by Lavinia Kent
“I have this. Mama gave it to me last year. She said they were my father’s. I don’t remember him with big buttons, but he was always in bed. Do Admirals have brass buttons?”
Yes they did, but not these buttons. Wulf could remember his bitterness as he sliced them from his uniform. He’d never actually thought Rose would give them to Anna and to say they were from her father. His heart beat so loudly in his chest he was surprised Anna did not remark on it.
She rambled on happily. “They used to be on a ribbon. A bright green one. It got old. Then Mama put them on a red one, but it got old, too. Then she said I was old enough for jewels, so she put them on a necklace. Do you think they’re pretty? Would you like one?”
Wulf reached out and let his fingers lay upon one of the buttons. It was warm from Anna’s skin. He glanced away from her so that she would not see the tears that sprung behind his eyes. He cried silently when he heard the news of his son, but now, this small gesture from a tiny princess threatened to overwhelm him.
“I have my own buttons, very much like these. Besides they’re not half as pretty as who’s wearing them.”
“Do you think I am pretty? I am practicing to be a lady, just like Mama. I think being pretty is important, but she says it’s how you act.”
“I’ve certainly always been able to tell a lady by her actions.”
“Is Mama right, then? Mama says,” Anna paused, her face stiff with concentration, “it all depends on being kind and thinking about others first. That a true lady always considers how others will feel. I don’t think that sounds like much fun.”
Wulf paused and let her lilting words settle around him. He’d certainly never considered that the creed of a lady, but here in the garden, surrounded by the scent of summer blossoms, it did not seem nearly so impossible.
“I am not sure it’s supposed to be fun. I know it’s hard for a princess to understand, but life isn’t all fun. But, in the end there is a reward to come from doing what is right. I know there can be a heavy price to pay when we follow our desires and not our conscience.”
“Did you talk to Mama about this? I don’t understand. Can we go play ball, or how about hunt the dragon?”
He settled on his heels beside her, his eyes caught again by the string of buttons about her neck. He would never have believed Rose would give it to her.
“I need to speak with your mother. I’d love to play with you, but right now I need to find your mother and settle some things. But, I am still planning on our ride. Why don’t you go ask in the stables if the paths are dry yet?”
He stood, stretching the ache out of his long legs. He had never realized how rough children could be on the body.
“Oh, and Anna, I think you’d best tell your Nanny where you’re going. I don’t want any more worry.”
“She knows I am here. She’s just up on the terrace reading a book about pirates. It has kissing. That’s not fun. Why isn’t the pirate fun?”
“Having only met one, I couldn’t say.”
“You met a pirate? What was he like? Did he have a wooden leg and parrot and only one eye? Did he have a billowing white shirts – Nanny keeps saying that. What is billowing?”
“He was only a pirate some of the time, and I think often he didn’t wear any shirt at all, but I shouldn’t be telling that to you.”
Anna stared at him her eyes huge. “Can it be our secret? We need a secret. I won’t tell about shirtless pirates if you don’t.” Her tone turned serious. “Tell me more.”
“Of course, I will, but not now.”
“Pleeease.”
“If I tell you one more little part of the secret will you go and find Nanny and then check on the paths?”
“How about a big part?”
“A middle size one.”
“Pact.” She held up her tiny hand. He wrapped in his own, and shook.
“Pact. My pirate was the brother of a duke.”
“Then why was he a pirate?”
“That’s the rest of the story. Now, go keep your promise.”
“Yes, sir.” She saluted him like a proper soldier, or knowing her training probably a sailor, and scurried off.”
Wulf ambled over to a bench and sat, tipping his head back to catch the late morning sun. He needed to find Rose and talk to her, to set things straight between them. His head still spun with the news that his Peter would live, and seeing that single string of buttons at Anna’s neck had spoken to him more than words ever could.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the warmth shining on his face. The sun was out, whether it would remain so was yet to be determined.
“What dress will you wear for the wedding?”
Rose had barely escaped from Wimberly and Westlake and now here was Marguerite. A woman should be able to find privacy in her own bedchamber.
“I haven’t even thought about that yet, dearest.”
“How can you not have thought of it? It is almost the most important thing. I suppose who you marry is more important, but you have already taken care of that part.”
Rose smiled at her sister, hoping her fatigue didn’t show. All she wanted was to lie down and close her eyes for a moment. She didn’t want to think about dresses and flowers, she knew they were coming next.
“Marguerite, how would you like to be in charge of the wedding? I don’t know whether it will be today or tomorrow, but Westlake arrived with the license, so there is nothing to delay us.”
“Is the vicar performing the ceremony?”
“I really don’t know. His living is attached to Blythemoor, however, so I am sure that with Westlake bringing the license, he’ll be more than happy to perform on demand.”
Marguerite drew to a stop in front of her. “I do not understand you, sister. You plan everything. How can you not know what is going on now? This is your wedding.”
“I am just tired. I didn’t sleep well with everything that happened last night. So, I’ll ask again, do you want to handle all the details?”
“You are asking me to be in charge?”
“Let’s call it delegating. As you said, the important part was finding the man. I think I can afford to pass on some of the details.”
Marguerite looked aghast. “You call the dress a detail? What sort of lady are you?”
A deep chuckle echoed from the door to her chamber, causing Rose to jump. “That was going to be my question.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Can’t I have privacy even here?” Rose turned to greet Wulf.
“I was actually looking for Tris. I wanted to check something with him.” Wulf glanced around the room. “I thought he was here and you were in the nursery.”
Rose sighed. She was never going to have a moment to close her eyes and sort her thoughts.
“Yes, he was, but now he’s not.”
“You are being deliberately obtuse.”
“Yes, you’re right, I am. It suits my mood.”
He strode into the room and stared down at her. Marguerite scurried to the window.
“Will you please explain?”
“With Sommerton leaving, Wimberley graciously offered to change rooms. I should have demurred. This room really is more suitable for him. But, the thought of being in my own space was too tempting.”
“Ah, now that sounded like a lady, which brings me back to the question. What sort of lady are you?”
Rose shot a look at Marguerite, who seemed to be trying to fade into the window. She brushed an imaginary wrinkle on the coverlet. “I am not sure what you mean.”
“It seems a simple question.”
“The question may be simple, but the answer is not.” She moved to the chair by the empty fireplace and sat staring at the metal screen. She felt him move to stand behind her, his broad presence blocking her from the room. He reached down and took her bare hand, his thumb stroking across her palm.
“I’d really like to know. I spent the afternoon pondering the question and couldn’t find an answer.” His voice was
soft, seductive, drawing her into a private world. “You are every inch a lady, even when dressed in rags, anybody would recognize that.”
She raised her brow at him.
“What can I say?” Wulf continued. “I was a fool. I didn’t want to know who you were, didn’t want you untouchable. But, you are a lady to the core.”
“And?” Her voice was low, her tone adjusting to fit his.
“I don’t understand. Everything I’ve spent my life learning about how the daughters of our class are raised, what ideals they aspire to . . . how can you be the epitome of ladyhood and be so . . . human?”
A rustle behind them drew their attention, severing them from their cocoon. Marguerite had come forward into the room. She stood still, her hands twisting in her skirts.
Rose smiled at her. “What is it, dearest?”
“I . . . well, you do not seem to require company, but it would not be proper to leave you unaccompanied. I am not much of a chaperone, but . . . should I fetch Lady Smythe-Burke?”
Wulf groaned and Rose laughed. “No, I don’t think that will be necessary. I am a widow, not a fresh young miss, and we are betrothed. I don’t think it will cause a scandal if we’re alone for a few moments. You do have a wedding to plan. I am curious to see what dress you choose.”
Marguerite needed no second telling. She hastened from the room.
“There’s to be a wedding, then?”
Wulf’s question caught her off guard.
“Of course. Or don’t you want to marry me now? Now that your son will live, perhaps your feelings have changed.” Her belly clenched. What if he had changed his mind?
He stared down at her, his eyes hooded. “My reasons for wanting to marry you have not changed.”
“Then why would you question the wedding?”
“Falmouth lives. If you wish to call off the engagement, I would not stop you.”
“Yes, your son has recovered. But, if that doesn’t change your mind I don’t see why you think it would change mine.”
“I won’t be an earl. I’ll inherit no estate.”
“And that’s supposed to be a problem? I count it almost as big a blessing as your son’s recovery.”
Wulf sank to his knees in front of her, his eyes unreadable. “You do?”
“Most definitely. What would I want a title for? It’s just a lot of bother. And I am more than happy with my own estate. I have ready funds. Does it trouble you that you don’t, that some will say you’re marrying me for my fortune?”
Although he didn’t flush, his eyes darted away from hers and she could sense his embarrassment. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. My uncle did leave me a small bequest – the home that I lived in until my father’s death and its lands. I had debated whether I could keep it. I feel some qualms in taking anything from my uncle – I have already taken too much, but deciding to accept it I feel only peace. Anna will know the home of by childhood.
“I also sold my commission, again, before heading up here, so I am not truly a half-pay soldier.”
“And you were going to tell me this when?”
He still refused to meet her gaze. His glance fastened on the hand he still held between his own. He rubbed his thumb across her palm again and a small fire grew to life in her belly.
“I’d planned to tell you as part of persuading you to marry me, but then Tris came and . . . well, it just didn’t seem to matter. What was one more piece of land?”
She was quiet for a moment, and then she wrapped her other hand about his, the light tan of her skin shining against his darker bronze.
“What about the wager?”
“What wager?”
“The bet on whom I’ll take to husband. I understand there are heavy bets that you’ll be the winner.”
He sighed. “I must confess that I heard something about such wagers a year ago, but I can assure you I took no part in them.”
“Then who would have placed them? Nobody but you even knew you’d be here.”
“I really can’t say. All I know is that I am not involved.”
She bit down on her lower lip, once, only once. Then she smiled. “I believe you. I have no reason to, but I do. You have never lied to me and I will trust you.” Her heart lightened. It felt so good to release some measure of her wariness. “I had decided to forgive you anyway.”
He lifted his glance from her mouth and she met his eyes, lightning shooting in their emerald depths.
Holding her gaze, he lifted her hands and brought them to his lips. He kissed them slowly, reverently.
“You gave Anna the buttons.”
“Yes, is that why you’re so full of questions? I must confess, I almost didn’t. When you first sent them I didn’t know what to do, but after Waterloo . . . when I didn’t know if you lived or died I could feel them weighing against me like a thousand pounds of lead. I had to give them to her.”
“You told her they were from her father.”
“It was the truth.”
“A truth you never wanted spoken.”
“A truth I knew never could be spoken. Don’t mistake me now. I will never admit in public that she is not John’s. It would serve no purpose and bring only pain.”
He spread her hand open and lay another kiss flat against her palm. His hot breath caressed her and she could feel the heat simmer up her arm, and course throughout her being.
Of their own volition her fingers curled about his cheek stroking the slight stubble of his chin.
He spoke softly, barely a whisper. “I would never do anything to hurt her, but . . .”
“I know.” She closed her eyes for a second. “I’ve thought about it endlessly these last days. She is yours. You will raise her as your own, probably be the only father she remembers, but still the world will acknowledge her John’s. Is it too much too ask?”
“Yes, and no. It cuts me in ways I never dreamed, but you are right. Having her named a bastard would serve no purpose and even our marriage will not change that. I have lived with pain before. I will survive this.”
She caught his face between both her hands and drew it forward. Bending she laid the sweetest kiss of which she was capable upon his lips.
“That is all I can ask.” She spoke against his skin, their foreheads touching in the lightest of caresses. He stared straight into her eyes and she felt her soul was bare for him to see. For a second, they paused, frozen. Then the heat grew.
She could feel it start in the tips of her fingers, burning growing, running from his flesh to hers. It swept up her arms, ran through her body, like an electric shock. Her breath caught, her heartbeat raced and still they stayed locked in that stare.
She could feel the moisture of his breath against her lips. Her tongue darted out, to taste. His mouth opened and he pressed forward slightly, bringing her tongue to him. He caught it between his teeth, nipping but not hurting.
For a second she froze, and then surging forward she met him, lips locking, pressing, straining. He tasted of wine, and sweat, and lemonade. The sharp taste startled her, and then drew her deeper.
His hands ran up her legs under her skirts as she pressed forward, slipping to the edge of the chair, and then further, sliding off onto his lap. He caught her easily, as if she weighed no more than a pillow. She settled across him, her legs wrapping tight about his waist.
And still they kissed. She knew his hands moved, knew hers did as well. She played with his buttons, opening his shirt, sliding her hands over velvet flesh. She could feel the heat, feel the intensity, knew every inch that their bodies touched.
And still they kissed. Still they stared into each other’s eyes, souls melding before bodies followed. It was sweet. It was passion. It was beyond anything she had ever dreamed.
When her bodice slipped to her waist, the warm afternoon air caressing her, she didn’t know whose fingers had loosed the laces. When she moved to lie beside him, their legs intertwining in a dance older than time, she was not aware w
hose hands raised her skirts, whose fingers unbuttoned his breeches. They moved with one thought, one mind, each shifting to accommodate the other.
Finally, she shifted above him, pulling herself back to stare more fully. His lips were swollen from the endless kiss, the flush softening his even features. She could feel each breath he took as his chest rose and fell beneath her. She knelt above him, her thighs encasing his warm body, his hips beneath her. It was only the fraction of an inch before they were one. She stilled, paused, the eye in the midst of the storm.
And then she shifted, flexed, almost imperceptibly, but it was enough. His eyes clouded over, half shut. She shifted again, moving closer and yet denying. She paused waited, holding them both at the edge. His hands clenched, opened, moved towards her, slid down her hips, then stopped.
She waited for his fingers to close, to grasp, demand. His thumbs ran over her flesh in the slightest of movements. She could see the desire in his eyes, the need, but his only advance was that gentle rub.
She rose above him, positioned herself over him, opened herself fully to him. Their eyes met again and held. It was an instant, a second, a moment, an eternity.
And then with a sudden lunge she brought herself down, surrounding him, bringing him deeply to her core. His hands flexed upon her as the world suddenly spun. She flexed herself tight, holding to him, bringing them together in full union. She pulled back and sank, again and again, each time drawing closer to the pinnacle and the withdrawing. The rhythm sped, and slowed, as they fought for power together. Each time her body tightened, his response quivered through her, pushing her further. She raced onward towards that final goal, knowing he was right with her.
When the scream finally left her lips as reality exploded, his lips met hers again, swallowing her cries, taking them into himself.
She lay face down upon his chest, her hair damp with sweat, but still permeated with that sweet smell of honey. He could feel her hot breath tickling over the hairs of his chest, as she drew each deep breath into her chest. Wulf wrapped his arms loosely about her, not wanting the moment to end.
He shifted slightly and kissed the crown of her head. She tilted her chin up, meeting his eyes, and she smiled. Oh, what a smile. She lit from within as if from a thousand candles and each flicker warmed him, eased some wound or cut deep within that he’d no longer known he carried. She pushed herself up against him until their eyes were level and then she kissed his lips again, an angel kiss, felt not with the lips but with the heart.