Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(16)

“No, but Mrs. Knaggs told me that she was especially fond of one waltz. Papa never would tell me which one it was.”

“I'm certain it is painful for him.”

“Would you play it for me, Miss Billings?”

“I don't believe Lord Stokehurst would allow it.”

“After he leaves. I heard Biddle—that's his valet—telling one of the footmen that Papa will be visiting his mistress tonight.”

Tasia was startled by the child's frankness. “You know everything that goes on in this house, don't you?”

Her sympathetic tone caused Emma's eyes to fill with tears. “Yes, Miss Billings.”

Tasia smiled, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. “I'll play it for you after he leaves. As many times as you want.”

Emma sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her free hand. “I don't know why I cry so much. Papa doesn't like it.”

“I know exactly why.” Exerting a gentle pressure on her hand, Tasia tugged the child onto the bench beside her. “Sometimes when you're growing up, it seems as if your emotions fill you up inside, and no matter how you try, you can't hold them back.”

“Yes,” Emma said with a vigorous nod. “It's dreadful. They come spilling out at all the wrong times, and I feel like such a ninny-head.”

“That's how everyone feels at your age.”

“Even you? I can't imagine you crying, Miss Billings.”

“Of course I did. In the years after my father died, I hardly did anything else. He was the most important person in the world to me. After he was gone, it seemed there was no one for me to talk to. I would burst into tears at the slightest provocation. Once I cried for an hour after stubbing my toe.” Tasia smiled. “But eventually it passed, as it will with you.”

“I hope so,” Emma said, her tears drying. “Miss Billings…were you very young when your father died?”

“I was about your age.”

“Did they make you wear black crepe?”

“Yes, I wore mourning for a year and one month.”

“Papa said I must never wear it. He wouldn't even allow it when my cousin Letty died, because it makes him sad to see me draped in black.”

“That is very wise of him. It's very wearisome, being in mourning for someone.” Tasia closed the piano and motioned for Emma to stand up with her. “The library,” she said briskly. “We have work to do, ma chère mademoiselle.”

Iris, Lady Harcourt was standing in her bedroom before a full-length mirror. The glass had been placed there ostensibly so she could view herself after she was dressed, but had been used on occasion for more interesting purposes. She was dressed in a gold gown that flattered her peach-tinted skin and red hair. It had taken all day to prepare herself. She had soaked in a scented bath, dressed with the help of a lady's maid, and endured two hours of having her hair curled with heated tongs.

Luke, who had walked into Iris's elegant Cornwall terrace unannounced, stood with his shoulder braced against the side of the doorjamb. A half-smile curved his mouth as he watched her. Iris was the kind of woman he had always liked, a beautiful redhead full of warmth and relaxed charm. Her voluptuous body was always tightly corseted, her long legs concealed by the draped layers of her skirts. Her bountiful br**sts were modestly covered, for there was no need to make an impressive display. The lushness of her bosom spoke for itself.

Suddenly realizing she was being observed, Iris turned with a start. Her ruddy brows inched up her forehead. “Darling. You were so quiet I didn't hear you. What are you doing here?”

“Surprise visit.” Pushing off from the doorframe, Luke approached her lazily. “Hello,” he murmured, and kissed her.

Iris pressed up against his mouth with a sigh of delight. Her arms climbed around his hard shoulders. “A surprise indeed,” she said when their lips parted. “As you can see, I'm dressed for the evening. I'm going out.” She shivered at the way his teeth closed gently on her neck. “Dinner party,” she managed to say.

“Send your regrets.”

“If I don't attend there'll be an odd number. And they're expecting me.” She laughed as she felt Luke unfasten the top button of her gown. “Darling, no. What if I promise to leave early and hurry back to you? Will that satisfy you?”

“No.” The second button slipped free. “You're not going at all.”

Iris frowned at him, even as her breath quickened. “You're the most arrogant man I know. And you have a definite problem with compromise. I'm not saying you don't have your good points, darling…but we must work on your temperament.”

Luke tangled his fingers in her upswept hair, ruining the elaborate pile of curls. “It's taken centuries of selective breeding to achieve a specimen like me. You should have seen the early Stokehursts. Nothing to brag about, believe me.”

“Oh, I do,” Iris purred. “I'll bet they were complete savages.” Her eyes widened as he jerked her against his aroused body. His mouth toyed gently with hers, then sealed over it. Iris groaned softly, all thoughts of the dinner party dissolving. She pushed herself against him, eager for his possession. Luke was an experienced and generous lover, knowing how to bring her to the edge of insanity. He liked to tease, to make her beg, to leave her sore and exhausted and satisfied. “At least let me take my corset off,” she whispered. “I nearly fainted the last time.”