by Cheryl Bolen
"How could I not own it? I've admired him since long before I ever came out of the school room."
"Now, it's for you to make him aware of your womanly charms."
"How do you propose I do that?"
"Not shyly. If I wanted the man to whom I was lawfully wed to bed me, I would never deny the attraction. Remember always that men would happily mate with a fence post if it would gratify them. You've got to make him know you're a woman ripe for his lovemaking. Be particularly honest."
"I can't very well say I'm madly in love with you."
Caroline shook her head. "No, don't say that. Say something like, When I lie in my lonely bed at night, I throb for you."
Margaret's cheeks turned hot. "I couldn't say that!"
Caro stared into her sister's eyes. "Tell me true, have you ever lain in your bed and throbbed for him?"
Margaret swallowed and nodded solemnly.
"I promise you, the man has not been created who would not happily comply after a lovely woman makes such a declaration. Men are made for just that sort of thing!"
Now Margaret giggled. "And you know this because?"
Caro shrugged. "Not first hand. Not yet. But I can't deny throbbing in certain unmentionable places whenever I'm with a certain man."
"Christopher Perry?"
Her eyes flashing mischievously, Caro nodded. "I'll have him, too. I mean for him to propose marriage."
"Surely you wouldn't be so forward with him as to speak of throbbing parts."
A sly smile barely lifted Caroline's mouth. "When I contrived to be alone with him yesterday for a few moments, I said—in a husky, breathless voice—When you look at me like this, I feel as if you're slowly stripping me of every article of clothing."
"You didn't!"
"I most certainly did."
"And what did he say?"
Caroline's eyes flashed with mirth. "It wasn't so much what he said as how a certain part of him reacted."
"He raised a brow?"
Caro laughed out loud. "A much lower part."
"I don't understand."
"You are too, too innocent. Do you not know about how a man's . . . dangling part juts out like a cannon when he's aroused?"
Margaret's eyes rounded. "I've never heard of such a thing! Are you sure you aren't making it up?"
Her sister shook her head. "You need to become adept at peering at the bottom of men's torsos. You'll be able to tell when a man desires you."
Margaret's mouth gaped open. "How do you know these things? Surely you've not . . ."
"I have not, but our rakish brothers, before they went in the army, told me all manner of things."
"And you never told me?"
Caro directed a haughty look at her sister. "So it seems we both held secrets from one another."
"I don't understand why Harold and Compton would have told you and not told me about those matters."
"You goose. Because they know how bashful you are. But if you want to earn Finchley's undying love, you must forget your shyness. Pretend you're me. Then tell him—preferably in a low, throaty voice—that whenever he's near you have the most provocative thoughts. And when he asks you what they are, you say something like I think about your hand beneath my skirts, or tell him you dream of lying perfectly naked with him."
The blush once more stole into Margaret's cheeks. "You know I could never say those things."
"You must coach yourself to be assertive like me. Pretend to be me. Once is all that will be required. Once he's bedded you, I am certain he will realize his good fortune in having you for a wife, and he'll be enslaved by his love for you."
"I cannot imagine John ever being enslaved by love for any woman."
"You're not being fair to him. He has undergone a vast change since you've wed. Mr. Perry's always lamenting that Finch spends less and less time with the fellows. He hasn't even been fencing at Angelo's or sparring at Jackson's in more than a fortnight."
Margaret frowned. "Because he wishes to spend every day with Mrs. Weatherford and her son."
"I believe he's merely exercising his guardianly duties with the boy, and I also believe he's coming to realize there are more important things in life than the perpetual search for dissipation."
"He's never with me at night. He'd much rather be with Mr. Perry and their other friends."
"Then you give him a reason to want to spend his nights with you." She directed a bemused stare at Margaret. "You do know lovers can contrive such things whether it be day or night, do you not?"
"I am not a total moron."
As they rode on, she thought of what Caro had said. She made it sound so simple to engage John's affections.
"Using a portion of the advice I'm administering to you, I will have a proposal of marriage from Mr. Perry."
"You'll actually tell him you throb for him?"
"I most decidedly will! Men love those kinds of intimacies far more than we do. Women are governed by our hearts; men are governed by their . . ."
Margaret raised a flattened palm.
* * *
As they rode to Trent Square the following day, he continued with the custom of sitting at his wife's side. He'd come to associate a light rose scent with her. He was reminded of the way his lovely mother always wore a lavender scent. To this day, lavender evoked happy memories of the gentle press of his beautiful mother's lips onto his cheek, of her sitting beside his bed when he burned with fever. The smell of lavender always infused him with happiness.
Now, the smell of roses, of Maggie's roses, was having a similar effect upon him. He found that he enjoyed being with her. He admired her greatly. He also felt protective of her, as if he wanted to shield this fine woman from knowledge of the evils of the world—and from knowledge of his own offenses. That's why he'd offered to pay Moore to suppress news of his foul deeds. The funny thing was, since he'd married Maggie, there had been a marked difference in his behavior. He had repeatedly insisted to his friends that Maggie had nothing to do with taming him. But he had to own that her brother did.
His gaze flicked to her. How elegant she looked in the blue frock she was wearing. Today her eyes matched the colour of the dress. Since the weather was fine, she wore no pelisse, no cloak. He was powerless not to stare at the promise of her smoothly rounded breasts. At first he felt guilty for even lowering his gaze to that part of her. He still feared Aldridge had spies everywhere. But then he realized Aldridge believed that they shared a bed. John gave an inward bitter laugh. Aldridge even believed Maggie was in love with him!
There was one disadvantage of riding in Maggie's carriage. Every time it was just the two of them inside a coach, he remembered the passion of their shared kiss.
And every time he was in the coach with her, he battled a strong desire to repeat The Kiss. Even though he had vowed to himself he would not kiss her like that again.
"Do you think Georgie's big enough to have a pony?" he asked, principally in an effort to purge his mind of this numbing desire he felt for her.
"Certainly not! He's only three."
"I'm almost certain I had a pony when I was his age, and it's not like I would permit Georgie to trot off without me at his side."
"Shall we ask your grandmother? She'll know at what age you got your first mount, and besides we haven't seen her in more than a week."
"Excellent suggestion." He tapped at the coach roof, then directed the driver to Berkeley Square.
His grandmother's delight at their visit was mostly directed at Maggie. "You look lovely in blue, my dear, does she not?" Then Grandmere deigned to meet his gaze.
"Indeed she does."
Maggie went and sat beside Grandmere on the sofa, then he sat beside Maggie and drew her hand into his. He could tell by the expression on his grandmother's face that it pleased her to see them showing affection to one another. "Maggie suggested you are the one to answer a question for us."
The old woman lifted a brow. "And what might that be?"
"
Do you recall how old I was when I got that pony?"
"I most certainly do. It was the same age as your papa got his first mount—much to my protestations that my son was too young." She shrugged. "When it comes to their cattle, men will have their way."
"I was three, was I not?"
She nodded solemnly. "Much too small, in my opinion, but either your Papa or a groom always ran along beside you."
He eyed his wife, a cocky expression upon his face.
"Why all this interest in young lads?" Grandmere asked, then a stupendous smile broke across her face. "Do not tell me there's to be an addition to our family!" He'd never heard his grandmother sound so gleeful.
His gaze flicked to Maggie. A blush crept up her cheeks as both of them shook their heads in denial.
Grandmere's face fell.
He went on to explain to his grandmother about his ward.
"I was very sorry to read of George Weatherford's death in the newspapers," she said. "I met him just that once he stayed with us at Tolford Abbey and thought him a very fine young man."
"You would be so proud of how seriously John's taken to his role as the lad's guardian," Maggie said. "He goes every day and plays cricket with all the lads at Trent Square."
"That's the house for the officers' widows that the Duchess of Aldridge established?"
Maggie nodded. "John is now spending more time there than any of us."
Grandmere favored him with a shimmering smile. "I cannot tell you how happy I am to know this. You are demonstrating considerable maturity."
He tossed a grateful glace at Maggie. "That's what my friends keep telling me."
"Then that's the best news I've had since the day of your wedding." His grandmother directed a softened gaze at Maggie.
The old lady had been incapable of concealing her wholehearted approval of Maggie as countess to her grandson. It occurred to him he could have looked the kingdom over and not found a better woman than Maggie. That is, if one wanted to be married. Which he certainly did not. But if he did, he could not do better than Maggie.
He wondered about the men she had turned away, men who wanted to be wed to her. Were they prostrate? They would have to be. The knowledge gave him a heady sense of possession. He stood. "We need to push along to Trent Square." He offered Maggie a hand.
"I hope next time the two of you pay me a joint visit is to announce that the countess is breeding."
Poor Maggie turned scarlet.
* * *
As they continued on to Tent Square in the coach, she kept thinking about what Caroline had said. Was it her sister's provocative remarks or the nearness to John that made Margaret tingle in private places? All the while she kept thinking about gathering up the courage to speak as boldly as Caro had suggested.
Though Caro was likely right about how eagerly such words would be accepted by a man, Margaret also knew she was incapable of saying something that was so blatantly erotic.
Once and only once Margaret had been able to suppress her own shy personality and force herself to act as she thought Caro would. She had to own, that ploy had been wildly successful. She had no doubt her success was due solely to her emulation of Caro. If mousy Margaret had attempted to persuade John to allow her to move in with him, she would still be sharing a bedchamber with Caro at Berkeley Square.
Margaret determined that when night came, she would draw on stores of courage summoned from throughout this day. Then she would forget her shy persona and speak to him as Caro suggested.
This time tomorrow she hoped to be married in every way.
When they arrived at Number 7, Margaret was surprised that the duchess's fine carriage was not in front of the house. She and Mrs. Leander were to make their selection of the new cook that morning. As Margaret and John entered the house, Clair rushed to greet them. Margaret's staid, cerebral sister had never before acted so exuberantly. She was flying down the stairs, her hair whipping every which way as she giggled like a ten-year-old girl. "You will not believe all the wondrous things this day has brought!"
Margaret eyed her sister. "It cannot be that the duchess has given birth four months early, or I think it would not be wondrous news. What is so blissfully wonderful?"
"Elizabeth is with Lady Haverstock."
"Her lying-in has arrived!"
"Better than that! The babe is here. Lord Haverstock has his heir."
Margaret remembered the last time when poor Lady Haverstock had given birth to a still-born babe. "And the babe's healthy?"
Clair nodded. "Haverstock himself rushed to Aldridge House this morning to tell our brother he is the father of the most perfect little son. A huge son. Lord Haverstock believes Lady Haverstock carried the babe for ten months."
"That is indeed wondrous news, is it not, John?" Margaret peered up at her husband. She had little doubt he must think discussion of babes utterly boring, but he attempted to feign interest in the subject. "I'm very happy for Lord Haverstock. What man doesn't want for a son?"
The mention of man and son in the same sentence coming from her husband's mouth sent Margaret's heart racing. Was he merely being polite? Or was he hungering for a son? Had being around the beautiful widow and her little boy made John wish to make a home? With them? Would John wish to have his own son with Mrs. Weatherford? Margaret knew most men of their class kept mistresses, many of whom bore them illegitimate children. Look at the Regent's brother, the Duke of Clarence. He and the actress Mrs. Jordan had ten children—all of whom the duke acknowledged openly.
Movement at the top of the stairs caught Margaret's eye, and she looked up to see Caro gracefully descending. "Has Clair told you her own stupendous news?" Caroline asked as she reached the bottom step.
All eyes moved to Clair.
"Before he went to the House of Commons today," Clair said, "Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley came to me. He'd been unable to sleep." Her gaze lifted to Caroline. "It appears I owe much to your scheme with Mr. Perry. My dear Richard said he would not know a moment's peace until I would consent to be his wife."
Margaret flew to her and nearly crushed her sister with hugs of happiness. "This is wondrous! You two were made for each other."
John waited for the all the hugging to cease, then offered his congratulations. "I suppose this means Perry will no longer have to pretend to pay you court."
Clair nodded. "I must express my appreciation to him. I owe my joy to Mr. Perry."
Margaret shrugged. "I suppose Mr. Perry no longer will have a reason to come to Almack's or the like."
Caro glared.
For reasons Margaret could not comprehend, she felt compelled to aggravate her favorite sister—likely because Caro was so thoroughly didactic. "You must know my husband and his friends do not enjoy assemblies and balls—not when there's the camaraderie of other males and the pursuits that bring them so much more pleasure."
Caro stomped her foot. "I refuse to believe that—not when Mr. Perry is possessed of such excellent dancing skills."
John gave the sisters a quizzing expression. "Perry dances divinely?" He started to laugh. "Hidden talents, I daresay. Wait until I tell Arlington and Knowles."
"We shall see," Margaret said to Caro. "Mr. Perry may still call upon you. After all, did you not tell me that men favor such topics as you last discussed with him?" How shocking that Caro had actually told Mr. Perry that she felt as if he'd peeled off every article of her clothing. Had she no sense of shame? The very thought made Margaret's cheeks hot.
Yet she admired her sister's gumption in going after what she wanted. If only I could be more like Caro.
Tonight, I will.
"Oh, dear," Clair said, "I hope that if Mr. Perry begins calling upon Caro, Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley does not deduce their scheme that caused him to propose."
Caroline gave a haughty air as her gaze circled them. "If Mr. Perry should prove to be interested in engaging my affections, I shall instruct him to say he transferred his affections from one sister to the other."
John laughed again. "Perry's never been one to be dictated to, but far be it from me to know what goes on in that man's mind. Where Perry's concerned, you, Lady Caroline, proved me wrong once before."
"But, my dear husband, my sister is more than a match for your friend. Caro always gets what she wants."
The sisters' gazes locked.
Caroline tossed back her head and laughed. "La! I could not be so presumptuous that I would attempt to manipulate a strong-willed man like Mr. Perry." She obviously spoke for John's benefit.
And she obviously did not share her sister's reverence for the truth.
By then several of the widows—especially those with sons—gathered around them, all the young boys eager to play cricket with his lordship. Mrs. Weatherford turned to Clair and curtsied. "Allow me to congratulate you, my lady, on your upcoming marriage. I pray you're as happy in matrimony as I was."
The way the widow spoke, it sounded as if she might still be in love with her husband. Had the woman's attraction to John been nothing more than jealous assumption on Margaret's part?
As the boys gathered around John, Margaret met his gaze. "I'm off to teach at the pianoforte, and I'm vexed with you that you've stolen Robbie away from me."
John shrugged. "Can I help it if lads prefer cricket to all else? It was the same with me when I was a boy."
"It still is!" She stood on her tiptoes and brushed a kiss across his cheeks as she went to climb the stairs.
Clair looked at Abraham but spoke as if she were making an announcement of great portent. "I would say I'm going to work with Carter and the household accounts, but methinks the student has surpassed the teacher."
"That's not true, my lady," Abraham Carter said, shaking his head. "But the student most certainly had an excellent teacher."
"I know firsthand what a fine student you make, Carter," Mrs. Hudson said. "There's a matter I'd like to discuss with you. Would you do me the goodness of accompanying me on a stroll around the square?"
"Certainly, madam."
* * *
Whilst his wife and her sister went to see the new Haverstock babe, John went home. Sanford, a troubled look on his face, met him in the entry corridor. "I pray I've done the right thing, your lordship. Your female caller insisted that she wait for your return."