Bound with Honor

by Megan Mulry

  He led the curricle down Audley Street, then turned onto Curzon, quickly reaching the bustle of Park Lane. The more he focused on the horses, the less he thought about his swirling, convoluted feelings for the woman next to him. He navigated them around Hyde Park Corner and, when they entered Green Park, he loosened his hold and gave an encouraging swish of the long whip. The two horses bounded forward, thrilled to be given free rein. Letting the autumn air swish past him, enjoying himself fully for the first time in three days, he risked a quick glance at Selina. He expected her to be gripping the low handle to her right, probably hoping to steady herself in the midst of a frightfully exhilarating ride. He was slightly ashamed to admit he wanted her to be afraid, to have to rely on him, but that was the truth of it.

  He shouldn’t have looked. He simply should not have looked. Her head was tilted back joyfully, her chin lifted in some sort of cosmic welcome, her partially open mouth revealing a blissful half smile, eyes nearly closed in communion with the wind and speed. She looked just like she had when she’d cried out his name—

  He pulled at the reins far too abruptly. It was only due to excellent training that the two mares didn’t break their traces altogether. As it was, the high wheels beneath them tilted at a precarious angle and one even came off the ground for a few dangerous seconds. Selina grabbed his right arm with both hands when they were in that suspended moment of unknowing, and their eyes locked. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds before the carriage righted itself and bounced slightly when it resettled. She stared into him a moment longer, then pulled her hands—and flaming green eyes—away from him.

  “I am so sorry—”

  “You should be!” she raged.

  He’d never heard her angry, and it sent a shocking thrill of desire straight to his cock.

  “You are angry at me for being wanton or forward or whatever you wish to call it,” she cried, “but it is you who are reckless. You could have killed us!”

  The way she clenched her hands into tight fists made him want to hand over the reins and the whip and let her mete out his punishment. He’d never gone in for that sort of thing, but something about the fury in her expression made him want to . . . receive it.

  “I am utterly to blame.”

  She breathed in fast pants, like the horses in front of them who were trying to calm themselves, and stared at him. “You are. You are entirely to blame. I shan’t forgive you for this anytime soon, Lord Camburton.”

  “I lost control of the curricle—”

  “You do not lose control!” Her voice was raised to a high pitch, and he looked worriedly toward an approaching carriage that bore the family seal of the Duke of Devonshire.

  “Selina—”

  She caught the direction of his look. “Damn you,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “You are more worried that I’ll make a scene in front of Hartington? He’s my cousin, you idiot. And unlike some people I know, he actually respects me.” Despite her contentious tone, she smoothed her skirt politely and sat prettily as the other carriage neared.

  “I respect you,” he whispered.

  She glared at him for a second, then shook her head in frustration and turned with a fake smile toward her cousin. Archie tried to appear calm; the Marquess of Hartington was an inquisitive, observant young man and the last thing Archie wanted was to be perused by the twenty-year-old William Cavendish.

  Alas. He seemed to be getting the last thing he wanted on many occasions recently. Selina’s smile appeared to be more genuine as the brilliant red phaeton slowed to a stop next to them.

  “Well, if it isn’t the reclusive marquess and my wild cousin.” Hartington tipped his hat. “Camburton. Miss Selina.” He looked from one to the other. “What brings you to the big bad city, Camburton? I thought you preferred life in Derbyshire.”

  “Nice to see you too, Hartington. My sister is to be married at the end of the week—”

  “Ah yes! Yes, I will be there.” He narrowed his eyes. “Will Rushford still reside at Mayfield House after Mayson and your sister are married?”

  Damn him and his direct, invasive questions. It was none of Hartington’s business how Georgie and Trevor and James chose to set up house. “I believe they will be visiting Egypt for several months after the wedding.”

  “Not the answer to the question I asked, but point taken. And you, Miss Selina?” He turned his imperious gaze on her, but there was a twinkle of affection beneath the haughtiness. “Enjoying your freedom, I see.”

  “Yes, my lord. Thank you.”

  “You’re quite welcome, my dear.” He tipped his hat again. “Enjoy your stay in town.” With that, he clucked to his pair of horses from his high perch and set off at an elegant trot, his back as straight as his too-high starched collar.

  Archie was irritated again. They spent the rest of the journey in silence—except for the most basic exchanges when Selina gave directions to their destination—until they parted ways at the door of Selina’s aunt’s house on Tavistock Street.

  “He is so impossible! Such a hypocrite!” Selina was pacing furiously while her aunt poured tea and tracked her movements back and forth across the drawing room.

  “So the marquess is very disagreeable, then?” Diana asked kindly.

  “No! He is damnably agreeable. That’s what makes him so infuriating.”

  “Hmm, really?” Her aunt had finished preparing the tea and was holding out a dainty pink porcelain cup and saucer for her to take.

  Selina sighed and flopped down in the chair to her aunt’s left. “Yes. Really.” She reached for the tea and took it steadily into her own hands. “I know I sound ridiculous. I just thought . . . Oh, I don’t know what I thought.” Looking around the room, she took a moment to appreciate the world Lady Diana Ashby had created for herself. Deep-blue velvet curtains hung at either side of the large windows that faced out to the small, beautifully landscaped private garden at the back of the townhouse. The solid furniture was not new, but had been well made and well cared for. Here was a woman who had taken possession of her own life. “Oh, Aunt Diana, what was it like for you when you refused all those marriage proposals?”

  Diana was now in her middle forties, and she was quite nearly as beautiful as the portrait that Angelica Kauffman had painted twenty years earlier, when Diana had had her season in London and caught the eye of every eligible aristocrat. The painting above the stone fire surround depicted a stunning young heiress in her prime, and also captured the simmering hint of rebellion in her sparkling green eyes.

  Stirring her tea, Diana paused before speaking. “It was glorious.” She placed the silver spoon on her saucer, and then looked at Selina.

  “You weren’t afraid of severing your family ties?”

  “Were you?” Diana knew every detail of her difficulties with her parents.

  “No.” She sighed as she remembered the day her father had threatened to disown her, and she had finally laughed in his face and walked out of Ashdownly House for the last time. “It was sweet liberty.”

  “Precisely.” Diana continued to peer at her, perhaps wondering if she was being told the full spectrum of emotion that had accompanied that decision to sever all ties with her past. “The alternative was so blatantly unacceptable,” Diana continued. “I could never be a wife—I live for variety, I’m awful with children, I despise country houses—no, it never would have worked. A life in the theater suits me to a T.”

  Selina contemplated this reply. In her own case, yes, she welcomed new experiences and loved to write about them, but she certainly wouldn’t describe herself as someone who lived for variety. She was most happy when she was in a routine: working in the morning, walking in the afternoon, wooing Beatrix in the evening. She sighed again. “Whereas I love a domestic life—as long as it is of my own devising—and Archibald Cambury is a wonderful man. So it must be me.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, what do you really want from him?”

  Without Diana’s help and
guidance, Selina never would have survived the very real consequences of leaving her wealthy family. She owed her aunt a great deal, so telling the truth in this was the least she could do. She put her teacup on the table in front of her and leaned into the comfortable armchair. “I wish I knew.” Letting her head fall back, she stared at the detailed plasterwork on the ceiling. “I’m twenty-six, but he makes me feel like a nervous schoolgirl.”

  “There will always be those people who cross your path only to vex you. Does he speak down to you? Treat you like a child? Men of that sort can be so tedious.”

  Selina wanted to cry. If only Archie were disrespectful in those ways, then perhaps she could dismiss him with ease. “No!” Her frustration escalated again. “He is interested in my work. He shares his own scientific investigations with me, respects my thoughts and opinions. In fact, I believe he admires me.” She covered her face with her palms. “Ugh.”

  Diana pulled Selina’s hands gently away from her face and held them in hers. “What is it, dear?”

  “What if my parents were right? What if I am some sort of insatiable harlot?”

  Diana erupted with laughter. “You are hardly a harlot, my dear. Simply look at you—” She tried to pull Selina’s hands open wide, as if she were a puppet taking a bow. “You are the picture of respectability.”

  “No!” Selina tore her hands away and stood up to start pacing again. She had been confined in that despicable carriage for three days straight and she needed to move. “I don’t know quite how to say this, perhaps it will come out sounding horribly gauche, but, well, what I’m trying to say is . . . I . . . I like certain . . . I . . . am very . . .”

  “You enjoy sex?”

  “Yes!” As soon as the word flew from her lips, she covered her mouth as if she could take it back.

  “And you think that makes you a harlot?”

  “Doesn’t it? I mean of course my enthusiasm has never been a problem with Beatrix.” She blushed slightly, but Diana knew all about her relationship with Beatrix, and there was no point in playing coy when they were this close to the raw truth. “She and I are equals. Obviously in our bodies, but it’s more than that. It would never occur to Beatrix to see my enjoyment as prurient. Why do men see it that way?”

  Diana smiled knowingly. “Not all men see it that way, my dear.”

  “I know, but Archie does.”

  “Then perhaps this Archibald Cambury is not the right man for you.”

  Selina sat down again, having tired herself sufficiently with her rapid marching about. “But he’s the only man I’ve ever wanted.”

  Diana laughed softly, looked at her lap, and then met Selina’s gaze when her humor faded. “So is it merely a childish case of you not getting what you want?”

  “You are awful.” But she smiled at her aunt. “And I fear you may be right. I thought men . . . welcomed this sort of thing.”

  “Oh dear. What sort of thing? Did you make an overture?”

  Selina examined her fingernail. “You could call it that.”

  “What else could I call it?”

  “It’s too mortifying.” She stood up again. “I can’t relive it this soon. Eventually I will be able to laugh at myself, or even use it in a book of some sort, when I am eager to deflate a character’s confidence to the full extent of my powers.”

  “Oh, sweet Selina. It can’t have been that bad.”

  “It was that bad, Aunt. It was that bad.”

  They parted for a few hours after tea, then ate dinner at home that night, a delicious spread of French food, prepared by Diana’s chef of many years. They spoke of Selina’s father—Diana’s brother—Viscount Ashdownly, who was declining into ill health. Diana also had news of Selina’s younger sister, from whom Selina had been estranged for the past six years.

  They had a pleasant discussion about the solicitor they both shared. It was only thanks to Diana’s avid interest in her well-being that Selina had been able to secure her small bequest from her grandfather. Upon leaving her childhood home, she had prepared for the worst. She had a few jewels from her grandmother that she’d been going to pawn, but without Diana’s influence, she could have ended up as a governess or far worse—a harlot in fact, rather than just in the eyes of Archibald Cambury.

  They finished supper and retired to a small study where Diana spent her days working on set designs. There were watercolors of scenes and small clay models of different theaters. “Do you need to work?” Selina asked, looking around the cluttered space.

  “No. I’m fine for now. But thank you for asking. Do you?”

  She shrugged. She was mellow from the excellent wine and the delicious food they’d just shared. “I’m struggling with this story a bit. But I have several months until the first draft is due to my editor, so I’m not too worried about it. I’ve found that worrying rarely improves the manuscript, no matter how hard I try to worry.”

  Diana laughed as she poured them each a brandy. “It’s the same in the theater. No matter how much I worry, the work gets done. So I try not to worry. But some worrying can’t be helped.” She handed Selina a snifter. “I had one set that involved a trapdoor, and every time the very famous lead actress stepped on that section of the stage I held my breath.”

  “There are certain scenes and characters in my books that make me feel that way. Worried and eager all at once.”

  “Yes, that’s it exactly. I could have scrapped the trapdoor idea, but it was the highlight of the show. When the villain disappeared in a flash of smoke and lightning, the audience was thrilled.”

  “Yes. I think I will write well while I’m here, with the bustle and verve of the city. I’ve been too much in my own mind out there at Camburton Castle.”

  “But you have enjoyed the summer, yes?” Diana had helped her secure her place in Vanessa’s creative program.

  “So much. Everyone who was there added to the experience, but now that most of the artists and musicians have left, it is very quiet.”

  “Why, then, will you stay there through the winter?”

  Selina groaned. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Archibald Cambury?”

  “He’s one reason.” She looked into the snifter of brandy she held in both hands. “Probably the main reason. But I also work well there, despite my preoccupations of late. It’s quiet, and I can think. I’m not distracted the way I am in the city. And with Beatrix gone . . .” She shrugged. “It seemed like a good opportunity for me not to be gallivanting, for once.”

  “I see.” Diana swished her drink around. “And, again, I don’t mean to press. Or maybe I do—” She smiled at Selina. “But, in a perfect world, what would you ultimately want from Archie? I think it’s worth thinking about.”

  “Why should I bother with conjecture, when nothing will come of it?”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure, my dear. He sounds like he is a bundle of conflicting emotions when it comes to you.”

  “I think the conflict has been resolved. At this point, he is probably entirely certain I am a strumpet and he likely wishes he did not have to provide me with return transportation to Derbyshire.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Selina sighed and leaned back into the settee, enjoying the comfort of being warm and safe in her aunt’s lovely home. She would spend the next week focusing on her manuscript and thoroughly quit any thought of the Marquess of Camburton.

  “The problem is, I can’t quit thinking about her.”

  “So then go ahead and think about her. Let your thoughts run their course.” Christopher was sprawled on the Turkish carpet, his back leaning against the front of the green velvet sofa, between Archie’s spread legs. “It’s the same with any experiment. You know how it is: the harder you try to make it fit your hypothesis, the more likely you are to miss the obvious clues. Stop trying to manipulate the outcome, Archie.”

  Together, the two of them had attended the Jenner lecture—brilliant as always—and their animated conversation had buoyed them from the
Royal Society, through Trafalgar Square and Leicester Square, along Piccadilly, until they ended up at Christopher’s apartment at the Albany. Christopher Joseph was what was commonly known as a consummate bachelor. For several years he’d thought he would become a don at Cambridge, but it soon became clear, despite his extraordinary intelligence, that the academic life was not at all suited to him. Nor he to it. He was impatient and outspoken, neither attribute holding him in good stead with the older academics.

  With his professors’ best wishes, Christopher had moved to London and set up his chemistry laboratory at the University of London under the aegis of an anonymous nobleman.

  “I’ve tried that too.” Archie knew he was beginning to sound like one of those repetitive motion machines, speaking endlessly of Selina and how incomprehensible he found her. Christopher was obviously tiring of the constant blather.

  “Would you like something to take your mind off the young miss?” Christopher turned his cheek so it pressed suggestively against Archie’s inner thigh.

  Archie narrowed his eyes and raked his free hand through Christopher’s thick brown hair. “Would you mind? I’m wound up damnably tight.”

  “My pleasure.” Christopher set his drink on the floor and shifted so he was facing Archie and kneeling between his spread thighs. Archie began to unbutton the placket of his trousers but Christopher put his hand over his to stay him. “Allow me. You know how much I enjoy opening presents.”

  Archie groaned in blessed relief as Christopher undid the buttons and released his stiff shaft, then took him into a familiar rough hold with his right hand.