by Lauren Smith
I must always be on guard, she told herself.
As Anne dressed in the sanctuary of her bedchamber, she selected a gown of russet brown that had golden embroidery on the puffed sleeves and hem. It was a gown more suited to autumn with its hues more pumpkin than like flowers, which fashion dictated during the spring. She knew she should have stayed in her mourning blacks, but the thought of a lovely evening wasted in that awful black crepe was an unpleasant one.
Her father wouldn’t have wanted her to wear black for long; he’d never approved of the conventions of mourning.
Grief attends to itself in its own time, in its own way, her father had often said. It neither expects nor desires formality. The dinner at the St. Laurent townhouse was private in nature, and Anne felt confident that Emily would not demand she wear black.
After Anne dressed she called in her lady’s maid, Imogene, who looked briefly startled at Anne’s choice of gown, but knew better than to comment on it.
“What would you like for me to do with your hair?” Imogene asked as she eyed the tangled mess of Anne’s coiffure. Anne blushed.
“Something loose perhaps?”
“That would be wise. Since I foresee much mussing in your future.” Imogene winked. The pair, close in age, had been as close as servant and mistress could be for the last four years. Imogene teased her mercilessly whenever she thought she could get away with it.
“Is it that obvious?” Anne asked sullenly.
“That your fiancé sees through that wall of manners you put up? Yes. The staff are most excited about your upcoming nuptials, if I may be so bold to say.” Imogene smoothed a hand over her dark hair that was pulled back in a subdued but still fashionable knot before she set to work on Anne’s hair.
“Bold, yes, but please continue. What do they say? About my decision.” Anne was very close to her staff here; she’d known all of them since she was a child. And she was concerned that her haste in marriage might damage their opinion of her.
Imogene began pulling pins out of Anne’s hair and started brushing it with a silver-backed comb. “Well, we know you’re supposed to wait and all, but most of us have seen those vultures circling around the house, and none of us blame you one bit for speeding things up. You couldn’t have chosen a better man. We ladies like the viscount. He’s most appealing to the eye, with a fine pair of legs on him and a smile to melt butter…”
Imogene sighed dreamily, clearly performing for her benefit. Anne bit her lip to keep from laughing.
“And the young lads admire him for reasons I’d not like to say in front of your ladyship. The older men here recognize his influence and wealth. Your father could not have hoped for a better match, God rest his soul. The viscount will do well by you, treat you like the lady you are.”
Imogene’s hands worked their magic, twisting and twining until Anne’s hair was gathered at the back to keep it out of her face, but the light brown waves still made a lovely fall of bright rich color loose enough that Cedric could still thread his fingers through it without ruining the pins holding her hair up.
“Thank you, Imogene, it’s lovely as always.” Anne patted Imogene’s hand, which rested lightly on her right shoulder.
Imogene giggled. “Are you ready? I’m sure your young buck is eager to make off with you.”
Anne laughed, despite the furious blush Imogene’s words brought forth. “Imogene, I swear!”
* * * * *
Cedric cocked his head while he waited in the parlor, listening to the sound of Anne’s laughter. It was light yet slightly husky, a laugh better heard in bed after her lover had pleasured her until she was limp and sated.
Cedric smiled. Soon I will be that man. The kiss he’d given her today had been unplanned, but no less satisfying. She shouldn’t have bitten him. For some reason that had made him as hard as a marble statue, and it had taken all his strength to keep from throwing her onto the settee and showing her how much he liked to bite back. She wouldn’t have fought him for very long, but she was still too resistant to him. She would have used his actions to paint him the villain.
It was better to wait, to seduce slowly. Being both parent and brother to his two sisters, he’d been exposed to the secrets of the feminine mind enough to know how Anne would react. Women were intelligent creatures, and they had to be courted and seduced properly to be won over and not merely subjugated.
Cedric ran a hand through his hair, enveloping himself in the brief memory of that last kiss. Her skin felt as smooth as satin, her hair soft as silk and her mouth—God the taste!—sweet, wet and unbelievably hot. He hoped that she would eventually put that mouth on other places, preferably below his waist. Sensation during lovemaking had intensified after losing his sight, and the thought of Anne’s hot mouth around him there… An irrepressible grin twisted his lips at the thought.
Each kiss he took from her was rich in the promise of passion yet to come. He would woo her with whispered words, sensual caresses and drugging kisses until she was no longer able to resist him. He wanted her to beg for him, to need him as desperately as he needed her.
He had once thrived on his sexual conquests, and he’d had his share of mistresses over the years, but Anne was different. Winning her seemed a different level of achievement altogether. But it was going to be so much harder to win her over when he couldn’t even see her. It was a challenge, but one he was willing to rise to.
He could track her without his sight. The scent of wild orchids left an impression in the air like the invisible essence of a fairy queen. And the sounds… His imagination dined on the whisper of her skirts on the carpets until it was as sweet to hear as a lover’s gasp of pleasure, creating a vision in his mind of her raising those skirts just for him and baring milky smooth thighs virgin to his touch.
God, I’ve been too long without a woman, he thought glumly and shifted on the settee as his groin tightened and his trousers stretched.
Instead he focused on how he was going to murder Ashton for leaving him here. He’d make that blond-haired fiend pay. Ashton was supposed to protect him and guide him, not abandon him in a house with unfamiliar terrain. It had taken him weeks to learn the lay of his own house, count all the steps and memorize the floor plans and furniture arrangements.
Being at Anne’s without his friend’s guidance was frightening. He would never forgive the man for the terror he felt when the footman had announced Ashton’s departure. The fear had practically immobilized him until Anne had spoken. Had it not been for her, he might have collapsed or lunged for the door and hurt himself again.
But Anne had assessed his panic and calmed him, distracted him. They were not even married, yet she already seemed to know how to cope with his condition. He sensed no pity, nor contempt or disgust in her tone when she spoke to him. Her reluctance to touch him or welcome his embrace had nothing at all to do with his blindness.
The same could not be said for his former mistress Portia. Just three weeks after his accident he had returned to London and summoned her, hoping to banish his sorrows in the comfort of her body. Portia had come, eager for his company as well, but when he could not praise her beauty she’d grown bored. She seemed irritated at his clumsy touch. When he’d once been powerful and mastering over her body, he now touched tenderly, hesitantly, unsure of himself. The worst part of the evening had been when he’d tripped over the edge of an upturned carpet and fallen flat on his face. Pain had exploded in his body, and she had dared to laugh. Still, he had gotten up and tried to erase the moment with a wry joke at his own expense.
When he offered her a glass of wine he’d missed her outstretched hand and spilled it on her gown. She’d shrieked like the devil’s own and slapped him. Unable to see her blow coming, he’d been unprepared for the sharpness of her hit and he’d stumbled back in surprise. This had only worsened his already teetering balance and sent him sprawling on the floor. He’d cracked his
head on the baseboard of his bed and lay half-conscious at her feet, broken in every way that mattered.
And to add to his misery, she’d stood there and shouted at him. “Who could ever sleep with a broken excuse of a man like you? You can’t even see your boots to put them on! I wouldn’t let you bed me if you were the last man in all of England!” And then she’d gone. His valet had heard the commotion and rushed to his aid.
What sort of man am I? Portia had been right. He was as helpless as a babe. A man no longer. The truth of that was just as emotionally crippling as his blindness was physically. He’d wanted to die.
It was a thought he’d never spoken aloud to anyone and hadn’t acted upon because too many people he loved would be hurt by such a coward’s way out. Yet it didn’t change his feelings, or the sense of desperation and helplessness that made him wish to end everything, the pain, the shame, all of it.
Until Anne. She had come to him, hiding her plea for marriage to him behind that cool bravado she’d always had. Her bravery had been the deciding factor for him. If she was willing to give married life a try, then so was he.
Besides, how hard could marriage be?
Chapter Four
Emily St. Laurent lounged in the library of her London townhouse, a book in one hand and the other stroking her beloved foxhound Penelope. The dog was nearly ten months old and no longer the sweet pup she’d been when Emily had received her as a gift, but a proud grown-up dog.
When Emily had been abducted by Godric and his friends, Cedric had traveled to London and bought the puppy for her, hoping it would keep her at Godric’s estate and dissuade her from running off.
It hadn’t stopped her. She’d escaped anyway, taking the dog with her.
Penelope was her closest friend after Anne Chessley and Cedric’s sisters. The dog let out a contented sigh as she rested her head on Emily’s knee. Emily smiled and shut her eyes for a moment. The April sun was warm as it poured through the tall windows of the library, embracing her face.
“Emily.” Goosebumps broke out over her skin at that deep voice.
She opened her eyes to find her husband towering over her where she lay on the couch.
“You’re back!” Her cry of joy woke the sleeping hound.
Penelope barked excitedly, and Godric ran a hand over the dog’s body with a rough pat and scratch. Penelope jumped from the couch and sat obediently at Godric’s heels. He took a small treat from his pocket, and Penelope watched him intensely. Godric tossed the treat in the air. Penelope caught it and escaped to a far corner of the library, leaving Emily and Godric in peace.
“Now I’ve got you all to myself, darling.” Godric slid her down on the couch so she lay upon her back. Then he sat on the couch’s edge and leaned over her. He threaded his fingers in the loose waves of her hair and gazed into her eyes.
“Shouldn’t you shut the door before…?” Her breathless whisper died as he began to unfasten his breeches and raise her dress.
“Before I ravish you? No one will disturb us,” Godric promised with a wicked glint in his green eyes.
“You’re an absolute fiend!” Emily moaned as he rained kisses down on her face and neck while his hands worked on her undergarments.
“And you wouldn’t have me any other way.” He bit her neck and Emily gasped as he plunged deep into her.
“How was the meeting?” Emily asked, causing Godric to grunt in annoyance.
“Clearly, I haven’t distracted you enough, woman.” He thrust in deeper and harder.
Any rational thoughts she might have had left exploded into fragments beyond her reach.
“More!” she demanded.
Her husband obliged with a devilish grin. “That’s a far preferable response.”
Once they were both sated, Godric nuzzled his wife’s neck before speaking.
“Horatia is pregnant,” he said in an oddly quiet voice. Emily cupped his chin and forced him to raise his head to look at her. His green eyes were full of wonder.
“She is?” Emily thought she felt something inside her stir to life. Was now the time?
“Lucien says the baby is due in November.”
“That’s wonderful!” She meant it to her very core. Horatia had suffered for so many years and Lucien had been so afraid of love that a baby, their baby, would be a miracle.
“Do you want children?” Godric asked. They were still connected, limbs entwined, noses almost touching.
“Yes, yes I do.” She was suddenly shy, something that rarely happened when she was with Godric.
“I don’t want to pressure you. I know you are young, but I am much older and…” Godric trailed off uncertainly, his cheeks slightly ruddy.
“I had never thought I would want children so early, I am nineteen, but I guess…I guess we don’t have to worry now.” Emily caressed his cheek, feeling the light patch of afternoon stubble that lined his strong jaw.
His brows drew together in concern. “What do you mean?”
“I’m pregnant. At least I think I am. My monthly courses were due two weeks ago.” Before she could say more, Godric was squeezing the life out of her and kissing her.
“Lord, I hope you’re right,” he breathed. “I hope it’s a girl.”
“You want a daughter? What about an heir?”
“We’ll have dozens of children. I want a daughter first, so that I can spoil her rotten. Boys aren’t nearly as much fun in that regard. They don’t like being fussed over, but girls do. I want many daughters, you hear me?” Godric twined a lock of her hair around his finger and tugged it playfully. “I want them all to look just like you,” he added in all seriousness. Emily blushed, pleased by Godric’s sweet insistence.
“We’ll have several of both. I have a feeling our sons will be incredibly troublesome, just like their father.” Emily giggled as Godric, still inside her, hardened and he moved his hips against hers. Godric made love to her again, until their faces were once again gleaming with a sheen of light sweat.
After a time of pleasant silence and cuddling, Emily gently moved her loose-limbed husband off her so she could fix her clothes, then returned back to the subject she’d tried to speak about earlier.
“Other than Horatia’s upcoming motherhood, what else has happened? I know something did because Cedric summoned your entire League, didn’t he? What was it about?”
Godric rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “You make us sound like a bloody war counsel, darling.”
In some ways they were, given the troubles they faced with the elusive Hugo Waverley. Godric had told her much, but not everything, of their past with him, and such meetings always concerned her. “Well, what did he want?” She brushed a lock of dark hair back from his eyes and snuggled closer to him.
“He simply wanted to inform us that he’s getting married.”
“What? To whom?” Emily demanded, fearing for Anne. She knew Anne had been intrigued by Cedric for some time. She’d never said it, but for a woman who insisted Cedric’s attentions were bothersome, she tended to ask a lot about him when he was absent. If Cedric married, it might hurt Anne’s feelings, however guarded. Emily couldn’t deny her secret wish to unite the two stubborn people.
“I’m not sure you’ll believe me.” Godric grinned sheepishly, like a lad caught stealing sweet meat pies from the kitchen.
“Who? Tell me or you will be sleeping in here tonight. Without me.” She punched his chest lightly to show him she meant business. Godric wrapped his arms around her waist and tucked her into his side.
“He’s going to marry Anne,” he said finally.
“My Anne?”
Emily was flabbergasted when Godric nodded.
“Well, that’s good isn’t it?” She gazed at Godric, trying to gauge his reaction.
He appeared puzzled as he brushed some hair from his eyes. “I think so. They went
about it quite oddly, but at least they’re doing it.”
“What do you mean, oddly?” Her fingers, which had curled in his shirt, tensed.
“Well, the way Cedric told it, she came to him and asked him to propose to her.”
“How strange. Why?”
“You’re asking a man, darling. I don’t claim to be a scholar in the mysteries of women. Cedric told us she had become a target for fortune hunters and marrying him would put an end to it.” Godric didn’t seem to think there was anything more to it than that.
“How long until the wedding? She’ll be out of mourning next April, and that would make a lovely time for—”
Godric interrupted Emily’s marital musings. “Next week.”
“Next week?” Emily squeaked. “But she can’t! It’s unheard of. You know how society can be on such matters, their penchant for cruelty. She’ll be gossiped about for months! Her father barely dead and she’s running off with one of the League of Rogues? I know we all know the truth, but the ton will make up whatever venomous stories it pleases.”
“I have a feeling neither she nor Cedric cares about society. He’s blind and she’s been on the shelf for years.”
Leave it to Godric to boil down two complex personalities so bluntly, she thought.
“You may be right, but shouldn’t we at least caution them?”
“I won’t. Damn the ton. Let them wag their chins. It will all be over when the next scandal sweeps through the assembly rooms. I’ll stand by Cedric in St. George’s next week no matter what. He needs this marriage, Emily. He’s been broken since the accident, in spirit as well as body. But when he was telling us about his engagement, I heard hope in his voice for the first time. If a speedy marriage can cure him of his blue devils, then I’m all for it.”
