The Lodestone

by Charlene Keel

  “Paolo,” she returned coyly. “I didn’t think you’d really come.”

  “What?” He was flirting with her and she loved it. “Signora, you wound my poor heart. How could I resist your offer to show me your pretty garden.”

  “Garnett is a genius at horticulture. Some of the flowers are quite rare.”

  He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “Any blossom of yours, milady, would be rare indeed.” She laughed lightly, aroused by his double entendre. “I hope you will show it to me soon,” he added.

  “I’d be happy to. There’s an unusual one in here.” She led him into the greenhouse, but before she could point out the bloom, he caught her in his arms and kissed her with a fiery passion. She was breathless when he finally let her go.

  “My friend Garnett is fortunate to have so lovely a mamma,” he said. “And his father is a lucky man. How long has it been, signora, since your husband has kissed you like that?” Snaking a long, thin hand inside the bodice of her dress, he continued, “Or since he has caressed you thus?”

  Her knees went weak at his touch and she had to lean against the wall for support. He kissed her again, gently squeezing one of her breasts, then lightly pinching its rapidly tautening tip. Before she knew how it happened, his other hand found its way beneath her skirt and parted her legs so he could cradle within it what Sir Laurence had called, in the early years of their marriage, her Mound of Venus. She gasped with delight.

  “Oh . . . Paolo,” she whispered, pressing herself against his palm.

  “This must be that rare, sweet blossom you promised to show me, eh?”

  “If my husband should come upon us now, I cannot imagine what I’d do.” Perhaps she should resist him, she thought, with so many guests about; but the idea that someone could discover them made it all the more exciting.

  “I know what I would do,” he teased, smiling down into her eyes. “I would hide in your exquisite garden and taste the sweet nectar of that lovely flower. Ah . . . do I hear a footstep?” She looked around, worried for a moment, before she realized it was a game. “Hush, milady,” he entreated. “Keep very still and quiet.”

  He stooped before her, lifted her voluminous skirt and petticoats and went under them, concealing himself within the silken folds. As the fabric settled over his back, covering him, his hands glided smoothly up her thighs until they found their mark. He drew her lacy pantalets down and as he gently stroked the most intimate part of her being, his breath came fast and hot against her skin.

  Suddenly, something warm and wet and wonderful invaded Venus to probe the bud of her womanhood, and she was grateful for the greenhouse wall that held her up. She had never felt anything so delicious as that silken arrow darting like a serpent’s tongue in that vital spot between her legs, and she meant to enjoy as much of it as he would give. Her guests and her party were forgotten in the moment. It was at least an hour before supper would be served and she didn’t believe Sir Laurence would miss her.

  **

  By the time Drake came to claim Cleome, she had danced with more than half a dozen young men and as many of their fathers, while wives, mothers, sisters and daughters whispered resentfully about her beauty and the scandal surrounding her birth. So intent were they all in their appraisal of the exquisite creature who had suddenly dropped into their assemblage that they did not notice when the climate outside took a nasty turn. Thunder rolled ominously, heralding the storms that signaled the arrival of autumn. As the orchestra began a lively tune, Drake took Cleome’s hand and tucked it possessively through his arm.

  “They will be serving supper soon,” he said, looking down at her with what she thought was genuine appreciation.

  “I am much too excited to eat anything, Mr. Stoneham,” she replied, her spirits soaring. She leaned toward him and asked like a fond conspirator, “Is your plan working? Are secrets being revealed that will guarantee your ultimate victory?”

  “That remains to be seen,” he whispered in her ear; and again, she felt drawn to him as copper is to a lodestone. She realized with a start to her very soul that she could think of little else but his full, firm lips, and what they would feel like upon her own.

  Lord Easton only nodded curtly to Cleome as he passed with one of the Rudgely girls on his arm but Elizabeth Easton, escorted towards the dining room by Count Paolo, more than made up for her husband’s indifference.

  “Darling Cleome,” she gushed, squeezing the surprised girl’s hand. “It’s so good to see you again. You know, your grandmother and Garnett’s were great friends.”

  “Yes, I know. It is a pleasure to see you, milady.”

  “You must forgive the oversight of your invitation,” Elizabeth entreated, her heightened color most appealing. “But I believed you still in mourning, you see.”

  “I understand,” Cleome lied pleasantly and glanced up at Drake. “But as has been pointed out to me, milady—my grandfather chose to end his life. So six months of grief is more than enough to light his way to Heaven. Don’t you agree?”

  Lady Easton was saved an awkward response when Edwards came to inform her of the arrival of another unexpected guest. “Your pardon, milady,” he said, extending a silver tray to her. She took the single card resting there.

  “Oh, my!” she exclaimed. “Mr. Landshire has come. By all means, Edwards, do show him in. Fortunately, we’re serving a buffet so you’ll not have to bother with extra settings.”

  “You need not trouble yourself on any account,” boomed a voice from the doorway and a bent, gnome-like creature stepped forward. It was so swathed in scarves, hat, gloves, greatcoat and cape that it was impossible to see any feature of his person except his eyes. With him was a lovely sprite only a little younger than Cleome. She had a mass of luxurious raven curls and blushed furiously when the barrister introduced her as his niece Edwina. As a maid relieved the two new arrivals of their cloaks, Cleome’s heart filled with misgiving. Mr. Landshire’s appearance was most disconcerting, for he looked like a rotund troll, but his niece was an enchanting creature, next to whom Cleome felt positively plain.

  “Mr. Landshire, I presume,” Drake said courteously, extending his hand.

  “No other!” the little man roared in a jolly voice ten times larger than his stature as he shook the offered hand. “Are you Garnett Easton?”

  “Drake Stoneham, at your service, sir.”

  “Mr. Landshire,” Garnett put in, quickly introducing himself. “I am delighted to see you and I thank you for looking into matters for my friend.” He took Cleome’s hand and drawing her forward, he said, “Miss Parker, may I present Mr. Oliver Landshire.”

  The wizened old gentleman bowed over Cleome’s hand while the petite Edwina smiled openly at her. Mr. Landshire was a head shorter than Cleome and of an indeterminable age. His eyes twinkled as he winked at her.

  “Miss Parker, I am delighted to make your acquaintance,” he said. “I danced with your grandmother at her very first ball. She was quite a distinctive young woman back then, but she could ne’er have held a candle to what I see before me now.” He turned his attention again to Drake and tilting his head back as far as it would go, he studied the big man. “So this be the mysterious gentleman who has bought up half of St. James Street. I’ve heard good things about you, sir. We are all looking forward to the opening of Stoneham House. London has buzzed with nothing else since the formal announcement was made—and old Crockford is fit to be tied!” He paused to bray a loud guffaw. “Haven’t seen him so beside himself since his investment in swine cost him so dearly. He’s anxious to take you on at cribbage, he says. But he looks as though he hopes you will refuse him.”

  “Of which he can be assured,” Drake replied with a charming smile. “I have no desire to challenge the master, though I am looking forward to meeting him.”

  “Well, gentlemen,” said Lord Easton. “And Cleome, of course. Shall we go into the library, so that you may conduct your business in comfort and privacy.”

  “Oh,
dear,” Mr. Landshire lamented. “I’ve interrupted your party.”

  “Nonsense,” Lady Easton put in sweetly. “We are delighted to have you. You’ll join us of course. We were just going in to supper.”

  “My thanks, Lady Easton, for I’m famished,” said Landshire. “And my niece has a scandalously large appetite, I fear.”

  “Uncle, please,” the girl scolded with a melodious laugh. “Do you not think Miss Parker is anxious to hear your news?”

  “I believe it will keep for a few more hours,” Drake interjected soberly. “You’ve had a long journey and Miss Parker has already had an eventful evening. She’ll receive you at the Eagle’s Head tomorrow, Mr. Landshire, after she has had a good night’s rest.”

  As Oliver bid them a warm good night, Cleome found herself strangely comforted by Drake’s unexpected intervention. They took their leave, and during the carriage ride home, neither of them spoke. It was with great difficulty and a heavy heart, however, that Cleome made her way to her own room, thinking about the possibility of leaving the Eagle’s Head and its master, and wondering how she’d ever be able to sleep.

  **

  Less than an hour after he had brought Cleome home, a light tap came at Drake’s door. He slammed his empty brandy glass down on the side table in annoyance. Without checking his pocket watch, he knew it to be late, for they had returned from Easton Place around midnight. It couldn’t be anyone but Fanny and he knew he’d have to put the woman in her place, for once and all. He could not abide her ludicrous advances any longer. If she wouldn’t take heed, beginning at that very moment, she would have to seek another post. Angry, he jerked the door open.

  “Leave me be, woman, or I shall—” he declared harshly, then stopped abruptly when he saw Cleome standing in the doorway, still wearing her pretty green gown. The candle she held just above her head reflected the apprehension in her eyes. “Oh, I . . . it’s you. I thought—well, I must have dozed off.” He shook his head and ran his fingers through his thick, black hair. “Is something wrong? Your mother is not worse?”

  “I wanted to return the emeralds,” she said slowly, presenting her back so he could unfasten the necklace. “I cannot manage the clasp.” She shuddered slightly as his warm fingers touched the nape of her neck. “And I wanted to thank you, Mr. Stoneham, for quite the loveliest evening of my life.”

  “You’re welcome.” His heart thudded unevenly when she turned around and looked up at him.

  “And . . . I do beg your pardon for disturbing you at this late hour, sir,” she appealed to him with large, sad eyes. “But I was hoping to have a word with you.”

  “Certainly.” An unexpected, protective instinct surfaced, inducing him to add, “Would you like to go down to the study or into the parlor?”

  To his amazement, she blew out her candle and walked confidently past him into his bedroom. “No,” she said. “Both rooms are cold. The fires were banked hours ago. May I sit down?”

  He closed the door and placed a chair for her at his hearth. Standing on tiptoe, she put the candle on the mantel, then sat down and waited for him to take a seat. After he put the necklace down beside his brandy glass, he took his dressing gown from the chiffonier and drew it around her shoulders. Then he took a warming brick from the fireplace, wrapped it in the flannel kept nearby, and placed it beneath her feet.

  “We cannot have you greet your solicitor with the sniffles,” he said. “It has turned chill. Winter is soon upon us, I’m afraid.” At last he settled himself in the chair near her and her blue eyes stared up into his with uncertainty. “To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of this visit?” he asked.

  “There is something important I would ask of you, Mr. Stoneham. If there were anyone else whose judgment I respect, I would not trouble you.”

  “You seem to have found a friend in young Easton.”

  “Oh.” She dismissed that possibility with a wave of her small hand. “He means well, I’m sure; but he has not an inkling of insight into reality.” Drake had to smile as she continued, “I never believed this search of his would bear fruit, but he chose to go on with it. Now, I don’t know what to do.”

  “I would have thought it obvious.”

  “Some weeks ago, I’d have thought so myself. But now, with my mother regaining her health and with all the interesting work you’ve entrusted to me, I’ve experienced contentment such as I have never known. And no matter how kind these relatives may prove, I’m not sure it would be good to place Mamma in an unfamiliar environment. May I ask, Mr. Stoneham, if my work here has been satisfactory?”

  Her question took him by surprise, for he had been as captivated by her sincerity as he was by her words. Gripping the arms of his chair in order to prevent himself from crushing her to him and kissing away her worry, he said, “Of course. Completely.”

  “Then perhaps if I were already bonded and could vouch for my own security, I would not be required to leave your employ for the time being. And then, naturally, when Mamma is well, we will be happy to seek other—”

  “Cleome,” he interrupted, and his own unexpected use of her name was sweet on his tongue. Rising from his chair to pace before the fire, he went on, “Bonding you would have little effect against money and influence. No woman would be allowed to remain a servant when more fortunate members of her family, who happen to be of noble birth, wish it otherwise and are willing to assume her care.” She slumped back in her chair, disappointed, and he quickly added, “Please believe, however, that I’ll do everything in my power to ensure you do nothing which is repugnant to you. You and your mother may remain here for as long as you wish.”

  Tears of gratitude sparkled in her eyes and she went to stand before him in the circle of warmth that radiated outward from the fireplace.

  “And may I ask one last favor, sir?” Unable to speak, he only nodded and she went on, “Would you sit with me when Mr. Landshire calls? I value your judgment and I have begun to think of you as a . . .” she paused. Then, as the flickering firelight touched the sudden color in her cheeks with an amber glow, she stammered, “As a sort of . . . friend.”

  “Of course,” he said softly. She handed him back his dressing gown and went to the door where she stopped as if troubled. “Is there something else, Cleome?”

  She turned back and looked at him with a longing she could not disguise. “Only . . . a question,” she answered, her voice so low he could scarcely hear her.

  “Yes?”

  “Did you not find satisfaction with me at the ball?”

  “I did. Why do you doubt it?” He tossed the dressing gown aside and went to her. “Every young buck there wanted to dance with you. When we left they were lined up a dozen deep, just for a chance to be near you.”

  “But you never came back to finish our dance. May I ask why?”

  “Had it not been for the arrival of Mr. Landshire, I would have monopolized you for the rest of the evening.”

  “Really, sir?”

  “Shall we finish our dance now?”

  “But we have no music.”

  He went to the desk, picked up the music box Jimmy Parker had found in the spoils of war and intended for his beloved Ramona, and wound it tightly. Then he opened it and held his arms out to Cleome. As the tinkling notes filled the room, she went to him. Together they moved in a small circle before the fireplace but the sudden heat he felt was not from the flames. When the music stopped, she looked up at him and her lips parted in a smile. For what seemed an eternity, she stared into his eyes, to the depths of his soul, with a yearning that was unmistakable. Hesitantly, he drew her closer and bent to her with a trembling sigh. Before she could speak, before he could stop himself, he sought her mouth. Her full lips parted as if they had a destiny of their own, and he surrounded them warmly with his. Try though he might, he could not force himself to release her. It was as if, once he had tasted such sweet nectar, he had to have every drop or he would be forever thirsty.

  “Cleome,” he whispered her
name like a prayer. “So many nights I have been tempted. For so long I’ve wanted you.” He melded her lips again with his, and as if entranced by the mysterious promise of his body against hers, she did not try to stop him. “But you are too precious, far too dear . . . to be taken lightly,” he murmured softly against her hair. He held her close for yet another moment and kissed her again. It was deep and hungry and her quick, rapid breathing only increased his desire.

  “Mr. Stoneham, I beg your pardon . . .” She pushed him gently away and hung her head, embarrassed. He cupped her chin in his large hand and raised it so that their eyes met. Her own were filled with tears.

  “Don’t fret,” he whispered thickly. “T’was a kiss, nothing more. And I am honored to be called your friend.” Again, he pulled her close and her sweet longing for him threatened to cancel out every ounce of strength he possessed. Then putting her firmly away from himself, he went on, “First we shall see what Mr. Landshire has to say about your future and then we will explore this . . . feeling there seems to be between us. Go now,” he whispered. “Go and get some sleep. We’ll see what the morrow brings.”

  He took her candle, and bending towards the flame, lit it so that she could find her way back to her own room. Before he lost control of the situation and the increasing voracity of his loins that her presence inspired, he reached around her and opened the door. He did not trust himself to see her to her room, for he knew that, exposed to her for very much longer, he would demand satisfaction and his case would be entirely lost.

  He quickly closed the door behind her and stood for a moment, listening as her footsteps retreated in the darkness. Before she had claimed so simple a thing as his friendship, he would have been able to pursue a different course of action in the intimate atmosphere his bedroom offered. Now it was impossible. But dear God, how he wanted her. There would be no sleep for him that night, nor any peace. He thought of going into the pub in Oakham, drinking himself into a stupor and then sampling the charms of one of the ladies upstairs. Instead, he sat and stared morosely into the fire.