by Лорен Уиллиг
"No."
Letty had lost all interest in semantic distinctions. She didn't care what they called it as long as he didn't stop whatever it was that he was doing.
"I thought not."
Letty shivered as his breath coasted over her dampened skin.
His lips closed and tugged, sending little quivers jolting through her. The fabric of her chemise bunched beneath her breast, pushing it into prominence and magnifying the sensation. Letty squirmed restlessly, arching away from the pressure—or toward it, she wasn't quite sure which.
"Mmph," she said, which Geoff correctly interpreted as, "Do go on."
"Let's get you out of these clothes," murmured Geoff, reaching for the edge of her chemise.
Letty was only too happy to oblige, lifting her arms obediently in the air as he drew the garment off over them. In the strange pink room, with Aphrodite beaming down from above—and various nymphs far less clad than Letty—it was hard to feel self-conscious. At least, until her husband's gaze replaced the chemise, with an unmistakable appreciation that sent delirious warmth creeping across Letty's skin. Resisting the urge to fold her arms across her chest, she scooted forward instead, closing the gap between them.
"What about you?" she asked hastily, tugging at his cravat. "You're wearing far more than me."
"An excellent point." Shrugging out of his coat, Geoff let his nimble fingers make short work of a cravat that had taken half an hour to tie. The white fabric joined Letty's chemise on the carpet, rapidly followed by his waistcoat.
As Geoff tore his loose shirt off over his head, Letty wriggled her loosened dress down over her hips, kicking it off the edge of the bed. She stilled, reverting to awkwardness as she realized that Geoff's shirt was off his head and he was staring rather fixedly. At her.
Suddenly self-conscious, Letty scooted back along the pink satin coverlet, trying to put as much space between them as possible. Geoff's eyes followed.
He shook his head. "You look…"
With rapidly sinking spirits, Letty wished she had thought to blow out the candles. She knew how she looked. She was too short, too plump, too round…just too. Too everything. Nothing like Mary's perfect willowy elegance. The sight of her unclothed was probably enough to kill any tender feelings Geoff might have had for her—at least until she was discreetly swathed in a gown again.
Biting her lip, Letty grabbed for the edge of the sheet. "You don't need to say it."
"…unbelievable." He didn't sound disgusted, just dazed. His hand reached out to still Letty's before she could drag the covers across her legs. "And incredibly alluring."
"Alluring?" Letty was quite sure she must have misheard.
His hands moved up her arms, stretching them up over her head. "Sensual. Seductive. Desirable."
It was so ridiculous that Letty produced a shaky laugh. "I think you have the wrong person. Or the wrong words. Or both."
"No." Geoff gazed down at her, his gray eyes as steady as Gibraltar. "They're both just right."
There was nothing Letty could say to that, not without sounding churlish. But Geoff correctly read the slight tightening of her lips, and the way her eyes slid away from his.
"You really have no idea, have you?"
Letty bristled. "I have a mirror. And eyes."
"And no idea how to use either," muttered Geoff, before realizing that probably wasn't quite fair of him.
He looked down into her flushed face, framed with its tangle of hair that alternated between copper and gold in the candlelight, and knew that no number of compliments would convince her. With her sturdy common sense, she would write them off as pure flummery. To a certain extent, she would be right. She would never be a beauty by the accepted standards. Pretty, yes. Even lovely. But she lacked the stateliness and symmetry society demanded of its chosen goddesses.
She made up for it, in Geoff's opinion, with something far more valuable, something that went past the mere prettiness of her features, a candid appeal that her more conventionally beautiful counterparts lacked. Even her sister. It was, Geoff realized, the difference between admiration and genuine desire. One might admire a well-carved statue, but it would be deuced uncomfortable to cuddle up with at night.
He also realized that there was no way to impress any of that upon Letty. Especially, he thought guiltily, not after he had done his part to reinforce her belief that she came a poor second.
Other methods of conviction would have to be found.
"Right." He raised one brow in an unspoken challenge. His voice dropped seductively. "Then I'll just have to show you."
"Show me what?" Letty asked warily.
His breath was warm against her ear. "Just how desirable I find you."
His tongue traced the delicate shape of her ear, eroding Letty's defenses, forestalling the tart comment just on the tip of her tongue.
"Like this…"
His lips slid down her throat to her collarbone, while his hands explored the shape of her waist and the curve of her hips, tracing them as reverently as any sculptor shaping his masterpiece.
"…and this…"
He followed the line of her cleavage down to her breasts, taking his time, lavishing attention on each one in turn, making Letty feel as pampered and desired as any sultan's favorite houri.
By the time his lips moved lower, Letty was having difficulty remembering what they had argued about in the first place.
"…and this."
The words were barely a breath of air, scarcely audible, skimming along the coppery curls at the join of her thighs.
"Oh," said Letty inadequately, only the word seemed to have attained several extra syllables. She hadn't known—she hadn't thought—Her fingers tugged at Geoff's dark hair as she gasped, her breathing coming raggedly through her lips. Above, Aphrodite beamed contentedly down. Letty's back arched as her husband's clever tongue plied bits of her body she hadn't known existed, twisting and turning in a complicated form of torture that had her begging him to stop…and not to stop…and several less coherent pleas that scarcely registered in her own ears and didn't mean anything at all, as a series of painfully pleasurable tremors overtook her, reducing her from murmurs to moans.
Rapidly divesting himself of his breeches, Geoff rejoined Letty on the pink satin coverlet. "Convinced yet?" he asked huskily, as Letty wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing up against him in a way that wore his already tattered self-control to mere shreds.
"Mmm," said Letty, running her hands along Geoff's chest in a way that rendered questions and answers entirely immaterial.
Her mouth sought his in a kiss that was part gratitude, part raw passion. She twined her arms and legs around him in an instinctive need to press closer, to feel him against her, skin to skin, from her shoulders all the way down to her toes. Her bare leg slid between his, and she felt the muscles in the arms wrapped around her go taut as corded iron.
Emulating what he had done for her, she pressed her lips to the base of his neck, thrilling at the way his body trembled at the touch.
"Letty." Geoff barely managed to force out the two syllables of her name. Her breasts were flattened against his chest, her nipples rubbing against him with every moan, every movement. Her scent filled his nostrils, drowning his senses. Using every ounce of will remaining to him, trying very hard to go slowly, he stroked gently between the moist curls at her thighs, and felt her quiver in response. With a clumsy movement, she nudged closer to him, instinctively trying to aid him.
Geoff's arms tightened around her in a convulsive embrace. His breath came out in a ragged laugh. "I don't deserve you."
"I know," murmured Letty indistinctly, pressing closer as he carefully positioned himself between her legs. "But you can—"
The rest of the sentence was lost, her fingers biting into his back as he entered her. There was a slight soreness, but it scarcely seemed to matter, not when Geoff was kissing her as though it were the last thing that mattered in the world, and she could feel a delightful t
ension beginning to build at the base of her stomach. Threading her fingers through his hair, Letty gave herself up to the spiral of sensation, locking her legs tightly around him as he cried out his release.
Together, they lay there, damp, disheveled, and entirely content. Opening her eyes, Letty saw the gilded nymphs and satyrs dancing along the wall through a happy haze. They, she felt quite sure, would approve.
Rolling them both sideways, Geoff brushed back the damp hair from her brow and somewhat haphazardly kissed her temple. "Thank you," he said simply, adding, with a crooked grin, "Happy wedding night. Somewhat belated."
"But worth waiting for," decreed Letty, spoiling the effect with a yawn. She cuddled sleepily against Geoff. So they were truly married now, she mused fuzzily. It didn't seem quite real, any more than anything else had since that night in High Holborn, but at the moment she was too deliciously exhausted to fret about it.
"Tired?" Geoff ruined his otherwise ideal pose as pillow by speaking.
Oh, well, a man had to have some faults, Letty concluded generously.
"A bit," she admitted, scooting to the side as Geoff extracted the coverlet from beneath her legs so it could be used for its proper purpose. He draped it over her before scooting down next to her, rearranging her hair so he wouldn't accidentally tug on it during the night.
"Mm-hmm," agreed Geoff, leaning over her to blow out the candles, and dropping an absentminded kiss to her lips in passing. There was something husbandly about the very inattention of it.
Perhaps they might really be married after all.
Letty drifted off into slumber with a smile on her face.
Chapter Twenty-six
Sunlight glistened off the glass sides of the vial, casting faint smudges of red, yellow, and blue along the pale skin of Letty's wrist. Letty gave the glass vial a diagnostic shake and watched sludgy liquid slosh sullenly from one side to the other, coating the glass with a reddish-brown film and smudging her rainbow to shadow.
Letty thrust the vial back at Geoff. "I just don't see the point of it."
Geoff closed her fingers back around the glass, covering them with his own. "It's only as a last recourse."
Even through two pairs of gloves, the pressure of his hand sent a weakening wave of warmth through her, fraught with memory.
Letty made a concerted effort to keep her mind on the matter at hand. "It's not much of a recourse, is it? Even if I manage to get Vaughn to drink something and empty the potion into the glass without his seeing it, I can't imagine it will take effect immediately."
"True." Geoff's fingers tightened momentarily around Letty's before letting go. "But it should at least slow him down. Just take it."
"All right." It seemed easier to accede than argue.
Letty tucked the vial neatly into her reticule, along with a pair of razor-sharp embroidery scissors, a paper of pins, a large paperweight, and a whistle—in case she needed to summon help and found herself unable to muster a suitably loud scream. Letty's demonstration, over the breakfast table, of just how loudly she could scream had resulted in the breakage of several pieces of china and permanent damage to the nerves of more than one housemaid, but had done nothing at all to deter her husband from weighing her down with a motley arsenal of largely useless items.
Even though she really couldn't see what she was going to do with a paper of straight pins—threaten Vaughn with refitting his waistcoats? Perpetrate indignities upon the cut of his coat?—Letty felt a foolish glow as she regarded the jumbled pile in her reticule. A paper of pins and a vial of sleeping potion might not exactly be love poetry, but in their own way they were a far more practical expression of affection. The pen might be mightier than the sword in the poet's parlance, but a sharp point and a loud whistle were far more effective.
Letty fingered the tin whistle fondly before pulling the strings of the reticule tightly shut.
The little bag bulged alarmingly.
"This is all likely unnecessary," said Letty.
"Likely," agreed Geoff, leaning back in his seat and propping one booted ankle on top of the opposite knee.
"If Vaughn is playing a double game, it should be in his interest to maintain his connection with Jane. And he can't maintain his connection with Jane if he attacks me."
"If Jane questions the marquise, Vaughn may be driven to desperate action."
"Vaughn?" Letty made a face. "It's hard to imagine him driven to desperation by anything less dire than dereliction on the part of his tailor."
Geoff grinned, but his amusement was fleeting.
"People thought the same about Percy Blakeney."
"Who was on our side," said Letty.
Geoff crossed his arms and looked down at her. "How does that prove anything at all?"
"It doesn't," said Letty. "But I was hoping you wouldn't notice."
The sheer audacity of it tore a ragged laugh out of Geoff.
"Well, I had to say something. It would be awful for your ego if you got to have the last word all the time."
"Duly chastened," acknowledged Geoff. "But I do get the last word on this. I'm not going to let you go into a potentially dangerous situation unprepared."
With his arms folded and his brows drawn together over the thin bridge of his nose, he exuded determination. The shadow of hair darkening his jaw emphasized the precise planes of his face, lending him a vaguely rakish air, like a Renaissance adventurer or a pirate king, ruthless, accustomed to command.
It was rather nice to have all that determination exerted on her behalf. It made her feel special. Valued. As though he would actually care if something happened to her.
"After all," Geoff finished matter-of-factly, "you are my responsibility."
Letty's warm glow vanished as abruptly as the rainbow refracted through the glass. Responsibility. What a loathsome word. From "responsibility," it was only a short step to "burden," and no one liked a burden. One shouldered burdens; one didn't lavish affection on them. She should know. For a guilty moment, she wondered whether any of her family had ever realized that.
Geoff was looking at her quizzically, clearly waiting for either acquiescence or argument.
If she was a burden, the least she could be was an entertaining one. Letty groped for her earlier bantering tone. "I'm not the one playing with explosives."
"Not yet, at any rate." Reaching into his waistcoat, Geoff drew out a long, thin object. To Letty's startled eyes, it seemed to go on forever. With a flourish, Geoff reversed his grip and presented it to her, handle first.
The handle wasn't unattractive. Chased with silver, the wood had been styled in a graceful curve, polished to the sheen of fine furniture. But no amount of ornament could disguise the deadly purpose of the long steel shaft embedded in the wooden stock, or the curious curved flintlock that arched like a diving mermaid along the top.
Letty made no move to take it. She just stared at it.
"It is a firearm," Geoff said helpfully, pressing the handle into her palm.
"I am aware of that." Letty let the piece dangle between thumb and forefinger as she regarded it dubiously. Despite growing up in the country, she hadn't had much to do with guns. Her father wasn't a hunting man. "It's not…"
"Loaded? No."
Relieved, Letty peered down the little hole in the middle. "Then what am I supposed to do with it? Bash Vaughn over the head with the wooden bit?"
Looking pained, Geoff took Letty's wrist and turned the pistol the other way. Even though he had emptied the bullets out himself, the sight of his wife staring down the barrel did nasty things to Geoff's nerves.
"Rule number one, never point it at yourself. Even when it's unloaded," he added, forestalling Letty's next protest.
"This isn't going to fit into my reticule," she pointed out instead, poking the muzzle of the gun into the bag in illustration. "And I'm certainly not hiding it in my bodice."
"I should hope not. I prefer your bodice the way it is." For all that the sentiment was pleasing, there
was nothing at all loverlike about Geoff's tone. Nor should there be, Letty reminded herself. They were preparing for a mission, not a tryst.
"Well?" asked Letty briskly. "What am I to do with it? I assume you didn't bring it along merely for its aesthetic value."
"You're not that far off the mark. Think of it as a theatrical prop. You know it's unloaded, and I know it's unloaded, but Vaughn won't."
"Until I pull the trigger and nothing happens."
Letty realized she was being difficult, but she couldn't seem to help herself. Perhaps it had something to do with lack of sleep. Fatigue and surliness generally went hand in hand, and she had not gotten much sleep last night.
Of course, neither had he.
Letty busied herself examining the workmanship of the flintlock.
"It shouldn't come to that," said Geoff soothingly. "You just have to point it at him with the proper air of authority."
"Is this before or after I stick him with my embroidery scissors?"
"Here." Geoff took her hand and rearranged it around the butt of the gun. "Point it at me."
"You must be very sure about those bullets," muttered Letty, but she did as he said. All she had to do was point and look steely-eyed. How hard could it be?
Held by one hand, the pistol was surprisingly heavy, ten inches of solid steel within its innocuous wooden casing. Letty struggled to keep the pistol level as gravity fought her grasp. Gravity won. Her wrist shook as the muzzle began to droop, centimeter by painful centimeter.
Geoff relieved her of the weapon, although whether it was out of pity or because the pistol happened to be pointing straight at a crucial part of his anatomy, Letty couldn't be sure. Letty surreptitiously shook out her wrist, wondering how one little part of her body could feel so much strain.
"It's heavy!" she said indignantly. It all looked so easy in the pictures in the illustrated papers.
"This was the lightest one I could find," said Geoff, leveling the pistol with one hand as though it weighed no more than a lady's fan.
"Show-off," said Letty.
Geoff looked smug.