Surrender the Stars (39 page)

Lindsay's mind reeled. Had her mother forgotten how it felt to be in love, really in love, for the first time? She expected Ryan to be furious about Devon's dictatorial attitude, but he leaned back quietly in his chair. Finally, he rubbed long fingers over his eyes and murmured, "Will you at least allow us to go on talking?"

Devon stood up. "I am going to Mouette's to help her prepare for the rout she and Harry are giving this Saturday night. You two may engage in conversation, but keep the door closed and your hands to yourselves!"

With that, she swept out of the morning room, firmly closing the door behind her. Lindsay gazed at Ryan, her mouth trembling a bit as tears gathered in her eyes. After a moment, he held open his arms and she rushed into them.

"It's impossible not to hold you," he whispered, caressing her silky curls. "We simply must be very certain that we are completely alone...."

"Mama is acting like a stranger!" Lindsay exclaimed thickly. "One would think she had never experienced love herself, when just the opposite is true! She and Papa were not even married when Mouette was born! How dare she pass judgment on us—"

"Only because we are putting others in danger, angel. It's a tricky situation, and I am more determined than ever to resolve it as soon as possible."

"I wish that we could simply put that entire mess out of our lives for several days. I long to walk down Park Lane and Piccadilly with you, proudly showing my feelings. I want to ride with you in Hyde Park without thinking that I cannot smile at you with real affection or even put my hand out to touch yours...."

"Is that all you want?" Ryan's voice was husky and appealing. He held her on his lap with both hands around her bottom.

She ran her fingers through his crisp hair, stared into his eyes, then brushed his lips with her own. "You know it's not. Oh, Ryan, will we ever be free of this coil?"

Shifting in his chair as arousal intruded, he made a sound that mingled laughter with a moan. "Get up; I can't stand it!" He set her on her feet and held her away from him. "To answer your question: Yes, of course we'll free ourselves, but first there's work to be done. We have to discover—"

A knock sounded at the door. Ryan stepped behind the chair to make certain that the evidence of his longing for Lindsay was hidden, then called, "Come in!"

Arabella Butter appeared, wiping pale hands on her apron. "Mama isn't feeling well, and Harvey has offered to help us take her to the physician's. It's very sudden, a terrible pain in her belly!" Her brow was knit with fear.

"Hurry, then, Arabella!" Lindsay exclaimed. "You should not have even bothered to tell us!"

"Well, I've already roasted the chestnuts for chestnut soup and have started them stewing in veal broth, ma'am. If I leave, there'll be no soup for dinner tonight!"

"Nonsense!" Lindsay assured her. "I'll finish it. Is there a recipe?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Arabella's plain face wore an expression of utter relief. "If you can read Mama's handwriting, it's on the worktable in the kitchen."

"Then, go!" She watched her spin away, then glanced at Ryan. "Well? What are you looking at? Come and help me make chestnut soup!"

He followed obediently, but when Arabella was safely down the stairs, he grabbed Lindsay around the waist just as they passed under the doorway. "I never realized that you could be so dictatorial." He chuckled.

Lindsay leaned back against his hard body for one indulgent moment. "I promise to consult you in the future... unless, as in this case, there is only one possible solution!" Turning her head, she gave him a brief kiss, then struggled free and started down the stairs.

"I see," Ryan responded ironically, "and who decides what is or is not a situation with only one possible solution?"

"Don't be so silly." Barely sparing him a backward glance, Lindsay entered the kitchen and looked around for the recipe. Absently, she added, "Such things are obvious."

"To you, no doubt," he muttered dryly under his breath.

"I beg your pardon?" Lindsay slipped a starched white apron over her muslin round gown and turned so that Ryan might tie it for her. "Did you say something?"

The corners of his mouth twitched before he lifted her hair and kissed the nape of her neck. "I forget."

"We are not completely alone, you know. Cassie and Able are somewhere about—"

"They went to Covent Garden."

"Oh. Well, there are housemaids cleaning the bedrooms."

"Believe me, I'm aware of that. Do you imagine that we would be in the kitchen otherwise?"

Her cheeks flamed as she disengaged herself from his tantalizing embrace. "I hope that you don't imagine, since our—our... interlude at Grimley Court, that I would continue to behave in that... manner."

Lazily, he lifted one black eyebrow and perched on the edge of the table. "Of course not. I thought that next time we might try a proper bed."

"Ryan Coleraine!" Lindsay gasped in outrage. "You talk as if you think I could be some sort of—"

"Wife?" He caught her wrists with long, tanned fingers and pulled her struggling body back against his own. "Does it shock you to contemplate the joys of our marriage bed?"

She grew still, but her face burned and her heart pounded so hard that she was certain he must be able to hear it. Their eyes were inches apart as she whispered, "I—I didn't know you meant—"

"To marry you? Good God, did I forget to ask?" He put on an expression of boyish contrition. "I've assumed too much, hmm? Well, I can only hope it's not too late to make amends."

Lindsay stared as he gracefully dropped down onto one knee. "Miss Raveneau, would you do me the honor of consenting to become my wife?"

She pulled at his hands. "Do get up before someone sees you!"

"Not until you give me an answer. Should I elaborate? Very well, then. I love you better than my life, and I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my days as your husband." His mouth scorched the tender insides of her wrists. "For better, for worse, to have and to hold..." While murmuring this last phrase, Ryan looked up at her from under his thick black lashes and flicked one eyebrow up suggestively.

Lindsay was dizzy with love and longing. "You must get up," she murmured weakly. "This is very silly!"

"Silly?" he feigned devastation. "My dear Miss Raveneau, I am completely in earnest! You have dealt a crushing blow to my ego, from which I may never recover...."

Unable to help herself, Lindsay laughed softly and ran her hand over his ruffled hair. "Of course I'll marry you, if you'll have a brat like me.
Now
will you get up?"

Ryan kissed his way up her slim arms, rising slowly from his half-kneeling position. He laid his cheek against the bodice of her gown and sighed softly. The sensation of his warm breath through the muslin fabric caused Lindsay's nipples to tauten. Ryan said nothing but smiled as he kissed each one in turn, then moved upward to her bare throat. Her back bent, her body supple and yielding under his hands, her arms wound about his neck and then Lindsay was lying back over the bleached worktable.

Sheer passion won out for a long minute as he kissed her, savoring each sweet inch of the inside of her mouth. Lindsay's breasts pressed upward against his chest and Ryan yearned to unfasten her gown. Her buttocks met the edge of the high worktable and he was standing between her legs, feeling her soft warmth against his aching hardness. If only he could undress her and...

"Ryan, we mustn't." She moaned against his open mouth.

He nearly laughed when he felt Lindsay's hips arch upward in contradiction to her words. "I know, angel." After one more sensual, lingering kiss, he drew back, smiling. "But soon, hmm?"

"On the kitchen table?"

"When we're married? Oh, absolutely. You won't be able to peel a potato in peace, my darling. Or answer a letter"—Ryan's lips gazing hers—"or bathe, or read a book, or ride in the park—"

She widened her eyes in mock horror. "You would come between me and my horse—in Hyde Park?"

"I would consider it!" Helping her up, Ryan pressed one last kiss to her throat, then watched, smiling, as she skittered away and began to read Mrs. Butter's recipe aloud.

"Let's see. Arabella said that the chestnuts are already stewing in veal broth. "Using a towel, she lifted the lid on a pot and sniffed. "Hmm! Well, now we need to take a piece of bacon, a pound of veal, a pigeon beaten to pieces—"

"Who's going to beat the poor bird?"

"We'll take turns." A dimple winked next to her mouth. "It says here that we also need an onion, a bundle of sweet herbs, a piece of carrot, and a little pepper and mace. We lay the bacon in the bottom of a stew pan, then put the meat and other ingredients over it and set it over a slow fire."

Ryan rolled up his sleeves, tied a towel around his lean hips, and they carried out the instructions together.

"I suppose that you are hoping that Harry will do something suspicious at the rout he and Mouette are giving tomorrow night," Lindsay remarked as she peeled the skin from an onion.

"Well, certainly. I abhor the idea of telling our suspicions to your father until I have some sort of proof to offer." He looked for a sharp knife to cut up the carrots. "Of all the people in England to suspect, why did it have to be Harry? A member of your own family! It seems to me that I have to be damned certain before I point a finger at him! As it is, your father is pressing me for information."

"With any luck, Harry will say something to Lord Chadwick at the rout. Perhaps they'll go off together and we can follow them."

"We?"

"Ryan, you're cutting that carrot into awfully big pieces!"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Forget the carrot. And forget any notions you have of coming with me if I have to follow Harry. If you want to help, you can start by having a talk with Mouette." As he spoke, he sliced each carrot chunk in half. "Why not visit her tomorrow to help with last-minute details before the rout? It seems to me that you two are long overdue for a sisterly conversation. See if you can't persuade her to confide in you about her marriage—and any unusual behavior she's noticed on Harry's part."

Lindsay nipped a piece of carrot and chewed thoughtfully. "That's a good idea. I'll send a note over as soon as one of the footmen turns up." She paused then. "Why do you suppose Harry is doing this? What has he to gain?"

"Money, for one thing."

"But wouldn't he have to pay for the information he gives Lord Chadwick?"

"I've been pondering that one and I half suspect that this may all be a sham on his part. He may be fabricating secrets, telling the Tories that he is privy to information via his father-in-law."

"But that's awful! Why would Harry do something so immoral and dangerous? What need does he have for that sort of money?"

Ryan shrugged and sprinkled a handful of herbs over the veal and vegetables. "I have an idea that Harry has taken to gambling. And I also suspect that he is unsure of himself underneath that facade of blustering good looks. Added wealth, plus the promise of power among the Tories, must bolster his confidence."

"I think you may have overdone the herbs," Lindsay murmured, staring into the pan.

"You told me to put in a handful!"

"I don't think the author of this recipe counted on a cook with such
large
hands...."

"If I'd known you were going to be so critical, I'd have left it all to you! As I recall, you
begged
for my assistance and expertise." Ryan's fingers slid around her tiny waist, drawing her hip against his, while his mouth grazed her temple.

Lindsay was about to take issue with his memory but laughed instead. "You're—"

His lips interrupted her, slanting across hers as he gathered her body full-length against his own. Finally, when she was breathless and weak, Ryan raised his head and gave her a smile that was provocative and boyish all at once. "I'm what? Wonderful? Irresistible?" He kissed her again. "Wonderfully irresistible?"

"Mmmph!" was all Lindsay could say as her retorts were smothered under Ryan's persuasive mouth.

Long, indulgent minutes passed before either of them heard the sound of shoes tapping across the kitchen. Finally, Lindsay opened one gray eye and saw Cassie and Able standing in the doorway to the stillroom, which opened onto the garden. Ryan seemed to sense their presence at the same moment. Gently, he set her away from him, then faced the Barkers with what he hoped was a repentant expression.

"What can I say? I lost my head." Ryan looked over at the blushing Lindsay. "Can you forgive me, Miss Raveneau? I give you my word that I will never force my attentions on you again."

"Of course." She appealed to Cassie and Able. "Please, don't tell Mama and Papa about this! It would only upset them, and it was probably as much my fault as Ryan's—"

Cassie sniffed shrewdly. "I'm not getting involved, so you can save your stories for someone more gullible. You're adults and ought to be able to work out this muddle without any interference from the likes of us!" Passing them, she added, "At least I
hope
you can! Come along, Able."

When they had exited through the dining room, Lindsay pressed both hands to her mouth to stifle a sudden fit of laughter. Swaying against Ryan's wide chest, she felt his hand come up to cradle her face and smooth back loose burnished curls.

"Cassie's right," she whispered at last. "This is a muddle!"

"And we don't seem to be very adept at circumspection, do we," he replied ironically. "All the more reason to clear up the confusion about Harry..."

Lindsay nodded weakly. "Let's finish this impossible soup, then I'll write a note to Mouette."

Longing to kiss her again, Ryan stepped backwards instead. "Right. Of course. Where were we?"

"You just added a bushel of herbs, darling."

"You mean a pinch."

"Look, there's no time for your mutinous arguments. Just do as I tell you!" Lindsay's dimples teased him again as she surveyed the recipe. "Oh, good. It's time to 'beat the pigeon to pieces!'"

Biting his lip to keep from laughing, Ryan picked up the small, plucked bird and began to joint it. "What have I gotten myself into?"