Bridal Favors - Engaged in Wickedness (8 page)

"Why yes!" Debra exclaimed. "At least then I would know what to talk about! Scholarly men are so easy. You simply ask them about their studies and it will be hours before their conversation lags."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Just ask the non-scholarly men about their dogs or their horses and you shall have the same result. Or the politicians about their politics. The cits never stop talking about their money. They're all the same."

Except for Edward, or so she'd thought. He'd wanted to talk about her, about her streak of wildness that drove her to such mad things. That's what he'd said last night. Unless he'd been lying, but she didn't think so. Then again it didn't matter since he'd left. Lying or not, he wasn't here to carry through on his promise.

"All men disappoint us in the end," she said, then was startled when Debra responded. She hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud.

"Not all men. Just the wrong men."

"What?"

"The wrong men are disappointing because they are not the right one, of course."

Gwen shrugged. "I begin to despair that the right one exists at all."

"Perhaps that is because you are not the right woman for your right man just yet." Debra said the words so breezily, that for a moment Gwen could not credit the depth of her words. And even when she began to understand, all she could do was gape and stammer out a single word.

"W-what?"

"Well," Debra said slowly. "I know I am too shy, too awkward, and too nervous all the time. What man—right or wrong—can find me behind all that? I will have to become the right woman for the right man to find me."

Gwen stared at her new friend, her impression of the girl's intelligence leaping upwards. "That's... why that's really very insightful, Debra."

Debra blushed a bright pink, and Gwen was startled by how beautiful the girl was. Add that to her surprising intelligence, and the girl could become a veritable catch. Her charms were just hidden beneath all the other problems of her mother and her terrible shyness.

"Um, might I be so bold?" Debra began, her face becoming alarmingly red.

Gwen slowed her steps. "Yes?"

"Last night was very strange. Your behavior at the ball and the way you disappeared. Even I know it was very odd, and that is saying something indeed."

Gwen looked away, feeling her cheeks flush hot. "That was not typical behavior for me at a ball," she lied.

"Of course not. If it were, then your reputation most certainly would have suffered."

It was only luck that had kept her safe so far, she knew. Eventually her luck would run out. She knew that, but somehow she couldn't seem to stop herself. Especially since her friends aided her in her efforts. They all knew how poorly she was supervised, and every one of them happily covered for her misdeeds in return for a detailed account of Gwen's adventures. Which up until last night had been tame indeed.

"Perhaps," Gwen offered slowly, "we should make a bargain, we two. You promise to work especially hard on your shyness, and I shall promise to help you find the right man."

Debra looked as if she had just been given a gift from the heavens. Her eyes sparkled with hope and she squeezed Gwen's arm in excitement. But her words were very serious, and once again proved that she had a quick mind. "And how shall I help you, Gwen? What do you need me to do for you?"

"You shall help me think about how to become the right woman so the right man can find me."

Debra's expression turned very serious. "Don't you already know your deepest flaw?"

"What?" gasped Gwen, terribly afraid that the girl had seen through all her schemes and designs.

"You are such a confident and smart woman. Surely you know your greatest flaws by now, whatever they are."

Gwen bit her lip and looked away. "Well, yes, I suppose I have an idea."

"You needn't tell me. Just let me know as we go about what you want help with. I shall do everything I can."

Gwen nodded, then the two of resumed their walk to Mayfair. They were already on the outskirts with shops nearly everywhere one looked. But as the two oohed and ahhed over various trinkets, Gwen's mind began to churn.

She had begun her relationship with Debra as a lark and a kindness. She wanted to help a terribly shy girl over the trauma of a ballroom accident. Then she wanted to know more about Edward. She never really thought of Debra as an equal, more like a pet project.

But the more time they spent together, Gwen saw how very special Debra was. Smart, unafraid of challenging herself to be better, and possibly the most interesting person in her set, excepting Edward of course, but he was in a class all his own.

"Debra," she said rather too abruptly, "I believe we could become real friends. Or at least I hope we can."

The woman smiled warmly at her. "I hope so, too. And now perhaps I should tell you something you don't already know about Edward."

Gwen brightened, not at all surprised that Debra had figured out her intense interest in Sir Edward. "Yes?"

"Before his father died, Edward was much more of a rapscallion than people thought. I only know because Connie told me, and Connie doesn't think she knows a tenth of the things he did."

Gwen wasn't really surprised. After all, the man had climbed into her bedroom. "Did he get in trouble?"

"That's just the thing. He never did. All the adults loved him."

"Of course they would. There's nothing the least bit objectionable about him."

Debra waggled her eyebrows. "Or so they believe. See, that's what I wanted to tell you. If I ever chose to do something wicked, well I would look to Edward. He would know just how to do it without getting caught."

"Really?" Gwen was simultaneously horrified and intrigued. After all, she had let the man into her bedroom. And done a great deal more than that with him. Where was this headed? To disaster or something far better?

"Damn the man for being gone!" she abruptly huffed.

"Don't worry," Debra said with a giggle. "He'll be back soon and with some new plan. He always has one, you know. And they always turn out fun. Not always well, mind you, but they're always fun."

Chapter 7

Lady Gwen was sobbing. The sound was clear as could be to Edward as he stood beneath her window and listened. But it wasn't just sobbing. It was more like the heartbroken cries of a woman at the edge of madness. It gave him chills to hear and made him re-think again whether he should be visiting in the dead of night.

He shouldn't, of course, but was he going to let that deter him?

After two maddening weeks at home with a sulky sister and an angry mother, he'd finally been able to finish the estate work to return to London. Even better, he'd left the women at home so he was free to do as he pleased. And what he pleased was to find Lady Gwen.

But she wasn't at any of the balls he attended and when he finally found Debra, she told him that Gwen had cut her evening short early to go home. A bit of a headache, she'd said. What he heard now was not a headache but a despair that cut him to the quick.

Surely that wasn't Gwen? He frowned at the windows above him, trying to isolate the location of the sound. In the end, he decided it was unimportant. If that was Gwen, then he had to see if he could help her. And if it wasn't Gwen, then he couldn't abandon her to deal with it alone. So he dragged off his shoes and jacket, then grabbed a fistful of ivy and began to climb.

He reached her window and was grateful to find it cracked open. A moment later he was inside her darkened bedroom. The coals in the fireplace gave enough light to show that the room was empty. And he was also able to tell that the wailing was coming from down the hallway.

Which gave him a new quandary. Did he leave her bedroom to find her? It was bad enough that he was climbing ivy to see her in the middle of the night. It was much worse for him to be prowling about her home like a common burglar.

But what if the distraught woman was her? The noise had subsided a bit. Less wails, more wrenching sobs. He had to know if it was her. He had to help her.

Damning himself for a fool, he crept to her bedroom door and put his hand on the knob. He would ease it open and peek—

The door turned and pushed inward, banging him soundly on the nose. He bit his lip in alarm and barely restrained himself from cursing as he stumbled backwards. Whoever had opened the door had done so with force!

He heard a squeak of alarm and then the full brightness of a lamp being held aloft.

"Oh, bloody hell!" cried Gwen. His eyes were still watering, so he could not see clearly. But he imagined that the figure coming into the room and slamming her bedroom door was Gwen. At least he prayed it was; otherwise he was in the soup for sure. Fortunately, her next words put his mind at ease.

"Now? You come back tonight of all nights? Good God, Edward, you have the worst sense of timing in the world!"

She spoke in a full out fury making no attempt to moderate her tone. Meanwhile, he pulled his hands down from his throbbing nose and was grateful when his fingers were not covered in blood.

"You are rather, um, strong for a woman."

She gaped at him. He could see her now that his eyes were clearing. "That is what you wish to say to me? After all this time, you tell me that I'm strong?"

He bit his lip. This was not how he had imagined his reunion with her. He swallowed, trying to marshal his wits. "I'm glad it's not you crying."

The sounds of sobbing continued from down the hallway, and they were obviously not hers.

"I don't cry," she snapped as she dropped the lamp onto her dressing table. "I stomp around and open doors with force." She glared at him. "Sometimes I even throw things." When he had no response to that, she dropped her hands on her hips. "Edward, what are you doing here?"

He straightened. He wanted to touch her, to take her hand or kiss her fingers. And he wanted to kiss a great deal more than her fingers, but right now it was clear she would not accept such a gesture from him. And truthfully, he could not blame her. After all, he was the one who had just climbed unasked for into her bedroom.

"I, um, I just got back into London and..." Goodness this sounded completely ridiculous. "I went to the Stoutham ball and the Smyth musicale, but you weren't there."

"I
was
there—at both—but I left early."

"Yes, that's what Debra said."

"She told me you wouldn't return until tomorrow at the earliest."

So she had been keeping track of his return? That thought cheered him enormously. Until he realized that she was still glaring at him. "I came back as soon as I could."

The conversation stopped then. An awkward silence descended, and he had never known how to end those. So he decided to be done with it. He had wanted to see her, had dreamed about it almost non-stop while he was away. And now that he was here, he would not allow awkwardness to deter him.

With a muffled curse, he crossed the room to her. He didn't dare kiss her as he wanted, but he stepped to within an inch of her.

"A good man would have waited until tomorrow to call. A good man would not have searched through London for you only to stand beneath your window. And a good man would not have climbed in like a burglar. So I am obviously
not
a good man. But, Gwen, I had to see you again. And when I heard that sound..."

He meant to gesture to the noise down the hallway. He meant to sweep her into his arms if she gave him the least indication that she would forgive him. He meant a lot of things, but she never gave him the chance. She kissed him. She stretched up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. And that was all the blessing he needed to wrap his arms around her and kiss her as he had been dreaming.

Her mouth was hot, her body pliant. She fit against him so beautifully, soft where a woman should be and solid where he needed her to be. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, drawing him closer even as he lifted her up more firmly into his embrace.

Their mouths were mashed together, their tongues dueling with a frenzy that sent his head reeling. He took a staggering step forward, bracing them against a wall. And when she did not lessen her assault he released her to make more free with his hands. Pressed as she was against the wall, he was able to touch her face as he wanted while her pelvis cradled him in a way that had him thinking of the bed not a foot away.

But they needed breath, and so he broke the kiss, shifting to press his lips against her cheek. His madness only receded when he tasted salt on her skin. Tears, he realized, though the knowledge came slowly to his fevered brain.

He slowed, resting his forehead against hers as he tried to find some quiet space for thought. It was hard, especially as her hands came up to draw him back to her mouth.

He couldn't deny her, and so within a moment their mouths were pressed tightly together again, their bodies nearly one. But he couldn't forget the salt he'd tasted. She'd been crying. So he broke the kiss, holding her back while they both gasped for air.

"Gwen," he said, fighting for control. "Gwen, we have to stop or I will end up taking you here against the wall."