The Wedding Game (26 page)

She lay down again, gazing upwards at the beamed ceiling. Last night she and her sisters had decided, however reluctantly, that Douglas Farrell and Laura Della Luca were never going to make a match, so, without another prospect in mind, she hadn't really thrown a spanner in the Go-Between's works by last night's little episode.
Not so little,
she reflected with a rather smug grin. There had been nothing little about her own orgasmic experience. Losing her virginity had been an unremarkable experience—gentle enough, not traumatic, but unspectacular, no earthquakes to speak of. Last night, however . . .

Chastity hugged herself and stifled a chuckle. Beside her, Douglas slept on. At least she thought he did, but his hands were moving. She lay very still, holding her breath, as his fingers tiptoed across her belly. She felt something hard and growing nudge her thigh and her smile deepened. Slowly she turned on her side to face him, throwing one leg across his hip.

His eyes were still closed on the pillow beside her, but everything else about him was wide-awake. He slid inside her, a hand on her hip pulling her against his body. They moved gently in harmony, none of the explosive fireworks of the night, but a simpler and infinitely sweet melody. She felt a deep sense of loss when he pulled out of her the instant before they both reached their peak, but her orgasm was already rolling over her and the loss was quickly a mere shadow.

“Good morning,” Douglas said, curling her into his embrace, his lips brushing through her hair while his hand cupped her breast.

“Good morning,” Chastity said, then froze as the door latch rattled. Douglas lay stone-still beside her.

“Chas?” It was Constance. “We promised to meet with Gideon and Max at eight. It's five to.”

“Oh,” Chastity called, her voice rather muffled. “Yes, sorry. I forgot. I'll be there in ten minutes.”

“Why's the door locked, Chas?” Prudence asked. The latch rattled again.

“Is it?” Chastity asked, at a loss.

There was a short silence, a soft murmur beyond the door, then Constance said, “Good morning, Dr. Farrell.”

“Merry Christmas, Dr. Farrell,” said Prudence sweetly.

Douglas lay on his back with his arm across his eyes and made no reply. Chastity said, “I'll be down in ten minutes.”

“Oh, take your time . . . take your time,” Constance advised, a laugh now clear in her voice. “I'm sure there's nothing that can't wait on . . . on . . . Well, take your time.”

“Yes,” Prudence assured. “Take your time.” The sound of their receding footsteps came through the door.

Chastity went into a peal of laughter, falling back against the pillow. Douglas kept his arm over his eyes for a minute. Then he sat up and looked down at her. “God help me,” he declared. “God help
any
man with more than a nodding acquaintance with the Duncan sisters.”

“Oh, that's so harsh,” Chastity protested.

He shook his head vigorously. “Oh, no, it's not. I just wonder where this instability—this outrageous unconformity—came from. Your father seems perfectly sane, perfectly normal.” He shook his head again. “It must have been your mother's responsibility.”

Chastity grabbed a pillow and hit him with it.

“Oh, you want to play, do you?” he said, laughing. “I should warn you, Miss Duncan, that engaging in physical combat with me is a grave error. I've bested men three times your size.”

“Oh, have you?” She wriggled off the bed, still clutching the pillow. “And I should warn you, Dr. Farrell, that I have never lost a pillow fight.”

She stood there, naked, feet braced, the pillow grasped between both hands, her red curls flying around her face, her hazel eyes shooting golden flames.

“I venture to guess you never went to boarding school,” Douglas said, grabbing up a pillow of his own. “If your only combatants have been your sisters, dear girl, you are about to find yourself hopelessly outclassed.” He jumped off the bed, pillow flying.

Chastity did her best, but it was a completely unequal battle, and finally she fell back on the bed, gasping for breath, as he reared above her, holding her hands captive high above her head. “You're so big,” she complained. “I should have been given a handicap.”

“I would never have expected a Duncan sister to demand a handicap,” Douglas said, kissing the tip of her nose.

“It depends on the arena,” Chastity said with a failed attempt at dignity. “Oh, dear, Douglas, I have to go downstairs, and look what you've started.” Her voice was almost a wail.

“Me?” he protested. “
I
didn't start anything. You threw down the glove.”

She smiled and pulled at her captive hands. “I suppose I did. But truly, I have to go downstairs, and I can't go down looking like this.”

He released her with a resigned sigh. “Entrancing spectacle though it is.” His hand stroked over her belly. “This I love,” he said thoughtfully. “This little roundness is so utterly delightful.”

“I eat too many cakes,” Chastity said, pushing his hand away and sitting up. “Go away now and let me get dressed.”

He dipped his head and kissed her, then scrambled into his clothes, unlocked the door, and slid out.

Chapter 14

C
hastity searched for her dressing gown amid the general tumble of bedclothes. Somehow it had found its way under the bed, together with her nightgown. She shook out the garments and put them on, reflecting that since it was already twenty past eight she didn't have time to dress, and since it was Christmas morning, a little dishabille was perfectly acceptable.

She took up her hairbrush and tugged it through the impossible red tangle. Her complexion had a pinkish glow as if she'd been exercising vigorously in the fresh air and her eyes were very bright. Sex, she decided, was obviously very good for one's looks. The observation made her chuckle with a certain degree of smugness and the mischievous reflection that if her sisters had enjoyed themselves similarly last night, for once she wouldn't feel the odd one out. She searched for slippers in the wardrobe and hurried from the room.

“Merry Christmas, Aunt Chas.” Sarah, still in her nightgown, breathless, wreathed in smiles, tousled from sleep and excitement, bounded down the stairs from the top floor that housed the nursery and schoolroom as Chastity reached the landing.

“I had a stocking on my bed!” The girl flourished the woolen stocking. “It had an orange in it, and a rubber ball, and a pencil case, and a complete set of colored pencils, and a hair ribbon, and a set of hair clips shaped like butterflies and dragonflies in all sorts of pretty colors. See, aren't they lovely?”

She rummaged in the stocking for these treasures and Chastity patiently admired them as they were produced, managing to give the impression that she'd never seen them before and the idea of a stuffed stocking at the foot of the bed on Christmas morning was as magnificent a surprise as Sarah had found it.

“Have you been downstairs yet?” she asked Sarah, taking a step towards the stairs.

“No, I'm not dressed,” the girl said.

Chastity laughed. “Neither am I, but some rules don't apply on Christmas morning. Go down and see the tree.”

Sarah bounced ahead of her down the sweep of staircase and then stopped on the bottom. “My goodness, I've never seen so many presents.” The base of the Christmas tree was obscured by piles of wrapped parcels.

“They're for the servants too,” Chastity said, watching Sarah's wide-eyed delight with pleasure. It was almost as good as experiencing the wonder for the first time herself.

“Can I go closer?”

“Yes, but no peeking.”

Sarah looked shocked. “I wouldn't do that, Aunt Chas. I wouldn't spoil a surprise.”

“No, of course you wouldn't,” Chastity agreed, and left the girl on her knees gazing awestruck at the treasure while she went in search of her sisters and their husbands.

She ran them to ground in a small family parlor at the rear of the house. A fire burned in the grate and the gas lamps were lit. The clear night had given way to a cold gray overcast that promised snow.

“Merry Christmas,” she greeted them, doing the rounds for hugs and kisses. “You all look remarkably tidy—you'll have to forgive my disarray.”

“I expect you didn't get much sleep,” Constance murmured with a wicked tilt to her mouth and Chastity, to her annoyance, felt herself blush.

She chose not to respond but noticed how Max and Gideon were studiously avoiding catching each other's eye. Obviously Constance and Prudence had shared their explanation for their sister's locked door. Of course, she should have expected them to, and she didn't see much point in denying anything anyway.

“Sarah seems over the moon,” she observed casually, going to the table to pour herself a cup of tea.

“Yes, she's never had a Christmas like it,” Gideon said with a fond and yet slightly rueful smile. “It seems a shame that an eleven-year-old should never have experienced it before.”

“Not if you think that if she had, by now she would be jaded by it all,” Prudence pointed out.

“Yes, it would be one big yawn,” Chastity said. “She'd consider herself far too old to be entranced by the magic.”

“Perhaps you're right.” But Gideon didn't sound totally convinced.

“Anyway,” Constance said, steering the conversation into happier paths, “what are we all doing in here at this early hour?”

“Not so early,” her husband corrected mildly.

“No, that's my fault,” Chastity said, sipping her tea. “But what is all the mystery?”

“Ah,” Max said. “Ah, that.”

“Yes, that,” his wife said with amused exasperation. “Come on, spit it out.”

“What an inelegant expression,” Max murmured, pained.

The three Duncan sisters as one folded their arms and surveyed the two men, three pairs of variegated green eyes fixed upon them with unwavering concentration, until Max threw up his hands. “I yield. Gideon, the floor is yours.”

Gideon turned to the desk that stood in the corner and took up a thick envelope. He lifted the flap and drew out a sheaf of papers. “One for you, Prudence; one for Constance; one for Chastity.” He handed them each a document, then went to stand beside his brother-in-law. Both men watched the women.

The sisters read the documents they held, then all three looked up in frowning puzzlement. “What is it?” Constance asked.

“Shoe Lane?” Prudence said, obviously bewildered. “What is it, Gideon?”

Chastity said slowly, “It looks like a lease.”

“Precisely,” Gideon said, winking at Max. “That's exactly what it is.”

“But a lease for what?” Prudence demanded.

“A property in Shoe Lane just off Fleet Street.”

“But why?” asked Chastity. “What's it for?”

“You're being a remarkably obtuse trio this morning,” Gideon said. “Isn't it obvious?”

“No, it's not,” Prudence declared.

Max laughed. “Never did I think to see the day when the Duncan sisters were rendered speechless with bewilderment.”

“No, wait a minute,” Prudence said, holding up a hand. “Fleet Street . . . newspapers . . .”

“You're getting there,” her husband said. “Follow that train of thought.”

“Newspaper offices,” Constance said.

“The Mayfair Lady,”
Chastity said. She tapped the lease with a finger. “This is the lease on an office space, isn't it?”

“Indeed it is,” Gideon said, both he and Max now smiling broadly. “We decided it was time the broadsheet had official business premises, particularly since you're not all living under the same roof anymore.”

The sisters exhaled in unison as they absorbed this. “Our own office,” Chastity murmured.

“We wouldn't want the name on the door,” Prudence said thoughtfully. “We've still got to be anonymous. We wouldn't want people just turning up there with advertisements they wanted to place, or anything for the Go-Between.”

“No, I imagine you'll keep the poste restante,” Gideon said. “But there is a telephone in the office. There's nothing to stop you putting the number into the broadsheet. It'll speed up business.”

“Yes, it will,” Constance said. “And of course no one we know would ever be seen dead in that part of London, so we can come and go quite safely.”

“Exactly,” Max said. “You'll find three desks, three chairs, three typewriters, two filing cabinets, and a telephone there.”

“Typewriters?” his wife queried. “But we don't know how to type, none of us does.”

“Then I imagine you'll learn,” her husband said.

“Yes, of course we will,” Chastity agreed, her eyes shining. “Think how much quicker it will be, and so much easier for the printer to read.”

“So, you're pleased?” Gideon said, somewhat unsure as to their true reaction.

“Oh, yes, absolutely thrilled,” Prudence said, flinging her arms around his neck. “Just dumbfounded for a moment.”

“Yes, it's so much to take in,” Constance said. “But it's wonderful. Thank you both.”

The two men somewhat complacently accepted the triple dose of hugs and kisses that enveloped them but within a few minutes the sisters were huddled in front of the fire in deep discussion about the ramifications of this Christmas present and Max and Gideon left them to it and went in search of breakfast.

It was half an hour later when the door opened and Lord Duncan came into the parlor. “I was wondering where you'd all disappeared to,” he said. “We do have a house full of guests, in case you've forgotten.”

“No, we haven't forgotten, Father, it's just that Gideon and Max have given us this amazing Christmas present and we're trying to decide what it's going to mean,” Chastity said, setting down her teacup.

“Oh? What is it?”

“I'm not sure you'll approve,” Constance said with a smile. “Maybe you'd rather not know.”

“Nonsense,” he declared, clasping his hands at his back. “Out with it.”

Prudence explained, and Lord Duncan shook his head and harrumphed a little at the end, then said, “Well, what's done is done, I suppose. They're grown men, and if they want to support their wives in their madness then that's their business.” He turned back to the door. “Perhaps you could come out now and start organizing this shambles of a morning.”

“It's not a shambles, Father,” Chastity protested, standing up, stretching, and yawning. “It's only just breakfast time.”

“And you're still in your nightclothes,” her father pointed out somewhat tartly. “And your stepdaughter, Prudence, is looking extremely anxious to begin the festivities.”

“We're coming right now,” Prudence said soothingly. “And Chas is going to get dressed, aren't you, Chas?”

“At once,” her younger sister agreed. “I'll be down in half an hour.”

Lord Duncan gave another harrumph and marched out, leaving his daughters laughing ruefully. “He certainly seems to be taking his hostly duties very seriously,” Chastity observed.

“Oh, that's the contessa's doing,” Constance said. “He never worried before about house parties, he was always quite happy to leave the details up to us and the social duties to the aunts.”

“Well, I'd better dress before he gets any more agitated,” Chastity said, going to the door.

“We haven't talked about what happened last night,” Prudence said. “Should we, Chas?”

Chastity sat down abruptly on the arm of a sofa, swinging one slippered foot. “He knows I don't have any money,” she said, speaking the thoughts that had somehow populated her sleep even though she hadn't been aware of them. “So he's not going to be looking for anything more than a short, passionate dalliance. I can surely allow myself that Christmas present, don't you think?”

“Are you sure it won't get more complicated?” Constance asked directly.

Chastity sucked on her bottom lip, reflecting with as much clear sight as she could muster. “It can't,” she said after a minute. “I couldn't possibly let him know I was the pseudo French woman in the National Gallery . . . he can't possibly know that we three are the Go-Between. He'd be so humiliated, he'd never forgive me. So, I'll just take this Christmas passion as a present from the gods and when we get back to London we'll find him another bride. Last night wouldn't have happened if he was considering Laura as a prospective bride—he's not the type to engage in any out-of-court dalliance if he's seriously courting.”

“Are you certain?” It was Prudence who asked, watching her sister with narrowed eyes.

“Yes,” Chastity said, and her sisters could almost detect a sigh in her voice. “He's a straight arrow. He knows what he wants and he goes out and gets it. He's not ashamed of what he does or what he needs to achieve in order to go on doing it. But I saw him at work.”

She looked up at her sisters, both sadness and conviction in her eyes. “A man with that kind of selfless devotion wouldn't cheat.” She dropped her gaze to her swinging foot again, catching the sliding slipper on her toes. “And I'm certain he would consider that I had cheated him with this deception. So, he must never know. And so, it can never become complicated. We'll have a short and sweet liaison.” She slid off the sofa arm and gave them a cheery wave as she went out.

Constance raised an eyebrow as the door closed behind her youngest sister. “The lady doth protest too much . . .”

“Methinks,” Prudence agreed. “If Chas has fallen hard for Douglas, she's going to be hurt, however much she pretends that it's just another one of her light flirtations.”

“Chas doesn't sleep with her light flirtations,” Constance observed. “We can't do anything at the moment, but maybe when we're back in London . . .”

“We'll see,” Prudence said. “I'd better go and find Gideon and Sarah. We're going to church with Sarah and Mary this morning, although a double dose of Dennis's Christmas sermon seems a bit excessive. Are you and Max coming?”

“I don't think Max will be particularly enthusiastic. He's not what he calls a God-botherer,” Constance said with a laugh. “One Christmas service is probably enough.”

Chastity opened her bedroom door and stopped in surprise. Douglas was sitting in the armchair by the window reading a copy of
The Mayfair Lady.
He stood up, smiling as she came in.

“I was waiting for you,” he said. “I thought you'd have to come in here sooner or later.” He set down the broadsheet and crossed the small room, his hands extended. He took hers in both of his, his clasp warm and tight. He bent and lightly kissed her mouth. “Am I intruding?”