A Wicked Gentleman (29 page)

“Are you having an affair?” Aurelia asked directly.

“I suppose that's what you would call it,” Cornelia agreed. “But as long as the earl doesn't find out…and there's no reason why he should find out. Is there?” The question was a desperate request for reassurance.

“He won't find out from us,” Livia said. “Of course he won't.”

Aurelia looked at her friend closely. “Do you love him, Nell?”

Cornelia pressed her fingertips to her mouth. She thought she
did
love Harry Bonham, but she wasn't prepared to admit that, not even to herself. Not while it was one-sided.

“I don't know that exactly,” she said. “But it's like some kind of possession…obsession, if you like.” And that was true enough, with or without the complications of love. And she knew that Harry felt that at least as powerfully as she did.

Aurelia and Livia said nothing for a minute or two, absorbing the implications of this. “Are you happy about it?” Aurelia asked finally.

“That's a strange word for it,” Cornelia responded honestly. “I'm frightened by it…by the possible consequences.”

“What consequences?” Aurelia's question was sharp.

“Not that, Ellie. To be blunt, Harry takes a simple precaution.”

Aurelia nodded her comprehension. “So what
are
you frightened of?”

“Of being swallowed up,” Cornelia replied simply. “Devoured by obsession. Losing myself.”

Aurelia whistled. “That's a powerful fear, Nell.”

“Why don't you just marry him?” Livia asked. “That would solve everything. The children like him too.”

“Unfortunately, it's not that simple, Liv.” Cornelia eyes were shadowed. “I don't think marriage figures anywhere in Harry Bonham's future.”

“Why not?”

She gave a short and humorless laugh. “If I knew that, Ellie, I'd be a lot easier in my mind. The man's a mystery, an enigma, and so far I haven't come close to finding the key. But it is as it is. I tried to break it off almost before it began, and I couldn't do it.”

“But you have such willpower,” Aurelia said, frowning at her.

“Not in this,” Cornelia said with a sigh. She paced restlessly between the long windows overlooking the street. “I can hardly bear to endure the time we're apart. And it's torment to have to behave in company as if we're bare acquaintances.”

Livia was fascinated. It was so unlike the ordinarily serene and in-charge Cornelia. “Where do you meet him, Nell?”

Cornelia grinned mischievously, her earlier gravity abruptly dispelled. “I don't meet him exactly, he plays Casanova through my window.”

After an instant's astonishment her friends burst into laughter. “Oh, that's rich, Nell,” Aurelia gasped. “He climbs through your window in the dead of night?”

“In a word, yes,” Cornelia said somewhat smugly. “Which is one reason why I don't think anyone will ever be any the wiser. We can't be seen in public behaving as more than ordinary acquaintances, not without drawing attention to ourselves. You know what the gossips are like. If it occurs to someone that Harry's at my side rather frequently, there'll be talk, and it'll get back to the earl. But as long as he's in the company of all three of us, the gossips won't see anything special…and no one's watching my window in the dead of night,” she added with another mischievous grin.

Aurelia stared at her in dawning comprehension. “Was he there, in your bed, that night the cat squalled and Morecombe came up with his blunderbuss and the dogs got loose and…he was, wasn't he?”

“Hiding behind the bed curtains,” Cornelia said, laughing. “He'd only just crept in, intending to take me by surprise, but he trod on Puss's tail…you know the rest.”

“I didn't hear about that,” Liv said with a touch of indignation. “Why didn't I know about it?”

“Because the racket didn't waken you,” Aurelia pointed out. “I thought there was something odd about it all, but I'd never have guessed, not in a million years.”

She chuckled suddenly. “Aunt Sophia's house does seem rather an appropriate venue for illicit acts of passion, don't you think? I'm sure it's not the first liaison that's taken place here.”

“I own I'm very curious about the lady,” Cornelia said, more than ready to turn the conversation into a different avenue. “I wonder if Morecombe could be pumped discreetly.”

Livia, however, was not ready to abandon the original topic. “It may be very uncomfortable to be possessed, devoured, or whatever you want to call it,” she said thoughtfully, “but I envy you, Nell.”

“Me too,” Aurelia said. “You do have an extraordinary glow these days, Nell. Passion clearly has something to be said for it.”

Cornelia smiled, she couldn't help it. “Oh, yes,” she agreed softly. “Oh, yes, it most certainly does.”

 

Two days later she was not so sure. Despite the fact that the door knocker was never still, announcing a steady stream of visitors, Harry was not among them. He seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth.

She made no comment, however, appearing almost not to notice his absence; but Livia and Aurelia were not fooled.

“Where do you think he is?” Livia asked Aurelia on the third afternoon when Cornelia was out with the children. “They haven't had an argument, have they?”

Aurelia shook her head. “I don't know. Maybe he only comes at night.”

“No,” Livia said firmly. “You can tell that Nell's puzzled…upset. She's not really herself.”

“Yes, I know,” Aurelia conceded. “First Nigel disappears, now the viscount. It's all a mystery to me…oh, it sounds like she's back. She's talking to Morecombe in the hall.”

“More invitations,” Cornelia said as she entered the salon flourishing yet another gilt-edged card. “I don't see how one could possibly accept them all.” She added the card to the pile already on the mantel.

“Most people attend each one for five minutes,” Aurelia said, busily arranging winter camellias in a vase. “But that seems so rude…aren't these beautiful?”

Cornelia glanced absently at them. “Mmm. Who are they from?”

Aurelia squinted at the card. “A Lord Bailey.” She shook her head. “The name means nothing. Does it to you?”

“I think so,” Livia said vaguely. “I think I danced with someone of that name at the Bellinghams' soirée the other day.”

“So casual, Liv,” Cornelia accused. “I suppose with so many suitors you can afford to be insouciant.” Her smile was strained, and the intended jocularity of the accusation didn't come out right.

She saw the quick glance that passed between her friends and braced herself for the question that she could not answer, but the salon door opened and brought a welcome diversion.

“Them two gentlemen are here, m'lady,” Morecombe announced in his dour tones sticking his head through the merest crack in the door.

“What two gentlemen?” Livia murmured.

Cornelia shrugged and shook her head. It wasn't Harry. Morecombe always referred to him as
that viscount.

“Well, show them in, please, Morecombe,” Aurelia prompted.

“They're right here.” Morecombe's head disappeared and another hand pushed the door wide.

“I don't think I've ever come across such an eccentric butler, ma'am,” Nick Petersham declared, entering the salon, David Forster on his heels.

“I'm surprised you keep him on,” David observed. “Isn't he ready to be put out to pasture?”

“He may well be, but my aunt left clear instructions in her will that he and his wife and sister-in-law were to be kept on until they decided to go of their own accord,” Livia explained.

“Good Lord, you mean there are two more of them?” Nick exclaimed.

“Yes, and they're every bit as eccentric, but they're also wonderful cooks,” Aurelia said, laughing. “Do sit down, gentlemen. What may we offer you?”

“Sherry or Madeira?” Cornelia moved to the sideboard. “Or claret? I discovered a rather fine '92 in the cellar on my last trip down there.”

“Claret then, thank you, Lady Dagenham.” Nick came over to take the filled glasses from her.

She glanced sideways at him as she poured the wine. “We haven't seen Lord Bonham in a while,” she observed. “I trust he's not ill?” It had become clear to all of them after the first introduction to Nick and David that the three men were fast friends.

“Oh, no, not a bit of it, ma'am,” Nick said cheerfully. “Harry has the constitution of an ox. You seen him around, Forster?”

“Come to think of it, no,” David said, taking the glass Nick offered him with a nod of thanks. “He'll be attending to some family business, you mark my words.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Aurelia said with ready sympathy. “Those poor motherless nephews and nieces. The viscount told us all about them.”

Both visitors looked bemused. “Harry has a big family, ma'am, but I don't know about motherless nephews and nieces…d'you, Nick?”

“Oh, yes, he explained,” Livia said eagerly. “Such a sad story. It's why he wanted to buy this house. He said it reminded him of the house where he'd grown up in London…the square garden, cricket, hide-and-seek…” Her voice trailed away as she saw the confusion on the men's faces.

“Buy this house, Lady Livia?” Nick asked. “He has a perfectly good house of his own.”

“No, it wasn't for him, it was so that he could establish the children close to him to watch over them.”

“Ah,” Nick said somewhat inadequately. To his certain knowledge all Harry's sisters were flourishing, and while he did indeed have a quiver full of nephews and nieces, none was motherless…or fatherless for that matter. But if Harry had spun this particular tale, he must have his reasons for it, and it would hardly be a gesture of friendship to expose it for a tissue of lies.

David seemed to have come to the same conclusion. “Ah, just so,” he said. “Yes…yes.” He buried his nose and his confusion in his wine goblet.

“Lord Bonham's business is his own, after all,” Cornelia said, taking a sip from her own wineglass. “What do you think of the claret, Sir Nicholas?”

“Oh, excellent,” he said, glad to be on solid ground once more. He held up his glass to the window and the thin ray of sunlight set ruby lights glinting. “Lovely color…good body,” he observed appreciatively.

“I wonder what effect Napoleon's Continental System will have on the wine trade,” Cornelia said, moving to the chaise. It was time to turn the subject firmly away from Harry Bonham. When she was alone she could consider the implications of what she'd just heard…or rather hadn't heard. “What do you think, Lord Forster?”

David's confusion seemed to deepen. “Well, as to that, ma'am…not much for politics, m'self. Not too sure, really.”

“It can only have a deleterious effect,” Nick said gravely, coming to his friend's rescue. “With the French blockading the ports, all trade with Europe is bound to be seriously affected.”

“Yes, and it won't just be wine,” Aurelia chimed in. “Nor just imports. Our own products will have no outside markets either.”

As other visitors arrived, the conversation continued to hold general interest, and Cornelia, try as she would, could only concentrate with half her mind. The other half would not let go of the conviction that Harry was an out-and-out liar.

He was most definitely
not
responsible for a clutch of motherless nephews and nieces.

But why, then, had he been so insistent on buying Liv's house?

I
'M GOING TO HAVE A BATH
,” Cornelia announced with decision after supper that evening. “I want to wash my hair and just soak in front of the fire in my chamber.”

“That sounds
so
appealing,” Aurelia said. “I'm tired of sponge baths. They're neither one thing nor the other, and you never feel really clean all over. Your turn tonight, Nell, mine tomorrow.”

“Agreed.” Cornelia stood up from the table. “I'll go to the kitchen and see how much help I can rustle up with the water.”

“There's Hester, and the new boot boy,” Livia suggested. “I don't suppose Lester is still here. I think he goes home at night…wherever home is.”

“He was here last night,” Aurelia said. “I went down to the kitchen to heat some milk for Franny, and he was sitting by the range with his feet on the fender, reading the
Morning Post
.”

“Well, let's hope he's here tonight,” Cornelia said, going to the door. “For some reason I have absolute faith in that man's ability to achieve miracles, even one as difficult as getting enough hot water upstairs to fill that copper tub.”

And Lester was indeed sitting by the range, a tankard of ale at his elbow, his feet on the fender, and the
Post
in his hands. He looked surprised as Cornelia entered the kitchen. “My lady? You should have rung.”

“We all know this household doesn't run along customary lines, Lester,” Cornelia said, looking around. “Are you all alone?”

“Mr. Morecombe and the ladies have gone to their own quarters. Hester and that young Jemmy are havin' a bit of supper in the pantry, ma'am,” Lester said. “Hester'll come to the dining room to clear the table presently. If there's something you want done now, I can do it.”

“Well, as it happens, there is,” Cornelia said. “I wish to have a bath in my chamber, Lester. Do you think there's enough hot water on the range?”

“Plenty to be goin' on with, my lady,” he said, setting aside his newspaper. “And it won't take more than half an hour to heat up another cauldron.” He gestured to the one that already steamed gently over the fire.

Soon after Cornelia returned to her chamber, Hester arrived with the copper tub which she set on thick sheets before the fire. After the maid encouraged the coals to a full blaze, she said, “I've drawn the curtains against the draft, m'lady.”

Cornelia glanced towards the window where heavy crimson velvet curtains hung. “Thank you, Hester.”

The maid scurried away when she finished her chores and Cornelia went to the window, sliding behind the velvet to look out at the dark garden.
Where was he?

She felt a prickle of apprehension. Harry was no ordinary London beau. Oh, you could be fooled into thinking he was…but there was steel in him.
Was he doing something dangerous? Was he hurt?

A tap at the door brought her out from behind the curtains just as Lester entered with two steaming jugs. He poured the water into the tub, nothing in his expression indicating the sympathy he felt. He'd seen the way she'd darted out from behind the curtains. He had no idea when the viscount would emerge from his attic office where he'd been confined for three days deciphering a problematic Russian code, and even if he did know, he could not confide in the lady.

“Would you wish Hester to attend you, m'lady?”

“No, thank you. Just bring up enough water,” she said, opening a small cedar box on the dresser. It contained cheesecloth pouches of dried lavender and rosemary, a small vial of orange flower water, and a bar of verbena-scented soap. She might not have a lover tonight, but she could at least luxuriate in another form of sensuality.

Two more trips ensured that the bath was filled and three further jugs stood in the hearth, keeping warm by the fire. Cornelia was at last alone. She dropped the pouches into the water where the aromatic herbs would steep slowly. The orange flower water she would use when she rinsed her hair.

She stripped off her clothes, suddenly impatient, suddenly angry. He had no right to disappear without a word. Not if nothing dreadful had happened to cause his absence. Did he count her as nothing in his life?

And why did he lie? Why that ridiculous story about motherless children? Why the interest in this house in the first place? Oh, it would be nice to think he'd seen her by accident, fallen in love…no lust…with her, and come up with such a scheme as an entrée. But the solicitor's letter with the offer had come to Livia in Ringwood. Long before Viscount Bonham had set eyes on the woman he'd first thought to be a scullery maid.

Cornelia stepped into the bath and slid down into the water, drawing up her knees to brace the soles of her feet against the far edge, splashing the water over her breasts and shoulders. She hated puzzles, but even more she detested being made game of. And it seemed to her now that Harry had been playing with her even before he had met her.

Disillusion swamped her as dirty and greasy as old dishwater, and she reached for the verbena soap.

 

Ten minutes later Harry stood in the garden looking up at the house. He knew Cornelia's window simply by position, but it was a black square tonight. The window closed, the curtains drawn tight. He couldn't possibly shin up the drainpipe and hope to wake her when she was presumably sleeping like the dead.

She might have been looking out for him, he thought with a touch of resentment. Hadn't she missed him? But he knew that wasn't reasonable, and if he wasn't as exhausted as he was, he would never have been so irrational. But he wanted her.
Now.

Lester was in the house. But so too, presumably, was Morecombe of the fearsome blunderbuss, not to mention the taciturn twins. He seemed to remember Lester saying something about other servants now, as well.

He moved, stealthy as a hunting cat, through the garden, keeping against the house wall until he reached the steps that led down to the back door to the servants' basement. He could see a line of light along the base of the door at the bottom of the dark stone steps. Someone was still up in the kitchen, and he had to hope it would be Lester. The man, as instructed during Harry's absence, would certainly be on the alert for anything untoward during the hours of the night.

Harry cupped his hands to his mouth and blew gently. The unmistakable call of a brown owl sounded in the quiet. He waited for two beats, and then repeated the call. If Lester was close enough to hear, he would recognize the viscount's call sign.

After a few minutes of straining his ears into the darkness and hearing nothing, Harry repeated the sequence. And this time, within a minute he heard the scraping of bolts in the darkness below, and the kitchen door swung open.

Lester glanced quickly around, then closed the door at his back and climbed up the steps to the garden. “Anything wrong, m'lord?” He spoke in an undertone.

“Yes, damn you,” Harry said impatiently but in the same undertone. “Lady Dagenham's window is closed and dark.”

Lester suppressed a grin. “Her ladyship's taking a bath, sir. In her chamber in front of the fire.”

Harry did not suppress his own grin. “Oh, is she now? Well, get me in. Lester.”

“Aye, sir. The other ladies have gone up to bed, so I'll open up the library window. You can say as how you found it on the latch and managed to slip in.”

“What about those wretched dogs?”

“They're up with Lady Livia. Of course, if they hear you in the corridor, they'll set up their bloody racket again…and they don't miss nothing,” he added somewhat gloomily. “They can hear an earwig crawl.”

Harry considered for a minute, then said decisively, “We'll use the
cry wolf
ruse.”

Lester nodded his comprehension. “Give me a couple of minutes to get to the library window, sir, then you can stay in there while I go upstairs and set the dogs off. Lady Dagenham's door is the third down the corridor on the left.”

He disappeared back down into the shadows of the basement area. Light flooded from the kitchen for an instant, then it was black again.

Harry crept back around the garden, clinging again to the wall of the house until he reached the library window immediately below Cornelia's. He heard the slight scrape from within as Lester fiddled with the latch, then the window came up.

Harry jumped onto the sill and slid through into the dark room, landing soundlessly on the rug. Lester nodded, lowering the window as quietly as he could, then slipped away towards the hall door at the far side of the room.

Harry crept to the door and stood behind it against the wall, listening. Within minutes the frantic yapping sounded. Doors opened above and he could hear voices. Livia's he recognized, then Lester's deeper tones. Harry couldn't hear what he was saying, but he would be giving a reason for his presence upstairs, one that would ensure no one would take any notice of the dogs if they started up again.

Doors closed again, and the yapping continued although more muffled.

Harry slipped from the library and darted for the stairs. He was up them in seconds, seeking the shadows of the upstairs landing and the passage leading off it.

Lester was waiting for him and as soon as he saw him he coughed loudly. The dogs began their racket once more, but this time no doors were opened, and Livia's somewhat exasperated voice could be heard telling them to be quiet, it was only Lester.

Harry raised a hand to Lester in silent salute and flitted along the corridor, past Livia's door, and paused outside Cornelia's. He laid a hand on the handle and turned it quietly. The door swung open, and he darted in, closing it gently at his back.

“Well, now, if that's not the most enticing sight,” he murmured, standing with his back to the door, gazing at the vision in front of him.

Cornelia sat bolt upright in the bath and stared at him in astonishment. “How on earth did you get in? Did
you
set the dogs off?”

“Well, that's not much of a welcome,” he said, reaching behind him to turn the key in the lock.

“
How
did you get in?” she repeated, watching almost warily as he crossed the chamber to the fire.

“A window downstairs was unlocked. I was able to pry it open,” he said. “And one of your servants set the dogs off, and I was able to slip in here under cover of their noise.”

Cornelia was not sure she believed this. It was all too pat. “Where have you been?”

He leaned over the tub and kissed her mouth. “So many questions, Nell. I'm here now.” He moved his lips to her damp forehead and licked the moisture from her eyebrows. “You taste wonderful. And your hair smells delicious.”

“Which is more than I can say for you, sir,” she retorted, the words at odds with the languid sensuality of her voice and the deep blue pools of her eyes that seemed to engulf him. “You don't look as if you've slept for a week, or bathed in as long.”

“Probably because it's true,” he said, straightening. “But I can remedy one at least of those failings.” He began to throw off his clothes.

“You can't get in here,” she protested. “There's not enough room.”

“Oh, you'd be surprised,” he responded, sitting on the end of the bed to deal with his boots and stockings. “That's better.” Naked he stood up. “Now, shift your backside, ma'am.”

Cornelia made a laughing protest, but she hitched herself up against one side of the bath, and he stepped in opposite her. Water slurped over the rim and onto the thick sheet as he slid down, pushing his feet beneath her bottom as he slipped farther beneath the water.

“Look what a mess you're making on the floor,” she objected even as she shifted against his feet, adding to the deluge. His toes were moving wickedly in places where no toes should be, and her objections faded into a soft whimper of pleasure.

Harry smiled, leaning forward to catch the damp fullness of her breasts in the palms of his hands. He played with her nipples, watching her face. “Ah, but I've missed you, love.”

“I've been here,” she said, touching her tongue to her lips as her nipples peaked hard against his caressing finger. “Where were you?” But there was no sting now to the question, and she lost all interest in an answer, at least for the moment.

Harry moved his hands to her waist and pulled her body over his, his head falling back against the rim of the tub. Cornelia wriggled herself astride him, heedless now of the water slopping onto the sodden sheets. She knelt up, lifting herself to guide him within her.

Harry groaned and held himself still. “Don't move, sweetheart, right now I have as little control as a pubescent boy.”

Cornelia smiled, enjoying her moment of power. She knew she could tip him over the edge with the tiniest movement. She could feel the pulse of his penis deep within her. She leaned forward and kissed him, her loins shifting against his belly. It was enough.