“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Scream for me. No one will hear.”
He would hear. She wanted him to. How was it that he could so easily turn her into a wanton? She curled her hand around his neck, scraped her fingers up into his hair, held him there.
The glorious sensations built and built until she couldn’t hold back, until she was screaming his name, her voice mingling with the flutter of wings as birds took flight from the boughs.
His hand stilled; leisurely he lowered his mouth to hers, taking only a small nibble before moving to her throat where he planted a series of kisses. “I love watching as pleasure overtakes you.” His voice was raspy and low as though he were the one who’d shattered the quiet surrounding them.
“I enjoy watching you watch me.” She couldn’t use the word love as easily as he did. She’d misjudged it before. To admit to herself that her feelings toward him might be that strong would make her vulnerable. Theirs was an arrangement based on need: hers to see her sister comfortably situated; his to see that his baser needs were met.
He rose up. His gaze roamed slowly over her face as though he were memorizing each facet, every dip, curve, and line. Finally, his eyes came back to hers, held there. “I want more, Tillie. I want to waltz with you.”
The joy that whipped through her with his simple declaration was terrifying. She shouldn’t be this happy when what he desired was the impossible. “We could waltz here.”
“I want to dance with you in a ballroom.”
“If you ever come to New York—”
“Attend the next ball with Gina.”
Shaking her head, she fought not to look away from him. “I’m not invited.”
“You could come as my guest.”
“No. You saw how it was at the theater, how men view me as loose and accessible—it will be far worse in a ballroom.”
“Not if I’m at your side.”
He underestimated the cruelty of Society. “It will serve Gina no good. I must see to her happiness.”
“Why? Why must you accept the responsibility for it?”
“Because I’m the elder, because my mother dragged her over here, forced her to leave all her friends behind—because of my ambitions.”
“You said your mother wanted the title.”
“She did.” She shoved herself up to a sitting position, flung her skirts back over her legs, and drew her knees in close, wrapping her arms around them, staring out at the fields that appeared untouched by man. “But so did I. There was a boy I fancied in New York.” She laughed darkly. “A boy. He was twenty-four; I seventeen. He wanted to marry me but his mother wouldn’t have it. He acquiesced to her demands to stop stepping out with me. His mother saw to it that we weren’t invited to dinners or balls or welcomed because we were newly-moneyed and as such we were beneath them because they were old money. So when my mother hatched her scheme to put them in their place by marrying me off to nobility—I was not nearly as against the notion as I claimed. But poor Gina was eleven when she was uprooted, brought here.”
“She seems to have adjusted well enough.”
Turning, she wasn’t surprised to find him so near. It would take her swaying only a couple of inches to place her lips against his. “Not before she shed a good many tears. She released far more than I ever did. Eventually, yes, she accepted our move and became enamored with the aristocracy. She deserves to find here the happiness I never did. I am determined at least one of us will benefit from the upheaval in our life.”
“This bloke in New York—”
“Anson.”
“Anson,” he repeated as though it left a sour taste in his mouth. “Is he the reason you’re returning to New York?”
“Heavens no. He’s married. I’ve heard he’s unhappy. I can’t take satisfaction in it. I was a silly girl to think revenge was the answer. I doubt he cared at all when I married.”
Rexton suspected the bastard had in fact very much cared. But he also knew she would not have been happy with him—not in the long term. It was one thing to honor one’s parents. Quite another to allow them to dictate one’s life, whom one could love and marry. He couldn’t imagine his parents wanting anything for their children except to be happy. But then his parents had defied convention. Dukes did not marry bookkeepers.
Still he couldn’t imagine Tillie remaining infatuated with a man who wouldn’t stand up for what he wanted. The thought of her leaving once her sister was married left a pain in his chest as though his horse had wandered over and kicked him.
She tugged a flower from the earth and began plucking off the petals. He’d done the same when he’d fancied himself in love with Emmaline, tearing a petal in two to ensure he ended the childish litany that accompanied his actions with “She loves me.”
He almost told Tillie she didn’t need to go through the ritual, that he could provide the answer. But he wasn’t fool enough to reveal his heart when he wasn’t certain it would change the future. She was determined to leave. Perhaps he would go to New York.
With a sigh, she flung the petal-less stem away.
“Not the outcome for which you were hoping?” he asked.
Her smile was self-mocking as she glanced back at him. “I think the horses are rested. We should probably go now.”
“I’m not Anson,” he said. “While I respect my parents and their opinion, I am no longer a child who follows their dictates when they are in opposition to what I want. Nor am I Downie. I would never be unfaithful to my wife, nor would I cause her misery.”
Staring at him, she was as still as a statue. He wasn’t even certain she breathed.
“If I say I will stand by your side in a ballroom, stand by your side I will. Anyone who crosses you crosses me. And trust me, sweetheart, no one would dare cross me.”
“But you cannot be at my side forever. Your life is here and mine is in New York.”
She was correct. He couldn’t promise her happiness here, not when she wanted to leave so desperately.
Chapter 19
Once a month, Rexton joined his entire family for dinner at his parents’ residence in St. James. He always looked forward to the family gathering. This particular evening, a week after he’d taken Tillie to Kingsbrook Park, his father sat at the head of the table with his duchess to his right and Rexton opposite him. Grace sat beside Lovingdon. Drake was whispering something to his wife, Ophelia. Seeing their intimacy made Rexton long for Tillie’s nearness.
“So how is your courtship of Miss Hammersley going?” Grace asked, from her place beside their mother.
His mother perked up. “What’s this then?”
“Did you not know?” Andrew asked. “Rex has set his sights on an American heiress.”
“Hammersley,” his mother repeated softly. “The name is familiar. I can’t quite place it.”
Not unusual. His mother cared little for the social scene. As his father’s eyesight had deteriorated they’d attended fewer balls. But then she’d always been more interested in orphans, the poor, and her charitable works than impressing London’s finest, except when she could entice them into donating to her causes.
“Her sister, Mathilda Hammersley, arrived from America and made quite the splash several years back,” Grace said. “She married Landsdowne.”
“Ah, yes. She got mixed up in some sort of scandal, didn’t she?”
“She had a very public affair with a footman,” Ophelia said.
“Sounds as though she likes a bit of the rough then,” Andrew said in a tone that clearly labeled her a whore.
“She doesn’t,” Rexton stated succinctly, grateful the butter knife he was presently clutching couldn’t do much damage if he jabbed it at his brother.
“How would you know that?” Lovingdon asked.
“I’ve spoken with her about the particulars.”
“Oh, my God, Rex,” Grace said softly, slowly, trancelike. “Your interest doesn’t reside with Miss Hammersley at all, does it? It rests with Lady Lan
dsdowne, the notorious heiress herself.”
Grace had always been too sharp by half. “Don’t refer to her in that manner. She’s not deserving of it.”
“Bloody hell, Grace has the right of it!” Andrew fairly crowed with glee.
“Andrew, watch your language at the table,” their father chastised. “There are ladies about.”
“Grace uses profanity more often than I do.”
“That does not excuse your behavior.” Even with his eyesight nearly gone, their father could deliver a formidable glare designed to keep his children in line, no matter their age.
“Sorry, Father. Ladies, if I offended I apologize. Can we return to the important issue here? Is it Lady Landsdowne who holds your interest?”
Taking a slow swallow of wine, Rexton was aware of the thick silence stretching between him and the others, everyone waiting on tenterhooks. He wasn’t even certain anyone breathed. “I will admit to being fascinated by her.”
“So you’re escorting her sister about,” Grace began hesitantly as though deciphering a complex problem, “so you can . . . what exactly? Have an excuse to cross paths with Lady Landsdowne?”
“It’s a long story. Suffice it to say their uncle, Garrett Hammersley, thought if I gave a bit of attention to Miss Hammersley, it would make her more acceptable to Society and other gents would take an interest in her. In the process I met Lady Landsdowne.”
“What is the benefit to you in this arrangement if not to acquire a wife?” his father asked. He’d forever questioned their motives and behaviors, insistent they set a good example.
Rexton couldn’t very well tell the present benefit without earning his mother’s wrath—and his sister’s and no doubt Ophelia’s as well. “Hammersley offered me Black Diamond for stud.” Once upon a time.
His father’s eyebrows winged up. “That’s a fine stallion.”
“Precisely.”
“Still, rather unconventional trade there.”
Especially the one which had replaced it. Although it was far more valuable than the original . . . and he feared in the end it would be far more costly. He’d gone into it as a business arrangement. Now it was anything but cold and calculating. At least from his perspective.
“He wants the girl married,” Rexton felt obligated to say.
“So she becomes someone else’s problem,” Grace announced indignantly. She was far more independent than most ladies of her station and often found fault with how men overall viewed a woman’s place in the world.
“It is not my place to judge,” he said.
“Yet you brought me in on this ruse, asking that I approach you at the park to give some legitimacy to this endeavor, then having me escort the girl around the ballroom as though I’d taken her under my wing expecting her to become part of the family. I do wish you’d been honest about the reasons behind your seeking my assistance. I thought I was helping you to secure a wife.”
He grinned at her. “Which was the only way to ensure your compliance. I would appreciate it, however, if you would continue to make Miss Hammersley feel accepted, and Lady Landsdowne as well, should your paths cross.”
“You’re not seriously considering marrying a divorced woman.” His sister, who was usually so accepting of people, sounded horrified by the notion.
“I’m not certain those around this table should be casting stones regarding questionable behavior.”
“But to be divorced is beyond the pale. I know no one else who has done such a thing. It’s quite ruinous to one’s social standing.”
“So you can well imagine how desperately she wanted to be rid of Landsdowne, knowing the censure she would receive. Would you think more highly of her if she’d poisoned him or she’d spent her life in misery honoring vows that meant nothing to him? I find her courageous and admirable and spirited. You would as well if you took the time to get to know her.”
Grace and everyone else at the table stared at him as though he’d lost his mind. “My apologies for the outburst, but I find her to be the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met. As soon as her sister is situated, she’ll return to New York and we shall be the poorer for it.” He stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I need a bit of air.”
When he reached the terrace, he was still trembling with indignation on Tillie’s behalf. He took several deep breaths, and tried to imagine how it might have been for her when she’d told her family she was to be a divorced woman. Gina had stood by her but what of the others? He’d never seen Tillie with her uncle. He recalled the night he’d asked Rexton for his help. He’d certainly not used flattering language where his elder niece was concerned.
When he heard the quiet footsteps, he blew out a gust of air before turning to face his mother. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to ruin dinner.”
“It’s been a good long while since I’ve heard you speak so passionately,” she said softly. “You care for her a great deal.”
Leaning forward, he placed his forearms on the railing and gazed out into the darkened gardens. “Before I met her, I judged her as harshly as everyone else did. As I came to know her, she defied all my expectations. She is not cowed by life, by circumstance. She’s incredibly strong and resilient, devoted to family. You’d like her.”
“You’ve always had admirable taste so I’m certain I would.”
Straightening, he faced her. “How much do you adore me?”
Reaching up, she brushed the hair back from his brow. “Abundantly. What do you require of me?”
He didn’t know if he’d ever known anyone more generous. “You and Father haven’t hosted a ball in years. I know he is no longer comfortable in crowds, and I feel like an utter ass for asking but if you were to host a ball, all of London would come. And if you were to invite Lady Landsdowne, welcome her in to your home, it might go a long way toward Society accepting her again.”
“You want to see her accepted.”
He wanted her to see that she could be received again, that she didn’t have to be an outcast here in London, that she didn’t have to return to New York to gain the happiness she deserved. “She’s a remarkable woman who’s been unfairly judged.”
“Do you love her?”
He looked back out over the gardens. What he felt for Tillie couldn’t be condensed into one word, one emotion. It encompassed every feeling he’d ever experienced. It scared the bloody hell out of him at times. The only thing that frightened him more was the thought of losing her. “I need her to know I can make a place for her here.”
“And if she doesn’t want this place?”
Turning back to his mother, he saw the profound sadness and immense knowledge in her eyes.
“I didn’t want it,” she said quietly. “I didn’t want to be part of the aristocracy, to move about in this world.”
“Yet here you are.”
“Yet here I am. Love can be both wondrous and wicked in turn.” With a tender smile, she gently patted his shoulder. “You shall have your ball and your lady shall have her invitation.”
A week later, sitting behind her desk, Tillie stared at the vellum envelope she held gingerly between her fingers, her name written on it in precise and delicate script.
“It’s not going to explode,” Gina said impatiently. She’d been curled in a nearby chair going through the most recent invitations she’d received when she noted the one addressed to Tillie and handed it over with a great deal of excitement.
“I’m certain it’s a mistake . . . or some sort of prank.” All invitations had ceased arriving after she’d been caught with Griggs. Her eventual divorce had cemented no pen ever again scratched her name across a vellum envelope. Yet here it was, when she’d never thought to see it again—at least on this side of the pond.
“Open it,” Gina urged. “See who it’s from, at the very least.”
Picking up the letter opener, she was surprised to see her fingers trembling, just a little, just enough to be embarrassing. It was ridiculous to place so much merit on a scra
p of paper. Once she’d made use of the opener, she pulled out the embossed invitation. It was for a ball, hosted by the Duke and Duchess of Greystone. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen any mention of them hosting an affair. The same script that adorned the envelope prettied up a personal note.
My dear Lady Landsdowne—
It would please our family greatly to welcome you into our home.
The Duchess of Greystone
She stared at the words. Read them again. The invitation was truly for her.
“You’ve gone as pale as someone who’s seen a ghost,” Gina said, snatching the vellum from between her fingers and reading it. “Oh my God. This is wonderful! You’re being welcomed back into Society.”
“I’m being welcomed into one home.”
“But it’s a start. You’re going of course.”
She couldn’t imagine it. Walking into a ballroom. All eyes would be upon her. The guests would stare in silence and then the whispers would start. Just as they had at the theater. The duchess might welcome her, but others would turn their back on her. She shook her head. “No.”
“Why ever not?”
“I’m occupied that night.”
“With what? Jane Austen? Mary Shelley? Charlotte Brontë? Honestly, Tillie, you can’t say no to the Duchess of Greystone.”
She could and she would. She rose and walked to the window where rain splattered the pane. She needed to be in her garden, digging in the soil, nurturing the blossoms, listening to the bees humming. She’d lived the life of an aristocrat and found it to be a very uncomfortable fit. Once was enough.
Except for the nights when there was a blasted ball that went into the wee hours, Tillie always met him at eleven, precisely, on the dot. His carriage parked at the far end of the drive, out of sight, he waited in the shadows of the trees and hedges near the front steps. Every night. Even if he hadn’t taken Gina somewhere the day before. That part of their arrangement had flittered away, much to his delight.
Sometimes she wore only her nightclothes, sometimes she came to him in evening gowns, sometimes in plain frocks. He determined how they would spend their night based upon what she wore. The night she’d been attired in a simple dress with lots of buttons, he’d taken her to a tavern in Whitechapel where he’d known they’d not encounter anyone of consequence. They’d sat in a corner, he downing ale, her sipping on it, and had speculated about the people within and their happiness. The tavern was a place he enjoyed because it lacked pretense. With Tillie that night, he’d imagined a lifetime of going places with her where they could be themselves.
An Affair with a Notorious Heiress Page 26