The Secrets of a Viscount

by Linda Rae Sande

  “My valet does as well,” Godfrey replied as he gave a glance toward the dressing room door. Perhaps if he said he was going to change into his robe—

  “Which means I will have the honor of undressing you tonight.”

  Elise’s words were as welcome as they were frightening. Good God! She would see him naked! No other woman could claim that except for his mum and his nurse.

  But that meant he would be undressing Elise as well.

  “And I have the honor of undressing you,” he countered, his voice betraying his nervousness when a bit of a squeak erupted there at the end.

  “Tit for tat?” she murmured as she stepped up to him and pulled the cravat pin from his neck cloth.

  “Aye,” he replied as he reached for the only visible pin he could see in her coiffure. He plucked it out and stared at it a moment.

  “You’ll need to remove at least six more before anything will happen,” Elise warned. She reached up and untied the fashionable knot at the front of his cravat.

  Godfrey frowned as he studied her elaborate hairstyle. He wondered how long her maid had worked to create the masterpiece, feeling a hint of dismay at how he wanted nothing more than to ruin it. Six more pins? Well, this was a challenge that would keep his mind off of the inevitable.

  He spotted another pin and pulled it out between his thumb and forefinger. As a result of his move, another revealed itself, and he pinched it, drawing it out from the chignon. “Is it like pick-up sticks? I pull out the one that holds it all together, and your hair suddenly comes tumbling down?”

  Elise giggled, the musical sound surprising him. She angled her head and one lock of hair suddenly unwound itself and fell as if in slow motion to come to rest on her shoulder. “Something like that,” she agreed.

  “I’ve always wanted to play with your hair,” Godfrey claimed as he removed another pin, and then another. Locks of her blonde hair unfurled in turn, each joining the one before it to come to rest on her shoulder or down her back.

  “Indeed?” she countered, reaching up to unwrap the length of white silk from around his neck.

  “Oh, yes. I lusted for your hair,” Godfrey claimed, wondering what he should attempt to remove next. Not her necklace, certainly. He hoped she would wear it and nothing else for the rest of the night. The blue topaz and amethyst stones were exquisite against her pale, porcelain skin.

  The earbobs could go, though. He thought of nibbling on her plump earlobes, and the earbobs would merely be in the way. He pulled first one and then the other from her ears, careful to place them on the nightstand where he hoped they wouldn’t go missing on the morrow.

  Even before he had returned to stand before her, Elise had her fingers on his topcoat buttons. “Just my hair?” she repeated as her lips formed the perfect pout.

  Godfrey swallowed as he reached for another pin. “Well, not just your hair,” he managed to get out without his voice sounding too strangled. He plucked another pin from her hair. The straw that broke the camel’s back, he thought in delight as he watched her hair tumble down from its perch atop her head. The waves of ash blonde silk unwound and bounced and finally settled into a slightly curled mass that danced about just below her shoulders. He had a fleeting thought of what it would look like on bare shoulders and discovered he didn’t have a reference from which to imagine such a sight. “I admit to some rather... scandalous thoughts about the rest of you,” he admitted as one of his hands delved into her hair so that his fingers could comb through the silken strands. The tips of his fingers barely skimmed her scalp, sending a shiver of delight through Elise and desire through his loins. “All of you.”

  Elise allowed a wan smile, her fingers deftly undoing the buttons of his waistcoat. “Pray tell, when was this?” she asked in a seductive whisper.

  Concentrating on trying to undo the buttons down the back of her gown while not actually standing behind her, Godfrey swallowed. My whole life. “Ever since I kissed you that first time,” he murmured. Jesus! Why did his fingers tremble as if he were scared to death?

  Because I am scared to death. Christ! He was finally going to bed a woman and his body was behaving like that of a boy brought to a brothel for the very first time!

  Oblivious to what Elise had been doing, he slipped both the topcoat and waistcoat from his body. His cravat, already untied and unwound, was being pulled from around his neck by hands he had only imagined caressing his body.

  The cravat’s movement suddenly stopped. He looked down to find Elise staring up at him. “That was an awfully long time ago,” she whispered on a breath that seemed rather difficult for her just then.

  “Indeed. Sometimes it feels as if it were a thousand years ago, and other times it feels as if it was only yesterday,” he replied on a sigh.

  She seemed to give his words a great deal of thought. “Perhaps it’s time we left the past in the past,” Elise suggested, allowing her gown to slide down her body.

  Godfrey regarded her for a moment, stunned to see her garbed in only a petticoat and corset. Isn’t there supposed to be something under the corset? he wondered. A chemise, he remembered, if only because he had spied one in a modiste’s window in New Bond Street. “Perhaps,” he replied uncertainly. When Elise suddenly turned around and presented her back to him, he gulped. “What... what do I... ?”

  Elise giggled as she turned her head and rested her chin on her shoulder. She gave him a sideways glance. “Just tug on the tie. I’m quite sure the laces will practically undo themselves,” she claimed. “Merry pulled them far tighter than usual this morning. I’ve felt as if I were about to pop out of it all day.”

  An unintelligible sound gurgled from Godfrey’s throat. The thought of Elise popping out of her corset was more than his manhood could handle—it was about to pop through the placket of his breeches. He inhaled slowly and girded his loins, deciding he could do this.

  He could undress his wife.

  Hesitating a moment more, Godfrey finally pulled on the most obvious tie, rather surprised when her petticoat suddenly made its way down over her hips and bared the back of her thighs to him.

  Her bare thighs.

  Her stockings, held just above her knees with blue satin ribbons, barely hid the rest of her legs. “Wrong tie,” he whispered in dismay.

  Elise giggled at the same time she wiggled her hips to help the petticoat make its way down to the carpet. “Now undo the tie at the bottom of my corset,” she instructed. “I probably should have worn stays, but—”

  “You could have worn nothing and I would have been quite fine with it,” Godfrey commented in all seriousness.

  Blinking, Elise gave a thought to turning around and admonishing him for such a thought, but she held her ground. She should be flattered by his comment, she realized.

  Doing as he was told with respect to the corset tie and then blinking in alarm, Godfrey watched as the corset laces moved before his eyes, watched as the garment loosened from around her torso and threatened to remove itself from her body of its own accord. The thought of Elise practically nude—and her limbs on display despite the stockings—had Godfrey breathing far too fast. Far too much. Why, he would faint if he didn’t remove himself from behind her this very instant.

  “I... I think it’s best I finish undressing in my bedchamber,” he said through labored breaths. “And maybe shave,” he added as he ran a hand over his cheek.

  Elise turned and angled her head, wondering if he found her body lacking—or just the opposite. “What is it?” she whispered. She dared a glance down the front of her body. “Am I too fleshy?”

  Godfrey’s eyes rounded in alarm. “Oh, God, no,” he replied with a shake of his head. “You’re perfect, Elise. You’ve always been perfect,” he added before giving her a bow. His quick move to the door that led to the dressing room had Elise blinking in shock. And blinking again as the door shut with a thud behind him.

  Then the door opened a few inches. “I’ll be back, of course. Give you time to do wha
tever it is women do before bed,” he managed to get out between his labored breaths. The door shut again.

  Her hands on her hips, Elise gave a shrug and went about getting ready for her wedding night. She rather hoped her husband wouldn’t suffer a coronary before he returned.

  If he returned.

  Chapter 31

  Anticipation

  Meanwhile, in Adam Comber’s bachelor quarters in Green Street

  Diana regarded her reflection in the mirror above the vanity, wondering if the blush that colored her cheeks would always be there now that she was a married woman. Her new maid had her night rail spread out on the counterpane, the rows of lace making her realize why Adam found it so virginal. In only a few minutes, he would be joining her.

  Adam had said something about hoping they might spend the entire night together in the bed. “I wish to wake up with my arms around you,” he had whispered just before he disappeared into his bedchamber.

  She took a breath, realizing she’d been holding it as she remembered his words. He had also reminded her about the pins in her hair. “Remember, I want the privilege of removing the pins.”

  Giving him a shy grin, she was aware of her face coloring up as she nodded. “I’ll be sure my maid doesn’t touch them.”

  My maid. Although she knew there would be several differences in her life now that she was a viscount’s wife, there were two that would count the most. One was that she would no longer be living in one of the boarding houses at Warwick’s Grammar and Finishing School. The other was she would no longer be sharing a maid.

  The young woman who had been sent by the agency earlier that afternoon had assured Diana she could manage styling her hair (especially given the matching comb and brush set she immediately noticed on her mistress’ vanity). Susan was also somewhat educated, a surprise made evident when she announced all six pairs of Diana’s shoes were accounted for in the dressing room, as were her five dinner gowns, two carriage gowns, and ten day gowns. Diana had been almost embarrassed by the count. The dinner gowns were only there because her mother had insisted she be properly outfitted should she be invited to a dinner party, or should the instructors at the finishing school decide to attend the theatre one night.

  “Ten day gowns?” she repeated, just then remembering she did have a different one for each of the five days she taught school for a two-week period. It would have been the norm to wear only a few different gowns as an instructor, but she never thought it acceptable to have the daughters of the aristocracy think of her as a poor teacher. Not when she had the promise of a large inheritance someday.

  “And one ball gown,” Susan added, her appreciative gaze taking in the royal blue watered silk gown embellished with a gold sarcenet overskirt. “It looks as if it’s never been worn.”

  Diana angled her head to one side as she reached up to pull off an ear bob. “That’s because I haven’t yet worn it. It just arrived this morning. It was a gift from my husband’s mother,” she explained with a slightly arched eyebrow.

  Apparently the Countess of Aimsley thought she didn’t have access to a suitable modiste in London. Which was true, to some extent. Her mother’s modiste was no longer paying personal calls, but she still employed a team of seamstresses to create her elegant designs for her favorite clients if they visited her shop in Oxford Street. “The countess sent it with a suggestion that it be worn for the ball she and the earl are hosting in our honor,” Diana explained as she pulled the other ear bob from an ear.

  Diana couldn’t imagine how the countess would have time to arrange a ball on top of everything else she had going on at the moment. The woman’s own daughter, Emelia, had just accepted an offer of marriage from Felix Turnbridge, Earl of Fennington. Patience Comber would no doubt be in the midst of arranging a betrothal ball. In addition, there were rumors the woman was about to be engaged in some sort of trade, a situation that puzzled Adam but seemed to make his best friend, Fenn, rather happy. Although Diana hadn’t yet met the man who was somewhat responsible for her marriage to Adam, she looked forward to the introduction.

  And thinking of Adam, she wondered just where he might be, for he wasn’t in her bedchamber.

  Chapter 32

  Wedding Night Jitters

  Meanwhile, over at Lord Thorncastle’s townhouse

  Her reflection staring back at her from the cheval mirror in the corner of the mistress suite, Elise angled her face first left, then right. She lifted her head and winced when her gaze went to her neck. When did that happen? she wondered as she leaned in closer and traced the fine lines with a fingertip. Why doesn’t my bridal ensemble include a length of silk I could wrap around my neck to hide the wrinkles? she wondered in dismay.

  Probably because I would hang myself with it.

  She dared a glance at the Rococo clock on the fireplace mantle. It had been at least an hour since Godfrey’s odd departure. She half-wondered if he might have sneaked out of the house and gone off to his club. He had carried her over the threshold of Thorncastle House, up the stairs, and to the door of the mistress suite, over that threshold, and then deposited her next to the bed. He had helped undress her—although not as completely as she expected he would—and then he had taken his leave with a quick kiss to her cheek and a murmured comment about getting ready for bed in between labored gasps for air.

  She had helped a bit in that regard before he suddenly took his leave of her—sans topcoat and waistcoat—and hurried off to the dressing room that connected their two bedchambers.

  How long does it take him to undress and put on a dressing robe? Elise wondered. And shave?

  Or had he experienced a coronary at having carried her up the stairs?

  Her eyes widened in fright.

  He had looked terribly pale upon their parting.

  Pale and nervous. Breathing too quickly.

  Although, why he would have any reason to be nervous was beyond her. This was probably something he did a couple of nights a week with whomever he had contracted as a mistress. Or perhaps he had been keeping a widow or two company. Everyone knew there were hundreds of lonely women whose husbands had died in the war against France.

  Elise briefly wondered how many women had been the beneficiaries of his skills in bed. His name hadn’t exactly been mentioned in that regard, though, nor had his initials been printed in The Tattler along with some salacious article claiming he had bedded Lady So-and-So until she screamed.

  Or until she fainted.

  Elise had half a mind to make her way to the master suite just to be sure he hadn’t passed out from the exertion of carrying her up the stairs.

  Or fallen asleep.

  Good Lord!

  The slight move to do so had her noticing the flowing chiffon of her blue nightgown. The fabric clung to her thighs but otherwise seemed to float around her, the bottom lacy edge allowing her peep-toe slippers to show beneath the hem when she walked. The matching transparent negligée barely covered her shoulders and did little to hide her arms from view. Completely open in the front—there didn’t seem to be any sort of closure—the robe was obviously of French design. It didn’t seem to serve any purpose except to flutter behind her when she moved. At least it was the same shade of blue as the gown. The blue enhanced her eyes and pale blonde hair, but it was the entirely inappropriate bodice of the gown—or the near lack of one—that had her purchasing not only this one, but another in peach, and still another in a rich purple.

  One never knew what might be required in the way of seduction.

  She considered a simple, white, virginal night rail, but quickly gave up on the idea. She was a widow, after all. She hadn’t worn white in nearly twenty years! Once the idea of a night rail was forgotten, a trip to Jermyn Street was in order.

  A short shopping trip in pursuit of the perfect wedding night ensemble had metamorphosed into a day-long sojourn involving no fewer than ten stores. She had returned to her townhouse in possession of a new, rather suggestive fragrance from Floris, cors
ets from Messrs. Shoolbred and Bradshaw, shoes from Carter, a book from Hatchard’s, an especially large apple from Fortnum & Mason, female elixir from Bromstead’s, and the naughty negligées from Madame Fumier’s tiny shop. And because she could, she selected a mustard at La Maison Maille and arranged for a delivery of several cheeses from Paxton & Whitfield.

  Having insisted she could walk to the coach, which was parked a few blocks down in St. James Street, she had occasion to stroll past the bow window in the front of White’s. Although she usually ignored the members who were seated in the bow window, on that day she couldn’t help but notice a man holding up both his hands near the window’s glass, all ten fingers splayed out and a huge grin displayed on his face.

  And then she realized the hands belonged to Godfrey Thorncastle.

  But whatever did the splayed fingers mean?

  Perhaps it was some sort of fan speak. When a lady’s fan was spread out to its full position and put on display for any man to pay witness, it meant wait for me.

  But what did ten splayed fingers mean?

  She gave him a wink and a grin and made a mental note to ask Godfrey whenever they might have a moment between wedding-night activities. In the meantime, she took another turn in front of the cheval mirror and allowed a wan smile as she watched her gown and negligée swirl about her legs.

  Elise stopped and regarded her reflection in the mirror again, her attention on her bosom. Although she could never claim to possess a pair of full moons a la Adeline Carlington, Elise could at least lay claim to a couple of perfectly proportioned and rather pert peaches, the two of which were mostly on display due to the scandalous bodice of her gown.

  She briefly wondered why she had thought it necessary to wear such a gown on her wedding night. Or any night, for that matter. She already knew Godfrey found her appealing. He had told her so many times—as had another part of him—so she had no reason to doubt his claim. Stifling a grin at how he had failed to hide his reaction to her late-night visit behind an almost empty tumbler, Elise felt a frisson shoot through her body. Why, she rather thought a large beer stein wouldn’t have been able to hide his arousal just then.