Debt of Honor

by Ann Clement

  Without a word, he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips.

  “Come with me to Wycombe Oaks tomorrow,” he said. “Will you?”

  They left Bromsholme after early breakfast. As his curricle rolled toward Wycombe Oaks, Percy’s uneasiness grew with each turn of the wheels. By issuing this invitation, he’d cracked open the door to himself. Did he really want to widen the crack enough for Letitia to set her foot inside it? A month ago, he had felt nothing but annoyance at the disorder a new marriage would bring into his life. Now he deliberately and consciously was taking the barriers down, despite all the sound reasons to do the opposite.

  To his relief, Letitia seemed unaware of his tribulation. Once they reached their destination, she moved around with unrelenting energy, radiating joy and enthusiasm. Armed with her always-present sketchbook and pencil, she strode up and down the slopes, through narrow passages, nooks, and around corners of the sprawling structure, sketching views, details and whatever else seemed important to her.

  Percy followed her patiently, John’s knapsack over his shoulder. His own usefulness dwindled to sharpening pencils with his pocket knife. Just as well. At least his hands couldn’t stray the way his mind did.

  When Letitia dropped her drawings to the floor yesterday, he’d almost sighed with relief. Something so mundane as picking them up would put an end to his wayward thoughts of kissing the long, shapely column of her neck while she studied the architect’s proposal and he stood behind her. Those short curls were like a raised curtain calling attention to her beauty in some mysterious way.

  But his hope for a reprieve from his own thoughts crashed when he found himself kneeling inches from her and all his good intentions vanished at the sight of her parted, trembling lips. That scented water of hers further clouded the arguments why he should keep his distance. After all, they were married.

  To avoid acting on temptation, he quickly reached for the sheets scattered about his feet—and only then realized what it was she had drawn in such detail. The fact that she had thought about his old home and how to improve it choked him. He didn’t dare utter a word, fearing she would detect his emotions. The pressure behind his eyelids was almost unbearable.

  And now, throughout the morning, her enthusiasm had invigorated him with a simple joy of life, something he hadn’t felt in years. Who would have thought that trailing behind an erratically meandering female and sharpening pencils could bring one so much careless pleasure?

  Perkins interrupted this wandering with an announcement that luncheon was ready. It had been set up under the oak tree in the meadow, below the demolished wall. Judy obviously had been bent on impressing the new mistress and prepared a picnic worthy of a royal reception. Letitia, clearly as famished with the exercise as he, welcomed it with pleasure.

  Afterwards, neither of them seemed in a hurry. The coolness of the shade combined with the mellow tinge of his ale provided as perfect a respite from the afternoon heat as Percy could desire. He stretched out on the blanket, folding his arms under his head, his ankles crossed, while Letitia reached for her sketchbook again.

  For a while, the occasional rustling of the leaves in the canopy touched by a playful breeze was the only sound interrupting the silence and the buzzing of the meadow around them. Percy watched Letitia as she busily drew the outline of the old garden, her eyes skimming the wall ahead of them and then guiding the pencil on the paper.

  His eyes lingered on the riot of golden curls. What was it about them that drew him with such magnetic force? Or to that graceful neck that evoked ideas best kept to himself, given the kind of marriage they shared?

  His gaze slid down to her shoulders and along the outline of her silhouette. The breeze pressed her light-muslin dress against the shape of her breast.

  She was the most beautiful woman he had ever known.

  Including Sarah.

  And so different from Sarah—like day and night. Not only in appearance, but in many other aspects as well.

  He did not want to think about Sarah ever again.

  Percy closed his eyes.

  Exhaustion had become his daily companion during this month of frantically rescuing Wycombe Oaks from further demise and organizing the future of the estate. He had never worked so hard in his life. For weeks, he had been getting up before dawn and falling asleep as soon as he reached his bed sometime around midnight.

  Now he could afford to rest. The worst damage had been stopped or averted, and he was about to hire a new steward for the estate.

  He felt at peace, almost happy. He had his home back and the money to reassure its future. He had a beautiful wife and a house resounding with life more than he had ever remembered. He could look forward to the future with a sated feeling of accomplishment.

  Contentment filled his bones. A month ago, when he married Stanville’s daughter, he did not expect to feel this way. Like a lazy cat devoted to napping through the summer afternoon, he recrossed his ankles and stretched before opening his eyes.

  Letitia was no longer drawing. She was sitting with her arms around her pulled-up knees, resting her chin on top of them.

  “Are you finished?” he asked.

  She turned her head toward him. “With the drawing? Yes.”

  “Would you like to go somewhere else?”

  “No, not yet. It is nice here.”

  “Hmm,” he agreed. “It’s one of those rare moments when everything around seems so perfect that one cannot help but feel at peace with the whole world.”

  Letitia smiled and rested her cheek on her knees.

  “Are you happy, then?” she asked. “You achieved all you wanted.”

  Not all. He had once wanted a family, his own real family. A loving wife and children of his own. That was one dream that belonged in the past.

  “I am contented,” he said.

  She nodded in reply.

  What about you? he wanted to ask, watching the clouding of her suddenly pensive profile. It struck him then that his contentment had to appear very selfish. He wanted to share it with her. More, he wanted her to be happy. Would that ever be possible?

  “What about you?” he finally asked after a short silence.

  “I am contented,” she said.

  “Are you? I am glad of that.”

  “You have been very kind to me. I did not expect that.”

  “I will not apologize for marrying you,” he replied. “I would do it again if it were my best or only means of recovering Wycombe Oaks. But it was never my intention to see you suffer because of this, or for any other reason. I hope you know that.”

  “I do,” she said.

  He reached out and twined one golden lock around his fingers. It felt soft and silky. The need to sift through all of them with his fingers and watch the sunlight ignite them with myriad sparks spiraled with unexpected force. But she stiffened under his touch, her back tense with anxiety that seemed to vibrate through her skin to his fingertips.

  Percy withdrew his hand and got up.

  Letitia stood too.

  “You know,” she said lightly, though the tension and anxiety he had felt a moment ago became audible, “it is one month today since we married.”

  So she was aware of it too. He allowed himself a very cautious smile.

  “Then perhaps we ought to celebrate such a remarkable occasion.”

  “Oh.” This surprised her. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Just this,” Percy murmured and reached for her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Percy closed the distance between them and slid an arm around Letitia’s waist until the muslin of her dress crumpled against his waistcoat and her slender frame leaned into him. The fingers of his other hand dove into the sunny locks that had teased him all morning.

  The surge of need swirled through him. He cupped Letitia’s head, gratifie
d beyond measure by the same yearning and desire that had made it so damnably difficult not to kiss her a week ago. She was soft, warm and undeniably, deliciously female. The combination sent a powerful jolt to his groin. His arm tightened around her back of its own volition.

  Taking a deep breath, Percy quelled the urgency to crush her mouth with the full force of his need. Instead, he touched her lips lightly, tentatively, almost asking for permission.

  When she did not respond at first, the familiar feeling of inadequacy began to unclench its tentacles in his chest, until a slight shift in her stance stopped their progress.

  Then Letitia did something unexpected. She pressed her lips back against his mouth, pursing them into a tiny O.

  The realization struck him suddenly.

  “No wonder you asked Darnley to break the engagement,” he said softly, looking into her disoriented and flushed face. “After weeks of being affianced to him, you still know nothing about kissing.”

  She stiffened under his hands, and her gorgeous mouth pursed now into a question. “What is there to know?” Then she arched her eyebrows. “No one has found me deficient in that simple civility thus far.”

  “No, I do not think they would,” he said softly. “But kissing a lover goes beyond simple civility, or at least one hopes very much that it should.”

  As he spoke, he pulled her back to him. “Let me show you, Lettie,” he murmured. And this time he let go of caution.

  He kissed her more boldly now, molding her lips to his when she began to yield. And as he did, her stiff stance softened, slowly becoming a surrender. Her lips parted, and she made a small guttural sound that, for all its softness, hit Percy like a blast of hot wind.

  He plunged in, the dizziness and desire going to his head with the potency of a strong brandy. With a growl of satisfaction, he crushed her to his chest and explored her mouth.

  Her hands, clenching his waistcoat, slid up to his shoulders and stopped there for a moment before reaching for his head and pulling him down, her fingers weaving through his hair with the urgency of a drowning person.

  A moan shot from his throat, straight into her mouth.

  Letitia made another guttural sound, and her tongue, so far passively accepting his exploration, moved to join his. Her hips suddenly moved against his.

  A wave of white heat swept through him.

  “Lettie,” Percy groaned into her mouth and somehow managed to take a step back.

  She opened her eyes. The degree of his torture only increased at the sight of her unfocused gaze and heightened complexion.

  Then she blinked a few times.

  “What did you say?” she asked, expelling a shaky breath.

  “Your name,” he mumbled, unable to tear his gaze away from her wet, swollen lips.

  “No. Before.”

  Something about her lack of experience? Whatever it was, it seemed to matter little now that he was burning alive and could hardly constrain himself from taking this accidental celebration to an entirely different level.

  “It doesn’t apply any longer,” he said softly, wanting to kiss her entire face before finishing with that gorgeous mouth again.

  “Oh,” she murmured, making it sound like a question she was mulling over.

  Percy allowed himself a tiny smile. “You’re not sure? Then let us try again.”

  And his mouth swooped down to hers once more.

  The only thing Letitia was sure of was that she was not sure of anything at all. If that activity they had just engaged in and that now roared through her veins like a wildfire was the true way to kiss a man, then Percy had been absolutely right. She had known perfectly nothing about kissing. She had never before experienced anything remotely as explosive as the past few minutes in his embrace. Her lips pulsed with life. Her insides burned with restlessness and need.

  And unlike the attempts of Sir Walter Hasting, groper extraordinaire, there was nothing unpleasant about this experience. On the contrary. She already wanted to be back in Percy’s arms, against his hard, strong frame, to feel the muscles rippling under the soft cambric of his shirt, to sift her fingers through his silky hair and to inhale the faint trace of sandalwood while he devoured her mouth.

  Would that be his habit—kiss her once a month on the date of their nuptials? It already seemed vastly insufficient. So when he pulled her anew against those quivering muscles, Letitia applied herself eagerly to practicing her new knowledge.

  Circling his waist, she let her hands travel up his back, over more hard, flexing muscles. Just touching them ignited her belly to the point of a powerful contraction. She pressed her whole self against Percy and reversed the game, pushing her tongue into his mouth and plastering her hips against his rock-hard thighs, and another jamming hardness, a gratifying confirmation of his desire.

  Emboldened, she pressed harder. There was again that low moan rumbling through Percy’s chest. His hand, splayed on her back, moved down and stilled her movement. A whimper escaped her.

  Suddenly, Percy drew his head back.

  Letitia snapped her eyes open, dismayed at this hasty withdrawal and a little fearful that perhaps she had gone too far. Had she?

  Percy’s gaze burned into hers, but his features were contorted with…pain? He let go of her derriere and stepped back almost hurriedly.

  “Well, we did get past the simple civility,” he murmured and, removing the fingers tangled in her hair, drew his thumb across her cheek and lips before dropping his hand.

  A small gesture, but the heat of his touch traveled all the way to her toes. Her lips throbbed, maybe because they seemed larger and more sensitive than just minutes ago. She tried, very inconspicuously, to feel them with the tip of her tongue.

  Percy’s gaze darkened.

  “I haven’t forgotten what I told you on our wedding day.” His words came out abruptly. “This…does not change anything between us.”

  Letitia jerked a step back, astonishment and disappointment squeezing her heart. She was reeling from an earth-shattering experience, but to him it was just a…this?

  “It is reassuring to know this has been such an insignificant interruption in your day’s schedule,” she snapped. “Very well, I shall not spare this interlude a second thought, I assure you. At least the horses had plenty of rest. If you hurry, we may still make it back for an early dinner.”

  Percy’s expression became even more contorted. “This is not what… Think what you will,” he growled, sounding irritated. “You are safe from me, as I promised you before. Unless”—he paused and his gaze burned into hers—“you want to release me from that promise.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he turned and picked up the knapsack laying on the blanket, then started ahead of her toward the remnants of the gate, the dirt and stones crunching under his boots.

  Letitia snatched her bonnet from the blanket and followed him up the path. No, Percy didn’t look like a man who wanted to be released from any promise. Judging from his hurried and almost-awkward gait, he couldn’t get away from her quickly enough, as if she’d scorched him or done something equally unpleasant.

  It was rude to leave her behind, but if he stayed there a moment longer, he might do something that would belie his words. He’d moved as soon as he was reasonably sure he could walk.

  When he half teased her into the kiss, he had acted on a desire that, despite his better judgment and the stern warnings he had been issuing to himself, refused to be ignored any longer. Letitia had given him a perfect opening, but what followed surpassed his every expectation. How did it happen that the woman whom only a month ago he had planned to send away forever now filled his thoughts during the day and his dreams at night? And that kiss, at first a little awkward and definitely unschooled, broke the remaining constraints. No, they didn’t have to have a white marriage.

  He quickly silenced the small voice insi
sting this was a very bad idea and he would pay dearly for such a decision, sooner or later. She had kissed him with such abandon that for that one moment, at least, all his scruples had vanished in a puff of smoke. Surely, this was not a woman who wanted to stay safe from him.

  Now, that thought was too foolish by half. Once he started down that path… Foolish indeed.

  The question lodged itself firmly in Letitia’s head. Did she want to release Percy from his promise?

  She knew the answer all too well, of course. Especially in light of her newly gained knowledge about how to kiss a man. How to kiss Sir Percival Hanbury in particular. A man who possessed magic in his hands and mouth, and who didn’t have a mistress.

  “What troubles you, my dove?” Josepha glanced from the needlework in her lap. “Has your excursion today not been productive enough?”

  If Josepha only knew! At least she had her drawings to show for the morning’s exertions.

  “We accomplished a great deal,” Letitia offered. The sheets laid out in front of her on the orangery bench did not belie that statement. At this rate, she was going to use more paper than any printing shop in London. Luckily, her lips seemed to have returned to their normal size at last.

  But, of course, all the years she and Josepha had spent together meant that not much got past her companion. Or, more accurately, nothing important got past Josepha unnoticed. Now Josie’s careful gaze measured Letitia’s face with an expectation of the confidence they always shared.

  “Did you? A great deal,” Josepha muttered loud enough for Letitia to hear her. “I wondered. Since your return from Wycombe Oaks this afternoon, you seem to be present in body but not in mind.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Hmm indeed,” Josepha agreed. “You care to tell me what happened?”

  “How do you know anything happened?” Letitia bristled. As always, Josepha had read her mood like an open book.

  “You’ve been very absentminded all evening. I’d hoped you would tell me without asking. Does it have anything to do with Sir Percival?” She raised an eyebrow in question before returning her attention to the needlepoint.