“If you do, my lord,” she had said, blushing and not knowing what she was expected to say. It did not occur to her that perhaps he expected a simple yes or no.
“Then you like it,” he had said, handing his hat and cane to a footman and unbuttoning his greatcoat. “It makes you look very pretty.”
“Oh, I am not pretty,” she had said one moment before her hand flew to her mouth. “I beg your pardon, my lord. I thank you for the compliment.”
And he had asked her that morning to call him Geoffrey, she had thought. But oh, she could not. It seemed far too presumptuous, far too familiar to call him by his given name. Her tongue would tie itself in knots if she tried to call him that to his face, though the name had come out of her mouth quite articulately when she had tried it in her dressing room. She would rather call him nothing at all than have to face the embarrassment of calling him Geoffrey out loud.
“Oh, Bella, is not all this unimaginably wonderful?” Frances said now, hugging her sister as she was finally released from the tyranny of the measuring tape. “And Lady Berry has specifically asked that one evening gown each be delivered two days from now so that we may attend her soiree. If only Mama and Jemima could somehow share in our joy.”
Her eyes were suspiciously bright.
“We will go home and write them each a long letter,” Arabella said briskly. “That way they can feel that they are somehow with us here. And it will be much better than merely crying because we miss them and wish they were here.”
She wished she had not added that last sentence. Two tears glistened in Frances’ lower lashes for a moment and trickled prettily down her cheeks. But she smiled and linked her arm through her sister’s as they turned to reenter the parlor, where Lady Berry and Lord Astor were in conversation together.
“Ah, a task well accomplished,” Lady Berry said. “You are both going to look quite splendid in my drawing room two evenings hence. Arabella, my dear, Geoffrey is going to spoil us all and take us for ices before we go home. Miss Wilson, are you very tired, my dear? I know that all this business of fittings can be quite tedious.”
Lord Astor waited while his wife put on her bonnet, then offered his arm to escort her to the carriage.
“Will they order me out of the shop if I merely sit with you and do not have an ice?” she asked him anxiously as he handed her into the carriage.
He laughed. “Order Lady Astor from the shop?” he said. “Not unless they wish to close their doors tomorrow, Arabella. Do you not like ices?”
“Not greatly,” she lied, wishing that she would not have to watch the other three eat theirs. “Will you be offended, my lord?”
“But, Bella,” Frances began until she caught sight of her sister’s pleading face. Frances had been told about the dieting scheme, though she had cried and protested that she would suffer dreadfully if she had to watch her sister starve herself to death. And anyway, where had Arabella got the ridiculous notion that she was fat?
Chapter 5
THE following afternoon, Lord Astor was lying on his back in his favorite position, his hands clasped behind his head, his feet crossed at the ankles. He was feeling sleepy and contented. Ginny’s hand was slowly circling his naked chest. Her tangled curls and her warm breath were tickling his side. He wriggled his toes and sighed. It seemed an age since these visits to his mistress had been a regular afternoon or nighttime occurrence. It was nearly six weeks.
“I had almost forgotten how good you are, Ginny,” he said, lowering one hand to fondle the back of her neck for a moment. “You have quite worn me out.”
She raised her head and smiled in that slow, sensual manner that usually succeeded in making his temperature rise. “I take it that the bride is not thoroughly satisfactory if you have come back to me so soon, Geoffrey,” she said. “And so very full of energy! I am only thankful that the bruises I am bound to carry around with me for the next several days are in places where they will not be seen in public.”
“I would apologize,” he said, grinning and returning his hand to the back of his head. “But we both know that you like it rough, don’t we, Ginny?”
She pouted. “Sometimes I think you have no respect for me at all, Geoffrey,” she said. ”I have sung at the homes of no fewer than three titled persons since you have been away, you know, not to mention other establishments quite as respectable. And everywhere I have been treated with marked respect and praised for my voice. And I have been called Virginia and even Miss Cox. Sir Harvey Hamilton called me Miss Cox. Why will not you?”
“Call you Miss Cox?” he said. “Will you please remove your clothes now, Miss Cox? Will you please come to bed now, Miss Cox? Come on now, Ginny. Those people have not seen you as I have—at least, I hope for your sake they have not. And which would you prefer to have—respect or pleasure?”
She ran her finger over his lips and tapped them sharply. “I would like both,” she said.
”Go to sleep, Gin,” he said, turning his head and shaking off her finger. “Three times has quite tired me. I am not in the mood for conversation.”
“Of course you have to perform for someone else at night too now,” she said, wriggling closer to his warm, relaxed body. “You have to save yourself. Poor Geoffrey.”
“Enough of that,” he said. “I will have my wife left right out of any conversation between you and me, Ginny. Now, go to sleep, there’s a good girl.”
She seemed to obey him. At least she fell silent and motionless beside him. Lord Astor continued to stare upward. He did not think he wanted to sleep even though he felt drowsy. It was pleasant to have a few minutes in which just to relax. He must go home soon in order to be in time to bathe Ginny’s perfume from his skin before getting ready for dinner. But not just yet.
It had been a pleasant day. Arabella had been at the breakfast table again, but she had seen his paper beside his fork and had suggested that he read it if he wished. She had seemed to relax once he did so. She had resumed her eating and finished her muffin as she had not the morning before. She was not very fond of butter, she had explained when he had lowered his paper briefly to ask why she ate it dry.
Aunt Hermione had been coming to take Arabella and Frances shopping again. There were all sorts of trappings like bonnets, slippers, fans, and ribbons to be examined and bought. He had not felt it necessary to accompany them this time, as he trusted his aunt to help his wife make suitable purchases. He had spent the morning at White’s in delicious isolation in the reading room for a whole hour and then in company with a group of acquaintances who had come straight from Jackson’s boxing saloon. He had promised to meet them there the following morning.
He had even eaten at White’s and reveled in the sensible male conversation—all about interesting topics like horses and hunting and politics. No one so much as mentioned a bonnet or a parasol.
His wife and her sister had been invited back to Grosvenor Square for luncheon. Doubtless they would remain there for at least part of the afternoon. And so finally he had had the luxury of a whole free afternoon in which to visit Ginny. And an extremely satisfying afternoon it had been, too. He had not realized quite how much pent-up energy he had been waiting to unleash until he had found himself quite unsatiated after one lengthy and energetic performance on the bed with her, and then another. They had both sweated their way through the third, and lain tangled together, exhausted, for several minutes before finding the energy to move themselves into the positions they now occupied.
