The Charmer (28 page)

“A formidable man,” St. John said. “Adrian, on the other hand, was trained by the greatest swordsman in Turkey.”

Adrian gestured for a card.

It was a five. Twenty-two.

Hell.

She was dreaming about him one moment and awake in his presence the next. A swell of awareness gently raised her above the sea of sleep until she was alert to him.

It must have been the animals. They were silent now, as still as statues, but she could sense their eyes watching. They must have made a mild commotion when he entered, before he signaled them to behave.

She could not see him, but she knew he was in the dark corner by her bed, out of sight. His compelling aura filled the air.

“Adrian?”

“I am sorry. I did not intend to wake you.”

“How did you get in?”

“This house has a garden door too.”

“You have some experience with opening locked doors?” She had been wondering about those foreign missions ever since Jacques had suggested their purpose at Marleigh.

“Some.”

“Will you tell me about it sometime?”

“Probably.”

She turned on her side toward his voice. “Why are you here?”

“To see you. Just to look at you while you slept. To breathe the same air.”

His quiet tone touched her more than his words. Something indefinable stretched and ached out of that shadow.

“Has something untoward happened?”

“No. Go back to sleep, darling.”

She reached out her hand. “Come and sit with me. If you want to see me and breathe the same air, come closer.”

He hesitated, then emerged from the corner. He shed his frock coat and sat beside her, his shoulders up against the board and his boots stretched atop her light coverlet.

She scooted up under his embracing arm. In the dim moonlight she imagined that she could see his serious expression, but in reality she only felt his deep, churning mood and could not see it at all.

“What is it, Adrian? Is it about Gerald? I understand that laying down information must have been difficult, no matter what his crimes.”

“I will not regret Stidolph's death for one second, Sophia. I am not the sort to get sentimental about such a man. Justice will catch up with him tomorrow, and I will not regret it.”

“Then what, Adrian? Your mood is troubling me. I have never seen you like this.”

He nuzzled her hair. “A bad humor, is all. Too much thinking about the past and contemplating the future. Too much awareness of how fleeting life is, and how we waste it on insignificant concerns. I do not care to speak of it and infect you with my melancholy. Already it passes, as I knew it would if I came here.”

That was not true. Whatever had brought him here in the night had not passed. She felt it in him like a dark, turbulent storm. He only contained it through his commanding strength of will.

It twisted her heart. This was Adrian. She had always assumed that he could snap his fingers and quell any inner turmoil as quickly as he did Yuri's rambunctious behavior.

It had been selfish and thoughtless of her to think that. He carried wounds as surely as she did. That he normally controlled whatever churned his depths and memories did not mean that those waters were placid.

Guilt pierced her. She had only learned about the parts of him that she needed to use. His strength. His passion. She had depended on him to fill her voids, but she had never thought that she might fill his. Maybe she should not blame herself too much for that, though. The Sophia Raughley that he had brought back from Paris would have laughed at the notion that she might have something such a man might want. Besides power and wealth, that is.

Well, she was not that woman any longer, thanks to Adrian. If he had come tonight just to breathe the same air, maybe she had more to offer him than she thought.

She turned and embraced him closer and let her heart reach out to his. Maybe she could hold him together a little, as he so often had done for her. Possibly she could soothe him like he comforted her.

He seemed to know what she was trying to do. He rested his cheek on her head. Invisibly, spiritually, without a word being said, he revealed his raw emotions.

They poured out of him and into her, creating a painful and poignant intimacy. Her heart both cringed from the dark onslaught and embraced it. She did not know what had provoked this in him, but she recognized the vulnerability too well. She tried to absorb it, hoping to make his burden a little lighter.

A long time passed silently. She felt him relaxing within her clinging embrace. The small sign that she was helping exhilarated her. He kissed her head gently, as if in gratitude.

A sweet, exquisite sensitivity bound them. Deep. Sacred. It suffused her with euphoria.

Easily, unexpectedly, love spread out from her heart through her whole being, and no barriers blocked its path.

It was her turn to give, and his to need. It had never been that way before. She had never known that the giving gave love its purpose and fulfillment. It obliterated the separateness and shattered the glass walls and created a world of perfect unity.

She trembled within the profound power of what she was experiencing. “I am so glad that you came,” she whispered.

“I could not stay away. I knew that just being near you would make me feel alive.”

Alive. Yes, that was what she felt. Totally alive, and alert to the reality of the moment. A kind of living that had nothing to do with breathing and heartbeats.

She tilted her head and kissed his neck. With glossing touches she caressed his face, sensing his essence as surely as his skin.

Giving. She was new to it, and fascinated. She had gotten it all backwards, this thing between men and women. Love made it different. In love, the taking became giving. Without it, the giving became taking.

She moved so that she could kiss his mouth. She embraced his need, both physically and spiritually, and reveled in the opportunity to take care of him.

She unbuttoned his waistcoat, kissing his chest through his shirt as the fabric gaped open. A soulful arousal quivered through her.

“I did not come here to make love, Sophia.”

She plucked at his cravat and whisked it away. “Are you going to stop me?” Her fingers went to work on his collar.

It was still in him, that dark turmoil. Binding them now because she shared it and took some of its confusion off of him.

“No.”

“Just do not speak of final times tonight, Adrian. I do not want to think about that.”

A peculiar emotion surged out of him, but it quickly retreated. “We will neither speak of it, nor think of it.”

She got his shirt off. He remained unusually passive and did not help her much. She liked that.

“Take off your nightgown. I want to see you.”

Rising on her knees, she slid it up. His warm palm caressed down to her breasts. “You are so beautiful. Like a white flower in this moonlight. Beautiful and magnificent.”

Hearing the words from their first night together wrenched her heart. Even then there had been little giving on her part. She may have surrendered her virginity, but the generosity had been all his.

She splayed her fingers over his chest and traced the wonderful ridges of his muscles. “I am only beautiful and magnificent with you. Only for you.”

They caressed each other slowly, as if their hands could print the forms on their memories. Their mutual pleasure became a language shared in silent conversation. Her breasts and skin were unusually sensitive to his touch. Her new depth of emotion imbued the pleasure with shared ecstasy.

She moved down to pull off his boots. His gaze on her body made her breathless. She unbuttoned and lowered the rest of his garments, caressing and kissing his hips and legs as they emerged.

Giving. It drenched her delight in his body with an amazing richness. It made the desire tether their hearts.

She bent to lick his nipples and then trail her tongue down his chest while her fingers slid to encase his phallus. His whole body flexed in response.

She laid her cheek on his hard stomach and watched her caresses and felt the tension of his passion climb. Her own rose with it, toward a determined, yearning level.

“I want to make love to you, Adrian. You have never asked it of me. Do you want me to?”

“Yes. But I want to be inside you before the end. I need to hold you to my heart this time.”

She moved her kisses lower and licked. He tensed, making her bolder. She explored more aggressively. A low affirmation escaped him.

Craving pleasure spread as his reactions absorbed her. Her own body began weeping with need. His hand warmed down her back and trailed her cleft to the spot that screamed for his touch.

They traveled a steep path of united sensuality. She kept expecting to shatter, only to pitch higher. Her consciousness blurred to everything except the release awaiting them.

Suddenly he reached for her. He flipped her on her back and bent her knees up to her breast. He lowered his head between her thighs and tortured her with intimate kisses that left her crying for him.

He rose up and came to her. The turmoil he had been carrying became a physical force. His thrusts left her gasping. She filled her arms with him, urging him to take whatever he needed.

At the end he rolled so that she straddled him. Arms wrapping her tightly, pressing her to his heart, he finally succumbed to a violent release. He brought her with him to that spot of heaven he had shown her before. Whatever drove him tonight simply disappeared in the peace of that special place.

He did not release her. Long after, he still embraced her. She grew drowsy in that contentment, and felt the relaxation that said he had fallen asleep.

Had he felt what was in her tonight? Did he know? She laid there and memorized every inch on his body against hers, focusing on the sensations bit by bit, the scent and texture and hardness of him.

“I love you, Adrian. You will always be in my heart.”

His head turned slightly and he looked at her through the darkness. He was not asleep. He had heard her.

She woke to his presence again. He was standing beside the bed, looking down at her. His frock coat was slung over his shoulder, hooked on one finger.

She raised her hand and placed it flat on his chest. The first light of morning had turned his white shirt silver.

“Do you have to leave?”

“I have something that I must do this morning.”

“Gerald?” She resented that seeing to Gerald's arrest would pull Adrian away before she could say what needed saying.

“Yes.”

“Will you come back after?”

He kissed her hand and closed his eyes. “Of course. Now go back to sleep.”

He lifted her chin and stroked her lips with his thumb, then bent and gently pressed his own to them. “I love all that you are. Hold me in your heart as you promised last night.”

Turning abruptly, he strode from the chamber.

For some reason that she could not explain, that kiss shadowed her joy with a terrible foreboding.

chapter
28

S
he carried the love inside her all morning, fascinated by its novelty. She turned it this way and that in her heart, examining all its facets with delight. It was so enchanting that she could ignore the tiny worry that still pricked at her because of the way Adrian had taken his leave.

It changed everything, unfettered love did. The sun looked golden and the air smelled pure. All of the servants smiled more. When Jenny pulled her into the wardrobe, determined to cull the old gowns to make way for the new, the onerous duty actually sounded like fun.

Her mood must have infected Jenny. The maid kept smiling, smiling. Talking, talking. Gown after gown emerged for consideration.

“Take that one for yourself,” Sophia said when a lace-trimmed yellow silk faced judgment. “You always liked it.”

“But it is almost new.”

“Take it. It doesn't matter. None of it matters anymore.”

Jenny's smile disappeared. “What an odd thing to say, my lady.” She set the yellow silk aside and pulled out the next gown. “What about this?”

“That I will keep.”

“To be honest, the shade of rose never suited you.”

“I will keep it. It is the gown I was wearing the first time Adrian kissed me.”

Jenny turned away quickly.

“Is something wrong, Jenny?”

“No, of course not.” She turned back with the smile in place and became all business again.

At eleven o'clock they were surprised by the arrival of Dorothy Burchard. Bright-eyed and happy, she intruded on the dressing room unannounced.

“Forgive me, Sophia, but I was out for a walk and decided to stop for a little rest. You don't mind, do you? I told Charles to dispense with formalities. What are you doing? Wardrobe? I promise not to interfere.”

She sat next to Sophia.

Was it her imagination, or did Jenny look relieved to see Dincaster's sister arrive? The two of them exchanged one quick look and then Jenny persevered.

Dot had promised not to interfere, but she did. Constantly. Questions about the French modistes who had made the gowns. Admiration of the details and fabrics. Judgments as to practicality. All the while she regaled Sophia with humorous stories about sartorial disasters witnessed at balls down through the years.

Smiling, smiling. Talking, talking.

A half hour later word came up that the Viscountess Laclere had come to call.

A peculiar silence stilled Dot's prattling for a five count. She and Jenny exchanged a quick glance.

“The viscountess? How wonderful,” Dot said. “Will you receive her? Why don't we go down and call for some cocoa? The air has a cool bite to it today, and I think cocoa would be just the thing.”

Dot smiled encouragingly. Jenny beamed with agreement.

Sophia recognized what was happening. They were managing her. But why? The tiny worry that she had been ignoring suddenly demanded more attention.

They found the viscountess in the drawing room, decked out in a sapphire riding habit. She approached Sophia with outstretched hands and a chagrined smile. “Do forgive me for the uncivilized hour. I was coming back from a ride in the park and thought I would stop to call and congratulate you on your dinner party. Promise that you won't tell Laclere, or he will scold his errant American wife for presuming. Dorothy, what a happy coincidence to find you here. I had a brilliant idea about creating a ministry to support the arts that I planned to confide in the duchess, but your wisdom regarding the matter will be welcome.”

“It sounds fascinating. You must tell us all about it over some cocoa,” Dot said.

“Cocoa would be wonderful. The morning holds more chill than it appears. I fear that the last of summer is gone.”

The cocoa came. They sipped it while the viscountess described an outrageous plan to petition to establish an entire government ministry dedicated to supporting young artists. The scope of the patronage grew while she talked.

As if she was making it up as she went.

Dot asked lots of questions. Sophia watched the spirited exchange. Too spirited. Too earnest. Talking, talking. Smiling, smiling. Except the talk struck her as oddly forced, and the smiles as too determined. They chattered around her and through her, as if a pause would be disastrous.

More unexpected arrivals were announced. Jacques and Attila. Probably a coincidence. Maybe not.

Jacques appeared as smooth as always. Attila exuded an exaggerated joviality. They joined the conversation. The viscountess began explaining her idea all over again.

The relentless chatter grew unnerving. Sophia wanted to sit quietly and savor her love, not be distracted by all this talk.

Distracted. She peered at the viscountess and Dorothy. Something dark shimmered beneath their bright expressions. Jacques looked more solemn than smooth, now that she examined him. Attila's smile might have been painted below his mustache.

Charles entered and bent to her ear.

Sophia listened to him and nodded. “It appears that the Duke of Wellington has come to call,” she announced. “Perhaps I will start a new fashion. Morning salons.”

That cut short the relentless talk. Jacques remained blasé, but Attila shot Dorothy a worried glance. Dot's cloud of white hair ever so subtly shook a vague negative.

The duke paused at the threshold and took in the collected visitors. “I feared that my calling so early might disturb you. I see that is not the case. Forgive my impertinence, but I was walking past and . . .”

“And the air was brisk and you thought some cocoa might be in order,” Sophia said. “You are most welcome here. As you can see, this household is not rigid in its formalities.”

She settled the duke down with Dorothy and the viscountess, and saw to his refreshment. A most awkward silence ensued, punctuated by small talk that only tightened the threads of tension weaving among the guests.

“Attila, I have been practicing that sonata that you gave me,” Sophia said. “Come to the pianoforte so that I can show you my improvement.”

Jacques did not want Attila to go off with her alone, that was evident. Neither did Dorothy. The viscountess leapt into the breach with a query to Wellington about the Battle of Waterloo. The duke grabbed the topic with gusto.

Sophia gestured for Attila nonetheless. Pasted smile wavering, Attila reluctantly joined her in the corner at the pianoforte.

“Wonderful. How you improve! Extraordinary, my lady,” he said after she had tortured the first passage.

“Oh, nonsense. I am horrid, as I have always been.”

“Not so. True, you miss a few notes still, and the hesitant tempo is a bit awkward, but your sympathy with the music touches my heart.”

Her fingers persevered. The duke continued his stories. The viscountess wore an expression of rapt interest, but her gaze spent more time on Sophia than on Wellington.

“What is happening? Why are you all here?” Sophia demanded of Attila.

“To visit with you. Is that no longer permitted?”

“Attila, do not think me so stupid that I do not realize that this is most unusual. The Viscountess Laclere, with whom I am hardly intimate, has stopped by before noon. The Duke of Wellington is telling stories that must even bore him by now. You have agreed to listen to me play the pianoforte, when we both know that it pains you to do so. There is a shadow in this chamber, a dark shadow that everyone is trying to keep at bay with all this banter and amiability. Now, what is happening?”

He squirmed. “Nothing is happening. Jacques and I wanted to see you, that is all. We had no idea you would have other visitors. We came as friends. Is that so wrong? We did not want you to be alone.”

Her gaze swept the little group. It
had
been a coincidence. They had not planned this. Each had come independently, because none of them wanted her to be alone. It was even why Wellington was here.

“Why didn't you want me to be alone, Attila?”

“Did I say that? I meant that we thought you might be lonely.”

“It is something to do with Adrian, isn't it?”

She did not need to see his distraught expression to know the truth.

They did not want her to be alone in the event that bad news came.

The worry that she had been ignoring surged. The foreboding strangled her heart. She stopped playing and looked at her visitors. One by one they saw her expression. The talk drifted into silence. The careful smiles fell away.

She rose on trembling legs and rejoined the others.

She looked Wellington right in the eyes. “Where is Adrian?”

The duke's sharp expression donned a veil of sympathy.

Dorothy reached out and grasped her hand. “There was no choice. Colin assured me of that.”

“Where is he?”

Wellington shook his head. “I do not know where the duel is happening. I received a letter from him this morning saying it would be done, but not where. The letter asked me to see to your protection if he did not survive. It also contained another, sealed letter, to be opened only in that event.”

“A duel? He is meeting Gerald? Does everyone know except me?”

From their expressions she gathered that the whole city knew, except her. Even Jenny and the servants. It explained all those smiles this morning. That was the reason for the wardrobe duty. And for Dot's visit. And the rest. They had come to be with her in case bad news arrived, but also to make sure that she did not go out and learn what everyone else knew.

A duel. It was madness. Insanity. Gerald did not deserve the honor of it. He should be carried off in chains, not met one-on-one like a gentleman.

Adrian should have told her. Last night he should have shared it with her. Even if she would have argued to stop it. Even if she would have locked him in, to keep him from leaving. He should have told her.

Maybe he had. He had brought his fear to her, hadn't he? He had sought to share a night of life before facing death.

Death. It could happen that way. Every person in this room recognized that possibility. Gerald would not escape justice in the end, but he might take one more person from her before he faced it.

“Who is with him?”

“His brother, St. John, and my husband,” the viscountess said.

“And at least a dozen others whose names will never be known unless it is necessary,” Wellington added.

“You can stop this. If the Duke of Wellington demands to know where this is occurring, someone will tell him. You can prevent it. Instead you sit here and wait to learn the result as if it is some stupid vote in Parliament.”

“I sit here as if I wait to hear the result of some action on which I have sent my best soldiers. If Burchard chose this way of resolving whatever stands between him and Stidolph, he had his reasons. He would not welcome this unless he thought it necessary.”

“Do you know why they are meeting?”

“Stidolph issued the challenge over the honor of the dowager duchess, but no one believes it is really about that. I think that you know the reasons better than I. I daresay that they have to do with you.”

“Those reasons do not require such risky heroics. You must stop it.”

“I will not. I cannot. It is already over.” He reached out and patted the hand that Dot still clasped. “I suspect that you do not know the fullness of it, Duchess. God willing, he will triumph and none of us ever will. If not, I will open that other letter, and see it through for him.” His chiseled face softened. “He is a brave man. I could have used him in the old days. If I had chosen your champion myself, I could not have done better.”

Her champion. Fighting the battle she could not wage herself. Risking his life in a cause that had nothing to do with him.

She felt so helpless. So terrified. So grateful that he had come to her last night, and that she had finally been brave enough to let herself fully love him.

“So I must sit here and wait. I must simply endure it until word comes.”

A hand touched her shoulder. She looked up into Attila's gentle face. “We will all endure it together,
kedvesem.
”

It was the worst hour of her life. A long hell of sickening anticipation. Her throat burned from swallowing back tears. Partway through, Dot entwined her arms around her so that they held each other, two women waiting to learn the fate of a man they loved.

A chill permeated the room. It had nothing to do with the brisk autumn air. Wellington called for a servant and had the fire built up in the hearth. They waited some more.

She thought that she heard a horse stop outside the house. She could not bring herself to run to the window to check. Nor could anyone else. They all froze, alert to the sound. It seemed as though everyone simply stopped breathing.

Boot steps approached. Charles opened the door and Laclere strode in.

He paused, taking in the group, surprised.

“Well?” the duke asked impatiently.

“I rode ahead. He is coming in a carriage, with his brother and St. John. He will be here shortly.”

The wave of relief left her limp in Dot's arms. Her composure finally crumbled. Tears snuck down the sides of her face. “Was he hurt?”