by Julia Quinn
Then he came to a turn, and he couldn’t figure out which way she’d gone. “Cordelia,” he called softly. “Where are you?”
“Leave me be,” she replied in a grand huff, a windy bit of bombast that also gave him his direction.
A bit of movement on the other side of the hedge caught his eye—but how to get there, he had no idea. “If you’re going to hide in a maze, you’re supposed to remain quiet.”
Then again, silence and Cordelia had never been easy companions.
A loud sniffle arose from the other side of the hedge. “I am so sorry. Sniff . . . sniff. I never meant to . . . that is, I wouldn’t have asked you to help me, if I had known it would ruin . . . sniff . . . sniff . . . your dreams. Your plans.”
As she sniffed and apologized, Kipp followed her voice, and again caught yet another whiff of her perfume and followed it like bread crumbs until he turned a corner, then the next, and finally had her in his sights.
“What are you doing here? You should be with Miss Holt,” she protested as he trapped her in the middle of the maze.
“Promise me something,” he told her as he came closer.
“Anything,” she said quickly.
“Never mention that name again,” he said, before he caught her in his arms and crushed his lips to hers.
A thousand questions crashed through Cordelia’s thoughts in the moments before she found herself in Kipp’s arms and his lips captured hers.
And then none of them mattered.
For here was Kipp and he was kissing her.
“I want you,” he all but growled. So fiercely, she shivered.
Because it was everything she wanted. Except . . .
“But Kipp . . .” She gasped when he moved to kiss the nape of her neck, as he pulled her hair free of the simple tie that held it back.
Her protest died in the air as his warm hand slid over her bare shoulder, lifted the end of her sari, and began to unwrap her.
“Did you hear me?” His voice was rich and hypnotic.
Or perhaps it was the way he was caressing her, kissing her, but Cordelia was lost in a whirling hurricane of desire.
“I want you,” he repeated. “I won’t have it any other way. Tell me you want the same.”
Whatever did she want?
She looked up into his eyes and saw the clear blue waters of the Indian Ocean, or was it the sky over Mallow Hills? She saw his face tanned from the Saharan sun, or was it from working in the fields beside his tenants?
But mostly she saw herself beside him. And wherever their lives took them, she knew it would always be an adventure. That she needn’t walk the streets of Canton when she could walk the meadows of Wiltshire with Kipp holding her hand, explore the Roman streets of Bath with Kipp pointing out the sights, and find her heart’s content.
“Yes, Kipp,” she said, grinning at him. “I do.”
And then he kissed her, tenderly, thoroughly, caressing her as he continued unwinding the long length of silk she wore.
As he freed her breasts, he kissed her there, taking each of her nipples in turn, sucking them deep into his mouth, until they were tight tips, and her body ached with the pleasure of it.
She slid her hands under his own robe—the one she’d bought on a lark, with some of the money she’d saved. As her maidservant in India had said, it would serve as the perfect gift for her groom one day.
And in a sense, it had brought him to her.
Just as, perhaps, the sixpence from Madame Rochambeaux’s had done . . .
But Cordelia had no time to wonder at all this. Not now. Not as she slid the elaborate vest over his shoulders. Pulled away the rest of his clothes. And led an expedition of her own, exploring his muscled body, marveling at the hard planes and the chiseled lines of his chest.
She buried her face in the tangled matt of dark hair there and inhaled, her senses filled with a masculine air that was all his.
Kipp had managed to undo her sari and she was naked before him. He picked her up and set her down in the grass atop their discarded clothes and covered her with his body, the heat of his skin drawing her closer.
He played with the loose strands of her hair, twining them in his fingers and then leaning closer to kiss her deeply.
Cordelia arched toward him, thinking that she ought to be embarrassed, ought to be outraged, but she’d lived in India for nearly ten years. She’d seen the statutes of lovers that were commonplace in India, read Indian love stories and treatises of the boudoir that would have put a blush on even Kate’s cheeks.
But it was the difference between reading a map and actually traveling the landscape.
Kipp’s touch colored all the black and white pages, brought heat and passion to the cold still life of a marble rendering.
Her body thrummed with desire as she found herself entwined with him, with his lips exploring her, with his kiss going from her shoulder to her breast, his breath hot and moist across her belly, and then it was all she could do not to cry out as he parted the curls between her legs and touched her.
Teased her.
“Oh good heavens,” she managed, her body no longer her own, as he took over, possessed her, carried her away.
He stroked her, her legs opening to him, her body welcoming him as he slid a finger inside her and very soon it was his mouth there, teasing her, until her mouth opened, but no words came out, for her breath was caught in her throat, her body trembling toward her release, her only thought was to catch hold of Kipp and pull him close.
And even as she began to quake, he covered her and entered her, slowly, pushing her into the abyss, and she came, hard and fast, as he began to find his own release.
“Mine,” he breathed out in a gasp as the two of them cast themselves adrift.
Cordelia woke up on a settee in one of the small parlors, wrapped in the cloak from Kipp’s princely garb.
For a moment, she smiled to herself, thinking of how she’d passed the last few hours with him—in his arms, beneath him. She sighed and curled her arms around herself, if only to hold those precious memories tight.
They’d come tiptoeing back into the house like a pair of thieves, and then stolen another bit of passion on this very settee.
She tightened his cloak around her for warmth, and then opened her eyes and sighed. Almost immediately she heard the telltale rustle of silk.
Kipp.
She looked around and realized she wasn’t alone. And it wasn’t Kipp.
For standing in the doorway were her aunts. All three of them.
“Cordelia Prudence Anastasia Padley, a full accounting of this scene. I demand no less,” Aunt Landon said, shuttling her sisters in, and after a glance behind her, she closed the door.
“Whatever has happened to you, child?” Aunt Bunty asked, coming over and sitting down beside her. She looked at the cloak, and then, taking a second closer look, gasped a little.
“A child no longer,” Aunt Landon noted.
Aunt Aldora sniffed and began to cry. “I knew it would all be for naught.”
“All for naught?” Cordelia asked, sitting up and looking at their stern expressions. “No, no, you misunderstand. I am to be married.”
Aunt Aldora began to wail, and Aunt Bunty did her best to console her sister.
Aunt Landon huffed a sigh. “I hardly see how when Lord Talcott has deserted you for that horrible Miss Holt.”
Chapter 10
“What do you mean, he’s gone?” Cordelia pushed her way up to a seated position, drawing Kipp’s cloak around her as she went.
“He’s left. Departed. Gone into the village.” Aunt Landon was not one to suffer foolish questions. “He’s deserted you.”
“If only he’d known,” Aunt Bunty lamented.
“And if he had? Well, we know now he isn’t worthy of her. Dreadful wretch,” Aunt Aldora interjected, having found her way through her characteristic bout of tears. “I have said all along, we must find her a gentleman who wasn’t intent on marrying her f
or her fortune.”
Cordelia was still rather lost in the notion that Kipp had left. Gone to her.
The woman she wasn’t supposed to name. The heiress with the vast . . .
Wait just a moment. Her gaze swiveled toward Aunt Aldora. “My what?”
It took a moment as the three sisters exchanged glances. Rather guilty ones.
“Oh dear. I had rather hoped Mr. Pickworth had told you,” Aunt Bunty said, managing a wane smile.
As in Mr. Pickworth, Esq. Her father’s solicitor. The one she’d been studiously avoiding. With a twinge of guilt, she remembered the still unopened pile of letters from the man sitting on her desk back in London.
“I have a fortune?”
“Yes, in a manner of speaking,” Aunt Aldora said. “When you marry.”
“It’s all very complicated,” Aunt Bunty hastened to add. “And all Landon’s doing.” She smiled as she shifted the blame to her sister.
Aunt Landon huffed, but didn’t appear to mind overly much. “You must understand it was all done so that your future wasn’t squandered.”
“It all began with dear Wigstam,” Aunt Aldora added, and then, as she always did at the mention of her long-departed betrothed, she began to weep.
“Wigstam?” Cordelia shook her head and looked to Aunt Landon for an explanation since one would not be forthcoming from Aldora.
Which Landon began, “You see, Mr. Wigstam—”
“Bless his heart,” Aunt Aldora interjected.
Landon sniffed and continued, scowling at her sisters in a way that suggested no further interruptions would be tolerated. “Yes, well, Wigstam—while hardly the model of good health—was, in fact, quite wealthy. He had managed to make a fortune in the trade and when he decided to marry Aldora, he rewrote his will, leaving it all to her.”
Cordelia figured out the rest. “So Aunt Aldora is wealthy—”
Her aunt pursed her lips as if the subject was so distasteful. “Yes, I’ve always found such mercantile matters so very unsavory. Besides, we have our own funds from Papa that Landon has managed ever so brilliantly.”
Cordelia had never thought about it, but her aunts had always lived very well, and she’d never questioned where the money had come from.
But at this, she turned to Aunt Landon.
“Yes, well, when you were born, we agreed that the bulk of Wigstam’s money should be yours—a dowry that would ensure you a good place in society.”
“I fear we did not trust your father and mother to manage their inheritances with the same care as Landon,” Aunt Aldora said.
Aunt Landon put it more succinctly. “Your father had no head for figures or business.”
Cordelia nodded. No, her father had been content to spend as if he had a merchant’s fortune behind him and no thought of what tomorrow might bring.
With that bit over, Landon got on with her explanation. “So, with Mr. Pickworth’s help, I’ve managed your dowry.”
“You have a railroad,” Aunt Bunty interjected with a happy smile.
“A railroad?” Cordelia knew she was gaping.
“It is rather ingenious,” Aunt Aldora told her in an aside. “It is a carriage on rails.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of them.”
“Actually you have two railroads,” Aunt Landon corrected. “And shipping interests. And a large holding in an import firm. And you’ve done quite well with some land I speculated on in the north. Deep with coal, as it turns out. And well connected to the canals we are invested in.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Cordelia asked.
The sisters shared another guilty glance.
“We haven’t told anyone,” Aunt Landon said.
“Except good Mr. Pickworth,” Aunt Bunty added. Aunt Bunty did like clarity.
“You see, after Wigstam died, it was nosed about that I had inherited his fortune, and dear heavens, the horrible fellows who came calling,” Aunt Aldora said, sounding as sensible as Landon. “They all wanted one thing, my money.”
“So we determined that you would either marry for love, or we would find a nice, steady—” Aunt Bunty began.
“—malleable fellow,” Aunt Landon continued.
“—to marry you, one who had no notion that you were an heiress.” Aunt Aldora sighed. “And we thought for certain you’d found the perfect match in Lord Thornton.”
“I don’t know how we could have been so mistaken,” Aunt Bunty said, to no one in particular.
But Cordelia heard her and looked once again out the window into the darkness that still held the approaching day in its thrall.
And wondered how she’d been so very wrong as well.
Cordelia jolted awake just as the day began to dawn. She must have dozed off, and it took her a moment to get her bearings. She was back in her room, her aunts having seen her upstairs after they’d outlined exactly what she was in line to inherit. At first, unable to sleep, she’d curled up in the window seat, but she must have dozed off, for now day was dawning, a bit of light piercing the thick mist that veiled the countryside.
Somewhere nearby, she could hear one of her aunts snoring.
Then she remembered everything. The ball. Miss Holt. Kipp finding her in the maze. Making love. And then awakening to find him gone.
She looked again outside at the shrouded landscape and blinked.
Through the mist, she began to make out a lone figure striding up the drive.
Kipp!
Cordelia rushed through the house, out the front door, stopping only when she got a few feet from him. It was then that she remembered she was wearing only her wrapper.
He saluted her. “Is that the official uniform of the Royal Society of Explorers?” He looked her over from head to toe. “If it is, I approve.”
Cordelia ignored his jest and got straight to the point. “What are you doing here?”
He closed the distance between them. “Commencing an exploration.” And then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
Thoroughly.
When they paused to catch their breath, she said, “This appears to be more an act of piracy.”
“It is. I am stealing you away. Taking you off to Mallow Hills, marrying you, and if you refuse, I shall lock you in the dungeon.”
“I know the way out.”
“Yes, I suppose you do.”
She glanced up at him and grinned. “What if I came willingly?”
He stepped back a bit and eyed her. “You would?”
“Yes, Kipp. I would. I said as much last night. Yet so much has changed since then.”
“Yes, it has,” he agreed, nuzzling her neck.
“No,” she laughed, batting him away. “Now I won’t be coming alone.”
His brows arched and he glanced toward the house. “Not your aunts?”
She laughed and shook her head. “No. I’ll be bringing my fortune with me.”
He stilled and stared at her. “You have a fortune?”
“Apparently so.” Then she explained what her aunts had told her. “I don’t think it is anywhere near what Miss Holt could bring—”
He shuddered. “You promised never to mention that name again.”
“But you went to her—”
“I did. To apologize. But she was already gone, leaving a rather crisp note about having hidden my predilections from her—”
“Predilections?” Cordelia laughed. “I rather adore your predilections.”
“Then you had best prepare for a lifetime of them,” he told her as he gathered her into his arms again and began nibbling at a spot behind her ear.
It made it ever so hard to argue with him, but she did her best. “Is that an order, Major?”
“It is, Commander.”
Cordelia grinned. Kipp was hers for always. Oh, the adventures ahead of them left her breathless. “Who am I to argue with a member of the Royal Society?”
“Founding member,” he corrected, and his hand slid inside her robe and curled around her breas
t as he kissed the nape of her neck.
“My apologies,” she managed.
One might forgive her such a mistake, given the circumstances.
Something Blue
Laura Lee Guhrke
Chapter 1
The Berkshire home of the Misses Aldora, Bunty, and Landon Padley
A few hours after the wedding of the Earl of Thornton and Miss Cordelia Padley
To anyone who chanced to observe them, the trio of young ladies huddled in an isolated corner of the garden would have seemed nothing out of the common way. The wedding breakfast was over, the bride and groom were about to depart on their wedding journey, the day was fine, and the roses were in full bloom. What better time and place for the bride’s best friends to engage in a bit of conversation about the festivities?
Lawrence Blackthorne, however, knew there was more to this little gathering than a tête-à-tête among friends. Thanks to his friendship with the groom, he knew a plot was afoot, a plot concocted in the clever brain of the bride’s friend, Lady Elinor Daventry, and since anything that concerned the Daventry family was of great interest to him, Lawrence had deemed it necessary to do a spot of reconnaissance.
Aiding him in this mission was the fact that the aunts of the Earl of Thornton’s bride were passionate gardeners. The tall yew hedge surrounding the garden made for excellent cover, as long as he remembered to keep his head down.
As he circled the perimeter to where the ladies were gathered, Elinor’s voice floated to him over the hedge.
“She is coming, isn’t she? After insisting upon this conversation, you would think Cordelia would at least be punctual. You don’t suppose she’s forgotten?”
“Cordelia?” The Duchess of Dorset made a scoffing sound. “She’d never be so inconsiderate.”
“Not usually, but today is her wedding day. And Cordelia’s always been a bit of a madcap.”
Ellie sounded anxious, deepening Lawrence’s curiosity. What was this all about? According to Thornton, his bride had insisted upon a private, uninterrupted meeting with her friends before departing with him on their wedding journey, declaring Lady Elinor’s entire future was at stake. Lawrence had pressed his friend for more information, but the earl, preoccupied with the events of the day, had not felt impelled to pursue the topic with Cordelia, leaving Lawrence frustratingly short on details.
