“One thing we have in abundance at Westhorp is wine,” Anne said dryly. The extent of Westcott’s business enterprises had come as a surprise, and she suspected she still did not know the whole of it.
Juliette laughed. “I’m sure you do. Westcott is very generous, however, and keeps us well supplied also. I normally enjoy it immensely, but at the moment a sip or two is all I can tolerate.”
“Oh, the wine isn’t necessary. Please don’t feel you need to have it for my sake,” Anne said in some distress. “Do ring for tea or some other beverage.”
Juliette threw up her hands. “Think nothing of it. I am content to nibble on Cook’s cheese pastries just now. We will have tea with our meal. Tell me how the children go on. Are they still in alt over that remarkable performance yesterday?”
“Most certainly, and looking forward to doing it again for the entire staff.” She took a small bite of a biscuit, and then casually changed the subject. “Do tell me about your dinner party. Is it to be a large gathering?” Anne heard a note of apprehension in her voice and sighed. “I am somewhat nervous about meeting so many. I am certain everyone is curious about me.”
Juliette snorted. “Of course they are, but no one will appear to be. Simply be yourself and you will be fine. The group is small enough to give everyone the opportunity to speak with you, and large enough that you won’t be the center of attention. That position is reserved for Westcott. He has been something of a recluse these past years, you know.”
Anne nodded. “I gathered as much, and he is scarcely more so now.”
“St. Clair feels he is coming out of his shell. Just note how friendly he is with me. Before you came, the man hardly knew I existed. You’ve brought change, and he is the better for it.”
Anne took another mouthful of wine, picked up a biscuit and bit at it absentmindedly.
“At times it seems so, but it never lasts. It’s hard to know where one is with him.” She placed her glass and half-eaten biscuit on a plate and laced her fingers together in her lap. “My nomadic life has not allowed for much opportunity to make lasting friends. Your friendship means a great deal to me, Juliette. I feel I’ve known you forever, even though it has been just a few months.”
“Exactly how it’s been with me.” Juliette leaned forward and rested a hand on Anne’s fists. “I am so glad you feel the same.” She smiled, wiping her eyes with one hand. “Happy tears, I assure you. I weep at the slightest thing these days.”
Anne felt her own eyes dampen and turned her palm up to squeeze Juliette’s fingers. “I haven’t any excuse and am truly too pleased for tears.”
Juliette sniffed, pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, and smiled as she dabbed at her face.
“Now, I am sure you had a reason for your visit. Not that you are not welcome at any time, but I know the children keep you busy.”
The moment at hand, Anne suddenly felt reluctant to broach so personal a matter. Would Juliette be embarrassed or, worse, offended? She stared at the floor, the walls, everywhere except her companion.
“Is it so very bad?” Juliette asked softly.
Anne settled her gaze on Juliette, encouraged by the kind expression of interest on her face. “No, I am being foolish,” she said. “I did come for advice, but it is a somewhat delicate matter and don’t want to distress you. I hope you will be honest and send me to the right about, if so.”
“It would take a great deal to shock me,” Juliette said, appearing amused. “Do not, I beg you, leave me imagining all sorts of unpleasant things.”
“I see that would be most unfair,” Anne said with a laugh, and felt her qualms subside. Just say it, Anne, and trust in your friendship. “Nicholas came to my bed last night.” There, it was out, and Juliette did not look shocked or horrified. In fact, she seemed to be holding back laughter.
“Forgive me! You seem so surprised,” Juliette said. “When it’s obvious the man is quite taken with you, even if he won’t admit it.” She hesitated and her smile faded. “Are you sorry, Anne?”
“Oh, no! I wanted it, as I think you’ve guessed. But Nicholas is….” She swallowed hard. “He apologized to me, after….”
“It’s amazing how truly stupid men can be,” Juliette said cheerfully, “and so good at lying to themselves. Don’t think for a minute Westcott lost control. The man has an iron will. He wanted you, whatever he thinks he believes.”
Heartened, Anne gathered up her courage, pressed her clasped hands to her breast, and resolve strengthening her voice, said, “I want him to come again.”
“So does he, I wager, and it is up to you to get him there. What you need, my dear, is a campaign. My Grandfather, General Lawford, always recommends going on the offensive when pressured.”
Anne blinked, taken unawares by this matter-of-fact declaration. “A campaign?” she echoed weakly.
Juliette’s smile was a formidable combination of challenge, delight, and a hint of sly that stirred up butterflies in Anne’s middle. Obviously, her friend had something outrageous in mind, and Anne could only pray she had the fortitude to carry it out.
Chapter Twenty-eight
The woman was driving him mad—whether intentionally or in innocence, it was impossible to tell. In either case, she seemed always to be there, brushing against him, resting a hand on his arm, leaning over his shoulder when he read to Sarah, her sweet breath tickling his ear. Now this!
Westcott watched his wife descend the staircase at Lynton Hall, her face bright with laughter at some comment of Juliette’s, and far too wide an expanse of creamy skin exposed by her fashionable gown. Blue muslin, so pale as to be almost white, embroidered with silver thread, the fine fabric fell gracefully from the snug bodice that barely covered her enticingly rounded breasts—fuller than one would expect on so slim a build as Anne’s. A perfect handful, warm and sensitive, and he wanted nothing more than to insist she change into a more modest gown, preferably one that buttoned to the neck. The sleeves were mere scraps clinging to her smooth shoulders and the elbow-length kid gloves did nothing but draw attention to her shapely, bare, arms.
Bloody hell. Westcott felt his cock swell. Gad, it was well his coat was long, and he prayed it was long enough! Dragging his mind away from the picture of Anne in his bed, flushed and trembling beneath him, he moved to greet the two women. His face felt hard and set, and he forced a smile as he took Anne’s hand.
“Your gown is lovely. You are lovely,” he said, and winced inwardly at the cool note in his voice.
Her eyes widened in surprise, but it seemed his sincerity was apparent to her for she smiled—one of those heartfelt smiles she usually saved for the children.
“Thank you. Juliette helped me choose it.”
“I made suggestions! Your wife has definite ideas as to what she wants,” Juliette said with a ripple of laughter.
So I am beginning to realize, Westcott thought, his mouth tightening at the appreciative look in St. Clair’s eyes as he expressed his approval, of both the gown and Anne. Damn his eyes. Disgruntled by the glowing look on her face at the praise, he stepped closer, deliberately allowing his breath to brush her bare skin, and felt her shiver in response. Two could play at this game, if a game it was.
“Juliette has excellent taste,” Anne said with a soft gasp.
“Yes, she does,” Westcott agreed as he turned to his hostess. “A striking gown and perfect on you, Juliette.” A deep blue with an overskirt of gauze worked with glittering beads, the style much as Anne’s gown, but the neckline was more a vee than the square cut of his wife’s. A pendant of diamonds and sapphires was nestled in the cleft of her breasts, and he realized he had never offered Anne the family jewels. Nor given her so much as the smallest trinket. Which explains why she is wearing a simple multi-strand pearl necklace. Very fine pearls, if he was any judge, but not the diamonds due his viscountess.
“Now that we have lauded our finery, I suggest we partake of a drink before the other guests make an appearance,” St. Clair said, s
hooting Westcott an amused glance that expressed his awareness of Nick’s possessive stance.
Westcott glared at him, and releasing Anne’s hand, splayed his fingers on her back just above her waist. Boorish, his enjoyment of her shocked start, he thought without a shred of guilt, and guided her after their hosts. Too bad gloves were de rigueur. Bare skin, warm under your touch.…Westcott dropped his hand. Dammit, what the devil are you doing? You swore never again to fall into that trap! No woman alive is worth setting yourself up for heartache. Hiding his grim thoughts behind a feigned expression of interest in the conversation, Westcott took the glass handed to him by a footman and moved casually as far from Anne as he could without seeming obvious about it. Other guests drifted in, most of who were staying at Lynton Hall, as they were, and soon Anne was in the midst of the group. Assured of her comfort, Westcott allowed a lively discussion of planting practices amongst several of his neighbors to wash over him.
The evening stretched on endlessly, or so it felt. Once the interminable dinner ended and Anne was once again occupied with the other guests, Westcott was more easily able to stand apart, even going so far as to play a few hands of whist, a game he normally avoided like the plague. His amazement at Anne’s ready agreement to perform, midway through the evening, was tempered by the realization it had obviously been prearranged. A small anteroom was revealed when the double doors at the end of the drawing room opened to display a harpsichord.
Westcott had never heard her play anything but the flute and guitar, but knew enough to understand how talented she was musically. Curious, he settled into a chair in a corner, out of her line of sight.
“I am unaccustomed to performing in public but Lady Lynton—both Lady Lyntons—refused to take no for an answer. I was successful, however, in choosing the program. I’ve sat through too many over-long musicales to inflict that on you. One piece, which I believe everyone will enjoy and then perhaps you will join me in singing some verses.”
Anne’s quiet voice soon captured everyone’s attention, Westcott saw, hiding a smile. More effective than a shout, for some reason. A hush fell over the room as the first notes of what he later learned was a Bach toccata, flowed from the instrument with an ease that gave no sign of the hours of practice he felt certain were required to obtain that level of skill. Making a mental note to have Atkinson find out just how long it was going to take to get that piano, he was on his feet and applauding the instant the music ended.
Anne raised her head, her gaze going instantly to him, and he smiled his approval and pleasure. She flushed and smiled shyly, but there was no mistaking her delight.
“I had no idea of Anne’s talent,” St. Clair said, joining Westcott in his corner whilst the other guests ranged around Anne and began to sing as she played a popular ballad.
“I am ashamed to say I was unaware of the extent of her ability. Our harpsichord is beyond hope,” Westcott added at St. Clair’s look of inquiry, “so I’ve been told.” Remembering Anne’s near vehemence at the neglect, Westcott smiled wryly. “Being the owner of a lute has compensated for my negligence somewhat. I may venture into the attics to see what other ratty old musical instruments might be hidden away.”
“And bring them, out-one-by one, whenever Anne is annoyed with you? Not a bad idea, Nick, although you may need a deal of them at the rate you are going.” St. Clair’s smile faded and he indicated with a jerk of his head for Westcott to follow him into the drawing room, where the servants were busy setting out a late supper. “What ails you, Nick? You have a chance for some happiness with her and instead are doing everything possible to avoid it. And hurting Anne in the process.”
Seeing the concern under the anger, Westcott swallowed his ire, and the undeserved set-down on the tip of his tongue.
“Anne knew how I wanted it from the start,” Westcott said sharply, “and it isn’t my fault if she has illusions about changing things. I can’t give her what she wants, Dev.” His voice was bleak. “There is nothing left of me, and if I were to be betrayed again I don’t think I could survive it.”
St. Clair’s face was stone now, his thoughts hidden, but his words, as hard as his face, left no doubt of his feelings. “There is nothing on God’s earth that would persuade Anne into adultery or addiction, and you know it. A piss-poor excuse, Nick. You think you are the only one to risk heartbreak? We all do it, every man of us, because to do otherwise is to do without love. Is that how you want to live the rest of your life?”
Juliette came up and laid a hand on St. Clair’s arm. “You gentlemen are being much too serious,” she said lightly, but worry darkened her eyes as she looked from one man to the other.
St. Clair patted her hand and if his smile was forced, only Juliette and Westcott noticed. “It’s the singing,” St. Clair said in a droll voice. “I had to keep Nick away lest he got everyone off-key.”
Westcott pasted on a similar expression. “That would be the least of it, as I can’t sing a note—although I do an excellent imitation of crow.” The comment made her laugh, as he meant it to, and the tension eased.
“Do you? Someday you must tell me how that came about.”
“How what came about?” Anne said as she joined them.
“Westcott can imitate crows,” Juliette said brightly.
Anne looked at him, leaned her head to one side, and said, “Do you find it a useful talent?” in a voice so even, it took them a moment to catch her gentle jape.
St. Clair roared with laughter and Westcott grinned. “At times, Madame, at times.”
Turning pink at their reaction, Anne smiled; her second ‘for him only’ smile of the evening. Bloody, bloody hell.
~* * *~
Anne sent Clara to bed with instructions to sleep in if she wished. It was very late, and Anne had been unable to deter the maid from waiting up, so set was she on impressing Lynton Hall’s servants, although the girl had to be exhausted. She, however, was too keyed up to even lie down, let alone sleep. She had made up her mind to go to Nicholas tonight, but now that the hour had come….
What if he rejected her? Unsettled, Anne roamed the bedchamber. How could it make things worse? He brushes you off a dozen times a week. But this is different. Is it? Because it’s more intimate? He doesn’t find you repugnant or he wouldn’t have come to your bed at all. She stopped to study her reflection, surprised but not displeased by her over-bright eyes and flushed complexion. Her hair was loose, cascading over her shoulders, and was sure to be a tangled mess in the morning if she left it thus. This is about as seductive as you are going to get, Anne. Go before you lose your nerve.
She blew out the candles and clasped her hands together behind her they until they ceased trembling and her eyes adjusted to the darkened room. A full moon, a traveler’s moon some called it, cast enough light to see the door connecting her bedchamber to Westcott’s. Although some guests had returned home, Anne was glad they had chosen to stay overnight. Somehow it made it easier to approach Nicholas in someone else’s house. Oh, is that what you are doing? Approaching him? The ridiculous choice of words made her smile. She was seducing him.
Anne opened the door just wide enough to slip through and halted. This room was darker, the drapes not opened as wide as hers, but she had looked in the chamber earlier and knew where the bed was located. Uncertain, her heart thudding almost painfully hard in her breast, Anne crossed the room.
A shaft of light from the window lay over the bed. He was asleep, one arm thrown above his head, as relaxed as she had ever seen him. Would it be better or worse if he was awake or asleep? Deciding instantly that asleep was better, she slipped the nightdress from her shoulders. Clad only in her chemise, she pushed the slippers from her feet and studied his face. All hard planes and angles in the shadowed light, his firm jaw and well-defined eyebrows came together to form a remarkable countenance. Not handsome, but something more—strong and solid, dependable. And caring, however much he fought to keep it locked deep inside.
With sudden confiden
ce, Anne lifted the covers, eased in beside him, and placed her hand on his shoulder. He was warm, and she felt a chill she hadn’t noticed seep away. Gently, slowly, her hand moved to the open neck of his nightshirt. The hair on his chest fascinated her. Springy, and long enough to curl around her fingers, she played with it, enthralled with the way it clung to her.
Even half lost in a sensual daze, she knew the moment he woke. She felt him tense, and her hand stilled, her body stiff and braced for rejection. The silence lengthened until she felt tears gathering in her eyes.
“Anne.”
The single word hung in the night. Just her name, assured, no anger in it. Suddenly nerveless she melted against him. His arm came around her and his hand touched her hair.
“I can’t give you what you want.”
Her heart aching at the bleak note in his voice, Anne traced the line of his jaw with her fingers. “You can give me this,” she said softly and touched her mouth to his lips—warm and firm, moving under hers, stealing her breath. Anne raised her head, gasping when he rolled over, pinning her beneath him.
“I could.” He smoothed his thumb over her mouth, his gaze intent, and she met his eyes with a calmness she did not feel, the pulse in her throat racing.
“Anne, are you sure?”
“Very sure.”
He sat up long enough to pull the nightshirt over his head, and Anne opened her arms in invitation, reveling in the feel of his silky hair, the smooth texture of his back. She wanted him, on any terms. She would make it enough, if need be. Now, now she needed his hands on her, needed to touch him in return.
He kissed her, hard, demanding a response. His tongue was lapping at her mouth, sliding inside, tasting her, until she clung to him, beyond thought—only this man in her arms existing.
“Nicholas, Nicholas.” His hand covered her breast, thumb circling the swelling nub, and she stilled, absorbing the sensation as liquid heat gathered inside her, and she couldn’t breathe, waiting for the ribbons of her chemise to part, for his hand to slide under the fabric.
An Inconvenient Wife Page 24