Seduction In Silk: A Novel of the Malloren World (Malloran)

by Jo Beverley

  Was Perry truly more handsome than she remembered?

  Did being here in his Town brighten him so much?

  That only emphasized the differences between them, for despite her silken finery, she already longed for the simple life at Perriam Manor. All the same, she began to resent her brothers. She was unsettled by her husband, but she wanted to be alone with him. Very much.

  The clock struck eight, and Perry gathered the cards. “Off to bed,” he said to the twins, “if you want to be fit for a visit to Westminster Abbey tomorrow.”

  Tom plucked up courage to say, “We’d rather go to the Tower.”

  Perry laughed. “When William the Conqueror built the place, he could never have imagined its appeal to the young.”

  “Will you take us?” Peter asked.

  “I must decline. The appeal of the wild beasts faded sometime back. They smell.”

  Both twins shook their heads at this paltry attitude, but they went off without further protest. Tom even yawned.

  Claris suddenly felt tongue-tied.

  “Your grandmother and Miss Gable?” he asked.

  “They went out after dinner and haven’t yet returned.”

  “I doubt they’ve come to harm. They’re wise to the ways of the world. How are you, Claris? You look well.”

  “I am,” she said, wondering if he was asking about a child.

  She should tell him.

  But if she did, he might not . . .

  They were to share a bed. . . .

  “Something disturbs you?”

  “It would be pleasant to be able to conceal my emotions!”

  “Then practice. What bothers you? ’Tis a husband’s duty to smooth your path.”

  To bed?

  She seized on her only other need. “Then you may smooth my path to Deptford.”

  He blinked. “You intend to take ship, or build one?”

  Claris shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m not making sense.”

  “Why Deptford?” he asked gently.

  “My mother and Aunt Clarrie were born and raised in a village nearby, a place called Wellsted. I want to go there and find out about them.”

  “It’s decades ago.”

  “There must still be people who knew them, who knew their family.”

  “True, but why? Why now?”

  “When before have I had the opportunity?” she snapped. Then she took a deep, steadying breath. “I apologize again. I know it’s foolish, but the curse still weighs on me. At Perriam Manor there are so many reminders of the tragedies.”

  “Such as the smothered babes.” He took her hands. “Claris, if there was a curse, we’ve negated it with our marriage.”

  “I know, I know, but . . .” She clutched on to him. “Have we? The curse was to last through the generations. It was my mother who claimed it could be ended by my marriage to a Perriam, but that could have been pure invention. Why would she know anything of curses?”

  “Why should your aunt?”

  “Exactly! I need to know more about them.”

  “You want to discover that they were good Christian ladies, true to the bone. What if you discover they were both witches from a long-established coven?”

  “They both had prayer books.”

  “Perhaps witches can pretend to be Christians. This is an unhealthy obsession, my dear.”

  “You don’t worry about it?”

  “No.”

  She studied him. “Truly?”

  He grimaced. “Not since leaving Perriam Manor. Perhaps you need to avoid the place.”

  “It’s my home.”

  Was that another grimace?

  “You truly want to visit this Wellsted?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He raised her left hand and kissed her fingers. “Then I’ll take you there as soon as possible.”

  That proviso again. “When?” she demanded.

  “I can’t be specific. A particular matter I’m involved with is coming to a head. Any old truths aren’t going to evaporate. Wellsted will wait.”

  “I’m only here for a week.”

  “Ah, true. Then I promise to take you within the week.”

  She squeezed his hands. “Thank you.” With great daring, she drew their joined hands toward her and kissed his fingers.

  His eyes rested on hers, darkening with promise. She met his gaze and smiled, hoping that made an invitation, an agreement. . . .

  Athena and Ellie entered.

  “So delightful to be in Town!” Athena exclaimed, oblivious to any mood. “We’ve enjoyed the company of a number of old friends. Sappho is holding a philosophical assembly the night after tomorrow. You should come with us.”

  “Sappho?” Claris queried, wishing her grandmother to the devil. She and Perry had separated hands and she felt the loss.

  Perry answered her. “A poetess among other attributes. Her gatherings are always entertaining—as long as one isn’t of the most conventional disposition.”

  “I probably am.”

  “Then you should overcome the flaw. If I’m free, I’ll escort you.”

  “We need no escort,” Athena said, settling on the settee, “but Claris would probably be more comfortable. I have news that might interest you, Perriam. I encountered my nephew’s wife at Lady Collarby’s. She almost choked on her cake and then tried to pretend that I didn’t exist.”

  “She was worried about her husband’s reaction,” Ellie pointed out, sitting beside her. She sent Claris a look that might have been apologetic.

  “Indubitably,” Athena said, “but only a mouse worries about such things.”

  “As a husband, should I object?” Perry asked.

  “You’re not such a fool, and Littlehampton is hardly dangerous. I’ve had encounters with him from time to time. When put out he merely sulks.”

  “He might be otherwise with a wife,” Claris said. “When at home and private.”

  “Then she shouldn’t tolerate it. Speaking of ladies who tolerate no nonsense, I gather Theresa Cornelys still reigns in Town despite her debts. So wickedly delightful . . .”

  She continued in this vein, and Claris couldn’t bear it. She rose.

  “You must excuse me, but I’m tired. Good night.”

  This house had bellpulls, so once in her bedchamber, she rang for hot water.

  She was somewhat tired. Today she’d moved from a country manor to fashionable Town; from countryside to groomed parks. She’d expected St. James’s Park to be the exclusive preserve of the rich, but elegant men and women had strolled amid ordinary folk, and some who looked very disreputable.

  She’d seen an urchin snitch a man’s handkerchief and flee nimbly through grasping hands to make his escape. She’d been glad, for he could have faced the hangman for it, despite his age. All the same, it pointed out the dangers of this world.

  London was also noisy, sometimes chaotically so. Wheels jangled on cobblestones, and street sellers cried their wares, selling everything from pies to pins. Even here, on what should be a quiet street, there seemed to be endless comings and goings. Perhaps that was why the bedchambers were at the back of the house. It was quieter here.

  She rubbed her head.

  Oh, for the peace of the countryside.

  But Perry wasn’t in the countryside. He was here. His blue silk robe was draped over the end of the bed, side by side with her pink.

  Alice brought hot water and helped her out of her gown.

  “Are you comfortable here?” Claris asked.

  “Well enough, ma’am. The other servants are pleasant, and interested to know I’m from Lord Ashart’s household.”

  In other words, Alice had established her high status in the basement realm. That could serve Claris as well. Had Alice known that? Probably. The maid was experienced in such matters.

  Claris went behind the screen to wash. “Do you have friends or relations in Town, Alice?”

  “My brother is footman to Lord Hertford, ma’am, but I don’t
know if he’s here.”

  “If he is, we must arrange a time for you to visit him, or he could come here.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Alice had put the fine nightgown to hand, so Claris put it on, but when the maid left she considered a daring idea. She could imagine the heavy silk sliding off her naked body. . . .

  It seemed wicked in the extreme, but she took off the nightgown and put on the robe. Usually she tied only the ribbon at the neck, but now she tied all four. Alas the lowest one was at thigh level. When she walked, her legs showed.

  She swallowed and looked at the nightdress, tempted to put in back on.

  But she wouldn’t.

  Alice had plaited her hair, but now she unraveled it and brushed it out. She turned her head to see the effect in the candlelight. On Ellie’s advice, she’d been rinsing it in beer, and perhaps it had brought out some lights. Her hands were smooth now, thanks to the cream and to remembering to wear gloves when she puttered in the garden.

  She used a cream on her face as well, and it might have conquered the effect of the sun, but it hadn’t erased her freckles. She leaned closer to the mirror. If she painted, she could cover them up. . . .

  “Have you found a blemish?”

  Claris turned on the seat, heart pounding. “How can you be so quiet?”

  Perry looked at her and smiled. “I came in quietly in case you were already asleep.” His gaze moved down to her legs, her exposed legs. “I’m so very pleased that you aren’t. That is the perfect garment for you.”

  Claris blushed, pulling the front together. “I . . . I . . .”

  “You hoped to please your husband, and you do. Very much.”

  He captured her clutching hands to free them and drew her to her feet. Smiling into her eyes, he said, “I’ve missed you.”

  That made it possible for her to say, “I’ve missed you too. I’m sure I shouldn’t. . . .”

  “Why not?” He kissed her lips.

  “You bullied me into this marriage!”

  “I persuaded you into it. And wasn’t I right?”

  She looked into his eyes, his darkened eyes. “Maybe.”

  “Tut-tut. You’d rather be at Lavender Cottage?”

  “Irritating man. Very well, you were right. Despite the curse.”

  He kissed her again, more firmly. “There’ll be no more mention of that curse tonight.”

  “Or?”

  “Or I’ll have to kiss you all the time.”

  “Curse, curse, curse . . .”

  He kissed her for a long time, picking her up, sitting on the bench with her on his knee. She twined around him, reveled in him, in them, together, at last. When the kiss ended, she rested her dazed head on his shoulder, aware of his fingers in her hair, against her scalp. His lips across her shoulder.

  Her robe was falling off.

  He’d untied some of the ribbons!

  She tried to pull it together again.

  He stopped her.

  He rose and put her back down on the bench, untying the last two ribbons. “If you will be so kind, my wife, sit there like that while I undress.”

  Claris felt the heat rise through her and the ache deepen inside. She desperately wanted to pull the robe closed, but he’d asked, and she wanted above all to be kind.

  He looked at her, smiling, as he took off his clothes. Shoes, coat, waistcoat, breeches, stockings, drawers. Then he pulled off his shirt over his head and was naked before her. Her mouth was dry, her breathing rapid, and she was now leaning back against the dressing table simply because she couldn’t stay upright any longer.

  He picked up his own robe, the one of heavy blue silk woven through with gold, and put it on, leaving it open at the front as he came to her.

  He pulled her to her feet and into his arms, hot flesh to hot flesh, surrounded by coolly slithering silk. The kiss was even deeper, the effect even more devastating.

  Claris was in the bed without knowing how, still on silk, him over her, still in silk, lost in the heat and smell of him, reveling in his clever hands and mouth as he slid slowly into her.

  Even in the kiss he made a sound of satisfaction, and she echoed it. She’d wanted this so much for so long, to be like this again, perfectly matched, deeply one.

  It was as if they’d done this many times before rather than just twice, for she knew him and knew the rhythm of it. She knew the peak of it now and could enjoy the slow winding tension and explosive release, and the deep, deepest contentment that came in its wake.

  She snuggled up to him, holding him tight. “Thank you.”

  He kissed her ear. “You are most welcome, my dear, especially as my pleasure has to have been greater than yours. I’ll hear no contradiction on that.”

  “Shall we fight over it?” she asked, smiling as she traced a pattern on his chest with her nail.

  “We shall never fight over anything.”

  “Impossible. I’m a willful woman.”

  “Then we’ll make peace most delightfully.” He shifted to hold her closer. “Dear, dear Cousin Giles must be howling.”

  “No mention of Giles. Neither Giles, nor the curse.”

  “That word again.” He kissed her, a long, soft, gentle kiss, unlike any they’d shared before. When they separated, he kissed her nose. “Freckles must be a sign of wisdom. Good night, my wise wife.”

  “Good night,” Claris said.

  He went to sleep, but she stayed awake for a while, smiling. All was well between them. Perfect, in fact. There had to be a way for them to make a true marriage, one that had them together most of the time, kissing most of the time.

  Curse, curse, curse . . .

  No, for all he’d made a game of it, it wasn’t amusing. She’d never rid her mind of worry until she’d settled the matter in her mind. Settled that neither her mother nor her aunt had known how to cast a curse.

  * * *

  The next morning, Perry woke to the delight of his wife at his side, so soft and desirable in sleep. He shouldn’t wake her, but he did, with a kiss, delighting in her bright smile and ready blush.

  He kissed her cheeks. “I think I love your blushes as much as your freckles.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “Aren’t all lovers?” He kissed her and made love to her, finding his deepest pleasure in hers. He slid out of her, sighing with satisfaction. “In a just world we could spend the day in bed, but you have brothers.”

  “Westminster Abbey,” she said, perhaps looking as wistful as he felt.

  “We could send them with Lovell.”

  “You promised. You shouldn’t break promises to a child.”

  “Alack and alas. Then we must prepare for the day.”

  He got out of bed, drew the curtains around it, and rang for washing water. Auguste brought it with a rather pinched expression.

  Auguste was not best pleased to be here instead of the Knaves’ Palace, where valets had their own club and company. He’d be even less pleased to spend more time in the countryside. Another problem, but it must be so. Perry knew he was going to spend as much time at the manor as possible, even though it would be difficult to arrange.

  He could shed his work for Rothgar. He wasn’t irreplaceable there, only convenient.

  The king was another matter. Monarchs liked their useful subjects to be at hand and could be dangerous if disappointed. The king could order his sinecures taken away on the very reasonable basis that he wasn’t in Town to perform his duties. That would severely reduce his income.

  Then there was his father. The earl couldn’t take back the lump sum that had come to him at twenty-one and which provided a modest income from investments. However, he could cease the generous extra income given so he’d serve the earldom’s interests in London.

  There was nothing to be done now, so Perry dressed. He smiled when he noticed that Claris had parted the curtains a little so she could watch him.

  “I’m tempted to do the same,” he said, kissing her, “but I’l
l go down to breakfast.”

  As he ate, a report arrived from Rothgar. It listed all the men who’d left the Merry Maid, including Pierrepoint. None of the names meant anything to him. Two were French, but Guerchy didn’t use only French agents. One seemed Irish, and they were often in league with the French.

  Rothgar was investigating all of them, and Ryder and Pierrepoint would be followed today by Rothgar’s people. In other words, he could keep his promise and take Claris and her brothers to the abbey. What was more, once away from here, he couldn’t be found and dragged back into harness.

  He remembered Rothgar’s unofficial motto: “With a Malloren, all things are possible.” Not that, he hoped. He was looking forward to his day.

  Chapter 32

  Claris set out for the expedition in anticipation of a lovely day. She searched her memory for another such day and could think only of the two that Perry had spent at the manor.

  Lovell was accompanying them, so Claris could link arms with her husband and leave her brothers to him. They walked along terraced streets similar to Godwin Street and past the palace of St. James. They crossed the park toward the river and soon saw the ancient abbey, where kings were crowned. As they approached the magnificent front with its two tall, square towers, she halted to take in the view.

  “It’s much larger than I expected. An abbey, after all.”

  “It was a cathedral for a brief period,” Perry said, “to protect it from harm during the dissolution of the monasteries.”

  He took her inside, into cool dimness, but what light entered came through beautiful stained glass windows. She couldn’t help but gawk. Ranks of fluted pillars marched toward a distant altar, stretching high above to meet at carved points.

  A guide hurried forward. “The pillars and arches rise to above a hundred feet. They are said to re-create God’s wonder of nature, an avenue of trees. This wonder dates from the thirteenth century. . . .”

  As the guide went on, Claris smiled at Perry and murmured, “Thank you.”

  “For bringing you here?”

  “For persuading me to marry you. Otherwise I might never have seen anything so wondrous.”

  He smiled into her eyes. “There are so many wonders. A lifetime of them.”