Harlequin Historical May 2020--Box Set 1 of 2
Page 39
The clock struck ten and the Duchess rose, gathering her children and herding them upstairs, while her husband and Inigo set aside their reading. ‘Shall I walk you up or would you prefer to stay a little longer?’ Inigo came to help her put down the lid on the piano.
‘I can go up.’ Audevere straightened the sheet music, conscious that Inigo’s father waited for them both, a stickler for propriety. He would be disappointed to know what she had planned for later tonight for his son.
Upstairs, Inigo saw her to her door, his eyes soft on her as he said goodnight. Inside, she made ready for bed, wearing the pale-pink ensemble she’d worn in Exeter, brushed out her hair and dismissed the maid. It would be an hour before the house settled into sleep, an hour before she could give Inigo his farewell gift. She spent the time packing her valise. In went her four dresses, in went her toiletries. She left out her travelling ensemble, the one she’d worn when she’d fled London. She’d wear it to flee once more. She’d take nothing but her own things despite the Vellanoweths’ generosity. She would feel like a thief if she did. It was bad enough she was robbing them of their hospitality, betraying Inigo’s belief in her, putting them all in danger. But he would live and he would be free of the Brenleys, and that was more important.
Down the hall, the clock struck eleven in soft chimes. It was time. Audevere tiptoed out of her room and down the hall, a small vial secreted in her hand. Inigo’s room was unlocked and she slipped inside, surprised to find him still awake, sitting in the wing-backed chair before the fire, barefoot but otherwise fully dressed, his gaze on the door. ‘You’re still up,’ Audevere said uncertainly. She’d not planned on having to make small talk. Beyond him his bed, an enormous four-poster affair, was turned down but untouched. A brandy sat on the small table beside him, also untouched.
Inigo’s eyes moved over her, taking in the pink silk, blue flames starting to flicker in their depths. ‘I thought you might come.’ His voice was already husky.
‘Why did you think that?’ She tried to sound casual.
‘You were watching me tonight as you played the piano.’ He gave her a seductive smile that had her weak in the knees. She knelt before him, ready to engage the game in full and because she didn’t trust her knees to hold her much longer.
‘Your father would disapprove if he knew I was here,’ she whispered, running her hands up the inside of his trousered thighs, spreading his legs, his eyes following her every move.
‘He knows I mean to marry you. There would be little harm in anticipating our wedding night at this point.’ Inigo’s eyes were like blue diamonds, sharp and piercing, as they challenged her. Perhaps this was one challenge she would not rise to. He was hoping she was here in reconsideration of her answer. But she would not give him false hope.
She flashed him a coy smile instead and kissed his thighs ‘I’ve been doing some thinking about our last night on the road,’ she said. ‘I’ve concluded that what is good for the goose is good for the gander.’ She moved her hand over the fall of his trousers and cupped the tip of him, watching his jaw tighten against the pleasure it brought him. ‘You’re going to be stubborn…’ she wet her lips ‘… I should have known.’ Stubborn, stoic, serious. Those would always be parts of Inigo Vellanoweth, those things that protected the powder-keg kisses and the passions that threatened to rule him if he gave them free rein. Many men did. But Inigo was made of sterner stuff and that would make tonight’s victory that much more delightful. Tonight, she would have him once more for all time.
‘You are wearing entirely too many clothes. Let me remedy that.’ She worked his trousers down past his lean hips, his smallclothes following. ‘I’d rather you did without these,’ she said, freeing him to her hand at last. ‘And they say women wear too many clothes. Hah.’ He was warm to her touch and hard…oh, so hard—proof that despite his outward show of stoicism, he was aroused by her and easily. The merest contact of her hand, her mouth, had him hard and wanting. She would remember that: that a good man had desired her.
‘Your hand is magic.’ His voice was rough with desire.
‘Not just my hand.’ She gave him a wicked look, watching his own face change as he understood her.
‘Aud, you don’t need to,’ he said. ‘It’s different for men. We don’t expect ladies to reciprocate.’
‘Then prepare to be surprised.’ She licked her lips. ‘Why should you have all the fun? All the pleasure? I want to.’ Her own voice was low and hoarse. ‘And I wanted you to feel what I felt when your mouth was on me.’ She saw his throat clench, the muscles of his neck working hard and then she bent to him, her mouth taking him at his tip, her lips kissing his length before returning to the tender top of him, her ministrations bolder now as she sucked at him, tasting his saltiness. Her hand worked him in tandem, her entire body revelling in his response—the tightness of his muscles, the way his neck arched and his hands gripped the arms of the chair, digging into the fabric until they hit wood, the sounds he made in the back of his throat, guttural and primal as his body slowly ceded to pleasure.
‘Aud,’ he rasped her name in warning. She could feel the little changes in him as his release approached. She gave a final pull at his tip and sat back on her heels, catching him in her hand as he spilled himself over her fingers. She watched his face, riveted by how he took his pleasure, how it ripped from him. It might be the most vulnerable, the most exposed she’d ever seen him, his guard entirely down.
She rose and stepped back, pulling her pink gown over her head, leaving herself naked to his gaze. ‘How long do you think it will be before you can take me to bed?’
‘Not too long.’ Inigo stood, as if in testimony to his words, and strode towards her, swinging her up in his arms and carrying her to the big bed. He followed her down with a growl. ‘At this rate, you are going to be the death of me.’
No, she wouldn’t. That was the whole point of this.
* * *
Inigo awoke sated, letting himself enjoy the slow rise to morning’s surface that comes after a night of lovemaking. He was in no hurry to embrace the day and the realities that came with it, not while the memory of Audevere’s sweet touch was still imprinted on his mind and his body. He wanted to drift in the tide pools of pleasure a while longer.
Inigo flung out an arm, his hand meeting cool sheets. He was disappointingly but not unexpectedly alone. Audevere must have gone back to her room in order to avoid detection from the maids who were up early to tend the fires. He’d slept deeply, so deeply he’d not heard her stir, much to his detriment. He would have liked to have had her once more before dawn. Or was that he would have liked her to have had him once more? Audevere was a precocious, inexhaustible lover and in that they were well matched.
They were well matched in other ways, too. Both protectors, both with a deep capacity to love that they often hid behind strong exteriors, unwilling to make themselves appear vulnerable to the outside world. He saw those qualities in her now and it amazed him that he hadn’t seen them before, all those years ago.
Inigo threw back the covers and rang for his valet. There was much to settle today, starting with target practice, and all of it moved him one step closer to claiming Audevere. It was motive enough to get out of bed.
* * *
Shaved and dressed, Inigo made his way to the breakfast room. He smiled at his family as he assembled his plate from the sideboard. ‘Audevere isn’t down yet?’ he asked, spooning a large serving of eggs on to his plate. Perhaps it was no surprise she’d slept late if she was as sated as he was from lovemaking.
‘No.’ Mary Rose shook her head, her pink hair ribbon catching Inigo’s eye. ‘I am hoping she can help me trim my green dress today.’
‘Where did you get that ribbon?’ He took a seat next to Sarah and noted she wore a similar one.
Sarah touched the bow. ‘Audevere gave them to us yesterday. Isn’t it the loveliest silk?’
Inigo rose, fighting back a wave of panic. ‘I think I’ll just go and check on her to make sure she’s well.’ Once out of the breakfast room, he took the stairs two at a time, hoping he was wrong. He had to be wrong. She was just sleeping late. But all the signs that pointed to her contentment here also pointed to farewell. He suddenly saw yesterday in a different light. Her reticence to accept his proposal, her determination to spend the afternoon with the girls and Ben, offering them gifts in her own way. Coming to his room last night, not as a sign of committing to him, but as a leave-taking. One last night of passion.
He knocked at her door and then barged in, modesty and propriety be damned. But there was no one inside to offend. Her room was empty. She was gone. He could feel it. The room felt sterile, devoid of her vitality already. He looked for clues anyway, hoping he was wrong. Her borrowed dresses hung in the wardrobe, but her own clothes were nowhere to be found. He felt a presence behind him and turned in the hope that it would be her. It was not.
His father stood in the doorway. ‘Is she gone? I’m sorry, Son.’
‘Why would she do this? She knew I meant to marry her, to make things right for her and for us,’ Inigo said, casting about in his mind for a narrative that explained this divergence. ‘I want to talk to the servants. I want to know who saw her last.’ His mind began to make plans. ‘I’ll go after her and bring her back.’
His father put a steadying hand on his arm. ‘You will think first and act second. Right now, you’re acting on impulse.’ Damn right he was, every moment that passed put Audevere further from him. There was no time…
‘You will go downstairs, you will eat your breakfast and then you will question the servants and your sisters—perhaps she told them something yesterday—and then we’ll decide what’s to be done, if anything.’
Inigo shot his father an incredulous look. ‘If anything?’
‘Son, she may not want to be followed. I know it’s not the answer you want to hear, but it might be the truth.’ But that truth was not acceptable to Inigo. It made no sense, not after last night, not after the promises their bodies had made one another. Something was wrong.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Why wouldn’t she want to be followed? Why would she leave in the first place? Inigo chased those two questions around in his head as he forced down his breakfast, listening to his sisters talk through the previous afternoon, his attentions finally finding something to grab on to in Mary Rose’s words.
‘I was looking for her to help with hair braids,’ Mary Rose said. ‘I found her in the alcove by Father’s office. She looked upset, as though she’d been crying. She was pale, too, as though she’d been scared.’
‘What time was that?’ Inigo exchanged a look with his father. They’d been closeted away in conversation most of the afternoon discussing Brenley’s letter.
‘Three o’clock,’ Mary Rose offered, furrowing her brow. ‘Did you say something to frighten her?’ She was quick to jump to her new friend’s defence and it warmed Inigo even in the midst of a crisis. Audevere would have a family here who loved her if he could only get her back.
‘I might have. We might have.’ He held his father’s gaze, looking for concurrence. ‘We were discussing the actions to take regarding her father. We didn’t say anything to her, but perhaps she overheard us talking.’ Inigo replayed the conversation in his mind, trying to hear it from her point of view. Had she heard them discuss going to the King with direct exposure? Had she heard them discuss the propensity for a duel? If she had, she’d be mortified. She’d try to stop it any way she could. Inigo’s hand froze around his coffee cup as he recalled their exchange last night, playful and intimate though it had seemed at the time: ‘You’ll be the death of me,’ he’d said. She’d laughed at him and replied silkily, ‘I hope not.’ But she’d meant it as more than a flirty rejoinder.
She’d left to protect him. Her father could not force a wedding to a bride who was missing. ‘She didn’t leave because she doesn’t love me, but because she does.’ Inigo looked at his father. ‘She doesn’t want to be followed; you’re right about that. But not for the reasons you think. She must have overheard us talking and decided to take matters into her own hands.’ Of course she had. Audevere was used to being alone, acting alone. It stung that she didn’t quite trust the togetherness of them yet, but he understood it. If given the chance to protect her through his absence, he might have chosen the same.
He rose, already issuing orders for his horse and for a bag to be packed. ‘I’m going after her. It’s time Audevere understands she doesn’t always get what she wants.’
‘Where do you suppose she is? You don’t know where to look. It could be a wild goose chase,’ his father cautioned. ‘I’ll come with you. Perhaps two heads are better than one in this case. Or perhaps you should wait for Eaton?’
Inigo declined the offer with a shake of his head. ‘No, I need you here to send the letter to the King. It must go at once and send word to Eaton, although it will all be over before Eaton can be of any help. If she overheard us talking, she’ll head to Truro. Her father’s there.’ Inigo wished she’d chosen to head back to Exeter, though. It would be safer for her, but only if she meant to disappear. She could vanish from the big city without much notice, but simply disappearing was no longer what she was after. She wanted to stop the duel and, to do that, she had to go to her father. Heaven only knew what might happen if her father got his hands on her, or what sort of deal Audevere might be compelled to make to save Inigo’s life. But Audevere was never one to choose the easy path and now she’d chosen to walk into the lion’s den. He had no choice but to follow her. That was how it worked when a man was in love. He was going to bring her back and he was going to end the feud with Brenley once and for all.
* * *
She was going to end this once and for all. Audevere rapped on the town-house door with a determination summoned by the remainder of her courage. She’d already spent a great part of it in leaving Inigo, in catching the mail coach and making the journey to Truro, which had taken the better part of the morning and early afternoon, sitting squeezed beside a parson and his wife. She’d had a lot of time for thoughts and second thoughts.
‘Yes, ma’am?’ the butler asked by rote, before recognition sank in. ‘Miss Brenley, please come in.’ The butler did his duty, but eyed her speculatively. ‘I didn’t know we were expecting you.’ He led her to the drawing room.
‘Please tell my father I am here and have some tea sent.’ Whatever happened, it was not going to happen on an empty stomach. She’d not eaten since dinner last night and she was beginning to feel the effects. Her father was making her wait, no doubt punishing her for her truancy. She rehearsed her lines, not sure of the reception she’d receive. Her gaze drifted around the room and into the hallway past the open doors. She sensed a difference in the town house. There was a quiet bustle to it, something furtive. The drawing room itself seemed emptier. Did she imagine it, or were the table tops devoid of their expensive clutter?
She strolled to the window and looked down into the street, searching faces. But for what? Who did she expect to see? Inigo? Would he come after her? She hoped not. It would defeat the purpose of
having left him. She wanted him nowhere near her father. But the beat of her heart felt differently. She had not wanted to leave him, but it was simply the only way. They could not be together and live without fear of her father. He would always be a threat to Inigo and a threat to their happiness. It had broken her heart to leave him, but she loved him too much to ruin him.
She wondered what he’d thought this morning? Was he railing against her even now, full of anger and rage? Or had he accepted that despite what they wanted, it was impossible to be together? Rival families didn’t marry into one another. It hadn’t worked for Romeo and Juliet and it wouldn’t work for her, especially since the Brenleys weren’t grand enough to be true rivals of the Vellanoweths, merely enemies.
‘What an unexpected surprise this is,’ her father drawled from the doorway. He fussed with his cuffs, making sure just the right length of white shirt peeped out from beneath his jacket sleeve. He looked urbane and confident, entirely in control. ‘May I surmise you are here because the young Earl is done with you? Or are you his messenger? Has he sent you to tell me that his letter had gone forward to the King and soon I will be stripped of my title?’ he sneered, his tone bitter. ‘He will die for his honour and for besmirching mine.’
‘I came to offer you a way out. Leave here and never look back. Your assets are portable. You can leave with your wealth intact and I will go with you, just leave Inigo and the Dukes alone. You can’t think to escape detection if that letter comes out and suddenly Inigo Vellanoweth is shot fatally.’ She hoped her argument was cogent. She felt rumpled and exhausted.