Call Down the Moon (19 page)

“With Aunt Emily?” she asked, pushing a mound of peas about on her plate. “I told you. I was happy there. She didn’t have very much money, but we made do.”

“So you were not actually poor. Did your aunt Emily perhaps have a little money from your own family that helped to contribute to your support?”

Meggie gazed at him, her expression puzzled. “But you said … you said only yesterday that you understood. About the situation, I mean. That there was no one, no one at all.”

“Yes, of course,” he said. Damn, it was hard work, pretending to know what he was talking about when he didn’t have anything but the vaguest idea. “I only wondered if your aunt Emily was not a distant relation of some sort. After all, she took you in when your mother died. She must have had a reason.”

Meggie stared down at her plate, not even bothering to fiddle with her peas now. “She was a good woman. That was her reason.”

“Meggie. I’m sorry—I don’t mean to upset you by reminding you of your past. But as your husband, surely you can understand that there are details I’d like to know, to better comprehend the nature of your previous life? To better comprehend you?”

“You were so good to marry me at all that I would be churlish not to answer your questions, but I’m afraid that I know very few details myself,” she replied, carefully placing her fork and knife on the side of her plate. “What I do know, I will tell you, though.”

She took a deep breath and laced her fingers together, resting the fist she’d made directly in front of her on the table. Her face suddenly looked pale in the candlelight.

Hugo could hardly bear to look at her, to see the pain he’d caused her by his selfish demands. “Meggie, wait. If you’d rather not go on, then we’ll leave it.”

“No,” she said, looking up and meeting his eyes. “You are right. You should know everything before you truly take me as your wife. That is only fair.”

“Fair? I begin to wonder if anything is fair here,” he said. “Nothing in your life to date sounds as if that word can be applied to it.” And what I am doing to you right now isn’t fair either, he thought. He hated himself for having brought the subject up.

“No, that’s not true,” she protested. “Aunt Emily was wonderful to me, and so was Sister Agnes, but you have been even more than wonderful, Hugo. Look at what you have given me: your name, your home, and your—your friendship. There have been bad times, but I have had good ones as well, and now…” She smiled and simply lifted a shoulder, as if she was trying to convey something to him that she had no words for.

“Now?” he asked, suddenly longing to know just what that something was.

“Now I feel the luckiest of women. Who could ask for more?”

The sweet, trusting expression on her face as she gazed at him made Hugo want to forget about everything—his stupid questions, her answers, certainly their dinner. He’d hardly tasted a bite as it was. “Meggie, sweetheart, maybe we should talk about this another time,” he said, about to propose that they skip the next course and immediately retire upstairs.

“No, Hugo. Thinking about it, I believe it really is best that I answer your questions now. Otherwise I would worry that I had not informed you properly. I wouldn’t want you to discover anything about me later that would make you think I had held something back.”

He scratched his ear. For someone who had been burning to know the details of Meggie’s limited life, he couldn’t now have cared less about a single one. But he’d asked, so he’d bloody well have to listen to the reply, as much as he wished to be doing other things.

“Very well,” he said, forcing encouragement into his voice. “Tell me everything you think I should know.”

“Well, Sister Agnes already said that you knew the important details, which means that you already know about my mother—and my father.”

Hugo moved his hand to the side of his mouth and scratched that as well. “That your father died before your birth?” he said, making a logical guess. Given the little he did know, that would have to be the case since her mother’s death had orphaned Meggie. “And we’ve already discussed your mother’s death upon your arrival.”

“Yes,” Meggie said, looking back down at her hands. “Althought I should tell you what little I do know about her from my aunt Emily. She told me that my mother was all alone in the world after my father died, and when the vicar of our parish heard about her predicament, he hired her to work as his housekeeper so that she would have food and shelter. And then, as you know, she died, and the vicar appealed to Aunt Emily to foster me, since no one else in Bury St. Edmunds was willing.”

“Bury St. Edmunds. That’s quite a distance inland, isn’t it,” Hugo said, storing away this one useful piece of information. “So that is why you’d never been to the sea before.”

“I’d never even been close,” Meggie said, fiddling with the stem of her wineglass, her gaze distant, the sea obviously the last thing from her mind. “Or at least no closer than Woodbridge. The Ipswich orphanage didn’t take us on outings, and when I was at the sanitarium … oh. But I’m not to speak of that. It is my life with Aunt Emily that you want to know about.”

“Yes, but just the bare facts,” he said, trying to speed her along. He didn’t really need any more details; what he needed was Meggie in bed, in his arms. Naked.

She nodded, clearly unaware of the erotic direction his thoughts had once again taken. “Well, Aunt Emily was a childless widow,” she said, “and she had no family close by. Her only brother had emigrated to Canada and her husband’s relatives lived up in Yorkshire.”

“Crewe … I seem to remember something about Yorkshire Crewes,” Hugo said, straining to think. Unlike his mother, he was not a walking genealogy chart, but he had unwittingly absorbed a great deal of vital information as he’d grown up. “Are they landed gentry?”

“Aunt Emily said they were landowners of respectable stock, although not of any real social importance, and her own family, the Stoddards, were simple farmers. But Aunt Emily said that she considered character much more important than breeding, and that what was in one’s heart counted more than anything else.”

Meggie spoke with a dignity that touched Hugo’s heart. He understood what she was trying to ask in her own roundabout way, for she’d expressed a similar doubt the day before in the carriage. Now, however, he heard it differently, and his response came from an equally different place.

“My own mother has often said the same,” Hugo replied gently. “Indeed, her actual words to me on the subject of marriage were that she was not a stickler for dynastic unions, if that reassures you, Meggie. She told me to find a nice girl who would suit my temperament, and so I have.”

Meggie peeped a look at him from under her lashes. “I think you may have stretched her meaning a bit far by marrying me.”

He grinned. “Maybe just a bit. But if she does bring up the matter of pedigrees, I shall remind her of her own words. Anyway, I am not concerned. She will like you, I am sure of it.”

“I only pray that you are right, Hugo.”

So did he. He couldn’t begin to imagine what his mother was going to say when she received the news. “Look at it this way, sweetheart. By the time you actually meet her, you will have all the manners of a lady. You already speak like a lady, so you needn’t worry about that. In everything but blood you will be a lady.”

“Do you
really
think I speak like a lady, Hugo?” Meggie chewed on her lovely, full bottom lip, regarding him anxiously.

Hugo had to force himself to concentrate. “I do,” he replied. “I also have to confess to surprise. Did your aunt Emily teach you?”

“Oh, no—she did place an emphasis on proper grammar, but Aunt Emily’s accent was more … country than county, if you know what I mean.” The comers of her mouth turned up mischievously.

Hugo, caught off-guard by Meggie’s extraordinary but uncannily accurate description of the difference between social classes, couldn’t help wondering if somewhere inside her muddled brain, Meggie wasn’t sharp as a tack.

“Er, yes, I suppose I do,” he said, clearing his throat. “And so where
did
you learn to speak as you do, given that you grew up as a country girl?”

“I learned from Sister Prudence.”

“Sister Prudence?” he said, trying to make sense out of this statement. “Who the devil was Sister Prudence?”

“She was a nun at the orphanage. But before she converted and joined the order she was an earl’s daughter.”

“Ah … well, that explains it. My dear girl, you speak as if you were an earl’s daughter yourself,” Hugo said, with the utmost sincerity, happy to have the phenomenon of Meggie’s perfect accent explained.

She smiled at him, her translucent eyes shining with pleasure. “Thank you,” she said, suddenly looking shy. “I did my best to learn. I didn’t like Sister Prudence one bit, but I must admit that she did make an effort in my direction, even if she loathed every moment of it.”

“It sounds to me as if Sister Prudence didn’t like you, either,” he observed dryly.

“Oh, she didn’t. I was a terrible trial to her.”

“Then why did she bother teaching you?”

Meggie hesitated. “Well, I suppose she felt it her duty to improve me,” she said after a long pause. “Or maybe she simply thought banging her lessons over my head was yet another way of imposing her rules on me. All the nuns were like that, though. They had rules for absolutely everything, and if you didn’t obey instantly and perfectly, whop! Down came the ruler or the cane, right on the palms of your hands!”

Hugo winced. “That doesn’t sound very charitable,” he said.

‘‘Charitable?
The nuns at the orphanage were tyrants,” Meggie replied with a grimace. “When I was
really
bad, I was caned on my bottom. Sister Luke of Mercy—she was the worst. I knew she enjoyed every moment of every stroke. Sister Prudence, on the other hand, used her tongue for the whippings, and oh, but she was cruel. I often wondered how she ever got into the nunnery at all. Maybe the earl paid the order to take her off his hands.”

“Let us speak no more of Sister Prudence,” he said. “I am sure that however she became a nun, her father, whichever earl he was, was delighted to be rid of her. She sounds perfectly poisonous.”

“She was. Goodness, I haven’t thought about her in ages.”

“Good, and you needn’t think about her ever again, or about any of the others nuns who ruled your life for so long. You are here with me now, mine to rule and mine alone.”

“And what do you rule, my lord?” she asked, leaning her chin on her hand, regarding him dreamily through half-closed eyes.

“I rule that your life should be filled with pleasure,” he said, captivated by the way the candlelight caught on the tips of her sooty eyelashes and turned them to gold.

“The sisters would be shocked by your hedonistic attitude,” Meggie retorted, finishing her glass of wine. “You ought to be lecturing me on my wifely duties and how I must submit to you with eyes closed and prayers sent up to heaven to endure what God has ordained as my lot in life.”

Hugo didn’t bother to wait for Roberto to appear, but rose to fetch the wine bottle and refilled Meggie’s glass himself. A little wine seemed to bring out a side of Meggie that was most promising. “Your
lot
in life? Is that what the nuns told you? Actually, I’m surprised they instructed you on the subject at all.”

“No, no. The nuns implied rather than instructed,” Meggie said, obligingly taking a sip from her glass. “Al though what they implied was not very encouraging—actually, what they implied was rather horrific. I learned the real truth about lovemaking from a woman at the sanitarium. Mrs. Lindsay spoke long and often about it, and in fairly explicit detail.”

Hugo nearly choked. Marvelous. Meggie had been given the details of the sexual act from another lunatic. “Did she,” he murmured.

“Yes. She thought it the most wonderful thing in the world. But the problem was that she had to indulge herself so often that her husband could no longer keep up with her, and neither could anyone else. Eventually she wore everyone out and had to be committed.” She peeped a smile up at him. “Not that it stopped her. I happen to know she’s been secretly cavorting with Mr. Carlyle—and although she might not be getting better, it’s done Mr. Carlyle a world of good, I can tell you that.”

Hugo smothered a hoot of laughter in his hands. He had to admit that when Meggie wasn’t infuriating him, or inciting nearly uncontrollable desire in him, she amused him more than anyone he’d ever known.

She certainly gave him an entirely new perspective on life. Only Meggie would speak of such things so openly and with such gusto! Since she talked about them with such gusto, goodness only knew how much she’d bring to the act itself.

He couldn’t wait another moment to find out.

“Well, then,” he said, pushing back his chair, “if you don’t mind skipping the pudding, why don’t we go upstairs and put Mrs. Lindsay’s theory about the wonders of lovemaking to the test?” He held out his hand to her.

She took it without another word.

“D
o listen, Ottoline, I believe I hear them coming up now.” Dorelia lowered her knitting into her lap and cocked her head to one side. “Happy days, happy days.” She hummed a little tune.

Ottoline lowered her own knitting and cocked her head in exact imitation of her sister. “I believe you are right, and coming up so early—a good sign to be sure. Heavens me, does this not bring back memories?” She rested her head against the back of her chair, a faraway smile on her face. “We did have a lovely time of it, did we not? Linus never lacked for company after poor Lally’s death.”

Dorelia chuckled. “Dear Linus, and vigorous to the end. Such a pity there weren’t two of him to go around—still, we always have shared nicely. But never mind traipsing down memory lane. Those days are gone and there are far more important matters afoot.” She placed her knitting on the table beside her, peering out the window of their sitting room. “The moon will be up soon.”

“The
full
moon,” Ottoline said pointedly. “A good omen, I believe. Fertility, Sister, fertility. Maybe we will be doubly blessed, given the family proclivity for twins.”

“We can but hope. What is more important is how this night goes for the darling girl. She did look a little peaky to my eyes.”

Ottoline sniffed. “It’s those nuns and their unnatural ideas, I tell you. They’ve probably scared her half to death, although there is nothing wrong with Madrigal’s natural instincts—that much I do know. It’s what her husband does with them that counts.”

“Oh, he looks virile enough to me, and from the way he comes to attention when she’s about, I don’t foresee any trouble there. No, it’s all transpiring just as you said it would, Ottoline.”

“I don’t know why you sound so surprised. Have I ever been wrong?” Ottoline pushed herself to her feet with a loud grunt and went to poke the fire.

“Not wrong, but I do wish you’d learn to interpret your B.G. better.” She cast her sister a reproving look. “What you
said
was that if we encouraged Linus to have Lyden sold after he died instead of leaving it to us, and to make it a stipulation that we be allowed to stay on, that we would be sent a family to cherish us in our old age.”

“And? Was I not exactly right? Did not dear Hugo arrive on the doorstep with Madrigal? Is that not family enough for you?”

“That’s my point,” Dorelia said, jabbing her finger in the air. “You didn’t say anything about it being our
real
family, now did you?”

“I can’t be expected to see everything, Dorelia, and I don’t know what you’re complaining about—we have exactly what we wanted and more to boot. Lally would be so pleased.”

“Lally is insignificant. It is Madrigal I am concerned about. We are in an exceedingly awkward position.” Dorelia shook her head. “If you had paid a little more attention to the exact wording of the B.G., then we would have had time to prepare. As things stand, we have no idea how much of the truth Madrigal knows, and if you ask me, she doesn’t know much of anything, the angel.”

“I know, I know,” Ottoline grumbled. “I was there this morning, remember? But it’s not
my
fault she wasn’t told about her father, and it’s not my fault that the silly boy didn’t get around to marrying Margaret Bloom either, so you can stop glaring at me. The point is, do we tell her the truth, or do we keep our mouths shut?”

“Hmm. Hmmm. This is the crux of the matter, is it not? Suppose she doesn’t know she was born on the wrong side of the blanket? Just imagine what a shock that would be to her—not to mention what a shock it would be to dear Hugo.”

Ottoline thumped back down into her chair. “We are in a tricky spot to be sure, Sister. I cannot help but feel we should keep our silence for the time being, or at least until we see which way the wind blows.”

“That’s all well and fine, but what are we going to do about giving Madrigal her dowry?” Dorelia drummed her fingers on her lap. “We agreed that we should transfer our trust to her, since we have no use for it, and for that we will need a solicitor. If I’m not mistaken, a solicitor will want to know why we wish to give Meggie our inheritance, and if we explain that we feel it is hers by right, then we’ll have to explain why.”

“Solicitors are honor-bound to keep their silence,” Ottoline said. “Furthermore, there’s no law against our giving our money to anyone we choose. I do not see why we have to explain anything.”

“Not even to Madrigal?” Dorelia asked.

“Least of all to Madrigal.”

Dorelia scowled darkly. “The far larger problem is going to be getting rid of those idiot trustees Linus chose, who have hardly let a tuppence leave their greedy fingers, even to us, who have every right to the income. What good is giving the girl a dowry if her husband can’t touch it? I suppose we could just will it to her, but we might live for another fifty years.”

“Oh, dear. I do hope not. My bones are creaky enough as it is.” Ottoline’s brow crinkled in thought. “Well. We could go to Hugo directly and ask his advice. Surely he has a solicitor under retainer who could take care of the matter for us? I cannot imagine Hugo would be averse to receiving a dowry on Madrigal’s behalf.”

“I should think he’d be exceedingly pleased. Remember, too, that not only is he a man, but he is the son of a duke. He ought not to have any trouble replacing those wicked creatures who think they can take advantage of old ladies.”

“Yes … yes, that might be a solution, but do you not worry that Hugo will see our decision to give all of our money to Madrigal as highly eccentric?”

“I’ve been ruminating on that very point since our earlier discussion. He already thinks us eccentric, Dorelia. So why would he think it so peculiar that we wish to dispose of our assets in his favor? The arrangement is equitable, after all.”

“Yes,” Dorelia replied, slowly nodding. “I suppose he would see that we have no one else to give our money to, and since he has kindly agreed to look after us until our deaths, the settlement would seem fair, would it not? Oh, you are clever, Sister. I think this might be the very answer.”

“Answers enough for the moment. I am not so sure that the truth will not come out eventually. For heaven’s sake, how long do you think they will both manage to ignore Madrigal’s likeness to Lally’s in the portrait right there on the staircase wall? Or the girl’s Christian name, for that matter—it
is
written in Lally’s own Bible in the library.”

Dorelia sighed. “It’s such a pity that David didn’t marry the poor girl—just think how different everything would have been. He was a silly boy.”

“But they loved, Sister, they loved, and even though it all ended in tragedy and tears, at least David had the
intention
of marrying his Meg. Look what their love for each other has brought us after all this time—a dear, sweet girl for us to adore.”

“And children to lavish our affection upon,” Dorelia said happily. “You do remember seeing children, don’t you?”

“Will you stop treating me as if I am becoming feebleminded?” Ottoline snapped. “I’ve already told you a dozen times that there will be children.”

“If dear Hugo does his job right. I do hope he’s not one of those inconsiderate sorts who cares only about his own pleasure; Madrigal won’t take kindly to being poked and prodded and shoved about. However, if he’s anything at all like Linus,” she said, sighing gustily, “then she’ll be among the most satisfied women on earth. He certainly has the physique for it.”

“What happens between Madrigal and her husband in the bedroom is none of my affair,” Ottoline said with a sniff. “Really, Sister, sometimes I think the nature of your B.G. casts you too much into the physical plane. Look how you sneaked into dear Hugo’s room tonight through the old portal, with the sole purpose of ogling him. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Dorelia drew herself up indignantly. “I wasn’t ogling him, I was merely trying to see if the boy had good color and tone under his clothes—these things are important in determining a man’s health and prowess. For all we knew, what appeared to be mighty shoulders and thighs could have been padding sewn into his clothing by his tailor in order to deceive the gullible. It is a common practice, you know.”

“Common practice or not, I do
not
think you should have been in dear Hugo’s bedchamber uninvited and unannounced. Using the portal to access Linus was one thing, but this is going too far, in my opinion.”

“Don’t be silly, Sister. It’s not as if dear Hugo even knew I was there. I was quiet as a mouse on my way out and he was too busy splashing about and making a mess to notice. I saw what I needed to see and I left.”

“That had better be all you see and the last time you see it,” Ottoline said, heaving herself to her feet. “I am going to bed. If you wish to sit up half the night worrying about dear Hugo’s prowess, that is your business, but I warn you, you will only end up with the headache and indigestion and be none the wiser for your troubles.” She cast her sister a parting scowl over her shoulder. “And I strongly suggest that no matter your curiosity, you keep your head out of the wardrobe.”

Hugo paused in front of Meggie’s door, his hand on the brass knob. He gazed down at her, his eyes dark as the night and filled with a question she couldn’t begin to divine.

Meggie waited silently, her heart hammering like a caged thing in her chest, every nerve ending alert, acutely aware of his nearness, and of what was to come.

He reached his free hand out and traced his fingertips down her cheek. “Meggie, tell me…” he whispered, then stopped.

She turned her cheek against his touch and softly pressed her lips against the side of his warm hand. “What shall I tell you?” she murmured, then tilted her head back to look up into his shaded eyes.

Oh, ask me. Ask me if I love you and I will tell you truly.

“That you trust me,” he said raggedly. “That you know I will not harm you. That you truly are not afraid.”

Meggie’s lips curved up in a soft smile, her heart aching with love for him, for his generosity. “I trust you,” she answered quietly, “and I am not afraid. How could I be afraid of someone with such a gentle, caring heart as yours?”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if what she had said pained him. “I think perhaps you are too trusting,” he said, the pad of his thumb brushing lightly over her mouth. “But I am not going to argue with you. I am far too selfish.”

“The last thing in the world you are is selfish, Hugo Montagu, and I am not going to argue with you, either. However, I would ask that you open the door without further ado.”

Hugo flashed a grin down at her, the shadow vanishing from his face. “Your wish is my command,” he said, turning the handle and pushing the door open. “After you, my lady.” He stood back to let Meggie in, closing the door behind them.

As she crossed the threshold she gasped, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the sudden flood of light.

The room blazed with candles. Not a comer, a table-top, an inch of space on the mantelpiece had been left uncovered.

“Good God,” Hugo murmured from behind her. “Is this supposed to be heaven or hell?”

“Heaven to be sure,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “Hugo, do look at the bed.”

“Oh, dear Lord above,” he muttered. “Is nothing safe from those women?”

Every last inch of the bed was thickly spread with rose petals. They adorned the counterpane and pillows, and tumbled off the sides of the mattress, drifting in a haphazard fashion across the floor.

Hugo pulled her back against his hard body, his arms crossing over her waist as if to protect her. “I think we should retire to my room,” he said. “We might very well suffocate in here.”

“What, and let the aunties’ Herculean efforts go to waste? Oh, Hugo, you wouldn’t be so cruel.” She wiped away tears of laughter from her eyes. “This is obviously their idea of high romance. We can’t disappoint them.”

“Disappoint the aunties? No, how could we—I beg your pardon for even considering it.”

She turned in his arms and leaned her face against his chest, slipping her hands down to his lean waist. “Hugo?” she asked, her voice muffled against his coat, trying to still the shaking of her shoulders. “Do you really mind so much? They were rather sweet to have gone to such trouble.”

Hugo’s arms tightened around her back. “I don’t think I mind much of anything as long as you keep doing what you’re doing,” he answered, his hands sliding down to cup the curve of her buttocks, pulling her full against him.

The outline of his stiff arousal pressed against her, hard and insistent, caused her knees to tremble and her blood to pound even more violently. She breathlessly clung to him for dear life, afraid that if she let go she’d collapse.

He bent his head and covered her mouth—his lips lightly grazing over hers, tasting, testing, urging a response. There was no need; Meggie sighed, her lips parting against his, hunger swirling through her body, deep and hot and pulsing.

Hugo instantly deepened the kiss, burying his fingers in her hair. His thumbs stroked against the angle of her jaw; his tongue thrust restlessly into the warm depths of her mouth.

Meggie moaned, meeting and returning his intimate touch. Her hands moved on his back, kneading the strong, corded muscles that shifted under her fingers, savoring every sensation. This … this was what she had been waiting for, longing for ever since she had first laid eyes on him. And now he was hers and she his, and she could give all of herself to him without reservation.

Her arms slipped around his neck. She poured herself into his kiss, drinking in his taste, tinged with the flavor of wine and something else that was sweet and salty and uniquely his.

His touch was all she’d remembered and more. More, because now there was no stopping, no need to hold any part of herself in check. Desire ran like liquid heat through her body, pooling in her very center just where that deep pulse beat.

“Meggie. Meggie, my sweet,” Hugo murmured, moving his mouth to her neck, trailing kisses down to the hollow of her collarbone as his fingers found the buttons and tapes of her dress.

In a moment he had them undone, and he slipped the fabric off her shoulders and down her arms until the silk fell to her waist and glided over her hips, landing in a puddle around her ankles.