Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Next day, Elizabeth and her father were in the livery stable behind Great Marlborough Street where the residents kept their horses. It was one of the few places Jack and his favorite daughter could spend time alone, knowing Bridget and Maria had no love of stables.

“I rode in the park on Sunday with Charlie. She let me ride one of their horses. It was the first time I’d ever used a side saddle, but it wasn’t difficult at all.”

“How would you like to have your own mount at Chiswick?”

“Do you mean Cavalier?” Elizabeth had loved the bay gelding on sight, the day her father had brought him from Cambridgeshire. “That would be splendid, but we are going in the Burlington carriage with Charlie tomorrow at ten.”

“I could ride him down there for you and come back by river. The countess told me that she was going a day early to prepare for her guests. She can show me around Chiswick House.”

“It would be wonderful! But do you think Mother will approve of your visiting Chiswick without her?”

“Since the countess is our entrée to the beau monde, your mother has suggested that Dorothy Boyle and I become intimate friends.” He shook his head ruefully. “Bridget is determined that we climb the social ladder along with her, whether it suits us or not.”

Elizabeth stroked Cavalier’s reddish-brown coat and sighed. “Maria seems far better suited to social climbing than I am.”

Jack set down the currycomb. “She is very like her mother.”

“And I am like you . . . thank heaven above!”

Bright and early Friday morning, Jack Gunning rode Cavalier along the Great West Road to the County of Hounslow, then rode south along Burlington Lane to Chiswick House, which sat on the bank of the River Thames. The Earl of Burlington had designed it in the simple symmetrical style of Palladio’s Villa Capra, and his friend, William Kent, had done the interiors.

Dorothy Boyle lay supine in her big bed, staring up at the classical painting on her bedchamber ceiling as her partner labored above her. The act had become tiresomely routine, and she had to stifle a yawn. He had been pumping for half an hour but by the feel of things wasn’t going to bring either of them satisfaction any time soon. Deciding she’d been both patient and accommodating long enough, she slid her forefinger along the cleft between his buttocks and deftly inserted it. With a gasp, he spent immediately and rolled off her, exhausted.

Feeling restless and dissatisfied, she arose from the bed and slipped on a loose morning gown. Through the long French windows she caught sight of a rider headed in the general direction of the stables. She frowned, knowing it was far too early for any of her guests to arrive. She glanced at her bed partner of many years. “No, no, don’t exert yourself further—you need the rest, darling.”

Her servants were well trained to be unobtrusive and to attend her only when summoned. She strolled out across the side lawns toward the stables and was pleasantly surprised to find John Gunning dismounting from a glossy bay.

He glanced at her dishabillé. “I hope I haven’t disturbed you at such an early hour. I thought I’d bring Elizabeth’s mount to Chiswick for her.”

She gave him a sly smile and purred, “You disturb me at any hour, John, especially in those tight riding breeches. Come, let’s put him in a stall.” She followed as he hitched Cavalier’s bridle and slid off the saddle. She ran her hand down the animal’s satiny flank. “What a pity he’s gelded . . . has it lessened his spirit?”

Jack grinned and reached for her, knowing it was his spirit she was questioning. When his mouth came down on hers, she opened her lips, inviting him inside. She slid her arms about his neck and pressed her body into his, enjoying the feel of his erection as it grew against her. His hands came up to cup her heavy breasts, and in a heartbeat he unfastened the loose gown so that her flesh was bared to his hands and his mouth. He teased her nipple with his teeth until it became turgid and swollen to the size of a marble.

His hand moved between her thighs, and when he found her wet and ready, he slid two fingers deep inside her and at the same time thrust into her mouth with his tongue. When she moaned and opened farther for him, he pressed her up against the side of the stall and thrust in a third finger. He felt her sheath, hot and throbbing, grip his fingers as he buried them deep. He pushed her to the edge, then, with one last driving thrust, brought her to shuddering climax. He watched as she leaned back against the wooden stall, panting.

“There’s something about the smell of a stable that is definitely arousing, but perhaps we should go inside, where you can show me the many chambers of the villa.”

She caught her breath, wishing with every fiber of her body that they could indeed repair to a bedchamber. Then she began to laugh. It was low and sultry, and filled with irony. “Your timing is rather awkward, John.”

“Good God, Dorothy. Don’t tell me your husband is here?”

“Rather more complicated than that.”

They heard someone enter the stable and call her name. Jack watched her face suffuse with amusement she couldn’t hide.

“Here I am. John Gunning has brought his daughter’s horse so she may ride this weekend. This is Charles Fitzroy, the Duke of Grafton. I believe you’ve met before.”

The young guests who had been invited to Chiswick for the weekend began to arrive at eleven o’clock, and by the hour of noon they were all seated around the huge dining room table for lunch. The talking and laughing reached a crescendo before the first course was served, and the countess had to hold up her hands for silence. “Welcome to Chiswick, everyone. We want you to enjoy yourselves this weekend, so after I’ve made my little speech, I shall disappear as any chaperon worth her salt should do.”

A chorus of “Hear! Hear!” came from the young men.

With tongue in cheek she continued, “There’s lots to do to keep you out of trouble. There are rowboats and punts for on the river, there’s tennis and shuttlecock, as well as archery butts. Anyone who doesn’t have a mount may borrow one from our stables. The woods hereabouts are alive with rabbits and game birds, and if you want to organize a shoot, there are plenty of guns in the gun room. The staff will be happy to pack you lunch baskets for picnics, and dinner won’t be served until eight o’clock to give you plenty of time to wear off all that disgusting energy you young people seem to have in abundance. If you fall in the river, don’t call me.”

“You have the most understanding mother in the world, Lady Charlotte. If she were not married to your father, I would offer for her on the spot,” William Cavendish said with a wink.

“Oh, please, let’s not use silly titles this weekend. Just our first names? Everyone must call me Charlie!”

“I rather like titles,” Maria Gunning whispered to the Earl of Coventry, “especially yours, George.”

“I’ll call you mistress if you wish, but I much prefer Maria.”

“Since I’m not your mistress, I see no reason to call me such,” she teased wickedly. “What would you like to do, George?”

Coventry, obsessed with the thought of making love to her, tried desperately to think of something more acceptable to suggest. He was not the athletic type, but he did enjoy hunting, and a walk in the woods with such a beautiful female, who was in a playful mood, seemed heaven-sent. “Would you care to watch me shoot, Maria?”

“I’d love to watch you! Perhaps you could give me some lessons and teach me how to handle a gun.”

Her suggestion sounded somehow provocative and aroused him instantly. He swallowed hard. “It would be my pleasure, Maria.”

The couples paired off quite naturally by unspoken, mutual consent, just as the countess had planned. Charlie was partnered by Will, Elizabeth by Sundridge, Maria by Coventry, Rachel Cavendish by Orford, and her sister, Cat, by Johnny Ponsonby. That left Harriet Ponsonby, and the countess knew she could count on her nephew Michael Boyle to be accommodating. The shrewd young devil knew on which side his bread was buttered, and she never forgot to reward him handsomely for his trouble.

Elizabeth sat quietly beside John Campbell, luxuriating in his commanding presence and deliriously happy to be out from under her mother’s critical eye.

He smiled down at her. “I’ve missed you, Beth. I always forget how beautiful you are, then I see you and it takes my breath away.”

She blushed at his compliment. “I celebrated my seventeenth birthday on Wednesday.”

“I knew it was soon, but I didn’t realize it was this week. Happy birthday, sweeting.”

“Do I look any older?”

His dark eyes searched her lovely heart-shaped face. She looked beautiful, sweet, vulnerable, and impossibly young. He covered her hand with his. “You don’t believe me now but there will come a day when you will want to look younger, Elizabeth.”

She laughed happily at the absurdity of his words.

“I know you love the water—will you come out on the river?”

She nodded eagerly. “I should run up and get my parasol.”

“I’ll go and get us a boat before they’re all gone. Meet me down at the river landing.”

When she went upstairs to the chamber she was sharing with Charlie, her friend also was searching for her sunshade. They found them in the wardrobe where their maids had put them when they unpacked. “John is taking me on the river.”

“Will wants me to go on the river too. It’s the first time we will actually be alone. I think it’s sooo romantic!”

They walked down to the river together and were glad to see they were the only two females adventurous enough to go out on the water. The small watercraft had been fitted with padded leather seats, with cushions piled against the backboards so ladies could recline in comfort.

Will waited on the wooden landing holding his boat’s mooring rope, but John stood in the boat he had chosen, with his legs braced apart to keep it from rocking.

Charlie climbed in, and the boat rocked from side to side in spite of Will’s efforts to hold it steady. John, with supreme confidence, held up his arms to lift Elizabeth from the landing. She went down to him without hesitation, showing that she put complete trust in his ability to keep her safe. When he took full advantage of the opportunity to snatch a quick kiss, she wondered if her trust was misplaced and smiled a secret smile. She sat down amidst the cushions and opened her rose-colored parasol, while John removed his jacket and took up the oars.

She noticed a picnic basket tucked beneath his seat. “We’ve only just finished lunch. What’s in the basket?”

“Something to drink in case we get thirsty.” He rowed out into the current but not all the way to the middle where the Thames’ tide flowed too rapidly. They drifted downriver as swans glided away from them toward the safety of the bank.

“Look, a pair of black swans! Perhaps it is Jupiter and Leda.”

“Your knowledge of mythology tells me you’ve had a classical education. I’m hungry to learn more about you, Elizabeth.”

Since her “classical education” consisted of stories her father had told, she gave him a teasing reply. “I shall remain a mystery.” She watched him through half-closed eyes. “It is you I wish to explore.”

Does she realize that’s a double entendre?She looked so innocent it was impossible for him to decide. “I much prefer exploring you but perhaps it would be fun to explore each other.” He could tell she blushed, in spite of the glow from her parasol.

“Do you enjoy saying wicked things to me?”

He laughed. “I must confess that I do. It gives me pleasure to see the roses bloom in your cheeks. Now it’s your turn—say something wicked to me.”

She tilted her head, watching his muscles flex beneath the fine lawn shirt. “I have an affinity with animals and find that you have an animal magnetism that attracts me.”

He was stunned at the honesty and intimacy of her words. Lord God, I may have to protect her from herself! “Elizabeth . . . Beth, you really shouldn’t go around saying things like that to the opposite sex. You will be meeting a lot of men at social functions this Season, many of whom will try to take advantage of you.”

“Will you take advantage of me, John?”

Is she extending me an invitation?He had the decency to flush, for indeed he had every intention of taking advantage of her sooner or later. Since she was being honest with him, he warned, “Given half a chance, you know I will.”

His words, coupled with his predatory glance, sent a shiver of anticipation racing through her blood. A delicious heightened tension shimmered between them. It was like a game that only two could play, and though she was unsure of the rules, she had every intention of participating. Her lashes fluttered to her cheeks as suddenly she recognized that what she felt for this dark, powerful man was desire. The knowledge did not frighten her; it emboldened her. “I attended Almack’s on my birthday and received more male attention than I’ve ever had before. I don’t think any of them wanted to take advantage of me.”

“Believe me when I tell you that they did, Elizabeth. It is simply that at Almack’s the proprieties must be observed and the mothers are the predators. Males prefer other hunting grounds.”

The corners of her mouth lifted. “Such as Chiswick?”

John threw back his head and laughed, displaying the corded muscles in his neck. “Such as Chiswick,” he admitted.

“When does the hunt begin?” she challenged.

“It has begun. The predator has already separated his prey from the pack and the water prevents her escape.”

She began to sing the popular hunting ballad “John Peel”:“For the sound of his horn brought me from my bedAnd the cry of his hounds which he oft times led,Peel’s ‘view halloo’ would awaken the deadOr the fox from HER lair in the morning.”

“If you play the role of vixen, Elizabeth, which shall I play, the hound or the gallant John Peel?”

“I hope you will play the gallant John Campbell.”

“Touché . . . you disarm me at every turn.”

“I doubt that, Lord Sundridge. A relentless hunter like you most likely keeps a concealed weapon about his person.”

His concealed weapon immediately hardened and lengthened. “You know all my secrets.” He steered the boat toward the bank where weeping willows dipped their branches into the water. As they drifted beneath the leafy green boughs, he joined her among the cushions and reached for the basket. He produced a bottle of champagne and two glasses. He popped the cork and poured the wine then unwrapped a linen napkin that held chocolate truffles. He lifted a tempting bonbon to her lips and murmured intimately, “You know I cannot resist watching you eat, Elizabeth.”

She bit down with sharp teeth then licked the luscious soft center and thrilled as his dark eyes devoured her.

He lifted the glasses of champagne, one to her lips, one to his own. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

She drank deeply and sighed with pleasure. Then she closed her parasol and took her champagne from him. As her hand touched his she felt a little shock. “A spark flew between us.”

“It happens every time we touch.” He waited till she drained her glass then took it from her. “Let me show you.” He slid his arms about her, bringing her closer so that the tips of her breasts momentarily brushed against the fine lawn of his shirt. The sensitivity of her nipples amazed her and indeed it did feel as if sparks flew between them. Then he crushed her breasts against his hard muscled chest. His gaze was intense as slowly, deliberately, he softly brushed his lips against hers and murmured, “Feel the fire.” Then his mouth took possession of hers in a fiery, hot kiss that burned her lips and scalded her heart.

As she felt his body’s heat seep into her, the flame of her desire flared up in a brilliant flash that blinded her to caution or discretion. Her fingers threaded into his black hair, holding him captive for her mouth’s ravishing.

Finally he lifted his mouth and gazed down at her half-closed eyes. “I wanted to give you your first taste of passion.” He stroked the back of his fingers across her delicate cheek. “Once tasted, never forgotten.”

The hunt had ended, the seduction begun. Unbidden words from “John Peel” ran through his head: From a find to a check, from a check to a view, from a view to a death in the morning. John felt a pang—nothing so puritanical as guilt—but it caused him to pause in his headlong rush toward sensual satisfaction. She was a gift to be savored, cherished. In an encounter with a female as lovely and innocent as this one, there should be a prelude . . . a long, lingering, pleasurable prelude to the mating dance.

He released her and refilled her glass. “Sip your champagne and eat your chocolates, while I take us up the river to Kew. Since you are a wood nymph, I know the gardens will delight you.”

John moored the boat at the wooden landing and, without asking permission, picked up his lady and carried her onto a broad expanse of sweeping lawns. “Here are three hundred acres to wander at your heart’s content with thousands of varieties of plants.” He swung her around playfully before setting her feet to the ground.

“Why are you deliberately trying to make me dizzy?”

“So that you will stagger and cling to me.”

She laughed up into his face, and he slipped his arm about her and drew her close to his side. They walked past flower beds ablaze with autumn color. Yellow and bronze chrysanthemums towered beside white and purple asters and black-eyed daisies. Pink lupins nodded beside mauve larkspur and blue delphiniums. Late-summer roses bloomed next to beds of heliotrope, filling the warm afternoon air with their heady fragrance.

She urged him toward an area of intricate pathways edged with herbaceous borders whose intoxicating scent drew a myriad of tiny butterflies. She could name all of the herbs, while he could name none, but he took delight in her enchantment and was bemused at how young and carefree she made him feel. “Would you like to go through the greenhouses where the more exotic plants are grown?”

She glanced across the gardens toward the glass hothouses and shook her head shyly. “There are too many people there. I don’t like crowds . . . and I’d much rather be alone with you.”

He looked down at her quizzically. “From what I hear, the Gunning ladies attract crowds wherever they go. Surely that is most flattering?”

“It’s Maria’s beauty that attracts crowds. She loves the attention when people stare and whisper, but there are many times when I would much rather be private.”

He weighed her words for sincerity. How could she possibly believe that Maria was more beautiful? “To avoid people, we’ll keep a safe distance from Kew Palace. Let’s walk through the orchards and see if I’m better at naming fruit than herbs.” With a perfectly straight face he said, “These I believe are apples and those over there are pears.”

He bent to pick up a small, hard fruit that had fallen to the ground and held it on his open palm so they could inspect it. When Beth reached for it and lifted it to her nose, he cautioned, “Don’t taste it. Unripe persimmons are nasty, bitter fruit. Here, have one of these instead.” He reached up and picked a Persian plum for the sheer pleasure of watching her eat it.

“Surely it is against the rules to pick the fruit!”

“Some rules cry out to be broken, and forbidden fruit is always sweeter.” He grinned wickedly. “Sin now; beg forgiveness later.” He dipped his head to steal a kiss and tasted plum on her lips.

When they returned to the boat, he pointed across the river.

“That’s Syon House. It’s rather plain on the outside but the Adam interiors are magnificent.”

“Plain? I would call it square and ugly. Didn’t it belong to the Dudleys in Elizabethan times? I expected Syon to look more romantic, because of its stirring history. Instead, it’s like a fortress . . . I feel sorry for whoever lives there.”

Again he weighed her words, wondering if they were sincere. Surely every débutante in Society was seeking a husband with a large, magnificent house, crammed with objets d’art and a staff of a hundred servants to wait upon her hand and foot? Perhaps Beth was the exception to the rule—a female not ruled by ambition. John began to realize that, ambitious or not, Elizabeth had beguiled him. He knew he wanted her and intended to have her. Marriage, however, never entered his mind.

By twilight, most of the couples had returned from their various pursuits, and by the time dinner was served at eight, the only male and female conspicuously absent were Rachel Cavendish and the young Earl of Orford. Everyone was seated around the dining room table when the couple finally made their appearance.

Rachel, breathless and more than a little disheveled, drew every eye. Orford held her chair and when she sat down, he cupped her shoulders in such a proprietary manner that she burst out, “Orford asked me to marry him—and I said yes!”

The earl looked quickly toward her brother, Will, as the men began to congratulate him. “Of course I still have to approach your father and ask His Grace for his daughter’s hand.”

Everyone laughed and began to talk at once. Elizabeth murmured to John, “Will the Duke of Devonshire give his consent?”

“Absolutely. The duke was the best of friends with Orford’s uncle, Robert Walpole. It was the late Prime Minister who gave Devonshire the governorship of Ireland.”

As Elizabeth glanced around the table she knew a moment’s panic. What on earth was she doing with all these wealthy, titled, famous people? One was the nephew of a Prime Minister, the Devonshires were the next thing to royalty, and even her dearest friend, Charlie, was the wealthiest heiress in the country. How long could she keep up this preposterous charade of pretending to be one of them? She glanced down the table at Maria and caught her sister’s look of raw envy as she stared at Rachel Cavendish.

Maria Gunning, seething with jealousy, was completely free of the misgivings that assailed her sister. She swirled a pretty curl about her fingers as she turned speculative eyes upon the Earl of Coventry and brushed her leg against his. “George, do you have ambitions to become Prime Minister of England?”

George knew that it took influence and money beyond his means, but he was extremely flattered by Maria’s suggestion, and aroused by her touch. “I’m not without ambition, my dear.” His first and foremost ambition, of course, was to get her to lie with him.

As John Campbell looked down the table at Rachel Cavendish he felt a great deal of relief. Her relentless pursuit of him was over. At long last Rachel had given up on the chase, and brought Orford to earth. Words from “John Peel” again ran through his head: From a check to a view, from a view to a death in the morning. He lifted his wineglass. “A toast to the happy couple.” Everyone saluted them, then John touched his glass to Elizabeth’s and murmured low, “To us, sweetheart. To this moment and the moments we have yet to share.”

Elizabeth’s panic dissolved. John made her feel so special.