Lady Whistledown Strikes Back (49 page)

He had painted her as he’d

seen her at Lady Neeley’s, the first time they’d met after their separation.

Tears clogged her throat, wonder blooming in her heart. It was with hands that shook that she went around the room and uncovered all of the other portraits, tossing back drapery after drapery… . They were all of her. All of the ways he imagined her—sometimes sitting, sometimes standing, once leaning over a fence and trailing a strand of flowers in a still pond. In some she was younger, much as she’d been when they’d first met. In others she was her own age or older. Every picture had its own warmth, its own magic.

Its own love.

Something in her heart began to melt. Her fingers grazed the last drapery.

This one was larger than the others, and something about it made her pause.

With shaking hands, she pulled the drapery free and then stood in bemused amazement. It was the way he’d imagined her to be at seventy, sitting on a bench in front of an idyllic cottage. The sunlight limned her white hair, but her eyes were still the same color, the curve of her cheeks, still visible beneath a fine webbing of wrinkles. In this portrait, Sophia was not alone. Sitting beside her, hand over hers, sat Max. He, too, was aged, his skin wrinkled, his hair a shock of gray; there was no mistaking his proud air, the line of his jaw.

But it was his expression that held her in thrall. There was so much love in his gaze, so much love in the way his veined and wrinkled hand rested over hers—a sob broke from her lips, her cheeks already wet with tears.

“Sophia?”

Max’s warm hand closed over her arm. Without a word, she turned into his chest and cried. She cried and cried, all of the pain of the last twelve years, all of the doubt, tumbling out, washing away.

He held her tight, his arms enclosing her, his bare chest beneath her wet cheek. He didn’t say a word, just stroked her back, his other hand threaded through her hair, holding her against him. After a moment, she pushed away to say in a choked voice, “H-handkerchief.”

He left her to get one, returning immediately and pulling her back into his arms. Sophia mopped her eyes, her breath catching, her head burrowed against his shoulder.

Slowly the tears became hiccups, and the hiccups became a low, watery chuckle.

He pulled away and smiled down at her. “What’s that?”

She wiped her eyes with the handkerchief. “I thought you’d painted me fat just to irk me. That I’d walk into a dinner party and there I’d be, ten feet tall and a hundred pounds heavier, gracing someone’s dining hall.”

He grinned. “To be honest, I never thought of it, but if you’d like me to paint you—”

“No.”

He laughed and then kissed her forehead, his warm breath brushing over her.

He swung her into his

arms and carried her back to bed, settling her between the sheets, then climbing in beside her, pulling her against him and murmuring, “We have all the time in the world.”

Sophia sighed again, deliciously warmed by all the feelings she’d tried to fight.

Max returned her smile. He’d woken to find her gone and had known a moment of pure, unalloyed panic that had ripped at his heart. But then he’d heard her exclamation. Never did he think to hear such a welcome sound.

She hadn’t left him. Hadn’t gone away to lock her heart from him once again.

She looped an arm about his neck. “Oh, Max.” An endearing hiccup tweaked the words.

He held her tighter, brushing the hair from her cheeks. “There is so much I want to say.” He gave a rueful laugh.

“I even practiced parts of it, but now I can’t remember a word.”

She lifted her face to his, her expression one of amazement. “You love me.

You always have.”

“Yes. And there has never been anyone else.
Never.”

“Then why did you leave? You told me once that it was because you wished to spare me the agony of scandal, but… that wasn’t it, was it?”

He sighed, his breath stirring the hair at her temples. “That is what I told myself. That and that you couldn’t love me and then believe I had cheated at cards—”

She opened her mouth, but he pressed a finger over her lips. “I know, I know,”

he said. “Had it not

been Richard, everything would have been different. For us both.”

She nodded.

He removed his finger. “Now that I’m older and less bitter, I think it was pride and not anger that kept me away. That’s not an easy thing to admit to, but there it is.”

Sophia seemed to mull this over, her teeth worrying her lower lip. He watched her a moment longer, admiring the way tears clung to her lashes. “Max,” she finally said, “when did you know that you’d made a mistake?”

“The very first morning I woke up without you. But knowing you’ve made a mistake and fixing it are two very different things. I knew you’d be angry with me for leaving, that you had every right to be.

I didn’t think I could bear being rejected again, so I waited.”

“For what?”

“A sign that you still loved me. Instead, all I got were your letters.”

A quiver of laughter crossed over her face. “Some of them were not very nice.”

“You, m’love, are a passionate woman. That is what I adored the most about you. And feared. I thought you’d hate as fiercely as you loved and that I’d lost my chance.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“John.”

She stared up at him. “John?”

“He sent me a letter the same time you did, only his did not mention an annulment.”

She lifted up on one elbow, her face flushed. “How
dare
he—”

Max neatly flipped her onto her back, smiling down at her as she landed against the pillows, her hah” streaming over his arm. “How dare he care so much that he risked your anger? You are a lucky woman to have such a devoted brother.”

“I hate such high-handed treatment.”

Max lifted a strand of her hair and kissed it. “That is something we’re going to have to work on, m’love.”

“What?” she asked suspiciously.

“Our pride.”

“Our?”

“Our.
Yours and mine. It has made us miserable long enough. From now on, every time you see me acting out of pride, you have to tell me in no uncertain terms. And I shall tell you. And right this minute, being angry with your brother for merely trying to help you is nothing but pure pride.”

Her brows lowered. “I don’t like being told that.”

“And I will not like it when you have to tell me, and I’m certain you will, time and again. If we want our marriage to be successful, we’re going to have to work together. Be honest. Talk. All you have to do is decide whether you think it’s worth it.”

Her gaze wandered past him to-the paintings, an expression of wonder darkening her eyes. Finally, she looked back at him and said simply, “All I can say is yes.”

Max couldn’t speak. All he could do was gather her close and hold her tight, melding their bodies into one. It was all he wanted. All he’d hoped for. After a long moment, he sighed, the happiness warming him head to foot. “I think…”

“Yes?”

“I think I’m hungry.”

She giggled. “How unromantic.”

“I’m famished, and I daresay you are, too. We had a very adventuresome night.”

“Yes, we did.” She wiggled happily. “I need to go home and change. This gown is crumpled beyond repair.”

“I shall buy you a new one. Twenty new ones.”

Sophia lifted her brows. “Can you afford that?”

“I can afford that and more. My paintings have become quite successful, m’love.”

“I’m not surprised.” She looked at the portraits of herself. “How much will those bring?”

“Those, my dear, are not for sale. Ever.”

She eyed him with admiration. “That is a very good answer.”

He grinned. “I thought so, too. Now come, we must get up.”

“But the room is so cold,” she murmured, her arms tight about his neck.

“I know, but hi addition to food, we also have some shopping to do.”

She pulled back. “Shopping?”

“Important shopping. I’ve wanted to paint you wearing nothing but pearls for twelve years now, and I’ll be damned if I let another day pass.”

“I see. I assume that once you’re through painting me…” She looked at him through her lashes.

“I get to keep all the jewels involved.”

He laughed and kissed her nose. “Have you turned into a magpie since I left?

Collecting shiny objects and—”

“Magpie?” Sophia sat upright so quickly that she almost smashed her head against his chin.
“That’s it!”

“What’s it?”

But she was gone, jumping out of bed and smoothing her crumpled gown.

“Get dressed! We must

hurry!”

“But where?”

She turned to him, her eyes shining, a wide smile on her lips. ‘To Lady Neeley’s. I think I know where that silly bracelet is!”

The Neeley mystery solved at last!

Or is it?

Lady Neeley claims that she has received a cryptic letter saying that her bracelet has been found and it will be delivered “in good time.”

In good time? When is that?

Where could it be, and who do you, Dear Readers, suppose has found it?

LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY

PAPERS,
24 JUNE 1816

The firelight flickered over Max’s bedchamber, casting teasing shadows.

Sophia lay on the rich red coverlet spread before the fire, the delicate light licking across her warmed skin, caressing each hollow, teasing each curve, and sparkling over the ruby bracelet clasped about her arm.

Max had never beheld a more sensuous, delicious sight than his wife, lying so naked, so lush, a woman well loved and in love. Max set the dish of raspberries beside the coverlet and gently lowered himself beside her.

She lifted on her elbow and looked at the dish. “No creme?”

“Not this time.” He picked up a berry and placed it in her mouth. As soon as she bit into the plump fruit, he kissed her, savoring her berry-sweet kiss.

The heat between them built until he broke the kiss. “I believe we should adjourn to the bed, my sweet.”

She chuckled, the sound rum smooth over the sharp crackle of the fire. “I suppose I can give up some of this warmth”—her hand closed over his manhood—“for another kind of heat.”

He caught his breath. She was so beautiful, so passionate. And so his.

Without a word, he bent down

and lifted her, cover and all, and carried her to the bed.

She settled against the pillows and gathered him close. They lay that way, entwined, savoring the closeness. After a moment, she lifted her arm, the ruby bracelet twinkling in the light. “I suppose we should return this to Lady Neeley.”

“We will. As soon as we’ve enjoyed it enough to make up for the misery her allegations have caused.”

“Every day we wait, she casts even more aspersions against your name.”

He turned his head so that his cheek pressed against her silky hair. “It will make her seem all the more the fool when you tell her where you found it and offer her own nephew as witness. I have to say, Brooks was all too willing to let us take the bracelet and give it to her when we were ready.”

She nodded. “I think he feared that if he was present when she got it back, his cousin Percy would try to connect him to the lost bracelet in some way. Whatever it was, I owe him a glass of port for his kindness. It was fortunate he was at Lady Neeley’s house when we arrived, for her butler would not have given us entrance otherwise.”

He lifted a hand to trace the line of her wrist where it disappeared beneath the heavy line of rubies.

“To think that the bracelet was in that wretched bird’s nest all the time.”

“The parrot was trying to impress Lady Neeley’s companion.”

Max rolled up on one elbow and smiled down at her. “M’love, you are brilliant.”

“It was the only thing that made sense. If no one at that horrid dinner stole it and the servants were all trustworthy as Lady Neeley vowed, then it had to be the bird.” She sighed her satisfaction. “Shall we return the bracelet in the morning?”

“Of course. And as soon as that is done, we are returning here. I have developed an aversion to seeing clothing on your luscious body.”

She slanted a glance at him that stole his breath. “I get the feeling I am not going to spend much of our married life wearing clothes.”

“Not if I have anything to do with it.” Max leaned down and captured her mouth for a deep, promising kiss. Happiness swelled and filtered over them.

Sophia sighed with happiness, though a moment later she lifted on her elbow and looked down into Max’s face. “I have been thinking …”

“More plotting?”

“No.” She smiled. “Not this time. This time I was thinking we needed some Rules of Engagement. Something to buffer our tempers when we argue.”

“You think we are going to argue frequently?”

She raised her brows and lay back on the pillow.

He laughed softly, rubbing his palm over her flat stomach. “You are right. As much as I hate to admit it, there are bound to be many arguments in our life.

You are, after all, very stubborn.”

She frowned at him.
“We
are stubborn.”

“Oh. Of course.
We
are stubborn.”

“And because of that,” she continued, “we need Rules of Engagement so that our fights are fair.”

“I see.” He moved his hand to her breast. “What are these rules?”

She moved his hand back to her stomach. “The first rule is: All arguments must take place in the nude.”

Max blinked. “In the nude?”

“Yes. You and I seem more… levelheaded when we’re naked.”

His mouth lifted in a smile. “I don’t know about that.”

“Furthermore, any argument where there is no clear winner will be settled by a wrestling match.”

“A what?”

“Wrestling. Like the ancient Greeks.”

“Did they wrestle in the nude?”

“I believe so. From what I’ve seen, they were not much in the way of clothing.”

He put his hand back on her breast. “Tell me more about the Greeks.”

She placed her hand over his and smiled. “The third rule is that all arguments must end in a kiss.”