Chapter 17

seventeen

T HE SMALL GATHERING in Marianne’s house wasn’t that small after all.

Edith hoped Perry enjoyed himself a little in the crowded room. Marianne had invited many young ladies of the Season, a couple of members of parliament, and peers. There were lots of foreign drinks, outlandish food, matrons, and gossiping ladies. Unfortunately, even Neville was present, but he’d blissfully ignored her so far.

Among graceful nods of her head and half curtsies, she sauntered across the brightly lit room towards Perry. Marianne must have used a year’s worth of wax and gas to illuminate the ballroom because not a corner of the room lay in shadows. Tucked between a large philodendron and the banquet table, Perry was on full display, even though he likely did his best not to be noticed. Judging by the glances the guests tossed in his direction, he wasn’t succeeding.

“Are you enjoying yourself a little?” she asked, looking at the plates of hors d’oeuvre on the table.

His scowl softened. “Too nervous to enjoy myself. I don’t want to have a seizure here in front of everyone.”

“You should focus on something else other than your worry. Try one of these delicious starters. Quite unusual. There are caviar nibbles, tiny artichoke pastries, oyster tarts, shrimp sandwiches…a bit of everything.”

“Not now, thank you.”

“Do you want to go home?”

He shook his head. “I need to get used to parties.”

She took a bite of a smoked salmon canapé shaped like a small rose; Marianne’s cook was a true artist. “Anxiety doesn’t help.”

He shifted his glass of champagne from one hand to another without drinking it. “That’s what Oliver always says.”

“What do I always say?” Dr. York walked over to them, an artichoke pastry on his plate. “Surely, something clever and remarkable.”

“That anxiety doesn’t help my condition,” Perry said.

“No, it doesn’t. I was talking about the effect of anxiety on people with Sir James Harris, the physician-in-ordinary to the queen herself. He agrees that anxiety is the malady of this century.” Dr. York cast a furtive glance at her, his face reddening by the minute. “Oysters! Don’t trust them. They’re very shellfish.” His laugh sounded forced. “Sorry, I say silly things when I’m nervous.”

“No, not only when you’re nervous,” Perry said.

The good doctor regarded her in a different way since the affair of the painting. His cheeks flushed as he bit into the artichoke pastry.

“I’m glad Perry has a valid, loyal physician like you, Dr. York,” she said. “A physician who’s also a friend. I admire everything you do for him.”

His flush intensified, and he started to cough into his fist. Awful, gagging noises came out of him as he clamped his handkerchief over his mouth.

“Deep breaths.” Perry gave a few strong pats to Dr. York’s back. “Don’t die here, please. It’d be a great inconvenience.”

Tears shone in the doctor’s eyes as he coughed on the handkerchief until he finally breathed normally again.

She poured a glass of water for him from the banquet table. “Here.”

He didn’t look at her. “Thank you, miss. I was arti-choking.” He laughed but started coughing again before gulping down the water in one go. “Apologies.” He hurried away, staggering a little.

“Poor man,” Edith said.

“You ruined my physician.” Perry gave her a lopsided smile. “He isn’t himself when you’re around.”

“I’ll be more careful then. I don’t want him to hurt himself.” That had been the second time.

“I’m not myself either when you’re with me.” All the amusement was gone from his voice, and he gave her that intense blue stare that made her quiver inside.

“Why wouldn’t you be yourself?”

The conversation had taken a sudden, serious turn she didn’t know how to handle.

“I appreciate the way you found the courage to talk to me and admit you lied. Not everyone would have done that. It takes a lot to acknowledge we’re wrong, need help, or are addicted to something. Your lies hurt me, but I’ve never doubted your courage and resilience, and I admire you.” His condition caused him to hesitate and stammer out a few words, but the honesty and passion in them were undeniable.

His fierce approval of her brought a lump of emotion to her throat.

“Your admiration is misplaced,” she said. “I feel anything but brave. I’m scared all the time and a coward at heart. The Princess Alice incident proved that.”

“You’re too harsh on yourself.”

Sir James, the queen’s physician, walked over to them, breaking the moment.

“Miss Winkworth.” The short physician stroked his goatee and gave her a wide smile. “Lord Ravenscroft. Apologies for the intrusion.”

Perry gave a nod, clenching his jaw.

“Sir.” She bowed her head.

“May I talk to you for a moment, miss?” He turned towards Perry. “Would you mind terribly, Ravenscroft? I have an urgent matter to discuss with Miss Winkworth.”

“By all means. I don’t mind at all.” It sounded anything but.

“I’ll see you later,” she said to him.

The gentleman ushered her to a quiet corner, glancing around in a furtive manner. “I’m deeply sorry to have interrupted your conversation with Lord Ravenscroft, but I couldn’t contain my excitement.”

She smiled, thinking about a polite way to tell him she didn’t have the foggiest idea what he wanted from her. “About what, sir?”

He gazed around. “As the queen’s physician, it’d be better if my interests didn’t become common knowledge.”

“Sir?”

He fiddled with his gloved hands. “See, art is my passion.” He stared at her as if she were supposed to understand whatever he wanted to say from that simple statement.

“That’s admirable. Why would you keep that interest a secret, sir?”

He inched closer. “Mr. Valentine Carter is my most favourite painter.”

Oh, blazes. She had a hunch about where the conversation was going.

“I absolutely adore him. I have almost all his paintings in my house.” His speech became passionate. “I spare no expense when it comes to acquiring one of Mr. Carter’s masterpieces. You likely know that Mr. Carter’s paintings, well, let’s say that some of them are considered quite scandalous. That’s why he doesn’t show all his paintings to everyone. Sometimes he asks the National Gallery to display his most provocative works in a secondary wing with restricted entrance.”

Yes, Edith knew something about that. She searched the room for someone she might use as an excuse to leave. Perry stared at them from the other side of the room as if he wanted to stride to them and take her away.

“To be brief,” Sir James continued, “I acquired some paintings in a special series on Greek goddesses. They’re, ahem, rather explicit paintings. They sold like hot cakes the very same day they were put on display.”

“Really?” She feigned surprise.

“I managed to buy a few of them, but I couldn’t buy them all, which is frustrating. I love to have a full set of everything. I have…” He counted on his fingers. “Aphrodite, Hera, and Athena, but to come to my point.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I heard that you posed for a stunning painting, the Star Maiden.”

Edith wanted to crush her glass of champagne. “Who told you that?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you the name.”

Her face flamed. Her entire body did. “Well, I’m sorry to say that whoever gave you that information is seriously misinformed because I have never, ever posed for any paintings. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“I won’t judge you, miss.” Sir James blocked her path. “It’s all about art. So did you pose for it? Do you know who bought it? How big is it? The clerk at the gallery refused to give me the name or any other information. I’m confused. Does this painting even exist?”

The suggestion of bribing the clerk at the gallery was swiftly suppressed.

“The Star Maiden has become a myth,” he said. “No one seems to know if it’s real or not. I even talked to Mr. Carter himself, and he didn’t confirm or deny any rumours. So frustrating! Oh, but I understand the game Mr. Carter is playing. By acting all mysterious and shedding rumours about his paintings, he’s increasing their value. The higher the interest, the higher the price.”

Actually, she thought Valentine didn’t want to stir more trouble than he’d already done by blabbering about the darn painting.

“Do you know anything about the Star Maiden?”

“Apologies, sir, but I can’t help you.” She strode away before he could say anything.

What had she said about not regretting posing for Valentine? Well, she’d been wrong.

Perry worked his jaw as Edith strode away from Sir James. Whatever the doctor had told her must have bothered her if the way she closed her fists and hurried out of the ballroom was any indication.

He started to follow her, but his uncle swept in front of him, blocking him.

“Perry, I know this isn’t the right place, but we should discuss the details of your renunciation.”

He craned his neck to see Edith disappear behind a corner. “I’ll ask my secretary to arrange a meeting.”

Uncle Neville’s expression became serious. “You know I care about your health. What you went through was horrible. Of course, you won’t lack anything afterwards.”

“Thank you, Uncle. Your affection for me is touching although I don’t understand why you told Miss Winkworth I’m the cause of your broken engagement.”

His uncle didn’t flinch. “I’ve never said such a thing. I merely told Edith about my past. She came to whatever conclusion she pleased. So shall we discuss this affair?”

Bollocks. “I’m afraid I can’t now. If you’ll excuse me.” He ignored Uncle Neville’s narrowed eyes.

He traced Edith’s steps as discreetly as he could, weaving through maids, footmen, and guests. The hallway was empty and, thankfully, wasn’t as brightly illuminated as the ballroom. His eyes were grateful. At the end of the corridor, the door to the conservatory stood ajar.

“Edith?” He slid inside, breathing in the scent of wet soil and blooming jasmine. “Are you here?”

“Perry.” She was sitting on a bench in a froth of pink fabric. Her forlorn expression gave a dramatic tone to the sight.

“What did Sir James tell you?” He sat next to her.

Roses and orchids created the perfect frame around her and her lovely pink gown. The moonlight added the last magical touch to her profile.

A little crease appeared between her eyebrows. “He’s after the Star Maiden. Apparently, the rumour of me posing for Valentine has spread, and Sir James is interested in buying the painting.”

“Not bloody likely.” He nearly growled.

A quick smile smoothed down her frown. “The rumour worries me.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Valentine himself spread it. He’s quite unreliable, and gossip is the best source of publicity. I’m sure Sir James isn’t the only one who wants to buy the Star Maiden.”

“I didn’t choose my friends well as of late.” She tugged at a ribbon on her skirt. “I have so many regrets, and the worst thing is that I ignored my inner voice telling me not to do certain things when I was reckless.”

“I went through your same journey, and I can tell you this, the sense of guilt will go away after a while. Give yourself time to heal.”

“You’re always so kind.” She held his hand.

He couldn’t ignore the little shiver dancing down his neck. Exactly as it’d happened in the library, even a small touch started a stir in his chest.

“There’s one thing I regret to this day, though,” he said.

“What is it?”

“Not having kissed you that Christmas night.” He pointed up to where a branch of mistletoe hanging right over their heads. “Mistletoe.”

“Actually, that’s snowberry.”

“Does it matter?”

“It depends. What do you want to do?” She grinned, teasing him.

“Well, the short version is that I want to kiss you. The long version is that I really, really, really want to kiss you.”

She laughed and tilted her head. “What are you waiting for then?”

He didn’t rush to kiss her, not because he wasn’t eager to, but because he wanted to savour every second. He inched towards her. The smile vanished from her lips as she moved towards him.

His heart lodged somewhere in his throat, and his breathing quickened. He hadn’t kissed a woman in years. But when he pressed his lips against hers, he felt he could roar like a lion.

She kissed him back, putting her soft hand on his cheek. Her sweet scent seemed to reach his heart because it was the only thing he sensed. She parted her lips and darted out her smooth tongue. The first lash over his lips was like a bolt of energy going through him. A deep groan escaped him. And just like that, something changed between them.

The kiss took a wild turn. They moved at the same time and with the same passion. He thrust his tongue into her welcoming mouth as she tangled her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer with eagerness.

Hell, he needed that. He needed her softness, her fingers in his hair, and her body pressing against his. But it wasn’t just passion. A sweetness he hadn’t foreseen beat in his chest.

Their tongues danced together, exploring and teasing. He coiled an arm around her waist and held her, feeling the warmth of her body through the layers of satin.

Finally. A kiss years in the making.

The time he’d spent waiting for it was worth every second. He ran a hand down the curve of her waist and up again to touch the underside of her breast. They both gasped when he caressed her gently. Then her mouth was over his again, demanding and eager, but she drew in a breath when he rubbed her nipple with his thumb. Feeling her shiver under his touch was the most intoxicating sensation he’d ever experienced.

They broke the kiss, and he rested his forehead against hers. Their uneven breaths mingled in that moment of silence and moonlight. He wanted to say how much the kiss meant to him, how much he cared about her, but any word he thought of sounded inadequate. He’d ruin the moment if he said something meaningless, or worse, if he stammered, so he held her instead, letting his heartbeat speak for him. He held her for a time that seemed both long and too short.

She laid her head on his chest, her shoulders stooping. “I liked it so very much.”

“So did I. For a parasitic plant, the mistletoe is quite generous when it comes to creating the right atmosphere. Sorry, snowberry.”

She laughed. “Being surrounded by flowers and sweet scents is the most romantic setting ever.”

“I’m sure we aren’t the first guests to find their way here. Who knows how many romantic encounters happened in this conservatory? If that palm tree could talk, who knows what it’d say.”

She laughed harder. “It’d say it’s a fern.”

“Really?” He glanced at the tall green plant. “I suggest we spend more time kissing in a conservatory to improve my knowledge of plants.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Excellent suggestion, Lord Ravenscroft.”

He wanted to kiss her again but paused, simply staring at her large eyes filled with moonlight. “I’m glad you told me the truth.”

“So am I. You made me face my bad choices. I needed that.”

He stood up, holding her hand. “We’d better return to the ballroom separately. You go first.”

She laced her fingers through his before releasing his hand. “I’d rather stay here, but the last thing I need is the rumour of another scandal.”

She rested her head on his shoulder as they walked to the glass door opening to the hallway. Such a simple but intimate gesture.

“I’ll see you in a moment.” She slid her hand out of his slowly, leaving a path of fire on his palm.

He stood behind a… whatever plant it was while she walked out of the conservatory, fixing a wayward curl. With the moonlight pouring through the windows, she really looked like a goddess bathed in silver light. A goddess he’d been lucky enough to kiss.

She paused in the middle of the hallway to wave at him. He waved back, not sure she could see him.

For the first time in years, he experienced other emotions than worry and anxiety, and it was wonderful.

Perry was still thinking about Edith and their secret moonlight kiss hours later when he returned home with Oliver. Her body had left a trail of perfume, warmth, and passion over his, and he loved it.

“Pleasant evening, wasn’t it?” Oliver waited for Perry’s answer, holding his pencil over the notepad. How he could write while in the moving carriage was a mystery.

He reclined his head. “Very.”

“Great. Was there a moment when you feared a seizure might come?”

“No. At first, I was anxious, but then I enjoyed myself.”

“Excellent.” Oliver nodded, scribbling on a page. “I’m afraid Miss Winkworth didn’t fully enjoy herself at the end.”

He straightened. “What do you mean?”

Oliver slid the notepad into his pocket. “Well, I caught a bit of an odd conversation between Miss Winkworth and your uncle. She was waiting for her carriage when he walked straight to her, meaning business. They chatted with quick words. She looked upset. I didn’t hear the whole exchange, but I’m sure your uncle told her that her payment was overdue, that they had a deal, and she had to honour it. After that, she left, visibly bothered.”

“A payment.” Perry scratched his chin.

“She replied they didn’t have any deal, to which he said he could force her.”

“What the hell did he mean?”

Oliver shrugged. “Don’t need to worry. If she needs money to pay your uncle, you’re going to help her, aren’t you?”

Of course he would.