Debt of Honor (21 page)

Their guests left soon afterwards. Percy watched with sadness Mr. Wilkinson’s stooped posture and slow progress as the elderly man walked toward his carriage. Would his father have grown old in the same way had he lived? Mr. Wilkinson’s health had been worsening steadily over the last few years. Percy hoped the unsettling news would not bring on another bout of illness. It was time indeed for Thomas to stay home for more than a few months.

“I want to go with you,” Lettie said when they waved off their guests and walked inside.

“I would like nothing better,” Percy replied, meaning it entirely, “but it might not be the wisest decision under the circumstances. Welch seems convinced beyond any doubt that the invasion is coming. If he is correct, then it may be necessary to leave London in great haste, and that may require traveling on horseback.”

He would never willingly subject her to any danger, and Lettie could not argue. She was no horsewoman.

“How long will you be gone?” she sighed, resigned, her brow creased with worry.

“A fortnight, I expect.”

That night, they spent considerably less time sleeping.

At dawn, he carried her to her bed and then returned to his room to prepare for travel.

Letitia hated separations. First, John had left for Egypt, promising to bring her some treasure of the pharaohs, but instead all she got was his military knapsack and a handful of letters, including the last one scribbled just hours before the battle and his death.

Then her mother had died under the double strain of grief from the loss of her only and beloved son and the mistreatment at her husband’s hands. Letitia’s father had put the guilt of John’s death squarely on his wife’s shoulders, blaming her for John’s decision to buy a commission against his father’s will, and never lost an opportunity to berate her for depriving him of his heir.

And then, even Father was gone, his mind on the trouble in his West Indian plantations in the aftermath of the Saint-Domingue uprising. In the nearly three years he was away, he did not write Letitia a single letter.

Now, Letitia missed Percy. The nights without him were insufferably lonely. She felt bereft of the warmth and safety of his body around hers when they fell asleep together. She missed his lovemaking. He had kept his promise; she had entered the world that was not supposed to exist in a married life, at least according to Lady Alicia Bidwell. And during the day, the house was palpably empty without him, despite the fact that he never spent much time within.

Her days, though, were busy.

Mrs. Baillie sprained her ankle on nothing more than the gravel path in her little garden, but the doctor confined her to bed until it healed completely. Letitia visited the elderly lady every day, reading to her aloud over a cup of tea until Mrs. Baillie fell asleep.

She also went daily to Pythe Park, hoping to divert Mr. Wilkinson’s mind from his son’s dangerous journey. She usually found him poring over the newspapers and waiting for the mail to come. The truce between her and Ethel was carefully observed on both sides. So much so that Ethel came to visit her at Bromsholme twice and didn’t even insist on being shown to the orangery anymore. Letitia wondered if Ethel’s subdued reluctance to go past the hallway on each occasion resulted from the lingering guilt over the ribbon. But she had no intention of reviving that subject.

Mary came for tea once, bringing with her some new needlepoint designs she had promised Josepha.

And while Endymion’s sprawled, sleeping figure was taking shape on the canvas, Letitia also began painting miniatures. She was working on a self-portrait. It would be a Christmas gift for Percy. Then she would paint one of him for herself.

Miniature painting had been—in what seemed to her now someone else’s life—a part of her plan to escape from Percy. Nearly three months later, that plan seemed strangely unreal. She didn’t want to be away from him. Ever.

She also embarked on another not very pleasant task. She wrote to her father. The letter was composed with utmost care and took her two evenings to complete. She knew he would not read it kindly. Chances were he would not read it at all. But she had to try.

It centered on a carefully worded question as to whether he would consider giving them, as a belated wedding gift, a few of the objects removed from Wycombe Oaks that she knew were in his possession. The list was short, not by choice but of necessity. Asking for too much would certainly mean getting nothing at all. She hoped he would not dismiss her request out of hand.

She waited with great anxiety for his reply.

It came four days later.

Letitia worked in the orangery, putting the final touches on Endymion’s torso. She had partially changed his pose since asking Percy his opinion. The supine figure had now one leg bent at the knee, the foot resting on the ground. It gave her the chance to better show his strong, shapely calf muscles. The reposing shepherd exuded strength and masculinity no goddess, or any female, could walk by without taking notice.

She stepped back from the canvas, eyeing the touch-ups she had just added, when a fast-moving object on the outskirts of the gardens intruded upon her peripheral vision. She glanced up in time to see a carriage racing toward the driveway.

Her heart slammed wildly in her chest. Could this be Percy? Wiping her hands on her apron, Letitia ran for the door.

By the time she reached the entrance, Slater was already there, and the carriage reappeared on the driveway, rattling toward them at a dangerous speed. It was not Percy’s.

Its urgent progress brought on more deafening pounding of her heart.
Oh Lord, please let it not be any bad news…

Moments later, she recognized her father’s traveling carriage. It continued without slowing down until it reached the portico, and the coachman stopped the sweating four horses inches from the steps. The footman sent by Slater barely had time to reach the carriage and roll down the steps before the Earl of Stanville’s feet stomped out, narrowly missing the servant’s hand.

Letitia stood all this time by the door. This was a surprise she hadn’t even considered. A tiny ray of hope fluttered in her heart. No doubt, her father came in answer to her letter.

But the hope died as soon as she saw his face.

“Good morning, Father.” She made an effort to sound happy, though his thunderous expression smothered all expectations. “Do come in and take some refreshments. Unfortunately, Percy is away. You should have let us know ahead that you’d planned a visit.”

“I had no such plans,” the earl barked, reaching the doorway. “I came to have a word with you.”

She indicated the door, then turned and preceded him just before he strode in. He tossed his hat at Slater, whose distant gaze focused on the wall above their heads.

Letitia directed the footman hovering by the drawing room door to bring the tea tray, but her father stopped him without ceremony.

“No! I’m leaving.”

“You are leaving so soon?” she asked when they found themselves in the drawing room. “Perhaps you can find time for a cup of tea.”

But he wasn’t even listening. He marched to the window and back toward her until they were mere feet apart.

“Do not ever send me anything like this again,” he hissed, pulling from his pocket her letter crumpled into a ball. “How dare he demand anything? The greedy bastard, did I not give him enough already?”

“Father,” she said, appalled by his language, “as long as you are under this roof, you will please refrain from referring to my husband in such a manner. Percy does not know about the letter. It was my idea.”

“Ah.” He scowled. “Then it is settled.
You
will keep from sending me any requests. In fact, you will keep from contacting me at all. I see no need for any exchange between us again. Good day to you!”

He shot her a furious glare, turned on his heel and marched out without further ado.

Letitia willed herself to stay where she was, fighting the growing pressure behind her eyes. Within moments, the carriage containing her father raced away in the same manner in which it had appeared, judging by the sounds that reached her from the driveway.

He might have been nothing more than a figment of her imagination. Perhaps that was what just happened. Her overanxious mind conjured him up in person. But then, would she not have a different answer if he were just a product of her hope?

From her place by the window, Letitia watched the diminishing cloud of dust marking her father’s departure and swallowed the tears that threatened to spill no matter what she did.

Why had he bothered to come at all? It would have been much easier to send a letter. No, he had to be traveling this way for other reasons, because it made no sense to come from London or Berkshire just to utter a sentence or two.

But above all, what was it about Wycombe Oaks that evoked such emotions? And why did her father’s demeanor ring with fear?

Chapter Twenty-Four

As soon as he had done his part with the contracts and ceded the rest to Welch, Percy was back in his carriage on a return journey. Thankfully, talk of invasion proved once more to be just talk, but he did not regret he had come to London. The contracts with the admiralty would bring more money that he could invest in Wycombe Oaks’ restoration.

But now he was impatient to be home.

Lettie was never completely out of his thoughts. Cooped up in the admiralty offices, Percy had spent idle time between his appointments imagining her on a stroll in Hyde Park or, even better, by his side in a curricle or a phaeton. Would she bring along that inseparable sketchbook and her brother’s knapsack?

He should take her somewhere next summer. Percy had always been sorry for not having had a chance to go on the grand tour when he left Cambridge ten years ago. But France had been ruled then by the madmen decapitating everybody and anybody, and generally for imaginary offenses. The whole Continent had been in turmoil. Soon after, he had become too engaged in running his estates. Then he had married. Sarah, though eager to spend time in London with Ethel at a moment’s notice, had always refused to go anywhere with him.

Lettie might not be averse to going to Wales. One of his mother’s estates was there, and he had never been to that rugged country. Or maybe they should tour the properties Stanville had ceded to him in the marriage contract. She should know what was hers.

A feeling of great tenderness washed over him. He missed her with an almost-physical pain. The nights in London were the first ones in more than a month he had spent alone. Without the soft body of a woman pressed against him. Without the pleasure of feeling the light weight of her arm draped over his chest, or her leg on top of his thigh. When he woke up with her so close, he found it difficult to move, reveling in her warmth and softness, while her deep, even breathing told him she was still asleep.

In all candor, until the evening she had braved the threshold to his bedchamber, he really had not known what being married could be like, what it could mean. Lettie would probably be very surprised to learn that until then he had never slept with a woman through the entire night, in the same bed, holding her in his arms and waking in the morning to the pleasure of more lovemaking.

Sarah had never let him stay in her room. Even during those first two weeks of their marriage she had always asked him to leave. He realized eventually that she had borne their physical contact out of duty, not affection. Contrary to what he had thought during their brief courtship, she was not a passionate woman.

But as the time passed, she had grown even colder, no matter what he did. Over the years, almost unnoticeably at first, his affection and desire for her had begun to couple more and more with feelings of inadequacy and guilt, until he had visited her bed only out of duty, hoping to give her the child she wanted so much. Even then he had often felt as if he were violating her. Her passive submission had made him awkward and nervous. Sarah had never desired him, and, eventually, his great love and passion had eroded until nothing but sadness and resignation remained in his heart.

Lettie, who had married him unwillingly and whom he had married with perfect indifference, turned out to be not only a passionate lover, but much more than he had ever expected: a graceful, intelligent, interesting and, by now, irreplaceable companion of his life.

He smiled, thinking how fortunate he was that she had followed his advice and thrown out the window the traditional way in which the affairs between a man and his wife were normally conducted—and moved into his bed. He had enjoyed each and every night since that first one. Perhaps it was Lettie’s uninhibited openness that had unleashed his own suppressed passion, making him feel freer than he had ever been with any other woman. Yet he sensed more in Lettie than only sexual desire. She wanted him as a
person
. And his soul, starved for a mate for so long, could not resist such temptation.

It also could not ignore the more and more insistent voice reminding him that this unforeseen happiness would not last. That he must tell Lettie.

Percy squeezed his eyes shut.

It was a depressing secret no man would want to reveal. Would she feel cheated? How was he going to bear her disappointment? Or even worse, her contempt? Just the thought of her reaction put him in the gloomiest of moods every time he allowed himself to dwell on it.

But he could not hide the ugly truth any longer. The sooner she knew it, the better.

A sharp stab of inadequacy poked him in the chest again. Of all things in his life, this one was beyond his power to mend. The sense of helplessness settled heavily over his shoulders. He was going to fail Lettie, just as he had failed Sarah.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Percy reached the Bromsholme stables just as the mid-September dusk began to thicken into full darkness. He left the horse to a stableboy who bounded out of the side corridor once his presence was noticed, and headed for the house. He had ridden most of the day, bent on avoiding another night of solitude under an inn roof.

But now, back home, the decision to tell Lettie
everything
dampened his joy and slowed his step. On one hand, it would be rather odd to greet her by launching into explanations she did not expect. On the other, did he have the right to put off his confession until tomorrow? To give himself the gift of one more night in the arms of the woman he loved with every fiber of his being, in spite of the disappointment he was going to deal her in the morning?

Slater hovered by the door, probably by coincidence.

“Shall I order your supper, sir?” he asked.

“Thank you, Slater. I wouldn’t mind a hot bath first if you can have that arranged. Is Lady Hanbury home?”

“No.” The butler shook his head. Percy’s heart plummeted all the way to the stone floor of the hall. “Her ladyship is dining with Mrs. Vernon at Harewood House today. Miss Fourier went with her.” He gazed outside into the growing darkness before closing the door. “Is Pergot not with you, sir?”

“He’ll be here with the carriage tomorrow. I rode.”

Slater bowed. “Very well, sir. I shall be glad to take care of your dinner clothes.”

“No need to fuss, Slater,” Percy said, starting up the stairs. “Something simple will suffice.”

Lettie’s absence had the effect of a bucket of cold water being poured over his head, which was overheated with dreams and expectations. He had imagined opening his arms wide to greet her while she hurled herself into them with joyous laughter. It hadn’t even occurred to him that she might not be home. Stupid. Why would she not visit Mary? He had not send word ahead that he was coming. It was to be a surprise, but surprises could sometimes turn into double-edged swords.

Percy shrugged out of his riding coat on the way to his room, glad to see the footmen already carrying up the steaming buckets. He craved a bath after a day in the saddle. As soon as the footmen were gone, he removed the rest of his clothes, wincing at a waft of horseflesh scent about him, and sank into the tub, sliding down until he was submerged to the last hair on his head. It felt heavenly.

He wondered, while soaping himself, when Lettie might come back. Whoever drove her knew the roads around Bromsholme like his own hand, of course, and to the best of Percy’s knowledge, there were no highwaymen in the neighborhood—except him. He didn’t need to worry about her returning home in the dark.

Percy dove under again and, holding his breath, vigorously raked his fingers through his hair to rinse all the soap off. When done, he slid up enough to pull his head above the surface and lean it against the edge of the tub. The water was still hot, soothing his tired muscles. Percy relaxed into a semi-nap. There was nothing to rush to.

Suddenly his rest was interrupted by two hands settling over his eyes. Light breath brushed his wet cheek before soft, warm lips settled on his own. They seemed to be smiling, or perhaps it was just the impression he had, since they were busy playing with his mouth at a rather uncommon angle.

Longing, love and desire burst through him, depriving him of his breath as much as that unexpected kiss had. Percy reached out, vaguely aware of water splashing over the tub’s edge. His fingers closed around two slender wrists, soliciting a sweet, guttural sound from his assailant that blended into another smile over his lips. He put all his yearning into that kiss.

When Lettie stopped kissing him, Percy opened his eyes at last. She knelt by the tub, her face inches from his.

“Why didn’t you send a message ahead?” she asked. “I would have stayed home if I’d known you were coming back tonight.”

“The messenger wouldn’t reach Bromsholme before me.”

Letitia sat back on her heels, her face anxious.

“Oh dear,” she said. “Oh poor Mr. Wilkinson. He was so happy when your letter came the day before last.”

“Mr. Wilkinson has nothing to fear.” Percy shifted to get up and sent more waves over the edge of the tub. “There is no more threat of invasion now than there’s ever been. But it seemed a waste of time to spend another night in yet another inn rather than in my own bed—and with my own wife.”

“What an interesting notion.” The corners of her mouth turned up in an impish smile as she stood to make room for him.

Percy stepped out of the tub and reached for the towels piled on the nearby table. Goose bumps prickled his wet skin from the breeze his movement created.

Lettie took another towel from the table. “Turn around,” she said and as soon as he obliged her, began rubbing his skin vigorously. “I hope you won’t mind my having changed your orders,” she added while her hands moved from the tops of his shoulders to the expanse of his back. “I asked Slater to bring up the tray for you to my sitting room and forgo laying out your evening clothes. I think your robe will suffice as a dinner outfit in this case.”

“I don’t mind,” he assured her, as the sudden stirring of need pushed any thought of dinner aside while her hands moved now to his hips and buttocks. He reached down to dry his legs and became aware of the spongy wetness of the towels spread on the floor. Then Lettie’s wet skirts brushed his calves. “More so,” he added, “as you seem unfit to grace the dining room with your presence in your current condition.”

“What do you mean?” There was a hint of surprise in her question.

“That your skirts are a soggy mess, ma’am,” he replied, turning toward her. Lettie’s cheeks were rosy, probably from the vigorous exercise of rubbing his back. It would be presumptuous to think that she could blush at the sight of him after all those evenings he had spent posing for her.

“Oh,” she said, lifting the skirts hanging despondently from her knees down. “I suppose I will need to change.”

“Indeed. But I’m not letting a wet cat drag all this mess across my beautiful carpet,” he growled. “This dress stays here.” And to prove his point, he began to unbutton it.

“Your attachment to your beautiful carpet deserves the highest commendation,” she replied with a spurt of laughter, “but what do you suggest I should wear on my way from here to the sitting room?”

“I should not complain if you wear nothing at all,” Percy rejoined, pushing the dress off her shoulders and down her hips. He swallowed hard at the sight of two distended points pushing the thin fabric of her chemise toward him. His fingers found the ribbons holding it together. “But if you do not like my suggestion, you may avail yourself of one of my robes. I happen to own several.”

“Hmm.” She pursed her lips, allowing him to do whatever he pleased, neither helping nor stopping him. “Perhaps I will, if you let me use that sapphire-blue silk one.”

This came out a little breathless as he managed to push the chemise apart, and in the process, linger deliberately, cupping her breasts and brushing the hardened nipples with his thumbs. He’d almost forgotten how they felt, marveling at how hard and sensitive they became to his ministrations, and how beautiful were her breasts filling his hands.

“You can have any and all of them,” he managed in a strained voice, desire pounding in his blood and tightening his loins. “But not yet.” He bent down to close his mouth around one of the nipples.

Lettie shuddered. It was enough to make him decide that neither of them needed a robe. At least, not for some time to come.

“You’re dripping water like a wet dog.” She chuckled a little breathlessly, and a towel covered his head.

“Hmm,” he agreed while sinking to his knees and shifting to the other breast. Her sharp intake of air made him redouble his efforts. He suckled her stone-hard nipple while his hands were already busy removing the rest of her clothing. Skimming down her thighs, he reached the garters and undid them. Her stockings were not as wet as her skirts, but it didn’t matter.

Lettie’s hands stilled on his head when he lifted her foot to remove the slipper and the stocking while trailing wet, openmouthed kisses down her stomach. When he reached her navel and continued downward, her fingers convulsed, and the towel slid off his head.

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

“Why, preventing the destruction of my beautiful carpet,” he murmured, attempting a smile.

Lettie’s eyes shone with desire.

“Put your foot there, on the rug,” he instructed, shifting her in that direction. “Lift the other foot,” he added and returned to kissing the flat expanse of her belly. A familiar territory, but one he never got tired of. Just like the rest of her.

He began rolling down her second stocking, in the process lifting her foot higher than was strictly necessary, but thus giving himself better access to where he really wanted to kiss her. He inhaled deeply her very familiar scent, now mingling with the scent of an aroused woman.

There was a faint thump of a slipper falling on the towels, and Percy forgot about the stocking altogether once he reached the spot that muddled his thoughts beyond any coherence—and hers too, judging by her reaction. He held her in place until her shudders subsided. His loins were on fire.

Percy rose, but before he stood completely, Lettie threw her arms around his neck and reached for his mouth. Hunger and wild, uncontrollable craving took over.

“Lettie…” he whispered hoarsely when they pulled back.

“Oh, Percy,” she ground out, reaching for him again.

He had to be inside Lettie
now
, without waiting. Bending lower, Percy lifted her by the thighs and impaled her, pulling her down until he could not go any deeper. His blood hammered relentlessly through his entire body. Lettie’s arms wound tightly around his neck, and her legs squeezed his hips. And the sweetest moan she breathed into his mouth increased the pounding in his veins to an almost-unbearable level, together with the incessant need to drive even deeper into her heat and softness.

“Lettie…” he begged, finding her mouth and plunging in again while his muscles shook with effort. She kissed him back like a drowning person and clenched her muscles around him.

The world dimmed.

“Lettie, my love,” he breathed into her mouth, “I cannot wait much longer.”

“Neither can I,” she groaned back. “Oh, don’t wait…”

The world that had dimmed fell away. Everything focused on her. She shuddered, her loud gasps fanning his face, and Percy let go. Nothing had prepared him for the intensity of this eruption into a million stars that somehow made him float inside great softness to the drumbeat of two hearts.

He had no idea how he managed to stagger out of the bathroom and toward his bed, with Lettie still in his arms and wrapped around him. Or how he managed to reach his bed. His muscles trembled from the effort—but so did hers. His sweet, gorgeous wife who was the most passionate lover under the sun.

They collapsed on his bed, still tangled together, facing each other. Exhausted, their chests still heaving, both seemed equally reluctant to let the other move away. Lettie held him as tightly as he held her. Lazily, she rubbed her calf along his leg. It felt silky soft as if…ah yes, the second stocking he had abandoned once the soft scent of her arousal made him forget about everything else. The forgotten stocking was still a little damp.

He grabbed her ankle and lifted her leg until her knee was almost by his shoulder. “An underhanded attempt, ma’am, to sneak in here one of those forbidden garments,” he growled. His fingers rubbed her ankle gently before he skimmed them down her calf and past the stocking, along her thigh. “The price for smuggling is a hefty one.”

A little chuckle in her throat turned into a telltale shudder when he let his fingers wander into the thatch of hair between her legs.

“How hefty, sir?” she breathed out, all astonished innocence. Her eyes rounded with expectation. “I do not know if I have enough means…”

He grinned and began rolling the stocking the rest of the way down. “That shall be determined soon, ma’am. Perhaps you shall be allowed to pay in several installments,” he continued sternly, tossing the stocking aside and massaging the soft spots behind her ankle.

“Oh,” she moaned as he began to massage her calf. “That would suit me best, sir. Please, do not delay…” Her knee fell aside, and she flexed her hips.

“It would be ungentlemanly of me to keep you waiting, despite the gravity of your offense,” he rejoined, smoothing his hand over her thigh, her skin silkier than the stocking that occasioned that silly game. He dipped his head and kissed her mouth.

Lettie took his face in both hands and kissed him back, slowly, deliberately, igniting another fire in his loins.

“I missed you,” she whispered tenderly when they broke the kiss. “Oh, Percy, I missed you so much.”

His heart suddenly squeezed itself into a tight fist. The throbbing of blood in his head somehow constricted his throat so badly he couldn’t take or expel a single breath. Perhaps this was the reason for the sudden pressure under his eyelids. He squeezed his eyes closed to prevent the droplets of moisture from dripping on her hand.

“I missed you too, desperately,” he whispered harshly when he finally managed to swallow.
And I love you as desperately.
He took a long, shaky breath, coming to a decision. “I need to tell you something, Lettie. I suppose—”

She put a finger on his lips.

“You suppose I know what it is? You want to tell me that you love me? Oh, Percy, I do know. Just as you know that I love you. But do not talk now.” Raising her head, she replaced her finger with a quick kiss. “Make love to me again, Percy. Show me again instead. I’m a starved woman. Starved for you.”

That was that, then. Maybe it was better to put off his confession until tomorrow and instead do what she asked of him.
Show
her how much he really
loved
her.

Percy raised himself on one elbow and gazed down at the darker shape of Lettie’s head on the white pillow. With the other hand, he touched the side of her face. His head dipped, and his mouth found hers. Her lips were parted, ready to welcome him. He was pulled into a slow, sensuous and excruciatingly tender kiss while Lettie’s fingers gently held his head as if to make sure he would not try to break away.