What a fire-ball! Serenity pulled herself from the bed. She had to make plans. In the next few days, Reveley Hall would be overflowing with houseguests for the wedding. There would be little free time to do her writing. The illness really screwed up her research schedule.
Looking out at the waving willow tree, Serenity took some cleansing breaths. She felt better, energized—finally. Tomorrow would be an ideal day to catch up on her reports. The Wycliffes were all going to a neighboring fox hunt. And Serenity had the perfect excuse not to attend: her health.
With Lord and Lady Rotterham, Zeena, Georgiana, and the Sedgwicks out all day, Serenity would not be disturbed. She'd have Maggie stand guard outside the bedroom door to make sure no one entered. Great!
Feeling human for the first time in weeks, Serenity anticipated her guaranteed solitude.
Chapter Twenty-one
Nicholas entered the Breakfast Room unannounced. He quickly scanned the diners. Blast! Serenity must still be in her room. It was early morning, but he hoped to find her at the table. Patience. He had to have patience.
He nodded to a newspaper-reading Sir Cecil, Amaryllis, Georgiana, and Lord Rotterham.
"Brockton! A surprise, to be sure. Sit down—join us. What is the latest news from London?” The Marquess gestured to a seat.
He and Sedgwick wore scarlet hunting jackets. Nicholas's sisters were dressed in their blue habits, denoting a hunt today. Would Serenity also ride?
Amaryllis tapped her fork against a plate. “Nicky, Father just asked you a question. Come down from the clouds! By the bye, it is only nine o'clock. You do not mean to tell me you traveled all night to get to Reveley Hall?"
Nicholas helped himself to some black coffee. With Ammie around, he needed to sharpen his wits. “Dash it, girl, spent the night at the Lyndons, if you must know. Osborne rode with me."
Georgiana noisily stirred her teacup. “Oh, Harry is here, also?"
Nicholas snorted. “Yes, at Lyndon Manor. I said so, didn't I?” Damn all these questions before a body had a chance to shake the sleep off.
Over his cup, he caught Ammie and Georgiana exchanging looks. Women!
He addressed his father. “As you know, sir, Lord Liverpool is now prime minister—good man. Also, there is bad news. We have received word that Bonaparte's army entered Russia. They are still strong, I fear. And, the topper—the Americans have declared war against us."
Nicholas drummed his fingers against the white damask-covered table. He would have to tell Serenity that she had been right. She said the Colonies would fight, and by God, England now had two fronts to defeat.
He eyed the door. Where was she?
The Marquess refilled Nicholas's cup. “Disturbing news, Brockton. Hardly seems cricket for us to participate in a fox chase when our nation has such woes."
Nicholas agreed and felt gladdened that he and his father were in accord. Odd, the antagonism between them had suddenly vanished. When he asked the Marquess’ help in bringing Serenity to Reveley Hall, their enmity had inexplicably melted away.
Nicholas looked at his father, observing the intelligence behind his grey eyes. The Marquess was a wily old duck.
Georgiana pulled on Lord Rotterham's sleeve. “But, Father, we must go on the hunt. Everyone will be there."
After he gently disengaged her hand, she turned her blue-eyed gaze on Nicholas. “Rodney plans to make an informal announcement about the engagement. We cannot miss it—Zeena would be beside herself."
"What engagement?” Nicholas queried.
"Oh, you do not know! Rodney and Zeena are to be married on the thirtieth of August. It is so romantic!” Georgiana clasped her hands and sighed.
"Presson did not waste any time, did he? He is a good fellow, though. He will keep Zeena in line,” Nicholas commented.
When Amaryllis mouthed, “In line!", Georgiana giggled. She composed herself. “But back to the hunt. You can ride with us, Nicholas. We are all going. Why, Amaryllis and Cecil made a special trip down from their estate so that they could take part in this event. Isn't that so, Cecil?"
Sedgwick shuffled his papers, “Hey? What? Er, um, yes. Quite so.” He dropped his gaze onto the newsprint again.
Amaryllis laughed. “Sedgwick is an avid hunter! But do say we are going, Father. Do not spoil it for us, or for Zeena. Nicky, you must come too."
Lord Rotterham smiled at them and concurred, at this point in time, there would be nothing worse than to upset the youngest Wycliffe.
Nicholas scowled at his father's capitulation. How easily thoughts of frivolity banished the harsh realities of war.
"And you, Brockton, shall you join us?” The Marquess paused for a moment, then added, “It is a pity Mrs. Steele must stay inside. A fever has kept her abed for days. Perhaps tomorrow she will feel more the thing."
Nicholas toyed with his food. “No, I thank you but I cannot hunt today. I have business I must attend to."
Georgiana tried to get him to change his mind. “Not attend the hunt! But—"
He snapped at her. “No, I say! I cannot speak any plainer."
Georgiana's hands flew to her face. She looked over at Amaryllis, for what, support?
Amaryllis seemed to smirk, and patted Georgiana on the shoulder. “Don't mind Nicky. Celibacy does not agree with him. Makes him ... testy!"
Nicholas started choking. How had she known? Blast her. When he cleared his throat, his sisters and his father hid their laughter behind their napkins. Damn them!
Nicholas stood and hurled his own napkin down. “Sedgwick, you need to take a whip to your termagant of a wife."
Sedgwick looked up and grinned. Made him look years younger. “Up to her old tricks again, eh? No matter, I love her just the way she is, Brockton."
Nicholas raised his hands and muttered, “Women!” To clear his head, he quickly vacated the Breakfast Room.
* * * *
Whiling away the next two hours had been difficult, but Nicholas waited. Waited until the noise died down from the departing hunting party. They were all gone. Now he could make his move.
Nicholas took the stairs two at a time, anticipating Serenity's reaction to seeing him. True, a gentleman should not visit a lady in her bedchamber. However, he was no gentleman as far as Serenity was concerned! He had not seen her in eighty days, but who was counting?
Pausing in front of a hall mirror, he straightened his cravat. Reassured, he turned the corridor to Serenity's bedchamber.
He came to a dead stop. Someone sat, knitting, outside Serenity's door—a woman. What the devil! It was Maggie, the maid. This called for different tactics.
He strolled over to her and put on his most engaging manner. “Good day, Maggie. How are you this fine morning?"
The maid dropped the knitting in her lap and tried to stand. He gestured for her to remain seated.
"Oh! Oh, good day t'you, milord.” She tugged on her mob cap and fidgeted in the chair.
Nicholas smiled. “I heard your mistress has been ill. Nothing serious, I hope."
"Oh, no, milord. Miss Serry's just pulled down. She be her cheery self real soon.” Maggie seemed to have forgotten her nervousness and returned his smile.
He would take a chance now. Reaching for the doorknob, he said, “Perhaps she would like some company then. She—"
"No!” The maid leaped out of the seat and spread her meager self against the door—a miraculous transformation from mouse to tigress.
"Miss Serry left strict orders, milord. She needs her privacy today. No one is t'enter her bedchamber, not even me. Except for nuncheon at twelve.” Maggie glared up at him, defying him with her gaze.
She was only a slip of a girl. With a quick sweep of his arm he could have easily cast her aside. He studied Maggie's resolute chin. No, he would retreat. “I see. Please tell Mrs. Steele that I was asking for her. Perhaps she will join us at supper."
Maggie relaxed her guard, and when Nicholas walked down the corridor, she resumed her knitting.
After he maneuvered the hall corner, he quickened his pace. After waiting so long for her, he could wait a little longer. But Serenity would not win this round. Definitely not. Next to her bedchamber window stood a willow tree—a tree he climbed many times, in his youth. Come afternoon, he would have his way yet.
Nicholas entered his room to change into more casual clothing—clothing that would not prove to be too arduous to remove.
* * * *
Serenity took a breather from her exercises. Not that yoga taxed her physical strength, but she was out of shape.
Sitting up, she tugged on the sleeves of her leotard, then pulled the stretchy fabric back over her rear. Heavens but it was good to drop her Regency pose and be herself again. She extended her legs, staring at the glaring pink of her tights. If that color didn't revitalize her, nothing would! Her leotard also contained the eye-popping pink, combined with a phosphorescent purple. One word could describe her apparel: loud.
Oh, how she'd skulked over to her portmanteau, furtively looking over her shoulder, to get her exercise togs and digital recorder. Even made sure, again, that the door was locked. It wouldn't do to have anyone burst in on her. How could she explain the way she was dressed?
After putting on her leotard, she had felt so odd, at first. Soon though, she reveled in the freedom of wearing next to nothing.
Kicking up her heels a bit, Serenity had danced away her elation, and then settled down to work. Amazing how much she could get done once she put her mind to it. She finished two topics and just had one more to do.
After lunch, she decided to do yoga and listen to music before hitting the books again.
She stretched, lay down on the floor, and lifted her upper body in the cobra position—all in time to the music blaring in her headphones.
"Why do I love you, two, three, four," she sang and counted the beat.
Suddenly, something was wrong. The small hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. Her bedroom disappeared; in its place blinked jagged, fuchsia shapes. What on earth?
Serenity rose up on her arms, prepared to run. Danger. Her senses broadcasted danger. She tore off the headphones and whipped around to face the windows. Her sight returned. She wished it hadn't. There, silhouetted in front of the bright daylight flooding the room stood Nicholas Wycliffe.
Was he a dream; was he part of her synesthesia attack? Or was he real—in the flesh, looking at her in her twenty-first century leotard?
Her heart thudded wildly. Oh, he was real all right. She must've aged ten years in that second. Somehow she managed to grab her silky robe and position herself behind a chair. This blending of the senses was the very devil.
Speaking of the devil, Nicholas, however, hadn't moved.
"You st-startled me! It is good to see you, of course, but what are you doing h-here?" She bunched the robe's material at her throat, as if covering her neck could protect her. Unfortunately, the leotard's brazen purple sleeves remained unhidden by the wrapper.
Nicholas was frozen, like a monolith. Serenity couldn't make out his features, the sun blotted them out. But whatever he was thinking, it wasn't to her advantage.
Many times she imagined a reunion with him, but always on her own terms. Never like this, where she was so ... exposed.
"What are you doing here?” she repeated.
He moved out of the light's dazzling haze. Choosing an upholstered stool, he sat and rested his right booted foot upon his left knee. “It is my parents’ home, you know. I frequently pay them a visit."
So, he was playing it cool. Fine. She had to be very, very careful. Had to set aside the temptation to linger looking at his handsome face and dwell on his deep, sexy voice. Her headphones and digital recorder lay exposed, near the bed. If Nicholas got his hands on them, she was a goner.
Slowly walking to a bureau, she hoped to draw his attention away from the bed. “Please don't pretend to misunderstand me. Why are you in my room? Coming in through the window yet!"
She couldn't let him see she was afraid; she had to hold her ground. Dear God! How could she explain her futuristic paraphernalia? Quickly glancing at her desk, she saw she had placed all her notes and books in a drawer—hidden from sight. Thank heavens for small favors.
Nicholas's hooded eyes expressed nothing. He still didn't speak.
"Well?” she prompted.
He leaned back, and stroked his chin. “You must forgive me, my dear, if I seem a trifle, er, slow. The sight of you, twig-legged and all, has benumbed my senses. Tell me, Serenity, what, exactly, are you wearing? It is the closest thing to being in a state of nature that I have seen."
He raked her with his gaze. “Obviously m'mother has been keeping a cheeseparing table."
"Oh, funny."
Serenity wanted to pace, her body urged movement, but if she did, her robe would open and show bright pink legs. Twig-legs!
She did a slow burn. The less of a reminder she was unusually dressed, the better. No, she had to remain still and somehow push her recorder under the bed. She slowly circled over to him and stood, blocking the rectangular box from his view.
"Your mother is a wonderful hostess, as you are aware. These clothes come from ... India. That's why the colors are so striking. An aunt of mine shipped them to me. Now, I've answered your questions, you answer mine."
"India, is it?” His raised eyebrow mocked her. “Dashed strange gewgaws from a land with veils and saris.” He stood and began walking towards her.
She moved backwards, pushing the black and silver recorder with each step. When Nicholas extended his hands, she lurched away, giving the recorder a final kick.
Good. It was safe under the bed. But she lost her balance and fell.
He quickly picked her up. Without the protection of heavy clothes, her flesh shouted at his touch, a litany of pleasure. His fingers grazed her face, and he smoothed back her hair.
"Serenity,” he murmured into her ear. “Serenity, I do not understand the game you are playing."
Her body throbbed so hard she could hardly hear his words. She could feel them, though. “G-Game?"
She stepped back again and bumped into the bed. Trapped.
He cupped her face with his hands. His smile warmed her. Taking her into his arms, he exhaled. “It does not matter anymore, Serenity. Nothing matters except seeing you, being near you. After so long, I had to see you—barricaded door or no."
Tenderly kissing her forehead, he trailed his lips down her cheek. Her senses flashed warnings of another type of danger. She disregarded their message. Raising her lips to meet his, she sighed with anticipated passion. This was how she envisioned seeing him again—being locked in his strong arms. Raising her lips to his, she drank in the taste/scent/sight/feel/sound of him. All five senses swirled at a fever-pitch inside her.
But something nagged at her. Something she had to find out. “Nick, I, well, what about Sarah—"
He stopped her question with a kiss that melted every inner reserve she might have had. “There is no one but you, Serenity."
"Oh, Nick,” she murmured.
He gently laid her down on the bed, his hand roaming down her back, over her hip, and stopping on her thigh. She had no idea a simple touch could be such exquisite torture. She wanted him; from the depth of her soul, she wanted him.
After an eternity, Nick's amused laughter forced her to open her eyes and come down to earth. “Serenity, dearest.” He ran his finger down her neck to the top of her leotard.
She was lost in the sensuousness of the movement.
"Serenity,” he repeated to catch her attention. “I have to confess I do not have the slightest idea how to remove this, er, garment."
His eyes sparkled darkly, now filled with desire. She wantonly arched up against his powerful thighs. “So, you rakes don't know everything about women, do you?"
Nick leaned over and nibbled the sensitive skin on her ear lobe. When she gasped, he passionately kissed her again. “I do not know about you, Serenity. And that is G
od's honest truth."
Now breathless, she purred, “Nick, darling, let me show you.” She pulled her leotard down past her shoulders. “See? It's not so hard."
He completed the movement, stopping to kiss and tease her breasts, her tummy, her thighs. Every part of her body, including her nipples, peaked with satisfaction. This was it. This was what she'd been waiting for.
"Ah, dear Serenity, but I think it is.” Nick's hardness strained against the fabric of his trousers. Quickly removing his clothing, he covered the length of her with his heated body.
"God, but you are so beautiful, Serenity!"
"Me?” She ran her hands down his muscular back to rest on his rock-hard buttocks. He was masculine perfection itself.
Together they mingled words of love, desire, and need. When he eased his bulk inside her, she groaned with the beauty of it. This was right—so right. It was as if her whole reason for living boiled down to this very moment—this union with Nick.
Rocking higher and higher, she soared, he soared until the moment of ecstasy. They were as one. Release came swift and uncontrollable. Contentment flooded through her spirit as thickly as nature's honey—golden, sweet, and sticky.
She was complete. Smiling, she ran her fingers through Nick's wavy hair, savoring the sensation. He was as drenched in sweat as she. His resting weight was heavy against her but she reveled in it. She cradled him in her arms.
He returned her smile. “My Serenity."
Paradise. She'd found Paradise.
* * * *
A noise—a constant hammering disturbed Serenity's repose. “Go away,” she mumbled. Déjà vu. Hadn't this happened before?
The hammering persisted. A girl's voice traveled through the closed door—Maggie's voice. “Miss Serry, ‘tis five o'clock. Time t'take your bath."
Serenity wearily rubbed her eyes. “Okay, Maggie. Just a sec. I'm coming."
She sat up and swung her feet to the floor. Putting on her robe, she walked to the door, then stopped. Memories of how she spent the afternoon surfaced.
Nick. Nick and her. But where was he?
Regency Society Revisited Page 21
