He answered with an equally explosive curse. A joyful swearing, if such a thing was even possible. His mouth was pressed to the skin of her throat like a wild animal ready to rip the life out of her. Instead, it was as if a lion had taken her, frightened her to the core and then playfully licked to show how utterly he possessed her.
She took in a great gasp of air and giggled. There was a man inside her, a thing she had hoped never to feel again, for it meant she was helpless, trapped. But this was different. This was happiness and freedom, and when she looked into his face she saw the surprisingly sweet boy who had proposed to her, hidden inside the conquering hero.
She pushed playfully against his arm. But when he made to step away and part from her, she locked her legs just as tightly around his body to settle her opening at the root of his sex.
‘Why, Mrs Wiscombe,’ he said with a sigh of pleasure, ‘I think you are one of those women.’
‘What women are those?’ She frowned back at him.
‘The sort that appear all helpless only to try to ensnare a man into an erotic adventure in the middle of the afternoon.’
She remembered Miss Fellowes in the hall and tried to pull away from him in earnest. ‘I am no such thing. If that is what you are seeking, you can go right back down the stairs to that...that...’
‘Only a madman would trade his fondest dream for such common coin.’
‘Your fondest dream?’ she asked, surprised.
‘To take you hard and fast until you screamed my name,’ he said, seeming quite satisfied with himself. He reached to the neckline of her chemise and gave a sudden tug, ripping the fabric to expose her breasts. He palmed one of them, rolling the nipple between his fingers. ‘And I’ve a good mind to do it again.’
‘Perhaps, on the bed,’ she suggested.
‘Oh, no, love. I mean to christen each piece of furniture in this room and the next.’ He pushed the scraps of her shift to the side, tracing a line from throat to navel. ‘Did I not say that I meant to have you any way I could think of and as often as I like?’
The words that had frightened her yesterday now made her dizzy with excitement. ‘Even in the afternoon, Gerald?’ she said, pretending to be shocked.
‘Especially in the afternoon, Lillian,’ he said, undoing his neckcloth and smiling.
Chapter Twelve
When Lily returned to the hall the following morning, the maids had replaced the broken vase with a fresh one. She pulled a flower from the arrangement, twirled it in her fingers and smiled. The blooms were open wider this morning than they had been when she’d brought them in from the garden. She was like the flowers. It had been winter for so long. But now Gerry was here, it was full summer and she had bloomed.
As he had promised, by the time they retired to the bed, they were far too tired to make love there. They had lain, dozing in each other’s arms. Just before sleep had taken them, he had whispered that this was just the beginning.
They’d woken, still tired to the bone and aching in strange places. She’d rubbed his back. He’d offered to return the favour and slipped his hand between her legs. An hour later and half a house away from him, and she was still laughing.
‘We missed you at supper, Lillian.’
Her smile faltered. She replaced the flower in the vase and turned to face her brother. ‘It was the headache again. I did not feel well enough to come down.’
‘Nor did the captain,’ her brother said with a dry smile. He reached out and touched her cheek. ‘You look well enough this morning. Almost too healthy, one might say.’ By the look in his eyes, he knew exactly what she had been doing, to the last prurient detail.
She stepped back, out of his reach. ‘Is it possible to be too healthy?’
‘Yes. If it causes you to think only of yourself and forget those around you. How is Stewart this morning?’
She could not answer the question. She had not seen him since yesterday. She had not said good-night to him. Nor had she visited with him at breakfast. In the course of a few hours, she had forgotten all about him and neglected her responsibilities as a mother. Her newfound happiness evaporated as fast as it had arrived.
Her brother nodded, reading the answer in her expression. ‘I warned you yesterday that disloyalty on your part might lead to unfortunate revelations.’
‘You do not need to drag him into this,’ she said. ‘I said nothing more to Gerald about your plans.’
‘Nothing more.’ Ronald frowned at her. ‘Which means that you did as much damage as you could before I could speak to you.’
‘You are putting me in an impossible position,’ she said, holding her hands out to him in supplication. ‘He is my husband. I cannot refuse him and I should not deceive him. If you wish to keep secrets from him, then do not include me in your plans.’
Now Ronald smiled again. ‘My thoughts exactly.’ Then he said nothing. The silence was more ominous than his threats had been, for it meant that there was something in the works to settle with Gerry and there was no way to warn him about it.
Ronald made a little shooing gesture. ‘Do not stand there gawping at me, Lillian. You told me not to speak. I am giving you what you asked for. Now go to your little boy and explain your everlasting devotion to a man who could never want him.’
She did as he suggested and hurried to the nursery so she might prove her brother wrong. Balancing her husband and her child would be difficult, for a time. But it was nothing that all the other wives and mothers did not do. It might be unfamiliar to her, but it would not take long to learn.
She would begin by reassuring Stewart that the captain’s return had changed nothing between them. He must not think he was being replaced in her heart by a man who did not love or understand him.
And surely that misunderstanding was a temporary thing. Two days at home had done much to dissipate her husband’s anger over what had happened in his absence. In a week, or perhaps two, they could revisit the subject of Stewart’s future and she would persuade Captain Wiscombe to relent.
Gerald.
She sighed. After last night, he was Gerald. Or Gerry, as he wished to be called. She smiled. She would very much enjoy changing his mind.
When she arrived at the nursery, Miss Fisher, the governess, met her at the door.
‘How is he?’ Lily whispered.
‘We had a difficult night,’ the servant admitted. ‘He asked about you.’ There was no judgement in her voice, but Lily felt it all the same.
‘I am here now,’ she said, smoothing her skirt and hurrying into the room.
Stewart was still at the breakfast table, poking a toast soldier into his egg as if he wished to drown it. He glared up at her.
She ignored his mood and stepped forward to kiss him on the cheek. ‘Good morning, darling. Did you sleep well?’
‘No,’ Stewart said and went back to stabbing his egg.
‘I am sorry that I did not come to kiss you good-night,’ she said, and smiled. ‘You will have to take two kisses from me this morning.’
‘You were with him,’ Stewart accused, not looking up.
‘He is...’ She had been about to say, your father. Was there any point in adding to the lies? ‘The captain has been away for a very long time. I must spend some time with him, even if it means that I cannot come to you as often as I did.’
‘When he sends me to school, you won’t have to see me at all.’ He crushed his toast against the plate.
‘Stewart.’ How could she comfort him when his worst fear was exactly what Gerald planned for him? ‘Stewart.’ She knelt down beside his chair and put her arms around him. ‘I know you are afraid that things are changing. But I am your mother and I love you more with each day that passes. And I would never make you go anywhere that you do not want to go.’ Her throat tightened with what felt like
the beginning of tears. She pulled him close so he could not see the wetness on her lashes and held until she felt the resistance leave his body and he hugged her back.
When she pulled away, she could smile again. ‘Tell Miss Fisher there will be no lessons today. To make up for last night, I will spend extra time with you this morning. You are my boy. My miracle. Nothing will change that.’
‘Papa will,’ Stewart said, still not smiling. ‘He will change everything.’
Chapter Thirteen
A duel.
When he’d returned to his room after a delightful night in his wife’s bed, Gerry had noticed the letter slipped under his bedroom door, and assumed it was another note from the boy. He’d sat down on the trunk of clothes that had been delivered from London, opened it and scanned the note in his hand. Then he’d read it again, more slowly, sure that it had to be a badly worded joke.
Captain Wiscombe,
Yesterday afternoon, I witnessed you kissing Miss Fellowes in the trophy room. For the offence to my honour, and the honour of the lady in question, I challenge you to meet me, tomorrow morning, at dawn. My second, Mr Ronald North...
Aha. It was serious. And there was the true instigator of the thing. Ronald had convinced the Fellowes woman that a meeting would be welcome. Then he had put the baronet up to taking action. And Gerry could think of no man in England who was less capable of action than Chauncey d’Art.
A man of violence would have stormed into the trophy room and stopped the kiss. He would have issued the challenge face to face, perhaps after a sharp punch to the offender’s jaw. At the very least, he would have put the lady’s honour ahead of his own in this pathetic letter.
Sir Chauncey was an utter failure at being a man. And now Gerry was going to have to shoot him, which would ruin his perfect morning. Where was he to find a second? He did not even have a valet, much less a local friend who would want to end a seven-year separation by getting up before dawn and loading a pistol.
He crumpled the paper and tossed it aside, undoing the latches on the trunk and searching for clean linen and a coat suitable for another man’s funeral.
Of course, he must not let it come to that. Gerry hated duelling almost as much as he did hunting. It was not that he was incapable of either, or doubted his inevitable success. He simply did not see the sport in killing just to prove his manhood. There were times when diplomacy was a better answer than war. The fact that he had no experience with peace did not mean he could not wage it.
* * *
Once properly washed, shaved and dressed, he walked down the hall to the guest wing and rapped sharply on the door of Sir Chauncey’s bedroom. Then he entered without waiting for an invitation.
The poor man sat on the edge of the bed. At Gerry’s interruption, he stood unsteadily, hand clutching the bedpost for support. He was wearing the same rumpled clothes he’d had on the previous afternoon and appeared to have been drinking, or crying. Or both. He gestured at the door with his free hand. ‘You cannot...’
‘It is my house,’ Gerry said. ‘I think I can.’
Sir Chauncey tried again. ‘You are not to see me until the duel. It is bad luck.’
‘I believe you are thinking of brides and grooms and weddings,’ Gerry said as patiently as possible, shutting the door behind him to prevent Ronald North from appearing out of nowhere to offer help where none was needed. ‘Since an effort should be made to reconcile differences before resorting to violence, there is no reason we should not talk.’ He pulled a chair from the fireside and placed it next to the bed, then gestured for the baronet to sit again.
Sir Chauncey sank back on the mattress as obedient as a dog. ‘We cannot settle this by talking. You have humiliated me by seducing my fiancée.’
Gerry sighed. ‘I do not know which part of that statement is more ludicrous. First, I was not the instigator. She set upon me in the trophy room. Secondly, there was no seduction. I managed to escape before I was as mounted as the rest of the animals in there. Thirdly, she is not your fiancée, she is your mistress. It is you who should be apologising to me for bringing her to my house.’
‘I know what I saw.’ Sir Chauncey raised an accusing finger. It trembled slightly, spoiling the effect.
Gerry grinned. ‘You saw it, did you? Then unless you ran like a frightened girl, you saw my wife interrupt the kiss seconds after it began. I went to comfort her and spent the rest of the day in her bed, apologising.’ Not in bed, precisely. But there was a limit to honesty and that crossed it.
‘I know the two of you were in the trophy room. I saw you both enter. And later, she was not at dinner,’ he said petulantly.
‘Who else was missing?’ Gerry asked.
‘Ronald North was late,’ he admitted in a sullen voice.
‘And I suppose he was the one that alerted you to this supposed tryst and suggested the duel,’ Gerry said.
There was a flicker of clarity on the baronet’s face, before it settled back to belligerence. ‘Someone must pay for this slight to my honour.’
‘Do you mean to shoot Ronald North, once you have finished with me? I will not allow that, either.’
‘What would you have me do?’ said Sir Chauncey, annoyed.
Gerry leaned forward to speak confidentially. ‘Let me tell you how this will end, if we continue on the course you have set. If we fight, I will kill you. Then I will have to flee the country to escape the scandal.’
Sir Chauncey went white at the mention of his probable fate.
Gerry ignored it. ‘I would not enjoy it, of course.’
‘Killing me?’
‘No. Fleeing the country.’ Gerry sighed. ‘I cannot abide travel, I am thoroughly tired of the Continent. I am just beginning to enjoy my home and do not want to leave it.’ The truth of that statement was almost as big a surprise as the letter of challenge. He enjoyed his house. He enjoyed his wife. Only a few things stood between him and a perfect life.
He looked back at Sir Chauncey, annoyed.
‘I might win,’ Sir Chauncey said, hopefully.
Gerry shook his head. ‘That might be what Ronald was hoping, when he orchestrated this fiasco. But it is an impossibility. I might simply wound you, which will hurt very much. And with even the smallest wound, there is the risk of sepsis, protracted suffering and death. If a single thread from your shirt is driven into your body by the ball and not removed?’ He released a puff of air and gestured to express the escaping soul.
Sir Chauncey went even paler.
Gerry nodded in sympathy. ‘I would not want you to suffer. More likely, I will kill you quickly and flee. Then Ronald will keep both my house and your mistress. You may not have noticed, but the Norths are very good at separating people from their valuables.’ Then he smiled and shrugged, as if to say, Family. What are we to do with them?
At this, Sir Chauncey looked depressed. ‘There is no hope for me, then.’
Gerry patted him on the back. ‘Of course there is, my dear man. First, you must accept my apology for any pain or dishonour I’ve caused you. And I am sorry, truly. Once we are settled, I suggest you call for your carriage, immediately. Tell Ronald that you have seen through his devious plan and want no part in it. Then leave.’ It took an effort not to smile at his own suggestion. ‘Take Miss Fellowes with you. And tell her that if there is any more nonsense you will end your arrangement with her.’
‘Will that work, do you think?’ Sir Chauncey brightened.
Gerry leaned forward and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Damn it, man. Of course it will work. You are a baronet, not some nobody. If she prefers another to you, then leave her at the first inn you pass and make her fend for herself. There are dozens of women who are just as pretty and will not have their heads turned by the first redcoat they see.’ He stood to go.
Sir Chauncey stood as we
ll and took his hand. ‘You are right, Captain. I must assert myself.’
‘You must and you will, Sir Chauncey. I have every confidence in you. And, if I do not see you before you go, farewell, Sir Chauncey.’
‘Au revoir,’ Sir Chauncey said.
‘Farewell,’ Gerry said, more firmly, and let himself out of the room. Then he went to tell Mrs Fitz that there would be two less at supper.
* * *
Lily walked quickly down the hall on the main floor, stopping in the open trophy room door to clap her hands. After a moment’s pause to listen for Stewart’s faint answering clap, she moved down the hall to the billiard room. Since the remaining guests were out for a morning hunt and her husband was still resting in his room, she had promised Stewart the run of the house and a spirited game of hide-and-seek. But the boy knew the house so well that without the help of clapped clues, it was impossible to find him.
She opened the billiard room door suddenly, hoping to catch him unawares. Her cry of ‘Ha!’ was premature. The room was dark and empty. Back to the trophy room, and the library beyond it.
She moved quickly through the cases of stuffed birds and over the bearskins on the floor, trying to ignore the glass eyes staring down from the walls. Even after seven years, the room made her uncomfortable. Perhaps, when the guests were gone, Gerry would banish the last of the animals and find a better use for the space they occupied.
But today she could hear Stewart’s voice from the adjoining library. He was speaking to someone, answering questions pitched too low to carry to the next room. Could it be Gerry? She smiled in anticipation. If her husband would just take the time to talk to the boy, he might see there would be no harm in Stewart’s remaining at the Chase.
The Secrets of Wiscombe Chase Page 13
