Provocative in Pearls

Table of Contents

 

 

 

“Simply make sure that I am kissed three times before the day is out, and you are safe.”

The devil was in Hawkeswell’s eyes as he teased Verity. Only it was the devil that also suggested he was not only teasing.

“Three, then,” she agreed. “So we catch up.” She quickly stepped toward him, rose on her toes, and planted a quick kiss on his lips. She tried to peck him again, but he angled back, out of reach.

“That is one,” he said. “Two to go.”

He appeared to be having a fine joke at her expense. She held herself straight and tall and prepared for the other two.

To her shock, he took her face in his hands. The hold was gentle enough, but very intimate. The sensation of his warm palms against her cheeks startled her. “We did not agree that you could touch me like this. You are just supposed to—”

“Hush,” he muttered, his lips hovering near hers, but not exactly kissing her. “When I kiss a woman, I do it properly.”

Properly meant he watched while his thumb caressed her lips in a manner that made them sensitive and tingling. It meant nipping her lip, creating a jolt to her body much like an arrow of sensation spiraling downward. It meant a stunning closeness that made her too alert and too aware of him. When his lips finally touched hers, her breath caught.

She did not step back at once. Being held like this, she was not sure she even could. But the kiss provoked something inside her that caused her to forget momentarily that she wanted to get away.

Still cradling her face in his hands, he looked down at her, those blue eyes watching, watching, and darkly pleased with whatever he saw. “That is two.”

 

RAVISHING IN RED
PROVOCATIVE IN PEARLS

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PROVOCATIVE IN PEARLS

 

A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

 

PRINTING HISTORY
Jove mass-market edition / March 2010

Copyright © 2010 by Madeline Hunter.

 

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A
good friend lets one spill bile, even if he finds it boring. So it was that Grayson, Earl of Hawkeswell, took advantage of Sebastian Summerhays’s friendship while they were both trapped in Summerhays’s carriage this bright August morning.

“I curse the day my cousin introduced me to the bastard.” He heard his voice snarl with anger. He had sworn to himself,
sworn
, that he would not do this, but here he was fuming like a chimney at the idiocy of life and pouring woe into Summerhays’s ear.

“Thompson was not at all willing to cooperate?” Summerhays asked.

“Hell, no. But, her trustee has agreed to join me in pressing for a new inquest, and with the help of Providence and the courts, I will be free of this complicated disaster by year’s end.”

“It makes no sense to interfere with the inquest. The man is not rational if he tries that.”

“He wants the connection. Or rather, his wife does. She is mining it for all it is worth while she can, hoping the new ties hold once the connection itself is severed. He is also comfortable with the way things stand. He has control of that company, which is what he wanted. If we end this impasse, he risks losing that.”

“It is good for you to be going down to the country, then. You can use some peace.”

Summerhays smiled like the good, understanding friend that he was. There was something of the physician’s sympathy in his expression, as if he worried for the health of the man he placated.

Hawkeswell saw his umbrage the way Summerhays must, and his anger turned to bitter amusement. “I am a comical figure, am I not? Such are the punishments for selling oneself in marriage for some silver, I suppose.”

“Such matches are made all the time. You are the victim of an odd circumstance; that is all.”

“Let us hope the circumstances change soon. I am in dun territory up to my eyebrows and have sold what I can. It will be porridge this winter, I think.”

The talk turned to other things, but part of Hawkeswell’s mind remained fixed on the marital conundrum that had plagued him for two years. Verity had drowned in the Thames, but her body had never been found. How she got there on her wedding day, why she left his estate at all, remained a mystery. There were those who wanted to blame him.

His old reputation for a bad temper fed that speculation, but any fool could see it was not in his interest for Verity to disappear that day. An unconsummated marriage was an ambiguous marriage, as her trustee had so clearly explained when he refused to hand over her income from her trust. The Church would have to decide if there had been a marriage at all if she were ever declared dead. In the meantime . . .

In the meantime, her husband, or maybe not her husband, could wait. He could not remarry while she officially was still alive. The money that led him to the altar was out of reach, however. He was in limbo.

That powerlessness goaded him. He resented being a pawn of fate. Worse, this could go on for years.

“I appreciate your company, Summerhays. You are too good to tell me I am tedious. It was generous of you to suggest I accompany you out of town before taking to horse for Surrey.”

“You are not tedious. You are on the horns of a dilemma and I regret that I have no solution. Since you will not allow me to lend—”

“I do not want one more debt, least of all to a friend. I have no expectations of being able to repay what is gone already.”

“Of course. However, if it does come down to porridge, perhaps you will accept my offer for the sake of your cousin and aunt.”

“I cannot accept.” Except he could, of course. If it got that bad, he probably would. It was one thing to suffer this himself, but even worse to watch it affect those for whom he was responsible. He carried considerable guilt already, not only for his aunt and cousin, but also for the good people who lived on his entailed lands and who deserved more care and generosity than he could afford.

“Did you tell your wife that you were coming down a day early?” he asked. Summerhays had married in the spring, and his wife visited her friends in Middlesex with some frequency. Her stays this summer were often extended, to avoid the heat in town.

“I cleared my affairs so late yesterday that there was no point. I will surprise her. Audrianna will not mind.”

Hawkeswell admired the security with which his friend said that. Generally women did mind when husbands interfered with their plans. If Summerhays were another kind of man, and his wife another kind of woman, showing up unexpectedly, a day early, at a house party in the country could lead to some awkward explanations.

The coach rolled down the main lane of the village of Cumberworth, with his black gelding trotting along on its tether. He would have to visit his aunt once he reached Surrey, he supposed, and tell her that he would soon have to let her town house go. It would not be a pleasant meeting.

Even worse would be the consultations with his steward, who would again advise enclosures of the common ground on the estate. Hawkeswell had long resisted following the modern practices on that. He had sought to avoid the hardships that enclosures would bring to the families whose lives depended on that land.

People who had not seen the roofs over their heads maintained properly by their landlord should not now be deprived yet again, and in worse ways. His finances had become dire, however, and unless they improved soon, everyone would suffer anyway.

The coach took a turn outside the town. A half mile along, it carefully made another turn onto a private lane. A sign marked the property: THE RAREST BLOOMS.

The coachman stopped where the trees fell away in front of a pleasant stone house surrounded by a handsome perennial garden of free, rustic design. Summerhays opened the coach door. “You must come and meet the ladies. Audrianna will want to see you.”

“I will take my horse and be off. It is you she will be happy to see.”

“The horse needs to rest. I insist you come with me. Mrs. Joyes will give you some refreshment before you begin your ride, and you can see the back garden. It is among the finest in Middlesex.”

Since the duties waiting in Surrey did not encourage haste, Hawkeswell fell into step beside his friend and they walked to the door. A thin woman opened it and curtsied when she saw Summerhays.

“Lady Sebastian was not expecting you today, sir. She is not packed, and is in the garden.”

“That is fine, Hill. I will not mind waiting. I can find my own way to the garden, if you have other duties.”

Hill curtsied again, but walked with them through the house. They passed a sitting room and a cozy, small library, crowded with stuffed chairs. Hill left them when they entered another, more informal sitting room in the back.

“Come with me,” Summerhays said. He guided the way down a corridor that gave into a large greenhouse. “Mrs. Joyes and the ladies have a business here, called The Rarest Blooms. You have seen their artistry at my wedding, and at many parties last season. This is where they work their magic.”

The greenhouse was impressive, and large. Citrus trees and ferns, plants and vines, filled it with greenery and scents. High windows had been opened and a cross breeze fluttered leaves and petals.