by Raine Miller
28th December, 1811
“ANGLEO’S will do for now, Stanton,” Graham told his driver.
“As you wish, my lord.”
Graham had to get out of his house tonight. And there were a lot of reasons why it was a good idea. The foremost being his beloved was upstairs in a guest bedroom right now. He looked out the window at his London home as Stanton pulled the carriage onto the street and pondered the realities staring him in the face. Showing Imogene, her cousin, Cariss, and Lady Wilton around Brentwood today, he’d realized his time here in London would have to be limited.
They would start their married life here in this house. They would begin here. The first time they made love would be here, under his roof, in his suite. He shook his head a little at the vision, thinking he needed to clear his mind before he did something he sorely regretted. Imogene was an innocent to be sure but there was passion in her—passion yet to be awakened, but it was definitely there. She responded to him so sweetly and with such trust that he knew it was a good thing they would be separated for the most part, doubting he could bring her chaste to their wedding day. He knew unless he censured them, she wouldn’t be able to do it. She was too giving and generous and would struggle to deny him. Imogene had an uninhibited nature in general; it was part of her womanly attraction. He did not think he could remain under the same roof with her and stay under regulation for thinking about her. Tomorrow he would leave. It would be dreadful to be parted from her again, but it had to be. So tonight, after everyone had retired to bed, he’d slipped out. He needed the distraction to clear his mind enough so he could sleep there even this one night.
Graham entered Angelo’s Fencing Academy on Bond Street and found exactly what he was looking for. “Well, well, well, look what just walked in. The wayward native son returned to Mother England,” the man with the sardonic voice drawled.
Graham grinned. “Gravelle.” He extended his hand in greeting.
Clive Gravelle took the hand, returning an enthusiastic welcome to his old friend. “I’ve seen your brother here and there; he’s kept me apprised of you. Long time away, my friend,” he said, shaking his head slowly from side to side. “What brings you in here tonight?”
“Thought I might clear my head with an assault if possible,” Graham remarked easily, stretching his neck from one side to the other.
“I’d be happy to give you a go,” Gravelle offered. “Foils or sabers?” he asked with a one-sided grin.
“Foils. It’s been quite a while since I held a sword, Gravelle.”
“Good for me then. I’ve heard some talk about you, you know.”
“And what have you heard?” Graham asked, giving away nothing.
“Well for one, that you were back in country, and then that you wasted no time getting yourself leg-shackled. Furthermore, the lady in question is the late Lord Wyneham’s daughter, the young one. I hear she’s green, but lovely. It’s said she didn’t have much of a come-out last season due to mother’s illness. It is true then?”
Graham nodded once. “Sounds as if you have the pertinent facts in order.”
Gravelle whistled through his teeth. “How the mighty fall. Congratulations, my friend. I hope you shall be very happy in your wedded state. God! I cannot believe it.”
“Believe it, Gravelle, and I have every intention of doing so.” He tilted his head in acknowledgement of the congratulations.
“You know I heard there was some sniffing about up in Essex after Wyneham died. Word was, she was young, orphaned and well-dowered, but family swooped in and secreted her away before any who would try to take advantage, descended. How did you find her? Sad business about Lord Wyneham by the way; he was held in high regard.”
Graham eyed Gravelle patiently before answering, “She was living in Kent with her aunt and uncle. We met when I was there for Julian’s wedding. Hargreave also has married since I’ve been away. Their brides are in fact, sisters.”
“Blasted hellfire! Is there anyone left unfettered?” he asked disgustedly.
“Just you, Gravelle.” Graham winked. “Should you decide to jump into the pond, you’ll be in excellent company.”
“No thanks, Rothvale. I am perfectly fine as I am, but I daresay I should like to meet your diamond. You know, to see if she is as lovely as is said.”
Graham pointed and levelled a lethal stare. “You do not come near her, Gravelle,” he said evenly. “Have nothing to do with her, I mean it!”
“Oh, my God. She is here in Town? You have brought her to Town.”
Graham flinched inwardly at Gravelle’s words but appeared unaffected by them. Still giving away nothing, he replied, “This conversation has gone on for far too long. Are we having a go with the foils or not?”
“Yes, yes, just rufflin’ your feathers. ’Twill make for a better assault that way. It’s always a good idea to shake up your opponent, eh?”
“Let’s get to it then.”
Graham worked very hard at the assault. He had been away from his sport since he’d left for Ireland. Parrying against his friend, he realized how much he’d missed it. He would definitely make time for it again, now he was home.
A new face watched their assault and he congratulated Graham on his skills when it was over. Gravelle knew him and did the introductions. “Lord James Trenton, Hewbrooke Abbey, Essex. Trenton’s father is the Marquess of Langley.”
“How do you do?” Graham offered his hand. “Essex? My bride-to-be hails from Essex. We are to marry in a month. Imogene Byron-Cole of Drakenhurst?”
“Congratulations, Lord Rothvale. I know the family. We are of a neighbourly acquaintance. Very lovely, the Miss Byron-Coles.” He nodded. “Most sad about Lord Wyneham though. My father served with him, mentioning his passing with much regret to me.”
Graham nodded back. “Just Rothvale, please. How do you know Gravelle, here?”
“University. Oxford. Our friendship held out longer than Gravelle’s studies did though.” Trenton grinned.
“Ah. I attended Cambridge, or I would have remembered you. What brings you to Town, Trenton?”
“Just passing through on my way—”
Gravelle cut him off. “He’s on his way to the Bishop of Winchester to take clerical orders,” he said without admiration. “Just ghastly, Trenton! How can you do it?”
Trenton rolled his eyes. “I am pragmatic and have the luck of being a third son in birth order. I imagine I can muddle my way through. It cannot be so difficult, and I have to do something with my days. Unlike you, Gravelle, I would not have the taste for a career at dissipation with the same giddy enthusiasm that you possess. And let’s not forget, also unlike you, I can read and write!”
“I am hardly a dissipate, Trenton! But how will you know what to say at those events, funerals, weddings, christenings?”
“It’s all written out in the books, Gravelle, you simpleton. Oh, did I mention that I can read?”
Gravelle had the grace to look embarrassed. “But you will have to do it with sincerity.”
“I have every intention of being most sincere, my irreverent friend. I may not subscribe to the habits of endless preaching and moralizing, but that aside, I should do an adequate job I think. It’s about living a good life. Do you doubt my faith?” he asked with a grin.
“No, just your sanity.” Gravelle was unconvinced.
The conversation caught Graham’s attention though. “What kind of sermons do you think you shall give, Trenton?”
“Very short ones.”
Graham’s eyes lit in a smile. “And you fence?”
Trenton nodded, “Indeed, I do at that.”
Graham fished a card out of his pocket and gave it to him. “Write to me when you are finished with your orders. We may be able to work together. I could have a proposition for you—a good one.” He is exactly what I need for Gavandon parish.
On his way home that evening, Graham made a mental note to speak to Colin and impress upon him the importance to get down to Town
as often as possible for the purpose of checking on the ladies. He knew his friend Gravelle was trustworthy, but wouldn’t take chances on others who might hear of Imogene. London was full of opportunists. Being here reminded him of why he stayed away most of the time. If not for the culture and art, and his duty to Parliament, he would probably never come.
For now he would have to put his faith in Lady Wilton. He had no choice. For all that he had observed, Lady Wilton seemed to act in Imogene’s best interests, with discretion and sensibility, so putting his trust into her capable hands to keep Imogene safe and happy during the next weeks was an easy decision.
Graham prepared for sleep and got into his bed. Alone. He felt as if he’d never gone to Angelo’s tonight and exhausted himself with fencing. His mind was plagued with a new worry. How would he be able to leave her again? Tomorrow morning he would have to do just that, leave Imogene in London on her own. Just pondering the thought of it was painful.
7th January, 1812
IMOGENE simply wanted to go home, but Aunt Wilton and Cariss were speaking to the modiste and didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave. She didn’t wish to be rude and push them to rush so she drifted over to the glove case and looked in.
The gloves made her think of hands.
Hands made her think of Graham.
More specifically, Graham’s hands touching her when he kissed her. She recalled some of the things he’d told her of his desires he’d shared the last time they’d been alone together. It was exciting to imagine the forbidden and the unknown with him. He’d said he would love her for hours, and make pleasures unlike anything she’d ever known—
“Which do you think more elegant, the white or the buff?”
The question startled her. She’d been so lost in her thoughts she’d not noticed anyone else approach. A gentleman, looking to purchase some ladies gloves it looked like, had just asked her opinion. He looked very polite and proper with his hands clasped behind his back, a pleasant smile on his handsome face.
“Well, that would depend on the lady’s purpose in wearing them, of course, but I think I would select the buff. A bit more forgiving than white.”
“Ahhh, yes, practicality is always something to consider. ’Tis a gift for my dear little sister and I do want her to be able to get good use from them.” He bowed elegantly. “I am sorry, that was rather rude of me to just impose on you without an introduction. My name is Ralph Odeman, and I assure you I don’t usually ask strangers for help in choosing gifts.”
Imogene laughed. “Please don’t think another thought about it, Mr. Odeman. I’m not in the least put out, and delighted to have helped.” Knowing that she was waving propriety to the wind, she offered her name to him. “Imogene Byron-Cole, how do you do?”
“It is an honor, Miss Byron-Cole, or is it missus? My apologies if I am in error.”
“The title of ‘miss’ will apply to me for another three weeks only.”
“Ah, my congratulations to you upon your impending marriage—”
“Imogene, are you ready, darling?” Aunt Wilton called, indicating it was time to go.
“Thank you, Mr. Odeman, and I hope your sister enjoys her gift,” Imogene offered before following Aunt Wilton and Cariss out of the shop.
As their carriage paused to pull onto the road, Imogene glanced out the window at the street traffic. She was surprised to see Mr. Odeman standing there staring right into her carriage window. Their eyes met across the distance before she felt compelled to turn away. The expression he wore made a shiver roll through her spine, and she suddenly wished she’d never told him her name.
“Who was that man speaking to you in the shop?” Aunt Wilton asked.
“A Mr. Odeman who was buying gloves for his sister, and asked me would I choose buff or white for myself.”
“Do you know him, Imogene?” Cariss asked.
“Not at all.”
19th January, 1812
IMOGENE was not happy. Truthfully, she was beginning to feel rather low, especially today of all days. And there had been nothing from Graham in nearly a week. No letters telling her how much he missed her. The hours of dress fittings and endless selections she’d endured this morning boded well for the smashing headache she felt coming on. Cariss and Aunt Wilton had already preceded her in another carriage more than an hour ago. As Imogene headed up the steps of Brentwood Manor to lift the knocker, she saw a flash of movement at the drapes. That’s odd.
The front door opened but Mr. Finlay, the butler, was not there to receive her. She stepped carefully into the empty foyer and looked around the whole room.
And then she smelled him. The wonderful, unique scent recognizable only as his, met her nose. Instantly revived, she whispered, “Graham?”
Seconds later, she was rewarded with the most wonderful feeling she had experienced in days and days. Strong arms wrapped around her from behind and pulled her close. “Yes, chérie?”
“You are here!” She turned and faced him, her heart about to pound out of her chest. “I’ve had no letter in days and no knowledge of you coming to London.”
His green eyes danced. “It was meant as a surprise, chérie. Are you happy to see me?”
“I have missed you, so much, it has been awfully hard to bear.” He didn’t unclasp her hand as he led her into the parlor, shutting the door behind them. It wasn’t until Imogene was back in his arms that she felt free to indulge in a sigh of relief.
“I know exactly what you mean, chérie, it has indeed been dreadful.” He looked hungry as he swept over her with his eyes. “I have thought of doing this, every minute, of every day since we have been apart.” Then he descended, his lips claiming hers. Words were unnecessary for the next few minutes. Graham was intent upon one thing, and that seemed to be showing her just how much he’d missed her. Which appeared to be a great deal. “Open your mouth for me,” he said on a moan.
Compressed up against his chest so tight she could feel the heat of him through his clothes, she opened her mouth to his seeking lips. He pushed his tongue inside and she got her first taste of him. She met his tongue with her own and touched him back—so soft but yet so bold—the sensation of him in her mouth made her weak and thrilled at the same time. Graham pressed her into the back of the settee they were on and plundered her mouth for a good long while. His hands did more travelling up the sides of her breasts and maybe even touched in more places than he’d done before. It was impossible to make him stop. Imogene did not want him to stop anyway. She wanted him to kiss her with his tongue and touch her with his hands. When he held her like this her mind lost all coherent thought and reasoning. Whatever Graham was offering, Imogene wanted. And that was the essence of how it had been for her from the very first. She did not question her response to him, it just…was.
Eventually he pulled away and she opened her heavy eyelids to look at him.
“Just before I reached for you, I think you were scenting me, am I right?”
“Yes. It was the most amazing awareness. I was feeling low and missing you dreadfully. When I came up the steps I saw a movement at the window and thought that was unusual. Then, I stepped into the empty foyer and caught the trace of your scent. I knew it was you, but was afraid to hope that you had come.”
“I was weak from missing you as well, but nothing could have kept me from you on your birthday. Happy birthday, chérie,” he whispered, triumph evident in his voice. “Lady Wilton is a very helpful conspirator. I shall have to be sure to thank her.”
“You did remember.” She cupped her hand under his chin. “I have been duped. Very successfully, but very happily. I would accept any excuse to have you here with me.” Her eyes felt the beginnings of tears. “You are the best birthday present…the very best of all.”
“No tears, chérie. Tonight is for celebration of my beloved’s attainment of her twentieth year. I wish to squire you about town upon my arm, show you off a bit before we are married—make all the young bucks jealous,” he teased her.
“We are all due for the theatre tonight, and a late supper. Colin and Timothy have come down from Cambridge and will join us, and your aunt and Cariss of course. You see everything has all been very well planned.”
“I must learn from your excellent example, but you never know when I may get back at you.” She pushed away a strand of his hair that had slipped from the binding and tucked it behind his ear.
“I’ll gratefully take any retribution from you. If you only knew how difficult it is to remain a gentleman with you like this in my arms.”
“Is it so hard?”
“It is monumentally hard.” He gave her a wide-eyed stare that told her he was saying more with that comment than just the words. “I have a gift for you, chérie. You would honor me if you wear it tonight.” He produced a large jeweller’s box, and placed it in her lap.
How romantic he is.
“Oh!” She looked down at the most magnificent emerald ensemble she had ever seen. It was simply stunning: emeralds and large pearls set in white gold, a choker, earrings and a wrist cuff all matching. “Graham, I do not have words to express how beautiful these are.” Shaking her head slightly in wonder, she asked, “Did they belong to your mother?”
“They did.” He swallowed hard. “She would have been happy for me, in finding you. No words are necessary. Just wear them, and seeing them on you will be enough for me.” He kissed her neck, both of her ears and finally, lifted her wrist, kissing it as well—all of the places the jewels would touch her skin.
Imogene closed her eyes and tried to seal this moment in time into her mind, so she could remember it for her whole life. The tears came nonetheless.
Graham kissed the tears away. “I already told you there were to be no tears on this happy occasion,” he said lovingly. “I’ll be here for tonight only, and then will stay with an old friend. I’ll be here in London though, and will come to see you each day, until next Tuesday.” He smiled widely. “The very best day—the day that you shall marry me.”
