by Mary Balogh
Peter had met the Duke of McLeith at White’s Club during the morning of the previous day and had invited him to dine on the evening of the Vauxhall visit so that Claudia would have an escort. Claudia was resigned to seeing him again. She was even curious about him. How much had he changed? How much was he the same old Charlie whom she had adored even before her feelings had turned romantic? She wore the dark blue evening gown that had seen service for a number of special evening events at the school. She had always liked it even though it had never made any pretense to high fashion—or even low fashion, for that matter, she thought with wry humor as Maria styled her hair. She pushed memories of the afternoon outing firmly from her mind. She would think tomorrow about the decision she was going to have to make concerning Lizzie’s schooling—and it was certainly not an easy one. And she would try not to think at all about those startling words Lord Attingsborough had spoken to her—I do believe, Miss Martin, you must be the loveliest woman it has ever been my privilege to meet. The extravagance of the words had been mildly distressing. He surely could not have meant them. And yet they were lovely words from a lovely afternoon that she knew she would remember for the rest of her life. Charlie proved to be an amiable dinner companion. He told them about his Scottish estate and his travels in the Highlands. He told them about his son. And he regaled Susanna and Peter with anecdotes from his childhood and Claudia’s, most of them amusing and all of them true. Later, he offered his arm to Claudia after they had descended from Peter’s carriage outside Vauxhall Gardens, and this time Claudia took it. For years past she had suppressed memories of her childhood with him along with everything that had happened later. Perhaps in future she would be able to separate the two in memory—her girlhood from her young womanhood—and let go some of the bitterness. And bitterness was really all that remained. The pain had gone away long ago. “Claudia,” he said, bending his head closer to hers as they followed Susanna and Peter into the Gardens, “this is all very pleasant indeed. I am happier than I can say to have met you again. And this time we really must not lose touch with each other.” Would they have loved each other for a whole lifetime, she wondered, if he had studied for the law and then married her as planned? Would they have remained close friends as well? It was impossible to know the answers, of course. So much would have been different than it was now. Everything would have been different. They would have been different. And who could say if that life would have been better or worse than the one she had lived instead? And then they stepped past the entrance and all else was forgotten. “Oh, Charlie, look!” she exclaimed in awe. The long, straight avenue that stretched ahead of them was lined with trees, and all were hung with colored lamps, which looked magical even now when it was not yet fully dark. The paths were crowded with other revelers, all brightly and elegantly clad for the occasion. “It is rather lovely, is it not?” he said, smiling at her. “I like to hear the old name on your lips, Claudia. I have been nothing but Charles since I was eighteen—when I am not simply McLeith, that is. Say it again.” He touched her hand on his arm and squeezed it. But Claudia was not to be distracted. Everyone about them seemed to be in high spirits, and she too smiled. And then they came to a horseshoe-shaped area that was paved and surrounded by columns and open boxes in tiers, all lit by lanterns on the outside, lamps within. Almost all were already occupied, the central one by an orchestra. Lady Ravensberg was waving to them from one of the lower boxes. “Peter, Susanna, Miss Martin,” she called as they drew closer. “Oh, and the Duke of McLeith is with you. Do come and join us. You are the last to arrive. Now our party is complete.” The party consisted of the viscount and viscountess, the Duke and Duchess of Portfrey, the Earl and Countess of Sutton, the Marquess of Attingsborough and Miss Hunt, the Earl and Countess of Kilbourne, and the four new arrivals. Claudia felt amusement again at finding herself in such illustrious company. But she was determined to enjoy the evening to the full. Soon she would be back at school, and it was unlikely that she would experience such an evening ever again. And what an experience it was! The company was mostly congenial. Though the Suttons virtually ignored Claudia, and Miss Hunt sat at the opposite side of the box and rarely looked her way, everyone else was more than polite. The very sweet and pretty Countess of Kilbourne and the elegant, dignified Duchess of Portfrey engaged her in conversation for some time as did Viscount Ravensberg and his wife. And of course there were Susanna and Peter and Charlie. But all did not depend upon conversation. There was supper to be eaten, most notably the thin slices of ham and the strawberries for which Vauxhall Gardens were famous. And there was wine to be drunk. There were other people to watch as they moved by along the main avenue and strolled around by the boxes, stopping to engage some of their occupants in conversation. There was the music to listen to. And there was the dancing. Although she had not danced in a long while, Claudia participated anyway. How could one possibly resist dancing in the open air with waving lanterns and the moon and stars above to light the ground on which they moved? She was partnered by Charlie, the Earl of Kilbourne, and the Duke of Portfrey. Eleanor would tease her quite mercilessly about all this when she heard of it. And if the music and dancing were not enough to fill her cup of pleasure to overflowing, there were the fireworks to look forward to later. While they waited for that display to begin, Lady Ravensberg suggested a walk, and everyone agreed that it would be just the thing. They all paired off to walk together—the Earl of Kilbourne with his cousin, Lady Sutton, on his arm, Viscount Ravensberg with the Countess of Kilbourne, Peter with the Duchess of Portfrey, the duke with Susanna, the Earl of Sutton with Lady Ravensberg. “Ah,” Charlie said, “I see that everyone is taking a different partner. Miss Hunt, may I have the pleasure?” She smiled and took his arm. The Marquess of Attingsborough was finishing a conversation with a couple of acquaintances who had stopped outside the box. “Go on ahead,” he said, waving everyone on their way. “Miss Martin and I will follow in a moment.” Claudia felt a little embarrassed. He really had no choice but to accompany her, did he? But really, if there had been one secret disappointment about the evening so far, it was that there had been no chance to converse or to dance with him. The afternoon picnic seemed as if it must have happened days ago. I do believe, Miss Martin, you must be the loveliest woman it has ever been my privilege to meet. He had spoken those very words to her a mere few hours ago. And of course, the more she tried to forget, the more she remembered. And then he was smiling at her and offering his arm. “I do apologize for the delay,” he said. “Shall we chase after the others? Or shall we stroll in more leisurely fashion while you tell me truthfully what you think of Vauxhall?” They made their way across the main avenue and down a shorter one until they reached another long, wide path, parallel to the first, that was breathtaking in its loveliness. Not only were there lamps hanging among the trees, but the series of stone arches across the path ahead was hung with them too. “Perhaps,” she said, “you expect me to look about with great good sense, Lord Attingsborough, and pronounce my disdain for such frivolous artificiality.” “But you are not going to do it?” He looked down at her with laughing eyes. “You cannot know how delighted I would be to know that you are not always ruled by good sense. This evening I have been chilled by good sense.” “Sometimes,” she said, “I prefer to forget I even have such encumbrances as critical faculties. Sometimes I prefer just to enjoy.” “And you are enjoying yourself this evening?” he asked her, guiding her around a largish group of merry revelers who were not looking where they were going. Their own group was some distance ahead, Claudia could see. “I am,” she said. “Oh, I really am. I only hope I can remember all this just as it is so that I can draw out the memories when I am alone in my quiet sitting room in Bath some winter evening.” He chuckled. “But first you must enjoy it to the last moment,” he said. “And then remember it.” “Oh, I will,” she assured him. “All is well with McLeith?” he asked her. “He came to dinner and made himself very agreeable,” she told him. “He recounted exploits a
nd episodes of mischief in which we were embroiled as children, and I was reminded of how very much I liked him then.” “You were lovers later?” he asked quietly. She felt the heat in her cheeks as she remembered almost admitting as much to him in Hyde Park. How could she possibly have said what she had aloud to him—or to anyone? “Very briefly,” she said, “before he left home never to return. We were inconsolable at the knowledge that he had to go to Scotland, that it would be some time before we would see each other again and could be together for the rest of our lives. And so—” “Such things happen,” he said. “And all in all I believe passion—even misguided passion—is preferable to cold indifference. I believe you yourself said something similar to me once.” “Yes,” she said just before he drew her firmly to one side of the path to avoid a collision with another careless and noisy group. “This is undoubtedly a picturesque avenue,” he said, “and of course we must remain on it if we are to catch up with the others. But do you wish to catch up, Miss Martin, or shall we take one of the quieter paths? They are not as well lit, of course, but it is not a dark night.” “One of the quieter paths, please,” she said, and they turned onto one almost immediately and were soon swallowed up by darkness and the illusion of quiet. “Ah, this is better,” he said. “Yes.” They strolled onward, quiet themselves now that they had moved away from the crowds. Claudia breathed in the smell of greenery. And even above the distant strains of music and the muted sounds of voices and laughter, she could hear— “Oh, listen,” she said, drawing her hand free of his arm and grasping his sleeve. “A nightingale.” He listened too for several moments as they stood quite still. “And so it is,” he said. “It is not just my daughter who hears the birds, then.” “It is the darkness,” she said. “It makes one more aware of sound and smell and touch.” “Touch.” He laughed softly. “If you loved, Miss Martin, as you once did, or if at least you intended to marry a certain man, would you object to his touch? To his kiss? Would you call them unnecessary or foolish?” Claudia was very glad of the darkness then. Her cheeks, she was sure, were aflame. “Unnecessary?” she said. “Foolish? Surely neither. I would both want and expect touches—and kisses. Especially if I loved.” He looked about him, and Claudia, realizing that her hand was still on his sleeve, drew it free. “This very evening,” he said, “on the way here, I tried to kiss Miss Hunt—the only time I have ever taken such a liberty. She told me not to be foolish.” “Perhaps,” she said, smiling despite herself, “she felt embarrassed or frightened.” “She explained herself at greater length when I questioned her,” he told her. “She said that kisses are unnecessary and foolish between two people who are perfect for each other.” A slight breeze was causing the branches overhead to sway and admit faint bars of moonlight to play over his face. Claudia stared at him. Whatever had Miss Hunt meant? How could they be perfect for each other when she did not want his kisses? “Why are you going to marry her?” she asked. His eyes moved to hers and stayed there. But he did not answer. “Do you love her?” she asked. He smiled. “I think I had better say no more,” he said. “I have already said too much when the lady ought to be able to expect some discretion from me. What is it about you that invites confidences?” It was her turn not to answer. His eyes were still on hers. Even when the moonlight was not filtering through the trees, the darkness was really not very dark at all. “Would you be embarrassed or afraid,” he asked her, “if I tried to kiss you?” She would be both. She was quite sure she would. But it was a hypothetical question. “No,” she said so softly that she was not even sure sound came from her lips. She cleared her throat. “No.” It was a hypothetical question. But as he lifted one hand and touched his fingertips to her cheek while his palm came beneath her chin, sighing as he did so, Claudia realized that perhaps it was not. She closed her eyes and his lips touched hers. It was a terrible shock. His lips were warm and slightly parted. She could taste the wine he had drunk and smell his cologne. She could feel the warmth of his hand and of his breath. She could hear the nightingale singing and someone far away shriek with laughter. And all her insides reacted in such a way that afterward she marveled that she had remained on her feet. Her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. It lasted for maybe twenty seconds—maybe not even as long. But her world was rocked to its very foundations. As he lifted his head and lowered his hand and took a step back, Claudia firmly repossessed herself of her equilibrium. “There, you see?” she said, her voice sounding unfortunately brisk and overcheerful. “I was neither embarrassed nor afraid. So there is nothing inherently embarrassing or fearful about you.” “I ought not to have done that,” he said. “I am so sor—” But Claudia’s hand shot up, seemingly of its own volition, and she watched herself place two fingers firmly across his lips—those lovely warm lips that had just kissed her own. “Don’t be,” she said, and her voice was a little less forceful now. It even shook slightly. “If you are sorry, then I will feel that I ought to be too, and I am not sorry at all. It is the first time I have been kissed in eighteen years and will probably be the last time for the rest of my life. I do not want to be sorry, and I do not want you to be sorry. Please.” He set his hand over hers and kissed her palm before lowering it to hold against the folds of his neckcloth. Even in the darkness she could see that his eyes were alight with laughter. “Ah, Miss Martin,” he said, “it has been almost three years even for me. What sadly deprived mortals we are.” She could not stop herself from smiling back at him. “In fact,” she said, “I would not mind at all if you were to do it again.” She felt oddly as if someone else were speaking through her lips while the real Claudia Martin looked on in shocked amazement. Had she really said what she had just said? “I would not mind either,” he said, and they gazed at each other for long moments before he released her hand and wrapped his arm about her shoulders while the other came about her waist. Claudia curled her own arms abo ut him for lack of anywhere else to put them. And she lifted her face to his. He was large and hard-bodied and very, very male. For one moment she really was frightened. Mortally so. Especially as he was no longer smiling. And then she forgot about fear and everything else too as she was engulfed in the sheer carnality of being slowly and very thoroughly kissed. Her body bloomed beneath his touch and she was no longer Claudia Martin, successful businesswoman, teacher, and headmistress. She was simply woman. She felt the breadth and hard muscles of his shoulders, and one of her hands twined into his thick, warm hair. With her breasts she felt the solid wall of his chest. Her thighs pressed against his. And between her thighs she felt a sharp throbbing that spiraled up inside her right into her throat. Not that she analyzed each sensation. She merely felt them. When he opened his mouth over hers, she opened hers too and angled her head and clutched his hair as his tongue came inside her mouth and stroked over every soft, moist surface. When he backed her against the trunk of a tree a mere foot or so behind her, she moved with him, and then she could lean against it while his hands roamed over her breasts and her hips and her buttocks. When he pressed against her and she could feel the hardness of his arousal, she parted her legs and rubbed against him, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside her, deep inside. Ah, deep. Yet not for one moment did she forget that it was with the Marquess of Attingsborough that she shared this hot embrace. And not for one moment was she deceived by any illusions. This was for now. Only for now. Sometimes now was enough. Sometimes it was everything. She knew she would never be sorry. She knew too that she would suffer heartache for a long time to come. It did not matter. Better to live and hurt than not to live at all. She felt his withdrawal as soon as he gentled the embrace, kissing her mouth softly and then her eyes and temples as he spread a hand over the back of her head and then brought her face against one of his shoulders, drawing her away from the tree trunk as he did so. And she felt both sorrow and relief. It was time for them to stop this. They were in an almost public place. She felt the tension of sexual incompletion gradually drain from her body as she wrapped her arms loosely about his waist. “We will
agree, will we,” he said after a minute or so of silence, his mouth close to her ear, “not to be sorry for this? And not to allow it to cause discomfort between us when we meet again?” She did not answer immediately. Then she lifted her head, released her hold on him, and took a step back. As she did so she very consciously donned the persona of Miss Martin, schoolteacher, again, almost as if it were a garment stiffened from disuse. “Yes to the first,” she said. “I am not at all sure about the second. I have the feeling that in the cold light of day I am going to be very embarrassed indeed to come face-to-face with you after tonight.” Good heavens, now that she could see him in the semidarkness, it already seemed both incredible and very embarrassing indeed—or would seem. “Miss Martin,” he said, “I hope I have not…I cannot…” She clucked her tongue. She could not let him finish. How humiliated she would be if he said the words aloud. “Of course you cannot,” she said. “Neither can I. I have a life and a career and people dependent upon me. I do not expect you to turn up on Viscount Whitleaf’s doorstep tomorrow morning with a special license in your hand. And if you did, I would send you on your way faster than you had come there.” “With a flea in my ear?” he said, smiling at her. “With at least that.” And she smiled ruefully back at him. How very foolish love was, blossoming at an impossible time and with an impossible person. For she was, of course, in love. And it was, of course, quite, quite impossible. “I think, Lord Attingsborough,” she said, “that if I had known what I know now when I stepped inside the visitors’ parlor at school to see you standing there, I might have sent you away then with a flea in your ear. Though perhaps not. I have enjoyed the past two weeks more than I can say. And I have grown to like you.” It was true too. She really did like him. She held out a hand to him. He took it and shook it firmly. The barriers were being set up between them again, as they absolutely must. And then she jumped, her hand convulsing about his, as a loud crack broke the near silence. “Ah,” he said, looking up, “how appropriate! The fireworks.” “Oh!” she exclaimed as they both watched a streak of red arch above the trees and sink down out of sight again, roaring as it went. “I have so looked forward to them.” “Come,” he said, releasing her hand and offering her his arm. “Let’s go back into the open and watch them.” “Oh, yes,” she said. “Let’s.” And despite everything—despite the fact that something that had hardly started had also ended here tonight—she felt a deep welling of happiness. She had spoken correctly a minute or two ago. She would not have missed this short stay in London for all the enticements in the world. And she would not have missed knowing the Marquess of Attingsborough either. 11
