“I must insist,” Hester said, obviously resuming her previous conversation with Dulcie’s mother. “It was your son who caused that scene. If you wish to dismiss me on account of his behavior, then I have no choice but to engage a solicitor to make my claim for the balance of my agreed-upon fees.”
“Your fees! Your fees do not come due until my Dulcie is wed, which is unlikely to happen thanks to your ineptitude!”
Adrian’s head swiveled to watch Hester’s response. When she smiled, however, he could swear this wasn’t about money at all. There was something too smug in her expression.
She was up to something.
“Now, Mrs. Bennett. You must be careful of your temper. It mottles your complexion, you see. And since that particular shade of blue is not your best, well, we all want to look our best, don’t we? Especially at such important society events as this one.”
The woman sputtered a moment, glancing down at her overly ornamented dress in an off shade of purplish-blue. When she raised her face, her rage was overcast with indecision, and then frustration. She looked ready to spout something vile until she again noticed Adrian. This time she didn’t even try to smile. She only muttered, “Good day, Mrs. Poitevant. Mr. Hawke.”
Hester watched the woman’s huffy retreat with a triumphant smile on her face. Adrian watched Hester, a curious expression on his. “What in blazes is going on here?”
She looked at him with a start, then averted her eyes. “I’m simply following through on the job you hired me for. Look at them,” she added, gesturing toward Horace and Dulcie. “It started at the card party at the Ainsleys’ townhouse. But it was apparently the morning that they went riding, that everything reall changed between them.”
It took Adrian a moment to comprehend. Horace and Dulcie. Of course!
An incredible feeling of relief washed over him, followed swiftly by a powerful wave of desire. The way was clear for him to pursue Hester—except that four glasses of liquor had turned his brain to mush and his tongue to wadded wool.
“Dance with me?”
Her brow wrinkled in a little frown. “They haven’t started to play yet.”
“Save me the first dance?”
She hesitated so long he shifted from one foot to the other. He needed to kiss her so badly he hurt from it. Instead he knotted his hands together behind his back.
“Very well,” she finally said. “The first dance.”
“And the last?”
She opened her mouth, closed it, then nodded, the whole time careful not to look at him.
“And every one in between?”
That made her look at him. “I can’t do that.”
“No. People would talk, wouldn’t they? It’s just that I hate the thought of any other man dancing with you, Hester.” He shouldn’t use her given name in so public a place. That’s what had gotten them into such trouble before. But he couldn’t help himself. He wanted her to call him Adrian. He wanted her to moan out, soft and sweet, “Adrian. Oh, Adrian.”
Instead she said, with a pinched look on her face, “I didn’t come here intending to dance that much.”
Adrian let out a long, painful breath. “When I said you were the most beautiful woman here, Hester, I was not exaggerating. Look around. Men are staring at you, watching you, waiting for me to leave so they can hurry over before someone else does.” He paused, scanning the growing throng with a baleful gaze. “Is that why you’ve shed your mourning garb, a signal to other men that you’re available now?”
She shot him a fulminating glare but didn’t deign to answer, which only fired his jealousy higher. “Damnation, Hester. Answer me.”
“Very well, I will.” She lifted her chin and smiled, to all outward appearances having a pleasant conversation with him. But angry emotion trembled in her low-pitched voice. “What is it to you who approaches me, who dances with me, who… who I should take as a lover once you are gone?”
He winced at the thought of her taking anyone to her bed besides him, ever.
She went on. “You have no more control over me than I have over you, and that is precious little.”
“It’s more than you know.”
Her gaze darted to his and held long enough for him to see confusion replace her anger. If only he could talk to her alone, take her in his arms and show her how strongly he felt about this.
As if in answer to his silent plea the musicians began finally to play, presenting him with the next best alternative to a private tete-a-tete. Without asking her permission, he swept her onto the brick-paved area set aside for the dancing. The gods were doubly with him, for it was a waltz.
They lined up, no conversation possible at first. But once the full melody swelled to life and he held one of her hands in his while the other rested at her waist, he was free to speak. “You have more control over me than you believe, Hester.”
She shook her head, refusing to look at him.
“I stayed away this whole week to protect your reputation. Olivia and Neville said it was the right thing to do. But I thought of you constantly.”
His hand at the small of her back felt the slightest easing of her tension, the first hint of her unbending. But her words belied her yielding. “It doesn’t matter. You’re leaving anyway.”
He breathed in, luxuriating in the lily-sweet fragrance of her. “You could come with me,” he said, though he knew it would be dangerous for her.
“To Scotland?” Her voice was so low he had to bend nearer to hear.
“Yes. I’ll hire a private coach. Or we can go by sea. Whichever you prefer.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I can’t.”
“We can leave town separately.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Hester’s thoughts were too fragmented for her to formulate any argument save the most basic. “I just can’t.”
Arguing with Adrian Hawke was useless, especially now when he held her in his arms, whirling her around the sunny dance floor, so in control it terrified her. How easy to fall in with his plans, to succumb to his every whim, even when she knew it threatened disaster to her. For the truth was, she wanted to go to Scotland with him. She wanted to throw caution to the wind, for once just abandon all her responsibilities and devil take the hindmost.
He was her first lover. Couldn’t she enjoy just a little more of the heaven she’d found in his arms? Just another week or two. Or three.
But therein lay the crux of her problem. For she knew without having to be told that this intensity of feelings, both the physical ones and the emotional, could not end easily. Whether the good-bye came tonight or in three weeks as she stood on a dock watching his ship fade into the western horizon, the ending had to hurt. Did she really want to prolong that pain?
The music built to a crescendo, Mr. Strauss’s specialty, and Adrian guided her in more and more extravagant circles. The dance was almost over. They would go their separate ways.
Then he pulled her close, as if he’d stumbled. Only she knew better. Her breasts grazed his chest, his thigh intruded between her legs, and every fiber in her being leaped for more of that intimate contact. Except that she wanted no clothing between them, and no wedding party around them.
“Then one last night, Hester.” His hot breath upon her neck promised her everything she wanted from him and more. “Will you at least grant me one more night in your arms?”
The music ended; they stepped apart. He bowed and she curtsied. But their eyes never parted and he saw the faint nod she gave, the silent consent that formed on her lips.
Yes.
Come to me later. At least we will have that.
CHAPTER 21
Hester accepted four offers to dance; she turned down nine others. If she hadn’t been so overwrought by her conversation with Adrian and what she’d just agreed to— as well as what she hadn’t agreed to—she might have enjoyed the minor hoopla created by her newly freed self.
Men who’d never looked twice at he
r did double-takes. The single girls watched and whispered behind their fans. Their mothers stared, some with disapproving frowns creasing their brows, others with more thoughtful expressions.
Hester knew exactly what that latter group were thinking: amazing what the right color, the right style, the right curl, and the right attitude could do for a woman’s looks. Though the drastic alteration in her appearance might lose her some clients, it would probably gain her others. No doubt more than one woman figured that if she could turn her old, dowdy, widow self into such a brightly plumed beauty, what might she do for someone not already so dour?
But Hester didn’t care about anyone else today, for she was drunk with anticipation. Tonight… Tonight… She refused to think beyond tonight.
So she smiled up at her current partner. She danced and she chatted. She toasted the newly wedded couple and prayed as she never had that theirs might truly be a happy and loving union. She passed the afternoon in the world of London’s town society which she knew so well but had never quite belonged to. Today, however, she didn’t care if she belonged or not.
She was drunk and giddy and it was exhausting. When this dance ended she vowed it would be her last.
Fortunately Horace paced anxiously in the shade of a row of yew trees just beyond the dancing area. When the music ended he collected her from her dance partner who seemed loath to let her go.
“She said yes,” Horace murmured, drawing her into a sheltered area. His eyes danced with glee and he couldn’t stop smiling. “She said yes.”
Hester smiled at him. “I knew that after your first dance together; that huge grin of yours gave you away.”
“But how could you have known? I just now asked her.”
“But earlier I saw the two of you staring at one another so happily I assumed you’d already revealed your feelings to her.”
“We had.” He sighed. “She loves me.”
Confused, Hester paused. “So what is it you asked her just now?” Then she gasped. “Don’t tell me you’ve already proposed?”
“I did!” He beamed at her, looking like the happiest man alive. “I did and she accepted.”
On impulse Hester hugged him. Then she selfconsciously stepped back. “I know the two of you will be very happy together. But how are you to manage this? When will you ask her brother for her hand?”
“That thug?” Horace fumed. “Do you really think he deserves that sort of consideration? Besides, he’s left town.”
“Now, Horace. You must consult her family. Her mother, perhaps. You’ll never have a chance of recovering any portion of her dowry if you and Dulcie elope without asking at least one of them.”
“It’s Dulcie I want, not whatever fortune she does or does not have. We are perfectly matched,” he said. “Perfectly.”
“What will your father say?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Hester certainly agreed with that. But she wasn’t as certain about the Bennetts. She chewed her lower lip. “If you ask either of them, they will probably say no. And you’re right, they don’t really deserve that much consideration. However, if you’re determined to wed with or without her family’s approval, then it is better to have at least asked. What does Dulcie think about it?”
He sighed. “She was relieved when the Leonard Smythe pairing fell apart. But she knows her brother and mother. It’s just a matter of time before they foist her off on some other equally repugnant fellow with deep pockets. She is so upset with them she says she doesn’t care what they want anymore. But… But I suppose I do care. We should endeavor to maintain some sort of relationship with them. After all,” he said, shooting her a serious look. “As we both know, it’s no small thing to lose a part of your family.”
His sensitivity to Dulcie’s situation brought tears unbidden to Hester’s eyes. She squeezed his hand in hers. How much she’d missed all these years, not knowing this brother of hers. Their whole childhood; a thousand little memories.
But George Bennett was no Horace Vasterling. Some family members were not worth having at all, as she well knew.
From beyond them came a wave of cheers. The wedding party must be preparing to depart. Hester pulled a delicate handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “If I can help the two of you, please let me know. Anything at all, Horace.”
He nodded, once more smiling. “If not for you, dear sister, I would have returned home weeks ago, a failure once more on the marriage mart. But you’ve given me a new lease on life.”
Hester laughed. “I only gave you a nudge.”
“A very good nudge. By the way,” he added as they approached the other guests clustered around the bride and groom. “You look exquisite today. Everyone has been commenting on it.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, coming down from Horace’s happy dilemma to face her own more distressing one. Soon she would be returning home to await Adrian’s arrival. They would have their night together. Then they would bid one another farewell. Tomorrow he would depart for Scotland and she would begin building upon the new life and reputation she’d started today.
She shivered in anticipation for tonight. But she also felt weighted down with dread for the morn.
Unwanted, the memory of her mother came to her, of men departed and mourned until a new man replaced the old one. For once she understood her mother’s emotions, and she empathized with her. But unlike her mother, Hester did not hope to replace one lover with another.
There would never be another Adrian Hawke for her. Never.
The Dobbses retired to their snug back room early, for Hester had declined any sort of supper. Her nerves wouldn’t allow it. The dogs she closed into the kitchen with gravy-laden scraps and two meaty bones to keep them content. Then she carried a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a small covered tray of biscuits and cheese up to her room. There she proceeded to wait.
She dressed with care, or rather, undressed with care. That had been its own form of torture, for every time she fastened or unfastened her buttons these days, she couldn’t help recalling Adrian doing it. Such a mundane task, yet he’d imbued it with an eroticism that made dressing herself an exercise in controlling her more carnal impulses.
Precisely what he’d intended. Still, even that could not compare to his actually undoing her buttons and ties and pins. So except for her corset and two of her petticoats, she left her clothing relatively intact.
Too fast her room was prepared for him, and also her person. Time began to drag. When would he come? All the lights in her house were out except in her bedroom. As she watched from the window, the lights on her street and those in the city beyond steadily winked out, window by window until all she could see was a street lamp on the corner, a faint light in an attic room across the way, and the shadow of a cat gliding silently beneath the spotty light of the moon.
That’s when he appeared. Like before, Hester knew Adrian by his silhouette and by the intentness of his focus. Straight to her house he rode, a tall man on a tall horse. Not hurrying, yet had anyone else been around, they would swiftly have moved out of his way. He’s coming for me.
Hester’s breath caught as she watched and waited. She couldn’t breathe, yet every other part of her anatomy reacted. Racing pulse, damp palms—and damp in other places as well.
Somehow she made her way down the stairs, meeting him at the door. Silence reigned as he entered, then followed her to their private trysting place, as if they’d done this many times, not just that one earth-shattering night.
How had she come so fast to this carnal silence, this dark anticipation that managed to shut out all the logic of a lifetime? How could she of all people be doing this? The answer was so simple it terrified her. No man but this one could have brought her here. No one but Adrian Hawke.
The very idea raised goose bumps on her arms. For it implied an exclusiveness which then implied something that simply could not be possible. She could not be in love with him. She couldn’t! She’d had this mental deba
te before and decided these feelings could not be love. She didn’t know him well enough to love him.
She paused on the landing and braced herself with one hand against the wall. This was not love.
Then she felt his hand on her shoulder, large and warm, not forceful, yet insistent all the same. At once that alien feeling that could not be love rushed in again, stronger than before. It turned her knees to pudding and her mind into a quagmire of foreign impulses, each one a trap.
“Must you leave tomorrow?” Was that her sounding so needy and plaintive, saying out loud what she least wanted to say?
“Come with me.” His other hand slipped around her waist, pulling her back against him. He nuzzled her neck and slid a whisper of a kiss along the rim of her ear. “Come with me, Hester. You’ll love Scotland.”
Scotland. Not America. That her disappointment was so acute only proved she was going mad. Bedlam-bound, for certain.
“I cannot,” she muttered. Then to forgo further discussion, she turned in his arms and kissed him. He responded with a ferocity that matched her own, which only made her fiercer. She would show him what he would be missing when he left her. She would prove herself unforgettable. More unforgettable even than he was.
They made it to the bed as if brawling their way there. She would ache tomorrow, but he would hurt more. Something popped—his waistcoat buttons. She would have to search for them before Mrs. Dobbs found them in the morning.
Something ripped—her chemise.
They never did get their clothes entirely off. He shoved her down onto the bed, pinning her there with one hand on her shoulder, his lips fastened to hers. With his other hand he unfastened his breeches. Before he could throw her skirts up, she unbalanced him and rolled on top of him. His freed erection pressed against her bare thigh as she straddled him. So hot and velvety and lethal to every modesty she’d ever held to. Lethal to her callused heart which did not want to risk love on any man.
“My God, Hester,” he murmured, and even his voice aroused her. She bent over him on all fours, her hair a tangled drape around them. She was face to face with her only love, the most dangerous enemy she would ever have. For he alone could hurt her; he alone could crush her to the point of personal oblivion. To do it he need only leave her.
The Bridemaker Page 26
