrived in their own carriage. “Perfect,” Caroline declared, clapping her hands together. “With two carriages already here, there is no reason to have mine brought round. I’ll, ah, I’ll just ride with Dunford and Henrietta.”

  Dunford’s face fell visibly.

  “And Henry—that is to say my Henry,” Caroline explained, “shall ride with Belle and John.”

  Belle muttered something about not needing a chaperone when she was married, but Henry was the only one close enough to hear.

  The ride to Hampton House was fairly uneventful, as Henry had expected it would be. There certainly wasn’t much opportunity for an “event” to arise with Caroline in the carriage. Once at the ball Henry was immediately swept away by the crush of the crowd, most of whom already had decided she must be quite the most interesting young woman of the year if she had managed to land Dunford with such apparent ease.

  Dunford watched her parry comments with nosy dowagers and equally nosy young debutantes, decided she was handling herself just fine, and went off to get some fresh air. Much as he wanted to spend every waking minute with her, it wouldn’t do to spend too much time by her side. They were engaged, that was true, so people would expect him to pay her a bit more attention than usual, but there was also some less-than-pleasant gossip concerning how exactly they had met. They had, afte
r all, become engaged only two weeks after her arrival in London. Dunford didn’t think any of the gossip had reached Henry’s ears yet, but he didn’t want to do anything that might fan the flames. He decided to give her a bit of time to socialize with Caroline’s friends, all highly influential and with unimpeachable reputations, then he’d return to claim her for a waltz. No one could fault him one dance.

  He wandered over to the French doors leading out onto the garden. Lady Hampton had had the area lit with Chinese lanterns, and it was nearly as bright outside as it was inside. He leaned lazily against a pillar and was contemplating his tremendous good fortune when he heard someone calling his name. He turned his head.

  The Earl of Billington was walking toward him, a smile on his face that was mocking and self-deprecating at the same time. “I just wanted to offer you my congratulations once again,” he said. “I don’t know quite how you managed it, but you do deserve the best of wishes.”

  Dunford nodded graciously. “You’ll find someone else.”

  “Not this year. Crop’s pitifully thin. Your Henry was the only one with half a brain.”

  Dunford arched his brow. “Half a brain?”

  “Imagine my delight when I discovered that the only debutante with half a brain actually had one in its entirety.” Billington shook his head. “I’ll have to wait until next year.”

  “Why the rush?”

  “Believe me, Dunford, you don’t want to know.”

  Dunford found that comment quite cryptic but pressed no further, respecting the other man’s privacy.

  “Although,” Billington continued, “since it appears I will not be getting myself leg-shackled this season, I most probably will be looking for a companion.”

  “A companion, you say?”

  “Mmm-hmm. Charise returned to Paris a few weeks ago. Said it was too rainy here.”