by Thea Devine
And that didn't even take into account the time he must spend dancing attendance at Almack's or time he would want to spend with his friends at the clubs.
Oh, it was too frustrating, that he would not call. And while Fanny's company was bracing for her fine-tuned knowledge of the ins and outs of society, it was not stimulating intellectually, and not at all equal to having a paramour dangling after her. So even though she was having a much finer time during this renaissance return to England than she ever could have anticipated, Corinna still felt something was missing.
But once in a while, she found spending an afternoon reading a book was a very welcome respite. And so, of course it was on one of those cold dismal rainy afternoons in March, when she was lounging in a plain woolen house dress, her skirts wrinkled, her hair untidy, and deeply immersed in a novel, that Simon chose to come.
Fanny answered the door at his brisk ring, and gently inquired who was calling, and elicited all manner of information from him in her sweet unassuming way as Corinna listened with burbling amusement. She could just picture Simon charming Fanny, the lioness at the door; Fanny who was perfectly aware of the niceties of dealing with new friends and old, and who would never commit any solecism that could redound on Corinna.
Thank heaven for Fanny. Fanny would bar the gate, and she wouldn't have to see Simon when she was not at perfect pitch.
And then she heard Fanny, charmed beyond redemption say, "Please go into the parlor, Mr. Charlesworth. I'm sure she will be so happy to see you," and she froze, suppressing every instinct to just jump up and flee.
No, she was at point: she must receive Simon, who appeared at the instant on the threshold and left her no other choice. She set aside her book, rose from her chair, and moved toward him, her hands outstretched, with all the dignity of a queen.
"My dear Simon, I'm so happy to see you—come by the fire and sit."
She led him to one of the two sofas on either side of the fireplace and immediately rang for tea. It would give them something to do. If they were sipping, they couldn't have much conversation beyond the conventional pleasantries, not yet; and they couldn't say things, perhaps, that she didn't want to hear.
Besides which, she was just not at her best at the moment; this wasn't nearly the scenario she had envisioned for their next meeting, and she felt at a distinct disadvantage, and she didn't like the feeling at all.
"Well, my lady, I must tell you," Simon began easily, "I was well and truly whipsawed the other night, and it took me this long to come to terms with it."
It was the perfect thing to say, designed to disarm and charm.
And she was. Charmed and disarmed. Dear heaven, when had he learned such flirtatious repartee?
She bent her glimmering gaze on him, and said dismissively, "Oh, poof. Believe me when I tell you that I have sat at dozens of such tables over the past few years, and that win was solely a credit to long hours on hard chairs with inept partners."
"You are too good," Simon murmured.
"Am I?" she whispered, leaning closer, just as Fanny barged into the room with the tea tray.
"Here we are," she sang out. "I was certain Mr. Charlesworth would be hungry and perhaps appreciate some small cakes and sandwiches."
"Hungry I am indeed," Simon said, slanting a look at Corinna who was unselfconsciously tucking away several stray strands of hair.
Fanny poured, making small talk. Corinna sipped, happy for the diversion. She was not a little put out with Simon, she thought, watching him. He looked too good, too handsome, too… perilous. He ought to have sent round a note asking when he might come. These five minutes already had her toppling off balance and she didn't quite know how to deal with it. Or whether Simon's comment had another level, another meaning.
Or whether this was the moment to find out.
Certainly not with Fanny chattering away. Fanny had been well and truly seduced already. And was being punctiliously proper. Which made Corinna feel like grinding her teeth.
But finally Fanny comprehended that she could not in good manners intrude on their conversation any longer, and Corinna leaned back in her chair, sipping her third cup of tea, lukewarm on her lips, feeling a momentary relief as Fanny withdrew.
But now what?
"This has been most refreshing," Simon said at length, "but as you know, I am seeking a wife, and so to spend any appreciable time with you might give rise to the notion of impropriety."
"Would it?" she asked gently. "How so? Old friends that we are…"
"No," Simon said sharply, emphatically. "We are not old friends, my lady. We are old adversaries who do not know quite how to get on with each other at this awkward moment. We could never have been just friends, given that we could have been married, or—" he paused and slanted a look at her, "even possibly lovers…"
Yes—thank the fates he had brought it up—even so soon. She wasn't prepared, she wasn't, but sometimes one had to grab for the ring even if it was likely one would miss.
"We still can," she said softly, before she thought it through.
He went very still. "My lady?"
She met his dark gaze. Now… oh now—she must present it in a way that made sense to him, and to her, because her response to him made no sense to her at all.
But to choose the right words, to find the way to present it without seeming like a piece of amoral baggage—? All her years away, and all her experience, had not prepared her for that.
"It is very simple, Simon. You are on the hunt for a wife. I surely do not want another husband. But I find that I miss the intimacy of a male relationship, and so here we both are, neither encumbered at the moment, old—adversaries—who have known each other since childhood, who used to deal with each other extremely well… and, well—you have needs, and… I—"
"Indeed yes, my lady; the gossips have been having a field day with you …"
"And you," Corinna shot back.
He considered that for a moment, and her, with her blazing eyes, high color and utterly natural beauty as she spoke her mind without constraint. But she had always been blunt and to the fore with him.
Most especially the day she had refused him. And there was about to be a day of reckoning for that.
"Indeed, my lady, we are a pair. Gossip-fodder of the first vintage."
"Then we ought to take advantage of it, since they will talk about us in any event," she said, "if you feel the need as strongly as do I."
"The need, Corinna? My wife-to-be will provide the necessary surcease for my need."
Of course she would, and he was to be commended for thinking that way, Corinna thought instantly. It pleased herωit should please her; it showed his character, his restraint. His grasp of the niceties of the chase. And what was due his intended bride.
But not for long. "And until then?" Corinna asked softly.
"I am fully able to control my impulses," Simon said.
"Of course you are," she agreed instantly. "But the season has not even begun, you have seen the best of the eligible in Town already, and I daresay there is not a one among them you would ask to be your wife tomorrow."
"Not a one, my lady?"
"Truly, Simon, let us not play speculation with each other. It will take time. Finding this wife, I mean. You would be cheating yourself if you thought differently."
"And so, you are suggesting that as I begin my search to find a wife, I should, with the other hand, be taking my ease with you?"
Corinna blinked and flushed. There was candor for you. It sounded bald and ugly put that way. It sounded impossibly shameless and abandoned… it didn't sound like her, and yet it was exactly like her and precisely what she wanted.
And it demanded no less honesty from her. This was the do-or-die moment, and she didn't even know if he prized that kind of plain-speaking. It struck her that she knew nothing about this Simon at all, and she felt a certain shuddery excitement at the idea of finding out.
"That is what I'm suggesting," she said at leng
th, her voice low, her fingers stiff around the teacup. She felt a little brazen to be broaching the arrangement; but there was no time for the usual contredanse with him. This might be his one and only visit to her, and so she had to burst out, before he could be swallowed by the pack. Or she could even formulate a more palatable plan.
This impromptu strategy, however, had nothing to recommend it, if the expression on his face was any indication, and much calculated to turn him away from her forever. She saw instantly that she had handled the whole thing abysmally, but there was no help for it now.
"But my dear Corinna, we don't even know if we should suit."
"Lovers need not suit, they need only to be willing," Corinna retorted.
"Well—" he murmured, looking a little thunderstruck, "obviously you are more conversant with the matter of lovers' needs than I."
Well, now what? she wondered, a little taken aback. Perhaps she was. And perhaps that might be to her credit. Still, this was her reputation, after all. She could not in good conscience spoil his expectations. She wasn't sure she wanted to. After all, she only wanted the sex, and what he wanted, besides a wife and a vessel in which to spend his seed, didn't enter into the picture at all.
"Well," she murmured, "be that as it may, it is obviously much less torturous to find a… companion in certain other situations, it seems. I should not need to roll hoops to convince you, so perhaps—even though it might help you to have the practice—" oh, and it nearly killed her to say it, "we should not, as you say, suit and I should look elsewhere."
Help him—to have the practice?? Heaven help hint altogether … he thought, grimly. What the devil did she think he had been doing all these years besides learning to plow fertile ground of one sort or another?
"On the other hand," he drawled, "one could be willing, seeing as one does have needs."
Corinna stared at him. Willing was enough. Willing was all that was needed. And did she not feel relieved that he felt so? "Well then, we are finally on common ground." She looked at him expectantly. He stared back.
"Surely you have some idea what next to do," she said impatiently.
"I have many ideas I would put into practice," Simon said blandly, a statement that made her heart start pounding. "But somehow it doesn't seem right to just throw you on the floor."
Yes it does…
But it was time to give over control of things to him. "What does seem right then?"
"Let us just—practice this—"
A kiss—a lightly-pull-her-forward, touch-her-lips, barely-there kiss that sent little darts of pleasure ticking her very vitals.
His hands were warm on her shoulders, her sense of him behind her closed eyes so all-pervasive, so enveloping, she just wanted to lean into his body and let him devour her.
But instead, he pulled away very, very slowly, so that she felt the warmth, the texture, the fullness of his lips, and she opened her eyes. The expression on his face was inscrutable, but she didn't care—she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her again.
"Oh, but I'm very out of practice, my lady—"
"Then you do need my help," Corinna breathed against his lips.
"… kissing you," he added in a husky whisper and swooped in on her mouth so expertly that she almost fainted from the shock of the first contact.
He didn't have a wife yet, she thought dizzily, as she opened her mouth to him and he devoured her. Oh yes, oh this… she had so missed this—being enfolded, consumed, burning, learning… her bones felt like they were melting… There was still time—time for everything, time to make love and time for lust, time to explore every secret pleasure…
"Ahem," Fanny said, her voice slightly rusty.
Corinna pulled out of the kiss, her lips a mere fractional inch from Simon's. "Yes, Fanny?" Her voice sounded foggy, blurred with her mounting excitement, and the ever-enchanting rill of desire.
"It's time," Fanny said gently.
"Time… ?" Hadn't she just been thinking about time? Time… there was never enough time.
"For Mr. Charlesworth to—"
"You're exactly right," Simon said, easily relinquishing his hold on Corinna, apparently having recovered his wits far more easily than she. "I was just taking my leave, as it happens."
"I thought so," Fanny said complacently, and discreetly withdrew.
Corinna put out her hand as Simon rose. He took it, and pulled her to her feet. "My lady?"
"Must you?"
"Engagements tonight, Corinna. No backing out."
"Of course." When she dearly wanted him to stay. But she mustn't forget that men were different creatures than women when it came to needs. She could have kissed and cuddled the whole night, but for him, a card game somewhere into the wee hours must take precedence.
"And we shall meet again—when?"
"Ah, that is for me to know," he murmured, as he left her. "And for you to discover. I will see you soon, my lady, most willingly."
She still felt as if she were in a fog, fighting her way out of Simon's ravishing kisses to some kind of rationality.
Discover, he'd said. What did he mean, discover? Oh, there was still such a way to go before there would be any assuaging of needs, she thought longingly. And she already wanted more of his kisses.
She wondered if she could stand the wait.
"Well, Simon?"
Simon looked up from the chessboard where he was studying his next move, in a game that had lasted well into the three hours since he and Richard had arrived at Richard's town-house after a night at Heeton's.
"Well, what?"
"Have another brandy, old son," Richard, Viscount Cawley, said, holding out a snifter. "Come, it will loosen your tongue, and you have to admit I've been damned patient waiting on your leave to hear about the outrageous Lady Woodholme. But by God, I will know what transpired between you and that termagent before this hour has passed."
Simon took the goblet, and held it to the light. Excellent color, scent, body… but then everything about Richard was of the first and finest body. He was that kind of man, in heart, character and conscience.
"Here is the long and short of it," he said finally, "my lady is still vain, stubborn, selfish, willful, and has no qualms about speaking her mind. But she is also older, wiser—one hopes, more seasoned, and still—" his voice grew soft, "incredibly beautiful."
Richard joined him at the table, swept a knowledgeable glance over the playing pieces, set down his snifter, moved his bishop and sat back. "And?"
Simon studied the counter-move for a long moment. "Nothing has changed." He edged out Richard's bishop with his knight.
"Umm—bold move, my friend. One of many these days, I take it." Richard swiped the knight with his queen.
"Take it how you will. Nothing has changed." Simon blocked the piece with the second knight. "The knight still protects his queen, circumstances notwithstanding."
"So I see." Richard bent over the board and considered the predicament of his queen. "And you've been so summarily successful in eluding her."
"Exactly," Simon said with no small degree of satisfaction lacing his voice. "Precisely the strategy: the queen coming in pursuit, and the knight stalemating her every time."
"So it seems that you have…" Richard conceded, studying the possible next move. "Hmmm. Of course, there are always rooks and pawns to stave off an attack."
"Oh indeed, and one can always allow himself to become a pawn, knowing to a fault just what risk he is taking."
"Really? Is that the end game?"
"Richard, Richard, Richard," Simon chided. "You know the end game. You've known it for years."
"And if the queen is captured?"
"I will do everything in my power to win her back."
Richard laughed. "While you are seducing every virgin from here to Gretna in the process? Those mothers will kill you, Simon. They are man-eating tigresses. You have no idea."
"Then you must distract them, Richard."
"But I've vowed not to marry from the common crowd, as you well know. Unless of course, it's a paragon like my lady Corinna."
Simon looked at him sharply. This was a joke, was it not? He couldn't tell. Richard had never been the darling of the marriage-minded mammas. He disdained them all year after year, eschewing Almack's, evading the tiger-mothers, searching for someone wonderful, waiting patiently for her to cross his path.
But Corinna? Still, how could he help wondering about her, after listening to Simon rave on about all the negative and positive attributes of the beauteous and exasperating Lady Corinna all these years?
Simon had never once considered it—that a best friend could become a best adversary, a competitor, a winner.
"Take your shot, if you must," he said, keeping his voice neutral.
Richard moved a pawn between the queen and Simon's knight. "It's merely a warning, my friend. You never know who might come from the corner and trip you up. The one least expected could knock you right off your seat."
"Excellent advice, my dear Cawley—I will keep it at the forefront of everything I plan to do. From now on, I will think five steps ahead instead of two…" He took Richard's pawn with a rook and looked up at him with an air of disingenuousness. "And make sure anyone who tries to storm the castle drowns in the moat."
Chapter Five
Later, she felt as if she had dreamt the whole encounter.
"Tell me truly, Fanny—was Simon really here?"
Fanny sighed. "Oh yes, he was, my lady. Such a nice man."
"Fanny! He got to you too… he could seduce a house cat, I swear."
"He is a very fine figure of a man, and well-regarded, my lady, in case you had not heard."
"His pursuit of the ladies notwithstanding…" Corinna said acridly.
"Oh no, my lady. He is considered to be very fair and equitable with all the young ladies. They do like him. As do I…" Her tone muted in coy approbation.
"Oh, poof," Corinna muttered. "What has he got to recommend him but a pair of broad shoulders, several thousand a year and that look in his eye?"
