Smuggler's Lady (28 page)

“Shameless creature,” he chided, setting the tray on a gate-legged table which he then pulled before the fire. “Supposing it had been Sally who entered?”

“She would have knocked,” Merrie said unarguably, getting up to examine the contents of the tray with a hungry sniff.

“That is not everything,” he told her, running a lazy hand over her bottom as she leant over the table. “I will fetch the second course afterward. Sit down before you give me other ideas.”

Chuckling, she complied, taking cutlery and napkins from the table, arranging them in two place settings while Damian ladled creamy artichoke soup into deep bowls.

He placed one bowl before Merrie, then very deliberately shook out the large linen napkin, tying it around her neck. “If you dribble soup, my dear, you might find yourself more than a little uncomfortable.” A long finger ran between her breasts, circled her nipples, slid over her abdomen, and danced across her bare thighs in emphatic demonstration of his point.

The soup was followed by a duckling in a delicate orange sauce flavored with juniper berries, accompanied by fresh-picked green peas and roasted potatoes. A blackberry pie with heavy golden cream completed a simple but delectable dinner that seemed entirely in keeping with the charming simplicity of this perfect hideaway.

Meredith took a sip of the ruby claret in her glass and stretched with a sigh of repletion. She had abandoned the napkin some minutes previously and her breasts lifted, rose-tipped in the firelight. “Why may I not stay here?” she asked quietly. “I will await you in this love nest and you will come to me whenever you can, whenever you feel the need.” A tender smile touched her lips, hovered in her eyes. “I would be most content, I promise. It is not so far from town that I may not visit to see the sights and, when you come to call upon me, then may we go out together also. It would be as I expected.”

“But not as I intended,” he replied, cracking a walnut between long fingers. “Must I remind you again of our agreement? Your unconditional acceptance of my conditions?” He leant across the table to lay the shelled nut on her plate, his eyes meeting hers in steady affirmation of his determination.

“No.” Merrie shook her head. “I need no reminding. But why should it suit you better to have me lodged with your sister? To see me enter this society that is your home, not mine?” She popped the walnut between her lips and propped her elbows on the table, waiting for his answer.

Rutherford said nothing for a minute. So she still had not tumbled to his plan. The longer she remained in ignorance the better since he strongly suspected that, once she realized his fell intent, the fireworks he had seen so far would be damp squibs compared with her reaction then. He would not lie to her, though.

“Since you are not at all dull-witted, Meredith, I will leave you to work that out for yourself. You will do so sooner or later, I am convinced.”

“I do not find that particularly reassuring, sir,” she told him.

“Come here.” Damian pushed back his chair, patting his knee in both invitation and demand.

The tip of her thumb disappeared between her teeth. “So you can cozen me into agreeing to anything?”

“Come.” An imperative finger beckoned.

Meredith complied with a rueful little smile. The battle was already lost anyway.

“I am going to give you a draft on my bank,” Rutherford explained, once he had her safely captive. “If it is not sufficient to settle all your bills and for other necessities, then you will simply apply to me for more.”

“That is so mortifying!” Meredith bit her lip angrily.

“I fail to see how. It is just what I would do for my wife,” he replied evenly.

“But I am
not
your wife.”

“No,” he agreed drily. “You are not, are you?”

“Is this in some sort a punishment?” Meredith struggled to sit up, pushing against his chest. “Because I will not marry you?”

“Be still.” He held her tighter. “You have a very strange notion of the concept of punishment, my love. I wish only to please you with the gift of an adventure that you would not otherwise have. My purse is a fat one and will in no wise be diminished by the gift. Will you not accept it willingly?”

“You are determined that I will accept it,” she said thoughtfully. “Willing or no?”

His silence was confirmation enough and Meredith reluctantly accepted that she was
at point non plus.
She played with the buttons on his shirt for a few moments, then said. “Of course, my lord, you might regret your generosity. Supposing I should develop excessively expensive tastes? I have had to be so thrifty for so long that I may run wild. Secure in the knowledge that I may apply to you for further funds whenever necessary, I may set no restraints on my spending. Why, I might even discover a penchant for gaming. I am, after all, quite skilled at the cards.”

“There is a risk in all enterprises,” Rutherford said solemnly. “I had already decided that that one was quite acceptable.”

Meredith's reaction to this provocation led them speedily back to the bed where Damian found some considerable effort was required to subdue the lean little body that twisted and wriggled, eluding his grasp like a greased pole. She was amazingly strong, as he had discovered before, and used her well-toned muscles to best advantage, levering herself skillfully against him to achieve her freedom.

Even as she wondered why they were wrestling, why she was fighting so hard to elude the captivity that would bring only joy, Meredith knew that the mock battle was the physical expression of their conflict. Damian had won the latter with trickery, using her own weapons against her; he would win this one eventually with his greater strength, but, before he did so, she would use all her wiles, exhaust her skills and strength in battle so that at the end she would be drained of all resentment, all lingering hostility, ready to be filled anew with pure, untarnished delight.

“I had not realized what a tigress I have taken into my bed,” Damian gasped, breathless with effort as much as with the heat of desire engendered by the lithe body, by her stubborn defiance of the odds. “Permit me to tell you, madam, that you are not playing fair!” With a monumental heave, he managed to roll her onto her stomach. “I am so afraid of hurting you that I dare not rely simply on brawn.”

“Well, what is this then?” she demanded, equally breathless, jerking her hips against his weight as he sat on her bottom and clipped her wrists in the small of her back.

“Brute strength, I admit.” He chuckled. “But the most delicate parts of you are safely cushioned by the mattress.” Merrie continue to jerk and heave, bringing up her heels to pummel his back until, finally exhausted, she lay still.

“Now,” he whispered, leaning forward to nuzzle her neck. “Let us make an end of this business, my little adventuress, once and for all.”

“Do you always understand?” Merrie whispered back, glowing through her exhaustion at the thought that he had known exactly what lay beneath the battle.

“Not always, but I will promise always to try.”

“A very pretty behaved young woman,” the Duchess of Keighley pronounced to her daughter. “I was most afraid that she would be
farouche;
it is so often the way with provincials.”

“I do not think her exactly provincial,” Arabella said thoughtfully. “To tell the truth, Mama, sometimes it is I who feel the simpleton, the naive one. George says she is one of the most sensible women he has ever met.” She smiled, shrugged. “I should be jealous but am merely grateful. He has dined at home three times in the week since she came to us.”

“And Rutherford?” the duchess inquired. “What interest does he have in the widow?”

“Oh, friendly, ma'am,” Bella prevaricated, busying herself with the tea tray. “He felt some family obligation as Matthew's sole heir. Apparently Lady Blake could justifiably have expected something in the will herself.”

Her mother nodded. She had heard the same from her son and judged that he had acted in a perfectly correct manner. She had, however, been most curious to make the acquaintance of this distant Cornish connection. Something had roused Rutherford from his gloom and despondency on that Cornish excursion, and her grace had now decided that, if it were the widow, she would have no need to fall into strong convulsions. The match was hardly brilliant, but the girl looked quite charming in an uncommon way and was possessed of a handsome fortune. In fact, if Damian had any intentions in that quarter, he would do well to make them known, the duchess thought pragmatically. Once the girl was properly launched, she would have no shortage of suitors. It behooved the Keighleys to take a most particular interest in Lady Blake's debut.

“I will talk to Sally Jersey about vouchers for Almack's,” she said briskly. “I daresay she will call within the week. We will both let it be known that you have a guest, but you must give a party as soon as may be. George will have no objections, I trust?”

“None at all, ma'am,” Bella assured with a serene smile. “I have already mentioned it to him. I have prepared a guest list.” She handed her mother a paper, thinking it unnecessary to mention that the list had been compiled with Damian's more-than-active assistance.

“That will do very well,” the duchess approved. “Brummell may well attend to oblige your brother, and I will ask Keighley to promise to bring York, if only for half an hour.” She nodded in the manner her daughter recognized as denoting happy decision. “It would not surprise me at all if she were not to become all the rage if we play our cards right. Rutherford must be told that this dislike of his for dancing and parties must be overcome. He will be obliged to partner his cousin and most certainly to offer his escort when dear George must be in the House.”

Lord Rutherford, favored with these instructions when next he called upon his mama, surprised that lady with his meek acquiescence. “I shall be most happy, ma'am, to do all in my power to assist Lady Blake. I see it in some way a duty since she is in London at my invitation.”

The duchess regarded the son and heir over her lorgnette. “D'ye wish to fix your interest there, Rutherford?”

He stroked his chin reflectively before answering, “If she will have me, ma'am.”

The Duchess of Keighley was betrayed into a somewhat unladylike exclamation. “Why, of course she will have you. What woman in her right mind would not? You are the most eligible catch on the market.”

“I beg you will not say such a thing to Meredith, ma'am. It will not make my suit any the easier.”

His mother stared. “Is she mad?”

“Proud, ma'am,” he replied succinctly. “And very much out of the common way. I would not have it otherwise.”

The duchess absorbed this in silence before saying bluntly. “Y're telling me not to take a hand in it, is that right?”

“Yes, Mama. Quite right.”

The duchess recognized the note in her son's voice. Although never deficient in courtesy to his parent, or indeed to anyone, Rutherford could be alarmingly final when his mind was made up. “Hmph. Well, you know your own business best, I daresay. Arabella and George will bring her here for dinner tomorrow, and you may escort us to the play afterward.”

Thus it was that Meredith found herself accepted into the Keighley family. The duke was perfectly pleasant although he appeared to take little notice of her, but, since this lack of attention seemed to extend universally, she could not feel slighted. His wife was kind, and Meredith was left in little doubt as to who was the power behind the family throne. It became clear that the duchess had decided to interest herself most energetically in Merrie's come-out, a fact that intrigued her ladyship. She understood Bella's part, but why the Duchess of Keighley should be more than ordinarily interested in a distant connection from the wilds of Cornwall was a definite puzzle.

Having bowed to necessity, Meredith typically wasted neither time nor energy in complaint. Throwing herself wholeheartedly into the enterprise after some initial hesitation, she rapidly lost her scruples about using Rutherford's purse. The bank draft he had given her seemed enormous until Madame Bernice sent in her bill for the ball dress of ivory crape with velvet ribbons spangled with gold. The gown had been bought for her first appearance at Almack's, and not even the undeniable vision reflected by her glass could reconcile Meredith to such a monstrous sum.

Damian, waiting in the hall to escort his sister and Meredith to the ball, caught his breath as she came down the stairs. That glorious auburn hair had been cut, not too much at his express desire but enough to accommodate the fashionably classic styles. Tonight, it clustered in a myriad loose curls confined by a ribbon with a bow over her left eye. A magnificent pearl necklace was clasped around a throat that rose long and creamy from a low-cut bodice that made the most of a bosom that Rutherford privately considered to be perfection. Had he once actually told his sister that he did not consider Merrie to be a beauty?

“You are quite ravishing, my love,” he murmured in some awe, taking her hand as she stepped from the last stair. “That gown is quite magnificent.”

“Yes, but Rutherford, the price!” she said, unable to contain her horror one more minute. “You would not credit the figure.”

“I would,” he answered, smiling. “But it is not a subject I wish to discuss now or at any time. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, my lord. It shall be as you command, my lord,” Merrie returned in dulcet accents, sweeping into a deep curtsy. “You must forgive the provincial values which betray me into such vulgar concerns.”

He shook his head, refusing the mischievous invitation. Meredith looked a little disappointed, then laughed. “I must return the compliment, Rutherford. You are looking most elegant.”

In fact, the word hardly did justice to the waisted black coat with long tails, the white waistcoat, the black silk knee britches and striped stockings, the single diamond pin in the folds of his cravat. His hair was brushed à la Brutus, and Merrie decided that she had never seen him looking more distinguished.

“I hope you realize what an honor this is, Merrie?” Bella said, adjusting the folds of a handsome silver mantilla. “Damian finds evenings such as we are about to pass the greatest form of insipidity. He would much rather be at White's or blowing a cloud at Cribb's parlor.”

“You do me an injustice, Bella,” her brother protested mildly. “Only a fool would pass up the opportunity to witness Merrie's first experience of this particular form of entertainment.”

“You think I will not enjoy it?”

“I think you will find it lacking in excitement,” he replied with a twinkle. “Let us go. It wants but half an hour to eleven and I would not care to be turned away for arriving one minute after the hour—not after the pains we have all taken to create a suitably devastating impression.”

That evening, Meredith realized fully what it meant to be under the auspices of the Keighleys. The patronesses of Almack's all came forward when they arrived, greeting Damian with expressions of gratified surprise. Princess Esterhazy, who struck Merrie as a small round ball of vivacity, welcomed her kindly; Countess Lieven stared at her with an intensity that Merrie decided deserved no other name but rudeness. To Damian's amusement and Bella's slight alarm, she returned the stare. A chilly smile eventually touched the lips of the lady considered to be the best dressed and most knowledgeable in London.

“Do you waltz, Lady Blake?” she inquired. Meredith, well taught by Bella, knew that a lady did not waltz at Almack's unless given permission to do so by one of the patronesses. “I do not find it objectionable, Countess,” she responded. “It is not, however, a dance much practiced in Cornwall.”

This reference to the provinces caused the countess a momentary flicker of pain, but she said with great condescension that she would later present Meredith to Lord Molyneux, reputed to be one of the most accomplished waltzers.

“And you are not, I suppose?” Meredith said to Damian as he partnered her in the boulanger.

“You will do better with Molyneux,” he promised.

“You should appear to best advantage on this first occasion.”

Watching from the sidelines throughout the remainder of the evening, he was in no doubt that she did so. “Damian, I prophesy that your protegée will be all the rage.” Mr. George Bryan Brummell, having spent twenty minutes in the company of the lady, came over to his friend where he stood, leaning negligently against the wall.

“You have just ensured that, George,” replied Rutherford with a quirk of his lips. “Twenty minutes in your exclusive company will be more than sufficient to see her established.”

“I like her,” the beau said directly. “I do not think she cared a jot for my attentions.”

“Probably not.” Damian grinned. “But I am grateful, my friend, even if the lady is not.”

“Lady Blake, permit me to introduce the Honorable Gerald Devereux.” Lady Jersey beamed in her customary friendly fashion as she presented a lean, dark-haired young man, impeccably, if not spectacularly, attired in dove-gray silk. “He would like to solicit your hand for the cotillion.”

“Mr. Devereux.” Merrie smiled, giving him her hand. “I am honored.” She had lost count of the number of partners presented to her this evening, names and features were beginning to blur in a rather pleasant haze. Gerald Devereux, however, had a most distinguished countenance. Cerulean-blue eyes pierced his surroundings from beneath sharply arched, black eyebrows, but most startling was the thick silver streak in the black locks brushed artlessly back from a broad white brow. It lent a most romantic air to an otherwise ascetic mien, and Meredith found herself both attracted and intrigued.

“The honor is all mine, your ladyship.” He bowed low over the hand in his. “I hardly dared to hope for your partnership this evening, so well attended have you been.”

“How gallant, sir,” Merrie murmured as Sally Jersey, with a pleased little laugh, hurried off to spread elsewhere the cheerful nonstop chatter that had earned her the name of “Silence” amongst the ton.

“So, Lady Blake, are you suitably impressed by this bastion of proper social conduct, this bulwark of the ton?”

Merrie chuckled. “How could I not be, sir? My knees quake at the very thought of receiving a frown from one of the illustrious patronesses. And the refreshments—the epitome of elegance!”

Gerald Devereux laughed. He had not expected his sally to meet with quite such a mischievously forthright response. Since tea, orgeat, and lemonade accompanied by cakes and bread and butter could only be described as meager, he correctly surmised that his partner was indulging in a little sarcasm at the expense of one of society's gods—a most definitely daring venture for a newcomer who could be made or broken on this her first official appearance.

“Have I shocked you, Mr. Devereux?” Meredith inquired after executing a particularly complicated figure.

“Not at all, ma'am,” he made haste to reassure her. “Surprised, perhaps, but most pleasantly so.”

“I may be making my debut, sir,” Meredith said, “but I am not a young chit in her first Season and cannot, I fear, behave in a suitably wide-eyed and impressionable fashion.”

“Indeed not,” Devereux agreed with a gravity belied by the admiring amusement in the blue eyes.

Meredith's dimples peeped. Such obvious admiration was very pleasant, she discovered. “I see we understand each other, sir.”

“I most fervently hope we may further our understanding,” her partner declared with an enthusiasm that Meredith found wholly satisfying.

“Merrie seems to be amusing herself,” Bella observed to her brother as they went down the same set as Meredith and Devereux.

“Yes,” Damian concurred drily. “Unless I much mistake the matter, she is flirting quite shamelessly with Devereux.”

“Do you mind?” Arabella looked up at him a little anxiously but was instantly reassured by his smile.

“Not in the least, Bella. It is simply a talent I had not known she possessed. I daresay there are many others waiting to be discovered.”

The subscription ball at Almack's was followed the next day by the small party given by Lady Beaumont for her guest. Meredith was hard-pressed to see how an occasion for which over two hundred invitations had been issued could be called small. From dawn till dinner time, the house was in an uproar, and Meredith, having narrowly avoided several disastrous collisions with intent servants laboring under burdens of silver, linen, and floral arrangements, followed Bella's example and retreated to her boudoir. It was mid afternoon when a footman brought the message that Lord Rutherford was below stairs, desirous of having speech with her ladyship.