“Don’t be nervous. I’ll be there. Now that you know I am dependable, save your first waltz for me.”
She smiled. “It will bring me joy to do so.”
“I must be off. I have an appointment. Thank you for gracing me with your company this afternoon.” He settled his hat on his head and nodded at her chaperones. “Ladies, it’s been a pleasure.”
He gave his attention back to Regina and lowered his head slightly. “You’ve also learned I keep my word, so know I will be kissing you at some point during the evening of the Wolfford ball.”
Before she could respond, he was swinging up into the saddle. Mutely, she watched as he trotted away, every aspect of her growing warm with anticipation. In five days, she’d be receiving her first kiss.
Chapter 5
His mouth left mine to glide slowly and provocatively along the column of my throat, leaving heated dew in its wake. Farther down he went, until he reached my décolletage and the shallow swells. As he skimmed his warm lips over them, he released a soft purr. It was a sound of satisfaction and approval. At that moment, I did not feel at all lacking—in any manner. It was an incredibly liberating sensation. And rewarding. To know within his eyes, I was perfection.
—Anonymous,My Secret Desires, A Memoir
June 8, 1875
Knightly urged his horse into a more urgent gallop, a punishing pace, because he possessed an obsessive need to outrun the past. Odd that, as he was, in fact, heading straight for it.
He’d left London proper behind, traveling a route he’d journeyed along countless times, when good folk—including Regina’s chaperone—were abed. When she would slip out of the residence to meet with him for a midnight stroll into the forest where he would lay her down on a bed of moss and leaves...
Although on some nights, when he was feeling particularly bold and daring, he would climb the towering elm outside her bedchamber window and tap on the glass until she scurried over and released the latch, inviting him in. On the most wicked of nights, he’d take her to London, to his bed.
He’d spent five years striving not to think about her, but ever since their encounter at the Dragons, every rendezvous, every caress, every whispered word, sigh, and groan had flitted through his mind over and over. Reading the bloody book certainly hadn’t helped.
He neared the property, enclosed by a tall wrought iron fence. The gate was open, an indication she might have gone out in the carriage. No matter. He would wait for her return, whether it be today, tonight, or tomorrow. He would confront her and get the truth from her if it killed him.
He slowed his gelding to a trot, then a walk. No need for Regina to witness his desperation to set eyes upon her, should she be about. Besides, he needed a few more minutes to regain his calm, his control. He wasn’t quite certain what game she was playing, but he would figure it out and determine the best way to win. Strategy required clear thinking, and he’d long ago mastered it. It was part of the reason he was so very skilled at investing. Emotion was never part of the process. He’d become more successful since he’d been forced to betray her because he’d buried all sentiment completely. He existed to make sound businessdecisions, to make amends for what he was and what he’d been given.
The manor came into view, and he fought not to remember his first visit, and how she had captured his interest. And eventually his heart.
He brought his horse to a halt near the steps, dismounted, and secured the reins through the metal ring hanging from a post with a black iron horse’s head to clarify, unnecessarily, the object’s purpose. After striding up the steps, he grabbed the knocker and used it to make his arrival known. A few minutes later, the butler who’d greeted him numerous times in the past opened the door, and Knight formerly presented his card, even though he was known here. “Lord Knightly to see Miss Leyland.”
“She is not at home.”
To you, he could almost hear the man mumbling beneath his breath. “Then I’ll wait.”
He gave the butler a stern look until the gent finally relented and stepped back. Knight edged past him and marched into the drawing room, aware of the echo of the butler’s retreating footfalls as he no doubt went to tell the lady who was “not at home” that they had a visitor.
Knight came to a stop beside the rust-shaded velveteen sofa where he’d once sat while she served him tea. A proper afternoon visit with a proper gentleman. An indication he’d been calling upon her. They’d had a few respectable meetings to distract others from suspecting they were having several disreputable ones. Odd thing, that even when they weren’t engaged indoing what they ought not, he’d enjoyed being with her. Quiet conversations about mundane matters, shy smiles, reading to each other. The rainy afternoons were the best, when they would sit by the window in silence, watching the droplets roll down the pane, their fingers interlaced, while a contentment he’d never known—
A scuffling sound caught his attention and had him jerking his head in the direction of the far side of the large room, where a wall of books provided a pleasing backdrop for a rosewood desk. Between its curved, intricately carved support, a small girl, resting on her stomach, was busily scratching pencil over paper. Her legs were bent at the knees, her feet sticking up and swinging back and forth so the skirt of her blue frock no longer properly covered her, and yet her innocence made it not matter. Her dark hair was a wild abandonment of curls.
After taking a few quiet steps nearer, he crouched. “Hello.”
She looked at him, her brilliant blue eyes huge and her smile bright. “Hello.”
“Who are you?”
“Ari. I wrote a story. Do you wanna read it?”
She apparently had no misgivings when confronted by a stranger. Because she believed her world safe? Because an unknown gentleman appearing in the parlor was not an odd occurrence?
He had a thousand other questions. What was a child doing here? To whom did she belong? The shade of her eyes was his, but the oval shape of them was all Regina. Coincidence? How old was she? Three,four, five? Not as much as six, he didn’t think, but he paid little enough attention to children and hadn’t the slightest talent for adequately ascertaining an age. However, he was very much aware that he didn’t wish to disappoint her. “Yes, I would very much.”
She popped up, grabbed her piece of paper, crouched, and waddled beneath the desk until she reached him. Then she promptly plopped down onto her bottom, which he supposed meant they weren’t going to move to more comfortable furnishings, so he lowered himself to the floor, reached into his jacket pocket, removed his spectacles, and settled them into place. He held out his hand and marveled at how small hers was when she gingerly placed her treasure on his palm.
Her story was nothing but lines and scribbles, curls and loops.
