The Defiant Lady Pencavel (19 page)

“Too damned much; far beyond what I should for my own sanity, I have to concede.” His eyes smoldered, burning her up. He bent and kissed her mouth.

She gasped, tasting the wine on his lips, the need inside him as he tightened his arms around her. His hand brushed through her hair, and she ran her fingers through his. Her body bubbled with desire. She wanted to melt into him as he pressed her against the hard Roman column.

Lambrick pulled away with a groan, his handsome face flushed. “If we continue, I won’t be responsible for what I might do to you—or rather what I would enjoy doing to you.”

“Oh, my, that sounds stimulating in the extreme, but you are judicious.” She tried to slow her rampant breathing. “What...do you suggest we do about it?”

“All things being considered, I care too much to have an affair, and sully your reputation, such as it is.” He heaved a breath. His fingers dug into her shoulders. “I want to do the mad—and will regret this, I’m certain—yet proper, thing, and marry you. But you swore you’d never marry at all, and especially not me.”

“I believe I might have spoken in haste when I said that.” She lowered her gaze, her body in turmoil. She wondered what his chest looked like, naked, and trembled. “I don’t wish to become anyone’s property; nonetheless, if we could marry, without you owning me, which we can’t, I wouldn’t be totally adverse to it.”

“Could you love me, Miss Pencavel?” His question was gentle, searching.

“Haven’t you noticed that I already do?” She met his gaze, her mouth timorous. “Darn you for causing that in me, you rogue.”

“And I’m in the untenable, and exasperating, position of loving you as well, you brazen handful.” He kissed her again.

Melwyn moaned into the sensual kiss, then laughed when they parted. “We are both in dire trouble then, aren’t we?”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “I can’t change the English laws, though I could debate them in the House of Lords. However, we could write up an agreement between us, with my solicitor,” he scraped his boots along the ground, “that I don’t own you or your property.”

A green lizard scurried along the broken cobbles and slithered into the weeds.

“Would that hold up in court?” She laughed again, her flesh thrumming. She reached up and touched his mouth. “Never mind. I will be a foolish woman and...marry you, Lord Lambrick, but you’ll be in for a precipitous ride.”

“Of that I have no doubt. I suppose if I am to be leg-shackled, it should be to you. We are much alike, in our zest for life, and will instill that in our many children. We will have to return to England, to have the banns called, then return here so you may bask in your glory as an archeologist.” He grabbed her and kissed her again. “As Lady Lambrick, if you don’t mind it too much.”

“Perhaps, don’t rush me.” Her brain clouded after the kiss, and she thought of cool sheets beneath them. “I’m thinking I won’t mind the fringe benefits of that position, that is, the intimate ones. Even if I have no knowledge of such things, I reiterate.” She’d have to manage this man, and love him, but let him
think
he was in charge, as men liked that. She’d pay the price of ego-stroking—and looked forward to other types of stroking. “What about my artifacts?”

“My men will safeguard them, don’t worry.” He caressed her shoulders, his fingers playing her like a pianoforte. His thumb then rubbed under her breast. “I’ll have them fill in the hole to discourage any onlookers. And I’ll bribe the Italian authorities.”

Her nipple hardened and she quivered as the heat soared lower. “Off to England then, and matrimonial bliss. I know you’ll never bore me.” She traced her finger along his manly jaw, inhaling his musky scent. She sighed and shook her head, hoping she wouldn’t rue this decision in the morning. “I have much to discuss with you, as we get to know one another better.” She smiled into his beaming face. “However, I should be hauled off to Bedlam. Worse than that, my abigail will never let me hear the end of this.”

Chapter Seventeen

Aunt Hedra frowned and raised her quizzing glass. “I’m most astounded, Melwyn. I thought you abhorred that gentleman and the very idea of marriage.”

“It seems there’s a fine line between hate and love, and I fell over it. A happy plunge, as it turns out.” Melwyn smiled as she sat in her aunt’s opulent parlor in Grosvenor Square. Her agitation, and troubled mind, felt easier. Instead of balking at being tied down, she looked into a future with infinite possibilities, and sensual forays in the bedroom.

“You always were an impulsive gel, and I’ll never understand you, it’s true.” Aunt Hedra settled her curvaceous buttocks into the upholstered wing chair. “Thank goodness we’ve gotten rid of panniers, as I used to never fit in any chairs. But I digress; do you really love him?”

“Terribly, I’m afraid. I’m to rest here, then return to Cornwall so we may call the banns in his parish church.” Melwyn sighed, reliving Griffin’s—she thought of him that way now—hot kisses and caresses upon her person. Her flesh tingled. “Papa will be relieved, I daresay. But more importantly, I’m ecstatic.”

“You are very young. I hope you’re not making a huge mistake.” Her aunt smiled indulgently as a maid brought in the tea tray. “Men can be cantankerous creatures, and unduly possessive after marriage.”

The maid set the pot, cups, milk jug, and sugar bowl, plus the silver tea things on the Chinese Chippendale style mahogany table with its pierced ledge at top and pierced support for the legs. The elegant piece had pull out candle trays on each side.

“I won’t allow him to dominate me. You know I have a resolute mind.” Except when he kissed her and more, Melwyn mused to herself. Her body warmed again at the thought. She was becoming a ninny in love, how very alarming.

“Stick to that, my dear. I never gave Penpol the upper hand, and we hummed along fine.” Aunt Hedra poured them both tea, chipped lumps off the sugar cone with her sugar nips, and dropped one in each cup. She handed one Wedgewood black basalt dish to her niece. “I suppose I’ll have to travel all the way out to Cornwall to attend your nuptials. How inconvenient.”

“You used to live there, Auntie; don’t you ever miss it?” Melwyn nestled back in the chair, the delicate basalt cup warming her fingers. “The place you spent your misspent youth.”

“Gracious no.” Her auntie’s mouse-skin eyebrows soared. “London is where the action is, opera, theater, shopping; the occasional hanging; who could ask for more.”

“Speaking of shopping, I want the newest of gowns for my wedding.” Melwyn intended to dazzle Griffin. A dazzled man was always off-balance and more acquiescent. “Let us shop tomorrow in the Strand.”

“Turbans are all the kick for the headgear, though may not look right for a wedding. And they’d never fit over my hair.” Aunt Hedra primped at her mountain of tresses, where she now had a tiny wooden ship dangling. She was definitely stuck in the styles of decades past—except for eschewing panniers. “I know the perfect modiste to fix you up.” Her aunt sipped loudly from her teacup. “We’ll go to my seamstress on Bond Street right here in Mayfair.”

“That sounds just the thing.” Melwyn sipped her tea, the rich flavor pleasing. “I don’t know if I’ve grown up, as my soon-to-be husband wished me to, but I am more sanguine in all this fuss. I just needed to find the right man, and he was betrothed to me from the beginning.” She selected a biscuit from the silver plate on the tea tray. “I hope it’s only a temporary malady, my compliance, and silliness.”

“I dareswear, you are addle-headed. Don’t let that deter you from what you insisted you wanted the last time you were here—whatever that was.” Aunt Hedra added more milk to her tea, her gaze steady on her niece. “I don’t know why I’m encouraging your wild ramblings, when marriage
is
the best thing for you. Nevertheless, you are aware of your intended’s shadowy reputation?”

“I am, though have no absolute proof.” Melwyn glanced around the parlor with its breakfront mahogany sideboard, striped silk wallpaper, and upholstered settees. She lowered her voice. “I believe he’s a privateer. And it makes him all the more attractive to me.”

“Hmmm, don’t get in over your pretty head, my dear. Make certain he desists from that nonsense before you wed.” Her aunt sighed. “Oh, before I forget. I’ve had a few notes from that young man you met at Almack’s. He kept asking if you were in town.” She tapped her chin. “Mr. Showreynolds, the baron’s son.”

“He probably wanted to know if it was safe for him to go out in public after Gri...Lord Lambrick threatened him.” Melwyn laughed, remembering the stumbling dullard in question. She did feel somewhat sorry for the young man. “My fiancé is so forceful and masculine, he can’t help himself.”

“Bother it all, I’ve forgotten something else. I have a meeting of the Ladies Garden Society out in Kew tomorrow. I’m lecturing on rose hybrids, and I am the reigning expert.” Aunt Hedra set down her cup with a click in its saucer. “But I’ll give you a letter of introduction to Madame Vêtements, my modiste. You can take your common gel with you as escort.”

****

The following day, Melwyn was measured in the back of a shop by an officious Frenchwoman of at least forty years of age. “Oh,
Mademoiselle
, you have the loveliest figure, yes? I will make you the divine gown. A round gown of white clear muslin; chemise sleeves, festooned with lace, and tied with a riband of burgundy color. The dress will be braided in the back, and bound round the neck with a second broad burgundy riband, and a plaiting of lace.” The petite Madame Vêtements waved the measuring tape in the air, her tight black curls bouncing. “You must purchase some white silk shoes for the occasion.”

“She be lookin’ like an angel, though an imp in cherub’s clothing,” Clowenna said with a roll of her eyes. “Set to marry that devil o’ a man
I
said she loved, an’
she
denied it over an’ over. But that be a match made in Heaven, or Hell, them two.”

“The dress sounds
très parfait
, Madame. Let’s hope for Heaven, shall we?” Melwyn stepped off the stool, her chemise whispering around her, and cast her abigail a sharp stare.  “Sew something fancy for Mrs. Buckett as well, with several fuchsia ribands, yards of pink lace, massive furbelows and other frippery.”

“I hate lace an’ don’t care much for ruffles.” Clowenna plucked several ribbons from the samples laid out, all browns and muted yellows. “An’ in pink I’ll look like a stuffed pig.”

“Breadcrumbs will become you; and I’d love to stick an apple in your mouth on occasion, out of affection of course.” Melwyn wrapped her stays around her, and her maid laced them up. Then she slipped her gown over her chemise. She ran her fingers along the sleek silk and satin cloth, and plush, rich velvets of the material on display. “I suppose I’ll have to order many gowns to show well as Lady Lambrick.”

“Still, the valet might like me in lace.” Clowenna picked up a strip of Venetian lace and swept it around her throat. “Kenver be a man o’ good taste.”

“Do I detect a romance blooming?” Melwyn laughed when her abigail blushed. But she wasn’t certain how she felt about Clowenna seeking interests elsewhere. Melwyn’s heart sank a notch. Selfishly, she’d planned for the maid, her friend, to remain in her employ forever. “At the ripe old age of seven and twenty, you’ve found a beau? Impossible.”

“No one is ever too old for love,
mes belles dames
. You English are so stiff upper lip.” Madame Vêtements scribbled down the measurements. “I will have this for you in three days, if we work very hard,
non
.”

“I will come in for a fitting before I leave for Padstow. If the gown needs alterations, you may finish them then send it to me there.” Melwyn thanked the woman and left the shop. Out on Bond Street, carriages and people bustled by, the scents of perfume, sea coal smoke and horses mixing together. “I never thought I’d be planning a wedding, instead of an expedition. Papa must have fainted dead away when he received my letter.”

“I’m certain once the bloom wears off, ‘ee be off again to scrabble in the dirt an’ fall in holes.” Clowenna wrinkled her nose. She stepped around a pile of dog poop after a grand lady’s poodle crouched and did his duty. “This city still stinks.”

“I would like to visit Egypt after Italy, and investigate the pyramids. But I hope my husband will go with me.” Sultry nights in the desert beside her beloved, with the braying of a camel in the background, how perfect! She’d be famous by then after her discovery in Pompeii. She dearly hoped the artifacts remained protected and hidden. “Hail us a hackney and we’ll look for a shoemaker’s shop. I need those silk slippers to look fashionably stunning.”

“Oh, la, ‘ee be like someone I never met afore.” Clowenna widened her eyes in theatrical shock. “But I’m that glad you’re marryin’ him. Rein ‘ee both in, it will.”

At that moment a fine coach pulled up to the sidewalk. A familiar face leaned out the window. “By jingo, Lady Pencavel. How good to see you again.” The bland features of Mr. Showreynolds smiled from under a beige bicorn hat. “May I offer you a ride to wherever you need to go?”

Melwyn hesitated, fighting down a wince. The young man, who she must have scandalized horribly at Almack’s, acted overly friendly now. Why had he written her aunt to inquire after her? “You need not trouble yourself, Mr. Showreynolds. I will hire a hackney. We’re only shopping. But thank you for offering.”

“It’s no trouble. Please, allow me to smooth over the misconceptions and blunders of our previous meeting.” He opened the coach door, his gaze earnest.  “My coach is quite comfortable. Much finer than a hackney. And these London jarvey’s are not to be trusted.”

Melwyn was in a joyous mood and hated to be rude—a peculiar situation for her. “Very well. Perhaps you know a respected shoemaker close by. I require a pair of silk slippers.” She didn’t know if he was aware of her pending nuptials and decided not to mention it. “You are too kind in stopping.”

“I am honored to do so, I assure you. There’s a fine slipper shop over on Oxford Street. My mother praises the work they do there.” Showreynolds let down the step, his grin wide.