“My dear, we cannot leave until Savelli returns.” Penworth spoke mildly but firmly. “We have to tell him about Harry and Elinor’s discovery yesterday. That is a matter of no little concern. You must see that.”
Lady Penworth smiled at him. “Of course I do, and I agree completely. But the prince will be returning today, and it will not take you long to tell him all about the stolen goods. I am sure the contessa will be delighted to see us leave, now that she realizes that Elinor will not marry her son. The servants can set to work on the packing while you and Rycote finish arranging the notes and sketches for the prince, and we should be ready to depart tomorrow. You young people may keep out of the way.” She waved a dismissive hand at them all as she marched into the house.
Penworth looked after her with a resigned smile. “It appears we will be returning to Rome tomorrow.”
Tunbury had been attending to all this with only half an ear. He had been busy admiring the way a lock of Norrie’s hair had escaped its chignon and curled around her ear. In shadow it was almost black, but when she turned her head and the sun hit it, all sorts of colors appeared in it. It was quite fascinating, and he was going to have the rest of his life to determine all of those colors. Every morning he would be able to sit with Norrie and look at her hair. And other parts of her.
“Tunbury, stop looking at my sister like a besotted idiot, and pay attention,” snapped Rycote. “We’re returning to Rome tomorrow.”
“Fine,” said Harry, still looking at Norrie. “We could go on a picnic today, if you like.”
“Lovely,” she said, looking back at Harry. “Is that all right, Papa?”
“Hmm?” With an abstracted air, Penworth continued looking at the doorway through which his wife had disappeared. “That sounds fine. Enjoy yourselves.” He stood up and went after his wife.
Rycote was still frowning, as if unable to decide whether he was pleased or not with his mother’s pronouncement. Pushing himself away from the table, he followed his father.
*
Elinor held up the rose dimity, looked in the mirror, and tossed it on the pile of discards. “No, that one won’t do, either.”
Martha looked at her with a mixture of amusement and exasperation and held out the pale green muslin dress she had just finished pressing. “This one, Lady Elinor?”
Elinor looked at the maid and smiled ruefully. “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?”
“Not at all, my lady. You just never felt the need to please a young man before. Now let me help you into this.” She lifted the flounced skirt over Elinor’s head, careful not to disarrange her hair, and tied it over the petticoats. Then she fastened the undersleeves into the bodice and allowed Elinor to close the tiny pearl buttons running down the front. She fluffed the lace ruffle at the neckline so it stood up properly, tweaked the flounces so that the green and white embroidery showed to best effect, and then stepped back and smiled approvingly. “There now. You look just like a breath of spring.”
With a half-laugh, Elinor turned to look at herself in the mirror. “It’s all backwards, isn’t it, Martha? I feel as if I’m just starting the courtship, only we’re already promised to each other. And it’s not as if we haven’t known each other since childhood.” She turned from side to side to see how the flounces fell as she moved. Very nicely, she decided.
“Ah, but getting to know each other as man and woman isn’t the same as knowing each other as boy and girl, is it? You’ll have plenty to learn about him, and him about you, never you fear. Now, it’s the leghorn bonnet you’ll want with this. The ribbons match and the wide brim is protection from the sun. And which parasol?”
“The white Battenberg lace, and the white lace mitts.” They were impractical for a picnic, but the lace made her feel delicate and fragile, and that, she thought, was how a girl being courted should feel.
Millie smiled her approval, and when Elinor reached the portico where Harry was waiting, she saw approval in his face as well. She admired the way he looked in return. His fawn trousers and brown frock coat fit him beautifully, showing his broad shoulders to advantage. His waistcoat was a mix of tan and brown, and his pale hat, with its soft, low crown and wide brim, looked quite dashing. How silly of him to think he looked ungentlemanly. He looked bold and brave and, and…. Her breath caught as she thought of the wonderfulness of him.
He handed her up onto the buggy’s seat. It wasn’t the most dashing of vehicles. The seat was little more than a board, and the space behind, now occupied by a picnic basket and blanket, looked as if it had last been hauling bales of hay. The whole was pulled by a horse that looked as if he would be happier pulling a plow. He probably had been pulling a plow yesterday, but Elinor didn’t care. She was sitting beside Harry, and she was setting off into an entirely new part of her life, uncharted territory. Rather like those old maps that said, “Beyond this place be dragons.” Only it wasn’t dragons. Her map said, “Beyond this place be Harry.” That was all she needed, or so she told herself.
They drove along in silence, an unusual circumstance to Elinor’s mind. Not only was she sitting stiffly erect, while Harry was sitting precisely the same way, but she couldn’t think of anything to say. She couldn’t remember the last time she had nothing to say to Harry, or he had nothing to say to her. Or if they should happen to be silent, it was always a comfortable kind of silence. This silence was more like a nervous uncertainty. She stole a glance at Harry. He was looking unsure of himself. That was not like him. Not at all. Harry always looked at ease, even when he wasn’t. And he was stealing glances at her, as if he hesitated to look at her straight on.
What was going on?
Had he decided she was too naïve, not worldly and glamorous enough? Was he having regrets? He couldn’t be. Not now, not when he’d finally spoken. She didn’t think she could bear it to have all her happiness snatched away.
*
Harry’s gut had begun churning right after breakfast. His sisters. He’d forgotten to tell Norrie about his sisters.
Who was he trying to fool? He hadn’t just forgotten to tell her about his sisters. He’d forgotten all about them, period. Again.
What kind of a brute was he that he could forget he had sisters? What was wrong with him?
Rycote never forgot he had sisters. He might complain about them, but he always looked out for them. He never simply forgot their existence.
He, on the other hand, had barely been able to recognize his sisters when he had finally remembered to go see them.
Of course, they had changed a lot in the years he had been away, and he had hardly ever seen them in the years before.
What kind of an excuse was that? Whose fault was it that he had not seen his sisters in years? That he barely knew them?
And now he had gone off and forgotten them all over again. He was as bad as his parents.
No, he was worse than his parents. He knew better. He had the Tremaines and—deliberately or not—they had taught him how families were supposed to behave, how brothers were supposed to behave.
He had responsibilities to his sisters, and they couldn’t be ignored. Not any longer. He had tucked his sisters off in a corner of his memory where he kept the rest of his family, where he kept the things he didn’t want to think about. Now that was changed. When he had seen his sisters this time, he had made promises. He didn’t make promises often, because when he did, he kept those promises.
The problem was that these promises were going to affect Norrie too. Unless she changed her mind. God, he didn’t think he could bear it if she changed her mind. It was one thing to have no hope; it would be another to have paradise snatched away just when it was within his grasp.
She looked so innocent when she came down, so pure, all lacy and fragile, and he had to seat her in this sorry excuse for a carriage. He darted a glance at her. She was sitting there so peacefully. But he had to tell her, and the longer he put it off, the harder it was going to be.
He pulled the horse to a hal
t, a very minor change in its speed, tied off the reins, and turned to her. “Norrie…” The hint of fear in her eyes froze him. What was going on? Norrie was never frightened.
“You’ve changed your mind,” she said.
“What?” He was too confused to say anything else for a moment. “What are you talking about?” he finally managed to say.
“You haven’t?”
“Of course not. What an asinine thing to suggest.”
“Then why have you been sitting there looking tragic?”
She sounded irritated. That was better than frightened, he thought. “I have to tell you something. It’s about my sisters.” Best to just blurt it out.
She blinked. Then she blinked again. “Your sisters.” She stared at him in silence.
He nodded.
She shook her head as if to clear it of confusion. “Good heavens, you have sisters. I remember now. Two of them. Is that right?”
He nodded again. “Julia and Olivia.”
“That’s right. You told me their names once. I’d forgotten all about them.” She turned on him. “But you never talk about them. You haven’t said anything about them in, in years. I don’t know anything about them.”
He could feel the heat rising in his face. “Well, I don’t really know them very well myself. I haven’t seen them much. They were still babies when I went off to school.”
“Babies,” she repeated.
“And then I was almost never home on vacations.”
“No, you weren’t. You were with us.”
“That’s right.”
“Where were they?”
He didn’t think he could feel much more uncomfortable. “Not with our parents. They were at the Abbey with their nurse, and then with their governess.”
“But not with their brother.”
“Norrie, there wasn’t anything I could have done for them.” He was pleading. “Not then.”
She thought about it, then nodded. “Not then. But now?”
He couldn’t quite meet her eye and spoke quickly. “You see, Julia is seventeen. She ought to come out next season, only she thinks our mother will make it a disaster so I promised I would help her.”
Norrie softened right in front of his eyes. “Well, of course you must help her.” She paused to think. “Absolutely. Your mother will have no notion of how to bring out a daughter. The places she goes are hardly suitable for a young girl, and she probably isn’t invited to the places that young girls should go.”
Of course Norrie would understand that right away. But did she see…? “The thing is, once we’re married, you’ll probably have to help too.”
“Indeed.” She beamed at him, looking quite happy at the prospect. “We’ll have to take a house for the season that’s big enough for her to stay with us. That will be much better for her than staying with your mother. She isn’t likely to kick up a fuss, is she? Your mother, I mean.” He started to say no, but Norrie wasn’t actually listening to him. She was making plans. “My parents will let us use Penworth House for a ball, I’m sure. And I can take your sister shopping and see to it that she has the right wardrobe. It will be great fun. What is Julia like?”
This time she did wait for an answer, only he didn’t really know what to say. “I haven’t actually seen much of her recently, but she seemed a bit reserved when I went to visit.”
Norrie had stopped planning and was looking at him. “She was just a baby when you first came to stay with us, wasn’t she.” He nodded. “And you’ve never been back much since then.” He nodded again. “And the other sister? How old is she?”
“Olivia. She’s twelve.”
“She wasn’t even born yet when we first met you.”
He nodded. “That’s right.” He didn’t admit that she’d been almost two when he first saw her. Once he’d come to know the Tremaines, he’d done his best to forget he had any other family.
“Oh, Harry, you’ve got two sisters and you don’t even know them. That’s so sad.”
“You won’t have to deal with them. I promise. They aren’t your responsibility.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You should have been taking care of them for years. All right, you couldn’t have done much for them while you were in school. But you never even spent time with them—that was very bad of you. However, from now on they will be our responsibility, and I can promise you that I am better prepared to deal with two almost-grown girls than you are.” She threw her arms around him. “What a lovely way to start out.”
Sheer astonishment froze him for a minute. She wasn’t going to turn away from him. She wasn’t even going to turn away from his sisters. He pulled her across his lap and held her tightly, knocking her bonnet askew so he could bury his face in her hair. She fit so perfectly into his arms, as if this was where she belonged. This was where she belonged. He would hold her, protect her, treasure her always. Nothing would ever harm her, not while he was here.
A lengthy kiss and much murmuring of endearments were eventually interrupted by a snort from the plow horse. Harry looked up to see the horse looking longingly at a patch of grass and he sighed regretfully. “I suppose we should get on our way.”
“Mmmm. I suppose. Where are we going?”
“A nice shady, secluded spot I found one day.” He smiled at her.
She smiled back. “That sounds lovely.”
As he gathered up the reins once more, she settled next to him, pressing close to his side. “Ouch!” She pulled back. “What on earth is in your pocket?”
He glanced down and grinned. “My revolver, remember?”
“Good to know you’ll be able to keep us safe if we’re attacked by any large stones.”
Seventeen
Harry spread out a blanket on a ledge that was cushioned with the soft grass of spring. Patches of trees provided privacy on either side, and below them a hillside planted with vines led down to the plain, where a patchwork of fields stretched before them, pale green where the grain was growing, brilliant yellow where some plant she didn’t know was blooming.
She took Harry’s hand—it was trembling slightly, she was pleased to notice—and allowed him to seat her. She closed her parasol and set it aside, then reached up to unpin her hat and set that aside as well. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back to enjoy the warmth of the sun. It was only then that she opened her eyes and looked at Harry.
He was kneeling beside her on the blanket, his hands clenched on his thighs, watching her. His eyes were dark.
She smiled at him and held out her hand. Would he understand?
He did.
Almost before she knew it, she was on her back and he was pressing down on her. One hand was fisted in her hair, holding her head tilted for him as his mouth began its exploration. Soft kisses, his lips barely brushing her skin, fluttered over her face, making her yearn for more. Her hands reached up to clutch at his shoulders until finally his mouth covered hers and she moaned with joy. Yes, this was what she wanted, this was what she had been longing for. But there was more, much more. She clutched his shoulders to make certain he could not leave before she discovered what that more was.
*
He could feel her beneath him, soft and yielding, as he tasted her, his tongue exploring the softness of her mouth, her tongue tentatively darting forth to tangle with his. Just as he caressed her, she was reaching up to caress his face, his shoulders, his chest. He could feel her pleasure in the little shivers that ran through her body. While one hand cradled her head, the other began to undo those tiny buttons on her bodice. He had not planned to do so, but once he began it seemed the only thing he could do.
Her hands suddenly ceased their caresses and she pulled back from his kiss. “What are you doing?”
“Undressing you.” Don’t ask me to stop.
She stared at him, motionless. Then she smiled, a purely female smile. An eternally female smile, full of welcome and promise. Eve must have smiled so at Adam, Helen of Troy at Paris, Guinevere at La
ncelot. His heart leaped within him, and he was filled with the eternally joyful male reaction to that smile.
“Oh you wicked, wicked creature.”
His mouth came down upon hers again and she welcomed him in a joyously passionate kiss while his fingers dealt with the remaining buttons. He pushed her bodice out of the way and her breasts, her beautiful rounded breasts, spilled out of her corset. He stared at them for a moment and reached a hand to cup one. Here were the breasts he had dreamed of, coveted, for so long. They were perfect. He groaned and then bent down to worship them with his mouth while her fingers tightened in his hair and she made little sounds of pleasure.
It took a moment for him to realize that those sounds had ended abruptly in a gasp that sounded strangely like fear and she was no longer arching beneath him. Before he could raise his head to ask what was the matter, he heard a harsh metallic click as the hammer of a gun was drawn back. He would have recognized the sound even without the sensation of a cold metal barrel pressed behind his ear. But the gun barrel was unmistakably there.
“I do regret interrupting you at such a time, but I fear I require your attention.” Landi’s voice, less amused than vicious, came from somewhere behind him. “Now you will stand up, slowly and carefully.”
There was nothing else he could do at the moment. He pushed himself up to his knees, pulled the bodice of Norrie’s dress together, and reached over for his coat to cover her. Her eyes were wide with shock and he tried to reassure her with a smile. It probably wasn’t successful, but he stood up, keeping himself in front of her, and turned around. He could screen her at least.
Landi had moved back to stand about twenty feet away. He was flanked by a grotesque pair of villains, one a scrawny creature whose leering grin showed half his teeth missing, the other a bearded barrel of a man. Both were dressed in filthy rags and carried ancient fowling pieces. In contrast, Landi stood posed gracefully, a sneer on his face. His loose shirt made him look like a pantomime Pirate King, but he held his modern rifle as if he knew what to do with it.
Lady Elinor's Wicked Adventures Page 15