Where Destiny Plays, page 16
And when the dance was finished, Arthur bowed politely then headed for Lady Richmond’s small circle of friends.
He stopped when he spied Lavinia. Her face grew hot. It was too obvious she had been watching him.
And then he was coming toward her and not his mother.
Lavinia fanned herself. She had just sworn to guard her heart. But there he was, all handsome and smiling, and she glued to her spot, willing him to join her.
She offered her hand and he bowed over it.
“My lady.”
His smooth baritone melted her resolve.
“Lord Petersham, how was partnering Lady Ida?”
“Delightful. Light on her feet. Light in her mind.”
Lavinia laughed softly. “It seemed you had plenty to talk about.”
“Ah yes. She asked what it was I did as an earl. I told her I build railways.”
“Oh my, that must have been confusing. Not all earls hold positions in industry.”
“She lamented that it must have been so very grand and romantic to travel by coach on dirt paths everywhere.”
Lavinia started. “You mean before the railway.”
Arthur smirked. “Yes.”
Oh dear. Lady Ida really was that dense. “Ponderously slow, I should think.”
“Then she asked me what London looked like before the railways took over—”
“Oh my.”
“Because it must have been terrifically bucolic in my youth.”
Lavinia whipped out her fan to hide her growing smile.
“I feared she would next ask me if wigs were ever so uncomfortable.”
She could not stop the guffaw and slapped the fan over her lips in mortification.
Arthur grinned then leaned in enough that his scent teased her senses. “Are you free for the next dance?”
“You’ll have to pardon my ineptitude. I fear we did not have the waltz in my youth.”
He grinned wider and surreptitiously squeezed her hand.
Mr. and Mrs. Peel approached, accompanied by a young man who, from his generous height, lanky frame, and reddish-brown hair could only be their son. William, if she recalled correctly.
“Arthur,” greeted Mr. Peel. “My lady.”
“Mr. Peel, Mrs. Peel.” Lavinia nodded her greeting. She smiled at the young man.
He blushed, his sheepish expression matching the slight slouch in his posture, as if standing straight would draw too much attention to him.
“Lady Foxley-Graham,” Mr. Peel said, “I dare say you may remember my son from the St. Albans’ wedding last autumn, but perhaps a reintroduction is in order. May I present my son, William Peel. William, the Viscountess Foxley-Graham.”
“Yes, I remember.” Lavinia held out her hand. “Mr. Peel.”
He grasped her hand, his confident grip discordant with his apparent demeanor, and bowed quickly. “My lady.” He stood to his full height as he loosened his hold and met her eyes. “I remember you from the wedding. How could I forget?”
Now it was her turn to blush. In less than a minute the awkward boy had become a man. And an attractive man at that.
“William will be attending Cambridge this autumn,” said Mrs. Peel. “We thought we’d give him a Season. So when his sisters are of age he can properly defend their honor.”
“I’m sure even the Prince of Wales would shrink from a rebuke from so tall a man.”
Mr. Peel the elder chuckled.
“My lady,” began the younger Mr. Peel, “if it is not too forward of me, I should like to ask you to dance.”
Lavinia shot a glance at Arthur before nodding to Mr. Peel. “I would be honored.” She once again offered her hand.
He took it, his glove a little warmer than before. The waltz had already begun so they found their rhythm and joined. Mr. William Peel was master of their steps, his carriage strong, his direction assured. In no time they were one with the swirling mass of couples on the ballroom floor.
And far away from his parents.
“My lady, I know the dance is already almost over. I offer my regrets for my lack of planning but wonder if I may beg a second dance?”
Despite Lavinia’s stature she was small before him. His head angled down, his eyes focused on hers, his gaze not flickering to her cleavage as another man’s would.
“Or perhaps a walk in the garden?”
He was bold.
So was she.
“I think we are near the doors to the garden and I could use a breath of fresh air. Let’s take a stroll.”
He smiled as the music ended, wrapping her arm around his. They strolled through the French doors to the terrace, his step on the flagstones as unfaltering as on the dance floor. He slowed as they reached the carved balustrade at the edge of the terrace.
He turned toward her, his arm still the support of hers. “I’ve overheard the Earl of Petersham sing your praises, my lady. They are true indeed.”
So Arthur did think of her when she wasn’t around. That was heartening. “I’m flattered, Mr. Peel.”
“I understand you are a good friend to Helena’s husband, the Earl of St. Albans.” He leaned in just a bit more. “A very good friend.”
Her skin prickled. Was he attempting seduction? “I have known the earl since he was a boy. I was a close friend of his mother’s.”
“Yes. I’ve heard that.” He squeezed her arm. “Shall we take a walk in the garden?”
The prickle chilled. He couldn’t be much over eighteen years of age. Yet, he was progressing as a man far beyond his years.
“As you wish, Mr. Peel.”
He led her out onto the lawn, down a path lined with mirrored glass lanterns aglow with candles. The setting was romantic, with lovers all around.
It appeared he understood that fact precisely.
He steered her a little off the lighted path to a parterre garden, their footsteps crunching on the gravel as they strolled between the manicured beds. Before them loomed a row of tall squared boxwoods, an archway cut into the hedge.
Lavinia swallowed. A man hoping to get her alone was predictable but a boy? And one she barely knew. “Mr. Peel,” she said, trying to convey a warning.
He directed her through the shrub. Lavinia did not resist. Instead curiosity overwhelmed her.
He stopped just on the other side, close enough to the archway so she could easily escape if she felt that were necessary. He released her arm, and took her hand instead.
“My lady, I know I am too forward—”
“You are, Mr. Peel.” His confidence was shaking. Hers was resolute.
“I’ve heard—well it’s not like gossiping, just overhearing—that you sometimes take young men under your wing. Offer them guidance, for their careers and such.”
And such. Her stomach clenched. She would have to make him see the foolishness of his actions. “And what sort of career were you considering?”
“What? Oh. Archaeology I suppose.”
“How romantic.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Why yes, in the sense of the exoticism of it all.” Her voice conveyed a serenity at odds with the agitation rising in her body. His closeness was unsettling. “And where will you go? Persia? Greece? China?”
“I rather like the idea of the Levant, you know, biblical sites.”
Agitation burned slowly to arousal. “So then you’ll be learning Greek and Hebrew.”
“I already know Greek—” He shook his head. “I didn’t really mean to discuss all this.”
“I understood you wanted guidance in your career.”
He gazed at her. His hand tightened around hers. “I was hoping for another sort of guidance.”
He dipped his head and slid his free hand around her waist, holding her fast as he pressed his lips to hers.
It was wrong, terribly wrong. Not the kiss, that was…quite expert for one so young, but the whole situation, his relationship to Arthur, the fact they barely knew each other…that she was over twice his age. Everything.
Lavinia flinched and pushed away but he gripped more tightly, steadying her as he tantalized her lips with his tongue, teasing patiently until she softened under him, letting him plunder her depths. Her body weakened, relaxing in his arms, molding to his provocatively. He would be as hard as she was wet.
And she was very wet.
He pulled back slowly. Her heart pounded, playing a syncopated beat against her ragged breaths.
“I hardly think you need any guidance, Mr. Peel.”
He brought her hand to his lips. “My lady, please forgive my impetuousness. I didn’t mean to alarm you. I was overcome. Your closeness, your perfume, your beauty.”
“Mr. Peel, believe me I am entirely flattered a young man deigns to give me such attentions.”
“I’m a virgin,” he blurted.
What should one say to such a confession? “One would not know that from the way you kiss, Mr. Peel.”
“Thank you, my lady. Thank you.” He let go of her hand. “I had hoped I might receive some guidance from you before I enter university.” He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “Guidance about how a man can be with a woman.”
“Ah. Thank you for your honesty.” Now free of his grasp, her hands trembled. “I am not a courtesan, William. Nicholas and I may have been lovers but it was from a mutual attraction, deep friendship, and shared experience.”
He covered his mouth with his hand. “Please believe me, I didn’t mean to imply such a slanderous notion.” He shook his head again. “I know you are connected with my father’s business associates, that you are a trusted member of their circle.” He twisted his fingers. “And I’ve heard you’ve helped other young men, not just Lord St. Albans.”
That was not slander. It was the truth. “I didn’t sleep with all of them.”
“Oh God, you must think me a barbarian.”
“No I think you are an honest young man with a promising career before you. If you would like me to discreetly arrange for you to meet with a courtesan—”
“No,” he said with surprising abruptness. “It has to be you. Helena speaks the world of you.”
That was a surprising reference. “Helena?”
“She doesn’t know about any of this. I just got the idea from talking to her one day. We’re very close. Almost raised together. She thinks you’re marvelous.”
He was attractive and a good kisser. “If we were to attempt such a venture, I’m not at all certain where we would meet. You might be noticed arriving at my house.”
“I thought we would pretend to meet by chance then I would take you home in a cab or maybe even walk you home…then you would invite me in.”
“Oh my. You have put some thought into this, haven’t you?”
“I thought it might be easier for you to make a decision if all the details were worked out.”
And what a decision it was. She could do it. She needed a lover and if William was as good in bed as he was a kisser, it would be worth it. At the very least, his skills at gamahuching would be unsurpassed. If Arthur found out, he could say nothing. He had no hold over her. Well, he had no right to claim he did.
“William, what sort of library does your father have?”
“Library?”
“Books.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Does he even have a library? Does he collect books of a particular nature?”
“Not really. He has some law books at home and books on birding, maybe hunting, that sort of thing. Mother loves novels. She keeps everything she’s read. She likes to loan them to her friends. She seems to know exactly what her friends need and want to read.”
“So if you wanted to begin a study of ancient languages before you left for university, you could not do that at home. Is that correct?”
“Yes. I’d have to go to a lending library or buy them myself. Possibly Mr. Phillips or even Lord Petersham would have something like that.”
“Let’s leave them out of this.” She wrapped her arm around his. “I have a spectacular library. My dead husband fancied himself a scholar. Included in my library are grammars and study guides for Persian, Turkish, Arabic, and Hebrew. You said you know Greek and I presume you already know Latin.” She walked him a little farther into the darkness. “We’ll do it this way. We’ll meet by chance, on the street in public, near my house. We’ll have a conversation about your studies. I’ll offer my library at your disposal. You will come home with me, get to know the place and borrow a book or two. When your parents inquire, which they will, I’ll say I’ve offered you an opportunity to use my library whenever you want. This way we have a reason for you to be at my house. You will have the responsibility of learning some useful language however, in addition to whatever else you learn at my house.”
“You’re really good at this, aren’t you?”
He was so innocent. She laughed softly. “I’ve been doing this sort of thing for longer than you can imagine. One gains an understanding of how it all works.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
“You’re welcome, William. Now there’s a milliner’s on High Street in Kensington near my house. Madame Colline. Why don’t you plan to run into me at three o’clock next Thursday?”
“I think I can do that.”
“Good. If I don’t see you, I’ll know you were caught up elsewhere so you needn’t send a note.”
“My lady, is there anything I should do to prepare? For you?”
So sweet. “Let’s see how this first clandestine meeting works out and we’ll make arrangements from there.”
“All right.”
“Now, Mr. Peel, we’ve been in the garden far too long. People will begin to talk. The last thing you ever want is for people to talk. You must take me in. We’ll say we talked about your future and your dream to become an archaeologist. But we’re just laying the groundwork so we won’t mention the library just yet.”
“Yes, my lady.”
And like a proper gentleman, William Peel returned her to the ballroom.
* * * * *
Seated on the slipper chair before the bedroom fire, Julius had a view of Grace’s back as she pulled off her chemise. She turned to the bed where her nightgown lay, the generous curve of her belly deeply shadowed with the firelight behind her.
She was really beginning to show.
He should really say something.
She slipped her nightgown over her nude body, hiding her condition under the voluminous white cambric skirt. She flashed him a smile. He extended his hand and she went to him.
“How are you feeling?”
She sighed. “Tired. Happy.” She nudged his thighs to make space for her knees then straddled him.
Her belly was at his chest. “Happy?”
“It was a good day. It was lovely to see Mrs. Vickers and her twins today. They’re adorable.” She combed his hair with her fingers. “The twins I mean.”
He laughed. “Mrs. Vickers is adorable as well.” She was petite and fussy and always coordinated her clothes to the matched outfits of the twins.
Grace giggled. “Yeah.”
He placed his hands at her waist, his thumbs stretching over her fullness. They had yet to discuss the child within—was it a girl or boy, what name should they choose, what room would be used as the nursery, would there be a christening, would they hire a nanny?
“But really I’m happy because I’m with you.” She tugged up the hem of her nightgown to uncover her sex. “I get to see you all day long.” She unbuttoned his fly. “And that keeps me happy.”
She rubbed the wet heat of her quim against his drawers as she slipped off his braces. She teased his neck with tender nibbles as she freed his stiff cock from his underclothes. She held his head steady as she assaulted his mouth with an insistent kiss and lowered herself onto his prick.
He groaned in satisfaction. Now was probably not a good time to have a domestic discussion.
She rode him slowly, excruciatingly so, fluttering her expert muscles around his length, squeezing the tip before sliding down. She gripped his shoulders, propped her forehead against his. Their breaths mingled hot and humid in the pocket of space between their bodies.
“Darling…Grace…”
She increased her speed just a hair.
“Yes…”
She undid the buttons of his shirt then plucked at the linen cloth. “Take it off, Jules. I want to see you.”
He tore off the garment. She gripped the strands of his chest hair, pulling until the point of discomfort, only to relax her hold then pull harder still.
Just how he liked it.
Under her nightgown, her full breasts swayed tantalizingly. He palmed the demi-globes before smoothing the fabric over her belly. Her shape aroused him as he’d never thought it would. “Now I want to see you.”
He held her as she complied, struggling a little with the nightgown. She tossed it behind her.
“Fuck me, Grace.”
She bobbed up and down, her breasts undulating to her sensual rhythm right before his face. He reached out his tongue, flicking the tip over her hardening peaks as they bounced before him.
She pinched his nipples. He jerked at the delectable pain.
“Suck me, Jules.”
He lay kisses on her breasts before drawing in an areola, sucking hard until she gasped. Her body was his to do with as he pleased for only a few months more. He would make the most of it.
He plowed into her from below as he bit the sensitized tip. She squealed an oath before dissolving into giggles.
She matched his pace, her rhythm faltering in impatience, distracting him from his imminent climax. “Come inside me,” she urged. “I want to feel you come deep inside me.” She grinned devilishly and slammed down on his shaft.
Her horrified shriek pierced the air. She pulled up quickly, his tip still embedded in her warmth as she remained poised above his lap.
“I can’t. You’re too big.” Her gaze held panic. “It hurts.”
