Provocative in Pearls (7 page)

The ground sloped gradually away from the house; then the garden spilled out of the courtyard and spread wide, so one could see vast stretches of late-summer flowers. At the far end, at least five hundred yards away, a shrubbery in turn gave way to a screen of trees that marked a transition to wilder plantings, and to the little lake that Audrianna had mentioned.

“Does it meet with your approval?” Hawkeswell asked.

“It is more formal than I prefer, but a superior example of its type.”

“Then you were probably more pleased by what has been done to Wittonbury’s garden at the family’s town-home.” He caught himself, and smiled wryly. “Except that you have never seen it, have you? You would not have wanted to visit Audrianna there, and risk her husband recognizing you.”

“No, I have never visited her there.” She instinctively paused by a late gladiola and flicked a dead head off one of its tall stalks.

“You were very clever in keeping your secret, I will grant you that. It is a wonder that the ladies rallied around you, rather than feeling deceived.”

“You do not understand the acceptance we all give each other, and the rules by which we live. None of us dwells on the past so it works fairly for all.”

“That house is a damned peculiar place. There are rules, you say now. Like a convent, or an abbey or school?”

“Much like those. Deliberately so. For example, as independent adults, we do not require explanations from each other regarding what we do and where we go. We do not pry into each other’s personal affairs. Also, we all contribute to the house’s finances, as we are able. Audrianna gave music lessons, and Celia has a small income. I work in the greenhouse and garden.”

“More peculiar yet. It would be necessary for everyone to have secrets, I suppose. You would accept the vagueness in the others because you would want them to accept it about you.”

“It is not secrets that allow it to succeed, but mutual sympathies and the good it creates. I do not think anyone there has many secrets, anyway, except me.”

“I suspect you are wrong about that. For example, did it never occur to you that perhaps Mrs. Joyes did not demand an accounting of your life because she did not want to give one of her own?”

She stopped walking and looked at him. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Only that she has a very handsome property for the widow of an army captain, which is the history Summerhays gave me. In not demanding an explanation of your movements and history, she also protected her own privacy.”

“You are insinuating something scandalous, I think.”

“I am musing aloud; that is all. Do not pretend to be shocked. You may not have asked, but you had to have wondered.”

“You are implying, not just musing or wondering. I will not have it. Daphne is like my sister, and all goodness. You just want to think badly of her because you blame her for taking me in.”

“Quite possibly, and that is not fair. My apologies.”

He gave in awfully fast. She doubted he really thought himself in the wrong. He was just appeasing her, so that she would like him more.

They had reached the back of the flower gardens. Shrubs, trees, and wilderness lay ahead. “If you will excuse me, I will return to my chambers now, to rest before we gather for supper.”

“And to write your letter?”

“Perhaps.”

“With whom are you so impatient to correspond? Since you demanded I keep your resurrection a secret while we are here, I am surprised that you intend to inform someone on your own so quickly.”

“I am writing to Katy Bowman. She is the mother of the family whom Bertram threatened. She was my father’s housekeeper for years, and like a mother to me too.”

“It must be she whom you fear grieved for you. I can see how you would want to correct that sad error.”

He prodded at her guilt. She carried quite a bit of it on this point. Since Katy could not read, the letter would have to be read to her. The vicar would do that. Maybe he would also let Katy dictate a response.

Verity hoped so. It would be wonderful if a letter would come that said Nancy had lied, and Bertram had done nothing to Katy’s son Michael, that Michael still plied his skills at the forge the way her father had taught him. She dared not count on that, but she could pray for it.

“I will take my leave, Lord Hawkeswell, and see you this evening.”

She turned to walk back through the garden, but he took her hand and stopped her.

“Not yet, Verity. I will have a kiss first. Several, in fact.”

“Several! It is supposed to be three kisses at three different times, not all three at once.”

“You left that clause out of our contract. How careless of you.”

He gently tugged. She found herself tripping toward a cluster of tall rhododendrons. She really did not want to go behind those shrubs. She tried to dig in her heels, but even his gentle pull proved stronger than her best resistance.

“You are not being fair,” she objected.

“Be glad I demanded only three kisses a day, and not many more. As it happens, I am not claiming any of today’s kisses, let alone all at once. I am claiming the ones you still owe me from yesterday.”

“We did not agree that you could save them up, and catch up on Tuesday if you forgot to use them on Monday.”

“We never said I could not.”

“I am saying it now. Why, if that were the rule, you could go half a week and I would have to suffer twelve or fifteen all in one day.”

“What a pleasant thought. However, it will be easy for you to avoid such a fate. Simply make sure that I am kissed three times before the day is out, and you are safe.”

The devil was in his eyes as he teased her. Only it was the devil that also suggested he was not only teasing.

How had the perfectly sensible agreement to three small kisses led to such a disadvantage? One where it might be wise to kiss
him
instead of him kissing
her
?

“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.”

“That is enough!”

He shook his head, then kissed her again.

The kiss, his closeness, the giddy tickling sensations, all distracted her. She had no idea that kisses could be so long and involved and . . . busy. A series of delightful little changes and movements, to her cheeks and jaw, to her lips again, nips and varying pressure and even his tongue playing devilishly in sensitive, tiny ways. This kiss was very different from the ones she had shared with Michael when she was a girl. Far more dangerous, and she responded differently too.

Her fascination dismayed her even while she dallied more than was wise. Finally, however, she realized she had permitted a kiss that could be considered several if one were strict, and that he would never give her proper credit on the account.

The memory of Michael helped break the spell. There was no understanding between her and Michael. He might not even be alive now, and even if he was, he knew nothing of her plans. And yet . . . She lifted Hawkeswell’s hands from her and took a very long stride backward.

“I think that was more than three in total. You have used up some of tomorrow’s.”

“At most I have used up half of one of today’s.”

“It was too long.”

“It is for you to decide that, not me. If you do not choose to end the kiss, do not expect me to do it for you.”

Flushing badly, she turned and strode away. She would have to remember to end things very quickly in the future. She had been surprised today; that was all.

These kisses were different from what she thought of kisses being when she agreed to this part of their bargain. Now that she knew his intentions, she would be on her guard.

T
he early-evening light bathed the placid lake with golden sparkles. It broke through the branches and leaves of the tree under which they all sat, creating dappled, moving patterns on the linens and plates and the ladies’ hair.

Hawkeswell found himself looking at Verity too often, even though he pretended not to. Those kisses this afternoon had been very sweet, and her reactions had charmed him.

If she were not his wife, he might feel a little guilty for taking advantage of her. Since she belonged to him, he did not have to question the rightness of it, and could enjoy his surprise in the discovery that she was about as ignorant of kisses as was possible.

Which meant that she had not been kissed much before, or at all, in the recent past. That did not totally eliminate the possibility that she had run away with the hope and intention of being with another man. She still might have been in love with someone else. She still might be, and might have proposed this annulment nonsense for that reason.

He noted her poise, and the careful perfection of her manners. There was something of the recent graduate of the school of etiquette in the way she handled herself at this table. She paused before speaking to himself or Sebastian, as if she carefully edited what she planned to say to make sure it sounded like a lady’s speech.

“I am glad that you like your chambers,” Audrianna said to Verity. “That is one of my favorite rooms in the house. The colors and good light remind me of a spring garden.”

“There is a fine tree outside the window,” Hawkeswell said. “I think she wants to climb it. A four-minute tree, she called it. That sounds like an expert to me.”

“Then you must leave your window open someday, and climb in,” Audrianna said.

“Did she never climb trees in Cumberworth?”

“I never saw it. However, we have a tall apple tree at the back of the property, and the fruit at the top did not go to waste.”

“You must have had an active childhood, Lady Hawkeswell,” Lord Sebastian said.

A stillness touched both women upon hearing the address. Audrianna glanced at her husband. Sebastian pretended not to see. Hawkeswell was glad for the small evidence that he might have an ally after all.

“I lived with my father in his house near his mill, and played in the fields beyond. He did not notice that I was growing up for many years, so I enjoyed a childhood longer than some other girls.”

“And when he did realize it?” Sebastian asked.

“He did what any father with a motherless girl would do. He brought in a governess.” She made a little face of distaste, and appeared like that girl for a moment.

“And the drills began, no doubt,” Hawkeswell said.

“In triple force, to make up for lost time,” Verity admitted. “She took her charge very seriously to educate me. She lectured daily on how the better world behaves and the social consequences of sin.”

“I could have saved your father a lot of money,” Audrianna said. “There are books to be bought for less than a shilling that explain all that. You remember those books, don’t you, Sebastian? The ones your mother gave to me?”

Sebastian looked to heaven with resignation, hoping for deliverance from reminders of his mother’s insults. Audrianna laughed. Verity did too, finally, for the first time in three days.

Her eyes sparkled. A little dimple formed on one cheek. It was a very feminine laugh, but not silly and high-pitched. Soft, and a pretty sound.

“Anyway,” she said, relaxing into her story, “I was not the best student. I confess that I gave her a bit of trouble at times. If I found the lessons too horrible, I would sneak off to Katy’s house where I could still be a child again for an hour or so.”

“You may have hated the lessons, but you learned them well,” Audrianna said. “Even Celia assumed that you were born a lady, and she is not easily fooled.”

“I suspect that she was not fooled by me at all,” Verity said. “She noticed, I believe, that I was reciting school lessons, and not speaking the beliefs and knowledge of my own world.”

Hawkeswell did not miss how Verity slipped that in. Once again, she was reminding him that they “did not suit each other,” as she put it. It caused him to wonder if she feared always being thought the unsuitable wife, by society and himself.

That would be unpleasant for her. Even now, sitting with Sebastian and himself, it must be trying to rehearse every word and action before speaking or moving.

“Have you written your letter to Katy?” he asked. “She was Mr. Thompson’s housekeeper for many years,” he explained to Sebastian and Audrianna.

“It is almost finished. I would like it posted tomorrow, Audrianna.”

“Certainly. Is there anyone else to whom you should write?”

Verity pondered that. “Mr. Travis, to be sure. There are things I would like to know, that I have worried about, and he would answer my questions honestly. I should wait, however, until I know exactly what my situation is.”