Chapter Seventeen
W henever he talked with Brilliance, nothing interrupted his focus upon her, and his senses were engaged, not divided. Extricating his hand from under hers, he captured her face between both of his palms. When her bonnet impeded his movements, he unfastened the bow at her chin and lifted it from her glorious dark hair, setting the hat on the table in front of them.
“You, my lady, have become the music in my head when you speak, your voice like lilting notes, offering respite from the symphonies always pounding in my brain.”
“Truly?” she asked. “ Lilting notes. Are you offering me flummery, my lord?”
He shook his head. “I am not. I swear it.”
Vincent traced her mouth with the pad of his thumb while still cradling her head. It was a small journey from touching her lips to leaning down and kissing them. And he made that journey swiftly.
“ Mmm, ” she moaned softly under him.
The sound was intoxicating, making him feel reckless as he gave in to the strong desire coursing through his veins.
Pressing her back, they were now nearly horizontal on his divan, where he often stretched out either trying to recall a measure or for a refreshing nap. It had never occurred to him that he would one day have an exquisitely soft and shapely female under him upon the red velvet cushion.
He never broke the kiss, but instead, slanted his head and nibbled on her plump lower lip.
She slid her hands to his shoulders, and he settled in as best he could with her taut skirts being the only impediment. In truth, they were formidable. He could not feel the heat of her core, nor learn if she were on fire with passion for him. Regardless, he had no doubt she could feel the length of his arousal resting against her inner thigh.
Behaving extremely badly, Vincent brushed the hair from her forehead and then lifted his body enough to slide his hand between them and cup her breast. Just as his thumb had caressed her mouth, now it played across her nipple through the thin summer fabric of her gown and petticoat.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I like that.”
Her nipple pearled satisfyingly under his touch, while he nibbled a path along her chin and down her arching neck. Vincent wanted to suck her stiffened rosebud between his lips — and his better self warred with his baser one as to how much he could get away.
Before he could give in and draw her peaked nipple into his mouth or explore more of her luscious physique, he heard carriage wheels on his drive. His frustration soared.
With haste, not lingering in case his capable butler entered the room to announce his visitors, Vincent rolled off Brilliance. Not catching himself in time, he ended up flat on his back on the Persian carpet, staring at his conservatory ceiling.
Brilliance’s warm laughter rained down on him, and he joined in. The tension of pent-up desire dissipated a little, enough for him to rise somewhat inelegantly. Then reaching out his hand, he drew her to her feet before surveying her quickly, head to toe.
She looked, frankly, a little frowsy. Her lips were extra red, and her curls were no longer smooth but frizzy. Then there was the matter of her neckline.
“Your gown is a little ... uh” — he gestured with his pointer finger — “askew.”
“Is it?” She sounded dreamily distracted.
“And your bonnet is missing,” he added.
He heard Mr. Jordan’s polished shoes, accompanied by others, on the tile floor beyond the closed door. Why hadn’t they left the door open? That was an egregious error!
“Quickly now.” He snatched the silly telltale bonnet off the low table and captured her hand. Together, they ran to the other end of the room.
Opening the door built into the wall and covered with the same red and gold-flecked wallpaper as the rest of the room, he shoved her through into the narrow servants’ passage.
He heard his butler’s light tap.
“That door to the right,” Vincent told Brilliance. “Go through and into the small salon across the hall. There’s a standing mirror. Return by the main hallway.”
He hesitated until she went in the right direction, although moving too slowly for her own good. Then he closed the door.
The tapping repeated.
He ran to his piano and sat once more upon the bench.
“Come,” he called. Hearing people enter his conservatory behind him, Vincent ran a hand through his hair, while hoping nothing about him was in great disarray. He dare not look down.
Instead, he turned to face his cousin and the Colonel.
Brilliance felt as though she were floating on clouds while examining herself in the looking glass. How fortunate Vincent kept one in the violet-and-cream chamber with a lamp and two wingback chairs in plum-colored velvet.
There were bric-a-brac on shelves, some books stacked on the floor, and a generous-sized wooden lap desk with pages on it, but she determinedly didn’t allow herself to become distracted. After all, she’d recalled hearing a carriage, and undoubtedly, her hosts had arrived.
While Lady Twitchard must have anticipated a kiss or two would occur, she couldn’t have predicted what had happened in the conservatory.
“Look at yourself,” she said and tugged up the neckline of her gown until it lay evenly across her chest. Her body was still sizzling and humming — not to mention throbbing, too, in places.
And she couldn’t wipe the smile from her face.
It must look as though she’d allowed no liberties to be taken, nothing greater than a kiss, anyway.
First, she took the pins out of her hair and considered the wreck of her ringlets, skillfully crafted by Belinda.
Belinda! It had been hours since she’d thought of her maid. Seeking her out to repair the damage would be impossible as she might run into Lady Twitchard, or even any of Vincent’s staff — people who might one day be her own servants. She didn’t want to give them a questionable early impression. Brilliance would have to come up with her own solution.
Her curls were decidedly wispy and frayed, and many had straightened. Having no comb, nor any other accoutrements, there was little she could do but scrape her messy locks back with her fingers and wind them around into a bun. It took her three tries for any semblance of order, and then she rammed in the pins. Her hair wasn’t truly styled, nor was it even particularly kempt, but it would have to do.
Resetting her bonnet, she tied it in place, hiding as much as she could under the fashionably small cotton and lace creation.
What an eventful afternoon it had been , she mused. Truly enlightening in many regards, both musically and otherwise. Mostly the otherwise part interested her, as she’d learned more about the man who had captured her heart. He was so talented and knowledgeable — in kissing and such.
Finding herself beneath the hard, strong body of Vincent Hewitt, Brilliance had momentarily lost herself and forgotten her surroundings. She could gladly have stayed there for hours, feeling his heat sink through her gown, relishing the weight of him pressing her into the divan, enjoying both his mouth upon hers and his skillful touch on her breast. Her breast!
She widened her eyes at her own reflection. Why, she’d been reduced to a quivering heap of sensation.
“Delightful!” she exclaimed, smoothing her gown with her hands one last time before crossing the room to the door. The swish of her gown moved the air and in turn swept the pages from the lap desk.
Halting, she bent down to retrieve them and realized what she held.
With only the tiniest of hesitancies, Brilliance folded the sheets before sliding them under her gown and into the pocket hanging beneath. Satisfied, she left the little salon and made her way along the passage toward the foyer so she could enter the conservatory from the main hallway.
“Here she is,” Lord Hewitt remarked at her entrance. Colonel and Lady Twitchard were seated on the very same sofa on which —
Her gaze darted to him. With her mouth suddenly dry, she cleared her throat.
“I apologize for taking so long. I hope I didn’t keep anyone waiting.”
Despite having been underneath him, Brilliance didn’t feel a modicum of awkwardness when she looked into his eyes. She adored him and hoped they would have the opportunity to repeat the experience in the very near future.
“I thought you brought another gown to wear for dinner,” Lady Twitchard said.
Only then did Brilliance recall it, still folded in a case, somewhere in the house with Belinda. If she had feared for her wits before, she could expect to lose them entirely when mesmerized by Vincent Hewitt.
She shrugged.
“I think she looks perfect just as she is,” her brand new suitor said.
Brilliance knew she was the luckiest woman in the world.
“Be that as it may,” Lady Twitchard continued, “you cannot wear your sunbonnet to the dinner table. You must remove it.”
Vincent’s expression appeared stricken. She probably wore a similar look.
“Must I?” Brilliance asked. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
Lady Twitchard laughed as if Brilliance were speaking in jest.
“Shall I go find my maid and change after all?” she offered.
“No, no,” said the Colonel. “We don’t stand on ceremony. I don’t see what the fuss is about over wearing a blue bonnet, but I am hungry. I know what happens when you ladies go off to change, and I won’t allow it.”
With such a decree, Brilliance could do little but untie the ribbons under her chin and remove it. Lady Twitchard didn’t gasp, but her gaze sharpened. She knew!
Brilliance resisted putting her hand up to her severe bun, knowing her hostess had recalled the pretty curls that had cascaded around it earlier. Sighing, she couldn’t meet Vincent’s eyes in case her cheeks turned scarlet. Instead, she walked stiffly with the others into the dining room.
Dinner was exceptional, and Lady Twitchard had to compliment her cousin on his superior cook. All in all, when Brilliance and her hosts made their way home, she had to consider it one of the best days of her life, the bonnet incident notwithstanding.
And in the morning, she wrapped up Vincent’s handwritten music she’d borrowed and sent it to the village for the afternoon post to London.
Although she knew he didn’t like to write out his music, seeing that he had done exactly that had sparked an idea. If Vincent had any doubt of his superb talent, it would dissipate once he could see his own music professionally printed, just like Mr. Castern’s.
Brilliance was convinced he would be gratified.