Meg looked at his face to see if she could detect any humor there. No, he didn’t joke, and what he suggested made perfect sense. Inexperienced she might be—might have been—but common sense painted a most practical picture. She looked down at him. Still pulsing from the marvelous thing he had done for her, Meg slipped to her knees between Jean-Marc’s thighs. Overwhelming emotion brought tears to her eyes. Briefly she rested her face low on his belly, felt the coarser hair there and turned to kiss him in spots that caused him to jump again and again, while she smiled through her tears and vowed not to be hurried.
She would be the end of him. It was too much to feel so much. Her gentle touch, the way she kissed him in places he never recalled another woman kissing him—not at such a moment when her needs had been met—moved him deeply. Meg wanted to kiss him, she wanted to lavish sensual response upon him because…It would be best not to examine the reasons too deeply, certainly not now. After all, he would protect her from any talk, but theirs was not a story with an end that was in question.
“Thank you,” she said, her lips poised a breath from the head of his rod. “You have filled me with such delight. I shall never be the same and I am glad.”
Pushing his legs apart, she leaned over him, her breasts heavy on his thighs, and she drew him into her mouth. She was glad? Miss Meg Smiles could not possibly be as glad as he was.
10
Every member of her family might consider her distant and insensitive, Désirée thought, and she might be, but she was not so distant that she couldn’t feel something very different about Miss Smiles this morning.
Yes, very different. “I would prefer my hair in braids again,” she said. “This is most uncomfortable. I thought I would only have to wear it like this last night.”
Dressed in the yellow once again, Miss Smiles busied herself over Désirée’s hateful new coiffeur.
“I shall call you Meg,” she said.
“That would be unlikely to meet with approval.”
“Your approval?”
“My approval isn’t of any importance, Your Highness.” Meg Smiles looked at her in the mirror. “Of course I would not presume to approve or disapprove of your decisions.” Her eyes were bright, too bright, and dark beneath.
“I can decide what to call you, Meg. You did not sleep last night, did you?”
Meg turned away, and Désirée saw how her shoulders rose. “What is it? What has happened to you?”
“Nothing,” Meg said, collecting herself and preparing a lie. “I thought I should sneeze. I didn’t sleep well. Thinking about my sister kept me awake.”
“A rider was sent to London very early this morning so there is no point in worrying further. Your sister knows you are safe now. You will be very hungry on the journey if you do not eat.”
“I’m not hungry.” How petulant she sounded. “But thank you. Now you are to move around in Society as a mature woman, you will not be seen in public with your hair down.” She was a hypocrite. Not so many hours earlier, Jean-Marc…The Count had left her when the dawn touched the walls in her bedchamber. Her hair had been down, caught beneath his neck when he’d awakened and dressed in silence.
“How can a female of seventeen be considered a mature woman?” the Princess said.
How, indeed? “It isn’t my place to interpret conventions, Your Highness. My studies taught me that women are considered mature a great deal later than used to be the case.”
The Count had taken her to bed and immediately slept in her arms. She had not slept, but that was as well because she wouldn’t have liked to miss a moment of watching him, watching his dark eyelashes move, the restless turning of his head and the thrashing of his body as if he were troubled, the vulnerability that fled the moment he opened his eyes.
Not a word had he spoken to her. Of course, she had kept her eyes closed and pretended to sleep because she would not have known what to say to him. She had been a fool. A green girl deluded into shameful behavior by the immensely flattering advances of a sophisticated and…a sophisticated and wonderful man.
The fault was hers. Papa’s parishioner had warned her most strongly that if she should “fall”—that was the term used—if she should fall, it would be Meg’s fault because men were animals, each of them desperate to procreate, and they could not be held accountable for their urges. The Count had assured her there would not be a child. She would accept what he’d said as true although she did feel apprehensive in case it wasn’t.
Mais oui, indeed there was something most strange here, Désirée decided. “Meg, are you ill?”
“I have experienced a great many things in too short a time,” Meg said sharply. She lowered her eyes at once. Indeed she had experienced a great deal that was new. “Forgive me. I am usually exceedingly even tempered.”
“I am not. I am a…a shrew. Ask Jean-Marc.”
“If you are a shrew—” caution was not always a good thing “—well, then, you are only protecting yourself in difficult times. You do not even wish to be here going through this fantasy they have decided you will enjoy.”
“Oh, Meg.” Désirée turned on her plush stool and took Meg’s hands. “You do understand. You are the kindest of creatures. Will you help me, please?”
Meg quaked. “Help you how?”
“If possible, to escape this thing they will have me do. Failing that, assist me in arriving at the end of my Season with no repulsive fiancé in tow.”
“What if you meet a most pleasant man?”
“No such creature exists. I wish to please Jean-Marc—who is the best of my relations—by appearing to enter into the spirit of the thing. But I shall rely on you to help me discourage all advances. This will require clandestine activities, but no man is as clever as a woman, so they have not a chance against two women such as us.” She suddenly clapped her hands together, startling Meg. “And I do believe we shall have fun, especially when you reveal all the secrets that have been kept from me.”
Puzzled, Meg shook her head.
“Oh, you goose,” the Princess said. “You know. Their secrets. Them. The all-hallowed male of the species. The least I expect is to learn all there is to know about how they are the same, and how they are different from women. I have managed to peek at a picture or two. Nothing very good, you know. The silly things always manage to drape their salient parts—and those who produce books with illustrations are annoying enough to place little black squares over…well, over.” Princess Désirée giggled in a most naughty fashion. “I want some illustrations without those little squares. That shall be another of your duties. Obtain some original sketches of the male minus his little black square—taken from all directions—and with clear information on the specific purpose for each of his parts. There must be specific purposes—unpleasant purposes we should not approve of—or no doubt they would be flaunting their parts all over the place. You see, I happen to believe they are exceedingly pleased with whatever it is that makes them male—and take it from me, it’s under those black squares.”
Meg struggled valiantly against laughter and succeeded to some degree. “We must hurry. It’s time for us to go down.”
“I believe I have shocked you.” Désirée sounded satisfied. “But if I am to be my husband’s helpmate in all things, including those I intend to discover shortly, I have no intention of being unprepared.”
“We must get Halibut to the coach.”
“We must have fun. Fun, fun, fun. These people of the Haut Ton will see me and laugh behind their hands. If a man should show interest in me, they will conclude, correctly, that he only wants what comes with me. If I am to suffer, so shall he. Or perhaps he won’t suffer at all. Perhaps he will enjoy dallying with me as much as I shall enjoy his dallying with me—which will likely be not at all.”
“Enough,” Meg said, overwhelmed by her charge, who had become excessively garrulous. “We don’t want to keep your brother waiting. He might be angered.”
“Very likely,” Princess Désiré
e said, and yawned.
“Halibut—”
“Halibut is already in the coachman’s box. Isn’t my sweet friend the most beautiful cat?”
Meg had no difficulty in agreeing. “Yes. Does Lady Upworth travel back with us?”
“Why,” Désirée said, and sighed, “I do believe you are naive about such things. Ila is a convenience to Jean-Marc. Her fault, not his. She insists upon making herself available. She comes here when she knows he is also coming, and often waits here if she thinks he will soon return. She wants to marry him, but he doesn’t want to marry her.”
“You can’t be sure of that.”
“I most certainly can.” Her Highness sounded annoyed. “I have loyal friends on the staff here. They tell me how Upworth fawns on Jean-Marc, creeps into his bedchamber, where there is laughter behind closed doors. You may be sure she could tell us a great deal about what is hidden by those black squares.”
“Princess Désirée.”
“I am incorrigible. But how else should I live? Anyway, word has it that Upworth and the Count had words last night and she left his chamber, so my half brother will undoubtedly be cross from having to do without whatever it is these men detest doing without. They say he walked around a great deal, then simply disappeared.” The Princess shrugged. “I believe he went riding. That seems to cool him.”
Meg pressed her hands into her skirts. The Count had come to her because his lady bird had ignored him. He had made Meg into a fallen woman because he did not want to be without his manly comforts for even one night. He must hold her in such contempt.
“Very well,” Princess Désirée said. “Time to leave. Smile, if you please. I want you to be with me at all times. There must be no suggestion that you are not happy with your position.”
“I am pleased with it.”
“Even if you dislike me?” The Princess wrinkled her nose at the pale pink gown Meg had found. The dress was a little outdated, the fabric not the best, but it suited Princess Désirée.
“I not only don’t dislike you, I like you a great deal. Now, turn around. I must check you from all sides.”
Huffing, the Princess did as she was told.
Meg took several pink muslin roses and tucked them into the princess’s braided crown. A small pair of diamond earrings reflected in the girl’s translucent skin.
“One thing more,” Meg said. “And if you mention this, I shall deny all knowledge. Stand still and do as I tell you.” Using a tiny brush intended for cleaning buttonhooks, Meg smeared the bristles with kohl and applied it to pale but long lashes. “Now, don’t blink.”
Princess Désirée tapped a toe, but she did not blink. Meg applied a little rouge to her charge’s cheeks, and even less to her lips. With a fine linen handkerchief, she flipped any loose particles away. “Now. Look at yourself.”
Her Highness turned and ducked to see herself in the mirror. She became rigid. “I do not look at all myself.”
“You most certainly do.”
“No, I look…almost pretty.”
“You are pretty. And I could not make you so if you weren’t. I just enhanced your beauty a little.”
Princess Désirée faced her, the space between her eyebrows puckered. “Is this not subterfuge?”
“Somewhat.” Meg would not lie about this. “But no more subterfuge than is employed among most women of your class. You have beautiful eyes and such skin.”
Waving her arms, the Princess picked up a deep pink satin pelisse and Meg helped her put it on. “You mean well, Meg Smiles, but I have no illusions. Through my marriage, Papa wishes to gain English connections in high places. Why he thinks such a person could be interested in me, I cannot tell.” Soft white swansdown edged the sleeves and hem of the pelisse. More swansdown drifted along the narrow brim of a matching satin bonnet.
Meg was still tying her own bonnet strings when they swept from the room and went downstairs.
The staff of Riverside Place had gathered to see their employer and his sister on their way.
When she emerged into the bright light of late morning, Meg bowed her head to hide her eyes from the glare. She wanted to search for the Count but knew she must do no such thing.
When she stood beside the coach, a massive shadow fell over Meg. She shaded her eyes to look up. Dressed in dark gray, the Count was seated upon a large brown horse. In fact, the creature seemed exceedingly large to Meg and did a great deal of snorting and whipping of its tail.
“Good morning, Désirée,” he said at last, and his sister paused on the steps to the inside of the coach. “Let me see you.”
The Princess found a handhold on the doorway and turned slightly.
“Lovely,” he said. “Pink suits you. As soon as we get to Mayfair Square, arrangements must be made for the modistes to come in.”
“I do not know why,” the Princess said, and scrambled clumsily to sit in the carriage.
The Count turned his head and looked down on Meg. “You did not sleep well?”
Her skin throbbed with the power of her blush. She cocked her chin and said, “I slept quite well, thank you.”
He dropped his voice, “No, you didn’t. And I knew you weren’t asleep this morning, but I chose not to cause you discomfort since you didn’t want to talk to me.”
She didn’t reply.
A fine muddle, Jean-Marc thought. This day would tell the story of whether his indiscretion with this girl had been an even bigger mistake than he’d decided it was by the time he left her.
“Yellow becomes you, Miss Smiles.” No one was close enough to overhear, but he would take no chances. “You should wear it often.”
She ducked her head. Her hands were tight fists on the handle of her reticule.
Jean-Marc grew still and he waited, unmoving other than at the whim of his restless horse.
At last she raised her face, and the blood had all but fled her pale skin. Her chin came up even more. She met his eyes directly and he saw challenge there. Meg didn’t want his concern, his pity—not that he pitied her. She was a delightful creature who presented him with complications he didn’t need. But whose fault was that?
Meg would not look away first. His dark eyes didn’t as much as flicker. She wondered how long they’d remained there—staring at each other—and who had noted their unusual behavior.
Count Etranger swung his leg over his horse and dismounted. Immediately a groom appeared and walked the animal away.
“Allow me to assist you inside.” Moving a little behind her, with his right hand he held her forearm while he guided her up the steps with his left hand. When he hesitated, she could not carry on without wrenching away and causing a scene. “You are being foolish,” he told her softly. “If you don’t have a care, everyone around us will come to some conclusions—and they will be correct. Collect yourself. You make too much of too little. And remember that if you say a word to anyone, your reputation will be destroyed. That probably includes your sister, or any of your friends at Number Seven. Do you understand?”
“I understand that…Thank you, I understand. You have nothing to fear, I shall not complain.”
“You consider that you have something to complain about?” Unless she heard only what she wanted to hear, he sounded angry. “You are the first woman ever to think so. Never mind. Later we will make sure you understand how these matters are handled for the best. And you will accept what I have to say.”
He handed her into the coach, where she settled, expecting him to follow her. “I’ll ride with the coachman,” he said as he closed the door.
“When we get back, will you help me hide Halibut in my rooms?” the Princess said. “Jean-Marc looks so angry. I think he would be furious if he found out about Halibut today.”
“I’ll help you,” Meg told her, and looked out of the window. The staff remained at the doorway, their hands respectfully folded before them. “Of course I will.”
There were tears in Meg’s eyes. Désirée studied her companion, and
her mouth thinned. She would have to be blind not to see the way her half brother looked at Meg, to miss the manner in which he helped her into the coach. As if he was escorting a paramour—or a woman he’d like to make his paramour. A woman he might already have pursued, but who had rebuffed his attentions perhaps? Désirée did not know what happened between a man and a woman in private, but she would find out. She believed Meg knew already, but not that she had been taught by Jean-Marc. Such things took a great deal of time to learn, of that she was certain.
She leaned impulsively toward Meg, held her hands and waited for her to raise her tired, sad eyes. “We are going to have a happy time together, you and I, Meg,” Désirée said. “I look forward to meeting your sister.”
Meg nodded and offered a pathetic smile. “Sibyl is very talented and very beautiful.”
“So are you. I think Jean-Marc also thinks so.”
Meg’s heart beat too hard. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Certainly you do. There may be much I don’t know, but I am observant. You are very aware of him. He attracts you.”
“Please,” Meg said and tried to pull her hands away.
Désirée held on. “If there was any doubt I am right, you have dispelled it. My brother is a very private man, but when he looks at you, his feelings need no explanation.”
Meg attempted to use lightheartedness as a disguise. “Never mind, Your Highness. You are longing for a loved one in your life so you invent such a person for me. I take that as a good sign. You protest, but you are excited about the weeks to come.”
Princess Désirée pushed her lips forward in a thoughtful pout. She raised her eyebrows and waggled her head like a knowing crone. “Hmm,” she said and sniffed. “You think to distract me, Meg Smiles. You have not done so. I have decided I must have you with me, or insist on going home to Mont Nuages at once. Papa would be wrathful if I did that and I dislike Papa’s ill temper. So, I must give you a warning and insist you take me very seriously. Now, I shall not use pretty words. No, I shall be blunt. You have responsibilities of great import. Those must come first—regardless of Jean-Marc’s designs.”
All Smiles Page 11