Once Upon a Kiss (Book Club Belles Society) (14 page)

Their father peered over his paper again. “You mean to suggest, my dear, that Rebecca Sherringham is a strumpet?”

Justina smothered a snort of laughter, and Catherine shook her head at her sewing.

“I did not say that,” Mrs. Penny protested thinly to her husband. “But if her manner leads others to assume it is so, Major Sherringham has nothing to blame for it but his own laxity.”

Catherine kept silent from then on, holding her thoughts to herself as usual, but Justina would not sit quietly and tolerate this condemnation of their friend or of the lively brother who had always been a great favorite of hers. “Captain Sherringham is a very jolly soul, whatever people say about him. And Becky is one of the most generous and selfless people I know. Excepting Cathy, of course.”

Mrs. Penny was appalled by the suggestion of anyone else’s unmarried daughter having admirable qualities to rival those of her jewel. “Generous, indeed! I’d like to see where that gets her in life. For all her bold ways, she is nowhere near your sister in beauty. Nowhere near! Not with all those freckles.”

As it happened, their mama soon had her opportunity to pounce on Mr. Wainwright and save him from the wicked intentions of that flame-haired hussy otherwise known as Miss Rebecca Sherringham.

On Sunday he finally showed his face in church and was, naturally, a dreadful distraction in the front pew. Justina, who had barely given a thought to the new vicar’s sermons before now—except to be glad they were shorter than those given by his predecessor—felt great sympathy for poor Mr. Kenton, who struggled manfully and in vain to keep the attention of his flock from straying.

After the service the Penny family was almost at the lych-gate when a deep voice brought them to a stumbling halt on the path.

“Miss Penny, I believe you dropped this.”

They all turned to observe the great tall cloud looming over their small group. It was Mr. Wainwright, with his large claw outstretched and a lady’s glove laid over it. He must have recovered it from the aisle, read the initials sewn inside the cuff, and chased them down to return the item.

Justina felt her pulse quicken, as it always did when he was near. Her gaze went at once to his hands, remembering the way it felt to have them holding her improperly.

At her side Catherine was startled. “But I did not lose a glove, sir.” She lifted her hands to prove she had both gloves where they should be.

Their mother bounced forward, elbowing a route between her daughters and almost catching Justina in the eye with the lively feather in her bonnet. “Why, that is mine, sir. How good of you to return it.”

Justina smothered a groan.

“I too am a Catherine,” Mrs. Penny explained, quickly taking the glove from his hand, “but you were not to know that. I daresay your thoughts are filled only with one by that name.” Following this extraordinarily presumptuous remark, she laughed lightly, throwing her head back to do so and this time successfully poking Justina in the eye with her bonnet feather.

Wainwright winced and leaned away, perhaps fearing her millinery handiwork might attack him next.

The path under the lych-gate was very narrow and people already piled up behind them, anxious to get by. Mrs. Penny had him where she wanted him at last, for he was thrust into her clutches. He had no choice but to walk with her through the gate.

“Mr. Wainwright, on your very first visit to my husband you promised to dine with us. Do say you will join us tomorrow evening. You simply must!”

Justina fully expected to hear one of his rude refusals. Instead, the giant inconvenience bowed his head with stiff politeness and replied, “I would be honored, madam.”

It must be for Cathy, she realized. He’d practically raced after them to return the glove he thought was hers and now he accepted their mother’s invitation. There could be no other reason but Cathy.

She glanced at her sister and saw the soft blush covering her cheeks like a spread of watercolor on canvas. But even as a smile lifted her sister’s lips, something sank inside Justina. Sadly she knew Cathy must marry sooner or later and then the bed they had shared all these years would suddenly seem very large and empty. Cathy was a quiet soul, but her presence would be much missed in the house, her absence likely to destroy the balance. It would be a parting inevitable and heartrending. Until that moment Justina had been able to keep the thought in the back of her mind, swathed in shadows, but here before them was the object that could very well bring that moment to pass. He had all the qualifications.

Now their party, joined by Mr. Wainwright, moved onward down the lane. Justina hung back, looking for Lucy, an action which gave her cause to turn away and ignore the intruder in their midst. The sun had gone in, and she felt a brisk chill under her clothes.

***

When Darius realized that the younger Miss Penny was no longer with the group, he looked back, hesitating, but her mother gripped his arm and dragged him forward, chattering with the same breathless speed as her daughter often employed. Before too long the path rushed away beneath his feet.

“I do hope Justina has not caused you too many pains, sir. I have been told the story of the pig and I must apologize. I’m afraid Dr. Penny is overindulgent of our youngest.” The lady lowered her voice as she rushed him along, the tall, full feather in her bonnet sweeping against his arm. “She was a very small baby—came out kicking. Feet first, of course. Contrary from the moment she was born. I had hoped for a boy with my second child, but what a disappointment. Alas, the delivery quite put a stop to my poor body bearing any more children. And the midwife did not get to me in time, so Dr. Penny was obliged to tend me himself. He never quite got over it and has spoiled her ever since, despite the fact that she soon flourished and never looked back after those first few difficult weeks. He fussed over that child as if she was made of glass and would barely let me near her. All she had to do was look up at him with those big eyes of hers, grip his finger with all her might, and he was a lost man.” She shook her head, making a clicking sound with her teeth. “Now my husband says she has high spirits, but I call it an attraction to mischief that she should have outgrown by now. Perhaps”—she put her head on one side, looking coyly up at him—“when her elder sister is settled in a home of her own, Justina will put such childishness aside.”

Shocked that this woman—a stranger still—felt it necessary to regale him with such a story, Darius did not know where to look or what to say. Childbirth was something he preferred to know nothing about, and since he was a man he didn’t expect ever to hear it talked of in detail. It was enough to raise the hairs on a man’s neck, for heaven’s sake.

“I see,” he managed finally, his voice taut.

Again he looked back to see where the errant daughter had gone, but she was nowhere in sight. The villagers streamed out through the church door like inmates released from prison, almost trampling the vicar in their haste.

Miss Catherine Penny, walking on her mother’s left side, quietly asked how he liked the village.

“I am finding my way about,” he replied.

“You must allow our Catherine to show you the sights, Mr. Wainwright.”

He sighed. “I believe I’ve seen them.”

If the lady heard him, she did not appear to absorb his words. “You must view the village through the eyes of a local. Catherine can tell you all the secrets, show you all the beauty spots.”

At this, Catherine laughed lightly. “Although I do not know so many secrets as Jussy. She is really the one who can tell you where the skeletons are buried, Mr. Wainwright. And she can do so with great bravado.”

Her mother shot her a quick frown. “Well, I’m sure he would not want Justina’s company longer than he has had it already. No one ever does. Skeletons indeed!”

Darius heard the younger sister laughing and chattering with her friend as she followed along the path behind them. Good. He breathed another relieved sigh. At least he knew now where she was and that she couldn’t leap out on him from the yew trees.

He liked the sound of her laughter. When it was not directed at him.

The next day, when she arrived for her dutiful visit, he was waiting at the gate.

“Miss Justina Penny”—he showed her his fob watch—“you are late. Again.”

Her eyes glittered with annoyance. “I do have other chores, Mr. Wainwright.”

“But none more important than me, surely.” Oh, he knew he pushed his luck. For some reason that day he could not help himself. She marched ahead of him through the orchard and he followed, realizing that he had grown addicted to having her fiery, sparking gaze turned upon him. Whenever it was turned elsewhere he felt…bereft.

She did not respond directly to his last remark, but having arrived at the pig sty she leaned over the fence to pet Sir Mortimer and exclaimed breezily, as if she could be talking to either man or beast, “Lucy had to stay and help her father this morning. So you’ll have to make do with me alone.”

Darius instantly put his watch away, for the time no longer mattered.

They walked into the house together. Mrs. Birch could be heard banging pots about in the kitchen. Since it was Monday he knew her niece would arrive soon for the weekly laundry. He didn’t want them knowing he was alone with Miss Penny. Although her slightly eccentric father was aware that she came to his house to help him, he wouldn’t want the village gossips to suggest there was anything untoward going on, so he led her rather hastily into his study and shut the door.

Immediately he realized the duplicity in his actions, for if he did not want to chance scandalous rumor he should have sent Miss Penny home; instead he brought her inside with him, alone, behind a closed door. These were not the actions of an upstanding gentleman, and he was surprised at himself. He should have left the door open for they had nothing to hide. Nothing at all.

“Is there anything amiss, Mr. Wainwright?” she asked, frowning.

He finally left the door, having decided not to reopen it, and helped her out of her coat. “Should there be?”

She chewed on her lip for a moment. “You don’t mind that I’m here alone?”

He considered her carefully. “
Should
I mind?”

“You look as if you’re afraid of what I might do to you.”

Darius banked a sudden chuckle, swallowing it down hard. “If I am, you must admit I have some reason to be.”

She squinted.

“There is a certain precedence set,” he added drily.

With a huff she began to turn away, but then stopped and faced him again. “I’m not sorry it happened.”

He waited, unsure of which transgression she meant. They were, after all, plentiful.

“Without risk there is nothing gained,” she added. “I learned a lesson that night when I leaped upon you.”

Ah, that one. “I sincerely hope you did, madam. I would not want you leaping on any other gentleman.”

Her nose wrinkled. She removed her gloves with an extravagant gesture, as if acting in a play, and dropped them to the chair where he’d set her coat. “Rest assured, once was enough to cure me of the urge.”

“Glad I am to hear it.” He took a step toward her. “And I am not sorry it happened either.”

Her lashes flicked down and up. She had begun to breathe hard, he noted. Her dark curls shook slightly, little tremors he might not have seen if he wasn’t standing improperly close.

Suddenly he imagined his brother’s mocking voice, “
Handles, what on earth are you doing? You enormous great drip. Kiss her, for pity’s sake. What are you waiting for?
”

Lucius would kiss her without qualm.

But that was “Lucky” Lucius—he of so little conscience.

This girl was utterly unsuitable, naught but trouble for any man. Darius knew it was madness to let her into his house, especially today when she was unescorted. Her scent invaded his thoughts again, and he saw her as she was once before, in his bedchamber, her soft skin warmed by candlelight. Those damned stockings and pink ribbon garters…

“As long as it taught you a lesson,” he muttered. Was that his hand raised and sliding slowly under her hair? Yes, of course it was his. And no, he didn’t want her leaping on any other man.

She tipped her head back a little. “If you’re going to kiss me again, hurry up and do it.”

“Why would I want to kiss you?”

“Because we’re alone in this room at last. Who knows when these circumstances will be repeated? We might as well make the most of the opportunity. We both know we’re not going to tell anyone. You’ll be gone soon, back to London, and I have my own plans.”

She was an unscrupulous young woman, he mused. Perhaps she was after him for his money, just like all the other scheming fortune hunters. But there was something different about this one. She tempted him as the others had not. She drew him in not just with her looks, but with the things she said and the extraordinary workings of her mind.

“Your own plans?”

“Yes. And I’m not going to tell you, so don’t ask. The less we know about one another the better.”

With that he could not agree. Darius wanted to know all about her. He wanted to drink her down. Every last bittersweet drop. “I suppose when you find yourself alone with gentlemen you always act this way?”

“I’m never alone with other gentlemen.”

“How fortunate for me then that the honor falls to my lot.”

“But if I kiss you now, you must promise not to come to dinner. My sister is too eager to fall in love, and you are the wrong man for her. She would accept your attentions out of a sense of duty, but you would never make my sister happy. She must marry for love, not out of duty or because it’s what our parents want, or because you are stinking rich.” Just like her mama she rattled away, all her words tumbling out in haste. Typical of a crook’s guilty confession, he mused. Or their hastily fired excuses when caught in the act.

“Your sister?” He had forgotten, in those last few seconds, that she even had a sister.

“Yes. She already thinks of you as Mr. Darcy, but she needs someone kind and civil.”

“Mr. Whocy?”

“Oh, never mind!” She hitched up on tiptoe and placed her hands upon his shoulders. He felt her soft, warm breath skip over his lips. “Just kiss me and get it over with.”

Darius had never followed a woman’s command in his life. Until now. There was no point in pretending he didn’t want to kiss her.

So he obliged the temptress with a long, deep kiss, his fingers cupping the back of her head, tangled in her curls, his other hand on her hip, caressing the soft muslin and the curve beneath.

In the back of his mind a voice protested. She was too young, too wayward. Nothing good could come of this.

He was not Lucius. He had always promised himself that he would never act this way.

What sort of young woman tried to bribe a man with kisses? The same sort who accosted strange gentlemen in bed, naked.

Thus, with that image leaping back into his mind, the gentlemanly voice of caution was silenced.

Greed and desire surged within. Hungrily he devoured her mouth, moving her back until she stumbled against the Grecian couch and fell onto it. Darius thrust aside a pile of papers and followed her down. There was no protest, only a gasp of surprise. And then her arms came up around his shoulders and an excited chuckle blew against his cheek.

Had she come there alone that day with this in mind—the idea of bribing him to stay away from her sister? An intriguing method of bartering, certainly, but she was a novice. Luckily for him.

***

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think with any sort of clarity. His kiss drained her of the will to do either. The weight of his body laid over hers on the couch was something she’d never experienced, of course, and she might have expected to feel stifled, but she did not. As he moved against her, his lips now pressed to her throat and then lower, to her bosom, the hard ridge in his breeches became too prominent, too intriguing to ignore.

Justina ran a hand over it slowly, and he lifted his head to grumble, “Don’t do that.”

Naturally, she did it again.

“When one is in trouble anyway,” she whispered, “one may as well make the most of it.”

In retaliation his lips closed over her nipple as it poked through her chemise and rose eagerly against her muslin bodice. He sucked upon it gently at first and then with more hunger until she felt the warmth of his greedy mouth dampening the material, even wetting the sensitive skin beneath.

Justina arched against him, gripping the hard length inside his breeches even tighter, amazed to feel it throbbing and growing. Heated ripples of forbidden pleasure overtook her too quickly, but she did not feel inclined to stop them or him. She wanted to learn. She longed to know the truth and have her eyes opened, to know all the secrets that were kept from her.

Suddenly Wainwright stopped. He pushed away from the couch and stood, turning away and cursing under his breath.

Disorientated, she lay there a moment longer, very much aware of the strange feelings still holding her in their grip. Her nipples ached. The tightness in her belly was unrelenting.

Why had he stopped?

“You had better leave,” he growled, still turned away from her, shoulders hunched as he leaned over his desk.

Slowly she sat up. “Don’t come to dinner.” She tried to keep her voice even. “You promised.”

He half turned his head, but did not quite look over his broad shoulder. She heard something like a husky laugh of derision. “I promised nothing, woman.”

“Villain!” she cried. “I said you could have one kiss if you promised not to come.”

“And did you hear anything from me in return?”

There was nothing else to say, and she could not trust her voice anyway.

“Let that be a lesson to you,” he said, his voice low. “Never fulfill your side of a business transaction while negotiations are still underway. Wait until the ink is dry.”

She grabbed her coat and gloves and ran out. Justina knew she should be furious. He had made her act like a hussy. He had got more from her than a kiss.

But as she ran out of his gate and let it swing shut behind her, she felt no real anger, only disappointment that he stopped when he did. After all, she had urged him to kiss her. It wasn’t truly all his fault, and even she could not pretend it was this time.

***

In a pointless effort to seem less desperate, their mother had also invited Mr. Kenton to help “round out” the numbers at dinner. A harmless fellow, but dull and overly solicitous with his advice, the rector was often put to use at social events as the only single man available. Justina might have felt sorry for him, since he must know the invitation was extended only for want of any better company, but her sympathy was tried whenever he felt obliged to advise her. And his concerns were not all of a moral tone. Mr. Kenton believed in guiding his parishioners through every aspect of life, from the shoes on their feet to the food they digested. He had once spent fifteen minutes in Justina’s presence vilifying rhubarb tart—which happened to be one of her favorite dishes and one she would not abandon under any circumstances.

“My dear Mr. Kenton,” she’d assured him, “I am no stranger to risk, and I would thank you for letting me take my own.”

As a consequence he thought her a very stubborn, opinionated young woman and directed most of his sermons at her on Sundays.

Tonight the silverware was polished and the best plate got out, minus the one broken by Jussy, as their mother reminded her tersely.

“I did not break it, Mama.”

“Oh, and I am supposed to believe a mad gypsy dashed in and stole it from the drying rack. My very best serving platter, handed down to me by my own grandmother who received it as a wedding gift from Lady Blundeson of Stoke, who—”

“Who always condescended to take much care and interest in your grandmother’s family. Yes, I know. As does the entire village. I daresay the thief knew the value of that plate, Mama. Since you are forever telling people about it, ’tis no wonder your china has become the target for robbers. Perhaps greater discretion and humility would behoove us in future.”

Her mother’s mouth flapped open. “Behoove?
Behoove?
I’ll give you behoove, young madam!”

But since that was the very moment the doorbell echoed throughout the house, she was saved from being given anything other than a very dark look and a hasty warning to hold her tongue if she had nothing pleasant to say in the presence of their guests.

Wainwright arrived promptly for dinner, of course. The man was a slave to his clocks and watches.

“Are you not afraid, Mama,” Justina remarked as Clara was sent off to open the front door, “that in addition to poisoning us on a daily basis, our alleged cook will now have access to the unsuspecting stomachs of strangers? A gentleman of consequence, no less, from London? We could all be hanged.”

Her mother waved a hand dismissively. “Clara is a perfectly adequate cook. For a child who once refused to eat anything but bread and jam for two years, you are remarkably hard to please these days. Now do go and wash your hands, and for goodness’ sake, do something with that hair.”

She had not realized there was anything amiss with her hair today, but as usual her mother’s disgust was vague, never helpful, and thrown out in irritation. It was far more important that Cathy, the family’s great hope, be tended to. Justina fully understood that. But just once she would like to know exactly what it was about her own appearance that was so very lacking and how she might even attempt to put it right.

Surely “beauty,” while there were certain standards of it upon which everyone would agree, could also be found in the eye of the beholder. Was there nothing about her that had the slightest promise, she wondered gloomily, staring at her face in the bedchamber mirror. Would she ever emerge from her unsightly chrysalis? Would she ever learn not to leap first and think later? Apparently not.

Tonight Mr. Wainwright, handsome bachelor and dark menace, had been invited there for Cathy. And he came there for Cathy. He made it clear to Justina that he would do as he pleased, regardless of her wishes. Her hopes and feelings were inconsequential.

The longer Justina sat staring at herself in the mirror, the less symmetrical her features appeared, and the angrier and darker her mood became.