by Eloisa James
He didn’t look guilty in the least.
“Have you any family members who are helping raise her?” Edie asked hopefully. “An aunt, perhaps?” She couldn’t possibly become a mother to a five-year-old, overnight. She wasn’t sure she had even seen a five-year-old before.
“Unfortunately, no. I have some aunts, but they haven’t yet met Susannah. They are my father’s sisters,” he explained. “They live in the Orkney Islands.”
“She is in the castle alone?”
“There are one hundred and thirteen servants in residence, including the four who are dedicated exclusively to her care.”
Her own mother had died when she was still a child, and so Edie was well aware that even one hundred servants couldn’t make up for a lost parent. “Perhaps there are books about this sort of thing,” she muttered. “Is the poor child terribly grieved? How did your mother die, if I might ask?”
“She drowned in a loch after imbibing more whisky than advisable.” There was a pause, and then he added, “My father died years earlier, after drinking two bottles of whisky. On a bet, you understand.”
Edie began sorting through the standard expressions of sympathy she had been taught; none seemed adequate.
“Still, my father died triumphant in his ill-advised wager, which would undoubtedly be a consolation to him. I do not drink spirits, in case you are concerned about the possibility that I have inherited the family susceptibility.” Gowan delivered these facts in an utterly even tone, as if he were recounting no more than a change in the weather.
“And Susannah’s father . . . your stepfather?”
“My mother referred to herself as a widow, though no one in her household knew much about her life before she moved to Edinburgh last year. She may have concealed her marriage from me in order to protect her allowance. Or it may be that Susannah is illegitimate. I have hired Bow Street Runners to find out.” He folded his arms over his chest. “There are those who would maintain that I offer you a tarnished name.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Edie frowned at him. “Your parents’ foolishness does not reflect on you.”
“That is very generous of you.” He hesitated, then said, “I must add that Susannah appears to be fairly unmanageable. I’m not the only person she’s bitten: I gather the nursemaids consider themselves in danger as well.”
Wonderful. Edie was already unnerved by the idea of caring for a child, let alone a difficult one. “Did she have any idea that you existed before she arrived on your doorstep? What is she like?”
“Small. Puny, in fact. I think she is remarkably articulate for someone so young, though her governess assures me female children are often so. And no, she seems to have had no idea she had family at all.”
“Does she look like you?”
“Her hair is a much brighter red. Other than that, I cannot say. I have not yet spent much time with her.”
“She must be miserable, what with losing her mother and then meeting a strange brother.”
“There is no reason for her to be miserable. It is my impression that she knew little of our mother.”
Edie had the distinct feeling that the Duke of Kinross was of the opinion that there were only narrow circumstances under which someone might be allowed an emotion as powerful as misery. “Even if Susannah was not close to her mother, she lost everyone who was familiar to her,” she pointed out.
“I receive a complete report every day of all events of significance, and the nursery has not been mentioned since a biting episode last week, so I am confident she is happy.”
Edie jumped up from her chair again. All that tingling awareness of Gowan she had felt earlier had been swallowed by a storm of nerves. She went over to the mantelpiece and picked up a pretty little porcelain Madonna holding the infant Jesus, fiddled with it briefly, then put it back down. Likely Mary had known perfectly well how to raise her son. Whereas Edie felt a dawning terror at the thought. Why hadn’t her father mentioned the child when he announced that she was marrying Gowan? She might have launched a protest.
Not that her father would have paid the slightest attention to her qualms, given that the alliance would make her a duchess.
“How on earth do you receive daily reports if you are here, and Susannah is in Scotland?” she asked Gowan.
“A groom leaves the castle every morning with a full report.” He, too, had risen, and stood at the opposite end of the mantelpiece. “I find that managing a large estate is significantly easier with a constant flow of communication. My more remote estates send messages to the castle every two to three days.”
“That must require a great many servants,” she said, awed at the idea. “And coaches, and horses.”
He shrugged. “I have a great many.”
Then, in an instant, a taut desire came back into his eyes, making her pricklingly aware of her body again. He took a step toward her. “Don’t worry about my sister,” he said. “If you don’t like her, I’ll find someone else to care for her.”
“Absolutely not!” Edie exclaimed. “I’m merely unused to children. But I shall manage.” Gowan’s smile was pure temptation—and had nothing to do with her reassurance as regards his sister. “This is terribly risky,” she said, remembering suddenly that they were alone in her bedchamber in a strange house in the middle of the night. “You must leave. I wouldn’t want to ruin Honoria’s wedding by creating a scandal.”
“Yes, I must.” His deep voice caressed her skin like velvet. She shivered and heard a strand of music in her head. And he didn’t move.
“If you are caught, it will cause a terrible uproar,” she said, and then added, “You’re rather large. Wide, I mean. Broad.”
“I swim in the loch every day.”
Apparently it was swimming that had given him the chest she longed to touch again. He bowed, and then started toward the balcony. She followed him as if drawn by a string.
“What did you think of my playing?” she asked, just when Gowan had one hand on the balustrade and was about to swing down a rope ladder that had been tied to the corner baluster.
His face was in shadow; the courtyard below him was illuminated only by moonlight. “I thought you were a genius,” he said. “Just as your father said. Will you teach Susannah the cello?”
“Yes,” she said, realizing for the first time that of course she would teach the child, just as her father had taught her.
“Then we must make it possible for Susannah, and any children of our own, to play for an audience if they so wish.” He began his descent.
His head disappeared below the marble parapet while she was still digesting that sentence. She leaned over and watched him as he climbed, making it look as easy as descending a flight of stairs.
Once on the ground, he threw back his head and looked up at her. Her heart gave a great thump at the sight of him. But she was also experiencing a toe-curling sense of embarrassment. Perhaps she should have been more standoffish. What if, after what had just occurred between them, he thought she was a wanton?
“Perhaps you’re right,” she called softly, staring down. “We are ‘quick bright things’ . . . too rash, too sudden, too ill-advised.”
“I can woo you tomorrow as if we’d never met, but I’m afraid that everyone in the drawing room already knows how I feel. And the notice is already in the papers.”
“Things like this don’t happen to people like me,” Edie said.
“Your voice is like music,” Gowan said, staring up at her. “What time do you rise?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I want more of you, and not just while staring across the pews during the wedding.”
He said it matter-of-factly, but her heart soared. “Nine o’clock in the morning. Good night,” she called.
“Good night,” he said, too softly for her to hear.
But somehow she heard anyway.
She stood gripping the cold marble, watching as Gowan strode across the courtyard and disappeared under the port
ico.
And then she stood a little longer, hearing music tumbling through her mind, even deeper and sweeter than she made on her cello.
Fourteen
No. 20 Curzon Street, London
The Earl of Gilchrist’s town house
“Your fiancé,” said the earl, with icy precision, “initially agreed to a five-month betrothal, but now he wishes to reduce that period. As I believe I mentioned to you, he has recently come into guardianship of an orphaned sister, a very young child. I gather he is worried that she will remain motherless during the interval, though he expressed no pressing concern when he asked for your hand in marriage.”
The Gilchrists had returned to London directly after the wedding, and Gowan had gone back to Brighton to talk to those bankers. Edie was secretly counting the days until the conference of bankers concluded. Tomorrow, she thought, or even tonight.
“I would be pleased to agree,” she said, shaping her tone to docile compliance. The last thing she wanted was to spur her father to a fit of righteous rage by pointing out the fact that he had neglected to mention Susannah to her altogether.
“I do not like it,” he said abruptly. He wheeled around and put his glass back on a table.
“May I inquire why not?”
“The duke isn’t the man I believed him to be.”
“That is not true,” Edie protested. “Gowan is precisely—”
“Gowan? You address him by his given name? That is outrageous.” Her father’s mouth flattened into a thin line.
She wanted to snap back at him, but it would only hurt her cause. “I did not mean it in that fashion,” she offered.
“I am expected in Parliament,” her father stated. He bowed, and left.
He did not come home that night for supper. “You know,” Edie said at the table, “I think you treat my father altogether too kindly, Layla. Here you are in the house whereas your husband is out gallivanting, doing whatever he pleases.”
“What would you have me do? Flirt with Gryphus? I don’t even like the man. He’s too young.”
“Of course not.” Edie put down her fork. “But why should your life be so miserable? I’m not saying that you should flirt, Layla. I’m just saying that perhaps you should build a routine so that you aren’t so gloomy when Father fails to return home.”
Layla looked dubious.
“I know that I gave you something of an excuse, since I didn’t debut until this year, but there is no reason for you to stay at home these days. Yet you rarely leave the house.”
“That’s what a wife is supposed to do.”
“But her husband is supposed to join her at home. Not to mention the fact that he is supposed to escort her to balls and plays. My father is rarely here, and when he is, he’s so cold you could chill an ice by him. Where would we be going tonight, if Father hadn’t accepted Kinross’s offer? If I were still searching for a husband, in other words?”
“Almack’s, I suppose,” Layla said. “It’s a Wednesday night and you were sent a voucher after your debut.”
“Right,” Edie said. “That’s where we’ll go tonight.”
“But why? Your father won’t know where I am, nor will he care. What if he doesn’t come home all night, as he didn’t last night? He maintains that he sleeps in his chambers at the House of Lords.” She said the last with a patent lack of belief.
“Then you will have had a lovely time dancing, which is important, too. There is no reason for you to sit about twiddling your fingers while I bore you silly playing the cello.” Edie stood up. “I will ask Mary to dress me for dancing.”
“All right.”
Edie pointed at her. “You, Mistress Stepmother, shall be happy tonight.”
“I suppose.” Layla looked willing but incapable, her smile wobbly.
“Tell Willikins that we want champagne before going out. We’ll both get bosky and then dance with anyone who puts a hand in our direction. Let the gossips tell Father that!”
Edie came down the stairs a while later looking somewhere between maidenly and seductive. She’d had no word from Gowan indicating that he had returned to London, but of course one didn’t dress merely to please a man.
Though that was what she had done.
Mary had used the curling iron to straighten her hair, and then had managed to make most of it stay above her shoulders.
Layla gasped. “Oh, Edie, darling, you look utterly delicious!” She looked down at herself. “You’re so slender, and I’m getting fat.”
“You are not fat. You are delightfully curved, Layla. There’s a difference. And I am not slender, either.”
“You’re slender in comparison to me, probably because you don’t take afternoon tea. Every one of these curves is made from crumpets. Your champagne awaits.” Layla waved a glass in her direction. “Perhaps I have too many curves for your father’s liking.”
“Layla, dearest, are you bosky already?” Edie accepted a glass from Willikins, who bowed and left.
“I believe I am a bit tipsy. It’s my new slimming regime; I’ve decided to eat only grapes after three in the afternoon. No more tea. It’s my downfall.”
“Absurd!”
“If I manage to stay on this regime, I might be able to win your father back from Winifred.”
“Winifred? Who’s she?” Edie sat down opposite her stepmother and took a sip of her champagne. Then, after another look at Layla, she took a proper gulp. She might as well get in the spirit of things. “Are you saying that you have found out the name of Father’s mistress?”
“No, but I’ve named her Winifred. It’s a name I’ve always loathed, so that makes it easier.”
“Makes what easier?”
“Loathing her, of course,” Layla said. “For wrecking my less-than-happy home. I also consider her responsible for the fact that I have eaten too many crumpets. And for the fact that the only reason my husband gets up in the night is to use the chamber pot.”
“Ha,” Edie said, giving that jest precisely its due and no more.
“What I need is inspiration. I shall use Winifred as a spur to reduce. I’m sure she’s slender and sylphlike and utterly gorgeous.”
“You are utterly gorgeous,” Edie said, watching as Layla quaffed half her glass of champagne.
“More importantly, the time has come,” Layla said, pausing dramatically, “to tell you the secrets of the marital bed.”
“I know them,” Edie assured her hastily.
“No, no, not the basics. What I’m about to tell you are secrets that are passed from mother to daughter.” Layla paused and then frowned. “Do you know about the petit mort?”
Edie was pretty sure she did, so she nodded.
“It’s just like us to have no word for it ourselves,” Layla said a bit crossly. “We have to resort to French, as if Frenchmen were the only ones able to give a woman pleasure. I could tell you—” She caught herself. “You wouldn’t appreciate the details, as it’s your father in question.”
“No,” Edie said. “I would not.”
“Well, the most important thing to remember is that anything a man asks you to do for him can and should be reciprocated.”
Edie frowned. Granted, her understanding of intercourse was at a rudimentary level, but she couldn’t imagine any reciprocity.
“No, not that,” Layla said, waving her hands. “You’ll know it when you see it. I mean, when you are asked to do it. Just take my word for it.”
“All right.”
“I have to say that I consider this extremely unlikely, but should Kinross prove to be able to maintain his tool for only a few minutes, or if he can’t get it up at all, I can help. There are potions for that! So just tell me, darling, and I’ll get my hands on the right medicine. I could even send one to you by post.”
“Thank you,” Edie said, wondering whether women informed their husbands of the potion’s effects or administered it secretly.
“And here’s the big secret, though I never thought I’d need s
uch a thing.” Layla’s eyes filled with tears. “But I have.”
Edie was starting to feel bewildered. “Does it have to do with virginity?”
“That? Oh no. That didn’t hurt much at all. Don’t let those old wives’ tales frighten you. There may be a few drops of blood, which will make your Scotsman happy. Men are absurdly proud to think they’re plowing a virgin field.”
“A field?”
“You’re the field, darling, and he has the plow, if you follow me. Though perhaps a hoe would be a better comparison. No, the real secret has to do with leading your husband to believe that you are experiencing pleasure when you aren’t.”
“Oh dear,” Edie said. The more she heard about her father’s marriage, the more broken it seemed.
A tear slid down Layla’s cheek. “We never had any trouble before everything turned to having a baby. It’s just so distressing.” She sniffled. “But that won’t happen to you. Did I tell you how envious I am that you have a child ready-made and waiting for you in Scotland?”
Edie kept silent. She could hardly tell Layla that she had lain awake the night before worrying that little Susannah wouldn’t like her.
“Some women never have to fret about these matters, because their husbands don’t care if they experience pleasure or not. But good husbands do care. And there are times when, if you don’t bring it to a close, he’ll just keep trying until you want to scream. What men do not understand is that a woman may be so fatigued or miserable that she simply can’t feel all that he might wish her to feel. Are you following, Edie?”
“More or less.”
“So in that case, she has only one recourse: she acts the part.”
“Sorry?”
“Acts,” Layla said. “Performs. Pretends.”
“Performs what?”
“Le petit mort.”
“Oh.”
“You’re not following, are you?”
“Not really.”
“Making love is a noisy business,” Layla said.
“It is?” Edie was growing more and more fascinated, if still confused. She hadn’t quite imagined it that way.