Harlequin Historical February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Major's Wife\To Tempt a Viking\Mistress Masquerade (60 page)

She ought by now to have been prepared for some plain speaking from him, but although his words brought a fiery glow to her cheeks and neck, she could hardly complain that he treated her like a schoolroom miss. Like a skilled fencer he had found her weaknesses, even the one she thought was concealed from him: her longing for his arms, his control, his companionship, which she professed not to want. He had not believed any of it. He knew exactly what she wanted.

Busy bustling noises from outside leaked into the silence between them. While Annemarie scanned the table for just one more line to her argument, Verne's eyes remained on her face watching for the tired acceptance and the accompanying sigh of defeat. She had too much to lose, he knew, to turn her back on the advantages he offered. She was a passionate woman, damaged and still vulnerable, and he'd known how little it would take for her to react to the slightest doubt of his sincerity. He did not suspect Marguerite of malice, but the sooner the silly chit was found a husband, the better it would be for all of them. ‘Shall we go?' he whispered.

The sigh came, accompanied by a barely perceptible nod. ‘To Brighton?'

‘To Brighton, my lady. Two or three days, perhaps, just to show that we planned it, then a return to London. We have to be there for an event, I'm afraid, but you can be in the house by then. It's being prepared as we speak.'

Her eyes locked with his in surprise and indignation. ‘Oh, you great...arrogant...overbearing...
fiend
!' she said, snapping the words out like a whiplash. ‘It's being prepared, is it? Are you not running ahead of yourself, my lord? Did it not occur to you that I might change my mind?' She had half-risen from her chair, exasperated by his laughter and cocksureness, yet secretly flattered by his determination to keep her as his mistress and to suffer no setbacks.

Across the table, her wrist was caught in a tight grip that prevented her from flouncing away and, before she could utter another word of protest, she was being pulled towards him and into his arms. ‘Steady, my beautiful filly,' he said, holding her wrists behind her back. ‘Steady! Did you think I'd let you go so easily? I never believe a woman who says she'll never change her mind, as you did.'

‘You will, eventually,' she growled. ‘You'll be glad to,
brute
!
'

If she had hoped he might argue the point, she was to be disappointed, for he only smiled at her helplessness. ‘Then we'll deal with that when we come to it, shall we? Meanwhile, you deserve a reward,' he said, lowering his mouth to hers.

After all the hours of anguish in which she thought never again to be held in his arms, to taste his kisses and to feel the melting of her knees, the warmth of his mouth upon hers drew a comforting blanket over that intimate world where sensations soared beyond their reach in seconds. At their first touch, desire flared like a dry torch, its flames seeking higher and more fiercely until, with hands freed, they clung and searched as if to make up for time lost, showing by their instinctive path the places to which they desired access most urgently. She moaned as he held her breast, his strong but tender fingers stroking through the high bodice of silk as if it were her skin. ‘Tonight,' he said, hoarsely, ‘I shall come to your room. No excuses.'

There was no need for her to agree, but her heart leapt with excitement. ‘My hat...pelisse...we should go. No, no more, my lord. My carriage will be ready.'

‘Your carriage, sweetheart, is already on its way back to London.'

‘What!'

‘You'll be travelling with your maid in the Prince's coach, as before. That's the reward I spoke of.' His pretence of innocence was not entirely successful in the face of Annemarie's astonishment. ‘Well, what did you
think
I meant?'

‘You are insufferable, my lord. Where did you put my hatpin?'

* * *

Evie, trying to keep out of the way of shouting passengers, was relieved to see her mistress emerge in what appeared to be a calmer mood than her entry. Evie's own demeanour, however, caused Annemarie to take a second look at the very pink cheeks and flashing eyes that suggested either a fury or a fever.

‘Are you all right?' she said. ‘Did you manage to snatch a bite of something?'

‘Yes, my lady.'

‘Which?'

‘Both, I thank you. But I don't know what's happened to the carriage. The ostler told me it had returned to London, so...'

‘It has. We're to go on in the one Lord Verne brought. But were you not here to speak to Mrs Cardew's coachman before he left?'

‘No, m'lady. I was...er...elsewhere.'

‘Oh, I see. Well, no matter. Shall we go?'

For Annemarie, that small hiccup was explanation enough for Evie's high colour, though if she had taken a look at Samson, Lord Verne's valet who stood in shadow some distance away, she might have observed how
his
face was red only on one side with the distinct imprint of four fingers running from brow to chin.

‘What happened to you?' said his master, unsympathetically.

The direction of Samson's resentful glance towards the pert lady's maid spoke volumes. ‘Tell you later, m'lord, if you wouldn't mind,' he said.

Verne nodded. ‘You'll be riding on the box outside with Levens for the rest of the way. I shall be sitting with the coachman.'

The command appeared to do nothing for Samson's chagrin. There had never been any love lost between Verne's cheeky young groom with a high opinion of himself and the valet, whose services were just as indispensable and more select. ‘Can't
he
sit with the coachman?' he said, grudgingly.

‘Would you rather walk?'

‘No, m'lord. Indeed I would not. But nor do I want that young fly-by-night asking me 'pertinent questions either.'

‘Then you should have ducked, shouldn't you?'

‘I told you there'd be trouble, m'lord,' Samson said, holding his cheek.

‘So you did. I can't imagine how I ever managed without your vast store of advice. If you sit him on your right, he won't see. Come on, lad, we don't have all day.'

* * *

Feeling both piqued and relieved at Verne's understanding of women's minds, Annemarie gave in to the inevitable and tried to enjoy the rest of the journey as she was meant to do. Contemplating her earlier insistence that she was committed to being his mistress, she forgave herself for being forced into an about-face because, for one thing, she'd had good reason and, for another, because it had resulted in a very satisfying airing of views. It had also moved things in a different direction to place their first night together as lovers well away from the curious speculation of friends and family. That was something she was pleased to do without.

* * *

Mrs Ash, the housekeeper, and the aptly named Mrs Cookson were not overly surprised by their mistress's return, since she had expected to be away for two or three days, which she had been. What astonished them was the handsome coach with the Prince Regent's cypher on the panels and the resplendent coachman perched on a tasselled velvet-covered box. Mrs Ash was equally taken aback that Lady Golding's acquaintanceship with Lord Verne had developed in so short a time enough to allow immediate arrangements to be made for that evening. Together.

‘And Lord Verne will be having dinner here,' Annemarie told her. ‘At seven. The two of us. Inform Mrs Cookson, if you please.'

‘Oh,' said Mrs Ash. ‘Just the two.'

Annemarie watched the questions pile up behind the pale enquiring eyes. ‘Yes. It's all right, Mrs Ash. I know what I'm doing.'

‘Oh...oh, of
course
, m'lady. I didn't mean to suggest...'

‘And Lord Verne likes to have a cooked breakfast, too.'

‘Certainly, m'lady.' Mrs Ash was beginning to understand, making a mental note to place extra towels in the mistress's room and to find a few large coathangers. ‘Will Lord Verne's valet be staying, m'lady?'

‘Probably not, Mrs Ash. Evie doesn't like him much.'

‘Oh, I see. Well then.' More baffled by this information than the rest, Mrs Ash hurried off to share the news with her husband and the cook while Annemarie went up to change into a walking-dress. She had asked to be shown round the Royal Pavilion after lunch, for which a more stylish gown would be appropriate.

* * *

But whether as a result of her release from the anguish of the last hours or whether because of Lord Verne's outspoken intentions concerning the evening, Annemarie was quite unable to give the Royal Pavilion the attention it deserved. At any other time she would have reacted to its magnificence with due amazement. Taking her by the hand, Verne drew her to a halt in a deserted saloon, noting the remaining shadows of suffering still etched around her eyes. ‘Shall we go somewhere more comfortable?' he said. ‘I can think of better things to do than this, sweetheart.'

She thought he meant to take her home. ‘I'm sorry. I did want to see the improvements. But another time, perhaps.' The crazy red-and-gold ornament crowded in on every side, tiring her eyes and making her yawn behind her hand.

‘This way.' Through a maze of bare passageways and anterooms littered with decorators' ladders and rows of firebuckets, Verne led her towards the west-facing wing and the opulent royal chambers where soft carpets muffled the sound of their footsteps. ‘The Prince's private suite,' he said. ‘His study. And here is where his Private Secretary stays when they're in residence. I use it when they're in London.' Opening an adjoining door, he showed her into a green, gold and white room with windows on three sides draped with green velvet, reflecting the light from the garden beyond. ‘This is one of the tower rooms, like the one upstairs,' he said, closing the door. ‘Would you care to see it, my lady?'

She ought to have shown some reluctance at the invitation to visit a gentleman's bedroom, but being unchaperoned in his living room was a venture only a mistress would risk and fatigue was quickly taking the place of argument. Too tired to bother with explanations, she leaned against the cool wall and closed her eyes. ‘No, thank you,' she whispered, enigmatically.

Nevertheless, some kind of explanation was what Verne required if more misunderstandings were to be avoided. He thought he knew, but he also wanted the problem, if that's what it was, to be aired. Knowing better than to be flippant, he took her gently round the waist and eased her towards him, sliding a hand towards her neck. ‘What is it?' he said. ‘What is it you don't want to see, sweetheart? Can you tell me?' Untying the ribbons of her bonnet, he eased it away from her head.

‘I used to keep my eyes closed,' she whispered. ‘I didn't want to see...anything. I didn't want to feel anything either. But I did.'

‘He hurt you?' Verne was well able to imagine how her late husband's legendary impatience and unkind manipulative hands would have been enough to turn her against lovemaking for ever. Sir Richard's known preferences were for the experienced whores who followed the army, rather than innocents like his wife. Yet Verne had discovered for himself how, in the right hands, her smouldering fires of passion still waited to be rekindled.

In a corner of her eye a glittering tear lingered. ‘I never learned to enjoy it with him. He was always in a hurry. He didn't even take time to undress.'

‘You? Or himself?'

‘Oh, he never undressed me,' she said. ‘I was usually asleep when he came to bed, hoping to be left alone. He would throw off his coat and boots, that's all. I've never seen a naked man. Not even him. I think I must have been out of my mind to suggest that you and I might be lovers, my lord, yet I still think I may be able to do it with you, somehow. I've never been kissed the way you do it. I'm willing to try again if only...you will...perhaps...'

‘I know. We'll take it slowly, sweetheart. What happened before is not how it should be. I shall never do anything to alarm you. Just tell me what you want.'

‘I don't really know what I want. I was never given any choices. You will have to show me.' At last the beautiful black-lashed eyes opened, spiked with repressed tears, and she was able to see the concern in his, as well as the desire. She had not intended to confide in him to this extent, wanting him to believe in her confidence rather than her fears.

‘From what I've seen,' he said, ‘there's little you don't already know. It's all here, waiting for the right moment. But I want our first time to be special for you and I don't think one of these narrow sofas is the best place to begin. Let me take you to my bed. No one will disturb us there.'

As he lifted her into his arms, Annemarie knew that she had revealed too much of herself and that compliance was not a part of her plan. Her seduction ought to have been lengthier than this, in her time, her place, at her choosing, when she gave the word. Now, after the drama of the last twenty-four hours, he would have little doubt that her feelings for him had intensified. And after this...what then?

The bedroom was partly shaded against the sunlight, though Annemarie saw few details as she was laid gently on the blue quilted coverlet to sink gratefully into its softness, her fingers searching for the sleek silky coolness as if for a last link with reality. She wondered if she ought to undress herself, but Verne had already decided what to do about that by sitting beside her feet to slip off her shoes, then to caress her ankles, calves and knees so gently that, before she knew it, her silken stockings were released from their garters into his hand. It did not stop there, for the delicious surprise of watching his dark head bend to kiss the inside of her thigh made her catch her breath in an audible gasp as the sweetness of it stole upwards into her body. Her other leg received the same attention, but with an even greater boldness, his warm hands venturing well beyond the remaining garter. Before this, legs had been no more important than an appendage to be shoved roughly out of the way. Under Verne's attention, they became the source of a yearning she had never known before.