The Muse (13 page)

“The title of ‘miss’ will apply to me for another three weeks only.”

“Ah, my congratulations to you upon your impending marriage—”

“Imogene, are you ready, darling?”  Aunt Wilton called, indicating it was time to go.

“Thank you, Mr. Odeman, and I hope your sister enjoys her gift,” Imogene offered before following Aunt Wilton and Cariss out of the shop.

As their carriage paused to pull onto the road, Imogene glanced out the window at the street traffic.  She was surprised to see Mr. Odeman standing there staring right into her carriage window.  Their eyes met across the distance before she felt compelled to turn away.  The expression he wore made a shiver roll through her spine, and she suddenly wished she’d never told him her name.

“Who was that man speaking to you in the shop?” Aunt Wilton asked.

“A Mr. Odeman who was buying gloves for his sister, and asked me would I choose buff or white for myself.”

“Do you know him, Imogene?” Cariss asked.

“Not at all.”

19th January, 1812

IMOGENE was not happy.  Truthfully, she was beginning to feel rather low, especially today of all days.  And there had been nothing from Graham in nearly a week.  No letters telling her how much he missed her.  The hours of dress fittings and endless selections she’d endured this morning boded well for the smashing headache she felt coming on.  Cariss and Aunt Wilton had already preceded her in another carriage more than an hour ago.  As Imogene headed up the steps of Brentwood Manor to lift the knocker, she saw a flash of movement at the drapes. 
That’s odd.

The front door opened but Mr. Finlay, the butler, was not there to receive her.  She stepped carefully into the empty foyer and looked around the whole room.

And then she smelled him.  The wonderful, unique scent recognizable only as his, met her nose.
 
Instantly revived, she whispered, “Graham?”

Seconds later, she was rewarded with the most wonderful feeling she had experienced in days and days.  Strong arms wrapped around her from behind and pulled her close.  “Yes,
chérie
?”

“You
are
here!”  She turned and faced him, her heart about to pound out of her chest.  “I’ve had no letter in days and no knowledge of you coming to London.”

His green eyes danced. “It was meant as a surprise,
chérie
.  Are you happy to see me?”

“I have missed you, so much, it has been awfully hard to bear.”
 
He didn’t unclasp her hand as he led her into the parlor, shutting the door behind them.  It wasn’t until Imogene was back in his arms that she felt free to indulge in a sigh of relief.

“I know exactly what you mean,
chérie
, it has indeed been dreadful.”  He looked hungry as he swept over her with his eyes.  “I have thought of doing this, every minute, of every day since we have been apart.”  Then he descended, his lips claiming hers.  Words were unnecessary for the next few minutes.  Graham was intent upon one thing, and that seemed to be showing her just how much he’d missed her.  Which appeared to be a great deal.  “Open your mouth for me,” he said on a moan.

Compressed up against his chest so tight she could feel the heat of him through his clothes, she opened her mouth to his seeking lips.  He pushed his tongue inside and she got her first taste of him.  She met his tongue with her own and touched him back—so soft but yet so bold—the sensation of him in her mouth made her weak and thrilled at the same time.  Graham pressed her into the back of the settee they were on and plundered her mouth for a good long while.  His hands did more travelling up the sides of her breasts and maybe even touched in more places than he’d done before.  It was impossible to make him stop.  Imogene did not want him to stop anyway.  She wanted him to kiss her with his tongue and touch her with his hands.  When he held her like this her mind lost all coherent thought and reasoning.  Whatever Graham was offering, Imogene wanted.  And that was the essence of how it had been for her from the very first.  She did not question her response to him, it just…was.

Eventually he pulled away and she opened her heavy eyelids to look at him.

“Just before I reached for you, I think you were scenting me, am I right?”

“Yes.  It was the most amazing awareness.  I was feeling low and missing you dreadfully.  When I came up the steps I saw a movement at the window and thought that was unusual.  Then, I stepped into the empty foyer and caught the trace of your scent.  I
knew
it was you, but was afraid to hope that you had come.”

“I was weak from missing you as well, but nothing could have kept me from you on your birthday.  Happy birthday,
chérie
,” he whispered, triumph evident in his voice.  “Lady Wilton is a very helpful conspirator.  I shall have to be sure to thank her.”

“You did remember.”  She cupped her hand under his chin.  “I have been duped.  Very successfully, but
very
happily.  I would accept any excuse to have you here with me.”  Her eyes felt the beginnings of tears.  “You are the best birthday present…the very best of all.”

“No tears,
chérie
.  Tonight is for celebration of my beloved’s attainment of her twentieth year.  I wish to squire you about town upon my arm, show you off a bit before we are married—make all the young bucks jealous,” he teased her.  “We are all due for the theatre tonight, and a late supper.  Colin and Timothy have come down from Cambridge and will join us, and your aunt and Cariss of course.  You see everything has all been very well planned.”

“I must learn from your excellent example, but you never know when I may get back at you.”  She pushed away a strand of his hair that had slipped from the binding and tucked it behind his ear.

“I’ll gratefully take any retribution from you.  If you only knew how difficult it is to remain a gentleman with you like this in my arms.”

“Is it so hard?”

“It is monumentally hard.”  He gave her a wide-eyed stare that told her he was saying more with that comment than just the words.  “I have a gift for you,
chérie
.  You would honor me if you wear it tonight.”  He produced a large jeweller’s box, and placed it in her lap.

How romantic he is.

“Oh!”  She looked down at the most magnificent emerald ensemble she had ever seen.  It was simply stunning: emeralds and large pearls set in white gold, a choker, earrings and a wrist cuff all matching.  “Graham, I do not have words to express how beautiful these are.”  Shaking her head slightly in wonder, she asked, “Did they belong to your mother?”

“They did.”  He swallowed hard.  “She would have been happy for me, in finding you.  No words are necessary.  Just wear them, and seeing them on you will be enough for me.”  He kissed her neck, both of her ears and finally, lifted her wrist, kissing it as well—all of the places the jewels would touch her skin.

Imogene closed her eyes and tried to seal this moment in time into her mind, so she could remember it for her whole life.  The tears came nonetheless.

Graham kissed the tears away.  “I already told you there were to be no tears on this happy occasion,” he said lovingly.  “I’ll be here for tonight only, and then will stay with an old friend.  I’ll be here in London though, and will come to see you each day, until next Tuesday.”  He smiled widely.  “The very best day—the day that you shall marry me.”

“My tears can only be a symbol of joy now, for you have taken all of my sadness away.”

“Yes, well, that has all been part of the plan.”  His words teased, but she hoped that she was taking away some of his sadness too, just as he was doing for her.

THE twilight air sparkled when they both appeared for her special evening.  Imogene was silenced by the sight of Graham in formal dress.  He bowed to her in compliment. “You are a vision tonight, Imogene.  The emeralds do justice to you.  Thank you for wearing them.”

“You are very welcome.  May I say that
you
are the epitome of fashion in gentleman’s dress this evening?”

“Thank you,
chérie.
”  Once in the carriage, he sat beside her rather than across from her as was custom.  He took her hand and held it, looking so solemn she wondered about the mysteries of him.  Graham was not a chatterer.  He was a watcher.

“How did you manage to get everyone into the other carriage and us alone?” she asked.

He caressed every inch of her with his eyes.  “I told the drivers and hoped Lady Wilton would allow it.”  He shrugged.  “Being a lord should be good for something.”

She squeezed his hand.  “Well I am glad my aunt is so generous for I love to be alone together.”

“I could never tire of gazing at you, Imogene.  I look so I can seal the image into my mind and remember how you are at that moment.  Later when we are apart, the image I have of you, will get me through the time I must be away from you.”

“But now you will be in Town, really?”

“I will.”  He brought her hand up and kissed it.  “I could not be away from you for a moment longer.  I had to come.  And tonight we celebrate your birthday.”  He proffered a soft package.  “Here’s a gift I chose.  The colours remind me of you.  I hope you like it.  Happy birthday,
chérie
.”

Out spilled the most elegant Indian shawl: the heavy silk a soft yellow gold with splendid designs in burgundy, blue, and green, shot through with gold thread, the fringed edges floating with each movement.  “Graham, this is a work of art.  It’s so gorgeous, and I shall adore wearing it.  Thank you.  I love that you are knowledgeable of art and design.  You have quite the artistic eye.”  She tilted up to give him a gentle kiss.

His eyes got that dark look again and he held her face up close against his.  “Yes, I do have quite the eye for beauty.  I look forward to the day when I might see you in that shawl and nothing—”

He let her go and changed position in the seat, looking a bit strained.  “Are you all right, Graham?”

“I am fine.  That the shawl pleases you makes me glad, for in all things that is my purpose.”  He bent to kiss her awaiting lips.

THE hour was very late.  Surely no one would be awake.  It would just take a moment to slip down the hallway and get her journal.  Imogene remembered where she had left it.  The library was the last place she’d written in it and she would have retrieved it this afternoon, but Graham’s surprise visit had changed her plans.  She often wrote at night, reflecting on the events of the day, and writing it down was comforting.  Graham had treated them to a delightful evening as well a very special birthday celebration and she wanted to put it in her journal.