A Gentleman Always Remembers

by Candace Camp

  Fitz, too, was clearly eager to rid himself of the impediment of his clothing. He yanked at his neckcloth and flung it aside, then shrugged out of the waistcoat. It took him only a moment to unbutton the top few buttons of his shirt and finish the job by pulling it off over his head. Kicking off his shoes, he started on the buttons of his breeches, but Eve had begun to run her hands over the bared expanse of his chest, and his fingers faltered and fell still as she caressed his skin.

  She leaned forward, pressing her mouth to the hard bone down the center of his chest, and Fitz shuddered and dug his hands into her hair. Eve kissed her way across his chest, teasing and tasting as he had done with her only moments earlier. Her hands caressed the firm muscles of his back and ran down the hard line of his spine, slipping around to his sides. She wanted to feel more; she wanted all of him.

  Her hands slid down to the fastening of his breeches, unbuttoning them as her mouth continued to roam his chest. She shoved the breeches down, her hands curving over his buttocks, and the garment fell to his feet. His member prodded and pushed. She smiled a little at the feel of it, remembering how she had wanted that first night to wrap her hands around him and learn this most intimate part of him.

  She did so now, one hand coming up to curve around him, amazed at the soft, satiny texture of the skin and the underlying hardness beneath it. Her fingertips stroked the delicate skin underneath, following the slight curve, and he jerked, sucking in his breath. But when she raised her head and looked at him he shook his head.

  “No, don’t stop,” he murmured, his eyes dark with desire. “Don’t stop.”

  She continued her gentle exploration, her fingers sliding back between his legs. His breath came harder and faster, and his hands clenched in her hair. She stroked him, teasing his legs apart and running her fingertips down the insides of his thighs.

  Fitz groaned her name and took her face between his hands, turning it up to kiss her. His mouth ravaged hers, claiming her with all the passion flooding his body. His arms went beneath her, lifting her up, and Eve moved with him gladly, wrapping her legs around his waist. She clung to him, her arms around his neck, as lost in him as he was in her.

  Kicking his breeches aside, he carried her to the bed, and they tumbled down upon it, still kissing as if they could never have enough of each other. They rolled across the bed, kissing and caressing each other, heightening their pleasure almost to the breaking point, then building it again. He explored her with his mouth as she had done with him, sliding ever lower down her body, until at last she jolted in surprise when he parted her legs and slipped between them.

  He looked up at her when she gasped, and he grinned. “No? Wouldn’t you like to try?”

  She looked at him, eyes rounded in amazement, but already the idea was humming through her, teasing and arousing her. “I am a vicar’s daughter, you know.”

  He chuckled. “Haven’t you ever heard that vicars’ daughters are the best?” He stroked his finger down the soft, satiny fold, sending pleasure shooting through her. “They’re so ready to learn.”

  He continued to move his finger teasingly over the slick, sensitive flesh, and she could not help but moan and move her legs restlessly against the bed. The ache inside her was gathering, knotting. “Please . . .” she murmured.

  She felt his smile as he kissed the inside of her thigh. His mouth moved over her thighs, coming ever closer. She tensed, wanting, aching, afire with passion, yet uncertain as well. Then his lips were on her, his tongue working magic on the hard little bud between her legs, and she gasped, digging in her hands and heels, lifting herself into that pleasure.

  Desire coiled and twisted inside her, building and building until she thought she could not bear it any more, and yet still she wanted more. It exploded in a storm of pleasure, sending waves of satisfaction coursing through her, and Eve went limp, suddenly boneless and replete.

  But then Fitz was between her legs again, this time sliding into her, filling her, and she knew that her pleasure had not been complete until now, when she took him deep within her. To her astonishment, as he began to stroke in and out, his movements steady and powerful, she felt that knot of pleasure begin to grow in her again, pulsing and building. Surely, she thought, it could not happen again, but the pleasure took over, and she was no longer thinking, only feeling. Passion wound tighter and tighter inside her, and she wrapped her legs around Fitz, clinging to him, until at last the dizzying storm crashed through her again. He shuddered and cried out, and they held on tightly to each other through the tempest, coming to rest at last in blissful oblivion.

  Chapter 19

  Nothing, not even the sight of Lady Symington at the breakfast table the next morning, could dampen Eve’s mood. Fortunately for her the imperious older woman had little interest in speaking to anyone other than Fitz. Since Eve was carefully avoiding even looking at Fitz, much less sitting close to him or talking to him, she was quite happy to be excluded from the conversation.

  Instead she turned to Lady Priscilla and inquired whether her room was satisfactory. Priscilla smiled shyly and said, “Oh yes, it is a lovely room. But I learned that it is your bedchamber. You need not have moved for me. I’m sure another room would have done as well.”

  “Please, do not worry. It was no problem at all. I felt sure that Lady Symington and you would wish to be next to each other.”

  “Yes, of course,” Priscilla agreed unenthusiastically. She waited as a footman poured a cup of tea for Eve, then said, “I am afraid that we have caused you extra trouble, arriving at such a time.”

  Eve smiled at the girl. “I fear we are doing little enough for you. It will likely be deadly dull around here the next few days.”

  “I would like to help you if I can,” Priscilla went on earnestly.

  “I am sure Mr. Talbot would not want one of his guests put to work.”

  “No, really, I should like to. I—I am not one who likes to sit about doing nothing, and I am not very good at polite conversation. When I am home I am always engaged in some activity or other. Please, you must allow me to help with the patients in some way. I could read to them if they are recuperating or watch them if they are still ill.”

  “I don’t suppose you speak French?”

  “Why, yes, I do.” Priscilla brightened. “Is your cook French?”

  “No. One of our patients is. But he hasn’t the measles.” Eve went on to explain about Monsieur Leveque’s arrival at Willowmere and the broken leg that kept him languishing in a bed upstairs.

  “But poor man,” Priscilla said feelingly. “He must be dreadfully bored.”

  “I think that Mr. Carr checks in on him now and again. Miss Bascombe’s sister Camellia used to drop by to talk to him, but since she has been confined to her bed I am afraid his days have been a trifle empty.”

  After breakfast Eve took Priscilla up to the Frenchman’s room. Leveque, having just finished eating, was sitting in his bed, unenthusiastically leafing through a book, and he brightened a little at the sight of visitors. But when Priscilla shyly greeted him with “Bonjour, Monsieur Leveque,” he became positively transformed and began a lengthy spate of French. Unlike Neville and Fitz, however, Priscilla did not appear overwhelmed at the rush of foreign words, and when he finally paused, she replied in French, an action that had the Frenchman grinning broadly.

  Eve left the room and set about her usual routine. Everything, she discovered, had grown easier. She was aware that no task today would have seemed hard given the happiness that was brimming inside her. But it was also true that her burdens were eased.

  Camellia was feeling much better, as was Mrs. Merriwether. No one had come down sick for a week now, and she was beginning to feel that the end of their epidemic was in sight. And somewhat to her surprise, as the days passed Lady Priscilla proved to be a great help. It was not that Eve had thought the young woman was insincere in her offer, but she had assumed that Priscilla would soon grow tired of the tasks or would be forbidden them by her
autocratic mother.

  But Priscilla continued her visits with the balloonist. Eve heard them more than once in animated conversation as she walked down the hallway. Once when she looked into Monsieur Leveque’s room to check on his welfare, she found not only Priscilla and Neville there but one of the footmen as well. The footman had upended a chair and was busy attaching a small platform with wheels to the legs of the chair, with Monsieur Leveque watching and issuing orders. When his English failed him Priscilla jumped in to translate.

  “Ah, Madame Hawthorne,” Leveque said, flashing a grin at Eve when he saw her in the doorway. “We are inventing, you see?”

  “Yes I do. You are making a—a sort of Bath chair, I take it.” Eve had seen them in Bath on occasion, though the three-wheeled conveyances there were much larger than this contraption and also possessed an umbrella-like roof to shelter the occupant from the weather.

  “It’s quite clever, isn’t it?” Priscilla’s eyes sparkled, and she looked almost pretty. “Monsieur Leveque drew the plans for it, and Neville was so kind as to help me search through the attic for one of the boys’ old wagons to use for the wheels.”

  Eve wondered if it was Neville’s company that had brought this glow to Priscilla’s face. The thought aroused Eve’s pity a little, for she suspected that Neville’s presence there had less to do with his liking to be around Priscilla than it did with the fact that anytime he was not with Priscilla, Lady Symington made it a point to be with him.

  Since the Symingtons had arrived, in fact, Neville had taken on the look of a hunted animal. Wherever he went Lady Symington somehow managed to pop up. Eve was not sure exactly how she kept so well informed of his whereabouts. On more than one occasion Eve had run into Neville sneaking down the servants’ staircase in the rear of the house or the one in her own nursery wing in an attempt to avoid the woman. He had taken to riding out with Fitz most afternoons, as it was one of the few activities in which Lady Symington would not pursue him.

  Eve sternly suppressed her sympathy for the man, however, for Lady Symington’s methods were effectively keeping Neville separated from Lily. These days Lily spent most of her time with Camellia, and on the few occasions when she was with Neville it was in the presence of the other young people.

  Now that the Frenchman had the rolling chair, Leveque spent much of the day in the small sitting room upstairs rather than in his bedroom. Though it took Neville or Gordon to help him and his firmly splinted leg out of the bed and into the chair, after that it was easy enough for Priscilla or Lily to roll him down the hall to the sitting room. As Eve had noticed, Neville had taken to spending more time with Priscilla and Leveque, and Lily often joined them, even bringing Camellia with her as she grew stronger. Gordon, who was obviously terrified of Lady Symington, apparently realized that the one place that woman rarely appeared was wherever her daughter and Neville were together, so he too became a member of the group. As a result, within a few days after the Symingtons’ arrival, the sitting room was a place of lively social discourse.

  Eve often heard laughter erupting from the room as they talked or played games. When she looked in on them, she could not help but notice how much happier and more carefree Priscilla looked when her mother was not around. Lily too sparkled when she was talking or taking part in one of the games. But Eve saw that more and more frequently Lily tended to fall silent, her gaze going to Priscilla or to Neville, and then a shadow would fall over her face, the liveliness leaving it. Eve’s heart ached for the girl. Lily was, Eve thought, truly in love with Neville, and it was breaking her heart to discover that love did not necessarily make everything right.

  Eve felt a trifle guilty about her own happiness, given Lily’s obvious misery. While Lily was crying over the course of her love, Eve was reveling in her own, spending each night wrapped in Fitz’s arms. They might keep their distance during the day, pretending indifference, but each night was taken up with exploring all of the delights that love had to offer. They made love and fell asleep, tangled together and peaceful, only to wake and make love again, too eager and joyous in their passion to care about lack of sleep.

  She did her best to hide her happiness, especially when she was around Lily. However, as the days went by Eve began to wonder if Lily would even notice Eve’s demeanor. Lily spent more time alone. She had taken to walking in the gardens alone, usually when Neville had gone out riding over the estate with Fitz. One day Eve glanced out the windows that overlooked the herb garden to see Lily sitting by herself on the bench where Eve had once seen her with Neville. There was a look of dejection about the girl that made tears clog Eve’s throat.

  Throwing on a pelisse and a bonnet, Eve went down to the herb garden. Lily looked up as Eve approached, and she quickly swiped at her eyes, doing her best to muster up a smile.

  “Hello, dear,” Eve told her. “I saw you out here, and I thought, what a lovely time to sit in the sun. It’s quite pleasant, isn’t it?”

  Lily nodded and swallowed hard. “He-hello.” She looked at Eve, tears glittering in her eyes, then quickly away.

  “Sweetheart . . .” Eve sat down beside her, taking the girl’s hand. “I know you are troubled.”

  Lily shook her head, but she could not suppress her tears, and finally she had to reach into her pocket and pull out her handkerchief to wipe them away. “Oh, Eve—” she wailed in a small voice. “I don’t know what to do. It’s all such a wretched mess!”

  “I know.” Eve squeezed her hand. “It is. It’s terribly unfair.”

  “I love Neville. I truly do!” Lily gazed at Eve earnestly. “I know you’ll think I’m too young to know my mind, but I am certain that I love him. I’ll never love anyone but him!”

  “I know it feels that way.”

  “It is that way!” Lily’s chin jutted out mutinously. “Just because I’ve never been in love before doesn’t mean that I cannot recognize it.”

  “I don’t question that you love Mr. Carr,” Eve assured her. “I can see that you do. I can see that he loves you too.”

  “He does, doesn’t he?” Lily’s face shone for an instant but just as quickly collapsed into its former gloom. “But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything. Lady Symington is determined that he marry Priscilla, and it’s clear that Lady Symington gets what she wants.”

  “I dare say she does most of the time.”

  “She stalks him.” Lily scowled. “He cannot go anywhere without her appearing. It drives him mad, and I have not seen him in days! I mean, not without everyone else around. It’s just awful.”

  “I know.”

  “But worst of all—I like her!”

  “Who? Lady Symington?” Eve asked, startled.

  “No, of course not. I wish Lady Symington were at the devil—well, I do. I know it’s not at all ladylike to say it, but it’s the truth.” She sighed, slumping back against the bench. “It’s Lady Priscilla I like. I didn’t want to. I tried very hard not to. But she’s terribly kind. She even listens to Monsieur Leveque tell all those stories about his balloon trips, and she doesn’t act as if she’s bored, and I know she must be.”

  “Perhaps she finds the tales more interesting than you do.”

  Lily looked at Eve somewhat skeptically but went on, “And Priscilla can be quite funny and fun, at least when her mother isn’t around. I feel sorry for her, having to live with that woman. Have you heard the way Lady Symington speaks to her? It’s dreadful, and poor Priscilla daren’t talk back to her. But I can see she hates it.”

  “I am sure she does. It is too bad that she has to live with Lady Symington.”

  “But she doesn’t, does she?” Lily said sadly. “She could marry Neville and leave. I know it’s not my fault that she has a horrid mother, but it will be my fault if Neville doesn’t marry her.”

  “No, that would be Neville’s fault,” Eve felt compelled to point out.

  “Yes, but he would marry her if it weren’t for me. I know he slipped away when they tried to force him to pro
pose, but eventually he would have. I want to marry him so much it just makes me want to—to explode. But then I think about what will happen to Priscilla. She will be left all alone in the midst of a terrible scandal. None of it will be her fault. It was different when she was just a name, but now I know her. It would be cruel to take Neville from her. I think how I would feel if someone stole him from me.” Lily’s gray-green eyes flashed at the thought. “I would be furious. And devastated. To lose someone like Neville—and on top of that to be the object of scorn because he jilted her, even though that wouldn’t be her fault at all—well, it’s just too awful to contemplate.”

  “Yes, and imagine what her mother would say to her about the matter.”

  “She would blame poor Priscilla for the whole thing. Priscilla would be stuck with that woman for the rest of her life! A man would have to be mad to marry her with Lady Symington for a mother-in-law.”

  “That would certainly be something to consider,” Eve agreed.

  “But whenever I think about giving him up I just can’t bear it,” Lily went on in a wail. “How can I live the rest of my life without him? Oh, I know you’ll say there’ll be someone else for me. That’s what Camellia says, but she doesn’t understand. She has never been in love. You have—you know what it’s like to love someone and—” Lily stopped, looking abashed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up sad memories.”

  Eve shook her head. “No, don’t worry. It’s fine. You’re right. I did love my husband, and I lost him. I know about that pain. I certainly would not try to pretend that it did not hurt or that I was not lonely or bereft after Bruce died. I cried. I missed him. I was sadder than I care to remember. But your sister is right. After a time I did recover. You will too. It isn’t easy, but sorrow does not last forever. And you can love again.” She smiled, warmth spreading through her chest. “Believe me, you will feel love, maybe even more love than you ever thought you could feel.”