My Lady, My Lord (22 page)

“You must know.”

“I did. But it’s odd, the memory of living in your body has faded, as though it were a dream. It slips away more each day. I remember it now as though I watched it from a distance, but not as though I experienced it. Is it the same for you?”

“Yes. And I prefer it that way.” He sounded certain.

She would not have this opportunity again. She had to speak. “I remember a longing.”

“Do you?”

“To be encompassed,” she said slowly, meeting his gaze again. He nodded. Her nerves tingled, ridiculous but unavoidable. He did it to her. He always had. “Tonight it was the opposite. Tonight I longed to be filled.” She took a breath. “I still do.”

“I’m glad to oblige with that.”

“Again?” She had not read about
this
. “Really?”

His eyes looked a bit fevered. “As promised.”

Elation bubbled up in her. “But I’ll be so hoarse in the morning I won’t be able to speak,” she said on a laugh as he pulled her onto his lap.

“Speaking is highly overrated,” he cupped her face in one hand and nuzzled her neck. “And you needn’t do so for several days anyway. Your next salon isn’t for another sennight.”

“You know that?”

“I know it.” He cocked a rueful smile. “I dreaded it.”

She trailed her fingertips along his arm. The muscles seemed cut from stone, but his skin was warm. “Is that the reason you prefer to forget what it feels like to be me?”

“No. That is one of the many reasons I do not wish to live your life.” His gaze rested on her lips, then moved to her eyes. “I prefer to forget how it feels to be you because I want you to tell me.”

“Tell you?” She trembled, although she didn’t know why she should when he was merely gazing at her, only his hand on her face. But his eyes were so clear, like crystalline waters in the shoals. Like pools she might dip into and never leave. His fingers trailed along her neck, wonderful on her skin, between her breasts, then tracing the curve until she grew faint.

“Use your eloquent words, Corinna. Tell me how you feel when I touch you,” he said, holding her gaze, and passed his thumb over a tightening nipple.

“I—I—” she stammered, then plunged in. “I feel awake in a way I have never felt before. Somehow more alive.” She closed her eyes, unable to look at and feel him all at once. The intensity of feeling inside her was too great. “That is foolish, isn’t it?”

“No.” His fingertips treaded through her hair. It was heaven to be touched by him so simply, like sea and wind and sun all at once. She lifted her lashes and met his gaze, and a tunnel opened within her, infinite and dark and lonely.

“That is passion,” he murmured, and set his lips upon hers. She met his kiss with hunger, giving back what he gave to her so generously, twining her arms about his shoulders as he drew her close. She knew what it was to be filled now, if only momentarily. She would not dwell on the loneliness to come, but the passion he offered now.

He made love to her before the fire, the heat of the flames and his touch warming her skin, their bodies entwined in slow, sensuous rhythm, then in increasing need and urgency so great she did scream in rapture. He brought her through it, his strong hands holding her and, when she had no voice left to speak, his kiss commanding her lips so that she needn’t try.

She slept in his arms.

He roused her to a room lit only by the glow of embers. He carried her to the bed and made love to her again, this time in silence, satisfying her and leaving her with a yearning more profound than before. When it was over, he laced her stays, buttoned her gown, and, shrouded in the night’s cloud cover, walked her along the mews alley to the gate at the back of her house.

He kissed her in the rain as though drinking the raindrops from her lips, then without a word he released her. She went through the gate and across the small garden, and he watched, presumably to assure her safety. But Corinna was no fool; she knew she was no longer safe. She had spent the night with the man she loved. When that man was Ian Chance, nothing could be more dangerous.

~o0o~

Ian stood at his bedchamber window staring into the dawn, silver-shot with the rain that continued to fall. Behind him the bedclothes lay twisted and rumpled, strands of golden brown silk tangled on the pillow, the scent of honeysuckle clinging to the linen.

He had told her that what passed between them throughout the night was passion. He’d been with more than enough women to know the difference between that and simple lust. But nothing had prepared him for Corinna, for her sweetly soft kisses, her heat and the fierceness of her lovemaking, her humor and self-deprecating laughter, her humility and determined need.

Now deeper inside him, harder than lust or passion, an ache grew, and the power of it filled his arms, his entire body. For years he had wanted her yet told himself he didn’t, but only because he could not have her. Now he wished time would turn around and steal him back to before he had taken her into his arms and made her his. For one night.

A single night. Long enough to lose a part of him he had never thought to protect, because no other woman had ever come close to it. Lost to the one woman who would never want it.

C
ORINNA WENT ABOUT THE USUAL
business of her life—correspondence, morning calls, walks with her father, making plans for her salon—and tried not to wonder if Ian had ever made love to Amabel Weston on the floor before the fire in his bedchamber. Or if he had ever repeated her name until she felt as though she were inside him rather than the opposite? If, after taking her to heaven, he asked her what she had done to him? She tried not to wonder if he had already continued on to his next mistress and, if so, which lucky widow had the honor?

She tucked the red gown away in the back of her wardrobe. The rain had not ruined the fabric, after all. She simply had no use for it any longer.

When her monthly menses came, she greeted them with relief tinged with odd melancholy.

Preparations for her salon filled her hours. She spared a critical thought as to what a quantity of material trivialities must be taken care of for a gathering during which ideas were meant to be the principal interest. Nevertheless, when the gown she ordered for the event from Madame Jacqueline arrived, she stroked the rich fabric of azure silk with pleasure and gladly donned it.

The evening of the salon, Mr. Fox arrived promptly, sober, and in lively spirits. Mr. Dibdin favored everyone with snippets from his bibliography, and Lady Singleton shared several of her scientific couplets after dinner. The latter turned out to be charmingly risqué, and Corinna found her cheeks warming at the memories she was now able to pair with such poetry. All departed in a state of intellectual and gestational satisfaction, proclaiming the carefully chosen gathering of minds and characters a success, the food divine, and herself an exceptional hostess.

She climbed the stairs to her bedchamber smiling over her success. She had, after all, wondered only three dozen times throughout the evening where Ian might be and what he might be doing, when she might have done so much more frequently.

The party had lingered late, but the following morning she was too energized by her guests’ enjoyment to sleep beyond her usual hour. When the maid brought her chocolate and the post, she waved them away and went to the dining room for a cup of her father’s coffee. Then she ordered her horse saddled and went to the park, groom in tow.

The morning was hazy, the sky pale gray with a hint of blue. The trees were bare of leaves, the breeze heady with the scent of new winter. Corinna breathed it in and tried not to imagine the Earl of Chance sleeping in his big bed, or perhaps someone else’s.

She returned to find her father awaiting her.

“Good morning, daughter.” He kissed her on the cheek. “I had hoped to find you still at home this morning. Have you been to the park already?”

“I had a ride.” She smiled and drew off her gloves.

“Pondering your success last night, no doubt. You did a splendid job of it, Cora.”

“Thank you, Papa. It is truly gratifying to please people of talent and intelligence.”

“On that note, my dear, I would be gratified if you would accompany me to an appointment just now.”

She nodded. “Certainly. Allow me to change my clothing and I will be with you shortly.” She skipped up the stairs and called for her maid. She descended wearing one of her new gowns, a gentle blue muslin with silver and white embroidery on the bodice and sleeves that Madame Jacqueline absolutely insisted made her eyes glow. Corinna didn’t know if she deserved the flattery, but she liked the color and simple cut of the elegant frock, and today she felt as though she could conquer the world.

Her father drove them in his curricle. Corinna’s hands itched to take the reins, but her father’s horses were not nearly as fine as Ian’s soft-mouthed grays, and she didn’t know if she could manage them well. And, of course, her hands were no longer those of a man, delectably capable of great tenderness as well as strength.

They drew to a halt in High Church Street before the house of Ian’s aunt, Lady Upton. Corinna’s stomach tightened.

“Are we visiting Lady Chance, Papa? Why didn’t you tell me?” She sounded nothing less than frightened. “That is to say,” she added hastily, “I have a book I mean to return to her. Had you told me, I could have brought it with me.”

He handed her out. “This is not precisely a social call, Cora.” His mouth was set in a line, his expression unreadable.

“What is it then?” They couldn’t
know
. Even if they did, why would they confront her with it in this manner? Her father, yes, perhaps, in private. But, for heaven’s sake, his mother?

“Give me a moment of your patience, and you will learn it,” he said with a gentle smile.

In the foyer of the house she gave her cloak and bonnet to a footman. When she came to town, Lady Chance often lived with her sister, Lady Upton, a widow and society gadabout. Corinna glanced about the stylish house, appreciating the Greek revival appointments that Lady Upton favored.

The footman led them to a set of doors open onto a parlor. Corinna crossed the threshold and her heart and feet both stumbled.

Over the past sennight her imagination had many times conjured the moment in which she would first see Ian again. Though she had rarely met him in society before the night at the museum, their regular pursuits being fundamentally opposite, their paths were bound to cross eventually. She knew it would be difficult.

It was worse.

He stood by the hearth, tall and handsome in a dark blue coat, snowy linen, and black breeches, his shiny hair neatly arranged and his jaw clean shaven. He barely resembled the tousled, scruffy lover who had kissed her good night in the rain and dark. Her stomach fell to her knees, her bones transmuted into jelly, and heat flooded her, beginning in her belly and creeping wretchedly into her face.

He met her gaze for a moment, then looked at her father.

Oh, merciful heavens, they
did
know.

“Corinna,” Gregory said cheerfully behind her. “What an unexpected pleasure.” He took her hand and bowed over it.

“Hello, Gregory,” she managed. “How do you do?”

“Quite well, thank you, though I’m here rather than at the Office, and haven’t the foggiest notion why you’re here now, as well. But it’s always a fine thing to see you. Good day, sir.” He bowed to her father. “Hullo, Ian.”

Her father nodded and moved toward Ian. The two shook hands.

Corinna willed her heartbeats to slow and her cheeks to drain of heat. Gregory was here, so it couldn’t be what she feared. But in the normal course of things, she and Ian should at least greet each other. Perhaps no one would notice that they did not. Her father and Gregory knew they disliked one another.

Her chest hurt.

She looked at Ian. He bowed. She curtsied.

She resisted the urge to flee. Perhaps making love to him for an entire night, or
at all,
had not been such a good idea. She ought to have allowed her unrequited admiration to fade into sensible oblivion over months, perhaps years, without the memories of his touch to tease her. The ache inside her was unbearable.

Lady Chance entered the drawing room, her elder daughter just behind.

“Corinna darling.” Calista grasped her hand. “What a lovely gown. Have you done away with your black? Well, I must say I like it, although you always look beautiful, whatever you wear, doesn’t she?” She asked the question to the room at large, but Corinna’s gaze darted to the only person present who had seen her wearing nothing at all.

The Earl of Chance seemed to be studying the toes of his boots.

“Quite right,” Gregory said. “Corinna’s a knocker.”

“Why, Gregory, how charmingly colloquial you’ve become since taking up employment.” Calista laughed then drew Corinna to a sofa. “But why are you here? I thought this was a family meeting.”

“It is,” Lady Chance said. “Of sorts.”

Calista’s grin twinkled. “Oh, I like cryptic, Mama. Do continue.”

“We wished to have all of you here, but your sisters, Corinna, are in the country, of course,” Lady Chance said, “and Evelina feels especially ill today and cannot join us.”

“Poor darling,” Calista cooed. “I remember it well.” She met Corinna’s concerned frown. “She is increasing, the dear thing. Casting up her accounts every day at least twice.”

“Callie, must you be so graphic?” Gregory rolled his eyes.

“Just wait until your wife is the same and you’ll be telling your friends at the club all about it with pride, just as Dare did,” she retorted with a grin.

Gregory’s brow lowered. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Children,” Lady Chance admonished gently.

“What is this about, Mother?” Ian’s deep voice sent Corinna’s heart into her throat. They all looked to the countess, but her father spoke.

“Your mother and I, Chance, have decided to wed.”

Silence descended upon the room.

Calista jumped up and threw her arms about her mother’s neck. “Mama, this is splendid news! When did it happen? Yesterday when you went for a drive together? I suspected something was afoot.”

“It’s been quite a bit longer than that, dear,” Lady Chance said with a glance at Corinna’s father.

“How long?” Calista looked from one to the other.

“Several months, in fact.”

“Mama! And you didn’t tell me? Us? Whyever not?”

“We were not certain of the reception the news would have,” her father said, looking at Corinna carefully.

Corinna stood, went to Lady Chance, and took her hands. “Congratulations to the both of you. I cannot think why you would imagine I could be displeased with this.” She smiled. “My father knows that I hold the greatest affection and admiration for you. I will be thrilled to have you as my mother.”

She and Ian would be
sister and brother
. Her stomach burned like a little fiery ball had taken up lodging in it.

“We did not know, Cora, how you would regard the idea of our families becoming one,” Lady Chance said quietly, then glanced across the room at her elder son. “I didn’t like to displease either of you to the point of strife. There has been enough of that already in our family to last a lifetime.”

The fiery ball turned into molten lava.

Before she could respond, Lady Chance added, “But these past weeks it has not escaped our notice that the two of you seem to have come to an accord. Your father and I hoped that now you might become reconciled to our union.”

“Well, I for one think it’s a capital idea.” Gregory pecked his mother on the cheek, then shook her father’s hand with gusto. “Well done, my lord. Welcome to the family.”

Calista gave Corinna’s father a sweet kiss. “Congratulations.”

Then it was Ian’s turn.

As though he regularly congratulated the man affianced to his mother, a man whose daughter he despised and yet made passionate love to only a sennight ago, he crossed the room and grasped her father’s hand.

“My compliments, sir,” he said, no trace in his voice of the distress coursing through Corinna. Their parents had delayed their wedding because of her and Ian’s publicly, vilely contentious relationship. She didn’t know whether to cry in gratitude or laugh at the irony of it.

“Can you be comfortable with this, Chance?” her father asked.

Ian didn’t so much as glance at her. “If you and my mother are happy, then we will all share in that happiness, of course.” He turned to his mother and came beside Corinna. His nearness overwhelmed her. She released the countess’s fingers and stepped back.

He kissed Lady Chance on the cheek. “I wish you the very best, Mother. You deserve it.” Something passed between their gazes, soft and seeking assurance on her part, sincere and confident on his. Corinna found that she had to look away.

“Shall we celebrate?” Calista chirped. “Raise a toast to the new couple? Or, not so new,” she said with a wink at Corinna.

Good heavens, would Calista make this a family joke now? Corinna didn’t think she could bear it.

“Let’s do,” Gregory chimed in. “All that dismal gaol business at the Office makes a fellow want a drink at noon, even if he must resort to champagne.”

“Give me a moment,” Lady Chance said and left the chamber.

“I thought you were enjoying that gaol business, Greg,” his sister said.

“I am, but it gets wearing some days, tallying the miscreants filling the cells. But you don’t want to hear about that. You look far too fetching in that pink frock to talk about business.”

“Don’t be a noddycock. Corinna discusses politics and Parliament bills with the best of them and she is as lovely as can stare.”

“Is the project proceeding as planned in committee, Gregory?” her father asked, moving toward him.

“Nearly, though Sir Robert was in a taking this morning over last afternoon’s sudden reversal in funding.”

Alone with Ian at one side of the room, Corinna could have reached out and touched him if she had the nerve. She certainly had the desire.

The corner of his lips curved up. “Feeling guilty?”

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her mouth opened, but nothing came forth. His smile deepened, the dimple appearing in his cheek.

“For delaying their wedding,” he clarified.

She found her tongue. “Astonished, really. I urged my father any number of times to remarry, and he always deflected my encouragements. Who would have thought he harbored a secret affection?”

“These things can be tricky, I understand,” he said quietly. “Although it seems it was not a secret from my mother.”

“I daresay his constancy was to both their advantages.” She tried to smile, without success. It took every ounce of effort to maintain a careless air. She would applaud herself when she returned home, or perhaps collapse weeping. Was this his manner with all his cast-off mistresses—casual, friendly discourse? But she had behaved exactly like one of those demi-reps, begging him to make love to her. Why should he treat her any differently?

“I daresay,” he repeated with a slight smile.

She truly was one of his string of doxies. She could not deny it. Her emotions swelled, hurt and shame at the forefront. Vexation swiftly overcame both.

“But you wouldn’t know about that sort of thing,” she said, allowing her temper to spin through her lips. “How could you, after all?”