Mary Blayney - [Pennistan 03] (20 page)

I
BEG YOUR PARDON
, Bendas.” The Duke of Meryon stepped between Bendas and Elena. He forced himself to relax his fist. “The marquis has promised to show Signora Verano the Canaletto he brought from Italy.”

Meryon took Elena’s arm. He had not heard what they discussed but the tension between them was obvious. Bendas had been goading her, pushing her to lose her composure, and he had almost succeeded. His reason for such ungentlemanly behavior remained the larger question.

No matter why, she needed help and while she had not cast him as the hero of this piece, he knew she had a good imagination.

“If you will excuse us.” Meryon bowed from the neck.

Elena held onto his arm as though it would keep her from sinking beneath the floorboards.

“Were The Gossips watching?”

“The Gossips are not on the guest list. The only one who could not look away was the philosopher we spoke with before. And me.”

He felt the tension in her body ease.

“Why did you interrupt us?” she asked with all the gratitude of a mouse denied the cheese in a trap.

“Are you angry at me for helping you?” Really, he could never tell what mood would win out. “You looked upset by the conversation.”

“I was not.”

“Signora, stop trying to irritate me.”

Elena nodded stiffly and he could feel her concentrate on quelling her temper.

“As to why I came to your aid, I have suffered from your mercurial temperament often enough these last few days that I feared Bendas would not survive your wrath.”

His words had the desired effect. She smiled. Perhaps he did know her a little. Elena allowed him to lead her down the hall, following a servant and the marquis.

When they reached the front of the house, a footman opened a door and Straemore bowed them into the room. “Signora, I am sorry that you were embarrassed by a guest in my house. Bendas is leaving. Please excuse me. I will return in ten minutes.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Voluntary or not, Meryon did not doubt that Straemore would see to it that Bendas left immediately.

The marquis left them and closed the door.

Elena did not go to the painting, but faced Meryon,
her eyes filled with suspicion. “How do you know that I love Canaletto?”

“I noticed how you stared at the one in your blue salon. It seemed to calm you.” At the risk of offending her he went on. “I think it may be what you need right now.”

“Yes, thank you.” She dropped her gaze and smoothed her skirts. “I want to be offended that you would presume to know me after so brief an acquaintance, but it happens that you are exactly right. Canaletto is just what I need.” She turned from him then and glanced at the other paintings before walking to the one that was unmistakably by the Italian master.

It was an oil, depicting a view of a harbor with boats docked at the quay and a series of villas overlooking the water. She moved to an angle that caught the candlelight perfectly, and Meryon could almost see her relax.

He tried to judge for himself why Canaletto’s work calmed her. This scene had an urban feel, whereas the one at her home depicted a lake in a rural setting. They both featured water. If she liked rivers, he should invite her to the house at Richmond. The effect of the sky meeting the water always made him pause to appreciate nature’s art.

“Tell me what you see, signora.” He stood next to her, almost touching her shoulder with his, and tried to see through her eyes.

“The way he paints the sky. It’s so familiar. I can lose myself in his clouds or in the small slice of the world he portrays.”

He dutifully looked at the white clouds scattered across the sky and noticed how many different colors of blue the artist had used to great effect.

“Do you see how his paintings are always filled with people? At first you look and you see that this scene is of the river and boats. But if you look closely you will see people everywhere. They are in the riggings, on the shore, even a woman on that balcony in the background.”

She pointed to the tiny figure that seemed to be waving at someone. “I can lose myself in this little world and let it soothe away whatever has upset me. Or it reminds me that each one of these people represents pain and grief that I know nothing about. It cures me of selfishness.”

Meryon attempted to find some solace in the work but it was impossible for a painting to be soothing when Elena was so close.

“That is not all.” As she spoke, Elena moved away from him and began to circle the room, stopping at each painting but giving them no real attention. “With my sensibilities calmed, I can think more clearly about what has upset me.”

“How magical.”

“I think not,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him.

He saw an intimacy in the gesture, the way she turned to make sure he was listening, to make sure he knew this was important. He left Canaletto’s painting and watched her even as she turned back to the wall.

“Everyone has some way to ease upset so they can think more clearly.”

“Yes, you win the point, signora. My brother David loves his boxing ring, and some days I need it too. Or fencing.”

She finished her circuit of the room and put her
hands on the back of the chair in front of her, the full glory of her eyes on him.

“Bendas is right about one thing.” His grudging admission made her smile. “We rarely act for the purest of reasons.”

“Do you mean to say that the action is right and true but the reason can be selfish?”

“I mean one can perform a kindly act for
more
than one reason.”

Understanding lit her eyes. “You rescued me from an upsetting interview and a selfish reason was one of them.”

She did not wait for his answer, but coaxed him with her words and with her smile. “Was it so I would think well of you?”

“Perhaps,” Meryon conceded, using the same teasing tone she had. “And that invites a reason even more selfish, for it would mean that if I stepped closer”—he matched action to words—”there would be no objection.”

He stopped directly in front of her. “I think I could learn to enjoy our, hm”—he paused—”spirited discussions, but I like it even better when we are in agreement.”

E
LENA RAISED HER FACE
to look into his eyes and felt a blush, something she thought was the province of the untried. But his expression left no doubt of his intention.

“I have wanted to do this for longer than I even realized, but since last night it has become an obsession.” He bent to her, very sweetly giving her a moment to step away, to say no, and whispered his own caution. “Though
one could argue that this is the wrong thing for all the wrong reasons.”

Elena stepped closer so that she was enveloped in his aura, the sandalwood and lemon surrounding her as fully as his arms. His face was all she saw before she closed her eyes and his mouth touched hers.

Even his lips felt British, cool and confident with passion hidden somewhere, begging to be freed. Small kisses, more sampling than greedy, each one a little deeper until she was lost in a desire that arrowed to her belly and lower. She pressed her mouth and her body fully to his, not so much desperate as wanting more than a kiss could give. He must have felt the same because he pulled her closer.

The kiss ended but the embrace did not. Meryon pressed his lips against her cheek, her ear, her neck, before holding her head to his shoulder.

It was, or rather he was, the most confusing combination of protective and provocative. Even in this almost innocent embrace she felt him claim her, his hold marking his mastery. It amazed her that she welcomed it. That she wanted him to demand all she had to give.

I
F THE KISS
had sealed their future, the feel of her nestled close roused every protective instinct he had. He needed to know why Bendas had so provoked her.

“Elena, I must ask you something.” He eased back a bit, still holding her lightly. “Bendas. He deliberately baited you.”

The tension returned. Her eyes grew troubled; she stepped back. Meryon persisted.

“Bendas becomes more and more difficult of late, but I have never seen him be so rude to a lady before. Tell me why he chose to confront you.”

“I wish I understood what he wanted.” Elena did not look at him as she spoke and Meryon recognized that she had not answered his question. “What I would like to know is why you rescued me.” She tried to mask her question with the teasing tone he knew, but the strain in her voice showed through.

He took her hand and kissed it.

“Which I will tell you once you have answered my question. You must have some idea why Bendas would single you out like that.”

She pulled her hand from his as he watched her debate her answer. Meryon hoped that she had decided in favor of the truth.

“We, the duke and I,” she said finally, “have a connection that I do not choose to recognize.” She waited a moment. “That is all I will say.”

She is his illegitimate daughter. A
stream of thoughts flitted through Meryon’s head as embarrassment robbed him of speech. When had Bendas gone to Italy? His wife had been Italian and they had gone more than once before the war. Signora Verano was thirty, if not a little older.

Given the years Bendas would have traveled there, Elena could never have been his mistress. That idea disgusted him. Bendas’s illegitimate daughter, he decided. Great God in heaven. He schooled his expression, deciding he would work it out later. “Thank you for your honesty, signora.” He bowed to her.

“You’re welcome.” She inclined her head. “Now tell me why you rescued me.”

“I told you already.”

“No, Your Grace, you told me that you thought I needed rescue, but not why you were the one to offer it.” There was no annoyance in her voice, just that unrelenting curiosity.

“Oh, I see.” Yes, there was a difference. “It must mean something that I grow used to the way you make me think about what I do. No one has ever done it before. Well, my brother-in-law, Michael Garrett, will often give insight, but he rarely questions me.” He had the other night about Meryon’s desire to see Bendas brought to justice.

“Your title intimidates almost everyone, Your Grace. Sometimes, even family.”

“But not you. Apparently deference is a word with which you are not familiar.”

“I learned before I was an adult that there are times when people do things that make no sense, but because of their rank they need make no explanation. A duke like Bendas is no more than a man with responsibilities that often outweigh his ability.”

“What a generous way to speak of Bendas’s failings.” He hated the man for a dozen reasons. Now he had one more.

“I rescued you so that I could claim a reward.” He pulled her into his arms again; this time he did not give her a chance to say no.

He saw surprise before their lips met. He felt surrender the moment he deepened the kiss and he let go of
every complication for the simple truth that they wanted each other.

They both heard the marquis call out to someone as he came for them. They separated quickly and he hoped Straemore did not notice how well kissed she looked.

As the marquis reached the door, Meryon reminded her. “Wednesday. I will see you on Wednesday at five o’clock.”

They spent the rest of the evening in the same room and barely looked at each other but Meryon observed when she moved from one group to the next, when she refused another glass of wine, her delight in the food. The very air currents shifted as she did and he wondered if she felt the same.

Garrett announced that he was leaving with a friend who had offered a ride. “I am too used to country hours to stay up past midnight.”

Meryon walked with him to the door and came back to find that Elena had joined a cluster of guests around a piano that someone played with more spirit than skill.

She held up her hands, refusing to sing without practice. Her appeal had not diminished one iota, but their story had become more complicated. Even as he stood listening to the conversations around him, Meyron’s mind was consumed with one fact: She was of Bendasbrook blood. And one question: What difference would it make?

By design—his—they left at the same moment and stood on the steps waiting for the coaches to come.

“I won at cards and did not have to see my grandfather,” Lord William declared. “All in all, a fine evening.”

If the viscount knew that Elena Verano was related to
him by blood, he gave no sign of it. It could well be that the Signora had come back to England to confront her father, though Meryon could think of no way such an incident would serve her obvious interest in establishing herself in society. The widow of a famous musician, perhaps, but the by-blow of a duke, never.

Lord William was recounting a particularly challenging hand when a horrendous sound ended the story. Down the street, not more than twenty feet away, a carriage lost its wheel. The coachman fell from his seat but the boy riding next to him was able to leap from the height and land on both feet, even as the wheel fell off completely and the street-side corner of the carriage crumpled, crushed into splinters by its own weight. The horses tried to race away, still attached to the traces. The boy was doing his best to control them, grabbing the reins that trailed on the street. Meryon took off, calling out as he ran, “Pull the coachman out of the street! I’ll help Wilson with the horses!”

The chaos of the accident lasted less than a minute. Like everyone else, Elena watched the drama unfold. Everyone but the duke, who reacted with such speed that he was at the carriage before the dust settled. He helped the groom by holding the lead horse’s bridle, unmindful of his clothes or anything but the well-being of his cattle and the boy.

“That’s Meryon’s carriage!” William announced as he began to move down the street to lend a hand.

“Come back inside, signora,” Straemore urged. “It will be a while before the carriages can move past.”

“No, no, I want to help.” But she stayed on the steps,
uncertain as to how she
could
help. Meryon turned the horses over to the grooms who rode at the back of the conveyance, neither of them hurt any more than the boy who stopped the horses.