Azalea (25 page)

Azalea rose with him, standing closer than
was strictly necessary. "Will you not stay awhile longer?" she
asked softly. "I—I have yet to answer all of your questions about
Virginia."

Looking down at her, seeing her so near,
Christian struggled to subdue a sudden blaze of desire. He had been
trying to place his courtship of her on a more conventional footing
—or as conventional as was possible, considering that he was
engaged to marry her cousin. But now he wanted to sweep all the
niceties aside, to gather her into his arms and kiss her
thoroughly, explore her... A shudder ran through him.

"My lord?" asked Azalea softly, noticing it.
She had trembled at her own boldness in asking him to stay, but had
been unwilling to give up this opportunity of getting to know him
better —and of attempting to make him remember.

She had feared that her forwardness might
give him a disgust of her, but the look in his eyes was not one of
disgust, she was certain. When he remained silent, she reached up
tentatively to touch his face, but he caught her hand in his before
she could do so.

Her questions abruptly fled. Now she was
startled and a little frightened by the naked hunger she saw in his
expression.

His eyes locked with hers and she felt a
warm stirring deep within her. Was this desire? She wanted it to
stop; she wanted it to intensify. Trembling, she licked her lips,
needing to say something, anything to break the spell.

Without warning, she was in his arms, his
mouth hungrily on hers. After a shocked instant she responded,
tasting his lips, his tongue, as he tasted hers. His hands roved
greedily over her body, stroking her back, sliding up her stomach,
cupping her breasts. Excitement flooded through her at his touch,
shocking her in its intensity.

This,
this
was what she had wanted! This
would bind her to him, and him to her. Surely it meant that he had
finally remembered!

Azalea returned his kisses eagerly. Her own
hands began to move, tracing the strength of his jaw, twining
through his hair. She felt more than heard a groan coming from deep
within him. Suddenly, he swept her up in his arms and carried her
to the sofa.

She knew she should stop him. Things were
moving more quickly than she had intended. But her will would not
respond to her reason. Instead, reason itself was subverted to her
surging emotions.

He is my husband,
a voice argued within her.
It is perfectly natural that he should love me, and that I
should allow it.

Gently, he laid her on the plush upholstery.
Kissing her again, he unfastened the top button of her gown. The
second button was nestled between her breasts, and as he worked it
loose, he allowed his fingers to wander across her bared flesh.
Azalea felt scorched where he touched her. His lips blazed a trail
of fire along the side of her throat.

He is my husband.

He had one hand inside her chemise now,
stroking her breast, as the other worked on the next button. She
leaned her head back, marvelling at the incredible sensations
coursing through her.

It is perfectly natural...

He had opened her gown now, and her chemise,
and brought his mouth lower, fastening on one breast. Azalea
gasped. His tongue teased the nipple and her body responded
enthusiastically.

...
that he should love me...

Without warning, Marilyn's face forced its
way into her consciousness like a splash of cold sea water.
Suddenly, she knew why this was wrong.

Christian felt the change in her at once.
Her eager, fluid movements, which had been spurring him on beyond
rational thought, were suddenly stiff, mechanical. With an effort,
he drew back.

"What is it?" His voice was still husky with
passion. "Did I hurt you?"

"N-no." Her voice also quivered, but whether
with desire or some other emotion, he couldn't tell. "It is
only..." She dropped her eyes.

Sanity returned to him with a crash. What on
earth had he done? "Oh, God, I'm sorry," he said. "I never
meant..." He stood quickly and turned away, afraid that the mere
sight of her, with her gown unbuttoned and her glorious auburn hair
in delicious disorder, would tempt him beyond his precarious
control. His body throbbed with his need for her.

Azalea thought she understood. He was
disgusted with her, now that he was able to reflect on what she had
allowed him to do. He was also doubtless frustrated, for she burned
with thwarted longing herself, and she had once heard that it was
far worse for a man.

"I—I didn't mean—" she began tentatively,
but he cut off her words, his back still turned to her.

"No, I know you didn't." His voice was
harsh. "I'd better go." Without looking at her again, he strode
from the parlour.

Azalea rebuttoned her dress with trembling
fingers, tears of shame and frustration burning behind her eyelids.
So much for her plan, she thought miserably. Instead of convincing
him that she was his lawful wife, she had acted like the veriest
strumpet! What must he think of her at this moment?

And how could she ever tell him the truth
now? After this, he would no doubt see it as a desperate attempt to
manipulate him into marriage. She had spoiled everything!

Smoothing her hair into some semblance of
order and blinking back the threatening tears, she picked up her
embroidery in trembling fingers, feeling nearly as bereft as she
had when she first learned of Christian's supposed death at
sea.

* * *

The next morning, Azalea prepared for her
habitual ride with grim determination. After yesterday she doubted
that Lord Glaedon would be in the Park, knowing as he did that she
rode there regularly. But if he were, she would somehow have to
mend her fences with him. Although any future with him now seemed
hopeless, she simply had to try.

Yesterday afternoon, amid the tumult of
Marilyn's return from the country and her mother's raptures at
having her home, Azalea had sent another query to Mr. Timmons,
hoping against hope that the old barrister might be recovered
enough by now to see her. The reply, again from his wife, was
negative, though she imparted the information that her husband was
gradually mending.

Azalea was to have no help from that quarter
then, at least at present. No, if Lord Glaedon was to acknowledge
her as his wife, it was up to her to achieve it. And achieve it she
must.

In contrast to yesterday's drizzle, it was a
beautiful, sparkling morning, warm for January, though still crisp
enough to be invigorating. In spite of herself, Azalea felt her
spirits rise as she and Ginny trotted in the direction of Hyde
Park. If nothing else, a ride on such a lovely morning was bound to
clear the cobwebs from her brain.

Even as she told herself that it was just as
well that Lord Glaedon was unlikely to be there, she glanced ahead
and saw him, apparently waiting for her at the Park entrance. Her
heart skipped a beat.

"Well met, Miss Clayton!" he called as soon
as she was within earshot. "I had hoped that you would not be able
to resist riding on such a fine morning."

"I ride nearly every morning, my lord, fine
or not," she replied, struggling to match his casual tone. He
looked impossibly handsome, his hair gleaming nearly as black as
Sultan's coat.

And he was here! Surely that must mean he
did not hold her in contempt for what she had done yesterday?
"You—you wished to ride with me, my lord?" she managed to say.

"Christian, remember?" he reminded her,
making her cheeks grow warm. "Yes, I had to come, of course. I
wished to apologize for my reprehensible conduct yesterday. Is it
too much to hope that you will forgive me?"

Nervously, she glanced over her shoulder at
the groom, who thankfully had dropped back well out of earshot.
Further back, she saw a man on foot walking slowly towards them.
Even as she watched, however, the man slipped behind a tree as
though he did not wish to be seen. Curious, she thought. Was it
possible that her uncle was having her followed?

She dismissed it from her mind, however, and
turned back to Christian, a tremulous smile playing about her
lips.

Though he hid it well, Christian was
exerting every ounce of control he possessed to maintain his
lighthearted charade. He had come to the Park in hopes of seeing
Miss Clayton again, to discover whether she had forgiven him for
what he had tried to do.

He had planned this morning's meeting as a
sort of test, and not only of his own control in her presence, he
now realized. When he had seen her approaching, he'd been gripped
by a sudden fear that she would turn and ride away, never wanting
to see him again.

Certainly, he deserved it. He had never been
in the habit of ruining innocents. But there was something about
Miss Clayton that made him forget his rigid control, which he had
worked so hard to maintain since resuming his place in Society.
With her, he felt far more like the rough, debauched sailor he'd
been before his memory had returned. She deserved better than
that.

He took her hand and kissed her fingers
without a word, but as their glances met, a world of meaning was
exchanged. It was as though he asked a question with his eyes and
she silently answered. She had forgiven him.

"Shall we ride, then?" he finally asked. In
answer, she flicked her reins, sending Ginny into a brisk trot.

As they rode, they fell back into the easy
conversation they had enjoyed yesterday, before the madness had
taken them both. Slowly, Azalea felt her pulse returning to normal.
Still, her troubles were by no means over.

"Marilyn came home last night," she said
casually when there was a brief lull in the conversation. To her
relief, Christian did not seem unduly affected by the news.

"I trust she had an enjoyable visit in the
country," was all he said.

In fact, Marilyn had been in such high
spirits upon her return that Azalea had greater hopes than ever
that she might be falling in love with Jonathan. She had spoken
only vaguely of the other guests at the house party, and Azalea had
noticed a certain sparkle in her cousin's eyes whenever Jonathan's
name was mentioned.

"Yes, I believe she did," she replied.

She rode in silence for a moment, gathering
her courage, then very deliberately said, "Do you know, I was just
noticing how very similar your Sultan is to a stallion my
grandfather owned back in Virginia."

"Indeed?" He regarded her with interest,
though whether because her words struck some chord of memory or
simply because the talk was of horses, she could not be sure.

"Yes. Even their names are similar. Our
black stallion was named Spartan."

"You don't say!" Now he appeared almost
startled. "Would you believe, that is what I nearly named this
fellow when I bought him last year? I finally settled on Sultan
because of the Arabian in his lineage."

He went on to describe Sultan's parentage,
but Azalea thought that he seemed rather distracted. Clearly he
still did not remember everything, but it was a start.

Once or twice during their ride she glanced
back to see whether the man she had noticed earlier was still
following them, but saw no sign of him. Most likely it had been a
stranger simply enjoying a walk in solitude, she thought with
relief. But as she left the Park after parting cordially with
Christian, a shadow detached itself from the Park gates and ambled
off down the street after the Earl.

Back at Beauforth House, Azalea felt more
than satisfied with the results of her outing. She knew without a
doubt that Christian cared for her, at least a little. And it was
clear that she had managed to at least prick his memory. In time it
might return in its entirety.

All would soon be straightened out, she was
sure of it. Smiling into the mirror as Junie pinned up her hair,
she found herself quite impatient to assume her rightful place as
his wife, especially now that she'd had a taste of what joys that
position might involve.

Azalea hummed softly to herself as she
descended to breakfast a few minutes later. "Isn't it a lovely
morning?" she asked her cousins brightly as she entered the
dining-room. Walking to the sideboard, she helped herself to a
generous portion of kippers and eggs.

"Did you go riding this morning?" asked
Marilyn. She obviously considered her American cousin slightly
deranged to have formed the habit of being abroad at the
uncivilized hour of nine o'clock, or even earlier.

"Yes, I did," answered Azalea, taking her
seat and picking up her fork. "And guess who I encountered in the
Park?" She had decided that her cousins might need some preparation
for what was to occur.

Neither answered, so she continued. "Lord
Glaedon! He is returned to Town and promised to call, probably this
afternoon." For obvious reasons she had said nothing of his visit
yesterday.

Rather to her surprise, Marilyn frowned. "I
did not know he was to return so soon. Still, it is flattering, I
suppose, that he should wish to see me immediately."

It seemed obvious to Azalea that any
pleasure her cousin felt at the news was due to her vanity, and not
from any real romantic attachment to Lord Glaedon. Indeed, since
her return she had spoken so incessantly of Jonathan Plummer that
Azalea doubted there could be much room in her head —or heart —for
any other man. Still, if events unfolded as she hoped, it could
mean a sore blow to Marilyn's pride.

Lady Beauforth, meanwhile,
was agreeing somewhat absently with her daughter's statement, being
occupied with the Society news in the
Morning Post,
which she read
religiously every day lest she fall behind in the current gossip.
Suddenly, she let out a strangled yelp.