At Last Comes Love (17 page)

And oh, she thought as she closed the distance between them and set her hands in his, oh, she longed to be kissed. There had been a vast, dark emptiness in her life …

He clasped her hands firmly, twisted her arms behind her back, and brought her body against his from breasts to knees.

His eyes gazed into hers from a mere few inches away.

“Don't cry,” he murmured.

“I am not—” But she was. “Yes I am.”

“You do not want to do this?” he asked her.

“I do,” she said.

And then his mouth was on hers, and her lips were trembling and her knees were buckling, and she was grasping his hands behind her back with enough force to leave bruises, and her breasts pressed to his chest felt swollen and sore, and she forgot to breathe.

Then she was gazing into his eyes again.

“I am sorry,” she said, humiliated. “It has been a long time.”

His body was as solidly muscled as she remembered it from the night before last.

Oh, goodness, was it really only the night before last?

He released her hands and raised his own to cup her face, pushing his fingers beneath the brim of her bonnet. He touched the pads of his thumbs to the center of her lips and moved them outward to the corners, leaving a trail of sensation behind them. He dipped his head and set his lips where his thumbs had been. She rested her hands on his shoulders.

His lips were closed. But then she could feel the tip of his tongue tracing a path across her lips and then prodding at the center and sliding through into her mouth until she was filled with the warm taste of him and reacted to the invasion with every part of her body.

His hands moved from her face, and one arm came about her shoulders and the other about her waist, and she slid one arm about his neck, the other behind his back while he drew her hard against him again.

It occurred to her later that it was probably not a terribly lascivious embrace. His hands did not wander at all, and his kisses were confined to her face and her throat. But she felt ravished nonetheless—or, if that was too violent a word, then she felt … Oh, she felt more alive, more feminine, more exhilarated, than she had felt in a long, long while.

Perhaps ever.

She felt very thoroughly kissed.

His hands were on either side of her waist, and hers were resting on his shoulders when she realized it was over. He was looking into her face again, his own as inscrutable as ever.

“I am not very good at it, am I?” she said.

“I am not complaining,” he told her. “And indeed, I give you fair warning, Miss Huxtable—
Maggie
. If you marry me, you had better have a good night's sleep before the nuptials. I can promise you a very sleepless wedding night.”

She swallowed and noticed that he swallowed at almost the same moment.

But she would not marry him only because he had made a wedding night sound like the most desirable thing life had to offer, she thought, moving firmly away from him and turning slightly in order to shake the creases from the muslin dress she wore beneath her spencer. Or because she had enjoyed his kiss more than … Well, more than anything she could think of at the moment. Or because she wanted more and knew she would dream of more for a long time to come.

She was playing with fire, and she was getting burned.

What would it be like—a wedding night with the Earl of Sheringford?

And a lifetime as the wife of a confessed rogue?

“We will almost certainly be late for tea,” she said briskly, “if we do not leave immediately.”

“If your cheeks stay that rosy,” he said, “my mother will be charmed even if we are very late.”

He offered his arm and she took it.

Miss Margaret Huxtable was prim and straitlaced and judgmental.

Last evening she had even taken him to task for saying
good God
as an exclamation. And she kissed like a novice. She had not held anything back, it was true, but then he had not demanded much. She had initiated nothing. Whatever her experience was, it was either so old that she had forgotten it or so minimal that there was nothing much to forget.

If he had to wager on it, he would bet that Miss Margaret Huxtable and Dew-of-the-weak-chin—with whom he had exchanged a few words in the park this morning—had rolled in the hay together once only, probably just before he marched off to war. She was very fortunate there had been no awkward consequences.

As they approachedCurzon Street , not talking a great deal,Duncan asked himself if this really was the woman he wished to marry. It was a redundant question.
Of course
she was not—but then neither was anyone else.

He had received a letter from Mrs. Harris this morning—she could read and write though Harris could not. Toby had fallen out of a tree last week and sprained an ankle and given himself a goose-egg of a lump on his forehead. Although he had made an almost miraculous recovery, Mrs. Harris assured his lordship, they had nevertheless felt it wise to summon a physician, and the doctor had felt it wise to prescribe some medicine—all of which had cost money. And, of course, the fall had torn out the knees of his breeches so that they were quite beyond repair.

Old Tobe! He was as accident-prone as any other normal little boy.

As accident-prone as he himself had been as a child.

There had been the time when Toby had insisted upon climbing over a stile unassisted though he had been warned that the wood was old and rough and the maneuver must be done very carefully. He had, of course, yelled out excitedly, “Watch me!” from his sitting position on the topmost bar and jumped. He had taken part of the bar with him in the form of a large splinter that had torn his breeches at the seat—not at the knee that time—and embedded itself in one tender buttock cheek. IfDuncan had not caught him on the way down, he would also have smothered his entire person with the mud that lay in wait at the bottom. And there had been the time when he had sloshed into a late winter puddle of water after being told not to, only to discover that there was a layer of ice beneath the water. And the time when …

Well, the reminiscences could go on forever. But there were other things to think about at the moment than a sore little bottom after the splinter had been pulled free and a wobbly lower lip and a valiant effort not to cry and a wheedling little voice saying they must not upset Mama by telling her. Or a wet, miserable little body huddled against him for warmth and comfort during the walk home from the ice puddle, his little arms aboutDuncan 's neck, his child's voice suggesting thatDuncan not tell Mama. Which, of course, was the last thingDuncan would have done anyway.

“My mother,”Duncan warned Miss Huxtable as they approached the house, “will wish to talk about our wedding.”

“I know,” she said. “I will make it clear to her again that there may well
be
no wedding.”

“Making things clear to my mother,” he said, “is no easy task when she has once made up her mind on a point. She dreams of a happily-ever-after for me.”

“All mothers do it,” she said. “So do all sisters who have acted as mothers to their siblings. I understand your mother's feelings perfectly. You must have caused her almost unbearable suffering during the past five years.”

He doubted it. His mother was vain and flighty and affectionate, but he did not believe her feelings ran deep.

“You raise your eyebrows,” she said, “as if to say that of course I am wrong. I do not suppose I am.”

“In which case,” he said, “you had better not cause her more suffering, Miss Huxtable. You had better marry me.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but they had arrived. And someone must have been watching their approach. The front door swung open beforeDuncan had climbed the steps, to reveal first Sir Graham's butler and thenDuncan 's mother, who was smiling warmly at Miss Huxtable and holding out her arms to draw her into a hug.

He might as well have been invisible.

10

MARGARET found herself enveloped in soft warmth and the floral scent of some obviously expensive perfume.

“Miss Huxtable—may I call you Margaret?” Lady Carling said, releasing Margaret and linking an arm through hers before drawing her in the direction of the staircase. “I cannot tell you how happy you have made me. I had scarce a wink of sleep last night. Ask Graham.

Though he is not here, provoking man. He says I am making a cake of myself since you said quite clearly last evening that you are
not
betrothed toDuncan , and why should you be since you are a sister of the Earl of Merton and everyone knows you to be a sensible and virtuous lady. It is only surprising that you would invite my son to sit in your brother-in-law's box with you, he said, but I pointed out that that is merely proof that in reality you are engaged to Duncan but have chosen to withhold the official announcement until you are ready to make it. But you can tell me. I am to be your mother.”

By the time she paused for breath they were outside the doors of what was presumably the drawing room, and a footman who had been waiting there opened them.

The Earl of Sheringford was coming behind them.

It was indeed the drawing room, and the tea had already been brought up. A smartly dressed maid poured three cups as soon as she saw them enter and then left the room.

“Indeed, ma'am,” Margaret said, “I have not yet said that I will marry Lord Sheringford, and perhaps never will.”

“It is always wise,” Lady Carling said, “not to appear too eager. I refusedDuncan 's father twice before I finally accepted him even though I was head-over-ears in love with him. And I refused Graham once, though that did not really count, as he
told
me the first time that we would marry instead of asking me. Can you imagine such a thing, Margaret? There are those who consider him a cold man, and no wonder when he talks and behaves in such a way. But of course he is not, as I know very well. Oh, do sit down on that love seat, and do sit beside her,Duncan . I have loved you dearly and steadfastly throughout your life, but I did not realize quite how sensible you can be until now. Tell me why you chose Margaret.”

They did as they were bidden, and Margaret found her shoulder only inches from his. She could feel his body heat.

“Because, Mama,” he said, “I went to the Tindell ball to look for a bride and collided with Miss Huxtable in the doorway and decided to look no farther.”

His mother's cup paused halfway to her lips, and she looked suspiciously at her son.

“Oh, very well,” she said, “
don't
tell me. It is sometimes very difficult, Margaret, to get sense out ofDuncan . Why have you delayed the announcement of your betrothal? Is it because of his reputation, which is admittedly quite shocking? But it cannot be entirely that. Certainly you have a great deal of courage, appearing with him in Hilda Tindell's ballroom and then at the theater. Not many ladies would risk their reputations in such a way.”

“I have been told, ma'am, by members of my own family,” Margaret said, “that I am more than usually stubborn. I suppose that when I hear that other people would not do a certain thing, I feel an irresistible urge to do it myself.”

“I like you,” Lady Carling announced. “Duncan, have you finished your tea? It would be a wonder if you have not, since you always drink it in great gulps instead of taking delicate sips as any civilized being does.”

“I have finished it, Mama,” he said.

“Then go and amuse yourself elsewhere,” she said, waving one hand in the direction of the door, “and come back in half an hour to escort Margaret home. We have matters to discuss that would doubtless bore you.”

He got to his feet and bowed, the usual dark, inscrutable look on his face.

“You will excuse me … Maggie?” he asked.

“Of course.” She inclined her head, though she did frown slightly too. Was he trying to influence her by implying to his mother that there was a greater intimacy between them than there was?

But she had just allowed him to kiss her inHyde Park , had she not?

And it had not been just an innocent peck on the cheek or lips. Oh, goodness, his tongue had been inside her mouth.

Margaret lifted her cup to her lips and realized too late that her hand was shaking ever so slightly.

“Margaret,” Lady Carling said when they were alone. She sat with her hands clasped in her lap. She looked instantly different—more serious, less frivolous. “Tell me why you are spending time with my son. Tell me why you hesitate to marry him.”

Margaret drew a slow breath and set down her cup and saucer on the small table at her elbow.

“I suppose that like most people,” she said, “I rush to judgment when I meet a stranger. And there are many judgments to rush to in Lord Sheringford's case. He does not even deny that he did dreadful things five years ago. But I am also aware that no one is defined by one set of actions—especially when those actions are well in the past.

I suppose I am curious. I want to know more about him. I want to know if I would be misjudging him by spurning his acquaintance.

And we really did collide with each other at the ball, you know. And I really did—very rashly—introduce him to another gentleman as my betrothed simply because that gentleman was a suitor of mine many years ago and was being patronizing when he discovered me this year still unmarried at thirty years old. Because Lord Sheringford was in active search of a bride, he encouraged the lie and offered to make it the truth. Neither of us expected that Major Dew would mention what I had told him to a few of his friends, and that they would tell it to a few of theirs. I had told him that no one knew of the betrothal yet, including my own family.”

Lady Carling had listened to her without even trying to interrupt.

“I daresay,” she said, “Duncanhopes that if he marries well his grandfather will relent and restoreWoodbinePark to him.”

Margaret looked sharply at her. She did not
know
?

“The Marquess of Claverbrook has promised to do just that,” she said, “provided Lord Sheringford is married to a lady of whom he approves before the Marquess's eightieth birthday. Otherwise he will grant possession ofWoodbinePark to the next heir.”