Читать книгу Scandalous Regency Secrets Collection - Кэрол Мортимер, Louise Allen - Страница 23

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

HIS LIPS WERE cool against hers—for what else could cause a shiver to run down her spine at his merest touch?—and Dany instinctively pressed her body closer to his, to take in his warmth.

The heat was sudden and intense.

Gone was the teasing, the pleasant camaraderie. Friendship had nothing to do with what she was feeling now. It couldn’t.

This was something new, different.

This was desire.

And she liked it.

Maybe it is the red hair, she thought before she decided not to think anymore. She much preferred to feel.

Coop’s kisses were short, teasing, testing and tasting, as if gauging her response, her willingness.

She wanted to grab on to his ears and pull him firmly against her, because if he were testing her, he’d soon learn that he was politely driving her mad.

So Dany wrapped her arms about his neck, lifted her feet off the floor, swinging them onto his lap, and deliberately propelled herself backward.

Down they went, onto the tufted velvet squabs, their mouths still locked together. Coop somehow sorted out arms and legs until he was lying half-beside her, their lower limbs comfortably entangled, holding her securely so that she didn’t topple to the floor, which would be embarrassing as well as probably putting an end to this exciting interlude.

He was kissing her face now, more of those quick, tantalizing kisses.

And talking.

Good Lord, why is he talking?

“You’re so beautiful.”

Aren’t you sweet? Now hold still and kiss me again. Kiss me a thousand times. Yes, like this. Just like this. Kiss me all night long...

Her mouth opened half in shock, half on a sigh, when she felt his hand on her breast. Cupping her. Rubbing his thumb over her until her nipple responded by going taut, sending unsettling sensations throughout her body, but mostly spreading low, to her belly, and beyond.

He was kissing her. He was touching her. His breath had become fairly ragged, just like hers. She’d dug her fingertips into the cloth of his jacket, able to feel his shoulder muscles, and now wished the jacket gone, even his shirt gone, so she could press her hands directly against his strength.

It had to be the red hair. Or Coop.

They were two people in the most awkward of physical positions, in the most complicated of contrived engagements, behaving like any other two people who couldn’t be close enough, couldn’t hold back, were no longer in control of the situation they had created.

Something else had taken over, and was apparently very much in charge.

And I’ve known this would happen from the first moment I fell into his arms. Two days, two weeks, two years. What did time matter? Because I knew. I think he did, as well...

Dany couldn’t hold back a soft, anguished moan when Coop broke their kiss, moved his hand from her breast.

But then he was kissing her again, trailing those kisses along the side of her throat, down onto her chest, at the same time managing to slide her gown from her shoulder.

When he took her into his mouth, Dany knew that whatever she had felt before this moment in her life had been nothing. Not happiness, not sorrow, not pain nor pleasure. Nothing compared with the waterfall of feelings pouring through her now. Hunger. Joy. Fulfillment. Conquest. Surrender. Chinese rockets exploded behind her eyes, filling her world with color.

She pressed her lower body against his, raising herself up because it felt natural to do so, and encountered his strength, his ardor.

He wanted her.

She wasn’t the baby sister anymore, the too-inquisitive one, the impetuous one, the dare-anything, risk-everything, trust-too-easily bane of her mother’s existence.

Or maybe she was in the process of proving that she was all of those things.

Coop lifted his head, slid her gown back in place. He looked down at her in the near darkness.

“You’re right,” he said, as if he’d read her mind. “We’re not ready for this.”

“We aren’t?” She hoped he didn’t hear the mix of relief and disappointment in her voice.

He kissed her, a long, drugging kiss, the sort that had started all this in the first place. She’d remind him of that, except then maybe he wouldn’t do it again.

“We won’t give this up,” he said as he broke the kiss, long enough for them both to breathe, and then took her mouth once more, even as he righted them on the squabs.

“Stay right there,” he said, dropping a kiss on her nose before shifting to the facing seat, in order to open the small door and tell the coachman to proceed to Portman Square.

And then he was back.

And she was waiting.

Each kiss was better than the last, his strong arms around her, her hands on his shoulders, holding him close.

Each time they broke a kiss, she felt a stab of loss go through her, until he healed her with another kiss.

All night. Kiss me all night.

But when the coach came to a halt and the flambeaux outside the earl’s mansion turned the interior of the coach brighter, it was time to say good-night.

Dany’s bottom lip trembled, and she felt tears stinging behind her eyes.

“Until tomorrow,” Coop promised in a tone so sincere her toes curled in her evening slippers.

He kissed the palms of her hands; he pulled her close to take her mouth one last time.

“I don’t want to leave you here.”

He may as well have told her he loved her. Dany nearly burst into tears, something she never did.

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, astonished at her feeling of loss, even as she could still look into his eyes. “One more?”

She could see his smile as he tilted his head and took her in his arms again.

The door opened, and the tiger reached in to let down the steps.

“You have to go.”

“I know.”

“Give me your hand so I can help you down.”

Dany nodded. Her throat was too full to speak.

Together, the backs of their hands brushing against each other, they ascended the steps to the door of the mansion, where the light was brighter and Society’s conventions most definitely ruled.

He kissed her hand as a footman opened the door and Timmerly stepped into the light cast by the candles in the foyer.

“Miss Foster, it has been my pleasure,” Coop said, bowing over her hand again. “Good night.”

“Good night, my lord,” she answered, knowing her eyes were begging him not to leave.

She watched him descend the half dozen steps before he turned, to look at her. “Good night,” he said again.

“Yes. Good night.”

“There’s a chill, Miss Foster,” the butler pointed out. “Come inside now and allow Martin to shut the door.”

“In a moment.”

Coop reached the open coach door and turned once more.

“If it’s all right with the countess, I’ll call on you tomorrow at noon. We’ll go for a drive, perhaps a picnic in Richmond Park if the weather cooperates.”

“Noon would be fine. As would earlier,” she added, and quickly wiped at a tear that had escaped down her cheek.

Anyone would think he was going off to war, and she might never see him again. Yet that’s how she felt. Lost. Bereft.

Coop nodded, and stepped into the coach.

“Now, Miss Foster. The countess would not approve.”

“Dany—wait.”

She turned to see Coop all but bounding toward her, her scarf in his hand.

“You forgot this,” he said, draping it around her shoulders.

Suddenly everything was awkward.

“Th-thank you.”

“My pleasure, Miss Foster.” He leaned toward her and whispered, “What’s his name?”

“His— Oh. Timmerly. Why?”

“Timmerly? A word.”

“Yes, my lord? You wanted something?”

“Indeed I do. Bloody shut your eyes,” Coop said as he pulled Dany to him for one last, lingering kiss.

This time, when they broke their embrace they were smiling. Smiles that turned to laughter, at the butler’s expense, surely, but also laughing at the world, life in general, and with a happiness neither seemed ashamed to show to that world.

“Tomorrow,” Coop said, and bounded down the steps once more.

“Harry. To the Pulteney. Quickly, before I change my mind.”

The tiger closed the coach door and climbed back up onto the seat next to the coachman. “Queer as folk, all of them, that’s what I say,” he commented loudly enough for Dany to hear him as the coachman flicked the reins over the horses.

“Now, Miss Foster?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said as she stepped inside the mansion, still struggling not to laugh. “I’m a sad trial, Timmerly, do you know that?”

“There have been rumors to that effect, yes, miss.”

“So you’re going to tell the countess?”

“No, miss. His lordship is the hero of Quatre Bras and you are betrothed. Besides, Mrs. Timmerly and I were once young.”

“But you’re comfortable now.”

He cocked his head to one side, as if considering her need for an answer. “There’s love, Miss Foster, and then there’s love. The first, when it strikes, is all we believe we can wish for.”

“And the second?”

He looked at her for another long moment, and something about him seemed to soften. “And the second, the love that remains, sustains, is all we never realized we needed. Good night, Miss Foster.”

Dany felt tears stinging at her eyes again, and went up on her tiptoes to kiss the butler’s cheek. “Thank you. You’re really a very nice man.”

Timmerly cleared his throat with an imperious harrumph. “I’m nothing of the sort. Upstairs, young lady. Martin, close your mouth.”

“Yes, Martin, before a fly wanders into it.” Laughing, Dany lifted the front of her skirts and took off up the stairs, feeling light as a feather, almost as if she could fly.

“Decorum, Miss Foster,” Timmerly called after her. “Decorum at all times.”

Dany turned at the head of the stairs, ready to ascend the next flight, but then hesitated. Mari really should know there are two kinds of love.

Besides, she knew if she didn’t talk to somebody she probably was going to burst!

She crept down the hall on tiptoe, not wanting to alert Timmerly as to what she was doing, knocked lightly on the door of the master’s bedchamber and slipped inside. There was still light from the dying fire, and for some unknown reason, a candelabra still burned on a table beside the bed. Was her sister still afraid of the dark? After all these years? She tiptoed across the floor, heading for the partially curtained four-poster.

“Mari? Mari. Pssst. Mari.” She pushed the curtains farther apart. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Mari, wake up!”

The Countess of Cockermouth, serenely beautiful by day, sat up all at once, and Dany jumped back a step, clapping her hands over her mouth so as to not cry out.

“What do you have on your face?” she asked as her sister pulled off a quilted satin sleeping mask, to blink furiously in the light. “My God, Mari, you’re green! And why were you wearing that mask? And...and where’s your hair?”

“I am not green.”

“You are so,” Dany said, hopping up onto the bed. She reached out to remove a bit of something that was hanging from Mari’s cheek. “And you’re molting. Ugh!”

Mari put her hands to her face and likewise came away with a little bit of peeling greenery. “Now you’ve gone and ruined it, Dany. The instructions were to wear it for a full twelve hours in order to wake with a dewy, flawless complexion.”

“Whose instructions?”

“Mrs. Angelique Sweet, of course. She comes straight from Paris. And before you say it, no, she’s not a witch, like that old crone Mama used to visit in the village to buy her elixir, until Papa drank some and took it for himself. But her results are magical. She’s a highly respected...purveyor of beauty. All the best ladies of the ton seek her custom.”

Angelique Sweet. I’d wager my best new gloves the woman’s real name is Agnes Clump and she hails from Cheapside.

“And if all the best ladies of the ton stuck their fingers in their ears and quacked like ducks, I suppose you’d join them in that, too. I can see you all now, marching through the park on your way to wade in the Serpentine.”

“You always think you’re smarter than me, but you aren’t. I have every confidence in Mrs. Sweet.”

Dany sniffed the bit of dried potion, which smelled rather like apples, and then sniffed the air...which didn’t. “You have something on your hair underneath that toweling, don’t you? Or are you hiding a chicken leg you stole from the kitchens?”

Her sister patted the wrapped toweling. “If you must know, Mrs. Sweet’s recipe for maintaining a lush, full head of hair does contain some...some chicken fat in it, I believe.” She rushed to add, “But she warned me that many women lose handfuls of hair when they’re increasing, and this is the one sure way to prevent that. Nourishing the...the follicles, whatever they are.”

“Feeding the follicles. With chicken fat,” Dany said flatly. “I begin to understand the multitude of bottles and pots on your dressing table.” She reached out to put a hand on her sister’s. “Don’t you know you’re already beautiful?”

“Yes, I suppose I do. Mama always says I am her beautiful daughter.”

Dany rolled her eyes. Just when she wanted to hug her sister, she said something like that. Lord bless her, she never meant anything mean by what she said. Or perhaps that was the pity of the thing.

Mari plucked at another thin apple scraping. “But being beautiful can be a curse as well as a blessing.”

Dany pulled her legs up under her, cross-legged, and rested her elbows on her knees, pretending her sister had her fullest attention. “Not that I’d have reason to either understand or worry about that. But, please, do go on.”

“I’d be happy to explain.”

Sarcasm was something else that eluded Mari’s comprehension. It must be nice to be so completely and dedicatedly involved only with oneself.

Mari unwrapped one side of the toweling and used it to wipe away the drying, flaking green potion. “It’s simple, really. Oliver saw me and was immediately smitten. He told me that, told me how beautiful I am. But I was four entire years younger then, Dany. If I’m to keep him, to hold him, I have to remain beautiful. And—” she sighed soulfully “—clearly I’m failing. Soon I’ll be a hag.”

Dany was all attention now. She shifted uncomfortably on the bed. What had Coop said to her when she was wishing he’d shut up and kiss her? Oh, yes, she remembered. You’re so beautiful.

“I think you’re wrong,” she said, partially to reassure herself. “Men always say things like that. Especially when they’re...when they’re being romantical.”

“And how would you know that?”

Dany blew out her cheeks, and then smiled. “I’ve read a few of Mama’s books.”

Mari motioned for her to move so that she could put down her legs and get out of bed. “Oh, that’s too bad, Dany. I thought perhaps your betrothed kissed you.”

“And what do you mean by that?” Dany asked, following her sister to the dressing table and the basin and pitcher of water that sat there. “Not the kissing. The way you said betrothed. As if you—how did you—Emmaline?”

“It wasn’t her fault, so don’t fly up into the treetops, for goodness’ sake. After my initial jubilation, I got to thinking, that’s all. What would the hero of Quatre Bras see in my fresh-from-the-country sister? You only did it so that he could be closer at all times, to help me retrieve my letters. Really, Dany, I’m extremely grateful to both of you. What I don’t understand is how you’ll manage to cry off without looking the greatest fool in nature. Turning away the hero, that is.”

“The debutante who turned off the hero. I imagine it will do wonders to enhance my reputation when I make my formal debut in the spring.”

It seemed a reasonable answer. For three full seconds.

Mari was bent over the washbasin but, unfortunately, every word she said was clear as the pealing of a bell—perhaps a death knell. “But, Dany, haven’t you realized yet? With me increasing, and probably huge by the spring, I can’t possibly chaperone you, and Mama swore she would rather have splinters stuck beneath her fingernails than try to ride herd on you in Mayfair. Your debut is going to have to be delayed again. How old will you be then? I mean, in real years?”

“You missed a spot on your forehead,” Dany said dully once her sister was done scrubbing at her face and turned around. “I’m going to bed.”

“Yes, all right. No, wait. Why did you come bursting in here in the first place?”

“Oh. That. I was... I was just going to say that Coop believes we’ve identified the blackmailer, and you’ll have your letters well before Oliver comes home.”

Mari gave a ladylike screech and held out her arms as she raced to gather her sister close. “Oh, you’re the best of sisters, Dany. Thank you.”

“I’m your only sister,” she returned, attempting to avoid being coated with chicken fat and whatever else was clinging to Mari’s hair.

“Yes, but you know what I meant. You didn’t say. Do you have a name for this horrid blackmailer? Is he anyone I know?”

“No, Coop plays his cards quite close to his chest, as the saying goes,” Dany lied. “I’m just the make-believe fiancée, as you so kindly pointed out. I don’t know anything more on the subject. You’ll be fine. No matter what, Mari, Oliver loves you. Please remember that.”

Her sister gave her another hug. “Thank you. I love him so much. And now we’re going to have a baby, and we’ll live happily ever after!”

Dany struggled for humor. “Only if you don’t wear Mrs. Sweet’s concoctions to bed once he’s home. You’ve given me a lot to think about. Good night.”