Terri Brisbin (22 page)

He realized he was laughing, too, for no real reason other than that she’d started it. “Likely the stories exaggerate. True, the young women in that part of the world are astoundingly free of the constraints that bind their London counterparts. Even their emperor’s daughter goes about in a…ah…a natural state, following her own tastes, I suppose.”

She laughed again, most likely at his reticence, but he didn’t care. “You do not think it will be the fashion in Bath next season?”

“What, in petticoats of leaves and vines, and bodices of gaudy trade cloth and flowers?” He paused, now picturing her wickedly costumed as one of those sunny island ladies. She would look fine, he decided, more than fine. “Nor would their manner of courtship find favor here. Unlike those prim English misses at Almack’s who put their poor swains through more paces than a Thoroughbred nag, a Tahitian lady sees a gentleman she admires, and simply offers herself to him.”

By the candlelight he could see her cheeks had turned a rosy shade of pink as she looked down at the water in the tank. “Then tell me, my lord. Did any of those Tahitian ladies admire you?”

“They admired most of us Englishmen, likely for the sake of novelty alone,” he admitted. “But though those ladies are handsome little creatures, I chose not to accept their kind offers.”

“Ahh.” She trailed her fingertips across the water’s surface, rippling through her own reflection. “So you prefer the prim young ladies at Almack’s.”

He shook his head. “Not at all. I don’t fancy being a trophy for either group of ladies.”

“No?” Cordelia looked up at him again. She was, she knew, playing with fire, the sparks ready to burst into flame as high
as any of the earl’s deep-sea waves. She was saying things to him she shouldn’t, and he was saying them back, sharing flirtatious confidences as if they were an ordinary couple. This time she couldn’t even blame it on the moonlight and stars. She wanted to be here, with him, and the more they talked, the more she wanted to stay and not leave as she should. “And here I thought it was the ladies who were considered the prizes!”

“The gentleman’s always the prize when there’s a title before his name,” he said, tucking the cuffs of his shirtsleeves up above his elbows so they wouldn’t get wet, his forearms as brown and brawny as any sailor’s. “But then I’m sure Emma can tell you how badly I have confounded her every effort at matchmaking. Hopelessly particular, she calls me.”

She laughed again, and thought of how it was probably a good thing that twelve feet of chilly water lay between them. “Better hopelessly particular than particularly hopeless.”

“I’m afraid Emma would tell you that they’re one and the same.” He began adjusting the large bellows, rigged to hang from the ceiling as if in a blacksmith’s shop instead of a gentleman’s library. “Now, this is my wind. If I point it over the surface of the water at the correct angle, it should mimic sea waves.”

He gave the foot pedal a gentle pump, squeezing a gust of air from the mouth of the bellows as the pleated leather contracted, and at once small wavelets danced across the water. She liked seeing him concentrate like this, liked seeing how the muscles in his shoulders and arms tensed and released. He hadn’t lied; he
did
work. He pumped harder, increasing the next rush of air from the bellows, and the waves grew into sharper peaks.

“So you can do it, my lord,” she marveled, clapping her hands with approval. “Those are the most perfect waves imaginable! Might I try it? Please?”

He hesitated. “It’s not as simple as it appears.”

“Oh, I could do it. I know I could. Please, my lord?” She
came around the end of the tank to stand beside him, eager to try. “All I must do is push on this pedal, isn’t it?”

“Very well, but you must let me guide you. Here.” She pulled up the hem of her skirt above her ankle so he could make sure her foot was properly on the pedal.

“Ha, look at that,” she said, giggling at her pointed, red-striped shoe on the wide wooden pedal. “I should have worn my seven-league boots instead of slippers!”

“I’ll grant you that it’s scaled more for a smith than a lady,” he said. “But then you are the first female ever to come into this room, let alone try the bellows.”

“The first female?” she asked, amazed but flattered, too. He’d explained things in such detail to her, treating her with rare respect for her intelligence and her person, that she could scarce believe he’d never done it for anyone else. Surely no one else in the company except Father treated her half as well. Was she that special to the earl? Could he feel for her the way she was trying hard not to feel for him? “Truly?”

“Truly,” he said. “I’ve never known anyone else who wanted to play a mermaid.”

Without asking permission, he circled his arms around her so she could keep the bellows steady and at the correct angle over the water. Her back was to his chest, the hard muscles of his thighs pressing against her legs, excitement vibrating through them both as they stood so closely together.

“Now press upon the pedal and give the bellows air,” he said. “Handsomely, now, handsomely!”

He felt the effort of her pressing down, concentrating hard, then the gasp of delight as the first waves ruffled across the water. She pressed again, finding the momentum, and the waves grew larger and more defined.

“There you are,” Ross said. “Easy as can be.”

She laughed with delight, and pushed all her weight into driving the bellows. Now the waves peaked and crested,
breakers in miniature as they rolled and smacked against the far end of the tank.

“Behold, behold, I am Aeolus himself, commander of the winds!” she announced with a goddess’s gleeful resonance to an invisible audience. “Behold my power!”

Caught in the glory of the moment, she swept her hand through the air and into the nose of the bellows, knocking it down toward the little waves. At once cold water gushed up and sprayed over them both, drenching them together in wet surprise.

“Oh—oh, Hades!” she cried, startled by the cold water as she stumbled to one side to escape. “Oh, my lord, look at me!”

She stood with her arms held stiffly from her sides while the water dripped and puddled at her feet. Her hair had collapsed into a sodden mass, her gown was soaked, and she struggled to blink the water from her eyes.

“Oh, lass, I am sorry!” He seized a large towel from a nearby stool—were these watery mishaps
that
common?—and hurriedly began blotting at her face and arms. His face was lined with concern, and he didn’t seem to notice at all how his own linen shirt was so soaked it was nearly transparent. “I should not have let this happen, I should have—”

“Hush,” she said, laughter bubbling up from deep inside her as a fat drop of water fell from his hair onto her nose. “Just—just hush.”

He shook his head, flinging water like a wet spaniel. “But if I’d—”

“I told you to hush,” she said through her laughter. She slipped her arms free of the towel and looped them instead around his shoulders, pulling his face down to hers. “We were going to make waves, my lord, and…we…did.”

She arched up and kissed him to make him stop apologizing, and because she wanted to, and at once he was kissing her back, his urgency matching her own. His hands slid down to her hips, his fingers spreading as he drew their bodies more
intimately together, their wet clothes clinging together, chilled linen over warm skin.

She turned her head just enough for him to deepen the kiss, and threaded her fingers into his wet hair to hold him. When his hand reached up and covered her breast, her nipple already taut from the cold water, she gasped into his mouth but didn’t pull away. A little more, she told herself, only a little more, and she moaned as the pleasure built within her body.

But when the tall clock against the wall chimed once, she pushed away and broke the kiss. “I must go,” she said, with hardly enough breath left to whisper. “Forgive me, my lord, but I must go.”

“No, you don’t.” He curled his arm more tightly around her waist, keeping her. “Stay here with me, and we’ll make more waves. And my name is Ross.”

“Ross.” She smiled as she said his name. “But it’s after one in the morning, and Father will be looking for me to return, and if I stay awake much longer, I’ll have no voice for tomorrow’s rehearsal.”

“Damn the rehearsal,” he muttered, even as he released her. “Damn the whole infernal play, except the part with you in it.”

“But the play’s the only reason I’m here!”

“Then go now,” he said gruffly. “And tomorrow night, after you rehearse your parts, come back here with me.”

Sadly she searched his handsome face, wet hair and all, remembering what she’d promised Father. But even Father must know that some promises seemed destined to be broken; some were made too late to have a prayer of being kept.

Eleven more days until the company gave the wedding play, and eleven nights they’d have together if she dared. Eleven more nights of calling an earl by his given name, of having his smiles and his kisses and the waves all to herself.

She could choose eleven days and nights of him, or she could choose the emptiest of nothings.

“Yes, Ross,” she whispered fiercely, and kissed him again. “Yes.”

C
ordelia sat on the sill of the tall, open window of the ballroom, sipping tea with honey and milk for her voice. Because she was not needed for the scene the others were rehearsing, she could steal these few moments to enjoy the warmth of the sun and the sweet spring air, redolent with the fragrance of new-mowed grass and early flowers.

She heard the crunch of carriage wheels on the graveled driveway, and turned with interest in the direction of the sound. Ross had told her the first of the wedding guests would begin arriving today, the ones who lived farthest away and would be staying at the hall until after the ceremony. He’d said the newcomers would make no difference in their meetings at night, but Cordelia wasn’t as convinced.

Only three more days remained before the company gave the wedding play, and to her the time was slipping away faster than sand in an hourglass. As host, surely Ross must spend more time entertaining his guests and less with her. To her it seemed obvious, and inevitable, as well, but such knowledge would offer her pitifully slight comfort.

Shaded by tall trees, her window perch let her see without being noticed in return, and she tucked her red skirts more
closely around her knees as she leaned forward with her cup in her lap. The glossy green coach that stopped before the white marble steps was drawn by four matched bays, and on the door was painted a coat of arms to honor its noble occupants. While footmen rushed forward to open the door for the three travelers—two elderly ladies and their maidservant—a younger gentleman from the same party drew up on horseback.

At last Ross himself appeared, tugging on his coat as he came down the steps to greet them. Cordelia knew he’d been working with his water tank, not only from the coat, but also from the large wet blotches on his trousers, and she smiled to herself, thinking of their own escapades with his wave-making device.

“Ahh, so the grandees begin to make their entrances,” Alfred said, coming to stand beside her at the window with a teacup of his own. “A royal princess, d’you think, or some fantastic dowager duchess?”

“All I know is that they’re guests of the Howlands.” She sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “How much brandy is in that tea, Father? Faith, it isn’t even noon.”

He took a dainty sip from the cup. “You must know, daughter, that at my age it takes more than a libation from a honeybee to cure a ragged throat.”

“Especially when you didn’t return from that tavern in the village until dawn this morning.” She sighed and shook her head. “It’s bad enough that you mistreat yourself so, Father, but poor Ralph hasn’t your stamina, and you lead him wicked places he’s no business going. Look at him—he’s next to worthless this morning, and he doesn’t need your brandy as another excuse to mumble his lines.”

Alfred glanced back at the other actor, hunched over against the wall as far from the cheerful morning sunshine as he could be, his face waxy pale and his hands jammed into his coat pockets to hide their trembling.

“Ahh, a touch of lady fever, that is all,” he said. “I wouldn’t worry overmuch about the lad.”

“More like King Alfred’s brandy fever.” Cordelia set her empty cup on the floor with an empathic clatter. “Be reasonable, Father. Ralph’s the play’s hero, the honorable bridegroom, and I’ll thank you to keep him sober and out of the Tawny Buck until after the performance.”

“While you, Cordelia, are apparently playing the role of the prissy-prim goddess of misplaced virtue,” her father said. “No, now don’t deny it. I’m not dragging Ralph to the tavern every night. Do you think I haven’t noticed what time you’ve been crawling into your own bed each night—or morning?”

Cordelia’s chin jerked up in defense, but the guilty flush of her cheeks betrayed her. “I’ve done nothing to hurt the play, nor to compromise the rest of the company!”

“But you have compromised yourself a bit, haven’t you, Cordelia?” He looked past her out the window to the steps and Cordelia’s own gaze followed, seeking and finding Ross.

With his guests in the house, Ross had taken that same moment to pause. He looked up at the ballroom windows as if sensing Cordelia’s presence, and his smile when he found her was wide and unabashed, his pleasure in just the sight of her as undeniable as another man’s caress.

“You can’t deny it, Cordelia, any more than you could deny him, or yourself,” Alfred said, his voice leaden. “I am sorry. I am sorry.”

“Oh, Father, don’t be,” she said softly, taking his gnarled hand in her own. “It was my wish, my own free will.”

“Then I am doubly sorry.” He pulled his hand away, his face closing against her. “You will be coming with us when we are done here, Cordelia. You have confounded me, aye, but I’ll not abandon you to shame me more, the way I did with your mother.”

“It’s not like that, Father, I swear!” How could she explain that it was more than passion and desire that had brought her
and Ross together, or that they’d both agreed to stop short of taking the final lover’s step?

“You swore to me before, and how little weight that oath has carried.”

“But it’s so much more than that, Father,” she said. “With him, I forget that Ralph doesn’t know his lines, or that Gwen is pert to me for no reason. He talks to me, Father. He treats me as if I am every bit as clever as he is himself, and tells me tales of how the moon rules the tides, or what the queens of Fiji are called, or the difference between a narwhal’s horn and a unicorn’s, and—and oh, there must be a thousand other ways he has that make me feel special!”

But her father’s expression didn’t change. “I trust you have turned to Gwen or one of the other woman for advice in keeping yourself safe. I won’t be burdened with a nobleman’s bastard, another puling mouth to feed in the back of the wagon.”

Tears stung her eyes as she struggled to steady her voice. “Please, Father, don’t say such things—not of me, not of Ross!”

“Ross,” he muttered.

She’d never heard such scorn heaped onto a single word, not from her father.

“He is the Earl of Mayne, and always will be, just as you will never be more than Cordelia Lyon, and never his equal. Have you forgotten that when we first came here, he judged us as the most disreputable gypsies, eager to steal him blind?”

“But Father, I—”

“You say you have not hurt the company by what you have done with that man,” he said. “But by God, Cordelia, you have hurt me.”

Deliberately he turned away from her to join the others before she could answer, his shoulders bent and his steps measured. With her hand pressed over her mouth to stifle her sob, she looked back to Ross, still on the white steps below and
staring up at her window with his hand shielding his eyes against the sun.

He’d been waiting for her to look again at him, unaware of what was happening between her and Alfred, and when he saw her face turn back to him, his smile beamed, warmer than the sun itself, and he waved his whole arm at her, as if he didn’t care who saw him.

Slowly she raised her hand to return the wave, her smile tremulous through her tears. But for these few days, he’d made her happy, hadn’t he?

Happy…

“So tell me, cousin,” said the Honorable James Kelty, lowering his voice to a more confidential level as he and Ross walked through the house on their way to James’s rooms. “Exactly who was that ravishing creature in the window that I just saw you saluting?”

“You, ah, saw a lady?” Ross said, stalling. Beginning when they’d still been in school, his cousin had made it his vocation in life to cut as wide a romantic swath through young English womanhood as he could possibly manage, and Ross wanted to do his best to keep Cordelia from his path. “You must have seen Emma.”

“Not unless Emma has changed from silver into purest gold.” James punched Ross’s upper arm. “Now be a good fellow and tell me who she is.”

“She’s here for the wedding.”

“Another guest, and fair game,” James said with relish, ready for the hunt. “Is she from this county, or perhaps one of Emma’s little friends from school?”

“You won’t know her, James. She’s out of your circle entirely.” Ross made a quick tuneless whistle, desperate to change the subject. “I say, Emma will be glad to see you again, though I should warn you that she’s out of her mind over this wedding.”

James stopped short, narrowing his eyes with sly suspicion. “You’ve staked your claim on the filly, haven’t you? I know it’s damned unlikely. I know you’d rather chew off your own leg than make love to a pretty girl, but even dusty old bachelors like you will change, oh, every thousand years or so.”

“Well, then, yes, James, I do have a ‘stake,’ as you call it,” Ross said with irritation, “and I’ll thank you to keep your distance from her while you’re here.”

James held up his hands, surrendering. “I’ll not poach, cousin, not on your game, if you’ll but tell me the lady’s name.”

Ross drummed his fingers on the edge of a nearby sideboard. “She’s not exactly a lady. She’s, ah, an actress.”

“An
actress?
” James’s jaw dropped open for effect. “You’re keeping an actress here at Howland Hall? Your mother would have your head for tomfoolery like that!”

“It’s not like that,” Ross said quickly. “She’s part of the theater company that’s going to perform a special wedding play in honor of Emma and Weldon.”

“How deuced convenient!” James exclaimed. “You have the little darling here for your amusement for the next week or so, then off she goes before you tire of her, without any fuss or tears from her to spoil your day.”

“That’s enough, James.” Ross’s voice was so sharp that James drew back. “I won’t have you speak of her in that manner.”

“I said I wouldn’t poach, Ross. But if she’s only an actress, not a lady, and—”

“The last door on the right is yours,” Ross said, that sharpness now almost a threat. “We dine at seven.”

Ross turned and left before he said more. He was almost shaking with anger, and the intensity of it churning inside him shocked him. Yet all James had done was give words to what Ross already felt, and dreaded, too.

The day was fast coming when Cordelia would clamber up into the company’s wagon, leave with the others and be gone
from his life forever. He’d lose her as his friend, his sweetheart, even his muse and inspiration. She was clever and passionate and unpredictable, and in a handful of days she’d filled an emptiness in his life that he hadn’t realized existed. With her as an avid sounding board and critic, his work had progressed at a record pace.

But she’d made it clear from the start that there’d be no shared future for them. Fate had brought them together, she’d said, and fate would take them apart, and then she’d smiled and shrugged and spoken another piece from her Shakespeare, as if that could solve everything.

And damnation, that wasn’t any solution at all.

With her ankles crossed as neatly as a dancer’s and her hand resting in Ralph’s, Cordelia held her pose at the back of the stage while Alfred, as the god of married bliss, delivered his blessing on the new-minted couple. This was the closing scene of the play, with only a final kiss between her and Ralph, and then a rousing fiddle tune while they all took their bows.

But while she kept her joyful bride’s smile on her face, the bitter irony of Alfred’s speech, preaching love and happiness, stung her to the quick. If Ross had only been another actor, then would her father be blessing their union, too? If she’d been born into a grand house like this instead of into the company, would she be in the audience, watching the play that honored her wedding?

She looked to the bench out front where Emma sat with Weldon. More precisely, Emma sat on Weldon’s lap, her knees hooked over his as they kissed, with Emma making shameless cooing sounds of pleasure that Cordelia could hear clear across the room. The two seemed impossibly young to Cordelia—she doubted that Weldon could even grow a beard yet—but they also seemed impossibly in love. Without a mother to rule these past days, any scrap of propriety that
would have kept them separated until after the wedding seemed to have been forgotten, and to see them together like this made Cordelia certain that Emma and Weldon had already experienced their wedding night.

What must it be like to have that joy, that freedom? How could they realize the luxury they had, to follow their hearts for life as they pleased, and the certainty that any child they might conceive between them would be welcome, loved and secure in its place in the world?

“Kiss me, Cordelia,” Ralph whispered through a smile of clenched teeth. “Now who’s forgetful, I ask you?”

Quickly she kissed him, barely grazing his lips with her own. Ross had spoiled her for kissing anyone else, especially stage kisses with actors like Ralph Carter.

“Fanfare and rejoicing, huzzah, huzzah, huzzah.” Alfred clapped his hands, smiling at everyone in the company except, it seemed, her. “Praise yourselves, all of you. I’ll grant a short respite now, and we shall gather again in an hour.”

Dutifully Cordelia joined in the applause, then turned away from the others. Though no one would dare say so, she was sure they’d all overheard her earlier conversation with her father. There were precious few secrets in the company, but for now she didn’t want sympathy from Gwen or any of the others. She didn’t feel as if she belonged among them now. She didn’t feel she belonged anywhere. All she wished was to be alone, and with her head down, she hurried for the door.

“Cordelia.” Ross caught her arm, holding her back by the doorway. “What demon’s chasing you, eh?”

Her smile was tight as she gave her shoulders a little shrug. “You never come to rehearsals during the day.”

He closed his eyes, and placed his hand across his chest the way that Ralph was supposed to do. “‘With my love to light my heart, / However canst I keep apart?’”

“I cannot believe you remembered my doggerel!”

“I’ve heard it enough, haven’t I?” He reached out and brushed a stray curl from her forehead. “I’ve always been a quick study at memorizing. I was the fastest in my class to learn the first book of the
Iliad
by rote.”

Purposefully she tried to keep her voice light, a match for his. She didn’t want to spoil their last days together by sharing her father’s tirade or her own unhappiness.