Lady Blue

by Helen A Rosburg

  Harmony considered her response for a long moment. Then: “I trust you, or I wouldn’t consent to marry you. I know you are keeping secrets from me. I also know that you love me and would never do anything intentionally to harm me. It’s … difficult, I admit, to understand why you would keep your true identity from me. But it doesn’t alter who you are essentially. So, yes. Yes, I trust you.”

  Anthony raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Just until we’re married. Then I’ll tell you everything. I swear.”

  “Three days.” It was almost impossible to imagine. In three days she would be Mrs….who? Despite the solemnity of the moment, Harmony giggled.

  “What is it? What’s funny?”

  Harmony shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m just … happy, I guess.”

  The weight of the world seemed to have lifted from Anthony’s shoulders. He felt his own smile begin to spread.

  She loved his crooked grin. She loved everything about him. The circumstances of their meeting, their brief courtship, were impossible. Anthony’s proposal, his conditions, were crazy. Yet here she was. And she had never been happier. The laughter bubbled up inside her and escaped.

  Anthony winced. Harmony clapped a hand over her mouth. Then they were holding each other, shaking with silent laughter. And then they were simply

  holding one another.

  “Harmony …”

  Anthony’s breath was warm against her neck. The way he said her name sent a shiver of pleasure through her. She turned her head and kissed the hard, square line of his jaw. The stubble of his beard was rough, and pleasing, against the softness of her lips. She felt his fingers tangle in the mass of her hair. He pulled her head back gently.

  “Harmony …”

  His mouth closed over hers. His tongue sought to part her lips and she surrendered willingly, drawing him inside of her. She tasted him, and reveled in him. Something soared within her.

  Moments later a starburst of passion blossomed in her breast as Anthony’s fingers traced a searing line from her shoulder to her waist. She captured his hand and moved it back, and he cupped her breast, thumb teasing the swelling, sensitive flesh beneath her thin, cotton shirt. Gasping for breath, she pulled her mouth from his.

  “Anthony …”

  “I know. I know. I’m sorry.” With all his remaining willpower, Anthony pushed her away. “Forgive me, Harmony. I—”

  “No,” she interrupted. “You misunderstand. Come with me. Please.” She tugged at his hand and

  pulled him to his feet.

  A narrow flight of wooden stairs at the back of the stable led to the small room that had been the coachman’s. Harmony climbed the steps and opened the door. She peered tentatively into the tiny room.

  It was neat and smelled clean. There was a well-washed, faded coverlet on the small bed. She pulled Anthony into the room. He took her immediately into his arms.

  “We don’t have to do this, Harmony,” Anthony whispered hoarsely. “It’s only a matter of days now.”

  “I don’t want to wait,” Harmony replied. She didn’t think she could wait. Pressed against his length, she felt the very positive, physical proof of his need of her, his longing. It seemed the core of her being was centered in that spot. She was no longer even aware of the rest of her body. She was a flame, and only he could quench her heat.

  “I want you,” Harmony breathed against his mouth. “I love you.”

  Anthony moaned. He was past all restraint. It was right. The moment was right. They were meant to be together. They always had been.

  Harmony had never known such urgency, such intensity. Anthony’s body pushed her slowly, carefully toward the bed as his hands fumbled with her skirt and petticoats, lifting them. Harmony’s fingers tore at the buttons of her blouse, then at the buttons of Anthony’s shirt. A birdlike cry flew from her throat when she pressed her naked breast to his at last.

  His skin was smooth and slippery with a sheen of sweat. She felt soft, pliant, feminine against the ridges of his muscular chest and abdomen. She burned. Her hands moved downward.

  He throbbed, pulsed. She felt herself quiver in the most secret, private part of her, felt the welcoming, wanting moisture there. Her fingers felt every inch of his manhood, straining against the fabric of his trousers. Then the backs of her legs came in contact with the narrow bed, and she pulled him down on top of her.

  There was no knowing, no rational thought. Only passion, desire, hands and lips and bodies. Clothing disappeared as if by magic and they were together, pressed together and suspended in a timeless time. Harmony felt him between her legs, pushing, gently pushing, thrusting his way into her body, her soul. She rose to meet him …

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Harmony opened her eyes slowly, languidly. Her bedroom window remained ajar from the evening before, and she heard the singing of birds. By the intensity of the sun, and its slant, she knew she had slept quite late. The room had also grown warm. Harmony threw back her covers.

  She had been naked under the sheets. Never before had she slept that way. But when she had at last crept into her bed, in the wee hours before dawn, she had wanted nothing to disturb the memory of Anthony’s hands on her body. Harmony sighed and closed her eyes again.

  She had never even imagined, in her wildest dreams, lovemaking would be like what had passed between them. And it was something she had dreamed of, and imagined, many times. Her parents, deeply in love with one another, had been openly affectionate. Her mother had been open and frank with her about the facts of life, and how wonderful the physical part of a relationship could be between two people who cared deeply about each other. She had taught Harmony to be unafraid when the time came and she knew she was with the right person. Furthermore, she had told her never to be shy with that person, but to ask for what she felt she needed or wanted. Harmony had had to ask nothing of Anthony.

  With a renewed thrill, she remembered the ways, and places, he had touched her. Shivering, she remembered the trail his tongue had taken across her body, and how he had used it to raise her to heights that were dizzying. She recalled the feel of him beneath her hands, every inch of him, and the scent of him, musky and electrifying. With a groan, Harmony rolled over and buried her face in her pillow.

  Three days. How was she going to wait another three days? She was not even going to be able to see him, much less touch him, hold him. He had told her he had to go into London and finish up his business affairs and make the arrangements for their hasty wedding.

  Business affairs. What business? What did he do? Was it truly legitimate, or …?

  Harmony tried to still her thoughts. She had made her commitment to him. She had vowed to trust him. Besides, she knew with greater certainty than ever that even if he turned out to be England’s most wanted criminal, she would still love him and go away with him. Their love was fated, destined. There was no turning back.

  There was, however, going to be some difficulty going forward.

  Harmony groaned again. But this time it was not with remembered pleasure.

  There was no getting around it. She was going to have to tell Agatha. She feared her reaction.

  No matter what Harmony might know, or suspect, herself, to Agatha Anthony was still a lord. A wealthy one at that. She had gone so far as to tell Harmony the only way she would ever be free, or have money, would be to marry a man of substance. Did it not stand to reason, therefore, that she would be delighted with the news of the impending nuptials?

  Harmony doubted it. It was too soon, too fast. It wouldn’t be seemly. Tongues would wag. Agatha would hate it. Not to mention the missed attention a large and lavish wedding to an aristocrat would have drawn.

  On the other hand, Harmony would be out from under her roof and, in Agatha’s eyes at least, suitably wed no matter how precipitously.

  Either way, there were going to be initial fireworks. She might as well get it over with. Reluctantly, Harmony slid her bare legs over the edge of the bed and sat up.


  In minutes she was dressed in proper attire, although still acutely aware of Anthony’s warmth and scent on her skin. Despite her apprehension, she nearly skipped down the corridor.

  The dining room was empty. Harmony had not actually expected to find her sister lingering over a late breakfast. But neither had she expected to see the room cleared of every remnant of the meal, including tea. It was undoubtedly done out of spite. No matter. Harmony marched toward the morning room, where Agatha typically spent an hour or two over correspondence.

  “Don’t expect Cook to prepare anything for you,” Agatha said without looking up from her escritoire. “Meals are served at specified times and guests are expected to be prompt.”

  “So that’s all I am to you, Agatha … a guest?”

  Agatha laid down her pen and turned slowly in her chair. “Do you really believe you have behaved toward me in a … sisterly … way?”

  As difficult as it was, Harmony managed to hold her tongue. “I’m sorry if my nature antagonizes you,” she forced herself to say. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

  “As you see, I am engaged. You may, however, suit yourself.” Agatha returned to her letter.

  Harmony perched on the edge of a narrow window seat. She felt the sun on her back, but it did little to dispel the chill in the room. She cleared her throat.

  Agatha threw down her pen. “You obviously have something on your mind, Harmony. In the interest of conserving time, and my patience, why don’t you go ahead and tell me what it is.”

  It wasn’t the best of beginnings. But it was too late now.

  “I have something to tell you, Agatha. Something that I think will make you quite glad.”

  “Oh, really?” Agatha’s brow furrowed as her eyebrows arched. “I believe I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “Very well.” Harmony folded her hands on her lap. “If you recall, you told me once, not long ago, that it would be … advisable … for me to marry a man of money.”

  Agatha’s eyes narrowed, but she remained silent. Harmony continued.

  “Well, I’m going to do exactly that. I’m going to marry Lord … Lord Farmington.”

  The room became entombed in silence. Even the birds seemed to have ceased their singing. Agatha’s features remained perfectly impassive.

  “And you’ve known him how long?” she asked at length, tonelessly.

  “It doesn’t matter how long we’ve known each other. We’re in love.”

  Agatha made a rude noise and returned to her letter. “You know nothing of love,” she said without turning. “Certainly not in this short a time. Don’t be absurd. Go on about your business and let me finish my correspondence.”

  Harmony had expected many things. She had not expected to be dismissed so summarily. Perhaps, however, it was a blessing in disguise. She rose to leave.

  “Where are you going?” Agatha inquired sharply.

  “I’m going on about my business, as you so wisely advised.”

  “Don’t be cheeky!” Agatha pushed back her chair. “And you wonder why I refer to you as a guest!”

  “Soon you won’t have to refer to me as anything at all. I’ll be gone.”

  “You’re going nowhere.”

  “I’m going to marry Anthony,” Harmony replied levelly. “He’s coming for me in three days.”

  “Three days!” Agatha pushed to her feet so quickly and violently her chair toppled over backward. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Probably not. But I am in love. And I am leaving.”

  “You will not set a foot outside this house!”

  That was more like it. Harmony almost smiled. “What are you going to do, Agatha? Lock me in my room again? What are you going to tell Anthony when he comes for me?”

  Agatha’s arms were stiff at her sides, her hands curled into fists. A vein throbbed in her temple. “I will tell him exactly what I’m going to tell you now,” she said in a tightly controlled voice. “I’m going to tell him that as far as I can ascertain, there is no Lord Farmington. And until I find out exactly who he is, and where he comes from, you are going absolutely nowhere with him.”

  If someone had nailed Harmony’s feet to the floor, she could not have been more securely rooted to the spot. She felt her fingers grow cold as her heart ceased to beat and her circulation stopped. With horror, she watched a smile creep onto the corners of her sister’s mouth. She had seen that smile before. She had seen it last night when Agatha finally joined them in the carriage. After having spent several minutes talking to Lady Margaret.

  “You look a trifle pale, little sister,” Agatha sniggered. “What’s wrong? Is there something you already know about Lord Farmington that you’re afraid I’ll find out?”

  Harmony didn’t dare so much as lick her lips. She concentrated all her efforts on keeping her face expressionless. How much did Agatha really know? What did she know?

  “I know,” Harmony said at last, voice cool, tone even, “that he is a good, decent human being. I know that he loves me, as much as I love him. I know that the length of time we have known one another matters not at all. And when he comes for me, I will leave with him.”

  “How bold, Harmony. How bold. And how foolish.” Agatha leaned over in her chair. She let her eyes conspicuously caress the half-finished letter lying on her escritoire. “I must make haste to pen the remainder of this missive so I may have a courier on his way to London with it by late morning.”

  Harmony knew Agatha baited her; however, she refused to bite. She feared, too, her voice would be unsteady if she tried to speak.

  “That way,” Agatha went on, “I should have a reply by the day after tomorrow. And we will know for certain just who Lord Farmington is … or isn’t.”

  Did she have feet anymore? Was she standing on two legs? Harmony’s entire body felt numb.

  “Go on. Off with you.” Agatha made a shooing gesture. “I have work to do.”

  Harmony watched her sister sit back and relax in her chair. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She thought she might be sick.

  “What’s wrong with you, Harmony?” Agatha said crossly. Then she brightened. “Or is it that you’re afraid? That’s it, isn’t it? You’re afraid!”

  The spell was broken at last. With a stifled cry, Harmony whirled and fled the room.

  Anthony sat forward on the chintz-covered sofa and gratefully allowed Sneed to massage his shoulders and upper back. He was bent at the waist, arms on his thighs, head hanging low.

  “Whatever did you do to—?”

  “Don’t talk, Sneed. Just keep rubbing.”

  The massage continued for several minutes. Then Sneed gave him a parting slap on the back and stepped away from the couch. Anthony straightened and leaned back slowly.

  “I don’t suppose,” he said lazily, “that you could sweet talk Maggie into making another pot of coffee?”

  “No, I don’t suppose. You’re the one who does all the sweet talking around here.”

  “Be that way.”

  “Thank you. I suppose I will.”

  Anthony allowed himself to languish another few moments, then pushed up from the soft, inviting cushions of the couch. He yawned and stretched.

  “What are you doing, Sneed?”

  “Exactly as it appears. Packing.”

  “But I’ll be coming back here.”

  Sneed looked up from the shirt he folded atop the neatly made bed. “Might I say that would be most foolish?”

  “You already told me that staying out all night was foolish.”

  “A young gentleman needs his sleep,” Sneed replied archly.

  “And you told me proposing to Harmony was foolish.”

  “After so little time? Of course it’s foolish.”

  “You’re not the one who’s in love, Sneed. Besides, I’ve told you. She’s the one. She loves me. She loves me for who I am.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  “And she’ll love me when she finds out, well, exactly
who I am.”

  “Undoubtedly she will love you more,” Sneed commented dryly.

  “Don’t be sarcastic.”

  “I apologize,” Sneed said with sudden seriousness. “I really do. But you’ve spent much of your life taking such elaborate precautions. It has stood you in very good stead, I might say. Now you’ve risked it all for this girl.”

  “Because she’s worth it, Sneed. I’m telling you.”

  “She may be. She may be at that. I’ve never seen you like this. If nothing else, however, have you considered the risk you’re taking in deceiving her?”

  “Yes. I have. But I had to know first if she loved me for me.”

  “Apparently she does.”

  “Yes. I’m convinced she can live with the kind of constraints my lifestyle will impose on her. And continue to love me in spite of it all.”

  Sneed sighed heavily. “I must leave it to your better judgment. But for your future protection, I really must suggest that you move into—”

  “No, Sneed.” Anthony shook his head vigorously. “I’ll be all right, I promise you. I’m going to arrange to have the ceremony in London. As you well know I have good friends there. We can do it quietly, without fanfare. We’ll sneak right back out of the city before anyone even knows we’re there. When we do, I want to come back here.”

  “Sentiment? Old time’s sake?”

  Anthony smiled. “Something like that, old friend.”

  “A few stolen moments of bliss before she begins her new life?”

  “Finally,” Anthony said with exaggeration. “You understand.”

  The ghost of a smile touched Sneed’s elongated, sagging features. “Just answer me one thing. Since you are so convinced of the lady’s love, why not tell her now? Why wait until you’re married?”

  Anthony shrugged. He walked over to the bed and idly fingered the shirt Sneed had folded.

  “I’m not sure, Sneed,” he replied honestly. “I have actually told her I’m not really Lord Farmington. She had already guessed as much, and it didn’t matter to her. I just … I don’t know.” Anthony shook his head. “Maybe I’ve simply become so paranoid I can’t bring myself to do it until we’re safely wed.”