by Madeline Hunter, Caroline Linden, Megan Frampton, Myretta Robens
Delyth sipped and suppressed a grimace. It was not her favorite restorative. Gently, she set her glass on the small table beside her. “Thank you, yes.” She realized she still had a grasp on Simon’s hand and tried to break it, but he tightened his grip and stayed where he was. What was he thinking? What would Louisa think?
She drew in one more deep breath and rose from her seat. Of necessity, Simon released her hand. “We should get to work, then,” she said, brushing her hands together. She returned to the worktable and took out the pieces of the pattern she had cut at the shop. “I’ll baste this together and we can proceed from there.” She spoke directly to Louisa. “It shouldn’t take me long. Why don’t you think about what fabrics you prefer?”
“Shall we?” Simon gestured to the selection of fabrics piled on the bench. Delyth had immediately started pinning pieces of muslin together and seemed to be trying her best to pretend he and his sister weren’t in the room.
Louisa looked as though she wanted to leave Delyth to her work, but he wasn’t ready to do that. He wanted to stay in here and coax Delyth into talking about cut and color and texture. He privately acknowledged that he could happily listen to Delyth Owen rhapsodize about fashion for long periods of time. In fact, he had not yet determined what his limit was, or if there was one.
“Simon.” Louisa looked and sounded perturbed by his insistence on staying. “Let the woman work and then we will consult with her about fabrics.” She took his arm and started to drag him out of the room. “Come with me.”
Simon looked back over his shoulder at Delyth, who was bent over her sewing with a sly smile on her face. He felt his own mouth shape into an answering smile and let Louisa lead him out of the room.
Louisa didn’t stop until she reached her favorite drawing room where she pushed Simon into a chair. “Sit,” she said. “Stay.” And she rang for tea.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Louisa asked, once the tea arrived and she’d passed Simon a cup he didn’t particularly want.
“Apparently, I’m having tea,” he said.
“I mean, what do you think you’re doing with Miss Owen?”
“Nothing.” Simon attempted an uninterested shrug and took a sip of tea. “I’m here having tea with you.”
Louisa rolled her eyes. “You are the most impossible man I know.”
“Quite possibly,” Simon agreed.
“This morning you told me you kissed Delyth. Is that not correct?”
Simon nodded.
“And then you asked me to remind you to act like a gentleman.”
“Also correct,” Simon said.
“And yet, you insist on mooning around the workroom while Delyth sews a pattern. What is the meaning of that?”
“Mooning?” Simon asked, appalled at the characterization. “Mooning?”
“Yes. Mooning. Now, make up your mind, Simon. I am your sister, not your conscience. I’m not going to make you do anything. You have been an adult for quite some time now and—I thought—a gentleman. If you think you should act like one, you are perfectly capable of doing so on your own.” Louisa set her cup down and stalked out, leaving Simon alone with his cooling tea and his teeming thoughts.
Simon’s relationship with his sister had always been open and honest. Yet, this was the first time he could remember being the recipient of so vehement a lecture. It was a lot like having tea with his mother.
What would his mother say about his ambivalent feelings about Delyth Owen? Would he even tell her? Although he probably would not have shared even as much as he had with Louisa, he did wonder how his mother would feel about Delyth. She was lovely. Lovely and refined for someone who had worked in a theater. Wait! She was refined regardless of her background. If he didn’t know she’d worked in a theater, he would have thought she was a member of the gentry. She would appear to advantage at any social occasion he could imagine taking her to. Except, probably, for the color of her gowns. But that, he now realized, was neither here nor there.
Delyth Owen was not the sort of woman a gentleman dallied with. Had he met her in a ballroom instead of a workroom, he would have courted her. He would have considered marrying her. And now that he’d met her at a dressmaker’s shop, how was he to proceed? Maybe he needed more tea.
Maybe he needed something stronger than tea. Although brandy or even sherry might be the better way to work through his predicament, two o’clock in the afternoon was probably not the time to start drinking. Simon considered going after Louisa to continue their fight. That was always invigorating and sometimes fun. Today, however, it hadn’t felt like fun and it had confused him more than anything. He decided to go back to the workroom and see how Delyth was doing. Yes. That would be appropriate. And he wouldn’t be mooning. Indeed! What was Louisa talking about?
Delyth had finished putting the pattern together and was laying it out on a table to examine the form. She stepped back and walked around the table to consider it from another angle. Simon stood in the doorway and watched her contemplate her work until she noticed his presence and stopped.
“What color will you make it?” Simon asked.
Delyth blushed. Simon hoped that their little educational walk down Bond Street hadn’t dampened her enthusiasm. He might not agree with her color choices, but he craved her own delight in them. If she began restricting her designs to pastels and whites, he thought he might feel as though he had personally drawn a veil over the sun. It would be a travesty.
Simon realized he was smiling at the turnabout in his feelings about Delyth’s use of color. He hoped the change was due to some new insight he had gained and not because all he could think about when he watched her nimble fingers straightening pins was how he could manage to have those fingers upon himself. Nor because watching her sweetly rounded body leaning over the worktable made him wonder how he could uncover it and charm it into his bed.
He almost stepped out again, but, at that moment, she looked up and smiled at him. Her generous mouth turned up at the corners and her eyes twinkled. Simon was transfixed. His body flooded with heat and it was all he could do not to snatch her up and carry her away.
“I think,” Delyth said, her smile widening, “that I will try tangerine and pistachio.”
“If you are trying to make me hungry,” Simon growled. “You have already succeeded.”
Chapter Eleven
The sound of Simon’s low growl went right through Delyth’s body. It was impossible for her to think when he looked at her like he was right now and when he spoke in that low, seductive tone. She dropped her pincushion to the table and turned to him, ready to do whatever he had in mind. The thought that she was in a peck of trouble moved fleetingly through her mind and disappeared. She moved to him and put her hand on his chest, right over his heart, and he lifted his hand to cover it.
“Come with me,” he said, still in that low tone.
“Now?” Delyth’s tone was in a higher register than her usual voice. Being around Simon Merrithew seemed to make her squeak.
“Now.” He closed his fingers around her hand and turned in the doorway, taking her with him.
“Where are we going?”
Simon stopped and Delyth thought he looked a bit puzzled. “We’re going for a walk,” he said, finally.
“I’ll get my shawl.”
“Not necessary,” Simon said, apparently more certain of their destination than he was a minute ago.
Not letting go of her hand, he led her to the library and through the French windows to the small walled garden in back of the townhouse.
Delyth had never been here before and wondered if she were about to get a lesson in floral hues.
Simon led her to a bench off to one side of the garden, against a wall of espaliered laburnum, just beginning to bud. It was a lovely setting, but Delyth wondered what it was a setting for.
Simon indicated that she should sit on the bench which, being stone and in the shade, was just a bit cool on her nether parts. But she sat a
nd stayed seated. Simon sat next to her, and Delyth noticed that he had not flipped up the tails of his coat. Fine. He had extra protection from the stone. They could be here forever before his nether parts became chilled.
She imagined he had some reason for bringing her out here although she could not, at the moment, imagine what it was. Still, this was Simon, the man who had kissed her on Bond Street and kissed her again in his library, the man who had just now used his seductive voice and irresistible smile to lure her out to this cool bench. She was willing to wait to see what he had in mind. She rather hoped that he had changed his mind regarding that speech about being a gentleman that he had given her in the library. She thought that might be it and, heaven knew, she was ready.
“Miss Owen,” Simon said, raising her hand to his lips. “Delyth.”
“Yes?” Delyth raised her face, giving Simon an inquiring look.
Simon hesitated again. Was she going to have to initiate this seduction? She was perfectly capable of doing so and would if Simon did not make his move. Delyth waited patiently as Simon lowered her hand and stroked her fingers. She knew he wanted to say something. She wanted him to say something. But his proximity heated her blood and the stone bench cooled her bottom.
Before Simon could find the words he was obviously searching for, Delyth rose from the bench and, bending over Simon, took him by his lapels, drew him up, and kissed him with the full force of her longing, kissed him as she wanted to be kissed, as she had been kissed, kissed him until he took her in his arms and kissed her back. Once his arms were around her, Delyth sighed, loosened her grip on his jacket and wound her arms around his neck, giving herself up the joy of being in his arms, of being kissed by the man she loved, refusing to think of what would happen next, what this meant for her future.
After a kiss that went on forever and didn’t seem long enough, Simon took her by her shoulders and put her away from him. “Wait,” he said. “Wait just a moment.”
“What? Wait?” Delyth was stunned by the sudden loss of his warmth and confused by his command. “Why?”
“I brought you out here to say something, to ask you a question.” Simon’s voice was low and his expression serious but not angry.
Delyth was still confused. “Then why haven’t you done so?”
“I…” Simon hesitated again.
“My God, Simon. If it’s too difficult for you to say, then perhaps you should just let me go back to my work.” Delyth shrugged out of his grip and turned to leave.
“No!” Simon grabbed her arm. “I want to marry you.”
“What?” Delyth dropped back to the bench and looked into Simon’s eyes. She no longer felt the coldness of the stone. She couldn’t even feel her legs. She could feel nothing in her body except the fierce beating of her heart. “You what?”
“Marry me, Delyth Owen. Live your life with me.” Simon sat back down and reached out to draw Delyth into his arms.
“Are you daft?” Delyth pushed at his chest. “I’m a dressmaker. And even worse, I used to be costume designer in the theater. You can’t marry me.” She was obviously going to have to be the rational person on this cold bench.
“Can you marry me?” Simon asked, refusing to let go of her.
“Well, of course I can. In marrying you, I would only be improving my position.”
“Do you love me?”
“Not the point,” Delyth said, and asked, “Do you love me?”
“I just asked you to marry me.”
Delyth sighed. He was not going to say he loved her, and she felt as though he ought to be able to do it. She’d give him one more chance. “So you did and I just asked if you loved me.”
Simon nodded.
“You seem to be having a hard time saying things this afternoon,” Delyth said. With that, she extricated herself from Simon’s arms and marched back to the house.
The day had gone from bad to worse. Delyth had not exactly turned down his marriage proposal, but she certainly hadn’t accepted it before she stormed back to her workroom and locked herself in. She had asked for a tray in her room rather than joining the Merrithews for dinner. She was avoiding him and Simon feared that he had, in some way, irrevocably offended her. He had thought a marriage proposal would make everything right and it had had the very opposite effect.
“What happened?” Louisa glared at Simon over the dinner table as he pushed his food around his plate.
Simon didn’t pretend not to understand. “I don’t know,” he said.
“Men!” Louisa continued to glare. “What did you say to her?”
“I asked her to marry me.”
Louisa’s expression softened. “You did? That’s excellent.”
“Is it?” Simon wondered how excellent it could be if he felt as though he had a large object lodged in his chest.
“You love her.” It wasn’t a question.
Simon nodded.
“And she said…?” Louisa took a sip of wine as she waited for the answer.
“And she didn’t say no.” Simon said.
Louisa frowned.
“But she didn’t say yes,” he admitted after his own swallow of wine. “And she hasn’t spoken to me since. Nor allowed me entrance to the workroom.”
“Yes,” Louisa said. “I had noticed that. What are you going to do?”
“Sleep on it,” Simon said, throwing his napkin on the table and stalking out of the room.
Simon lay in bed staring at the canopy. He supposed that coming to his room was a better option than sitting at the dinner table, not eating, with Louisa alternating between glaring and sympathy. Neither of those responses were tolerable at this moment. However, despite his parting remark to Louisa, he was not going to be able to get any sleep. It seemed possible that he was going to die of either starvation or exhaustion unless he was able to resolve the debacle left in the wake of his marriage proposal, his ridiculously inept marriage proposal. He imagined he probably deserved a long, uncomfortable death. And he imagined that both Delyth and Louisa might agree at this moment.
He turned over and pulled the covers over his head. What was he going to do? Despite his failure to tell Delyth that he loved her, he realized that he did and that he could not conceive of a future without her in it. Abruptly, Simon sat up and punched his pillow. Damn. He really wasn’t going to sleep tonight. Throwing off the rest of his covers, he got up, lit a candle, and fumbled for his banyan. He hoped he had a book worth reading in the room. He was certainly not going down to the library tonight.
Simon found Sense and Sensibility beside his chair. Had he really brought that up to his room? Louisa must have left it for him. She’d talked about it enough that he was aware that it was about family, one of Louisa’s favorite subjects. Why not? He picked it up and turned to the first page. There was a death in the third paragraph. Just what he needed.
He was paging ahead to see if anyone else was scheduled to die right away when he heard a knock on his door. “Enter.” Yes, he was snarling, but he was in no mood to see anyone…
Except the person who slipped through the door and closed it behind her. Delyth, in her night rail and shawl and bare feet, almost as she had looked when they met in the library. Delyth. The one person he did want to see, although he had no idea at this moment what he was going to say to her. He dropped the book and stood, looking, he suspected, particularly stupid.
“Am I disturbing you?” Delyth asked in a low voice.
“As you see.” He held his hands out.
“Oh. You’re reading.” She craned her neck, trying to read the title of the book.
“Sense and Sensibility,” Simon said to save her time. “And no. You’re not disturbing me.” Except in the most irrational way.
“I … I thought we should talk,” Delyth said. “I left you rather precipitously in the garden.”
Simon took her hands and led her to a chair. “Nothing I didn’t deserve,” he said.
“You didn’t. You had just done me a great honor and
I marched off in a temper. I came to apologize and…”
“And?” Simon asked, still holding both her hands.
“And to say yes,” Delyth said, taking her hands from his and sliding them around his waist. “You don’t need to tell me that you love me. I know.”
Simon blinked. It seemed that his life had changed completely in the last minute. “You do?”
“Yes. I knew by the way you kissed me,” Delyth said, turning him toward his bed. “Now, let us see what other ways we might tell each other.”
Simon’s entire body came to attention. Delyth Owen, round, smooth, delectable, delightful Delyth Owen had come to his room to take him to bed. Who was he to deny her?
The covers were a rumpled testament to his poor attempt at sleeping. He thought about straightening them, but decided to put his time to better use. He leaned down and kissed Delyth until she softened against him, and then dragged her nightdress up her body until it bunched at her shapely hips.
Delyth immediately took the hint and raised her arms, allowing him to pull the gown over her head.
Simon’s first inclination was to tumble her onto the bed. His second was to inspect the treasure that had been delivered to him tonight. He stepped back and examined the woman who had said she’d marry him. “You are even more beautiful naked,” he said.
Delyth blushed, and Simon could see that her entire body turned a delicate shade of pink. Her rosy nipples darkened and, as he looked at them, crinkled and stood up. Her cloud of dark hair floated about ivory shoulders, her tongue darted out to moisten her plush lips, and her blue, blue eyes dilated.
Then Simon tumbled her, lifting her into his arms and dropping her into the center of his bed, following her down as her limbs came around him and her opulent little body pressed against his. Her mouth opened in invitation, which Simon accepted. The kiss became a duel of tongues and the duel of tongues became a duel of arms and legs. Delyth bowed against him and Simon responded, entering her without hesitation. Making her his in a single moment. The moment extended into others, time moved out of ken, their bodies met in passion and in love and, when Delyth cried out her release, Simon was there with her.
