Lady Fiona's Tall, Dark Folly: Four Weddings and a Frolic, Book 1

by DeLand, Cerise

  She glared at the ceiling. He would drag on this humiliation?

  "Tell me."

  She huffed and lifted both hands in exasperation. "I love it. I shouldn't. I'm good at it. Diana taught me much. So did my old nurse."

  "Why?"

  "Because I was bored."

  He knit his brows. "As a child?"

  "I needed an activity to take my mind from my worries."

  "I see. So your nurse taught you how to play or how to cheat?"

  "I do not cheat. I know how to count cards. Mine. Yours. Everyone's."

  "It's a skill."

  "Yes," she said, "and it can be learned!"

  "So you did. And what have you won over the years?"

  "Why? Do you want me to return it all?"

  He reproved her with a look. "Don't be funny. I'm not. I'm trying instead to understand you. Your winnings, please?"

  She winced. Ran a hand through her hair and began to pluck the pins from her coif. She hated fancy coiffures and tightly bound hair, tightly bound corsets, tightly bound women and suffocating rules. She'd obeyed all of them to what avail?

  Curse it!

  Her long dark hair cascaded around her shoulders in thick heavy coils. She massaged her head, spread out her curls, free of the restrictions, and stroked strands of it, recalling what she'd won. "Money. I won money, mostly. A hundred here. Fifty there. I usually donated it to the Foundling Home in Bath. Poor innocents, they need much, you know. But lately, my mother and I run short of funds. Since my father died, we live on an allowance that he ordered for us." Penny-pincher that he was, her sire ordered his solicitor to search for the new rightful earl who, according to his mother, lived in the American State of Massachusetts.

  "Anything else?" Rory pressed.

  She sniffed. "Last month, I won a cow but I did not take her home. Where would I put her, eh? In the pink parlor?"

  "What did you do with her?"

  "Gave her back to Mister Wiggins who owned her! I can't feed a cow. Or milk her."

  "Why do you gamble?"

  Ah. He was attempting to discover if she worked the cards to satisfy an addiction. Well, she picked up a deck to experience a euphoria, but not for the type he understood. "I don't...gamble."

  "How's that?"

  "I...play!"

  "Explain it to me."

  If he were any other man, she would have shown him the door. Injured ankle. Kindness to her. His charm, notwithstanding.

  "I know how to play well. With insight and skill. I can count and see what others have. And I use that to my benefit. My ability makes me strong. Competent."

  "You are that without gambling."

  "Kind of you to say, sir. But let's be honest, you have known me less than one day."

  "I have known you well enough that you told me how you dance with abandon."

  "Oh, Rory." Tears surprised her. She brushed at them. "That is a saying."

  "Yes. Which comes from the need to be free."

  She nodded and glanced at her clasped hands.

  He took them both in his. "Free of what, Fee?"

  She met his gaze.

  "Of what must you be free?"

  "Such a long tale. You would be bored."

  "I doubt it."

  "No." She wouldn't give in.

  He tugged at her hands. "Look at me. Why do you tell yourself to 'sing in the dark'?"

  "You intrude."

  "I do. I know I do. But I care for you, Fee. I will intrude because to sing in the dark is what one does when all else in the world offers no sights, no sounds, no pleasures save those you can count on from yourself."

  She sucked in air that he could typify her feelings so well.

  He slid closer, his body's warmth the soft caress of one human to another. "If you must tell yourself to 'live like no one need approve', then that is bravery in its rawest form."

  "Or justification for any act."

  "Not to you, my darling, Fee." He slipped his fingers into her hair, the powerful claim of his hands on her head a stroke of pure pleasure. No one had ever touched her head and given her such relief from her hard realities. "For you, it was another statement of your courage. If no one need approve of you but you, then your soul's journey must be complete."

  She sighed and he gathered her against him. "The only task remaining is to find another who dances with abandon and sings in the dark with you."

  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and allowed herself the heady sensations of his presence.

  He lifted her chin. "I adore you, Lady Fiona Chastain. Your quiet demeanor. Your love of your friends. Your mad expertise at cards."

  "You don't think me ready for Bedlam?"

  "Perhaps," he said and she snorted. "Even if you did qualify, you mustn't go."

  "No? Why not?" He was teasing her.

  "I cannot visit you there."

  She scoffed. "You'd wish to?"

  He went quite still, his gaze upon her mouth. "I'd have to move in with you."

  She laughed with gusto.

  "Otherwise, how could I kiss you?"

  "You could do that now," she said with breathless ease, her heart pounding in anticipation.

  "Might I?" he asked, ever the gentleman.

  "With abandon." She cupped his nape and drew him down with her to the bed. "Like this," she murmured as she gave into the desperate need to brush her lips on his.

  And oh, his mouth was heaven on earth. Soft, deliciously firm. His tongue darted out to play with hers. The dance was one she'd never enjoyed with any man. But he was determined, devoted.

  "Darling Fee," he groaned and captured the back of her neck to hold her to him. "You taste divine." He nipped her and licked her. Then he crushed her to him and kissed her lips as if he'd never done it before with any woman.

  His hands were on her breasts, shaping and stroking, sliding down her torso to her hips. He grasped her thigh and lifted it so that he sank between her legs. There against her core, she felt the hard evidence of what this morning had earned her.

  A man. Hers. All hers. Ready and primed to claim her. More than that, a man who understood her.

  He rained kisses down her cheeks and jaw, down her throat and across the bodice of her gown. "I love the blue," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I want to love what lies beneath it more."

  She cupped his cheeks, his words an aphrodisiac to her troubled day and her disastrous lonely life. She gave him kisses, a thousand.

  And he stopped her, a hand to her cheek. "My darling Fee, stop."

  No.

  * * *

  He caught her hand. "Yes, my darling. Stop."

  Disappointment flashed across her brow.

  "Oh, my sweet." He chucked her under the chin and wished he might discard his ethics and indulge his body as it screamed to do. "Don't look at me like that. You are so tempting."

  She circled both legs around his to bring him closer.

  He closed his eyes to gain some strength to resist her. "But we will not do this." He took her lips in a swift hot brand. "I want you. Make no mistake. But there is much to do for us."

  "I don't follow."

  He traced the outline of her sensuous mouth. "I will have you and soon. But as my own to claim."

  Shock had her open-mouthed.

  "You thought I'd kiss you in your bed and take you without benefit of any clergy?"

  "I wasn't thinking."

  He put a fingertip to her lips. "A good thing. To a point."

  He seized her lips in a ravenous kiss. Her mouth was every lovely promise of sexual delight he'd ever hoped for. She was willing, eager, a sinuous grace in his embrace. He had to stop this and pushed to one side, his arms still full of her.

  He kissed the tip of her pretty nose. "I'm very surprised by this myself, my darling. But I have learned the value of patience and prudence. I want you with speed. And it will be so. A special license could take me a few days to obtain and then there is the matter of telling my mother and my sister."
<
br />   She still looked dazed. "Of course."

  With her cheeks rosy from his kisses and her mahogany hair wild upon the golden counterpane, she was a bewitching beauty. To watch her pant, her full breasts rise and strain against the fabric in want of him, was to curse his decision to be true to his morals. "I think I must not only leave you to your bed alone, my girl, but write to my mother and sister to tell them of my decision."

  He rose from the bed, tugged his frock coat and waistcoat into place and smiled at her.

  She stared at him, wide-eyed.

  "I am surprised too, my darling." He leaned over her and kissed her deeply, swiftly on her luscious lips. He ran his fingers through her hair. "But you are shocked, too. You want me, don't you?"

  "Oh, yes." She sounded fierce, her nails digging into his frock coat.

  He kissed her, their tongues playing again, his strength dying in her embrace. "Are you sure you don't wish to go to the village for the dance around the May Pole?"

  "I must meet my cousin Esme." She pushed up. "Do go and enjoy the frolic."

  "Very well, I'll see you later."

  "The ball."

  "I will come to carry you down. Ah, ah. No arguments." He smiled, well pleased with himself this morning. Then he strode away.

  "Rory!" She called to him from the door.

  His mind full of words to write to his mother, he whirled to face his intended bride. "Yes, my darling, what?"

  She looked mystified, wary. "Did your father love your mother?"

  Her question struck him as endearing, but her appearance struck him as...odd. He told her the truth. "Cherished is the word I would apply."

  She shot a hand against the jam, as if to hold herself up.

  "And yours?" he asked, thinking he'd get as light a response.

  "Cherished is the very last word I could use."

  She declared that with such vehemence, he cocked his head, alarmed. "Fifi?"

  She put both hands out, warding him off. "Go, please. Go to the frolic. I will see you later."

  She drew a fierce boundary and he dare not cross it.

  He'd make her his wife first. Prove to her how safe she was with him. Then he'd ask the meaning of this.

  Chapter 8

  Esme sailed through the doors of the orangery fifteen minutes late.

  With the help of Welles, Mary's maid who'd accompanied them to the frolic, Fifi had hobbled down the main stairs to meet her cousin. Fifi sat waiting in the small nook created by her aunt's bowers of roses. Though it was May and uncharacteristically grey and chilly this season, in the glass-walled summer house, white and pink roses blossomed with an earthy fragrance that soothed Fifi's nerves.

  "Forgive me for being late, Fee." Esme approached, her golden hair perfectly set, her jonquil yellow gown a complement to her pink complexion. "Mama had me talking with Cook about the refreshments for tomorrow's wedding breakfast."

  "I'm certain everything will be superb. Your cook is very talented."

  "She is." She sighed heavily and advanced a few more steps. "I'm glad you agreed to meet me here. And I'm sorry you're missing the festivities in the village."

  "I'm not sorry. I didn't wish to go."

  "Oh?" She appeared sad at that.

  Fifi lifted her injured foot. It was not that she was vain, but that she hated to be unable to act of her own accord. "I dislike my inability to get around."

  Esme perched on the edge of a chair, her dark brown eyes soulful. "When I broke my arm last year falling from my horse, I suddenly understood why our Mary does not go too many places."

  "Calling attention to oneself for all the wrong reasons, eh?" Fifi said nonchalantly.

  "Exactly." Esme considered her hands in her lap. "In many ways, that's what I wanted to talk about with you."

  "Calling attention to oneself?"

  "Yes. For the wrong reasons. In the wrong ways."

  Fifi had thought Esme competitive, urged on by her mother.

  "I was a fool, striving to be other than I am.” Esme rushed on. "I wanted to be like you. Competent. Strong. Resourceful."

  Fifi stifled her urge to laugh, but her cousin was quite serious. "I assure you, Esme, whatever you saw was not strength."

  "Mama told me it is."

  That brought Fifi to sit taller in her chair. "Esme, if your mother saw me as strong, it was a façade."

  "That I do not believe. Mama has not told me details. She has shared with me her own thoughts and fears about what you endured at home. Today, I wish to leave behind the many things I did wrong as a child. One of those is trying to compete with you. Oh, the others, too, but mostly you. I thought you superior in all things. French, arithmetic, tapestry, card games."

  Fifi snorted. "Esme, believe me when I say that French and tapestry are useful skills. Cards, not at all!"

  "You did not accept me."

  "Oh, now that is true. And for that, we must make amends to you. We were too critical. A clan of young girls. By shunning you, then ignoring you, we urged you on. It was also very childish of us. And wrong. I am long overdue to admit it and I hope to bring it up with the others so they can make amends as well."

  "That is not necessary, Fee. I came today to make my peace with you. I want to begin my new life with a clear mind."

  Fifi reached out and took her hand. "I know you will."

  "And as for Northington, I want you know that I never flirted with him or continued our relationship because I knew you favored him."

  "That's good for your sake and his."

  "Mama did tell me that you cared for him and she wondered if you would be angry at my betrothal to him. I hope you're not."

  "No, Esme, I'm not. Truly."

  "Did you care for him?" She looked fearful that was so.

  "It turns out that I did not." My affections were elsewhere and I didn't know it. In as childish a misstep as your own. "You are not the only one who needs to correct the errors of her ways."

  "Thank you for this. I hope now you and I can truly be friends."

  "Friends and cousins. A good combination," Fifi said.

  "Will you take tea?" Esme asked, smiling broadly in relief.

  "I will."

  Esme let her coffee brown eyes dance with delight. "With good pastries and cakes?"

  "You know me well!"

  Esme rose to ring the bell.

  Fifi was delighted to be open and honest with her cousin. "Will you tell me how you met Northington?"

  "It's a short tale," Esme said as she sat down and took on the demeanor of a close friend sharing tidbits with another.

  "How so?"

  "I loved him the instant I put eyes on him. Can you imagine?"

  "I can, Esme. Indeed, I can."

  “Is it that way for you with Charlton?"

  Fifi nodded. "I will not deny I find him...enthralling."

  "I understand. I do love Northington quite dearly," she confessed, whimsy in her eyes giving way to worry on her brow.

  Fifi held her breath. What was amiss here? ”A good way to begin a marriage."

  "It is." Esme nodded, her gaze slipping around the room. "Provided both feel the same way."

  Fifi's heart stopped. She wanted to reassure her cousin of her intended's devotion to her, but what did Fifi know of Northington, truly?

  Esme rallied. "After tomorrow we will not need to speculate, will we?"

  "Esme, if you are not certain of this, you can stop it."

  "No. I can't. The settlements are signed. Papa has agreed. I am bound."

  "Postpone it, then, until you are certain."

  "Time will not cure the problem, Fee."

  "Then don't do it."

  "I must. The world will ridicule me if I run."

  Run?

  "Do you want to?" Fifi was torn between believing Esme should flee and knowing that otherwise, her cousin would live in torment with a husband whom she suspected did not value her. Fifi had seen the cost of that day in and out with her parents.

  Esme smi
led, her lips tremulous. "No, of course not. Wedding nerves, that's all. Silly me. We'll have our tea and speak of other things. Your appreciation of the earl of Charlton, for example. I see that goes along quite well."

  * * *

  Fifi had never intended to go to the ball that night so she hadn't put much money into the creation of a new gown. But oh, now that she thrilled to Rory's presence and his compliments, she rose from her chair at the dressing table in her bedroom and turned this way and that to admire it. The way the apple green gauze and satin fell over her form to a trim of white and pink satin flowers at the hem made her grin.

  Welles stood to her side, smiling. "Your are so lovely, my lady. Do you like your hair, too?"

  Mary's maid had given her a new style, much favored in the fashion folios. "I do. I never thought parting it in the middle would compliment me. But it does." She patted the wreath of French roses in her dark hair. She'd been wise to bring her mother's pearl ensemble of necklace and earrings. She tugged on her white kid gloves. "Did Mary ask about me?"

  The maid blinked, shifting from side to side, reluctant to speak.

  "I understand, Welles. Mary has my best interests at heart. But I will speak to her tonight. I'm concerned about her." Concerned that she was pretending to care for Lord Bridges to complete their pact of last week. "But I must go quickly now."

  Fifi limped down the stairs to the library very slowly. Her pain was less because she'd sat all afternoon in her rooms with her feet up. In her solitude, she said her silent thanks for the changes in her life. The improbable hope of Rory in her future. Her old conflicts with Esme buried. A new confidence springing up between them. That left Fifi with two worries. Esme was an unhappy bride, fearful she married a man who did not care for her in equal measure. If Esme reneged on her marriage tomorrow, the uproar in the family would be raucous. Fifi feared for her aunt's and uncle's happiness, even as she feared for Esme's more.

  But there was little she could do for Esme. During their tea, they'd spoken of consequences to her and the family if she refused to marry the illustrious marquess of Northington. Fifi supported whatever Esme decided. But she worried about Esme's ultimate happiness.