The Kiss of a Viscount (The Daughters of the Aristocracy) (37 page)

Chapter 31
A Walk in the Park

As they strolled along the familiar path in Hyde Park, it became very evident to Elizabeth that George was smiling, his lips apart just a bit so that his straight teeth showed, the crinkles on either side of his eyes deepening but at the same time lifting his lids so his eyes were more open.

“You’re smiling,” Elizabeth commented as they took a turn along the path they’d walked just the week before, the one on which she’d asked him if he would accommodate her wish to know
more
. Most of the trees had begun to display their autumn colors, the leaves turning gold and red under the cooler blue sky. There was no sign of rain clouds nor did the air smell as if there would be showers anytime that day. It was a perfect day for a wedding.

“I am,” George replied, his smile broadening. “I have it on very good authority that I am handsome when I smile,” he stated, patting the gloved hand she had looped through his arm and giving her a wink as he did so.

“You look ... happy,” she replied hesitantly.

George’s lips were on her forehead in an instant. “That’s because I am,” he replied, his grin broadening. He tamped down the bit of nervousness he felt when he thought of what was to come at eleven o’ clock that morning.

“You’re about to be leg shackled. How can you be happy?” she asked, an eyebrow cocked into an elegant arch. There wasn’t a hint of amusement in the query, but her aquamarine eyes gave her away.

He laughed loudly at her comment, causing Elizabeth to finally smile.

He should be nervous.

He should be panicked.

He should be running from the park as fast as his long legs would carry him.

But a sense of calm settled over him as he considered his fiancée’s question. “You see, there is this gorgeous woman I saw at a ball last week who was literally thrown into my arms, and then she asked me to kiss her, and then begged me to bed her, and then pleaded for my hand in marriage. Any man in his right mind would be smiling given those circumstances,” he claimed with a good deal of amusement.

“I did not
beg
you to bed me!” Elizabeth countered indignantly, realizing with a bit of embarrassment that everything
else
he mentioned had indeed happened. She covered her mouth with her free hand as she looked about them, hoping no one was within hearing distance.

George leaned over, removed the hand from her mouth, and kissed her quite thoroughly. “Ah, but you will. I hope,” he added as a look of doubt suddenly crossed his face.

Elizabeth smiled. “Tonight, I will. When all the wedding guests have gone home and we’re back at your house.”

“Our house,” George interrupted, his forehead touching hers as he closed his eyes. Despite Elizabeth’s desire to get married the very day she had proposed, they had agreed to wait a few days.

Her father was sure he’d convinced Adeline Carlington to accept a quick marriage by magistrate, but once she’d dressed for dinner after their tryst, she begged him to allow her to arrange a simple church wedding. David Carlington reluctantly agreed, gave her a five-day deadline, and dispatched a footman to Bostwick Place with a note.

Since Elizabeth had to maintain longer office hours – her burgeoning charity experienced an increase in clients as well as patrons over those next few days – she was happy to have the distraction, and she allowed her mother to make all the wedding arrangements. She and the two men she had employed from the start – the “bees”, she called them, since both their names ended in ‘by’ – simply could not keep up with the number of applicants, locate enough positions, and meet with all the employers they needed. The increased workload made it necessary for her to hire two more of her clients – a negotiator experienced in employment contracts as well as another clerk. Word of her charity had reached
The Times
. An article praising her work had appeared the day before – not in the Society pages, as a lady of the
ton
might expect her charity to be mentioned, but as part of the London news. Elizabeth wondered if perhaps her father was behind the story, and then thought it was more likely Josephine would have had a hand in its appearance.

Josephine’s engagement was announced the same day as her own. Her affianced, Jack Theisen, was a distinguished looking man nearly six inches taller than his bride-to-be. He saw to it she was rarely out of his sight once he’d arrived in London. Jack loved the townhouse she claimed to have inherited from her mother, but he insisted they needed a larger house in town, one in which they could entertain his business clients and hold balls and host his extended family when they came to visit. Although the hunt was still on for such a dwelling – he was hoping for something in Cavendish Square – the handsome couple had said their vows before a magistrate the day before and were happily ensconced in Josephine’s townhouse until further notice.

Elizabeth secretly hoped they would make an appearance at her wedding. She had made sure an invitation was sent, not bothering to tell her mother the identity of Mrs. John Theisen.

“I think it’s time we make our way to St. James,” George murmured quietly. “Your mother will think I’ve whisked you off to Gretna Green.”

Elizabeth nodded and quickened her step on the crushed granite path. George had arrived at Carlington House earlier that morning driving his own curricle, the equipage decorated with silk streamers and flowers. George requested to see her, sending a note with Alfred that asked if she would join him on a ride in the park before heading for the church. Her hair already done in a tumble of curls and ribbons, Elizabeth had just finished donning a gold silk de Naples gown her mother had insisted she wear for the occasion when the note was given to her. Afraid to open it at first, thinking perhaps George had changed his mind and was backing out of the marriage, she read it and nearly wept.
My beautiful Elizabeth. Please join me for a ride and a walk in the park. I know it may seem selfish, but I want nothing more than a few moments alone with you this morning so that I may bestow my wedding gifts upon you. Yours for the rest of my life, George.

Elizabeth had jumped at the chance to get out of the chaotic house to spend a few minutes alone with George. “If Gretna Green wasn’t so far, I would
insist
we go there instead,” Elizabeth said with a wink. Who knew her mother would be able to put together a complete church wedding in just a few days? Elizabeth had been secretly glad to spend her days at her office, seeing to new clients, while her mother met with the florists who would decorate the church, and the cooks who would see to the wedding breakfast, and the printer who created the invitations that were sent with great haste to family and friends.

Before they were back at the curricle, George stopped and turned to face Elizabeth. He glanced around quickly, wanting to be sure they were in the same place they’d been when Elizabeth asked him to pleasure her, the same place where he’d kissed her when he promised he wouldn’t, the place where he felt as if their courtship had begun.

“My lady, I was wondering if ...”

“Kiss me, George,” Elizabeth interrupted, her manner suddenly tense.

George blinked, but knew better than to argue. He lowered his lips to Elizabeth’s, bestowing a light and short kiss before pulling away. Seeing her almost immediate look of disappointment, he whispered, “If I kiss you the way I truly wish to kiss you right now,
everyone
who comes to our wedding will know I had my way with you this morning.”

Elizabeth’s lips formed the perfect ‘o’ and she gasped. “Oh. Of course,” she responded, sighing heavily. “So, does this mean you’ll have your way with me ... later?”

Smiling, George nodded. “I should hope so.” If he continued to look into her eyes, he knew he would get lost. “In the meantime, I was wondering if ...”

“May I have my way with you then, too?” Elizabeth interrupted, her lips curving up.

Fighting the flush he felt creeping up his neck and face, George nodded. “Of course, milady,” not adding that she could have her way with him just about whenever she wanted. “I was wondering ...”

“I must admit, I have been quite looking forward to it,” she said, her face taking on the beautiful pink glow that announced her embarrassment.

George’s smile was as wide as it had ever been.
She is nervous
, he realized. “My sweet, if you don’t stop thinking about
later
, you’re going to swoon in front of the wedding guests,” he warned in a good-natured voice. When he saw the pink glow darken, he added, “I was wondering ...” He stopped, thinking she might interrupt him again. When she merely gazed at him as if she was hanging on his every word, her aquamarine eyes suddenly curious, he continued, “Would it be acceptable for me to give you some of your wedding gifts right now?”

Elizabeth blinked.
Some?
She glanced around, her curiosity increasing when she saw no evidence of a gift. “Yes, I suppose, George,” she replied, her voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

Reaching into his coat pocket, George pulled out a slim pasteboard box and handed it to her. She took it, hesitating briefly as she did so, her eyes locked onto George’s. Removing the lid of the box, she gasped when she saw a black velvet lining surrounded by a necklace of aquamarine gemstones. The stones were strung on a tiny gold chain. “Oh, George!” she breathed. “It’s so ... elegant. So beautiful. It’s perfect!”

He lifted the necklace from the bed of velvet and wrapped it around the column of her neck, moving to stand behind her as he did so. Once the clasp was secure, he returned to stand in front of her, smiling as he confirmed the stones were the same color as her eyes. “When I asked your mother what color gown you would be wearing his morning, she wondered why I would wish to know. I showed her the necklace. She assured me this would be a good match to the gold. She was right, of course,” he explained, reaching out to touch the stone that hung just above the center of her bodice. “Which means this should match as well,” he added with a arched eyebrow as he pulled a smaller box from the other pocket of his topcoat.

Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open, her gloved hands moving to frame her face. “George!” She reached out with one hand to lift the lid, revealing the matching bracelet, its aquamarine gems smaller versions of those in the necklace, strung on the same tiny gold chain.

George fastened the bracelet around one of her wrists, kissing the inside of it when he finished. He stood back to regard the jewels. “There are more, of course, but ...”

“More?”

A mischievous grin passed over his lips as he remembered her saying the same word the night he had pleasured her.
Always promise her more
, Josephine had said all those weeks ago, before he’d begun to even think seriously about finding a wife. George sobered. He nodded. “I thought it best to ply you with jewelry.”

“But, why?” she replied as she studied the stones on her bracelet.

“I’m afraid the renovations to the mistress suite at Bostwick Place are ... still not finished. And I’ve been told they won’t be complete until you choose the colors you want.”

Inhaling sharply, Elizabeth cocked her head to one side. “There’s a mistress suite?” she repeated. She hadn’t remembered seeing evidence of one that night she’d been in George’s house. And, as to their living arrangements, she hadn’t even given them a single thought. Anna had packed most of her clothes and slippers in trunks, and helped some footmen to see to it they were carted to Bostwick Place. The maid seemed especially happy to make the move with her mistress.

It seemed there was a tiger for whom her maid felt a special fondness.

“Through the dressing room and bath beyond my room,” George commented. “I do hope you’ll be amenable to sharing my apartment with me until ...”

“If you think we’re sleeping in separate beds anytime soon, George Bennett-Jones, I shall never speak to you again!”

Eyeing his wife to be as if she had announced she loved him out loud, George stilled himself and then took a deep breath. “I have no intention of allowing you to sleep alone, my sweet,” he countered with a shake of his head. Before Elizabeth could give him any kind of rejoinder, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her hard against his body, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was as demanding as it was possessive.

Caught off-guard, Elizabeth could only allow the assault of his lips on hers, returning the kiss only when she’d gathered her wits. Her arms reached up to his shoulders, her hands to the sides of his neck as a faint hum came from somewhere in her throat.

When the kiss ended, it was because George pulled away, his forehead left resting on hers. “Now,
everyone
will know I’ve kissed you this morning,” he murmured with a sigh, seeing her bee-stung lips in their cherry red glory.

“And not a single person could find fault with that when they see your wedding gifts,” Elizabeth countered, her eyes closed, her long lashes curled atop her cheekbones. “Oh, I do ... love you, George,” she whispered. “Or, should I be calling you ‘Bostwick’ now?” This last question had her eyes opening to see a grin replaced with a grimace.

“You call me ‘Bostwick,’ and
I’ll
never speak to you again,” George replied in warning. “Which will be very difficult since I love you very much and intend to prove it at my every opportunity.”

“You can prove it right now by getting my daughter to St. James,” David Carlington, the Marquess of Morganfield, stated in a gruff voice.

The couple whirled toward the carriageway to find Elizabeth’s father on a high-perch phaeton. A bright cherry red phaeton. The black horse in front of it was barely reigned in, as if he’d had to come to a sudden halt.

Elizabeth gasped, her astonishment evident in her wide eyes and the rather large ‘O’ her mouth formed. “Father? Is that ...
yours
?” she wondered as she took in the sight of Marquess of Morganfield sitting high on the rather sporty phaeton. The gleaming metal attested to either its very good care or its newness.