Page 100 of Yielding to Love

Chapter Thirty-One

Marianne was right. The act of love was sublime. Camellia wished she could lie in Crispin’s arms forever, but practicalities intruded. First, their “bed” was too small, and they had to sit up or fall off. And second, they had been gone far too long for a simple viewing of the lake.

They rose and helped one another to straighten their clothing, a task they lingered over. Until Crispin halted abruptly and swore.

“What’s wrong?” Camellia asked.

“Your hair. I mean, it’s down. We left your bonnet and pins on the rock.”

She clapped a hand to her head, startled as if shaken from a dream. “We have to go back!”

They moved quickly. Crispin scrabbled up the rock, crawled over the surface, then swore again. He came down with a single hair pin. “The wind must have blown them away.” He cast his gaze about. “You don’t see them here on the ground, do you?”

“No. We won’t find them in the dark.”

“Don’t panic.” He smiled, not very reassuringly. “Everyone has gone to bed except three men who are likely to be ape-drunk by now. We can sneak in and not be seen.”

Sneak in. Now it all felt sordid. “All right. Hurry.” She would not feel safe from scandal until alone in her bedchamber.

They were to enjoy no leisurely stroll back up the path. She nearly sprinted past the garden, Crispin on her heels. Then he caught her arm. “This way. Back door.” He had that set look on his face. That calm I-am-in-control look. “From there, you can go up the servants’ stairs. One flight. When you exit the stairwell, go to the first door on your right. That will be your guest chamber. No, wait.” He shut his eyes and pursed his mouth, as though he were trying to see something on the back of his eyelids. “The left. First door on your left. The right will be Mother’s.”

A chill ran down her spine. “Are you sure?” If she burst in on the dowager countess, disheveled as she was, her life would effectively be over.

“Yes, I’m sure. The left door.”

She was more frightened than ever she could remember. “What will you do?”

“I’ll join the men. If they intend to twit me over how long we were gone, better that they get it out of their systems tonight, before everyone gathers again.”

She felt sick. “Will they? Twit you?”

“I have no idea. But don’t worry. They are easily diverted. And hopefully, they are so bosky they won’t notice the time.”

His hand slid to the small of her back. He guided her to the rear door, then inside. They tiptoed to the kitchen. And stopped short.

Gerald was at the table, the silver spread before him. The room smelled of polish. Gerald turned. “Milord? What can—” His eyes widened, and he clamped his mouth shut. His expression went blank. Then he put his back to them and returned to his task.

Camellia heard Crispin sigh as he nudged her along to the stairwell. He whispered, “I’m going to raise that man’s wages.” He kissed her quickly, then indicated the stairs. “First door to the left.” He hurried away.

How had sublime become tawdry in the space of a few minutes?

And worse. What was she to do with the fact that she’d given Crispin not just her body, but her whole wounded heart?

*

Jasper and Hazard were drunk, all right. They were red-faced and roaring with laughter as Crispin entered the room. Benjamin, unfortunately, was merely smiling and a bit glassy-eyed. His rummer, on a side table, was full. Jasper and Haz had apparently never put theirs down.

“Ah, here he is. Settle our argument,” Jasper said, waving him in. “You are good at that.”

“All right.” He played along. “State your cases. Succinctly, if you can.”

“Haz believes you can be persuaded to stand for the Commons. As a Whig.”

“Not a Whig,” Haz protested. “He’s a Taverston. A Tory by blood. But he can be a backbencher, voting his conscience.”

“The devil!” Jasper laughed. “You and Alice will have his conscience voting Whig.”

“Not necessarily. We haven’t persuaded your conscience yet,” Hazard said, then drained his glass. Jasper paused his argument to refill it.