A Night Like This (Smythe-Smith Quartet #2)(75)


“Oh, my God,” he panted. “Oh, my God, oh my—” With one final thrust he cried out, jerking forward and then finally collapsing as he spilled himself within her.
It was done, Anne thought dreamily. It was done, and yet her life was finally beginning.
Later that night, Daniel lay on his side, leaning on his elbow with his head propped in his hand as he idly toyed with the loose strands of Anne’s hair. She was sleeping—or at least he thought she was. If not, she was being remarkably indulgent, letting him stroke through the soft curls, marveling at the way the flickering candlelight reflected on each strand.
He hadn’t realized her hair was so long. When she had it done up, with her pins and combs and whatever else it was women used, it looked like any other hair bun. Well, any other hair bun when worn by a woman so beautiful it made his heart stop.
But down, her hair was glorious. It spilled over her shoulders like a sable blanket, rippling into soft, luxurious waves that came to an end at the tops of her breasts.
He allowed himself a wicked little smile. He liked that her hair didn’t cover her breasts.
“What are you smiling about?” she murmured, her voice thick and lazy with sleep.
“You’re awake,” he said.
She let out a little mewl as she stretched, and he happily watched as the bedsheet slipped from her body. “Oh!” she chirped, yanking it back up.
He covered her hand with his, tugging it down. “I like you that way,” he murmured huskily.
She blushed. It was too dark for him to see the pink on her skin, but her eyes looked down for just a moment, the way they always did when she was embarrassed. And then he smiled again, because he hadn’t even realized he’d known that about her.
He liked knowing things about her.
“You didn’t say what you were smiling about,” she said, gently pulling the sheet back up and tucking it under her arm.
“I was thinking,” he said, “that I rather like it that your hair is not quite long enough to cover your breasts.”
This time he did see her blush, even in the dark.
“You did ask,” he murmured.
They fell into a companionable silence, but soon Daniel saw worry lines begin to form on Anne’s forehead. He wasn’t surprised when she asked, softly, “What happens now?”
He knew what she was asking, but he didn’t want to answer. Snuggled together in his four-poster bed with the canopy pulled closed around them, it was easy to pretend that the rest of the world did not exist. But morning would come soon enough, and with it, all of the dangers and cruelties that had brought her to this point.
“I will pay a call upon Sir George Chervil,” he finally said. “I trust it will not be difficult to determine his address.”
“Where will I go?” she whispered.
“You will stay here,” Daniel said firmly. He could hardly believe she’d think he’d allow her to go anywhere else.
“But what will you tell your family?”
“The truth,” he said. Then, when her eyes widened with shock, he quickly added, “Some of it. There is no need for anyone to know precisely where you slept tonight, but I will have to tell my mother and sister how you came to be here without so much as a change of clothing. Unless you can think of a reasonable story.”
“No,” she agreed.
“Honoria can lend you a wardrobe, and with my mother here as chaperone, it will not be untoward in the least for you to be installed in one of our guest bedrooms.”
For a split second she looked as if she might protest, or perhaps suggest an alternative plan. But in the end she nodded.
“I will see to a special license right after I see to Chervil,” Daniel said.
“A special license?” Anne echoed. “Aren’t they terribly extravagant?”
He nudged a little closer. “Do you really think I’m going to be able to wait a proper engagement period?”
She started to smile.
“Do you really think you can wait?” he added huskily.
“You’ve turned me into a wanton,” she whispered.
He pulled her against him. “I can’t quite summon the will to complain.”
As he kissed her, he heard her whisper, “I can’t, either.”
All would be right with the world. With a woman like this in his arms, how could it be otherwise?

Chapter Twenty


The following day, after getting Anne settled as a proper guest in his household, Daniel set out to pay a call upon Sir George Chervil.
As expected, it hadn’t been difficult to find his address. He lived in Marylebone, not far from his father-in-law’s Portman Square residence. Daniel knew who Viscount Hanley was; indeed, Daniel had been at Eton at the same time as two of Hanley’s sons. The connection was not terribly deep, but the family would know who he was. If Chervil did not come around to his way of thinking with appropriate speed, Daniel had every confidence that a call upon his father-in-law—who undoubtedly controlled the purse strings, including the deed for the tidy little Marylebone home upon whose steps Daniel was now ascending—would do the trick.
Within moments of knocking on the front door, Daniel was ushered into a sitting room decorated in muted shades of green and gold. A few minutes later, a woman came in. From her age and attire, he could only deduce that she was Lady Chervil, the viscount’s daughter George Chervil had chosen to marry instead of Anne.
“My lord,” Lady Chervil said, offering him an elegant curtsy. She was quite pretty, with light brown curls and clear, peaches-and-cream skin. She could not compare to Anne’s dramatic beauty, but then again, few could. And Daniel was, perhaps, somewhat biased.

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