Duty Before Desire (23 page)

But then she smiled suddenly, dazzling him. “This way is preferable,” she stated, “even though we only made it to a single shop. It's wonderful to go out and meet people, to see something of the city. And we gathered useful information on our very first day!” The animation of her delighted voice once again swept him up in a spell. “Thank you for taking me, Sheri.”

“It's been my very great pleasure,” he assured her, shaken by how good her pleasure made him feel.

“May we go again tomorrow?” Her eyes sparkling with hope, she grasped her hands at her chest.

Lord, but her voice was an unexpected aphrodisiac. Pitched against him in such a way, he didn't know that he—that any man—could deny her. Suddenly, he thought about hearing his name on her lips again, this time in a voice thick with passion. A familiar rush to his groin had him shifting in his seat, tightening his thighs to try to staunch the erection.

Too long in an empty bed, old man.

“I don't know that I can contrive to take you out shopping two days in a row,” he said. “Though we're engaged there are still proprieties to observe. It pains me to admit as much, but Sir Godwin was right about that. It might be best if I ask around at a few places on my own.”

The young woman fell into a thoughtful silence until they arrived at her uncle's house. When he helped her alight from the carriage, she took his hand tightly and continued to hold as she reached the pavement. Energy quickened the scant inches separating them, enticing Sheri to risk drawing a little closer yet.

Arcadia's mouth firm, her expression mirrored the one he'd seen on Poorvaja earlier. He had the darting thought that it was a familial resemblance. “We
shall
go tomorrow,” Arcadia declared, her voice low. “I know you won't let me down.”

Something inside his chest gave way, done in by her naïve determination expressed in that seductress's voice. “I wouldn't dream of disappointing a lady. I shall look forward to it,” he capitulated with a nod, returning the squeeze of her hand before releasing it.

And damnation, but he was. He couldn't wait to see Arcadia Parks again tomorrow.

The morning post brought a note from Sheri, inviting Arcadia to once more go shopping. If it pleased Miss Parks, Sheridan would like to introduce her to a friend of his, a respectable matron named Mrs. De Vere who would chaperon their excursion.

Arcadia quickly accepted the invitation, curious about this Mrs. De Vere. Had Arcadia planned to stay in England, she would've liked to cultivate a circle of friends. Alas, it was not to be. With Poorvaja safely returned and the hunt for her brooch underway, Arcadia would not reside in England much longer.

At the appointed time, Sheri arrived with the “respectable matron,” a lively young woman of an age with Arcadia. Sheri had a harried look about him as he made the introduction.

“Miss Parks, permit me to make you known to Mrs. Claudia De Vere.”

“I'm in alt to finally meet you,” declared Mrs. De Vere, pressing her cheek to Arcadia's as if they were old bows. “Lord Sheridan has told us so much about you.”

“Lord Sheridan doesn't know much about me,” Arcadia said. “I fear what he has told you must not have been very pleasant.” She cast a wary look at the man in question. The air around him bristled. Had she been too pushy in requesting another day of searching? She'd enjoyed yesterday so much, she'd selfishly sought the pleasure of his company again.

How greedy I've become here
, she thought. In India, she never used to want more of anything. Arcadia had been perfectly content with her life and everything in it. But in England, nothing was good enough. She wanted less of her aunt, more of Sheri—but less of Sheri, too, she reminded herself, for the man turned her emotions inside out. Just one more reason to return to her sensible life in the
mofussil
, where everything was right and good and enough.

Mrs. De Vere laughed, silvery and bright. “On the contrary, what he's said has convinced me that you and I are destined to be great friends. Why else should I have badgered him so for an introduction?”

The thought of anyone wanting to meet her, of going to the trouble of seeking her out, was novel and a little flattering. She felt her spine straighten a fraction.

Soon they were on their way. In the coach, Mrs. De Vere leaned over, nudging Arcadia's shoulder with her own. “Ready to find The Item?”

“Did Lord Sheridan tell you about my peacock?”

“A little.” Mrs. De Vere patted Arcadia's knee and cooed. “I'm terribly sorry you were accosted in Hyde Park. What bad luck! Nothing of the sort has ever happened to me.”

“You're more likely to be the one doing the accosting, my dear Mrs. De Vere,” Sheri drawled from the opposite seat.

That lady opened her mouth, shut it again, then sighed.

“I know a brooch must seem a silly thing to care so much about,” Arcadia said, “but, to me, it represents my entire life before I came to England.”

“Not in the least,” Mrs. De Vere assured her. “A lost family heirloom is no small thing. What a Grand Quest this is!”

Arcadia wasn't sure how Mrs. De Vere managed to verbally capitalize her words, but it was an interesting trick. She thought she might practice her own enunciation later, in the privacy of her room, and see if she could manage it herself.

“Thank you, Mrs. De Vere, you're very kind to assist us.”

“Claudia, if you will.” The young matron smoothed a hand over her skirts. “You must forgive my eagerness. It's just that when Lord Sheridan came to see my husband and me last evening, and he lamented your need for a chaperon, I volunteered my services. For once, Sheri didn't seem to mind my scheming.”

At Claudia's use of the familiar name for Lord Sheridan, a little worm of jealousy slithered through Arcadia's heart.

When they arrived at the jeweler's shop, Sheri opened the carriage door and handed the ladies down. Arcadia closely observed his interaction with his friend's wife. Was it her imagination that the smile he bestowed upon Arcadia was a little wider than the one he'd given Claudia? Was there a special warmth in his brown eyes? Did he grasp her hand a little longer?

Was it all just wishful thinking on her part?

Inside the shop, Sheri conferred with the shopkeeper while Claudia looped her arm through Arcadia's and drew her along the cases of goods, pointing out sparkling baubles that caught her eye.

“Tell me something of yourself, Arcadia,” Claudia said, pausing to admire a hairpin adorned with opals and aquamarines, “for you were right earlier: Sheri hasn't told me very much, just enough to make me eager to learn more.”

“You must be quite friendly with Lord Sheridan,” she said, a touch stiffly, “to call him Sheri. He invited me to do so, as well.”

At once, Claudia seemed to understand the other woman's feelings. “I'm allowed the intimacy because I'm married to Mr. De Vere, and for no other reason. My Henry and Sheri are longtime friends from back in their Oxford days. Only Lord Sheridan's closest companions call him Sheri—most Society ladies call him Chère.”

“Chère is a French endearment, is it not? Why is he called this by so many?”

Claudia suddenly interested herself in a gold lily strung on a velvet ribbon. “Oh, it's a trifle,” she said with forced breeziness. “Just a small thing. Nothing, really. He's … popular with the ladies.”

He must be very popular, indeed—more even than Sir Godwin's dire warnings suggested—for ladies to call him Chère, as if he was the collective beau of all the
ton
's women.

“But you must not think badly of him,” Claudia hastened to add, her hand darting over the countertop to cover Arcadia's. “Sheri is … Sheri. He has a good heart and is as loyal a friend as ever you could hope to meet. And most of his reputation is undeserved, I'm sure. He just likes to make women happy, to dance attendance on the wallflowers at balls, flatter the older ladies with flirtation, that kind of thing.”

Claudia couldn't know it, but her explanations weren't helping Arcadia's feminine pride. Was their engagement just another of Sheri's charity cases? She was grateful for his help, but apparently he'd do the same for any other woman; there wasn't anything special about her that drew his interest, besides her willingness to marry him and then go away. Once more, she felt mortified by insisting he bring her out again today. Small wonder he'd brought another woman along to divert Arcadia. He couldn't wait to be rid of her, just like her aunt and uncle.

“I long to hear about your life in India,” Claudia intruded on her gloomy thoughts. “I read a history of the subcontinent ages ago, and one of my brothers was stationed there for a few years, but he spent most of his time in Calcutta amongst the army officers and wives. I yearn to hear from someone who
really
lived there, as you did.”

Grateful for the opportunity to think of something besides Sheri, Arcadia told Claudia a little about her day-to-day life on the station, about their
khansama—
or head servant—Harit, whose rigid correctness would rival the starched manners of any English butler. She mentioned her summer trips with Poorvaja to visit the ayah's family in the mountains. There, in the
zenana
with all the women and children, her days had been spent playing, gorging herself on mangoes picked right off the trees until her stomach hurt, and learning the practice of yoga from the first wife.

“Yoga?” Claudia perked, the dreamy expression on her face giving way to excitement. “In the history I read, there were illustrations of a yogi with his arms and legs all twisted about. Can you do that?”

“Some days I do better than others,” Arcadia demurred, “but I try. Yoga is much more than the
asanas
, though; it's a disciplined way of life. I must confess, I'm not as dedicated to the whole system as many Indians. I never felt quite right about claiming another culture for my own, but the women in the
zenana
were always good enough to let me join in
asana
practice.”

“Oh, you must show me! Would you, please?” Claudia clasped her hands at her chest. “It would be thrilling to see a person do the things I've only read about.”

Laughing, Arcadia waved her hands. “All right, all right! Poorvaja is who you really want to watch, as she is much better at the postures than I. But I'll speak with her. I'm certain we can give you a demonstration sometime.”

She failed to divulge that she might not—probably wouldn't—be here to demonstrate yoga postures. Not if she succeeded in quickly finding the peacock and escaping this country.

She perceived a presence behind her. Turning about, Arcadia found Sheri looming over her, his jaw hanging slightly ajar, a strange expression on his face.

“Lord Sheridan,” she ventured. “Sheri, are you quite well?”

All at once he blinked, and his jaw snapped shut. “Fine, thank you. Shopkeep's neither seen nor heard anything about your peacock, though he was able to offer the names of a few businesses less particular in sourcing their wares. We should look elsewhere.”

He turned sharply and strode out the door.

With a smart flick of her wrist, Claudia opened her fan to cover a laugh; her eyes danced above the ivory-and-silk accessory. “Gracious, but you're leading him a merry chase,” she said.

“Mrs. De Vere,” Sheri said once they were all outside, “would you mind giving Miss Parks and I a moment to decide our next course of action?”

Claudia cast a sidelong glance at Sheri, then a knowing smile at Arcadia. “I'll be at Gunter's, having an ice. Order for you two, as well, shall I? Don't be long.”

As the young matron strolled off in the direction of Berkeley Square, Sheri drew Arcadia into an alleyway between buildings.

“My lord?” Arcadia asked in confusion.

He pushed her back to the wall and cupped her cheek in his hand, tipping her face. The shadows of the buildings on either side gave his face a cool, bluish cast, but his eyes flashed hot beneath the brim of his tall beaver hat.

He lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her once, twice. Pulling back slightly, he hovered but an inch away, a hum filling the tiny space between their faces. The sound came from her, she realized, as if she'd just enjoyed a delicious morning stretch.

“There,” he said, lifting his head further. “It's deuced difficult to contrive to kiss my own fiancée. I've been telling myself for days that your lips couldn't possibly be as soft as I remember, but they are.” He slanted a smile. “Astonishing.”

“Is that …” Arcadia's heart pounded in her throat. She wanted him to kiss her again, but she didn't know how to ask, or whether he'd like her to. Even though he claimed to like kissing her, Sheri wasn't left breathless by the experience as Arcadia was. Maybe this was just part of his
Make them believe
campaign, to play the part of a doting suitor.

“Is that what, peahen?”

Arcadia swallowed her nerves. “Is that all?”

His eyes flicked down, perhaps in thought, perhaps to where her breasts were slowly smooshing against his chest. Arcadia couldn't help herself. He was so solid, like a heavenly body with his own gravitational pull. And as he did not rebuff her entrance into his orbit, she carried on slowly crashing into him until her cheek rested against his chest. His chin tucked alongside her temple. Eyes drifting closed, her body attuned itself to the steady beat of his heart. That regular
thump-thump
was a point of meditative focus stronger than her own breath, so vital and alive.

“No,” he breathed against her temple, his hands slipping over the globes of her bottom and tugging her snug against him, “no, by God, that's not all.”

His words thrilled her; the feeling of his possessive touch ignited a fire of need in her belly. On a soft cry, she lifted her face and brought her mouth full against his. One hand still on her bottom, the other came to her back, and he pulled her even closer. Sheri's kiss became openmouthed, the tip of his tongue gently tracing her bottom lip. Tentative, Arcadia parted her own lips and was rewarded with his moan of approval as his tongue swept into her mouth.