Avery was later arriving at Westcott House than he had intended, but his errands had been delayed by the earliness of the hour. It seemed that people did not begin work at the crack of dawn or even soon after. However, here he was now, wondering, as he often did when he was about to see Anna, if a certain spell that appeared to have been cast over him would have been dispelled since the last time and he would see her as the perfectly ordinary young woman she surely was. Under the circumstances, it would be just as well if that was not about to happen.
John the Friendly Footman entertained him as they climbed the stairs by informing him that Miss Snow would be happy to see him as she had just finished writing a long letter to his erstwhile art teacher in Bath and was probably at loose ends—the footman’s own words—as Lady Overfield had not yet finished hers. John thought, though, that Lady Overfield was writing more than one letter and that accounted for the fact that she was still at it. It did not matter, though, it seemed, as the post would not be picked up until one o’clock and she would surely be finished by then.
Avery thought about how servants in other houses effaced themselves into virtual invisibility and thereby deprived employers and guests of a great deal of wit and wisdom and good cheer.
“His Grace, the Duke of Netherby,” John announced, all prideful formality after he had tapped on the drawing room door and flung it open—and then he ruined the effect by grinning at Avery.
Anna was sitting by the fireplace, all prim and pretty in sprigged muslin. Elizabeth was seated at a table by the window, surrounded by paper and inkpot and blotter and quill pens. But she was getting to her feet and smiling.
“Avery,” she said as he bowed to her. “Anna has been expecting you. I have just finished my letters and will take them down to set on the tray to go out with today’s post. Then there are one or two things I need to do in my room.”
He turned to open the door for her, and she came very close to winking at him.
“I shall not be gone for too, too long,” she said. “I take my responsibility as Anna’s chaperone very seriously, you know.”
He closed the door behind her and went to stand before Anna’s chair. She had not said anything yet beyond a murmured greeting. She was looking a little pale, perhaps a little tense, with her feet planted side by side on the floor, her hands clasped in her lap, her posture very correct even though that chair had surely been made to be lounged in. He had heard all about the plans for their wedding from his stepmother, and when he had called on Edwin Goddard this morning to see if there was anything in the post that needed his personal attention—fortunately there had not been—he had known without even asking that his secretary was just waiting for the word before springing into action. Between the two of them, with a little encouragement from other assorted Westcotts, the duchess and Goddard would doubtless produce a wedding to end all weddings. The duchess had even made a passing mention of St. Paul’s Cathedral, paving the way, perhaps, for a definite suggestion within the next day or two.
By now, of course, Goddard was no longer waiting for the word. He had been assigned another task.
Typically, although she was clearly not at ease, his betrothed was looking directly and steadily at him.
He leaned forward to set his hands on the arms of her chair and brought his mouth to hers. She was not an experienced kisser, and that was something of an understatement. Her lips remained closed and still, though there was nothing shrinking or reluctant about them. He parted his own lips, moved them lightly over hers, licking them until they parted, and curled his tongue behind them. She moved then. He sensed her hands unclenching and felt them light against his chest and then curling over his shoulders. He pressed his tongue past her teeth and into her mouth. She drew breath sharply—through her mouth—and gripped his shoulders. He drew the tip of his tongue along the roof of her mouth, and she sucked on it.
She could give lessons to courtesans, he thought as he withdrew his tongue and lifted his head. She smelled faintly of lavender water. He straightened up.
“Go and fetch your bonnet,” he said. “Knock on Elizabeth’s door and get her to bring hers too if she does not have other plans for the rest of the morning. If she does, we will have to take Bertha instead.”
“Where are we going?” she asked him. “Will I need to change?”
“You will not need to change,” he assured her. “I am going to take you to an insignificant church on an insignificant street. Neither has any architectural feature to be remarked upon, and as far as I know nothing of any great historical significance has ever happened there.”
She smiled slowly at him. “Then why are we going there?” she asked.