Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage] (18 page)

He grabbed her hand. “Don’t be afraid, Edwina.”

“I’m not afraid, Prescott. It’s just…well, I just realized, we’re in a public park…”

Prescott blinked, then chuckled, then, throwing his head back, he roared with laughter.

“Don’t mock me!” she chided, making him howl even louder.

He caught her hand and kissed her palm. “I’m not mocking you. You’re just so bloody practical. I love it. You’re right. We need to find some place private.”
And soon.
He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been this aroused.

“Where can we go?” There was an urgency to her words that he gloried in and longed to satisfy.

“I can’t have you at Andersen Hall…”

She bit that swollen lip. “And I have to consider the ladies at the society and my servants…”

No, of course she wouldn’t want them to know…

“Oh, I have an idea.” She moved to pull away from him, but he locked his arms.

Leaning up on her toes, she pressed a moist kiss to his lips. “I’m not going very far.”

Reluctantly, he released her.

Reaching into the reticule hanging from her wrist, she pulled something out attached to a ribbon and pressed a piece of metal into his hand. “Take this key. It’s to the rear door of my house. It’s not used by anyone past nine, as almost all of my servants are in bed for the night.”

As she dragged him down the stairs to exit the park, he couldn’t keep the hunger from his voice. “It must already be past seven…”

“I know.” Her teeth flashed bright in the moonlight.
She giggled, then laughed out loud, a deliciously musical sound that echoed off the trees.

Sprinting alongside her, Prescott laughed, too, a guffaw from deep in his belly that felt so good that he laughed again. He felt lighthearted, expectant and intoxicated by Edwina’s charm. Chasing after her, he thanked the heavens for the gift of Edwina Ross.

E
dwina was so nervous her movements were jerky and her heart pounded in her chest as she replaced the less expensive tallow candles in her bedroom with wax ones.

She couldn’t quite believe she’d been so brazen tonight. Kissing Prescott was one thing, but actually discussing having an affair? Then inviting him over, knowing perfectly well what she was proposing! She felt as if her body and her mind had been taken over by some foreign being, one with a daring bravado that Edwina utterly lacked.

After lighting the wicks, she tossed another log into the grate and turned. Her chamber was an utter mess.

Her wardrobe and drawers stood open with the garments inside askew. The beautiful embroidered coverlet on the bed was layered with discarded dresses, petticoats and stays. Even her silk damask bed hangings
were twisted like ribbons snaking the mahogany bedposts.

Her writing desk sat open with assorted sheets of paper, quills, ink blotters and bottles strewn about from her fruitless attempts at making a list to ready for Prescott’s visit tonight. Three or four of the efforts lay crumpled around the legs of the standing mirror nearby. She tried not to think about the fact that the gilded mirror was a gift from her father.

What time was it anyway? Oh, dear. The water in her basin was likely cold by now.

Hurriedly she walked over to the washstand, undressed and bathed her body with the now cool lily-of-the-valley-scented water.

The chilly air from the partially open window raised bumps on her skin, and quickly she put aside her wash towel and pulled a silk chemise from the pile on the bed. Donning it, she turned to examine her reflection in the tall mirror.

The ivory garment hung straight to the knees, like an oblong pillowcase with her sickly-pale arms jutting out, resembling sticks.

Biting her lip, Edwina fingered the chemise’s only ornamentation, the muslin frill edging on the square neck threaded with a silken drawstring.

“Can there by anything less enticing?” she groaned, almost ready to give up.

But Edwina Ross never gave up. Besides, Prescott was attracted to her, he’d said so himself.

Sighing, she stared at her reflection. “Now what? I’m putting on the clothing simply to have it taken off.” Hopefully. “So what does one wear to a proper seduction?”

The chills on her bottom gave her the first clue.

Reaching for her pink knitted silk drawers, she stepped into the tubular legs gathered in a band below the knee and bordered with pretty ivory Brussels lace. Twisting around, she struggled to tie the laced waistband in the back.

She’d been so excited and nervous about her rendezvous with Prescott that she’d sent Penny, her maid, off to her sister’s for the night, and had directed the rest of the servants to quit the upstairs. Edwina hadn’t wanted any witnesses to her brazen affair. It wasn’t that she was embarrassed, well, not completely, but it was more like she didn’t want anyone or anything to stop her or make her feel uncomfortable about her choices.

Penny had raced off to see her new nephew without a backward glance, leaving Edwina, unwittingly, to make garment decisions based upon what she could manage herself. That excluded most of the new wardrobe Fanny had helped her to procure and made for some interesting challenges when it came to her stays.

Staring over at the petticoats and stays lying on the bed, frustration welled inside of her. She wasn’t very good at thinking strategically about seduction. She was quite terrible at it, in fact.

And then there was the matter of arranging her hair.

Her excitement slowly dissolved, to be replaced by an anxiety so acute it splintered her skin and made her belly twist in knots.

Oh, what a dreadful corner she’d painted herself into! Why had she given Prescott her key?

“Oh my Lord, what have I done?” Slowly she sank onto the bed in a puddle of woe.

She’d invited a deliciously dazzling man to visit her
in her apartments for a dalliance, yet knew not one whit about how to go about it! And Prescott was used to worldly ladies who knew exactly what to do, how to act and certainly
what to wear
to a seduction!

Deep in her heart, she knew that the clothing wasn’t so important, but she was suffering a dreadful case of nerves. But for whatever rational thought, the fear welling up inside of her was as real as the tears dripping down her cheeks. Dropping her head into her hands, she sobbed.

“There you are!” a deep voice called.

Horrified to be found in such a state, with her chamber a veritable disaster, Edwina panicked. Jumping up, she grabbed the nearest bed hanging, whipped the damask across her body and pressed her face into the cloth.

“What’s the matter, Edwina?” His footsteps on the carpet stopped only a few feet away. “Tell me what ails you!”

His sweet concern twisted something deep in her heart, making her feel all the more miserable. She shook her head, unable to speak from her crying. Unable, even, to pull her face from the fabric and look him in the eye.

Stepping near, Prescott wrapped his brawny arm around her shaking shoulders and hugged her. The scent of musk teased.

It felt so very nice to be held as if she were cherished.

“I understand, Edwina. Don’t worry, we don’t have to do anything. I’m a scoundrel for even trying.”

Peeking out from the drapery, she inhaled a shaky breath. “Don’t…Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth. I’m an unfeeling blackguard not to have considered how hard this would be for you.”

Understanding and strikingly handsome? They must have broken the mold after Prescott Devane was born.

Coming out from the damask a bit more, she sniffed. “Well, I just don’t…” A small hiccup escaped from her mouth. “Don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

How could she explain that not only was she ill prepared, poorly dressed and as attractive as a haystack, but her nose was probably as red as a drunkard’s from crying? Misery overwhelmed her and her face crumpled, so she quickly dropped her head into her draped hands once more.

“Shhh,” he soothed, trying to draw her into the circle of his arms, but the bed hanging hampered him.

Winding her out and into his arms, he tugged the fabric free. He pulled her close and she buried her face into his broad shoulder. Her nose was pressed deep into the soft twill of his worsted wool coat. Shuddering, she sighed, wallowing in his heat and that delightful male musk he wore.

“I understand, Edwina.” His hand caressed her hair. “Don’t fret. We’re not going to do anything.”

Disappointment overlapped her misery. He didn’t desire her any longer. And who could blame him? She was a blubbering mess. If she was in his shoes, she wouldn’t want her either.

She couldn’t quite believe that she’d been so brazen, had boldly invited him over and given him her key and it had all come to naught. Another sob escaped.

“Why don’t we sit here for a bit, until you’ve calmed down, and then I’ll go home.”

Go home? He was leaving her to her misery? An ache of sorrow twisted inside her heart, and a fresh set of tears welled in her eyes.

But being a creature unused to weeping, Edwina found that the new tears did not come. It was almost as if the well had run dry. Her stock of tears for the year had been exhausted, and now it was time to start behaving like the rational lady she usually was.

Exhaling a shaky breath, she swallowed and pulled herself together. Her natural fortitude began to re-emerge and logical thinking came to the fore once more. She realized that she had two choices: She could either throw herself at Prescott in an attempt to rekindle his passion or try to gather the frayed tatters of her dignity. Since she doubted that any discerning man would want a red-nosed, hay-haired, blubbering woman, she opted for dignity.

Slowly drawing away from him, she turned around so he couldn’t see her blotchy face and walked over to the open window. Staring out, she wondered,
How is it possible to save my dignity after such a pathetic display?

Then she spied her reflection in the window. She was only wearing a chemise and drawers! And the neck of her chemise was hanging open making her look like a doxy!

Could this night get any worse?

Dropping her head into her hands, she suppressed a groan.

Well, there was naught to be done for it. He’d had the full view. Moreover, after seeing it all, he certainly wasn’t pouncing on her in heated passion.

But then again, she could hardly blame him. In fact, none of this was his fault in the least.

Wiping the remnants of her tears with the back of her hands, she coughed into her fist. “I’m sorry…” Her voice cracked.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for.” His footsteps on the carpet and the warmth of his body indicated that he stood immediately behind her. Yet, he did not touch her. Another shaft of gloom pierced her heart.

“I shouldn’t have led you to believe…Well, I’m just…sorry, Prescott.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Edwina. I’m the one who’s to be blamed. I shouldn’t have pressed you when obviously you weren’t ready.”

“Ready?” A hysterical giggle burst from her lips. “I don’t know if it’s possible to be any
less
ready than I am.”

He stepped closer and she could smell the musk scent he wore.

Garnering her courage, she swallowed, deciding that she might as well get it over with. Slowly she turned.

His face twisted with concern. “Oh, Edwina.” Then he reached for her, pulling her into his arms and hugging her close.

“That bad, eh?” she attempted to make light. Lord this felt so very, very good. Pressing her ear to his chest, she listened to the strong beat of his heart, savoring this moment, for she knew that it would too soon dissolve into mist.

“I feel terrible for causing you such distress,” he murmured. “Your devotion to your husband is admirable.”

She blinked, her lashes grazing his woolen coat. “Wh-what?”

“I should never have endeavored to tempt you into
besmirching the memory of your beloved husband. Obviously your feelings are still strong. He was a…very fortunate man.”

Pulling back, she stared up at his face. “You think that”—she waved a hand at her blotchy face—“this is because I’m sad about my late husband?”

“I know you loved him dearly, and obviously even thinking about being with me upsets you very much. You are a woman of deep sensibilities, Edwina, and I couldn’t admire you more for it.”

“Oh, dear.” Now she
really
felt pathetic. But she couldn’t hide behind the façade of grieving widow; it simply wasn’t her style to be so insincere, even if it would salvage her dignity as nothing else could.

Disentangling from his embrace, she stepped over to the bed, pulled out an icy pink dressing gown from the pile and put it on. She tied the wrap around her waist a bit too tightly, but left it knotted anyway, as a penance of sorts, she supposed.

Clasping her hands before her, she faced him once more. “I’m not upset about my late husband, Prescott.”

“You’re not?”

She sighed. “I suppose…what it all boils down to…is that I’m a novice at this passion business.” She motioned to the room. “I’m a mess. I don’t know how to be…enticing. I’m no worldly widow and I hate…well…” Her cheeks flamed. “I hate feeling so incompetent, especially when you are used to dealing with ladies who are so much more…sophisticated than I.”

He stepped forward. “So this has nothing to do with your deceased husband?”

“No.”

“It would be perfectly natural to feel a sense of…disloyalty.”

Pursing her lips, she shook her head. “None.”

A hopeful gleam filled his emerald gaze. “That by being with me you might be tarnishing his memory?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“That you couldn’t help but compare…?”

“Well, I suppose that it’s impossible to avoid making comparisons.”

His face fell.

She hid her smile. “But you fare much better than Sir Geoffrey in that regard.”

Looking up, his gaze was doubtful. “Really?”

“By far. I’ll venture it’s like comparing…burned toast to a hot scone with melted butter, fresh strawberry preserves and a sizzling piece of bacon on the side.”

“I wouldn’t happen to be the scone, by any chance?”

“Oh, yes.” She smiled. “Steaming hot.”

“Now, a worldlier widow might have mentioned sausage instead of bacon.”

Still smiling, she smacked her hand to her head. “Yet another ineptitude!”

She was rewarded with one of his heart-melting smiles that made her feel as if she were bathed in warm radiance.

Stepping over, he grabbed her hands and wrapped them behind her back, making her arch up at him. “I’m here, Edwina, because I want you. These…ineptitudes as you call them, are trivial.”

“You caught me crying into my bed hangings for heaven’s sake. Not exactly the most effective means of seducing you.”

“It’s certainly unique…”

“And in my drawers no less! Certainly not what one wears for a seduction.”

“On that count, I have to agree. But you remedied that lapse.”

“By putting on my pink dressing gown?”

“No, silly. By putting on your fresh smile. It’s the only attire needed for a proper seduction.”

Then his lips pressed down to hers, telling her with actions instead of words that Prescott Devane didn’t give a bloody damn about her attire, her messy room, her mussed hair, her blotchy face or even her bright red nose.