by Madeline Hunter, Caroline Linden, Megan Frampton, Myretta Robens
As the kiss deepened, Simon’s hands roamed up her back and eased the sleeves of her night dress off her shoulders, tugging it down until her breasts were exposed to his gaze. Then one hand slid upward and closed around a breast, holding it gently for a moment before he found her eager nipple. The moment he took it between his fingers, the warmth that had manifested itself between Delyth’s legs when Simon had first kissed her threatened to turn into a blaze. She groaned. And when he leaned down and drew it into his mouth, she thought she might explode.
And Simon stepped back. Delyth blinked at the sudden withdrawal of the voluptuous sensation of Simon’s mouth on her. She looked up at Simon’s face, trying to read his thoughts, his feelings.
Simon looked as though someone had just thrown a bucket of water over him. He brushed a hand over his eyes, then pulled Delyth’s night rail back over her shoulders. He bent to the floor to retrieve her shawl and wrapped it around her. Then he bent forward and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.
Her forehead! “Simon,” she said. “What…?”
“No.” Simon placed two fingers against her lips. “Forgive me. That was wrong. I should never … I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Delyth just stood, dumbfounded and frustrated. “I beg your pardon?”
“I have no business making love to you.”
“You weren’t alone in this activity,” Delyth said, folding her arms across her chest to secure her shawl and hide her nipples, which seemed to be still mourning the loss of Simon’s touch.
Simon sighed. “Thank you, Delyth.” He touched her cheek. “It is kind of you to try to absolve me. But this can lead to no good end.”
Delyth bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from saying something she might regret.
“I understand,” she said finally. “I am aware of what I am and that my standing is far too inferior to warrant a future for us. However…” She tightened her shawl around her shoulders. “However, the future I was envisioning had not progressed beyond this room. So perhaps you should calm yourself and we’ll just return to our former, er, positions.”
Delyth and put her hand on the door-latch. “If you like, I can return to Madame Follette’s tomorrow. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention any of this—”
Simon stopped her. “This will remain between us,” he said. “And, no. Please stay. Louisa enjoys your company and is looking forward to your designs. I would also enjoy continuing to work with you. As you say, we shall return to our former positions.”
He didn’t look convinced, but Delyth chose to ignore that. “Thank you, Mr. Merrithew.” Delyth dropped a small curtsy, even though she felt foolish doing so in her nightclothes and bare feet, and marched out the door and up the stairs.
Once in her room, she threw herself on the bed and pulled a pillow over her face. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she said into the linen. “Now I will have to tiptoe around the Merrithews and pretend that Simon has not made me fall in love with him.” Maybe she should go back to the shop. She would have to see what the next day would bring.
Chapter Nine
Simon returned to his bedchamber and, after getting into his nightshirt and banyan, spent half an hour pacing his floor and berating himself for his stupidity. There was no excuse for approaching Delyth as he had. Although, perhaps the way she looked in a nightdress and bare feet was sufficient provocation. No. He was a gentleman and gentlemen did not accost women who were working for them. Cads and knaves did that. Rakes and scoundrels. Not the sons of viscounts. Well, perhaps some sons of viscounts, but not Simon Merrithew, son of the late Viscount Fulbeck, and brother of the current viscount. His brother would be in a towering rage if he learned what Simon had done.
Brandy! Yes, that would help. Simon strode to the sideboard under the window. Brandy in hand, Simon retired to the chair before the fire and gave the guttering flames a poke. He was worried about tomorrow and about the day after that. He was worried that he had hurt Delyth and he was worried that Louisa would read his mind as she so often seemed to do.
Delyth had not appeared to be hurt. She was definitely angry, which he richly deserved. He wasn’t quite sure whether she was angry because he had kissed her or because he had stopped. That was an interesting question and one for which he thought it would be wise not to seek the answer. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure he was that wise. He also wasn’t sure he wouldn’t want to kiss her again, and more. It probably would be best if she left the house, but his heart quailed at the prospect. He had gotten used to having Delyth in his life so quickly. It was nearly impossible to believe that little more than two weeks had passed since he had thought her a petty dressmaker with an ulterior motive. He could not remember being more foolish and that included his school years when he had been quite foolish, indeed.
Simon finished off his brandy, hoping that it would be sufficient to put him to sleep. There was so much going on in his head (and other parts of his body) that he doubted even alcohol would help. He left a candle burning when he crawled into bed, thinking that he would read if sleep evaded him. The book he chose was a tome on modern agricultural practices. True, he had no estate, but he had found it in the library and he kept it by his bed for nights when he couldn’t sleep. Tonight, crop rotation wasn’t working. His mind kept skittering back to discussion of ladies’ dresses, and the way Delyth Owen’s lips had looked when she tasted the caramel sweetmeat, and the way Delyth Owen’s lips had tasted when he kissed her, and the way Delyth Owen’s toes had looked peeking out from beneath her night rail, and the way Delyth Owen’s breasts had looked peeking out over the top of her night rail. Simon dropped the book. And the way Delyth Owen’s breast had felt between his lips when he had taken her nipple into his mouth.
“Where is Miss Owen?” Simon stumbled into the breakfast room after a restless night, feeling as though he would need at least five cups of coffee to clear away the fog in his head.
Louisa looked up from the morning paper. “She had to go to her shop today.”
“Is she coming back?” The anxiety Simon had felt last night returned in full force.
Louisa looked puzzled. “Of course she’s coming back,” she said. “Why wouldn’t she?”
Simon shrugged and waved his cup at the footman, who responded with a stream of steaming coffee. “Excellent.”
“What?” Louisa’s puzzled expression intensified.
“The coffee,” Simon said. “It’s excellent.”
“Are you feeling well?” Louisa nodded to the footman, who refilled her cup with the excellent coffee.
“I am a little tired, since you ask.” Simon took a deep draught from his cup and choked a little. “I had a little trouble sleeping last night.”
“Interesting,” Louisa said. “Miss Owen looked a bit tired herself when she came down earlier.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes,” Louisa said. “Indeed.”
Simon looked into his coffee and nodded.
“Simon.” Louisa drew out both syllables into a long, exasperated sound.
“Louisa?”
“What is going on between you and Miss Owen?”
Simon tried to cover his hesitation by taking his plate to the sideboard and examining the offerings.
“I’m waiting.” Louisa put her cup into its saucer with a sharp click.
“I’m trying to tutor her in the use of color. Is that not what we agreed on?”
Louisa looked as though she was debating whether or not to believe him. She was annoyingly perceptive. “That is what we agreed on,” she said. “But I don’t think that’s all you’re doing.”
Simon was silent, but, apparently, Louisa was not to be put off by lack of communication.
She sat up straight in her seat, her back not touching the chair, and just stared at him.
Simon had a vivid memory of his mother giving him just such a look until he succumbed and told her everything she wanted to know. He had been helpless in the face of his mother’s pier
cing blue eyes and he was quite sure that he would be no more successful against Louisa’s green ones.
“I kissed her,” Simon said quietly.
“You what?” Louisa leaned forward and cupped a hand around her ear. “I don’t believe I heard you clearly.”
Simon looked around the room and nodded at the footman, who slipped out the door, closing it behind him. Once he was alone with his sister he raised his voice just slightly above his previous whisper. “I kissed Delyth Owen,” he said. “Twice.” Then he sat back in his chair, wincing and waiting for the gale of his sister’s displeasure.
Louisa remained motionless and looked at Simon as if assessing his state of mind. Simon could almost swear he could see a glint of amusement in her eyes. “Did you indeed?”
What was he to make of that? “Is that all you have to say?”
“What would you have me say?” Louisa asked.
“You could remind me that I’m a gentleman and should act like one.”
“I could, but I imagine you’ve been doing that to yourself already. All night by the look of you and the way you’re inhaling the coffee.”
“I have,” Simon admitted, closing his eyes in distress.
“Simon!”
“Yes?” Simon opened his eyes and looked at his sister.
“What are your feelings for Delyth Owen?” she asked.
Simon opened his mouth, but could not seem to formulate the correct words. He opted for more coffee.
Delyth had received a cryptic message from Selina that morning during breakfast and, having made her excuses to Miss Merrithew, hurried off to Madame Follette’s to see what Felicity’s urgent meeting was about. She awoke this morning looking forward to working with Louisa Merrithew today. She was not happy about being pulled away from her plan by a problem at the shop and she was worried about what the problem might be.
Nothing looked amiss when Delyth entered the shop. She greeted Selina, Sally, and Alice and went to her usual worktable. Taking out the drawing of the dress she was working on and Miss Merrithew’s measurements, she spread out some muslin and began working on her pattern. Although she was glad to be back among the people she worked with, she wondered why Selina had sent her note. She looked around, but Selina was deeply engrossed in her own work and didn’t look up.
When Felicity walked in everyone looked up and put down their work. She looked as though she had something important on her mind. Within a matter of minutes, the sky had fallen. Felicity announced that the building was being torn down and that she would find another place for Madame Follette’s.
Felicity was so sincere and Delyth desperately wanted to believe her, wanted to believe that she would continue to have a place with Felicity Dawkins. She glanced at Selina, but her impassive expression gave nothing away. Delyth wondered if Selina felt as uneasy as she did. “You’re quite certain everything will work out well?” She knew there was no real answer, but she had to hear it.
It had been a strange and upsetting day. The weather was fine, so Delyth walked back to Portman Square to give herself time to think. Felicity had tried to be optimistic about the future of her shop, but things did not sound promising. What if she had to reduce the number of dressmakers? Surely that unfortunate notice in “Aglaea’s Cabinet” would put Delyth on the top of the list to be dismissed. She had tried to put the best face on Aglaea’s mention of her color choices, but, in her heart of hearts, knew that it wasn’t good. Still, it hadn’t really made a difference until this moment, when it might be a factor in what her future would look like. Now, she was both angry and frightened, although she tried not to acknowledge those emotions. They were not her customary responses to obstacles.
Think about something else, she told herself as she crossed Great Marlborough Street. Naturally, the first thing that came into her mind was Simon Merrithew or, rather, how delightful it was to kiss Simon Merrithew. The kiss in Bond Street had been unexpected but far from unwelcome. Ever since he had begun smiling, she had barely been able to keep her eyes off him. Since he wasn’t holding her Welshness against her, he had been entertaining, almost lighthearted, interested in her and her work and—yes—adorable. As much as she enjoyed working with Louisa Merrithew, something in her craved the company of Simon.
But last night. Oh my! That encounter in the library had been more than a kiss. If she read her Minerva Press novels correctly, that encounter could have ended up on that velvet-covered sofa near the fire. It didn’t, however, and Delyth was a bit put out with that. Oh, she knew what Simon was doing. Simon was being a gentleman. She liked that about him. She really did. But she would have liked some less gentlemanly behavior just as well. Perhaps better. Delyth gave a little sigh as she headed toward Oxford Street. It seemed as though she was not going to get the opportunity to find out. Too bad.
Delyth had been born into the gentry. She knew how gentlemen (and ladies) were supposed to act. However, she thought she might prefer the sort of thing that went on in her novels: more gazing into eyes, more touching, more kissing, more… Of course, she also knew about fallen women and unmarried women with babies and women who relied on men to whom they weren’t, and never would be, married. She didn’t think she would like to engage in that sort of thing. It was a quandary.
Contrary to her hope, Delyth had not resolved her feelings by the time she reached Merrithew House.
Chapter Ten
It was early afternoon when Delyth returned to Merrithew House. “Where is Miss Merrithew?” she asked the footman who had opened the door for her.
“I’m right here, Delyth.” Louisa strode into the entry as if she’d been waiting for Delyth’s return. “Is there a problem?”
Delyth took a deep breath. There were so many problems she didn’t know where to start. No. That wasn’t true. With Louisa, she should start with the dressmaking problems and not with the fact that she was in love with her brother. The brother problem was one Louisa couldn’t solve and wouldn’t want to hear about. “I would like to discuss our work,” she said, trying to sound as she imagined Felicity would sound in a business negotiation.
“Let’s go to the workroom.” Louisa linked her arm through Delyth’s and led her away.
The workroom was just as Delyth had left it the night before. Her tablet was on the table by the window, the fabrics had all been organized on a nearby bench. Delyth’s sewing tools were tucked neatly into her bag. It didn’t look at all as if the world had changed.
“Now,” Louisa said. “What is wrong?”
Before Delyth could answer, the door opened and Simon stepped into the room, and she completely forgot what she was going to say. Her heart began to beat faster and she knew that color was flooding her face. She felt lucky that she didn’t faint. Good heavens! Was it going to be like this from now on? She could not possibly work this way. Something had to be done.
Delyth nodded at Simon and, straightening her shoulders, turned to his sister. She was convinced that she desperately needed the coronation commission in order to keep her position, but wasn’t quite sure how to go about getting it. Should she beg? Begging might work. Louisa Merrithew was a compassionate person. The next moment, Delyth realized that she didn’t want a commission based on pity. Did such a thing happen in the dressmaking world? Perhaps, but not to her.
She opted for the truth. “I’d like to know if you really want me to design a gown for the coronation.” Before Louisa could answer, Delyth continued, “I know that it was to be contingent on my other work for you, but…” She closed her eyes and spoke very quickly. “But there is not much time and I am afraid that I will lose my job if I haven’t brought in any important work.”
“Lose your job?” Simon stepped forward. “Has Miss Dawkins threatened you?”
“Oh, no!” Delyth shook her head. She could not bear for anyone to think badly of Felicity. “It’s just—I hate to say this. You probably don’t know, but I had a very bad notice about Lady Marjoribanks’s gown in that 'Aglaea’s Cabinet.’ Miss Feli
city never said anything to me, but I know she’s seen it. It was about one of her customers. Of course she did. Someone who causes a public fashion scandal cannot be good for her shop. And now, if she has to cut her staff, I just know I’d be the first one to go.”
Simon glanced at his sister with a look that Delyth couldn’t interpret. Now that she had told the Merrithews about “Aglaea’s Cabinet,” she would probably be removed from the house. So much for compassion.
Hunching her shoulders, Delyth turned toward the worktable and began to pack up her things.
“Wait.” Louisa hurried over to her. “What are you doing?”
“Leaving,” Delyth said. “Isn’t that what you want?”
Simon came and stood at her other side, so close that she could feel the heat of his body. “No,” he said. “That is not what we want.” He looked over at Louisa, who nodded at him. “We want you to continue with the new dresses for Louisa’s wardrobe.”
“And,” Louisa said, “we want you to stop offering to leave and to begin working on ideas for my gown for the coronation.”
The blood seemed to rush from Delyth’s head. She gripped the edge of the table to keep from toppling over. She felt Simon’s hand under her elbow and then, surprisingly, around her waist.
Slowly, he walked her to a chair and helped her sit. “Take deep breaths,” he said, and crouched down in front of her, taking her hand and looking into her face.
Delyth did as she was bid, taking deep draughts of air into her lungs, never taking her eyes off Simon’s. She wasn’t sure what all this meant, but she was too light-headed to try to make it out. They were going to let her continue. She was going to make a coronation gown. She would save herself and make Felicity proud. She would not be going back to the theater.
“Are you feeling better, Delyth?” Louisa handed her a small glass of sherry.