“Do they need to cavort?”
“I don’t know.” Fiona sighed. “I should trust Oliver and Jonathon—after all, this was their idea, and I daresay they have more of a sense of these things than I do—but I always thought something of this nature would have to be more, well, more.”
Judith eyed her wryly. “But if your drawings were more, as you put it, then you would be rather less than what you are. At least in terms of how society judges such things. A properly bred young woman who draws nudes might well be courting scandal, but only the stuffiest among us would not grudgingly forgive that in the name of art. However, even art would not be an acceptable excuse for depictions of naked frolicking.”
“It is all supposed to be anonymous,” Fiona said quickly.
“And so it shall.” She leaned forward and met Fiona’s gaze firmly. “I am very good at keeping secrets. At least secrets that are meant to be kept. All of this shall go no further than you and me. Jonathon confided in me and I would not speak of it to anyone save you, as it does seem to me it is more your secret than his. That is, you have the most to lose.” Judith settled back in her chair. “Or possibly the most to gain.”
Fiona shook her head. “I simply want to provide for my sisters’ futures.”
Judith’s brow rose. “Then you’ve given up the idea of marriage to Jonathon?”
“It seems rather pointless. He wishes to be nothing more than friends.”
Judith snorted. “He wishes to be far more than friends.”
“Has he said something—”
“No, nor would he. He’s far too confused at the moment.” Judith considered Fiona thoughtfully. “But there is a look in his eye when he speaks of you. I have never seen it before. If I were a jealous sort, I would have to rip your throat out.”
“I thought you were simply friends.”
“I am intensely loyal and quite possessive of my friends,” she said loftily, then grinned. “And I very much hope we can be friends.”
Fiona returned her smile. “I hope so too.”
“One can never have enough friends in London,” Judith said firmly. “Even at this time of year, when life moves at a considerably slower pace than it does as spring approaches, London society is full of any number of pitfalls for the uninitiated.”
“Pitfalls? Such as, oh, I don’t know…” Fiona pulled her brows together. “Working with one of the most eligible bachelors in the country to write an erotic book based on your own illustrations? That kind of pitfall?”
“Actually, I was thinking more in terms of wearing an overly formal gown to a very informal occasion, but yes, I suppose your example works as well.” Judith grinned. “You and I are going to be very good friends.”
Fiona laughed.
“Now, then, aside from the intricacies of fashion, which I shall leave in your aunt’s capable hands, there are any number of faux pas you can avoid if you are armed with the proper information.”
Fiona shook her head in confusion. “The proper information?”
“You know the sort of thing,” Judith said blithely. “Whose husband might be dallying with whose wife. Which lady’s jewels might be fake because she has sold them to pay her gambling debts. Which gentlemen casting about for a wife with a good dowry might not be as wealthy as they appear and, better yet, which gentlemen are.”
Fiona frowned. “Gossip?”
“Gossip is the lifeblood of London society. Why, we simply could not function without gossip.” Judith paused. “Of course, if you think it’s somehow”—she closed her eyes as if praying for strength—“wrong, I daresay—”
“Not at all,” Fiona said quickly. “I have always thought gossip serves a…a useful purpose. As a method of communication.”
“Exactly.” Judith nodded. “No worse than the newspapers, I say.”
“Simply an oral method of passing along pertinent information instead of a written means.”
“And more than likely every bit as accurate.”
“Or at least as interesting,” Fiona added.
“More so, usually,” Judith said firmly.
“Why”—Fiona bit back a grin—“one could really think of gossip as a public service.”
“And as such it’s our duty.” Judith sprang to her feet and raised her chin in a noble manner. “Our civic duty.”
Fiona followed suit. “To society. To our country.”
“To our queen!”
Fiona met the other woman’s gaze and they both burst into laughter.
“I daresay the queen would not share our opinion, but then”—Judith’s eyes twinkled with amusement—“we shall not tell her. Now, where to begin?”
Judith sat back down and Fiona took her seat.
“Let us start with those eligible gentlemen who are expected at my ball.” Judith smiled slowly. “Forewarned is forearmed, especially when it comes to matters of this sort. Jonathon is not the only prospect for a good match and it certainly cannot hurt to know precisely who else is. Besides, I suspect there is the distinct possibility of jealousy on Jonathon’s part if he sees other men taking an interest in you and you in them.”
“I have no intention of tricking him into marriage.”
Judith huffed. “I said nothing about trickery. Simply allow the man’s natural instincts to prevail.”
“Still.” Fiona shook her head. “Deliberately provoking jealousy scarcely seems fair.”
“Fair has nothing to do with any of this.” Judith raised a brow. “Do you or do you not need a suitable husband?”
“Yes, but—”
“Are you willing, then, to abandon all hope and blindly submit to marriage with the man your father chose? A man you have never so much as seen?”
“No, of course not, but—”
“Do you wish to wager your entire future on the questionable success of your book?”
“No, but—”
“Is Jonathon Effington what you want?”
“Yes,” Fiona said without thinking, then sighed. “It’s not at all what I had planned, but yes, he is.”
“Good.” Judith nodded. “Then we shall have to do whatever necessary to make certain you have him and he has you. Now that I have met you, I haven’t the slightest doubt that you are indeed perfect for one another. The least I can do as his friend is to ensure his happiness.” Judith cast her a satisfied smile. “And yours.”
Chapter Nine
Later that afternoon, the heat in the library had risen considerably…
“A title,” Jonathon said abruptly.
“What?” Fiona jerked her head up from her writing and stared. Her eyes were wide and she appeared very much as though she was just as effected by their writing as he was. Good.
Under other circumstances, Jonathon would never stop when a story was going well. But Summer was currently waging a heated battle to possess September and it was all he could do to keep his concentration on the simmering passions on the page and not the continued, if unacknowledged, simmering in the library.
“We need a title,” he said, a vague note of relief sounding in his voice. Anything to get away from consideration of Summer’s covetous gaze, and indeed covetous was most appropriate, upon the long, luscious limbs of September. Which only led Jonathon to speculate on the length of Fiona’s limbs, just how luscious they might be and the delight to be found as they wrapped around…He blew a long breath. “We have not decided upon a title.”
“A title.” Fiona leaned back in her chair.
“We need to call it something other than”—he smiled—“Fiona’s Book.”
She raised a brow. “You’ve been calling it Fiona’s Book?”
“It seemed appropriate. It is your fate in the balance.”
A smile curved the corners of her lips. “That’s really rather nice.”
“I am a nice man.” He shrugged as if the pleasure she took in his naming the book for her was of little consequence and was surprised to note her delight did indeed matter. A great deal. “
Besides, it’s a beautiful name. It means ‘fair,’ I believe, and it suits you.”
“Does it? Fair as in somewhat average?” She frowned in a mock-serious manner. “Or fair as in extremely pale?”
“Fair as in…fair.” He huffed in exasperation.
The woman could be most annoying, and she well knew it. An ordinary woman would be swooning at his feet at such a compliment. Of course, an ordinary woman wouldn’t make him feel as inept as a schoolboy. And for whatever reason, Fiona made him feel precisely that. It was obviously due at least in part to their work. What healthy man wouldn’t be affected by spending his every waking minute thinking of erotic phrases to accompany drawings in which the subjects, regardless of what anyone said, could well be de scribed as cavorting, and doing so in the company of a woman who was beautiful and amusing and intelligent? A woman who was, God help him, willing to be his friend, even his wife, but nothing somewhere in between.
It was enough to drive a man mad.
He leaned over the table and shuffled through the pages they’d written, all the while trying not to notice how near he was to her. Why, with scarcely any effort at all he could lean closer and brush his lips across hers.
And probably get his face soundly smacked for it. All that there-shall-be-no-kissing nonsense. He grudgingly admitted it made sense. Who knew where a kiss might lead? And one kiss with Fiona would not be nearly enough.
He found the page he wanted, pulled it aside and read, tapping his forefinger on the paper for emphasis. “The nymph was fair of face and form and figure.”
She stifled a smile. “Oh, that fair.”
“Yes, that fair. You are extremely fair of face and form and figure. In truth, you are exceptionally lovely and any man would be lucky to have you.” Even me. The thought came from nowhere and he pushed it aside.
“Any man?”
“Yes.” He clasped his hands behind his back and resumed his pacing in an effort to put a definite end to the discussion. It was best to keep matters between them away from anything of a personal nature that did not fall under the strictest definition of friendship.
Pity, he had never wanted a friend, even Judith, quite the way he wanted Fiona. “Now, then, as for a title.”
“I like Fiona’s Book,” she said with a smile.
“As do I, although it defeats the purpose of anonymity,” he said in his loftiest manner.
Usually pacing like this helped him to think. Blast it all, the only thing he could think about at the moment was her. At least if he was on his feet and moving there was some distance between them.
“Then I suppose we should come up with something else.” She widened her eyes in an innocent manner. “What if we title it Jonathon’s Book?”
He cast her a vile glance and she choked back a laugh. “No, I didn’t think you’d like that.”
He ignored her. “As the story is in the nature of a myth or a legend, we could have either word in the title.”
“Jonathon’s Myth?”
He stopped short and glared. “Do be serious, Miss Fairchild, we have a great deal to accomplish today and the question of a title is of the utmost importance.”
“Yes, of course.” She studied him curiously. “Might I ask what has brought on this foul mood of yours?”
“My mood is not foul,” he snapped, then grimaced. “Perhaps it is foul. My apologies.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I have not slept well of late.”
She tried not to grin and failed. “Of late?”
He gritted his teeth. “Since Christmas Eve.”
Her grin widened. “Oh?”
“My life has been rather unsettled since then.”
“Your life has been unsettled?”
“Indeed it has.” He glared at her. “I am not at all used to it and I must say I don’t like it. My life has always been rather, well, settled.”
“Dull, you mean?”
“I most certainly do not.” Indignation washed through him. “My life has never been the least bit dull. On the contrary, I have always liked my life. I like my family as well as my friends. I have never lacked for male or female companionship. I enjoy the excitement of a speculative investment as well as the writing of stories that may never be read by anyone other than myself. Moreover, for the most part, I generally know what is going to happen on any given day and I like that as well.”
“And you do not consider that dull?”
“In spite of how it might sound, I have always managed to have a great deal of fun, so no, I do not consider it the least bit dull. I consider it”—he thought for a moment—“well in hand. I am in complete control of my life. The master of my own fate, as it were.” He narrowed his eyes. “Or at least I was.”
“And now?”
“Now I have no idea what tomorrow may bring. It is most disconcerting.” He heaved a frustrated sigh. “I do not recall ever having been disconcerted in my life. It is…”
“Confusing?”
“Exactly.”
“I see.” She considered him with a sympathetic eye. “I am truly sorry to have embroiled you in my affairs. However”—she met his gaze firmly—“you did bring it on yourself. All you had to do was say, Why, no, Miss Fairchild, regardless of your excellent qualifications, I will not marry you. Instead, in your arrogance and belief that the entire world revolves around you, you jumped to the conclusion that I, my situation, my very life, was nothing more than a ruse perpetrated by your friends to make a fool out of you.” She smiled in a pleasant manner.
He stared at her for a long moment. As much as his immediate impulse was to argue with her, he couldn’t. Unfortunately, she was right and he had been, well, an ass. Not that he would admit it aloud.
“Was that an apology?” he asked.
She shrugged.
“It didn’t sound especially sincere to me.”
“Perhaps you weren’t listening?” she said sweetly.
“Oh, I was most certainly listening. But I believe a legitimate apology would not include charges of arrogance.”
“Even if true?”
He chuckled reluctantly. “Especially if true.”
She laughed.
He liked the way she laughed as if for this one single moment she hadn’t a care in the world. Damnation, he enjoyed being in her company. If he could just get his mind off the more delectable possibilities her company suggested. All sorts of interesting ideas that the writing of Fiona’s Book or Jonathon’s Myth only exacerbated. Things like desire and temptation, which naturally led to thoughts of seduction and surrender. Hers or even his, it made no difference.
Desire. Temptation. Seduction. Surrender.
She stared at him. “What?”
Good God, had he said that aloud? He groaned to himself.
“Did you say something?”
“Did I…yes. Yes, I believe I did indeed.” He drew a deep breath. “I said desire, temptation, seduction.”
Her gaze met his. “And surrender.”
“And surrender.” He nodded. “Yes, I certainly said surrender. Fine word, surrender. It means to…to…submit, you know. To yield, to capitulate.”
“I know what surrender means. What I don’t know is why you said it. Nor do I know why you also said desire and seduction.”
“Don’t forget temptation,” he said weakly.
“Oh, I would never forget temptation.”
“Nor would I,” he muttered.
“Well?” There was a definite twinkle of amusement in her eye as if she knew full well precisely what he’d been thinking and exactly what had been, and indeed still was, on his mind. The corners of her mouth quirked upward in the vaguest hint of a smug smile.
And there it was again. That awful feeling that his life was no longer under his control. That forces that had nothing to do with him had taken it—no—had snatched it from his hands. Forces that had swirled around him since the moment Fiona Fairchild had appeared from the shadows and into the forefront of his life.
�
�Well…” It was time to take his life back. Past time. “I’ve been considering the merits of desire and seduction.” His gaze met hers. “As well as temptation.”
Caution sounded in her voice. “The merits? What do you mean, the merits?”
“I mean the benefits, the virtues, as it were. As well as the merits of surrender.”
She stared up at him. “Surrender?”
“Yes. What do you think?”
She licked her lips as if her mouth were abruptly dry. He resisted the urge to grin. “I’m…I’m not sure.”
“Although I must say seduction has a great deal of appeal as well, as does desire and temptation. But I think my preference is for surrender.” He smiled pleasantly. “What do you say, Miss Fairchild? Will you agree to surrender, then?”
She stared in obvious disbelief, then rose to her feet and raised her chin. “Surrender is not a possibility, my lord, nor will it ever be. I told you once before, I—”
“Miss Fairchild.” Jonathon rested his hands on the table and leaned toward her. “I think surrender will suit our purposes rather well.”
She gasped. “Your purposes, perhaps, but as I think our individual intentions are completely at odds—”
“Therefore I propose The Surrender of the Seasons as a title for”—he straightened—“Fiona’s Book.”
“A title?” Her eyes widened. “You were talking about a title?”
“Of course.” He cast her an innocent look. “What did you think I was talking about?”
“I thought…well, you said…and…a title?”
He nodded and resisted the urge to laugh. “A title.”
“A title, of course, yes. Exactly.” She nodded with enthusiasm. “I thought you were talking about a title.”
“Unless you preferred The Seduction of the Seasons, as you seem to have rather strong feelings about surrender.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Not at all. Surrender”—she winced slightly at the word—“is acceptable.”
He shrugged. “Either will work, I suppose. Although, personally, I do still prefer”—he flashed her a wicked grin—“surrender.”
“I’m not surprised.” Her gaze locked with his and a glimmer of admiration showed in her eyes. Or perhaps it was recognition. At once he realized she played this game every bit as well as he did. “I think surrender sounds”—she lowered her voice—“perfect.”
Let It Be Love Page 16
