“That was rather odd,” Elisa said.
“You do rattle on at her about her lax ways with the children,” Anna pointed out.
“That was after ‘tasha said she was leaving,” Elisa said, frowning. “Did we say something to upset her?”
“We were talking about Raymond before that.”
“Mmm,” Elisa said.
“I have time for one more cup of tea before I leave,” Anna said. “It will give me just enough time to tell you about the letter I got from Eton yesterday, about Iefan.”
“Has he been suspended again?” Elisa asked.
Anna laughed. “He argued with his science master that light is an electromagnetic wave and part of the electromagnetic spectrum, not a separate entity in its own right.”
“He disputed his teacher?” Elisa said, shocked. The two of them moved toward the drawing room.
“Yes, and produced the papers published by Professor Maxwell three years ago to substantiate the claim. Really, I cannot see what the fuss is about. Iefan was perfectly correct.”
Elisa shook her head. “You approve of what he did!”
“Oh, he should not have called his science master a buffoon, I grant you,” Anna said dismissively.
Elisa laughed. “You are irrepressible, Princess Annalies.”
“Only in the company of my closest friends, of course,” Annalies said with a smile. Her smile faded as they settled about the card table. “I do hope Natasha is not upset with us. She didn’t speak at all when we were talking about Raymond.”
“Natasha doesn’t always have an opinion about everything the way you do,” Elisa replied.
Annalies looked surprised. “I do not!” Then she frowned. “Besides, everyone has an opinion about everything, simply because they are capable of reasoning. She must have had an opinion of some sort.”
Elisa smiled.
“What did I say?”
“You just proved my point, my dear.”
Annalies looked startled. Then they both laughed.
Chapter Six
It was a relief to realize she was awake, after all.
Natasha lay on her back, the bedlinens tangled around her hips and legs, her heart thudding and her skin damp with exertion. The room was silent and almost completely dark, except for a strip of moonlight creeping in through the curtains.
The dream had been extremely vivid—far more than usual. Even now, though, the details were slipping away. She was left with an impression of hands on her body and the weight of another against her, as every inch of her was stroked and teased, her nerves brought to life with crackling intensity.
As she lay recovering, Natasha moaned. Her real body, not just her dream body, was throbbing with the power of those hands. The tips of her breasts were hard and the delicate motion of her nightdress across them felt like the teasing touch of a lover.
The flesh between her legs throbbed.
This heated state of her body was how Seth had often made her feel. She hadn’t experienced such an intense longing since he had gone…except for a pale echo when she had watched Raymond at Henley. This need she felt now was as powerful as any Seth had ever stirred in her. She moved restlessly, pushing the bedclothes off with her feet.
It still wasn’t enough. She rose and went to the window and pulled the curtains aside. The moonlight fell through the lace sheers, to pattern her body with shadowy flourishes and flowers.
She reached past the lace and lifted the window up, opening it wide.
Immediately, night sounds came to her. It was very late. The gas lanterns had been extinguished and Hyde Park was swathed in shadows. Because there was no traffic on the street, she could hear the wind in the tree tops across Park Lane. She could smell the early morning coolness of the air, redolent with green, growing things and moisture.
Natasha breathed deeply, inhaling it all.
Raymond was also lying in a bed, only a few blocks from here. He would be sleeping, as was most of London was at this time. She preferred to think he was not. Was he thinking of her again? Was he wondering what it would be like to kiss her?
How things had changed in the last few weeks! Raymond had gone from being Elisa’s grown son in her mind, to a man who could make her feel this way just by looking at her.
Natasha went back to the bed and gathered the nightdress up in her hand so she could climb onto the mattress. Her knee was almost as pale as the sheet in the ghostly moonlight.
She settled on the bed on her knees, her hand still clenching the nightdress, watching the lace at the window billow softly. Then, with a compulsive jerk, she pulled the dress off and dropped it onto the end of the bed where the bedclothes were bundled.
The air breezing through the window played over her naked body and she drew in a shaky breath as the fever in her blood boiled. Her breasts were aching to be touched, the tips almost hurting.
She put her hands over them and shuddered at the brush of her palms against the nipples. If her own touch could do this, what would another’s hands feel like? What would a mouth feel like?
Natasha moaned, as fragments of her dream came back to her and dropped her hand to the junction of her thighs and pressed the fingers against her mound. She watched the wind move the curtain at the window as she spread her knees and curved her fingers deeper between her thighs.
The wetness there was not a surprise to her. The heat was. It was as if she was burning.
The touch of her fingers against the inner flesh made her eyes drift shut. She pushed the tips up against the nub and felt the swollen sensitivity of it. Her hips thrust forward at the touch and her climax gathered almost instantly, building rapidly.
She let her head fall back, feeling the brush of her hair against her rear and stroked quickly. The pleasure peak was so close and needed little encouragement.
Natasha came with a groan. She held it in, her jaw clamped, as her body shuddered and the pleasure sizzled through her. The intensity of the sensations was almost frightening.
Slowly, her breath eased, her heart calmed and sense returned. She looked at the open window and the moving curtain and shivered. She reached for the nightgown and put it on, feeling the chill of the air. Moving quickly, she straightened out the blankets and sheets and slid beneath them.
Her gaze fell on the untouched pillow on the other side of the bed. Natasha put her hand on the pillow. “Please understand,” she whispered.
With her hand on the pillow, she closed her eyes and wished for a dreamless sleep.
* * * * *
William Wardell was a handsome man. He was the same age as Lilly, which made him a little too young for Lilly’s tastes. She had never considered Will as anything more than an unofficial cousin and a good friend, although he had a wicked sense of fun and they had had their share of scrapes over the years.
It had been several years, though, since he had beckoned her into the carriage to plot more mischief and Lilly stepped out of the town house and into the brougham with a sense of trepidation. She could not afford to be entangled in one of Will’s grand messes. Not anymore.
Will shifted over to the edge of the seat as she stepped inside the carriage. He was dressed for walking, which told her he was heading for Hyde Park. He had been growing a pointed, trimmed beard for about a year, now, although the unruly mop of thick sandy hair was still not restrained. His habit of running his hand through his hair did not help with the lack of neatness. His smile was warm.
Lilly settled on the seat next to him, arranged her hems and took off her spectacles. “I cannot stay long,” she warned him. “Some of us have to work, you know.”
“God, I’d hate to have you as a governess,” Will said. “Teaching Latin conjugates has soured you. You’ve lost all your humor since you took the post.”
“Your mother doesn’t want the girls to learn Latin just yet. I focus on deportment and history, literature and mathematics.”
“As I said,” Will replied. He lifted up a heavy book from where it ha
d been tucked between him and the carriage wall and held it out. “Peter found something.”
Lilly put her glasses back on as Will opened Burke’s to a page that had been marked with a strip of torn stationery. He placed the book on her lap and pointed.
Lilly read the entry. “Linnea Susan Donaldson?” she repeated aloud.
“Susan,” Will repeated for emphasis. He tapped the page. “She has not married, to date.”
Lilly peered at the birthdate. “She is nearly thirty. I would guess that marriage is not in her future, either.”
“Exactly,” Will said.
“She isn’t Susanna, though.”
“Peter thought that maybe Susanna was a family name.”
“A family name?”
“You’re Lillian, only we all call you Lilly. Everyone calls me Will. Your father was Richard, yet everyone used his middle name, Seth.” Will shrugged. “A family name.”
Lilly pursed her lips. “It is a bit thin, isn’t it?”
“She’s the only Susan in the book who fits,” Will said. “Look at her ancestry. The Donaldsons are from Hertfordshire.”
Lilly shook her head, lost.
“Farleigh Hall is in Hertfordshire.” Will pointed to the entry. “Raymond grew up near her. She’s close to his age. And she is still unmarried. Her middle name is Susan, which could easily become Susanna.” He shrugged.
“It’s a little more convincing,” Lilly admitted. “But hardly conclusive.”
“You sound more like a governess every day,” Will said. “Conclusive.”
Lilly let the petty hurt roll over her and depart. Then she said, “What are you proposing? Do you intend to write to the lady and demand she admit she threw Raymond over?”
“The first half is already done,” Will said. He frowned. “That is where we are mired.” He pulled an envelope out of his jacket. It was crumpled and the seal broken. “The letter was returned this morning. Her family’s secretary said she was living in Paris. He gave me the address and suggested I redirect the letter there.”
“The family read the letter?” Lilly asked, surprised and more than a little uncomfortable.
Will shook his head. “They returned it unopened. They might have sent it on,” he added, mildly irritated.
“Couriers to Paris are expensive,” Lilly said.
“Not if they’re already going there.” Will put the letter back in his jacket. “Jack and Peter and I are going to Paris to see her.”
“No, Will, you can’t simply turn up on her doorstep like that!” Lilly protested. “Even if the lady is Susanna, she would hardly break down and confess to a stranger who arrives unannounced! It’s madness!”
“I do wish you’d give me some credit,” Will said. “It’s summer, Lilly. Everyone is travelling right now. Jack and I will take Peter to see Paris for the first time. What could be more natural? And while we’re there, we will accidentally bump into an English lady who is from Hertfordshire, the same as our older cousin, what a coincidence, and all that…” He shrugged.
Lilly pressed her lips together. “You are not asking me to go with you, are you? Because I cannot, of course. I have the girls to take care of.”
Will shook his head. “We thought we should let you know about this,” and he tapped the book, “as this business all started with you.”
“I do appreciate your thoughtfulness, Will. You will write to me and tell me how it goes?”
“Of course.” He kissed her cheek. “Back off to work, Lady Governess,” he told her and reached over her to open the carriage door.
“Enjoy Paris!” she told him and climbed down to the footpath.
“It is Paris,” he called after her. “What is there not to enjoy?”
* * * * *
It was as if her mind and her body and her senses were all waking up after a very long hibernation. Before her nighttime study of the moonlight, Natasha had become aware of how her energy and enthusiasm for even simple, everyday things had increased. Eating had become enjoyable again. After that moon-filled night, though, every day seemed to be alive with possibilities. She was filled with vigor. It was hard to maintain a sedate stroll in the park each day, when what she really wanted to do was stride…or run.
She had even caught herself humming.
The idea of attending Lady’s Shelburne’s Sweet Pea Ball did not seem quite so dismaying as before. More enticing was the idea of dancing. She had not danced for years. Not since Seth had died. Not even a sedate Schottische. Even watching other dancers had not stirred her.
Now, though, Natasha wanted to dance. She accepted Lady Shelburne’s invitation with an apology for the late response. With only a day or two to plan for the ball, Natasha was at a loss to know what to wear. She had no ball gowns anymore, although once, she had owned dozens.
Then she remembered the silver lace gown. It had been ordered the week before Seth died and never worn. It was possibly still in the box the Parisian designer had delivered it in. As the French had been wearing hoops well ahead of the English adopting them, the gown was still fashionable, four years later.
Vaughn and Elisa, Annalies and Rhys were all attending the ball. Nearly the entire adult contingent of the family would be there, for the ball was one of the highlights of the Season. Even Anna and Rhys’s oldest son, Iefan, was attending. He had just turned sixteen. Most of the girls in the family were younger, though, and not ready to be debutantes yet. With so many of the family there, Natasha did not have to worry about appearing unescorted.
When the evening arrived, Natasha vibrated with impatience for the dancing to start. She shed her wrap and gave it to Vaughn.
He took it and raised his brow.
“Why do you look that way?” she asked.
He shook his head. “My apologies. You just look…different.”
“You do look different, actually,” Annalies said, studying her frankly with her blue eyes. “Yet nothing has changed.”
Natasha smoothed the lace down, suddenly nervous. “Is this inappropriate?” she murmured.
The hoops were very wide, which made her waist look all the smaller. She’d had to cinch in her corset a little to fit into the dress, yet it trimmed her waist in a very satisfying way. The underlayer of the dress was a shimmering silver silk. Over the top of it was the softest layer of white tulle, embroidered with white silk thread in the shape of leaves and flowers and flourishes that followed the hem and each layer of flounce.
The embroidered net had been formed into flowers at her breast, while garlands of the netting finished the low neckline. The tops of her shoulders and her lower arms were bare, for the dress sat around her upper arms. It was the first time in years she had revealed her shoulders. Dancing a reel while wearing long sleeves and a high neck had not seemed sensible.
Elisa, who had the strongest sense of propriety of them all, shook her head. “You are most appropriately and beautifully dressed. It is a delightful gown, Natasha. Perhaps that is the difference? You haven’t worn light colors for a long time.”
“Yes, that must be it,” Anna said in agreement.
Rhys said nothing. He rarely did. His eyes, though, were warmly appreciative. He slid his arm around his wife’s waist and Anna rested her hand over his.
“Wraps, coats, hats and gloves, all accounted for,” Vaughn said, coming back to join them. “Let’s go in and see what the décor is to be, this year.”
Finally, Natasha thought, threading her dance card over her wrist.
* * * * *
The dancing was as delightful as ever. Natasha did not lack partners. Even the poor ones who stepped on her toes or hems did not spoil her mood. She wondered why she had ever stopped dancing. There was nothing sinful about dancing, even with near-strangers, and it was such fun!
From time to time during the evening, she found herself looking up at the stairs that led to the entrance to the grand hall. Many years ago, she had first spotted Seth on those stairs and her entire life had changed.
&nbs
p; There were just as many observers clinging to the balustrades tonight as there had been that night, while dancers climbed up and down the stairs behind them. None of them were handsome strangers with earrings, though.
She could feel her spirits drooping at the reminder and would force her attention back to the steps and the rhythm of the dance. Each time, the mood passed.
Natasha had not heard of one of the dances before. It was called a flirtatious polka and there was no space next to it on her dance card for a partner to write their name.
Because she had no partner for the dance and because it was new to her, Natasha considered the dance a good opportunity to recover her breath and watch for a while, even though she normally loved the spinning and speed of polkas.
Vaughn, though, had a different idea. He held out his elbow. “Come, lady ‘tasha.”
“I do not know this dance.”
“A simple polka? Of course you do.”
“Elisa—”
“Has another partner.” He pulled her onto the dance floor and put his hand on her waist. His eye closed in a quick wink. “There is an element to this you may like.”
The music began. Vaughn spun her into the first turn and Natasha had no time to talk. Polkas were fast and fun yet she had to concentrate on her steps.
The first movement was nearly complete when Vaughn said warningly, “…and here we go.” He spun her and actually let go of her hand.
Natasha drew in a sharp breath, startled.
Another hand landed on her waist, securing her. Her other hand was captured and she was steadied. Natasha looked into Rhys’ eyes. He laughed. “You’ve never danced a flirtation, have you, dear sister?” He spun her into the second movement.
Natasha laughed, too. New dances were introduced each year, often just a simple variation on favorites. This was a delightful variation. Around the dance floor, men were spinning their partners into the waiting hands of the next dancer.
The next partner was an Earl she knew only slightly, yet well enough to enjoy the short moment with him and banter, when she had the breath for it. He turned her into the dizzy movement that would send her into the next man’s arms.
Scandalous Scions One Page 10
