by Bryn Donovan
Will thought she would be. “Now I have found your weakness.”
His hand glided up higher, along the plump inner curve of her thigh. “And the muscle here,” he said, “is called the gracilis.”
She wriggled on the bed in response to the caress. He still kneaded the sole of her foot, and his casual tone of voice belied the growing, fevered intensity with which he watched her respond to both stimulations at once.
She gasped when his hand went higher, covering the whole of her sex and part of her mound. He felt her tremble under his motionless palm.
“And what is that called?” she asked breathlessly.
“Don’t remember.” His hand pressed a little deeper.
She was soaking wet, and he saw her fine brows knit as her hips rose up from the bed to meet his touch. “Will, please...”
He heard the desperation in her voice and perhaps it was wrong, but he loved it. “Please, what?” he whispered, moving the whole of his hand in the slowest of caresses.
“Oh, Lord...”
He took pity on her then, lowering his mouth to her cleft. She gave a little scream.
In only a minute before she convulsed around him, sobbing out her release, saying his name. God, it sounded good on her lips.
So good that he couldn’t resist bringing her to climax a second time with his mouth and hands.
When he took her in his arms again she grabbed his hand and kissed his wet palm in a primitive sort of gratitude. She was like that—so free, so passionate. He hadn’t known a woman could be so frankly sensual.
“I didn’t know you could do that,” she said, voice shaking, after a little bit.
“Yes, you did.”
“No, I mean...more than once.”
He laughed. “You underestimated me.”
“I won’t do that again,” she mumbled and snuggled closer to him.
“How is it you are not married yet?” she asked after a few moments of contented silence. “I suppose if those Society ladies knew you were like this in bed, one of them would have you dragged to the altar.”
He shook his head. “I do not think Society ladies enjoy doing this sort of thing. They are told to just lie back and think of England.”
Genevieve gave a little gasp of laughter.
“I was supposed to marry one of them, you know,” he said.
Her head popped up again. “What do you mean?”
Will didn’t know why he was telling her this, but he couldn’t see the harm in it. “I got engaged to a girl before I went to war. The daughter of a friend of my father’s.”
She stared at him. “What happened? Why did you break it off with her?”
He felt a ridiculous sense of satisfaction in the fact that she assumed he’d broken it off with Violet, rather than the other way around. “It was she who threw me over. I don’t know why exactly. I imagine that she simply grew tired of waiting.”
“Oh.” Genevieve’s face softened. “Did she send you a letter, then? You could get letters when you were in Crimea, could you not?”
“I could. But not always on time, as it happened. She wrote a letter that I never received.”
She pursed her lips in sympathy. “So how did you find out?”
“I visited her as soon as I got back to London, and I met her new husband.”
“Oh, Good Lord. That must have been dreadful!”
“It was disagreeable.”
“I should say! I mean...you must have been in love with her.”
He reached out and played with a strand of her red-gold hair, luminescent in the candlelight. “No. Youthful infatuation. In love with the idea of love, perhaps.”
She gave a sad, knowing smile. “Ah, yes. I know how that is.”
This intrigued him. “Oh? And how do you know that?” Maybe something similar had happened to her.
“Ancient history,” she said in a firm voice. Will sensed that nothing would induce her to say anything more on the subject.
“At any rate, I guess it made me a little disenchanted with Society ladies. It was after that I thought of taking a mistress.”
“Well, I’m glad,” Genevieve declared.
The clock from the hallway downstairs chimed. She stiffened against him. “My goodness. It must be getting late.”
“Babbage,” Will said suddenly. Was the old man still sitting out there in the carriage, on a damp night?
When Will and Genevieve dressed and went downstairs, they found Babbage and Flory sitting by the fire, both with cups of tea. They both stood quickly as their respective employers entered the room.
“Miss Bell,” the butler said. “I hope you’ll forgive my intruding on your hospitality. Mrs. Tate insisted that I come indoors.”
“Not at all. That was very wise of her,” Genevieve said, graciously. “The only sensible thing to do on a night like this.”
Will felt enormously relieved that Babbage was in no imminent danger of contracting pneumonia. That maid of hers seemed good as gold.
He sensed a bit of discomfort on Genevieve’s part, however. Was she perhaps worried that the servants overheard her?
Now that he thought of it, he couldn’t see how they could have failed to overhear. The people in the next cottage down the lane might have heard her as well.
She didn’t need to worry about Babbage, though. The man was the soul of discretion, and Will didn’t think anything could disturb his sense of dignity. Will could have an orgy with a troupe of circus performers, and Babbage would just make sure that no one misplaced her tights.
“Babbage and I are both very obliged to you, Mrs. Tate,” he told Flory. “And now I think perhaps we’d best be on our way.”
“Yes,” Genevieve agreed. “Good-night, then.”
Will didn’t like the idea of parting as formally as a guest at a ball. He pulled her to him and gave her a long, ardent kiss, as though no one else were even in the room.
Finally he released her, smiling at her reproachful look. “Good night.”
Chapter Nine
The next afternoon, Genevieve worked on her Venus picture again. How strange, she thought as she painted, that some canvasses were struggles, while others seemed to be charmed from the start.
The classical palace setting had given her some concern. But so far, the pillars seemed satisfactory, lit by the same slanting sunshine that illuminated the goddess’s features.
Genevieve’s spirits were also sunny, and it wasn’t only because of the painting. That morning she received a letter and some money from a gallery in Bath. They’d finally sold a piece of hers that she had forgotten about. A little watercolor of a woman sitting under a tree reading a book. Genevieve didn’t do watercolors anymore: so many Society ladies fooled about with them now.
Nonetheless, the unexpected affirmation of her work, not to mention the unexpected money, made her feel like the world conspired in her favor. Even with her own signature on them, her paintings were worth something, after all.
Suddenly she thought of what Percy said about Cage: that he claimed she had some of Cage’s paintings, and that he’d get them back.
Her pleasure vanished, like a walk in the flower garden disturbed by the sight of a dead rabbit.
Genevieve had dismissed it as meaningless talk, but now she wasn’t sure. What if Cage meant to take her paintings?
To break into her cottage wouldn’t be difficult. He’d have no trouble at all changing the signatures on the pictures to sell them as his own, and he might get away with it.
She suspected, as jealous as he’d been of her talents in the past, the act of stealing itself would give him great satisfaction.
She was letting her imagination run wild.
Still, she ought to take precautions. If only she could think of somewhere safe. Perhaps Ruth’s rented rooms, or Percy’s house, but she couldn’t imagine how to carry the bulky canvasses on the train or even the coach. She didn’t have any trunk large enough to put them in. Besides, she would prefer somewhere even
safer...
****
Will entered Lady Theddlethorpe’s ballroom with Jack and Coventry, who persuaded him to attend. For the last few years, the ball had been the highlight of the Season. Everyone in Society was there. Will, already sick of everyone in Society, regretted his decision to go.
“I have two goals in mind for this evening,” Coventry said.
“Oh, yes? What are their names?” Jack inquired.
Coventry shook his head. “Goal number one: persuade Will to ask a lady to dance.”
“I’m not dancing,” Will grunted. “I hate dancing.”
“Have a drink.” Coventry snatched a glass of champagne from a servant passing by with a tray and thrust it into his hand. “There are always more ladies than gentlemen at these affairs, so it would not be the death of you to oblige some poor wallflower.”
“I see one right now I should like to oblige,” Jack said, eyeing a curvaceous brunette across the room in a bottle-green gown.
“And goal number two is to prevent Jack from getting slapped across the face.”
“That was a long time ago,” Jack protested.
“Last month.”
“I’ve changed since then.”
Will smiled at the exchange. But it didn’t seem likely Coventry would achieve either of his goals, because Will had no intention of dancing, and Jack had already trotted over to the brunette like a dog that scented bacon.
“Will,” Coventry said in a different tone. “Do you know who that is?” Apparently someone caught his attention as well.
Will looked in the direction of his friend’s stare to see a familiar, neat little figure in sky blue. “But of course. It’s Daisy Tudbury.”
“Oh, that’s her,” Coventry said in a more detached way.
Daisy was joined by her sister, Violet, and Violet’s husband, whatever the hell his name was. Daisy’s mother emerged behind them.
“Let us go and say hello,” Coventry suggested.
That was the last thing Will felt like doing, but the mother already spotted him. Since he’d just been to dinner, common courtesy dictated he greet her and her younger daughter. And he’d be damned to let anyone guess that he had reason to avoid the other one.
The man Violet had married was the first to take notice when they walked over. “Mr. Creighton! What a pleasure to see you again.”
Will nodded.
Coventry stepped up. “Mr. Simms, isn’t it? Coventry Moore. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Congratulations on your marriage.”
Mrs. Tudbury took Will’s arm. “It is so lovely to see you! Is this not a splendid ball? Daisy is simply thrilled.”
Will agreed that it was splendid. He nodded hello to Daisy, who did not appear thrilled in the least, though she gave Will a friendly smile.
Violet and her swain moved on. “Oh, what am I thinking of?” Mrs. Tudbury exclaimed. “Mr. Moore, I do not believe you’ve met my youngest daughter, Daisy. Daisy, this is Coventry Moore.”
“I am honored to make your acquaintance, Miss Tudbury,” Coventry said to her very correctly, and Daisy offered her hand so he could shake it. “Would you do me the honor of a dance?”
The young lady’s mother brightened when she heard this. And why not? Coventry was a favorite in Society, still a bachelor despite the best efforts of maybe a dozen young women.
Mrs. Tudbury seemed to tighten her grip on Daisy. “She would love to dance, wouldn’t you, my dear?”
Daisy looked pained. “You will have to excuse me, Mr. Moore. I do not intend to dance this evening.”
Coventry, uncharacteristically, appeared at a loss for words. Will couldn’t think of anything to say to smooth over the awkward moment.
“What?” Mrs. Tudbury sputtered. “What nonsense! Of course she will dance.”
“Oh, no, that is quite all right,” Coventry said quickly. “Another time, perhaps.”
“I am just going to get some punch,” Will said. Coventry said he was thinking the same thing.
“Oh, I’ll go with you—if that’s all right, Mother?” Daisy said. “I’m ever so thirsty.”
Mrs. Tudbury, perplexed, nodded her permission. Daisy went with them to the punch table.
Still conscious of Coventry’s possible embarrassment, Will avoided any awkward silence by asking her, “So, Miss Tudbury, how is your charity work going?”
“It’s so kind of you to ask,” she declared with real enthusiasm, and spent the next twenty minutes discussing the details of a charity tea she had organized to benefit the Destitute Children’s Dinner Society, and the new developments of that excellent organization.
Will expected that Coventry might excuse himself to find a lady who was in need of a partner. Indeed, he noticed a group of three young ladies who cast a few wistful glances their way. But Coventry seemed content to listen to Daisy’s chatter.
Was it possible that Coventry liked the girl? He found it difficult to know. Coventry did ask Daisy an encouraging question or two about her mission work, but he didn’t seem flirtatious. Then again, that might have been out of deference to her youth and innocence, or because she’d refused a dance.
Or, his reticence came out of respect for any claim Will might have toward her. And Will had no such claim.
“Perhaps I had better go ask someone to waltz,” he said to Daisy, during a break in the conversation. “Coventry tells me there are not enough gentlemen to go around.”
“Oh, no, please stay and talk for a while,” Daisy urged. “I do so enjoy talking with you, Mr. Creighton.”
Will was happy to have an excuse not to dance and make conversation with almost-strangers. At the same time, her flattering request left him uneasy.
He wasn’t ready to court any woman in earnest. He’d only started enjoying himself with Genevieve Bell.
The other evening with her had been amazing, beyond any expectations he’d ever imagined for their arrangement. He was still awestruck by the memory of her kneeling in front of him, pleasuring him in the most intimate way possible. She’d given of herself so passionately and freely. He looked forward to many more nights with her.
Besides, he liked how she told him what she thought, and not just what she supposed he wanted to hear.
She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known.
And she made him feel whole again.
Will, Coventry and Daisy kept sipping punch and talking until Mrs. Tudbury came up to collect her daughter. “Come along now, Daisy, and say good evening to Mr. Rutherford—you remember Mr. Rutherford.” She took the girl by the arm. “We mustn’t monopolize these gentlemen.”
Will chuckled after they departed. “I suspect she will coax Daisy into dancing, after all.”
“She certainly won’t,” said Coventry a trifle sharply.
“Why do you say so?”
“It would be seen as an insult to me. The mother can’t let her refuse me and accept someone else’s invitation.”
“I suppose.” Will had been away from Society for a long time. He’d forgotten the myriad conventions and rules of politeness.
“The girl knew that,” Coventry said. “For some reason, she doesn’t want to dance with anyone.”
“That will disappoint some people, no doubt.” Will remembered what her father said about her dowry.
“Yes. She’s a lovely girl. Do you like her?”
Will shrugged. “As well as anyone.”
“As well as you liked the older one?”
Will stiffened, then glanced around to make sure no one might have overheard the comment.
“Who told you about that,” he demanded in a lower tone.
“No one,” his friend replied calmly. “I didn’t know for certain, till just now.”
“Bloody hell.”
“No one else knows.” Coventry cocked his head. “Well, perhaps the father, though I can’t be sure, and probably the younger sister.” He leaned against the wall, propping a foot up behind him. “I don’t know why you never mentioned it. Or did
you tell Jack?”
“No.”
“Nor did I.”
“Good,” Will said. “Not that I care about her now.”
“No?”
“I truly don’t,” he said. “You know, now that I come to think of it, I didn’t even know Violet all that well. She was just the sort of person I was expected to marry.”
But he knew there was more to it than that. Something in him had longed for a lofty, idealized, romantic love. But it was almost as though he’d been a child, filled with impossible fantasies. The whole idea of it embarrassed him now.
Will scanned the room as a new waltz started up. “Where is Jack, anyway?”
“Dead ahead.” Coventry inclined his head toward the opposite corner of the room.
Jack was talking to the brunette. One of his arms was propped against the wall behind her, and Will thought the lady looked a little trapped.
Jack talked and laughed and then the lady reached up her hand and slapped him across the face. She stormed off in a huff, leaving Jack looking bewildered, holding his cheek. The people around him shook their heads and murmured to one another.
“So much for that goal,” Coventry said. He and Will were laughing when Jack stormed over to join them.
“That didn’t take long,” Will said.
“I didn’t deserve that,” Jack protested. “It was completely uncalled for.” His friends laughed even more.
“Oh, the hell with it,” Jack grumbled. “Where’s the food?” He headed toward the table laid out with little sandwiches.
Coventry smiled. “I am going to ask Mrs. Malloway to dance.” He sauntered off toward the forty-something widow.
Will was about to look around to see who else needed a partner when Daisy showed up at his elbow, her cheeks flushed. “You must get me out of here.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Just for a little while. I’m ever so tired of being introduced to gentlemen.” She gave him a pleading look. “Perhaps we could just step out onto the balcony?”
Will was bemused by her distress, but he offered her his arm. “Very well.”
The sounds of laughter, conversation, and music faded as they closed the door behind them. For the moment, at least, they had the balcony to themselves. Will was immediately aware of this fact, and his wariness increased when Daisy released his arm and turned to face him. “I’m afraid you must think I’m a terribly naughty girl.”
