Simply Perfect

by Mary Balogh

  Not that she analyzed each sensation. She merely felt them.

  When he opened his mouth over hers, she opened hers too and angled her head and clutched his hair as his tongue came inside her mouth and stroked over every soft, moist surface. When he backed her against the trunk of a tree a mere foot or so behind her, she moved with him, and then she could lean against it while his hands roamed over her breasts and her hips and her buttocks.

  When he pressed against her and she could feel the hardness of his arousal, she parted her legs and rubbed against him, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside her, deep inside. Ah, deep.

  Yet not for one moment did she forget that it was with the Marquess of Attingsborough that she shared this hot embrace. And not for one moment was she deceived by any illusions. This was for now. Only for now.

  Sometimes now was enough.

  Sometimes it was everything.

  She knew she would never be sorry.

  She knew too that she would suffer heartache for a long time to come.

  It did not matter. Better to live and hurt than not to live at all.

  She felt his withdrawal as soon as he gentled the embrace, kissing her mouth softly and then her eyes and temples as he spread a hand over the back of her head and then brought her face against one of his shoulders, drawing her away from the tree trunk as he did so. And she felt both sorrow and relief. It was time for them to stop this. They were in an almost public place.

  She felt the tension of sexual incompletion gradually drain from her body as she wrapped her arms loosely about his waist.

  “We will agree, will we,” he said after a minute or so of silence, his mouth close to her ear, “not to be sorry for this? And not to allow it to cause discomfort between us when we meet again?”

  She did not answer immediately. Then she lifted her head, released her hold on him, and took a step back. As she did so she very consciously donned the persona of Miss Martin, schoolteacher, again, almost as if it were a garment stiffened from disuse.

  “Yes to the first,” she said. “I am not at all sure about the second. I have the feeling that in the cold light of day I am going to be very embarrassed indeed to come face-to-face with you after tonight.”

  Good heavens, now that she could see him in the semidarkness, it already seemed both incredible and very embarrassing indeed—or would seem.

  “Miss Martin,” he said, “I hope I have not…I cannot…”

  She clucked her tongue. She could not let him finish. How humiliated she would be if he said the words aloud.

  “Of course you cannot,” she said. “Neither can I. I have a life and a career and people dependent upon me. I do not expect you to turn up on Viscount Whitleaf’s doorstep tomorrow morning with a special license in your hand. And if you did, I would send you on your way faster than you had come there.”

  “With a flea in my ear?” he said, smiling at her.

  “With at least that.”

  And she smiled ruefully back at him. How very foolish love was, blossoming at an impossible time and with an impossible person. For she was, of course, in love. And it was, of course, quite, quite impossible.

  “I think, Lord Attingsborough,” she said, “that if I had known what I know now when I stepped inside the visitors’ parlor at school to see you standing there, I might have sent you away then with a flea in your ear. Though perhaps not. I have enjoyed the past two weeks more than I can say. And I have grown to like you.”

  It was true too. She really did like him.

  She held out a hand to him. He took it and shook it firmly. The barriers were being set up between them again, as they absolutely must.

  And then she jumped, her hand convulsing about his, as a loud crack broke the near silence.

  “Ah,” he said, looking up, “how appropriate! The fireworks.”

  “Oh!” she exclaimed as they both watched a streak of red arch above the trees and sink down out of sight again, roaring as it went. “I have so looked forward to them.”

  “Come,” he said, releasing her hand and offering her his arm. “Let’s go back into the open and watch them.”

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “Let’s.”

  And despite everything—despite the fact that something that had hardly started had also ended here tonight—she felt a deep welling of happiness.

  She had spoken correctly a minute or two ago. She would not have missed this short stay in London for all the enticements in the world.

  And she would not have missed knowing the Marquess of Attingsborough either.

  11

  Claudia was seated at the escritoire in the morning room, writing a reply to a letter from Eleanor Thompson, when the butler came to announce the arrival of visitors. The collie, who had been curled up beside her chair, sleeping, scrambled to his feet.

  “Her grace, the Duchess of Bewcastle, the Marchioness of Hallmere, and Lady Aidan Bedwyn are waiting below, ma’am,” he said. “Shall I show them up?”

  Gracious! Claudia raised her eyebrows.

  “Lord and Lady Whitleaf are upstairs in the nursery,” she said. “Should this message not be delivered to them?”

  “Her grace said it was you she has come particularly to see, ma’am,” the butler said.

  “Then show them up,” Claudia said, hastily cleaning her pen and pushing her papers into a neat pile. At least she would be able to tell the duchess that her sister was well. But why would they call upon her?

  Yet again she had not slept well. But this time it had been entirely her own fault. She had not really wanted to sleep. She had wanted to relive the evening at Vauxhall.

  She was still not sorry.

  The dog greeted the Duchess of Bewcastle and her sisters-in-law with fierce barks and a rush of attack.

  “Oh, dear,” Claudia said.

  “Will he bite my leg off?” the duchess asked, laughing and bending over to pat his head.

  “A border collie,” Lady Aidan said, bending also. “He is just greeting us, Christine. Look at his tail wagging. And good morning to you too, you sweet little thing.”

  “He was a mistreated dog I was forced to adopt a couple of days ago,” Claudia explained. “I believe all he needs is love—and plenty of food.”

  “And you are providing both, Miss Martin?” Lady Hallmere looked somewhat surprised. “Do you collect strays as Eve does? But you do collect stray pupils, do you not?”

  She held up one hand when Claudia would have made a cutting remark.

  “I have one of them as governess to my children,” she said. “Miss Wood seems to have captured their interest. It remains to be seen if she can continue to do so.”

  The ladies took the seats Claudia indicated.

  “I do thank you for bringing Miss Bains to town in person, Miss Martin,” Lady Aidan said. “She seems a very pleasant, cheerful young lady. Hannah, my youngest, is already very attached to her, even after just one day. Becky is being more cautious. She has lost two governesses to marriage and she adored them both. She is inclined to be resentful of someone new. However, Miss Bains told the girls about her first day at your school in Bath, when she hated everybody and everything and was quite determined never to settle there even though she had agreed to go—and very soon she had them both laughing and begging for more stories about school.”

  “Yes,” Claudia said, “that sounds like Flora. She likes to talk. She studied conscientiously, though, and will be a good teacher, I believe.” She patted the dog, who had come back to sit beside her chair.

  “I am sure she will,” Lady Aidan said. “My husband and I did talk about sending Becky away to school this year, but I really cannot bear the thought of parting with her. It is bad enough that Davy has to go to school. Bad for me, that is. He is having a grand time there, as Aidan said he would.”

  Claudia, inclined to dislike the woman merely because she was a Bedwyn by marriage, found that she could not do so after all. She even thought that she could detect the slight lilt of a Wel
sh accent in Lady Aidan’s voice.

  “I am so glad,” the Duchess of Bewcastle said, “that James is still far too young for school. He will go when the time comes, of course, even though Wulfric did not when he was a boy. It is an experience he has always regretted missing, and he is determined that none of his sons will remain at home. I just hope that my next child will be a girl, though as a dutiful wife I suppose I should hope for another boy first—the spare to go with the heir or some such nonsense. The next, by the way, should make his or her appearance within seven months or so.”

  She beamed happily at Claudia, who could not help but like the duchess also—and pity her for being married to the duke. Though she did not appear to be a woman whose spirit had been broken.

  “You and Frances both,” Claudia said. “The Countess of Edgecombe, that is.”

  “Really?” The duchess smiled warmly. “How delightful for her and the earl. I suppose she will stop traveling and singing for a while. The world will go into mourning. She has a beautiful, beautiful voice.”

  The door opened at that moment and Susanna came into the room. All three visitors stood to greet her and the dog rushed about her ankles.

  “I hope I have not taken you from your son,” the duchess said.

  “Not at all,” Susanna assured her. “Peter is with him, and the two of them were looking so pleased with each other that I deemed my presence quite redundant. Do sit down again.”

  “Miss Martin,” the duchess said as soon as she had seated herself once more, “I had a brilliant idea earlier this morning. I do occasionally have them, you know. Do not laugh, Eve. Eleanor has written to say that she will definitely bring ten of the girls from the school to spend part of the summer at Lindsey Hall. I daresay you know that already—she wrote to you before writing to me, did she not? She almost changed her mind when she knew that Wulfric and I will not be away for the whole summer after all. Wulfric turns tyrant when I am increasing and insists that I do as little traveling as possible, and he claims to have lost his appetite for traveling alone. Besides, the Earl and Countess of Redfield are celebrating an anniversary this summer and have invited us to a grand ball at Alvesley Park among other things. It would not be neighborly to be from home on such a grand occasion. However, there is plenty of room and to spare at Lindsey Hall for ten schoolgirls.”

  Lady Aidan laughed. “And does Wulfric agree with you, Christine?” she asked.

  “Of course,” the duchess said. “Wulfric always agrees with me, even when he needs a little persuasion first. I reminded him that we had twelve girls stay with us last summer for the marriage of Lord and Lady Whitleaf and he was not at all inconvenienced.”

  “And I was very happy to have them at my wedding,” Susanna said.

  “My brilliant idea,” the duchess said, returning her attention to Claudia, “was that you come too, Miss Martin. I daresay you intend to return to Bath soon, and if the prospect of spending the summer in a school without any children in it is your idea of bliss—as it very well may be—then so be it. But I would love to have you come to Lindsey Hall with Eleanor and the girls and enjoy the pleasures of the countryside for a few weeks. And if any further inducement is necessary, I would remind you that both Lady Whitleaf and Mrs. Butler will be at Alvesley Park. I know they are both particular friends of yours as well as former teachers at your school.”

  Claudia’s first reaction was one of stunned incredulity. Stay at Lindsey Hall, setting of one of her worst waking nightmares? With the Duke of Bewcastle in residence?

  Susanna’s eyes were brimming with merriment. It was obvious that she was having the same thought.

  “We will be going to Lindsey Hall too for a short while,” Lady Aidan said, “as will Freyja and Joshua. You will be able to see how Miss Bains and Miss Wood are settling to their new positions, Miss Martin. Though they will not begin work in earnest until after we have returned home to Oxfordshire and Freyja and Joshua to Cornwall, of course.”

  So it would not be just Lindsey Hall and the Duke of Bewcastle—it would be the former Lady Freyja Bedwyn too. The idea that she should go was so appalling to Claudia that she almost laughed aloud. And it was surely not her imagination that Lady Hallmere was looking at her with a slightly mocking gleam in her eye.

  “Please say you will come,” the duchess said. “It will please me enormously.”

  “Oh, do go, Claudia,” Susanna urged.

  But Claudia had had a sudden idea, and it was only because of it that she did not say an instant and very emphatic no.

  “I wonder,” she said. “Would you balk at the idea of eleven girls instead of ten, your grace?”

  Lady Hallmere raised her eyebrows.

  “Ten, eleven, twenty,” the duchess said cheerfully. “Let them all come. And bring the dog too. There will be plenty of space for him to run about. And I daresay the children will spoil him quite shamelessly.”

  “There is another girl,” Claudia said. “Mr. Hatchard, my man of business in town here, has mentioned her. He sometimes recommends charity cases to me if he believes I can do something to help the girl.”

  “I was once one of them,” Susanna said. “Have you met this girl, Claudia?”

  “Yes.” Claudia frowned, hating the lie but finding it necessary. “I am not at all sure she is suitable or that she wishes to attend my school. But…perhaps.”

  The duchess got to her feet.

  “You will both be very welcome,” she said. “But we must be on our way. This was intended to be a very brief visit, since it is not at all the fashionable hour to call upon anyone, is it? We will see you both at Mrs. Kingston’s ball this evening?”

  “We will be there,” Susanna said.

  “Thank you,” Claudia said. “I will come to Lindsey Hall, your grace, and help Eleanor care for the girls. I know she hopes to spend some time with her mother while she is there, and now that you intend to remain at home too she will wish to spend time with you as well.”

  “Oh, splendid!” the duchess said, looking genuinely pleased. “This is going to be a delightful summer.”

  A delightful summer indeed, Claudia thought wryly. What on earth had she just agreed to? Was this her summer for going back in time to confront past horrors and perhaps exorcise them from her memories?

  Peter had just stepped into the room to greet the visitors. He and Susanna went downstairs with them to see them on their way. Lady Hallmere remained behind for a few moments, held perhaps by a very direct look from Claudia.

  “Perhaps Edna Wood told you,” Claudia said, “or perhaps she did not, that I did not approve of her taking employment with you. It was her own choice to attend an interview and to accept the position, and I must respect her right to do so. But I do not like it, and I do not mind telling you so.”

  Lady Freyja Bedwyn had been a peculiar-looking girl, with her fair unruly hair, darker eyebrows, dark-toned skin, and rather prominent nose. She still had those features. But somehow they all added up to a striking handsomeness, which Claudia resented. It would have been more just if the girl had grown into an ugly woman.

  Lady Hallmere smiled.

  “You bear a long grudge, Miss Martin,” she said. “I have rarely admired anyone as much as I did you as you marched down the driveway of Lindsey Hall on foot, carrying your baggage. I have admired you ever since. Good morning.”

  And she was gone in pursuit of her sisters-in-law.

  Well!

  Claudia sat at the escritoire and scratched the dog’s ears. If the woman had intended to take the wind right out of her sails and tie her tongue in knots and mix her metaphors, she had been entirely successful.

  But she soon turned her mind back to the Duchess of Bewcastle’s invitation and her own bright idea. Did this mean she had made some sort of decision about Lizzie Pickford? She would have to discuss it with the Marquess of Attingsborough, of course. Oh, goodness, she really was going to find it embarrassing to come face-to-face with him again. But it must be done. This was business
.

  Was he planning to attend the Kingston ball? She was going. Susanna and Peter had told her so at breakfast, and somehow she felt caught up in this madness that was the spring Season and swept along on its current. A very large part of her longed to be back at home in Bath, back in her own familiar world.

  And a very small part of her remembered that kiss last night and perversely longed to linger here just a little longer.

  She sighed and tried to return her attention to the letter she was writing to Eleanor. The dog curled up at her feet and went back to sleep.

  When Joseph arrived at the Kingston ball later that evening, the first set was already in progress. He had been delayed by Lizzie’s request for one more story and then just one more before she went to sleep. Her need for him was greater now that Miss Edwards was gone.

  He stood in the ballroom doorway, looking about him for familiar faces after greeting his hostess. He could see Elizabeth, the Duchess of Portfrey, off to one side, not dancing. He would have joined her, but she was in conversation with Miss Martin. In a craven moment quite unlike him, he pretended not to see them even though Elizabeth had smiled and half raised a hand. He strolled in the opposite direction instead to join Neville, who was watching Lily dance with Portfrey, her father.

  “You are scowling, Joe,” Neville said, raising his quizzing glass to his eye.

  “Am I?” Joseph offered him an exaggerated smile.

  “You are still scowling,” Neville said. “I know you, remember? You were not supposed to dance the opening set with Miss Hunt, by any chance, were you?”

  “Good Lord, no,” Joseph said. “I would not have been late if I were. I have been with Lizzie. I looked in at Wilma’s this afternoon, almost at the end of her weekly tea. All the other guests were leaving—and so I was fair game for one of her lectures.”

  “I suppose,” Neville said, “she thinks you ought to have secured the opening set with Miss Hunt. I have always been glad, Joe, that Wilma is your sister and Gwen mine and not the other way around.”

  “Thank you,” Joseph said dryly. “It was not just that, though. It was my behavior last evening.”