Chapter Four #2
“Frankly, I do not think Papa will live until then,” she revealed.
“His doctor has told me that he has a weak heart, and it is only getting weaker. The last time he examined Papa, he told me that he did not think Papa would live another year. Still, he has surprised us because that was almost nine months ago. I do notice his shortness of breath. How slowly he moves. He does nothing strenuous. I handle all his business affairs, as well as matters regarding Stanfield.”
“It seems you have your life planned out,” Con told her.
“I do. At first, it hurt my feelings when I was called a bluestocking during my first Season, but then I learned to embrace the term and my own independence.”
“Do you regret never having been kissed?” he asked.
She jerked her hand from his. “That is a most personal question, Lord Dyer.”
“You sound upset—but I do not think you are. Even now, I think you are pondering my question. Wondering why I asked it.”
“Why did you ask it?” she demanded.
“Because I very much want to kiss you, Miss Stanhope.”
It was true. The more he spoke with her, the more he liked her. And the more he wanted to kiss her.
“We have been honest with one another,” he continued.
“Some would say we have bared our souls to each other. For all my appearance, you know I actually live close to poverty and would never ask a woman to be my wife. I understand how you cherish your freedom and pursue intellectual matters, which forces you to hide your true self in order to keep suitors at bay.”
“But why does sharing those things with one another lead you to want to kiss me?” she asked, clearly confused.
“I am lonely. In your own way, so are you. And you said it yourself. Most likely, we will never have such an intimate conversation with one another again. Since you have no plans to wed, I thought you might be interested in seeing what a kiss is like.”
She studied him a moment. “You surprise me, Lord Dyer. I had written you off as a flirt. A man who could playfully tease a woman but hold no interest in her. You have more depth to you than I imagined. I am surprised by how much I like you.”
He smiled. “I like you, as well, Miss Stanhope.”
Con’s hand cradled her nape. She wet her lips, causing desire to flare within him. Then she placed her palm against his cheek.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I would like to see what a kiss is like. No obligation to one another. Just something to add to my experiences.”
He placed his lips against hers, the sweet smell of the garden’s blooms surrounding them.
He kissed her softly, breaking the kiss and repeating it, again and again.
Her other hand came up so that her hands framed his face.
Increasing the pressure, he kissed her harder, wanting more from her.
Wanting her to give a little of herself to him.
She responded, her hands sliding down his neck, gripping his shoulders, kissing him back.
Desire flickered within him, and he slowly ran his tongue along the seam of her mouth, surprising her.
She opened as if to ask him what was next, and he took advantage of that, slipping his tongue inside her mouth.
Their tongues mated, and he stroked hers, the fire within him beginning to burn brightly.
He tugged gently on her hair, and her head fell back, allowing him to deepen the kiss.
She murmured something indistinguishable but kept kissing him.
Con longed to cup her breast or run his hand up her leg, but they had not agreed to anything beyond a kiss.
Because of that, he would keep his hands off her body, even though he was still curious about what lay under the sackcloth of a gown she wore.
They kissed for some time, surprising him, because he had usually been one to kiss no longer than a minute or two before diving into the deep end. He found kissing Miss Stanhope most enjoyable.
Finally, he knew he had to stop. The ball had already begun by now. Partners whom he had arranged dances with had been left standing alone. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss, already regretting his doing so.
“We must return to the ballroom,” he told her as he reached for the lantern.
He brought it up and saw the glazed look in her eyes.
The yearning he had left there. Despite everything Con had said about not being interested in finding a bride at this point in his life, he suddenly very much wished to call upon Miss Stanhope to get to know more about her.
“Might I see you tomorrow?” he asked huskily. “Call upon you?”
Slowly, she nodded. Then she smiled at him. He had not seen her do so all evening, and the smile affected him in ways he did not understand.
“Good.”
He rose, offering her his hand. She took it, and they moved along the path, heading back to the house.
The terrace only held two couples now, and they hurried past them, entering the ballroom again. He deposited her back where he had claimed her, and he knew he had the attention of every wallflower seated there as they eagerly looked upon Miss Stanhope and him.
“I will see you tomorrow,” he promised.
“Yes,” she agreed, looking as if she did not trust herself to speak more than that single word.
Con hurriedly moved through the ballroom, stopping an acquaintance to ask which dance was now being performed.
He found his partner awaiting him and apologized for his tardiness, taking her out onto the floor and paying close attention to her.
He did the same for each of the partners who followed, forcing himself to focus on them alone, when all he wanted to do was think of Miss Stanhope and those beautiful brown eyes rimmed in amber.
The ball came to its conclusion, and he did not bother to search for a hansom cab in the crush of carriages outside the Purlington’s townhouse. It would be far easier to walk home than be caught up in that crowd. Besides, it gave him time to think on the way home.
About Miss Stanhope.
He would need to call on Tia and Hugo tomorrow and let his cousin know how grateful he was for her asking him to do the simple favor of dancing with Miss Stanhope.
While he knew he could not change his circumstances, much less talk her out of her desire to never wed, Con did plan to see her as much as he could for the rest of the Season—and beyond.
Knowing now that she remained in town once the Season concluded, he could picture long walks in Hyde Park with her.
Visits to the British Museum. Even going to Gunter’s for an ice. He now yearned for her company.
Perhaps, they might form a friendship. Perhaps, it might become even more. For now, Con would settle for calling upon Miss Stanhope tomorrow afternoon.
He reached his rooms and unlocked the door. He had yet to step through the door when he heard a voice calling, “My lord! Lord Dyer! You must come at once!”
Turning, he saw one of his parents’ footmen. Fear rippled through him.
“What is it?”
The footman, who had been running, now paused, panting. He placed his hands on his thighs and lowered his head, breathing hard, trying to catch his breath.
“Is it Lord Marley?” he asked, dreading the servant’s response.
“Yes,” replied the footman. “Lady Marley sent for the doctor. She also wants you to be there.”
Con took off running, leaving his door open and the footman far behind. He raced the few blocks between his rooms and the Alington townhouse, bursting into the foyer.
“Where is he?”
A footman pointed, and he ran up the stairs and down the hallway. He reached his father’s bedchamber and paused, trying to gain his breath. Tears already stung his eyes as he pushed open the door.
He saw his mother at the bedside, along with the doctor. Papa’s valet stood at the foot of the bed, disbelief on his face.
Con went to the bed and clasped his father’s hand. The warmth seemed to be fading.
“I am here, Papa,” he said desperately. “I am here. It is Con.”
His father’s eyes were closed. He merely groaned. Con didn’t know if Papa heard him or not. He squeezed his father’s fingers, willing life from him to his father. Instead, he sensed it ebbing away.
For a moment, Papa squeezed back. Then his hand went limp.
“No!” he cried hoarsely, falling to the bed, wrapping himself around Papa.
After a moment, he heard Mama say, “He is gone, Marley.”
It struck him that she now called him Marley. In a matter of a few seconds, Con’s life had changed.
And not necessarily for the better.