Unmasked by her Lover, page 18
“If you assure me I can still punch his nose,” Johnny said.
Harry rose to his feet. “I’m sure you’ll get a shot. In that case, I’m for bed.”
“Oh, Meg,” Hazel said, putting something into her hand. It appeared to be coins. “My debt. From our last meeting.”
Meg smiled distractedly. “There is no need, but thank you.”
Although Sayle was speaking to him at the time, it didn’t escape Harry’s observation that Meg was first out of the room. Refusing to give any more fuel to the engagement rumors. Even though she must know she would find it hard to break the betrothal now the duke had announced it.
Well, his goal was to make her happy about it. And, as Martha and Calvert hurried after her, his risky, daring plan came back to him.
Every nerve in his body seemed to stand on end as he slouched in Johnny’s doorway, exchanging banter while Meg and Martha vanished down the passage and into their chambers. At last, he said goodnight and wandered off in the opposite direction, toward his room. Since he could still see the Sayles and the Stewarts ahead, he even went inside and lit the lamp.
Then he counted to ten, tuned down the lamp, and left again, his heart pounding as he walked back the way he had just come.
Meg was his, from love, and there was only one way to convince her.
Chapter Eighteen
Meg, while glad to see Martha and Calvert together, was relieved to shut her bedchamber door on them. Martha wanted to talk about Harry, and she couldn’t bear it. Her head was throbbing.
After those brief moments of bliss in his arms, a hope of happiness with him, it had all been torn from her grasp again. She would not, could not have Harry’s hand forced by her father.
And yet he loves me. I know he does.
But he did not mention marriage,
He would not have kissed me if he had not intended it.
I must not be naïve. He has kissed me several times without any thought of marriage. I am already ruined. Harry would not take advantage, but he has a career to think of. I, too, must think of his future.
It didn’t make her happy. The best she could imagine was that if their plans to bring down Barden worked out, then her reputation would be salvaged. Harry would not need to protect her from a double scandal, and they could either end the false engagement or—sweet, wonderful thought—make their own…
But she could not allow herself to dwell upon such dreams. She had to play her part in Barden’s fall and forget everything else.
Listlessly, she reached and tugged at her gown until she could untie the laces. A scratch at the door interrupted her.
She closed her eyes, wishing Martha would just leave her alone for tonight. But perhaps she was feeling better about Calvert… Or worse.
Sighing, she walked to the door and opened it.
Not Martha. Harry.
He stepped inside, brushing past her and closing the door, and she fell back, her heart racing.
“Harry, what in the world are you doing here?” she hissed.
He turned the key in the lock and turned to face her. “Ending this nonsense.”
“Can’t you see you’re doing the opposite? If you are discovered here, we will never escape this engagement!”
“I know,” he said, advancing purposefully. “That is precisely my point. I don’t want to end it, and I don’t believe you do, either. You must know it was always my desire to marry you.”
“Oh, Harry, you are only saying that.” She fell back, but he kept coming.
“Am I?” he said deliberately as she backed up against the wardrobe. She tried to slide away, but his arm blocked her path as he rested his hand against the wood beside her head. “Did I not just tell you that I love you? Do you not love me?”
“Harry, it is not the point,” she said desperately, flattening her palm against his chest to push him away. “You are being compelled—”
“By my own desire,” he said softly, “my own love and my belief in yours.” Pushing against her hand, he bent his head and kissed her.
She held out for only one desperate instant. Then, with a sob, she threw both arms around his neck and surrendered.
“Deny you love me,” he said fiercely against her lips.
“I can’t. I’ve always loved you. Even when it frightened me, even when I was too silly to know my changing feelings…” She seized his face between her hands. “When you left, I missed you so…”
“Then, don’t push me away again.”
“But Papa has spoiled it again, forcing you—”
“I told you before we left London. No one will force me.” His mouth seized hers, plunging deeper, claiming her.
She felt his hand tug at the fastening of her gown and realized it was around her elbows. Her fevered blood sizzled in her veins. His hands swept down her arms, and her gown slipped to the floor. Her stays landed on top of it, and just as in the woods, she stood before him in nothing but her chemise.
His Adam’s apple wobbled as he swallowed. His eyes swept over her and returned to her face. Slowly, he reached out and took hold of her waist. His fingers gathered the fine lawn of her garment and raised it over her head.
As he dropped it, she stepped forward to hide herself against him, and he let her. His arms closed about her, lifting her right off the ground. His hands burned her skin, arousing and pleasurable as they roamed over her. She was so dizzy, she barely knew she was being carried, for he was kissing her again, her mouth, her ear, her nape.
The bed was cool and soft at her back, his handsome face excitingly clouded and shadowed in the pale lamplight.
“Marry me,” he whispered, kissing her deeply. “Marry me, my Meg. Say you will, say it now.” She could say nothing, for her mouth was lost in his. Her whole body thrilled to his bold caresses, to the sound of his ragged words. “Not for them, or for scandal. For us, Meg, and no going back.”
He raised his head, gazing down into her face. His hands stilled. “Say it. Say you love me.”
“I love you,” she whispered.
“Then say you will marry me, and I’ll make you mine.”
“I—”
His lips hovered over hers again. His hand lay still, just below her abdomen, making her body cry out for him. “Say it.”
“Say what?” she asked shakily.
His lips quirked. “Say you will marry me.”
“I’ll marry you,” she whispered, and because she was afraid he would leave as soon as she spoke the words, she raised her head and kissed him with all the urgency and passion he had just taught her.
But it seemed he had no intention of going anywhere. He shrugged out of his coat, and his shirt soon followed. For a moment, his full, gloriously naked weight lay upon her, and she loved it, pressing upward from sheer instinct. He uttered a groan, dragging his open mouth from hers to her breast.
His hands were everywhere, inciting, inflaming, gifting exquisite pleasure so that when he entered her body, it surprised more than hurt her. He paused, and she stared up into his eyes.
“Oh, dear,” she whispered.
A laugh seemed to shake him. Or was it desire? “Oh, dear? That isn’t the reaction I was looking for.”
“Am I a fallen woman?” she asked.
He moved very slightly within her, and she gasped, unsure if it was with pain or pleasure.
“No,” he said. “You are a loved woman.”
Enchanted, she kissed him, letting her hands wander up and down his smooth, undulating back. Oh, yes, it was pleasure. And she could not doubt his, for his face told her everything. Her world became only Harry and the wonder of his kisses and caresses until all the myriad pleasure of her body swept into one inexorable tide. Somewhere, she knew from his desperate face, his panting breath that he was holding back, and then the waves surged, breaking over her in undreamed ecstasy.
“Now,” he whispered. “Now you are mine, and there is no going back.”
His mouth fell on hers once more, smothering her gasps and moans along with his own. That he shared so fully in her joy seemed yet another miracle.
*
She lay in his arms, her cheek resting on his chest. Overcome with tenderness, Harry stroked her hair. She smiled, and yet her eyes seemed to glisten. In sudden fear, he let his fingers stray to the damp skin at the corner of her eye.
“I wanted to make you happy,” he said hoarsely. “Please tell me you are not weeping.”
Her smile widened, and she shook her head before propping her chin up on his chest. “It’s just the emotion. It overwhelms me.”
“Then you don’t regret giving yourself to me?”
“How could I?” she whispered.
In aching relief, he drew her closer to kiss her lips. “Thank God. I know I took a chance seducing you now.”
Softly, she was exploring the healed skin of his torn ear. But she paused, holding his gaze. “Before, in the woods, and even this evening in the dining room, I think we were both taken by surprise. This was different, wasn’t it?”
His lips quirked. “I won’t say you didn’t surprise me, but yes, I came with the purpose of seducing you if I could.”
“Why? Why now?”
“Because I couldn’t have you imagining our marriage was for any reason but love. And I needed to bind you to me.”
“And you to me?”
He tightened his arms around her. “Always.”
She smiled and laid her head on his chest once more. “Was I being silly? Again?”
“Over-careful. Which is an odd trait in a mischievous imp like you.”
“I was too afraid of spoiling everything again.”
“Then you do want this? You do want to marry me?”
She raised her head once more, pressing closer to stare into his eyes. “Do you doubt it?”
“There was always a bit of doubt. Until I heard you say it.”
“Have I wasted time, Harry? I think of all the years we would have had together if I had only married you before you left England. Adventures, and fun…”
He smiled. “You were not ready. And in truth, neither was I. We would have had fun, but this is better.”
“You were the most important part of my life, and I didn’t want it to change. My feelings frightened me. I didn’t know how to deal with the look I saw in your eyes…”
“What look?”
She laughed and kissed him. “That one.”
“But now you are older and wiser and like it?”
“Well, now I understand what it signifies.”
“I hope you’ll understand a lot more, too.” He stirred reluctantly. “I should leave you to sleep.”
She caught him by the shoulders, pinning him down. “Don’t go. Not yet.”
“In truth, I don’t want to go at all. But if I’m discovered here, all hell will break loose, and you’ll reject me again.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Then I’ll stay until you’re asleep.”
She settled her head on the pillow, nestling into him. He watched her in wonder, still overcome with tenderness. Finally, he had won her, and he would never let her down.
It was his privilege to fight her battles. And he would begin tomorrow, with Barden.
Gradually, her breathing lengthened and evened. He knew he could go now without disturbing her, but she was too beautiful, too precious, and holding her was too sweet.
It was another hour before he forced himself from her arms, climbed back into his clothes, and left, creeping along the dark, silent passages to his chamber.
There, he fell into bed and slept, he was sure, with a smile on his lips.
*
Meg woke with the knowledge that something wonderful had happened.
Harry loved her. He had loved her physically. She was grown-up at last, and she had never felt happier in her life.
Her body ached a little as she rose, but she relished that discomfort as a token of last night’s bliss.
As she washed, she realized she had slept later than normal. She had missed her chance of a solitary walk or ride with Harry, but then, Deborah was expected this morning, and she didn’t want to miss her.
Still slightly dazed but ridiculously happy, she all but scampered downstairs to the breakfast parlor. Her heart beat a little faster as she walked on, but Harry was not present. It seemed very strange to talk about the night’s festivities as though nothing had changed for her. When she caught the admiring gaze of a young gentleman whose name she had forgotten, she even wondered if he could somehow tell what she had done with Harry. Perhaps it was in her eyes, in her smile, in the way she moved, for she knew in her heart, she would never be the same again.
Not, she realized suddenly, because of last night’s physical acts, delicious as they had been, but because he loved her. Because she knew he did.
As she emerged at last from the breakfast parlor, she glimpsed Martha’s housekeeper leading two guests upstairs. She could not tell their identity from behind, but she thought she knew. Since she was on her way upstairs anyway, with the intention of fetching her hat for a game of pall-mall on the lawn, she stopped one of the footmen encountered in the hall.
“Who was it who just arrived?” she asked him.
“Mr. and Mrs. Halland, my lady. In the smaller, blue bedchamber.”
“Oh, good. I hoped it was them! Thank you, James!”
Accordingly, she went straight to the chamber he had described and knocked on the door.
Deborah opened it, and Meg embraced her. She rather thought she had taken her friend by surprise, but after an instant’s stiffness, Deb hugged her back, laughing.
“How are you?” Meg demanded, sliding inside and closing the door. Only then did she realize they were not alone.
Christopher Halland, whom she had known for years, bowed and grinned from across the room.
“I’m very well,” Deb said hastily. “I think you are acquainted with my husband?”
“Of course.” Meg went to meet him, offering her hand. “How do you do, sir? Forgive my intrusion, but after Deb’s note…”
“Oh, I quite understand. The doctor has allowed her to travel, and in truth, she seems to have healed very well.”
“Is he really coming here?” Deb demanded.
“Barden? Oh, yes. Harry has a plan to force the truth from him.”
“Who is Harry?” Mr. Halland asked mildly.
Meg could not help blushing although she tried to cover it, saying carelessly, “Lord Harry de Vere. He is an old family friend, a captain in Wellington’s army. You will meet him later. But we don’t wish Barden to know we are on to him.”
“He knows we are,” Deb interrupted. “He knows Hazel wrote and told us who tricked us.”
“But he does not know you are here. Nor Hazel and Juliet, with their husbands. So from the moment he arrives, we want to hide you. Then, when we confront him unmasked, he will be completely thrown and, hopefully, forced to admit in public what he has done to us.”
“In public, he will deny it,” Halland pointed out. “Frankly, I would rather shoot him.”
“Yes, but you would go to prison for that,” Meg pointed out reasonably. “I believe there will be some trickery involved! But we will discuss it all together later before dinner, in my brother’s room.”
“Fish is here?” Halland asked in surprise.
“I’m beginning to think the whole world is here,” Meg said wryly.
*
As he approached Calvert Court, Lord Barden had to think himself into a calm frame of mind, to banish the nerves that inevitably haunted him. He was only too aware that this was his last throw of the dice, his last chance to make something from the situation he had so skillfully created.
The ruin of Hazel Curwen, Lady Juliet Lilbourne, Deborah Shelby, and Lady Margaret Winter had been accomplished with such ease that he spent too long congratulating himself. He had been careless, allowing pride, temper, and a natural tendency to gloat to defeat him. So Hazel was not his mistress, and Juliet not his wife. Deborah still knew what she knew. He did not hold Lord Cosland’s wealth in his hands. But he could still hold the Duke of Dearham’s. Dearham was richer and nobler. And Lady Meg would make a more peaceful wife than Juliet. He hoped. In truth, he had never paid much attention to Meg. He mixed her up with her sister, who looked exactly like her.
“At least we are expected here,” said Rogers, his valet, as the fine house came into view between the trees. “Though I would respectfully remind your lordship that I would still appreciate my salary.”
“I told you, you’ll get it all and more before we leave here.”
Rogers sighed. “I suppose there is hope that this is better planned than your last escapades.”
Barden scowled. His valet was growing increasingly insolent. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean, we’ve been planning to come here for months.”
Barden, remembering his original reason for coming here, felt a twinge of unease. He had begun this great plan with the princess’s ladies partly in order to free himself of the necessity of coming here. Well, it would not matter. He was past all that nonsense since the war was over.
“If I might offer a suggestion,” Rogers said. “Don’t rile them and get their backs up, so it becomes everyone’s ambition to thwart you. Say what you have to, get it done, and pay me. Otherwise, my lord, I shall be obliged to give notice. And for God’s sake, let there be no shooting!”
“If you don’t hold your tongue,” Barden snarled, “you’ll never get the chance to give notice, for you’ll be out on your ear without a reference.”
“Not without pay, I won’t,” Rogers said grimly.
Barden opened his mouth to verbally blister his servant. And then remembered his decision to remain cool and collected. He breathed deeply and sat back in his seat, closing his eyes until the carriage pulled up at Calvert Court.
Footmen rushed to let down the steps and collect his baggage, conducting him up the steps and into the house, where he was gratified to be met in the entrance hall by both his host and hostess. And yes, behind Lady Calvert lurked Lady Meg, and he was relieved to see the duke cross the hall in the direction of the stairs, laughing with his uniformed companion.
