Call Down the Moon (29 page)

Hugo fell back against the pillows, clutching his stomach. “Ah, no,” he howled. “Oh, God—it’s too good to be true.”

Meggie burst into laughter. “It is, isn’t it? Actually, I think it’s rather touching. No wonder Lord Eliot left them all his money—probably in payment for devoted services rendered twofold over the years.”

Hugo wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “Meggie—oh, Meggie, your relatives. What am I to think?” He buried his face in the pillows with a snort.

“You are to think that irrepressible sexual desire runs in the family,” she said, climbing back onto the bed and rubbing her cheek against his back. “My mother clearly had a passionate nature, and so must have my father, and now the two aunties. Poor Hugo. What
are
you going to do?”

He rolled over onto his back and pulled her down on top of him. “It is a foolish man who does not turn weakness into strength,” he said, his already swollen penis growing stiff and ready against her belly. “The question is what you are going to do.” He reached up and ran his finger over one of the puckered tips of the breasts that hovered just above him and lightly pinched.

Meggie shivered, her head arched slightly back, and a sigh eased from her throat. “Oh, I don’t know … ah!”

He pinched a little harder, twisting the erect nub back and forth. “Are you absolutely sure?”

Meggie gasped, her knees parting slightly over his hips. Hugo shifted to take full advantage of the situation. He lifted his head to take her breast in his mouth, tasting her, suckling on her, his tongue working circles around her sensitive flesh. He loved the way she squirmed on top of him, although he wished the sheet weren’t in the way.

Meggie slipped her hands behind his head and pulled him closer still. “Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Please don’t stop.”

He had no intention of stopping, shifting again to press his stiff shaft against her parted thighs. But the damned sheet still impeded him. Impatient, he took her by the waist and flipped her over, kicking the sheet half off the bed. He had a mission in mind and he needed her free and clear and on her back.

Kissing the hollow between her breasts, he slid his face down her soft belly, cupping her hips and nuzzling his face into the damp musky curls that smelled of them both from their last bout of lovemaking.

He lapped at her soft plump folds, drawing a gasp from her, then slid the tip of his tongue between her cleft and stroked leisurely from bottom to top.

“H-Hugo? What are you doing?” she said shakily.

“I’ve decided that the only way to convince you to come to London with me,” he said, briefly lifting his head, “is to appeal to the insatiable family proclivity for sex. You clearly will not survive a week without it.”

Meggie laughed breathlessly. “I don’t know whether you mean to compliment or insult me,” she said, running her fingers through his hair, her parted thighs shaking.

“I do nothing but compliment you, madam. I wouldn’t survive a week either.” Taking his thumbs, he parted her swollen lips and lowered his mouth, and sucked her tiny, sensitive nub in between his lips, using his tongue to draw delicate circles around it.

Meggie’s hips bucked under his and her fingers clutched in his hair as her cries echoed above his head. “Hugo—it’s too much—oh, oh
Hugo,
I can’t take any more!”

So saying, she pushed herself even closer against his mouth, twisting and turning as if she could draw him into her.

Hugo, shaking with his own desire, thrust his stiffened tongue into her entrance, then plunged deep and hard. He relished her salty taste—the slick moisture that poured into his mouth like sea nectar. He felt her trembling, knew she was on the edge, and instantly rose over her, pinning her shoulders down against the bed.

“Come with me, Meggie. Come to London. Say you will.”

She gasped and bucked again as he probed her this time with the turgid head of his penis. He pushed it just inside her entrance and then withdrew, deliberately teasing her, rocking shallowly back and forth, then pulling out and rubbing between her distended flesh. He sat up, holding his shaft in his hand and circling the blunt tip over her erect nub. “Say you will, Meggie.”

She cried out, her eyes squeezed shut, with a fine film of moisture covering her face. “Hugo, please,” she begged. “Oh, please?”

“You only have to say the word and I will give you everything you want,” he replied, positioning himself back at her entrance, desperately trying to hang on to his own control.

“Yes,” she cried, grabbing his buttocks and pushing him home. “Yes, whatever you like, just make love to me!”

He only had to stroke three more times before she went over the edge into a climax that threatened to undo them both. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, her internal muscles convulsing so fiercely that he nearly screamed himself. He climaxed in a split second, with his guts practically wrenched from his body with the force of his ejaculation.

He collapsed onto his side, struggling to pull breath into his body. How did Meggie manage to shatter him every single time they made love?

She pushed her forehead against the side of his neck, and her arm fell over his waist. “Don’t you ever—ever do that to me again,” she said between pants. “All you had to do was ask nicely.”

Hugo turned his head with a smothered laugh and kissed her damp hair. “I thought that was exactly what I did.”

“Beast,” she said, lovingly stroking his back. “I would have come anyway.”

“Do you mean I didn’t have to exert my full powers of persuasion? Oh, well. Had I only known I could have saved my strength.”

Meggie lightly bit his ear. “When do we leave?”

“As soon as you can pack in the morning,” he said with a yawn. “There are some things best done quickly.”

“What about Hadrian?” she asked sleepily, snuggling up against his side, her body curved into his. “You will let him inside the carriage for part of such a long journey, won’t you?”

“No. Oh, no—you can’t possibly think you’re bringing him to London,” Hugo said, his eyes shooting wide open.

“I don’t see why not,” Meggie said reasonably. “I can’t leave him behind, so if you won’t let him come along, I suppose I’ll have to stay here after all.”

Hugo groaned, having already been through the Hadrian argument with Meggie and losing soundly. In any case, he was far too tired to argue.

“Very well,” he said, “as long as you clearly understand that Hadrian is not to leave the confines of the property. The garden is large enough to keep him happy, and I will not have the ladies of London shrieking to the constabulary that there is a wolf in their midst.”

Meggie chuckled against his shoulder. “From what I hear, Hadrian would not be the first.”

“And I thought you were supposed to be sheltered,” Hugo said, turning his head to kiss her temple.

Meggie murmured something indistinct, and her breathing gradually slowed into sleep.

Hugo sighed heavily, hoping for both their sakes that he had made the right decision and not just the selfish one.

M
eggie stretched her arm over her head and tossed the ball as far as she could. Then she watched with a smile as Hadrian bounded after it, disappearing into the trees that bordered the far wall of the enormous garden.

She’d never realized that London had such huge houses, or that magnificent parks came attached to them. When Hugo had told her Hadrian would have a garden to play in, she’d imagined something more like a fenced-in area of grass with a few flowers, not this sweep of lawn and trees with landscaped beds interspersed around and between. Hadrian was content enough with his lot, spending most of his time basking in the sun in between bouts of wild frolic. If Meggie had known how dirty the London air was, though, she’d have left him at Lyden.

She wondered if she might not have been wiser to leave herself there, too. Although she’d had a week to adjust to London life, she still couldn’t believe the size and scope of Southwell House. A beautiful white granite building, it sat in the middle of Hanover Square and took up a good portion of it. The interior, as impressive as the exterior, was filled with exquisite paintings and furniture, and a collection of tapestries that Meggie had spent hours poring over and admiring the fine work.

Above all the things that took her breath away though was the library. It was three times the size of the library at Lyden which she’d already thought extraordinary and packed with precious volume on top of precious volume of the great masterpieces.

Her hands itched to read Sophocles and Euripides and Callimachus, all in the original text. Milton and Donne, two of her favorite poets, also graced the shelves with their complete works. So much to absorb, to take joy from, and yet, just as at Lyden, she couldn’t possibly afford to have Hugo catch her with her nose in a book.

Some things she was certain he’d never understand or accept, and the discovery that she was a secret bluestocking was one of them.

She’d had to bite her tongue over and over again as he’d taken her around London to show her the sights. She’d found the British Museum particularly difficult to keep her silence in, since nearly every room contained something wondrous that she longed to exclaim over or comment on. Madame Tussaud’s Waxworks had created the same problem: she’d been thrilled to see the astonishingly accurate depictions of historical figures, but had to pretend to ignorance of the history itself.

Sister Agnes had recommended that Meggie see Miss Linwood’s needlepoint at Leicester Square and Meggie had persuaded Hugo to take her there. She’d been able to exclaim all she liked without fear of revealing anything more than an appreciation of skilled stitch work and a love of pretty pictures.

She smiled, remembering how Hugo had been bored to tears and dragged her off for ices as soon as he feasibly could.

Hadrian brought her the ball again, dropping it at her feet. His golden eyes sparkled in invitation. She obliged him and picked it up, winging it in the opposite direction.

Wiping her fingers on her handkerchief, she settled on a bench under a shady elm and gazed out over the ornamental pond filled with goldfish, resting her cheek on her hand. Despite how much she was enjoying herself, she had a niggling concern at the back of her mind that would not go away as much as she tried to ignore it.

Hugo. Something weighed on his mind, and she hoped to heaven it wasn’t her. As attentive as he’d been, he’d been careful to keep her away from places where he might run into any of his acquaintances. Not that she minded. London itself was enough to cope with without worrying about embarrassing him in front of his friends, but she didn’t want him to be ashamed of her either.

She still couldn’t help but wonder if he’d really wanted her to accompany him. Although he had been most persuasive at the time, every now and then she did feel as if she’d intruded into his private world.

Here he was accustomed to being waited on hand and foot by proper butlers and proper footmen and a valet who had been with him for fourteen years and knew his habits, his likes and dislikes better than Meggie did. Mallard, like the rest of the staff, treated her with a reserved formality that made her suspect they thought Hugo had lost his mind in marrying her. She definitely sensed their bewilderment, as if Hugo had grown another head where the original, familiar one had been. Hugo didn’t appear aware of their bafflement though, so he couldn’t be troubled about that.

The only other reason she could think of for Hugo’s preoccupation was the business he’d mentioned the night before they’d left Lyden. He’d been busy all week, mostly with James Gostrain, finalizing the marriage settlement he’d insisted on. He seemed pleased with whatever he’d done. He had, however, said that a person he’d particularly wanted to see was unexpectedly out of town, and they’d have to wait until his return before they could return to Lyden. Maybe that was all he was concerned about, and she worried for nothing.

He certainly gave her no reason to worry about his chasing after other women. In the close privacy of the nights, he always loved her fully, sometimes with passionate intensity, sometimes with simple tenderness, but never leaving her in doubt of the nature of his feelings. Both of them reveled in the joy of their mutual love.

Against all probability, she had found her Adam and he his Eve, and the two of them reigned in an Eden, just as she’d always envisioned.

“‘These two imparadised in one another’s arms,’” she murmured, “‘the happier Eden, shall enjoy their fill of bliss on bliss.’”

“Milton’s
Paradise Lost,
I believe? An excellent piece of work, and one of my personal favorites.”

Meggie, who hadn’t had her usual warning that anyone was close by, started violently at the unfamiliar female voice that spoke from behind her. Jumping to her feet, she spun around to see an elegant older woman regarding her with clear gray eyes and a smile on her lips.

Meggie opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She was as much taken aback by the complete silence that emanated from this stranger as she was by her sudden appearance. Only once before in her life had Meggie experienced such a phenomenon. It didn’t take anything more than simple deduction to put the pieces together.

She pressed her hand to her throat as she realized with horror just whom she must be facing.

“Y-Your Grace?” she said. “Is that you? I—I mean, you must be Hugo’s mother.” She colored furiously. “That’s the only person who could … that is I—I mean we—did not expect you.”

She raised her hands over her face, knowing she’d already made the worst impression possible. Not only was she babbling like an idiot, but her hair was falling all over the place, and her dress was dirty from playing with Hadrian.

The dowager duchess, on the other hand, looked perfectly immaculate and completely composed.

Meggie, in the midst of wishing herself to the very center of the earth, found her hands taken between the duchess’s, gently pulled down, and held in a warm and firm grip. She risked a tentative sideways look up at the Dowager Duchess of Southwell.

“How could you expect me when I did not write?” the duchess asked cheerfully. “I came immediately upon learning you and Hugo were in London, my desire to meet you far greater than my concern over intruding on your privacy.”

“Oh, but it is your house, Your Grace,” Meggie said quickly. “Surely I am the intruder here. That is to say, I know I am. It is your home, not mine.”

“My dear child,” the duchess said, smiling at her with unexpected warmth, “you are absolutely charming, even more charming than I had been led to believe. How Hugo ever was so clever as to fall in love with you I cannot imagine, but I am delighted that he did.”

“You—you are?” Meggie stared at her in complete disbelief. Hugo had obviously not told her the full truth, or anything close to it, or his mother would never be so warm and welcoming to her most unsuitable daughter-in-law.

“Naturally I am, my dear. Hugo made his feelings clear when he wrote to me in Ireland, and from what I have heard since my return, he is a very happy man. I have only you to thank.”

Meggie’s mouth fell open in astonishment. She had been dreading the reaction of Hugo’s family to their marriage, and now she was being
thanked
for marrying him? Someone had better tell the poor woman the truth, or at least part of it, before she received the shock of her life.

“No—no, you mustn’t thank me,” Meggie managed to say. “It is Hugo who has made me happy, really, but perhaps he hasn’t told you about me properly…”

The duchess chuckled. “He told me enough, although being Hugo, he only gave me the barest details, the most important being that he was head over heels in love with the woman he’d married. The rest I had to discover on my own. I’ve just come from Suffolk.”

Meggie blanched. “Oh,” she said in a small voice. “Oh, dear. Then you do know about me.”

“Let me sit beside you, Meggie, for we have much to discuss,” the duchess said, arranging herself on the bench. “Isn’t it interesting, I first became acquainted with my elder son’s wife on a bench in a London garden. Dear Lucy looked just as nonplussed as you do. I must make a terrible first impression,” she added with a mischievous smile.

“No—oh, not at all, Your Grace. It is just that I have been terribly concerned that you would not approve at all of me, not when you found out about my background.” She stared down at her hands. “I suppose Sister Agnes must have told you everything, then.”

“Sister Agnes told me great deal,” the duchess agreed. “As did Dorelia and Ottoline Mabey. What a pretty place Lyden Hall is. I understand that Hugo has made great strides with it in a short amount of time.”

“Oh, he has, Your Grace. He is doing a magnificent job, and his tenants think the world of him. Everyone does. Your son is the most responsible, caring man—his first concern always for others and never himself.”

“Yes,” the duchess said thoughtfully. “I heard about that, too. The Mabey sisters were most informative in every regard.”

“They told you that we are related?” Meggie asked, biting her lip. She doubted that the aunties had spared the duchess a single detail.

“Yes, and such an extraordinary story,” the duchess said, shaking her head. “So very tragic, and yet look at how well it has all turned out. I am so happy for you, my dear. Not only have you found your family after all those lonely years, but you’ve found Hugo as well. It only goes to show that God does look after us.” She laughed. “Heavens, in your case, not only did He guide you home, but He made sure you were very well provided for when you got there.”

Meggie gazed at the duchess, dazed by her complete acceptance. What had she ever done to deserve such incredible good fortune? “You are saying that you honestly do not disapprove, despite—despite everything?”

“How could I possibly disapprove, my dear child, when you have everyone singing your praises to high heaven, Hugo included? Dorelia and Ottoline Mabey went on with such enthusiasm that I thought I’d never be allowed to leave!”

Meggie smiled. “They do have a way about them, the dear old aunties. They have a tendency to drive Hugo to distraction, but I think he’s secretly rather fond of them.”

The duchess chuckled. “They haven’t changed a bit, not a bit, even though I haven’t seen them for ages. The last time must have been oh, twenty-five years ago when they appeared in London with Linus Eliot—that caused quite a stir, I can tell you, the speculation flying about what was going on among the three of them.”

“Oh, dear,” Meggie said, not referring to the aunties and their questionable behavior, but to Hadrian who was making a beeline for them, the ball clamped between his jaws.

“Goodness, this must be Hadrian,” the duchess said as Hadrian drew to a halt at her feet and dropped the ball, cocking his head at her in curiosity. “What a handsome fellow he is.” She reached out and stroked his head as comfortably as if she had wolves drooling on her lap every day of the week.

Meggie grinned with delight. If she’d had any doubts about the duchess being as relaxed as Hugo had implied, they vanished with this one easy gesture. “He’s been a wonderful friend to me,” she said.

“Yes, Sister Agnes told me how you raised him from a tiny pup. I can see how devoted he is to you. Apparently he is missed almost as much as you are at the sanitarium. Which reminds me—tell me, Meggie dear, how did you find Eunice Kincaid’s state of mind before you left? I understand that you were largely responsible for her care, poor woman. Such a pity that she ended up as she did, although she really was rather dreadful. But you probably know the entire story.”

“Not really. I know she is connected to you in some way, but Sister Agnes never went into details.”

“No? Oh, my
dear,”
the duchess said, settling in for a good gossip. “Let me tell you, for it is quite a story. You see, my dear son Raphael rescued his wife from Eunice Kincaid’s cruel clutches. She is Lucy’s stepmother, you see, and was perfectly dreadful to the poor girl for years. And then a year ago last spring, Raphael went to Ireland to see to a property he’d come into, and there he first spotted Lucy, walking on a cliff…”

“My wife is
where
?” Hugo said to the old butler, sure he hadn’t heard correctly. “With
whom?”

The butler cleared his throat. “Lady Hugo is in the garden with your mother, my lord.”

Hugo shook his head. “No. Not possible. Your eyesight must be going, Loring, as well as your hearing. My mother is in Ireland.”

Loring drew himself up. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but there is not a thing wrong with my eyes or my hearing. Her Grace arrived not an hour ago, and her very first request was to be directed to your wife.”

Hugo’s mood, which had been excellent when he’d walked in the door, plummeted to the depths of despair. He’d known that the moment of confrontation would have to come eventually, but he’d planned it later rather than sooner, and he had counted on a well-orchestrated introduction with himself there to carefully supervise the proceedings.

The very last thing he’d anticipated was for his mother and Meggie to end up alone, with Meggie helpless to deflect the subtle but relentless questioning his mother was a genius at.