Silk Is For Seduction (37 page)
“Yes, yes, yes, whatever you say.” He pushed into her, and he seemed to fly up into the heavens. He saw stars, and “Oh,” she said. “Your
grace
.”
“Gervase,” he said.
“Gervase,” she said, and she made it a whisper, and the sound made him shiver. “
Mon amour.
”
Then in French: murmured words of nonsense and love and pleasure while they made slow love, then faster love, until there was nowhere farther to go, and they seemed to leap to a blinding happiness, like flying to the sun. Release came in a cascade of sweetness. Then he was sinking onto her, burying his face in her neck, and murmuring her name.
F
or a time they simply lay together.
Quietly. At peace.
So hard to believe, after so much turmoil. But here he was, in her arms, and there was her heart beating steadily in her chest and filled with happiness.
She held him, relishing his weight and the feel of his silky hair against her skin and the scent of him, while her breathing quieted, and the world came back.
“That was much more fun than self-sacrifice,” he muttered.
She laughed. “Yes,
cheri
, it was.”
He raised himself up to look at her.
“Cheri,”
he repeated. “Why does it sound so delicious when you say it?”
“Because I’m delicious,” she said.
“The delicious Duchess of Clevedon,” he said. “I like the sound of that. I like the feel of her better,” he said. “And the scent of her. And the sound of her voice. And the way she moves. I love her madly. I would like to stay here, and count all the ways I love her, and show her all the ways I love her. But the world calls. Life calls.” He kissed her, so tenderly, on her forehead. “We have to put our clothes on.”
It took only a minute or two, since they hadn’t taken very much off. For her, a slight rearrangement of her undergarments, a few hooks to fasten, a stocking to pull up, a garter to tie. For him, a quick business of pulling up his drawers and trousers, tucking his shirt in, and buttoning a handful of buttons.
He found her black lace fichu, and she tied it.
He collected her hat from the corner it had bounced to. He brushed it off, and attempted to straighten the plumes.
She watched him for a moment, then laughed. “Oh, Clevedon, you’re the dearest man,” she said. “Give me that thing. You’ve no idea what to do with it, but I do love you for trying.”
He stilled briefly. Then he looked down at the hat and back at her. “Isn’t that it?” he said. “Trying? If we try with all our hearts, do you not think we can make a go of this—of us? And then, even if it doesn’t come out quite as we wish, at least we’ll know we tried wholeheartedly. That’s the way you do everything, is it not? With all your heart. And look how far you’ve come and all you’ve achieved. Only think what we can do together.”
“Well, there’s that,” she said, gesturing with her hat at the sofa. “We did that very well. Together.”
He laughed. “Yes. And don’t you think that a man who could do that—after a fight and a night of maudlin drinking—don’t you think he could take on the ton? I may not be much of a duke, but I haven’t given any time to the job. Only think what I might do, once I set my mind to it—with madame la duchesse at my side.” He grinned and added, “And under me or on top of me or behind me as the case may be.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “
Behind
you, your grace?”
“I see that you still have some things to learn,” he said. He straightened his waistcoat.
“I was married very young, for a very short time,” she said. “I’m practically a virgin.”
He laughed again, and the sound was so sweet to her ears. He was happy, and so was she. And so she dared to hope, and dream, as she always did. And she dared to believe, that it would all come out as it ought, somehow, eventually.
He took her into his arms, crushing the hat.
She didn’t care.
“I have a plan,” he said.
“Yes,” she said.
“Let’s get married,” he said.
“Yes,” she said.
“Let’s conquer the world,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. No one in her family had ever been accused of dreaming small.
“Let’s bring the beau monde to its knees.”
“Yes.”
“Let’s make them beg for your creations.”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, yes, yes.”
“Is tomorrow too soon?” he said.
“No,” she said. “We’ve a great deal to do, you and I, conquering the world. We must start at once. We’ve not a minute to lose.”
“I love hearing you say that,” he said.
He kissed her. It lasted a long time.
And they would last, she was sure, a lifetime. On that she’d wager anything.
The dresses were brilliant in the extreme; and it afforded us much gratification to notice that those worn by her Majesty and the Royal Family, as well as many others, were chiefly composed of British manufacture.
The Court Journal
, Saturday 30 May 1835
T
he Duke of Clevedon married Mrs. Charles Noirot at Clevedon House on Saturday the 16th of May. In attendance were her sisters, his aunts, Lord Longford, and Lady Clara Fairfax.
The two latter appeared in defiance of their parents—but Longford had never been noted for filial obedience, and Lady Clara had lately developed an invigorating habit of defying her mother. She’d worn a Noirot creation to the Queen’s Drawing Room the previous Thursday, which caused a most gratifying stir.
When her brother had taxed her with aiding and abetting Clevedon’s lunacy, she said, “He’s still my friend, and I scorn to hold a grudge. I certainly shan’t cut off my nose to spite my face. You know that no one has ever or will ever make me look as well as Mrs. Noirot does. Do stop acting like Mama.”
That last remark brought Longmore around.
The duke’s aunts presented a more formidable challenge. As soon as they received his message regarding his impending nuptials, they hurried to Town and took possession of Clevedon House, determined to bring him to his senses. On Wednesday afternoon, they’d settled down for a bout of tea drinking and bullying their nephew when Halliday ushered in his grace’s prospective wife and in-laws and, as heavy artillery, Lucie. The aunts might have withstood the Noirot charm alone, but charm combined with mouth-watering dresses weakened their defenses, and Lucie, at her winsome best, routed them utterly.
On the Monday following the wedding, the youngest aunt, Lady Adelaide Ludley, visited the queen, with whom she shared a given name and was on warm terms. Her ladyship extolled the new duchess’s deportment and taste. On learning that the queen had admired Lady Clara Fairfax’s dress, Lady Adelaide pointed out that Maison Noirot patronized British tradesmen almost exclusively—a cause dear to Their Majesties’ hearts. She mentioned that the Noirot sisters were founders of the Milliners’ Society for the Education of Indigent Females—another point in their favor.
Lady Adelaide agreed with the queen that the Duchess of Clevedon, in intending to keep up her shop, presented the Court with a social dilemma. On the other hand, said her ladyship, the duchess acted on good moral principle in being unwilling to abandon either her customers or the young women she was training as seamstresses. In any event, as the duke had pointed out to his aunts, one could not expect an artist to give up her art.
In the end, Lady Adelaide received permission to present the new duchess to the queen. She did so at the Drawing Room held in honor of the King’s Birthday, commemorated on the 28th of May. At one point during the festivities, the king summoned Clevedon, and spoke to him privately. His Majesty was heard to laugh.
When Clevedon returned to his wife’s side, she said, “What was that about?”
“The Princess Erroll of Albania,” Clevedon said. “He asked after her.” His smile was conspiratorial. “I think we’ve done it. They’ve decided I’m eccentric and you’re irresistible.”
“Or the other way about,” she said.
“Does it matter?” he said.
“No,” she said. She bent her head, and the sound was soft, but he recognized it. “Duchess,” he said, “are you giggling?”
She looked up, laughter dancing in her dark eyes. “I was only thinking: This has to be the greatest trick any Noirot or DeLucey has ever brought off.”
“And to think,” he said, “this is only the beginning.”
N
ot many days thereafter, in the course of a promenade in St. James’s Park, Miss Lucie Cordelia Noirot allowed the Princess Victoria to admire Susannah. The doll, as would be expected, was dressed for the occasion, in a lilac pelisse and a bonnet of
paille de riz,
trimmed with white ribbons and two white feathers.
After a heroic attempt to be an English major forever, L
ORETTA
C
HASE
stoically accepted her degree but kept on reading and writing. As well as working in academe, she had an enlightening if brief life in retail and a Dickensian six-month experience as a meter maid. In the course of moonlighting as a corporate video scriptwriter, she succumbed to the charm of a producer, who lured her into writing novels . . . and marrying him. The union has resulted in what seems like an awful lot of books and quite a few awards, including the Romance Writers of America’s RITA®. To learn more, please visit www.LorettaChase.com. To get in touch, please e-mail her at [email protected].
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Silk Is For Seduction
Last Night’s Scandal
Don’t Tempt Me
Your Scandalous Ways
Not Quite A Lady
The Last Hellion
Lord of Scoundrels
Captives of the Night
The Lion’s Daughter
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2011 by Loretta Chekani. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition JULY 2011 ISBN: 9780062092366
FIRST EDITION
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