Authors: Madeline Hunter
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General, #Regency
Ravishing in Red (37 page)
“Why would you try to give me this when the truth was so important to you?”
Her throat burned. Her heart filled with the best ache. “Because you are more important now.”
“Is it a gift of love, then?” he asked quietly.
The invitation was unexpected, and harder to accept than she thought. “Yes. It is a gift of love, Sebastian.”
Still thoughtful. Still intense. But that smile now, that could still dazzle her silly. “Then I accept it with love, Audrianna. More love than you will know. So much that it staggers me.”
Her ache transformed to joy at his words. Blissful, resplendent joy such as she had never known. It spilled through her and out of her and made her laugh with delight. He laughed too, at her surprise and at his own, and they shared the sweetest kiss.
He moved just enough. She spread her legs to accept him. He entered her so their bodies mimicked their hearts.
He became thoughtful again. “I am deciding if it feels differently, now that I know you love me. I think maybe it does. Interesting.”
“How so? How is it different?
He pondered it. “Unbearable desire still, that is certain. Only also . . . perfect contentment.” He shifted a little and she giggled. “And also unexpected happiness within the desire. Also . . .” He closed his eyes, savoring and naming. “Also the smug satisfaction of being totally sure of complete possession of all of you.”
“That last does not sound very romantic.”
He arched so his mouth could reach down to her breast.
“I may be besotted by love, but I am still a man, Audrianna.”
His tongue circled in its torturous paths on her nipples. It did not take long until he had her close to raving. She let her love cry out along with her pleasure. She held back nothing, so he would know and indeed be totally sure of that possession he craved.
Soon all that mattered was how he filled her. The joy centered there, in the beautiful sensations while he moved. Long, deep strokes stretched her, completed her, and made the pleasure intensify slowly until untold tiny thrills pulsed out to the rest of her body.
She never escaped into abandon. She remained alert to him through it all, feeling him, loving him. Even at the end, when those thrills collected and tightened and screamed, she remained aware.
He was with her too, in that clear acknowledgment that it must be that way, that they must never forget this loving, or any moment of it. Still amazed by the pure beauty of their unlikely, mutual love, they gazed into each other’s eyes through the perfect cresting of their passion, and the breaking bliss in which they were totally as one.
“
D
id you tell him? He has not said a word to me. He sits at breakfast as if he is ignorant.” The marquess quizzed her several days later. He had even summoned her just for this purpose.
D
id you tell him? He has not said a word to me. He sits at breakfast as if he is ignorant.” The marquess quizzed her several days later. He had even summoned her just for this purpose.
“I did not tell him,” she said truthfully. “It appears he has decided to handle it another way.”
The marquess frowned at that. She wondered if the complexities in his soul regretted being left alone with his private guilt. Perhaps he truly wanted public disgrace.
“Whatever he decided, he will not accept your sacrifice.” She pointed to his chair. “He will fight with you about it, because he believes you can one day walk again.”
“If I ever do, it will diminish him.”
“No other man can diminish him. He does not want your life, either as a gift, or due to your infirmity. He will gladly return whatever is yours when you are ready to take it back.”
He did not appear convinced. “Did he tell you this?”
“He did not have to. I know.”
He smiled skeptically.
“I know,” she repeated firmly, with some annoyance.
That took him aback. He ended the subject by fishing out his pocket watch. “Kennington and Symes-Wilvert will be here soon. Call Dr. Fenwood so I can sit by the window for some time before they come. Do not leave. Come back in when he is done.”
She went to the anteroom and sent Dr. Fenwood in. When he returned, she went back to the marquess. He sat near the open window.
“The world is so beautiful,” he muttered. She stood beside him and looked out the window, down into the garden with its bursts of color amid the green plants and trees and gray stone paths.
While they admired it, a head moved into view. Then two others. Three men walked into the garden and down a path. They stopped and chatted.
The marquess’s eyes narrowed on them. “What is he doing? Why would he pull Kenny and Symes out there with him?”
She did not know. Sebastian was doing most of the talking, even if they could not hear what he said. The other two men only listened. Soberly.
“It appears you were wrong,” the marquess said. “It looks like my brother will demand that justice have its pound of flesh after all.”
K
ennington and Symes-Wilvert had nothing to say. They did not even try to defend or excuse themselves. They just looked at the ground in dismay.
ennington and Symes-Wilvert had nothing to say. They did not even try to defend or excuse themselves. They just looked at the ground in dismay.
“We did not think . . .” Kennington began. Whatever he intended to say must have sounded poor to his own mind, so he stopped.
“I am sure that you never imagined that there might be soldiers in battle left with only that adulterated powder,” Sebastian said.
“Exactly,” Kennington said. “Those kegs all get mixed together in transport, we were told. There would always be good powder when one of these was found to be bad.”
“Who told you this? I do not believe this scheme was of your making.” It was not their character that he trusted. Sebastian just did not believe for a minute that these two men were smart enough to concoct and execute such an elaborate deception.
Symes-Wilvert looked at Kennington with some fear.
Kennington chewed his lower lip. “A fellow broached the idea of a powder mill with us. He had it all planned. I had that bit of land near the river in Kent, and it would be perfect, he said. Symes here invested some money as his share. Borrowed it from his brother.”
“We thought at first it would just be a normal mill,” Symes said desperately.
“Except it wasn’t,” Sebastian said.
They both stared at their boots, miserable.
“Who was this man? This third partner?” he pressed.
Kennington cleared his throat. “Name was Patterson. He had worked at the Waltham Abbey Works so he knew how it was done. That was his contribution in it.”
“We haven’t seen him in over a year,” Symes muttered. “We heard a rumor he took his profits and went to America.”
So there it was. Two fools lured into deep water by someone much smarter than they were. This Patterson had chosen his partners well. Perhaps he picked them because their best friend was a marquess with connections at the War Department and Board of Ordnance.
“There was an advertisement some time ago, about a meeting at the Temple of the Muses. My wife thought it was for her. I think now that it was an attempt by the two of you to locate the man who shot me in Brighton.”
Kennington turned very red. “I was shocked to see her there. I thought the notice was very cleverly worded and only he would—”
“You only knew about that episode in Brighton, and why I was there, because of my brother. He described it, and you sought to find the Domino before I did, in order to buy his silence on whatever he might know.”
“Wittonbury may have mentioned something,” Symes-Wilvert said. “But as soon as that scandal broke, and we saw it was you and Kelmsleigh’s daughter involved, we thought it would be wise to know what you knew.” He cleared his throat. “As it were.”
“You used my brother most ignobly. I trust that your visits have been out of friendship, and not only to keep aware of what he learned and did not about your crime, or out of guilt that you had so badly betrayed his friendship.”
“There has been guilt enough, but I’ll not hear insinuations that our friendship is not honest,” Symes-Wilvert said with some umbrage.
Sebastian contemplated the two men. They had confessed fast enough. They had probably been waiting to do so for years. And the instigator, this Patterson, was probably living in luxury in America.
“I think that it will not serve the country, or the army, to have all this—” A commotion interrupted him. A very small one, but it could not be ignored.
Four footmen came out on the terrace, carrying a chair in which Morgan sat like a king in a royal litter. Dr. Fenwood and Audrianna walked behind them.
Kennington and Symes-Wilvert were distracted by the spectacle. Morgan gestured to the garden and spoke to the footmen. The chair descended the terrace steps. The entourage moved down the stone path to where Sebastian stood. The footmen set the chair down.
Kennington smiled with delight at his friend’s emergence from his prison.
Morgan did not smile back. “My brother has been telling you what he has discovered about your gunpowder, I think. I have decided that it is time to stop pretending that it did not happen, and that I did not know about it.”
No one moved. Kennington’s expression shattered. “You have known? Oh, dear God.”
“Yes, you fool, I have known. And I have regretted allowing friendship to sway me to do something that good judgment said I should not, and then swaying me more to keep silent when I should have spoken.” He shooed away the footmen. “Audrianna, come here, please. I require your help, if you will give it.”
She glanced in question at Sebastian, but approached the chair.
“Closer, dear sister.”
She stepped closer.
Morgan eyed his friends. Then his concentration turned inward. He shifted in the chair, braced his hands against its arms, and slowly, painfully, rose.
His legs almost buckled when they took his weight. He grasped Audrianna’s shoulder to steady himself. Face taut, eyes blazing, he stood on his own legs and faced his astonished friends.
“You were both looking relieved when I came out of the house. Was my brother offering us absolution? How generous of him. Regrettably, it is not his to give.”
Kennington and Symes-Wilvert cast down their eyes again. Their faces flushed. They knew it was not a friend who spoke to them now. Morgan was all marquess as he stood there through force of will and little else. All Lord Wittonbury.
“I told this dear lady that I believed that her father’s name was disgraced by mistake. That was not my brother’s blame, or the newspapers, or anyone’s except ours. His death is on our hands alone. You will now tell her the truth, whatever it may be, so she finally knows it.”
Sebastian looked at Audrianna. She tried to avoid his gaze, but finally met it.
She had known. When she offered her gift of love, she had known it all. She had spoken with Morgan and learned the truth. And she had also learned that the truth might clear her father.
Sebastian was glad that this was his brother’s conversation now. He could not have spoken himself without betraying his emotions. It moved him profoundly that she had tried to protect him from the hell of exposing his own brother, to the point of sacrificing her own justice.
“There was a man at the Tower, who was paid. He dealt with the records and stores. It was not your father, but a clerk who was beneath him and who could remove reports of bad powder if any came in on our mill, and also change things in the records after your father made his approval,” Kennington said quietly.
“Our sincere apologies, Madam,” Symes-Wilvert mumbled.
“Apologies are due, that is certain, to her and many others. But they are not enough. You know they are not,” Wittonbury said. “You will give the name of the other man to my brother, along with all the names of all the men who conspired with you.” He looked at Sebastian. “Then he and I will do what must be done.”
Kennington and Symes-Wilvert looked as if they had been bludgeoned. Not daring to speak, they bowed and took their leave. They hurried back up the garden path.
Wittonbury raised his voice and told them to stop. He could not turn to see them, so he spoke into the air. “No matter what happens, you will always be my friends.”
He did not see their astonishment. Thoroughly cowed, they turned and walked out of the garden.
Morgan grimaced. His balance wavered. “Help me to sit, Sebastian. Quickly, before I fall on my face and take your dear wife down with me.”
T
he garden was silent except for the sounds of spring and the gentle falls of her feet. Audrianna meandered along the stone paths while she absorbed the drama that had just unexpectedly unfolded. Sebastian had gone in with his brother. They probably would talk privately for a while.
he garden was silent except for the sounds of spring and the gentle falls of her feet. Audrianna meandered along the stone paths while she absorbed the drama that had just unexpectedly unfolded. Sebastian had gone in with his brother. They probably would talk privately for a while.
She also needed to have some private conversations. She would go visit Mama tomorrow. Mama deserved to know that her loyalty to Papa had not been in vain.
Audrianna let the old memories come as she strolled. They did not provoke anger now, or fear. She did not want to weep. She pictured her father in better times, and it brought joy, not pain. A lovely peace had settled in her with the confession of Wittonbury’s friends. The marquess had been correct that these two men were not good liars. They told the truth when they exonerated her father, she was certain.
Her father’s face came to her vividly, more clearly than it had in months. It seemed to her that his dark eyes warmed in recognition. Then he smiled and nodded, and his image began dimming in her imagination.
Boots fell into step beside her. She had not noticed that Sebastian had returned to the garden. He took her hand, and they walked on, enjoying the new peace together.
“Your gift that night was even more selfless than I knew,” he said. “Morgan had confided everything to you, hadn’t he?”
She nodded. “He wanted you to know. He wanted me to tell you. I could not. I hoped you would find a way to spare him the disgrace. If you knew for certain, perhaps honor would not permit that.”
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