Miss George's Second Chance (10 page)

Peter didn’t need the reminder. He was well aware he should have been here despite her rebuff last year. “Well, that will change for the better soon. Have no fear.”

Her smile turned sly. “Always thought you fancied her.”

Mrs. Simpson was far too observant. He winked and raised a hand to his lips to silence her then turned on his heel and hurried inside his townhouse to collect his hat and gloves before a startled Mr. Simpson could offer them. “I’ll be out for most of the day.”

His butler fussed a moment with his new hat flicking away invisible specks of dust from his brim and then sighed contentedly. “Very good, Sir Peter. Do you need a carriage ordered?”

Peter grinned. Simpson would soon discover he preferred things to be as they were before he inherited the title. It was a relief to be able to enjoy the slower pace of life at Brighton. “Not today.”

He stepped out his front door, traversed the short distance to the George’s residence and rapped on the wood. The door jerked open quickly. “Good Morning, Sir Peter.”

“Morning Perkins.” Peter stepped over the threshold and removed his hat. “I’m here to see Mr. George if he has risen for the day.”

The butler gestured to the front room.

“Mr. George could have used a few minutes more of peace,” Walter grumbled from his study where he had one ear pressed to the wall. “The strangest noise from your house is driving me mad. An infernal whistling that comes and goes.”

Peter winced. “Ah, that might have been me.”

Walter looked at him curiously. “You don’t normally whistle, do you?”

He grinned, unable to contain the happiness that had gripped him on waking. If he could sing with any tone at all, he’d probably be doing that instead. “Not really.”

“Good.” Walter put his finger in his ear and jiggled it about. “Damned annoying sound. What did you want to see me about?”

Peter checked that the butler had gone about his business before he replied. “I wanted to see your sister actually. I thought, for propriety’s sake I should pretend to be visiting you rather than her.”

Walter appeared skeptical. “It won’t take long for everyone to guess the truth.”

“Hopefully by then I’ll have convinced Imogen of the myriad advantages of renewing and deepening our acquaintance.”

Walter’s face pinked. “I thought that was what last night was for.”

Last night had been interrupted before he had obtained Imogen’s agreement. What he did know was that her lips and body were made for him. “Sadly, negotiations may take a bit more time than one night. I was hoping to continue my quest today.”

Walter’s frown grew. “And what will you do today that… ah… couldn’t be done last night?”

Peter grinned. “Today, K. D. Brahms lives again.”

A relieved smile passed over Walter’s face as he dropped to the chair behind his desk and rubbed a hand over his head. “You’re happy now to have her write. I thought you disapproved in the beginning.”

“I’ll admit, I was stunned on first discovery. But I re-read every book she wrote while I was away and I’m utterly astounded by her gift. I’m surprised she hasn’t run mad because she cannot continue her storytelling.”

Walter winced. “It was a close thing for a while there. In the end, I took her writing table into another room and locked it away. Without the desk to linger beside, she seemed less agitated.”

Poor darling
. If his plan went the way he hoped, Imogen would have one less reason to be unhappy. She could find comfort in having an outlet for her creative talents. The fact that he would secure a first look at her work was a minor inducement to press on with his plans. And there was always the delightful prospect of a chance to steal another kiss or two. “Can you show me where her writing table is?”

“Of course.” Walter smacked the tabletop as he stood. “Come, we’ll collect Imogen on the way and break her out of her doldrums.”

Walter thumped up the staircase and Peter followed close behind. He couldn’t imagine the difficulty he would have faced if he’d attempted to see Imogen like this without Walter’s approval and support. After last night’s kisses and touches he was eager for more. He couldn’t believe he’d walked away a year ago without attempting to claim one single kiss. What an utter fool he’d been. If he had tried and succeeded then, he might not be in the position of having to woo the bride he’d almost had.

As he gained the top step, Imogen stepped out of her bedroom, walking stick in hand, her sightless gaze skimming the hall before her. Today she wore a pretty gown of pale blue. The color made her skin glow but the frown forming on her face dimmed his hopes for an easy discussion. “Who is with you Walter?”

Peter smiled that she could detect her brother’s steps without George saying a word. One day, if luck were with him, she would know his steps just as well or better. “Good morning Imogen.”

Her perfect mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ as he drew closer. Her gaze rose until it seemed she could see him. She couldn’t, of course, but if he didn’t know better he could swear she pinpointed exactly where his face was located. When Walter turned away to unlock the other room, Peter touched Imogen’s cheek softly and bent his head to steal a kiss.

“Good morning.” Her voice was as breathless as he felt himself to be.

He caught her fingers in his and squeezed. “It’s a lovely day out. Would you care to take a stroll along Marine Parade?”

Her chin dropped a little, and worry added creases to her forehead. “I’d rather not go out.”

So, no public wooing. He grinned at the remaining possibility of how he could spend the upcoming hours. “Very well. We’ll do something else together.”

“Peter, you shouldn’t be here.” A heavy bang and muttered curse reached them from the other room and Imogen turned toward the sound. “What is Walter doing?”

Peter placed his hands on her shoulders and steered her into the room. “Time to write.”

Walter opened the drapes wide, revealing a furnished bedchamber containing the fabled writing desk, a chair and a narrow bed at one end of the room. The other end was piled high with discarded furnishings, some of which he remembered seeing in other parts of the house before. Walter repositioned a small table closer to the furniture, setting a boundary to their work area, and wandered back out with a grin on his face.

Peter let his gaze linger on the bed a moment. If the writing went well, perhaps he could engage in other pleasant activities with her, too. He studied Imogen. Her hands were clenched around her walking stick as if she were uncertain of her surroundings. “Relax.”

Imogen glared in the direction of the door. “Does he not care that we are alone. What have you done to convince Walter to behave like this?”

Peter opened the desk, spied quill and ink bottle, a short stack of blank papers and drew them out onto the worktable. The ink swirled inside the bottle when he tested it was still good to use. “Nothing except suggest I might be able to make you happier than you have been. Are you ready?”

“Ready?”

He looked at her but then realized that of course she may not understand his intentions were serious. Her writing was important, and not just to her. “Yes, ready to write. Ready to tell me a story I can write down. How do you come up with your tales anyway? I always meant to ask.”

She rubbed her brow. “It isn’t easy to explain. No two days ever start out the same, but usually I begin the day thinking of what I want to write and then I sit and compose until there are no more words.”

Peter smiled and dipped his quill into the inkpot, ready to take down her words. He couldn’t wait to see what she would come up with. “That sounds easy enough.”

At Imogen’s silence, he glanced over his shoulder.

She stood where he’d left her, fingers still tightly clenched about the walking stick, her teeth worrying her lower lip.

“Imogen?”

“I have no words yet.”

“Good, because I need more than one kiss to start my day.” Peter tossed the quill away, headed for the door, and quietly pushed it closed. He tugged Imogen into his arms, taking the walking stick from her hands and setting it aside. He inhaled the subtle perfume that clung to her skin. Lavender and another scent he couldn’t place. Not a trace of fragrance that would make him sneeze. Then he remembered being with Imogen had always improved his mood.

He brushed his lips against hers softly, marveling he had the chance he should have taken long ago to prove he was a man of passion. Imogen sighed once and then she kissed him back, mouth molding to his, delightful body pressing closer.

He explored her delicious curves slowly with his hands, unwilling to rush even though his pulse raced with excitement. He couldn’t wait to touch her bare skin and looked forward to the day when she would be his wife. The passion he sensed in her last night had exceeded his wildest dreams. They would be happy together if she’d just concede that he was right. They needed each other.

Suddenly, Imogen pushed hard against his chest until he released her. Although her face was flushed and her chest rose and fell quickly, she merely stared at his waistcoat with a determined expression on her face and said nothing to him.

Alarmed by her sudden withdrawal, Peter scrambled to apologize. “I’m sorry. What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said and then rose on her toes, caught him about the neck to pull him close again. She kissed him soundly. “You did something incredibly right. Quickly, write this down exactly as I say it.”

Peter spun back to the desk, adjusting the bulge in his trousers before he sat and cursed the end of his exploration. He dipped the nib in the inkpot and quickly scratched out what Imogen said next. She paced behind him and spoke at a speed that he could write to but an hour later, when she’d not paused for longer than a breath, he begged a halt. He threw the quill away and flexed his fingers. “My hand hurts like the very devil itself.”

She drew close behind him and caressed his shoulders, sending goose flesh racing all over his body. “Forgive me. Did you manage to write any of it down?”

He looked up at her and admired the contented smile lingering on her face. “I believe I caught every word. Not exactly neat but still legible.”

Her fingers slipped forward and caressed his cheek tentatively. “I’m surprised that worked so well.”

Even as his desire soared again, set free by her exploration, a thought occurred to him. “You could have hired a secretary long before this.”

Her hands twisted into the hair at his nape. “I doubt I could have found the courage to let a stranger hear such terrible words.”

Although he didn’t mind Imogen touching him in the least, Peter shoved back his chair and pulled her into his lap so he could touch her too. “I was captivated. I have a hundred questions about the heroine already.”

She laughed and her fingers rose to his face again, covering his lips. “No questions yet. Save them until the end.”

“As you wish but keeping my curiosity at bay will likely prove difficult.”

Her fingers danced lightly over his sideburns and the edge of his ear. “That was the roughest of drafts. Later, when each sentence has been polished to brightness, it will be a work to be proud of.”

He kissed the tip of her nose and then her cheek. “I’m proud of you now.”

She wriggled, innocently brushing her hip against his hardening length. “Shall we give your poor hand a break?”

“Thank you.” He looked longingly at the bed and then the door where he was startled to find Walter standing, one eyebrow raised in question. He nodded and Walter went away. Since a romp between the sheets sadly could not be accomplished he’d have to settle for kissing her instead. He wasn’t entirely disappointed. Peter caught her lips gently with his and kissed her urgently before Walter came back to check on them again.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Imogen gripped Walter’s arm, aware that unknown persons surrounded them and that she could appear clumsy if she didn’t pay strict attention to where she placed her feet. The day was warm, a light breeze blew in from the sea, but she could not concentrate on enjoying the outing for Walter was not always the best of guides. “Promise you will not abandon me today,” she demanded

Walter sighed loudly, his arm tensing beneath hers. “I’ve already promised you my full attention for the duration of the outing. What more do you want from me?”

She tightened her grip further and leaned toward him. “Leaving me alone with Sir Peter so often this week is a sign of absolute neglect for my reputation.”

“Are you still annoyed over that?” Walter patted her hand. “He seems to have the making of a devoted secretary. Where’s the impropriety in the business arrangement we struck?”

Imogen snorted. “Business arrangements are not conducted in that fashion.”

“There is all kinds of business. At least he’s been honest.” Walter chuckled. “He wanted to court you publicly, but you’ve refused him every opportunity to be a gentlemen and escort you about. Don’t deny it. I have ears, too. However, as I recall, you don’t really approve of proper gentlemen as suitors. Forgive me if I place little weight on your complaints. To make you both happy the rules must be bent in the short term.”