Edith Layton (13 page)

“I’ll be a good wife to you, Damon, or at least, I’ll try,” Gilly said, saying what she’d been thinking since she’d read Drum’s letter. “I don’t react like other women because I haven’t lived like them and don’t know how. But believe this if nothing else—I want to marry you. I want to be good for you. I’m nervous about it. But never doubt my intentions now.”

He wasn’t sure. Her voice trembled with too much
suppressed emotion, there was still too much he didn’t understand.

But when he took her in his arms and she gave him her lips, shuddering under the lightest touch of his hands, he knew it wasn’t from distaste or fear. Of that, he had no doubt. And with all his cleverness and perception, he was still only a man. With a willing, warm woman in his arms, pressed against his heart. The woman he desired with all his heart.

“Oh, Gilly,” he breathed into her hair at last. “Damn and blast that wretched Sally Hedges anyhow!”

In that moment, she agreed, and silently damned poor Sally’s soul to hell.

H
e usually wondered where he would find the willpower to let her go when he kissed her good night during those scant treasured private moments they were allowed each evening. But this afternoon they’d talked about doubts, and tonight Damon was bedeviled by them. Now something was niggling at the edges of his delight at having this lovely, vital creature so warm and willing in his arms. He left off kissing Gilly and gazed at her, trying to read her mood. She was everything acquiescent, her eyes closed, unreadable. But when he’d caressed her breast she’d caught her breath. He’d moved his hand to her back and she relaxed. Her breathless reaction had happened before when his caresses grew bolder. Tonight, in his uneasy mood, he wondered. Was it a gasp of fear or pleasure? And so he
experimented with her senses, and sacrificed his own.

He took her back into his arms, kissed her, and gently cupped her breast again. She gasped again, and shivered. He removed his hand. “Gilly?” he asked quietly. “Do you dislike it when I touch you?”

Her eyes flew wide. “How can you ask such a thing?”

“Because just now, when I touched you, you didn’t seem so much thrilled as chilled. A fine distinction, but one I worry about. Was it a shiver of anticipation—or a shudder?” He wished they could talk about this somewhere intimate and dark, where they could be alone for hours. Like in his bed, he thought, and smiled at the ridiculous thought as he waited for her answer.

“I like your touching me,” she said. “It just makes me nervous. I mean,
that
kind of touching. I expect I’ll get used to it.”

“I’d rather you didn’t—get used to it, that is. It’s supposed to always be thrilling. Gilly?” His voice became softer, “Is it because of what happened to you when you were young? I know thinking and feeling are two different things, but you yourself said you didn’t blame all men…”

“I don’t! It’s just that
serious
touching isn’t the same as the other kind. You know, it isn’t just touching…it’s
fondling
,” she said, triumphant at finding the right word. She squirmed. “I suppose it does make me a bit nervous. I know what’s to come, is all. I’ll get over it.”

He was appalled. “No, you won’t! Gilly, oh Gilly, that’s not what’s to come. You know about violence. You don’t know about the way of a man with a woman.”

“Do I not?” she asked, her head to the side, grinning cheekily as the boy she once pretended to be. “Damon,
oh Damon,” she mocked him, reaching up and stroking back a curl from his forehead, “I told you I’m no sheltered miss. I know about men and women. Plenty. I lived in cellars, I shared rooms with dozens of people—when I was lucky enough to find one to share. You close your eyes and ears. But not before you find out what you’re closing them to.

“Where I lived before? Huh,” she said scornfully, “not much room for ignorance about ‘the way of a man with a maid’ there, I can tell you. Not just in sleeping quarters! Bad enough in the rookery, when I was on my own. But even before, I saw things done in doorways and alleyways, against fences and walls, all kinds of things—for sport or coin—since I was little. My mother walked me past, fast, and I learned to look the other way. But I saw enough to know what’s what, I assure you!”

“That’s not what I mean, either,” he said. “Fences and walls? Gads! I think you’ve seen more that I’ve done!” He laughed, but shook his head, his eyes somber.
There it is, the riddle, the lure of Gilly Giles
, he thought. Such an angelic face, so lovely, more so because it was so honest and unguarded. She’d seen and done more than any female ought to have, and yet remained untouched in the soul of her.

“Gilly, I’m not saying I’ve been celibate. But I haven’t been rakish, either. The truth is that though I’ve had affairs of the heart and body, I’ve never actually bought a woman, in so many words—or deeds. Gifts are one thing—commerce another. I never enjoyed visiting fashionable brothels, like so many…. Good God!” he shook his head, astonished. “What a thing to tell you!
I wouldn’t discuss this with any other woman, but that’s the point, you’re
not
any other woman, so I have to tell you. There’s a world of difference between love, or even fondness, and sex as commerce. Giving pleasure is as important as taking it. At least for me, and for most decent men, and any man honestly in love. It’s more than your body I want. I’m trying to tell you it’s
you
I want to reach when I touch your body.

“Can you understand that?” he asked, watching the sudden doubt and wariness in her eyes. “I don’t want you enduring me. I won’t have you accepting me. Can you trust me enough to let yourself be loved by me?”

She thought about it. “And if I can’t?”

“Well, then,” he said, his heart growing heavy, “I don’t know what to say. But I’m being foolish. How can you promise a thing you can’t try?”

“You want me to share your bed before we marry?” she asked, obviously considering it. “Well, I don’t know….”

“I
do
!” he said, shocked. “No, and no again! Because good as it might be, it’s the opposite of what I mean.” He sighed. “I don’t mean just bodily love. I meant love in all it’s dimensions. I won’t ask you for the one without I give you the other. I just wondered if you thought you could trust me enough to enjoy my lovemaking. It’s important, Gilly,” he added when she didn’t speak.

“I think,” she said carefully, “I could learn to enjoy your lovemaking. But Damon,” she added, troubled. “What if I don’t? B
last
! You see? A nice well brought up young thing wouldn’t worry about that, would she?”

“Exactly,” he said, drawing her back. “Precisely why you’re the only young thing for me.”

They shared a long deep kiss. This time she didn’t gasp when he touched her. But when he put his lips to her throat, she did. And when he put his whole palm over the tightened bud of her breast, she froze, but then wriggled, and it was finally Damon who had to gasp. They looked at each other. Gilly giggled.

Damon grinned. “Now that,” he said as he reluctantly rose to leave, “was just what I had in mind.”

“Only that?” she asked pertly.

He left in laughter. Which was as well, he thought as he strolled back to his hotel. Because the longing was too painful without laughter to relieve it. It was a physical ache as well as a longing for her love.

But his mind was made up. It would take time, it would test his endurance, but he had time and endurance. The day would come when she’d want him as much as he wanted her. He had her memories to overcome. But other men had their brides’ shyness or ignorance or rigid upbringings to deal with. She, at least, was braver and willing to talk about things other girls might faint at.

Damon was resolved. He may not have been a rake, but he’d been a lover. He’d do what he could. And there was much he could do. He’d tempt and tease her and show her her own desires. Good things had always come easily to him, but he knew the best things took time and cunning. Gilly Giles, the singular girl who had pretended to be a boy, and now waited to be a woman? She was the best thing he’d found in his lifetime, and he was greedy enough to want her the best she could be. She’d lived through an experience that could have soured another woman, angered her against all men
for all time, even driven her mad. She’d triumphed over it. More than that, he knew she’d only denied the passions she had in her. Passions he could tap for both of them.

A
campaign, then
, Damon told himself. A war waged with kisses, caresses, soft breaths, and light touches, promising delight, just avoiding ecstasy. B
y the time we’re wed
, he promised himself,
she’ll be breathless with eagerness to be in my bed
. A
wonderful scheme, if
I
can survive the campaign
, he thought, and laughed aloud, causing other strollers to give him a wide berth.

Gilly was still chuckling as she went to her room. W
ell, well, well
, she thought contentedly. W
ho’d have imagined
I’
d feel such pleasure-at that
? But she had, when she’d let herself. Shocking, slightly frightening, and so awfully exciting.

She was a practical soul. She didn’t forget Drum. She could never do that. But Drum was a dream. Damon was her new reality. A potent one. His face was a treat, his body very fine, and his gentle persuasion caused her to feel inchoate longings she’d never believed she could. So, she thought contentedly, she well might be able to give him what he wanted and deserved, and there might be more in it for her than she’d thought.

Damon didn’t touch more than Gilly’s hand when he called on her the next morning. But she felt the warmth of it right through her gloves. Something had changed. He’d brought another open carriage for their drive in the park. They didn’t speak much, but
exchanged long measuring glances before she had to look away. There was definitely something new between them. Something that made her senses tingle and turned his smile slow and knowing. This morning, they were chaperoned by legions of nannies, children, milkmaids, and strollers. But they remembered what had been said and those nighttime thoughts pervaded these daylight moments. She was bemused. He was aware of it, and enchanted.

Until they got back. They stepped in the door, and found the Sinclair’s townhouse under siege, Ewen and Bridget doing their best to cope with a throng of eager visitors awaiting Damon’s return.

Damon’s family had arrived. Or, more accurately, invaded. But it was a merry, handsome horde that had descended on the Sinclairs. So many tall, laughing, good-looking men and women converged on Damon when he entered the front door that Gilly stepped back, amazed and dismayed. He’d mentioned his brothers and sisters, but she wasn’t prepared for the effect of them all together.

They were a handsome family and bore marked resemblance to each other. Gilly thought none of their features as finely chiseled as Damon’s, and none had his body’s perfect proportions. But they weren’t the only ones there. There were others who were obviously in-laws, and their children, too, for all Gilly knew.

They pounced on Damon, overjoyed to see him again. They couldn’t wait for the wedding, one said. It was time for a trip to London to get ready for the wedding anyway, another said. And “Botheration!” one exclaimed, if he wouldn’t come to them, they’d come
to him, their Damon was in England at last, and bedamned to waiting until autumn to see him.

“And where’s the enchanting Miss Giles?” one of the men demanded when the first flurry of back-slapping and bear-hugging was over.

“Yes, from your letters we’re expecting Aphrodite!” another called.

“Aphrodite and Circe and Venus all in one,” a man laughed.

“Dolt!” another man sang out. “Aphrodite
is
Venus, what will she think of you?”

“She’ll think you hated school as much as you did, Alfred,” Damon said, drawing back, coming to Gilly and taking her icy hand in his. He squeezed it as he faced his family.

“Mother, Father,” he said formally. “Sisters, brothers, and brothers and sisters-in-law, nephews, nieces…Lord! No wonder she’s trembling. What a multitude to present her to! But she’s a brave lass. After all, she’s agreed to marry me. May I present Miss Gilly Giles, my promised—and now obviously petrified—bride? With cause. Wolves have looked at lambs less eagerly. Gilly—this disorderly crew is my family.”

Gilly nodded. Her mouth was too dry to speak. She could only curtsy to them all, her heart beating too fast to do more than hold Damon’s hand for support as she rose.

They were too quiet, she thought in a panic, looking up to see their appraising eyes on her. Did they see beneath her facade already? Were they looking at a young woman in a fine walking dress? Or a ragged street urchin dressed as a boy? Were they wondering
what they could say to their poor deluded Damon?

“Good Lord!” one of the men said in shock, and
Gilly’s
heart squeezed tight. Ewen grew a scowl. Bridget held her breath.

“Damon, what could you have been thinking of?” the man continued, clearly amazed, “You wrote and said ‘
lovely
.’ You did
not
say ‘
divine
.’ Miss Giles,” he said fervently, one hand on his heart. “Why, oh why, did I not see you first?”

“Because you’re already married, you idiot!” one of the other men said, giving him a mock swat with his glove as they all began laughing, Ewen and Bridget as well.

By the time dinner was served for the guests, Gilly began to see the differences in them, and it made her anxious. Although no one made a point of it beyond introductions, too many of Damon’s siblings had married nobility for her comforts—there were ladies and lords aplenty. Gilly had thought titles meant nothing to his family, it was one of the reasons she’d accepted him. Now she began to wonder how his clan would accept a woman out of nowhere. The thought made her quiet. They were such a lively group, no one noticed. Or else they were used to overwhelming strangers. But at least Gilly was able to sit back and observe them, and slowly began to see personalities emerging.

Brother Alfred, the middle child, was the jester of the family. Arthur had a sense of humor but took himself more seriously, maybe because he was the heir. Thomas, the second son, was a bit vain; his plain little dab of a wife made him more so because she was in such awe of him. Francis, a few years older than
Damon, was the watchful one. His twin sister, Margaret, was athletic. Younger sister Mary brought three lapdogs with her and constantly worried aloud about the dogs, cats, horses, and birds she’d left at home. Bethany, the oldest, had seven children of her own, and yet still mothered her sisters and brothers.

They were a family who laughed often and touched each other frequently. Gilly had seen such in the slums where she’d been raised. She didn’t see it often in society. Bridget and Ewen exchanged secret smiles and sly caresses, but the easy familiarity the Ryders shared had nothing to do with sensual thoughts. This clan clapped each other on the back, caught at an arm to get attention, gave easy hugs, even exchanged frequent pinches in fun. It made Gilly realize how often Damon brushed her cheek, touched her shoulder, or took her hand. And how good that felt.