The Perks of Being a Beauty (6 page)

“Why ever are you hiding in here?” Amelia demanded of the girl. “This is your own party, you should be enjoying your friends and flirting with gentlemen!”

If Amelia had been given the chance to throw her very own house party at Harriet’s age, she’d have expired from excitement. Not so, Harriet.

“The rain is ruining my party,” Harriet said glumly. “I heard Miss Charlotte Hume say so to Miss Fotheringham. And her painting is ruined. She said that Papa had enough money to control the weather if he wished and that the fact that he did not do so today only shows that he doesn’t really care about my party.”

Amelia stopped just short of rolling her eyes at the girl’s foolishness. It was cruel of Miss Hume to say such a thing, of course, but it was hardly something to be taken seriously. She had hoped that Harriet was smarter than that.

“Dear Harriet,” she said, not letting her disappointment shine through, “you know that Miss Charlotte Hume says things like that only in an effort to appear witty. And unfortunately they only make her sound the veriest flibbertigibbet. I cannot recall when I’ve heard a sillier sentiment. Unless of course you count the time that Winnie Gregson declared the stars to be God’s daisy chain.”

Taking a seat next to Harriet, she continued, “You are much too sensible to believe such silliness, are you not? I think that what you need is to simply divert your guests’ attention away from the weather for a bit. If they are too busy enjoying themselves they won’t give a fiddlestick about whether it’s raining or not.”

“But all of the entertainments we had planned were for outdoors,” Harriet said, puffing out her lower lip in an unconscious impersonation of a thwarted baby. “We can hardly hold an archery contest indoors.”

“No,” Amelia said with a patience that she’d never have been able to pretend to even six months ago. “But we have the entire house in which to play. Think about the sort of things you used to do as a child on rainy days. What about Hide the Slipper, or Sardines, or Blind Man’s Bluff?”

Harriet’s lip receded a bit.

“W-won’t they think that those games are silly?” she asked in a small voice. “After all, we are all grown ladies and gentlemen. We have much more important things to do than play children’s games.”

Amelia forbore from informing her charge that simply gaining one’s majority did not bequeath one with an automatic seriousness of mind.

“Of course they won’t think them silly,” she told the younger girl. “In fact, I suspect that some of the gentlemen at the very least will enjoy proving that they can still win at the games they played as boys.”

Harriet’s lip receded a bit more.

“I suppose they might consider it to be amusing for a little while,” she admitted. “And children’s games can offer many opportunities for flirtation. Why, Blind Man’s Bluff could be positively scandalous if one were to play it with a truly nefarious purpose.”

“Does that mean you’ll try some children’s games?” Amelia asked, with a smile. She really did feel for the other girl. Though Harriet had been blessed with every bit of the fortune that Amelia herself had lacked, she had been deprived of the self-possession that might have made her into a truly formidable player on the marriage mart. And because of that, Amelia felt a certain degree of protectiveness for the girl. “I promise you that we will have fun, no matter what happens.”

Harriet gave a quick nod. “I’ll do it. But we should put the choice of games up to a vote so that the others get a chance to have a say. I don’t want them to be forced to play something that they wouldn’t feel comfortable with.”

Amelia didn’t argue, though she rather thought that Harriet’s tendency toward giving others their say negated a great deal of the power that she might wield over them. But as it was one of the things about the girl that made Amelia love her, she didn’t argue.

Twenty minutes later, the young people were all gathered in the drawing room and to Amelia’s surprise, Harriet had taken on the mantle of leader with some degree of finesse.

“So,” she said to the assembled group, “we have four votes for Blind Man’s Bluff, three votes for Hide the Slipper, and five votes for Sardines. Sardines it is!”

Amelia exchanged a rueful grin with Quentin. Though they were not the eldest of the group, there was something about their dynamic among the other attendees that made Amelia feel as if they were the chaperones for this party. And since Mr. and Mrs. Smithson had left the group to their own devices, they were, in a sense, the de facto chaperones. Certainly no one would consider the elder Miss Hume, who was as near an example of a featherwit as Amelia had ever seen, or Mr. Wallace, whose idea of scintillating conversation consisted of him saying “what ho” and “crikey” over and over again, to be the grown-ups at the party.

A slight cheer went up as Harriet announced that they’d be playing Sardines. Amelia was not looking forward to being pressed up against the other members of the party for an interminable amount of time. It simply was not her idea of a good time. But she was doing this for Harriet. So, when Miss Fotheringham was chosen to be “it” and the rest of the guests began to wander around the house, searching for her hiding place, Amelia had every intention of finding the other girl.

She was walking past the doors to the terrace, when a large hand reached out and grabbed her arm. She was about to emit a startled scream when a hand clamped over her mouth. Terrified, she found herself staring into Quentin’s amused eyes.

“Shh,” he warned. “Don’t be afraid,” he said as he pulled her into the drawing room and hurried her across the room and out the doors leading to the terrace.

“What are you doing?” she demanded in a hiss, though she did continue to follow him. “We are supposed to be searching for Miss Fotheringham.”

“I know that,” he hissed back, pulling her along after him into the rain-damp gardens toward a pretty little greenhouse to the side of the house. “But do you really wish to cram yourself into a ridiculously small space with every other person in the house excepting the servants and our hosts? Because I most certainly do not.”

When he put the matter into words, Amelia found herself to be in serious agreement. It was hardly her dearest wish to be in tight quarters with Mr. Wallace. Or any of the other party guests. With a single exception. Though she was not yet ready to admit that to herself.

“I think we can wait in here,” he said, opening the glassed door to the surprisingly humid greenhouse. Though darkness hadn’t fallen, the overcast skies and intermittent rain made the little enclosure more shadowy than it would have been on a sunny day. “For a while at any rate. Until the others have wandered around a bit and found Miss Fotheringham.”

“I’ve never been in here, though I did suspect that it would be fabulous,” Amelia said, following him farther into the rows of lemon trees and shelves of blooms. “Mrs. Smithson takes her gardening quite seriously.”

“I found it last night when I was wandering,” Quentin said, stopping before a wicker settee and indicating that Amelia should have a seat.

“Wandering?” she asked, her eyes adjusting to the dim lighting in the room. “If you were a different person I’d suspect you of snooping.”

He laughed, the sound sending a little thrill down her spine. She’d missed Quentin so much these past several years. She’d not realized how much until yesterday when she’d seen him again. Now, here, close enough to see the shadow of his beard growing in, and the tiny moon-shaped scar on his upper lip where he’d cut himself on a branch years ago, she was overwhelmed with nostalgia for the friendship they’d shared. And for the friendship they’d lost in the time since they’d last said their good-byes.

“I wasn’t snooping,” he said, in answer to her question. He flipped out the tails of his coat and took a seat in a chair near her settee. “I was unable to sleep. And when that happens, I sometimes find that the only cure is to work out my energy in the most expedient way possible.”

Something in his eyes told her that walking around strange houses was not how he usually worked out his excess energy.

“And since this is an unfamiliar house, I thought to acquaint myself with it. To wander about the gardens and the estate.”

“In some houses, you’d find yourself at the wrong end of a sword,” Amelia said with worry. “Or worse, a pistol.”

He smiled ruefully. “That is true. Which is why I try to tell my hosts about the habit before I agree to stay with them.”

“What is it that keeps you from being able to sleep?” Amelia asked.

“Last night,” he said matter-of-factly, “it was you.”

Her mouth fell open a bit. “W-why … me? Why on earth should I keep you from your rest?”

But she knew the answer before he even spoke the words. “You must know that I desire you, Amelia,” he said baldly. “You cannot have been in London for so long and remain entirely ignorant of male interest.”

Unable to remain seated in the face of his intense scrutiny, Amelia stood and paced a little in the space behind the settee. If only he weren’t so handsome. He’d been good looking when she’d known him before, of course, but now that he’d grown into his height and filled out in the shoulders, he was an imposing figure. His dark hair, which she knew for herself was soft to the touch, was cut in a fashionable windswept style, with a single dark curl falling over onto his forehead.

But it was his eyes that cut straight through to her heart. Icy blue and intent, they let her know in no uncertain terms that what he said was true. He looked at her with the light of desire in his eyes, and no amount of denial on her part would change the matter. Though if she were truly honest with herself, she wasn’t sure she wished to any more.

Holding her head high, she met his gaze. “Of course I am not ignorant on the subject,” she said curtly. “I am still innocent, of course, but I had to fight off the advances of more than one overeager suitor when I was in London.”

She took a deep breath. “I simply hadn’t thought of you in those terms, that’s all.”

His lips twisted with wry amusement. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or complimented.”

“I don’t mean either,” she said quickly. “It’s just that I think of you, still, as the boy I left behind in Cornwall.”

“Then you don’t remember those kisses we shared?” he asked softly.

“Of course I do,” she said, thinking back to the feel of him against her. His lips on hers. His hands hot on her back. His hard body pressed against hers. “I do not think I’ll ever forget them.”

“Then what’s the difference?” he asked, stepping toward her. “What’s changed?”

She paused, just out of his reach. “What we shared between us,” she said softly, “was pure, sweet, special.”

He tipped his head to the side. “And what we have now?” His hands grasped her shoulders as he pulled her closer. “Is it not pure? Sweet? Special?”

She shook her head ruefully. “I might have known you’d argue with me.”

“Of course what we have now includes all those things. It’s just that those early kisses were nothing like our kisses now.”

Amelia smiled. “That’s amusing of you to say, considering we have no idea how.”

“Exactly,” he said as he leaned forward into the circle of her arms. Then, as if he’d been dying to do this very thing from the beginning, he kissed her.

*   *   *

In the years since Amelia had rejected him, Quentin had kissed any number of women.

Well, perhaps not that many, he corrected himself. But even so, there had been enough that he had thought the memory of Amelia should have been erased from his memory ten times over. And yet, as soon as he pressed his mouth against hers in the semidarkness of the Smithson greenhouse, it was as if all their years apart had never happened at all. And in place of those obliterated memories there was only the giddy knowledge that they were together. Finally. At last.

And when Amelia’s hands slipped up over his shoulders and slipped into the hair at the nape of his neck, Quentin knew that no matter what happened after this mad encounter, he would always remember the feel of her soft hands skipping over his skin.

Wanting, needing to be closer to her, he opened his mouth and slipped his tongue between her lips, the sweetness of her response all but overwhelming him.

“God, Amelia,” he whispered against her, “I have waited so long for this.”

He pulled back a little, kissing a trail over her chin and down her neck.

“Me too.” She exhaled. “Quentin, can it be? Is it really you? I can hardly believe it.”

Her hands moved restlessly over his shoulders, pulling him closer, pressing her warm body against his.

He slid his hands over her back, feeling the warmth of her skin through the muslin of her gown. They continued to kiss and stroke and touch one another through their clothes, until Amelia grew impatient and began to unbutton his waistcoat, then pulled his shirt from where it was tucked into his breeches. When she slipped a hand beneath and stroked the skin of his belly, Quentin almost jumped. All the while he’d been doing his own investigative touching, and had managed to get the shoulder of her gown down though they were nowhere near skin to skin. Nibbling on her lower lip, he slid his hand over her shoulder and down, his middle finger stroking from her collarbone to the curve of her breast. Once he reached his destination, he softly pinched her nipple between his fingers and was rewarded with a sharp cry of surprise.

“Easy,” he whispered against her mouth, using his other hand to do the same thing to her left breast. Her kisses grew more frantic and Quentin backed them over to a settee where he pulled her into his lap. Pulling back a little, he said, “I’m going to touch you now, Amelia. Will you let me?”

At his words, she pulled back a little from his mouth. “I’ll be very unhappy if you don’t,” she said against his lips. Though he had no idea if he understood just where she wanted him to touch her. Even so, her enthusiasm was gratifying. He slid a hand down the length of her leg and began to inch her skirt up around her thighs. As he touched the supple flesh of her leg just above her garter, she gasped but did not protest. Then slowly, slowly he stroked his fingers over the damp folds between her legs and was rewarded by a small squeal from Amelia.