by Ann Clement
“It is a gift from me.” Ethel’s syrupy voice reminded him of her presence. As in a nightmare, he turned his head toward her. She was still smiling while talking, but somehow her smile took on an almost-grotesquely artificial innocence while her eyes, full of calculation, devoured him. “Oh, Percy, don’t you like it?” She stood very close to him, reached out and took his hand in hers. Her fingers trailed up his palm. “I’ve had it for some time, and when I found it yesterday, I knew the colors would be perfect for Letitia.”
Percy pulled his hand out of Ethel’s surprisingly strong grip and glanced back at Lettie. She watched him, bewildered, rooted to the same spot where he’d first seen her. Her hand was still raised to her hair.
Ethel grabbed his hand again. “You don’t like it?” she repeated, dismayed. “But it really is so beautiful.”
Did she know? She had to.
Did she know everything?
He freed his hand once more and, without a word, turned for the door.
Letitia watched the strange scene unveiling in front of her, stunned by Percy’s reaction to something as insignificant as a ribbon in her hair. It was a very beautiful ribbon, to be sure. Made of moiré silk in sea blue, it was intricately embroidered with a garland motif in different shades of terra-cotta, sienna and green. Of course, she was gratified by such a pretty gift.
When Percy entered the room, her happiness was complete. His warm gaze was full of promise—until he beheld her hair. The promise vanished, and with it, a door was shut. They stood next to each other, yet she felt as if they were thousands of miles apart, and Percy was in a place where she couldn’t reach him. Not only did he recognize the ribbon, but the recognition brought on some heart-wrenching memory. She could almost feel the torturous shock holding him in a vicious grip.
It couldn’t be a coincidence. While she watched Percy struggle to regain his composure, Ethel’s happy grin morphed into a gargoyle’s sneer.
Unable to turn away from the door that closed behind Percy, Letitia felt her hair for the ribbon and pulled it off her head.
“I’m afraid I cannot accept your gift, Ethel,” she said, dropping the shiny silk onto Ethel’s hand, still outstretched toward where Percy had stood next to her.
“Why not?” Ethel blinked, and her gaze moved from the door to the ribbon. She seemed genuinely surprised. “You’re not afraid of Percy, are you?”
“You cannot think I shall enjoy it when he dislikes it so much.”
“Oh, men.” Ethel pursed her lips dismissively, but she focused with calculation on Letitia’s face. “Most of them lack refinement in taste. I declare, he will come to his senses. It suits you so well! Besides, you are too brave to cower and give in to a man’s whimsy where he should have no say in your choices at all.”
Letitia swallowed a surge of disgust. The bait would not procure the bite Ethel hoped for.
“Why did you bring me this ribbon, Ethel?”
Ethel shrugged with a hint of uneasiness. “Because it is perfect for your hair. I was so happy when I found it. Why did he have to ruin everything?”
Letitia’s heart began to pound. Ethel had just said she’d had the ribbon for some time.
“Perhaps it reminded him of someone?” she suggested.
Ethel shrugged again, her face crumpling into a grimace. “Anyone could have bought a ribbon like this one in London. The moment I found it yesterday, with my mother’s combs, I knew it was perfect for you, and it is, even more so with your hair so short. And now Percy has spoiled everything. How was I to predict he would take objection to some ribbon?”
Only it wasn’t “some” ribbon. Of that Letitia was sure.
“You misunderstand me,” she replied as calmly as she could, given the whirlwind in her head. “I am not afraid of my husband. It is not his whimsy but my choice to wear what will please both of us. I’m sorry for your disappointment, Ethel. Forgive me, and thank you for trying to please me.”
“Oh, of course I do understand you. Do not worry.” Ethel’s mouth turned up in a bleak attempt at a smile, yet there was a flash of petulance in her eyes before she lowered them. “I hope Percy shall have a good explanation why he so disliked my gift.”
Letitia was glad to be spared the need to parry that comment by the entrance of the footman with the refreshments they were waiting for. A drive to the village and back in the same carriage with Ethel had gained all the appeal of standing in a pillory for the rest of the day.
Percy’s reaction was impossible to dismiss or forget. His crestfallen expression haunted Letitia for the rest of the day.
“I felt so embarrassed, Josie, and so powerless,” she said when the two of them were walking in the garden before dinner.
Josepha shook her head. “Surely, he doesn’t blame you.”
“Yet the awkwardness of it!” Letitia sighed, pulling the shawl over her shoulders. “There was something about that ribbon that made him cringe. Oh, Josie, do you think that…he might still love her?”
“Do you think so?” Josepha rejoined. “Don’t let Lady Marsden come between you and your husband. She has no regard for anyone but herself.”
Letitia sighed again. “I know, Josie. Do not suppose me blinded by her avowals of friendship.”
“In such case, I shall leave you to undo the damage she inflicted,” Josepha said with an unexpected hint of cheerfulness.
Letitia followed her gaze. Two male figures had just emerged from the side alley.
“Oh, Petre is here again,” Letitia grumbled.
“I am sure their separation can be arranged,” Josepha said lightly.
“Josie, what are you about?” Letitia hissed, momentarily setting aside her own worries. “Don’t you think I haven’t noticed how Mr. Petre looks at you like a cat at a bowl of cream? If he so much as besmirches a hem of your dress, I—”
“You do not need to worry. I believe I can deal with Mr. Petre very well myself.”
“He is too often crossing your path these days.”
“He is crossing it as much as I wish him to.”
“Josie, be careful. I shall certainly speak to Percy about curbing this suspicious tendency.”
Josepha huffed. “I hope you shall not. I can manage very well.”
“I would never forgive myself if any harm came to you.”
“Mr. Petre is not like that toad you once deluded yourself to be in love with.”
Letitia stopped as suddenly as if she’d walked into a wall. “Did Walter try to accost you, Josie? For God’s sake, why didn’t you tell me then?”
Josepha squeezed her hand. “There never was anything to tell you. Do not worry about me. Worry about your husband. He needs you.”
That much seemed to be true. Percy’s somber gaze, when he and the steward approached, rose fleetingly to the top of her head.
“Good evening, Lady Letitia.” Petre bowed. “Miss Fourier.”
Percy inclined his head toward Josepha as if he’d just noticed her. For some reason, this seemed to make Josie quite happy. She curtsied, then directed a blinding smile at the steward.
“I wonder, Mr. Petre,” she purred, “whether you are still willing to show me the new shrub cuttings you mentioned the other day? I am very curious to see for myself how they are doing.”
“It will be a great pleasure, Miss Fourier.” Petre grinned back, seeming to Letitia indeed like a cat awarded a bowl of cream. Then he gazed at Percy. “I believe we’ve finished for today, have we not?”
Percy still focused on her hair. “Yes, of course. You’re free to go on with your plans, Petre,” he mumbled hastily.
Petre didn’t need to be told twice.
“Miss Fourier.” He offered Josie his arm. She placed her hand on his sleeve and sent Letitia an encouraging glance over her shoulder while the steward led her away.
They did make a nice cou
ple, Letitia admitted somewhat grudgingly.
But this thought flew out of her head as soon as she turned to Percy. His countenance was as composed as ever. She did not expect anything less. Only the darkness of his gaze betrayed his thoughts. There was no helping a sharp stub of disappointment that the unguarded warmth with which he had greeted her this morning was now gone.
“I gave the ribbon back to Ethel,” she said softly.
Percy blinked, grunted and linked his hands behind his back.
“I owe you an apology,” he said gravely. “Forgive me. I should not have behaved the way I did this afternoon.”
Letitia shook her head. “Do not apologize.”
“You must have wondered at my reaction,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard her. A moment of silence followed while he seemed uncertain how to proceed before adding, “Sarah wore the same ribbon on the day she died.”
Letitia’s legs almost sank under her. Did Ethel know that?
“I am so sorry,” she choked out.
“You have nothing to be sorry about.”
But this reassurance did not lessen her growing fear that the glimpse of happiness he had given her might remain just that—a glimpse. The somber man she now faced was not the playful, wonderful Percy who’d awakened her this morning.
“Nonetheless, I am sorry about what happened,” she repeated. “I know you cannot forget Sarah. How could you?”
He took in a sharp breath. “What I cannot forget has nothing to do with you, Lettie,” he said almost irritably. “None of that belongs in our marriage. Please?”
Perhaps it was the pleading in his tone that gave her a sudden jolt of hope. Without thinking, she rose on her toes and kissed him lightly.
“I thought we both left the past behind us last night,” she said, and managed a smile before his arms crushed her against him and his mouth prevented any further conversation.
Lettie’s words dissolved the weight that had settled in Percy’s chest and stooped his shoulders since the encounter in the drawing room. Freed from that constraint, his heart slammed with relief and joy. In fact, with much more than that. There was only one word to describe the feeling it tolled. He loved her.
The realization settled over him comfortably. He kissed her thoroughly, filling his mind and his senses with the eagerness with which she reciprocated his kiss, and reveled in the possessiveness of her embrace. The world centered once again on the woman in his arms, who was showing him with every fiber of her soft, warm body how much she wanted him.
Greedy for her, for all her mouth promised, he almost moaned in protest when Lettie broke the kiss to catch a breath. But she didn’t move away, only rested her head on his chest. Percy kept his arms possessively around her. She was a precious gift he had never expected to receive.
“I missed this all day,” he murmured into her hair.
“So did I,” she replied, tightening her arms around his waist.
He kissed her hair, allowing relief and happiness to flow through his veins. Lettie was perfect.
He shut out the feeble echo of a thought that this happiness could not last.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Percy stretched on the sofa, recrossed his legs and read the introduction to yet another article in the Annals of Agriculture. No more bookkeeping in the evenings since he had two stewards now. Petre could keep the Wycombe Oaks books himself. The first of the architects chosen to inspect the castle would come within a month. Meanwhile, Sir Percival Hanbury would enjoy the late summer. That included enjoying the company of his wife.
Lettie sat on the opposite sofa, her feet tucked under her and the inseparable notebook and pencil in hand. Percy was quite sure she was covering its pages with sketches of him, but said nothing because watching her on the sly gave him at least as much pleasure as she seemed to be deriving from her activity.
God, but she was a lovely picture to behold. He was head over heels in love.
He felt the familiar tightening in his groin and wondered if he dared talk her into something more wicked than the bedroom upstairs. Not that he had any reason to complain about the upstairs. They had not spent a single night separately since her first visit almost a month ago, and, each time, he was awed by her beautiful body becoming marvelously boneless under his hands and his mouth, by her eagerness to learn more how to please him and by his own insatiate need for her.
He only hoped that he was able to give her as much as she offered him.
Nothing had been said between them, but this unexpected love was palpable in every touch and gaze, in the light brush of fingertips over their bodies, in the gentle exploration of tongues seeking to drive each other mad, in the joining that filled all his senses with unspoken tenderness, in the togetherness of ecstasy, in the closeness of its aftermath. He let his love for Lettie flow freely in those moments, not trying to constrict his feelings inside himself. Maybe it was only his wishful imagination that he sensed the same in her. Either way, what was the use for words? He had said them before so many times, but in the end, they had been nothing more than powerless sounds.
Besides, words would not make this sudden happiness last. He would be deluding himself if he tried to believe otherwise, to deny the frailty of this love that swept him off his feet unawares. Because what he would have to tell her would not be the words he wanted to say.
His heart skipped a beat. Hope, faint like a thread of a spiderweb out in the wind, that Lettie might not mind after all lifted some of the oppressive darkness in his heart. He would not lament now. Not today. Not yet.
Percy cocked his head to one side, drinking in her youthful beauty, when she suddenly scowled. “Oh no. Go back to how you held your head a moment ago.”
Ah, so he had been right. He obediently did as she asked and froze in that position until she finally relaxed and put the pencil down. Easing back on his sofa, he moved his head side to side.
“Are you drawing me, madam?” he asked. “What sort of waste of paper is that?”
“Pretended modesty does not suit you, sir,” she replied. “I have an idea or two of what to do with that wasted paper.”
“I hope you are not planning to turn me into some suffering saint or pagan deity.”
“I shall not tell you.” She sent him a quick playful glance. “You will see when I am ready to show you. Besides, either subject would require a serious state of undress. And—since you broached the issue—that leads me to a question. Will you model for me?”
“What?”
“I want to draw you naked.”
“Good God, Lettie, don’t you see enough of me every night?”
“No. And, no, it is not enough for… Oh, you are confusing me,” she complained when he began to laugh. “Very well, let me explain. Men spend countless hours studying human models, both male and female. Why should not women follow the same principle if they are not to paint misshapen bodies? I have yet to understand why doing so would offend and degrade female sensibility. Should one conclude, then, that men do not have any sensibility at all? Or perhaps that they all are born hypocrites? I have not found anything offensive in looking at you. To the contrary, you are fascinating to me.”
“Why, I hope your interest in me is not purely scientific.” He grinned, feeling the dark weight slide off his chest.
“No, but you are just too beautiful to… Oh, stop funning. Will you do it, Percy, please?”
“I am very shy…”
“Somehow,” she said, furrowing her brow, “your shyness escaped my notice.”
“But the very idea of finding my own naked likeness exposed to the critique of our capricious society wherever you shall exhibit your work is extremely terrifying.” He sighed, trying to keep a straight face while enjoying himself enormously.
His ploy didn’t work.
“Do not fret so much,” she rejoined. “I cannot imagine an
y lady of the ton complaining at such a sight. You might even become vain with pride over your new popularity.”
“I might sooner feel very stupid trying to maintain some unnatural pose in which you will be pleased to immortalize me.”
“I will not torment you. Please?”
“Since you appear to be willing to compromise, I find myself without argument with which to put some sense into your head. So how do you propose to go about it?”
Her happy smile said everything.
At first, only amused by Lettie’s enthusiasm, Percy was somewhat surprised to realize that he derived no less pleasure from her drawing sessions than she did. She was true to her word and never demanded any pose that could not be maintained for a few minutes without a strain on his muscles. He liked to watch her at work, those quick, sharp movements of her head and decisive movements of her hand.
If anything, her drawings made him even more curious about her talent. They were quite exquisite, even if he said so himself. After seeing Mrs. Baillie’s portrait, it shouldn’t have surprised him. Most of them were devoted to various parts of his torso, arms and legs, as she was clearly trying to capture the play of his muscles. Only a couple showed his entire silhouette. He wondered what she planned to do with them.
His curiosity was eventually satisfied. A week later, they spent most of the morning at Wycombe Oaks, followed by a now-customary picnic under the oak tree. Taking advantage of the late summer weather, they strolled farther down the meadow, to the edge of the woods.
There was another old oak tree there. Percy leaned with his back against the huge trunk that probably had been already sizeable when his ancestors built the castle. Lettie did not protest when his arms closed around her middle. He stole a quick kiss somewhere behind her ear once her back was snug against him.
Lettie murmured her contentment, sighed and put her head on his shoulder.
Percy took immediate advantage of the situation. His lips began a slow and thorough exploration of her face, all the way down to her jaw and over her exposed throat.