Night of Pleasure

by Delilah Marvelle

  She almost sagged in relief. The sooner he got the money, the sooner she didn’t have to worry about him. He’d be fine without her. More than fine. Yes, it would pinch his pride, but with three million, he could buy himself the sort of life he really deserved. The sort she knew she wouldn’t be able to give him.

  He set a hand against his lower back, taking on a formal, gentlemanly stance and cleared his throat. “My mother and I were disappointed that neither of you would be staying here at the house. There is no need to stay at a hotel.” He captured her gaze. “I have rooms.”

  It was as if he were communicating that she needed to take the room next to his.

  “We appreciate the offer, Banfield,” her father countered with a quick smile, “but I already bought out an entire floor of rooms. It’s paid for.” Mr. Grey swept a hand toward her. “And here she is, as promised, Banfield. “Hasn’t she grown into something magnificent since you last saw her?”

  Leave it to her father to tell the man what he was supposed to think. She awkwardly caught Banfield’s gaze.

  His eyes had never left hers. Not once. “Indeed, she has.” Something intense flared in that rugged face.

  Her pulse quickened. That barely contained intensity reminded her of when they had first met. “I trust that you are well, my lord.”

  He still held her gaze. “Incredibly well, Miss Grey. It may be raining outside, but here inside, the sun is shining because you are, at long last, here.”

  It was getting awkward. He was beginning to sound like a medieval poetry book and was staring too much. “That is incredibly lovely of you to say, Banfield. Thank you.” She swept out her gloved hand toward him in greeting and waited.

  His shaven jaw tightened as those riveting brown eyes softened just enough to convey that he was touched by the gesture. Stepping closer, he grasped her gloved hand with large, bare fingers and brought it toward himself. “My warmth knows no bounds.” Tightening his hold, he sensuously grazed his slightly parted mouth against the knuckles of her glove, still holding her gaze.

  It was indecent. Not that he had ever been anything but.

  His masculine lips pressed straight through the leather and lingered in a bold manner that whispered of unending rapture. She swallowed tightly, knowing the only respectable thing protecting her from his lips was a mere glove and her father standing two feet away.

  Letting his fingers drag against hers, Banfield released her hand. “Your father mentioned we would be spending the afternoon together. I’m afraid the weather will make it difficult for us to enjoy the garden. Might I interest you in a tour of the home instead followed by a quiet meal?”

  His muscled shoulders looked as if they might rip the wool of his coat if he moved the wrong way. “That would be lovely. Yes. Thank you.”

  “Excellent.” He casually turned toward her father. “Will you be joining us, Mr. Grey?”

  She prayed her father wouldn’t stay. There was so much that needed to be said. So much Banfield needed to understand. Things her father would never understand.

  Mr. Grey gestured toward the entrance door behind them. “No, thank you. I have a few errands to oversee on the other side of town.”

  A half-breath escaped her.

  “I’ll return at five o’clock.”

  Her momentary relief turned into dread. Because she didn’t need five hours to deliver what could be said in a single breath. “Five? I can assure you, an hour is all we really need.”

  “An hour?” he echoed. “Don’t be ridiculous. You need time to get re-acquainted. Even five hours in my estimation is overly short after all the years you two have been apart.” Her father gently patted her cheek. “Seeing all of the marriage contracts have already been signed and delivered, chaperones are no longer necessary. Why? Because I trust both the gentleman and the lady to respect each other. Enjoy the freedom.”

  Clementine cringed. Her father knew that aside from a few rebellious moments she had snatched with Nasser, she didn’t trust men or their passions. Not anymore than society did. And she most certainly knew what sort of passions Derek was capable of. He’d proven that within the first five minutes of them knowing each other.

  Mr. Grey made his way toward the door which a footman opened. Glancing back at her with a wink, he strode out toward their carriage waiting beneath the portico. The footman closed the door and positioned himself on the far wall, leaving the foyer in complete silence.

  Her throat tightened. She highly doubted the next five hours were going to be pleasant.

  Letting out a refined breath, Clementine turned toward Banfield, hoping she was capable of surviving whatever happened next. Doing her best not to fidget, she politely offered, “I can only apologize for my father. Apparently, he doesn’t realize a tour of any sized house won’t take five hours.”

  Banfield’s mouth quirked, his dark eyes brightening. “I don’t mind.” He studied her face, unhurriedly and intently. “My butler will take your bonnet and gloves,” he added in a low tone.

  Her body felt heavy and warm. Whilst there was nothing indecent about removing one’s bonnet and gloves before a man, for she did it all the time whenever making calls, his gruff tone might as well have asked her to remove her gown and corset. “Thank you.”

  She turned toward the waiting butler and fumbled to unravel the satin ribbon at her chin, painfully aware Banfield was watching her. A warm tingle uprooted the pit of her stomach, and although she tried to slow the rapid beat of her heart, it was of no use. She was as nervous now around him as she had been when she was fourteen. It was stupid. She had always hated the way he made her feel: breathless, out of control, and on the verge of bursting into flames.

  Removing her gloves, she handed both to the elderly male servant. Sensing that Banfield was still watching her, she glanced toward him.

  He swept his gaze over her pinned hair and smiled. “There is no need to linger here in the entrance hall. The main rooms are upstairs.” He held out a hand toward the direction he wanted them to go and strode past. “Please follow me.”

  She tightened her hold on her reticule and made her way after him.

  He said nothing more.

  The silence was unnerving. They always had plenty to say to each other in letters. He, more than she. But now, their letters and the ten weeks they had spent together in their youth didn’t seem to exist. Face to face, they were strangers. A man and a woman who were meeting for the very first time.

  “How many rooms are there?” she offered, hoping to break the silence. She knew, of course, how many rooms there were in his house, given she had spent enough weeks in it, but a respectable woman had to start the conversation somewhere.

  He cleared his throat. “Twenty, not including the servants’ quarters in the upper attic. The country estate in Essex is twice the size of this and has twice the staff. The upkeep has been tedious, especially given all the renovations throughout the years. Something is always peeling, breaking, or leaking.” He walked up the main stairwell, his bare hand smoothly trailing up the mahogany banister. His hand was large, those male fingers extending well beyond the shape of the banister itself. The effortless movement of his hand against the banister hinted at a playfulness he was clearly withholding.

  Gathering her skirts, she made her way up the stairs after him, lowering her gaze to his backside hidden beneath his morning coat. She pinched her lips together, knowing she shouldn’t be staring at his backside and lowered her gaze to his leather boots instead. His black boots had been polished to such perfection, she could see light refracting from them. Not even her father, who was notorious for wanting everything mis en place, kept his boots that polished.

  Upon reaching the top of the stairwell, Banfield stepped aside and waited.

  She came onto the landing, noting a long wall of ancestral gilded paintings. Nothing had changed. She remembered almost everything about the house after spending weeks going in and out of it. She didn’t expect to miss it, but a part of her had. For it h
ad been her home away from home for ten weeks. Ten incredibly overwhelming weeks of realizing at the age of fourteen she was going to be a wife to a very eager and very passionate young man who had no qualms about announcing what he wanted and needed. Be it in person or in his letters. He’d terrified her with his enthusiasm and the way he always charged at life. And at her. Over the years, although she’d come to admire that take-no-prisoners attitude, she had still decided she wouldn’t let him make her a prisoner.

  He gestured toward the right. “The receiving room is this way. It’s where Mother and I welcome all of our guests during calling hours.”

  “I remember the receiving room quite well,” she chided. “You certainly tried to hold my hand enough times in it.”

  His brown eyes captured hers. He shifted toward her. “Are you flirting with me?”

  Annoyingly, her face grew hot. “No. I was merely stating a fact.”

  He tilted his head, searching her face. “You’re blushing.”

  He was never subtle, was he? “Yes. I know. I can feel it.”

  He smiled. Still searching her face, he added, “You haven’t changed, Miss Grey. Not one bit. The only difference between now and then is that you don’t appear to be panicking.”

  What little he knew. Over the years, she had simply learned to control the panic.

  He dug into his pocket and with his thumb, opened the lid off a tin she knew all too well. His eyes brightened and his tone softened. “Want one?”

  She remembered three things about the day they first met. The way his finger had pushed itself into her mouth in a most ungentlemanly manner, the way his candy burned her tongue for life and the way he kept getting into her face which ultimately led her into shoving him and dashing a welt into his forehead. And that was all within the first hour of them knowing each other. “No, thank you.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Quite. I’m still recovering from the one I had seven years ago.”

  He smirked. “I thought you might remember that. Which is why….” He set an amber candy into his mouth, shutting the tin with a snap and shoved it back into his pocket. He reached into his other pocket and pulled out a piece of folded confectionary paper. Unrolling it, he held it out, presenting a small single stick of flaxen-colored candy. “I got this for you, seeing you like plain sweets. It’s a honey stick.”

  Her lips parted. He remembered. She swallowed. Why did he have to be so terrifyingly adorable? It wasn’t fair. She was trying to leave. Not stay. She gently took it. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” Crushing the paper into a ball with both hands, he shoved it into his pocket. “Tell me what you think.” He lingered.

  He clearly expected her to eat it now. She hated eating things in front of people. “I’ll eat it later, thank you.”

  “Why not enjoy it now?” he pressed. “I travelled well over three hours to get that.”

  Lovely. Now she had to eat it. She sighed. Hesitantly bringing it up to her lips, she set her teeth against the honey stick and snapped it off. It rolled against her tongue, an unexpected tangy sweetness heightening her senses. She chewed, crunching through its stickiness and inwardly melted at the enchantment. She hadn’t tasted a honey stick this good in years. It was…divine.

  Realizing he was intently watching her, she tucked the other piece into her mouth and primly chewed and crunched, half-nodding. “It’s very good. The best I’ve had in a while. Thank you.”

  He searched her face. “Christ. Watching you eat candy should be illegal.” Adjusting his coat with the tug of the lapels, he turned and kept walking. “How was your trip?” he rumbled out.

  It was like she had just emerged from a pulsing void of the fiery boy she had first met and the virile man he had become. A man who learned to control himself just enough to allow him out into public without a leash.

  Pushing out a calming breath, she swallowed what remained of her candy and tried to keep up with his long-legged stride. “My trip was tolerable,” she managed. “Crossing over the Atlantic is always tedious, I find, but unlike Papa, I never get ill.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” He glanced toward her in between enjoying his hard candy. “After the roar of the Season, you and I are heading out to Paris in early July.” His voice dipped. “For a late honeymoon.”

  She cringed knowing she’d be in Persia by July. She also glanced toward him. “Don’t you think the idea of a ‘honeymoon’ is over-popularized and archaic?”

  “Archaic? God no. It’s romantic.”

  “Romantic?” she challenged. “You mean you really think there is honey on the moon?”

  He smirked and finished chewing his candy. “Well, now, maybe there is. Maybe the moon is over-populated with white bees and white flowers and we simply don’t know about it because the telescopes blur reality.”

  White bees and white flowers? Now there was a thought. It actually made a girl want to go to the moon.

  They walked for a long moment in silence.

  He came to a sudden halt and swung toward her.

  She tilted back.

  “I got ahead of myself.” He widened his stance and stared, clearly long finished with his candy. “The wedding is next week. Hope you’re ready to soar. Because I know I am.”

  Ready to soar? Gad. Everything about him was so intense. Like his spiced candy. It was as if everything mattered to him. Being around him was like their first meeting, their weeks spent together and all of his letters meshed into one breath. It was overwhelming. She tried not to panic knowing she still hadn’t heard anything from Nasser. He promised he’d already be in London waiting. “Uh…yes. I heard you got ahead of yourself.” She felt like such a rogue.

  Derek leaned toward her. “Are you all right?”

  She edged back. “Yes.” She couldn’t just blurt out that their engagement was at an end. It wouldn’t be in the least bit civilized or kind. She had to wait for the right time. Although heaven only knew when that would be given she had five hours.

  He hesitated before saying, “The banns have already been read in Saint Paul’s these past few weeks and my mother finished taking care of all the arrangements and invitations well over a month ago. I’m afraid it won’t be a small wedding. My mother had a list of more than three hundred people.”

  Oh, God. The more people they invited, the bigger the scandal. “I say we keep it small. Very, very small.” The less that was planned, the better off everyone would be.

  His mouth quirked. “No chance at that. All the invitations have already been sent. Not only for the wedding but the masked evening ball that will follow it.”

  “A masked ball? For a wedding?”

  “Yes. It was actually my idea. It’s rather brilliant.” His left brow rose a fraction. “That way, we can ignore the guests and do whatever we please.” He grinned boyishly. Setting a hand behind his back, he guided her down the corridor again, now walking beside her. “A masked ball will also ensure a measure of peace given the amount of family I have coming to the wedding. We Banfields are rarely known to keep our opinions to ourselves, especially in public. With everyone wearing masks, we’re guaranteed none of them will be able to recognize each other and all arguments will be left at home where they belong.”

  Ah, yes. She remembered those cousins. They were the obnoxious peasants in the family who had set an entire wooden crate of champagne on the late viscount’s grave, because apparently, it had been the viscount’s favorite drink. Not even a day later, one of them had come back to drink every last sip because the viscount certainly wasn’t able to.

  Banfield smirked. “I can tell by the look on your face that you’re worried about dealing with my cousins. Don’t be. I’ve learned to control them since coming into my title. It’s called ‘money’ and they love it too much to argue with me about it.” He perked. “By the by, my mother sends her apologies. She was hoping to be here to greet you but keeps a rather aggressive charity schedule that leaves her no time. I can assure you, howev
er, she is incredibly enthusiastic about the wedding. Too much, I’d say. She plans on moving into her own townhome after we get married to give you full ownership of the house. Of course, that doesn’t mean you’ll be rid of her. She will most likely call often. Though hopefully not every day or you and I won’t have any time for each other.”

  The more he talked, the guiltier she felt. She struggled to remember all the ways she’d imagined she might get him to break off the engagement. Instead of her doing it. But in his presence, she couldn’t even focus long enough to think. “I remember her fondly,” she managed. “How is she?”

  “Incredibly well. She still misses my father, obviously, but unlike before, she has been attending more events and returning to her regular way of life.” He was quiet for a moment. “You look exactly like your portrait. I didn’t expect that.”

  “I hope you don’t think I look exactly like the portrait my father sent. I thought it rather hideous.”

  He hesitated. “I meant it as a compliment.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt, and it’s very kind of you, but you clearly didn’t notice how far apart my eyes were. The painter must have thought he wasn’t being paid enough.”

  A laugh escaped him.

  It annoyed her. “I take it you find it amusing that he painted my eyes so far apart?”

  He paused and held her gaze, growing serious again. “Well, no, I…” He cleared his throat and eyed her. “I’m beginning to remember that you don’t have a sense of humor.”

  The way he said it jangled her stomach. It was as if he wanted to be entertained. “I do indeed have a sense of humor. Ask my father.” She kept walking. After the life she’d led, she’d more or less learned that people who were constantly smiling were hiding their true intentions, and people who laughed a bit too much were idiots who thought the world was slathered with rainbows.

  He strode up next to her.

  With a full five hours on their hands, she had to stagger out their entire conversation and leave the worst for last. She dreaded his reaction. Trying to wave away the silence, she quickly asked, “Are there any fashionable shops in London you recommend? Ones that specialize in Parisian gowns?” It was the only thing she could come up with.