The Further Observations of Lady Whistledown (Lady W 1) (45 page)

D
avid’s study was ordinarily spotless, with every book in its proper place on the shelf; papers and documents organized into neat piles, or better yet, tucked away in appropriate files and drawers; and nothing, absolutely nothing, on the floor save for the carpet and the furniture.

Tonight, however, the room was littered with paper. Crumpled-up paper. Crumpled-up valentines, to be precise.

David wasn’t much of a romantic, or at least he didn’t think he was, but even he knew that one was supposed to buy one’s valentines at H. Dobbs & Co. And so, that morning, he’d driven out to New Bridge Street, clear across town by St. Paul’s Cathedral, and bought himself a box of their best.

All of his attempts at flowery script and romantic poetry were disasters, however, and so at noon he found himself once again in the quiet confines of H. Dobbs & Co., purchasing another box of their best valentines, this time a package of twelve instead of the half dozen he’d bought earlier that day.

The entire affair had been embarrassing, but not nearly as embarrassing as when he dashed into the store that evening, precisely five minutes before they were due to close, after having raced his curricle across town at speeds that could only have been termed reckless (although
stupid
and
insane
had also come to mind). The proprietor was clearly a professional through and through, because he didn’t even crack a smile as he handed David their largest box of valentines (eighteen in all), and then suggested that he also purchase a slim book called
Valentine Writers,
which purported to offer instructions on how to write a valentine for any type of recipient.

David was appalled that he, who had taken a first in literature at Oxford, was reduced to using a guidebook just to write a bloody valentine, but he’d accepted it without a word, and in fact, without a reaction save for the burning sensation on his face.

Good God, a blush. When was the last time he’d blushed? Clearly, the day could not possibly descend any further into hell.

And so at ten in the evening, there he was, sitting in his study with a single valentine on his desk, thirty-five others strewn about the room, in various states of crumpled disaster.

One valentine. One last chance to get this bloody endeavor right. He suspected that H. Dobbs might not be open on Saturday, and he knew they weren’t open on Sunday, so if he didn’t do a good job on this one, he was probably stuck until Monday with this awful task hanging over his head.

He let his head fall back and groaned. It was just a valentine. A valentine. It shouldn’t be so difficult. It couldn’t even qualify as a grand gesture.

But what did one say to a woman one wanted to love for the rest of one’s life? The stupid little
Valentine Writers
book had offered no advice on that quarter, at least none that would apply when one feared that one might have angered the lady in question the day before with one’s stupid behavior, quarreling with one’s brother.

He stared down at the blank card. And stared. And stared.

His eyes started to water. He forced himself to blink.

“My lord?”

David looked up. Never had an interruption from his butler been so welcome.

“My lord, there is a lady here to see you.”

David let out a tired sigh. He couldn’t imagine who it was; maybe Anne Miniver, who probably thought she was still his mistress since he hadn’t quite gotten around to telling her that he was through with mistresses.

“Show her in,” he said to his butler. He supposed he might as well be thankful that Anne had saved him the trouble of going all the way out to Holborn.

He let out an irritated little snort. He could have easily stopped by her home in Holborn any one of the six times he’d nearly passed right by it today on his way to and from the stationers’ shop.

Life was just full of delightful little ironies, wasn’t it?

David stood, because it really wouldn’t be polite to be sitting when Anne arrived. She might have been born on the wrong side of the blanket, and she certainly lived her life on the wrong side of propriety, but she was still, in her own way, a lady, and she deserved no less than his best behavior under the circumstances. He walked over to the window as he awaited her arrival, pulling the heavy drapes back to stare out into the inky night.

“My lord,” he heard his butler say, followed by, “David?”

He whirled around. It wasn’t Anne’s voice.

“Susannah!” he said in disbelief, nodding curtly to dismiss his butler. “What are you doing here?”

She answered him with a nervous smile as she glanced around his study.

David groaned inwardly. The crumpled valentines were everywhere. He prayed she’d be too polite to mention it. “Susannah?” he asked again, growing worried. He couldn’t imagine a circumstance that would compel her to visit him, an unmarried gentleman, in his home. In the dead of night, no less.

“I—I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, looking over her shoulder even though the butler had closed the door when he’d left.

“It’s no trouble at all,” he replied, restraining the urge to rush to her side. Something must be amiss; there could be no other reason she would be here. And yet he didn’t trust himself to stand next to her, didn’t know how he could do so without taking her into his arms.

“No one saw me,” she assured him, catching her lower lip between her teeth. “I—I made sure of it, and—”

“Susannah, what is the problem?” he said intently, giving up on his vow to remain at least three paces away from her. He moved quickly to her side, and when she did not answer, took her hand in his. “What is wrong? Why are you here?”

But it was as if she hadn’t heard him. She stared over his shoulder, clenching and unclenching her jaw before finally saying, “You won’t be trapped into marriage with me, if that’s your worry.”

His grip on her hand slackened. It hadn’t been his worry. It had been his greatest desire.

“I just—” She swallowed nervously and finally brought her eyes to his. The force of it nearly buckled his knees. Her eyes, so dark and luminous, were glistening, not with unshed tears, but with something else. Emotion, perhaps. And her lips—dear God, did she have to
lick
them? He was going to be sainted for not kissing her that very minute.

“I had to tell you something,” she said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper.

“Tonight?”

She nodded. “Tonight.”

He waited, but she didn’t say anything, just looked away and swallowed again, as if trying to work up her nerve.

“Susannah,” he whispered, touching her cheek, “you can tell me anything.”

Without quite looking at him, she said, “I have been thinking about you…and I…I…” She looked up. “This is very difficult.”

He smiled gently. “I promise…Whatever you say, it will remain between the two of us.”

She let out a little laugh at that, but it was a desperate sound. “Oh, David,” she said, “it’s not that sort of secret. It’s just…” She closed her eyes, slowly shaking her head. “It’s not that I’ve been thinking about you,” she said, reopening her eyes but glancing to her side to avoid looking at him directly. “It’s more that I can’t
stop
thinking about you, and I—I—”

His heart leaped. What was she trying to say?

“I was just wondering,” she said, her words tumbling out in a rush of breath and speech. “I need to know…” She swallowed, closed her eyes yet again, but this time she almost seemed to be in pain. “Do you think you might care for me? Even a little?”

For a moment he didn’t know how to respond. And then, without speaking, without even thinking, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.

He kissed her with every pent-up emotion that had coursed through his body for the past few days. He kissed her until he had no choice but to pull back, if only to take a breath.

“I care,” he said, and kissed her again.

Susannah melted in his arms, overcome by the intensity of his passion. His lips traveled from her mouth to her ear, trailing a white-hot path of need along her skin. “I care,” he whispered, before unbuttoning her coat and allowing it to fall to the floor. “I care.”

His hands moved down the length of her back until they cupped her bottom. Susannah gasped at the intimacy of his touch. She could feel the hard, hot length of him through their clothes, could sense his passion in every beat of his heart, every rough catch of his breath.

And then he said the words she’d been dreaming of. He pulled himself away, just far enough so that she could gaze deeply into his eyes, and said, “I love you, Susannah. I love your strength, and I love your beauty. I love your kind heart, and I love your wicked wit. I love your courage, and—” His voice broke, and Susannah gasped when she realized there were tears in his eyes. “I love you,” he whispered. “That is all there really is to say.”

“Oh, David,” she said, gulping back her emotions, “I love you, too. I don’t think I even understood what it meant to love until I met you.”

He touched her face, tenderly, reverently, and she thought she might say more about how much she loved him, but then she saw the oddest thing…

“David,” she asked, “why is there paper all over your study?”

He pulled back, then actually began to scurry around the room, attempting to gather up every piece. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, snatching up the dustbin and shoving the paper inside.

“It’s not nothing,” she said, grinning at the sight of him. She’d never thought a man of his size and bearing could scurry.

“I was just…I was…ah…” He leaned down and scooped up another crumpled-up piece of paper. “It’s nothing.”

Susannah spied one that he’d missed, slightly underneath his desk, and she bent down and grabbed it.

“I’ll take that,” David said swiftly, reaching out to grab it from her.

“No,” she said, smiling as she twisted away so that he couldn’t reach it. “I’m curious.”

“It’s nothing interesting,” he mumbled, making one last attempt to retrieve it.

But Susannah had already smoothed it out.
There are so many things I’d like to say,
it read.
Like how your eyes…

And that was all.

“What is this?” she asked.

“A valentine,” he muttered.

“For me?” she asked, trying to keep the note of hopefulness out of her voice.

He nodded.

“Why didn’t you finish it?”

“Why didn’t I finish any of them?” he countered, waving his arm toward the room, where dozens of other unfinished valentines had been strewn about. “Because I couldn’t figure out what I wanted to say. Or perhaps I knew that, just not how I wanted to say it.”

“What did you want to say?” she whispered.

He stepped forward, took both her hands in his. “Will you marry me?” he asked.

For a moment she was struck dumb. The emotion in his eyes held her mesmerized, filled her own with tears. And then finally, choking on the words, she replied, “Yes. Oh, David, yes.”

He lifted her hand to his lips. “I should take you home,” he murmured, but he didn’t sound like he meant it.

She didn’t say anything, because she didn’t want to go. Not yet, at least. This was a moment to be savored.

“It would be the right thing to do,” he said, but his other hand was stealing around her waist, drawing her closer.

“I don’t want to go,” she whispered.

His eyes flared. “If you stay,” he said, his voice soft, “you won’t leave here an innocent. I can’t—” He stopped and swallowed, as if trying to keep himself under control. “I’m not strong enough, Susannah. I’m only a man.”

She took his hand and pressed it to her heart. “I can’t go,” she said. “Now that I’m here, now that I’m finally with you, I can’t go. Not yet.”

Wordlessly, his hands found the buttons at the back of her dress, nimbly slipping each one free. Susannah gasped as she felt the cool rush of air hit her skin, followed by the startling warmth of David’s hands. His fingers slid up and down her back, feather-light in their caress.

“Are you certain?” he whispered harshly in her ear.

Susannah closed her eyes, touched by his final show of concern. She nodded, then made herself say the words. “I want to be with you,” she whispered. It had to be said—for him, for her.

For them.

He groaned, then picked her up and carried across the room, kicking open a door leading to…

Susannah looked around. It was his bedroom. It had to be. Lush and dark and intensely masculine, with rich burgundy drapes and bedcoverings. When he laid her down on the massive bed, she felt feminine and deliciously sinful, womanly and beloved. She felt naked and exposed, even with her dress still loosely hanging from her shoulders. He seemed to understand her fears, and he moved to remove his clothing before returning to hers. He stepped back, his eyes never leaving her face as he undid the buttons at his cuffs.

“I have never seen anything so beautiful,” he whispered.

Nor had she. As she watched him undress in the candlelight, she was struck by the pure masculine beauty of him. She had never seen a bare male chest before, but she couldn’t imagine that there was another to compare with David’s as he let his shirt fall to the floor.

He slid onto the bed beside her, his body matching the length of hers, his lips finding hers in a hungry kiss. He touched her reverently, gently tugging her dress down until it was nothing but a memory. Susannah caught her breath at the sensation of his skin against her breasts, but somehow there wasn’t time or space to feel embarrassment as he rolled her onto her back, pressing his body against hers, moaning hoarsely as he settled his still-clad hips between her legs.

“I have dreamed of this,” he whispered, lifting himself up just far enough to look at her face. His eyes were hot, and even though the dim light didn’t allow her to see the color, somehow she felt them, burning a fierce, bright green as they swept across her.

“I’ve been dreaming of you,” she said shyly.

His lips curved into a dangerously masculine smile. “Tell me,” he gently ordered.

She blushed, feeling the heat of it sweep across her entire body, but still she whispered, “I dreamed you were kissing me.”