Mary Blayney - [Pennistan 03] (15 page)

“You truly can dance well.” She forced herself to speak when the main theme repeated, reminding herself that they were not alone. She could easily imagine what The Gossips would make of it if they saw her with her eyes closed and a smile of such pleasure. It hardly mattered that it would be the truth. “Not that I am surprised.”

“Thank you, but it is easy with a partner as graceful as you are.”

“Oh, that is a lovely compliment, Your Grace. I can keep time to the music, naturally, but you are the master here. It’s as though the music is part of you.”

He opened his mouth to deny it, and then his expression changed to agreement. “I suppose it does. I guess everyone does not feel the music echo in them this way.” He spoke as though he only that moment realized it. “I always thought I liked the waltz because it reminds me of the footwork one uses in fencing, but dozens of men fence and most hate the waltz.”

They did not talk for a moment. She let the music surround her again, surround them, and wished they had no past to cloud the moment.

He guided her away from one of the other couples with the slightest pressure on her shoulder. “It is amazing how much we know about each other and we still have not been formally introduced.”

“I suspect there is a reason that people do not begin their acquaintances in dark rooms.” When he smiled at her, she almost stumbled.

“There are more reasons than one not to meet in a darkened room, signora. But I know what you mean. We
knew too much of each other before trust was a part of the friendship.”

She did not answer him, and shifted her gaze from his eyes, trying to decide if she trusted him now.

“I trust you, signora. I apologize for the other night. I did not understand what you understood from the first. That I came to call for more than one reason.” As the duke spoke his gaze dropped to her lips. She would have stopped dancing and stood still but he had more presence of mind and kept them moving around the floor. Meryon did not press her closer, he did not do anything more than raise his eyes to hers.
I want you
.

He did not speak the words and it could have been that she saw it because it was the truth she’d asked for last time.

He smiled, that utterly captivating smile that was as intimate as the dance they shared, and she knew she was not wrong. He wanted more than to dance with her.

“We are adults. That means we should be able to speak of such things as passion without embarrassment. Is that what you wish, Your Grace? To speak of passion.”

“Elena,” he said in a voice that burned with ardor. “Passion does not require words.”

When she had no ready answer for that truth, he went on.

“If we were anywhere but here I swear I would kiss you.”

Her lips tingled and a thrill raced through her, a shiver of heat that settled in her breasts and belly, and lower where she could feel her body dampen with longing. As
quickly she was afraid and she stiffened a little in an effort to subdue the yearning.

“I will wait for you to trust me, Elena.” Meryon loosened his hold as he spoke. “But I warn you, my brother-in-law laughed at me when I told him I could be patient.”

He let go of her waist and, still holding on to her hand, stepped back and bowed to her. Oh, the dance was over. She was completely distracted, had not even heard the music end. How could he be so in control when he had quite shamelessly seduced her on the dance floor?

The group observing applauded all the dancers and Meryon escorted her to the prince, who was waving at them to come closer.

As they reached him, Meryon bowed again and whispered, “That was my pleasure, and the word was never more truly meant.” He smiled at her, that true from-the-heart smile, and she blushed.

The prince called out, “You must teach me how to dance like that.”

M
ERYON FOUND
M
AGDA
asleep under his bed. At five in the morning, she had the right idea. He needed no more than Magda’s welcoming “woof,” but she crept out, stretched, then leaned against his leg. She looked up at him with eyes that begged him to tell her about his evening.

“You would not think teaching a prince to waltz in the French manner could be so exhausting. I can only imagine how well he will sleep tonight.”

Meryon sat on the settee and Magda jumped onto the chair across from him, her head on her paws her only concession to her wish for sleep.

“If you know the answer to this I will personally escort you back under the bed.” He downed the wine left on the table. “I must find out how to have a discreet affair.”

Since Blix had not read his mind and come to pour more wine, Meryon stood up and helped himself.

“It’s damned embarrassing to admit that I have been among society for more than twenty years and have no idea how to keep that kind of secret.” He sipped the wine, decided he’d had too much too fast, and set the glass on the table at hand. “It would only be a matter of time before someone found us out. It is so common an occurrence I cannot see what that would matter.” Of course, Signora Verano might think differently.

Before Magda could offer any sniffs of approval, or disapproval, Blix came into the room. He looked well rested and ready for the day when Meryon’s evening was ending. Magda slipped under the bed and Blix made short work of helping the duke into his nightclothes.

As Meryon fell asleep it occurred to him that while he might not have the slightest idea how to conduct a clandestine affair, he did know how to care for a mistress. The house on nearby St. German Street had served him well in the past. It had an ambience he had always enjoyed. Small and snug, rather like a hiding place to which only he had the key.

If Elena came to him as his mistress he would know exactly how to behave, how to make her happy, and he would be able to see her as often as he wished.

Meryon dreamed of her, not at this house, or the one on St. German, but at the house in Richmond.

As he escorted her up the steps he told her a secret. How unlike him. He loved this house most of all the twelve that were part of his estate.

In Richmond, he could keep the demands of London
at a distance and remind himself of England, the island of lush green fields, rolling hills. The land sustained him body and soul.

His dream Elena smiled and raised a hand to cup his cheek. She kissed the corner of his mouth as though the taste of him could sustain her.

As they proceeded from one bedchamber to another, he insisted that she look out the window of each. From one she could see the way the lawn swept down to the river. From another the way his father had planted trees and gardens to tease the eye. From yet another, the fountain that he claimed as his favorite.

Even though he thought he would go mad if he did not kiss her, he kept on talking about the place, how it made him happy, that more than one difficult political problem had been resolved here at the table after a day on the river and a sumptuous dinner.

Elena pushed open the window and the melody of a country afternoon filled the silence. Birdsong, leaves rustling in the breeze, the sound of gardeners some long way off, insects buzzing, and her light laughter as she leaned back against him.

He pressed a kiss to the spot behind her ear, the skin smooth and pale and smelling of roses.

She turned in his arms, took his face in her hands, and kissed him. Her mouth. His thinking ended there as lust overwhelmed him.

Her lips and tongue enslaved him, filled him with such a hunger that if she stopped he was ready to beg at her feet for more. Stripped of power, he wanted nothing but what she wanted.

Elena ended the kiss as he struggled to gain some control, to show her that he was the answer. Magda’s barking woke him up before he could convince her that he was all the lover she would ever need.

Meryon did not move, could not, still trapped in the mindlessness of that kiss. He realized that a new maid had come to start the fire, not the one who understood that she must coax Magda out from under the bed before she began her usual chores.

Even though he had left orders for the fire to be started at noon, Meryon pretended to sleep through her bothered whispers. When she left with the dog and the chamber pot he dozed into a much more satisfying reverie, one that he could orchestrate from that part of his mind that knew this was a dream.

He kissed Elena and left her whimpering with frustration. She agreed to be his mistress with an eagerness that was another valued quality of the Italian.

After that, they shared as erotic a coupling as his mind could conjure. He found it far more satisfying than the custom of drinking a toast to the arrangement, and more of a commitment. Once they were bound by sex, they were bound together in the way that mattered most.

M
ERYON STAYED ABED
until he heard Blix in the dressing room. The butler handed him the list of appointments, which he did not need, not today.

He would give Parliament a miss, an impulse grown
from a brilliant idea that popped into his head upon waking the second time. He sat at his desk, before his breakfast, and wrote an invitation. He had a boy run it to Bloomsbury, asking if Signora Verano would ride with him in the park at five o’clock.

He tried to read Ricardo’s
Principles of Political Economy
but his mind kept drifting back to the invitation. When he began to worry that Signora Verano had accepted an invitation ahead of his, Meryon decided that he must find a distraction unless he
wanted
to act like a lovesick fool.

Garrett was off at his meeting with Mrs. Wilson and would surely have a tale to tell, but in the meantime Meryon would spend some time with the children. They always distracted him quite delightfully.

Rexton was flattering in his welcome.

“Papa! Papa!” He jumped up from his seat at the study table and ran to grab his father around the waist in a ten-year-old’s version of a hug.

Meryon bent over to lift him up and return the hug. Rexton’s tutor leaped to his feet, much abashed at the boy’s informality. The duke shook his head and held the boy a moment longer.

“My lord,” the tutor used his teacher’s voice to address Rexton, “since we are working with globes today why not ask the duke, your father, to show you where he has traveled?”

The boy wriggled out of his father’s hold and took his hand, leading him to a chair. The globe was on the table between them.

Rexton loved every minute of it, and the duke had to
admit that his son might look like his mother but had his own way of expressing interest that was all boy. When they had exhausted every possible avenue of questioning from “What do Spaniards eat?” to “How big was the ship that took you to Greece?” Rexton insisted that his father watch Alicia walk.

They found the little girl in the day nursery with the nurse. Both were delighted to exhibit Alicia’s walking skills. It was hardly a relaxing interlude, unnerved as Meryon was by the uncertain steps that still outnumbered the confident ones. She had mastered falling on her bottom without harm and waved her hands with delight when everyone laughed as she plopped onto the carpet. By the time he left them he felt as old as the stone of Penn-ford Castle.

Rexton must have been coached by his tutor. As he said good-bye, he bowed to his father and thanked him for coming. Then he illustrated that he was still a child when he made the duke promise “to show me all the treasures you brought back from your trips when we go to Penn-ford.”

Meryon worked his way down the stairs and along the halls back to his study, mentally listing what those treasures would include. There were one or two books of erotic drawings that no child should see. It was all Elena Verano’s fault that those were the first items to pop into his mind.

When he reached his study, he hoped to find an answer to his invitation. No envelope sat on his desk, but Garrett had returned from his mission.

“Tell me what you found.” Meryon sat on the sofa and invited Garrett to sit across from him.

“First, Your Grace, the visit to young Wilson’s mother reminded me rather uncomfortably of the scouting missions I undertook when I lived in France.”

Magda came out from under his desk and sat near Garrett, who reached down to play with her ears.

“That possibility never occurred to me.” The reverend did not care for the reminder, Meryon realized, as Magda cuddled closer to Garrett. “I will not ask you to do something like that again.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

He bowed from the neck and Meryon recognized that this man carried old wounds that might never heal. Magda jumped onto the sofa and settled beside Garrett. Rowena’s dog knew how to comfort better than he ever could, Meryon thought.

“Mrs. Wilson is managing well enough without Mr. Wilson. She has a new baby girl, who appears sickly, and a boy of about two. Alan is actually fourteen years old.”

“Small for his age.”

“Yes.” Garrett looked off for a moment. “His mother appears well fed and very healthy. The two-year-old has the round eyes of a child who does not have enough to eat. The babe is too young to do more than cry, which she did most of the time. Alan would try to shush her, all the while glancing at his mother. I do believe that young Alan is a great help with the other two and is severely disciplined when he is not.”