Come Near Me (15 page)

Just four and twenty hours ago she’d been indulging
herself in an enjoyable tramp through the lovely countryside, with
not a care in her small world or a thought to her future.

What had happened to her? How had it happened? When
had her appearance not only become important to her but a curiosity
to her? She never remembered being this conscious of herself as a
female, this unusually
aware
of her own body. Was it because
of the way the marquess of Daventry looked at her? Stared at her?
What did he see that she’d never seen? Was she really pretty? A
person should know that, she believed, if that person paid
attention. Why had she never paid attention until yesterday
afternoon?

She felt like a plant that has lain dormant over
nearly nineteen winters, sleeping and unaware, only to find itself
suddenly forced through the surface of life and immediately
encouraged to flower.

Sherry stopped pacing partway between a large willow
and a flowering bush she didn’t recognize, and sat herself down on
the grassy bank, pulling off her shoes and hose in order to dangle
her feet in the cool water.

He’d kissed her. Again and again. She’d allowed it.
Again and again. Encouraged it. Had liked it very, very much.

How could she have done that? There was a word for
girls like her; she’d heard it a time or two.
Fast.
That’s
what she would be called if anyone knew she’d allowed the marquess
to kiss her. There were probably worse words for a girl who wanted
him to kiss her again today, and hang the consequences.

He was quite entirely above her touch, of course.
Older. So very intelligent. Titled and sophisticated and horribly
important. Able to say witty things without effort, tease her about
marriage and laugh at her in the same breath.

He couldn’t really be interested in her. Not simple,
uncomplicated, barely aware Charlotte Victor. Not in Charlotte the
girl, or in Sherry, the sometimes dreamer. Happy, probably horribly
shallow, naive, silly Charlotte Victor, who found her greatest
happiness in simply
being,
not
accomplishing.
Why,
her greatest aspiration, before yesterday, had been to explore more
of the countryside and perhaps find another private, shady spot in
which to read her book.

For all of the quite respectable, upper-class blood
that flowed through her veins, she couldn’t be more of a country
miss if she had straw in her hair and a milk pail in her hand. She
might know of the existence of the Privy Council, but the marquess
of Daventry had probably met them all, knew all their names, was
routinely invited to dine at their houses.

What could he possibly see in her? Except
that.

Which wasn’t so very terrible, Sherry decided,
smiling as she kicked at the water with her bare toes.
That
was very nice, actually.

Did that make her “fast”? Yes, it probably did. Did
she care? No, she decided, she probably didn’t.

“I would wish Geoff here with his paints, to capture
the way you look, Miss Victor, with the sun shining down at you
through the trees, except that I’d rather not share this moment
with anyone. No—don’t move, don’t change a thing. Please. Just let
me look at you.”

Sherry sat very still, her hands braced on the bank,
her right leg extended above the water, her bare flesh exposed
almost to the knee. Then she tipped back her head, looked up at the
marquess, and laughed. She’d been worried about seeing him again?
Worried about what she’d do, what she’d say? How silly! Joking with
the marquess of Daventry, teasing with him, was as natural as
breathing. “You could always have a statue commissioned, my lord.
You could call it
Girt Shivering with One Foot in Cold
Stream.”

“Well, in that case, Miss Victor,” Adam said,
extending a hand to help her to her feet, “I suppose you should be
allowed to move. I remember how cold that water is, you know. Lord,
but it’s wonderful to see you again. I woke this morning,
half-believing I’d dreamed the whole thing.”

“And this isn’t a dream?” Sherry asked, wondering
when it was that she’d learned to look up at a man through her
lowered lashes, how she knew that this simple maneuver held a power
potent beyond imagination.

“Not if Geoff’s unmerciful teasing at the breakfast
table could be taken as an indication that, yes, he did catch me
out last night in the rose garden, making a fool of myself.”

Sherry blinked at him. Once. Twice. “Making a fool
of yourself?” she asked quietly. “How?”

His smile lit her world, that small, silly world
she’d lived in so long, never knowing it hadn’t contained the full
brilliance of the sun. “By letting you leave, I suppose. Why did I
let you leave me, if even for a moment?” He raised a hand to her
cheek, allowed his fingers to drift softly over her skin. “Dreams,
especially those very rare real-life dreams, should be held
tightly, or else they slip away.”

Looking up at him through her lashes had been the
limit of Sherry’s expertise in this new world of flirtation, of
dalliance. “I—I think I’m frightened, my lord,” she said honestly,
blurting out exactly what was on her mind. Truth, her mama had told
her more than once, was Sherry’s greatest failing.

“Yes,” he said slowly, his hand falling back to his
side, a small frown marring his smooth forehead, clouding his dark
eyes. “So am I, Miss Victor. So am I. Are you hungry? I’ve brought
a basket, as promised.”

She watched him as he retrieved a blanket and wicker
basket from a spot just on the other side of the trees. He spread a
thick plaid blanket on the ground, then motioned for her to sit
down.

How handsome he was, even more so in a simple white
shirt and tan breeches than he had been last night, when he’d been
clad in more formal, fashionable attire. She liked him better this
way, with his dark hair slightly rumpled by the breeze, without the
starch and correctness of evening dress. He wasn’t nearly so
formidable, although he was twice as impressive.

“I’ll do that,” she said quickly, as he moved to
open the basket. “You go over there, behind the willow tree, and
bring back my contribution. You do like cakes, don’t you? I—I rose
rather early this morning, and badgered Cook into allowing me use
of her kitchen.”

He raised one dark, winged brow. “Are you saying,
Miss Victor, that you have baked us some cakes? Surely I’m
mistaken.”

“No,” Sherry said as she knelt over the basket,
reaching into it and pulling out a large napkin folded over a
roasted half chicken. “I’m very good at cakes. Not quite as
talented with a piecrust, I’m afraid. Papa says he could sole his
boots with my piecrust. But you’ll like these spiced cakes, I
promise. I put raisins in them.”

Adam put the small basket holding a half dozen
round, icing-dribbled cakes on the blanket, but not until he’d
lifted the top of the basket and breathed in deeply. “I can see
there’s a good deal I don’t know about you, Miss Victor—Sherry, if
I might. I think we’re already miles beyond ‘Miss Victor’ and ‘my
lord,’ don’t you?”

“Mrs. Forrest would have said miles and miles, my
lord. All the way past the most distant boundaries of Perdition, as
a matter of fact.”

“Adam. My name is Adam, Sherry.”

She felt herself blush, which was beyond anything
ridiculous. She’d kissed the man, for heaven’s sake. She could
certainly say his name. “Adam,” she said quietly, handing him the
bottle of wine from the Daventry cellars she found tucked into the
side of the basket.

Rather than taking the wine, he closed his hand over
hers, held it fast until she looked at him. “I don’t know about
you, Sherry, but I think if we were to kiss, just one time, we’d
both relax a little. As it is, I can feel your tension, and I’m
worried you’ll run away in another minute. Although your retreat
would be a bit hindered, until you could find your shoes. Has
anyone ever told you that you have beautiful ankles?”

Sherry curled her bare toes, drawing her legs more
fully under her skirts. “I doubt a kiss is going to do anything to
relax me, Adam, if you insist on talking to me this way. Or does
everyone speak this way in Society? I don’t know whether to take
you seriously, or if I should laugh and say things like ‘La, sir,
you do flatter me so.’”

She frowned. “Except that, remembering my lessons
from Mrs. Forrest, I don’t believe gentlemen should say the word
ankles
in front of ladies. We’re supposed to pretend such
things don’t really exist. I believe we’re supposed to put forth
the notion that we have two long Sticks with wheels attached to
them under our skirts, and that’s all.”

“Wheels?” Adam’s grin lit her universe. “Well, now,
that does it, Sherry. I have to kiss you now. You’re simply too
delightful for me to do anything else.”

She put out a hand, placing it against his chest as
they both knelt on the blanket. “No,” she said, even as she longed
to throw herself into his arms. “I met you yesterday, Adam. You met
me yesterday. Since then, my entire world has turned upside down
and inside out, until I don’t know who I am, or who you are—not
that I ever did, of course. I don’t know what’s right or wrong, or
much care. So you’re going to have to help me, all right?”

He took hold of her hand as it lay against his
chest, stroked it. “Help you, Sherry? Gladly. I’ve said it a
thousand times before, or more, but for the first time I truly mean
the words. I am your servant, madam.”

She felt tears pricking at the back of her eyes,
blinked them away. “Are you teasing me, Adam, Marquess of Daventry?
Am I losing my heart to a moment’s madness as the peer amuses
himself while being bored in the country, waiting for the Season to
begin? Because I believe I’d rather stop now, run away now, than to
continue this.”

“Continue what, Sherry?” he interrupted. “Continue
being here with me? Continue feeling what we’re both feeling?
Because I’m mad for you, you know. Completely and utterly mad for
you. And I doubt I could
stop
any more than I could halt
Buckfastleigh’s Prize if he took it into his head to have himself a
piece of that delicious chicken I’ve got absolutely no hunger for
at the moment. I’d much rather feed on your mouth, my sweet,
confused love. That wasn’t particularly flowery, especially
mentioning the bull, but I’m feeling a little light-headed at the
moment, Sherry, so I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Stop it, Adam, all right?” she demanded, pulling
her hand free and rather ungracefully getting to her feet so that
she could stare down at him. “Stop it right now, please. I’m sorry
I can’t tease and flirt, but I never learned how. I never cared to.
Why, you won’t believe it, considering how fast I’ve been, but I
never even kissed a man until last night. What? Well, I hadn’t! Are
you laughing at me? You
are—
you
are!
You’re laughing
at me. What are you laughing at? Stop that! I haven’t said anything
even remotely funny. Adam!”

She was on the blanket again somehow, she wasn’t
sure how she had gotten to be there, lying on her back. Adam was on
his knees, leering over her, still laughing, his eyes shining, his
posture intimate, but not at all threatening.

“Don’t move,” he said, shifting his weight for a
moment, picking up something, holding it in front of him, a rather
abashed look on his handsome face. She saw the small basket she’d
packed with cakes, the sadly crushed basket, imagined the ruined
cakes inside it. “Ah, Sherry, I’m so sorry,” he said, the corners
of his mouth twitching rather adorably. Was there anything about
him, this so sophisticated gentleman of society, that wasn’t
adorable? “I seem to have put my foot in it this time—or at least
my knee. Will you forgive me?”

Sherry felt a bubble of laughter rising inside her.
“I suppose that might be another way of looking at the old saying
about not being able to both have your cake and eat it, too? I
mean, you can have your share, Adam, but I seriously doubt you’ll
want to eat it now.”

He tossed the basket away—Sherry thought she heard a
small splash—and placed his hands on either side of her head,
tangling his fingers in her unbound hair as it spread around her on
the blanket. “This is wrong, and yet it’s so right. I know I should
be going slow, courting you. But I can’t do it. You’re too
precious, and I’d rather slit my own throat than go through weeks
and months of silliness when we both know what we want. We do,
don’t we? Mad and crazy as it is, we
do
know. If you feel
what I’m feeling, let me kiss you now, Sherry. One kiss, that’s as
far as I can trust myself, and we’ll go see your father. I’ve
already sent off to London for a special license. I can do that you
know. I’m the marquess of Daventry, thank God. But I really believe
I need to marry you before the week is out, my darling Sherry. I
really, really do.”

She believed him. She believed every word he said to
her. How could she do anything else?

“But, as I pointed out last night, Adam, I haven’t
asked,” Sherry teased, any remaining misgivings melting away
beneath the heat of his gaze. Yes, it
was
possible to tease
and still be quite serious at the same time. It was possible to
love, and to laugh, and to want nothing more than this man, this
moment. It was possible to embrace a dream. “Neither of us, as a
matter of fact, has asked the question.”

“Perhaps not,” he said, lowering his mouth toward
hers as she saw all of her tomorrows in his eyes, “but I believe we
both know the answer.”

After...

Appearances are often deceiving.

— Aesop

S
herry awoke
smiling, her mind still wrapped in a lovely dream. She was loved,
she was cherished, she was...

She pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling an
involuntary dry sob.