Waltz With a Stranger (43 page)

Charlie shook his head. “I expect we’ll be sailing for home soon. Father’s already returned to New York, and Mother and Sally are eager for Newport in August.”

It seemed another world now, and one she found she did not miss, though she would remember it with a touch of nostalgia from time to time. “I wish you and your family a safe journey.”

“Thank you.” A brief touch of her hand, and he was gone, striding away through the garden, the sunlight glinting on his fair head. Safely alone, Aurelia let some tears fall for what they had once shared, but other, more pleasurable thoughts soon dispelled them.

Some minutes later, James came to sit beside her on the garden bench. “All is well?”

“I think so. Or it will be—in time.” She sighed. “I was truly sorry to cause him pain. Does that sound strange?”

He shook his head. “You cared for him once. And one’s first love is always special.”

“It is. But,” she turned to smile at him, “it doesn’t hold a candle to one’s last love!”

“I’m relieved to hear it,” he replied, and kissed her until the past receded entirely and only the present, bright with promise, remained.

After a time, James stood up and held out his hand. “Come, love. Amy thinks the three of us should go and talk to your parents, and sort it all out between us.”

“By all means.” Taking his hand, Aurelia let him lead her into their future.

***

“All’s well that ends well, wouldn’t you say?” Amy remarked that night as the twins sat together in Aurelia’s room, having the heart-to-heart talk they should have had long ago.

Aurelia nodded, still astonished at the relative ease with which their situation had been resolved. A tense moment had occurred at the start of the family meeting, when Papa had fixed James with a stern eye and declared, “I’ll have you know, Trevenan, that my daughters are not interchangeable.” But James had only taken Aurelia’s hand and replied with the steadfastness she loved in him, “That is what I have come to realize, sir.” Once all the explanations were made, reconciliation and resolution had swiftly followed. Aurelia suspected that Amy’s blithe acceptance of the situation and visible lack of regret had also smoothed the way.

“I should have seen what was happening right under my nose,” Amy said, a bit ruefully. “More than that, I should have seen how much better suited you and James were.”

“Amy,” Aurelia began in instinctive protest, but her twin held up a forestalling hand.

“I mean it, Relia. When James was in trouble, I stood aside, telling myself he could handle it.
You
were the one who jumped in feet first, determined to help.”

“I told myself I was doing it for you,” Aurelia confessed. “I didn’t know I was capable of such self-deception.”

“Maybe self-deception is a natural complication of being in love. But the best woman won,” Amy added in a rallying tone, “or rather, the woman who’s best for James won.”

“I never saw this as a rivalry, dearest. I tried so hard for it not to turn into one, even when—” Aurelia broke off, not wanting her twin even now to know how difficult it had been.

“Even when you resented my good fortune most?” Amy asked without rancor, smiling.

“Even then. Oh, Amy, are you so sure that you don’t mind?”

“Surer than I’ve been in a long time. To tell the truth, it’s almost a relief that you’re taking not only James but Cornwall off my hands.”

“It’s a beautiful place,” Aurelia defended her future home.

“So it is, but not for me. My stay here has shown me what a social creature I am! Much too frivolous to live far from London, though I shall enjoy visiting you and James here.”

“You’ll always be welcome.” Aurelia paused, studying her twin’s bright face. “Dearest, I only wish you could be as happy! Or at least stop holding love at arm’s length the way you do.”

“I know, I know. I’ve never let anyone get close enough for me to love him.”

“No, I meant that you’ve never let anyone get close enough to love
you,
” Aurelia corrected. “And you deserve it so much, Amy. To love and be loved in return.”

Amy fell silent, her face growing pensive. “Do you know what I’ve always admired about you, Relia?” she said at last. “You were brave enough to risk your heart, twice. Charlie disappointed you cruelly, but you didn’t let that stop you from loving again. From loving James. I would give a great deal—for that sort of courage. As it is, I’ll have to rely on plain old American nerve! Good thing Aunt Caroline is still in London.”

Aurelia eyed her warily. “Just what do you mean to do?”

“You have your man,” Amy declared, kissing her on the cheek. “And now I think it’s time, and past time, for me to get mine.” She rose from the sofa they’d been sharing and headed for the door. “Good night, dearest.”

“Good night,” Aurelia echoed.

Alone, she reflected on her twin’s last words. Who else could Amy have meant but the recently decamped Mr. Sheridan? How extraordinary! She hoped Amy knew what she was doing. If Mr. Sheridan broke her twin’s heart, he’d have
her
to answer to.

A light tap on the door, followed by a low voice calling her name, drove all else from her thoughts. Smiling, she rose to admit her fiancé.
Hers
—the knowledge was impossibly sweet. She spared a moment to be thankful that her family’s rooms were all out of earshot, then feasted her eyes on him as he slipped inside, clad only in a dressing gown, sashed loosely about the waist.

He gazed at her, his eyes kindling like dark fires, and a smile, at once ardent and tender, stole across his face. All the sweeter for the waiting, he’d promised her—and now they need wait no more. At long last they were together, as they’d been when they waltzed in his aunt’s conservatory, more than a year ago. Just James and Aurelia, with no shadows between them.

And just as he had that night, he held out his hand and she took it without a word. What more needed to be said?

***

Aurelia watched from the bed in growing excitement and anticipation as James shrugged out of his dressing gown and draped it over a chair. So handsome—with his broad shoulders, lean torso, and long limbs, the last marred only by the bandage around his left arm. By lamplight, his pale olive skin took on an almost golden cast that made a dramatic contrast to his dark hair and eyes. When he turned around to face her, she flushed as red as fire. Miss Witherspoon’s long-ago lessons on anatomy seemed inadequate, to say the least.

Seeing her expression change, he paused. “Aurelia, if you’re having second thoughts—”

She shook her head. “It’s not that. Your body is so beautiful. Perfect. I—I wish mine were, for you.” She pulled the sheet closer around her own naked form, suddenly shy again. “I have scars you haven’t seen yet, just as off-putting as the one on my face.”

He came to perch on the side of the bed, his night-dark eyes gone soft as shadows on velvet. “Loveday.” The Cornish endearment was music on his tongue. “There is nothing, absolutely nothing, about you that isn’t beautiful to me. Beautiful—and desirable.”

Joy rose in her, golden and glowing as a sunburst, banishing the last vestiges of self-doubt and inferiority. Smiling, radiant, she let the sheet fall and reached for him instead.

***

Nothing about her that wasn’t beautiful to him.

Like the flood of her hair, all amber-shot gold in the lamplight, now loosed and falling heavily over her shoulders. Crowning glory—he lifted a lock, let the strands slide like silk between his fingers.

Like her face, with its delicate features and speaking eyes. The fine nose, and upturned lips, with that wistful sweetness lurking at their corners. The skin, so petal-soft, even to the curving line of her scar that now seemed to him less a blemish than a grace note to her beauty.

Like her body, with its high, round bosom and trim waist, her fair skin flushing the translucent pink of a pearl when he touched her, lightly but intimately. He touched her as if he had never known another woman so, sliding his hands over contours and curves. And down, to the gentle flare of her hips and beyond.

The scars on her left thigh brought an involuntary murmur of pity from him, but the limb as a whole was still sound and shapely. He kissed his way up its length, felt her shiver beneath the pressure of his mouth and murmur his name, her fingers reaching down to twine in his hair.

At the juncture of her thighs he found the triangle of soft fleece, slightly darker than her hair, and teased it gently with his fingers as he sought her opening. The tender seam parted beneath his fingers and he slipped one inside, probing the moist heat of her core.

Aurelia gave a soft gasp at the intrusion, but relaxed as he began to stroke her, lightly, then more firmly, until she arched against his hand, seeking still more. He coaxed her further along, higher, faster—and felt a surge of fierce triumph when she neared the peak, eyes widening, breath catching…and then climaxed, her body shuddering its release, her face transcendent with discovery.
The
bud
of
her
sweet
spirit
broke…Thrilled, and was cloven, and from the full sheath came / The whole rose of the woman, red as flame.

“Beautiful,” he murmured when she lay quiet in his arms once more. “And all mine.”

“Always yours,” Aurelia whispered, reaching up to caress his face. “From the moment you first asked me to dance. Didn’t you know?” She turned in his embrace. “Make love to me again, James. I know there’s more to what we’re doing than this.”

“This part may hurt you,” he warned, stroking her hair back from her face.

No stranger to pain, she smiled and shook her head. “I’ll wager I’ve known worse.” Her hand trailed over his chest, then began sliding downward—seeking, exploring…

He stifled a groan when her fingers closed around him, squeezed gently. “Torment,” he said, and heard her low laugh against his heart.

He rolled over, pinning her neatly to the bed. She was still laughing, her eyes bright with mischief, her hands ready to wreak further havoc on his person. Another dance, in which they were equal partners: stroking, caressing, and finding out what each enjoyed most. He reveled in her eager exploration of his body, teased her again to the brink of fulfillment, and at last, positioned himself at her body’s opening and entered by slow degrees, trying to give her the chance to grow accustomed to the feeling of him inside her.

Despite his efforts, she stiffened, surprise and discomfort playing across her face. He paused at once, suspended within the tight heat of her inner passage. Sensations rippled and pulsed along his length, but he remained still for her sake, doing his best to ignore them. But then, just as he was berating himself for a clumsy oaf, her expression eased and she began to relax, carefully adjusting her position to accommodate his presence.

Penitent, he touched his lips to her brow, her eyelids. “Loveday, shall I—”

“Stay with me, James.” One leg lifted, wrapped tentatively about his hip. “Stay with me.”

He kissed her again, soothing her with hands and voice, then began to move within her, building up a gradual rhythm that eventually drew her in. They rocked together, a gentle rise and fall like a ship riding at anchor, while sensations welled up between their joined bodies…and crested at last, hurling them both into the torrent.

Gasping and shaking, they clung together as the storm broke around them. Then, limbs heavy with lassitude, they slept in each other’s arms—for the first of what would be many nights in their long life together.

He gazed and gazed and gazed and gazed,

Amazed, amazed, amazed, amazed.

—Robert Browning, “Rhyme for a Child Viewing
a Naked Venus in a Painting of the Judgment of Paris”

Two days later, Amy presented herself at Half Moon Street, much to the surprise of Sheridan’s housekeeper, and was shown into the studio to await the artist’s return, as he’d reportedly stepped out to buy some new brushes.

Alone, Amy breathed in the familiar, almost comforting scents of turpentine and linseed oil. Elizabeth Martin’s portrait seemed to smile at her from the wall, wishing her the best of luck in winning the heart of their extraordinary man.

“Your sister told me you’d have wanted him to be happy,” Amy murmured to the portrait. “I don’t know if you’d have approved of me, but I mean to do my best to make him so.”

Happier
than
the
likes
of
Lady
Crowley
could, at least
, she added to herself.

Turning from the portrait, she reviewed her plan of action. Honor and friendship mattered deeply to Sheridan; she understood that now. As long as he believed her bound to James, he would make no move to claim her. Even now that she’d freed herself, he might still hesitate. Just as well that she was a brash, pert, forward American set on having what she wanted. A veritable pirate, after all; she would board his ship and demand his complete surrender. The image made her smile, and quelled the butterflies rioting in her stomach. Emboldened, she set to with a will.

It took less time than she’d expected to get ready. Her Liberty silk gown was so easy to don—and remove, especially when one dispensed with petticoats and corset, as she had today. She pulled the combs out of her chignon as well, letting her hair tumble down her back, then arranged herself upon the sofa, draping a sheet around her in graceful folds. The day was quite warm, fortunately, so she did not feel the least bit chilled.

Her pulse quickened when she heard his step in the passage. She wondered just when she had come to recognize it. Then the door opened, and she turned a smiling face in his direction.

“Amelia!” Sheridan stopped abruptly, swallowed. “Miss Newbold,” he resumed in a painfully neutral tone. “Might I ask what brings you here?”

“Cornish Railways,” she said brightly. “I arrived in London yesterday.”

He flushed, still something of a novelty to see. “That is—not what I meant.”

“No?” She feigned surprise. “Well, then I wished to consult you about my portrait.”

“Your portrait?” he echoed, dumbfounded. “You still want—”

“I want you to finish your commission, of course. I trust myself to no one else’s hands.”

He turned away, setting down his brushes. “You might be better served by another artist.”

“Oh, I doubt that, very much.” When he turned back, she let the sheet drop just a little, exposing one shoulder, and saw his throat work as he swallowed again.

“Your Liberty gown,” he husked, after a moment. “Shouldn’t you be wearing it?”

“I
was
wearing it when I came. But I’ve changed my mind about its suitability. Perhaps you can suggest something else?” She lowered the sheet still further, showing more bare skin.

A muscle twitched at the corner of his jaw. “Miss Newbold, you shouldn’t be here. The future countess of Trevenan—”

“But I’m not going to be a countess,” she informed him blithely.

“Not going to be…” His eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

Much as she enjoyed teasing him, she sensed it was time to speak in earnest. “James loves Relia—and she loves him too, as it turns out. So I’ve called off the engagement and wished them both happy. The wedding may take place as soon as next month, I’m told.”

Sheridan appeared thunderstruck. “James is marrying your sister—and you don’t mind?”

“Why should I? I suspect they’ll be very happy together. They really are much better suited than he and I,” she added. “If I hadn’t been so blinkered by my own ambitions, I’d have seen it a lot sooner, but at least I saw it in time.”

He frowned. “Are you quite certain? I can’t imagine many women being pleased at having their plans for the future overturned, especially not one about to become a countess.”

“As it happens, I’m considering a new plan for my future.” At his inquiring look, she explained, “Being a countess would have been very grand, but I think it might be grander still to marry—the person you love most.” The words felt strange but oddly right on her tongue.

He stilled, absorbing what she had said. “I thought you didn’t believe in romantic love.”

“Something’s—happened to make me rethink my position.” Amy paused, feeling an unaccustomed shyness. “I told myself over and over that I didn’t want to be that vulnerable. That I didn’t want to risk my heart or my peace of mind. Except,” she looked directly into those fathomless green eyes, “it wouldn’t be just me taking the risk—would it, Thomas?” Something moved in his eyes—she didn’t think it was aversion or indifference—so she continued, “And maybe,
two
people taking a risk for love—is what makes it all worthwhile.”

“Amelia,” Sheridan began, and stopped. But the way he said her full name, the caress of his tongue against the syllables, gave her the courage she needed for the rest.

“Would you marry me, Thomas? I know I’m a little vain and more than a little frivolous, and probably fonder of Society than I should be. But—I’m even fonder of you. I,” she swallowed and tried again, “I believe I love you. Which I’ve never said to any other man, so you see, you must mean a great deal to me. And I think, perhaps, you care for me as well?”

His eyes warmed. “More than you know—and for longer than you know,” he said at last. “You call yourself vain and frivolous. Well, I don’t deny your faults, but heaven knows
I’m
no paragon! You are also loyal, generous, and brave. Entirely worthy of being loved.”

“Oh,” Amy breathed, feeling the strangest melting sensation in the region of her heart.

“What has grown between us,” he resumed, almost haltingly, “is not something I expected or sought, any more than you did.”

“Because of James? Or—Elizabeth?” She spoke the second name with some trepidation.

“Both, really. James is my closest friend. And Elizabeth had been a part of my life and my dreams since we were children. I never expected any woman to take her place in my heart. Or to make a place for herself there that would become just as essential—as you have.”

Her eyes as well as her heart now felt full to overflowing; she stretched out her hand, but Sheridan still hung back. “I’m not a peer of the realm, nor ever likely to be,” he warned.

“Oh, that!” Amy waved a dismissive hand, and the sheet slipped down a little more, which Sheridan ignored like a perfect gentleman. “You’re a great artist, which, in my opinion, is far more impressive. You’re also clever, kind, honorable, and never dull, which is the real reason I proposed to you.” She paused, shaking her head in bemusement. “
I
proposed to
you
! I may never live that down, Thomas. Must I ask you to kiss me as well?”

Sheridan’s severe mouth curved in that wonderful smile. “No,” he replied succinctly, then crossed the room and took her in his arms, sheet and all.

The kiss was all she had hoped for: tender and passionate at once, sweeping all doubts before it. Wrapping her arms around Sheridan’s neck, she lost herself in his embrace, the heat of his mouth on hers, the lean hardness of his body against the softer contours of her own.

She did not remember when the sheet slipped to the floor, but the drift of his hands over her bare skin roused her to new heights of sensual pleasure. His hands, with their long, tapering artist’s fingers…she bit back a gasp as they skimmed over her breasts, teased her nipples erect and tingling, and cried out when his mouth replaced his fingers, sucking gently at the peak. And still his hands moved, sweeping down to caress the slight rise of her mound and finally the hidden bud within her cleft. A moan broke from her throat as he rolled his thumb over that spot in deepening circles, and the sensations swirled ever higher, spilling over at last in a surging flood that coursed through her body, leaving her limp and breathless in its wake.

When she came back to herself, the sheet once again covered her from neck to knee. But Sheridan lounged beside her on the sofa, a lazy smile on his face and his shirt fully open—had
she
done that?—over his bare chest. His eyes had gone the tender green of new spring leaves.

“All right, sweetheart?” he inquired, stroking her face.

“Mmm,” she sighed, snuggling closer to him. “That was lovely. Why ever did you stop?’

His arm tightened around her. “Because, my lady pirate, for all your wiles, you’re still an innocent. And because I’ve no intention of exhausting my repertoire before our wedding night.”

She pulled back to look at him. “Our wedding night? So you’re accepting my proposal?”

“It would appear so.” Sheridan threaded his hands through her hair. “You and your sister,” he mused. “What man stands a chance against either of you?”

Amy smiled. “Just as long as you remember that.” She reached up to draw his head down to hers. “And now that that’s settled, would you kiss me again?”

He obliged, combining his vast experience and newfound ardor in a kiss the likes of which neither had ever known. And, after a while, the sheet slipped quietly to the floor again…