The Saint (23 page)

When they arrived at the manor he assisted her dazed body from the carriage. He guided her to the door with such nonchalance that Lucas could have assumed they had passed the time discussing roses.

The cool aristocrat disappeared as soon as the manor's door closed. In an instant she found herself pressed against the paneled wall of the hall, his mouth on her breast and his hands pulling up her skirt. In a blur of primitive need he opened his trousers and lifted her so that her legs encircled his hips.

Her arousal immediately centered on the glorious relief he gave. She felt him as she never had before and she wanted nothing else, no other touch, just this hot pressure, thrusting and filling. Desperate now, she urged on his feral power with bites and crazed kisses and clawing holds.
Yes. Love me. More. Harder, deeper. Yes.
Tremors awoke where they joined, and quaked and spread. A different end beckoned, almost terrible in its power.
Yes. Come with me.
His voice, not hers, against her breast, repeated again and again, the command emphasized by the rhythms of their violent passion. The spinning ecstacy frightened her and she grasped him like a mad woman.
I love you. I love you. Do not leave me this time. I love you.
She lost hold of the world and spiralled into a crescendo of pure sensation.

It took forever to find herself afterward. Neither of them moved for a long time. They remained entwined and pressed against the wall, with Vergil supporting her weight on his arms and hips. He was not inside her anymore, but she could not remember if he had obeyed her plea not to withdraw.

In her bliss she discarded any concern that she had just flirted with pregnancy. All she wanted now was for him to keep holding her, to never let her go, and to never stop filling all of her.

“I took the liberty of preparing the next chamber yesterday, my lord.” Morton set down the breakfast tray on the bedchamber's table. Bianca still slept behind the bed's drawn curtains. “I thought that the lady would want some privacy on occasion. To wash and whatnot. I am preparing a bath for her in there now.”

“You went to a lot of unnecessary trouble.”

“It was my pleasure to arrange for her comfort. With your permission, I thought that I would go to the village and see if there is a suitable girl to come here and serve her.”

“Also unnecessary. Miss Kenwood and I will be leaving today.”

“York is a short enough journey. After procuring the special license, you may choose to return this evening.”

“It is not at all clear that Miss Kenwood will agree to go to York, Morton.”

The valet smiled indulgently. “Of course she will. What other course is there now?”

Obstinacy.
It was past time to take matters in hand.

She hadn't once broached the subject herself as he had hoped, damn it. Nor had she picked up on his own allusions to continuing what they had begun. She appeared to accept that he would keep her here two days, take her virginity, make love to her repeatedly, and then blithely return her to London with no further ado. He would be insulted if he let himself contemplate her attitude very long.

He paced around the chamber, waiting for her to wake. The course was clear, obvious, inevitable. If she didn't see reason right away, he would have to be very firm with her.

Not that doing so had ever been effective before.

He heard her stirring behind the curtains and resisted going to her. He would not make love to her this morning. He did not want what might be the last memory to be one heavy with solemn emotions. If it came to an end, let last night's laughter and games and easy confidences be the closure.

She poked her head through the curtains, wiping her eyes with a charming gesture that made his heart ache. “You are up and dressed already,” she said.

“There is breakfast here, and a bath waits in the next chamber for you after you have eaten.”

The realization that the idyll was over dulled her eyes. She pushed the curtains aside and reached for the bedrobe of his that she had been using. “Of course. We need to be off early. You should have woken me.”

“Come and eat something.”

“I will just take some tea into the bath. I am not hungry.” She marched over and poured. “Where is the tub?”

“This way.” He opened the door that joined the two chambers.

He had not seen the mistress's bedchamber prepared for use in years. The white covers had been removed, the hearth cleaned, the gilt furniture polished, and the cloth beaten of its dust. The large room glimmered yellow and white and gold, its mirrors reflecting the clear morning light streaming in the washed windowpanes. Morton must have spent all of yesterday preparing this wedding bower.

“It is very grand. It looks like a queen's chamber.” She advanced on the tub, plucking at the tie on the robe.

The midnight-blue silk flowed down her back much the way the water had done that day he saw her in the lake. He memorized every curve her body made while she bent and stepped into the bath. The possibility of losing possession of her beauty did not trouble him so much as giving up the easy familiarity that permitted her to undress with a total lack of self-consciousness.

She began to wash.

“We must talk now,” he said.

“At the least, we need to get our story straight, don't we? Have you thought how you will explain finding me?”

“I would like to talk about other things.” He began to move a chair closer.

The faintest rumble, like a small tremor in the manor's structure, stopped him. It grew in intensity until it became a commotion pouring down the corridor outside the chamber.

“Damn.” He pivoted and strode to his bedchamber. He stepped through and closed the connecting door.

The commotion burst into audible voices muffled by the walls.

“I tell you, my lord is not receiving,” Morton announced with furious desperation.

“He'll be receiving for
us.
”

“Dante, we should let Morton wake him, and wait down below.”

“I've spent the last fifteen hours in a hellish coach ride. I'll be damned if I'll await the lord's pleasure this morning.”

The door flew open. Dante strode into the chamber, with Pen in his wake.

“Bianca bolted, Verg. God knows where the devil she's gone, or which scoundrel she is with.”

chapter
16

E
vidence of a female visitor dotted the room, but neither Pen nor Dante noticed.

“Bianca disappeared three days ago,” Dante said. “I was keeping a close watch, but she talked Pen into letting her return to Laclere Park.”

“She was distraught with Dante's continued presence, you see, and she requested … It seemed safe enough …”

“Face it, Pen, she is too sly for you. Anyway, on the way down she snuck off in Jane's cloak and then that maid hid in her chamber, pretending to be her. The housekeeper realized the ruse yesterday and word was immediately sent to us in London and we started out as soon as we heard.”

“We thought it best to let you decide what to do,” Pen concluded.

“As you should have,” Vergil said.

Dante threw himself on the settee, right next to Bianca's discarded chemise. He actually pushed it aside without realizing what he touched. “There is more, I'm afraid. Nigel has left London, too, and is not at Woodleigh. I think that we should ride with haste up to Gretna Green. If they thought themselves safe, they may not have pushed the journey and there is still the chance that they haven't married yet.”

“Why don't you start for Scotland immediately while I go visit the shipping offices in Liverpool,” Vergil suggested. “She may have decided to sail home.”

“I don't think so,” Pen said. “She took almost nothing with her, and she would never leave Jane behind.”

“If she is with Kenwood, one hopes the man waited to—” Dante glanced at Pen and caught himself. “I apologize for not taking your concerns about Nigel more seriously, Verg. Presumably they have just eloped, but if it is the other thing …”

“I am confident that Miss Kenwood is safe for the time being, in that respect, Dante.”

It had been at least fifteen years since Pen had visited the manor. She toured the chamber, distracted by her worry, absently fingering objects and touching furniture. Her aimless stroll took her near the table.

“We should decide our course at once,” Dante said. “Who knows what has happened …”

Pen was vaguely admiring the silver service on the breakfast tray.

“… especially since there is no guarantee that Kenwood is even the man …”

A frown puckered Pen's forehead. One could practically hear her counting the two plates and knives and forks. A blush rose up from her neck. “Why don't we go and discuss this down below,” she interrupted, turning with a stricken expression.

“The way I see it, we don't have time to discuss anything,” Dante said. He rose and paced to the window. The window directly above the bench still piled with the garments that two lovers had pulled off each other the night before.

“Dante, Vergil needs to finish dressing. You and I can plan the next step while he does so.”

“He is impeccably dressed and shaved already. Probably has been since dawn. Now, Verg—”

“In any case, I think that I shall go below.”

“Do as you wish, Pen. Now, Verg, the odds of Scotland are better than Liverpool, so it makes more sense for you to go north if anyone does—” His voice halted as his eyes fell to the garments at his knees. His head angled curiously.

“I'll be damned,” he muttered, fingering the edge of a petticoat. “My apologies—” His voice stopped again as shock lit his eyes. He reached into the pile to touch a green sleeve. “Hell, this looks like one of …”

His exclamation halted Pen's retreat. She glanced back and saw the sleeve's color. Frowning deeply, she marched to the window, pulled out the garment, and held it up for inspection.

Of course they both recognized it. Bianca's wardrobe was not large and she had worn this many times in their presence.

Dante stared at him in astonishment. Pen appeared as if she might swoon. She turned with the gown displayed like the irrefutable evidence it was.

“Vergil,” she began.

“Yes, Pen?”

She shook the gown at him accusingly. “Vergil, I think that you have been a very naughty boy.”

Hell and damnation.

“Yes, Pen.”

“Jesus.” Dante paced with his arms crossed over his chest, the image of a man too staggered for words.

Pen had collected Bianca's garments and disappeared into the neighboring chamber.

“Hell.”

“Is that all, Dante? If so, you must excuse me, as I need to speak with Bianca.”

“Not yet, you don't, and do not presume to take that superior tone with me
ever again.
” He gestured erratically. “Have you gone insane? Lost your wits completely?”

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose that I have.”

“Please tell me that she lost her way to wherever she was going and somehow landed on your doorstep this morning and has not been here all this time.”

“I would not insult you with such a preposterous story, nor would you believe it.”

“Damnation, Verg, this is the sort of thing
I'm
supposed to do, and even I would not be so bold. She is
your ward.
”

“You do not need to remind me of how dishonorable my behavior has been.”

“Don't I?
Don't I
?” Dante peered at him furiously. “Badly done, very badly done. Clumsy and risky. If you intended to initiate an affair, why not do so in London or at Laclere Park? Having her sneak away to join you here …” Insight flashed in his eyes. “Yes, clumsy and risky. Too much for my careful, discreet brother. You did not plan this at all, did you? It was her idea. She followed you here and …” He drew himself into a posture of righteous outrage.
“Hell.”

Vergil did not like being upbraided by Dante of all people, but if he described how and why Bianca had really made this journey, it would scandalize his brother more than any affair.

“No wonder she turned me down. She had her eye on your title. To trap you like this, to take advantage of your fastidious honor … the mind reels that one so young could be so ruthless.”

Upbraiding him was one thing. Insulting Bianca was quite another. “You will not say another word against her, Dante.”

“Still has you addled, does she? Turns out you are only human, too, it seems. Wipe the fog of passion from your eyes, big brother, and look at the facts. Unless you intend to submit and make this lightskirt your viscountess, we had better put our minds together and find a way to thwart her.”

To hell with protecting secret lives. “She did not come to this manor uninvited, nor was our time together planned by either of us. We met by accident when she came north in order to—”

“It is chivalrous of you to try to protect me, Laclere, but that will not be necessary,” Bianca's voice interrupted.

She stood at the connecting threshold, in her green dress. Pen stood beside her.

Vergil went over and took her hand. She squeezed his gratefully, then released his hold.

“I have always been too impetuous. Penelope can attest to that,” Bianca said to Dante. “As can you. But following your brother here was part of no plot. I am not that clever, nor do I seek to trap him into marriage. I came to demand my independence. The rest that occurred was not planned at all.”

Not a word of it was a lie, but it obscured the details and protected his secret. Still, her story hardly absolved them.

“For your brother's sake, I ask that you both be discreet about what you have stumbled upon. I am sure that you do not want him ruined because I am too headstrong. Now, I think that I would like some time alone. I also expect that the three of you will want to make some decisions without me present.”

She walked proudly out the door, but Vergil could see the humiliation below the surface of her bravery.

“Follow her, Pen, to see if she will accept your company. I will come down shortly,” he said.

Pen was happy to escape. Vergil closed the door behind her and turned on his brother. “I may never forgive you that Bianca heard your damning words, Dante.”

“Perhaps it is for the best that she witnessed that there will be some rational influence on you. I thank God that we got here before she bewitched you all the way to the altar.”

“Do I look like a man bewitched and addled? You have got it backward. I brought her to this manor, and with the full intention of seducing her. Your arrival interrupted
my
attempts to cajole
her
into matrimony.”

Dante's surprised reaction melted into amusement. “Why would you want to do that? She is pretty enough, but no great beauty. She is hardly suitable for you, and her free manner would only embarrass you and affect your position. Fleur will make a far superior wife, and you know it. If you found Bianca passionate and want to keep her for a while, it is obvious that you do not have to marry her for that.”

“You are in grave danger of finding my fist in your face again, Dante.”

Dante's lids lowered. “If so, it may end differently today, Vergil. After all, I will not be caught unawares because I am sprawled atop Miss Kenwood this time.”

Vergil did almost hit him then. Biting back his fury, he walked to the door. “I am going to propose now. If by some gift of grace she accepts, and even if she does not, you will never again so much as raise one eyebrow where she is concerned. If you do, I am finished with you.”

“For a man not bewitched and addled you are playing the fool. There are times to put honor aside, such as when you have been manipulated by a woman with her character.”

“I have already put honor aside, and now it is time to take it up again. Are you so jaded that you cannot see the truth of what happened here? Her character was unblemished before she met me. She entered this manor an innocent and I deliberately seduced her even though I knew that.”

He swung away from Dante's gape-mouthed shock and strode down to the hall. Pen sat in front of the hearth, looking tired and spent.

“Where is Bianca?”

“In the library.” She held out a hand and he took it between his in a gesture of reassurance. “This had been a tremendous shock, Vergil. Even with Dante one would not expect … but
you.
I do not even begin to know what to do.”

“Just promise to be a friend to her, no matter what happens. Will you give me that?”

“Of course.” She looked up with a faltering smile. “Are you going to marry her?”

“Yes, if she will have me.”

“Thank goodness. Of course you would do the right thing, especially after being discovered like this.”

“It is the right thing, Pen, but not because honor dictates it, nor because you and Dante discovered us.”

She paced the edges of the library, gazing at the chair where he had sat that first night. She could feel again the exciting anticipation that had pulsed between them, and then the bonds of intimacy that he had forged later on the floor. She blinked the heartrending memories away.

She had known when she woke that their dream world was dying. She had felt it in the empty space where Vergil's body should have been. Then she had seen him, dressed already, proud and tall and thoughtful. Nobility clothed him as surely as the frock coat and impeccably tied cravat. It imbued his casual stance with the magnetic self-confidence born of generations of privilege.
The Viscount Laclere,
her heart had whispered. Neither Mr. Clark nor Vergil her lover had smiled at her, but a peer of the realm.

She had looked at him and known that the freedom of their passion had ended with the night. He had said that they would decide what to do about the waiting world this morning. That waiting world was the viscount's world, and with the dawn he had left her side and dressed to meet it.

But the world had not waited after all. It had crashed in the door and robbed them of whatever soft moments were left. And the very honorable viscount had almost invited his family's censure in order to spare her a small fraction of the scorn, as if the circumstances that brought her to this manor and to his bed made any difference at all.

She could not remember ever feeling this wistful. Her heart ached, for reasons she could not name. It reminded her too much of grief's nostalgia over losing something important forever.

The door opened. It was not Dante or Pen, but Vergil. She should be relieved, but instead that pang throbbed again.

“You look very lonely, Bianca. May I join you?” He offered his hand. “Will you come and sit with me, darling?”

She let him guide her to the settee, where he enclosed her in a gentle embrace. She rested her head against his chest and went boneless in the sweet security of his strength. For these precious moments she would pretend that he could make everything right and perfect and would carry her off to a secluded world where rules and shame never intruded. For this brief spell of quiet peace she would close her mind to everything but the reality of him, and his closeness and comfort and soft kisses pressed to her hair.