A Wedding In Springtime

chapter Twenty-nine





Dinner had not gone well. Lady Bremerton refused to talk, Louisa never spoke as a rule, and Genie had nothing to say. The absence of female chatter created a vacuum, which her uncle surprised the company by being willing to fill. Despite the unpleasantness of the afternoon caused by a minor revolt led by the two young ladies, Lord Bremerton was in fine fettle for having taken command of his ship.

He spoke first of the weather, then of the war, and then, as if the pump had been primed, of his friend Robby, who had been a general in a war before Genie had been born. Lord Bremerton told anyone who would listen, which at the silent table was everyone, that Robby was planning on visiting London and had promised to come to the engagement ball for Louisa.

Genie kept her eyes on her meal and ignored her uncle’s speech. She had less than twelve hours to find a solution for her brother. His mood had been despondent this morning. If he came back tomorrow morning and Genie could not provide him with good news, he might give up hope entirely. She needed to do something.

She considered her visit to the chocolate shop. He wanted her to steal for him, to steal sensitive documents. She may be naive, but she was not so stupid as to think stealing documents from the duke’s study would be a good plan. No, that option was definitely out.

There must be another way. Genie considered the problem, turning it around in her mind, searching for answers and solutions. She retired early to her room as did the other ladies; no one seemed in the mood to hear another war story featuring her suddenly loquacious uncle and Robby.

Out her bedroom window, through the bushy branches of spring, a light was on in the Grant household. Grant. He had made an offer too. His offer was not one she would usually contemplate. It would break her mother’s heart if she became a… a… she was not even sure of the right word.

Yet her mother’s heart would break even more if she learned her baby boy drowned himself in the Thames over a gambling debt. Genie would be ruined—unfit for London society, unfit for country society. But this was hardly news since she had doomed herself from the beginning with her disastrous debut. She had hoped with her presence at Almack’s her reputation could be restored, but now that she had so abused Mr. Blakely, she could not hope for another offer anytime soon.

Did Mr. Grant not say he would spoil her? Lavish gifts upon her? Her first request would be to discharge her brother’s gambling debts. Unlike Mr. Blakely, in whose character she had been so mistaken, she knew in her heart Grant would be generous. He would protect her brother.

She would do it. Tomorrow, she would write Mr. Grant and tell him she had decided to accept his proposal. Except tomorrow, tomorrow would be too late. Her brother would return early, and she must have good news for him or goodness knows what he would do.

The light in the far window beckoned her. Grant was there. He was awake. Could she go now? She shook her head. She couldn’t go traipsing through the gardens to a man’s house wearing nothing but a night rail. What kind of a hoyden was she? It was not proper!

Genie laughed at herself. Of course it was not proper. That was the whole point of what she was going to do. She was going to get improper—sinfully, wretchedly, utterly improper.

Genie put on a pair of slippers and chose a gauzy wrap that was more seduction than protection. Time to be seduced, and she couldn’t wait to start. She tiptoed down the hall and descended the stairs to the garden entrance. Her skin was alive, tingling.

At the door she stopped. Was she truly going to do this? Leave her life? Leave her family? Go to Grant? No, no she could not. She was a good girl. Her mother would be heartbroken. Genie would be lost to her entire family.

And yet, there were only two ways to discharge a debt of honor. Pay the debt or die. Since twelve thousand pounds was more than George could possibly pay, that left only one option.

She wrapped her gauzy wrap around her tightly and opened the door. If by going to Grant she could save her brother’s life, she would do it. It was highly improper, but her heart sang with the prospect of being with Grant. She would find happiness with him, of that she felt sure. It may not be what she pictured for herself, but it was better than becoming a spinster, knowing she had the power to save her brother’s life and did nothing to protect him.

Genie plunged herself into the cold, the gauzy wrap being of no practical use against the damp chill of night. Her dainty slippers too would be no match for traipsing through the garden. She returned to the house for her coat and a pair of pattens. She may be a wanton hussy, but she was a sensible, practical, farm girl type of wanton hussy.

She slipped through her garden easily enough, but at the back where the two gardens joined, it was dark and somewhat foreboding. Telling herself not to be timid, she plunged ahead, ignoring the squeaky gate that sent shivers down her spine, picked up her skirts, and ran to Grant’s house. She wouldn’t turn back now and go back through the spooky garden for anything. She tried the back door and breathed a sigh of relief to find it unlocked.

She slipped in the door and paused. What now? Tiptoe through his house like a common thief? What if his servants saw her? She had imagined clandestine romances in the past, what self-respecting teenager had not? But the reality was more mundane and less romantic than anything she expected.

Genie looked back from where she came. Dark, foreboding garden or dark, foreboding house? Tough choice. Genie removed her pattens. It wouldn’t do any good to go tromping through the house. She headed toward the parlor and stopped. She had no candle. It was dark. Very dark.

She had read more gothic novels than her mother would say was healthy, but none of these stories had fully prepared her for her own adventure. How was she going to get upstairs to meet her lover?

Lover?

A mental image of her shocked parents’ faces floated before her. Genie turned around. She had not the stomach for it. Better a spooky garden than her mother’s look of disappointment and shame.

“Come now, don’t you run away from me!”

Genie jumped at the male voice and the light that followed. Afraid to move, Genie swallowed hard and turned slowly in the hall toward the light.

Mr. Grant walked, or rather stumbled, down the hall, swinging a lantern. “Here, my pretty. I need you, pretty precious.”

Genie’s mouth dropped. Grant was half dressed, without a coat or cravat, and his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Grant took another two swaying steps and she realized two important things. First, he was hideously drunk. Second, he was not talking to her. Indeed, it did not appear that he even noticed her presence standing in the shadows of the corridor.

He ambled into a room and she heard a crash and a curse. She stepped closer to see what he had done, but he came back out, a bottle in his hand.

“There’s my sweet girl,” said Grant gazing with affection at the bottle in his hand.

“Grant?”

Grant stopped and stared at her, as if not quite comprehending who she was. He looked down at the bottle then back up at her. “I’ve done drunk myself mad.” He pulled out the stopper of the whiskey bottle with his teeth and spat it on the ground, taking a hearty swig from the bottle. “And I hopes I never recovers.”

“Hello,” said Genie, helpless to know what to say. The urge to run back home had never been so great. What on earth was she thinking? This is why all those morality plays had grim outcomes for young girls who did not protect their virtue.

“Where’s my manners. Care for a drink?” Grant held out the bottle, even as he swayed.

“No, thank you, sir.” It was ridiculous to put on her pretty manners at a time like this. She had entered a man’s house in the dead of night to find him drunk as sin and now she was refusing hard drink as if she was standing in her mother’s parlor.

“I should go.” Genie turned to leave.

“Don’t go.” Grant’s voice was so bereft she turned back. “Please, I don’t mind madness. Don’t leave me, I pray.” Grant’s voice cracked, and Genie rushed to him.

“No, no of course I won’t.” She put an arm around him to keep him upright, for she feared he would topple over. “Let us get you to bed.”

“Yeeeeesssss. Bed, bed, bed.”

She walked beside him, her arm around his waist, his arm leaning heavily on her shoulders. He made a fair bit of thumping and thudding and babbling as they made their way up the steps and though Genie’s heart was pounding from the exertion and the fear that a member of his staff would find them, no one came forward. She guessed the loud ramblings of Mr. Grant were not so unusual as to rouse the house.

She let him lead her up two flights of stairs, hoping he knew where he was going and would not take her to the housekeeper’s room instead. He led her through a tall door to a tastefully appointed bedroom. He set the lantern down and offered to take her coat. She shrugged it off before thinking better of it. Drunk or not, Grant’s eyes roamed over her person. A wicked smile indicated he was pleased with what he saw.

She should go. She should… he stepped closer and her mind went blank. He may be vilely drunk, but he was still just as handsome, and she would wager any woman would pause if Grant looked at her in quite the same manner. There was a glint in his eye, an odd mixture of wickedness and true warmth.

“You are beautiful.” It was not the words he spoke, but the way he spoke them that made her catch her breath. The words were whispered reverently, with eyes closed.

“You are not even looking at me.”

“Don’t need to see you to know you’re beautiful.”

All her life Genie had been told she was beautiful, so much so that she had taken this as a plain fact. Beautiful. This moment was the first time she ever truly felt it.

“Mr. Grant, is your, err… offer still available?”

Grant cocked his head to one side, clearly not understanding the question.

“I mean do you still want me to…” Genie stumbled over the words. She could not say the word mistress could she? “You spoke of spoiling me, of caring for me, if I would run away with you. Is that offer still something you wish?”

“My only wish is to be with you.” Suddenly Grant did not look drunk any more. He stopped swaying and looked her directly in the eye as sober as a banker.

“Mr. Grant, I know it is highly improper to be here.”

Grant shook his head. “Very proper. Good of you.”

She ignored this. “I need you to understand that my brother has unfortunately been led astray and has accrued gambling debts that are extreme.”

Grant shrugged and stumbled backward, landing heavily on the richly appointed bed. Genie swallowed hard on a dry throat. He was sitting on the bed. The bed!

“As—as I said. My brother’s gambling debts. He ran away from school when they had a break and came to London for the first time. He pretended to be a Mr. Smythe and has been terribly taken advantage of. I fear he might do something rash if I don’t find a way to raise the money.”

Grant waved a hand. “All boys gamble, get in debt. Get out of it too. Don’t worry yourself.”

“He owes twelve thousand pounds.”

Grant squinted at her as if trying to make her come into focus. “What’s that now? Lot of blunt t’be sure.”

“I know. I know it is. I don’t know what else to do. You were the only one I could think of who may be able to help.”

Genie hoped this statement would encourage Grant to do something gallant, but the blank look on Grant’s face told her she was going to need to make it clear what she was asking.

“Will you help us, Mr. Grant? Will you pay his debts?” Genie boldly stepped forward until she was directly in front of him. She put her hand on his shoulder. “I would be most grateful.”

His mouth opened slightly, his eyes wide. “Do whatever you want. ’Course I will.”

“Will you?”

“Give you anything.” Grant gently took her hand in his and studied it like a fragile object.

A flood of relief rushed through Genie. She had done it. Her brother was safe. Grant pressed her hand to his lips and another rush of something hot and powerful coursed through her. He placed his hands on her hips and drew her closer until she was standing between his knees. Her heart pounded in her chest as he wrapped his arms around her and laid his head on her chest. Her knees went weak, and she had to put her hands on his shoulders to keep from sliding to the floor. Gone were any thoughts of tomorrow; gone were any thoughts at all.

“Will you leave me now?” he mumbled into her bosom.

“No,” she whispered. She might never walk again, considering her bones were now the consistency of apple jelly.

“You are madness. Rum touch madness.” He grazed his lips across her exposed flesh above the top of her night rail, leaving a searing trail of heat in his wake. With a soft finger, he traced the line where his mouth had been and then slowly explored under the gown. She caught her breath when his fingers brushed over her peaking interest. Instead of pulling away, she leaned into him.

His hands circled, cupped, teased, until her breath came fast and her legs gave way. He helped her sit down on one strong thigh even as his free hand undid the ties of her night rail, exposing her breasts. She gasped at the sensation of his mouth on her breast, his tongue circling, his soft lips caressing. He suckled her until she whimpered, giving herself wholly to the experience.

He shifted around, placing her easily on the bed, and raked her up and down. Instead of wanting to cover herself, she leaned into his gaze, giving herself to him, for in his eyes she saw nothing but pure desire and awe.

“Take off your gown,” he rasped. “But leave that wrap on.”

It was an impossible request, but she was more than willing to comply. She removed the wrap for a moment, tossed the sensible flannel night rail aside, and slid back into her gauzy wrap that hardly hid what it should. In fact, it was more of a tease than anything, and when she met his eye again, she knew it was having a powerful effect.

He fumbled with his shirt buttons until she laughed. “Here, let me help.” She began to undo the buttons of his shirt. Instead of helping, his hands went to her, smoothing down her arms to her shoulders, where he massaged away the tension she had carried with her.

When she had relieved him of his shirt, she smoothed her hands over his toned chest. He looked good in his clothes; he looked better without them. Unlike some men who used clothing to hide flaws, his clothing only hid perfection. His muscular chest and rippling abdominal muscles made her want to kiss him. So she did.

She ran her lips across his chest as he had done to her, earning her a sharp intake of breath. She trailed kisses down until she came to his trousers. With shaky fingers, she untied his trousers, fumbling with the closures which were unfamiliar to her. With a grunt of impatience, he helped her remove the last of his clothing until he was standing before her naked, giving her his full attention.

She stared at his male member, having never seen one before. She touched and he groaned. She ran her hand down his length and he trembled.

The candle in the lantern gutted, plunging them into total darkness. She welcomed it. He gently pushed her back and she moved up to the top of the comforter and snuggled down underneath, with him next to her. He opened her wrapper like she was a precious gift and ran his hand from her breast down to her thighs.

Wanton that she was, she embraced him in return. He started soft and slow until he touched her in a place that made her gasp. He moved against her, with her, until something building inside her was bubbling up to the surface. She pressed herself closer, running her hands down his back. He slowed and nuzzling closer, he kissed her. His kiss was long and deep and opened the door to a world she had only before visited in her dreams. He was everything she ever wanted and she was flushed with arousal and pounding love and a sudden flash of pain in the realization that he must have found her wanting, for he would give her all of himself, except his name.

He kissed his way slowly down her throat until he lavished his attentions onto her breasts. She arched her back, giving herself over to him. She may not have won his heart, but he had a kiss that could make a girl forget. He covered her like a warm blanket, propping himself with an elbow so as not to squish her, but never ceasing his sweet caress. He moved faster and faster until she writhed beneath him, panting, crying out in spite of herself. Something within her was building stronger and stronger until she was certain it would consume her, and she rushed headlong into it.

Waves of sensation crashed over her, flooding her with indescribable pleasure. He plunged himself inside her at that moment, mixing pleasure with a sliver of pain even as it brought a new wave of pleasure rippling through her. He moved within her and cried out.

Collapsing beside her, he was instantly asleep. She took several deep breaths, the aftershocks of pleasure and pain still rippling through her. She closed her eyes and sunk down into the soft mattress. She sighed and fell into a dreamless sleep.