Pendragon (3 page)

Surely she'd met him before, but where? The tilt of his head, she knew she'd seen him somewhere before. But it wasn't just his air of familiarity that held her in place. It was the oddest thing. Meggie felt the impact of him to her toes, which, she was forced to admit, were on the sore side what with dancing every dance.

She recognized that impact in the deepest part of her. She hadn't forgotten it. It had simply lain dormant for a goodly number of years.

She was still looking toward him when she reached her aunt Alex. Her heart was beating, slow deep thuds. Why wouldn't he turn around? It had to be him, it just had to.

“You are enjoying yourself, love?”

Meggie managed to look away from him a moment. “Oh yes, I just danced with Viscount Glover. He speaks Spanish fluently and wants to enlarge his father's succession houses.”

“Hmmm. He is an interesting young man. I believe he lost his wife in childbirth just last year.”

Meggie nodded, but she wasn't paying attention. She was staring at that man. “Who is that man, Aunt Alex? The one who is speaking to the three gentlemen beneath that chandelier?”

Uncle Douglas came up behind his wife just then. “What man, Meggie?”

“That one,” Meggie said, and watched her uncle turn to look at him. At that moment the man finally turned.

“Well,” Douglas said slowly, “this is a pleasant surprise. I hadn't known he was in town.”

Meggie was staring. No wonder she'd felt the familiarity, the impact that jarred her to her soul. It was Jeremy Stanton-Greville, Aunt Sophie's younger brother. She had fallen in love with him when she was thirteen years old and he was a wild young man of nearly twenty-four. She'd looked at him with a young girl's full heart and fallen at his feet, at least metaphorically speaking.

Douglas said to her, “I'm surprised you don't recognize him, Meggie, it's Jeremy Stanton-Greville. One of your numerous cousins.”

“Oh no, he isn't really my cousin, Uncle Douglas,” she said, and was so glad of that fact that she nearly shouted with the relief of it, with the wonder of it. He was finally back in her life, and now she was finally old enough for him. “He's my almost-cousin.”

3

M
EGGIE LOOKED AT
him again, really looked, and she was so excited, she had to really pay attention or she knew she'd stutter herself right out of the ballroom and look like an idiot. “He looks a bit different. Of course it's been a very long time since I last saw him. Goodness, I don't remember him as being so very tall, and so stylish. Was that his laugh? Oh yes, I'm sure it's him laughing. It was a wonderful laugh, all deep and full, don't you think; and—” Meggie pulled back from the precipice and gulped because her aunt was looking at her with a good deal of appalled comprehension.

“Hmmm,” said Uncle Douglas, all his attention focused on Meggie now. She'd been the cutest little girl, a benevolent tyrant to her brothers, the ruler of all the male cousins. But she wasn't a little girl any longer. Jeremy Stanton-Greville? There were a lot of years separating them—a good dozen—too many in Douglas's opinion. At least Jeremy wasn't yet married; Douglas would have been notified. “All right, then,” he said slowly. “Why don't I fetch Jeremy and we can enjoy dinner together? Get reacquainted?”

“Yes,” said Aunt Alex comfortably. “It's always interesting to reminisce, don't you think, Meggie? We haven't seen Jeremy in at least five years. He appears to have become a fine-looking man.”

“Yes,” Meggie said, never taking her eyes off him. “Do I look all right, Aunt Alex? My gown? My hair? Is my nose too shiny?”

“You look perfect.” So much for flirting and just enjoying herself and not husband hunting, Alex thought, seeing her niece's heart in her beautiful Sherbrooke eyes as she stared at Jeremy Stanton-Greville, who had now turned and was speaking to Douglas. He was nearly Douglas's height, well formed, a big man, and his hair was a dark rich brown, his eyes dark as well. Then he smiled and nodded and walked beside Douglas toward them. Alex saw that he limped slightly and remembered that he'd been born with a club foot, but it hadn't slowed him down a bit, according to his brother-in-law, Ryder, who'd seen that he'd learned to fight dirty and ride like a centaur. He'd been a terror, Ryder had proudly said, during his years at Eton.

As Meggie watched him come closer and closer, her stomach pitched wildly. She felt like a fool, a dolt. She couldn't think of a word to say. All she wanted to do was hurl herself at him and beg him to marry her.

Well, perhaps not yet. That would be rushing things just a bit. Maybe tomorrow or even the next day. She cleared her throat. She had to say something, had to charm him, show off her wit, if she could manage to find it.

Oh dear. What would happen now?

At three o'clock in the morning Meggie crawled beneath the thick covers on her bed and turned onto her back. She smiled, an idiot's smile, but it didn't matter. She was thrumming with happiness, with anticipation. Giddiness washed through her veins, and she wanted to shout to the cherubs that adorned the ceiling of her bedchamber, she was so very happy.

Imagine, her very first week in London and she'd met her future husband.

Jeremy Stanton-Greville. Meggie Stanton-Greville. Lady Stanton-Greville. It sounded wonderful. It sounded perfect.

What a beautiful man he was. Just imagine, her
almost-cousin, and she'd known him nearly all her life, and here he was in London at exactly the same time she was and surely a sign that he'd been sent here for a specific reason, namely to see a grown-up Meggie Sherbrooke through a man's eyes and throw himself at her feet. Oh yes, the last time he'd seen her, she'd been thirteen—bossy and loud, smacking her brothers and cousins whenever they deserved it, which was often. Not very appetizing memories for him. Her memories of Jeremy were, now that she thought of it, of a young man constantly in motion, constantly on horseback, always racing, windblown, laughing, white teeth. And he'd been full of himself. But it hadn't mattered. She'd loved him the moment he opened his mouth that last time she'd seen him when she was thirteen years old. He'd come with Aunt Sophie for a visit. She'd taken just one quick look and it had been all over for her. She'd not let him out of her sight. Then he'd left and time had passed. Five whole years. And, after all, she was young and there was so much to do, and she'd forgotten about him, about the impact of him. He'd had but to reappear and that impact was back, slamming her hard, right in the heart. Talk about heated blood, hers was boiling her from the inside out. It was entirely too wonderful.

No, evidently, tucked away deep inside her, she hadn't forgotten him entirely. She smiled up into the darkness.

And tonight, there he'd been and everything was different, everything had changed. When he'd taken her hand, when he'd smiled at her showing those lovely white teeth again, she'd wanted to throw herself in his arms. What would happen then—ah, kisses and more kisses. Nothing of that sort had happened, naturally, but to dance with him, she'd feel ready to burst with happiness.

After a few polite phrases had been exchanged, Jeremy had asked Uncle Douglas if he could pay a visit—today, in not more than eight hours from now.

He had another party to attend this night, a pity, but there it was. Just before he left them, he took Meggie's hand, smiled at her yet again from his superior height, and told her she'd become a beauty, and kissed her cheek.

“Young men will take one look at you and fall to their knees,” he said.

“I used to line up Max, Leo, and Alec on their knees so Rory could walk over them,” she said, and thought,
I only want you on your knees
.

Jeremy burst into laughter.

“Rory got so good at it, he'd beg them to line up for him, but farther apart, so he could leap from one back to the next. Then, of course, the boys lined up so that Cleopatra, one of our racing cats, could practice her leaping by jumping from one to the next.”

“I had forgotten about the cat racing. I didn't know you were so involved.”

“Oh yes. I'm Mr. Cork's official trainer. He's the current champion, at least until the next meet. We'll see. Cleo's leap gets longer and more timely with each race. I don't remember, do you like cat racing?”

He shook his head. “Not really. I love horses. You must admit that racing cats is rather ridiculous compared to racing horses.”

She didn't agree at all, felt as if he'd smacked her, but just very lightly, and said only, “That is a pity. I'm sure you'll come about.” She couldn't wait to see to it that he did. She would race cats and he would race his horses. It was a perfect match.

Jeremy said, “That is quite an image—of both the leaping cat and of Rory. How old is Rory now?”

When she fell asleep not five minutes later, Meggie dreamed that Cleo beat Mr. Cork in a race that lasted only three seconds. Cleo had pumped up her back legs, taken two long high leaps and landed over the finish line.

Another sign, Meggie thought when she woke up at nine o'clock the next morning, instantly awake, filled with so much excitement she thought she'd vomit. It was the sort of excitement and fear she'd never felt before in her life. If feeling sick to her stomach was the price, she'd endure it gladly. Yes, Cleo's dream performance was a sign. Two leaps, two graceful soaring leaps, and Meggie would have him.

 

Jeremy Stanton-Greville, Baron Greville, of Dragon's Jaw in Fowey, arrived at the Sherbrooke town house at precisely eleven o'clock in the morning.

Darby, only fifty years old, had taken over his butler duties six months before, and he was still basking in his new responsibilities. And finally, the staff recognized his importance. He knew he was awe-inspiring, what with his measured walk, more of a smooth glide really, his dignified set of the shoulders and his incredibly well-pressed black knee pants and white linen.

He had known Jeremy Stanton-Greville since he was nine years old, newly arrived in England from Jamaica, and Mr. Ryder Sherbrooke's brother-in-law.

What a handsome man he'd become. Darby hadn't seen him since he was a carefree young man, wild and free and a new member of the Four Horse Club, wearing their colors, racing to the death.

For the first time since he'd assumed butlerdom, Darby smiled, showing a missing molar.

“It's Darby, isn't it?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good God, I see you're now in charge of this place. Congratulations.” And Jeremy shook Darby's hand, nearly sending the redheaded Darby into a swoon of pleasure.

“Ah, my lord, it's been too long, far too long. I haven't laid an eye on you since—what was it—September of 1815, yes, that was it, there were such celebrations because Napoleon was gone once and for all. How have you been?”

Jeremy smiled. “I have been just fine, Darby, traveling quite a bit, to Jamaica, you know, to my plantation there and then to Baltimore.”

“You went to Baltimore? Why ever would you wish to go there?”

Jeremy turned at Meggie Sherbrooke's voice. He turned and smiled at her. “Hello, Meggie. Yes, I was just telling Darby that I spent several years in Jamaica at Camille
Hall, my sugar plantation there. Then I went to Baltimore to stay with James Wyndham and his family. They have a very famous stud and racehorses. I learned an immense amount.”

“Surely you already knew an immense amount, Jeremy. After all, you were raised by my uncle Ryder.”

He took the white hand she was offering him. “Would you believe it? I learned even more about horse racing and breeding. In addition to racing horses, I want to start a stud at my home in Fowey. I needed to learn everything I could before I began.”

At the touch of his hand, Meggie nearly swallowed her tongue. Never in her eighteen years had she felt the slightest bit of anything at all when a boy or a man had touched her—admittedly most of the touching had been done by male relatives and the good Lord knew there was no titillation in that. Jeremy was a relative, but not really. They shared no blood. She couldn't remember his touching her when she was thirteen, except maybe to take her hand when he'd arrived or when he'd left. She could just remember standing about, staring at her god, perfectly willing to worship him from whatever distance was required.

“I suppose there is more money in horse racing than in cat racing,” she said.

She looked down at his hand holding hers. She didn't want to release him. He'd stopped talking and was looking at her now, a dark eyebrow cocked up a good inch.

“Oh,” Meggie said, and with the greatest reluctance, she let go of his hand.

His head was cocked to one side. “Is your father here?”

She shook her head, took a step closer, then drew up short. Where was her brain? It had shut down, it was that simple. Just looking at him, listening to him speak, watching how he used his hands when he talked, and her brain had moved out, vacated her head.

“No, Father and Mary Rose couldn't leave Glenclose-on-Rowan just yet. Perhaps in a fortnight they will visit London and see me all togged out in my new clothes.
Uncle Douglas and Aunt Alex are in the drawing room. I, ah, heard you speaking to Darby and came to fetch you to them.”

Very weak, Meggie, she thought as she saw Darby blink at her, and hoped he would keep his mouth shut. Darby took his duties very seriously and here she was, interfering. Who cared? She took Jeremy's hand again and tugged him after her. “This way.”

“You've grown up, Meggie,” he said from behind her in a beautiful smooth voice. “You've grown up very fine.”

That brought her to an immediate halt. She turned to look up at him. “Thank you. You've grown very tall and handsome. Although I remember you as tall and handsome. I think you were twenty-three or -four when I last saw you.”

“Something like that, I guess.” He had dark brown eyes. They were twinkling down at her as if he believed her to be flattering him—as a cousin would flatter another cousin.

Well, blessed hell.

“Jeremy, I'm glad you are here.”
It almost seems like fate
, but she couldn't say that.

Uncle Douglas took over then, clapping Jeremy on the back, ushering him into to greet Aunt Alex. Meggie stood there a moment, until Darby cleared his throat.

“Miss Meggie, is there something amiss?”

She turned slowly to look at him. “Yes, Darby, there certainly is. I must figure out what to do about it.”

“He has become a very nice man, hasn't he?”

Meggie nodded, thinking,
he has become a lot more than just nice. He was a lot more when I was thirteen. Now he's here and he's here for me. Thank you, God.

Uncle Douglas called out, “Meggie, have Darby fetch us some tea and cakes, won't you?”

“Immediately, Miss Meggie,” Darby said, gave her a slight bow, and took himself off to the nether regions of the big house.

The first thing Meggie heard when she stepped into the
drawing room was Aunt Alex saying, “You knew that Meggie was an exceptional horsewoman, didn't you, Jeremy? Ah, here you are, my love. Come and sit beside me and hear what Jeremy has been doing.”