Seduction In Silk: A Novel of the Malloren World (Malloran) (31 page)

“Or I’ll have to kiss you all the time.”

“Curse, curse, curse . . .”

He kissed her for a long time, picking her up, sitting on the bench with her on his knee. She twined around him, reveled in him, in them, together, at last. When the kiss ended, she rested her dazed head on his shoulder, aware of his fingers in her hair, against her scalp. His lips across her shoulder.

Her robe was falling off.

He’d untied some of the ribbons!

She tried to pull it together again.

He stopped her.

He rose and put her back down on the bench, untying the last two ribbons. “If you will be so kind, my wife, sit there like that while I undress.”

Claris felt the heat rise through her and the ache deepen inside. She desperately wanted to pull the robe closed, but he’d asked, and she wanted above all to be kind.

He looked at her, smiling, as he took off his clothes. Shoes, coat, waistcoat, breeches, stockings, drawers. Then he pulled off his shirt over his head and was naked before her. Her mouth was dry, her breathing rapid, and she was now leaning back against the dressing table simply because she couldn’t stay upright any longer.

He picked up his own robe, the one of heavy blue silk woven through with gold, and put it on, leaving it open at the front as he came to her.

He pulled her to her feet and into his arms, hot flesh to hot flesh, surrounded by coolly slithering silk. The kiss was even deeper, the effect even more devastating.

Claris was in the bed without knowing how, still on silk, him over her, still in silk, lost in the heat and smell of him, reveling in his clever hands and mouth as he slid slowly into her.

Even in the kiss he made a sound of satisfaction, and she echoed it. She’d wanted this so much for so long, to be like this again, perfectly matched, deeply one.

It was as if they’d done this many times before rather than just twice, for she knew him and knew the rhythm of it. She knew the peak of it now and could enjoy the slow winding tension and explosive release, and the deep, deepest contentment that came in its wake.

She snuggled up to him, holding him tight. “Thank you.”

He kissed her ear. “You are most welcome, my dear, especially as my pleasure has to have been greater than yours. I’ll hear no contradiction on that.”

“Shall we fight over it?” she asked, smiling as she traced a pattern on his chest with her nail.

“We shall never fight over anything.”

“Impossible. I’m a willful woman.”

“Then we’ll make peace most delightfully.” He shifted to hold her closer. “Dear, dear Cousin Giles must be howling.”

“No mention of Giles. Neither Giles, nor the curse.”

“That word again.” He kissed her, a long, soft, gentle kiss, unlike any they’d shared before. When they separated, he kissed her nose. “Freckles must be a sign of wisdom. Good night, my wise wife.”

“Good night,” Claris said.

He went to sleep, but she stayed awake for a while, smiling. All was well between them. Perfect, in fact. There had to be a way for them to make a true marriage, one that had them together most of the time, kissing most of the time.

Curse, curse, curse . . .

No, for all he’d made a game of it, it wasn’t amusing. She’d never rid her mind of worry until she’d settled the matter in her mind. Settled that neither her mother nor her aunt had known how to cast a curse.

*  *  *

The next morning, Perry woke to the delight of his wife at his side, so soft and desirable in sleep. He shouldn’t wake her, but he did, with a kiss, delighting in her bright smile and ready blush.

He kissed her cheeks. “I think I love your blushes as much as your freckles.”

“You’re insane.”

“Aren’t all lovers?” He kissed her and made love to her, finding his deepest pleasure in hers. He slid out of her, sighing with satisfaction. “In a just world we could spend the day in bed, but you have brothers.”

“Westminster Abbey,” she said, perhaps looking as wistful as he felt.

“We could send them with Lovell.”

“You promised. You shouldn’t break promises to a child.”

“Alack and alas. Then we must prepare for the day.”

He got out of bed, drew the curtains around it, and rang for washing water. Auguste brought it with a rather pinched expression.

Auguste was not best pleased to be here instead of the Knaves’ Palace, where valets had their own club and company. He’d be even less pleased to spend more time in the countryside. Another problem, but it must be so. Perry knew he was going to spend as much time at the manor as possible, even though it would be difficult to arrange.

He could shed his work for Rothgar. He wasn’t irreplaceable there, only convenient.

The king was another matter. Monarchs liked their useful subjects to be at hand and could be dangerous if disappointed. The king could order his sinecures taken away on the very reasonable basis that he wasn’t in Town to perform his duties. That would severely reduce his income.

Then there was his father. The earl couldn’t take back the lump sum that had come to him at twenty-one and which provided a modest income from investments. However, he could cease the generous extra income given so he’d serve the earldom’s interests in London.

There was nothing to be done now, so Perry dressed. He smiled when he noticed that Claris had parted the curtains a little so she could watch him.

“I’m tempted to do the same,” he said, kissing her, “but I’ll go down to breakfast.”

As he ate, a report arrived from Rothgar. It listed all the men who’d left the Merry Maid, including Pierrepoint. None of the names meant anything to him. Two were French, but Guerchy didn’t use only French agents. One seemed Irish, and they were often in league with the French.

Rothgar was investigating all of them, and Ryder and Pierrepoint would be followed today by Rothgar’s people. In other words, he could keep his promise and take Claris and her brothers to the abbey. What was more, once away from here, he couldn’t be found and dragged back into harness.

He remembered Rothgar’s unofficial motto: “With a Malloren, all things are possible.” Not that, he hoped. He was looking forward to his day.

C
laris set out for the expedition in anticipation of a lovely day. She searched her memory for another such day and could think only of the two that Perry had spent at the manor.

Lovell was accompanying them, so Claris could link arms with her husband and leave her brothers to him. They walked along terraced streets similar to Godwin Street and past the palace of St. James. They crossed the park toward the river and soon saw the ancient abbey, where kings were crowned. As they approached the magnificent front with its two tall, square towers, she halted to take in the view.

“It’s much larger than I expected. An abbey, after all.”

“It was a cathedral for a brief period,” Perry said, “to protect it from harm during the dissolution of the monasteries.”

He took her inside, into cool dimness, but what light entered came through beautiful stained glass windows. She couldn’t help but gawk. Ranks of fluted pillars marched toward a distant altar, stretching high above to meet at carved points.

A guide hurried forward. “The pillars and arches rise to above a hundred feet. They are said to re-create God’s wonder of nature, an avenue of trees. This wonder dates from the thirteenth century. . . .”

As the guide went on, Claris smiled at Perry and murmured, “Thank you.”

“For bringing you here?”

“For persuading me to marry you. Otherwise I might never have seen anything so wondrous.”

He smiled into her eyes. “There are so many wonders. A lifetime of them.”

The guide cleared his throat and they turned to pay attention.

“We see before us the monument to Captain James Cornewall, a noble sea captain killed at Toulon. . . .”

Perhaps the abbey wouldn’t be a poor substitute for the wild beasts at the Tower. The twins were transfixed by the huge work of marble, which was carved with fossils, shells, and sea plants, but also with cannons, anchors, and flags.

As the abbey seemed to be encrusted with tombs and memorials, they should be well satisfied. Certainly the one of an old knight who’d cut off a Moor’s head—the head being depicted—was a success. For her own part, she enjoyed the magnificence and beauty of the building. In such a place, prayer came easily, so she offered sincere thanks.

“And here we have the most recent addition to the wonders of the abbey,” the guide said.

Claris glanced and was fixed in place. Though the life-sized figures were adult, the monument strongly reminded her of the smothered babes. A man was supporting his dying wife while trying to fend off a spear launched at her by a lower figure.

“Here we see the work of the late Monsieur Roubiliac, whose genius graces the abbey in many places, but this is held to be his supreme achievement. Behold Sir Joseph Nightingale and his wife, Lady Elizabeth, come to term too early through a strike of lightning, and killed thereby. In vain the devoted husband tries to defend her from the fatal dart.”

As with the memorials at Perriam Manor, the marble figures seemed so real, their garments flowing like real cloth.

“Does it distress you?”

She turned to Perry. “What? Oh, you mean another wife dying young. It happens too often, but then, we’ve passed many memorials to men killed young in battle.”

“My practical wife. But still . . . Never mind. It is very well executed.”

“Did the guide say he was dead? The sculptor.”

“Yes, I think so.” Perry asked the man, who confirmed it.

Claris asked, “Was he considered the best sculptor to work here?”

The guide pursed his mouth. “Not quite, ma’am. Sir Henry Cheere holds that palm, as is shown by his being knighted for his talents. In fact he trained Monsieur Roubiliac at one time.”

Claris thanked him. Perry said, “You have another memorial in mind?”

“I was only curious.” That wasn’t strictly true, but she hadn’t yet thought through her plan. “We’d better catch up, or I’ll miss more anecdotes.”

The tour was long and tiring, so when they eventually emerged, she was ready for home and dinner. Even Peter and Tom were showing signs of needing a rest before new adventures.

All the same, Peter said, “That was splendid, Perry. Thank you for bringing us.”

“I’ve enjoyed your appreciation. I assume you’re now ready for a test on the kings and queens of England and their memorials?” At their expressions, he laughed. “I leave that to Lovell. Behold a hackney stand. Wheels can carry us home.”

Home,
Claris thought, smiling.

Anywhere where they were together was home.

*  *  *

Perry had hoped to spend the whole day with Claris, but on his return he found a note from Rothgar asking for his attendance at three. At least he could enjoy dinner with his family. Yes, his family. Didn’t the Bible command a husband to leave the family of his birth and cleave only to his wife, and she to him?

With pleasure, especially as Claris’s grandmother was out again. He rather liked Ellie, but in his estimation Athena was selfish to the bone. She’d served Claris well for a while, but he feared she’d serve her ill if it suited her purpose. She’d alerted him to the usefulness of the twins when she couldn’t have been sure he’d be a good husband.

Claris had a letter too. “Perry, it’s from Genova. She and Ashart are in Town, and she asks if we can visit them this evening for a small salon. She warns the talk will probably be dominated by astronomy.”

“Ashart’s passion. You want to attend?”

“I want to see Genova again.”

“Then we will.” He drew her to him and kissed her lips. “Until later, my dear.”

After he’d left, Tom said, “You’re becoming soppy, Claris.”

“Then Perry is too.” When he looked appalled, she laughed. “I’m afraid it’s sometimes to be expected from husbands and wives. You may enjoy that one day. Now, however, I believe Lovell has an educational exploit for you.”

It was a tribute to their tutor that the announcement didn’t cast them into gloom. They went off cheerfully enough, and Claris found herself alone for a while.

It felt very strange.

Alone in a strange place where she knew no one.

Except Genova. It would be delightful to see her again.

She and Alice must choose a gown for the evening, but first she asked Mistress Crowbury to find out where Sir Henry Cheere did his work. She soon reported that Cheere was retired but still had workshops—one at Hyde Park Corner and another hard by Westminster Abbey. “I’m told that’s where they do the marble work, ma’am.”

So near to where she’d been! At least that meant she knew where to go. Tomorrow, if possible.

For now, she decided on the lilac silk gown for the evening because all her other fine gowns were made over from Genova’s. She should purchase more, but her frugal side rebelled. Most of her time would be spent at Perriam Manor, where she had little need of silken finery.

She had her hair dressed in plaits so it wouldn’t slither free, and then Alice fixed in hairpins topped with flowers made from the silk of the dress. Ellie had made those, and she’d stitched silver beads at the heart of each.

The jewels that Parminter had given her included an amethyst necklace. The ones Perry had provided, oh so long ago so she’d have suitable possessions on arrival at the manor, contained pretty amethyst and silver earrings.

One day she must get her ears pierced, but for now, the wire clips worked.

When Perry returned she asked for his assessment.

“You’re lovely.”

Claris blushed at the implication. “I mean of my clothes.”

“You look very grand, which is doubtless the effect you want, but it’s only the Asharts.”

“A marquis and marchioness, and whatever guests they’ve invited?”

“A great many will be scientists, mathematicians, and such.”

Claris didn’t entirely believe him, especially when they arrived at the marquess’s town house. It was also in a terrace, but it was double fronted, and they entered a spacious hall from which an elegant staircase took them up to a series of rooms that had been opened up to make the evening’s salon. It was already half-full, and Genova was by the door to greet them.

“Claris, my dear!” she exclaimed, kissing her cheek. “How magnificent you look. And happy too.” She allowed Perry to kiss her hand. “Perhaps you’re treating her well enough, sir. I shall have all the details soon. The Raymores are here, and Lady Raymore particularly wants to meet Claris.”

As they walked into the room, Claris asked, “Raymores?”

“Lord Raymore’s a friend of mine. He’s perhaps told his wife about you. He’s the youngest brother of the Marquess of Rothgar and she’s the youngest sister of the Earl of Walgrave. ’Struth, Walgrave’s here too. Quite a family gathering. His wife is Raymore’s twin sister.”

“That makes me feel a complete outsider.”

“Then I’d better take you inside.” He led her over to a slender man in regimentals beside a very pretty woman with a mass of honey-colored hair. They were talking to an older couple and a singleton officer. The talk was about Canada, where the Raymores had been stationed until recently. Claris thought she’d dislike dense forests, bears, and wolves, but she enjoyed hearing about them.

The older couple moved away. Their place was taken by another couple—the Earl and Countess of Walgrave. She couldn’t help thinking how delighted her mother would have been to see her in such grand company.

The earl was tall and dark, with a touch of the same haughtiness that marked Ashart, but the countess sparkled. She had reddish hair, and her resemblance to her brother, Lord Raymore, was striking. Twins, she remembered. Their easy fondness touched her, and she hoped for the same for Peter and Tom as adults.

The company was soon commanded to the chairs set out. Claris braced herself for a lecture on stars and planets, but a string quartet came out to play a piece specially commissioned by Ashart on the subject of Venus.

Claris became lost in the beautiful music, and when it ended, she sighed and whispered to Perry, “That was the most magical thing I’ve ever heard.”

He traced a kiss by her ear. “I must feed you magic morn to night. We could have musicians at the manor.”

“That would be a wild extravagance.”

“For magic? Then perhaps we should become musicians and encourage the servants to the art.” Claris wondered about that “we,” but before she could comment, he said, “Ah, the lecture.”

Claris turned to pay attention, fearing she would be bored.

Lord Ashart stepped forward, and she thought he was to give the lecture, but he introduced a gentleman called James Ferguson, and in admiring terms. The long-faced, gray-haired Scot had apparently been born to a simple family and received only three months of formal education in his life, and that at the age of seven.

“When he was set to shepherding at the age of ten, he very naturally studied the stars, but he also passed the time in making ingenious machines. When taken ill, he amused himself by making a clock, and in time he became one of our most skillful inventors of devices and most excellent speakers on the subject. You will, I am sure, enjoy his explanation of the upcoming transit of Venus, especially as it is accompanied by illustrations in two and three dimensions.”

Servants carried out large charts and diagrams and propped them up in the places provided. Then they wheeled out a complex machine made of gleaming brass, touched with copper, silver, and gold.

Another form of entrancement. Claris was bewildered at times, but she began to understand the movements of the planets and principal stars, especially when Mr. Ferguson turned handles on his machine and the beautiful representations of the planets moved around the lamp that took the place of the sun.

In August there’d been a partial eclipse of the sun, but she’d not really understood what that meant. Now she did. How ignorant she’d been, and how much learning was available here, in London Town.

She remembered Farmer Barnett arguing with Perry about the idle rich. This was another aspect—the intelligently curious rich who were active in the natural philosophies and appreciative patrons of all ranks.

“You’re looking dazzled again,” Perry said when Ashart put an end to the questions and supper was announced.

“I am. I want to look more closely at that machine.”

“Because it glitters prettily?”

“Because it fascinates me. I wish the boys had been here.”

“Ferguson often gives public lectures. I’ll let you know when one is scheduled and you can bring them to Town.”

Another excuse to be together.

He led her to the machine and deftly cleared a way for her to go close. A tall, dark-haired man stepped back to make way.

Perry said, “Allow me to introduce my wife, sir. My dear, this is the Marquess of Rothgar.”

Claris curtsied but blurted out, “I’m surrounded by peers.”

“To which you are equal,” said the marquess, smiling.

Peers. Equals. All the same she was mortified. “I do apologize, my lord.”

“Unnecessarily. We are all truly equal before knowledge. You are interested in Mr. Ferguson’s machine?”