Candice Hern (17 page)

She was not speaking of sex – at least he did not think so – but that was what Adam heard just the same. When he'd regaled David with tales of his amorous exploits, Marianne had been listening. She said she hadn't known what she was missing at the time, but perhaps she had.

She rose from her chair and came to stand with him by the window. "I am sorry, Adam. I fear I have tarnished your memory of David. I know you loved him like a brother."

"I did. But I had thought him perfect. It is something of a relief to know he was not. And to know that he might have admired me a little."

"More than a little."

"Thank you for that, Marianne. It is gratifying to realize that we both gained something from our friendship."

He took her hand again and kissed it. He kept it in his and played with her fingers. He tried, as always, to make it seem a casual, friendly, almost unconscious gesture so she would not guess what he had only recently realized: that to touch her now and then was a necessity to him. Like an opium addict, he craved the smallest physical contact with her, knowing it was as much as he would ever have. Especially now, when his marriage loomed between them, and contact, physical and otherwise, would soon be limited.

But he wanted more. Needed more.

He took her other hand. "I must be leaving. It is getting late. Thank you for telling me about David. That cannot have been an easy confession. I am honored that you trust me enough to be that open with me."

"I trust you more than anyone I know," she said. "And besides, I wanted you to understand why I set out to find a lover."

"I do understand now. And I hope Sherwood gives you all you are looking for. Oh, and thank you for telling me about your conversation with Clarissa. It's a good thing I did not sell that confounded house in Dorset."

"She will want to spend a good deal of time there, I suppose."

"Most likely. You may call me Squire Cazenove, if you please."

She smiled. "Shall you become portly and smoke a long-handled pipe?"

"Without a doubt."

A softness gathered in her eyes. "I will miss you when you're in the country," she said. "And even when you’re not. I daresay we will not have evenings like this when you are married. No more climbing the balcony."

"What? You will miss my large self sprawled ignobly in your chair and my damp coats hanging by the fire?"

"I will miss these quiet, peaceful evenings. The feeling of comfort and contentment I've always had here with you and David."

"My presence reminds you of him."

"Everything here reminds me of him. But there were three of us, not only two. You have always been a part of my life, and I will miss you when you are married."

"My dear Marianne." Without thought or premeditation, he bent down and kissed her.

The instant their lips touched, a fireball of heat scorched his lungs. She felt it, too, for she uttered a soft moan and kissed him back. His arms enfolded her just as hers twined around his neck. With only a gentle nudging, her lips parted and let him in. He felt her tremble when his tongue met hers. The kiss became lush and deep until the blood was roaring in his head.

He wanted to linger forever, wanted more but was afraid to ask. She was not his for the taking in any case. No longer because she was married to his closest friend, but because he was promised to someone else.

Forgive me, David.

He lifted his head slowly and grinned, deliberately making light of a moment that was anything but light. A moment that he seemed to have waited a lifetime to experience. A moment that could never happen again.

"Ah, now see what you've made me do?" He added a wink to reinforce the grin. "All that sentimentality made me forget myself. Shame on you, Marianne, for taking advantage of me like that."

There was a poignant uncertainty in her eyes for a moment, an unbearably sweet flush of desire on her cheeks. Then she, too, made light of what had happened. She returned a playful smile that emphasized her dimples and made him want to kiss her again. "You, sir, are a rogue. What would your Clarissa think to know you were kissing another woman?"

He released her and stepped back, away from temptation. He held up a finger and said, "Leave it to Marianne to remind me of my obligations. Duly noted, my dear. Blame it on the rain. Or the alignment of the stars. Or that fetching little frock you are wearing. I shall return to my lonely rooms and pen a sonnet to my bride-to-be."

"You had better make it a country elegy. With perhaps a sheep or two."

He gave a theatrical groan. "Wretch!"

* * *

"You will call at Doncaster House, Beatrice?" Grace asked as they sat around her dining room table writing out invitations for the next ball.

"Yes," Beatrice said, "I will call on Her Grace Thursday next, when she is at home. Perhaps I will take Emily with me so she can meet the duchess. An introduction to her might afford her with new opportunities. Plus, the duchess's son is in town, and the girl is dying to meet him."

"Excellent," Grace said. "I hope she is amenable to hosting a ball at Doncaster House. I hear it is very grand."

"And it has a real ballroom, I understand," Marianne said, without looking up from the parchment upon which she wrote. "That would make for an excellent grand finale for the Season, would it not?"

"I will be sure to report back with all the details," Beatrice said.

Marianne dusted her parchment to dry the ink, and folded the sheet in thirds. Then she dipped her pen in the well and wrote out the name and direction in careful, elegant script, sanded it, and placed it on the stack in the center of the table for Wilhelmina to seal.

The trustees of the Benevolent Widows Fund prided themselves on handwritten, personalized invitations to their balls. Marianne always enjoyed the days when they wrote out invitations. The meetings were less businesslike, with lots of talk and gossip and laughter. Today, the rather mindless task allowed her to dwell on last night and the kiss she'd shared with Adam. The kiss that had shaken her to the very roots of her soul.

As astonishing and wonderful as it had been, she wished to God it had never happened. First, because he should never have done it while engaged to another woman, and she should not have allowed it. Second, because it could never be repeated, so it was rather cruel to tempt her with something she could never have again. And third, because it had meant nothing to him. Nothing at all. He'd laughed afterward, and continued to tease her. It pained her that what was such a momentous experience for her — because she had never reacted to David's kisses like that, and it had truly and irrevocably opened her eyes to everything else she might have missed — had been the most ordinary, common, everyday event for Adam.

Perhaps she should be glad that he was the one to initiate her into physical passion, someone she knew well and trusted rather than a mere acquaintance. Now she could go to Lord Julian, or any man, and feel less unnerved by what might happen between them. She knew now. Some of it, anyway.

But it still aggravated her that Adam could have been so cavalier about it.

"And how are things with Mr. Tolliver?" Wilhelmina asked Penelope.

"Very well indeed," Penelope said with a bright smile. "The man is extraordinarily inventive. He does this thing with his thumb —"

"Penelope!"

"Oh, don't be so squeamish, Grace. We did agree, did we not, to speak openly and share our experiences? Well, I have something interesting to share. Pay attention, Grace. You might learn a thing or two. If you ever find yourself a man to replace old Marlowe, you will be able to suggest a few moves to him."

And she proceeded to explain exactly, in great detail, what Mr. Tolliver did with his thumb. Grace was struck dumb. Wilhelmina looked amused. Marianne was embarrassed, but definitely intrigued. She had no idea that men ever touched women in that way. Would Lord Julian do such a thing? Would she want him to?

"Well," Beatrice said, "never let it be said that our meetings are not educational."

All but Grace burst into laughter.

"Speaking of education," Beatrice said, "you cannot imagine the things young girls know these days. I cannot guess where they learn it, but Emily, for one, is certainly more informed than I was at her age."

Beatrice went on to relate a story about her niece, but Marianne found her mind wandering again and could not pay attention. Penelope's graphic discussion of sex play with Eustace Tolliver brought images of Adam to mind. She would bet her new diamond earrings that he knew that move with the thumb.

Her thoughts kept returning to that kiss. He had kissed her on the cheek many times, to be sure, but never on the mouth. And this had been no simple kiss. It had the power to — what was it Wilhelmina had said? Make your toes curl up in your slippers? Yes, that was it. And that was precisely how she'd felt. Even now, her toes curled just remembering it.

Why had he done it? Why now, when he had no business doing so, when he had a young fiancée who needed his kisses more than she did?

It was not worth worrying about. She should be thinking of Lord Julian instead. He was a charming young man and she liked him a great deal. Was she ready for him to be the one to teach her about sexual pleasure?

Yes. She was ready. More than ready. If only she could stop thinking about Adam and concentrate on Lord Julian. But she kept remembering Adam's constant teasing, the mock disappointment that he could not be the one to show her the pleasures of lovemaking. Had it truly been teasing?

Ever since that kiss, she had wondered if there was any truth beneath his facetious words. She had always assumed he thought of her as a sister or colleague, that she was not the sort of woman he found desirable. But he had kissed her, and so she was left to wonder.

She began to curse that bad timing he was always teasing her about.

"Marianne?"

She looked up from the blank sheet in front of her. She had not written a word. She turned to Wilhelmina. "Yes?"

The duchess laughed. "I have been speaking to you, but you did not hear a word, did you? You were miles away, my girl, and with a dreamy look in your eyes. What were you thinking about? Or should I say whom?"

"Lord Julian, perhaps?" Penelope said with a grin.

"Was that it, Marianne?" the duchess asked. "Is Lord Julian Sherwood still the man of the hour?"

"Yes, I think so," Marianne replied. Let them think it was Lord Julian who filled her daydreams. "I hope so."

"But he has not yet made a move, or offered a proposition?"

"No, not yet."

"What is taking him so long?" Penelope asked. "Lud, the Season will be half over before you get him in your bed. What a waste of time."

"Perhaps he is simply being cautious," the duchess said as she dripped wax onto a folded invitation. "After all, Marianne is a well-respected patroness of a large charity. He must be certain she wants what he thinks she wants. He will not want to offend so important a member of Society."

She brought the seal down on the hot wax very slowly and deliberately. Wilhelmina liked her seals to be perfectly round. She claimed it was her best contribution, since neither her penmanship nor her spelling could be counted on. Her upbringing had not included the genteel education the others had received at the hands of governesses or at boarding schools. Although Wilhelmina made light of it, Marianne suspected she was often painfully aware of the differences in their backgrounds.

Satisfied with her seal, Wilhelmina looked up and smiled. "Perhaps you ought to give the poor man a clear signal, my dear. Do not keep him guessing."

"I will try," Marianne said, "but this is all very new to me. I cannot just walk up and ask him to make love to me."

"Not in so many words," Wilhelmina said. "And a true gentleman will not require such a blatant invitation. He will lead the conversation in the right direction, and all you need do is to follow."

"I hope you are right," Marianne said. She really did. She wanted to purge all inappropriate thoughts of Adam by having a passionate affair with someone else.

"All this talk about men and ... and lovemaking is one thing," Grace said, "but do none of you worry about the consequences? What will you do, Penelope, if you find yourself in an interesting condition? Disappear for several months and return with a young ward in your care?"

"Oh, dear," Marianne said, "that is rather a good question, is it not?"

"Had you not given it any thought?" Grace asked her. "Or is the pleasure worth the risk?"

"I have given it thought," Marianne said, "but I do not think I need to worry. I am fairly certain I am barren. I had one or two miscarriages early in my marriage." It had been three, in fact, but there was no need to dwell on that sad fact. "But I did not conceive again during the last five years of my marriage, so I do not believe I have to worry about an unexpected pregnancy."

"You should take precautions, nevertheless," Wilhelmina said. "You can never be sure about these matters. Many women have multiple miscarriages and still manage to conceive again. And again. Look at Mrs. Jordan. The poor woman is constantly pregnant, it seems, but has as many miscarriages as live births. And some women never conceive with one husband, but breed like bunnies with the next husband. So don't assume you cannot become pregnant, Marianne. Take precautions."

Good heavens. Was that true? Marianne had just assumed she could never conceive again. But what if Wilhelmina was right?

"Eustace uses French letters," Penelope said matter-of-factly as she folded an invitation.

"How considerate of him," Wilhelmina said. "Most men loathe the things."

Penelope gave a nonchalant shrug. "He is afraid of disease."

"Good God," Beatrice said. "He thinks you might be carrying a disease?"

"He is just being cautious. And since I have quite enough children and have no desire to present him with a by-blow, I am happy to oblige him."

One tended to forget that Penelope had three young sons. She did not give the impression that she was remotely maternal, especially with her boys packed away at school. But in fact, she doted on them, and was forever buying presents to send them, and reading aloud amusing passages from their letters. Marianne did wonder, though, if Penelope would have been quite so cavalier about her love affairs if she had a daughter or two underfoot.