“Oh, Alec… my darling.” Lady Sewell made a scandalous sound as her lover did something to her that involved much rustling of petticoats until the greedy kissing resumed with a vengeance. “Oh yes, Alec… touch me there… rightthere…”
What was that all about?
And more important, where on the female body wasright there?
One foolish side glance at her amused companion confirmed he knew exactly whereright therewas. Sensing she didn’t, he winked. “It shouldn’t be long now, rose cream.” He collapsed in another fit of the giggles at her outraged expression while Lady Sewell moaned some more fevered directions to improve her experience.
Then the fake count groaned as his lady clearly returned the favor, a carnal, guttural sound that hinted she was teasing more than just the fellow’s lips. Deciding to ignore Giles at all costs, Diana stared at the heavens instead, praying for a miracle and for time to speed up, and when her prayers were ignored she clenched her eyes shut and slapped her palms over her ears while nature took the rest of its course.
“Oooohhhh, Alec…” A bubble of mirth escaped from Giles’smouth, and with her eyes still screwed closed, Diana whacked his arm, praying this time for either the ground to swallow her up or the Almighty to smite him with a thunderbolt to spare her from ever having to face the smug wretch again.
“Oooohhh, Gertie…”
After what felt an eternity of grunting, thrusting, illuminating murmured encouragement, and quivering leaves, and while Giles had to bite his hand to stop his laughter echoing around the garden, Lady Sewell reached her exuberant and noisy crescendo. A few more seconds and one final, decisive quiver of the pergola later and her lover followed suit. Or at least she assumed that was what his repetitive benediction of “I’m coming, Gertie!” meant.
There were a few blessed moments of silence before the pair hastily repaired their clothing and slunk off into the night murmuring sweet-but-salty nothings about the dark deed they had just done. Throughout it all, Diana remained rigid with mortification. Her entire head, and as much of her body as she could squeeze under it, were now covered by her shawl in the forlorn hope it might, miraculously, render her invisible if she wished for it hard enough.
It didn’t work.
“So…” Giles nudged her with his elbow, the same second the coast was clear. “If we ignore the glaring fact that we would have been spared that abhorrent ordeal if you had listened to me in the first place, and that I told you so at least three times and was ignored, the obvious question that now begs to be asked, Diana, is—did you at least manage to hear anything useful?”
Diana emerged from the cocoon of the shawl like a firework. “You are insufferable!”
In the absence of the prayed-for thunderbolt, she whacked him over his irritating head with her reticule. “Insufferable, incorrigible, and irritating in the extreme!”
“But right!” he said, still laughing at her. “You have to concede that.”
She snarled, wanting to strangle him until his smug, amused, annoyingly handsome face turned purple but settling for another thwack with her flimsy embroidered silk reticule instead. “Be in no doubt, Giles Sinclair, as you congratulate yourself for being right for the first time in your entire useless life, that I haven’t missed you at all!”
As his hysterical laughter finally let rip, and with as much dignity as she could muster despite her face being on fire and her bodily urges all over the place, she stormed off down the lawn.
Chapter Seventeen
“And a good morning to you, too, old chap. Merry Christmas.” Giles lowered the covers on his old chap, ignoring the fact it was as stiff as a board and standing proudly to attention ready for action. Instead, he stretched his arms behind his head on the pillow to stare at his ceiling. Even if he saw to it—again—he knew it would make no difference because the moment he saw Diana, his frisky, opportunistic appendage would be up again like a shot.
At least today, he could blame last night for his discomfort and he chuckled at the memory of it.
Their little interlude in Lady Bulphan’s garden had been pure torture. Both before they ventured off the terrace and after. The after, in particular, was responsible for his current state. If snuggling next to the minx beneath her shawl behind a bush wasn’t temptation enough, he had been subjected to the flustered sight of her blushing while another couple copulated mere feet away. It had been apparent throughout that her curious mind tried to figure out exactly what was going on. The overwhelming urge to enlighten her with a practical demonstration had almost killed him and had tested every speck of willpower he possessed until he saw the glorious irony of hispredicament. Then he had chosen to laugh rather than cry at Fate’s warped and twisted sense of humor.
In a strange sort of way, it proved to be just the tonic he had needed. One that instantly lightened his mood for the first time in weeks. Months even. Yes, his situation was still dire, his estate still desperate for modernization and his feelings for Diana futile and his future as uncertain as a roll of the dice in a game of chance. But those painful twenty minutes trapped behind that bush had reminded him that it was good to be alive and that something unexpected, ridiculous, and spontaneous in otherwise dreadful circumstances could still bring a smile to his face, no matter how hopeless he felt inside. Such was life’s rich tapestry.
Today would bring more unexpected smiles, as would the day after, and as time moved on perhaps the crushing sense of despondency and uncertainty would fade and so, too, would his inappropriate feelings for Diana. And then perhaps Giles would find some real joy in his life. If last night had taught him anything alongside the reminder that he still possessed his characteristic joie de vivre, it was that he could always make the best of things.
It wasn’t as if he had a choice.
He stared at the ceiling some more while he waited for Dalton to make an appearance, and when his useless servant failed to turn up after half an hour of staring he hauled himself up, then tried to find some joy in the cold wash he had to have as a result.
Clean and unashamedly naked, Giles took his time contemplating his wardrobe. It was Christmas after all and he was spending it with his favorite friends, so he chose a bold gold waistcoat as a jaunty nod to the season and even tied a fussy cravat—the sort Diana would find dandified and frivolous—purely to vex her revolutionary sensibilities. Suitably attired for a day of celebration, he bounded down the stairs with a welcome spring in his step.
Dalton met him in the hallway.
“I had your healthy biscuit breakfast laid out in the dining room as you requested.” He jerked the thumb of his mangled hand in that general vicinity. “I suppose you’ll also be expecting tea despite it being my day off.” In honor of that day off, Dalton being Dalton, he, too, was dressed for the occasion, except in his case it was as if he were sunning himself on the deck of a ship sailing in the Mediterranean rather than in a peer of the realm’s residence in bohemian Bloomsbury. To that end he hadn’t bothered with a coat or buttoning his floppy linen waistcoat, his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and the least said about the scruffy shoe on his hairy stockingless only foot, the better.
“As it will be only the second cup of tea you have brought me in two months, you work-shy insubordinate, yes, I do. I shall need something to dip my shortbread in.” Giles shooed him away. “Step lively.”
Dalton’s one eye rolled as he tugged at his forelock, then he clonked down the hallway on purpose at half his usual pace while Giles rubbed his hands together at the thought of his impending sugary repast.
His lovely cook hadn’t let him down, bless her, and had baked an array of crumbly sweet treats for him to graze upon, and graze he did for the next half an hour, savoring each sublime bite. Determined to view the world again through the rose-tinted spectacles he had made a conscious decision to put back on. From this day forward, positive thoughts would replace the negative, because all the negativity was wearing him down.
