Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

After dinner, a suggestion of cards was voted down by the ladies. The gentlemen were not too disappointed, since a game of hide-and-seek was proposed instead. Michael Boyle, accommodating as always, volunteered that he and Harriet Ponsonby would be first to hide their eyes and do the seeking. There were so many rooms in the villa, with numerous places of concealment, that the tantalizing game could be drawn out for hours.

Each male had an identical goal: to find a place of privacy where he and his female companion could be alone and undisturbed for the best part of an hour. Will Cavendish and Charlie, hand in hand, made their way into the far recesses of the conservatory. In the dimly lit room, fragrant with fuchsia, they found a garden seat set amidst concealing palm fronds and sat down to cuddle.

Maria Gunning led the way to the second story, with George eagerly in tow. With finger to her lips, she entered the bedchamber she was sharing with Harriet, divining that her own room would be the last place she would look. When Maria scorned a chair and sat down on one of the beds, George thought he was in paradise.

John Campbell took Elizabeth down a central hallway to the east wing then led her up the back stairs and along to a walk-in linen closet. At one end, lavender-scented sheets, bolsters, and towels lay on shelves, while stacked at the other end were piles of soft blankets and feather pillows. Once he drew her inside and closed the door, they were in pitch blackness.

Elizabeth stretched out her hands before her. “John, I cannot see anything. Where are you?”

With his mouth close to her ear, he murmured, “Sshh! We must whisper or they will hear us. I know we cannot see, but we have our other senses that will be heightened in the darkness. We can still hear and smell and . . . touch.”

His voice, soft as black velvet, insinuated itself inside her, luring her to imagine wicked fantasies. She drew in a swift breath as she felt his fingertips touch her face, tracing her eyebrows, her cheekbones, the outline of her lips. Then she felt him thread his fingers into her hair.

“Whenever I see you, I want to touch your beautiful hair. You have the most alluring golden curls I’ve ever seen, and my fingers always itch to play with them.”

“You cannot see it now,” she whispered.

“All I have to do is close my eyes and I can always see it.” He dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers. “I picture you naked, cloaked in your golden hair.”

She went faint at the thought. “You really do enjoy saying wicked things, and it isn’t to see the roses bloom in my cheeks.”

“Sshh! Feel the fire, sweetheart.” His arms enfolded her and pressed her softness against the hard length of his body. His mouth took hers in a possessive kiss that sent her blood running hot through her veins like wildfire. The tip of his tongue insinuated itself between her lips then thrust deep inside, filling her mouth and her senses with the taste of him.

The sensual darkness and the knowledge that she would be unable to voice her objections inflamed his imagination. When he felt her stiffen and try to pull away, he would not allow it. Instead, he caressed her back with long, slow strokes, and gradually he felt her rigid muscles relax. The rough, soft slide of his tongue worked its magic, until she lifted her arms about his neck and melted against him.

Though Elizabeth had tried to withdraw, her own longing to be held in his arms made it impossible. She learned exactly what it felt like to wage a losing battle against him and against herself. When he lifted his mouth from hers, he took hold of her hands and stroked them with the ball of his thumb. This reminded her of just how attractive his powerful hands were. Slowly, he raised one to his mouth and kissed each finger with reverence, then repeated the delicious process with her other hand. When he lifted it to his face and touched her fingertips to his brow, she began to trace his features, outlining the straight nose and muscled jaw. She touched his hair, remembering its night-black color, and knew that even in the darkness his brown-black eyes were devouring her.

Slowly, tenderly, he lifted her against his heart and carried her to the pile of soft blankets and feather pillows. He set her down gently and followed her. Again, he threaded his fingers through hers and lifted her arms above her head, so that she reclined beneath him in a captive position that thrust her breasts snugly against the broad expanse of his muscled chest.

Gradually, she became aware of his scent. It was a mixture of leather, sandalwood, and something male and dangerous. Yet as she lifted her mouth for his kiss, she had never felt safer in her life. The total blackness hid their provocative behavior, and she wished that the night could go on forever. Lying in his arms felt so right. Surely this was the way it was supposed to be between a man and a woman. She had longed for this closeness all her life.

The silent darkness became thick with unrequited need.

Suddenly, the door was flung open and lamplight streamed in.

“Uh . . . nobody in the linen room!” Michael Boyle declared emphatically and quickly shut the door.

“Beth, I’m so sorry.” John’s intense words, coupled with their discovery, acted like cold water and she struggled to sit up. “Boyle’s a good friend . . . I promise you he won’t betray us.” He squeezed her hand and lifted it to his mouth in a pledge.

In the boat, when she had asked him if he would take advantage of her, he had replied, Given half a chance, you know I will. Well, she had given him more than half a chance, so she could not blame him—she could only blame herself for her wanton behavior. “We’d better go,” she said softly.

“I’ll go first, sweetheart. Try not to blush when you go downstairs. What we did was lovely and unbelievably innocent. Please don’t regret the moments we shared tonight.”

A short time later, the ladies retired and left the men to their cards. Beth and Charlie went up together, both of them flushed because of the game they had played. Charlie closed the bedchamber door and turned to Elizabeth. “I let Will kiss me tonight and take all kinds of other liberties. Oh, Beth, I’m so head over heels in love with him that I got carried away. I know it sounds wicked, but I wanted him to make love to me!”

“Where did you hide?”

“We went into the conservatory. It was dimly lit and our garden seat was hidden from view by tall palm fronds. The atmosphere was so romantic and secluded—it was as if the whole world receded and there was just the two of us. When he kissed me and . . . caressed me, it felt so right, but now I know my behavior was wanton!” Charlie was covered with guilt. “Where did you hide?”

“In the linen room,” Beth confessed, remembering the feel of the soft pillows and blankets.

Charlie gasped as she pictured the intimate hiding place. Then the two friends looked at each other and burst out laughing. “Would you mind terribly if we stayed together tomorrow? If I’m left alone with Will, I know I shall behave recklessly again—I simply cannot resist him.”

Elizabeth agreed. She knew exactly how Charlie felt.

Next morning, the two girls went down to breakfast wearing riding habits and were happy to find that John and Will were clad in buckskin breeches and boots. The two couples agreed to ride together and have a picnic lunch in the woods. John and Will exchanged a rueful look but made no protest. They had next weekend to look forward to at the Devonshire’s country house in Surrey, where they fully intended to continue their mating dance.

Elizabeth and Charlotte had a delightful day in the woods, with their escorts behaving most gallantly toward them. When it was time to eat, each couple found a private spot, by tacit agreement, where they could feed each other and exchange kisses in sublime solitude. Then, in the afternoon, the four riders tracked a small herd of deer that led them through the heavily wooded valley of the Thames to Richmond.

When they returned to Chiswick, Elizabeth thanked John for giving her such a lovely day. “I love being in the country so much more than London. The woods today reminded me of Ireland.”

He lifted her from the saddle and held her captive far longer than he needed to. “If you enjoyed this, you will love Kent. Promise you will ride with me to Sundridge next weekend?”

She smiled her secret smile. “How can I resist when you have played the gallant all day?”

He whispered in her ear, “On my own turf I might play master.”

“Just so long as you don’t expect me to play mistress.”

Her words, so direct, disarmed him and threw him off balance.

On Sunday, the Chiswick guests awoke to rain. Low clouds had moved in from the sea and the weather threatened to worsen before it improved. As a result, the weekend house party broke up early. The Countess of Burlington assured Elizabeth that a groom would return her horse to London along with her own and Lady Charlotte’s. On the carriage ride home the presence of Emma and Charlie’s maid, Jane, discouraged conversation. Elizabeth was overcome with anxiety about what Emma would report to her mother. John’s words danced in her brain—Sin now; beg forgiveness later—but suddenly the phrase was no longer amusing. If Emma divulged any of what had gone on at Chiswick, there was no way that Bridget would allow them to go to Surrey.

When they arrived at Great Marlborough Street, the footman came out to help Emma with the luggage, and Elizabeth bade Charlie a wistful good-bye. Maria dashed into the house before she got wet, and by the time Elizabeth entered the drawing room, her sister was already telling her parents about Rachel Cavendish and the Earl of Orford. “He asked her to marry him the first day, but he still must face old Devonshire to formally ask for her hand.”

“Maria, you must not refer to His Grace as ‘old Devonshire’ outside this house.”

“The Duke of Devonshire will certainly give his permission, since Orford is the nephew of the late Prime Minister,” Jack said.

“So,” Bridget glanced knowingly at her husband, “these country house parties foster proposals of marriage among the nobility.” She spoke to Emma. “I’d like a full report. I trust you watched over my daughters at all times?”

Elizabeth went pale and held her breath.

Emma sketched Bridget a curtsy. “I took a page from Lady Charlotte’s personal maid, ma’am. Jane is extremely strict where the proprieties are concerned. I used her as my guide and copied her words and actions in every way.” We had a bloody good time with the Chiswick footmen, drinking expensive wine and gorging ourselves on fancy food! “Mistress Maria and Mistress Elizabeth were models of decorum, ma’am. You taught them very pretty manners indeed. You can be proud of them.”

Elizabeth felt her jaw almost drop, then relief washed over her. “Father, the countess arranged for a groom to bring Cavalier from Chiswick with the other horses. Now, speaking of manners, I must immediately write the Countess of Burlington a thank-you note.”

“Very good, Elizabeth. You may convey your sister’s thanks also.” Bridget turned to her elder daughter. “Now, Maria, tell me all about your progress with the Earl of Coventry.”

An hour later when Maria came into their bedchamber, Elizabeth said, “I was so afraid of what Emma would report, but she said exactly the right thing to appease Mother. Actually, I never saw her the entire weekend.”

“That’s because the gentlemen gave all the maids money to keep out of sight and keep their mouths shut. That’s the way it’s done. Honestly, Beth, you are so naive!”

On Monday, at Sundridge, John Campbell received a summons from King George to present himself to His Royal Highness the following day. He was pleased that the letter had come directly from the king to him, rather than through the Duke of Cumberland. In a one-on-one meeting, Campbell was confident he could persuade the king to his way of thinking in certain military matters concerning the Crown. He was aware, however, of the delicate subject matter. Convincing a German that German troops were inferior to British troops would take a great deal of diplomacy. John knew he would have to handle George with kid gloves, for he had seen his royal rages where he had torn off his wig and kicked it across the room when someone dared to differ with him.

John contemplated wearing his military uniform for his interview with the king, since his father was the commander of all troops in Western Scotland but then decided against it. He was loath to conform to the delicate artifice of formal Court dress of satins and powdered wig, so instead chose to wear Argyll plaid, kilt and all. The dark green tartan would remind His Royal Highness of Argyll’s power.

With his steward, John rode out to the tenant farms of Combe Bank and together they decided that the hop fields were ready for harvesting. He inspected the farmhouses and authorized the necessary repairs be made as soon as the crops were picked, before the bitter winds of winter played havoc with the thatched roofs.

Next morning at sunrise, he rode to his town house in London’s Half-Moon Street. Once there, he bathed, donned his kilt and Argyll badge, and made his way to St. James’s Palace.

After a thirty-minute wait, His Royal Highness sent for him. King George held his private audiences in a spacious room known as the King’s Bedchamber, though it boasted no bed. John waited for the king to speak first, as protocol demanded.

“Lord Sundridge, we are pleased to see you answer our summons today.” George scrutinized the boar’s head on his Argyll badge, with its latin inscription NE OBLIVISCARIS, then his eyes looked askance at the kilt.

John Campbell bowed. “Your Majesty is most gracious to allow me a private audience.”

George began to pace the room. “My son, Cumberland, tells us that Highlanders are amongst the best fighting men on earth, what?”

“That is true, Sire. The Argyllshire Highlanders’ motto is Without Fear, and I assure you that no fiercer soldiers exist.”

“They put fear in the hearts of the enemy with their naked, hairy legs and screaming bagpipes, what?” He looked again at Campbell’s bare knees.

“Sire, they do put fear in the hearts of the enemy but with raw courage, fearsome weapons, and unmatched physical strength.”

“Just so, just so!” George accompanied his words with a half dozen rapid nods of his head. “They were part of the coalition army we formed to fight for the Austrian Succession.”

John bit down on his tongue. The war of the Austrian Succession was one of the most useless and destructive wars in history. King George had only taken part because of his possession of Hanover in Germany and, before a truce was signed, the French had soundly thrashed the coalition army of English, Austrians, Dutch, and Germans.

“At the risk of being blunt, Sire, we are still fighting our ancient enemies Spain and France, in India and America. Though war has not yet been declared, I believe that you and I know that it is inevitable, not just in those distant lands but in Europe too.”

“Keep this between ourselves. Walls have ears! Walls have ears, what?” The king was becoming agitated.

Campbell began to soothe him. “While time is still on our side, I propose you allow me to go to the Highlands and recruit Scottish fighting men. Argyll, and I myself, are prepared to train these soldiers into a great military fighting force.” John hesitated, for here was the part where the Hanoverian could take offense. “Britain should be able to fight her own wars without depending upon foreign mercenaries.” Though the thought ran through his head he did not come out and say: Send the bloody Germans packing!

King George’s bulbous eyes stared at him, long and hard. “How do we know we won’t be harboring Jacobite sympathizers, what?”

“At Culloden, Argyll and Cumberland crushed the Jacobites once and for all time, Sire. If the Scots are given the opportunity for warlike glory and regular pay, I pledge that they will faithfully support Your Majesty’s government.”

“Your father, Argyll, has great wealth as well as power. Will you bear the cost of training these Highland recruits, what, what?”

Campbell’s jaw clenched like a lump of iron. The parsimonious swine wants it both ways! “Argyll will bear the cost of training, if when they are ready for war, they will be inducted into the British army and receive regular pay.”

The king pointed to the door. “Summon our man and we will draw up a document authorizing you to go immediately and recruit in the Highlands, what?”

Campbell swallowed his surprise. “Would next week be soon enough, Sire?”

The king’s head nodded rapidly. “Next week. No later. War could be imminent.”

When John left St. James’s Palace, he had the document with the king’s signature upon it tucked away safely in his breast pocket. As he cut through St. James’s Park and walked toward Parliament, he heard the Westminster chimes announce that it was one o’clock. Reasoning that the members would still be at lunch, he made his way to Bucks’ Coffeehouse in Parliament Square. The man he wanted to see had finished his lunch and was on his way out.

John placed his hand on his breast over the document and nodded politely. “Good day, Mr. Pitt.” He lowered his voice. “I have the king’s authorization to recruit in the Highlands.”

Pitt returned the polite smile. “A good day indeed, Sundridge.”

John’s glance traveled down the room and, as he had half expected, saw Will Cavendish having lunch with Coventry and Hamilton. It was fortunate that Mr. Pitt had shrewdly kept on walking.

“Ah, the Argyll Boar has arrived,” Hamilton drawled, glancing at John’s kilt and badge. “The definition of boar, I believe, is uncastrated male swine.”

The other men laughed good-naturedly.

John smiled. “The Hamilton coat of arms bears three acorns. I’ve often wondered, d’you have three nuts, James?”

The other two guffawed, enjoying the pricks of their friends’ verbal swordplay. “Must fascinate the whores,” Coventry remarked.

“It’s the size that fascinates ’em, not the quantity.”

“Sounds like the boast of a schoolboy. You’ll be challenging us to a pissing contest next,” Campbell declared.

Hamilton conceded and rose to his feet. “Since you’re in Town, John, why don’t the four of us go to White’s tonight?”

“Sorry, can’t be done. I have to return to Kent. The hops are ready to be harvested.”

“Well, that lets out Farmer John but it doesn’t excuse the rest of you. Shall we say ten o’clock?”

Coventry and Hamilton departed together, leaving Will behind. “Do you really have to return to Combe Bank?”

“I do if you want me in Surrey this weekend.”

“Oh, absolutely! Rachel sent off a letter posthaste to Mother about Orford’s proposal, so I’m expecting her in London by the weekend. Devonshire House will be taken over by females issuing their infernal orders and arranging engagement parties and whatnot. I much prefer to be in Surrey when she arrives.”

“You don’t seem in any hurry to get back to Parliament. Nothing of interest going on?” John inquired.

“I’m not going back at all. Lord Halifax wants money for military protection of the new colony in Nova Scotia, and whenever the government wants money, the first name they think of is Devonshire!”

On the ride back to Kent, John wished he hadn’t sent his secretary running off on a wild goose chase to Ireland. Elizabeth Gunning’s background didn’t need investigating. She was well-bred and highly educated, and her family were minor nobles. Elizabeth had truly captivated him, and he knew he would miss her far, far too deeply. When he got to Scotland, his mother would again pressure him to make a match with the daughter of one of the great Scottish nobles such as the Duke of Buccleuch. Mary Montagu was a great heiress and attractive enough, but she wasn’t Elizabeth. With resolution he dragged his thoughts from her. He had many business matters that needed attention and much paperwork before he was free to leave for Scotland. He hoped Robert Hay would return from Ireland shortly. John’s thoughts drifted once again to Elizabeth. Would she be unhappy to learn that he was leaving for Scotland? He hoped so. A sensual smile curved his mouth. They would have this weekend together, and John Campbell vowed to make the most of it.