The Defiant Lady Pencavel (23 page)

Griffin draped a cream-colored shawl over her shoulders. “I can’t wait for night to fall, for us to be alone. Are you nervous, my dear?”

“You promised to be gentle.” She patted his thigh, her cheeks flushing, and he desired her all the more. “I’m not much on shyness, but on this I must prevail.”

“Tender as a lamb, you may be assured. Don’t hesitate to partake of the mead to relax you.” Griffin held fast to her hand, satisfied to at last have found the ideal woman for his erratic nature; a woman who craved adventure as well as he.

****

“Don’t fret, my anxious Clowie, I’m still the same spitfire mistress you’ve always loved.” Melwyn sprinkled rose petals across the large bed. The wedding had taken place that morning, and now the sun was setting. The revelers had drank their fill and were staggering back to their homes; the higher-born were staying the night in the manor’s many guest rooms. “If you hear me scream later, rush in and yell the French have landed.”

“That be more like it, m’lady.” The abigail laughed, her round face content again. “More ‘an one rampart will be breached tonight.”

Melwyn had second thoughts about the French, recalling Griffin’s brother. And the idea of ramparts being violated made her quiver. She tugged her white dressing gown closer around her.

At a knock on the door, her father entered. “My dear, my dear, it does my heart good to see you married at last.” He clasped her upper arms, his half-spectacles nearly sliding off his nose. “And safe from an accident in Pompeii, and a kidnapping. I daresay you’ve had too many misadventures. I hope you’ll be happy. Much happier than your mother and I ever were.” 

“Papa, you do understand that mother left you, and isn’t dead, don’t you?” Melwyn met his sad blue eyes. He smelled of sandalwood and home. “She even left the second under-butler.”

“But you must understand my delusion. She’ll always be dead to me, my dear.” He cocked his triangular face, his smile warm.

Aunt Hedra surged in, a jeweled-encrusted bandeau wound around her hair. In her very round, purple round gown, she resembled an exotic Oriental temple. “Oh, dear brother, get a grip on yourself at last. Marry the Widow Whale, or some other idiotic female, and move on with your life.”

“Mother is still alive, I’ve
told
you. I unfortunately had the extreme displeasure of speaking with her in Dover.” Melwyn sighed, recalling their frigid discourse; then she smiled indulgently at her father. How much the poor man had suffered. She kissed his cheek. “Petition for a divorce before the King’s Bench. Lord Lambrick will assist you with the particulars.”

“Waste o’ breath; the master won’t listen, never does.” Clowenna flicked grains of wheat from Melwyn’s hair. “That drab Trefoile chit flung that grain with extra vigor, didn’t she? With her fat papa guffawing. I almost pushed her down the hill.”

“I’m glad you thought of it, but didn’t go through with the assault.” Melwyn laughed, embracing and shaking her maid from side to side. “We must show some decorum now that I’m a viscountess.”

“Has anyone instructed you about the delicacies of the matrimonial bed? That is, the intimate aspects?” Aunt Hedra asked, leaning close as she fingered her quizzing glass that hung from a chain around her throat. Her jewels sparkled in the candlelight.

“Egad, I’ll be on my way to retire.” Her father’s face flushed and he headed for the door. “I spent most of
my
wedding night alone, and my valet was conspicuously absent.”

“No, Auntie,” Melwyn admitted after her father left, “men write erotic poetry about the act—so I’ve been told. But women are forbidden such enlightenment. However, I’ve seen horses mating, and it didn’t look at all comfortable for the mare.”

“Oh, my child, it’s much better for humans. Lord Penpol was the most tender of lovers. Just tell your husband to be patient, and you must be willing to play along with his quirks.” Aunt Hedra winked, then laughed. “All right, no more of this talk on your wedding night.” She raised up a single stocking. “In the time-honored Cornish tradition, I’m here to whip you into bed.”

Clowenna removed a belt from the dresser, her expression jubilant. “As am I, m’lady. An’I cannot wait.”

Lord Lambrick entered, looking elegant, freshly shaved, and striking in a red dressing gown. Not quite a toga, but close. He grinned, showing his perfect white teeth. “Should we have a hand-fasting as well? Tie our hands together and jump over a broom?”

“Let them have their fun.” Melwyn clasped his warm strong hand and led him over to the four poster bed. Inside, she trembled, beginning to fear what might happen soon. Three glasses of sweet mead eased her jitters somewhat.

“Be good to him, my lady—though I’m not certain the term ‘lady’ applies.” The housekeeper drifted in dressed in black as she had at church, as if she mourned rather than celebrated. “His lordship deserves a loving and dedicated wife.” She glared at Melwyn.

“Be at peace, Mrs. Loveday, I will be a superb wife for his lordship.” Melwyn kept the part of her not being very obedient to herself. She smiled at Griffin, her heart lifting.

“Indeed, Mrs. Loveday. I promise we will be a volatile but devoted couple.” He pressed his housekeeper’s shoulder. “Please, go on to bed.”

“I’ll pray for you, sir.” The woman sighed heavily, shook her head, pulled a black veil over her face, and departed the chamber.

“
Commonzee
,” Clowenna called. “I must throw me belt at ‘ee. Hasn’t got all night.”

“Get into bed, you two,” Aunt Hedra insisted. “Let’s do this correctly.”

Melwyn swallowed nervously and crawled between the cool sheets. Griffin followed, his weight shifting the mattress, his warmth distracting.

At the last minute, Sir Arthur hobbled in. “Did I miss anything, old beans? Always late to the party, sad to say.” He held up a stocking with a tiny pebble in the toe. “I’ll try not bonk anyone in the head.”

Kenver, Griffin’s valet, entered. He smiled at Clowenna, and the maid blushed.

“Fashionably late, ess?” she admonished with a suggestive wink. “Never keep a lady waitin’.”

“I had important duties, but couldn’t wait to see you again,” the valet replied with quiet dignity. “Or to join in this custom on my lord’s auspicious night.”

With a jingle of panniers, the Duchess of Dumfort glided in. “Here I am, as instructed. What exactly am I to do with this stocking?” She held the item up and wriggled it. “Whip someone? Upon my word, you Cornish are pagans of the first order.”

“You’ll be fine, your grace. You need to experience new things. All right, everyone ready?” Aunt Hedra raised her stocking where a small diamond nestled in the toe. “I eschew pebbles for stones of value.”

Melwyn stiffened in the bed, her body so close to Griffin’s heat, the dressing gowns still wrapped around each of them like shields. Her fingers kneaded at the down mattress.

“So sorry about this, my lord.” Kenver tossed a belt, which landed in Griffin’s lap. “But it is our tradition.”

Aunt Hedra’s stocking struck Melwyn on the knee. Sir Arthur’s grazed Griffin’s shoulder. Clowenna threw her belt, after extra-careful aim, and smacked Griffin’s chest. 

“I don’t know if I can do this. The duke would not approve.” The duchess put one hand over her eyes and flailed the stocking with the other. The silk floated to the floor just shy of the bed. “I’m certain it’s some sort of blasphemy.”

“A boy, your first babe will be a boy!” the abigail proclaimed, clapping her hands. “As most of us hit his lordship.”

“Bravo, excellent. Well, I give you goodnight. Don’t know if I can make the voyage to Italy. Getting too old for it. A shame we found nothing in Pompeii, as you keep insisting.” Sir Arthur raised a bushy brow, then bowed out.

“Goodnight, my darlings. Treat my niece well, or you’ll hear from me.” Aunt Hedra wagged a finger at Griffin. “Hmmm, I’m returning to London as soon as possible, since there’s no society here; only sheep and odd stones.” She exited, the top of her hair rubbing across the door’s lintel.

“Before traveling all the way out to this hinter land, I had no idea England had a West Country. What’s it used for?” The duchess followed her aunt.

“If you needs me, I’ll be about. Goodnight, m’lady, m’lord.” Clowenna sauntered toward the corridor. “Have a hella-ridden time o’ it.”

“A very successful night, m’lord and m’lady.” Kenver bowed, followed the maid, then hesitated. “I’ll have my hands full with this one.”

The door clicked shut after them.

Melwyn turned to Griffin, her pulse jumping. This was it, tonight she’d be his, and would she regret it later? His dark eyes so full of love assured her otherwise. “Well, at last alone. I pray you’ll be gentle with me, sir.”

“I will indeed, my Lady Lambrick. I wish to make you exceedingly happy, and never have the urge to scratch off my face as you once threatened.” He smiled tenderly, tugged the bed curtains closed, and kissed her as he brushed the dressing gown from her shoulder.

She laughed, and slipped his dressing gown low to admire his toned pectorals. “What if I scratch at your chest instead?” She ran her fingernail over his dark chest hair, wiry and sexy. “We’re two tigers enjoying the same bed, my lord. And may it always be so.”

“Amen, my love.” He kissed her again, slow and yearningly. His fingers caressed down her body, sending shivers all through her. His lips followed his fingers and she groaned with rapture.

Chapter Twenty-One

Melwyn handed the basket of plum pudding, apples, cheese and breads to the woman in plain clothing and apron, whose children clung to her well-worn skirts. She gave each child a toy, a tin drum or rag doll, and sugared almonds. “Have a joyous New Year, Madam. If you require anything else, you only need to ask.”

The woman thanked her profusely, and smiled with crinkled eyes when Griffin gave her husband a shank of lamb.

The viscount and viscountess walked arm in arm away from the last tenant’s wattle and daub cottage. Smoke from the chimney curled into the chilly air. The bare-branched trees scratched into a grey sky, the pines the only color in the winter woods. The towers of Merther Manor poked up over the tree-line.

Melwyn huddled in her cloak, and against the warmth of her husband. “I’m glad you care so much for your tenants.” She laughed after a moment. “And here I was constantly warned of your nefarious character.”

“Contented people are loyal—but I do care about my workers.” He arched a sardonic eyebrow. “I’m still quite the rogue, as I’d hate to lose all my reputation, but mostly in the bedroom now, with you.”

“Well, at least you gave up your more dangerous activities. Do you miss it?” She ran a gloved finger down his arm as she admired his patrician profile. “I don’t want you to get bored.”

“I’ve hardly had the chance, given the intimate time I spend with you. And you’re never boring, especially after what I’ve taught you at night.” He grasped her hand and quickened his pace; his jackboots swished through the soggy, dead leaves. “Though my smuggling wouldn’t be quite the same without Jacca. I hope he’s nearly to New South Wales. He promised to write.”

“Such a long voyage. The poor man has suffered, after what you told me about his wife. I’d never waste good crockery by throwing it at your head.” She leaned into him again. “That harridan makes me seem absolutely angelic.”

He laughed. “No, you’re still a witch of the first order, and have cast a spell on me.”

They entered the woods, where even colder air seemed stalled in the danker shadows. The smell of moldy plants and moss drifted up.

She shivered. “We should have brought mulled ale, to warm us.”

“Aren’t I the only heat you need, my love?” Griffin chuckled, squeezed her, then kissed her temple under the brim of her bonnet. “I could slip behind a tree here and fire you up with a burning log.”

“You are besotted, as well as depraved, sir,” she teased as she navigated the muddy path, where ice crystals floated in tiny pools of water. Her heart soared at the perfectness of their relationship. His solicitous toward her was a lovely surprise, and shock.

“I am both, and don’t mind either at all.” He tightened his arm around her. “We’ll soon be off so I may attend Parliament—late as I may be—in town; a London town home is being made ready for my esteemed wife. I daresay I must play the affable host for the
ton
, to reinforce old acquaintances for the future. If the season won’t be too arduous for you.”

“I think most of my nausea has passed.” She rubbed her stomach lovingly, thinking of gurgles and coos, and nappies she wouldn’t have to change since they could afford a nurse. “A July baby, I should think. But we can still sail to Pompeii in earliest spring, to uncover my treasure.”

“I doubt I could stop you, however, I’ll try. Remember, the war continues.” His voice grew serious, his fingers on her stiffening. “The Austrians sent another army to defeat the French, and that rapacious Corsican general, in November. Alvinczi and Davidovich prevailed at Bassano, Calliano and Caldiero in Italy. But Buonaparte defeated them at the Battle of Arcole in the middle of the month. Italy will be very treacherous.”

She mused on her discovery, the statues, the vases and jewelry. Her shoulders sagged as she stepped over a protruding tree root. “While traveling through a war torn country sounds exciting, and we can pray the war will end before then, I suppose I must be mature and think of you and the baby.”

“You’re agreeing with me? Your fall in Pompeii must have injured more than your leg.” Griffin grinned and winked. “I’ll send more trusted men over to catalog everything in the hole, and continue to protect the site.”

“
And
as soon as the babe is here, and I’m sure the war will be done,” she nudged her gloved knuckles into his side, “we’ll travel there ourselves.”

He sighed loudly. “I knew I couldn’t deter you for long.”

Dried twigs crackled under their feet, startling a bird who swept into the air.

“Then we’ll visit Greece and Egypt.” She beamed up at him. “I’m certain our babe will adore feta and camels.”

“Too bad Sir Arthur is too feeble to travel, but he says lecturing at the Royal Society is satisfying for him.” Griffin ducked under a low hanging branch.