by Grace Burrowes, Shana Galen, Miranda Neville, Carolyn Jewel
He stepped back, and she watched him wrap himself up in silence and reserve. With one deep breath the last of his languor faded, and she was sorry, so very sorry. “This cannot be.”
She dropped her hand to her side. “Why did you kiss me again if you don’t want more between us?” She adjusted her gloves. “I had resigned myself after the last time and would have been able to continue as if nothing had happened. But now? I don’t see how I can.”
“I’ve no idea why. Stupidity.” He’d stripped off his gloves at some point, and now he touched her lower lip with the pad of his thumb. “That’s not so. I kissed you for the same reason I threw that poisoned apple into the water.”
“Because you dislike Edward’s father?”
He did not smile. “Because of your mouth. The shape, what happens to your face when you smile.”
“The first time or the second?”
“Both.”
The quivery sensation in her stomach wasn’t gone, and she had to struggle to pull her thoughts together. “Curiosity satisfied?”
“No.”
She wished she were certain of what she might presume now. Nothing, she thought. She did not dare presume anything, not with the way he was looking at her.
“Damn that brother of mine.”
“I don’t believe I follow,” she said. “What has Lord William to do with us? Did you kiss me because of him?”
“He brought you here. He’s put you in my path again. He gave me that map, and I took the apple because it was yours and I wanted you to know that I’d beaten William and his bloodhound.”
She gave him a sideways look, and he stared at her mouth in a way that made her uneasy. He said, after a long silence that dizzied her with the possibilities, “This madness shan’t be repeated, I assure you.”
“More than twice, you mean.”
“Madness.”
“Agreed.
“Sheer lunacy.”
She stilled herself, and when she was certain she had control of herself, she adjusted her hat. He’d knocked it loose. “I comprehend you. You’re mad. I quite agree.”
“I kissed you because your mouth is decadent.”
“I can’t help what my mouth is like.”
“It will not happen again.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
She had a long and solitary walk back to Teversault.
Chapter Eleven
‡
George’s bright hair was instantly recognizable amid the crowd gathering at the far side of the serpentine to watch the contestants compete in the Dukeries Cup. Lord Revers stood beside her, not very discreetly staring at her bosom. Stoke headed toward them. Before he could question the wisdom of his actions, he’d taken her arm and drawn her close enough to him that she was no longer beside the viscount. “Revers.”
“Stoke.” If anyone was seeing the devil stare back from a mirror, it was Lord Revers just now. The man must have breathed in brimstone, for he straightened and cleared his throat. “Your Grace.” He bowed. “Here to see Lord William win a fourth title?”
“Yes. Mrs. Lark, where is your sister?”
“With Miss Paltree and her mother.” She pointed. “Lord Ingleforth is with them.”
“Why are you not also with them?”
“Lord Revers said this is a better place to see the race.” While she peered the opposite direction, he committed murder with his stare at Revers. Revers edged away from George. “I’m not certain we’ll see the end from here,” she said, oblivious. “The end of the race is the most important part, don’t you agree?”
“Yes. Come with me.” He was done denying his obsession with her. “You’ll have an excellent view with me.”
The look she gave him made his heart leap. She bent a knee.
“That’s very kind of you,” Revers said, foolishly brave. “We’ve an excellent view from here.” Revers reached for George and brought her to his side. He tucked her arm around his, a silent pronouncement that he was prepared to defend her against him.
“My brother expects Mrs. Lark at the finish.” A lie. A rank lie, but the words rolled from his tongue.
“Does he?” Revers’s attention shifted between George and him. Let the man think what he liked.
“Yes.” He extended a hand to her and slipped into his familiar coldness. For Revers’s benefit, but for hers too. “Mrs. Lark. Oblige me if you please.”
“It seems I must.” She spoke without enthusiasm, and then smiled at Lord Revers.
He took her proffered hand and bowed over it. “George. I’ll find you afterward, I hope?”
“For the victory celebration, yes.” She peered to the right. “Best we hurry, Your Grace. The boats are in the water.”
A murmur went through the spectators, and in several spots among them the betting activity heated up. Stoke took her arm and walked her away from Revers. And the crowd.
She glanced over her shoulder. “Perhaps we should stay with Lord Revers.”
“No.”
“We’ll not make it to a better place. There won’t be room.”
“My valet is holding the ground.” He detoured them around a dozen young men who must have come here from one of the other estates, Sedgemere’s, or Linton’s, or Oxthorpe’s, for he did not recognize any of them as having been at Teversault before now. More spectators lined the banks of the serpentine. There was a great deal of late betting going on.
“What do you suppose everyone’s talking about?” She was right. A whisper rolled through the crowd, increasing in volume as some news took fire. He didn’t much care what it was, but she did, plainly.
“My man will have heard if something’s happened.”
She had no trouble keeping up with him. As they hurried to the observation point, it occurred to him that this year he’d spent more time among his guests than he had the previous five years combined.
They reached a fork in the groomed path that led to more lawns and gardens to the right and to Teversault to the left. He stopped walking and George took two steps past him before she realized he hadn’t kept pace. “Your Grace?”
He swept off his hat, then replaced it. “I can’t behave with you, when you deserve my best behavior more than anything. I am disordered, inefficient. Muddy-headed. That is not a state in which I care to exist.”
Immediately, her expression went from empty to concerned. “Kitty and I should have left.”
“No. No, you’ve misunderstood me.” She wasn’t beautiful, but he was damned if he could think why that was so. He understood beauty yet found this woman who did not fit the criteria for beauty unbearably appealing.
“What is the matter?”
“I want…” If he let her in, she would break him. Own him, have power over him that he could not bear giving anyone. He could not live, not without knowing her, and that meant that the man he was would cease to be. “It’s as if I’ve been asleep these thirty years and only dreamed the world until you came here. I never knew anything before you.”
“Nonsense.”
“I don’t know how to be with you. It is beyond me.”
She put her hand on his arm, warm, inviting, but not for him. Not for the man he was. “There’s no need for that.” She looked back the way they’d come. “I’ll rejoin Lord Revers.”
“Do you wish to?”
“He’s charming. Why would I not?”
“If I said no? What then? No, you may not leave me for Revers.”
“Your Grace. I am not entirely—” She fell thoughtful. “If you do not wish for me to watch the race with Lord Revers, then I shan’t.”
“You and I—I don’t know what we will do, you and I.” These were not words he’d prepared, and he was aware of his peril in speaking without having his goal in sight. But he did have a goal. He did, and it was beyond reprehensible. “Something—something that is not friendship.”
She glanced down, then back at him, her mouth tight. “You must know I will do what you wish of me. I wo
n’t have you so unhappy in your own home. It’s not right that you should be. I’ll stay away from your brother and Lord Revers and anyone else you desire me to avoid. I’ll be back at Uplyft Hall before you know it. This awkwardness between us will pass. It will.”
He said, “What of discretion, Mrs. Lark? What of that?”
“Discretion.” A wrinkle appeared in her forehead. “I don’t understand you. I don’t think either of us has been indiscreet. I hope I haven’t been.”
“I cannot be discreet when I’m beside myself with lust. It’s unthinkable that I should behave as I wish to.”
She blinked at him.
“If you stay here, I will have you.” He took a step closer and took hold of her shoulders. “I won’t have Revers staring at your bosom whilst he devises the means by which he’ll have you in his hands and mouth. I won’t have him seduce you when I’m mad to have you myself.” He released her. “There. I’ve said it. All is before you now, every disgraceful thought. Nearly all of them.”
He expected her to walk away from him, but she didn’t. He’d confounded her. Insulted and degraded her.
“I am willing, Mrs. Lark, to negotiate terms with you.”
Very softly, she said, “Are you asking me to engage in an affair with you?”
“Yes. When you are married, not to William. That I could not endure. When you are married again, I will assist your husband in any manner within my power.” He hadn’t said the right things, not yet. He had no experience with such words.
Her mouth opened, then she hesitated, but he waited her out. Shouts rose up from the observation point of the serpentine. “That’s generous of you.”
“I will take care of you if there are consequences.”
She licked her lips. She’d yet to walk away from him, and that made him reckless.
“You’re here another week. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“It’s unlikely you’ll get with child, but if you conceive, I’ll see to everything.”
She blanched, and her freckles stood out, more than one saw usually. “We’re missing the race.”
Words poured from him. Not sweet sounding, not seducing. Plain words. Words that solved his dilemma. “Come to me tonight.” This was vague. Ambiguous as to time and place. “To my rooms. I am in the north wing, any servant will direct you.”
“You cannot mean that.”
“Let your sister attend Sedgemere’s ball with Mrs. Paltree and her daughter. They would be delighted to take Kitty since it would mean William and Revers are sure to be close by. I am not expected there. Make an excuse and stay behind. Or return early. Come to me any time after eleven o’clock.”
Her answer was a breath. Was it possible she would tell him yes? He wanted to touch her, caress her, but he did not—yet—have that right.
“How else could I have asked you this but plainly and without tenderness?” He shrugged one shoulder. A shout rose up from the banks of the serpentine, but she did not look behind her. “I could have given you words designed to seduce you into my bed. Instead, I gave you truth. That is a gift, to know when and where and what, all the circumstances and expectations I shall have of you. No promises I will never keep. Just truth.”
“I can’t imagine you seducing anyone.” She spoke with a certainty beyond her years, and this was yet another facet of her that spurred his desire for her, her unshakable belief in the weight and worth of her words.
“There ought to be two people freely choosing in such matters.” He took off his hat again and held it at his waist. “Seduction is contemptible. I have never done that. Not since I was a boy who did not know better. If you agree to my madness, I want your clearheaded decision, not capitulation because I convinced you that I am a different sort of man.”
“In other words, you won’t pretend to like me or think me attractive?”
“I do not dislike you.” He pressed the brim of his hat too hard. “I have said this more than once. It’s time you believe me. As to your looks, I find you arousing, beyond any good sense. Why would I kiss you if I did not find you attractive?”
“Are you certain you aren’t seducing me? I feel as if you are.”
“When you smile, you steal a man’s soul. My soul.”
“Now you flatter me?” She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were pink. She plucked at her skirt, then smoothed it.
He held her gaze. He had her. He could see that in her face, the set of her mouth. “Come tonight. We’ll fan that spark to flame.”
She stared at the ground for a long moment. “I said to you I would do anything you asked.”
“You did.” His heart thumped.
“If I agree, you’ll believe it’s because I had no choice. Even if it’s not so, you believe it.”
He would not accept a denial from her. “You can but agree, Mrs. Lark. Not when it’s all that I will ever ask of you.”
“You’ll believe I corrupted you, and I think that would be true.”
“I’ve made my peace with that.”
“You would compromise your honor for me.”
“Since I have already done so, what difference does it make what your answer is?”
“All the difference in the world.” Her eyes, her fine and beautiful eyes, filled with determination. “I will not allow you to believe I had no choice but to become your lover. I fear I must make a liar of myself.”
“Don’t.”
“No, Your Grace. I cannot. I will not.”
Chapter Twelve
‡
“I expected you’d still be toasting the winner,” Daniels said when Stoke returned to his room later that afternoon. The servant had already set out the light meal his chef had sent him tonight, bouillabaisse, bread, a half bottle of Malbec.
“I left congratulations and consolations to those better suited to give them. From what I saw, all the contestants, winner and losers, were well cheered.” He slipped out of his coat and handed it to Daniels. He had several hours of work before him while the others prepared for and attended the ball at Sedgemere’s.
“Shall I fetch a fresh suit, Your Grace?”
“No. I’ll have a bath after I’ve dined, though.”
With Stoke’s coat folded over one arm, Daniels headed for the wardrobe. “Your banyan, then?”
“Yes.” He sat at the table and addressed himself to the bouillabaisse.
“I’ll have the kitchen send up a cold meal later in the evening. Around nine or ten, if you’d like.”
“Please.” He tore a slice of bread in half and dipped it in his stew. When he’d done eating and was clean and attired in a gold-and-blue striped banyan, he moved to his desk. He brought up the light and concentrated on the contracts his lawyers had sent him for review.
At half past nine, a footman brought a repast of cold meat, fruit, bread, cheese, and a very good bottle of Massoutet. A thoughtful choice. He put away his official papers and fetched himself a glass of the wine. He seated himself on the armchair before the fire with the stack of the personal correspondence that had come in the afternoon post. He had a letter from an acquaintance in Portugal that he set aside to read after he’d looked through the rest. Hugh Hunter had written. He was an excellent and shrewd correspondent, skilled in relaying a great deal of information about his work in France without betraying confidences.
He opened his portable secretary and began a reply to Hunter in which he described the festivities at Teversault in great detail, including George’s game of lawn-mall, the treasure hunt, and William’s use of a bloodhound. He assured Hunter that his sisters were being well looked after and that both were much admired for their accomplishments. No mention of seduction, attempted or badly failed.
Hunter would go far on his own, but it never hurt a man’s career to have a duke behind him. There was much he could do for Hunter and, as well, for the future husbands of George and her sister. Places in the House. Positions with the government. He did not expect George would marry a man who wasn�
�t capable. Whoever he was, he would make a success of his life.
He checked the clock on the mantel and saw the hour had somehow advanced to past midnight. He set aside his letters and got up to refill his Massoutet. The bottle was poised over his glass when there came a tap on his door. His brother most likely, returned from Sedgemere’s drunk from the celebrations and looking for a new audience for his stories. He was in no mood, and when he opened the door, he blocked the way to keep William from blundering his way in.
His world both upended and fell into place.
Not William.
George.
She wore an olive green nightdress and felt slippers. The candle she held guttered. He caught her free hand and held it while he drew her inside and closed and locked the door. “Why?” he said in a low voice. “Why, when you gave me such a definitive no?”
“Oh, come now.” Her mouth curved ever so slightly. “I refused your improper request and sent my honor to perdition.” Her broadening smile made his heart fold over. “Since then, however, I have decided I want you as my lover. I’m sure you’ll agree it is a different matter for me to make you an improper proposal.”
He set her candle on the table beside the door. Without releasing her hand, he snuffed the flame. “What excuse did you give?”
She laughed softly. “No excuse at all. Lord Ingleforth spilled an entire glass of port down the front of my gown.”
“Clumsy oaf.”
“One of us, yes.”
“Remind me to send him a case of my cellar’s best.”
Her hair was braided and pinned at the back of her head. He pulled pins from that silky mass of orange. There weren’t enough to securely hold the braid. He’d collected no more than a dozen before the coil came loose. He found a few more pins, then unfastened the ribbon at the end and undid the plait. When he was done, he smoothed the strands.
She touched her loosened hair, obviously not at ease, for she could not bring herself to look at him. “It feels wicked,” she said. “To be like this.”
