by Julia Quinn
The insult passed right over Josiah’s head, but Pamela felt the sting of it right down to her imported silk slippers.
Sir Brandon raised his glass, studying the wine as it swirled about. “Lord Thornton is escorting Miss Padley to the Duke of Dorset’s wedding. Quite the event. Only the loftiest of guests were invited.” He glanced around the table, and again, the slight slid right off Josiah like water off a duck. So he finished with an implication he knew Pamela would understand. “Weddings inspire all sorts of impetuous decisions, don’t they, my dear?”
“Kipp! Wake up.” His brother’s voice wrenched him out of a deep sleep.
“What the devil, Drew. It’s barely dawn.”
Yet here was his brother already dressed. Most likely had been down to the stables. “Yes, I know, but you must come see this.”
“If this is some sort of jest—”
“No, no,” he insisted. “But you must see this.”
There it was. Drew giving orders like he probably had about his packet ship. There would be no rolling back over and returning to that blissful dream of—well, never mind that or even whom it had been about.
Cordelia. All undone and lying on a divan. While he painted her. Teased her. Covered her.
“Kipp!” Drew was already at the door and hand on the latch, as if he had expected his brother to be right at his heels.
As ordered.
“Inside or out?” Kipp asked as he threw off the covers.
“In.”
Thank God for small favors. He hardly wanted to be yanking on his boots and finding his pants while there might still be a hope of coming back up and catching an hour or more of sleep.
As it was, he threw on his wrapper and padded after his brother.
When they got to the bottom of the stairs, Drew turned and pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for stealth.
Oh, what the devil was this? He hadn’t lurked about the house after his brother since they’d been children.
Whatever could Drew have managed to contrive? And then he saw his answer.
On the divan.
Stretched out much like she had been in his dream. Cordelia. Her hair falling free from its pins and tumbling off the edge of the sofa in a cascade of dark curls. She was fast asleep, as if she hadn’t slept in ages.
But that wasn’t the end of the mystery. Drew continued deeper into the large room, silent as a cat, charting a straight course to the map table.
Kipp followed, barely able to take his eyes off the sleeping figure. That is, until he spied what had Drew grinning from ear to ear.
He glanced at the table and like the artist he was, realized that it was all out of order, not to mention the collection of small pots of water, brushes, and blocks of color that were not his.
And then he saw it.
Cordelia’s work.
Hers and his.
The estate map of Mallow Hills was now brought to life in vivid colors. The green meadows, the darker hues of the forested hills to the north, small bits of yellows and blues and pinks tucked in beside the hedges and fences, just like the wildflowers that grew there. Lines of blue where the streams meandered beside the fields.
Her light touch had brought every corner of the estate to life. She’d even added a hint of a sunrise on the eastern horizon, as if a new day, a new beginning was about to dawn over the ancient estate.
“Remarkable, isn’t it?” Drew grinned.
It was. Truly remarkable.
But Kipp saw something else—how the woman who had tramped across the fields with him, gleefully climbed over stiles, and without a hint of trepidation gone through the dank old passageway, had captured all the joy and color of Mallow Hills—preserving it for always.
Whatever would she do in a lifetime?
He glanced over at her, asleep on the divan, and realized she was right at home there. Surrounded by his books, and the old and ancient relics from the various generations of Talcotts.
As if she was meant to be here. Even if she had insisted she was only borrowing him and his world.
Kipp drew in a deep breath. I don’t want to be returned like a book from the lending library. What I want is—
“Should I fetch Mrs. Harrington or Mrs. Abbott to see to her?” Drew whispered. His brother seemed to sense, as he did, that it would be a crime to wake her up.
“No.” For what Kipp wanted to do was to stop the clocks, fix the sun before it crested the horizon.
He never wanted this moment to end.
He wanted Cordelia.
But that was impossible. As impossible as holding back the dawn.
Or was it? As he gazed at her, asleep like a nymph, he found himself reaching for his sketchbook and a pencil, even as he began to catalogue all the things he wanted to capture. Her hair spilling down over her shoulders. The pink hue of her lips pursed together as if awaiting a kiss.
There was something so innocent, so magical about her, the entire world around him faded away as he settled into the chair across from her and began to sketch, barely taking note of Drew murmuring something about seeing to the horses.
That she wasn’t his, nor he hers, hardly mattered.
For right now, with all his heart, he’d do anything to hold on to this moment, and he knew exactly how to capture it.
Cordelia stirred slowly awake. After a lifetime of travels with her father, she was used to waking up in strange places, so finding herself tucked into a settee in an unfamiliar room was hardly as unsettling as it might be to someone else.
But what she hadn’t expected was to find Kipp sitting across from her, smiling.
“Good morning,” he said.
She sat up quickly, swiping the sleep from her eyes and looking around to gain her bearings. Whatever was Kipp doing here in her . . .
Then she remembered, she wasn’t in her bedchamber.
She’d come downstairs last night and been . . .
Oh goodness!
“You were up late, I gather,” he said, casting a glance toward the map table.
Rubbing at her eyes again, she nodded. “I hope you don’t mind—” It didn’t appear that he did, for he was still smiling. “I thought to leave it for you to discover the next time you were here—given we were to make an early start of it today.”
“I’m glad I did see it. That I found you.” He closed the book he was holding, and it was then she realized he had his sketchbook in hand. Telltale signs of pencil on his fingers and, of course, that guilty furrow to his brow.
Some things never changed. Kipp was just as guilty as she was.
For he’d been drawing her. While she’d slept.
She glanced down at herself, suddenly very conscious of how she must look, what he must have been drawing—including her bare foot sticking out the end of her gown. “Are you going to show me what you’ve done?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Decidedly not,” he told her.
Now she was fully awake. “You took advantage of me.”
“Hardly,” he told her, sitting back and grinning.
Why, of all the cheek! He was as much a rakish devil as his brother under all that proper veneer.
“You were right there in the open,” he continued. “The perfect still life. Aphrodite caught unaware.”
Aphrodite, indeed! Cordelia snorted at this, and did her best to ignore the slight thrill it gave her to hear him call her “perfect.”
A perfect wreck, she had to imagine.
But the light in his eyes smoldered. Actually burned. With a passion that asked to be answered. Come to me, Cordelia. Let me show you what perfection can be . . .
Oh, whatever was she thinking? He’s not yours, she reminded herself. He’s merely borrowed.
Then again, she considered anew what he’d said. Aphrodite caught unaware. That usually meant the lady was . . .
Cordelia glanced again at her bare foot and had to wonder how much more of her leg had been exposed. She thrust out her han
d. “I would see what you’ve drawn.”
“As I said, I was drawing Aphrodite.” He nodded to a spot just behind her.
And indeed, when she turned, there stood a small statue of the goddess on the table behind her. She blushed, feeling foolish.
Of course he hadn’t been talking about her. Hadn’t he and Kate both said Miss Holt was a renowned beauty? Why ever would he want to sketch her, plain old Cordelia Padley?
But then Kipp laughed, and stretched as he climbed out of his deep chair, and came to kneel before her. He winked at her, then opened his sketchbook, thumbing through the pages and then turning it toward her.
And to her shock, there she was. Reclined on the sofa, her hair all a mess, falling down every which way. Absently, she reached up to right the errant strands, trying to tuck them into some semblance of order, for the creature in his drawing looked . . . so disheveled . . . so undone.
Dear heavens, was that how he saw her? Wanted to see her?
“Now I have you always,” he said, in a sultry whisper that left her shivering—and not because she hadn’t any stockings on.
For whatever did one say to such a thing? Well, certainly not the first thing that popped into her thoughts.
I would be yours always if you would have me . . . Take me . . . Love me.
Not that she had to say anything, for Kipp reached out and tucked back a stray strand, his warm fingers curving around the edge of her ear sending tendrils of desire racing through her.
“Cordelia, I want—”
Yet before he could finish, Kate came bustling into the room. “Oh, there you are!” She came to a stop behind Kipp and glanced down at the sketchbook. “Lord Thornton, you’ve got quite a knack. You’ve gone and captured her exactly.” Kate winked at Cordelia, ever the imperfect chaperone. “Though I do hope she wasn’t snoring while you were sketching.”
Kipp sat back on his heels as Cordelia bolted to her feet. The heat of a blush rose on her cheeks. Oh heavens, what was worse—being caught with Kipp in such a way or Kate’s indelicate disclosures?
She chose the latter. “I do not snore.”
“So you say,” the lady replied matter-of-factly.
“Only a little,” Kipp teased, though neither lady was truly paying him any heed at the moment.
“Well, no more dawdling about,” Kate announced, crooking her finger for Cordelia to follow. “Mrs. Abbott has brought up a lovely tray and is in a state that you aren’t there to enjoy it. It truly wasn’t to my credit that I couldn’t account for you, and you know how I hate to be a subject of gossip.”
And with that, Cordelia found herself pulled away from Kipp and led upstairs.
She glanced back at the library. Heavens! What had he been about to say?
Cordelia, I want—
For all she knew, he wanted kippers for breakfast.
“If you don’t mean to marry the earl—” Kate began just as they reached the second landing.
Cordelia came to a stop, catching hold of the railing. “Of course I don’t—”
She only wished she sounded more convincing. Because she didn’t want to get married.
She didn’t. Her gaze strayed down the stairs.
Kate made a grand harrumph, caught hold of her, and continued pulling her upstairs, lecturing as they went. “Then might I remind you that Lord Thornton isn’t your betrothed.”
“I know that,” Cordelia did her best to look outraged. “I haven’t the least idea what you are implying.”
She failed miserably, for Kate gave a regal shake of her head. “Cordelia, that man isn’t yours to dally with. And very soon he will need to be returned.”
“I am well aware of the situation,” Cordelia shot back. “I’m the one who came up with it.”
“Then I suggest you have a care before any more complications develop,” Kate replied, and continued up the stairs in a grand huff.
As if Cordelia needed to be told as much.
Something borrowed must always be returned.
Mustn’t it?
Cordelia hadn’t realized how smitten she’d become with Mallow Hills until they went to leave an hour later.
As she glanced over her shoulder at the timeworn stones, she knew she’d never see these walls again.
Not after Kipp married Miss Holt.
That wrenching twinge in her chest left her wary of Kipp the rest of the day. Well, that and Kate’s warning.
He isn’t yours. And very soon he will need to be returned.
So when he rode alongside the carriage to point out sights he knew she would find interesting or bring her a stray wildflower or two for her pressing book, she was polite, but aloof.
However had this happened? A few days ago, yes, she’d been curious to see her old friend, but she had merely hoped he’d help her deceive her aunts so she could be on her merry way yet again.
At least, so she’d told herself.
But all of that had changed. Somewhere along the way, between watching Mrs. Abbott fuss lovingly like a mother hen over the Talcott brothers, and walking through the verdant meadows of Mallow Hills, and climbing the grand staircase with all the Talcott forebears watching over her, she’d fallen in love.
Of course, waking up to find Kipp there, his smoky gaze caressing her, oh, it had kindled a longing inside her that she’d never known.
To have that moment always, every day . . .
Cordelia closed her eyes as she realized how deeply entangled in this knot of hers she’d become. But oh, how devilishly hard it was not to smile back when he winked at her, or when she caught him looking at her—with that same smoky passion as he had this morning.
Right before Kate had arrived and ruined everything.
No, make that saved her from making a complete cake of herself.
He’s not yours, she reminded herself.
Just then the carriage swayed hard to the right as it turned off the road. She opened her eyes to find they’d turned onto a long, curved drive. After a few moments, the Duke of Dorset’s grand house, Hamilton Hall, came into view.
Beside her, Kate let out a low whistle. “Your friend is to be the mistress of all that?” There was no mistaking the air of approval. “She’s landed on her feet, now hasn’t she?”
The implication being that Anne had her priorities in order. For while Kate smiled patiently at Cordelia’s plans to leave England and jaunt about the world, she made no bones about her preference for a well-ordered house and a bevy of servants to do the heavy lifting.
Kate leaned out the window. “Makes Lord Thornton’s pile of stones look quite shabby.”
At this, Cordelia bristled. “Mallow Hills is nothing of the sort. It is a home. It is . . .” She paused, for she’d nearly said, a perfect place to spend one’s life. But those words could hardly be hers. But she was sure of one thing. “That”—she waved her hand at the grand edifice and wings of rooms jutting out from every angle—“is a monstrosity. Poor Anne.”
“Yes,” Kate said in mock horror. “Poor Anne, indeed.”
Cordelia didn’t reply and they rode along in silence until the vast house loomed before them, much like her deception was rising before her, reaching its tipping point. Would anyone believe she and Kipp were . . . ? Her fingers knotted together in her lap and she was quite sure she was going to worry a hole into her gloves.
That, or toss up her accounts.
Kate reached over and laid her hand firmly atop Cordelia’s. “Are you certain this is how you want to proceed?”
With your mad plan.
Though thankfully, Kate didn’t say that. She didn’t need to. Cordelia already knew it was foolhardy at best. To play at being madly in love with Kipp, and then to feign a broken heart.
Save now she knew the “feigning” part wouldn’t be all that difficult.
Nor the “madly in love” part.
Yet that was also the moment that the unholy specter of the tallow salesman returned and she untangled her hands and sat up straight. “Yes
. This is the only way.”
“You could be honest,” Kate offered.
“No. Not now.” For as much as she didn’t want to have to own up to her deception, she didn’t want this fairy tale to end.
She wanted to have these last few days of being Kipp’s beloved betrothed.
Blast Kipp and all his notions of home. And duty. And obligations. They’d taught her much in the last few days about what was truly honorable and brave and adventurous.
If only . . . she could be the one at his side to help him save Mallow Hills.
The carriage jolted to a stop and Cordelia drew in a deep breath. “Yes, well, here we are.”
Up the grand stairs, the double doors opened and a gaggle of servants hurried out the opening, followed by a clutch of ladies.
Behind her, Cordelia heard Kate’s huff of breath and a muttered “Good heavens, tighten up your corset.”
Yes, quite.
But Cordelia hadn’t crossed the plains of India and the wide expanses of ocean without possessing a sense of bravado in the face of certain danger, so she tipped up her chin and smiled, despite the way her heart hammered wildly.
Of course, that might also have been because Kipp opened the carriage door for her.
And he was grinning, his blue eyes alight with mischief.
“You can’t be enjoying this,” she whispered as he helped her out.
“Enjoying this?” He took a quick glance over his shoulder at the approaching flock and grimaced, as if he had surveyed the field and weighed their odds—and come to the same conclusion she had.
They were decidedly outnumbered.
“No. Actually, I’m terrified.”
“So am I.”
At this, he grinned anew. “Come now, Commander Whey-Face, gone feather-hearted on me, have you? We’ll conquer this bloody horde together.”
She couldn’t help herself, she laughed. “Yes, indeed, Major Pudding-Legs. I suppose we must, now that we are up to our necks in it.”
Then he took her hand, bringing it up to rest on his sleeve. The warm, muscled strength of his arm beneath her hand and his large frame beside her felt like a vast, unyielding shield protecting her. While she wasn’t too sure if he’d done so to lend her strength or to gain it from her, what did it matter?