The Goldsmith's Wife (The Woulfes of Loxsbeare Book 2)

by Anita Seymour

  “What career is that?” Helena asked, puzzled.

  He looked at her askance. “Has your husband not mentioned it to you? I act as an agent for my father, for Ralf and sometimes for Guy.”

  Helena sighed, irritated. Guy had mentioned no such dealings with William. Why did the men in her life always keep secrets? Her resentment made her reckless and she leaned into him, darting him looks through her lashes. “Do tell me more, sir.”

  A smile tugged at his mouth. “I’ll have you know, I sold more jewels to members of the Royal Court last month, than my father has the entire year.”

  “Intriguing. And how did this, unusual career, begin?” She paused on the threshold of the open casement doors to admire the garden, smaller and less impressive than her own, but pleasant nonetheless. A ripple of interest moved round the room behind them, which Helena pretended not to notice.

  “It came about quite by accident,” William leaned against the frame with his arms folded, regarding her levelly. “The Duchess of Somerset required a valuable emerald reset. I happened to be of the company to suggest how it should be done.”

  Helena was impressed. “What did the Duke have to say about it?”

  “The Duke?” He lifted both hands in feigned horror. “Goodness, Charles Seymour wouldn’t address someone as lowly as myself. To my knowledge, he has never been known to speak directly to a servant. He even calls the Duchess, ‘Your Grace.’” His laugh made Helena shiver. “Although, he did send me a personal letter of appreciation.”

  “Quite an honour. What else do you do in this role of merchant’s agent?”

  “I procure furniture, fabrics, and glass for the new apartments being built for the royal couple. With all the new nobility the king is creating, I hope to be kept occupied for some time to come.” Helena studied his face, trying to imagine William in such an environment.

  “I can see you consider it a frivolous life, Mistress Palmer.” His tone was defensive and she opened her mouth to contradict him, but he forged ahead. “I felt similarly at first. However I also have plans for the future.”

  “Plans?”

  His voice lost its caressing quality and became business-like. “I’ve purchased a warehouse, which Master Elias Ffoyle has agreed to manage for me. I also hope to establish a workshop in St. Pancras. Thereabouts are numerous Huguenot carpenters in need of work. Then there is the importation of items like multi-coloured marble for sculptures and internal decorations which cannot be obtained here and—”

  “You have convinced me, sir.” Helena halted him. “You not only have an astute business mind, but also a charming and persuasive manner with aristocratic ladies.”

  The wedding guests were being herded toward the supper room by a brace of footmen, chattering happily in anticipation of Robert’s wonderful food.

  “So, tell me.” Helena tucked her arm through his and pulled him back into the rapidly emptying room. “How exactly do you convince ladies to buy expensive jewels?”

  “More easily than you may believe.” His voice was like a caress. “I might imply the contents of a case in my possession are intended for another lady. Without fail, they attempt to persuade me to let their husbands or fathers procure them for themselves.”

  “Does this ploy work often?” Helena fell into the easy banter which characterised their relationship before her marriage to Guy.

  “No lady likes to think another’s jewels are superior to her own. Especially when she can whip them from under her rival’s nose.”

  “You are wicked, Master Devereux.” Helena laughed. “I should imagine your father is delighted.”

  He gave her a lop-sided smile. “He is indeed, and Guy provides some of the jewels. His workshops specialize in techniques that show even the smallest gems off to advantage. His work is much in demand.”

  “I’m glad.” Helena turned her head away. She didn’t want to talk about Guy.

  “He neglects you.” William addressed his own reflection in a gilt mirror on the wall in front of them when they paused at the back of the line that snaked into the dining room.

  “He…he is busy this evening. He had to leave.” Her eyes sought his in the glass and held, sliding away again when she saw his scepticism.

  “I did not mean just this evening.”

  “Why do you think so?” Her tone was snappish, more so than she intended.

  “I know you, Mistress Palmer.” He dipped his head toward her and a warm tingle of anticipation raised the hairs on her neck at his whispered voice in her ear. “And I know Guy. He doesn’t appreciate you.” He seemed to sense her turmoil and pulled his elbow into his side, trapping her hand. She looked up into his face, her steps slowing. She forgot Guy, forgot everything, except William’s closeness and his voice weakening her. “If you were mine, I should never make that mistake.”

  The took their place among the other guests, where the tinkling of glasses and the sound of high-pitched chatter made conversation more difficult. An elderly man and woman stood to one side, watching them, nodding occasionally to each other. Helena no longer cared that they were the subject of speculation.

  Her senses responded to William’s closeness, the swish of his coat and the pressure of his bulk against her upper arm. Although she was aware his long, curly peruke was not his own hair, still she closed her eyes briefly when a side lock brushed against her cheek.

  “What are you thinking?” he whispered.

  She shivered, unable to think at all, let alone respond. She wanted to go on staring at him, imagining him holding her in those muscular arms. She glanced toward the doorway from where Celia beckoned, and raised her hand in a wave.

  “Nicely avoided,” William murmured, his tone sharp.

  His disappointment cut into her. He had revealed something of himself and she had dismissed him. Not cruelly perhaps, but without acknowledging it. But how does a woman let a man know she desires him? Was there a certain look, a touch that would leave no room for doubt?

  If she let the moment pass it might be lost forever. Hardly knowing what she was doing, or even why, Helena lifted her gaze slowly to his face, willing him to feel what was in her heart.

  He seemed unsure at first, and then the smile left his face and his stare became so intense, he might have been speaking. His pupils widened and Helena wanted to laugh aloud in triumph.

  “Had you heard,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper “That I have recently purchased a house in Piccadilly?”

  Her hand on his arm stiffened at the unexpectedness of the remark.

  “It’s but a step away from Berkeley House,” he continued. “Though not nearly so grand.”

  “You are too modest, sir. I’m sure it does you credit.”

  Had she misunderstood? Did he not feel the same and her silent invitation meant nothing? Or was he repelled to be flirted with so blatantly by a married woman?

  “I would appreciate the benefit of your feminine taste.” William addressed the mirror, his gaze meeting hers in their reflections. “I fear the furnishings might be woefully inappropriate.”

  “Master Devereux,” she spoke slowly, aware her voice had risen slightly. “Nothing in your life would ever be tasteless or inappropriate. If I do make such a visit, it would be to glean ideas from you.”

  He turned toward her, his expression serious. “Then shall we say, tomorrow?”

  A refusal sprang to her lips, but the word that emerged was firm. “Tomorrow.”

  William inclined his head, giving the slightest of nods. “I’ll send my carriage for you.”

  His gaze held hers as he lifted her hand to drop a kiss on her skin, bowed gracefully and left the room. This time, she was certain his teeth had nipped at her knuckle.

  Chapter Sixteen

  June 1690, Palmer House, London – Helena

  The morning brought a welcome storm to dispel the oppressive heat of a late summer. Helena stood like a nervous child while Chloe fastened and smoothed her gown.

  “You’re
wearing fewer petticoats today, Mistress. Much more comfortable in this heavy weather, though it be raining just now.”

  Warmth crept into Helena’s face and she pulled her cloak tighter, convinced Chloe could see her heart thumping through her bodice. The sound of wheels on the drive made Helena start. She threw a final look at her reflection in the glass and left the room, descending the stairs with studied slowness.

  The carriage door slammed behind her, its flaps partly let down so she was enclosed in cool half-light. Heavy rain battered the roof as the contraption crossed St James’ into Portugal Street, bowled into the row of elegant houses in Berkeley Street, turned through a set of wrought iron gates and lurched to a halt beside a stone portico.

  Helena stared at a black painted door with near panic.

  Accepting William’s invitation had been exciting, confirmation that although she was a betrayed wife, she was also a desired woman. Her petulant side told her it was all Guy’s fault. If he had not taken a mistress, she could never have been tempted. Yet at the same time another, quieter voice reminded her that she had always wanted William?

  Her nerve broke suddenly, and she was about to order the driver to turn around and take her home, when a liveried footman yanked open the carriage door. Ducking her head to avoid the man’s gaze, she stepped onto the mud and picked her way over brown puddles gathering in the ruts.

  Another silent footman led her up a curved staircase to the first floor, indicated a door with a white-gloved hand, and then left her alone on an elegant, white painted landing, counting the candle sconces as she fought the impulse to turn on her heel and run. There were nine. The floor creaked and a clock ticked somewhere. Slowing her breathing, she reached for the handle, turned it and went inside.

  William stood facing her, his back against the window overlooking the front entrance. Handsome in shirtsleeves and breeches, his arms were folded over his chest. The thought of him watching her arrival twisted her stomach and her hands became clammy.

  He pushed himself away from the window, dropped his arms and held them out toward her, palms upwards in silent invitation.

  Apart from the summer rain lashing the window, the only sound in the room was the swish of ribbons as she untied her cloak, followed by the whoosh of the heavy fabric falling to the floor.

  William remained perfectly still, as if he knew the decisive move must be hers. She took it, covering the carpet separating them in light strides.

  During her previous sleepless night, Helena had imagined this scene many times. How would she act? What would she say? What would it feel like to go to him?

  He enfolded her in a muscular embrace with a small, relieved sigh that was the most erotic sound she had ever heard. Their arms glided into place, fitting together perfectly, and she reached up to bury her lips in the soft skin between his neck and his ear. A place she had imagined herself touching so often. It was softer than she had imagined.

  Certain her legs would not have held her upright if he hadn’t been holding her, she gave herself up to the feel of his unfamiliar lips exploring hers, his broad hands spread across her back, pressing her close.

  “I cannot believe I agreed to this,” she whispered when they broke apart, breathless, her forehead against his cheek.

  “Nor I,” he murmured into her hair. “But thank you for not changing your mind.”

  “I almost did,” she breathed, relaxing into him as though they had held one another in this way a hundred times.

  “I know.”

  His hand slid across her throat and his mouth clamped urgently down on hers. Her desire made her shiver as his deft fingers slid her garments away. She swayed slightly, laying her cheek against his heart, silk and lace releasing her into his hands.

  The transition to the canopied bed was achieved with ease, but by then she had no doubts left, knowing she wanted him badly, had always wanted him.

  Why she had been so afraid?

  Breathless and exhausted after their frantic coupling, she dozed lightly in his arms. The rain continued to beat a rhythm on the window and she became aware of his lips on her skin, kissing her to wakefulness. A burn ignited and seared inside her and they began again, until her nerves jumped painfully. “Enough, William. I cannot bear any more.”

  Sated and laughing, they lay entwined in a tumble of bedclothes, her hair draped across his chest. He wound a hand into her curls and held her open palm with the other, nibbling at it gently with his teeth.

  She toyed briefly with the notion that being with William was a perverse revenge for Guy’s infidelity. But that would make what they just did meaningless, and it was far from that. Her panic receded and she acknowledged it was more complicated than that. This was where she belonged.

  She relaxed back against the pillows, studying the plaster cupids on the canopy above, the creak of the bed frame beneath her as William murmured something against her skin that she did not catch. When asked to repeat it, he moved up beside her, leaning on one elbow to look down into her face. His eyes roved the length of her naked body and she stared back unembarrassed, giving him equal appraisal.

  “I said, I love your laugh,” he murmured, his lips buried in the fleshy part of her shoulder.

  He was broad shouldered, like — she caught herself before the name popped into her head. William stood taller, darker, and was more muscular. His hair was short, yet not cropped, growing tightly like an animal pelt that sprang back into place when she ran her fingers through it. His lips and fingers continued to explore her body and he found a spot that made her giggle. Snuggling into him, she relished the smell of his skin, a clean almost fragrant scent, but with an underlying animal quality.

  “This is a wonderful bed, and this room is beautiful.”

  William flicked a glance over the white furnished chamber with its touches of gilt and cream, the carved wooden bed, the Oriental rug decorated with dragons and lilies. “This room? It’s a means to an end.”

  Helena ran a finger lightly along the scar on his lip, craving his compliments. “What do you mean?”

  “You wouldn’t have come to me when I lived at Lambtons. At least, not like this.” He indicated their entangled bodies with a cocked chin. “So I bought this house.”

  “For what purpose?” She ran her fingers over his bare shoulder, slipping into the banter of lovers who ask questions they know the answers to, looking for excuses to flatter each other and talk of their devotion.

  “A nefarious one. To entice you here, so we might inhabit a world of our own making whenever we chose.”

  “How did you know I could be…enticed?”

  He rested his head on one hand, his gaze holding her captive so she could not tear her face away. “You couldn’t, once. But you are a different Helena from the proud, angry beauty who came to Lambtons after the Rebellion.”

  “How different?” She moved her fingers to his cheek, knowing he would grasp her hand in his and press it to his mouth. A thrill of power surged through her when he did so.

  He smiled, twirling a lock of her hair between his fingers.

  “Tell me.” She punched his naked chest playfully and ran a hand along his jaw, examining the tiny creases beside his ear where a small mole broke the perfection of his skin. She stored each detail in her head so she could recall and ponder them when they weren’t together.

  “I’ve learned a good deal about life since I ceased to be a financial burden on my father. And you? You, Mistress, have learned life is not a romantic dream.”

  He knows about Guy’s mistress.

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he pressed a finger to her lips. “You believed a suitable marriage would lead to a life with no mishaps along the way. But that is an illusion, and what we imagine will make us happy, often does not.”

  His insight made her bridle. “I’m not discontent.”

  He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Perhaps not, but the route to real contentment, is not through social status and wealth.”

  “It
is not?” She arched an eyebrow and he had the grace to blush. This was indeed a different William, from the rakish Master Devereux who spent his time in idleness and indulgence.

  “Not for everyone. Not for you.”

  She frowned. He sounded just like Phebe. But then, Helena had not heeded her either. Inexplicably, tears threatened as he traced her mouth with a finger. “Nor can we choose whom we love.”

  “I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone,” she whispered through her closed throat. Her pleasure in their liaison shifted as visions of her home and her sons crowded into her head. A rush of guilt left her vulnerable and she curled against him, knowing this was more than a mild flirtation. Her life had been leading to this, to him. There was no way back for her and a weight seemed to crush her chest.

  William dropped a light kiss on her neck. “We must take our happiness where we can.”

  “Now you sound like Aaron,” she snapped, the mood altered. She pulled the bed sheet up over her exposed breasts. She tossed back her hair, cheeks burning. “When exactly did you decide I was ready to betray my husband?” The truth in his words made her petulant.

  He caught her chin between his thumb and finger, easing her face towards him. He lowered his brow so it touched hers, forcing her to return his intense stare. The desire to snap at him and kiss him battled in her head.

  “I’ve wanted you so long, Helena, but I knew I had to wait until you were ready for me.”

  Relieved, she relaxed against him, whispering into his neck, “And I’m ready now?”

  “I’m not sure.” His voice vibrated in his throat, making her shiver. “But I know how to find out.”

  Helena squealed in mock protest as he tugged the sheet firmly from between her fingers and lowered himself onto her, teasing her with his touch until her laughter turned to a passion that equalled his own.

  The rain had stopped, and silver sunlight broke through a gap in the clouds, bathing the bed. Helena lay with her head on William’s chest, her hair tousled and flowing over his shoulder. She drew circles with a finger in the soft hairs on his chest and whispered into the quiet. “I wish I had come to you as a maid.”