“You may as well tell me what is on your mind, Penelope. I shall worm it out of you one way or another.”
Her blush intensified to the point where she was glowing. Seeing her discomfort, he thought he may know what it was she wanted to talk about. The question was whether or not he would discomfit her more by forcing the issue, or to let it be. He decided that he liked to see her blush.
“Could you be wondering if I plan to kiss you again?” he whispered closely to her ear.
Penelope stumbled on nothing and would have fallen flat on her face but for her hand secured on his arm. Never before had she been so embarrassed, being caught with such wanton thoughts running through her head and being so obvious about it. She couldn't even respond, her tongue dried and stuck to the roof of her mouth.
Martin could hardly pull her into the hedgerow and grant her her wish. Instead, he leaned slightly over and whispered once again in her ear. “Tonight, my dear. After the activities, perhaps we could meet in the garden.”
She looked up to him and managed a small smile. Knowing he was waiting for an answer, she croaked, “Yes, please.”
The please was nearly his undoing. Visions of dragging her into the bushes and stripping off her clothing clogged his mind. It was the last thing he would do, but it left him with very little room in his already tight breeches. Instead, he walked her back to the terrace, where they found her mother and Lady Weston partaking of some refreshments on the patio.
Before he left her, he whispered, “Until tonight,” if only to see her face redden once more before his departure.
Chapter 18
By the late afternoon, all the guests had arrived. Most in attendance were older, married couples that had been friends of the late Lord Hopewell. It made for an interesting mix, with unmarried ladies and gentlemen and older guests who had little interest in anything happening after eight o'clock.
After an early dinner, the women were held captive in the parlor, drinking tea and discussing the inane. Ginny had hoped that having so many matrons around would lead to some more interesting topics, but every married women there knew to keep her mouth shut when one of the unmarried girls came around.
Charlotte had pleaded a headache after dinner and was safely ensconced in her room. Penelope was sitting sedately next to her mother, listening about Lady Spencer's trip abroad. That left Ginny alone until Miss Frances Leavengood approached and took the seat next to her.
“Lady Sarah, that color becomes you. Who, pray tell, is your modiste?”
Ginny stared for nearly a minute before answering. The truth was, she had no idea who made the dress, nor did she care. “To be honest, Miss Leavengood, I don't know. My mother chose this one for me and I'm not sure where she went. Sorry.” Her voice was wooden with boredom.
Raising her eyebrows in surprise, she asked, “You are always so impeccably dressed that I assumed you to be interested in fashion.”
Taking a deep breath and trying to formulate an escape plan, Ginny responded, “No, I have little interest in fashion. Now, politics I enjoy. Would you like to discuss that?”
There was a glassy eyed look that came over her face that Ginny knew she'd found her way out. Before her companion could respond, Ginny made her excuses. “It is so hot in here tonight. If you would excuse me, Miss Leavengood, I do believe I shall go for a stroll on the terrace.”
Without a backwards glance, Ginny left the room and made her way to the stone terrace off the back of the house. The cool night air felt good against her skin, with a slight breeze pushing the fragrant scents of the garden to her nose. Ginny found a dark corner to occupy, where no one else could see her. Or bother her for that matter.
Staring at the sky, marveling over the stars, Ginny kept herself busy by trying to find the few constellations she knew by heart. After finding the Little Dipper, a sense of pride came over her that she could identify anything. It made her think of her own time, going camping with friends and looking with wonder at a universe so vast.
So lost in her thoughts was she that Ginny didn't hear the intruder until she was upon her. Turning suddenly, Ginny heard the woman gasp at finding her there.
“Lady Sarah, is that you?”
Recognizing Lady Hopewell's voice, Ginny responded, “Yes. I'm sorry, should I not be here?”
With a musical laugh, Lady Hopewell came to stand next to her young guest. “No, of course not. I often come to this spot to think. You are certainly welcome.” Her voice drifted at the last part, as she looked back toward the doors to the terrace.
Picking up on the unspoken, Ginny asked, “Were you meeting someone here? I can certainly find somewhere else to stand...”
“No, certainly not. I shall find somewhere else. I apologize for disturbing you.”
“You didn't disturb me, Lady Hopewell. Are you sure? I should probably be going back into the house before my mother causes a fuss.”
Placing a hand on her arm, Lady Hopewell said, “Do not concern yourself, Lady Sarah. I will make sure that no one disturbs you, most especially your mother.”
Smiling in the dark, Ginny said, “Thank you. I would really appreciate that.”
“I, too, have a mother. I understand.”
With that, Lady Hopewell retreated and re-entered the house. Ginny went back to her thoughts. The homesickness lessened with every story. It used to be that small things would remind her of her own time, bringing on a sense of melancholy. Now, she found that she had trouble remembering lyrics to songs or the name of the street that her favorite store was on. Was she growing to used to being thrown about from one book to another?
In an attempt to maintain part of her real self, Ginny started to think of song lyrics. Her mind filled with bits of music as she centered on one song that she'd heard not long before she'd left her real life. While on vacation in Jamaica with her friend Lisa, she remembered hearing an old Jimmy Buffet song. The lyrics to Cheeseburger in Paradise filled her head with pleasant images of tailgating at one of his concerts.
But at night I'd have these wonderful dreams
Some kind of sensuous treat
Not zucchini fettuccine or bulgar wheat
But a big warm bun and a huge chunk of meat
Cheeseburger in Paradise
Heaven on Earth is an onion slice
Not to particular, not too precise
I'm just a Cheeseburger in Paradise
Ginny listened to the lyrics inside her head, still staring at the sky. When he walked up behind her, she didn't even realize who it was. The first thing she noticed was a pair of strong hands grasp her shoulders and turn her around.
In a husky voice, she heard him say, “I cannot stand being away from you any longer.”
Without any other warning, his lips descended on hers. His hands cupped her cheeks, turning her head slightly to the left, lifting her chin to give him better access. His tongue invaded her mouth like a conquering hero, slipping past her already weak defenses.
At first Ginny stiffened, but only for a moment. All her regret and sadness took flight as she felt the first stirrings of passion since leaving Wyoming. She had no idea who was kissing her, it was too dark to see. All she knew was that he was tall, smelled good and was very, very glad to see her. Even if it wasn't precisely her he was happy to see, since she was fairly certain the man wasn't Oliver.
After only a few seconds, Ginny began to succumb to the feelings. No longer was he kissing her. She was now an active participant in the seduction. Why didn't she feel guilty? After so many weeks of just getting by, making bad decisions and making a respectable man wait for her to get over herself, it was the first time she just wanted to enjoy something. At the moment, nothing was more enjoyable than the mystery man's velvet tongue and lips kissing her as though she were the most sensuous person on the planet.
Her hands came up to grab his arms. Clinging to him, Ginny earnestly kissed the man back, discovering that whoever it was, knew a lot about kissing. It wasn't until she realized the hi
s hands were slowly moving their way down her neck and shoulders, heading for her breasts that she finally pulled away.
“I... I don't think I'm who you think... I mean... Who are you?” she sputtered, trying to put a coherent thought together after the erotic assault.
“Oh, God!” was all the man said, pushing her away and throwing her into the balustrade.
Swallowing loudly, Ginny asked, “Is that you, Lord Devon?”
Gasping, he responded, “Oh, dear Lord. Lady Sarah?”
Ginny brought her hands up to her mouth, trying to stifle a laugh. Lord Devon sounded appalled, like he'd just accidentally kissed his sister. As comical as the situation was to her, she could tell that her confused companion needed some reassurance that she was not damaged.
“Yes, it's me,” she barely managed without breaking into laughter. “Are you alright?”
Taking a step toward her, reaching out to grab her arm to assure himself that she was uninjured, his hand ended up grabbing her breast instead. Because of the darkness, Ginny hadn't seen it coming and let out a small screech in response. Devon pulled his arm away as if it had been in a fire.
“I... Oh, God. I swear I meant to take your arm.”
This time, Ginny did laugh. She couldn't help herself, knowing that Lord Devon was the unwilling participant in comical circumstances. She moved closer to the doorway, allowing him to see her more closely.
“Don't worry about it, Lord Devon. It was an accident. I'm fine.”
“You know I would never had... well, I would never have taken advantage of you. I thought you to be someone else.”
“Yes, Lady Hopewell, right? She was out earlier and found me. She mentioned she was waiting for someone. I assumed she would intercept you in the house.”
His face in his hands, the man looked forlorn. “Truly, Lord Devon, I'm fine. Don't beat yourself up over this. When you really think about it, it's kind of funny.”
Lifting his gaze to hers, she saw his incredulous look, which sent Ginny into another fit of giggles. Covering her mouth again, trying to control herself, a flash of anger came across Devon's face.
“Do you realize that if anyone had found us, we would be halfway down the aisle by now? This is hardly funny.”
Getting a little peeved herself, Ginny retorted, “You need not worry, my lord. I like my men faithful.”
As a reply came to his mind, Devon quickly squashed it and started laughing. Ginny found his deep laugh a turn on, but decided not to mention it. Instead, she laughed with him.
“I am sorry, my lady. I truly did not mean to take advantage, or to snipe at you. Please accept my humblest apologies.”
“Apology accepted. Shall we keep this to ourselves then? As charming as you are, I don't want to marry you either.”
“Allow me to escort you back to the parlor. It seems that I need to hunt someone down.”
They both entered the terrace doors and made their way into the house. As Ginny turned to head down the hallway to the parlor, Devon went in search of his actual quarry, Lady Hopewell. He would teach the little minx about playing with him.
********
How many house parties did one man have to attend before it was enough? As Lord Conway sat with the other gentlemen, drinking expensive port while some smoked, he contemplated that very question. All he wanted to do was go and find Sarah and take her for a quiet walk in the garden. Perhaps he could get away with stealing a kiss tonight.
Before the rest of the men could finish their drinks, Oliver excused himself to seek out his quarry. Devon had disappeared shortly after dinner and Townshend had left soon after him. With Doncaster not even in attendance, Oliver had no one to talk to who wasn't old and annoying.
Walking down the hallway, Oliver caught a strange sight. Sarah had entered the terrace door with Devon right behind her. Sarah looked flushed, but she turned and headed toward the parlor before he could get a good look at her. Devon, on the other hand, looked determined, as though he was in need of something. Oliver would be damned if he didn't find out exactly what it was that Devon needed.
Walking with purposeful strides toward his friend, who had just turned to walk toward him, Oliver called out. “Hello, Devon. Where have you been?”
At the sound of his name, Devon's head shot up to look at his friend. The look on his face was anything but neutral. Did Oliver see him with Lady Sarah? he wondered. Smiling, he responded, “I am off to find Lady Hopewell. You would not by chance have seen her recently, would you?”
“No, I have not. If you are looking for Lady Hopewell, then why did you enter from the terrace with Sarah?” There was no mistaking the tone of his voice, angry and jealous.
Before he could respond, the other men started to file out into the hallway, on their way to join the ladies. Oliver grabbed his friend's arm and ushered him into the nearest room with a door, a small library. After shutting the door behind him, Oliver turned and stared at his friend, awaiting his explanation.
Flashing his ever present smile, Devon said, “You may as well just marry her, Conway. This jealousy thing is getting old.”
“What happened?” he asked, obviously not in the mood for Devon's good humor.
“Nothing except a bit of mistaken identity. And I thought you said you had not kissed her yet.”
“What?” he asked, confusion marring his handsome features. “What do you mean by that?”
Placing his hands up in supplication, Devon said, “Hold on there, old friend. There is no reason to get upset. Nothing happened. I merely mistook her for Lady Hopewell, is all.”
“How could you do that?” he asked, incredulous and still confused over what exactly happened.
“I went out to the terrace to meet up with Barbara. It was dark and I assumed the woman standing in the shadows was her. They are about the same size, you know.”
“What did you do, Chester?” Oliver rarely used Devon's first name, since he so detested it, but he was beyond caring what Devon felt.
“I may have... accidentally, mind you... kissed her.”
Oliver's eyes widened with murderous intent. Devon went about trying to placate him. “I did not seek her out, Oliver. I swear I would never have done such a heinous thing if I had known it was her.”
Oliver began to rub his face with his hands, trying to dispel some of his anger. He knew that Devon loved women, but also knew he would never steal a woman from him, even if he did want her. With all his faults, Devon was still a very honorable man.
“I know you would never kiss her on purpose.” The words came out of his mouth with some difficulty, like he had a mouth full of peanut butter.
Smiling in return, realizing that his long time friend wouldn't demand pistols at dawn, he went about trying to lighten the mood. “And you, old friend. Such a liar to say that you had not yet kissed the lady.”
“What do you mean? I have not yet kissed her.”
Devon was not too dim to see the corner he'd just painted himself in. For once in his nearly thirty years of life, the man was speechless. He was both afraid of what to say and what not to say.
“Oh, right then. If you would excuse me, I shall seek out Lady Hopewell.” Devon made a beeline for the door, knowing he would never make it.
“What do you mean, Chester?” Oliver asked again, this time putting enough menace in his voice to hopefully elicit an answer.
Releasing a deep breath, Devon turned to look at his friend. “I wish I knew how to tell you this, but the girl has obvious been kissed before.”
“How could you tell?”
“She kissed me back, Conway. Now that I think upon it, she did not respond immediately, but eventually, she was more than happy to kiss me back.”
“Impossible. She told me herself that...” Oliver cut himself off abruptly. Hadn't Sarah told him that she had loved another. Perhaps that man had kissed her. But if she had wanted the kiss, did Sarah think it was Oliver with her, on the terrace?
“Who broke off the kiss? Did you
realize who she was and stop, or did she?”
Devon gave the questions some consideration before answering. “I admit that I did not realize it was Sarah until she spoke to me.”
“And what did she say to you?” he asked, desperate to make sure that Sarah still felt something for him.
“I believe she said that she wasn't who I thought she was.”
Oliver fell heavily into the nearest chair. It sounded as though Sarah didn't care who was kissing her, just that she was being kissed. Putting his head in his hands, Oliver growled under his breath.
“It may not be what you think, Oliver. It may be that she was thinking of you the whole time.”
Looking up at his friend, he asked, “Do you really believe that?”
A Lesson in Friendship Page 17
