Page 66 of A Taste of Miss Honey

Howard said nothing, only opened the door to the music room. “Please make yourself at home. I will bring a tray of tea at four o'clock, if that suits you?”

“That… That would be lovely, thank you,” Clara said, by now thoroughly overwhelmed.

“There is a bell pull by the fireplace. Do not hesitate to use it should you need anything, and someone will attend to you at once.”

With that, he went out, leaving her alone.

Still feeling rather stunned, both by her own audacity in making it this far and by the kindness she’d been shown, Clara turned to face the room, and her breath caught. Setting Benny down, she looked around, overwhelmed by the feeling of peace and serenity that washed over her.

The room sat on the south-west corner of the Hall, with tall sash windows that looked over the extensive gardens. The scent of beeswax lingered on the air, and the faintest trace of smoke, and Clara noticed a cheerful fire burning in the hearth. Had they lit that every day, in expectation of her visit? She flushed as she realised they must have done, and that it had burned for no reason because she was too foolish to make it to the front door. Well, not today.

Though the room was decorated with her grace’s customary flair for style, it was more comfortable than Clara had supposed, despite its grand proportions. The walls were painted a soft blue grey, and heavy damask curtains of a darker shade hung at the windows. A beautiful rug covered the polished wood floor and a pair of comfortably squashy armchairs sat amicably by the fire, inviting her to sit and relax. There were pictures on every wall, family portraits and naval scenes by exceptional painters, as well as a few more amateurish pictures that appeared to be there for more sentimental reasons. The dowager loved this room, Clara thought with a smile, wondering if the duke felt the same way. Though she wished to linger on the paintings, she could no longer resist the lure of the main event, a splendid Broadwood grand piano that dominated the room.

There were items scattered over its well-loved surface, the gleaming wood adored by a metronome, a pair of forgotten spectacles, and piles of music, including some handwritten pieces with a pencil left on top, as if the composer had just stepped away for a moment. Clara glanced at the work in progress and immediately decided it looked too complex for her meagre skills. Instead, she sorted the sheets until she came across The Flowers of the Forest, a simple Scottish folk tune she thought she might manage well enough.

Setting the music on the stand, she looked around for Benny. He had curled up before the fire, quite at home in his new surroundings. Smiling, Clara settled herself upon the piano stool and began to play.

Chapter 21

A Rude Awakening.

The Mermaid, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 30th March 1816

Ben stretched luxuriously and turned onto his side. The room he’d taken at The Mermaid was wonderfully sumptuous, the bed the most comfortable he could ever remember sleeping in, and he allowed himself to drift, his thoughts dwelling pleasurably upon the notion that he would soon share this delightfully snug space with Izzy. Not soon enough, he thought impatiently, knowing they had days to wait yet. The wedding had been set for the fifth of April, and it was becoming hard to endure when Izzy was so close at hand and yet so far away.

Sleep tugged him under again, and he knew nothing more until a dream caught him up, the feel of a delicate, cool hand sliding over his shoulder, the gentle bounce of the mattress as his beautiful bride slid in behind him, her lush breasts pressing against his back.

Ben sighed, exceptionally content with the way the dream was progressing, especially as it felt so real, he could almost believe it really was Izzy’s hand toying with the hair on his chest, sliding down his abdomen to his— He bolted awake, sitting up so suddenly Izzy squealed with alarm, almost falling to the floor.

Ben stared at her, hardly able to believe his eyes.

“Izzy!” he exclaimed stupidly.

“Ben,” she replied, her expression one of pure innocence. Well, that ought to be enough to tell him it was no dream. His lovely betrothed only looked that innocent when she was being particularly dreadful.

“How?” he demanded, finding it difficult to string a sentence together, not least because her beautiful breasts were right there, and it was hard to concentrate on much else. “How are you here? Did anyone see you? What the devil are you doing?”

Izzy, whose hand had remained against his stomach despite the shock of his awakening, lifted one eyebrow. “I thought that was self-explanatory.”

Her hand drifted lower, and she bit her lip, her blue eyes growing wider than usual behind the pretty spectacles she wore. “Oh.”

Ben sucked in a breath as her fingers curled around his arousal.

“Oh,” he said, the sound deeper and rather choked.

“I couldn’t wait any longer,” she said, sounding a little breathless now. “I’m ready for my adventure to begin. Please continue with the ravishment you began at the Duchess of Whitney’s ball before I run mad.”

Ben looked down at her lovely slim hand as it explored the raging cockstand that was clamouring for her attention—more of her attention.

“I think it’s you doing the ravishing. Not that I’m complaining. Please do… carry on.”

He lay back against the pillows, vibrating with anticipation and staring at Izzy as she got to her knees beside him, exploring his body with a delightful lack of embarrassment.

“How are you here?” he asked in wonder. “I thought I’d dreamed you.”

She flashed a delighted grin. “I waited until I knew Mrs Fairway was in the kitchen, preparing for breakfast. Mrs King has gone with her husband to watch them break ground on the site of the new hotel, and most of the town have gone to watch too. It’s only lazy slugabeds like you who are not yet up and about.”

“Oh, I’m up,” he said, folding his arms behind his head and leering at her like a pantomime villain.