She grinned as a few came forward to murmur their appreciation for the musical interlude. Others complimented her on the dinner menu. A few of the gentlemen indicated they’d adjourn to the small parlor to smoke their pipes. She bid each one a pleasant evening.
Watching her footmen douse the numerous candles that brightened the room, she lifted her champagne glass toward one servant, showing that she wished him to refill it. Simms, her new young butler, had acquired—God knew where or how—a supply of forty bottles of fine Reims champagne. She’d planned to drink two bottles of it herself this evening. In her room. Alone.
She sighed. Drinking alone was not her wont. A lady didn’t get foxed for no good reason. Besides, bubbles were best drunk with a man in mind. Or in one’s bed. Yet despite her hope and her eloquent efforts at letter writing, she’d failed to get a man there. The duke of Harlow had refused.
She sniffed back her sorrow at that. A bit of fun with a man she favored had been such a surprise. Her interlude with Harlow this past summer in Margate had left her with renewed vigor and hope that her remaining years might be filled with his friendship. Perhaps, even more. In all the years she’d been a widow, she’d found few men who intrigued her. And she’d taken no lovers.
Her summer escapade with Harlow had inspired her to matchmake for her three nieces. The Craymore girls were all of marriageable age, bright and comely. Gertrude had taken them in after their irresponsible father had gambled away every penny and died in an alcoholic stupor. Her nieces deserved a fine life, preferably with gentlemen they loved. They each seemed to be on the verge of finding happiness because, miraculously, each beau, who’d gone off to the wars, had suddenly appeared in her drawing room the first night of her Christmas house party. Each had found ways to court the young women quickly once again.
The youngest girl, Delphine, had fallen in love years ago with a young man who’d been forced to marry another. Now a widower, her beau Neville Vaughn had fought at Waterloo, but had wooed Del from the first moment he arrived here. Marjorie, second eldest, had always been in love with Gertrude’s own step-son, the earl of Marsden. But he too had joined the military to fight Bonaparte and served still with the Duke of Wellington in Paris with the Occupation. He’d obtained leave for a few days to come home for Christmas—and had seized the chance to claim the one he loved. The oldest Craymore daughter was Belinda. Her beau, Viscount Lowell, had also fought in the wars and had gone missing upon the Waterloo battlefield for many months. How that had happened, why no one had found him or how he had survived in the interim was a mystery to all. But amazingly, Alastair Demerest, had appeared here with her step-son three nights ago, home from the war, sound of body.
Gertrude took another sip of her champagne, grateful for the return of the men her nieces loved. But there were others here who sought out future happiness. Some of them she’d invited. And one who approached her now had invited himself.
“Thank you, my lady, for a lovely evening,” the Marquess of Tain took her hand and raised it to his lips.
He’d written to her a week ago asking if he might attend her party. Because her ear was always attuned to news of the ton, Gertrude knew his past. He’d suffered the death of his second wife more than one year ago. His marchioness had died in childbirth, as had his first. Now he was left with one two-year-old daughter and a six-year-old from his deceased first wife. The Marquess of Tain, like his father, had experienced too much loss lately. He needed a lightening bolt of excitement in his life. And who better to provide it than she? With her house party. And the added benefit of her other guest, Tain’s first love, Penelope, Lady Goddard.
She watched him step toward her. Handsome creature. A diplomat…and wily, some said. Had he learned that Penn was to attend her party? Was that why he had invited himself? My heavens, she hoped so!
“Your cook’s delicacies are as delightful as the guests’ conversations.” He chuckled. His turquoise eyes, so like Harlow’s, twinkled at her in mischief.
“What of the entertainments?” She wished to hear how politely he might describe the one guest who sang so off key that even mice might scurry.
“Ah. Your niece is accomplished at the piano. And shall we say, the other entertainments were unique?”
She wrinkled her brows in feigned horror. “Not to be found elsewhere.”
He laughed freely, the sound a deep base reminiscent of his father’s. “Are we not grateful for small miracles?”
How she enjoyed him. How she wished Harlow were here to enjoy the festivities, too. But then his father might still question Tain’s interest in Penn. After all these years, too. What a pity.
She brightened. She was responsible only for Tain’s happiness for the next few days. “I hope that this party has provided you with a respite from your concerns.”
“Indeed, it has.” His turquoise gaze, so large and luminous, drifted across the room to petite Lady Goddard and clung there. “I pondered how to renew my acquaintance and you’ve given me fair advantage.”
“I know your advantage quite well, sir,” she told him.
Gertrude had heard Penn speak of Tain in glowing terms for many years. Before each of that woman’s three marriages, in fact. And just last month, too, when Penn had mentioned him and wrung her hands as she sat in Gertrude’s parlor drinking tea.
“I’ve heard from friends in London that Tain is being pressured by his father to marry again,” Penn had confided.
“The duke of Harlow fears for the continuance of his line,” Gertrude had responded. The duke had told her this past summer as they lounged on the terrace of the hotel in Margate that he wished his only son would leave off with his seclusion after the death of his second wife and get on with finding a new marchioness.
The man in question nodded his bright blonde head in Gertrude’s direction. He appeared giddy as a boy. “When it comes time to declare your choice for ‘my advantage’, my lady, I hope you will honor me by recommending me.”
“Dear Tain, I will. Do know what this party is about is love and marriage. I am a strong advocate of claiming what and who can make you happy.” Indeed, she’d met her only love, the widowed third earl of Marsden, and within a month had married him. They’d shared many long years of bliss together and she wished the same for all she cherished.
“Thank you, Madam.” Tain bid her good night and made haste from the room.
She watched him go. A fine figure of a man. In his prime. How old was he? Thirty? No. Thirty-one, Harlow had told her. A splendid specimen of masculinity. The younger version of his father.
Her heart hammered. How she wished Harlow had come. But then, she understood from Penn that the duke never had approved of Tain’s affections for her. Indeed, Harlow was the source of both young people’s sorrows. Penn had confided that her three marriages had been pleasant, if not happy. Tain’s two marriages—Gertrude understood from her closest friends—were of convenience and questionable passion.
Her footman appeared at her side to give her a lavish pour of her prime champagne. “Do leave the bottle, Tom.”
He left it beside her, bowed and backed away.
She emptied the thing while contemplating the stars twinkling through the large windows in the garden doors. Tomorrow was Christmas and she intended to make merry in church and at home with her family and friends. If she also missed the man whom she’d hoped to add to her circle of delight, well, she would have to accept that. One did not reach the extent of her maturity, silver hairs in place to prove it, without some circumspection. And some sorrow for losses one could not regain.
* * *
“You may go, Nan,” she told her lady’s maid. “I’ve no need of my wrapper. I go straight to bed. You should, too.”
The servant bobbed and turned for Gertrude’s sitting room door.
But when she opened it, Simms stood there. His hand in the air, ready to scratch the wood to ask for entry, he quickly recovered his aplomb. The butler was new to Gertrude’s employ, efficient, worl
dly and no more than thirty years of age. Intriguing for a butler of his extensive experience to be less than fifty, but Gertrude had not debated his background. She’d hired the man. Handsome as sin with ink black hair and flashing silver eyes, he had an air of no nonsense, a bevy of friends at Prinny’s Royal Pavilion and an odd penchant for quoting Shakespeare. Gertrude valued him. A wise and interesting choice to head her household. Even if, at the moment, he appeared to be rather disheveled. Odd, that.
“Yes, Simms.” She swished her long unbound silver hair over her shoulder and pulled her green velvet robe close to her throat. “What is it?”
“My lady, we have a new arrival. I knew you’d wish to greet him.”
Him? Her heart did a girlish pitter-patter. “I wish to welcome any guest, Simms. Who—?”
“The duke of Harlow, Madam.”
She shivered in delight. “I will be right down, Simms.”
“No need, my dear Gertrude!” The bass voice was one of command, a man who knew his authority and seized it. Yes, it was Harlow! Expertly attired in a winter clawhammer and woolen breeches that hugged his sturdy frame, he glowed from the brisk winter air. His hair, black as sin with those devilish streaks of white at his temples, proclaimed his age more than the ruddiness of his cheeks. Most of all, what declared his youthful intentions were his turquoise eyes that roamed over her in mischief.
Simms stepped backward.
And Harlow filled her doorway.
She grinned, her pulse racing, and extended both hands. “Your Grace. How wonderful to see you here.”
He walked right in, nodding in dismissal to Simms and her maid. Then he reached out to grasp the door and shut it upon them both. “How wonderful to be greeted. By a lady in her nightgown, too. Love the dishabille, my dear.”
“You rake!” She chuckled. And blushed. What a man to so commandeer the room! In front of her butler and her maid, too. My, my. “Harlow, I’m thrilled!”
“Are you, my darling?” He strode close, sent one hand up to capture the wealth of her hair and curled an arm around her waist.
“How could I not?” His exuberance intoxicated her more than the champagne. She blushed and wrapped him close.
Had her maid and butler left the hall? Were they out of earshot?
They’d better because she meant to enjoy every advance he offered.
“Marvelous!” he crowed. Crushing her against his rock-like form, he brushed his firm lips across hers and seized her mouth in a ravenous kiss. When he broke away, she was breathless. “I’m here to claim the joys of the Season—and you. Will you have me?”
Chapter 3
“Have you? Of course!” Gertrude’s pounding heart declared that yes, she’d take Harlow in any way he wished.
She’d met him years ago at a soiree in London. She was a widow of many years even then and he was happily married to a woman the ton said he adored. At that first meeting, Gertrude had delighted in his optimism, his uplifting conversation, his fine taste in books, theater and wine. When they met by chance again in Margate last summer, Gertrude had applauded his wit, his fond memories of his wife and stories of his youthful escapades in Venice. She could not contain her howls of laughter at his risqué poems. Then as their friendship deepened over the hours, that night she’d enjoyed his prowess in bed.
Have him? Most assuredly she would be his hostess here. He would be such a bracing complement to her house guests. And an exciting addition to her own holiday. “I invited you, Harlow, with the knowledge you’d enjoy yourself here.”
He looked deeply into her eyes and grinned in that smoldering way that made her feel as if she were eighteen in search of a beau to teach her how to kiss. She pressed her thighs together ignoring only for now that other way he made her feel.
He growled as if he understood her body’s molten response to him. “I came with the intention to regale you with more of my poems.”
She snorted in laughter. “My dear man, you must impart your raucous rhymes only to me, lest you send my guests of more tender persuasions scurrying home before the party ends!”
He pulled back, feigning shock. “You have friends who are Puritans?”
She threw him a sly look. “I doubt it. But I beg you to reserve the ripest of your humor for me alone.”
He grew solemn. “I came hoping to have you alone, Trudy. At least for some of the time.”
She toyed with his watch fob and leaned close to him to impress upon him her fondness for him. “I promise you will.”
He pushed back tendrils of her hair from her cheeks. “You make me laugh, Trudy. I need that. Could I hope I do the same for you?”
“More than laughter, dear sir.”
His luminous turquoise eyes darkened with sensual interest. “Good. At our age—”
She put two fingers to his lips. “We will not speak of the years.”
“If you wish.”
She tried to think rationally. “Have you a trunk? Cases?”
“My man left them in the foyer,” he said but paid lip service to the hollow of her throat.
She sighed, happy, too happy to have a man—this man—tasting her. What was she? Eighteen again? “Harlow—”
“Mmm, I love how you respond to me, Trudy,” he said and kissed the top of one breast.
She bit her lip to keep from moaning, but her mind was blurring with his passion and her problem. “There is a problem, Harlow.”
“Is that so?” he asked as if he couldn’t care a fig.
“Yes, yes. Oh, do listen, Harlow.”
“I am, my dear.” But he was dipping under her nightgown to find her…
“Harlow! I have no rooms! All are taken! You refused my invitation.”
He paused a moment. “Hmmm. I did send a letter days ago when I decided to set out. But perhaps the snow delayed it. You had no idea I’d come, eh?” He grinned, wicked man.
“No, I had no idea you’d change your mind.”
“I see.” He caressed one breast and thumbed her nipple. “Will you send me away?”
Over her dead body. Or rather, her hot and aching one. “Never.”
“Good.” Then he sank to spread kisses across the swell of her breasts.
“Harlow!”
“Hmmm. Yes, my dear?”
“I don’t have any rooms to give you.”
“A shame.” The man had one thought in his head and his head was bowed over her breasts!
She gulped. “But it’s hideously cold outside.”
“I really can’t leave.”
“No. No, you can’t. I won’t let you!” She had him here. He’d come hoping to spend a few days…and maybe nights with her. Why should everyone else indulge in affairs at this party? Why should everyone else think of love and happiness while she…she was alone? Love was wasted on the young. She knew how to enjoy love. And a man. This man, by Jove. This man who was worthy of her attentions. And Harlow certainly was all of that. “I’ve an idea.”
By this time, the darling man had one breast exposed. Skilled as he was, he had cupped that one, raised it and laved it until it was so hard and needy, she whimpered. “Tell me what you think, Trudy. I’m eager, darling, to learn.”
“Oh, oh, so am I. I mean. Uh. No. I have no room to give you except mine.”
“Sweet lady,” he whispered and moved his mouth to her other aching breast. “I will certainly take yours.”
“Thank you,” she moaned as he took her other nipple into his tender care and sucked.
Her knees gave way.
Catching her up, he chuckled. “I do like how you love what I do.”
“Who wouldn’t.”
He stopped laving her and looked up, one dark brow high. “You are a jewel, Trudy.”
She hated to do it, but she stepped backward, fixed her gown up over her breasts. Hmmm. That was not fun. “I’ll ring for Simms and I can go to the maids’ rooms upstairs.”
He stepped forward and hauled her flush to his body once more. “No, you won’t.”
<
br /> His warmth, his strength radiated through her. Her breasts flatted to his firm chest. She had the wild urge to rub against him like a hussy. She opened her mouth to speak.
But he put his two fingers to her lips in imitation of her action.
“I will sleep here. And you will sleep here.” He tipped his head toward her bedroom. “The bed looks big enough for two.”
“Oh, Harlow, that is—”
“Need anyone know?”
“No.” Oh, she shouldn’t be so quick to agree. She licked her lips.
“How could they?” He widened his eyes. “Correct?”
“Definitely.”
He gave her a sultry grin. “You don’t have people sleeping with others all over the house, do you?”
Did she? She had to think. Tonight, as a few left the music room, she’d suspected that a few romances were about to become hot blooded affairs. Yes, she’d planned this house party so that her three nieces would find matches. All with men they knew and loved. But the mood did seem to be catching. Some, like Harlow’s son Tain, had focused his smiles on Lady Penelope Goddard. As she’d hoped and…
Oh, Tain! Her gaze locked on Harlow’s. Did he know his son was here? Did he have any idea that Tain was still in love with Penn?
“Do you?” Harlow asked her.
Dear me. Had Harlow really come to prohibit Tain from pursuing Penn? That gave her pause. Then Simms sprang to mind. What was he doing tonight eyeing one of her guests as if she were a pot de crème? She’d not seen her butler so distracted by any one as he had been by the earl of Leith’s daughter. Did he know her? Was he attracted to her? Were many more than her nieces falling in love at her party? Her butler? Penn and Tain?
“Trudy, answer me. Do you?”
“Do I what, Harlow?”
“Know of others who are having rendezvous all over the house?”
“Certainly not.” She wasn’t lying. Not actually. She didn’t know…just… “How could they, hmm?”
Aunt Gertrude's Red Hot Christmas Beau: Christmas Belles, Book 6 Page 2