Edith Layton (17 page)

“Ah, the Sutra,” Miles said. “Good Lord, Harry, do you think you had to tell me about that? I read it back at Eton—no—I memorized it then, like most of us. And as you recall, I do have a certain history.” He hesitated. “So, such activities won’t set back her recuperation?”

“Not if she enjoys them. On the other hand, if she doesn’t…If you’d like, my nurse can speak to her.”

“No need,” Miles said quickly, “I assure you there’s no need for that. Quite the contrary.”

Harry smiled. “Very good! There are some physicians who claim gently bred ladies shouldn’t
be taxed by such things as ecstasy. My wife thinks such men shouldn’t be allowed to live. And she is, I remind you, even more gently bred than I am!”

Miles laughed, but not because of his friend’s jest. He was so relieved he couldn’t stop smiling.

“So, I’m really doing well!” Annabelle exclaimed when she opened the door to see him grinning so widely.

“So you are,” he said tenderly. “And so you will continue to be, I promise you.”

“Where were you all day?” Annabelle scolded Miles, putting down her hairbrush to glower at him as he entered their bedroom. She tended her newly growing hair with patience and sorrow, brushing it every night, watching to see if it had grown another millimeter during the day. Miles thought it made her look piquant, and told her so.

“You’d say anything to get me in your bed,” she scoffed. “But where were you?”

“Business, as I told you. Now, about that business of our bed?”

She held out her arms to him.

He laughed and scooped her up. “Yes, time for Dr. Pelham’s miraculous remedy,” he said as he carried her to their bed.

In the week since Harry had said she was improving nicely, Miles had come into her eager arms every night. Each night he made gentle, if in
complete, love to her, withholding his own release, but making sure to bring her peace so she could drift off easily afterward.

He hadn’t asked her for more, even though there was so much more he desired of her.

Now, laughing, Miles followed her down to their bed. He flung off his clothes and they fell together. As they’d done every night since he’d first touched her again, they kissed and caressed, his hands and mouth eventually bringing her release. But she didn’t fall asleep immediately afterward, as she usually did.

“There’s more I can do for you,” she finally said in a troubled whisper as they lay in each other’s arms. “You admitted as much, and so I’ve heard tell.”

“Indeed?” he asked carefully, “And who was it you heard tell of it?” He had a vision of Harry’s dour nurse lecturing her and could swear he felt his private parts growing cold.

“At home,” she said, avoiding his eyes, “the servants. And at parties, and such, other women gossiping. They spoke of ways in which a gentleman could be…made satisfied, other than by doing…that.”

He grinned, delighted by her question. “So there are other ways,” he said, trying to keep his voice as cool as he no longer was. “Are you sure you want to know more?”

She nodded, her short curls tickling his chin.
“What you do for me,” she said in a small voice, addressing his collarbone, “I can do for you, can I not?”

“Such an advanced student, or should I say eavesdropper? But yes, you can, in a way. Very well, we’ll get on with that tomorrow night if you wish. There’s a good deal of anatomy involved, as well as some Latin studies and a soupçon of French, as you probably heard.”

She giggled. Nervously, he thought. “Come, love,” he said softly, “it’s not so bad.” He took her hand in his and guided it to himself, closing her fingers over his rising sex for the first time.

It was difficult to say which of them was more startled at her touch.

“There,” he whispered huskily. “It can’t be so terrible, can it? After all, I have to do the same at least four times a day.”

Her laughter relaxed her; her touch became bolder. She explored his reactions with rising interest. He gritted his teeth in rising pleasure. She found it fascinating, his skin warm and smooth, this part of him as strong as the rest of his body, but so much more sensitive.

He kissed her, and drew her close again. “Yes,” he said, closing his hand tightly over hers to show her how to set a rhythm. “Like that, and faster, please.”

She was astonished and delighted at the pleasure she brought him, and how powerful that
made her feel. But she was puzzled. “Miles?” she said later, as his heartbeat slowed again. “Why don’t you just come to me? I mean, as you did on our wedding night?”

“Because you’re still too weak for childbearing.”

“Harry didn’t tell me so. Did he tell you that?”

“He didn’t have to. When you look ready to fling me over your shoulder, you’ll be ready to bear my child. And that will be soon, he said, so I’d better watch my manners.”

“Yes, you’d better.” She smiled and curled next to him.

An excellent start, he thought sleepily. Amazing, that she was a different woman when they were in bed together, all veneer of social correctness vanished. He was as pleased and proud that she had insisted on reciprocating tonight, all on her own, without him even having to give her a hint or a command. He’d thought a woman like Annabelle would take his ministrations as her due. Instead, she’d asked how to ease him. Had she changed because of her illness? Or because of his efforts? Was it a change at all; would she have been as generous if she’d never lost her looks? He wouldn’t complain, whatever it was. And whatever her reasons, this personal form of treatment was a success. She was glowing. As for himself, he’d found some relief, but even so, thought he might die of frustration.

But he couldn’t forget how quickly she’d fallen ill, how close to death she’d been. She wasn’t ready for his full attentions, and he was resolved to wait until she was. But certainly, there were other things he could find for them to do. He fell asleep smiling at the thought of them.

“She’ll be wearing shell pink, which I thought would be unfortunate with her coloring,” Annabelle explained as she and Miles strolled along in Camille’s wake, as she strode ahead with her pair of exuberant dogs. “But Mama picked the most subtle shade and had them add a silver overdress to tone it down, and she looks lovely in it. She’ll do us proud.”

Miles put a hand over the small gloved one on his arm and smiled down at her. He’d insisted on accompanying them on their walks through the park each morning.

“You need more than a footman with you,” he’d told Annabelle. “Besides, I enjoy it. It’s practically the only time we have together these days,” he’d added with a warm look at her.

“What about the nights?” she’d whispered.

They’d exchanged conspiratorial smiles.

He gazed down at her with pleasure now. She wore a bonnet that hid her hair and showed off her charming profile. She always wore a pelisse on these walks, even on mild days, so no one
could notice her figure. But each night he saw and felt how it was rounding out again. Soon, he promised himself…

He wasn’t surprised by his lust for her, but was astonished at the rush of emotion he now felt when he saw her, the surge of feeling that consumed him when she merely smiled at him in public. He’d married for convenience and had gotten so much more than he’d expected, or knew existed. But he wasn’t ready to tell her about that, any more than he was ready to really make love to her again. That, however, wasn’t only because of her health, but for his own pride’s sake.

They were realistic about why they’d married. She couldn’t know that his feelings had changed, not when he was just getting used to the astonishing idea himself. Her feelings, however, might not have changed. She appreciated him now, he knew that. She liked him too, he’d bet on it. His physical attentions obviously pleased her mightily. But he wondered if her heart would ever be involved. Because he very much feared he’d lost his, to her.

That was a thing he’d never reckoned on.

She was a constant wonder. Feminine but brave, clever but wise, and with a well-informed mind. He liked to talk with her, laugh with her, in short, he found himself deeply in love with her, to his great surprise. Still, if she didn’t reciprocate his feelings, he couldn’t blame her. After all, their
marriage had been a bargain. She hadn’t broken it. He had. By falling in love with her.

“Camille should be ready for presentation now,” Annabelle was saying. She laughed. “It sounds like she’s a stuffed goose ready to serve up on a platter, doesn’t it? She isn’t. She’s so lively. We’ve told her not to bounce around as much, and to watch her tongue, because she will speak like a stable boy. But I really do think she’ll cause a stir!…Why so glum?” she asked, noting his silence.

“Not glum. Awed. You and your mother are like a pair of sea captains rigged for battle. The men of London don’t have a chance. As I didn’t.”

It was a mild enough comment, but he had trouble keeping a bland expression. He was startled to feel the rims of his ears growing warm as he waited for her response. The absurdity of it astonished him. They were intimate and yet strangers in so many ways. He slept with the woman each night and she received his caresses eagerly. Would she take his tentative words about his feelings with the same glad delight?

“You didn’t have a chance?” she asked. “But you weren’t looking for a love match.” He opened his mouth to tell her what he was thinking, when she added, “As I wasn’t, of course.”

He closed his lips on the words. Just as he was delaying giving her his body again, he wouldn’t give her his soul until he was sure of his welcome.
Out of pride, and because he couldn’t forget her reputation. They said she’d toyed with men because she couldn’t get the ones she really wanted. They claimed she’d had an acid tongue to go with her lively wit, and used it on unlucky suitors. She’d been famous for her scornful, callous treatment of them.

He’d known all that when he’d married her, but it hadn’t mattered then. It did now. He was yoked to her for the rest of their lives. He could, he thought, tolerate her not returning his love. He could not, he knew, bear living with her contempt for it.

“So, tell me,” he said casually, “what will you wear?”

“Does it matter?”

“To me, certainly.”

“I won’t disgrace you,” she said, opening her parasol, and hiding even her profile from him.

“No,” he said softly, “you will never do that.”

“Y
ou think so? You really think so?” Annabelle asked.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” Camille said.

“Nor I,” Annabelle’s mama said.

Alyce said nothing.

Annabelle peered at herself in the mirror again. It had been a long time since she’d done so. But tonight she had good reason. She’d given in to Camille’s pleas and was making a public appearance in London for the first time since her marriage and her illness. She didn’t want to be pitied, but mostly she didn’t want to cause any kind of sensation. That was for Camille to do. And she would.

Camille looked just as she ought, Annabelle thought smugly, like a young girl on her way to
meet her prince at a ball. She was still too robust for London’s exacting standards of feminine beauty, but she was perfectly gowned, her hair was dressed to set off her face, and that face was radiant. She’d do. Now her new sister-in-law would have to do also. Because if she didn’t, she’d ruin Camille’s great moment.

Camille had argued that Annabelle’s staying home would attract as much gossip as her going to the ball, or more. Annabelle had reluctantly agreed. She knew she didn’t have to be ravishing, not that it was even possible. She just wanted to look enough like herself to stop any gossip before it started. Because this was Camille’s night.

Annabelle kept looking into the mirror. A small slim woman in a simple dark blue gown kept staring back at her. She looked worried, as well she might be. Her figure was acceptable, but not as rounded at the breasts and arms as was fashionable. The triangular face was white, but at least it wasn’t wan. The eyes were very noticeable, large and blue. But the hair was startling, short as a lad’s, a welter of tight curls circled by a thin ribbon, looking like the carved marble cap on a stone faun in a classical garden.

This woman wasn’t the spectacularly beautiful Lady Annabelle, not by a long shot. But Annabelle didn’t care. It was only important that she not be considered outrageous.

She turned from the glass and looked at
Camille, her eyes searching hers. “I’d never do anything to ruin this night for you,” she said. “My feelings would be crushed more by that than by staying home. So, please, be honest; tell me if you think I ought to stay home after all. Or if you think a turban would suit me better. I wanted to guide you and be beside you all night. But believe me, first impressions are paramount in the
ton.
My mama and yours can show you how to go on as well as I can, and Miles will be there, as well as my father. So you’ll have ample support. I’m married to your poor brother,” she said on a forced laugh, “so my future is settled. This night is yours. Should I stay or should I go?”

Camille laughed. “You’re coming, my dear Belle, if I have to drag you in to the ballroom by your hair, and it’s long enough now for me to do it too. And I will, even if you screech like a banshee. Now, wouldn’t that be a fine first impression?”

Annabelle frowned, “Are you sure I wouldn’t be better off in a turban?”

“Just ask Miles,” Camille said smugly. “Belle”—she laughed again—“you’re really going to be the belle of the ball!”

“No,” Annabelle said solemnly. “Even if I could, I wouldn’t be. That would be you.”

They linked arms and went down the long stair, their mamas following. Miles and Annabelle’s father were waiting for them.

“What have you done with my sister?” Miles
asked Camille when she reached the bottom of the stair. “Beautiful, wicked creature, bring my sister back to me at once!”

“Do you really think I’ll ravish London?” Camille asked.

“Consider it vanquished. But what a lot of work you’ve given me. Now I’ll have start beating your suitors back from the door.”

He turned to watch his wife as she greeted her father.

“Look at you!” the earl breathed, holding his daughter’s hands as he stepped back to assess her. “I confess I was hurt when you sent word that you’d rather wait until tonight to see me. But no wonder. You wanted to dazzle me. You have. You look better than ever.” He took her in his arms and hugged her. “Too thin,” he said with a frown as he stepped away again. “Not that it isn’t attractive,” he added hastily, “but I’m used to more of you.”

“Oh, too soon there’ll be much more.” She laughed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Annabelle!” he said in delight. “I’m to be a grandfather?”

“Oh! No!” she said, her eyes widening. “I only meant I’ve been eating everything in sight.”

“Well, I live in hope,” he said.

She lowered her head and fussed with her gloves.

“As do we all,” Miles said smoothly. “But now we have to go and give London a treat by introducing it to two beautiful young women.”

Annabelle looked up at him.

“My sister, for the first time,” he said with a smile. “And my lady, who has returned.”

“Everyone in London must be here!” Camille crowed as she stood on tiptoe in the crowded entry hall, watching the ball and waiting her turn to be presented to her host and hostess.

“No, just everyone who is anyone in London,” Annabelle’s mama said complacently.

Annabelle said nothing. She stared straight ahead. But Miles held her hand and could feel it trembling. He knew she was terrified; he fancied he could almost hear her pounding heart and was a little sorry she didn’t lean on him in some way. But he admired her courage, as always.

She’d given her wrap to a footman, and now stood as tall as she could. She was beautifully dressed, but there was no question she wasn’t the same woman who’d left London with him in the early spring. She was no longer the exquisite little pocket Venus everyone had known and admired. Now she looked charming, but in the style of a gamine. Still, Miles believed he’d never seen her looking better. But he knew he’d think that however she looked because he was prejudiced—and unfortunately, wildly in love with her.

It was important that his sister do well tonight, but he had no concern about Camille. She could take the town by storm by the sheer force of her goodwill. It was his wife Miles worried about. These people and their opinions meant so much to her. He squeezed her hand, and she looked up at him in surprise, as though she’d forgotten he was there. That hurt him. More than that, it made him realize that they had a far way to go, however this evening turned out.

He found himself as nervous as Annabelle must be, for her sake. When they were announced, he put her hand on his arm, and with his sister on the other, strolled into the ballroom.

The brilliantly lit room was crowded with people dressed as magnificently as only they could afford to. Warm floral scents from the bowers of banked flowers filled the air, as did music played by musicians high on a balcony overlooking the room. Their melodies competed with conversation and laughter. Miles relaxed; it seemed impossible for one tiny person to make much of an instant impression in this assembly.

But his wife did.

Miles saw all heads turn in their direction. He heard conversation falter and stop. He saw all the avid eyes on her, and in that moment, hated every one of them.

But Annabelle’s expression didn’t change. She
wore a slight smile as she stared right back. Seeing her, Miles lost whatever remained of his heart to his wife forever.

The first to approach them was Damon Ryder and his wife, Gilly. Miles tensed. Did the man know what he said would have enormous weight with her? Miles almost wished he’d carried out his first impulse, which was to call on all her old acquaintances in secret and beg them to compliment her when she appeared. A lively fear of what she’d say and do if she ever found out prevented him. But now he was more afraid for her.

“My lady,” Damon Ryder said, bowing over her hand. “I see you’ve recovered completely. But you’ve reinvented yourself while you were at it. You look wonderful.”

“I love your hair!” Gilly Ryder said.

Annabelle’s hand began to go to her close-cropped curls and then fell back. Miles wondered if she thought she was being patronized, or ridiculed. So did he.

“Hark! What’s that I hear?” the lanky Earl of Drummond drawled as he and his countess strolled over to join them. “Why, I do believe it’s the sound of dozens of scissors snipping. My lady,” he said as he bowed over her hand, “I believe you’ll keep the hairdressers of London busy for weeks as every woman in the
ton
starts shearing her hair off. My love,” he said to his wife,
“kindly inform me before you do, because I think few women can wear the style as this lady does.”

His wife smiled. “‘Not to worry, Drum,” she said. “I wish I could wear my hair like that, but it wouldn’t work for me.”

“Yes,” her husband agreed, “but it’s charming on Lady Pelham. It’s an improvement on the classic ‘victime’ hairstyle of the last generation, isn’t it,” he asked Annabelle, taking out his quizzing glass for a better look. “What do you call it?”

“Well, I was a victime,” she said lightly, “but I’d call it the resurrection, because I got it when they thought I’d die if I did not.”

“Half the women in the room will die if they don’t get it!” Gilly Ryder vowed. “I wish I had curls, I’d crop my head if I could look like you.” She ran her fingers through her cornsilk hair and scowled. “But I’d just look bald. How clever of you!”

“Lady Annabelle is always clever,” a red-haired military-looking gentleman said. Annabelle stiffened, suspecting mockery. Rafe Dalton had been one of her flirts. She’d treated him very badly once, in a fit of pique. And then again, to get even with him for marrying another. He was said to be an honorable man, but she braced herself for insult, or worse.

“We worried about you,” he told her, his expression sincere. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Yes, it is,” his lovely wife said with a warm smile.

“It’s not just the hair,” a deep voice commented. The blond giant, Eric Ford, joined them. His eyes were filled with admiration. “She’s transformed herself and yet remained exceptional. You’re back, my lady, and may I say it’s good to see you again?!”

“You may,” Annabelle said with a laugh, “but I’d rather you saw who I have with me. Eric, here is my sister-in-law, Miss Croft, who is new to town. My whole purpose in being in London is to keep her from rogues like you.”

He put a hand on his heart. “You cut me to the quick. Don’t listen to her, Miss Croft. Though I look like an elephant, believe me, I’m a lamb.”

“You look very fit to me, sir,” Camille said, eyeing him with approval. “But tell me, how heavy do you ride? Seems to me you’d need a stout-hearted mount, at least seventeen hands high.”

“I’d rather tell you while we’re dancing,” Eric said. “Will you save a dance for me?”

“Gladly,” Camille said. “If only because a partner your size will make me look wonderfully petite.”

Her mama winced as the others laughed. Annabelle smiled a true smile at last.

“And here are our friends Lord Wycoff and his lady,” the Earl of Drummond said as a striking couple joined them.

“No need to introduce us,” the newcomer, a dark, handsome, middle-aged gentleman said. “Lady Pelham is a distant relative, although more distant than we’d like, at least of late. How are you, my lady? And Miles, you lucky fellow, I see your wife’s in fine fettle again. We were concerned,” he added more seriously.

“There’s no need for that,” Annabelle said gaily. “I am myself again.”

“We can see that,” Eric said.

And so could Miles—to his growing anger and sorrow—all through the rest of that long night.

Miles stood by the back wall, where the light barely reached and the sound of the music was distant. But he could hear and see very well—too well, in fact.

Annabelle was dancing. She’d been dancing from the moment she’d arrived. But she’d danced only once with him. As soon as the music stopped, he’d handed her over to her father. In turn, her father had laughingly given her hand to the Earl of Drummond, and then she’d danced with each of her old beaux in turn. Then she danced with every one of her new conquests, and there were many. She’d made dozens of them tonight.

Miles watched from the shadows as Annabelle danced and laughed, chatted and held court, charming the gentlemen of the
ton
again. She had his ring on her finger, but there
was no other evidence she needed anything else from him.

It was true that she introduced each partner she left to Camille, and watched as they very correctly led her sister-in-law into the next dance. But that didn’t ease Miles’s misgivings. Lady Annabelle was back in her element, and from where he stood he didn’t see where she needed anyone to help her navigate them now.

“She’s lovely, Miles,” a voice said close to his ear.

He turned.

An exotic, dark-haired woman stood smiling at him. Her inky hair was drawn up, held high by an elaborate tortoiseshell comb. A long raven ringlet lay against one of her small, high breasts, easy enough to see, since it barely was contained in her high-waisted, low-cut gown. That gown matched her red lips. Angelica was one of the few women he knew who could wear lip rouge and not be shunned in polite circles, maybe because she knew too much about the other inhabitants of those circles for them to fault her.

Born of an English baron and a Spanish lady, she wasn’t careful of her reputation because it never mattered to her, or to her lovers. It was jested that she’d married early, and often. She’d been widowed twice by the time he’d met her in Spain. But though they’d shared much more than a lively sense of humor, he’d never been tempted to become her third husband.

“Angelica!” he said, “I thought you were in Lisbon.”

“So I was. But when Sir Frederick died, I came here to see him to his final resting place.”

“My condolences,” he said, bowing, “I didn’t know.”

She waved her fan, “How could you? You left months before. Without word. I looked for you, you know.”

“I didn’t know. Nor did I think there was any need to say good-bye. We’d parted weeks before, when I heard you were going to marry Sir Frederick.”

“Oh, Miles, but there was always a need for you. Sir Frederick was, for all his kindness, old enough to be my father.”