Smirke 01 - An Unlikely Hero (27 page)

“I want to
call you Smirkie…why are you scowling? Don’t you like it?”

“I hate being
called Smirkie.”

“But you’ve
never heard me call you Smirkie.” Joan caressed John’s freshly
shaved cheek, “I love you Smirkie.”

John expelled
a long irritated breath, “My name is John.”

“I know, I’ll
call you Sébastien…you’ll be my romantic French hero. My Sébastien
will save me from the…what would you have to save me from? I can’t
think…your eyes are so black I feel I could peer into them and comb
my hair…”

“Sébastien is
my middle name. Call me John.”

“I’d rather
call you Smirkie. It’s a term of endearment like Johnny only not so
dull…”

“You will
address me as either John or Mr Smirke and that’s final.”

Joan’s heart
shrank from the unloving despotic tone. “How can you be horrid when
you nearly lost me forever this morning? If I hadn’t shoved my
fingers up Neilson’s nose and he hadn’t forgotten to lock me in you
wouldn’t have a wife. He’d have kept me his prisoner until I agreed
to worship him, the great ugly brute.”

“I didn’t lose
you, you were momentarily misplaced. And if you’d let Frederick
tell Neilson’s servant to go to hell you wouldn’t have ended up in
The Hell-hole needing to be rescued by the devil. Next time…why
aren’t you touching me? Joan, why aren’t you looking at me?” Joan
sat up straight and majestically ignored the beautiful man suddenly
pressing a fervent cheek to her bosom. “Joan, my lark, don’t be
angry with me it makes my chest ache worse than hell…Joan…”

Joan sighed
loudly and continued to look over his head, “What should I do this
afternoon? I could go down to the kitchens and make my new Mamma
some biscuits. She did say she was leaving in the morning. She
might get hungry on her travels.”

“Joan, please
look at me and tell me you think I’m beautiful…”

“I shall miss
my new Mamma. She…is never horrid.”

John groaned
as his heart threatened to burst from the pain, “I’m sorry I was
horrid.” John’s groans turned into tears as his beloved remained
silent. “Talk to me…Joan, my heart is dying.”

“That’s how I
feel when you’re horrid.”

“Don’t punish
me just because I hate being called Smirkie. I wasn’t trying to
horrid.” John trailed teary kisses up to her ear, “You can call me
anything, anything but Smirkie.”

“Very well,
I’ll call you Valentine because I love you and I’ve never had a
valentine.”

John jerked
back and stared at his wife in horror, “Valentine? No! You can’t
call me that.”

“Why not?
What’s wrong with Valentine? It’s romantic…it’s…”

“It’s the
title of a drunken Galahad who thinks he’s Don Juan.”

“What’s a dawn
wan? Are you sure you don’t mean a wan Don?”

“Don Juan is
the name of some dead cavalier who fathered half of Spain.”

“Dawn Wan…it
brings to mind a pale winter sunrise shot through with crimson and
gold. I shall call you Dawn Wan and imagine that you’re a Spanish
villain…how would a Spanish villain say I love you?”

“How the devil
should I know? I’m not Spanish…”

“I love you
Dawn Wan.”

“I absolutely
forbid you to call me Don Juan.” John’s lower lip trembled as he
imagined the whole of London laughing. “Forget I mentioned the poxy
libertine. My name is not Jean, Juan or Johann no matter what my
mother calls me. My name is John. I don’t want to be laughed
at.”

“I didn’t mean
to make you cry Smirkie. I’m sorry I upset you. I’ll call you John
Wan.”

“No. I beg
you…no Juans. Please, please just call me John.”

“I know…I’ll
call you Fragonard because you make me feel like I’m in a painting
and you are half French which I find very exciting. It’s almost
like being captured by the enemy, except I don’t think you’d chop
off the King’s head. But there’s a possibility that any moment you
might do something wild, something exciting, something
French…what’s wrong Smirkie?” John slid off the window seat onto
his knees and pressed his frustration into his wife’s skirt. “Oh
Smirkie, I won’t call you Fragonard if it makes you cry, even if it
does make your black eyes shimmer like polished obsidian.” Joan
suddenly shivered as the temperature dropped, “It’s getting cold in
here; I need a kiss.”

The hair stood
up on the back of John’s neck as he remembered locked doors could
only keep out the living. “John Sebastian; if I were you I’d just
be grateful she doesn’t want to call you Eliphalet and keep in mind
that if you lose Joan’s love you’ll probably end up Don Juan’s
neighbour. Take my word, that’s a highly undesirable end. He’s been
weeping and wailing so long he’s forgotten any social niceties.”
John leapt to his feet and turned around to find his Probationary
Agent lying on the bed, his arms crossed under his neck. “My wife
calls me Don Juan when she wants…”

“Get off my
bed.”

“The ghost is
on our bed? Smirkie, I refuse to share my marriage bed with some
dead man…is he even English? Where was he born?”

“Who cares
where the dead wretch was born?”

“I was born in
Ditchley, Oxfordshire. It’s a magical little corner of the…”

“I don’t care
where you were spawned, get off my bed.”

“Where was he
born?”

“Oxfordshire.”

“Really? My
mother was born in Oxfordshire…ask him if he knows my mother.”

“How would he
know your mother?”

“He might have
met her at a ball or in the park or…”

“The dead
don’t go to balls or saunter around parks in the latest
fashions.”

The
Probationary Agent flung his long legs over the side of the bed,
“Not where you’re going John Sebastian if you keep talking to your
wife in that vile tone. I was allowed to attend a ball just last
night. I enjoyed it immensely, even if I did have to wait to dance
with my wife. There’s nothing worse than watching the woman one
adores laughing in the arms of a better man.”

John clenched
his fists, “Get your dead derrière off my bed.”

“Ask him if
he’s seen my mother in heaven.”

Agent 1680
stood up and tipped back his wide brimmed hat, “I doubt Lady Pelham
will end up in heaven, though I’m not technically qualified to
judge.”

“Lady Pelham?”
John’s head jerked towards his pretty smiling wife whose wide
cornflower eyes looked into his soul with a suddenly familiar gaze.
“You’re not telling me that…?

Joan tipped
her head to the side, “Whose Lady Pelham?” John tried to breathe as
his mind filled with an awful thought. He’d worshiped the married
Lady Pelham’s charms his first season. What if his wife was his
daughter? Pain tore through his chest. Could he have fallen in love
with his own offspring?

“Calm yourself
John Sebastian; you’re not old enough to be Joan’s father by Lady
Pelham. The Reverend Lark fell in love with his employer’s wife
while he was tutoring the eldest son. When she gave birth eight
months after the beginning of their affaire she told him the child
was his. She procured him a good living in Bath and forced Lark to
take Joan as his own, but of course Lark knew he wasn’t the father.
Anyone with eyes can see she’s a Grayson, not that she takes after
her father. Unless he’s an idiot, Lyndhurst must suspect she’s his
daughter. Why else did he refer to himself as Devil-father?”

“Smirkie? Why
do you look so horrified? Is my mother in hell?”

John’s head
snapped back towards his wife, his mouth hanging open. The agent
was right; Joan was almost a typical blonde female Grayson except
she was of slighter more delicate build, her hair was lighter and
her eyes were cornflower instead of sky blue. John clenched his
teeth at the smiling dead man, “Hell! My life is hell…did you have
to tell me? Did you? Lyndhurst? I hate Lyndhurst. He’s…he’s
ugly.”

“You’re not
the only one who hates him. Why do you think you were chosen to be
Joan’s guardian?”

“Obviously
because that hypocrite, Lark, wanted me to suffer.”

“Lady Pelham
chose you.”

“Why? Why
me?”

“Imagine
Lyndhurst’s feelings on learning he has a daughter in your power.
If I was the man I’d be ill.”

“Smirkie? What
is he saying about Mr Lyndhurst?” Joan pressed her cheek to John’s
heaving chest. “You look pale Smirkie; shall I fetch the smelling
salts? Is the dead man being horrid?” Large adoring eyes made
John’s innards hum with sweet pleasure as he wrapped her in his
arms and pulled her close.

John snarled
at the smiling agent, “Who cares what Lyndhurst feels, she’s
mine.”

“You
underestimate your ugly father-in-law. Don’t be shocked when he
shows up on your doorstep with his mother in tow. Joan will want to
be a part of his family. You’ll be the fly in the ointment, the
grit in the oyster, the eyelash that has fallen into the eye and
can’t be found. Lady Pelham is a fiendishly clever woman.”

John’s eyes
went wide with indignation, “Are you saying Lady Pelham planned all
along to use me as some sort of irritant?”

“Personally,
I’d find your wife sufficiently irritating…”

“How dare you
insult my wife?”

“What is he
saying? Tell me. Who is Lady Pelham?”

“She’s a
heartless slut who lost interest in me when she discovered I wasn’t
a virgin. I was naked with a woman used by Lyndhurst? Yuck. Thank
goodness Peter bought me those shields.”

“I don’t care
who shared Lady Pelham’s bed, is my mother in heaven or hell?”

John gingerly
sat down next to Joan. “How should he know where your mother
is?”

“She’s in Bath
taking the waters. It was a miracle you didn’t run into her the
other day.”

“Blast it, why
did you have to tell me that? Go away; you’re ruining my wedding
day.”

“Why did he
have to tell you what?”

John put a
possessive arm around his wife’s waist and sighed, “Your mother’s
in Bath.”

“Where else
would Father bury her? Do you think she attended my wedding?”

“At least one
of your parents was there, now can we forget the poxy past? I need
my wife.”

An exquisite
dose of pleasure coursed through John’s veins as the buttons on his
red dressing gown fell prey to his wife’s eager fingers. “If you
were any more beautiful Smirkie, I’d think I was in heaven.” Joan
blushed as she untied John’s cravat and carefully unwound it from
his neck before attending the two buttons on his shirt collar. “Has
the dead man left the room?”

“Who cares?”
John’s lopsided grin lit up black eyes as his wife pulled his robe
open, wrapped her arms around his chest and warmed her lips on his
naked neck. “This is Heaven.”

Agent 1680
smiled with satisfaction as he pulled his hat down over one eye.
The lovers on the steaming window seat were entangled in a close
embrace, lost in a passionate kiss. Turning away, he headed for the
door. His next assignment was going to require more finesse and
patience. Peter Augustus Smirke, the widowed Viscount Adderbury,
was a deeply private man who found comfort in thinking his despair
at finding love a second time was a secret known only to his broken
heart.