A throaty gurgle of laughter issued from her cherry lips. "I had to do something. You were so slow in taking all the leads I tried to give you."
"You'll have to marry me. It isn't safe to leave you loose on the town, coercing innocent fools into marriage. My mind is already made up. You can do me no harm."
"Can I not, Wickham?" she taunted, and was kissed soundly for her impertinence. The kiss was no gentler than the first one received in his meadow. The same strange swelling inside occurred, till she feared she would burst. His lips clung hungrily to hers, till at last she pulled back. It seemed wise to set out her terms before she was entirely senseless.
"I want it fully understood that I am not to be sequestered at St. Martin's while you gallivant the Season away without me," she said, with trembling breath.
It was Wickham who noticed the door was open and went to close it. He led her to a sofa before the grate and sat beside her, pulling her head to his shoulder. She lifted it and gazed at him. "Whither thou goest, Wickham," she warned.
He gazed into her eyes. "The Adriatic is just that shade when the sky is stormy," he said dreamily.
"If I happen to be increasing next spring, I shall expect you to stand by me."
His hand caressed her cheek, then rose to ruffle her hair. "Like black silk," he said, rolling a curl around his fingers.
"As to my fortune, it will be entailed on my—our son, in case anything should happen to me, and the use of it will be my own in the meanwhile."
"I was used to think you had a perfectly English face, but I see something Gallic in your smile," he mused.
"It is best to get all the details hammered out beforehand, you know." She realized he was paying not the least attention and said, "And of course I shall want a cicisebeo, to be in style in London."
Wickham gave a knowing smile. "You will not be abandoned at St. Martin's, whether you are increasing or no. What you do with your fortune is your own affair, but as to a cicisebeo—not while I have life and breath in me, madame. No one will have the opportunity to do
—this
but me." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately.
* * * *
In Laycombe, Mrs. Meacham received her mail with no particular interest, till she recognized Cousin Cecilia's writing. Then she tore the letter open eagerly and glanced through it. "Why, Cousin Cecilia is getting married!" she exclaimed.
Martha removed her finger from her mouth and said, "Who is she marrying. Mama?" She had won her beau and could revert to all her bad habits.
"Lord Wickham! Can you beat that? I always suspected there was a little something between them." She rose and hastened from the room. "Where are you going, Mama?" Alice asked. "Over to tell the Gardeners," she crowed, and emitted a most unladylike cackle of laughter.
Copyright © 1990 by Joan Smith
Originally published by Fawcett Crest (044921785X)
Electronically published in 2006 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.