Love With an Improper Stranger (18 page)

“More’s the pity, as I feel the same about you.”  She rubbed her nose to his.  “Shall we go downstairs?”

“I suppose.”  With reluctance, he released her.  “But as of this instant, I should rather act as the greediest miser, and keep you to myself.”

“That would please me, greatly.”  She smoothed his lapels and then settled her palm to the crook of his elbow.  “But I do not wish to disappoint your mother, so we should make an appearance.  There will be time enough to lock ourselves in our chambers, once we wed.”

“Lenore, you tempt me beyond reason.”  For a few seconds, he basked in her glory.  What he would give to carry her to his room, strip her bare, and make love to her for three days straight, maybe a sennight or two.  “But you are correct, so let us not delay.”

Intent on showing off his bride-to-be, and surprising her, he escorted her to the dining room, where the Brethren had assumed their places.  At the sideboard, Mrs. Jones directed the servants, and she glanced at him and dipped her chin, signaling the preparations had been made, and he relaxed.

“Blake, you are seated at the opposite end of the table, as you are the head of this family.”  Dalton sketched a mock salute.  “And Lenore is to your right.”

“Perfect.”  As he held the chair, she settled herself.

“Is this normal?” Lenore asked in a whisper.  “Should Daphne not occupy that spot?”

“Darling, this is family, and we make our own rules.”  After draping the napkin across his lap, he clutched her hand.  “And I always want you near me.”

Again, she cast an ebullient smile.  “Your Grace, that would suit me, just fine.”

And so he endured the Christmas feast of stuffed and roasted goose, with potatoes, Brussels sprouts, carrots, and fresh baked bread, all while he languished in the throes of the most intense arousal of his existence.  But he consumed every succulent morsel and sipped his wine, as would a gentleman.  When Mrs. Jones rolled in the dessert trolley, Blake fought nervous anxiety.

“Dear ones, if I may have your attention, I should like to make a toast.”  Dalton stood, held high his glass, and cleared his throat.  “On this most felicitous day, Daphne and I extend our humble thanks and appreciation for your estimable presence in honor of our inaugural holiday season as husband and wife.  As ever, we are grateful for your unfailing love and support.”  Then he gazed at Daphne and swallowed hard.  “And we want you to know that we are expecting our first child.”

A cheer erupted in the refined chamber, as Dirk and Rebecca leaped up and swamped Dalton and Daphne.  In seconds, everyone converged on the young couple, and Blake reconsidered his plan, as he did not want to impinge on the host’s spotlight.  But soon calm fell on the gathering, as Mrs. Jones dished portions of plum pudding.

In keeping with tradition, each serving of the decadent treat contained a prize said to predict some aspect of the recipient’s forthcoming year.  While a litany of trinkets were discovered, Lucy and Sabrina found a silver thimble, which represented thrift, Caroline and Cara claimed a silver coin, which signified wealth, Damian and George located a wish bone, which symbolized good luck, and Blake and Lance seized a small anchor, which bestowed safe harbor.  But Lenore uncovered the best boon of all.

Wrapped in a tiny piece of cotton rested her diamond betrothal ring, and she met his stare the second she revealed it.  “Is it real?”

“Indeed.”  For as long as he lived, he would remember her face in that moment.  He plucked the bauble, clutched her left hand, and slipped the jewel onto her third finger.  Then he kissed her knuckles.  “But it pales in comparison to your fire.”

It was then he discovered they had garnered the unreserved attention of everyone present, and another telltale hush of anticipation invested the enrapt audience.

“Blake, would it be presumptuous of me to assume you have something favorable to impart?”  Damian flagged Hicks.  “I imagine we have need of champagne.”

“Right away, Your Grace.”  The butler signaled Mrs. Jones, as he ran into the hallway.

Still and silent as statues, generations of the Brethren stared, as Blake inched from the table, stretched to full height, and drew his bride-to-be from her seat.  “I cannot believe that I managed it, despite my attempts to bungle the situation, but for some reason I can neither explain nor comprehend, Miss Lenore Teversham has graciously consented to be my duchess.”

The ensuing roar reverberated off the walls, and he would have sworn the chandeliers shook, as Blake and Lenore were overtaken by a stampede of congratulatory hugs and kisses.  To his everlasting bewilderment, in the midst of such jubilation and triumph, he thought of his father.

It had been a long time since Blake recalled those youthful, carefree days when his sire reigned supreme in the Brethren.  The great Benedict Elliott’s passing ushered in the heir apparent, and never had Blake taken for granted the responsibility that resided on his shoulders, as the weight of the world.  But it was not until he decided to take a wife that he reflected on the breadth of his duties, as they would forever impact Lenore, which caused her hesitance.  In hindsight, he understood her trepidation, as theirs was an awesome task.

“She is quite charming, that girl of yours.”  Ever the unfailing friend, Mark Douglas chucked Blake’s chin.  “He would be very proud, son.”

“I wish he was here.”  Blake peered at Lenore, as his mother huddled with Lucy and burst into tears.  “And I hope, wherever he is, he approves of my choice.”

“I would wager he does too.”  Then the admiral grinned.  “And I know, wherever he is, Benedict most definitely would approve, as she is a fine lady.”

“Thank you, sir.”  And just as Blake mastered his wayward emotions, Cara and Lance added to the merriment, filling crystal flutes with champagne, one of which Lance thrust into Blake’s grasp.

“Since this seems to be a night of confessions, Cara and I have a revelation of our own.”  Lance glanced left and then right.  “My beloved marchioness is increasing with our second child.”

And once again unabashed merriment erupted, as a wave of euphoria swept over Cara and Lance.

“This has been some evening, and the ball has not yet commenced.”  With a chuckle, Daphne leaned against Dalton.  “So, before we assume our respective positions in the receiving line, as our guests shall arrive shortly, I do not suppose we have any more secrets to report?”

“Well, all right.”  Rolling her eyes, Sabrina heaved a sigh and turned to Everett.  “My shameless lord, I was going to tell you as we welcomed the New Year, but now is as good a time as any.”

“Sabrina?”  With arched brows, Everett opened his mouth and sputtered.  “Are you pregnant?”

Biting her lip, she nodded.  Emitting a clamorous growl, Everett lifted his wife in his arms and twirled her about, as the family moved in yet another concerted effort to offer their best wishes.  Soon infectious laughter echoed, and they strolled into the cavernous ballroom.

At the side entrance, Blake lingered between Lenore and Damian.

“You know, when Trevor boasted that you were in love, I told him to pull my other leg.”  Damian, forever Blake’s partner in nefarious enterprises, shifted and leaned near to whisper, “But you have it bad, old man.”

“Brother, you have no idea.”  To be honest, Blake could not even describe what he felt—and, oh, what he felt.

“And you do not deny it.”  Damian whistled in monotone.  “Given I just returned from my last mission, perhaps you can enlighten me.  How did you meet?”

“In the middle of a muddy road, whereupon I accidentally spattered her with grime, and she rained hellfire and damnation on my head for it.”  To his relief, Lenore was distracted by a local and paid no heed to the conversation.  “I could have married her right there.”

“How romantic.”  Damian elbowed Blake in the ribs.  “But she does not strike me as your usual fare.  Although, do not mistake my meaning, as she is beautiful.”

“I know exactly what you reference.”  Yet he could make no sense of it.  “The only explanation I can extend is the one our shackled Brethren have often bemoaned.”

“And that would be—what?” Damian inquired.

“It happens when you least expect it, and do not even try to escape the noose.”  Blake snorted.  “Because once cupid’s arrow strikes, trust me, you are powerless to resist it.”

“Strange, I always figured you would be the last to wed.”  Frowning, Damian studied Lenore.  “But I wish you merry.”

“In case you did not notice, she has a sister.”  Blake pondered that possibility but quashed it just as fast.

“Bite your tongue.”  With an expression of horror, Damian scoffed.  “She wears spectacles—not at all my tastes.  And she is forever lost in a book.”

“Which means she is ripe for tutoring.”  How Blake looked forward to schooling Lenore in the marriage bed.  “Do you not love a challenge?”

“That is not a challenge.”  Damian paused to welcome a visitor.  “That is an accident waiting to happen.”

“My honored guests, may I have your attention?”  Hicks assumed an air of polite refinement.  “Our esteemed hostess, Mrs. Randolph, would like to begin the evening’s entertainment with a performance on the lute, dedicated to her husband, Sir Dalton Randolph.  And accompanying Mrs. Randolph, we have Miss Lenore Teversham playing the pianoforte for her fiancé, His Grace, the Duke of Rylan.”

In order to gain a better vantage, Blake shuffled to the side, as Lenore searched the throng, he suspected, for him.  When their gazes met, she gifted him another treasured smile, and he responded in kind.

As a gentle lull blanketed the ballroom, Lenore tapped the first notes of a familiar tune, and Blake recognized his personal favorite in an instant.  It was the
Adagio Espressione
, a duet from Jan Ladislav Dussek’s Opus Thirty-eight in E Flat Major.  On a particularly stormy evening aboard the
Tristan
, he had shared that bit of information.  Lenore dipped her chin, signaling it was no coincidence, and he vowed to kiss her silly at some point during the affair.

“Your lady is superb, Blake.”  Sporting a ridiculously maudlin countenance, Dalton adopted a relaxed stance.  “When do you wed?”

“We return to London after the New Year.”  Steely resolve invested his muscles, and he made the decision, then and there.  “And we shall take our vows as soon as I can arrange it.”

CHAPTER TEN

A tempting slip
and slide of sumptuous flesh, in concert with a delicious bump and grind of hips, enticed her to explore the sensuous realm about which she knew little.  Ensconced in a tiny alcove at Courtenay House, hidden from prying eyes during the New Year’s Eve celebration, Lenore speared her fingers in Blake’s hair, pressed her body to his, and moaned, as he twined his tongue with hers.  When he rested his hands to the curve of her derriere, pulled her close, and thrust, she feared she might go up in flames, especially when she noted the firm ridge of his—

“Lenore, you are woolgathering.”  Her Grace snapped her fingers.  “My dear, pray, you must pay attention, as Mr. Hope will be here, soon, and you have yet to make the final selection of swatches.  And then we must visit Amanda, as I have not spoken with her since she gave birth, and I am anxious to see her new son.  Blake tells me Mark is beside himself with joy.”

“I am sorry, Sarah.”  Shaking herself alert, and returning to the present and the duchess’s private apartments at Elliott House, Lenore tucked the precious reminiscence, with which Blake marked the midnight hour, in the recesses of her mind and focused on the task.  “If it is all right with you, I should much prefer to maintain the integrity of the current design and add a few splashes of the lavender damask.”