by Madeline Hunter, Caroline Linden, Megan Frampton, Myretta Robens
“I thought you would prefer to travel in comfort, and not perched on a wooden bench or chair. A picnic luncheon awaits when the time comes.”
“Food, too? One wonders why you bother with that big mansion behind that wall. Do you always deck out the deck thus?”
“Rarely. I will show you the quarters below, so you can see how usually this boat is less than luxurious in the things that truly matter.”
She looked above her at the furled sails. “We will not sail?”
“If the wind permits it.”
“Please tell me that there are no galley slaves at the oars.”
“Of course there are. I promise that they are fed at least once a day.” He walked to the place from where he had emerged when she arrived. “Come, I will give you a tour.”
He held out his hand. In order to walk down the steep, narrow stairs she needed that support. The warmth of his hand encompassed hers. The connection unnerved her, and sent a tremor through her body.
He did not release her hand once below. She could think of no way to force that without pretending more insult than she experienced. She liked the sensation of his hand on hers. She found the hold firm but gentle, demanding but kind.
He showed her a little kitchen where a cook worked at their luncheon, and a necessary that, she suspected, was the true purpose of this tour. That was thoughtful of him. They then moved between two walls of cabinets into the depths of the yacht, toward the bow. The skinny passageway stopped at a chamber with a bed, desk, and more cabinets.
There was no navy here. No chaperones.
“It all appears more luxurious than you believe.” She tried to sound as casual as if they toured the British Museum and viewed some exotic artifact. “I do not think most captains have beds this large, covered in so many silk-dressed pillows.”
“This is not the captain’s.”
Of course not. This was the duke’s.
He still held her hand, and now he coaxed her toward him. Holding her still, like he thought she might bolt, he plucked at the ties to her bonnet. “This brim will become another sail, once we set out. The breeze will ruin it.”
The slow unwinding of the ribbons unsettled her. It seemed almost scandalous for a man to remove even this small item of her ensemble, especially while in this cabin. Her mouth dried from her rapid, shallow breaths.
He lifted the bonnet away and set it on the desk. “I thought you might not agree to this outing.”
“We dressmakers must take advantage of any entertainment that comes our way.”
He ignored her arch tone. “I thought you might be afraid.”
“Should I be?”
His lips hovered over hers. “Yes, I suppose so.”
He kissed her. She did not mind. She did not resist. The sensation of that kiss warmed all of her. Did his kiss bedazzle you? Oh, yes. That too. The kiss, the power of his body and energy, both excited and comforted. It felt good and right even though of course it was neither.
He pulled her into an embrace, but not another kiss. She rested her head against his coats, feeling the muscles in his chest while his arms surrounded her.
“Is it your intention to ravish me down here?” She tried to sound sophisticated, but failed miserably.
“I did not think to ever ravish you. Certainly not here.” His lips pressed her crown. “I will confess that I plotted a way to kiss you discreetly, however.”
“I thank you for that.”
He laughed. “For what? The discretion or the kiss?”
She knew what a middling sort of gentlewoman would reply. Instead she answered honestly. “For both.”
The oars took them away from the dock. Once they were headed upriver, enough of a breeze rose for one sail to be used. The captain tacked back and forth, managing to move forward at a slow pace.
Barrowmore settled on the divan and coaxed her to sit there, too. They watched the shores inch by. “Fate has smiled on me, giving me this day with you. If it had rained today, and been lovely tomorrow, I would have been most vexed.”
“You could have still enjoyed the fine weather tomorrow.”
“Not at all. Tomorrow, I am being fitted for my coronation robes. I expect it will take most of the afternoon. I have put it off longer than I should have, so it must be done.”
“Will you wear a special costume and have a special role to play?”
“I have been spared the worst, if you refer to the lucky few who will act in the ritual.” He smiled slowly. “The king is dressing them all as courtiers from King Henry Tudor’s time. I was not sorry to be deprived of the honor, if the king’s special favor means wearing hose and a codpiece.”
She angled back to take him in. “I think you would have looked splendid dressed thus. Such a pity the world will be denied the sight of you.”
“I do have nice legs, if I may say so myself. How embarrassing for the men who do not. I have heard they are joining in a petition to the king to be allowed to wear high boots, so any weak calves do not go on display.”
“The king is certainly making this coronation elaborate, if he is putting his retainers in costume.”
“More elaborate than Napoleon’s. Much more than his own father’s. Normally I would not criticize, but with the humor abroad in the country, this may not be the time to spend with such abandon, and in such a public way.”
He turned serious with that observation. The duke in him took over, the man whose birth had given him a say in the workings of the realm, and a voice even kings listened to. It was easy to forget, while they joked, that the robe he would wear symbolized a responsibility that he surely felt.
“Perhaps the king wants to emphasize that the crown still matters, and will continue to in the future. What with all the unrest, this display will emphasize that.”
“Perhaps. I think, however, he mostly wants a big show, bigger than any remembered by anyone.” He looked over at her. “He is not a young man in age, but there is still something of the boy in him.”
“If you will not be a Tudor, what robes will you wear?”
“They are traditional, reserved for coronations. Ede and Ravenscroft makes them for our family. They pulled the ones that were worn the last time out of storage. They were well cared for, but it was so long ago that they were used. The duke then was much shorter than I, and I thought the fur smelled, so we started anew.” He gestured to his body. “The robe encases me in red silk velvet and sports an ermine short cape. It is the same with all the peers. The only difference is in our coronets, and the number of spots on the ermine. You reminded Edeline that fur is inappropriate for summer, but tradition knows no season.”
“It will be impressive, all of you lined up like that.” She could picture it. She could picture him. She would join the crowds outside to catch a glimpse of some of it, she decided.
“It could also be unbearably hot in mid July. That will be a day when I pray for many clouds, and an unseasonably cool breeze.”
“You may even wish you were in those hose. They would be cooler than wool trousers under velvet and fur.”
“Maybe I will wear hose anyway. Then, once we are in place, I can part the robes and allow some cool air in.” He pantomimed flipping the edge of a robe back and forth like a fan.
She laughed at the severely dignified expression he maintained while he did it. His eyes dared anyone to notice or comment on his sartorial irregularities.
A footman brought them wine then. It was very good wine, perhaps the best she had ever tasted.
When she was a girl, her family went on picnics, carrying a large basket of cold food and simple drink out to the countryside where they found a fine prospect upon which to gaze. The duke’s picnic was nothing like that. It was not even a picnic in truth.
That cook had prepared pheasant in one sauce and beef in another, with well-seasoned legumes and an interesting but peculiar dish of rice and currants. They sat at the little table. All through the meal their conversation alternated between comments
on the passing sights and talk about her shop and his family.
“She eloped,” he said of his sister. “I have no idea why. I could hardly object to an earl.”
“Perhaps it had nothing to do with you. She may have just decided to get it over with.”
“I hope she welcomed the union more enthusiastically than that.”
“I meant that having found the man she wanted, she may have decided to do the deed with no further ado or fuss.”
“I think you have something there. Charlotte is not—” He drank some wine.
“Not?”
“I stopped because it sounds disloyal, but I think you will understand that is not intended. I was going to say not entirely normal. Not interested much in the things most women enjoy. She was a hoyden as a girl, and never came to London for a Season after her first. I had concluded she did not want to marry at all, but then, to my shock, I received the letter in February informing me that she had.”
“Did she ever come back?”
“Soon after. They both came, to ask my blessing and to apologize for their hasty nuptials. I think that was her earl’s idea. They stayed a fortnight, then went back to the highlands where I expect they ride out daily to count sheep with his plaid flowing from their saddles.”
She sipped her wine, watching him. He spoke freely with her, more than she ever expected he would. “I think you miss her.”
He looked right at her. “I think I do, too. Now, tell me about your life and your friends, and whether you still hear from your family.”
She had not expected him to ask her about any of that. He had just revealed more than she expected. She could hardly now snap her own shell shut.
She chose to get the hardest part over first. “I hear from my mother on occasion. She will write a long letter when she finds the time and privacy, and fill me in on my family and the village.” She did not add that sometimes Mama sent a little money too, possibly out of guilt. Mama had not liked it when she left, but she had not said the words that might have stopped it either. She had not declared to the world that no gossip was going to drive away her daughter. Amid Mama’s river of tears at their parting, there had been a thick current of relief.
“I have asked her and my father to come to London for the coronation. We can watch the processions, and partake of the festivities in the streets and squares. I do not think they will come, however.”
“If they do you must let me know. I will make sure they do not have to watch from the crowds.”
She wondered what Mama would think if a duke, and this particular duke at that, bestowed such a gift on her daughter. Suspicious did not begin to describe the way Mama would see it. But—would she mind so much? She had not issued warnings about Giles. Only afterward had the dangers been itemized.
“Who are in your circle of friends?” he asked while he nodded to the footman who offered more wine.
“I am not a Londoner, so I do not have any circles as such.”
“Even so, you must have friends.” He flashed a charming smile. “Besides me, that is.”
“I suppose my best friend is Felicity, who manages the shop now, although I do not think she sees me the same way. I am beholden to her, and that affects a friendship. She is not much older in age, so we have much in common and spend a lot of time together.”
“How are you beholden?”
“When I came to London, I had a few shillings and a valise and nothing else except some fashion plates I had drawn. I went looking for work at a dressmaker. I found Madame Follette’s easily, because the shop’s entrance is on the street, not up some stairs. I had no references, and not much of a history to give them. All I had were those plates and some garments I had created and sewn for myself. Felicity’s mother was not inclined to take me on, but Felicity convinced her to do so.”
“It is understandable that you are loyal to her. It is all the clearer why you took Edeline’s commissions.”
They now skirted close to the subject of Giles, and her history with him. Barrowmore had avoided that all day. When he spoke of his family, he had mentioned the harpy of a great-aunt and an uncle of whom he was fond. He had spoken of his sister. Giles, however, had been skipped.
“I think loyalty is a good thing, when well placed. Don’t you?” she said.
“Of course. I also think it is a rare thing. People are quick to rationalize it away when it suits them, and often it requires some sacrifice that becomes seen as too high a price.”
“As a duke, you would know more about it than I do.”
“You speak of my obligations to crown and country. Those loyalties are not so different from what is expected from any citizen. Personal loyalties, person to person, are where the real moral quandaries develop.”
Their meal finished, they returned to the divan. As if on cue, the yacht made a long lazy curve to head back the way it had come. Selina watched the water and river banks glide around her in a broad arc. Her gaze came to rest on the man sitting by her side.
He was looking at her, not the views. Their gazes met in a stark connection. His eyes reflected the day’s good humor, but also looked into hers so totally that he held her spellbound. It seemed a long time that they remained like that. Then he reached out and drew her toward him. He met her halfway with a kiss.
She gave herself over to the wonderful sensations that kiss evoked. Excitement and peace and pleasure all combined to create a special joy. She became free and young and so very alive. And beautiful. More beautiful than she had felt in years.
The kiss never really ended. It went on and on, first careful and luring, then harder and claiming, then invasive and deliciously shocking. She ceased caring about where they were. Thrills took over her body and a mounting desire obscured her thoughts.
He lifted her bodily and set her closer, right next to him, so their hips pressed. He did not let go of her, but wrapped her into an embrace that allowed that kiss to move to her neck and ear, to her shoulder and chest.
She accepted more enthusiastically than she ought. She rested her arms around his shoulders. She relished every evidence of the changes in her body, and the hunger they both reflected and incited. His rising passion did not frighten her, but she recognized it well enough in his kisses and firm caresses, in the tension she felt in his body and the way he forced control. She was too enthralled to worry about what it might mean or where it might lead.
Then, his caress moved to her breast and suddenly she had no choice but to think about it. Not that she contemplated her danger with any clarity. The pleasure of that caress argued forcefully that she should cast all cautions aside, give herself over to the abandon that beckoned, and assess the situation another day.
Lack of resistance hardly dissuaded him. Nor did the happy gasps that snuck out when, despite her garments, he rubbed just the right spots. The most tempting pleasures spiraled down her core and teased her femininity.
He stopped kissing her. He rested his forehead against hers, his face as close as possible, his breaths deep and ragged. His hand remained on her body, its palm on her midriff and its fingers slowly circling and sweeping her breast.
He lost whatever inner battle he fought. Abruptly he stood and pulled her up, into his arms. He took her hand and led her to the stairs. “Come with me.”
She stumbled after him. Some sense found a place in her head as he handed her down below. More gelled by the time he closed the door of the cabin and embraced her again. The way he caressed her, the way their mutual desire displayed itself in hot kisses and groping holds, did nothing to help her find the words to voice the things she should say.
Only when his hand settled between her breasts and began unbuttoning her dress did her misgivings arise with force. She looked down at those fine masculine fingers opening her dress. “I thought you said you did not intend to ravish me.”
“I don’t.” He spoke in her ear before devastating it with his tongue. “Not here, I said. Not yet.”
Not yet.
&
nbsp; A slow smile formed against her cheek. “You are completely safe. I promise I only want to feel you and see you.”
Perhaps, if she were not close to ecstasy already, or if she had made her choices earlier, before pleasure swayed her, or if being undressed were not so unbearably exciting, she would have doubted his promise the way a small part of her consciousness told her to now. The truth, she knew in her heart, was that she did not want to deny him because it meant denying herself. This felt too good to stop. He had her in his spell, and she loved being there.
His fingers paused, as if he waited for her to make a choice. She looked up and met his gaze. She could only look back, helpless.
He embraced her hard, close, lifting her to a kiss that spared her not at all. Then they were on the bed entwined and fevered.
He released her and shrugged off his coat. Then he turned his attention again to those buttons.
She could barely breathe. Her dress slowly parted. Desire and anticipation made her heady. Her vision blurred. He got the dress down her arms more easily than she thought he would. The shoulders of her petticoat followed. He gently kissed the swells of her breasts above her short stays.
“You are a beautiful woman. I want to see all of your beauty, but will settle for this.” He pulled the lacing that tied her stays.
With each pull of the lacing her stays loosened more. She closed her eyes to hold in what it did to her.
The stays fell aside. For a moment nothing happened. She snuck a look and the sight of him devastated her further. Dark hair mussed, expression firm, and eyes like crystals, he looked at her body, then at her face. A tremor much like fear shimmied down her body, only it affected her in ways fear never did.
He carefully lowered the shoulder straps of her chemise, and unveiled her body to her waist. His eyes narrowed and his fingertips glossed around the sides of her breasts. “Beautiful. Perfect.”