Mary Blayney - [Pennistan 03]

by Strangers Kiss

  “That’s enough to make me look for the brandy,” Garrett said, and they all laughed at the man who was on the verge of fatherhood.

  Meryon caught Elena’s eye and she gave him one of her sad smiles. They were so rare that they always tugged at his sensibilities. In this case he thought it might be because this was a conversation to which she could not contribute, having no children of her own.

  “The Signora will tell you that young people in their teens are even more of a challenge.”

  Elena’s sad smile disappeared. “My ward is eighteen, and to her the thought of waiting for anything is torture.”

  “And she could find work as a matchmaker. She left Signora Verano’s handkerchief in the coach so that I would have an excuse to call on the Signora again.”

  “Clever girl,” Gabriel said.

  “That supposes that I had not devised my own plan for calling on Bloomsbury again.”

  They teased him about his plans as they drank their tea. Meryon finished his with an indecent gulp and announced that he and the Signora must leave. A flurry of good wishes followed. Lynette gave Elena a warm hug; Gabriel and Garrett’s farewells were less intimate but not less friendly. As they left the salon, Meryon heard Gabriel offer Garrett another brandy and Lynette announce that she was going to the nursery to make sure Rexton and Peter had found their way back. Meryon knew he and Elena would not be missed.

  After he called for her carriage, they waited in the reception room.

  “I suspect, Your Grace, that the truth is Magda wanted to make her feelings known when you told her that she was not welcome in the dining room tonight.”

  “Either you recall our first conversation when I told you that Magda is my confidante”—that seemed a hundred years ago—”or you heard Lynette ask me why Magda was not invited.”

  Elena answered with her eyes. I remember every detail of that night.

  He reached for her hand but she ignored the gesture and stepped away and circled the room, pausing to admire the Canaletto he had moved down from the library just this afternoon. She did not comment on it but finished the circuit.

  “Why did we not introduce ourselves the night we met?” she asked as she sat down.

  “I have no idea.”

  “I do.”

  She almost always did have an idea, which she almost always wanted to share. He loved that about her most of the time, but right now words were not what he wanted to exchange with her.

  “I think …” She remained seated and looked up at him. “Exchanging names would have made our first meeting more proper than the intimate exchange that we both seemed to need. Look how long it has taken for us to know each other, to become comfortable together again.”

  She patted the seat beside her, but he chose the settee parallel to the one on which she sat so he could watch those glorious eyes as she talked. “I cannot imagine you know me much better now than you did before dinner.” His words sounded like a challenge or a game. Not intentionally.

  “I do know you much better, Your Grace.”

  “Then you can read minds, signora. You four had such a lively discussion that you found a new subject before I could comment on the previous one.”

  He had maintained his usual demeanor, not anxious to call attention to his singular guest by behaving differently. As if she did not shine from her place next to him, her beauty all but announcing his intention. “Tell me what you learned.”

  She gave him a coquettish shrug, moved to sit next to him, and then kissed him on the cheek. It was so unexpected that he knew he must have looked shocked.

  “I love that expression, as though I have done something that you are totally unprepared for. It was the littlest kiss, Meryon.” She smoothed her skirts.

  It had caught him unawares—no, that was not it, it had caught him unprepared.

  “I know that your family loves you.” She folded her hands in her lap and looked as decorous as the thirty-something lady she was. “They love you and you love them as surely as you love your children. And I learned that you are lonely.”

  “I would be more comfortable if you said you know that I prefer turbot to flounder, signora.” Meryon did his best to relax but could not smile. She knew he was lonely, and what did he know about her? That she must walk out her restlessness before she sat down.

  “Then I will apologize, a very small apology. I did take advantage of Gabriel and Lynette’s openness, because it is important for me to know you better.”

  He was beginning to feel a trifle annoyed at her pleasure in his discomfiture. “There are very few people who have seen me with my family in such informal circumstances.”

  “Your Grace, if you consider it such a threat then why did you invite me?”

  He heard no anger, only curiosity. He could never predict what she would take offense at.

  “No one expected Gabe and Lynette. And Garrett is excellent at drawing out information.”

  She reached over and put one of her hands on his, waiting until he looked up at her. “Meryon, there is nothing I would not tell you. Ask. What would you like to know?”

  21

  ELENA’S QUESTION HAD a dozen different answers. Meryon wanted to know the truth about her parentage, what her youth had been like, when she first understood what a gift her voice was, how she met Verano, why they had no children, if she wanted him half as much as he wanted her. But in the deepest corner of his heart he did not want to know her any better than he did now, wanted nothing to threaten their friendship.

  “No questions,” she surmised, misunderstanding his hesitation. “Well, that is disappointing. One would think that you do not wish to know me at all. In that case I will tell you the rest of what I learned.”

  “Elena.” He freed his hand and cupped her neck. “I can think of another way I would much prefer to use our time together. I do believe that you know me even better than I know you. Let me send your coach home and call for my own so we can visit my house on St. German Street.”

  Elena kissed him, closing the last inches between them by wrapping her arms around him.

  Meryon knew one thing beyond doubt. That this woman in his arms, her mouth on his, gave herself completely. He felt unworthy of such generosity, but he was a man and not a saint. Some sound, barely heard, made them part and a moment later the footman scratched at the door to tell them that the carriage was waiting.

  Meryon told the footman of the change of plans, and neither he nor Elena complained about the minutes it gave them to become better acquainted.

  Finally Meryon was helping her with her cloak. In the hall the porter had his greatcoat, hat, and walking stick. They waited for the porter to go outside and open the coach. Elena leaned against the wall near the door and whispered, “I think this part is called anticipation.”

  He kissed her quickly, lest someone should walk by. “I have always thought anticipation vastly overrated.”

  Meryon helped Elena into the carriage. They sat on the bench seat facing the front. The down blanket on top of the warmed seats made the three-block trip to St. German as comfortable as a seat in a well-warmed salon. They sat, her head on his chest, his arm pulling her close, not kissing.

  He knew that once his mouth touched hers he wanted no interruption, no distraction, and as many hours as they could spare from a world filled with other people.

  The moon was in its spring prime, one of those nights when you could read by its light. As they drove through the gates that set the house back from the street the moonlight cast cold shadows on the façade, making it less welcoming than it appeared in daylight. Candles lit the arched windows on either side of the matching arched doorway, and the warmth they hinted at made him want to hurry inside.

  He loved this place, if one could love a thing of stone and plaster. When he walked through the door, he left all his cares outside and enjoyed the purely selfish, sensual hours, always leaving rejuvenated in body and spirit.

  “Oh, Meryon, it is not at all what I expe
cted, but nearly perfect. I love the way it is set back, separating itself from the rest of the houses.” She let him hand her down the steps and hurried through the cold to the arched front door.

  A maid, an older woman, met them, took their hats and coats, and disappeared.

  “Is there a garden out there?” she asked, gesturing toward the back of the hall that ran straight through the house to a set of glass doors at the back. “There must be. Flowering trees and a little fountain perhaps.”

  “Yes, there are trees and I will have a fountain installed tomorrow.” Like Hyde Park, he loved seeing this place through her eyes, as if for the first time.

  With a hand on her back, he urged her into the salon to the right of the entry. There was champagne on the table. He should have told the maid to put it in the bedroom and saved both of them any more waiting.

  He opened the champagne with a decorous pop, even though he rarely performed this chore himself.

  “Were you that sure of me?” she asked as he handed her the glass.

  “No, my dear, if I had been sure of you I would have had the bottle open already.”

  She raised her glass and touched it to his, walking over to one of the windows. Facing him so that the arched window framed her whole body, she sipped her champagne.

  “Tell me how you found this place. Please,” she added and set her glass down on a table.

  Her composure tried his patience. He did not want conversation. He would be happy to tell her anything after they had used the bed upstairs. Feeling crass for thinking like a randy schoolboy, Meryon reminded himself of his age and maturity and sipped the champagne for strength.

  “The house is modeled after Le Pavillon Colombe outside Paris. I think I told you that my father spent several years in France before and during the Revolution. He hired a French architect to design a cottage with the same exterior as Le Pavillon Colombe but with an interior of his own design. The duke, my father, gave it to me when I reached my majority.”

  “It seems an extravagance, a wonderful extravagance,” she added quickly, “to build a house of two stories in the middle of the city. Do you not feel overwhelmed by the taller houses?”

  “When you see it in the daylight you will have to tell me if you still think it perfect.” He set his glass down and could not decide whether to thank or bludgeon his tutor for teaching him how to control himself. “Let me show you the rest of the house.”

  ———

  THE BEDROOM. I ESPECIALLY want to see the bedroom, Elena thought. But something had changed. He did not seem as enthusiastic now. Who needed champagne when her mind, body, and heart were as ready as they could be?

  “It’s so comfortable. It makes me wonder why we all want such grand houses.” Elena made the comment as they started up the stairs, having seen three salons on the ground floor, a parlor with a library behind it, and a dining room across the hall.

  As she played the gracious guest to his gracious host, it occurred to her what this house was intended for. It was where his mistress would live, and how wonderful that there was none in residence.

  “It requires only a small staff as well.” Elena stopped on the first step and turned to him. They were eye-to-eye and Elena leaned into him, hoping to find the man she could not resist. She kissed his cheek and then buried her face in his neck, breathing in the smell of his skin, hair, clothes. She whispered into his ear, “I said that so you know that I can be practical.”

  He laughed and she relaxed. She loved to hear him laugh and vowed to make him laugh at least once an hour. It made her happy, not to mention that when she was pressed this close to the man, his laughter was very arousing as it traveled the length of her body, all the way to her toes.

  “If you would like we could go to the library and talk awhile.”

  Elena could not tell if he was joking or not. Could he be nervous? He did not seem nervous, but there was some reason he was keeping himself at a distance. She so liked to be seduced but perhaps now it was her turn. Elena took his hand and pulled him behind her up the stairs. “Is there more than one bedroom?”

  This time he did not answer but took the lead, pulling her into the largest of the rooms, and her spirits rose.

  There appeared to be small dressing rooms on either side of the bedchamber, which was square with a huge bed along the outer wall. Quietly glowing fireplaces at each end made it warm enough to move about naked if one so chose.

  “The maid will help you undress.” He gestured to the door near the fireplace at the end of the room.

  Her heart fell and this time it was bruised a little. A maid would help her undress. That was no more passionate than a tour of the house.

  “No, Your Grace, I do not need a maid’s help.” She whirled around and stepped into the passage. “If you are trying to make this as unromantic as possible then you have succeeded. There is no urgency, no passion.” She wanted to cry but kept her voice even. “If you will not share yourself completely here and now, I do not think—”

  Before she finished the thought, the duke scooped her up in his arms. She gave an inelegant squeak as he swept her into the bedroom, kicked the door shut, carried her to the bed and dropped her on it as though a punishment was about to begin.

  He came down with her, both of them still fully dressed, his eyes alight with passion and a little anger. He framed her face with his hands and then ravished her mouth.

  He trailed kisses down her neck to the crest of her bosom, he pressed his hand below her belly. The feel of him so close to her arousal made Elena gasp.

  “Please,” she begged, and while that could have meant any number of things, he understood.

  Meryon stripped her with an efficiency of desperation and then undressed himself almost as quickly.

  “You are all that I want, all that I can think about.” He pressed his body to hers so that skin touched skin. She was so anxious to feel him inside her, preparing for pleasure was not a conscious thought. But he held back. She twisted beneath him, her hands on his back pulling him closer. There was no need to tease and tempt when her body was all but screaming for him.

  She gave a tiny cry of frustration and he came into her with such power that within seconds an orgasm exploded through her.

  He stroked, deeper and deeper, and his own release came so soon after hers that it added a coda of pleasure that was almost unbearable. Her body arched under his, her hands gripped the bed linen as she urged him closer, not wanting the feeling and the union to end. He stayed with her until the red-hot connection melted into something more comfortable.

  Meryon kissed her and then lifted himself from her and rolled, pulling her on top of him with one hand, grabbing the sheet from the floor, even though they were both so warm that the covering seemed unnecessary.

  Elena laid her head on his chest and slid a little to the side so all her weight was not on him, but they were still touching from head to toe. He pressed another kiss to the top of her head. As she moved to kiss him back, tears started. They came from nowhere, a confusing welter of emotions rising with them, happiness, heartache, relief. They poured from her, followed by gulps for air that were as necessary as they were unattractive.

  “I never,” she started, and then buried her face in his shoulder when she could not quite finish the sentence. He smoothed her hair and comforted her, an action so unlike a man that she fell in love with him right there. The tears ended almost as quickly as they began. “I never thought I would ever feel like that again.” She looked up at him and added, “In fact, I don’t think I have ever felt like that before.” She shook her head, still bemused. “I have never had quite that mindless an experience of sex. It was all feeling, like a torrent of it.”

  He smiled, that heart-winning smile that was completely unnecessary since her heart was already won. “I am relieved. I hoped that we shared mutually, but now I am worried that I was cheated, as I do not feel at all like crying.”

  She laughed and then winced. She reached for the hairpi
n that had come loose and pressed into her neck and not her hair. Elena pulled it out and tossed it on the floor.

  “Sit up and let me take the pins out,” he said. “I have only been able to imagine how long your hair is.”

  “I had Tina put it up with my favorite pins so that I would look elegant at dinner.” Elena sat up as she spoke, drawing the sheet up to cover her breasts even though he was behind her.

  “I think you would look elegant with your hair in braids. Your elegance comes from somewhere inside you, and I am so happy it disappears when you make love.”

  She could feel him draw out each pin as he spoke. He worked with care. He placed each pin, jeweled or not, into a glass bowl set in a bronze shell at the feet of a mermaid whose long hair did not cover her breasts. There was a comb on the table as well as a candle and flint. Meryon reached for the comb and began to pull it gently through her hair.

  “I think that wearing your hair up in such an elaborate style was your last bit of feminine indecision.”

  “Perhaps.” Her arousal had faded, replaced by a tinge of anxiety. She was no longer a young girl, but a woman who was feeling the first signs of age. A wrinkle here and there. She pulled the linen up around her, sure that her breasts were not as uplifted as they used to be.

  Her hair seemed to lack the luster of her youth. Would he notice? Men always aged better than women, if they did not run to fat—and there was not an ounce of fat on the duke. Meryon had the body of a god and she was no goddess.

  He pressed a kiss to her neck. Elena could feel his breath on her shoulders, and the soft caress made her forget fretfulness and shudder with pleasure.

  “Your hair is down to your waist,” he announced as he pulled her back against him, and she could feel his arousal press into her thigh so she said what she knew he wanted to hear.

  “I am a greedy, selfish witch to have visited an erotic Eden and still want more.”

  This time they moved more slowly, exploring each other’s bodies. He had a scar on his back. When she kissed it, he mumbled, “Stupid fencing misstep.”