Miss Winthorpe's Elopement (Belston & Friends #1)(56)

She was waiting for him, there, in the tiny sitting room that connected to the room where they would sleep. A supper had been laid for them on the low table: cold meat pies, cakes, ale for him and tea for the lady.

And as he came to her, she hastily set down the mug of ale, and wiped some foam from her lips. She looked down, embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry. You must think me frightfully common.’

He smiled. ‘For doing something that you enjoy?’

When she looked back at him, there was fear in her eyes. A desperation to please him that hadn’t been there before the party. She hadn’t given a damn for what he thought of her then. But things had changed. ‘I suspect the wives of your friends do not steal ale from their husband’s mug when he is not looking.’

He sat down next to her. ‘They do things far worse.’ He tasted the ale. ‘And this is quite good. We can share it, if you like.’ He set the mug between them, and reached for his plate. His sleeve brushed against her arm; instead of shying from him, as she once might have done, she leaned to be closer.

And when she did it, his heart gave a funny little leap in his chest. He covered the feeling by taking another sip of ale. Not knowing how to proceed, he said, ‘I spoke to my brother last night as the guests were leaving. Apparently, you told him how your work was progressing.’

She gave a little shake of her head. ‘I am afraid I am not very good at small talk. I’m too little in public to have the knack of it.’

‘No,’ he corrected quickly. ‘It was all right. More than all right. He was most impressed by you, and told me so. Still a little surprised, of course, that I found a woman with a brain who would have me.’

She laughed. ‘What an idea, that the Duke of Bellston could not attract a woman of intelligence. I used to read the papers, and imagine what it would be like to meet you. I was sure that your wife would need her wits about her at all times if she were to speak to you at all.’

‘Then you must have been sorely disappointed to find so little challenge…’ He stopped. ‘You used to imagine me?’

She put her hand to her temple, to hide her embarrassment. ‘There. The truth is out. I sat at home reading Greek, and shunning society, spinning girlish fancies over a man who I would never meet. I assumed, by the wisdom of his speeches, he must be long married, and perhaps already a grandfather. I would never dare speak to him. But perhaps, if I could ever find the nerve, I would write to him with a question concerning his position on something or other, perhaps pretending to be my brother, or some other male, and he might deign to answer me.’

‘And then you found me drunk in the street, and I hauled you to London and ignored you, and then forced you to dress in ribbons and dance with my friends, while I sat in another room, playing cards.’ He laughed until tears came to his eyes, and when he noticed she was still pink with mortification, he pulled her close, and hugged her to him until he felt her laugh as well.

Then he buried his face against her neck, and murmured, ‘I hope we are close enough now that, if you have any questions, you will not feel the need to submit them in writing.’

She said, ‘I…think whatever I meant to ask you has gone quite out of my head.’

‘Speak of something you know, then. For I do love the sound of your voice.’ He breathed deeply, taking in the scent of her hair.

‘Do you want me to ask for my garter, now?’ It was the barest whisper, fearful, but full of hope as well.

And it tugged at his heart, to know how hard she had been trying to be what he wished, and how little he had done to make it easy for her. ‘No games tonight.’ He put his arms around her. ‘Come. Sit in my lap. Tell me about your work. What is it about this Odysseus fellow that makes him worth the attentions of my Penelope?’

She hesitated at first, and then did as he said, wrapping her arms around his neck and whispering the story to him. He relaxed into the cushions of the divan, and thought what a great fool Odysseus must have been to get himself so cursed that he couldn’t find his way back, and to waste time with Calypso or Circe when everything he needed was waiting at home.

When she finished, it was late. The fire was low and the candles were guttering. She lay still against him for a moment, and then said, ‘I have talked too long.’

He stroked her head, and pulled a pin from her hair. ‘Never. But it is time for bed. Let me help you.’ He pulled more pins from her hair, uncoiling braids and combing them out with his fingers. He had never seen it down before, and the softness surprised him. He ran his fingers through the length of it, and closed his own eyes. ‘Silk. I have never felt anything so soft.’

‘It is too fine,’ she argued. ‘If I do not keep it tied, it tangles.’

He brought the strands to his face, breathing the scent of it and letting it cascade through his fingers. ‘I will braid it for you again. Later.’

She reached out to him, and caught the end of his cravat, and undid the knot, letting it slide through her fingers to the floor. The gesture was carelessly erotic, although she seemed to have no idea of the fact. Then she slid from his lap and stood up, starting toward the bedroom and looking back over her shoulder at him.

He rose as well, stripping off his coat and waistcoat, and undoing his shirt. Then he went to stand behind her, and she held her long hair out of the way as he undid her clothing. She was very still as he worked, loosening hooks and lacings, pushing her gown off her shoulders and to the floor, kissing the back of her neck. Then he went to sit on the end of the bed, pulling off his boots and stockings, and undoing the buttons on his trousers.