Surrender the Stars

by Wright, Cynthia

  The corners of his mouth twitched before he lifted her hair and kissed the nape of her neck. "I forget."

  "We are not completely alone, you know. Cassie and Able are somewhere about—"

  "They went to Covent Garden."

  "Oh. Well, there are housemaids cleaning the bedrooms."

  "Believe me, I'm aware of that. Do you imagine that we would be in the kitchen otherwise?"

  Her cheeks flamed as she disengaged herself from his tantalizing embrace. "I hope that you don't imagine, since our—our... interlude at Grimley Court, that I would continue to behave in that... manner."

  Lazily, he lifted one black eyebrow and perched on the edge of the table. "Of course not. I thought that next time we might try a proper bed."

  "Ryan Coleraine!" Lindsay gasped in outrage. "You talk as if you think I could be some sort of—"

  "Wife?" He caught her wrists with long, tanned fingers and pulled her struggling body back against his own. "Does it shock you to contemplate the joys of our marriage bed?"

  She grew still, but her face burned and her heart pounded so hard that she was certain he must be able to hear it. Their eyes were inches apart as she whispered, "I—I didn't know you meant—"

  "To marry you? Good God, did I forget to ask?" He put on an expression of boyish contrition. "I've assumed too much, hmm? Well, I can only hope it's not too late to make amends."

  Lindsay stared as he gracefully dropped down onto one knee. "Miss Raveneau, would you do me the honor of consenting to become my wife?"

  She pulled at his hands. "Do get up before someone sees you!"

  "Not until you give me an answer. Should I elaborate? Very well, then. I love you better than my life, and I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my days as your husband." His mouth scorched the tender insides of her wrists. "For better, for worse, to have and to hold..." While murmuring this last phrase, Ryan looked up at her from under his thick black lashes and flicked one eyebrow up suggestively.

  Lindsay was dizzy with love and longing. "You must get up," she murmured weakly. "This is very silly!"

  "Silly?" he feigned devastation. "My dear Miss Raveneau, I am completely in earnest! You have dealt a crushing blow to my ego, from which I may never recover...."

  Unable to help herself, Lindsay laughed softly and ran her hand over his ruffled hair. "Of course I'll marry you, if you'll have a brat like me. Now will you get up?"

  Ryan kissed his way up her slim arms, rising slowly from his half-kneeling position. He laid his cheek against the bodice of her gown and sighed softly. The sensation of his warm breath through the muslin fabric caused Lindsay's nipples to tauten. Ryan said nothing but smiled as he kissed each one in turn, then moved upward to her bare throat. Her back bent, her body supple and yielding under his hands, her arms wound about his neck and then Lindsay was lying back over the bleached worktable.

  Sheer passion won out for a long minute as he kissed her, savoring each sweet inch of the inside of her mouth. Lindsay's breasts pressed upward against his chest and Ryan yearned to unfasten her gown. Her buttocks met the edge of the high worktable and he was standing between her legs, feeling her soft warmth against his aching hardness. If only he could undress her and...

  "Ryan, we mustn't." She moaned against his open mouth.

  He nearly laughed when he felt Lindsay's hips arch upward in contradiction to her words. "I know, angel." After one more sensual, lingering kiss, he drew back, smiling. "But soon, hmm?"

  "On the kitchen table?"

  "When we're married? Oh, absolutely. You won't be able to peel a potato in peace, my darling. Or answer a letter"—Ryan's lips gazing hers—"or bathe, or read a book, or ride in the park—"

  She widened her eyes in mock horror. "You would come between me and my horse—in Hyde Park?"

  "I would consider it!" Helping her up, Ryan pressed one last kiss to her throat, then watched, smiling, as she skittered away and began to read Mrs. Butter's recipe aloud.

  "Let's see. Arabella said that the chestnuts are already stewing in veal broth. "Using a towel, she lifted the lid on a pot and sniffed. "Hmm! Well, now we need to take a piece of bacon, a pound of veal, a pigeon beaten to pieces—"

  "Who's going to beat the poor bird?"

  "We'll take turns." A dimple winked next to her mouth. "It says here that we also need an onion, a bundle of sweet herbs, a piece of carrot, and a little pepper and mace. We lay the bacon in the bottom of a stew pan, then put the meat and other ingredients over it and set it over a slow fire."

  Ryan rolled up his sleeves, tied a towel around his lean hips, and they carried out the instructions together.

  "I suppose that you are hoping that Harry will do something suspicious at the rout he and Mouette are giving tomorrow night," Lindsay remarked as she peeled the skin from an onion.

  "Well, certainly. I abhor the idea of telling our suspicions to your father until I have some sort of proof to offer." He looked for a sharp knife to cut up the carrots. "Of all the people in England to suspect, why did it have to be Harry? A member of your own family! It seems to me that I have to be damned certain before I point a finger at him! As it is, your father is pressing me for information."

  "With any luck, Harry will say something to Lord Chadwick at the rout. Perhaps they'll go off together and we can follow them."

  "We?"

  "Ryan, you're cutting that carrot into awfully big pieces!"

  He narrowed his eyes at her. "Forget the carrot. And forget any notions you have of coming with me if I have to follow Harry. If you want to help, you can start by having a talk with Mouette." As he spoke, he sliced each carrot chunk in half. "Why not visit her tomorrow to help with last-minute details before the rout? It seems to me that you two are long overdue for a sisterly conversation. See if you can't persuade her to confide in you about her marriage—and any unusual behavior she's noticed on Harry's part."

  Lindsay nipped a piece of carrot and chewed thoughtfully. "That's a good idea. I'll send a note over as soon as one of the footmen turns up." She paused then. "Why do you suppose Harry is doing this? What has he to gain?"

  "Money, for one thing."

  "But wouldn't he have to pay for the information he gives Lord Chadwick?"

  "I've been pondering that one and I half suspect that this may all be a sham on his part. He may be fabricating secrets, telling the Tories that he is privy to information via his father-in-law."

  "But that's awful! Why would Harry do something so immoral and dangerous? What need does he have for that sort of money?"

  Ryan shrugged and sprinkled a handful of herbs over the veal and vegetables. "I have an idea that Harry has taken to gambling. And I also suspect that he is unsure of himself underneath that facade of blustering good looks. Added wealth, plus the promise of power among the Tories, must bolster his confidence."

  "I think you may have overdone the herbs," Lindsay murmured, staring into the pan.

  "You told me to put in a handful!"

  "I don't think the author of this recipe counted on a cook with such large hands...."

  "If I'd known you were going to be so critical, I'd have left it all to you! As I recall, you begged for my assistance and expertise." Ryan's fingers slid around her tiny waist, drawing her hip against his, while his mouth grazed her temple.

  Lindsay was about to take issue with his memory but laughed instead. "You're—"

  His lips interrupted her, slanting across hers as he gathered her body full-length against his own. Finally, when she was breathless and weak, Ryan raised his head and gave her a smile that was provocative and boyish all at once. "I'm what? Wonderful? Irresistible?" He kissed her again. "Wonderfully irresistible?"

  "Mmmph!" was all Lindsay could say as her retorts were smothered under Ryan's persuasive mouth.

  Long, indulgent minutes passed before either of them heard the sound of shoes tapping across the kitchen. Finally, Lindsay opened one gray eye and saw Cassie and Able standing in the doorway to the stillro
om, which opened onto the garden. Ryan seemed to sense their presence at the same moment. Gently, he set her away from him, then faced the Barkers with what he hoped was a repentant expression.

  "What can I say? I lost my head." Ryan looked over at the blushing Lindsay. "Can you forgive me, Miss Raveneau? I give you my word that I will never force my attentions on you again."

  "Of course." She appealed to Cassie and Able. "Please, don't tell Mama and Papa about this! It would only upset them, and it was probably as much my fault as Ryan's—"

  Cassie sniffed shrewdly. "I'm not getting involved, so you can save your stories for someone more gullible. You're adults and ought to be able to work out this muddle without any interference from the likes of us!" Passing them, she added, "At least I hope you can! Come along, Able."

  When they had exited through the dining room, Lindsay pressed both hands to her mouth to stifle a sudden fit of laughter. Swaying against Ryan's wide chest, she felt his hand come up to cradle her face and smooth back loose burnished curls.

  "Cassie's right," she whispered at last. "This is a muddle!"

  "And we don't seem to be very adept at circumspection, do we," he replied ironically. "All the more reason to clear up the confusion about Harry..."

  Lindsay nodded weakly. "Let's finish this impossible soup, then I'll write a note to Mouette."

  Longing to kiss her again, Ryan stepped backwards instead. "Right. Of course. Where were we?"

  "You just added a bushel of herbs, darling."

  "You mean a pinch."

  "Look, there's no time for your mutinous arguments. Just do as I tell you!" Lindsay's dimples teased him again as she surveyed the recipe. "Oh, good. It's time to 'beat the pigeon to pieces!'"

  Biting his lip to keep from laughing, Ryan picked up the small, plucked bird and began to joint it. "What have I gotten myself into?"

  "Into? That's easy. You've gotten yourself into love, Captain Coleraine!"

  "Ah-ha. I suppose that's why I'm suffering and having fun all at the same time?"

  "Exactly!" Lindsay grinned, then widened her eyes in alarm. "Ryan, what are you doing to that pigeon?"

  He paused in the act of hitting one of the legs with a wooden mallet. "I'm beating it to pieces, just as you ordered."

  "They don't mean it literally!" Lindsay was about to launch into a tirade when she saw the laughter in his eyes. "You shouldn't tease me, you know. It's very bad of you."

  Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him sensually. For one brief instant, Lindsay imagined what her mother would do and say if she could see them now, but the sensation of Ryan's tongue touching her own banished all thoughts.

  Behind them, the meat, vegetables, and herbs had begun to bubble in the stew pan. "We forgot the pepper and mace, angel," Ryan muttered softly against her mouth.

  "Are they important?" she wondered in dreamy tones.

  "Probably not." He couldn't help chuckling at the sight of her languid expression. "But it might be advisable to add them all the same."

  "Particularly since the Butters are coming in from the carriage!" Cassie announced from the doorway.

  They broke apart again just as the stillroom door opened to admit Mrs. Butter, who was supported by the wizened Roderick and Harvey Jenkins. The old woman sniffed loudly, surveyed the kitchen scene, and demanded, "Who's been tampering with my recipe for chestnut soup?" She glared at Cassie. "It's you, I'll wager! Since the day you arrived from America, you've been lurking about, waiting to get into my kitchen! Well, it won't answer! If you think I'm a sick old woman, you have another think coming!"

  "You mustn't blame Cassie!" Lindsay exclaimed, stepping forward. "If the soup doesn't smell right, it's my fault. Nathan and I were trying to help in your absence—and Cassie's only just returned from Covent Garden!"

  "Smell right?" Mrs. Butter echoed. "I can tell you one thing, Miss Proper American Lady! Things haven't smelled right around here for quite a while!"

  With that, her family led her off to bed. Harvey remained stranded in the kitchen with the others, clasping and unclasping his hands. Finally, he glanced at his employer, pursed his lips, and raised heavy brows in an unspoken yet eloquent question. Ryan turned away.

  "There's nothing wrong with this soup," he muttered stubbornly, lifting one lid and then the other. "All it needs is some pepper and mace—and besides, it smells fine to me. It just isn't finished yet!"

  Looking from Cassie to Harvey and then at Ryan's back, Lindsay didn't know whether to laugh or to cry.

  Chapter 28

  June 25, 1814

  "Won't you have a Shrewsbury cake?" Mouette invited, taking a large bite of her own. "They're still warm, and our cook has made this lovely raspberry jam."

  Deciding that it would be best to enter into her sister's mood, Lindsay smiled and accepted the plate Mouette proffered. "It looks delicious. Thank you."

  "Thank you for coming over here to help me! There's so much work to be done today and one can only trust the servants so far." She stirred her tea and spread clotted cream over another cake. "You're growing into an exceptionally tasteful woman, my dear. If you're smart, you'll marry Lord Fanshawe and settle down right here in London. With his family's wealth, you could probably have an even grander house than this."

  Lindsay's smile began to falter. They sat in an exquisite sitting room that adjoined her sister's boudoir. The gilded ceilings and walls painted the color of beeswax framed fashionable pieces of satinwood furniture. There were valuable paintings, Aubusson carpets, and cut-glass bowls of yellow roses, and yet Lindsay sensed that something was missing. No amount of money could purchase the love and happiness that were necessary to transform mere rooms into a home.

  "Well, I'm afraid I'm not in love with Dudley," she explained quietly.

  Chewing the last of her second cake, Mouette fingered her necklace of pearls and rubies. "You ought to be. He has a great deal more to offer than that renegade sea captain."

  "Have you forgotten that our father was a renegade sea captain and still is, to some extent?"

  Mouette shrugged. "No, I haven't forgotten, but Papa's different. Besides, even he could not provide the sort of life I now have."

  Choking back angry words, Lindsay took a deep breath. "Where are Anthony and Charles?"

  "Their nanny has taken them to St. James's Park to see the cows." She spooned more sugar into her tea. "At least I think that's where they went. Oh, well, it doesn't really matter as long as they're not underfoot. Children can be such a nuisance! I am so thankful that we can afford to pay a nanny and a governess—"

  "Mouette!" Lindsay had to bite her tongue to keep from shouting exactly what was on her mind. Instead, she thought madly, trying to make sense of her sister's erratic behavior. Mouette was eyeing the last Shrewsbury cake, and for the first time Lindsay took note of her more rounded face and the generous cut of her morning gown. She was exhibiting so many signs of strain that it seemed obvious that there were indeed some serious problems within the Brandreth marriage. Softening, Lindsay moved over to sit on the gold-and-ivory-striped settee next to her sister. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to raise my voice. It's just that I love you and I'm worried about you."

  "I'm sure I don't understand. You have scarcely been around me enough to feel such concern for my well-being. Besides, I have everything any woman could want!" There were tears in Mouette's huge blue eyes.

  Lindsay put an arm around her shoulders. "You can talk to me, you know. I won't even tell Mama or Papa. Is it Harry, Mouette? Are you unhappy in your marriage?"

  The older sister saw such love and sympathy in her sibling's eyes that her defenses crumbled. She rested her forehead against Lindsay's shoulder, then relaxed slowly as she felt the caring and warmth in her embrace.

  "Yes, it's Harry. Has it shown?"

  "Only to your family. You needn't worry that all of London is talking about you. Won't you tell me what is wrong, though?"

  "Promise you won't tell Mama? I've always felt so intimidated by the succes
s of our parents' marriage!"

  "I promise."

  Mouette seemed to shed the sophistication acquired during her years in London as she spoke, and Lindsay felt that she was discovering her for the first time. "He's been away more and more the past two or three years, dining at his club almost nightly—and even leaving late at night! He insists that he is merely strengthening his connections with the important members in the House, that it's important that he build a firm foundation for his political career, but..."

  Lindsay stroked her sister's glossy curls. "Yes?"

  "But Harry's been spending so much money! And yet there always seems to be more to replace it. I may seem a scatterbrain to you, but I have managed the family finances since the day we were married and I can tell you that it frightened the life out of me when he announced last year that he wanted to take them over. I wouldn't—I couldn't—allow it! He tells me that he wins money at cards with Lord Liverpool and Lord Chadwick and the others, but I find that so hard to believe. Harry has ever loved to gamble, but he's never had a talent for it. I've seen him at the tables!"

  "What is it that you suspect?"

  Mouette shook her head miserably. "I don't really know. For a time, I felt certain that he was having an affair. He would come home at all hours from these 'political meetings' reeking of liquor, his cravat askew..." Tears spilled onto her cheeks and she wiped them away. "I was ill worrying about it! I tried everything. I bought new furniture, new clothing, I tried a different coiffure, I brought him breakfast in bed—but nothing worked. Now I'm less certain that another woman is at the root of this. Since the day we married, I have sensed that Harry harbors a feeling of insecurity. He's done well in life, and God knows that I love him just as he is, but he is forever looking around at his peers and worrying that he hasn't a weighty title, that he isn't wealthy enough, that he isn't as dashing as Papa, that I care more for material things than for him, and now he belongs to the wrong party and can never advance very far in the House."

  Gently patting her back, Lindsay murmured, "What do you think he's been doing, then?"