The Casanova Code (21 page)

Before the waves had subsided, Ashton directed the head of his jade stalk at her opening and thrust inside her. A flash of pain followed, and she screamed silently again into the leather. Ashton slid inside her, pushing and stretching.

“Are you all right?” He removed the leather from her mouth.

“I didn’t want to wake the house,” she explained.

He smiled, soothing the hair from her forehead. “Intimacy can be painful the first time, but the worst is over. The next time, I promise it will be better. Does it still hurt?”

“No,” she admitted. There was a discomfort, but not as before.

He moved slowly, pressing and withdrawing. Strange to feel this part of him inside of her. After the first few thrusts, her body caught his rhythm. Her hips lifted and surged with him, pulling him deeper and deeper inside. He quickened, moving faster and harder until he stiffened and she felt his explosion deep inside.

He lay very still, while she stroked his wide back. The stories he’d told her of ying and yang came drifting back. While she didn’t truly believe the Japanese mythology of the value of the exchange of fluids, she did recognize the value of this intimacy, of holding Ashton so close that she could hear his heartbeat.

While she knew she could conceivably come to regret her actions, she didn’t at the moment. She was proud to be his Mistress of Cherry Blossoms this night. She imagined she’d never have the opportunity to experience anything so profoundly beautiful ever again, but she had tonight with a man she loved.

• • •

A
SHTON
GAZED
AT
THE
BEAUTY
BENEATH
HIM
. G
OOD
Lord, what had he done! He had suspected Edwina was a virgin but somehow managed to ignore the consequences of breeching her maidenhead until it was too late. Even in his Casanova days, he had rules about taking virgins. They were to be avoided at all costs, but Edwina . . . she was different.

Ashton slipped out of her and rolled to her side, pulling her into his arms. He kissed her head as she curled onto his shoulder. He imagined she must be filled with regret. “Edwina, I—”

She placed a finger on his lips. “What we did was beautiful.”

He kissed her finger and then moved it away. “Beautiful or not, we still need to talk about what just happened. Now, however, is not the time. The servants will be about soon. If we’re to slip you out of the household unnoticed, it should be now.” He kissed the top of her head. Lord, it was difficult not to kiss her. While he should be ashamed for taking the maidenhead of such a beautiful, trusting, and responsive woman, he was proud of the gift she’d given him. His substantial, practical, compassionate Edwina had considered him worthy enough of her innocence.

Once they were both dressed, he left her momentarily to wake the footman, who in turn was instructed to hail one of the hackneys that prowled the area this time of night. A hack would be more private and faster than rousting the stables and hitching a team. With her hood up to cover her glorious hair and pert little nose, he assisted her into the hack once it arrived, then climbed alongside.

“You’re coming as well?” she asked, surprise evident.

“I couldn’t let you travel alone this late at night.” The hack lurched forward. “Besides, we need to talk about what will happen if there is issue from tonight. I wouldn’t want you to become like your friend Sarah, raising a child on your own.”

“Would you send me money as you do to her?” she asked.

“I thought the money came from a secret admirer.”

“I know better.” He heard the smile in her voice.

The robins and warblers began their early morning birdsong. Dawn would be upon them soon.

“Edwina, I’m serious. No child of mine will grow up without a father. If it appears we planted a seed in your womb, you must contact me immediately. Do you understand?”

The hood nodded, but he wasn’t certain that she took him seriously. He shouldn’t have taken advantage of her as he had. Perhaps it was a consequence of his later years, or perhaps it was Edwina herself, but he couldn’t control his need for her. He had to have her with an urgency that he’d not experienced before, and that scared him. He’d not had difficulty refusing a sexual invitation before. But then she hadn’t really invited him, had she? No. He was the rotten rogue who took advantage of her sweet nature. And now he was delivering her, used and soiled goods, back to her parents. He was a complete cad by his own admission.

“Edwina, I will take care of you,” he reassured her. “No matter what occurs, you shall be protected.”

“And what sacrifices do you require for this protection?”

“Sacrifices?”
What an odd question.
“I believe you’ve sacrificed enough.”

“Must I give up my friends? My freedom to go where I please? My interest in reform societies?”

“No.” He drew back. Who was this stranger wearing Edwina’s cloak? “I wouldn’t ask you to change a thing.” He took her hand in his. “I . . . care for you just the way you are.”

The hood turned toward the pink in the east.

“Will your parents be upset at your morning arrival?” He’d never concerned himself overly much with a woman’s means of departure. He’d assumed arrangements had been made, if needed, to shield the lady’s return, but Edwina was another matter. She knew codes, ciphers, and patterns well enough, but he suspected lying convincingly was another matter. In all fairness, it was one of the things he loved about her.

“They probably haven’t noticed my absence, but if they have, I’ll tell them Sarah’s niece was ill and I spent the night so Sarah could get some sleep.” The hood tilted toward him. “I’m long past the age when they harbored fears about my virtue.”

“Your parents did not strike me as fools,” he said, squeezing her hand.

“They’re not foolish. They’re practical,” she insisted.

“Assuming your practical parents did notice your absence, would they accept that you’d return at such an alarmingly early hour? We could drive around London until the sun rises to a respectable height. I don’t think the driver would mind the additional blunt.”

The hood tilted toward him and he slipped it back so he could see her face. She was exhausted, he could see it in the circles beneath her eyes. At least those circles would support her story if asked. He leaned over and kissed her softly on her lips.

“You would do that?” she asked.

“Edwina, for you I would do so much more.”

M
ORNING
HAD
OFFICIALLY
DAWNED
ON
THE
L
ON
don streets when the hackney shuddered to stop in front of the Hargrove residence. A soft rain dripped from the gray clouds overhead, causing Edwina to be glad of her hood. She left the carriage where she had slept on Ashton’s shoulder until an acceptable time had been reached for her arrival. After agreeing to meet him the next afternoon at Regent’s Park, she left the hack and walked to the front entrance. She reached the front door, then peeked over her shoulder to see Ashton in the hack. Already the agreed-upon meeting seemed too far away. The door opened suddenly before her.

“It’s high time you got yourself home, girl. Your mother is worried ill.”

“Father,” she gasped. “You surprised me.”

“As you do me, daughter. For what purpose have you been out all night?”

Edwina went inside and removed her cloak. “I received a request from my friend Sarah to sit with her sick niece so she could get some sleep. She’s been up several nights with the poor girl.”

“Sick niece!” Her father took a few steps back, his eyes narrowed. “And you risked bringing home sickness and contamination!”

“She’s not that ill, Father. You’ve nothing to worry about. The girl had recovered beyond the point of concern, but Sarah was exhausted and needed someone to sit with the child in case there was a relapse.”

Her explanation didn’t fully mitigate his disapproval. “I’m not certain I would have permitted your departure even under those circumstances, but in either case you should have left a note telling us of your intent.”

“Yes, Father. I should have done that.” She strode toward the stairs, hoping to escape a lecture. The two hours of sleep with her head on Ashton’s shoulder had left her wanting. “I’ll remember the next time.”

“Next time it’ll be a husband demanding to know your whereabouts.”

She paused with her hand on the banister. “Excuse me?”

“Mr. Thomas has asked permission to speak to you about an engagement.” He puffed his chest out. “Naturally, I gave him my permission.”

While this was not unexpected news, she wasn’t thrilled that it was coming to fruition. She’d have to decide whether to accept Walter and a guaranteed secure, mundane, uneventful future or . . . what? Pray that Ashton felt as she? He was accustomed to a far grander society than herself. Even their intimate activities of last evening would carry no obligation for Casanova. Otherwise, he would have been caught in the parson’s trap years ago.

“If Walter plans to ask for my hand, it would best that I get some rest.” She continued on her way up the steps. “Otherwise my response will be the sort of audible breathing that will not meet with your approval.”

“Have you forgotten what day it is?” he called after her. “We’ll be leaving for church services shortly. You’d best prepare.”

• • •

W
ALTER
WAITED
JUST
OUTSIDE
THE
VESTRY
,
JUST
AS
HE
always did, so he could share a pew with her family. Reverend Virgil Franklin offered a rousing sermon on the evils of temptation. So much so that Edwina felt the tines of Satan’s pitchfork jabbing at her for her recent fall from grace. Upon investigation, however, she discovered her mother was pinching her to keep her awake. She suspected her arm would be black and blue tomorrow, a visual testament to a different sort of awakening. One that she eagerly wished to repeat in spite of the reverend’s warnings.

She pleaded a headache when Walter requested that he speak to her alone but agreed to meet with him the following evening. In the time in between she needed to decide what answer would be most appropriate to Walter’s anticipated proposal. She had a vague recollection that Ashton had promised something last night in the hackney, something about fathers and issues. She knew he hadn’t asked for her hand in marriage, as their association had just begun. However, as long as Ashton harbored feelings similar to hers for him, she would wait.

• • •

U
PON
RETURNING
HOME
SHE
DID
MANAGE
TO
CATCH
A
few hours of rest, but then the lure of applying the Falcon slogan to the coded message proved too tempting. She woke in late afternoon and straightaway pulled out her writing desk. She recovered her journal from her reticule, noting that the scarlet ribbon that she’d used to keep it closed had disappeared. Odd. She couldn’t recall seeing it in the gallery. Still, ribbons were easy to replace. Using the slogan as a guide, she copied each unique letter alongside her alphabet chart. Though the unique slogan letters only took her to the letter “T” on her plain text chart, she had enough to decipher the message and use supposition to complete the chart. All earlier guesses based on the words “pillow book” proved correct, and the missing letters fell into place.

A love letter. There could be no doubt. Much like the coded messages in the personal columns, she could see that this letter spoke of forbidden longings and yearnings that distance could not dissipate. It spoke of the power of a lingering touch, the memory of a kiss. Her heart twisted for the authoress of the letter, as it was clearly penned by a woman mourning the loss of her lover. No identification existed of the authoress beyond the letter “S,” and although the letter was directed to “my dearest love,” she had no doubt it was meant for the senior Trewelyn. Only the intended recipient would be mindful of its initial absence from the pillow book.

The pillow book!
Suddenly the frame of reference fell into place. The authoress had placed this in a Japanese pillow book to suggest the sorts of things they had once shared and wished to share again. She wished she could remember the page that secreted the note. Imagining the sound of Ashton’s voice whispering, she recalled that quote from Oscar Wilde.
“The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself.”
The letter was clear. Yielding led to longing as well. A taste of the forbidden fruit only made one want it all the more.

To that, she could attest. Even though they had been together so recently, she felt the absence of Ashton’s arms, the touch of his lips on her breast, the play of his tongue much lower . . . She reached for her fan to alleviate the sudden surge of heat in her face. If one was doomed to be sick with longing, she preferred that it be for something experienced and not merely imagined. She would never have imagined the sensations Ashton released last night. Her hand drifted toward that secret place, but her several layers of clothing denied any attempt to emulate the netsuke. It was indeed unfortunate that the Britons did not adopt the far more sensible attire of the Japanese.

She needed to take this letter to Ashton so he could see that it posed no threat in a political sense to his family. As he was bound to wonder about the mysterious S, Edwina decided to visit the
Mayfair Messenger
in the morning. Sarah’s research into Ashton’s father’s past might be able to provide a clue as to the woman’s identity. The two must have shared a connection sometime in their past. Perhaps such a connection would have been noted in the social columns.

• • •

T
HE
FOLLOWING
DAY
WAS
A
BUSY
ONE
FOR
LOVE
,
IT
seemed . . . or at least the pursuit of love. The
Messenger
’s office was filled with those seeking to kindle a flame. Edwina waited for several customers to finish placing ads before she could approach Sarah.

Sarah squinted at her through her spectacles. “There’s something different about you. Is your hair arranged differently?”

Edwina patted the back of her head. “No, nothing’s changed.” Of course, something indeed had changed, something life-altering, but she was surprised it made a difference in her appearance.

“You look younger, happier,” Sarah observed, a bit suspiciously.

“Maybe I’m well rested. I slept away most of yesterday.” Sarah wouldn’t approve of the real reason, so Edwina kept that to herself. “Perhaps it’s my new gown.” She twirled in front of Sarah so she could appreciate the printed day dress with a lacy bodice and peplum. Even her hat was new. A straw confection with a wide front brim that both shaded and framed her face. She had dressed for her later meeting with Ashton in Regent’s Park. This gown featured an exposed neck as opposed to those stiff high collars that Walter preferred. “But I wanted to stop by this morning to see if you’d uncovered any information on my request.”

“Edwina, I have so much to tell you. I tried to research the newspapers, but it was a monumental undertaking without specific dates to mark a starting point. You know the
Messenger
has been published for almost forty years! That’s a lot of newsprint to review if you don’t know what you’re looking for or when to begin.”

“But you discovered something, yes?” Her friend’s enthusiasm was certainly a good sign. Plus she did say she had something to tell . . .

“No. I didn’t find a thing, but Mr. Morrison noticed my difficulty and dedication and offered assistance.”

The door bells jingled, announcing another patron had entered the office. Even as she was anxious to hear the rest of the story, Edwina stepped aside so as to offer privacy to the new patron. A privacy she hoped Sarah had extended to her research mission. Edwina certainly didn’t wish to expose Ashton’s father to any untoward gossip. Even if Sarah found nothing about the mysterious “S” or the Calcutta connection, the transcribed letter itself should alleviate Ashton’s fears that his father was involved in treacherous acts. Quite the contrary.

From the back of the office, Edwina observed her friend as she efficiently dealt with a patron wishing to place an ad. If she wasn’t mistaken, Sarah seemed happier and more enthusiastic this morning—the very qualities of which she had accused Edwina. Was it possible that Sarah had . . .
No.
She shook her head. To her knowledge Sarah was not keeping company with anyone. As she so often explained, with Nan to attend to, she simply didn’t have the time. The patron paid for the ad and left Sarah and Edwina alone once more.

“Mr. Morrison suggested that I would make better progress in this venture if I spoke to the person responsible for writing most of the social columns.”

“You could do that?” Edwina was astonished. “One person wrote all those columns?”

“Indeed. Would you believe it was Mr. Morrison’s grandmother?” Sarah’s eyes radiated excitement and pride. “The
Messenger
was started by Mr. Morrison’s father in 1856. At the time he enlisted his mother to write the society column. She never stopped. Well . . . until recently, that is.”

“And you can still speak with her? She’s still alive?” Edwina asked. Having lost her own grandparents so many years ago, she’d forgotten that others hadn’t that same experience.

“He took me to speak with her. Her mind is very lucid, though she tires easily.” Her voice dropped. “She appeared exceedingly frail; a stiff breeze could conceivably blow her away. Mr. Morrison is so attached to her, he’ll be devastated when her time comes.” Her voice trailed off in premature mourning.

Edwina just stared. Was this the same “Old Measly Morrison” that Sarah had fairly lambasted on a daily basis? Now she was sad for the eventual passing of the tyrant’s grandmother? “We are speaking of the same Mr. Morrison who won’t publish your articles?”

Sarah waved her hand as if that was of little consequence. “He took me in his carriage to his grandmother’s house for tea. His parents died when he was very young, you know.”

Of course, Edwina didn’t know. From her previous descriptions, Sarah seemed to question if Mr. Morrison was born of human parents and not beasts of the jungle.

“His grandmother raised Mr. Morrison, just as I’m raising Nan.”

Suddenly, Edwina realized that Sarah regarded Mr. Morrison’s grandmother as a sort of contemporary.

“So you had tea with his grandmother . . .”

“Mr. Morrison left us alone to talk. It was the most amazing thing. Mrs. Morrison knew Trewelyn, Sr.”

“She knew him!”

“Well, she knew of him,” Sarah corrected. “Trewelyn, Sr. would have been a contemporary of her son.”

“I see,” Edwina replied, even though she didn’t. Even if the grandmother wrote the gossip column, it was unlikely the woman would know of everyone in London, unless . . . “Trewelyn, Sr. appeared in the gossip column?”

“Let’s just say the acorn didn’t fall far from the tree,” Sarah said with a bit of smugness.

“Mr. Trewelyn is a handsome man,” Edwina reasoned, half to herself. “It would stand to reason that his father would have been as well.”

“Oh, it’s more than appearances.” Sarah shuffled through a stack of envelopes. “Trewelyn, Sr. was said to enjoy women of all cultures and stations in his day,” Sarah said.