Lady Blue (24 page)

nodded. “Go ahead, Anthony. Tell me what it is.”

He braced himself. There was nothing for it but to forge ahead.

“I know it’s every girl’s dream … indeed, her right … to have a beautiful wedding. A gown, flowers, champagne. But I … I have to ask you to forego all that.”

“Those things aren’t important, Anthony,” Harmony replied truthfully. “What matters is our love for each other. What
causes
us to wish to marry. The trimmings of the wedding itself are not the cause.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind a … a quiet, private ceremony?”

“Not at all.”

Anthony drew a long, deep breath. “I have one more request.” When Harmony remained silent, he continued. “I’d like for us to wed … as soon as possible.”

In spite of the hour, the location, and the strangeness of Anthony’s proposal, Harmony felt very calm. Nothing seemed to surprise or disturb her. Was it because of the depth of her love for him? It didn’t matter. It simply was.

“How soon do you think that will be?” Harmony asked quietly.

“How soon can you be ready?”

Harmony thought for a moment. “I’ll need a day or two to tell my sister and pack my things.”

“How about three days? That will give me time to make arrangements on my end.”

Harmony smiled gently. “Three days it is.”

Anthony took her face in his hands. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she replied simply.

Anthony took another deep breath. “In spite of the fact that you don’t … you don’t really know who I am?”

“You mean you’re not really Anthony Allen, Lord Farmington?”

“Oh, I’m most certainly Anthony Allen,” he replied swiftly.

“But are you, or are you not, properly addressed as ‘Lord'?”

“I am titled. That is the truth.”

Harmony felt as if her brain was reeling within her skull. Was he telling her the absolute truth? She had no doubt of it. She simply didn’t know if he was telling her all of the truth. He could very well be a lord and … something else. The title could be an impoverished one and he’d had to resort to … Harmony banished the thought.

“And your home, Anthony. Are you able to tell me now, at last, where you live?”

Anthony gripped her hands tightly. “This is a night of truth. Simply not all the truths of my life. Suffice it to say I do, indeed, have a home.”

There it was, right out in the open. Truth, but not all of it. Yet Harmony had already confronted it in her heart.

“No matter who you are, or what you are … I love you.”

Anthony’s eyes closed briefly. “You are the most remarkable woman I have ever known,” he breathed. “I knew from the first you were the only one who could ever be for me. It has been my constant prayer that you would return my love. And now …”

“Now?”

“Now my prayer has been answered. And I must ask you the most difficult thing of all.”

Her sense of calm flowed into serenity. She was loved and in love. It was all that mattered. Nothing could disturb the peace of her soul.

“Go ahead, Anthony. Say, ask, what you must.”

Coming into the evening, he hadn’t thought he could love her more. He had been wrong.

“I … I am not Lord Farmington, although I may be correctly addressed as ‘Lord,'” he said quickly. When Harmony started to speak, he put his hand gently over her mouth. “I know you already guessed that. But neither am I … whatever else you might think. Will you trust me? Please?”

Harmony considered her response for a long moment. Then: “I trust you, or I wouldn’t consent to marry you. I know you are keeping secrets from me. I also know that you love me and would never do anything intentionally to harm me. It’s … difficult, I admit, to understand why you would keep your true identity from me. But it doesn’t alter who you are essentially. So, yes. Yes, I trust you.”

Anthony raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Just until we’re married. Then I’ll tell you everything. I swear.”

“Three days.” It was almost impossible to imagine. In three days she would be Mrs….who? Despite the solemnity of the moment, Harmony giggled.

“What is it? What’s funny?”

Harmony shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m just … happy, I guess.”

The weight of the world seemed to have lifted from Anthony’s shoulders. He felt his own smile begin to spread.

She loved his crooked grin. She loved everything about him. The circumstances of their meeting, their brief courtship, were impossible. Anthony’s proposal, his conditions, were crazy. Yet here she was. And she had never been happier. The laughter bubbled up inside her and escaped.

Anthony winced. Harmony clapped a hand over her mouth. Then they were holding each other, shaking with silent laughter. And then they were simply

holding one another.

“Harmony …”

Anthony’s breath was warm against her neck. The way he said her name sent a shiver of pleasure through her. She turned her head and kissed the hard, square line of his jaw. The stubble of his beard was rough, and pleasing, against the softness of her lips. She felt his fingers tangle in the mass of her hair. He pulled her head back gently.

“Harmony …”

His mouth closed over hers. His tongue sought to part her lips and she surrendered willingly, drawing him inside of her. She tasted him, and reveled in him. Something soared within her.

Moments later a starburst of passion blossomed in her breast as Anthony’s fingers traced a searing line from her shoulder to her waist. She captured his hand and moved it back, and he cupped her breast, thumb teasing the swelling, sensitive flesh beneath her thin, cotton shirt. Gasping for breath, she pulled her mouth from his.

“Anthony …”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry.” With all his remaining willpower, Anthony pushed her away. “Forgive me, Harmony. I—”

“No,” she interrupted. “You misunderstand. Come with me. Please.” She tugged at his hand and

pulled him to his feet.

A narrow flight of wooden stairs at the back of the stable led to the small room that had been the coachman’s. Harmony climbed the steps and opened the door. She peered tentatively into the tiny room.

It was neat and smelled clean. There was a well-washed, faded coverlet on the small bed. She pulled Anthony into the room. He took her immediately into his arms.

“We don’t have to do this, Harmony,” Anthony whispered hoarsely. “It’s only a matter of days now.”

“I don’t want to wait,” Harmony replied. She didn’t think she
could
wait. Pressed against his length, she felt the very positive, physical proof of his need of her, his longing. It seemed the core of her being was centered in that spot. She was no longer even aware of the rest of her body. She was a flame, and only he could quench her heat.

“I want you,” Harmony breathed against his mouth. “I love you.”

Anthony moaned. He was past all restraint. It was right. The moment was right. They were meant to be together. They always had been.

Harmony had never known such urgency, such intensity. Anthony’s body pushed her slowly, carefully toward the bed as his hands fumbled with her skirt and petticoats, lifting them. Harmony’s fingers tore at the buttons of her blouse, then at the buttons of Anthony’s shirt. A birdlike cry flew from her throat when she pressed her naked breast to his at last.

His skin was smooth and slippery with a sheen of sweat. She felt soft, pliant, feminine against the ridges of his muscular chest and abdomen. She burned. Her hands moved downward.

He throbbed, pulsed. She felt herself quiver in the most secret, private part of her, felt the welcoming, wanting moisture there. Her fingers felt every inch of his manhood, straining against the fabric of his trousers. Then the backs of her legs came in contact with the narrow bed, and she pulled him down on top of her.

There was no knowing, no rational thought. Only passion, desire, hands and lips and bodies. Clothing disappeared as if by magic and they were together, pressed together and suspended in a timeless time. Harmony felt him between her legs, pushing, gently pushing, thrusting his way into her body, her soul. She rose to meet him …

H
armony opened her eyes slowly, languidly. Her bedroom window remained ajar from the evening before, and she heard the singing of birds. By the intensity of the sun, and its slant, she knew she had slept quite late. The room had also grown warm. Harmony threw back her covers.

She had been naked under the sheets. Never before had she slept that way. But when she had at last crept into her bed, in the wee hours before dawn, she had wanted nothing to disturb the memory of Anthony’s hands on her body. Harmony sighed and closed her eyes again.

She had never even imagined, in her wildest dreams, lovemaking would be like what had passed between them. And it was something she had dreamed of, and imagined, many times. Her parents, deeply in love with one another, had been openly affectionate. Her mother had been open and frank with her about the facts of life, and how wonderful the physical part of a relationship could be between two people who cared deeply about each other. She had taught Harmony to be unafraid when the time came and she knew she was with the right person. Furthermore, she had told her never to be shy with that person, but to ask for what she felt she needed or wanted. Harmony had had to ask nothing of Anthony.

With a renewed thrill, she remembered the ways, and places, he had touched her. Shivering, she remembered the trail his tongue had taken across her body, and how he had used it to raise her to heights that were dizzying. She recalled the feel of him beneath her hands, every inch of him, and the scent of him, musky and electrifying. With a groan, Harmony rolled over and buried her face in her pillow.

Three days. How was she going to wait another three days? She was not even going to be able to see him, much less touch him, hold him. He had told her he had to go into London and finish up his business affairs and make the arrangements for their hasty wedding.

Business affairs. What business? What did he do? Was it truly legitimate, or …?

Harmony tried to still her thoughts. She had made her commitment to him. She had vowed to trust him. Besides, she knew with greater certainty than ever that even if he turned out to be England’s most wanted criminal, she would still love him and go away with him. Their love was fated, destined. There was no turning back.

There was, however, going to be some difficulty going forward.

Harmony groaned again. But this time it was not with remembered pleasure.

There was no getting around it. She was going to have to tell Agatha. She feared her reaction.

No matter what Harmony might know, or suspect, herself, to Agatha Anthony was still a lord. A wealthy one at that. She had gone so far as to tell Harmony the only way she would ever be free, or have money, would be to marry a man of substance. Did it not stand to reason, therefore, that she would be delighted with the news of the impending nuptials?

Harmony doubted it. It was too soon, too fast. It wouldn’t be
seemly.
Tongues would wag. Agatha would hate it. Not to mention the missed attention a large and lavish wedding to an aristocrat would have drawn.

On the other hand, Harmony would be out from under her roof and, in Agatha’s eyes at least, suitably wed no matter how precipitously.

Either way, there were going to be initial fireworks. She might as well get it over with. Reluctantly, Harmony slid her bare legs over the edge of the bed and sat up.

In minutes she was dressed in proper attire, although still acutely aware of Anthony’s warmth and scent on her skin. Despite her apprehension, she nearly skipped down the corridor.

The dining room was empty. Harmony had not actually expected to find her sister lingering over a late breakfast. But neither had she expected to see the room cleared of every remnant of the meal, including tea. It was undoubtedly done out of spite. No matter. Harmony marched toward the morning room, where Agatha typically spent an hour or two over correspondence.

“Don’t expect Cook to prepare anything for you,” Agatha said without looking up from her escritoire. “Meals are served at specified times and guests are expected to be prompt.”

“So that’s all I am to you, Agatha … a guest?”

Agatha laid down her pen and turned slowly in her chair. “Do you really believe you have behaved toward me in a …
sisterly
… way?”

As difficult as it was, Harmony managed to hold her tongue. “I’m sorry if my nature antagonizes you,” she forced herself to say. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

“As you see, I am engaged. You may, however, suit yourself.” Agatha returned to her letter.

Harmony perched on the edge of a narrow window seat. She felt the sun on her back, but it did little to dispel the chill in the room. She cleared her throat.

Agatha threw down her pen. “You obviously have something on your mind, Harmony. In the interest of conserving time, and my patience, why don’t you go ahead and tell me what it is.”

It wasn’t the best of beginnings. But it was too late now.

“I have something to tell you, Agatha. Something that I think will make you quite glad.”

“Oh, really?” Agatha’s brow furrowed as her eyebrows arched. “I believe I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Very well.” Harmony folded her hands on her lap. “If you recall, you told me once, not long ago, that it would be … advisable … for me to marry a man of money.”

Agatha’s eyes narrowed, but she remained silent. Harmony continued.

“Well, I’m going to do exactly that. I’m going to marry Lord … Lord Farmington.”

The room became entombed in silence. Even the birds seemed to have ceased their singing. Agatha’s features remained perfectly impassive.

“And you’ve known him how long?” she asked at length, tonelessly.

“It doesn’t matter how long we’ve known each other. We’re in love.”

Agatha made a rude noise and returned to her letter. “You know nothing of love,” she said without turning. “Certainly not in this short a time. Don’t be absurd. Go on about your business and let me finish my correspondence.”

Harmony had expected many things. She had not expected to be dismissed so summarily. Perhaps, however, it was a blessing in disguise. She rose to leave.