Provocative in Pearls (25 page)

“It was an unexpected appointment. I try to execute my duties well, however.”

“I am sure you execute them admirably. Will you be doing so for a good while? Are you planning to stay in England now?”

“That remains to be seen.” Albrighton smiled pleasantly. The eternal depths of his dark eyes drew one in but, as always, revealed nothing once one became submerged.

“I have had my ears filled with stories about seditious doings in the region. My hostess is sure revolution is at hand. She reported some nonsense about Cleobury buying cannon. I have seen nothing today to warrant such fears.”

“People will talk. Fear is abroad, more than is warranted, as you say. I have become more circumspect in talking to men who may be fomenting discontent, lest my attention only feed the worry. As for Cleobury—well, he was never very smart, was he?”

“It is believed by many in Parliament that the Home Office is instigating trouble rather than calming it. That there are agent provocateurs at work up here, in Home Secretary Lord Sidmouth’s employ. Would you know anything about that?”

Albrighton just looked at him, a vague amusement playing at his mouth and in his eyes. “And here I thought this was a social call. Did the peers send you to investigate these rumors? If so, I cannot help you. I have not met any agent provocateurs, if they really exist.”

“I was sent by no one. I am just curious for my own purposes.” Mostly he was curious why Albrighton was here. Of course, the work for spies would have decreased with the war’s end, much like the demand for iron. With his skills no longer needed, the man would have to go someplace.

Hawkeswell stood and went to look out the window. It overlooked a small garden that gave way to a wilderness area. “Have you been back in England long? It is odd that no one in town knows of it.”

“A year, perhaps. I passed through London quickly, and had no time to call on old friends.”

Hawkeswell did not think he was a friend who would have been called on in any case by Albrighton. He wondered if any man was. “This is a fine property. Part of a legacy, was it?”

“Thank you. I think it is a fine property too.”

Hawkeswell laughed. “You will have your mysteries, won’t you?”

“I think of it as privacy, not mystery.”

“I doubt Cleobury permits much privacy, if you have become friends with him.”

“I would not presume to describe Lord Cleobury as my friend.”

Hawkeswell turned around. “What the hell are you doing here? Not retiring to the sweet country air, I think.”

“Would you have me lie to you, Hawkeswell? Make up a tale that fits your assumptions about me? I will do so if you insist. I would prefer not to. We have known each other too long, and shared some fine times in the past. You and a few others deserve better.”

Yes, they had shared some fine times. Albrighton had sometimes stood with Summerhays, Castleford, and him through good and bad. Not shoulder to shoulder, however. Albrighton was always a little apart, and a lot unknown. Privacy, he called it.

Hawkeswell returned to his chair. “No, do not lie. Tell me how things are in Paris, instead. I am sure that you have been there more recently than I.”

 

 

“
A
re you finished with your calls for the day?” Hawkeswell asked when Verity emerged from Katy’s cottage that afternoon.

“Quite finished.” She settled into the carriage and he climbed in with her. “Where did you go?”

“To see the countryside.”

Verity watched him with a speculative expression. To his surprise, she moved from the seat facing him, and snuggled in by his side. He put his arm around her, so she could get as close as she wanted.

“My cousin will be back in a day or so. Nancy wrote to their housekeeper that they are returning, and of course word has spread,” she said.

“I did not expect him to dally in London once you departed, so I am not surprised.”

“I intend to speak with him about Katy, but he will not hear me. He will deny his lies and promises to me.”

She snuggled closer, then turned clumsily and managed to slide upon his lap. She kissed him aggressively, much as she had in the morning at his command. Since he had not commanded it this time, her forwardness delighted him.

“Are you certain that you want to start this here and now?” he asked, when she finally ended the kiss. Already he could not keep his hands off her.

“Very certain.” Her breathless, warm voice made him harder. Heat burned away vague considerations of restraint.

She kissed him again to prove her certainty. He hardly needed more encouragement, although her bottom moved and flexed just enough on his lap to render concerns of time and place mute.

Fevered now, he set her feet on the floor. She bowed over him, holding the back of his seat to steady herself. He held her head to a savage kiss with one hand while he raised her skirt with the other.

He hitched it high, draping it from her back, and the chemise too. “Hold it up.”

She gathered the fabric in one arm, clutching it to her breast. Below its soft billows she was naked to her garters. She remained bent toward him. Her bottom rose as her back arched, and her spread legs sought balance in the moving carriage.

He thought her unbearably erotic looking, but picturing her from the other side almost undid him. He wanted to turn her and taste her and take her hard while her pretty bottom arched up and her legs spread more and—

Not now. Not here. No time anyway. He raised his head to a kiss and caressed the damp curls of her mound, then stroked deep and long until her first cries spoke her own impatience. He teased ruthlessly, gently stimulating the sensitive flesh until she cried out with each touch.

He lifted her, and settled her on his lap again, facing him on bended legs. He shifted forward and pushed her knees back and entered harder than he intended, so hard that she gasped.

He stopped and waited for her body to accept him, as he often had to do. Finding restraint had never been more difficult than this time. He gritted his teeth while her velvet warmth softened and found comfort around his flesh. Then he cupped her bottom in his hands and guided her movements and let the fire burn out of control.

 

 

S
he rested against him, her head on his chest, not even attempting to move. The dress had draped down some, but her bottom still showed beneath its edge, pretty and white and so feminine in its lovely shape.

He thought she slept. He let her, and kept her in place with an embrace. Eventually, however, they neared Mrs. Geraldson’s house. They could not arrive there like this.

With his slight movement she sat upright and became aware of her extreme dishabille. She backed off his lap and let her chemise and dress fall. They quickly made themselves presentable.

“I suppose that was scandalous,” she said.

“Not nearly as scandalous as what I considered doing.”

She appeared to puzzle that out, trying to imagine just what else he could have possibly done.

“Do not tie your head into knots, Verity. I will show you sometime.”

She nodded, and allowed a minute to pass before speaking again. “I am very distressed by how Katy is living. Such a place can ruin a person’s health. She has to walk all the way to the canal for water too. The parish barely gives her enough to buy food.”

“Her circumstances are unfortunate.”

“I would like to send her to Surrey, to Greenlay Park. Surely there is a cottage there that she could live in, or she could help the cook or housekeeper. I would say we should bring her to London, but she does not know town life and I do not think she would be happy.”

“Surrey is better, I am sure.”

“Thank you. This is very important to me.”

She assumed that his response meant he had agreed already. She appeared very pleased with herself.

“Verity, did you seduce me in order to obtain my permission on this?”

“You implied this morning that kisses and such would help win your agreement on matters of my preference.”

He would have allowed it even without her boldness. After seeing the love expressed in that reunion and hearing that woman call Verity her child, how could he refuse? There had been no need to use feminine wiles on him.

He decided it was not in his interest to tell her that.

“
I
hear that the Thompsons have returned,” Mrs. Geraldson announced two days later. “No doubt you will want to call on them, Colleen. Perhaps you intend to as well, Lady Hawkeswell.”

“We can take the cabriolet and drive over ourselves,” Colleen said. “I have a good hand at the ribbons, and Hermione’s mare is very mild, Verity.”

“My wife was complaining of a headache this morning,” Hawkeswell said. “Nor should you go that far without protection. I will go with you, Colleen. I have some things that I need to do at the works anyway.”

Verity appeared grateful that he had saved her a lie by lying himself. He knew she would not want to see her cousin at all, let alone pay a call with Colleen in tow.

An hour later he took the reins of the cabriolet and, with Colleen by his side, headed to Oldbury.

“You must convince Verity to be more careful with her health,” Colleen said. “She was up very early this morning, walking outside while it was still damp from a heavy dew. She was not even wearing a shawl.”

He had not been aware Verity rose that early. “I do not believe she is frail. I suspect her health would have taken a bigger toll by now if she were. However, visiting here has troubled her mind.”

“It probably only reminds her of how difficult it will always be in society. She will never feel at home there, especially while she still has such ties to Oldbury. It is not for me to advise, but perhaps this should be her last visit. She can always see the Thompsons when they visit London, and they are her only relatives.”

“No, it is not for you to advise.”

Colleen stiffened enough at the scold that he regretted speaking so directly. He took her hand to let her know he was not angry.

She twined her gloved fingers though his. “Forgive me. You are correct. I do forget my place sometimes.”

“Not at all. It is only that the best advice is not always advice that it would be wise to follow.”

He released his hand to have both for the reins, but made sure to smile at Colleen until her careful passivity passed.

Her advice had been well-meaning, and perceptive. This visit was reminding Verity of the differences between their stations. That had been the very first reason she gave for not wanting the marriage, and now here she was, back home, and the degree to which her people wanted nothing to do with him was clear. She anticipated, correctly, that his circles would prove even less open to her than hers were with him.

He left Colleen at the Thompsons, but excused himself from lingering long. Mrs. Thompson expressed disappointment, and hoped he would return soon.

He took the carriage down the hill, and sought out Mr. Travis. Caution was evident as the man greeted him, and perhaps more so when Mr. Travis insisted they go to his home for their conversation.

There was a Mrs. Travis, a small woman with a happy, full face. She brought some ale to the little drawing room, then disappeared.

“I have some questions about the ironworks,” Hawkeswell said. “My wife has great confidence in you, so I decided to ask them of you instead of Mr. Thompson.”

Travis did not permit the slightest reaction to move his rough-hewn face.

“Verity tells me that she and you are the only ones who know Joshua’s secret. Having seen that part of the works, I do not see how that can be.”

“Boring is boring, sir. Lathes are lathes. There is nothing new in that. It is the tool used to bore that matters. Its craft is not visible to the eye, and it is made of steel, not iron, and I work it just so. Those men that you saw use those tips, but they do not make them, and describing their form will do no one any good. I set them on those lathes, and I collect the tips afterward so none go missing.”

“Could Mr. Thompson not just take one?”

“He could, I suppose, if he could get them off my dead body. Then if he does, what is he going to do with it? Take it to another man to copy? That secret gets out and it is the ruin of him, so there is little point in it.”

“It would mean he could get rid of you.”

Travis chuckled. “That it would. There are days he would like to, but those special jobs are the only things keeping the works alive, now that the demand for casting has all but disappeared. He would be wanting to keep things going for a few years at least. There’s big changes coming in the world, Lord Hawkeswell, and there will be a need for iron to make them happen.”

“In the meantime, however, I gather the works are not busy.”

“Let us just say you should not be spending this year like the income will be the same as it was ten years ago. No doubt in my mind that the elder Mr. Thompson would have weathered it well, but this one does not take the care that is needed. Goes down to London a lot, doesn’t he? The industry is up here, not down there. Better he should go to Manchester and Leeds, and dine with other men of trade and industry, not earls.”

Hawkeswell gazed down the lane, at the hamlet of buildings that housed the works. They were smelting today, and billows of smoke floated out the huge chimney on the blast furnace.

“Tell me about the elder Mr. Thompson.”

Travis quaffed some ale. Hawkeswell drank too, to encourage him to loosen his tongue.

“Not an easy man, if you know what I mean. Crusty outside but maybe too soft inside. Like a fine loaf of bread. He had his own mind; that was certain. But no man could work iron like he could. Whether it be at the forge or it be casts, he understood it like it was made of the same substance as he.”