CHAPTER 12
Langsdene’s coach reached Mr. Richard Danton’s gray stone manor house in Surrey during the late afternoon. The country retreat sat behind a manicured lawn peppered with tall trees. In the distance, a newly constructed artificial lake reflected the wavering sunlight. The coachman off-loaded the various boxes outside an entrance made impressive by the addition of stone columns either side of the heavy oak door. The baggage duly carried in by Danton’s staff and up two flights of stairs, Barlow unpacked Langsdene’s trunks in a large room he had been allotted in the old wing of the house, next door to Winsome’s.
For obvious reasons, Winsome had decided not to bring her dresser, but Lady Mary Danton’s hospitality was legendary. She offered her own to her guest, whom she clearly suspected was a ‘filler,’ brought to keep the numbers even. Her husband could have told her that Langsdene had asked for his room to be near Winsome’s but he had promised to keep this from his inquisitive wife, who was inclined to gossip.
As soon as he had changed, John strolled down to the drawing room, greeting all and sundry. No more than ten minutes later, Winsome arrived wearing a flowing evening gown made in a citrus green silk, which appeared to reflect the changing color of her eyes. He made the introductions to Danton’s guests, an eclectic group, comprising three married couples about his age, an older couple who Lady Mary referred to as her aunt and uncle, and another couple who had brought with them a son a little younger than Langsdene and a pretty debutante daughter.
Winsome’s grace, added to her sparkling smile, had her cozily settled into the group within minutes. The next few days augured well. Because of Langsdene’s scrupulous reputation, no one took his arrival with Winsome amiss.
The evening meal lasted interminably, with dish after unnecessary dish presented. The ladies left the room. The wine flowed. When the gentlemen were finally considered well enough oiled, they joined their dearest ones in the drawing room again. Winsome had been gathered up by the older ladies, none of whom she knew, and all of whom she had instantly charmed with her ready wit.
Young Sudbury stared at her with a starry-eyed gaze. “She is quite lovely, is she not?” he said to Langsdene. “She knows all about art but she ain’t prosy about the subject. I swear, if she told me those dashed boring paintings all over the place in Italy were scenes of gross debauchery, I would look twice and be convinced.”
Langsdene relaxed. “She took me on tour of the Tate and I didn’t glance at my fob watch once.”
“Worth getting to know, eh? What do you think of m’sister?”
“I’ve barely spoken to her, old chap.” Langsdene sighed.
Sudbury offered his opened snuff-box. When Langsdene refused, Sudbury took a pinch and sneezed. “The parents want a title for her. She’s pretty enough.”
“She is indeed.” Langsdene had been offered pretty young ladies for the past ten years. He had nothing against beauties, but he hadn’t been ready for marriage previously. Now, he had his mind set on Winsome. He wasn’t quite as sure about her mind. Not once had she indicated she had tired of her single state. Although at least twice, she could have turned the conversation in that direction, she appeared to laugh off any idea that each meeting between them wasn’t more than a delightful assignation.
Her deliberate avoidance of serious conversations between them indicated certain wariness on her part. Although not a particularly sensitive man himself, he noticed how often she put him off discussing their relationship. If he was the problem, she could refuse to see him. She hadn’t. Apparently, his intentions were the problem. Up until now, he had assumed he could have her body, but he also wanted the rest of her. That being so, he needed to step lightly.
Even now, she could change her mind about spending the night with him. Without a doubt, she risked more than he. One inconveniently opened door, and she would lose her standing in society. Until now, he had presumed if he made love to her, she would accept his hand, being unutterably compromised.
Now he was wondering if she had been playing along, assuming he was bluffing. She appeared to be treating him like a challenge, testing him to see how far he would go. However, being a cautious man, he didn’t plan to risk losing her when he had found her again. Although her father might approve, Langsdene was unsure of the lady herself. He would find out tonight.
Standing inside the doorway, he watched her fascinate an entire room of strangers, a talent he would never have, being far too arrogant and perhaps a little too serious. Winsome had changed the latter for him. He now saw the lighter side of life, one where a person could kiss and laugh at the same time, one where words that could be misunderstood were turned back and made humorous. This delightfully charming woman had completely besotted him.
Finally, the ladies decided to retire for the night. The gentlemen were expected to keep drinking while they discussed land tenure, farming practices, and the latest political shenanigans. “You know a thing or two about Lord Liverpool’s ideas to apprehend all printers and writers responsible for blasphemous material. Are you for it or against it?” Danton idly asked Langsdene as watched his best brandy disappearing down the gullet of the unappreciative young Sudbury.
“I’m not active in the House of Lords, Danton, but I believe the juries won’t risk the freedom of the press.”
“But surely you are against the freedom of the press?” Sudbury lifted his eyebrows.
“I’m against the press using me to poke the noses of the parliament, but I have no control over that.”
“The other day ... apparently you have the ladies in the palm of your hand.”
Langsdene made a sound that resembled a snort. “Not even one of ‘em, Sudbury.”
“You have a very neat little ladybird in keeping, though,” Sudbury said, continuing to be a bore.
“No longer. She grew too expensive.”
“Did she really drop to her knees for a set of diamonds?”
Langsdene heaved a sigh. “She hounded me near to death, old chap, but it made an adequate parting gift.” He couldn’t count the number of times he had needed to explain the unexplainable, his irritating lampooning in the newspaper.
Fortunately, the conversation moved to the cellaring of the port. He managed a yawn. Danton took the hint and rose to his feet, wishing everyone a sound sleep. “You are welcome to continue without me, gentlemen, but Lady Mary will have my head if I am not ready to arise early for a spot of shooting before breakfast.”
“I will bid you all a good night, too, gentlemen.” Langsdene moved to the doorway of the drawing room, watching as the others came to their feet. In dribs and drabs, all wandered toward their respective rooms, only the senior Mr. Sudbury following him to the older part of the house, a relief when Langsdene hoped to be bedroom-swapping during the night.
Barlow awaited him and quickly dealt with his undressing. Although he donned a nightshirt beneath his dressing robe, as soon as his man left, Langsdene removed the dashed thing. Nothing looked more ridiculous than a male in a nightshirt haunting the halls of a country house. Wearing a long robe at least made him appear to be half dressed. He blew out his night candle and waited sprawled on his bed until he heard the last servant leave the hallway. In the silence of the night, he lay on his back, his hand behind his neck as a night owl began to hoot. The wind scattered a rush of leaves across his window. As soon as he assumed the coast would be clear, he planned to tap on Winsome’s door.
While he was drumming his fingers on the coverlet, his door handle lifted. Winsome flitted in. “Are you awake?” she whispered as she moved closer to the four-poster.
“I was about to come to you.” He sat up.
“I thought it would be better this way.”
He lifted to one elbow, amused by her daring. “Did you, now?”
“I was afraid I would go to sleep and you would hammer on my door and awaken everyone.” She laughed quietly and perched on the side of the bed, her face soft in the moonlight.
He dragged her down into his arms. She lay half on top of him, her hands resting on his shoulders, her lips close to his. Her breath gently warmed his cheek. The fabric of her dressing robe settled across his thighs. Raising his head, he took her mouth with his, starting with delicate kisses and then losing himself in the taste of her.
Her fingers wound into his hair. His landed on her buttocks, and he shifted her beneath him while she gave him kiss for kiss. He maneuvered himself between her legs and rose above her. Nothing separated them but the fabric of her robe. The expression of sensuous enjoyment on her face caused his breath to halt for a moment. A heightened awareness prickled throughout his body. This woman trusted him with her precious virginity. She was inexperienced in the arts of love, and yet he had never wanted a woman more.
His skin heated and his heart began to thud. He had found this woman when he had lost all hope of falling in love. Joining with her would be an experience like no other, not because she’d had no man but him, but because he cared so deeply for her. With love involved, he needed to make sure of her pleasure.
She pushed his hair back from his face with one hand while her legs lifted and wound about his hips. A fire lit inside him. His settled his cock against her belly, thick and urgent. A stark need to enter her overcame him but, breathing hard, he retained his control. In his experience, a woman who was tupped too soon would shove off a man as soon as he finished. Women were slower to rouse and slower to finish, which gave a man more time for pleasuring.
He managed to catch back his breath and place kisses under her jaw and along her neck. Although his body clamored to take her, he needed to make sure she was fully aroused. “I would like to remove your dressing robe,” he said in a voice that came out husky. “I want to see you in the moonlight.”
She breathed out. “Undo my sash and I will be able to oblige you.”
He moved aside and watched while she shrugged off the silken covering. Her long lithe body had curves that defied description, and breasts tipped with small erect nipples. He lowered his head and tasted each in turn, enjoying her edgy reaction when she dug her fingers into his biceps, almost threatening to push him away, almost begging him to stay.
“Are you planning to make love to me dressed in your robe?” Her voice had lost her normal amused tone. She sounded breathless.
“I could,” he said, teasingly. “I have a front opening.”
“Don’t be unfair.” Her palms slid to the ridge of his hips. “I have never seen a naked man other than in paintings or sculptures. Remove your covering at once, dearest John.” When he moved, she slowly sat up, watching him, her eyelids a sensuous covering for her eyes. “My, you are a very beautiful man.” Her breath stretched out. “Your body is breathtaking. I wish you would pose for me.”
“Like this?” He palmed his large enthusiastic appendage.
“Oh, yes, please. I could make you famous.” She drew in a breath and stilled. “Without your face, of course.”
“Would you offer the drawing to the Tate?”
“More likely a magazine for interested women.”
“Is there such a thing?”
“We’re all interested. But I don’t have an outlet for salacious drawings.”
He smiled in the darkness and lay down with her again, taking her into his arms. By concentrating on her needs rather than his, he managed to kiss her in places that she begged to have kissed, and caress her until his hands knew her shape. When her skin heated, her breaths became urgent, and her fingers gripped his back, he took her, easing in and out until she begged him not to stop. He pulled out a little so that he could find her pearl and heighten the pleasure for him, and most of all, for her.
All his control shattered when she bucked and cried out. Without a doubt, he had brought her to completion. And now she could be easy about marrying him.