Night of Pleasure (12 page)

He jerked to a halt. “You had better be teasing me.”

She sighed. “Oh, do calm down. I was. Have you no sense of humor?”

His brows came together. “I am fully capable of humor, but when you say things in that overly serious tone it’s very difficult to know the difference. Next time smile or quirk a brow or something. You’re too damn serious.”

Sadly, she’d always been serious in nature. She couldn’t help it. She hadn’t exactly been raised by comedians. Her father had been ridiculously driven and dry and her mother had been more of a funeral director with wild screaming monkeys attached to each shoulder.

“Genteel ladies here in London don’t smoke,” Banfield added. “Which means…we’ll have to do something about this.” He continued down the corridor. “The best way to get rid of a bad habit is to get rid of whatever is causing the habit. You will therefore hand over whatever cheroots you have after you finish this one. I’ll take the whole casing or whatever you have in your reticule.”

Oh, now
that
was going too far. “Forgive me, but everything in my reticule belongs to me, Banfield. Not you.”

He glanced back at her, his smoldering brown eyes intently holding her gaze. “I am about to be your husband. I therefore have the right to confiscate whatever I want. Especially if I feel it’s in your best interest.”

The way he said it made her feel as if he was about to do far more than take away her cheroots. “Why not take the shoes from my feet while you’re at it?”

“Your shoes aren’t the problem, Clementine.” Putting his hands into his pockets, he casually resumed walking. “Whilst I’m permitting you to indulge in smoking this once, out of common courtesy, you need to understand that people here in London will judge you for it and it’s my duty to protect your good name. I only hope you aren’t too attached to the idea of smoking.”

She was. She tried to quit smoking many times, as she knew it wasn’t something respectable women did, but had quickly discovered it wasn’t all that simple. She loved it too much. Much like her father loved his cognac too much. Her own weakness made her more forgiving of his. “I smoke every day. I genuinely enjoy it.”

“And I genuinely enjoy drinking brandy, but I can also function without it.”

A gasp escaped her. “How dare you insinuate I also drink?” She wasn’t her father.

He lifted a brow. “As my mother says, a well-bred lady should always strive for perfection. And begging your pardon, but smoking does not define perfection.”

“Begging
your
pardon, but if perfection defined me, I’d be a nun living in Madrid.”

He swung toward her, the heat of his massive body startling her into leaning back. “Don’t disrespect my opinion. I’m giving you a privilege few get. Because no one
ever gets the chance to smoke in this house. No one. Not even my guests.”

“Then why even have a cigar room?” she drawled, angling toward him to prove she wasn’t in the least bit intimidated. She accidentally bumped him with her arm and winced. “Sorry.”

He glanced at the arm she had bumped and edged closer. “I didn’t build the cigar room into the house. My grandfather did.” He straightened, his brown eyes playfully sparking. “Our first argument. How utterly charming. How quaint.”

Her throat tightened. “We aren’t arguing.”

He quirked a brow. “You mean you’re arguing with me about arguing?”

She pinched her lips. He thought he was so clever.

He slowly grinned, the edges of his eyes crinkling. “Do I get a kiss for being clever? Or are you going to make this poor man wait until his wedding night?”

Something told her he wasn’t going to take her ending their engagement well.

Derek closed the door leading into the domed cigar room to ensure no smoke escaped into the corridor lest the footmen come running thinking there was a fire. After all, no one had lit a cigar in the house since 1823. Letting out an exasperated breath, he turned to Clementine. He couldn’t believe she had covered her entire mouth with both hands when he tried to kiss her. He had checked his breath. It wasn’t that. Hell, he’d strategically eaten a piece of candy and given her one for a reason.

Their wedding night was going to be rough. For both of them.

He eyed her.

She had already set aside her beaded reticule and lit her cheroot as if showcasing her every right. Depositing the extinguished match into the ash pan on the marble side table, she glanced around the Turkish-styled blue and gold room. The fullness of her chartreuse morning gown that emphasized generous hips that had nothing to do with her corset, followed her sweeping movements.

She regally seated herself in one of the cane chairs directly before him, holding up the lit cheroot between two bare fingers. “The poor ash pan on the side table doesn’t even appear to have been used. When was the last time anyone actually smoked in this room?”

He tried not to notice that the lace on her bodice was unusually high for a morning gown. Only the base of her throat and an expensive-looking emerald and gold necklace was showing. Despite the overly modest cut of her attire, the well-fitted material of her gown still couldn’t hide the sizeable breasts stuffed into her corset. She was flat no more. It was amazing what a few years could do to a woman’s body.

“Did you wander off to another land?” she prodded.

Yes. Tit land. “I uh…” He cleared his throat. “Never mind. It’s not like you would want to hear what goes on in my mind.” She’d probably panic. “My father was actually the last person to make use of this room. He was in here almost every night, smoking his jolly heart away. When he died, so did the custom. I don’t smoke. I personally never cared for it.” He was quiet for a moment.

Her features notably softened. “You miss him, don’t you?”

His throat tightened. “Yes. He was a great man.”

“I hear many stories about him. My father was incredibly fond of your father and speaks of him as if he were a brother.” Her full lips encased the end of the cheroot, her blue eyes watching him intently. She slowly pulled it away, letting a small ring of white smoke rise from those lips and glide toward him.

He lowered his chin. He’d never seen anyone control smoke like that before. It was like watching a dragon entertain itself with its own breath. “You seem well versed in the art of smoking. I sincerely hope you’re better versed in running a household.”

She took in another puff of smoke, still watching him. “Why not sit down, Banfield? This is going to take a while and you and I need to talk.”

“Now, now, there is no need to say everything to each other in the first five minutes. I say we take our time.” He grabbed another cane chair and set it directly before her, allowing enough distance for her skirts. Heaven forbid he step on those again. Pushing aside his coat tails with a hand, he sat. “Might I ask what father would allow his own daughter to smoke as if she were a man? In my opinion, he ought to be hanged.”

She sighed. “Please don’t insult my father. He did the best he could. I was the one who had to raise him. And I think I did rather well given the circumstance.”

What an odd thing to say. “Since when do daughters raise their fathers?”

She averted her gaze and shrugged. “When Mama died, he struggled quite a bit. More than I thought he would. Although they always argued, they were still oddly close and the first few weeks after she died, all he could do was sit in her room with a hand on the pillow she used to sleep on.” A glazed look of despair overtook her face. “Even as a child, I felt sorry for him. I always did. He reminded me of a wounded pup.”

She made it sound as if she had spent her entire life playing mother to a man incapable of being a father. It sank his soul. Derek softened his voice. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Her startled gaze met his. “Why would I want to do that?”

He held her gaze. “Because I would hope you can talk to me about anything. Just like we always did in our letters.”

She hesitated. “Whilst I appreciate your concern, Banfield, I don’t want you judging my father. You’re already judging me merely because I smoke.”

He snorted. “That is because smoking isn’t very common amongst women here in England. You do know that, yes?”

“Nothing about my life
is
or ever
was
common. I’ve been smoking for years. So don’t think you’re protecting me. You aren’t.”

He lowered his chin. “
Years
? As in how many? Since birth? Or recently?”

She rolled her eyes. “Since I was eighteen. It was my way of bonding with my father. He always had a cheroot in his hand and what girl doesn’t want to be like her father? Especially when she has no one else in her life but an overly stern governess? He was never a bad father, he simply endured a lot and wasn’t ever capable of…” Her voice trailed off. She lowered her gaze. “I really don’t want to talk about this. Can we talk about something else?”

He decided not to prod. In time, she’d tell him everything he wanted to know about her. They had their entire marriage for that. “Of course. What would you like to talk about?”

“Us.”

The way she said it made him feel stupidly weak in the knees. “What about us?”

Her cheeks flushed. “Well…after you tried to kiss me in the receiving room, I…it made me realize we needed to discuss a few things.”

Oh, now this he had to hear. He shifted toward her in his seat, setting his hands on his knees. “Go on. I’m listening.” He paused and added, “Intently.”

She averted her gaze, her flush fading to subtle pink. “Aside from your over-enthusiastic nature toward me, you’ve still been kind.” She stared at nothing in particular. “I notice kindness. I wasn’t around it very much. My father was loving, but my mother and my governess were both incredibly judgmental. They claimed I was too somber, too forward and stubborn in nature to ever be molded into what society defined desirable in a lady. My mother died before I could prove her wrong, but my governess was surprised when my father had announced our engagement back in ’23. The woman started treating me with more respect, merely because I was going to be a lady, regardless of what she thought. So in many ways I have you to thank. It made the years tolerable. Not necessarily perfect but tolerable.”

It was like peering into the world she had been trapped in all these years. A world he had only imagined. He’d always thought her curt ways was an extension of all the money she was worth. Not anything she had endured. It was humbling. “I didn’t know that about you.”

“There is a lot you don’t know, Banfield.” She drew in some smoke before letting it out through full parted lips.

God did he ever want to make those lips whisper his name with the same longing and reverence he’d felt for her all these years. “In private, call me Derek. And if you don’t like the idea of calling me Derek, feel free to call me any other endearment you like. Make it worth your while and mine.”

She smirked. “Oh, now, don’t encourage me. Or you’ll end up with a name like
Adonis
.”

That sounded like an insult, not an endearment. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Women probably find you very attractive. Don’t they?”

He supposed some did. Well…no…many did. He knew he was attractive. Certainly far more attractive than most of these lanky, buck-teethed, over-bred men walking around London. And various widows, in particular, always feigned to call on his mother, when, in fact, they were trying to call on him. Of course, he never acted on it. Setting aside his devotion to Clementine, acting on every woman’s interest only led to the pox. One of his own friends from his days back at Eton had come down with bed-related diseases after shagging well over thirty women. It wasn’t pretty.

He shrugged. “What can I say? Most of the men here in London make me look good. I’m young, my teeth are straight, and my biceps bulge in the proper direction.”

She pursed her lips. “I’m so glad to hear you aren’t
completely
conceited. I was beginning to wonder.”

It was like worshipping stone. Her regal, cool façade was the same and never changed. He only ever remembered it changing once. When he’d sent her into a panic after he’d used his mouth to take the candy stuck to her glove. “I suppose all that really matters is that
you
find me attractive. Which I know you do. Hell, when we first met, I took your breath away. You had trouble breathing around me, didn’t you?”