What a Spinster Wants Page 20

  Lord Radcliffe rose, drawing Edith’s gaze. His expression was rather murderous, and he began to come to the gathered ladies.

  Thinking quickly, Edith only smiled at Adaline. “My, my, a Scottish lover? That is a bit predictable, is it no’? One of my own countrymen for a taste of home, was that it? Does the rumor say if he had money? I canna countenance taking a lover simply because one has need of primal comfort when there are no other advantages to the situation.”

  Grace coughed a surprised laugh into her tea, and Felicity Bradford looked at her with wide eyes.

  “You… you are saying the rumor is false?” Adaline asked, looking disgruntled.

  Lord Radcliffe had stopped and was now only perhaps three feet behind the group, though no one marked him.

  Edith flicked her eyes up to his and saw that he was watching her with interest. Perhaps he had also heard the rumors. She smiled at him, then at the rest. “I’m only saying that I shouldna be so crass as to parade any illicit relationship for comment.”

  Cheeks flaming with outrage, Edith now directed her attention entirely upon Adaline. “And while I have no notion why Society finds my personal relationships so verra intriguing…” A few ladies flushed and averted their gazes while Edith continued. “…I can honestly say, no’ tha’ it matters on the whole, that I havnae taken a lover of any sort, nor should I, unless I was fortunate enough to marry again, and then it should only be with him. Does tha’ make me so very prudish to you, Miss Chesney?”

  She looked positively appalled, her small mouth working soundlessly. Grace and Georgie grinned, Janet hid a smile behind her cup, and Miranda silently applauded.

  Diana Bradford sat back and murmured, “Well, well, a true lady after all. I am delighted to hear it.”

  Edith seethed silently, barely maintaining her tight smile, and rose to her feet. “If you will excuse me, I mus’ see if any other imaginary Scottish lovers are waiting for me in my bedchamber. They do so hate to be kept waiting.”

  Grace snorted and pulled out a handkerchief in an attempt to feign blowing her nose, while Adaline merely looked ill and scowled.

  Edith curtseyed to the group and moved to leave but stopped only three steps from her seat. Exhaling, she looked over her shoulder and said, “And the thing about kilts, Miss Chesney, is that it makes all sorts of things verra convenient. And vastly more entertaining.”

  Her friends seemed to crumple against each other in mirth, while the Bradford sisters gleefully grinned. Catherine and Adaline, however, were both quite red in the face.

  Lifting her chin, Edith continued to move away, glancing up as she passed Lord Radcliffe. He met her gaze with a great deal of pride and a hint of a smile.

  “Brilliantly executed, my lady,” he murmured.

  She inclined her head. “Thank you, my lord. I think I should visit my special friend now, do you agree?”

  He did smile now and nodded. “Absolutely. She is waiting for you.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” Edith smiled with genuine warmth, then left the room without a backwards glance.

  She made her way back through the corridors and up the stairs, the pathway clearer now than the day before, and soon she was at the nursery, knocking on the slightly ajar door.

  “Come in!” chimed a sweet voice.

  Edith pushed the door open further and smiled at Molly, seated as she was on the floor with her dolls. “Is there room for one more?”

  “Edith!” Molly darted over and hugged her tightly around the waist. “Do you want to play with my dolls? I have enough for us both.”

  “I would love to,” Edith told her, situating herself on the floor.

  The two of them soon lost themselves to their imaginations, playing all sorts of things with their dolls, including story time, school lessons, and dance instruction. Edith told a few stories she could remember from her childhood, letting her brogue ring out proudly, as befitted the tales. Molly was a strict dancing instructor but said Edith showed great promise.

  What a relief.

  Molly’s nanny appeared then, a tall woman with a kind face and soft voice, and she offered to procure some crumpets from the kitchen if the ladies would like a tea party.

  The places were quickly set, and Edith was named Princess Zara to Molly’s Queen of Spain, with many dolls as their additional companions. Warm water with lemon served as tea, and the conversation among the table was highly amusing from all assembled.

  They had been at it for quite a while, and were giggling madly, when suddenly Molly looked past Edith at the door and frowned.

  Edith turned to look and found Lord Radcliffe leaning rather casually against the open door, watching them with a bemused expression. Granted, they were sitting on the floor, and it was not the most elegant of situations, but surely, he had seen worse.

  Not from Edith, but all was decent and proper, even so.

  She lifted her chin proudly. “My lord.”

  His mouth quirked as he took in the sight before him. He winked at his niece, who went back to speaking with her dolls. Then, he looked down at Edith with a raised brow.

  “You’ve been up here quite a long time, Edith. Shouldn’t you be down with the others?”

  She shook her head at once. “I would much rather be up here having tea with her majesty, the Queen of Spain,” she said, gesturing grandly to Molly, who dramatically bowed at least three times, “than anything else at the moment. The crumpets are delicious, and the conversation is far better than downstairs.”

  “Hear, hear,” Molly cried, only half listening, but smiling at Edith anyway.

  Lord Radcliffe grinned at Edith, a full, true, glorious grin. Her heart raced at the sight of it.

  “You can’t hide up here forever,” he murmured.

  Edith shrugged nonchalantly, or at least attempted it with her heart and breath being what it was. “Who is looking for me? Besides you, I mean. Despite all your best efforts, my lord, I am exactly the inconsequential lass I was in London, with far less worry, and with one new friend who means more than anyone else I have met since being here.”

  She smiled at Molly, who popped another bite of crumpet into her mouth and grinned with her cheeks full.

  “At any rate,” she continued, tracing patterns on the lace tablecloth before her, “I canna bear to hear more of the rumors about me. I’ve heard quite enough, and the only one who knew about my brother being in my home was… you know who. If everyone believes what he said about him, they will believe anything else he says, so my chances of finding a protector have likely run their course. I might as well enjoy myself while I can. Besides, no one suits so well as…” She trailed off as she realized that the name she had thought of belonged to the man before her.

  Crivvens…

  Clearing her suddenly clogged throat, she said, “Spending time with Molly is far more important than that.”

  He did not respond, did not so much as move.

  Edith glanced over at him and found his smile had faded; his eyes so arresting she could not find a single word in her vocabulary.

  His throat worked, and he looked at Molly. “Sweetheart, I need to take Edith away now. She will come and see you tomorrow, all right?”

  The little girl pouted but nodded. Lord Radcliffe came to help Edith to her feet, and Edith leaned down to Molly to give her a hug and a kiss on the head.

  “Until tomorrow, lassie,” Edith murmured with a wink.

  Molly attempted to wink back. “Good night, Edith.”

  Smiling, Edith turned and allowed Lord Radcliffe to escort her out into the corridor. He turned to shut the door, facing it for a long moment, his back to her.

  “He was your brother?” he murmured softly.

  Edith stared at his back, the strength in its breadth powerfully evident, making her flush from head to toe. “Who? Oh, Lachlan? Aye, my idiot brother who frightened the weasel one day, and apparently, now the whole world thinks he’s my lover.”

  He released a low sigh, then turned, his
eyes dark, saying nothing further.

  Edith began to shift uncomfortably under his gaze. “Are ye troubled that I spend my time with Molly?” she asked in a timid voice. “I’ll no’ do so publicly; her reputation will be untarnished.”

  He slowly shook his head, then pushed away from the wall and strode towards her. One hand went to the side of her face as he pressed his lips to hers. It was gentle, so soft, and yet perhaps the most intense kiss Edith could have imagined. It called to the depths of her soul, sent ripples down her spine, and she trembled at their connection. He set his hand at her waist, holding her firmly rooted, his fingers sliding against the suddenly shockingly thin fabric of her gown.

  The kiss was over quickly, and Edith found herself gasping softly as he broke off. His mouth hovered a hairsbreadth above hers, waiting for her response, his unsteady breath tingling against her tender lips.

  Edith could barely think, barely breathe, but in that moment, she felt as though she had been waiting for him to kiss her for an age. And she was not done yet.

  She slid her hands along his jaw and into his thick, dark hair, forcing his lips back to hers. This time they were not as gentle, and her back was pressed against the wall rather abruptly, his hold on her increasing. She arched into him, his lips sending a spell through her that left her dizzy and elated, yearning for more of this flurry, more of this tide. It was heaven, and she prayed it would never end.

  There was so much in his kiss, beyond any words she knew. This was heat and longing and truth, purity and passion and poetry. Her heart seemed to burst into flames within her, and all she wanted in the world was him. Was this. Was them.

  He broke the kiss again, though she would happily have continued, and his erratic panting echoed her own. His hand moved from her face to wrap around her fevered frame, cradling her in his embrace.

  Edith rested her forehead on his chin, her hands sliding from his hair down to his shoulders, gripping him for balance as they breathed in the silence together.

  “I have wanted to do that for so long,” he finally said, his voice unsteady.

  She chuckled in a low tone. “Really? You didna say anything about it.”

  He snorted softly, and his hold tightened. “In case you haven’t noticed, I am not the most sociable person.”

  Edith pulled back a little and smiled at him. “No, I suppose not. How long?”

  He returned her smile, his eyes warm. “Since that blasted waltz. It was infuriatingly short for what I suddenly wanted, and I was so used to not feeling anything for a woman that it took me by surprise.”

  She moved her hands back to his neck and gave him a look. “You did a fair job of hiding it.”

  His smile turned quizzical. “Have you never wondered why I was always around when you were in need? I don’t have perfect timing; I was quite simply unable to stay away.”

  Her ignited heart began to dance at his words, and she had to fight to swallow. “And now?”

  His eyes somehow grew darker and elicited a shiver that brought her closer to him still. “And now, I refuse to stay away. I don’t care what you or anyone else says, I will defy all expectations and societal dictates. I will dance only with you, call you Edith in public, and probably stare at you for an inappropriately long time, as nothing else is worth looking at when you’re there. And I will kiss you again and again, as often as I can.” As if he needed to emphasize the point, he did so again, and it was gentle, long, lingering, and tempting beyond reason.

  Incineration would be her constant state for the foreseeable future.

  When she was able, she swallowed again and pretended to be unaffected. “And what am I to do?”

  He sighed and touched his forehead to hers. “Let me? Encourage me if you like. Tease me, so I don’t lose myself. And call me Graham. All the time.”

  “Your Christian name?” she asked, eyes wide.

  He nodded against her, brushing his nose against hers. “Try it.”

  Face somehow flushing further still, toes curling, her fingers began to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Graham,” she repeated softly.

  He groaned a deep sigh and kissed her. “Nothing should sound that good,” he whispered.

  There was nothing to do but tremble at such a statement, and Graham held her closer, his lips grazing and dusting where they would.

  Eventually, they made their way back down to the others, though Edith was unable to focus on anything except his proximity to her. With every clash of their eyes, her stomach curled most disconcertingly, her lips tingled with exhilarated memory, and her body shook, remembering the warmth of him, the hardness of his chest, and the strength of his arms.

  As if he knew, Graham smiled a slow, heated, devilishly attractive smile at her each and every time.

  Chapter Seventeen

  There is something to be said for comfort. There is some debate as to what it is that should be said specifically, but surely something should be said.

  -The Spinster Chronicles, 27 June 1815

  Graham was whistling as he ambled through the family wing of Merrifield. Whistling. He didn’t think he knew any song well enough to whistle it, but here he was. Whistling.

  Edith had done this to him. There was no other possible excuse.

  He smiled to himself as he thought of her, images running through his mind from the evening before. They had been partnered for cards and had spent the entire evening giving each other meaningful looks while touching their feet together beneath the table. And the night before, they had been incapable of staring at anyone else during the musicale.

  Of course, that had been the evening after they’d kissed.

  His chest tightened to a mixture of pleasure and longing at the memory, and his pace quickened. The morning was almost completely without structure today, one of the first in the entire house party, and he knew exactly how he wanted to spend it. And with whom.

  “Going somewhere, Gray?”

  He barely paused as he glanced over his shoulder at Eloise. “Yes. The library.”

  Eloise frowned as she came out of her rooms, folding her arms over her shawl. “The library? Gray, you have guests. You should be spending your time with them, not on your own, alone with the books.”

  Graham grinned, raising a brow. “Who said anything about being alone?”

  His aunt’s mouth dropped open, and Graham chuckled as he rounded a corner to head down the stairs.

  She would be running all sorts of scenarios through her mind on that statement, and he would certainly be paying for it later this evening.

  It had taken him a good deal of time to determine where Edith would be on a morning such as this. She was not one to spend the morning lying about her rooms and requesting her meals on trays, but he wasn’t sure what, exactly, she would be doing. Molly had been the one to give him the idea during their breakfast together.

  “Well, that’s easy, Gray,” she’d said around a bite of toast with jam. “Edith loves stories. I told her all about the library yesterday, and she said she was going to go.” She’d shrugged and gone back to the meal as though that were the end of the matter.

  For Graham, it had been just the beginning.

  The library was soon before him, and he grinned in anticipation. How had a matter of hours apart from her felt like days?

  Finding the door to the room open, Graham slipped in, eyes scanning around with an eagerness and curiosity he hadn’t felt in so long he’d forgotten the sensation. The library didn’t have many places to hide, yet there was no sight of her initially. A movement near the tall window drew his attention, and he turned silently towards it.

  Edith stood against the curtains there, blending in with the fabric almost to the shade with her simple cream gown, leaning towards the window for as much light as possible. In her hands was a book, and if her expression was anything to go by, she was completely, totally engrossed in its pages. Graham watched for a moment as page after page turned, as Edith’s breathing increased in pace, and
he would swear her eyes got wider.

  For only seeing part of her face with her present position being what it was, he could read her perfectly. There was nothing here, nothing around her, but the words on those pages, and the story they told.

  Which meant she had no idea he was here.

  Slowly, carefully, he moved towards her, his shoes making no sound as he did so. When he was immediately behind her, barely breathing, Graham reached out and placed both hands on her upper arms.

  Edith shrieked a deafening sound, the book flying out of her left hand, her right gripping the curtains for her very life.

  Graham couldn’t help but laugh, and he gently pulled Edith to him until her back was to his chest, then wrapped his arms around her.

  “I’m sorry, Edith,” he managed, still laughing softly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Saints and aunties keep us,” Edith whispered in a shaky, unsteady breath, releasing the curtain and placing her hand on his arms. “Graham.”

  A jolt of pleasure shot into his chest, and he kissed her hair. “Did you have many aunties to protect you?” he asked against the soft, sable tresses tickling his lips.

  She exhaled slowly and hugged his arms to her. “I have an extended family tha’ would fill Merrifield wi’out even inviting the lot.” She leaned into him, sighing. “I havnae spoken to any of them in an age.”

  There was a sad note in her voice that made him ache, and he leaned forward to press his lips to her cheek. “If it makes you feel any better, my family is small. Only Eloise is left, and there were no others that took any interest. But I always had Matthew.”

  Edith hummed in his arms, then turned to give him a warm but mischievous look. “Did you have a reason for scaring the devil from me, or were you simply feeling impertinent?”

  “A bit of both,” he replied. Smiling, he touched his brow to hers. “Would you ride across the estate with me?”

  “I havnae been on a horse in years.” She kissed Graham gently on the lips, smiling. “But if ye’ve the mounts to spare, I would love to go.”