Once Upon A Dream (22 page)

Sedgemere shifted, and Anne’s back was to a sturdy tree. The squirrels and birds had gone quiet. The water lapped rhythmically against the rocks, in
time with the desire beating through Anne’s veins.

“The boys—” Sedgemere said, bracing a forearm near Anne’s head.

“I want—” Rather than waste time with words, Anne showed him what she wanted: him, snug against her, the evidence of his arousal a
reassuring reality against her belly. She hooked a leg around his thigh and got a fistful of his hair.

This was not a tame, unplanned garden kiss. This was a kiss she’d anticipated for days and nights, a kiss that could lead to wicked pleasures and
glowing memories.

Sedgemere’s mouth cruised down Anne’s throat, the sensation maddeningly tender, then he changed direction, nuzzling a spot beneath her ear that
conjured heat in her middle. Anne clutched his shoulders, lest her knees buckle, or her fingers busy themselves unfastening his clothing.

When she found Sedgemere’s mouth, she offered him a kiss of wanton, reckless desire, for a taste of Sedgemere was a treat both luscious and bitter.
She could not have him. She could only sample him, and the sheer fury of that frustration gave her desire a desperate edge.

“Papa! I found a frog!”

Ralph’s voice. Anne had found a handsome prince, but she must throw him back.

“He found a toad!” Ryland, ever the knowledgeable older brother.

“Anne, love, you mustn’t be upset,” Sedgemere whispered, kissing her brow. His thumb traced the side of her face, his breath whispered
across her cheek. “Plead an indisposition tonight, and I’ll come for you.”

She managed a nod. Sedgemere straightened, and a shaft of sunlight smacked her in the eyes. She let him go when she wanted to grab his hand and disappear
with him into the forest for the next hundred years.

By the time the boys came pelting into the woods, Anne had jammed her straw hat onto her head and slapped a smile on her face. She even admired the toad, a
grand warty creature whom the boys named Wellington.

And then she made them turn him loose, because a duke, even an amphibian duke, must be allowed to go about his business, as Sedgemere would go about his
when the house party ended.

“If you look at the clock one more time,” Hardcastle muttered as he took the chair beside Sedgemere, “the entire assemblage will know an
assignation awaits you.”

Miranda Postlethwaite, sister to the shorn poodle of long ago, barely hid her frustration at Hardcastle’s choice of seat, for she’d apparently
taken it into her head to become Sedgemere’s duchess.

Across the room, the poor Higgindorfer woman commenced an aria about death being the only consolation when true love proved fickle. Her voice was lovely,
though her accompanist was some clod-pated earl or other.

“I’m still fatigued from watching my sons ride Veramoor’s sheep,” Sedgemere whispered back. From laughing so hard his sides had
nearly split. Even Ralph had been overcome with merriment, though Miss Faraday—instigator of the impromptu sheep races—had bellowed the loudest
encouragement.

“You’re fatigued from an excess of ridiculousness,” Hardcastle mused. “One never would have guessed utter frivolity required
stamina. Have you proposed to Miss Faraday yet? You’re a hopeless nincompoop if you haven’t. It’s all very well to affix your boys to the
backs of hapless ovines, and allow the children to charm the lady with their foolishness, but you won’t find her like again, Sedgemere.”

No, he would not. “For your information, I have the lady’s permission to embark on a wooing.”

Hardcastle crossed his legs, a gesture he alone managed to make elegant instead of fussy. “A wooing that involves sheep races. Subtle, Sedgemere.
You’ll start a new fashion at Almack’s, I’m sure.”

 The wooing involved kisses too. In the woods along the lake and later in the day, behind the stable while scouting a proper course for the sheep
races—not that the sheep viewed a racecourse as anything other than more space to graze.

“Are you jealous, Hardcastle?”

“Terribly. I’ve always wanted to throw a leg over a sheep and hang on for dear life while the crazed beast did its utmost to fling me into the
dung heap.”

Anne’s observation about Hardcastle being shy came to mind. She’d described the upbringing of a young duke as dull and miserable, and
she’d been right. The upbringing of a
shy
young duke would also be… lonely.

“You don’t fancy any of the young ladies on offer, do you?” Sedgemere asked. “Miss Higgindorfer seems nice enough, and you’d
have all the Italian opera you’d ever want.”

“She fancies Willingham, and I do not fancy opera.”

Hardcastle loved music. He’d been teased for it by the other boys at school and hadn’t been heard to play the pianoforte since. Did the prodigy
of a governess enjoy music? Could she play, even a little?

A glance at the clock revealed that four entire minutes had elapsed since Sedgemere had last checked the time.

“I thought Miss Cunningham had set her cap for Willingham,” Sedgemere said. “One can see how Veramoor and his duchess would find such
gatherings amusing. Rather like several chess games in progress at once.”

“Propose to Miss Faraday, Sedgemere. Other fellows have remarked the warmth of her laughter, the affection she showers on the children.”

Other fellows including…
Hardcastle
?

“I believe she is testing me, Hardcastle. She’s been pursued by men of high degree, fellows whose intentions were not flattering to anybody.
You’re right that Anne is an heiress—her papa has mentioned specifics to me—and she’s right to be skeptical of any man’s
advances.”

“Anne. You refer to the lady by her first name. Hmm.”

Polite applause followed, for true love had finally accepted its bitter fate and faded to a wilting descending cadence.

“You will make my excuses,” Sedgemere said, rising. “Too much sun, the press of business, neglecting my correspondence, et cetera.”

“Take care, Your Grace.
Amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus
.”

Love is rich with both honey and venom. “Pleasant dreams to you too, Hardcastle.”

Sedgemere quit the music room without allowing a single lady to catch his eye, for Hardcastle’s observation had been too close to the mark. Anne
kissed with a fervor that delighted and intrigued, she was unstinting in her affection for the boys, and she showed every appearance of welcoming a
dalliance from one of the most eligible bachelors in the realm.

She also disappeared to her room by the hour, pleading a need for rest, or to pen a letter to her distant papa. She avoided any topic that related to the
future, and she disdained the notice of every eligible young man, attributing even courtesies solely to an interest in her father’s wealth.

Not without justification, apparently, for her father was obscenely wealthy.

Sedgemere stopped by his rooms to make use of his toothpowder and change out of formal attire. When a gentleman bent on wooing intended to take his lady
swimming, the fewer clothes, the better.

The tap on Anne’s door was expected. The conflict about whether to heed Sedgemere’s summons was not.

Anne planned to dally with Sedgemere, then send him on his way. His Grace’s intentions were honorable, and Anne dreaded the day when she saw disgust
in his keen blue eyes.

She opened the door anyway. “Your Grace. Good evening.”

The duke was in riding attire, though of course he wouldn’t go riding when the hour was nearly midnight. Never had snug breeches, tall boots, and a
billowing shirt beneath an embroidered waistcoat looked so attractive. He carried a hamper in one hand. His jacket was slung over his other arm.

“Madam, you are invited to a stroll by the lake. I’d bow, but that would look silly with my present encumbrances.”

“Can’t have you looking silly,” Anne said, snatching a shawl and joining him in the corridor. “I was half expecting you to have a
go at riding Veramoor’s ram earlier today.”

“Your hair is down,” Sedgemere said. “I’ve never seen your hair down.”

Anne’s hair was tidily braided. “Nobody save my lady’s maid has seen my hair
down
, Your Grace. Are we in a footrace?”

“Nobody?” Sedgemere paused with one hand on the doorway to the servants’ stairs. “I would like to be the first, then. Also the
last.”

He went bounding down the stairs, leaving Anne to follow at a more decorous pace. Sedgemere still hadn’t precisely proposed, which was fortunate. For
when he proposed, she’d have to refuse him.

They emerged on the side of the house that faced the lake, away from the thumping of the pianoforte, away from lights and applause and curious eyes. The
water reflected the silvery moonshine, a slight breeze riffled the surface.

“I’ve been reconnoitering all day,” Sedgemere said, striding off, “looking for the perfect spot: Close to the house, for the less
time spent hiking in the dark, the better. Far enough away from the house that nobody would hear us talking if they left a window up. Near the lake,
because the lake is beautiful, but tucked beneath the trees, because privacy is of utmost concern. Then too—”

Anne hauled him up short by virtue of yanking on the handle of the hamper he carried. She took the hamper from him, draped his jacket over it, then stepped
into his arms.

“I’ve missed you, Sedgemere. All through dinner—”

Through every moment. When he’d roared with laughter at the boys on their wooly steeds, when he’d picked Ralph up and tossed him into the air
as the victor, when he’d sauntered into the blue gallery in his evening attire. Anne could not lay eyes on Sedgemere without her heart aching.

She’d accosted him beneath one of the many oaks that dotted Veramoor’s lawn. They would not be visible from the house, so she indulged in the
need to kiss him.

Sedgemere obliged with delicate, patient, maddening return fire, until Anne’s thigh was wedged between his legs, and she was clinging to him simply
to remain upright.

“About that perfect spot,” Sedgemere said.

Anne leaned into him, his heartbeat palpable beneath her cheek. When she was with him, her awareness of the natural world was closer to the surface. The
breeze swaying through the boughs of the oak, the water lapping at the shore, the rhythm of Sedgemere’s life force, all resonated with the desire
raging through Anne for the man in her arms.

“No spot can be perfect,” Anne said, and all house parties came to an end.

“Your kisses are perfect,” he said. “Shall we sit for a moment and pretend to admire the moon?” Sedgemere withdrew a blanket from
the hamper, and Anne grabbed one edge of a quilt worn soft with age.

The quilt bore the scent of cedar, a good blanket for making memories on. Sedgemere backed up a few steps, so the frayed edge of the fabric lay directly at
the foot of the oak. The shadows here were deep, while the forest rose in a great, black mass behind the lake. Above it, stars had been scattered across
the firmament by a generous hand.

“If I proposed tonight, would you decline my suit?” Sedgemere asked.

“I admire persistence,” Anne said, folding down onto the blanket. “I’m no great fan of badgering.”

Sedgemere ought to have flounced back into the house. He instead came down beside Anne, undid his waistcoat, and tugged off his boots.

“You’re stubborn,” he said. “Stubborn is a fine quality. You’re also not wearing stays.”

“I expected we’d go swimming,” Anne said.

He arranged his boots, waistcoat, and stockings at the edge of the blanket. “So did I, but have you any idea, madam, any notion, what the image of
you in a wet chemise does to my thought processes?”

As a result of that last embrace, Anne had some idea what such an image did to his breeding organs.

“Probably the same thing the image of you naked to the waist in sopping wet breeches does to mine, Your Grace. The water would be warm too, because
the lake is shallow and the sun has been fierce.”

In the next instant, Anne was on her back, fifteen stone of half-dressed duke above her.

“The sun has been fierce, indeed. You made Ralph laugh, my dear. You made
me
laugh. I’ve every confidence you made the sheep laugh
too.”

Sedgemere’s kisses bore no laughter. They were all dark wine, billowing wind, and honeysuckle moon shadows. 

Anne wiggled, she squirmed, she yanked on the duke’s hair and shoved at him, until Sedgemere was lying between her legs, his weight a necessary but
insufficient complement to the desire rioting through her.

“You needn’t be noble,” Anne panted between kisses. “I’m not a virgin, though once upon a time, I was a fool.”

She took a risk, telling him that, but Sedgemere didn’t pull away. Instead, he shifted up, so Anne could hide her flaming face against his throat.
His hand cradled the back of her head, and he pressed his cheek to her temple.

 “I’m sorry,” he said, his grip fierce and cherishing. “Whoever he was, he was not worthy of your regard, and you are well rid
of him. We’ll speak of it if you like. I’ll ruin him for you, I’ll even kill him, but please, my love, not now.”

My love.
Anne could be Sedgemere’s love, for a span of days. She wrapped herself around him, yearning and frustration turning the cool evening hot.

“I want you,” she said, trying to get her hands on his falls. “Sedgemere, I’m tired of waiting, of being patient. We have only
days, and I can’t stand the thought that—”

The duke reared back and pulled his shirt over his head. In the moonlight, he was cool curves and smooth muscles. Anne wanted to nibble on his shoulders,
and lick his ribs, and—

He stood, peeling his breeches off and kicking them to the grass, so the entire, magnificent naked whole of him stood before her.

“My name is Elias,” he said. “Given my state of undress, I invite you, and you alone of all women, to call me by my name.”

He wanted to give her his name, in other words. Anne could accept only part of his proffer.