Call Down the Moon (13 page)

“What, may I ask, is so amusing?” Hugo tossed his napkin onto the table, barely sparing her a glance.

“Oh—I just … I just realized how Aunt Dorelia plans to fill my bosom out,” she said, smothering a hiccup of laughter.

“I beg your pardon?” His startled gaze met hers. “You just realized
what?”

“It’s very simple,” she said, wiping her eyes with her napkin. “All Aunt Dorelia has to do is feed me like this every day and I’ll have cleavage pouring out of my bodice in no time at all.” She collapsed into gales of laughter. “Oh, what
would
the nuns say? A sure sign of excessive sins of the flesh, no doubt.”

The next thing Meggie knew, Hugo had hauled to her feet, swept her into his arms, and carried her from the dining room without a word of explanation.

“Oh,” she said, pressing her cheek against his hard shoulder as he started up the staircase, giggles still shaking her body. “I do not think this is at all correct. Aunt Dorelia said most specifically that you were to keep your hands to yourself tonight. I am not to be ravished until tomorrow.”

Hugo paused mid-step and looked down at her, his eyes narrowed. “I don’t give a damn what Aunt Dorelia said,” he said, biting out the words. “Furthermore, regardless of what ideas that absurd woman might have put in your head, if you think I’m about to take you to your room and ravish you, you’re very badly mistaken.” He started up the stairs again.

“I am?” she said with infinite disappointment. “What a shame.” She smiled up at him. “But never mind. I can wait. I’ve waited all my life.”

The storm clouds instantly vanished from Hugo’s face, replaced by vast amusement. “If you’re trying to tell me you’re a virgin, sweetheart, I’d already reached that conclusion. When would you ever have had a chance to be otherwise?”

Meggie vaguely registered the thought that Hugo’s moods were as changeable as the weather. “I suppose that is true,” she said. “Not that I would have been wicked even if I’d had the chance. Or at least I don’t think I would have been, since the thought of being wicked never crossed my mind until you came along, although I have to confess that once it did cross my mind, it wouldn’t go away.”

Hugo burst into laughter. “Is that so?” he said lazily, brushing a strand of hair off her cheek with one finger.

She nodded earnestly. “Ever since I saw you in Sister Agnes’s window I couldn’t stop thinking about you, but since I never imagined I’d see you again, I suppose I felt a
little
less wicked—that is to say, I wasn’t actually in the path of temptation. It is a good thing I’m not a Catholic though, or I would have been obliged to confess all my lustful thoughts to the priest, and what on earth would he have thought of me?”

“I shudder to think,” Hugo said, reaching her door. He didn’t hesitate for a moment, pushing it wide and carrying her inside.

Meggie gazed at him in breathless anticipation, wondering what he was going to do next. She hoped he really might ravish her, even though she knew she shouldn’t wish any such thing, at least not tonight. She found the heavy throbbing between her legs and the sudden flood of moisture that dampened the secret place between her thighs hard to ignore as he stared down at her, his breath coming rough and fast.

Every nerve in her body felt on fire.

Hugo’s eyes shone dark as midnight, glittering as if he knew all about it.

“Hugo?” she asked, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.

He slowly, so very slowly lowered her until her feet rested on the floor, his hands sliding sensually down over her rib cage, coming to rest on her hips. “Hmm?” he replied. His fingers were barely pressing on her flesh, and yet she felt his fingertips pulsing against her as strong as a heartbeat.

She shivered under the intimacy of his touch, nearly forgetting what she’d been about to ask. “We really will be married tomorrow?” she said, forcibly pulling her thoughts together.

“Yes,” he answered, his voice low and smooth as velvet. “We will be married tomorrow, and once we are, my lovely Meggie, then we are free to enjoy each other as we please. Exactly and as fully as we please. Do you like that idea?”

She swallowed through a dry throat, her heart pounding ferociously. “I like it very much,” she whispered, the heavy pulsing between her legs almost unbearable. She stifled the urge to grab his hand and place it just there. “Very much,” she choked.

“Good. Because I have been thinking about you every bit as much as you have me, and with all the same longing.” He lifted his hands and ran his fingers down the sides of her face. “I am pleased to hear that you are so willing to be my wife. Earlier today I thought you might be averse to the idea of sharing my bed.”

“Oh,” she sighed, tremors shaking her body. “That was only because I didn’t believe you meant to actually marry me. Now it is different.”

“How different?” he asked, his voice a low whisper.

“Very different,” she whispered back. Her legs were threatening to give way, an alarming tendency they’d developed in his presence.

Her breath caught hard in her throat as he moved one warm hand down her neck, slipping it behind her nape, pulling her close.

“Show me, Meggie,” he murmured, bending his head, his mouth now only inches from hers. “Show me that you mean it. Kiss me, sweetheart, so that I have something to remember you by this night.”

Meggie could not resist his request any more than she could resist her own desire.

Her eyes fluttered shut as she raised her face to his, her lips parting instinctively to meet his, her heart pounding ferociously in her chest.

His mouth closed on hers, hot and demanding. Meggie melted against him, her hands reaching up to twine through his thick hair as she abandoned herself to his kiss. Opening her mouth fully to his insistent pressure, the sensations that coursed through her beyond any previous imagining.

She couldn’t help pressing herself against him, her legs slightly parting against the thrust of his hips, only to meet the steel length of his arousal. This only served to inflame her further. He felt so right, so good. She wanted more, so much more—her instincts urging her to press herself against him even harder as if she could satisfy her craving—but all that did was to feed the flame of her desire.

The contact inflamed him equally. He abandoned all control as his tongue swept against hers, delving even deeper, exploring the secret recesses of her mouth, running along the inner rim of her teeth, evoking such overwhelming sensations that she cried out in intense pleasure.

The sound of her own voice snapped her back to reason. She tore herself away with a strangled sob, a deep intuition telling her that she would not be able to stop herself if she let him carry on his erotic play for one more second. “No,” she gasped, summoning every last vestige of will she possessed. “Not now. Not yet. We must be married.”

Hugo buried his face briefly in her neck, then raised his head and looked down at her with blazing eyes. “I’m sorry. That was perhaps a little foolish on my part,” he said between deep, ragged breaths. “Although very encouraging. Very encouraging indeed.”

He ran his hands down her arms, then turned away and moved quickly toward the door, glancing only briefly over his shoulder as he pulled it open. “Tomorrow,” he said, smiling at her. “We will both have to survive until then.”

The door closed softly after him.

Dazed, Meggie stood frozen, not at all sure what had just happened to her, but knowing with certainty that it was going to happen again.

She felt nothing but delight at the prospect.

B
linding sunlight assaulted Hugo’s eyes and he threw an arm over his face, wondering with annoyance why Mallard had opened the draperies without any warning.

Cautiously opening one eye, he squinted toward the offending windows. Both eyes shot open as he realized that he was not in his usual bed and Mallard was nowhere in sight. Furthermore, he sported an extremely large and painful erection, and it had nothing to do with a full bladder and everything to do with something he’d been dreaming about. No, someone.

Hugo shot bolt upright. Meggie Bloom. He’d been dreaming about Meggie Bloom. She was in the next room where he’d left her the night before, nobly taking the same very large and painful erection to bed with him.

This was his wedding day.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he tried to bring his thoughts into order. He had to summon the vicar. That was it. A quick letter to the man with a request to appear at Lyden that day, and Hugo would be wed to his four hundred thousand pounds.

Staggering over to the bell pull, he yanked it hard, hoping against hope that the Gypsy would realize that meant a demand for a pot of steaming coffee. Some buttered toast would not go amiss, either, and hot water would be extremely useful.

Lord, last night had taxed his endurance. He’d first thought he might die of physical shock as Meggie had sat down at the table and whipped her shoulders back, presenting her bosom as if it were to be the first course.

He had done everything in his power to keep from diving in.

But Meggie being Meggie, she’d naturally had to draw his attention back to her lovely breasts, pointing out just how unclothed they were. This was after talking about her bed and how large it was. In between all of that, as if that wasn’t enough, she’d secretly regarded him with a heated gaze that had nearly set his trousers on fire.

And later … oh, dear
God,
later, after Meggie’d had a glass too many of wine and let loose the full force of her sensuality—he really thought he might expire from wanting.

He’d never exerted such physical restraint in his life. He deserved a medal of valor. He might be marrying a lunatic, but by God, lunacy began to look very fine if Meggie’s sort of sensual abandon was part of the picture.

Really, the payoff was not so bad, he reasoned. He could put up with her hopeless conversation, her non sequiturs, her blank smile. He could even put up with hearing a constant stream of “as you wish, Hugo,” as if she were a trained parrot. He could probably put up with anything if he could just have her body. Often. Very often.

Maybe lunatics had a deliciously well-developed sense of the erotic that made up for their addled brains. In which case he was not taking advantage of Meggie by marrying her, he reasoned, but rather giving her what she understood and could appreciate.

The thought fortified him hugely. He really ought to be grateful for her condition. How many normal wives returned their husbands’ lust in full measure?

He was about to retreat to his bed when the comer of a piece of paper caught his eye, poking out from underneath the doorsill. Bending down, he picked it up and turned it over.

Lord Hugo Montagu
it announced in spidery writing.

He unfolded the page and peered down at the same spidery script, trying to make out what it said. After a few minutes of reading and rereading it, he finally managed to decipher the whole thing:

Hugo snorted. His loving aunt? Crazy old bat. She didn’t really think she was going to dictate to him? He’d set her straight and her bossy sister, too.

He crumpled the letter up and tossed it in the direction of the fireplace, then pushed both hands through his hair, desperate for his coffee.

Fortunately for the Gypsy, he knocked at the door just as Hugo finished with the water closet, thereby sparing himself a serious tongue-lashing.

“It is Roberto, your lordship.”

“I would hope so. Enter,” Hugo called, flopping back on the bed in full expectation of a tray.

“Good morning, your lordship,” Roberto said as he walked in bearing nothing more than a steaming pitcher of water.

“Where is my coffee?” Hugo demanded.

“Your coffee? I believe it is downstairs on the sideboard, your lordship. Miss Ottoline made certain Cookie brewed a fresh pot not an hour ago. It is nearly ten o’clock.”

“Do you think to reprove me?” Hugo snapped.

“Indeed not, my lord, but you should know that Mr. Coldsnap has been waiting this last hour for you. He was so pleased that you had finally appeared at Lyden, but then it is not my place to speak for him,” Roberto added, regarding Hugo with a wary eye. “Your water,” he said, placing the pitcher on the washstand and disappearing before Hugo could say another word.

Instead of raising holy hell, Hugo decided to make use of the water before it went cold. He washed himself thoroughly, his temper becoming more frayed by the moment as he struggled, unaided yet again, into his clothes. Then, he attempted to tame his hair into some sort of order without much success.

He opened his door and glanced down the hallway, only to see that the damned mongrel was back outside Meggie’s door. He wondered blackly at what point it had skulked back upstairs.

His temper wasn’t improved by his arrival in the breakfast room where a chinless, needle-nosed man in thick spectacles sat at the table. Hunched over an enormous pile of papers, the man alternately poked and prodded at the papers and then at his forehead.

“Good morning,” Hugo said coolly. “May I help you?”

“Lord Hugo,” the man said, leaping to his feet. “At last! Ah, my good sir, I have been looking forward to this occasion for many weeks now.”

“Have you?” Hugo replied, looking him up and down. Reginald Coldsnap was
not
his idea of what a steward should look like. Stewards were meant to be hardy-looking fellows who ran about fields all day, not weedy, pasty specimens who looked as if they’d never stepped outside of an accounting office.

“I have, indeed I have,” the steward said enthusiastically. “And now we finally meet, and on such an auspicious day!” He grabbed Hugo’s hand and shook it vigorously. “May I extend to you my most heartfelt welcome to Lyden Hall, as well as my congratulations on your imminent nuptials?”

“Thank you,” Hugo said, thinking that this man would stand up for him at his wedding only over his dead body. “Now if you do not mind, I would like to enjoy my breakfast in quiet. After that, we will speak.”

Reginald Coldsnap’s face fell. “I beg your pardon,” he said, clasping his bony, oversized hands at his equally bony chest. “I did not mean to intrude on your privacy. It is only that Lord Eliot and I always began the morning together in this room going over the accounts. I suppose I fell prey to force of habit.”

“There is not need to look so downcast, Coldsnap,” Hugo said, relenting slightly. “I am not accustomed to going without my morning coffee in my bedchamber, and I certainly never confront accounts of any kind until
after
my breakfast.”

“I understand, my lord. Would you be agreeable to meeting me in the study in a half hour’s time? I would not press, but there are matters which simply will not wait—accounts long overdue, wages left unpaid, that sort of thing.”

“What do you mean by ‘that sort of thing’?” Hugo asked with a frown as he helped himself to a cup of coffee and took his seat. He didn’t like the sound of Coldsnap’s tone at all. Not one bit.

“You would like me to tell you now?” Coldsnap asked nervously, adjusting his glasses.

“Given that you’ve just sounded such a loud alarm, you cannot seriously think I will breakfast in peace?” Hugo shot him a cold look. “Get on with it, man. What is the damage?”

Reginald Coldsnap looked down at the table. “This has nothing to do with damage per se, my lord. Lord Eliot ran Lyden competently, very competently indeed. The trouble comes from the interim period since his death.”

“Yes?” Hugo said impatiently. “And?”

“The trustees of Lord Eliot’s estate were reluctant to extend any monies on the property, so my hands have been largely tied.”

“Tied?” Hugo said, draining his cup and going to refill it. Now that the coffee had fortified him, he was willing to look at the various covered dishes that littered the sideboard. He filled a plate with kidneys, boiled eggs, and kippers. “Why have your hands been tied?” he asked, settling himself back in his chair. “You are the steward. Surely you acted as you saw fit?”

“No, my lord. The trustees refused to authorize any expenditure over what they considered absolutely necessary. Therefore, the various improvements that Lord Eliot and I had planned did not take place.”

“What sort of improvements? Everything looks just fine to me.”

“Perhaps around and about the house, but tenants’ cottages have not been mended, drainage ditches have not gone in, cattle have not been moved to the appropriate fields to allow for crop rotation. Virtually everything was put on hold.” He shrugged. “As I said, my hands were tied. I prayed for a buyer, one who would be willing to see to the necessary work, and as quickly as possible. After two long years of frustration you came along, my lord, the answer to my prayers. I do hope I was not mistaken?”

He peered at Hugo through his glasses, his eyes so distorted through the thick lenses that they looked twice the normal size. Hugo felt as if he were being pinned by the gaze of a very large bug.

“What do you expect me to do, Mr. Coldsnap?” Hugo asked, looking around for some sign of buttered toast.

“Well, my lord. It is up to you to bring the estate back to its previously flourishing condition.” Reginald Coldsnap pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. “It will take money and a good bit of it. Lord Eliot never begrudged pouring a large percentage of his profits back into the estate, but the trustees have allowed only a tiny portion of the estate’s income to be released.”

“Why is that, Mr. Coldsnap? Surely the trustees of Lord Eliot’s estate would have wished to see it thrive?”

“No, my lord. They had no interest in anything but milking as much as they could from Lyden so as to increase the value of the trust—and therefore their commissions, I suspect. You see, Lord Eliot’s will stipulated that Lyden be put on the market at the time of his death, and the trustees reasoned that any improvements should be the responsibility of the new owner, not of the trust.”

“Oh,” Hugo said, not really caring about the late Lord Eliot’s trust or his trustees.

“So you see, we have fallen far behind, and as a result, income has dropped terribly, although the percentage of income allotted by the trustees has remained the same. Every last penny of what we do have has been used just to keep our heads above water.”

“Mmm hmm,” Hugo said, annoyed in the extreme. He had bought Lyden Hall to support him, not the other way around.

“It is not just the estate that is in trouble,” Coldsnap persisted. “Good people who have long lived under the care and protection of Lyden have been struggling to make ends meet. We have yet to evict a family—I have managed to find ways to prevent that to date. However, without your help…’’ He trailed off, then pushed his glasses up on his nose and stubbornly resumed his attack. “These people are dependent on you, my lord.”

Hugo felt an unfamiliar twinge of conscience. He’d never been responsible for anyone in his life save for himself, and he hadn’t done a very good job even at that. He
had,
after all, bought Lyden with the intention of proving his reformed character first to his family and then to the world. What better way than to save some struggling tenants who happened to be his very own?

“How much money is this going to take, precisely?” he asked cautiously.

“A good fifty thousand pounds, my lord.” Coldsnap mopped his brow again.

“Fifty thousand pounds?” Hugo nearly choked.

“I realize that fifty thousand sounds a very great deal. But you did get the estate at a very reasonable price, everyone knowing what the troubles were after Lord Eliot died.”

Hugo rubbed his hands over his face. Why didn’t his brother ever have these troubles?

With an inward groan, Hugo belatedly remembered his mother’s warning about acting without thoroughly investigating the situation.

“Let me see if I have this right: You are telling me, Mr. Coldsnap, that not only can I not reap any profits from my own estate, but now I have to dig heavily into my pockets to shore it up?”