“Let me look.” She took his hand, her fingers cool but silky with some feminine lotion. “I see a red spot.”
Then she bent over his hand and blew, her cupid’s lips pursing even more into a little bow.
He couldn’t help himself; he was enchanted. And aroused. He hadn’t thought to find a beautiful young widow here to hold his interest. Just a submarine. Surely she’d been widowed too recently to be on the prowl for another husband, and anyway, she’d be looking for a title, not for the likes of him.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” he asked.
She looked up at him through thick lashes that matched her hair perfectly. They owed nothing to her maid’s art. “I wanted to thank you for seeing to our comfort this afternoon on the drive here.”
“On the contrary, you saw to ours, picking us up on the road as you did.”
She smiled. “Then you agree I saw to your comfort earlier?”
“Why, yes,” he said, not sure what she was getting at.
“Then I ask you to see to mine.” She blinked slowly.
“Excuse me?” he said, unsure of her meaning.
She slid the fingers that were holding his hand up his arm, underneath the silk of his dressing gown until she reached his biceps. Squeezing, she sighed, a breathy little moan. “See to my comfort, Lewis. I can call you Lewis, can’t I? In the privacy of night?”
“My lady, the door isn’t even locked.”
Her eyes glittering, she tugged him back, until her back was again against the door. With her free hand, she took his and guided his fingers to the key.
“One turn of the lock and I am all yours.”
“You’re awfully young for an assignation,” he said. “I must be a decade older than you.”
“I’m a widow. I’m allowed.”
“You are?” He held back a chuckle, though his cock had hardened enough to make clear thought difficult.
“I’ve been locked up in my father’s home for a year and a half.”
He thought he saw a muscle twitch just under her right eye. “It is not right, what happens to young widows,” he agreed.
“I’m lonely, Lewis. You’re a nice man, and so attractive.” Her fingers found their way up his other sleeve, so that she massaged the muscles of his biceps on both sides.
He hadn’t realized how sore those muscles were, after a day of wielding a wrench. Imagine what such talented hands could do with his neck, shoulders, and back. Then his gaze drifted to her bosom, which was not quite pressed against him, and he imagined what he could do with the rest of her.
“You are so young, Lady Allen-Hill. You might conceive a child.”
Her eyes gleamed. “I brought a rubber.”
He blinked. “You brought a what?”
“A condom,” she said patiently. “I understand that’s what everyone calls them. I’m a modern girl, you see. I thought ahead. I want a bit of fun, like anyone would at a house party. Isn’t that why you came?”
“I came to work on the submarine,” he said, his thoughts about a million miles away from the earl’s machine shop.
“You aren’t going to work on it at this time of night,” she said with a little pout.
“I might.” Why had he said something so sulky?
“Stables don’t have artificial light,” she said, “so it’s no use trying to work there in the dead of winter. All that cold, and only lamps. You’ll need some other activity.”
“I could sleep,” he suggested as his cock twitched.
She pulled her hands from his sleeves and slowly lifted her arms until they were above her head in a provocative pose he’d seen on a theater poster. Her breasts lifted, and he could see the hard points of her nipples through her cotton gown.
His cock hardened into a thick, steel rod. He could think of nothing but undoing the laces that held the fragile lace yokes together and swirling those sweetly budded nipples with his tongue. His hands made the decision for him as he reached for the laces. Time seemed to slow. He thought she’d even stopped breathing.
His palm touched her breast and time sped up again. She inhaled sharply, and he saw the smallest hint of a pink tongue dart out to touch her plush bottom lip. Losing all sense of reason, he put one hand on the door, above her head, and tilted his face toward hers, angling for a kiss that would probably ruin what was left of his mind.
Behind him, a door slammed against the wall. “Eh, guv, there’s no chamber pot in my room. Where am I supposed to piss?”
Lewis dropped his hands instantly. “Eddy,” he said in a none-too-steady voice. “Go back to your room.”
“Can’t, mate, ’ave to piss. Why aren’t you asleep already? Is there a pot behind the screen?” The boy stumped forward.
Lady Allen-Hill gasped and pulled her wrapper around her, hiding those amazing breasts and damned laces. Lewis turned protectively, trying to block her from the boy’s view.
For a moment, they all stood in a tableau. Then Lewis remembered the locked door. He reached behind him and turned the key. The lady stepped forward and he opened the door, positioning her into the opening.
“Go,” he said. “It wasn’t meant to be.”
“Can’t he sleep somewhere else?” Her eyes were a little unfocused, as if she couldn’t quite understand what was happening.
Lust had done that to her. She was normally rather sharp. “Go to sleep, Lady Allen-Hill. In your room.”
He shut the door, then sagged against it.
Eddy’s face broke into a wide grin. “I interrupted a tryst. Aren’t you a lucky one.”
“And aren’t you a right bastard for interrupting me,” Lewis snarled.
Eddy shrugged. “I’ll get a chamber pot tomorrow. Then you won’t ’ave to worry.”
Victoria crept back into her room, her feet icy cold from the unheated corridor between her room and Lewis’s. She had made her way in the dark, grateful that shadows hid the deep flush of thwarted passion and embarrassment. How could the simple, almost accidental touch of a man’s palm against her breast make her feel so weak in the knees, so frustrated, so alive?
As quietly as possible, she shut the door behind her and willed her eyes to adjust to the dark so she could find her bed. If she quieted her own breathing, she imagined she could hear Penelope’s soft breaths over the crackling of the dying fire.
She went to the fireplace, barking her shin on a low table as she moved forward. After she stirred the coals, she decided the ensuing warmth wasn’t enough for a child, so she added more fuel. This brightened the room enough for the bed to come into hazy focus against the opposite wall. She thought she could see a figure sitting up in it.
“Mama?”
“It’s Victoria, darling. Just fixing our fire.”
Penelope’s breath caught. “I didn’t know where I was.”
“I’m sorry. I hope you’ll be able to go back home soon.”
“Mama said she’d never see me again,” Penelope said in a small voice.
Victoria frowned, her experience with Lewis dropping from the forefront of her mind. “You can’t be serious. I wasn’t told anything of the sort.”
“She was in a rage. She yells, she cries, and she throws things.” The girl hiccupped.
“What about your father? What did he say?”
“Just that I was to go with Uncle Rupert and he would take care of me.”
“I must say I do not understand why he didn’t simply hire a governess.”
“It’s the holidays. No time to hire anyone. Maybe later.”
Victoria hoped so. After a year and a half in isolation, she didn’t want to spend all her time caring for a child. She had a life to renew. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that either. Do you want me to ring for some hot milk?”
“I’m not thirsty. Where were you?”
Victoria sighed. She didn’t want to coddle the child, but she didn’t want tales to get back to her father either. “I took a walk.”
“Will you
tell me more about Princess Everilda? It’s been ever so long since you started the story.”
“Where was I?” Victoria asked, leaving her wrapper at the foot of the bed and climbing in.
“Princess Everilda was angry that the dead queen was playing so lightly with Prince Hugh’s life. Do you think Prince Hugh looks anything like Eddy Jackson?”
“You think he’s handsome?” She reflected on the youth’s reddish brown hair and sharp, freckled nose. “Aren’t you a little young to find youths handsome?”
“I didn’t say he was handsome,” Penelope said in an injured tone. “But he’s lively.”
“Do you think the son of a queen like Avice would be lively?”
“More of a milksop, I suppose,” Penelope said with a yawn.
“That’s what I would think. Though he probably sits a horse well enough.”
“I think I might like horseless carriages better than horses,” Penelope said.
“But girls love horses,” said Victoria, startled. She’d never been one for horses herself, but that was because she lived in the city, not a place where she would have learned to ride and care for the beasts.
“They smell,” said Penelope, yawning again. “How many more difficulties will Princess Everilda face?”
“Twelve, of course. It is a Christmas story.”
“Then what is number eight? You didn’t finish the list.”
“Let’s see. Queen Avice sneered, of course, and said, ‘Not that it will do you any good, Everilda, but I shall tell you the rest, so that you may have additional opportunity to despair.’
“The princess stared down from the dais, appearing unmoved, though of course she was shaking and sweating under her winter wool gown.”
“Is she pretty?” Penelope asked, snuggling back against her feather pillow.
“As pretty as a very plump princess can be,” Victoria said, leaning back against her own pillow with her hand tucked under her head. “ ‘Cease your delay tactics, your highness,’ said the princess, ‘and explain. ’
“ ‘There must be eight tapestries unraveled,’ said the queen with a roll of her undead eyes. ‘Nine ribbons ripping.’
“ ‘Go on,’ said the princess, unmoved.
“ ‘Ten castles uncastled,’ said dead Queen Avice.
“The princess thought the fires in the enormous fireplace roared higher at this, as if they grew strength from the evil shade. ‘You don’t say,’ she said pertly, for she could not show fear.” Victoria yawned herself. When she closed her mouth again, she realized she was about out of ideas. She stopped speaking, hoping her cousin had fallen asleep, but the girl poked her.
“Just coming to the good stuff now,” she promised. “ ‘Eleven tigers will roast,’ the shade snarled. ‘And, finally, twelve masks must unmask.’ ”
“The tigers were a bit unexpected,” Penelope said. “Tigers in old England?”
“They can’t be simple tasks,” Victoria reasoned.
“No. Now you’ll have fun figuring out how to get the princess out of this mess.”
“Do you think I’m making the story up as I go along?”
“Probably.” Penelope rolled over. “Good night, Victoria. Dream up some more of the story, please.”
“I will.” Victoria pushed her pillow down and inched into a full recline. At least Penelope had given her the excuse to think of something more than her failed seduction for a few minutes. She still felt a little weak in the knees, though, a little tremulous in the heated flesh between her thighs. Resolving to banish Lewis Noble from her thoughts for now, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep.
“I wish I was old enough to attend,” Penelope said wistfully the next evening, as Victoria straightened the green velvet draping over her Marie Antoinette–style panniers. In her dress, she was nearly four feet wide. She never would have dared such a style when plump, but now it felt like a delicious tease. Her low-cut bodice displayed an ample though very reduced bosom framed in delicate lace. Most of the fabric in this costume went into the skirt.
A tall blond wig covered her dark curls, giving her a feeling of invisibility even without the green mask attached to a stick that she could hold to her eyes. She had debated hiding her face more fully, but from whom? No one was trying to avoid her, and few in the crowd would even know her name.
She nodded to the maid when a knock came at the door. When a male voice rumbled, Victoria stood with a cry. “Papa!”
Tall, broad Rupert Courtnay strode toward her, resplendent in brocaded Louis XVI court dress. A curly white wig covered his graying, thinning hair.
“You look a decade younger in that costume!” she teased, tugging a curl before hugging him.
“You are almost as wide as you are tall, daughter,” he said, shaking his head over the elaborate dress.
“I am sure others will be dressed as extravagantly,” she said, hoping she was right. The masquerade ball was hosted by an earl, after all.
“I am sure most of the attendees will be digging into their attics,” her father said. “You will be the belle of the ball.”
“I wouldn’t mind a little male attention. You’ll dance with me, won’t you, Father?”
He frowned. “I understand you are young and frustrated, Victoria, but I thought you would remain in half-mourning for another six months.”
“It’s a masquerade ball. No one will know me.”
He pointed to the mask. “If you wish to be incognito, then that mask is insufficient. Let us trade.”
She sighed and handed over her mask-on-a-stick. She didn’t like the half-domino style with ribbons that he handed her. They tended to compress her nose and make her sneeze.
“Keep it on all night,” he cautioned her. “I don’t want you to be disgraced. This party is your chance to enter another level of fashionable society.”
“I hardly think so, Father. Why, the earl never goes to London. The only other title I’ve heard mentioned is a Scottish baron.”
“The Marquess of Hatbrook will be here.”
She shrugged. “He is wed, and he has already attended your parties in London.”
“I take it you’ve heard of no one who might interest you for a second husband?”
Her thoughts jumped to the curly white-blond head of Lewis Noble. But he was just another inventor, for all his good looks and working muscle. A step up would be a marriage into the peerage. At the very least, she should find herself another baronet so she didn’t lose a title. When, of course, she was ready to wed again, which wouldn’t be any time soon.
“Sussex isn’t the place to find a man who will want to run factories in Liverpool someday,” she pointed out.
“Then I’ll have to live long enough for Penelope to find us a captain of industry.” His smile loosened the beauty mark he’d applied at the corner of his mouth.
Penelope giggled. “Do you think I’ll marry at eighteen?”
“I don’t see why not. You’re as cute as a merry lump of coal dancing in the grate.” Rupert pinched his niece’s cheek. “Now get yourself into bed. You won’t grow if you don’t sleep.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
Victoria reached up and pressed her father’s beauty mark back into place. “Is it late enough for us to go downstairs?”
He held out his arm. “Put on your mask, my dear, and let us see.”
She put the mask to her face and threaded the ribbons behind her ears. As her father tied them, she felt a sneeze coming on.
“Kerchoo!”
“You do not sneeze prettily,” Penelope said. “Keep your mouth closed and wrinkle your nose if it itches. It is much more attractive.”
“Who told you that?” her father asked with a frown.
“Mother.”
Still frowning, her father pointed at the bed. “Go to sleep. Now, Victoria, I think you need a couple of beauty patches, too. It is amazing how they obscure the identity.” He pulled a small case from his waistcoat.
He added one to her right cheek, t
hen placed a second just above her top lip. “Yes, with that wig I would hardly know you. Lessen the speed of your speech. With your figure so reduced, you should be all but unrecognizable from eighteen months ago.”
Victoria nodded. She put a finger under her nose to try to stop the next sneeze. Why had she wanted her father to join her at this party? He was dragging down the fun more every minute.
With a sigh, she took his arm and blew a kiss in the direction of the bed. The mattress squeaked.
“Will there be cake? Will you bring me some at midnight? Just as it is becoming Christmas Day?” Penelope asked.
“You would be better to pray upon the miracle of Christ’s birth and think less about cake,” her father advised. “We will see you in the morning.”
They exited the room. As soon as the door was shut, Victoria whispered, “Why were you frowning when she mentioned her mother? What is going on with Aunt Clarissa?”
“Not now, Victoria,” her father said in a voice that betrayed exhaustion. “It has been a long day coming here, and now we have this masquerade ball to get through. I cannot deal with family at this moment.”
“We need to discuss the matter soon. You cannot expect to saddle me with a child when I should be courting,” she protested.
“The right man will be too industrious to worry if you are caring for a child, Victoria. In fact, it will be a blessing because he will see how you are with children.”
She rubbed the corner of her eye where the domino was scratching it. If a man saw her with Penelope, he would be more concerned than satisfied by her maternal instincts. “I allowed you to direct my courtship the first time, Father, but surely I have earned your trust this time around?”
“My dear, I found you a husband the first time,” he said, the skin around his eyes creasing.
“I think I can find my own, now, what with the title and everything.” Just hopefully not too soon.
“Your appearance is improved,” he said. “We shall see if you can attract any attention on your own. Now you have not only your dowry but your late husband’s funds as well. Of course, your age is against you.”
“I’m twenty-one, not even on the shelf by nonwidow standards,” she said.
Christmas Delights Page 4
