by Eloisa James
Gowan bowed, looking quite pleased with himself. “I will be delighted to pay you a visit tomorrow afternoon to discuss these arrangements, my lord.”
“In that case, I would prefer to stay here,” Layla said, adjusting the pearl-embroidered band in her hair. “I haven’t even danced, and naturellement . . .” The intended point of that thought seemed to elude her, so she merely added, “I refuse to return home at such an unfashionably early hour.”
The last thing Edie wanted to do was remain in her father and stepmother’s company. She threw Gowan a pleading look.
“I would be happy to escort my fiancée to your house,” Gowan told the earl. “You can be assured that I have only the most honorable of intentions.”
Edie’s father’s jaw was clenched, but he managed to speak. “I would be most grateful if you would escort my daughter, Your Grace. My wife and I shall return in due course.”
“Not if Winifred is in the carriage as well,” Layla said with great dignity. “I have standards.”
Edie’s father sat down at the table, an expression of confounded rage on his face. “Will you please do me the courtesy of enlightening me as to the identity of this Winifred?”
“Not until we discuss rabbits,” Layla said, her jaw set as firmly as her husband’s. She pushed away the empty glass and delicately took hold of the stem of her second.
“Rabbits?”
“Good evening, Layla, Father,” Edie called, dragging Gowan away without waiting for a response. “I apologize for that scene,” she said, when they were a safe distance away. “I believe their marriage has reached a boiling point.”
“I trust that we can avoid that sort of overwrought emotion,” Gowan said.
Edie laughed. “You’re quoting from my first letter to you!”
“Paraphrasing,” Gowan said. “I’m afraid that I do not remember your exact words.”
“I cannot imagine the two of us in that sort of tangle.”
Gowan began guiding Edie toward the door, the crowd parting before a duke like minnows before a shark. “Do you have a temper?” he asked her. “I don’t mean to be rude, but your father looked a trifle irritable.”
“I’ve spent a good part of my life playing peacemaker,” Edie said. “The household couldn’t have survived if I’d begun indulging in fits of temper, too. What about you?”
“Regrettably, I do have a temper.” They reached the entryway and he sent a footman for his carriage. “In fact, your father and I might have more in common than I thought.” He didn’t look entirely pleased at that idea.
“But you appear so composed!” Edie exclaimed. “In fact, I was slightly worried at first that you might never put aside your ducal calm.”
“I think it’s more worrisome that you have never been given free rein to lose your temper.”
Edie laughed. “I did tell Layla that I would knock you over the head with my cello if you took a mistress.”
Gowan gave her a wry grin. “I lose my head and say things that I don’t actually mean. It has taken me twenty-two years to admit it, but I can be a hotheaded dunce.”
“I would rather like to see you in a passion, I think.”
“You will.” His voice stroked her skin like a velvet kiss.
“I didn’t mean that!”
“When I lose my temper, I shout like a madman.”
Edie felt a prickle of unease. “That doesn’t sound very pleasant.”
“It’s not. I’ve had to train my household to bear with me. They never obey me when I speak in a complete rage.”
“What exactly does such a lack of obedience entail?”
Gowan grimaced. “Very occasionally, I throw people out of my household. And then regret it. But I can assure you that this has happened only three or four times since I inherited my title.”
“Should I anticipate being tossed on the doorstep?” Edie didn’t know what to think about that. Her father certainly had a temper, but he’d never threatened to disown or dismiss anyone. He just shot out some angry sentences and disappeared from the house.
The butler appeared, holding her cloak. Gowan took it from him and put it around her shoulders himself. “Never. Though I can’t promise not to banish a man who ogles my bride.”
Edie looked up at him, feeling a distinctly female thrill as she met his eyes. Still . . . much though his deep male possessiveness felt delightful, it wouldn’t be so in reality. “Please don’t turn into my father . . . you’ve seen how jealous he is. Though I should add that you’ve just seen my family at its worst. Most of the time we are both sober and sane.”
“Unlike my family, then,” Gowan stated.
Edie waited until they were seated opposite each other in the quiet luxury of his carriage before asking, “You have told me of inebriation, but what of madness?”
There was that glimmer of a smile again. “It takes a mild form. I have three aunts, each of whom is obsessed by her dog. The dogs have birthdays, jeweled leashes, and more coats than I.”
“More coats?”
“Velvet for winter; oiled linen for summer. Their own fur is apparently inadequate for weathering Scottish winds. Various other animals periodically join their household. My aunts—the ladies Sarah, Letty, and Doris—are convinced that any animal can be trained like a dog, if only one applies oneself to the task.”
“Any animal? What are they expected to learn? Can a rabbit be trained to bark?”
“A dog is not trained to bark,” Gowan pointed out. “Training, with respect to animals, might be summed up as an ability to answer to a given name, control the bladder, confine any droppings to a chosen arena (not the drawing room carpet), and in general respond to commands.”
“I suppose you might train a cat,” Edie said, though she was doubtful. She had never had close contact with animals of any sort. “Though from what I understand, they do not respond readily.”
Gowan shook his head. “Cats lie in the distant past. My aunts have proceeded through several species of bird, a vole, a hedgehog, three squirrels, and a whole family of rabbits. At the moment they are working with pigs. Piglets, actually.”
“They’re training piglets?”
“They prefer to have it be known that they are ‘domesticating’ them.” His tone was so dry that Edie broke into giggles. “When I last paid them a visit, the piglets had learned their names—which are, by the way, Petal, Cherry, and Marigold. By now, I have to assume that the triplets have probably become mothers. Or bacon.” He stretched out his long legs and his boot brushed Edie’s slipper. Even that fleeting touch made her shiver, which was absurd. Absurd.
“For my part,” she said, collecting herself, “I would think personal hygiene considerably more pressing than names.”
“All three piglets were making excellent progress,” Gowan said gravely. “They were paraded in front of me at dinner, looking quite pink and scrubbed and adorned with matching ribbons. Reportedly, there had been a few regrettable incidents, but far fewer than you might suppose.”
“I shall be quite delighted to meet them,” Edie said, with equal solemnity. And then she laughed again. “Do you know, I’ve never been close to any sort of animal except a horse. I do know how to ride.”
Gowan waved his hand dismissively. “Horses are in the dark ages of the history of domestication.”
“Where did your aunts come up with the idea?”
“Letty posited the notion as a girl, and all three picked up the challenge.” His foot touched Edie’s again. But his face didn’t change. Perhaps his move was inadvertent? It made her toes curl.
“But what makes them think that they will succeed?”
He looked surprised at that. “Why shouldn’t they? If anyone can domesticate a pig, I would put my money on Aunt Sarah, in particular. She had a squirrel eating from her hand last year.”
His certainty made Edie smile. She had grown up knowing that she was a member of the peerage, and as such, had a claim to blue blood and the rest of it. But the truth
was that her father only truly cared about music, and so did she. That fact had diluted the effect of upper-class breeding. In Gowan, and presumably his aunts, there had been no dilution. Hundreds of years of self-assurance had been drilled into him with the same rigor as had her musical scales.
His raised eyebrow let it be known that his aunts could certainly train a pig, if a pig was to be trained, and probably even if it wasn’t. “It’s something of a scientific experiment, you understand. Curiosity runs in my family. In the last few generations most of us have been obsessed with one investigation or another. Even my father’s death could be put down to an unfortunate attempt to prove a point.”
“And you?” Edie asked.
Gowan shrugged. “I take some interest in wheat. I am cultivating a new variety at the moment.”
Cultivating wheat was certainly more useful than training piglets, so Eddie made an encouraging sound, and was about to inquire whether the aunts had had any luck with geese—having met a cheerless and aggressive goose in her girlhood—but the carriage had come to a stop. They had arrived at her family’s house in Curzon Street. She was feeling about for her reticule when a rattle of wheels passed them and drew up sharply.
Edie slid over to the window on her side of the carriage and pulled open the curtain. Her father’s carriage had also just drawn up. A liveried groom popped down and opened the door. “My parents have arrived.”
Gowan moved to his window and peered out with as much interest as she. “Presumably your father managed to convince your stepmother that dancing while inebriated is not a good idea.”
“Why aren’t they coming out?” Edie said, after a moment.
“I cannot say with certainty, but I would guess your father is endeavoring to rouse the countess. I expect that drink has rendered her sleepy, if not insensible.” There was a biting undertone to his voice that Edie didn’t like.
She opened her mouth to defend Layla, but at that moment her father emerged from the carriage carrying his wife in his arms. Sky-blue silk rippled behind him as he walked up the front walk toward the open door, Layla’s head lying on his shoulder.
“You’re right; she must have fallen asleep,” Edie said, instead. “I would have thought one had to imbibe something stronger than champagne.”
“It’s not only the quality of the drink, but the quantity. How much did she take?”
“Perhaps six glasses? But she hasn’t eaten much today.”
“Nearly an entire bottle,” Gowan pointed out. “She’s soused.”
As the earl neared the front step, Layla suddenly reached up and pulled her husband’s head down to her mouth. She was, definitively, awake. Edie dropped the curtain and sat back. “Goodness,” she said. “I’d rather not have seen that. Nevertheless, we now know that Layla is not insensible.”
“She can certainly hold her drink.”
“You needn’t say it like that,” Edie said, frowning at him. “Layla is not an inebriate.”
“In my experience, inebriates aren’t nearly as unfamiliar with the bottle as they would wish their family members to believe.”
“That certainly may have been true of your parents,” Edie stated. “Though I am loath to insist on an unflattering distinction between our families, I see Layla almost hourly, since I have been unable to convince her not to interrupt my practice. Tonight was the first time I’ve seen her befuddled.”
Gowan’s eyes had turned sympathetic. “The most ferocious of rebuffs would not have stopped my father from interrupting my studies.”
“Gowan. That was not my point.”
After a few second, he said, “Oh?” It seemed that the duke was not accustomed to opposition. Well, one had to assume he could learn.
“While your cynical attitude arouses my sympathy,” Edie continued, “I would like you to acknowledge my point. My stepmother does not drink to excess. We don’t even take wine at dinner as a matter of course: only if my father is coming home, which is rare, these days.”
“I understand,” Gowan said, nodding. He glanced back out the window. “They’re still kissing. Your father is quite passionate for a man of his years.”
“He’s not so very old,” Edie said, switching from defending her tipsy stepmother to her irascible father. “He’s only just over forty. You yourself boasted that Scotsmen are active for many years past forty.”
“I thought the man had a touch of the Scots about him.”
It was absurd that even a glimpse of Gowan’s smile made her feel unsettlingly soft and melting, but that was the truth of it. “I thought perhaps you had mislaid your sense of humor,” she observed.
“I apologize. I’m afraid that my parents left me with a distinctly unsympathetic attitude toward over-indulgence in alcohol.”
“That is quite understandable,” Edie said. “Do tell me when my parents are finally inside, because I should follow. There will be hysterics if Layla looks in my chamber to say good night, and I’m not there.”
Gowan glanced out again. “They’ve entered the house.”
“In that case, I must retire. We should not be sitting in a stationary carriage without a chaperone, betrothed or not.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” Gowan said, a wicked light rousing in his eyes. “I could take you driving alone in Hyde Park.”
“Not in the dark. I really must go in.” But the sentence came out in a rather husky tone.
“Not until I kiss you good night,” he whispered, taking her hands and drawing her to his side of the carriage. “My nearly wife.”
Edie tipped her head so she could see his eyes. They had gone sleepy and possessive.
His head came closer, and she held her breath for a moment, wondering if the kiss would be as intoxicating as their first . . . and then she didn’t wonder any longer. His tongue slid into her mouth, and she stopped thinking altogether.
She was learning that there were some things that you shouldn’t try to think about while you were experiencing them; you should simply feel them. So she let herself feel how thick and soft his hair was, and then, when her hands drifted down from his neck to his shoulders and below, the way his back was corded with muscle.
By then the kiss was growing more insistent, and she found herself clinging to him, hardly breathing, her body thrilling to a rhythm she didn’t know but instinctively felt in her veins.
“Edie,” Gowan said hoarsely, breaking off their kiss with a muffled groan. “We have to stop before—”
“Don’t stop,” Edie said, pulling his mouth back to hers. “No one knows where we are.”
And so he didn’t stop, and the next time either of them spoke was when Gowan cupped Edie’s breast, which felt so wonderful that she uttered something incoherent. He laughed low in reply, and rubbed his thumb across her nipple.
The sensation made Edie cry out and press forward into his hand. Her cloak had disappeared somehow, and even through layers of cloth she could feel the heat and power in his hands as he touched her. Each touch brought a wild surge of feeling.
He seemed fascinated, watching intently as her breasts overflowed his hands.
“They’re rather large,” Edie whispered, thinking of how Layla had characterized her bosom as unfashionably ample.
He glanced at her, a fleeting gleam of his eyes that made her want to curl against him and beg him for more caresses. Harder ones.
“They are perfect,” he said. The sound of his voice rubbed against her skin like her cello’s deepest notes. “I have dreamed of holding you, Edie.”
“You have?”
“Since the night I met you. But no dream is like reality.”
He did something so pleasurable with his hands that Edie could do nothing but sink back onto the seat. He followed, and then he was kissing her neck, and all the time he caressed her breasts while Edie thought about what it felt like to have the weight of a male body on her. And how nice it would be if he were touching her without the barrier of her gown and chemise.
She would hav
e thought he’d be too heavy, even propped up on one elbow. But he wasn’t. Her body loved the feeling of all that muscle and heat; it made her want to form a cradle with her legs. Which was such an outrageous idea that she shocked herself.
He’d reached the base of her neck, but instead of a kiss he gave her a little lick, which felt so good that, quite involuntarily, she whimpered and arched her back a little. It made his body settle more firmly on her.
Now he was kissing the slope of her breasts and then he dropped his thigh between her legs and pressed. She clutched his shoulders so hard that she was certain her fingernails would leave little marks.
Gowan murmured something so low she couldn’t hear it, and then he pulled sharply on her gown; her bodice slipped down, and his lips closed over her nipple. Edie had literally never imagined such a feeling. She arched again with a little shriek.
Gowan was nibbling and licking and kissing in a sensual assault so overwhelming that Edie stopped thinking altogether and just let herself feel. She felt like one of the tin pots that boys blew up on Guy Fawkes Day. She was ready to explode into something bright and frightening and gorgeous, if only . . . She pushed up against his leg, feeling a fiery burn spreading through her body that left her breathless.
But just then, when she felt kindling catch fire—Gowan stopped. An unwelcome coolness replaced the warmth of his mouth. She looked down. In the dim light her breasts were pale but her nipples had turned dark pink and stood out, begging for more attention.
His gaze followed hers, but he had that look on his face again, or perhaps it was no look at all.
This was a problem, Edie thought groggily. She fell into melting darkness when he kissed her, and if she was truly honest, she didn’t care whether they were married or not. She wanted to make love on this carriage seat. Or the ground. Or anywhere else he cared to put her.
On the other hand, he seemed to have retained a disconcerting amount of clarity.
“How can you be so composed?” she said, a moment later, when he had deposited her on the opposite seat, located her cloak, and begun tying it as if she were a little girl.