A Regency Invitation to the House Party of the Season (25 page)

The windows had been left open and the soft night air stole in, wreathed in moonlight. He turned to her, his need blazing from him. ‘Where is your wedding ring?’

Drawing a shaky breath, she said, ‘In…my workbag. By your desk.’

A wry smile flashed. ‘No wonder you didn’t want me to look in there the other day.’ He went to the bag and knelt down. A moment later he straightened and turned. The ring dangled on its chain from his fingers.

‘I…I wore it under my clothes,’ she said. Tears spilt over. ‘It was all I had of you.’

His fingers shaking, he released the clasp and came to her, laying the ring on the bedside table as he joined her on the bed. ‘Mine,’ he whispered as his mouth came down on hers, cherishing and ravishing. A miracle of possession and giving. Gentle, caressing hands brushed her clothes away, leaving her defenceless, her skin quivering for his touch. And then he was naked too, pulling her against his hard, lean body, his mouth devouring her, burning kisses over her breasts while his hands stroked and explored.

She gave him back kiss for kiss, caress for caress,
caring nothing if he realised how much she loved him, if only he would hold her like this and make love to her. His mouth was a fire at her breasts, drawing her deep into the heat and wetness, suckling so that she arched and pressed him closer as pleasure laced her.

‘Please…oh, please…’ Her own voice, a ragged gasp, as she lifted against him, her body pleading. Yet still he held back, stroking, caressing, one powerful thigh clamped over hers, holding them together.

The silken shift of her body burnt him. Consumed him with the need to take her. To become part of her. Forever.

‘God, Georgie,’ he whispered. ‘Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?’

‘I want you,’ she breathed.

His blood hammered. He’d hurt her the other night. This time he would be sure she was ready. More than ready. And he needed to show her that he loved her. That she was his. And that he was hers.

Gently he cupped the mound of curls, clenching his jaw for control as he felt her thighs part. Slowly he pressed further, feeling her trembling response as he found the honeyed slickness that bloomed for his tender caress.

Soft cries scorched his restraint until he shook with the need to take all she offered, give all she pleaded for. With a groan, he pushed her thighs wider and settled in the soft cradle. Her arms clung, drawing him down. His jaw clenched, he resisted the sweet temptation to take her there and then.

He reached for the wedding ring. ‘Open your eyes, sweetheart.’

Slowly the dark lashes lifted. Her eyes were dazed,
dilated, bright with tears. He bent and brushed his lips over hers. ‘Give me your hand, your left hand.’

A small, trembling hand was placed in his.

Braced over her, he slid the ring on to her finger and whispered,
‘With this ring, I thee wed.’
Holding her gaze, he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the ring on her finger. Then, pressing against her soft, moist core, he said,
‘With my body, I thee worship.’

He took her mouth, fiercely, hotly, and pressed slowly inside, still restrained, feeling her close sweetly around him.

She gasped, her body tightening, raking him with fire.

He stilled immediately, fear streaking through him. ‘Are you all right?’ he whispered against her lips.

She could barely breathe. All she could do was lift against him, twisting, pleading for his possession.

‘Georgie?’

‘Please…don’t stop!’

The breaking cry destroyed what was left of his control. With a groan he sank fully into her body and began to move, loving her tenderly, thoroughly until the world shattered around them and there was nothing left except the certainty of their love.

Later, much later in the darkness, Anthony lay with her in his arms, her breath sighing over his chest, and wondered if he’d get any more sleep in the next four years. He rather thought this sort of sleeplessness would sit a great deal better with him.

Her cheek shifted against him and he suppressed a groan as his body tightened.

‘Anthony?’

‘Sweetheart?’ He traced the hollow of her spine with a teasing finger.

‘I’ve been…thinking.’

Her sensuous wriggle had his blood hammering again. As did the curious fingertip circling his nipple.

‘Thinking? Is that what you call it?’ He let his hand curve and tighten over her bottom.

‘Anthony!’

He chuckled. ‘What were you thinking about, love?’

‘That note. And the pearls. Why would anyone take the note? The pearls, yes, but—’

Fear stirred. ‘Leave it, Georgie.’

‘But—’

‘No.’
Black fear blossomed in a cold, spreading rush, strangling him. He had to get rid of William before Georgie worked it out. If William had ordered the attack on Frobisher, if he had plotted to have Marcus hanged, then what might he not have done had Georgie not left Brussels so precipitately? Why had he returned to their lodgings? Anthony’s stomach chilled.

He’d had four years of hell
not
knowing. Had he narrowly missed a lifetime of grief actually
knowing
? Somehow they had to prove Marcus’s innocence and get rid of William. If he thought Georgie knew enough to hang him…

‘Anthony?’

Terror at the thought of what might have happened if she hadn’t fled consumed him. With a groan, he rolled, silencing her with his kiss, feeling her wild response, her body softening in surrender as he settled her beneath him.

Georgie’s body flamed as she felt his weight, tasted the need in his urgent kiss. Eagerly she obeyed the unspoken demand of his body, opening herself to his possessive touch. Delight took her as he caressed intimately, fire shimmering up from his teasing fingers.

Her breath broke as she felt his hunger, hard against her in passionate demand. She answered the only way she could, tilting towards him in pliant supplication.

He filled her, body, heart and soul until she overflowed, her love pouring from her in soft cries and searing pleasure. Until the world contracted to fiery need and she hung burning on the edge of desire. He took her spinning, tumbling, falling into flame, locked safely in his arms and heart.

B
reakfast was an ordeal. She had absolutely no idea what it was that had the entire company avoiding her gaze and exchanging fleeting smirks and winks. Unless, of course, it was the fact that Anthony couldn’t take his eyes off her and kept yawning behind his napkin.

She ate an enormous breakfast, shamelessly helping herself to everything in sight.

Great-aunt Harriet sniffed as she set down her tea cup. ‘About time too,’ she announced trenchantly.

‘Time for what, Aunt Harriet?’ asked Anthony, a wary look in his eyes.

‘For Georgiana’s appetite to return, of course,’ she said, with a perfectly straight face. ‘One can only assume it has something to do with the…er…water here.’

Mr Sinclair’s napkin had apparently vanished under the table again, since he disappeared with a very odd noise.

Anthony, to Georgie’s disbelief, actually blushed. ‘Aunt Harriet?’

She raised her brows. ‘Yes?’

He shook his head and came to his feet. Silence fell and he went to the old lady, bent over and kissed her
soundly. ‘Thank you. For being the most appallingly interfering,
nosy
old tabby of my acquaintance.’

Mr Sinclair reappeared with an unconvincingly straight face.

Aunt Harriet’s black eyes glimmered with suspicious moisture, but she poked Anthony with her ear trumpet and said crossly, ‘Get along with you! Save your kisses for your wife!’ Notwithstanding, she lifted one hand and patted him on the cheek. ‘You’ll do. Now finish your breakfast and attend to your guests. Aren’t the fireworks planned for tonight?’

He nodded. ‘Yes. In fact, I need to talk to Ufton about that now. The staff are to watch from the lawn if they care to.’ Glancing at Marcus, he said, ‘Can you give me a moment, Marcus? I’d like your advice on this, too.’

Something about his voice caught Georgie’s attention.

Mr Sinclair rose. ‘A pleasure, Anthony.’

Lord Mardon broke in. ‘Anthony, is it correct that this stranger has not yet been apprehended?’

To Georgie it looked as though Anthony’s jaw petrified. ‘That is correct, John.’

‘Then it would be better if the ladies still did not venture beyond the gardens without an escort. A male escort.’

‘Very much better,’ said Anthony tightly. ‘In fact, I’ll make that an order. None of you—’ his suddenly fierce gaze scorched Georgie ‘—should venture into the park or woodlands without one of us.’ He hesitated. ‘Indeed, Sarah should not go without John, Cassie without Quinlan, Miss Devereaux without Marcus. Or—’ he looked at her straightly ‘—Georgie without me.’

Aunt Harriet glared at him. ‘And what about me? Hey?’

His sudden grin softened the harsh lines of his face. ‘Take your ear trumpet, Aunt!’

Anthony led Marcus out to the parterre and, in response to his cousin’s raised eyebrows, said, ‘I don’t want to be overheard.’

‘Obviously not,’ said Marcus. ‘But I should warn you—I don’t know anything about fireworks.’

‘I’ve set Timms to watching the woods for William from my bedchamber.’

Marcus frowned. ‘Wouldn’t the cupola be better?’

‘Yes, but the servants aren’t allowed up there. And, if one of the others goes up there, it would cause too much comment. That footman waiting on William, for example—’

‘Point taken,’ growled Marcus, his fists clenching.

Anthony blinked. Had he missed something? ‘Marcus?’

With an obvious effort, Marcus controlled himself. ‘Never mind. It’s nothing to worry about. More to the point, have you considered what is likely to happen if William has shopped me? You could be seized for harbouring me.’

Anthony grinned. ‘That
will
upset our dear cousin!’

‘Oh?’

Too late Anthony realised where this was leading, and mentally kicked himself.

Very reluctantly he came clean. ‘I told him before Waterloo that in the event of my death he would inherit twenty thousand. If my property is seized he’ll get nothing.’

The air turned a little blue. ‘You damned idiot!’ continued Marcus. ‘What about the rest? You might not be
as rich as Cassie, but there’s a good bit more than twenty thousand!’

Oh, hell!
‘I left it in trust to Georgie and any child she might bear. Failing a child, Georgie has it in trust for her lifetime.’ With a bit of luck Marcus might not ask about the next heir.

‘And?’

So much for luck. ‘Er…you. Followed by your heirs. And you’re also her principal trustee. Along with John.’

Marcus gave him a level stare. ‘Thanks. A lot.’

‘Think nothing of it. The least I could do,’ said Anthony.

Marcus swore again. Then, ‘You’ve realised that he must have taken Cassie’s ring? Probably hoping to buy Grant off.’

‘Yes,’ said Anthony.

‘What was all that about the pearls?’ asked Marcus.

Anthony explained.

Marcus stared. ‘Anthony—if you don’t break his neck, I will!’

‘You had your turn the other night,’ said Anthony. ‘It’s my turn now.’ He stared out across the gardens to the woods. His childhood home had been little better than a prison these past four years. He might be able to forgive what William had done to him, but for what he had done to Georgie—the grief and loneliness, the despair…His jaw clenched involuntarily.

‘I won’t protect him,’ he said shortly. ‘If we can find proof, or force a confession, he’ll either face a jury or leave the country. And I’ve sent to Newbury already for a lawyer to come and remake my will. But don’t mention that. Not even Georgie knows.’

‘The sooner the better,’ growled Marcus. ‘When are you going to tell John what we suspect?’

‘This afternoon,’ said Anthony. ‘After our ride. He wants to try out that chestnut youngster I’ve been bringing on. Chances are William won’t want to come. He’ll probably take the opportunity to try and contact Grant. I told you, Timms saw William in Lynd. He may have sent a message to Grant from there, suggesting the woods as a meeting place. With Timms watching, we might have them. If Grant is fool enough to take the ring—’

‘Too recognisable,’ said Marcus instantly.

Anthony nodded. ‘Exactly. If he were caught with it, nothing would save him from the noose. Too easy for William to shop
him
. I thought about searching William and his bedchamber, but—’

‘Not a chance in hell,’ interrupted Marcus. ‘He won’t make that mistake again!’

Anthony wondered if he looked as puzzled as he felt. He had a sneaking suspicion that Marcus had been up to a great deal more than he was letting on. ‘Er…no. It won’t be in the house, anyway. I’ve put a watch on Grant. A man fitting that description is staying in that hedge tavern on the back road to Oxford. It’s easy enough to reach the Lyndhurst woods from there.’

Marcus grimaced. ‘So we have to tell John. What about Quinlan?’

Painfully, Anthony said, ‘In all honour, I have no choice but to tell him. He gave it to Cassie and it has been stolen in my house. I just wish I could spare John, that’s all. The least I can do is tell him privately.’

Late in the afternoon Georgie slipped up to the cupola, wondering when Anthony and the other gentlemen would be back from their ride. Below her the gardens and woods stretched away, glowing in the golden light.
And far away on the downs she could see four small riders that must be Anthony, Mr Sinclair, Lord Mardon and Lord Quinlan. Mr Lyndhurst-Flint had cried off the ride. She frowned over that. She could have sworn that Anthony and Mr Sinclair exchanged a glance of satisfaction.

Everything had been so much easier today. The preparations for the fireworks party were all in hand. Servants had been hard at work all afternoon, bringing everything needful up here. She had seen to that earlier, in response to Lady Mardon’s—no,
Sarah
’s gentle hint.

The Countess had checked her almost forcibly, refusing to be addressed formally any longer.
We are cousins. And Anthony is nearly as dear to me as John…We are all glad to see him happy again…

Georgie sighed. Lady Quinlan might not be quite so happy. No, that was unfair. She was doubtless pleased that Anthony was happy, but understandably viewed the reason for his happiness with suspicion.

‘Cousin?’

She looked up.

Lady Quinlan stood before her. ‘Sarah said that I should find you up here. I have come to apologise. For my stupid meddling yesterday. Marcus and Anthony are furious with me. It was none of my business.’

‘Well, they shouldn’t be,’ said Georgie quietly. ‘You were right. Anthony would never have told me. And it is your business. You love Anthony too. Besides, I asked.’

Lady Quinlan flushed. ‘You are very generous.’ She came over and sat down beside Georgie. ‘Do you know, I haven’t seen Anthony so happy in years. It is as though a cloud has lifted.’ She hesitated and then said, ‘He didn’t tell me very much, just that what happened be
tween you was his own fault. Mostly. And that none of the blame was yours.’ A faint grin appeared. ‘He said that he’d been a
damn fool
, but that was no excuse for other members of the family to perpetuate the failing!’

She grimaced. ‘And then as if that wasn’t enough, Marcus came and tore strips off me! So, I’m sorry. And I should like very much to be friends, if you have forgiven me. I did like “Miss Saunders”, you know!’

As simple as that. Candid brown eyes smiled at her, offering friendship.

Her heart lifting, Georgie said, ‘There is nothing to forgive, unless it will make you feel better. Tell me, what are these fireworks parties like?’

Cassie giggled. ‘Oh, famous! There hasn’t been one here since I was a child, but they used to have them every summer. Only they have rather lapsed for one reason and another. First Anthony went to war and then his mother died. It will be lovely to have them again.’

‘Go on,’ urged Georgie, enthralled.

Cassie obliged and half an hour sped by.

‘Oh, look!’ exclaimed Cassie. ‘Isn’t that Stella?’

Georgie leaned over the balustrade to look. ‘Yes, it is. Whatever is she doing out? I thought Anthony didn’t like her going out by herself?’

‘He doesn’t,’ agreed Cassie. ‘He worries that she’ll get lost in the woods or fall in the lake now that she’s so blind.’

‘Well, she’s heading straight for the woods!’ said Georgie, concerned. Leaning over the balustrade, she cupped her hands to her mouth and called loudly.
‘Stella!’

The old dog kept moving. Straight for the woods.

‘It’s no good calling,’ said Cassie, sounding just as concerned. ‘She’s deaf, remember.’

Images came to Georgie. Stella, resting her grizzled muzzle on Anthony’s knee, pushing her nose under his elbow for a pat, sleeping as close to his chair as she could get. And Anthony, slipping the old dog scraps of bacon at breakfast, his hands gentle on the grizzled head, tugging the silky ears.

‘I’ll fetch her back,’ she said.

Cassie’s head snapped around. ‘But…that man! Anthony said that none of us should leave the garden!’

‘Well, if I hurry, I won’t have to go far. She’s not moving very fast. Look.’

‘What about the servants?’ suggested Cassie. ‘Or you could wait for Anthony to return.’

‘The servants are all as busy as anything,’ argued Georgie. ‘And Anthony and the others won’t be back for ages.’ She indicated the tiny horses and riders out on the downs. ‘Stella could be anywhere by then.’

‘Then I’ll come with you,’ said Cassie.

‘No. You stay up here and you can call down and tell me which way she goes. That will make it quicker.’

Cassie looked unconvinced. ‘I don’t like it. You shouldn’t go alone.’

Stella was more than halfway to the woods. ‘I
must
go!’ said Georgie. ‘He adores Stella. I won’t be long. I promise.’

‘Hurry, then,’ said Cassie. ‘I’ll watch and tell you where she’s heading.

Racing down the stairs, Georgie remembered Anthony’s grim face as he forbade any of the ladies to leave the gardens. But this was Stella. He wouldn’t want to lose Stella. Yet she hesitated.

Her pistol. The one she had carried in the Peninsula when she and her mother had followed the drum. She hadn’t used it in years, but she knew exactly where it was and she was fairly sure that she could find a ball and charge in the gunroom.

Ten minutes later she ran out into the garden and looked up at the cupola. Cassie was hanging over the balustrade.

‘I hoped you’d changed your mind!’ she called down.

‘No. Just fetching something! Which way?’

‘She went into the woods about fifty yards to the left of the main ride,’ called Cassie, pointing. ‘There’s a narrow path there that leads to the lake.’

‘Thank you!’ Georgie set off at a brisk walk. Five minutes brought her to the entrance to the path. She looked back. Cassie was still visible in the cupola. She waved. Cassie waved back. And pointed. Straight ahead.

Taking a deep breath, Georgie entered the woods. In a moment the house was out of sight as the path twisted away among the trees. She hadn’t been into the woods before. They closed around her, but she shook off the feeling of unease. This was Lyndhurst Chase, Anthony’s home. Her home. Nevertheless, the loaded pistol in her pocket reassured her.

Ten minutes later the woods thinned and water glimmered. The lake. She ran out of the trees and gasped. The dying sun gilded the water so that it fairly blazed with golden light. Best of all, there was Stella, sniffing happily in the reeds on the far side.

She opened her mouth to call. And shut it again. Stella was deaf as well as blind. Instead Georgie set off around the lake. By the time she came up with the old setter, Stella had found something to roll in and Georgie wrinkled her nose as she drew near. ‘Stella!’ she said loudly.

Startled, the dog looked around. In every direction but the right one.

Smothering a grin, Georgie walked up to her and spoke again. ‘Come along, you smelly old darling. Before your master finds out where we are!’

This time Stella seemed to realise where the voice had come from and came stiffly towards her, nosing at her hands. Gently, Georgie looped the cravat she had taken from Anthony’s drawer through Stella’s collar and tugged. The old dog followed readily, if slowly. Belatedly, Georgie realised that the walk home would be a great deal slower than coming out. She looked back to see if the house were visible.