by Amelia Grey
“I thought so.”
“I am almost twenty-eight years old with no prospect of marriage any time soon. What does it matter whether or not I remain a maiden at my age?”
“You know it matters to me.”
She didn’t know exactly why, but anger suddenly welled up inside her. “Yes, I do know. You have made me aware of that time and time again. Now, let me make you aware of this, Morgan: do not ever kiss me again unless you intend to follow through with your kisses and make me your lover. I don’t want any more of your kisses that lead nowhere. Now excuse me. I have work to do. I’ll send Mrs. Hartford to show you out.”
***
Her words stung.
Hours later, Morgan was still feeling the effects of her parting words. Feeling out of sorts with himself and not knowing what to do about it. Late in the evening, Morgan decided to dress and go to Lady Windham’s party. He handed off his coat, hat, and gloves to the servant at the countess’s door and went in search of a pretty miss he could ask for a dance. The best way to get Arianna off his mind was to replace thoughts of her with an equally beautiful and charming lady. And at Lady Windham’s party, that shouldn’t be too difficult to do. She was known for always having the cream of Society at her affairs.
When he had first arrived in London a few days ago, he’d thought about calling on Miss Goodbody, but for reasons he didn’t even try to comprehend, he had no desire to reacquaint himself with her or any other paid woman. For reasons that only his body knew, he couldn’t seem to think about touching, tasting, or even kissing anyone but Arianna. He hoped to put a stop to that kind of thinking tonight.
Perhaps some new lady had arrived in Town while he’d been away, he thought and looked at the crush of people filling the house. If not, surely there would be a charming lady he could talk to and dance with to put him in a better frame of mind than his present one. He refused to believe that only Arianna could enchant him.
And there was also the chance that he might meet the twins his cousins had told him about. He’d really like the opportunity to see them and decide for himself if he thought they looked just like Gibby. Perhaps Constance and his cousins had simply fallen victim to the gossip gadding about Town.
Morgan saw Constance standing on the far side of the crowded room and started toward her. Now there was a woman whose company he could certainly enjoy. As he waded through elegantly dressed ladies and fashionably suited gentlemen, his gaze strayed to the dance floor. Suddenly he stopped. Was that Arianna on the dance floor, dressed in that flowing alabaster-colored gown with an indecently low neckline? And who the devil was she dancing with? He’d never seen that lad before. He couldn’t be more than twenty if he was a day. What was she doing dancing with someone so young at her age? What the devil was she doing dancing anyway? She’d been ill with a fever for weeks. If she became overly tired, she could have a relapse. He remembered she had looked a little peaked when he saw her at her house earlier in the day. It was well after one o’clock in the morning. She should be in bed, reading the book he had given her, not twirling under some young blade’s arm and laughing at his inane jokes.
He’d have a word with Constance. What was that woman thinking to drag Arianna to balls and keep her out to all hours of the night? Constance knew how ill she’d been.
Morgan swiped a glass of wine from the tray of a server passing him. He picked his way through the noisy, bustling crowd, ignoring friendly smiles, bumping shoulders, and sidestepping groups that had gathered to chat, until he finally made it to where Constance stood. She was trying her best to get away from Lord Snellingly. Any other time, Morgan would never approach anyone if that man was nearby. He was a fop of the highest order and could irritate the wool off a lamb with his incessant talk of poetry.
“Good evening, Constance, Snellingly,” Morgan said, walking up to them and trying his best to hide his growing irritation.
Constance greeted him with a grateful smile and hello, as did Snellingly, who immediately sniffed into his lace handkerchief after speaking. The man had so many ruffles on the cuffs of his sleeves, his hands were completely hidden by the frills.
“You look lovely tonight, Constance,” Morgan said, though he had hardly even looked at her. He had eyes for no one but Arianna.
“Thank you, my lord. I’m surprised to see you here. When last we spoke, you planned to stay all winter in Dorset.”
“Yes, that was my plan, but a business matter brought me back to Town.”
“Morgandale,” Lord Snellingly said, “you are just the person I wanted to see.”
Bloody hell!
Morgan grimaced and mumbled, “That can’t be good.”
Snellingly lifted his chin a little higher, which must have been difficult to do, considering his collar and neckcloth were already so ridiculously high on his neck he looked like a baby bird trying to see over his nest.
“I beg your pardon; I didn’t understand you.”
Morgan cleared his throat. “I said then it’s good that I walked up.”
Snellingly smiled. “Oh, right. I was hoping I might be able to persuade you to join me and a small group of other friends tomorrow evening at my home for some poetry readings. I was just trying to talk Mrs. Pepperfield into joining us, too.”
Morgan scowled at Constance and then turned to the earl and said, “I’m certain I can’t, Snellingly, I’m otherwise committed. Perhaps another time. Would you excuse us? I need a private word with Mrs. Pepperfield about Miss Sweet.”
“So you’ve met her, too,” Snellingly said. He let his eyes flutter between open and closed and sniffed into his handkerchief again. “She has the face of an angel and the voice of a lark.” He smiled at Morgan. “I met her earlier, and she’s promised me a dance.”
Over my dead body.
Morgan threw a questioning glance toward Constance, took hold of her elbow, and started propelling her away from the astonished earl.
“What do you mean by having Miss Sweet out this late and letting her dance with every fop, fribble, and popinjay who asks?”
Surprise lit in Constance’s eyes, and she stepped away from Morgan. She set her gaze firmly on his and said, “I will forgive you for your tone and your implication this once. If you want to know anything from me, you had best use the puffery you were so famous for when you asked me to travel to Valleydale.”
Morgan relaxed. “You’re right. I was out of line. Forgive me.”
“That’s better.”
“I wasn’t expecting to see her here, dancing.”
Looking so beautiful, so enticing, so womanly!
“Why shouldn’t she?”
“She’s just getting over her sickness. You don’t know how ill she was when she came to Valleydale. I wouldn’t like to see her sick again.”
Constance studied him, clearly not moved to believe him. “We’ve been in London almost two weeks. She’s in fine shape now, Morgan, and quite frankly, I think dancing is good for her. I believe one of the things she has needed is entertainment. With her father’s death, the long journey, and her recent illness, I believe she deserves a little enjoyment in her life.”
Morgan looked back to the dance floor. She did look as if she were having a marvelous time.
“I bow to your knowing what is best for her.”
“I think what is best for her is marriage.”
Morgan’s gaze darted back to Constance. “What?”
“You heard me. She’s a beautiful lady of quality with means. She’s not married at twenty-seven because she hasn’t been in London to have a Season or to be a part of the marriage mart. No doubt, if she let it be known at this party that she was available, she’d have offers before sunrise.”
Constance’s words stunned Morgan, but he believed them to be true. He looked back at the dance floor and saw the young man walking Arianna toward them. They were talking and smiling at each other. Morgan’s stomach constricted. She was the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen. Her light auburn hair was swept u
p on her head with small golden leaves woven through it. She wore long earrings that looked like hundreds of golden threads tied together. The waistline of her dress fit tightly underneath her breasts and was banded by golden-colored cord, and the skirt fell to the floor in what looked like shimmering layers of gossamer-thin alabaster.
The blade handed Arianna over to Constance, excused himself, bowed to Arianna, and walked away. Suddenly, Morgan knew what he didn’t want to believe. He was jealous. He was filled with it, enraged by it, and he didn’t know what to do about it. He had never cared enough about a woman to be jealous if another man showed interest in her, but Arianna was different. With her, he didn’t want anyone else touching her. When had this happened, and what was he going to do about it?
“Good evening, Lord Morgandale.”
She curtseyed and said his name so properly he wanted to tell her to cut the poppycock and call him Morgan, but he dared not be so bold in front of Constance.
“Good evening, Miss Sweet. May I say that gown is quite fetching on you.”
And you are so seductive you couldn’t keep me from ravishing you if we were alone right now!
“No doubt you like the very proper color,” she said.
“Yes,” he said tightly, wondering why the devil Constance had the damned gown cut so low Arianna couldn’t help but have every man in the house drooling over her beautifully rounded breasts. “It’s the perfect color for you,” he answered, remembering that she loved bright, vivid color, not neutrals.
“Hello, Morgan, fancy seeing you here. Mrs. Pepperfield, how are you this evening? And who is this lovely young lady standing between the two of you? I know I haven’t met her because, even at my age, I would have remembered her.”
Morgan turned and faced Gibby, taking a moment to collect himself as he made perfunctory introductions. He was so smitten with Arianna that he’d forgotten about Gibby and the twins who were rumored to look just like him.
“Miss Sweet, I hear a hint of an eastern accent. Have you been in the Orient?”
She smiled at Gibby and said, “Until very recently, Sir Randolph, I was in Bombay.”
Gibby’s eyes brightened. “I was there once many years ago. Fascinating city and culture. And how are you this evening, Morgan? I trust you have seen everyone you came to see?”
Morgan glanced at Arianna and then back to Gibby and said, “Yes and no.”
Gibby smiled and said, “I think I understand that.”
Morgan was certain he did.
“Excuse me, Miss Sweet, but I believe this is the dance you promised to me.”
Morgan turned to see who had spoken to Arianna, and he felt like a big, meaty fist landed in his stomach, taking his breath away. The man smiling at Arianna was the spitting image of Gibby—tall, broad-shouldered, handsome. They had the same eyes, the same smile, and the same nose. Morgan watched the man walk away with Arianna and was absolutely speechless.
Realizing he had a glass of wine in his hand, Morgan took a long drink before looking at Gibby and saying, “Did you see him?”
Gibby looked at Morgan as if he’d lost his mind. “The man who left with Miss Sweet?”
Morgan wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb and nodded.
“I saw him,” Gibby said.
“He looked just like you.”
“You think so?”
Gibby looked as serious as a clergyman on Easter Sunday. Morgan glanced at Constance, who promptly excused herself and walked away.
“I know so,” Morgan said, turning back to the old man. “Gib, what the hell happened thirty years ago?”
“Surely after all your grandmother’s teachings, you remember Lord Chesterfield’s words about that.”
“No, Gib, I’m happy to say that I don’t.”
“A gentleman never gossips about a lady.” He patted Morgan a couple of times on his shoulder and walked off.
Seventeen
My Dearest Grandson Lucas,
Read the following from Lord Chesterfield. It’s one of the things that made him such a master of decorum. “Wit is so shining a quality, that everybody admires it, most people aim at it, all people fear it, and few love it unless in themselves. A man must have a good share of wit himself to endure it in others. The more wit you have the more good nature and politeness you must show, to induce people to pardon your superiority, for that is no easy matter.”
Your loving Grandmother,
Lady Elder
Arianna sat at her makeshift desk, diligently reading through her father’s writings. Occasionally she would find a formula and copy it into her notebook, but more often than not, she would have to, at times, stop and allow sadness to consume her. Reading his writings proved more difficult than she had imagined. Her father had a habit of writing personal comments to himself in the middle of his documentation. Sometimes his words seemed angry, and he would lash out at himself if he expected a formula to work and it hadn’t. There were times his words sounded poignant, and at other times hopeful. Every once in a while she would read something that was humorous. And then there were times she would laugh out loud at his wit, and that was when she missed him most of all.
She realized that having these days alone to go over his private papers and journals was a way for her to enjoy being with him once again. It was a way to tell him good-bye and bring closure to his death in a way she hadn’t been able to in India.
But other thoughts had occasionally invaded her mind as well through the long days she’d worked in the music room. Despite her best efforts at denial, every once in a while she would stop reading, lay her head on the makeshift desk, and allow Morgan to fill her mind. She remembered their laughter when he held the crab and chased her on the beach. She remembered the warmth of his body and the strength of his chest when they rode Redmond together. But most of all, she remembered his showing her how, by the gentlest of touching in just the right places, to open up a whole new world of passion she had never dreamed existed. Thoughts of Morgan always revived her, lifted her, and gave her the energy to keep going on her father’s work until late at night.
She hadn’t seen Morgan since Lady Windham’s party a few nights ago. He had been so handsome in his cutaway evening coat that fit perfectly over his broad shoulders. He’d seemed angry at her, and she supposed it was because of her parting words to him when he’d come to her house that afternoon and given her Lord Chesterfield’s book. She had spoken in haste, and those words were borne out of frustration.
They hadn’t said more than a dozen words to each other at the party, but often throughout the evening she had caught him staring at her from across a crowded room. And there were times he had caught her watching him.
He had danced with lovely young ladies, and she had danced with handsome gentlemen, but they hadn’t danced with each other. That had been several days ago now, and she hadn’t heard from him. But she had thought of him often.
Arianna felt close to Morgan late at night when she finally stopped poring over her father’s notes and went up to bed. It was then that she picked up the book on Lord Chesterfield’s letters. She was thoroughly enjoying the man’s writings. He had great insight to the inner workings of a titled man’s mind. But she could easily understand why Morgan hated the fact that his grandmother always sent him quotes from Lord Chesterfield each month. Arianna had never read anything from so arrogant a man as Lord Chesterfield.
“Miss Sweet?”
Arianna laid down her quill and turned to see Mrs. Hartford standing in the doorway of the music room. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but a Mr. Warburton is here to see you.”
Arianna’s stomach lurched, and she rose from her chair. Why had he come? It had been almost two weeks since she had gone to see him. “Show him into the drawing room, and tell him I’ll be right there.”
“Yes, miss.”
“No, wait,” she said impulsively, untying her apron. “I don’t know why he is here, but it probably has something t
o do with my father’s work, so maybe it’s best you show him in here. And would you please see to tea and maybe some of those fig tarts we had earlier today?”
“Yes, miss,” the housekeeper said but continued to stand in the doorway.
“What is it, Mrs. Hartford?” Arianna said, laying her apron on the back of her chair.
“Begging your pardon, Miss Sweet, but where will the gentleman sit, and where will I place the tea tray?”
Arianna glanced around the room and smiled. She had forgotten for a moment that she’d had all the furniture in the room removed except for her chair and makeshift desk.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hartford. You are right, of course. There is no place to entertain in here. I’m not usually so flustered. Show him to the drawing room, and tell him I will be right there.”
Mrs. Hartford smiled, nodded, and left.
Arianna picked up her apron and tried to wipe the ink stains from her hands. She didn’t want to wonder why Mr. Warburton had come to see her. It could be as simple as he wanted to check on her and see how she was doing. She wouldn’t allow herself the luxury of thinking that he came to offer help. She had been disappointed by him once, and that was enough.
After removing the dried ink as best she could, she walked into the drawing room with a cheerful countenance and said, “Mr. Warburton, how good of you to stop by.”
“Miss Sweet,” he said, rising from the settee. “You’re looking lovely today.”
“Thank you. Please, sit back down,” she said, taking a side chair to the left of the settee. “I’ve asked Mrs. Hartford to bring us some tea.”
“That’s so kind of you, dear girl, but I can’t stay long enough for tea today.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling a stab of regret. “I understand. I know you are very busy with your work.”
“I am. But I haven’t been able to get your request off my mind, though often I’ve tried these past few days since you’ve been to see me. I’ve studied over what you asked of me, and I’ve reconsidered.”
Her heartbeat started racing, and she felt as if she could hear Redmond’s hooves pounding in her ears. “In what way, exactly?”