The shapeless cotton fell past her knees and as he turned to face her, he drew apart the thin lacing that pulled her shift closed over chest. His hands drew it apart and he traced his fingers over the curves of the tops of her breasts, moving slowly down the sides. She shivered and he kissed her, taking her open mouth with his and pulling her nearly naked body against his fully clothed one, filling her with an overwhelming but unnamed desire. Her nearly naked curves against his body ignited a fire he feared he could not control. He pulled away.
“Where are your nightgowns?” he asked in a voice so raspy she could hardly understand.
“In the wardrobe,” she replied shakily as he crossed the small room to open the piece of furniture. He tossed several lacy underthings onto the floor until he found a nightgown of palest green silk with sheer lace over the breasts and silk panels that fell to the floor. She had ordered new underthings when she arrived in London to supplement the meager wardrobe she and Amelia had fled with and it had been sent by mistake. She had never worn it.
“Wear this,” Mason nearly growled as he brought it to her.
“But—but this is practically see through! It was sent by mistake! I have never even had it on! It will be as if I am naked!” Her voice was small but low and so filled with what he knew was lust—lust she did not yet understand—that he dared not touch her for fear he would not stop.
“Wear it,” he rasped. “I insist. It will prove to you that I can keep myself away from you despite any temptation.” He turned away for a moment to stop his hands from raking again over her body and then approached her. “I intend to keep my word to you. I am showing you that I am not a raving beast and will only do as you ask.” He held out the garment to her. “I regret that I cannot put it on you. That is asking too much. I will turn around while you change.”
Delia took the soft silk and gazed at him with slight trepidation. But he looked so earnest in his desperation to prove that he could keep away from her that she accepted his promise. He turned around and she quickly pulled the shift off and tugged the nightgown over her head. She looked down and gasped. The bodice was entirely lace and her breasts were clearly visible. The rose-pink of her aching nipples strained at the delicate filigree and her slender waist fit perfectly into the small opening where the lace met the panels of its silk skirt. The back was entirely open. With one long panel in the back, there were four long panels in the front that split open to the thigh, making the sides of her legs clearly visible and the panel in front split just below where her legs joined. She turned away from the Marquess just as he turned around and saw her exquisitely rounded bottom and naked back.
His hands were on her in an instant and he folded her over the bed, standing behind her with nothing but the sheer silk between them as he pressed his body against her own and held her head, gently, against the bedcovers while he covered her naked flesh in kisses. His hands on her hips, he pulled her bottom back against his body as he rocked into her and groaned.
“You are supposed to be proving your immunity to me,” she gasped, as a warmth spread from between her legs all over her body. He released her and said in the lowest voice he had ever heard.
“Turn around.” She stood and turned around, showing the feast of her body to him and quickly taking two steps away from the bed. It served only to show the high slits in the silk and betray the firm white flesh of her slender legs.
“That nightgown is hell itself,” Durham said as he looked at her with slightly trembling hands. He stared at her face, her neck, her breasts, her hips, the place where the jade silk split between her thighs. “You should know that after this night, if you ever appear before me like this again, I will have you until we are both unable to move from exhaustion. I will never let you go. Get into bed. I think I have shown you I can resist but I am not superhuman. I can do no more.”
He stared at her with such concentration that she feared for her own ability to resist and climbed into bed, shaking slightly at the warmth all over her body and the strangeness of being in bed nearly naked in such a scandalous silk nightgown. She heard his breath hitch as she bent over to pull the bedcover down and then turned to face him.
“Where will you sleep?”
“Very likely I won’t,” he replied with a hitch. “Just try to rest yourself and trust that I will not come closer than this.” He lay, with difficulty, on the chaise-lounge in front of the large window facing the street and pulled a pillow from its side to rest his head. I will be here until you wake.”
“Will you sleep in your cravat?” her voice was soft and filled with a gentle worry.
“If I remove one article of clothing, I will not be able to stop,” he said. “Do not suggest it. I made a promise but if you ask me to undress I will not keep it.”
Lady Delia closed her eyes and forced herself not to ask.
“I bid you good night, my lord,” she whispered. He did not reply.
Chapter 20
The next morning Delia awoke to a loud clatter as the Marquess of Durham bumped the tea-tray into her door. She sat up with a start and he dropped the tea tray entirely.
“Bloody hell!” he roared, “Do not parade in front of me in that gown at this ungodly hour!” She hurriedly grabbed a pillow and covered her chest.
“Have you already forgotten what you forced me to wear to bed?” she expostulated, “What would you have me do?”
“Well now we will have no tea and I was in desperate need of fortification. I will go downstairs and get a towel. By the time I return, I recommend that you cover yourself.”
As he turned, Delia dashed from the bed and set up the screen behind which she ordinarily dressed and splashed water on her face and cleaned her teeth. She was pulling the silk over her head when she heard him return.
“Do not come over here!” she squeaked.
“I have no intention of doing so,” he replied. “I will assume at this time you are wearing a nun’s habit.”
“Precisely,” Lady Delia replied. “That is an exact description of my costume,” she continued as she struggled into a shift and gave up on lacing her corset. She tied a petticoat around her waste and reached for her most serviceable gown that buttoned up the front. When she at last appeared in front of the Marquess, he looked quite mad. His hair was on end and there were dark circles under his eyes. She strode quickly toward him stopped just short of an embrace.
“You look dreadful!” she said.
“Thank you. Now I hope you will appreciate my restraint and what you have done to me.” She laughed, unable to stop herself at the sight of the generally impeccably gorgeous Marquess, looking as if he had passed the night in a horse stable.
“I will not sleep in the same room with you again, my lord,” she said, teasingly, though she was not entirely sure she meant it.
“Don't call me that,” he said. “I don’t like it and it sounds ridiculous after last night.”
“You can’t expect me to call you—“
“Call me Mason. It’s my Christian name and not enough people use it.”
“Are you sure that isn’t terribly inappropriate?”
“It absolutely isn’t. But given we are alone, unchaperoned, in a tiny house where I undressed you and watched you put on a nightgown that would make a Cyprian blush, I fail to see a great lot that is ‘terribly appropriate’ about any of our interactions in the past twenty-four hours.”
“And that is entirely your fault,” she replied.
“It is. And I trust I have proven my case. Despite my propensity for impropriety, I can still be trusted to behave. Now let’s stop tempting me. I just burned myself on some terrible tea. It is not quite potable but you are welcome to attempt a drink if you make haste. We will take a hackney cab to Durham House in the next ten minutes or I might in fact be fit for little but Colney Hatch.”
Delia laughed aloud. It was a rich and beautiful laugh and he thought it might be the first time he had ever heard it.
“Well then! Let’s go. I wi
ll forgo the questionable tea. It appears that Amelia took my gowns with her, so provided I can bathe at Durham House, I will be the happiest of all the female novelists in the city.”
“Stop talking about bathing,” said Mason, “And find your wrap.”
Delia sighed. “You are disturbingly single-minded.”
“I’m sure I will cease thinking about your naked body when we have been married a hundred years.”
Delia stopped short.
“Married?”
“You do not think we could have spent the majority of the small amount of our time together entirely in bedchambers and not be married, do you?”
“Well, I admit it has been an odd acquaintance, but—“
“How do you plan to explain what has happened between us to your future husband if he is not me?”
Lady Delia stopped short. She tilted her head to one side and furrowed her brows.
“That is not fair! I would say nothing, I suppose…”
“And is that fair? Would you wear that nightgown for another man?”
The thought of another man seeing her in that nightgown, or unclothed, occurred to Lady Delia as extremely distasteful all of a sudden.
“I had not thought of it. Perhaps he would not like the nightgown?”
“Your brain is clearly functioning at a low ebb this morning.”
“There is no reason to be rude!”
“You will marry me and wear absolutely no nightgown to sleep for the next fifty years.”
“I will do no such thing! Not wearing a nightgown is scandalous.”
“Your current nightwear collection is more scandalous. Why are we still discussing your clothes? Are you ready to leave?”
“I am. Perhaps you should run a comb through your hair if you do not wish to be taken to Colney Hatch.”
He looked in the mirror and sighed.
“Melville would be horrified.”
“Your valet?”
“How do you know?”
“Who else would be horrified at your hair?”
“My future wife? Your powers of reason are intimidating.” Lady Delia inhaled deeply and decided against further antagonizing the Marquess, as he was certainly in an unpleasant temper and incapable of rational thought.
“Shall we go?” she asked.
They walked together down the stairs after Mason had failed to produce any positive results in his hair and elected to cover it with a hat. As they locked the door, he took her elbow and called a hack. He then examined her appearance.
“Does that veil come any further down?” he asked.
“Perhaps? I had not considered it.”
“In the unlikely event that you are observed by someone of your acquaintance, you might consider covering up a bit more.”
She tugged the ivory lace over her face and smiled through it at the Marquess. Her eyes danced with amusement and Mason found it impossible not to smile back.
“Perfect.”
“Now we shall have to decide how best to announce our engagement. It is my belief that we simply place a simple announcement in the Gazette, stating our names and your father and nothing else. I will make it known that it was our intention to wait until after a period of months appropriate for your mourning has passed, to announce our engagement. We have, of course, been secretly promised since June, but since your father’s death was so recent, we felt it appropriate to wait. Then I will drop into the ear of certain or other extremely respectable matrons that when I did ask for your hand, your guardian was so intent on marrying you himself that he put out the story of your ruination in an attempt to make it impossible for us to marry. Since no one, I will say, believed that scandalous on dit, we have simply moved forward with our original intention to announce the engagement the first of November.”
“But you said that everyone believed Christopher’s gossip!”
“Society will believe what I tell them to believe,” the Marquess replied arrogantly. “Besides, it is simply a matter of influence. Rosewood has none and I have it in plenty, as well as any number of powerful friends. It’s a reasonable story and the purpose of my failure to deny the original gossip was simply because I thought it too ridiculous to countenance. I would never seek to besmirch the reputation of my future bride.”
“Do you think people will believe it?”
“For my part, I do not care if people believe it—I only care that they pretend to believe it and treat you with the respect appropriately accorded to my Marchioness. Rosewood, after all, has no place in the ton and he will find himself cut off from everyone if he continues in his lies, not that he will long remain in this country after his attempts on your person.”
“But Mason, he is still my guardian! How shall we convince him to permit us to marry?”
“He cannot deny me. It’s impossible. I will take him to the Courts of Equity if necessary. I am wealthy enough and of an appropriate class to marry you. There can be no objection and guardians are not permitted to deny wards permission to marry unless it is not in the best interest of the ward. There is nothing about me that should be an adequate disqualification.”
“Ha! You have a high opinion of yourself.”
“Do you think it would not be in your best interest to marry me?”
“Well…” Lady Delia hesitated, “I had not thought of it. Do you not think that such an irreversible decision ought to be contemplated for longer than mere minutes?”
“That depends on whether or not the offer has an expiration date.”
“Oh, I should hardly think you’ll revoke it in the next few days,” she teased, “Perhaps we should not suit?”
“I think we both know we suited quite well last evening.”
Her blush was growing tiresome, Lady Delia thought as she blinked fiercely, attempting to calm her furious nerves. She looked at him from across the carriage seat of the hackney coach he hired to take them to Durham House.
“Surely there is more to marriage than the bed?” she interposed. “Suppose I dislike your method of eating asparagus? Or you slurp your soup?”
“You have seen me dine before at Washburn Court.”
“A single experience! Perhaps you were on your best behavior? And I confess I do not recall if we were served asparagus.”
“I recall nothing of what we ate.” She shivered at his look of pure lust and resolved to think of nothing but asparagus until she was safely delivered to her own chamber within Durham House.
When they arrived at the Marquess’ town house, Delia was instructed not to exit the carriage until the door had been opened and he was certain there was no one in the street who might recognize the lady, or carry unwanted tales to members of the ton. It was no use, he said, trying to hide her, if she was seen in broad daylight in front of Durham House on the first day of her residence at that address. Upon their entrance, Weebold and Melville, as well as Amelia, met them immediately.
“Are you quite alright, my lady? I was so worried when his lordship called. I rather thought he would explain but he explained very little!”
“I am, indeed, quite well, Amelia. And there is no need to be concerned. We shall be perfectly safe here for several weeks. I am afraid I am entirely exhausted and in need of a bath,” she said, looking to the maid’s lead to the bedchamber that had been prepared for her.
“I am pleased to welcome you to Durham House, Lady Delia,” Weebold interrupted in his most sonorous voice. “We only hope you will be as comfortable as if it were Washburn Court. If there is anything either myself or the housekeeper, Mrs. Keeble, may do to increase your comfort, please do not hesitate to ring.”
“I’m sure I shall be quite comfortable, Weebold,” Lady Delia replied. “But thank you and I will try to be as little trouble as possible.”
“My lady is no trouble whatsoever,” he assured her. As Amelia led her up the stairs to her rooms, Delia turned to smile at the Marquess, who, after removing his hat, had drawn a horrified gasp from his valet. She supposed there wa
s not a valet in the world who was immune to his master’s appearing in such a state as Mason was in that moment and she giggled slightly to herself.
Chapter 21
After Mason had bathed and dressed, he felt better despite the lingering exhaustion of his sleepless night. Melville had only just eased him into his coat when the Earl of Blackwell was announced and shown into the library, where Melville left the two of them, silently closing the doors behind him to leave the two men alone. Durham briefly explained to his friend what his valet had revealed about his former mistress, namely; that she had a male acquaintance and was attempting to garner some manner of covert information from the Marquess. He added his own details respecting Gigi’s strange behavior of late. The Earl listened in silence to his friend’s story.
“What will you do with her?” the Earl asked, speaking of Gigi.
“I would that I knew, dammit!” was his frustrated reply. “Our strategy must surely depend on what is contained in these letters, which I confess I am loathe to read. Perhaps this insipid correspondence will reveal their motives, though I am still ignorant of the identity of her accomplice. If it is not to be obtained from these letters,” he pointed to the packet left by Melville, “I must find a way to procure the information myself. That can hardly be obtained if our relationship degenerates to the point that she suspects—or worse—disappears.”
“Shall we not see what this first letter says?”
The men peered over a folded paper, still scented with the unmistakable perfume of the Marquess’ former mistress, and tried to make out the harsh scrawl.
“My Dear Gigi,
I am relieved to hear that the Marquess still does not suspect you, however, you appear to have lost sight of your purpose. You must find out how connected he is to the Chateau you heard had the best bordello in France. There are whispers that it is used for smuggling brandy but we must know more if we are to blackmail Durham into giving us a cut of the smuggling profits! You did excellent work, noticing that the Chateau had a reputation for providing delightful prostitutes and inquiring of the locals if it had any connections to England, however this is now woefully inadequate. If we are to live together in comfort, we must have a steady income! Especially as I still have not located my tiresome brat of a ward. Without her, I cannot hope to marry her and gain her fortune. Keep your eyes and ears open. It’s possible she has fled to the city—
A Lady Compromised (The Ladies) Page 12
