The Lodestone (20 page)

The footman stationed at the door to the ballroom took Drake’s card, read what the gambler had scrawled there and then announced, “Mr. Drake Stoneham of Stoneham House, in London. Miss Cleome Parker of Eagle’s Point, near Oakham.”

It was as if everyone in the Easton’s ballroom was momentarily frozen in time, trying to decide if there could be any sport for them in having this interloper in their midst. Only the music went on without missing a beat, before the revelers continued their talking and laughing. Drake had wisely waited until most of the guests arrived and the dancing was well underway before he and Cleome made their entrance. A lilting waltz was just beginning, and after the elegantly-suited doorman called their names, Drake swept her out onto the dance floor. Garnett was the first to cut in.

After a whispered promise to finish their dance later, Drake surrendered Cleome to their host. But, she noted with satisfaction, he took up a watchful post near the swirling dancers, his eyes following her as he chatted with Sir Rudgely and the vicar.

“’Pon my word, Cleome,” Garnett said, breaking into her thoughts. “You have rendered me quite speechless.”

“You, sir? Never!” she exclaimed, enjoying the music and the fact that she had created a stir. “Do you think it awful of me to come with no invitation of my own?”

“On the contrary—I think it superb. And as Drake’s guest, you have neatly side-stepped that terrible oversight.”

Before Garnett could say more, a tall young man resplendent in evening dress tapped his shoulder. “My apologies, Easton; but you’re not keeping this pretty morsel to yourself,” he said and waltzed Cleome away. He introduced himself as Count Paolo Paresi and trying to flatter her with a compliment about her “bewitching eyes,” he pulled her close to his slender frame—much too close. Although he was handsome, with a build and coloring similar to Garnett’s, Cleome didn’t like him. She felt there was something not quite right about him, as if his banter had some ulterior motive. She was relieved when another young man touched the nobleman’s shoulder and danced her away.

Garnett’s friends surrounded her throughout the evening, all clamoring for a turn with her, but Cleome found herself scanning the room repeatedly for Drake. For such a large man, he was a graceful dancer and it was not surprising that any woman privileged to enjoy a set with him fell under his spell.

**

Elizabeth Easton took a deep breath and scolded herself for being ten kinds of fool. Still, he had not declined her offer to show him the new greenhouse the gardener had built under Garnett’s direction, and some of the plants that flourished there. She would wait but ten minutes, she decided, not a second more; and then she would rejoin her guests and ignore him for the rest of the evening. She didn’t know what it was she hoped for—he was young and perhaps not terribly experienced. More than once she’d tried discreetly to get Drake Stoneham’s attention, but to no avail. After the interlude they had enjoyed on his arrival in Oakham, she’d hoped for more; but he had been strangely distant. And tonight, he had eyes only for Cleome Desmond or Parker or whatever her name was.

A step sounded on the gravel walk outside the little building and suddenly Paolo was there. “Ah, signora,” whispered the dashing Italian count. “How lovely you look in the moonlight.”

“Paolo,” she returned coyly. “I didn’t think you’d really come.”

“What?” He was flirting with her and she loved it. “Signora, you wound my poor heart. How could I resist your offer to show me your pretty garden.”

“Garnett is a genius at horticulture. Some of the flowers are quite rare.”

He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “Any blossom of yours, milady, would be rare indeed.” She laughed lightly, aroused by his
double entendre
. “I hope you will show it to me soon,” he added.

“I’d be happy to. There’s an unusual one in here.” She led him into the greenhouse, but before she could point out the bloom, he caught her in his arms and kissed her with a fiery passion. She was breathless when he finally let her go.

“My friend Garnett is fortunate to have so lovely a mamma,” he said. “And his father is a lucky man. How long has it been, signora, since your husband has kissed you like that?” Snaking a long, thin hand inside the bodice of her dress, he continued, “Or since he has caressed you thus?”

Her knees went weak at his touch and she had to lean against the wall for support. He kissed her again, gently squeezing one of her breasts, then lightly pinching its rapidly tautening tip. Before she knew how it happened, his other hand found its way beneath her skirt and parted her legs so he could cradle within it what Sir Laurence had called, in the early years of their marriage, her Mound of Venus. She gasped with delight.

“Oh . . . Paolo,” she whispered, pressing herself against his palm.

“This must be that rare, sweet blossom you promised to show me, eh?”

“If my husband should come upon us now, I cannot imagine what I’d do.” Perhaps she should resist him, she thought, with so many guests about; but the idea that someone could discover them made it all the more exciting.

“I know what I would do,” he teased, smiling down into her eyes. “I would hide in your exquisite garden and taste the sweet nectar of that lovely flower. Ah . . . do I hear a footstep?” She looked around, worried for a moment, before she realized it was a game. “Hush, milady,” he entreated. “Keep very still and quiet.”

He stooped before her, lifted her voluminous skirt and petticoats and went under them, concealing himself within the silken folds. As the fabric settled over his back, covering him, his hands glided smoothly up her thighs until they found their mark. He drew her lacy pantalets down and as he gently stroked the most intimate part of her being, his breath came fast and hot against her skin.

Suddenly, something warm and wet and wonderful invaded Venus to probe the bud of her womanhood, and she was grateful for the greenhouse wall that held her up. She had never felt anything so delicious as that silken arrow darting like a serpent’s tongue in that vital spot between her legs, and she meant to enjoy as much of it as he would give. Her guests and her party were forgotten in the moment. It was at least an hour before supper would be served and she didn’t believe Sir Laurence would miss her.

**

By the time Drake came to claim Cleome, she had danced with more than half a dozen young men and as many of their fathers, while wives, mothers, sisters and daughters whispered resentfully about her beauty and the scandal surrounding her birth. So intent were they all in their appraisal of the exquisite creature who had suddenly dropped into their assemblage that they did not notice when the climate outside took a nasty turn. Thunder rolled ominously, heralding the storms that signaled the arrival of autumn. As the orchestra began a lively tune, Drake took Cleome’s hand and tucked it possessively through his arm.

“They will be serving supper soon,” he said, looking down at her with what she thought was genuine appreciation.

“I am much too excited to eat anything, Mr. Stoneham,” she replied, her spirits soaring. She leaned toward him and asked like a fond conspirator, “Is your plan working? Are secrets being revealed that will guarantee your ultimate victory?”

“That remains to be seen,” he whispered in her ear; and again, she felt drawn to him as copper is to a lodestone. She realized with a start to her very soul that she could think of little else but his full, firm lips, and what they would feel like upon her own.

Lord Easton only nodded curtly to Cleome as he passed with one of the Rudgely girls on his arm but Elizabeth Easton, escorted towards the dining room by Count Paolo, more than made up for her husband’s indifference.

“Darling Cleome,” she gushed, squeezing the surprised girl’s hand. “It’s so good to see you again. You know, your grandmother and Garnett’s were great friends.”

“Yes, I know. It is a pleasure to see you, milady.”

“You must forgive the oversight of your invitation,” Elizabeth entreated, her heightened color most appealing. “But I believed you still in mourning, you see.”

“I understand,” Cleome lied pleasantly and glanced up at Drake. “But as has been pointed out to me, milady—my grandfather
chose
to end his life. So six months of grief is more than enough to light his way to Heaven. Don’t you agree?”

Lady Easton was saved an awkward response when Edwards came to inform her of the arrival of another unexpected guest. “Your pardon, milady,” he said, extending a silver tray to her. She took the single card resting there.

“Oh, my!” she exclaimed. “Mr. Landshire has come. By all means, Edwards, do show him in. Fortunately, we’re serving a buffet so you’ll not have to bother with extra settings.”

“You need not trouble yourself on any account,” boomed a voice from the doorway and a bent, gnome-like creature stepped forward. It was so swathed in scarves, hat, gloves, greatcoat and cape that it was impossible to see any feature of his person except his eyes. With him was a lovely sprite only a little younger than Cleome. She had a mass of luxurious raven curls and blushed furiously when the barrister introduced her as his niece Edwina. As a maid relieved the two new arrivals of their cloaks, Cleome’s heart filled with misgiving. Mr. Landshire’s appearance was most disconcerting, for he looked like a rotund troll, but his niece was an enchanting creature, next to whom Cleome felt positively plain.

“Mr. Landshire, I presume,” Drake said courteously, extending his hand.

“No other!” the little man roared in a jolly voice ten times larger than his stature as he shook the offered hand. “Are you Garnett Easton?”

“Drake Stoneham, at your service, sir.”

“Mr. Landshire,” Garnett put in, quickly introducing himself. “I am delighted to see you and I thank you for looking into matters for my friend.” He took Cleome’s hand and drawing her forward, he said, “Miss Parker, may I present Mr. Oliver Landshire.”

The wizened old gentleman bowed over Cleome’s hand while the petite Edwina smiled openly at her. Mr. Landshire was a head shorter than Cleome and of an indeterminable age. His eyes twinkled as he winked at her.

“Miss Parker, I am delighted to make your acquaintance,” he said. “I danced with your grandmother at her very first ball. She was quite a distinctive young woman back then, but she could ne’er have held a candle to what I see before me now.” He turned his attention again to Drake and tilting his head back as far as it would go, he studied the big man. “So this be the mysterious gentleman who has bought up half of St. James Street. I’ve heard good things about you, sir. We are all looking forward to the opening of Stoneham House. London has buzzed with nothing else since the formal announcement was made—and old Crockford is fit to be tied!” He paused to bray a loud guffaw. “Haven’t seen him so beside himself since his investment in swine cost him so dearly. He’s anxious to take you on at cribbage, he says. But he looks as though he hopes you will refuse him.”

“Of which he can be assured,” Drake replied with a charming smile. “I have no desire to challenge the master, though I am looking forward to meeting him.”

“Well, gentlemen,” said Lord Easton. “And Cleome, of course. Shall we go into the library, so that you may conduct your business in comfort and privacy.”

“Oh, dear,” Mr. Landshire lamented. “I’ve interrupted your party.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Easton put in sweetly. “We are delighted to have you. You’ll join us of course. We were just going in to supper.”

“My thanks, Lady Easton, for I’m famished,” said Landshire. “And my niece has a scandalously large appetite, I fear.”

“Uncle, please,” the girl scolded with a melodious laugh. “Do you not think Miss Parker is anxious to hear your news?”

“I believe it will keep for a few more hours,” Drake interjected soberly. “You’ve had a long journey and Miss Parker has already had an eventful evening. She’ll receive you at the Eagle’s Head tomorrow, Mr. Landshire, after she has had a good night’s rest.”

As Oliver bid them a warm good night, Cleome found herself strangely comforted by Drake’s unexpected intervention. They took their leave, and during the carriage ride home, neither of them spoke. It was with great difficulty and a heavy heart, however, that Cleome made her way to her own room, thinking about the possibility of leaving the Eagle’s Head and its master, and wondering how she’d ever be able to sleep.

**

Less than an hour after he had brought Cleome home, a light tap came at Drake’s door. He slammed his empty brandy glass down on the side table in annoyance. Without checking his pocket watch, he knew it to be late, for they had returned from Easton Place around midnight. It couldn’t be anyone but Fanny and he knew he’d have to put the woman in her place, for once and all. He could not abide her ludicrous advances any longer. If she wouldn’t take heed, beginning at that very moment, she would have to seek another post. Angry, he jerked the door open.

“Leave me be, woman, or I shall—” he declared harshly, then stopped abruptly when he saw Cleome standing in the doorway, still wearing her pretty green gown. The candle she held just above her head reflected the apprehension in her eyes. “Oh, I . . . it’s you. I thought—well, I must have dozed off.” He shook his head and ran his fingers through his thick, black hair. “Is something wrong? Your mother is not worse?”

“I wanted to return the emeralds,” she said slowly, presenting her back so he could unfasten the necklace. “I cannot manage the clasp.” She shuddered slightly as his warm fingers touched the nape of her neck. “And I wanted to thank you, Mr. Stoneham, for quite the loveliest evening of my life.”

“You’re welcome.” His heart thudded unevenly when she turned around and looked up at him.

“And . . . I do beg your pardon for disturbing you at this late hour, sir,” she appealed to him with large, sad eyes. “But I was hoping to have a word with you.”

“Certainly.” An unexpected, protective instinct surfaced, inducing him to add, “Would you like to go down to the study or into the parlor?”

To his amazement, she blew out her candle and walked confidently past him into his bedroom. “No,” she said. “Both rooms are cold. The fires were banked hours ago. May I sit down?”