Where Destiny Plays, page 17
His chest clenched in mortification. “Then don’t. I’ll be gentle.” He eased her down his shaft. “Let me make love to you.”
She exhaled a sigh as she wrapped her arms around him and settled her cheek on his shoulder. He resumed at a languorous pace, one arm holding her securely as his other hand stroked her clitoris. She reacted as she always did, melting into him with a contented moan, the melodic sound stoking the lust in his loins back to burning.
This was their new life…mellow, languid, loving. He didn’t need the taunting and teasing, savagery and ferocity, he could climb to the peak with just him and Grace, their bodies in tender union, each nurturing the other to culmination.
She came on his hand, her wetness soaking into his trousers, taking him to the edge. He closed his eyes, expanding his senses. Her flesh was hot under his fingers as he breathed in the aroma of her arousal, letting it swirl within and transport him. He spent his seed with restraint.
He kissed her cheek. “I’m happy too.”
* * * * *
Arthur had ignored the note from Father all morning, wanting to simply drink his coffee and read the newspaper in silence. No doubt Mother was haranguing Father to prod Arthur into choosing one of the beauties he had been introduced to. He needed a break.
He hadn’t even had a chance to dance with Lavinia the other night when she returned from far too long a stroll with William. Mother had whisked him away to dance with a young girl whose name he had utterly forgotten.
Father’s folded letter mocked him from the center of the silver salver, the butler having just set the whole lot down on the breakfast table instead of hovering in hopes Arthur would pick up the missive.
He sighed and reached for the letter. It was not in Father’s hand. Father’s loyal secretary Billings had written the note. Either the factious formality had returned or something was wrong.
He unfolded the page with clammy hands and began to read.
Shit. Father was ill. Arthur was required immediately.
Except “immediately” was over two hours ago.
And by the time he was greeted by the family butler Cawston at the front door of the Mayfair residence “immediately” had turned into at least three hours.
Geoffrey approached from the direction of Father’s office, his sullen face brightening when he spied Arthur.
“Geoff, what are you doing here?” He tried to keep the horror from his tone.
“Your father wanted me to review his will before he meets with his solicitor. Said he trusted me to give an honest opinion.”
“His will?”
“I don’t know if it is all that serious, really. He’s ill, yes. But St. Albans is with him now. I would have assumed his regular doctor would be looking after him.”
“And his regular solicitor.”
“Yes, that too. So Richmond is keeping the illness mum. Private family business and all that.”
“I’m sure he has his reasons.” Perhaps an unwillingness to come to terms with his mortality.
“Arthur, I have to leave. Joseph and Sophie and your mother are with him now.”
Which meant Father and Joseph must have reconciled. Perhaps it was serious. “Helena?”
“She’s expected later. St. Albans was already in town. She’s still at the Keep.”
Arthur squeezed Geoffrey’s shoulder. “Thank you, Geoff.”
“My pleasure and privilege. Now get upstairs. They’ve been wondering about your absence.”
A flurry of excuses flooded Arthur’s brain as he mounted the stairs two-by-two. Yet when he opened the door to Father’s bedroom he was not greeted with the expected chastisement but expressions of relief instead.
Mother went to him, gripping him by the arms. “Arthur!”
“My apologies, Mother,” he said, kissing her cheeks. “I had business.”
He nodded to Sophia, who reclined on a day bed, and to Joseph, who stood nearby. He approached Nicholas, who sat by Father’s bedside, jotting notes in a journal. Father’s eyes were closed, his face pale, his breaths huffing with irregular respiration.
“How is he?” he said quietly in Nicholas’ ear.
Nicholas offered a weak smile. “Pneumonia. It’s an inflammation of the lungs. I’ll keep an eye on him for the next few weeks.”
“So it’s not serious?”
“Yes and no. In healthy adults, it can be combated. In children, the aged, and the sick, it can be fatal.”
“The aged?”
“That’s why I want to keep an eye on him. He’s rather robust for a man of seventy. However I’ve written Helena to stay at home for the time being. And I don’t want little Henry in this house. Lord Richmond is calling for all his family so it has been difficult to keep supplying excuses. Your presence will liven and distract him.”
Father stirred under his covers, his eyes fluttering open. “Arthur? Is that you?”
Nicholas got up from the chair to let Arthur sit. “Yes, Papa.”
Papa. He shouldn’t have called him that. Father would think he was dying.
“Arthur, so good to see you. I’m dying.”
“Balderdash. I’ve been informed by your personal physician—” He winked at Nicholas. “That you are merely temporarily ill and will regain your health in no time.”
“That’s what we have all been trying to tell you, Papa,” Sophia said from the daybed.
Mother had joined Sophia and sat twisting her hands fretfully.
“I’m an old man. I think I know my body better than any young doctor.”
Arthur sighed. Father was stubborn and no doubt believed every one of his own thoughts. Best keep his mind off such thoughts before they became prophetic. “I suppose you won’t be dancing too much this Season, Papa. We’ll have to bring in a theatrical troupe to entertain you.”
Mother glared at him. Joseph chuckled.
“I’m not having some bloody drawing-room comedian recite Shakespeare in my house.”
“Harold! Language!” Mother tipped her head in Sophia’s direction.
Sophia was trying very hard not to laugh.
“Lord Richmond, you cannot expect to go out in your condition,” Nicholas offered. “Definitely not to your club.”
That got a rise out of the old man. Arthur grinned inwardly. Nicholas certainly knew his grandfather-in-law’s habits.
“Well, then, Doctor, you damn well better take good care of me.”
Mother once again scowled at his profanity.
So Father expected to get well after all. “Joseph, I need to speak with you briefly,” Arthur said. “About my business meeting this morning.”
Joseph quirked a brow. “Okay.”
Arthur exited and Joseph followed him into the hallway, closing the bedroom door behind him.
The quirked brow did not waver. “And?”
Arthur grabbed his arm and drew him against the wall, tucked behind a cabinet-on-stand. “Father is playing some sort of game.”
“Arthur, Richmond is ill.”
“Yes, yes, of course he is. I’m afraid, though, he is forcing his hand with this marriage business.”
“So he’s in cahoots with the marchioness?”
The Americans had such freedom in their language. “Something like that. They want me to hurry it along.” He slouched against the wall and stared up at Joseph. “Shit. I really wanted to marry for love.”
Joseph offered a weak smile. “You deserve nothing less.” He placed his hand, warm and comforting, on Arthur’s shoulder. “And you don’t need to talk to me about expected duty. I almost married my daughter off to the highest-ranking peer last Season, whoever he might be.”
“Thank God my sister is insatiable and instead tried to marry Helena off to her lover.”
Joseph chuckled with a bend of his head. “I never thought I would be able to laugh at that.” He met Arthur’s gaze. “But, yes the unexpected can happen.”
Arthur tilted his chin with a dark smirk. “Like a barren woman giving birth?”
“Now you’re being unnecessarily dramatic and morose. And no, I was thinking you might find a compatible young woman.” Joseph’s smile thinned. “You really are in love with her, aren’t you?”
“I am. At least I think I am.” He slid farther down the polished wood wainscoting. “Damn it. I’m desperate. She’s all I ever think of.”
“Collect yourself, Arthur.” Joseph skated his palm down Arthur’s arm to squeeze his hand.
“Thanks.” He freed himself. “But have a care that we could be seen.”
Joseph pulled back. “Of course, my lord.”
“I hate when you call me that.”
One corner of Joseph’s mouth twitched upward with meaning. “I know you do. Now come back inside and humor Richmond.”
“In a moment.”
Arthur watched as Joseph returned to Father’s bedroom. He was in far too black a mood to humor anyone, much less the man sending him to his doom.
* * * * *
Lavinia stopped at the top of the stairs just before the landing of the second floor of the Richmond London residence. There before her were Arthur and Joseph in something more than just a friendly position. Joseph angled over the earl, leaning in slowly as if he were about to take him in a passionate kiss. It didn’t help that he drew his hand down Arthur’s arm to squeeze his fingers. She stayed as still as a mouse before the scene. They didn’t notice her.
And then memories blazed in her mind’s eye, vivid and telling. The sultan casually fending off amorous advances by the American revolutionary at Countess Winthrop’s masquerade. Joseph and Arthur comfortably disheveled from an evening of drinking spirits in the latter’s sitting room at Atherley Keep.
Her suspicions about the two men were confirmed. They were lovers or had been at one time.
The thought was greatly arousing.
Both men were endowed with a charismatic potency. Joseph had a rough edge, bordering on coarseness that intrigued rather than repelled. Arthur was more refined, his sensuality intellectual rather than crude. They were broad-minded in their sexual predilections. The masquerade, Joseph’s marital arrangements, and Lavinia’s experience in Arthur’s bed were proof of that.
Together the men would be the very definition of lust. It would be amazing to simply watch.
And then Joseph left Arthur’s side and stepped through the first door on the left. According to Cawston, that was the marquess’s bedroom and where he was expecting her.
Which meant the marquess had requested more than just her presence. Something was wrong. A thought confirmed by Arthur’s downcast countenance.
“My lady! Oh, I do apologize.”
Cawston’s voice disrupted the stillness. Arthur jerked from the wall to stand upright, staring at her, his eyes wide in astonishment, then softening with need. Arousal fluttered anew.
“There was a reporter, my lady,” the butler puffed from running up the stairs. “It will be difficult to fend them off what with rumors flying about concerning the marquess’s health. I’m terribly sorry to have had to send you up alone.”
So Richmond was ill. “I took my time, Mr. Cawston, and almost found my way.” She indicated Arthur. “Lord Petersham would have put me on the correct path had I been lost.”
Arthur cleared his throat. “Lady Foxley-Graham. What a surprise.” He still stared, his eyes questioning.
“My lord.” She nodded her greeting. “Lord Richmond requested my presence.”
“You?” He swallowed. “Of course…you are family now.” His brow twisted as if still not quite convinced.
Right. Godparents. The two of them together.
Cawston led the way to the same door Joseph had just used and ushered her in, Arthur in their wake.
“The Viscountess Foxley-Graham, my lord,” Cawston announced.
All present stared at her in stunned disbelief.
“Lady Foxley-Graham,” Richmond called out, before a fit of coughing took over.
Nicholas went to the marquess but Richmond waved him aside and beckoned to Lavinia.
She approached. Nicholas quirked a brow as he offered her the chair at the bedside.
“I can tell from your expressions you all think I’m mad as well as ill.”
“You sent for the viscountess?” Lady Richmond’s voice was edged with concern.
“I did.” He motioned to a stunned Arthur, who approached. “Arthur, in the event I die—”
Lady Richmond gasped.
Lord Richmond ignored her. “In the event I die, if not from whatever this blasted ailment is, then from old age—” He directed that to Lady Richmond. “I will need my successor to be prepared to assume my regular duties. You know nothing about what it is I do in Parliament.”
Arthur’s shock melted into sheepishness. “You know I don’t, Father.”
“I would wager Lady Foxley-Graham knows precisely what it is I do in Parliament.”
So that’s what the display was all about. Lavinia’s laugh was most inappropriate but heartfelt. “I know your opponents, my lord. They follow your every move.”
He winked at her. “And I’ll wager Arthur has no idea who my opponents are.”
Arthur gaped with a touch of annoyance. “All right, Father, I get your point. Is that why Lady Foxley-Graham is here, to illuminate my shortcomings?”
“No. She is here to arrange for your instruction in the matter.”
“My instruction?”
Lavinia tried not to look as surprised as she felt.
“It’s about time you took an interest, Arthur. You are privileged as a peer to have a say in running this country. You should not be so dismissive of this honor and responsibility.”
“Yes, sir.”
The whole situation was a bit bizarre. Surely there were more suited mentors? “Pardon me, my lord,” Lavinia dared. “If I may inquire as to why you do not entrust Lord St. Albans to do the honors? He has been negotiating the maze of Lords quite admirably.”
“Ah yes. St. Albans has been having a time of it, haven’t you, son?”
Nicholas blushed. “Yes, my lord.”
Richmond eyed her. “I understand he has been relying heavily on your counsel as well, my lady.”
That and so much more. “Yes, my lord. I see your point.”
“You have quite a reputation, my dear lady. I would like to see it used to great advantage.”
“You mean to your advantage, Lord Richmond.”
He chuckled, which set off another coughing fit. Nicholas went to his side but Richmond waved him off.
“Politics is politics as you know. Whether in the central lobby or my sickroom.”
Or her bedroom. “Yes, my lord.”
“The members to whom you are acquainted may be my opponents but they are each one of them respectable men. I would like it if you would introduce Arthur to members of both houses and every party.”
“Even the Radicals, my lord?”
That got a smile out of him. “Even the blasted Socialists. The ways of politics make for strange bedfellows.” He finally addressed Arthur. “I want to believe you’ve formed all sorts of opinions from your business with Phillips. It may not be easy but sometimes you will need to bend those opinions for the betterment of our country.” He nodded Lavinia’s way. “I learned that from the viscountess.”
“Yes, sir.” Arthur shifted his weight like a chastised schoolboy.
Richmond waggled his hand in Lavinia’s direction. “You two can work this out between yourselves. I suggest Arthur read the newspaper accounts and sit in the Strangers’ Galleries.”
“Of course, Lord Richmond.”
After that, pleasant chit-chat, led by Sophia, ensued.
Lavinia caught Arthur’s eye. He offered a sympathetic smile and a relieved expression. She let out an exhale. There had been no talk of his marriage prospects, only politics. She had feared that her presence had been requested to offer an opinion on pedigree. But talk of politics meant a wife had not yet been chosen for him.
Which meant there might still be a shred of hope.
* * * * *
The ballroom at Lord and Lady Quimby’s Belgravia house was overflowing, making it difficult to distinguish anyone amongst the mass of faces. Only when Lavinia stood on tiptoe did she spy Charlotte along the fringes. She caught her eye and waved her over.
“My dear viscountess.” Charlotte kissed both her cheeks. “Good to see you. Not many interesting people here tonight, are there?”
“You mean not much to gossip about, Lady Banbury?”
Charlotte unfurled her ivory fan with a flick of her wrist. “I feel a bit off my game this Season, what with no one to take under my wing.”
“You should rest on your laurels. Helena made a fabulous match.”
“She did, did she not?” Charlotte hid her broad smile behind her vigorous fanning. “And how is the Countess St. Albans? Has she had her baby yet?”
“Not yet. Very soon. I’m to be godmother.”
Charlotte squeaked excitedly. “Oh, how lovely for you.” She beamed and grasped Lavinia’s hands. “And in eighteen years, you’ll have someone to introduce to Society.”
Lavinia laughed softly.
“Is there a godfather as well?”
“The Earl of Petersham. Helena’s uncle.”
“Ah yes, wasn’t he involved in Sophia Phillips’ scandal? Hiding her away while she was enceinte.”
“I suppose he acted as any older brother would.” Lavinia fanned the heat flushing her face. “He’s quite the gentleman.”
Charlotte eyed her queerly. “Ah. So there’s my match.”
“Charlotte—”
“I see interest and I know enough to know he’s unattached. Infamously so.” She grinned. “Which means only one as incomparable as you could sway such as he.”
If only Charlotte were correct. The elation of a momentary imagined future was quickly quashed when she spied the Marchioness of Richmond. Lavinia stepped back, trying to hide behind Charlotte’s generous skirts.
But Lady Richmond had already seen her. The marchioness waved with an affected smile and joined them. Lavinia let her kiss the air above her cheeks.
“Lady Foxley-Graham, just the woman I wanted to see tonight.”
She feigned a smile. “I’m flattered, Lady Richmond, really.”
