A Gentleman's Honor (41 page)

He’d refused to tell her more about where he was taking her, but she guessed when she saw the house. A large Palladian mansion in pale brown and grey stone with both double-and single-story wings, it sat peacefully in the moonlight, perfectly proportioned, comfortable, and settled within its park.

Tony drew the horses to a halt in the wide gravel forecourt. He leapt down, scanned the house with fond satisfaction, then turned and held out his hand. “Welcome to Torrington Chase.”

The next hour went in pleasurable chaos. Servants tumbled from their beds and came rushing, their eagerness a comment on how they viewed their master. Tony flung orders this way and that; in the midst of the flurry, a calm, feminine voice was heard inquiring what her son was up to now.

In the drawing room, Tony exchanged a glance with Geoffrey, then looked at Alicia. Briefly, he lifted her hand to his lips. “Don’t panic.”

Releasing her, he went out; a moment later, he reappeared with his mother on his arm.

There could never be any doubt of the relationship; the viscountess’s dark, dramatic, rather bold beauty was the feminine version of Tony’s. Before Alicia could do more than assimilate that, she was enveloped in a warm embrace, then the viscountess—“You will call me Marie, if you please”—was asking questions, meeting the boys, exclaiming over Adriana, all with an understanding that made it clear she was excellently well served by correspondents in London.

Hot milk arrived for the three flagging boys, then they were bundled upstairs to bed. Maggs said he’d stay with them; he lumbered off. The housekeeper—Alicia felt sure the woman must be Mrs. Swithins’s sister—came to say that chambers had been prepared for Alicia, Adriana, and Mr. Geoffrey, and that, as usual, the master’s apartments lay ready and waiting.

With a recommendation that they all get some sleep, saying she would speak with them all in the morning, the viscountess graciously retired.

Tony asked Mrs. Larkins, the housekeeper, to show Adriana and Geoffrey their rooms. Taking Alicia’s hand, he led her up the stairs in their wake, but then turned down another corridor off the main gallery.

He opened a door at the end of the wing and drew her into a large room. It was a private sitting room overlooking the gardens; she got barely a glimpse as he led her through a doorway into a large bedchamber.

She glanced around, taking in the heavy dark blue hangings, the richly carved mahogany furniture, none of it delicate. Her gaze stopped on the huge four-poster bed.

Tony drew her into his arms; she met his gaze. “This is your room.”

His eyes held hers for an instant, then he murmured, “I know.” He bent his head. “Tonight, very definitely, this is where you belong.”

The first brush of his lips, the first touch of his hands as they spread and held her, then moved over her back and pulled her against him, verified the statement, told her how true it was—how very much he needed her.

The raw hunger in his kiss, the undisguised passion, the raging desire that fueled it, spoke eloquently of all he—and she, too—had feared, all they’d known they’d had at risk. Now the threat was behind them, conquered, vanquished, and in the aftermath, in the clear light of their victory, nothing was more apparent than the wonder and rightness of their dreams.

Their strength, their vulnerability—both sprang from the same source. The same overwhelming emotion that laid waste to all barriers and left them burning with one urgent and compulsive need.

Neither questioned it.

They shed clothes in the moonlight, let their inhibitions fall with them to the floor. He lifted her and they came together in a frenzy of need, of lust, of greedy passion, of molten, exultant desire. His need was hers; hers was his. They fed and gave succor, took, yielded, and let the raging tide swell.

Wrapped together, incandescent with glory, they gave themselves up to it, surrendered anew. She gave him all and he returned the pleasure, again and again, over and over until ecstasy built, rose and engulfed them. Caught them, trapped them in its golden fire.

They burned, clung, gasping as they reached the peak and soared, and the flames fell away.

Leaving them somewhere beyond the stars, far beyond the physical world.

Locked together, merged, as one they breathed, and felt, and knew. The moment stretched; full and deep, awareness touched them. Their gazes locked. A moment of heartbreaking stillness held them.

Passion, desire, and love. The smallest word held the greatest power.

This—all of this—was theirs. If they wanted. If they wished.

They both breathed in. The shimmering net released and fell away; the physical world returned and claimed them. With soft murmurs, soothing kisses, and caresses, they sank onto his bed.

Tomorrow
, Alicia promised herself as, wrapped in his arms, she drifted into sleep.

He woke her the next morning, fully dressed, to explain that he’d sent a messenger to London last night, and now had to take Sir Freddie back to the capital.

Watching her as she blinked, valiantly trying to reassemble her wits, he grimaced. “I’ll return as soon as I can. Stay here with the boys. I suspect Geoffrey will want to take Adriana to meet his mother.”

He leaned close and kissed her, then rose and strode out.

Alicia stared at the doorway, then heard the door beyond close.
No—wait!
was her instinctive reaction. Instead, she sighed and rolled onto her back.

Foiled again, yet there was no point in ranting. Aside from all else, when she spoke to him of marriage, she wanted Sir Freddie and all his works finished with, no longer in any way hanging over them.

Which left her facing her current situation—in his room, in his bed—and how best to deal with it.

In the end, brazen and resolute, she decided to behave within his house precisely as she meant to go on; she had had enough of deceptions. She rang for water, washed while a round-eyed maid shook and brushed her gown, then, determined to be completely open and honest with Tony’s mother, she found her way back to the hall and was deferentially conducted to the breakfast parlor.

There, she found her four siblings in high spirits. Geoffrey rose as she entered; she smiled and waved him back, then bobbed a curtsy to the viscountess, seated at the end of the table.

Marie smiled warmly. “Come and sit here beside me, my dear. We have, I think, much to talk about.”

The light in her eyes was delighted, frank, and encouraging; Alicia took her words to heart, piled her plate high at the sideboard, then returned to sit at her side.

She’d barely taken the first bite when Geoffrey asked if he could take Adriana to visit at his home. “I’d like her to see the house and meet Mama.”

The viscountess, busy pouring Alicia a cup of tea, murmured, “Manningham Hall is but two miles away, and Geoffrey’s mama, Anne, is waiting to welcome your sister.”

Alicia glanced at Adriana, read the eager plea in her eyes. “Yes, of course.” With a flicker of her own resolve, she added, “It’s only sensible to seize the moment.”

Geoffrey and Adriana glowed with happiness; with various assurances, they excused themselves and left.

They passed Maggs in the doorway. He lumbered in, saluting both ladies. “If you’re agreeable, ma’am,” he addressed Alicia, “I’ll be taking these scamps down to the stream. I mentioned it this morning—seems they’ve been an age without holding a rod, and I’m happy to watch over them.”

As Alicia glanced at her brothers, Marie again murmured, “Maggs is entirely trustworthy.” She smiled at the large, homely man. “He’s been watching over Tony since he was no older than your David.”

Alicia regarded her brothers’ shining eyes and eager expressions. “If you promise to behave and do exactly as Maggs says…” She glanced at Maggs and smiled, too. “You may go.”

“H’ray!” Setting down napkins, pushing back their chairs, they rushed to Maggs, pausing only to make their bows to Alicia and the viscountess before happily heading off.

Alicia watched Matthew, his hand in Maggs’s, walk confidently out, and felt a rush of emotion. Not just for Matthew, but for the children she would bear; here, like this, with this sort of continuity was how children should be raised.

“Now!’ Marie settled back in her chair. At her signal, the young butler departed, leaving them alone. “You can eat, and I will talk, and we will learn all about each other, and you can tell me when your wedding is to be. With his customary flair for avoiding details, Tony hasn’t told me.”

Lifting her gaze from her plate, Alicia looked into Marie’s bright black eyes. “Yes, well…” She dragged in a breath; she hadn’t expected such a direct approach. “Indeed, that’s a subject I wished to discuss with you.”

She glanced around, confirming that they were indeed alone. She drew another breath, held it for a moment, then met Marie’s gaze. “I’m Tony’s mistress,
not
his intended bride.”

Marie blinked. A succession of emotions played across her features, then her eyes flared; she pressed her lips tight and reached across to lay her hand on Alicia’s arm. “My dear, I greatly fear I must, most contritely, apologize— not for my question, but for my oh-so-tardy son.”

Marie shook her head; Alicia realized with some surprise that she was struggling to keep her lips straight. Then Marie met her eyes again. “It seems he hasn’t told you either.”

Over the next hour, she tried to correct Marie’s assumption, but Tony’s mother would have none of it.

“No, and no and
non, ma petite
. Believe me, you do not know him as I do. But now you have told me your background, I can well see how you, through his laggardliness, have come to think as you do. You have had no mentor, no guide to rely on—no one to…what is the word…‘interpret’ his behavior for you. Rest assured, he would not have allowed anyone to know of you, much less established you as his consort in the eyes of the ton, or, indeed, brought you here, if he hadn’t, from the first, seen you as his bride.”

It was increasingly difficult to cling to her argument in the face of Marie’s conviction, yet Alicia couldn’t— simply could not—believe that all along…“From the first?”

“
Oui
—without doubt.” Marie pushed back her chair.

“Come—let me show you something, so you will see more clearly.”

They left the breakfast parlor; while they walked through the large house, Marie quizzed her on her brothers’ education. On the one hand, Alicia’s heart soared; this—this house, this sense of family, of immediate and natural care—was the stuff of her dreams. Yet her wits were whirling—she couldn’t accept it, couldn’t take joy in it, stymied by her uncertainty over Tony’s intentions.

Had
he always seen her as his wife? Did he
truly
do so now?

Marie led her to a long gallery lined with paintings. “The
famille
Blake. Most we need not consider, but here—here are the ones that might make things clear.”

She halted before the last three paintings. The first showed a gentleman in his twenties, dressed in the fashion of a generation before. “Tony’s father, the last viscount.” The middle picture was of a couple—Marie herself and the previous gentleman, a few years older. “Here is James again, now my husband.” She turned to the last painting. “And this is Tony at twenty. Now look, and tell me what you see.”

One aspect was obvious. “He looks very much like you.”

“
Oui
—he looks like me. Only his height, his body, did he get from James, and that one does not notice. He looks French, and that is what one sees, but one sees only the surface.” Marie caught Alicia’s eye. “What a man is, how he behaves—that is not dictated by appearance.”

Alicia looked again at the portrait. “You’re saying he’s more like his father inside?”

“
Very
much so.” Marie linked her arm in hers; turning, they strolled back along the gallery. “In the superficial things, he is clearly French. How he moves, his gestures—he speaks French as well if not better than I.
But
it is always James in the words he speaks, always—without fail—his Englishness that rules him. So, in deciding the question of did he always mean to marry you or no, the answer is clear.”

With a gesture encompassing all the Blakes, Marie said, “You are English yourself. You know of honor. A gentleman’s honor—
a true English gentleman’s honor
— that is something inviolate. Something one may set one’s course by, that one may stake one’s life and indeed one’s heart on with absolute certainty.”

“And that’s what rules Tony?”

“That is what is at his core, an inner code that is so much a part of him he does not even stop to think.” Marie sighed. “
Ma petite
, you must see that it is not so much a deliberate slight, but an
oversight
that he has not thought to tell you, to ask you to be his bride. To him, his direction is obvious, so, like most men, he expects you to see it as clearly as he.”

They’d reached the top of the stairs. Alicia halted. After a moment, she said, “He could have said something— we’ve been lovers for weeks.”

“Oh, he
should
have said something—on that you will get no argument from me.” Marie looked at her, frowned.

“
Ma petite
, in telling you this, I would not wish you to think that I would counsel you to…how do the English say it—let him off easily?”

“Lightly,” Alicia absentmindedly returned. She told herself she didn’t have a temper, that not being informed she was to marry him—that he intended to marry her, indeed, from the first had so intended—that he’d taken her agreement so completely for granted he hadn’t even thought to mention it was neither here nor there …she drew a deep breath, felt her jaw firm. “No. I
won’t
—”

The boys came clattering into the hall below them. Seeing her and Marie, they came rushing up the stairs; if any shyness toward the viscountess had ever afflicted them, it had already dissipated. A rowdy report of their excellent fishing expedition tumbled from their lips.

Both Alicia and Marie smiled and nodded. Eventually, the boys ran out of exciting news, and paused.