The Muse (12 page)

The second they were under and out of sight, he pulled her up against his body.  Her head reached right to the top of his chest at his throat.  She breathed in his scent.  He smelled like clean linen and leather soap and something else she couldn’t identify.  Whatever it was, it was the scent she associated with him, heavenly and male.  She could have stayed in his arms for hours and hours, but they didn’t have a lot of time.

He cupped her face in his hands, tilting her toward his lips.  “I need this, Imogene.”  And then he descended.  Imogene was lost to everything he did.  She remembered being grateful he was holding on to her because she didn’t know if she had the power to remain standing on her own.  Graham’s lips were alive today.  They did not stay still.  Moving and caressing and seeking, he pulled her bottom lip into his mouth just a little.  The gentle scrape of his teeth on her made her moan.  He devoured her lips.  It was done gently and lovingly, but he devoured her all the same.

Imogene could not have curbed him even if she had desired to.  He was in total control of the situation and she a mere pawn in whatever boundaries might be breached today.  His hands left her face and moved to her waist.  They didn’t stay there long before opening her coat and pushing inside.  Making his way to her waist again, his fingers massaged her back while his kisses continued to melt her in that decadent, slow, teeth-grazing way of his.  His hands moved up on her, sliding right up her sides, slowly, simultaneously.  His fingers explored the sides of her breasts where they swelled out on the sides of her tight-fitting bodice.  She arched into his touch and pressed closer.  “Graham?”

“You taste so fine.  I want to take you away where we can be alone together. I want to make love to y—”  He brought his lips to her neck and then her throat, still gentle but more bold than before.  His hands kept exploring the sides of her breasts.  She felt hot and wanton.  She wanted him to keep kissing her and keep touching her.  She wanted more even though Graham was the one in charge and she had no idea what she should do.

He had made his way back up to her mouth again.  “Yes.  I want—” she breathed against his lips.

And then he stopped.  He went no farther with his hands.  He didn’t try to cover her breasts even though she wanted to feel his hands on them.  He just kept stroking light touches over the sides, making her want to press her body into his.

Graham continued caressing even after he pulled back from their kiss and stared into her eyes.

“Why did you pull away?” she mumbled, barely coherent.

“For your own good,
chérie
, and mine.  You are so beautiful right now, standing before me, with your eyes so earnest upon me, and the feel of you under my hands.  I could do things right now that I should not do with you.  Not yet.  You deserve the best of everything, my
chérie.
  I could not live with myself if I ever dishonored you.”  He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand.

“I love you.”

“As I love you,
chérie,
and I will treasure loving you for the rest of my days…
Je chérirai notre amour pour le restant de mi vie.
”

GRAHAM pressed a slim volume into her hands as she walked him out to say goodnight.  “One last gift,
chérie
.  I marked a poem inside.  Read it, and I hope you think of us as we were today under the tree.”  She accepted the book and nodded.  He mouthed, “love you,” before walking away into the night.

Imogene was intrigued by the mystery and went straightaway to her room to read.  She opened to the page he had marked and found a poem entitled:

The Kiss: A Dialogue.

Among thy fancies, tell me this

What is the thing we call a kiss?

I shall resolve ye what it is:

It is a creature born and bred

Between the lips, all cherry-red,

By love and warm desires fed—

And makes more soft the bridal bed.

It is an active flame that flies

First to the babies of the eyes,

And charms them there with lullabies—

And still the bride, too, when she cries.

Then to the chin, the cheek, the ear,

It frisks and flies, now here, now there:

’Tis now far off, and then ’tis near—

And here, and there, and every where.

Has it a speaking virtue?  Yes.

How speaks it, say? Do you but this,

Part your join’d lips, then speaks your kiss;

And this Love’s sweetest language is.

Has it a body?  Ay, and wings,

With thousand rare encolourings;

And as it flies, it gently sings—

Love honey yields, but never stings.

Robert Herrick, 1648

Imogene’s heart stuttered as she read it through the first time.  She read it many times over, the words becoming more beautiful at each reading, and knowing she was blessed to have such a man as him.

A man who did not fear showing her how much he would love her.

And now I see with eye serene

The very pulse of the machine;

A being breathing thoughtful breath;

A traveler betwixt life and death.

William Wordsworth   ~ ‘She was a phantom of delight’, 1807

28th December, 1811

“ANGLEO’S
will do for now, Stanton,” Graham told his driver.

“As you wish, my lord.”

Graham had to get out of his house tonight.  And there were a lot of reasons why it was a good idea.  The foremost being his beloved was upstairs in a guest bedroom right now.  He looked out the window at his London home as Stanton pulled the carriage onto the street and pondered the realities staring him in the face.  Showing Imogene, her cousin, Cariss, and Lady Wilton around Brentwood today, he’d realized his time here in London would have to be limited.

They would start their married life here in this house.  They would begin here.  The first time they made love would be here, under his roof, in his suite.  He shook his head a little at the vision, thinking he needed to clear his mind before he did something he sorely regretted.  Imogene was an innocent to be sure but there was passion in her—passion yet to be awakened, but it was definitely there.  She responded to him so sweetly and with such trust that he knew it was a good thing they would be separated for the most part, doubting he could bring her chaste to their wedding day.  He knew unless he censured them, she wouldn’t be able to do it.  She was too giving and generous and would struggle to deny him.  Imogene had an uninhibited nature in general; it was part of her womanly attraction.  He did not think he could remain under the same roof with her and stay under regulation for thinking about her.  Tomorrow he would leave.  It would be dreadful to be parted from her again, but it had to be.  So tonight, after everyone had retired to bed, he’d slipped out.  He needed the distraction to clear his mind enough so he could sleep there even this one night.

Graham entered Angelo’s Fencing Academy on Bond Street and found exactly what he was looking for.  “Well, well, well, look what just walked in.  The wayward native son returned to Mother England,” the man with the sardonic voice drawled.

Graham grinned.  “Gravelle.”  He extended his hand in greeting.

Clive Gravelle took the hand, returning an enthusiastic welcome to his old friend.  “I’ve seen your brother here and there; he’s kept me apprised of you.  Long time away, my friend,” he said, shaking his head slowly from side to side.  “What brings you in here tonight?”

“Thought I might clear my head with an assault if possible,” Graham remarked easily, stretching his neck from one side to the other.

“I’d be happy to give you a go,” Gravelle offered.  “Foils or sabers?” he asked with a one-sided grin.

“Foils.  It’s been quite a while since I held a sword, Gravelle.”

“Good for me then.  I’ve heard some talk about you, you know.”

“And what have you heard?” Graham asked, giving away nothing.

“Well for one, that you were back in country, and then that you wasted no time getting yourself leg-shackled.  Furthermore, the lady in question is the late Lord Wyneham’s daughter, the young one.  I hear she’s green, but lovely.  It’s said she didn’t have much of a come-out last season due to mother’s illness.  It is true then?”

Graham nodded once.  “Sounds as if you have the pertinent facts in order.”

Gravelle whistled through his teeth. “How the mighty fall.  Congratulations, my friend.  I hope you shall be very happy in your wedded state.  God!  I cannot believe it.”

“Believe it, Gravelle, and I have every intention of doing so.”  He tilted his head in acknowledgement of the congratulations.

“You know I heard there was some sniffing about up in Essex after Wyneham died.  Word was, she was young, orphaned and well-dowered, but family swooped in and secreted her away before any who would try to take advantage, descended.  How did you find her?  Sad business about Lord Wyneham by the way; he was held in high regard.”

Graham eyed Gravelle patiently before answering, “She was living in Kent with her aunt and uncle.  We met when I was there for Julian’s wedding.  Hargreave also has married since I’ve been away.  Their brides are in fact, sisters.”

“Blasted hellfire!  Is there anyone left unfettered?” he asked disgustedly.

“Just you, Gravelle.”  Graham winked.  “Should you decide to jump into the pond, you’ll be in excellent company.”

“No thanks, Rothvale.  I am perfectly fine as I am, but I daresay I should like to meet
your
diamond.  You know, to see if she is as lovely as is said.”

Graham pointed and levelled a lethal stare.  “You do not come near her, Gravelle,” he said evenly.  “Have nothing to do with her, I mean it!”

“Oh, my God.  She is here in Town?  You have brought her to Town.”

Graham flinched inwardly at Gravelle’s words but appeared unaffected by them.  Still giving away nothing, he replied, “This conversation has gone on for far too long.  Are we having a go with the foils or not?”

“Yes, yes, just rufflin’ your feathers.  ’Twill make for a better assault that way.  It’s always a good idea to shake up your opponent, eh?”

“Let’s get to it then.”

Graham worked very hard at the assault.  He had been away from his sport since he’d left for Ireland.  Parrying against his friend, he realized how much he’d missed it.  He would definitely make time for it again, now he was home.

A new face watched their assault and he congratulated Graham on his skills when it was over.  Gravelle knew him and did the introductions.  “Lord James Trenton, Hewbrooke Abbey, Essex.  Trenton’s father is the Marquess of Langley.”

“How do you do?”  Graham offered his hand.  “Essex?  My bride-to-be hails from Essex.  We are to marry in a month.  Imogene Byron-Cole of Drakenhurst?”

“Congratulations, Lord Rothvale.  I know the family.  We are of a neighbourly acquaintance.  Very lovely, the Miss Byron-Coles.”  He nodded.  “Most sad about Lord Wyneham though.  My father served with him, mentioning his passing with much regret to me.”

Graham nodded back.  “Just Rothvale, please.  How do you know Gravelle, here?”

“University.  Oxford.  Our friendship held out longer than Gravelle’s studies did though.”  Trenton grinned.

“Ah.  I attended Cambridge, or I would have remembered you.  What brings you to Town, Trenton?”

“Just passing through on my way—”

Gravelle cut him off.  “He’s on his way to the Bishop of Winchester to take clerical orders,” he said without admiration.  “Just ghastly, Trenton!  How can you do it?”

Trenton rolled his eyes.  “I am pragmatic and have the luck of being a third son in birth order.  I imagine I can muddle my way through.  It cannot be so difficult, and I have to do something with my days.  Unlike you, Gravelle, I would not have the taste for a career at dissipation with the same giddy enthusiasm that you possess.  And let’s not forget, also unlike you, I can read
and
write!”

“I am hardly a dissipate, Trenton!  But how will you know what to say at those events, funerals, weddings, christenings?”

“It’s all written out in the books, Gravelle, you simpleton.  Oh, did I mention that I
can
read?”

Gravelle had the grace to look embarrassed.  “But you will have to do it with sincerity.”

“I have every intention of being most sincere, my irreverent friend.  I may not subscribe to the habits of endless preaching and moralizing, but that aside, I should do an adequate job I think.  It’s about living a good life.  Do you doubt my faith?” he asked with a grin.

“No, just your sanity.” Gravelle was unconvinced.

The conversation caught Graham’s attention though.  “What kind of sermons do you think you shall give, Trenton?”

“Very short ones.”

Graham’s eyes lit in a smile.  “And you fence?”

Trenton nodded, “Indeed, I do at that.”

Graham fished a card out of his pocket and gave it to him.  “Write to me when you are finished with your orders.  We may be able to work together.  I could have a proposition for you—a good one.” 
He is exactly what I need for Gavandon parish.

On his way home that evening, Graham made a mental note to speak to Colin and impress upon him the importance to get down to Town as often as possible for the purpose of checking on the ladies.  He knew his friend Gravelle was trustworthy, but wouldn’t take chances on others who might hear of Imogene.  London was full of opportunists.  Being here reminded him of why he stayed away most of the time.  If not for the culture and art, and his duty to Parliament, he would probably never come.

For now he would have to put his faith in Lady Wilton.  He had no choice.  For all that he had observed, Lady Wilton seemed to act in Imogene’s best interests, with discretion and sensibility, so putting his trust into her capable hands to keep Imogene safe and happy during the next weeks was an easy decision.

Graham prepared for sleep and got into his bed.  Alone.  He felt as if he’d never gone to Angelo’s tonight and exhausted himself with fencing.  His mind was plagued with a new worry.  How would he be able to leave her again?  Tomorrow morning he would have to do just that, leave Imogene in London on her own.  Just pondering the thought of it was painful.

7th January, 1812

IMOGENE simply wanted to go home, but Aunt Wilton and Cariss were speaking to the modiste and didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave.  She didn’t wish to be rude and push them to rush so she drifted over to the glove case and looked in.

The gloves made her think of hands.

Hands made her think of Graham.

More specifically, Graham’s hands touching her when he kissed her.  She recalled some of the things he’d told her of his desires he’d shared the last time they’d been alone together.  It was exciting to imagine the forbidden and the unknown with him.  He’d said he would love her for hours, and make pleasures unlike anything she’d ever known—

“Which do you think more elegant, the white or the buff?” 

The question startled her.  She’d been so lost in her thoughts she’d not noticed anyone else approach.  A gentleman, looking to purchase some ladies gloves it looked like, had just asked her opinion.  He looked very polite and proper with his hands clasped behind his back, a pleasant smile on his handsome face.

“Well, that would depend on the lady’s purpose in wearing them, of course, but I think I would select the buff.  A bit more forgiving than white.”

“Ahhh, yes, practicality is always something to consider.  ’Tis a gift for my dear little sister and I do want her to be able to get good use from them.”  He bowed elegantly.  “I am sorry, that was rather rude of me to just impose on you without an introduction.  My name is Ralph Odeman, and I assure you I don’t usually ask strangers for help in choosing gifts.”

Imogene laughed.  “Please don’t think another thought about it, Mr. Odeman.  I’m not in the least put out, and delighted to have helped.”  Knowing that she was waving propriety to the wind, she offered her name to him.  “Imogene Byron-Cole, how do you do?”

“It is an honor, Miss Byron-Cole, or is it missus?  My apologies if I am in error.”