“Delightful to meet you at last, Miss Wellstone. Eugenia’s praised you to the skies every day for the last month.”
“Good heavens, Ginny.” She raised her teacup but did not drink. “I fear I will only disappoint your brothers. Do eat that cracker. I can’t have another drink of this lovely tea until you do.”
The cracker hovered near Ginny’s mouth. “I’ve not told anyone a thing that isn’t absolutely true.”
“I die of thirst,” Lily said, inflecting her words with enough passion and suffering to break the hardest heart. “My throat…it is a veritable desert.”
Ginny laughed and ate the cracker.
Lord Nigel Hampton smiled fondly at his sister. “According to Eugenia, Miss Wellstone, you are perfection itself.”
“She is,” Mountjoy said. “As you will soon discover for yourself.”
Lily took a sip of her tea and found it acceptably sweet. How odd that she, who admired all things elegant, preferred the duke’s looks and manner to his brother’s. She said, “Lies, I’m afraid. Shame on you, Ginny.”
“You traveled here from Exeter, am I right?”
“Yes, Lord Nigel, I did.”
“That’s a devilish long trip.” He bowed. “But I forget my manners. Nigel Hampton, at your service.” His blue eyes lingered on her face. “I’m Eugenia’s favorite brother in case she didn’t think to praise me.”
Lily helped herself to more Brie. “She said something about a pest and bother, but I may be mistaken.”
“Oh, Lily!” Ginny laughed, and it was gratifying to hear. “No, no. I said he was a perfect bother.” She smiled insincerely at him. “Never a pest, Nigel, dearest.”
Having grown up the only child born to her parents, the interactions of siblings had always fascinated her. She loved to imagine what it would have been like to have a brother or sister.
While Mountjoy snorted, Lord Nigel put his hand over his heart, partly turning toward Lily. “You wound me, sister. And you, Mountjoy, you don’t defend me? Your only brother?”
“Delighted to meet you, Lord Nigel.” Lily gave him her most engaging smile, and Lord Nigel stared. Men often did. She had been told more than once that her smile was beyond lovely, though she’d never quite seen it herself. According to Greer, he’d fallen in love with her smile first. “This Brie is excellent. Tell Ginny she ought to have more.”
“Eugenia, do have more of the Brie.” Lord Nigel remained standing. He couldn’t be much older than twenty-two. Despite his youth, he had a Town polish. Doubtless because when Mountjoy ascended to the title, Lord Nigel had been young enough to be sent to Eton and then to Oxford. Eugenia did fix herself another cracker and Brie.
“My brother,” Mountjoy said dryly, “can be charming when he wishes to be.”
Lily extended a hand, and Lord Nigel Hampton bent over it. “Delighted to meet you, Miss Wellstone,” he said. He held her gaze longer than was proper. Dear Lord. He was a boy. Beautiful as he was, she had no interest in a boy. “Welcome to Bitterward.”
“Thank you, Lord Nigel.” She smiled faintly. For good or ill, she was much more interested in the Duke of Mountjoy.
Chapter Four
NEAR MIDNIGHT, MOUNTJOY LEFT THE STABLES AND headed for the rear entrance that led to his room. He hadn’t intended to be gone for so long. He owed his sister an apology for his absence. Eugenia had particularly asked him if he could come home for supper this evening, and he had agreed he would. He ought to have been, given that in the week since their guest’s arrival, he’d managed to dine at Bitterward exactly once.
The most direct way to the private entrance took him through the rose garden, a familiar walk now. There was a full moon, and that meant he did not need a lantern to light his way. Finely crushed gravel crunched under his boots as he walked. Once, Bitterward had been a foreign place to him, cold and demanding of his time and attention. Over the years, he’d come to see his legacy as a living thing. He had been required to learn its secrets and shepherd the lands, tenants, staff, and a thousand other dependencies. In return, the estate gave him shelter, food on his table, ready money in his pockets and his brother and sister an income. Properly managed, Bitterward would support his wife, children, and future generations of Hamptons who would one day gaze at his portrait in the gallery hall.
Halfway to the house, he stopped. A woman limned in silver moved with silent grace onto the path ahead of him. Her back was to him, and damned if he didn’t wonder if the apparition was entirely of this world. Then she turned her head toward the roses along the path, and he recognized her.
“Miss Wellstone?”
She let out a soft gasp and whirled, a hand to her heart. Moonlight scattered soft prisms of light from the combs in her hair. “Your grace.”
He walked to her and, God help him, he was on point, far too aware of her as a woman. He schooled himself against the reaction. “Were you perhaps expecting the gardener?”
Too late, he understood the insult he’d just leveled at her. They spoke at the same time, Miss Wellstone with more than a hint of frost in her tone.
“I was not expecting anyone, your grace.”
“Forgive me, Miss Wellstone. That was thoughtless of me.”
“It was.” Her pale shawl had slipped into the crooks of her elbows, leaving her shoulders and bosom exposed and all the rest of her indefinably luscious in full evening dress.
“I only meant to remark your unexpected appearance out here.” He, on the other hand, wore the same clothes he’d put on this morning. While he rarely gave a thought to his appearance, Miss Wellstone made him wonder if he ought to care more. He removed his hat and held it by the brim then thought what his hair must look like. He smoothed a hand over the top of his head. “I intended no insult.”
“We hardly know each other, yet here I am giving you my forgiveness again.”
Her eyes, Mountjoy thought, gave away the mind behind those innocent, delicate features. Again too late, he realized he was staring and that his silence could be construed as rude. He opened his mouth to speak, too late, of course.
“Twice in an acquaintance seems excessive, don’t you think?”
“For a man who is little more than a country oaf? Hardly.” Ahead of him the path led to the house. To his right, a narrower walkway lay half in shadow from the roses in full bloom. And in front of him, a vision that made him think of sex and the silk of a woman’s form.
“Ridiculous, your grace,” she said. Her smile was gentle and inviting and not at all as cold as he deserved from her. “You’re no oaf.”
“Am I to be forgiven?”
She plucked at her shawl until the two sides were even, then gave him a look from beneath her lashes. “I suppose.”
“You are all that is generous, Miss Wellstone.” She was a flirt, Miss Wellstone was. A charming, delightful flirt.
“In fact, I am.” Moonlight turned her gown silvery gray. “Which you would know if you were ever at home.”
“Another failing of mine.” He bowed. “I attend to duty before pleasure.”
“I expect that of you.” She touched one of the roses, a bloom just beyond full. “It’s a lovely evening.”
He put a hand over his heart. Because he was a damn fool. Because she was beautiful and alluring. “Exactly as ordered.”
“For which I sincerely thank you, your grace.”
“Might I ask what brought you out here at such an hour?”
“This and that. Ginny and your brother have retired for the night.” She tilted her head.
He completely lost his ability to see her as his sister’s unmarried friend. Untouchable. Beyond a man’s base desires. Before him stood a woman of flesh and blood, and he lusted after that woman.
“I couldn’t sleep. I never can this early. I came out here because I wondered if I would still be able to smell the roses.” She drew in a deep breath. “I can. I’ve been standing here these ten minutes or more breathing in the scent of your Gallicas.”
Her fe
atures were exactly the sort of sweet and delicate form that made men feel a woman must be protected. No darkness or unhappiness should ever enter her life. Women like her were made to be spoiled and coddled and granted their every whim. He felt the urge himself, though he knew she was far from helpless.
“We missed you at supper tonight,” she said. “Ginny seemed sure you would join us.”
“I sent a note when I realized I would be detained.”
“Yes. We received that.” She had a narrow nose, perfectly balanced cheekbones, and a tenderly shaped mouth. Head on or in profile, she was an angel. Her figure only added to his impression that here was a woman too fragile for her own good. His preference was for lovers who wouldn’t collapse into a heap at the slightest exertion. He was willing to overlook that with her. “All the same, your grace, that does not mean we were not disappointed.”
“I beg your forgiveness again.”
“Three times I have been called on to forgive you.” She shook her head and gave him a smile of mock ruefulness. “Now that is excessive.”
Mountjoy moved closer to her. She was not unaware of her appeal, he knew that, but she had not been spoiled by it, as women sometimes were. A gold medallion hung from a long ribbon onto which were knotted several gold beads, spaced every three or four inches. In the dark, it was impossible to tell what color the ribbon was.
“It is.” He wasn’t awkward around women. He never had been. Even in the days when he’d been merely a farmer with just enough prospects to call him gentry, women liked him, something he’d realized early on. He felt awkward now because he was attracted to her and did not wish to be and suspected he was not going to resist. “I’m sure you would rather enjoy the garden in solitude.”
“Actually, no.” Her fingerless lace gloves matched the moonlit silver of her gown. Had she worn those to supper? He found the informality profoundly arousing. “I dislike being alone.” She gave him a sideways glance, and Lord, but her eyes were not innocent. She wasn’t flirting with him, he understood that. She was a woman, not a girl, and quite plainly knew her own mind and desires. “Would you mind keeping me company? At least for a while.”
God, no. Still holding his hat, he gave her a half bow. “I should be delighted to.”
She laughed. “You poor gentlemen, obliged to accept trivial requests from we ladies even when you’d rather not.” She waved him toward the house. “Go on, your grace. I only meant to walk to that hedge and then back. I can tolerate my own company for that long.”
Mountjoy stayed where he was. She’d given him an easy way to escape his fate, and he stood there, unable, unwilling to take it. “It’s a pleasant enough night.”
They said nothing for two heartbeats, a long silence for a man and a woman alone. With no one near. Not even a servant. Mountjoy was far too aware of that fact. Was she? He rather thought she was.
“Ginny said you were at the Sessions,” she said.
“I was. Until quite late.”
She moved down the path, and Mountjoy followed. When he caught up, he took her arm as if they were relatives or it was broad daylight. As if there was no tension zinging in the air between them.
“Am I keeping you from your supper?” she asked. She did not sound as if she were in any way aware of the impropriety of them being alone here. “Or have you dined?”
Some of her nonchalance transferred to him. There was no reason to be anxious about being alone with her. She was a guest at Bitterward. They must naturally meet, and spend a moment or two in conversation, and without any of the speculation that attended a man’s attentions to a woman at a formal social gathering. “With the mayor of High Tearing.”
“Does he have pretty daughters?”
“No.” The scent of roses carried on the breeze. They walked in silence for several steps while Mountjoy idly and improperly wondered what sort of lover she would be. Not passive, but warm, inviting. Adventurous. How could a woman like her be anything but adventurous in bed?
“Will you believe,” Miss Wellstone said, “that until now I’ve never been farther from Syton House than I can walk in a day?” She let out a breath. “It seems I ought to be able to go home by mere thought alone. Or at least as quickly as a walk over the next hill, rather than a week’s travel.”
“You prefer the comforts of your home?” Mountjoy said. He’d have assumed a woman like her would be in constant search of entertainment. One party after another and an endless cadre of admiring men, not keeping at home with only herself and her cantankerous father for company.
“Very much, your grace.” She shrugged, and the movement of her shoulders was achingly graceful. “I love Syton House. It’s been my home since I was nineteen.” She looked away from the roses and grinned at him. “All this time I thought I’d be terribly travel sick. I was before. I was so dreading the journey north. For naught, as it turns out.”
“When was that?” he asked. “Your previous journey.”
Her expression went blank for just a moment, but whatever thought had clouded her eyes vanished. “When I moved to Syton House. It was an unpleasant excursion. I confess, I found the carriage ride to Bitterward by turns dull and exhilarating. But this time, I was never once ill.”
“A long journey always has its moments of tedium.”
“If it weren’t for my father, I’d travel more often.” She faced him on the path, and though he was taller, she didn’t have to lift her chin to look into his face. “I had an adventure on my way to Bitterward,” she said.
His belly hollowed out. “Did you?”
“Shall I tell it to you?”
“Please.” They stood close. Enough for him to see the lace that trimmed her gown. Enough to see the rise and fall of her bosom, the smoothness of her skin. She gestured. Her shawl slid down one of her arms, and he reached out to twitch the material into place over her shoulder.
“Thank you.”
“Tell me your adventure.” The side of his finger brushed her bare shoulder. Neither of them acknowledged the contact. Not yet.
“We’d stopped in Tewkesbury, as I particularly wished to see Tewkesbury Abbey. The nave, I’m told, retains some Norman features, and I hoped to inspect it. I don’t know if Ginny told you of my fascination with architecture.”
“She did.”
Her shawl slipped off her shoulder again. Mountjoy stooped to pick up the trailing end, but instead of handing it to her, he fingered the material. Cashmere, and unutterably soft.
“It’s one of the reasons, your grace, that I am so pleased to be here at Bitterward.” She clasped her hands behind her back and rocked on her heels. “The house is an excellent example of the Gothic. I’m very much looking forward to exploring and taking some sketches. That’s if you don’t mind. I hope you don’t.”
“Draw the entire house if you like.” The neckline of her gown was low enough to offer him a view of the curve of her breasts, and, yes, he looked.
“Thank you.” She took a step away from him and plucked a leaf from one of the rosebushes. He reminded himself of how improper it would be to close the distance between them. She folded the leaf in half lengthwise then in half again. He had the impression Miss Wellstone was never still for long. Despite her physical delicacy, she was not a languid woman.
“Your adventure?”
She unfolded the leaf and then began again, folding in the opposite direction. “It began when I saved a Gypsy king’s dog from certain death.”
“A Gypsy?”
“He wore the most colorful clothes. They made me dizzy with delight and astonishment.” The leaf succumbed to the folding and tore. She dropped it at the side of the path. “You never saw a more handsome man in your life. He wasn’t as tall as you, but he was well made, with dusky skin and the most languishing eyes.”
“Did you fall in love with him?” he asked. He took a step toward her.
“Madly. Desperately. Head-over-heels.” Her smile broadened, and Mountjoy thought he’d do anything to see her smile
like that again. “If only for a moment. I do believe if he’d asked me, I’d have run away with him and his charming puppy to learn to dance, read fortunes, and live the Gypsy life.”
Mountjoy began to understand why her father thought her wild. The idea of her running off with a Gypsy was more than a little arousing, and he suspected she knew that. They were alone. Completely. He did not think only he felt the tension between them. He touched her cheek and began his slide to Hell for what he intended.
“Don’t you think that would be a most exciting life, your grace?” She didn’t move away from his caress. He wasn’t far gone enough not to know he hadn’t merely touched her. “I wonder if I ought to have done so.”
Not Wicked Enough Page 4
