Edith Layton (24 page)

He paused. “Lucy?” he asked, drawing back. “What is it? Have you changed you mind?”

“What?” She opened her eyes. “No! It’s just that I want to remember this, and I know it will end too soon.”

He smiled. “Do you?”

He kissed her, running his hands over her. He made her gasp when he touched her, low. He made her murmur and sob when he kept his hand there until she found some respite. He kissed and caressed until she was damp and febrile, twisting unknowing beneath his hands and mouth. Then he entered her, slowly.

She welcomed him, took him fully and gasped with the intensity of the thrill of it. She arched her
back and lay back, feeling regret because she knew how soon it would all end.

He paused. “No,” he breathed into her ear, “even so, we’re far from done. Stay with me, we’ve the night.”

They rocked together. He moved her on and on, higher and higher, steadily climbing with her, pacing toward something wonderful with her. She forgot to hope for more. She forgot to expect less.

He moved with her, suffused with bliss, calculating the edges of his ecstasy, closing his eyes, feeling the utter power and pleasure she gave so openly. He bade himself wait, he drove her further, heart pounding with the effort and delight of it. If it killed him, he would do no less. But the sweetness of it undid him. With as much remorse as rapture, he felt his moment coming. And laughed as he gasped in release as he heard her reach her own, in his.

They didn’t speak for long moments, only lay intertwined as their bodies throbbed slower, cooling—and his heart grew cold. It was too quiet. He remembered too many moments like this. Truth always came in the after light. He remembered a woman who’d sobbed because she felt he’d helped her ruin her life. He remembered waking from a daze of pleasure to see a partner who’d obviously felt nothing he had, simulating all. But this was Lucy. Would she be satisfied, delighted? Regretful? Or disgusted? It was the ending that proved the equation, in sex as well as logic. There was no logic to this, only dread. He damned his wide experience, and waited.

She stirred. She smiled. She locked her arms around his neck and stretched luxuriously along the length of his body. He felt her breasts grow taut, rising as she stretched. Incredibly, he felt his own body rise again.

“That,” she said, “was astonishing.” She buried her face in the crook of his neck, on impulse savoring the musky salt taste of his shoulder. She smiled as she felt his long, strong body shiver at the one tiny touch of her tongue. “I didn’t know it could go on so long…” she murmured, and hesitated. She’d enjoyed lovemaking with Francis. But it had always been done in a rush. Never like this. Never so slowly, with such exquisite patience. Nothing had prepared her for the pleasure she found with this man. But she wouldn’t deny a good memory, or be disloyal to it. “I mean to say, I overheard his friends brag about how quick…They thought it a good thing.”

He smiled into her hair. “Rush to completion is a young man’s notion—sometimes unavoidable. Youth has its virtues, and there’s no denying them. But patience is a lesson age teaches a man.” He chuckled. “Would you like to learn another?”

She burrowed into him. “I would,” she said with regret. “But I can’t stay here until morning.”

He laughed. “Age brings patience,
and
politeness. I’d never make a lady wait.”

He felt her surprise. She drew her head back. “But we just…”

“So we did. But there are ways, my love, and ways. And some may lead to another,” he whis
pered, his mouth seeking hers again. “…Why look…” He smiled at what they both felt. “I am a prophet.”

He drove her to her hotel in his curricle as dawn was rising. They passed costermongers and servants scurrying along the gray streets on late errands and early ones. They wheeled past a few elegant carriages carrying exhausted partygoers home, and drove by the occasional staggering drunken buck trying to weave his way home after a night on the strut. But Wycoff didn’t care.

“If anyone’s awake enough to recognize us,” he told Lucy, “they’d have to have the eyes of eagles to know it was you in that hood—and if they do, we’ll say I’m taking you home from the ball. There were too many people there for anyone to argue the point—many are only going home now themselves.”

She sat wrapped in her cloak, pressed close to his side. The morning air was fresh and cool. She raised her face to the rising sun, but it wasn’t as warm as the solid strength of him next to her. “Shall I tell Jamie tomorrow?”

“Of course. Here we are,” he said as they drove up to the hotel. “Lord, how I hate to let you go, even for the hours until I can come see you again. But at least now I can. Noon, then?” he asked, halting the horses. He climbed down from the high driver’s seat and tossed the reins to a sleepy servant standing in front of the hotel.

“Noon,” she said and smiled, going into his outstretched arms as he helped her down.

He looked around the street, seeing no one but a flower seller hurrying from the flower market with a fresh tray of violets. He plucked up three bunches and gave them to Lucy. He tipped a coin to the flower girl and a grin to Lucy. “See?” he told her softly. “No one the wiser. Now get you to your chamber, my lady, and don’t dare think of anyone but me.”

She laughed, raised up on tiptoe, kissed his cheek, and after one long last look, hurried into the hotel. He climbed back up on his curricle. There was much to do before noon. With one last look at the empty street, he drove off, satisfied. This one incredible night would be their own secret.

He’d forgotten his own wisdom.

Someone was always looking in London.

J
amie arrived with the chocolate Sukey brought to Lucy’s room in the morning. Lucy smiled at him groggily. She hadn’t got much sleep. She’d gone to bed after Wycoff left, but lay thinking about him, smiling and tingling, believing and disbelieving everything that had happened. She was scandalized as much as delighted by herself and her actions. But when she thought about him and the wondrous things he’d done and would do for the rest of her life she couldn’t sleep for the joy of it. She’d closed her eyes for just a moment as broad sunlight showed at the margins of her curtains, feeling deliciously boneless and weary and at peace. She’d drifted off.

Now it was late morning. Now, she realized, was the best time to tell Jamie. She sat up. “Jamie,” she
said, “I’ve news. Lord Wycoff and I—we’ve decided to marry.”

Jamie’s eyes widened.

“He’ll be my husband…” she went on cautiously.

He didn’t let her finish. He clambered onto the bed, flung his arms around her and hugged her so hard her neck hurt. “It’s true? You’re going to marry him?” he cried. “I don’t have to go live with Uncle and his wife? Truly?”

Lucy’s mind whirled. She’d hoped he’d like her news. She never imagined he’d be overjoyed. “Truly,” she said fiercely, “I’m marrying him. You’ll stay with me—with us.” She tried to hug him back, but he wriggled out of her embrace, looking vaguely embarrassed. She let him go at once, feeling a pang. Only a week ago he wouldn’t have minded. “But I thought you liked your uncle,” she said, “and all the things he promised you.”

“I do like Uncle,” he said in a small voice. “The things he told me about sound grand. But I only meant to visit, with you. He started talking about it as though I was coming to live there. Without you.”

“You didn’t tell me,” she said.

“I didn’t”—he looked at the coverlets—“because you didn’t say anything to me, and I thought it was something you were waiting to say. I hoped not. I don’t want to leave you—and now I never have to, right?”

“Never. Unless you want to go off to school. English boys do.”

“I’m not an English boy yet.”

“Then, not until you want to. But you’re not just happy because you don’t have to leave me, are you? You do like Lord Wycoff?”

“Like him? He’s a
trump
, Mama. Wait—does that mean
Crispin
will be my brother?” he asked in awe. “That would be something! And Perkins is so nice too. Will we ever go back to America?”

“Crispin will be your brother,” she said, brushing his hair from his eyes, her own feeling moist. “Perkins
is
nice. And maybe one day we’ll visit the Ameses again. But England is our home now. We won’t do anything if I don’t get dressed, though. Lord Wycoff’s coming to pay us a call.”

Jamie’s face lit—then fell. “But Uncle said he was going to take me out again today. I’d rather stay with you and Lord Wycoff. May I? Please?”

“Absolutely, I’ll tell them why. It’s a very special day for us and we should be together,” she said, keeping her face sober with effort. The baron and his wife might have meant it for the best. Certainly their concern for Jamie was worthy. But their solution for his future was the worst one for hers, and their opinion of Wycoff was wrong. Now she could prove it. The prospect of telling them that,
and
that she was keeping her son, filled her with unholy glee.

But telling William was not so pleasant. He found out first. He came to ask her out for a walk. He stayed to argue.

“Have you run mad?” he said, his dark face darker than she’d ever seen it. “What kind of mar
riage would that be for you? Having to look under the bed every time you got into it? No—he’s learned discretion, you’d probably have to look in other women’s wardrobes. What could have induced you? You didn’t go to his bed, did you? All right—I grant that’s not for me to ask,” he said, putting up his hands. “Aye, and you aren’t that sort, I know.”

He took an agitated turn around the room and stopped, shocked, staring at her. “Is it the title? Lord, what a fool I am. Of course. You’re English. It’s the money and the title, isn’t it?”

“
Leave
,” Lucy said, pointing at her door with a trembling finger.

He ran a hand through his hair. “What then?” he asked in a frustration. “He’s handsome enough, I suppose, but there are better looking men. He’s clever, but so’s many a fellow. Why would a female with a grain of sense promise herself to a man who’s as constant as a spring breeze?”

“You don’t believe a man can redeem himself?” she asked angrily. “Then why bother going to church? Because your mother would kill you if you didn’t? Did you sleep through every sermon?”

“I stayed awake long enough to know a thing or two,” he snarled. “Why would a man who’s an adulterer and famous for it change his whole way of life? For Lucy Stone?” he asked incredulously. “Pretty enough, and with a clever tongue in her head, but face it, woman, you’re a widow out of your first youth, with a child and not a penny to bless yourself with. You think he’d change all for
that
?”

She bit her lip. She couldn’t defend herself. But she could defend Wycoff. She held on to everything he’d whispered to her in the night and stood straighter. “Anyone can change, William—except you. You’re mean spirited and vindictive—and wrong! Oh, I’m all out of patience—leave!”

“I’ll go,” he said, snatching up his hat and cramming it on his head, “and I won’t be back. You’ve made your bed, much luck to you laying in it with him—and every trollop he can find to share it with you! You’ll have to suffer the consequences by yourself. And I promise you, you will. William Bellows is no fool,” he muttered, “but you are! Good-bye!”

The door would have slammed harder if it wasn’t so heavy. Lucy sank to a chair, feeling the vibrations of it in the pit of her stomach. She doubted the baron would storm or shout. But now she had a queasy feeling about telling him her news. She wished Wycoff would come soon.
No, not Wycoff, Hathaway
, she told herself with a tender smile at the sound of the name. She wondered if he’d want her to call him that, and tried to occupy herself wondering about it instead of all the things William had said.

“I am gratified, and truly delighted for you, my lord,” Perkins said. “I cannot think of happier news.”

“Thank you, Perkins. The only thing that saddens me about it is that I imagine you’ll be off and on your way now.”

“Why so, my lord? Do you wish me to go?”

“Lord, no!” Wycoff looked up from his breakfast. “But my vagabond days are over. I plan to open the Hall again, that’s far from here. I’ll visit London now and again in future, travel abroad occasionally, too, I imagine. But I’m settling down for good, my friend. You’re still interested in roving, aren’t you?”

“I was. But I too have had my fill of it. One’s life should be filled with contrasts. The countryside would be pleasant for me now, I believe. If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to stay on.”

“It’s not all the same to me. I’m delighted,” Wycoff said.

But so he was, he thought when Perkins left the room. Everything delighted him this morning. He felt eager, alive again. Weary cynicism had been a part of his life for so long he could scarcely recognize himself now. It was like waking to springtime after an eternal winter. If contrasts did make for a better life, his should be the best, he thought, because he’d gone from a lonely world of limited horizons to this—the greatest joy he’d known for as long as he could remember.

He’d married once, as he was expected to do. Now he’d wed where he would, as he’d never expected to. He felt complete with her, utterly whole at last. Their lovemaking last night had been better than perfect, because perfection didn’t leave a man yearning for more. But it wasn’t the sensual delight he found with her, or her clever conversation, or even her quickness at understanding that so pleased him. It was Lucy Stone herself. Her life
hadn’t been easy or fair. But it had shaped her into the one woman for him.

He strode to the hall and took the coat and high beaver hat his footman handed him. He caught his own eye in the looking glass as he clapped on his hat. It sobered him. He met his reflection without expression. The face that stared back at him looked austere. The grooves in his cheek looked less like lines of experience and more like aging to him now. Not young. Not an Adonis. Not a shred of reputation left to him that he hadn’t campaigned for. She wasn’t getting much. In that moment he vowed to himself that she would never regret him. He’d give her more than she bargained for, the most he was capable of. He picked up a walking stick and strode out the door, to begin.

She looked a little shy when he walked in her door. Then she smiled at him with such radiance his heart turned over.

“It’s true, sir?” Jamie said the moment he saw Wycoff. “You’re to be my father? Well, not my father, I had one but he’s gone. But like a second father then? And Crispin’s to be my brother? Does he know? When shall I meet your daughter? Do you think she’ll like me? Will we live here or at the Hall Crispin talks about, where his horses are?”

“I’d be honored to be thought of as your father,” Wycoff said. “Crispin will be tickled, I can promise you that. Candice will love you, having another brother to torment should be just in her line. I
thought she’d come home from school now and live with us, too,” he said, raising his eyes to Lucy. “We can discuss that later. It will be entirely up to you.”

“As if I’d say otherwise!” Lucy gasped. “She must come home. I only hope she’ll like me enough to want to.”

“She will,” Wycoff said, and then smiled. “If she doesn’t, there are enough rooms at the Hall for her to avoid you for years if she chooses. No, only joking! And bragging, trying to make you see there’ll be room for an army at the Hall so you won’t change your mind no matter what. Lucy,” he said, because she still looked unsure and her expression pained him, “it was stupid of me to even jest about it. Forgive me. And believe me. My daughter’s been longing to come home, and Crispin says he knows she’ll like you both very well indeed.”

“That’s good!” Jamie said. “Uncle didn’t think so. He said it was a foolish choice Mama would come to regret. William said so, too.”

Wycoff’s eyes flew to Lucy’s. “You faced them both alone? Good God, if I’d known—William’s chagrin I can understand. But Hunt? What did he say?”

Lucy was a little pale, he’d noted it. Because she should have been glowing. She had been when he’d left her.

“Well, William was furious,” she admitted. “He has a terrible temper and hates being thwarted.”

“Was he vicious?” Wycoff asked too quietly.

“No, and don’t get that challenging look in your
eye,” she warned him. “Once in a lifetime for something like that was enough for me, thank you.”

He smiled, the ugly look vanishing. “Very wife-like. Nagging me already, are you?”

She grinned. “I suppose I was! But no, William was just mad at me, and went thundering out.”

“He said you’d regret it,” Jamie put in.

“You were eavesdropping,” Lucy accused him. “You know what I said about that.”

He shrugged. “William was very loud. Sukey heard him too, and she was telling me to get away from the door. But I was right here when Uncle spoke with you, and he was mad as fire, too.”

“Yes,” Lucy agreed. “Well, he was disappointed for his lady’s sake. She looked like she was going to cry. But if they’d really cared for us, they’d have rejoiced. I think they will, in time. For now—yes, he was very angry. He said I’d regret it, too. But he doesn’t know you,” she told Wycoff. “So I won’t credit it and will try to forget it as he will, I’m sure, in time.”

“That’s a great deal of time,” Wycoff said. “So let’s pass it well. Come along, Jamie. We’ll give you more to do than listen at doors. Let’s all go for a stroll in the park. The sun’s shining. Who knows how long it will last?”

“But I thought we’d tell Gilly and Damon today,” Lucy said. “They’re coming to visit this afternoon. We made those arrangements before…” she gave him a knowing look, and cleared her throat, “…before we came to our own agreement. And it’s growing late, we
haven’t had luncheon yet, Jamie or I. I woke late and every hour’s been busy since I did.”

“We can do both, slugabed,” Wycoff said, consulting his pocket watch. “It lacks a half hour to one. No one pays calls until three. We can have our luncheon in the park, a bite of sausage, some meat pies, a sip of lemonade. Let’s delight the strolling vendors and get some air as well. Lucy,” he added, his eyes grown dark and serious, “I can walk with you freely in the sunshine now, at last. I’d like to. Because I’ll wager whatever your brother-in-law said about me—and I can imagine what he said—at least now he knows I’m no longer precisely a leper in society anymore, doesn’t he?”

Her color returned, in force. She looked as rosy as she did after he’d made love to her. “Yes,” she admitted.

“So,” he said, “put on a shawl and tell your maid to get her bonnet. We’re off to give London something to talk about.”

Before they could do that, they took some people’s words out of their mouths. William saw them as they entered the lobby. He glowered at them, and deliberately turned his back.

“He could have wished us happy,” Lucy said, looking pained.

“But he doesn’t,” Wycoff said. “Give him credit for honesty, if not for manners.”

They passed the baron Hunt and his wife in the street when they left the hotel. The baron’s lady started, then looked at Jamie with sorrow. Her eyes
filled with tears, her handkerchief flew to her lips. Hunt himself looked more like a weary basset hound than ever. He shook his head dolefully. Then he nodded a bow, and taking his wife by the arm, passed by them quickly, looking down as he did.

Jamie seemed surprised. Lucy wasn’t. “Never mind, Jamie,” she said, “your uncle and aunt will come ’round, in time.”

“I don’t mind,” Jamie said blithely.

“Do you care?” Wycoff asked, seeing her expression.

“No. They wanted the best for themselves, not us,” she said. “If Jamie were less charming, they’d be celebrating the fact that they don’t have to do anything for us now.”