Edith Layton (11 page)

“Damnation, Bridget!” he said as she turned paler. “A piece of paper hasn’t changed me into some sort of beast. I’m not going to leap at you now that I have the right to, so would you kindly take a deep breath and listen to me? You’re making me nervous. Sorry, I just made you more nervous, didn’t I?”

He took her hand, found it icy, and put his other hand over it and held it gently. He lowered his voice. “As I said, we’ve a day to fill somehow. I wish I had a houseful of guests to amuse you. But I’ve been out of London a long while. As you saw the other night,” he said ruefully, “most of the friends I’ve made since I returned aren’t suitable to be in the room with you. My older friends were unavailable at such short notice. So it’s just us, my dear, and our little flower seller. What would you like to do? Aside from that, of course,” he added with a grin.

Her eyes widened, and he knew he’d spoken her thoughts aloud. He laughed. “You really have to learn to hide your emotions—no, don’t. Forget what I said. I could have wed a fashionable lady with a mind as smooth and blank as her expression. I didn’t want that. I wanted you.” He looked at her hungrily and took her hand to his lips.

She was flattered and dismayed, eager but uncertain. He saw all that. He cleared his throat. “So,” he said, dropping her hand, “What would you like to do today? It’s a beautiful day, our wedding day, and we’ve the whole of London at our command.”

Before she could answer, the butler appeared again, looking put upon. “My lord,” he said, “there is a person
demanding
admission.”

“You’ve got that right, you fool!” a high tenor voice cried. “Ah, there you be, Betsy!” A young man appeared behind the butler and thrust his way into the room. He was reed thin, dressed in threadbare clothing a size too big. His mop of saffron hair was slicked back close to his head; he had hollow cheeks, strangely yellow eyes, and was pale as a wraith. He looked like a small yellow-topped scarecrow, Bridget thought. He sank to one knee and gathered the flower girl close. “Where’ve you been? What were you doing? I been worried sick, I were, you wretched girl. Oh, Betsy, I were half out of my mind!”

“She was with us,” Ewen said in such weary tones he even made Bridget feel small. “And
who
, may I ask, are you?”

“Her brother,” the haggard youth said, staring at Ewen. “She didn’t come back from her work on time. I knowed she were working a wedding this morning; I took her there, didn’t I? But she weren’t back in her usual place in the park by noon.”

“We invited her to the wedding feast,” Ewen said casually. “She never said she was expected anywhere else.”

“There was such a lot of good food!” Betsy told her brother excitedly. “I et and et, and when I couldn’t no more, I was figgering how I could take some home to you!”

“Don’t need no food. I do fine for us, don’t I just?” her brother muttered. “But you ought to have sent to me, Betsy, you ought. I were half crazed thinking on what happened to you.”

“But why? The gent’s a real viscount, Gilly,” the girl protested. “He’s got hisself a beautiful lady, and just look at this here house!”

“Indeed, what she says is true, miss,” Ewen said casually. “I may have a terrible reputation, but for all my sins, no one ever said I fancied children. We wanted to do nothing more than give your sister a hearty luncheon for her efforts.”

The young man turned crimson and rose to his feet, his fists clenched. “Miss, is it? Who you think you’re talking to?”

“You, my dear,” Ewen said gently. “No sense trying to deceive me.”

Bridget gaped. When she looked harder, she began to see the youth had smooth cheeks and refined features. His slender form was delicate rather than rawboned, and now he was blushing ruby red. Once Bridget began to see the female in her visitor she didn’t know how she’d ever mistaken her for a boy.

“How did you know?” Bridget asked Ewen.

“I
am
a rake, you know,” he said, and then with a gentle smile, he added, “Or I was.”

The girl shrugged. “It’s a fair cop. You rumbled me, all right. Most gents don’t. Good thing for me. that It’s a hard life in the Rookery, y’know. Any age, a girl don’t fare as well as a lad does, that’s certain sure. You are a one, though,” she told Ewen with grudging admiration.

“Is that so?” he said. “Now, take the food that’s been packed up for Betsy, and don’t worry—it’s not charity.
My lady and I are leaving London tomorrow, and there’s no sense letting so much good food go to waste. Then you may take Betsy with you; she did a good job.” He paused, thinking. He grinned at Bridget. “Shall we go to the park, too? It’s a fine day and as fine a way as any to pass it. What do you think?”

“Yes! Oh, yes. You
are
a one,” Bridget said with relief and admiration. “Just let me get my bonnet. My new one—Jocelyn said it’s all the rage.”

“I don’t doubt it. And even if it weren’t, I wouldn’t dare defy Jocelyn!” Ewen said, smiling.

Betsy’s sister made her change her clothes, too, instructing her to carefully fold the new dress and put her rags back on. “I can look after her, but no sense making it harder,” Gilly explained. “Having her to go to work in such fine togs is just asking for it! There’s them that’ll want it off her to sell. Others would take her with it, thinking she’s a nob’s kid they can hold for ransom. Rags gets her more coins. Lace will only buy her trouble.”

Bridget and Ewen said farewell to the odd pair at the gates of the park, Betsy the richer by a new frock, a basket of food, and an extra coin Ewen gave her for a job well done.

Her sister frowned as he handed the gold coin to the girl, her eyes filled with suspicion again.

“It’s the custom for the groom to bestow coins on his wedding day, my dear,” Ewen said. “I have no other motive.”

“Didn’t think you did,” Gilly grumbled as the coin disappeared in her pocket, “but a girl can’t never be too sure. Thank you kindly, my lord, and good luck to you both, I’m sure.”

Betsy and her sister bobbed their curtsies and then vanished into the green depths of the park, leaving Bridget and Ewen alone, their wedding day before them. There was an awkward moment as Bridget looked up into Ewen’s eyes, saw the leafy green of the park reflected in their sparkling depths, and couldn’t seem to drag her gaze away again.

There was another when Ewen smiled down at her, saw the faint color rise in her cheeks, and lowered his head to hers without thinking, only realizing that they weren’t alone when he heard the sudden laughter of a child.

And then there was the time when their thighs happened to touch as they sat on a bench to hear a impromptu concert by a trio of roving street musicians. They grew still as stones, intensely aware of the shape and warmth of each other’s bodies. It was only natural. Ewen wore thin, close-fitting clothing, and Bridget’s fashionable new frock was all gauze and style and very little fabric. And, of course, they bumed for each other now. The more they ignored it, the more intense it became.

Their hands touched as he handed her an ice he bought from a passing vendor. She looked down at their hands. He didn’t wear gloves. She noticed his hands were lean and tanned. He felt the smooth skin of her palm, and felt her hand shake a little as she took the ice from him. Their eyes met: hers wide and alert, expectant, as wary as they were excited; his half concealed by his eyelids, hiding his knowledge of the growing excitement consuming them both.

It was nothing like their last visit to the park. This time they hardly spoke. They didn’t kiss. They didn’t
smile at passing children or stop to pat any prancing dogs. They strolled. They looked at the sights. But they only saw each other. All they could do was think of each other, so close, so near.
So nearly really married
, Bridget thought.
So nearly mine
, Ewen thought.

They headed back to his townhouse as the day faded to pastel shadows.

Well, at least it will be dark soon
, Bridget thought nervously. She knew what would happen. She was twenty-five years old, after all. And mad Cousin Mary had led an interesting life that she insisted on sharing with everyone in her advancing years—which was one of the reasons the family had finally sent Bridget away. They’d been mortified by the things Cousin Mary said. Bridget was more realistic. She had an open mind about what was to come. Mad Cousin Mary had quite enjoyed herself, although Bridget thought that what she described sounded…fascinating.

I
t may be fine or it may be dreadful, but either way
I
won’t complain
, Bridget thought as she walked, head down, to her wedding night,
because he’s kind and so attractive, and he’s my husband, after all
.

Sheep have cavorted more gaily on their way to the slaughter house
, Ewen thought, smiling to himself,
as if
I’
d bring anything but pleasure to my tender lamb
.

“We can’t go out tonight because we have to leave so early tomorrow,” he told Bridget as they entered the house again, “so I’ve asked Cook to prepare another wedding feast for us. He’s such a perfectionist, it won’t be ready for hours. That’s as well, as it was a huge wedding breakfast, wasn’t it? I’ve a message to write to my father and travel plans to make in the meanwhile. But I don’t like leaving you alone on our wedding day. Tell
you what—why don’t you go up and rest? Better yet, have a nice luxurious soak in the tub until dinner’s served. Then you can dress in something magnificent and we’ll pretend we’re at a banquet.”

“That sounds wonderful,” she said with relief.

“I’m sorry you don’t have your own maid yet, but I thought that as we were leaving London so soon, there’d be no point in hiring one now. There’ll be plenty of servants to attend you when we get to the manor; my father keeps a full staff. If you need any help in the meanwhile, I’d be glad to assist….”

“Oh, no, I can do for myself, I always have,” she assured him nervously, and hurried up the stairs to her room.

My room
? she thought as she took off her new dress and slipped on a new dressing gown. Would he expect to come in here tonight? Or would she be expected to go to his room? For that matter, would they share one room, or have separate bedchambers, as fashionable couples often did? L
ater, later, later
, she thought as she went down the hall to the bath. She had time, and he’d know what to do. T
he good thing about rakes is that they’ve done this all before, it’s nothing new to them
. But that thought made her feel a little blue, too.

The bath
was
luxurious. She found a bottle of salts and tipped some into the tub. They made the water smell like sweet pine and flowers. It foamed and fizzed deliciously around her body when she sat down in the water. She’d pinned up her hair to keep it from getting wet, and the scented water came up to her collarbones.
Ahhh, a body could drown in pleasure in this house
, she thought languorously as she floated there—and then, as she thought about what passed through her mind, she sat up again and started to wash a little too vigorously.

But the washcloth slowed as her thoughts did. She’d have to be sure and wash everywhere, because one never had a notion as to what a man might do. Mad Cousin Mary had known a dragoon with the strangest preferences…or perhaps, Bridget thought as she relaxed in the water, her mind slowing and her senses heightening, perhaps not so strange, after all. She couldn’t see some of the parts mad Cousin Mary had cackled about. But when she looked down, what she did see made sense of some stories she’d heard. Her breasts were actually very pretty, weren’t they? With their pink tips and pleasing shape, so buoyant in the water before her, no wonder a man might like to…and as for the other parts…

Your mind ought to be scrubbed up, too, my girl
, a scandalized Bridget told herself, because the water was cooling, her body was heating, and the time was passing. She concentrated on washing. When she was sure she was done, she stepped out of the high tub and reached for a towel—

And found herself being gently wrapped in one instead.

It was good that he took her outstretched hand, else she would have stumbled. She whirled around, her eyes wide. He was also wearing a dressing gown. His hair was damp, and though his voice was calm and deep, his face was hard and tight.

“I was washing up, too,” Ewen said as he folded the towel close around her, “and it occurred to me you might need some help. That leaves you speechless, does it? I don’t blame you. I certainly never heard a worse lie. I didn’t want to go through the uneasy dinner, the awkward conversation after, and then all the uncom
fortable, insincere maneuverings to get you upstairs, naked, and in my arms. I simply cut the process short. Ah, but you are exquisite!”

He had whisked the towel away. She stood, head down, not daring to open her eyes to see her own nakedness, or the naked desire she heard in his voice now.

“Bridget,” he said, taking her in his arms, which was better for her in one way, because he obviously couldn’t see her, but worse in others, because she could feel every inch of his long, hard body against her. And there was considerably more than she’d felt before. Now there was no doubt what was under his dressing gown: nothing but that strong, lean body, which had changed. She felt the unfamiliar hard contour of his sex pressed against her belly, and it made her breath catch.

“If you can honestly say you don’t want me…,” he whispered, angling his head so his lips were by her ear.

“You’d wait until another time?” she asked breathlessly.

“Certainly not,” he said on a huff of a laugh. His hand caressed the silken skin on her back, her sides, down to the curve of her rear. “Lord, you’re good to touch,” he murmured, and added in her ear, “Aren’t you curious? How can you listen to me, talk to me, understand a word I’m saying, when you’re so busy wondering how we’ll be together? I can’t think for wanting you. How can we get to know each other better if we don’t know each other now?”

W
ell, that was definitely a good point
, Bridget thought dazedly, feeling his hand tracing circles on her body, feeling her arousal in the strangest places, feeling his arousal clearly as he cupped her bottom and pulled her against himself. D
efinitely a good point, oh my
!