Dancing the Maypole (14 page)

Peter blanched
as he waited to be pronounced a conceited bore. “No, I don’t want
that. I want you.”

“You want to
marry me?”

“Oui.”

“You may
persuade me to marry you, but you’ll never convince me to name a
daughter Hawise. Ever!”

“Héloïse
Solange is a lovely name.”

“You haven’t
yet actually asked me to marry you Mr Smirke. Naming offspring is a
trifle premature.”

“Forgive me,
I’m all at sea. Mademoiselle, will you honour me? Will you b-b-be
my wife and c-comfort?”

With her hands
clutched over her heart, Isabel stared up with suspicious eyes.
“Why me? Tell me the truth.”

Peter couldn’t
think anything but the truth, “I want you.”

Her eyes were
still waiting for an answer. “Why?”

The thought of
trying to explain how she affected him sent a scorching heat wave
through his body as he reached out to touch her arm. The walking
stick was again in the way. “I d-d-desire you…” His left cheek was
burning before he saw her hand rise up and slap him.

Rubbing his
sore cheek, Peter studiously ignored the transparent man hopping up
and down beside him. “Peter Augustus, stop standing there like a
lump. Ignore that look on her face, pull her into your arms and
whisper in her ear, au Français that she’s put you under a
spell…that you can’t stop thinking about her…you can’t live
without her…”

“In my world,
Mr Smirke, a man doesn’t treat a lady like a load of contraband
because he desires her. Next you’ll tell me you like tall women
after deriding me as a maypole and informing me that you prefer
short blondes. If I want to hear lies, I’ll send for my beautiful
cousin Robert. He always tells me I’m the fairest of them all. What
he means is that I’m the nicest of all my sisters. Some people
value a good heart even if it beats in a tall woman.”

Peter was
momentarily stunned by the threat of losing the woman of his dreams
to Robert Neilson. “Neilson? He’s a fiend!”

“Robert’s
harmless; his weakness for rescuing pretty maidens will be annoying
for his wife, but I doubt she’ll remember she’s angry when he steps
into view. He has that affect on most women. Every time he looks me
in the eyes I forget my date of birth. When he asked me to marry
him, I nearly said yes without thinking. Thankfully my brother came
up and kicked Robert in the leg then ran off, drawing away my would
be husband.”

Peter’s lips
curled back in an unconscious snarl. “Robert Neilson offered for
you?”

“Yes, he thinks
I’d be a good mother for his adopted children. Does that surprise
you?”

“That fiend has
children?”

“Thirteen
natural daughters that I know of.” Peter felt an irrational stab of
jealousy. “If I’d married Robert I’d have died years ago from
overbreeding. It would have been less painful than loving you.”

Peter felt a
heavy weight settle onto his shoulders. The lovely woman haunting
his dreams had left her heart in his care, and he’d broken it. “I’m
sorry Isabel…” She didn’t slap him for his forward use of her
Christian name. “I should have been looking for you these last
eight years.” He was conscious of a strange ache in his chest as he
leaned forward and lightly kissed her lips. Electrified by her
response, he reached for her face. With her fingers combed into his
hair the rest of his body demanded her nearness. Dropping his
walking stick, he took her in his arms, but the dull bang as it hit
the carpet made her jump severing the kiss. He groaned in
disappointment as she withdrew her hands from his hair and stepped
back. “Isabel…” He silently cursed the abandoned stick as she
covered her lips with her hands as if afraid he might try to resume
the kiss. Her eyes were large with doubt as if terrified by the
prospect of her dreams coming true.

After a long
pause, she lowered her hands and folded them tightly together. “You
truly wish to marry me?”

“Oui!
Immédiatement…if you wish.”

“Very well…”
She sounded stunned as if she’d never actually planned for the
moment. “Convince me you have a better reason than you’re desperate
for a woman in your bed, and I’ll marry you. You might want to
think quickly. If my cousin Robert can convince me to marry him,
you’ll be waving your lilac scented handkerchief at some other
maypole.”

“Avoid
Neilson,” begged Peter. “He’ll hurt you!”

“Will he? What
is that opinion based on my Lord; idle gossip?”

“Neilson’s a
b-brute!”

“I’ve known
Robert all my life. I’ve never known him to be a brute.”

Peter leaned
forward as if his nearness would convince her. “The b-blackguard
tried to force himself on a woman.”

“Would you care
to name the lady so she can corroborate your story?”

“Non.”

“I tried to
save you from Miss Carteret by revealing what she did to my
brother, and you despised me for it. Now you’re trying to persuade
me to fear my cousin based on your word alone? Hypocrite!”

“Il est
méchant.”

“My cousin
isn’t evil; he’s merely incapable of keeping his trousers on for
more than two hours at a time.”

“Marry me…”

Isabel reached
out and fondled one of the buttons on his waist coat. “Can you
think of a reason to marry me other than you’re desperate for a
woman in your bed?”

“I’m not…” He
was. An emptiness inside his chest threatened to consume him, but
Isabel could fill it with a loving kiss that would lead to more
kisses.

“That’s a
pity,” said Isabel” She sounded oddly cheered. “It looks like we’re
at an impasse.” Sighing in disappointment, Peter followed her eyes
as they glanced at the wall. His mouth fell open as he caught sight
of the painting. His dream mistress stared back imploring him to
rescue her from the magic spell binding her to the canvas. He
wasn’t aware of walking across the room. Up close, the trapped
Isabel looked away over his shoulder as if snubbing him for all the
times he’d tried to resist her charms. “Your mother painted it. I
brought it to show any interested fortune-hunters how kind time has
been to me.” Peter heard only garbled noise as his eyes searched
for clues that might help him to remember meeting the young woman
in white. “I was eighteen. It was painted a few months after the
end of my first season.” Peter’s eyes returned to the flesh and
blood woman. There were faint smile lines around her eyes and her
skin was no longer peachy smooth. The girl had become a woman and
he’d missed the transformation because he’d settled for a pretty
maid who’d looked up at him in awe until she realised he was just a
man who thought highly of his own opinion. A heavy feeling settled
in his stomach adding to the ache in his chest. If he couldn’t
unlock the memory of their dance, he’d lose her again.

Isabel shivered
as her hero took hold of her face and admired her features. Was she
imagining the sensation of thumbs caressing her cheeks? Her arms
hung at her side as her knees buckled, tipping her against his
chest. Through the lilac scented cloud she smelled happiness. Her
head rolled back as she stared into black eyes burning with an
admiration. “Ma Belle…tu me manques.” His lips pressed the words
against her cheek with a soft moan. He missed her? “Oui Ma Belle!
Tu me manques.” Could the man read minds? Clutching his coat, she
closed her eyes and smiled as warm lips lightly kissed her eyebrows
and then her eyelids. She opened her mouth to ask him if he really
thought she was beautiful, but the words were lost in a warm
passionate kiss. Wrapping her arms around his neck she relaxed into
his embrace.

“Isabel!” The
sound of Louis’ voice made them both jump. Adoring lips and fingers
instantly withdrew. “I thought you were finished kissing cows.”

Peter returned
her brother’s glare with a frightening expression, but his
expression softened as his gaze returned to her face,“J’aimerais
épouser votre soeur.”

“Is that true
Isabel? Have you agreed to marry this big cow?”

“I’ve given him
permission to court me not that it’s any of your business. If you
don’t mind, I was having a private tête à tête.”

Her brother
pursed his lips in disgust. “If you insist on kissing big cows,
remember to lock the door. My poor stomach… My dinner will be
ruined with thoughts of you becoming Mrs Big Cow. Don’t assist this
madman to engender another five brats. Il es fou! Heaven knows what
he’ll do next…attend the theatre wearing a chamber pot as a hat? If
you don’t die of embarrassment, I will.”

Isabel put her
hands on her hips and glared down at her brother. “Adderbury isn’t
mad and there’s nothing embarrassing about being a Smirke.”

“Non? Wait till
you walk into a shop and ask for your purchase to be delivered to
Lady Adderbury. They’ll ogle you like a circus freak.”

“Louis, what is
the matter with you? You haven’t said a pleasant word all
week.”

“My life
couldn’t be better if I were six feet tall. If you’ve finished
licking my sister’s face, May Lord, pray take your leave and allow
me to pretend my sister isn’t going to tie a bell around her neck
and start mooing. In future, you may want to scent yourself with
something a little less feminine, unless you’re hoping to attract a
certain type of male admirer.”

“Louis,
please!”

Her hero
straightened his shoulders and bowed to her. “Mademoiselle…I shall
return another day; hopefully, when Monsieur is out.”

The little man
curled his lip. “Don’t forget your beribboned maypole my Lord. You
wouldn’t want the ladies to mistake you for a fortune-teller’s tent
and try to climb inside your coat. How would you explain that to my
sister or is it so long since you’ve had a woman touch your pole
you’d simply collapse in shock?”

“Where are your
manners? Adderbury is my guest. Go away!” Louis gave Peter one last
sneer and regally marched from the room leaving his sister to her
fate. “Someone’s probably tried to shove him into another barrel of
salted haddock. He’s very sensitive…”

“I’d p-probably
think the same thing in his shoes.”

As her hero
started to bend over, her gaze was drawn to taut thighs where
fabric puckered over tormented flesh. “Allow me!” She snatched up
his walking stick and put it in his hand.

“Merci
Mademoiselle… Black eyes pulled her closer. She held her breath as
he caressed her cheek. “Tu es belle!” With an audible sigh, he
bowed low, enveloping her in a cloud of lilac. He was gone before
she could tell him she’d changed her mind, that she’d marry him
even if he only wanted her money.

Busy traffic
forced Peter’s carriage to crawl over the cobblestones, allowing
him time to recall the feel of Isabel’s cheek, the taste of her
lips…his embarrassing faux pas. Not only had he failed to think of
a reason why Isabel should marry him, but he’d called her Ma Belle.
The name he’d given his dream mistress was a fitting endearment for
the flesh and blood woman. Why should she marry him? Peter couldn’t
think of a single reason that wouldn’t get his face slapped.

Finally
arriving at his brother’s house, Peter stepped into the entrance
hall. Hearing muffled voices in the main reception room, and
wishing to be alone, he hurried up the stairs to his bedroom.
Closing his door, he tore off the lilac suit and sighed with relief
as he pulled on his black dressing gown. Comfortable, he unlocked
his travelling desk and took out Isabel’s fan. The part of him that
cherished duty and obeying laws demanded he return the fan to
Isabel, but he couldn’t. Somehow the mute object was the key. If
only he could figure out where to put the key to unlock his cursed
memory. A knock at the door forced him to fold the fan and conceal
it in his pocket. “Enter.”

The door swung
open. A man with golden brown hair and a face similar to Peter’s
youngest brother stuck his head into the room. “May I have a word
my Lord?”

Peter smiled
with pleasure. “Lucius! Come in.” Lucius Smirke wasn’t just a
cousin and trusted steward; he was a friend. “How was Aunt
Harriet?”

Lucius closed
the door and dropped a leather pouch next to the open travelling
desk. “Still refusing to wear her spectacles in company. The latest
wealthy widow she thought I’d adore was on the far side of fifty.
When I pointed out in private that the lady was too old to give her
the beautiful grandchildren she desires, she blamed the widow.”
Lucius Smirke’s light grey eyes stared over the gold rims of his
own spectacles at the lilac suit on the floor. “You wore that in
public?”

“James and
Agnes think I need t-to look more…”

“Spooney? Bang
up? Lilac? I thought your brats were unhelpful. Have you noticed
that something bad always happens when I visit my mother? I wasn’t
gone for more than a day, and Cecil set in motion the destruction
of your reputation. Within months, every English-speaking corner of
the world will be laughing at you.”

“Thank you for
reminding me.”

“It’s my job.”
Lucius picked up the lilac coat off the floor and held it up with
distaste. “I can believe Agnes would be amused to see you prancing
about in lilac silk, but James? This is cruel.”

“The suit is
supposed to make me look like a romantic hero.”

Lucius dropped
the suit. “I can’t believe you said that with a straight face.”

“If I refuse to
wear it, Agnes will tell my sons the name of my d-dream mistress. I
can look a fool or die of shame.”

“The lady might
think it romantic that she haunts your dreams,” said Lucius.

“She might, if
I d-didn’t have to explain…” Peter groaned in horror. “I’ve been
making love to a woman in my dreams for eighteen years whom I
c-can’t remember meeting. I thought I made her up. It’s not
romantic. It’s embarrassing!”