Page 13 of A Season Beyond A Kiss (Birmingham #2)

THE MELODIC STRAINS OF A WALTZ DRIFTED ON AIRY wings throughout the halls of Oakley Plantation house as the tall master of the manse swept his young wife in ever-widening circles around the candlelit, flower-bedecked ballroom.

The bejeweled hem of the lady’s gently flaring skirts swirled caressingly against her husband’s black-stockinged calves in much the same manner as her slender fingers idly stroked the fabric of his finely tailored coat.

His dapper evening attire of blackest silk, accentuated by a white, nattily tied stock and crisp, high-collared shirt, contrasted handsomely with the pale rosy blush of her beaded gown.

In like degrees, his raven hair and burnished good looks emphasized the fairness of her ivory skin and the shining luster of her auburn tresses.

The two had eyes only for each other and were blissfully unaware of their guests drifting to the outer limits of the dance floor from whence they watched in admiration, many enthralled with the easy flowing grace of the pair.

Others were not so graciously inclined.

For at least a decade now, neighbors and friends had been cognizant of the attention the Birmingham brothers had garnered from a company of smitten females in the area.

Now that the elder of the two had become firmly ensconced in a marriage to a beautiful wife and had a second child on the way, much of that infatuation had fallen to the younger who, on his own, had unwittingly acquired a vast following of lovesick devotees.

Many of these same bedazzled maidens were present at this evening’s festivities as members of families who had been acquainted with the Birminghams for a goodly number of years.

Some were pampered darlings of avaricious parents who had seen the wealth of the Birminghams as something they could hopefully gain access to through

marriage.

Mothers and offspring were wont to hiss and sneer as they cast haughty glowers toward the object of their envy and the cause of their frustration.

Recent hearsay had it that the newest Mrs.

Birmingham had become the recipient of the zealous attention of one Gustav Fridrich, a brutish German who had been so intent upon having the girl for his own that he had broken into Oakley House and taken her captive.

The rejected maids and their doting parents enlivened many a rumor about the event, suggesting that the lady had actually been sullied by her abductor and that her handsome husband, always a gentleman, had merely done the honorable thing by refusing to cast her aside.

More flattering compliments flowed from a different sector, not only liberally extolling the praises of the attractive couple, but also expressing admiration for the lady’s gown.

All were wont to surmise that the garment had cost her husband a sizable sum.

But then, many shrugged away any thought of censure, reasoning that when a man was as rich as Jeffrey Birmingham, it was understandable that he would be of a mind to bestow lavish gifts upon his wife, for she was indeed exquisite.

Farrell Ives and Elizabeth Dalton exchanged smiling glances as they overheard comments praising the lady’s gown.

In silent tribute to the couturier’s talent, his loyal assistant squeezed his arm.

The gentle pressure in no wise went unnoticed by the stalwart man.

Indeed, it did much to provoke his surprise, for the lady had never displayed any willingness to touch him either casually or deliberately unless she had been required by some definite reason to do so.

Farrell lowered a questioning gaze upon the dark-haired beauty, and when Elizabeth looked up, their eyes met with startling results.

In the cerulean orbs, a warmth began to glow, more than hinting of a manly desire as he plumbed far below the depth of the darkly hued iris.

It was the first time he had ever captured her gaze long enough to lend him some hope that her heart was susceptible to an intimate search of her hidden emotions.

For an instant he glimpsed fertile ground, and his lean fingers brushed across the delicate bones of her hand, trying to communicate all the feelings he had held in check for years.

Her breath halted, and for barely an instant she seemed to waver between a smile and some unknown fear.

Then her soft lips began to tremble, and a fluttering sigh wafted from them.

A poignant longing seemed to fill the very essence of Elizabeth’s being.

As much as she yearned to respond with a womanly warmth to Farrell’s questioning stare, she knew only too well the danger of yielding to those hypnotic, powerfully masculine smiles.

Too often she had witnessed his effect on unsuspecting young maidens who had ventured much too close and, without warning, suddenly found their hearts hopelessly ensnared.

Those mesmerizing blue-eyed stares had the strength to weaken the knees as well as the wits and wills of not only tender virgins but older widows as well, as Mrs.

Brewster had recently demonstrated.

Being merely his employee, Elizabeth understood the folly of lowering her guard, for she would be loath to see him scurrying to find a place to hide were she ever to forget her self-imposed restrictions. Still, it had been an arduous task to ig nore the sinking feeling that had affirmed itself in the pit of her stomach each and every time she had been required by proper etiquette to stand

calmly by while she watched the man practice his irresistible cajolery on some sweet young thing in his shop.

The gloom that had followed such occurrences had left no question in her mind that, perhaps more than anyone, she yearned for some small bit of his attention for herself.

In a hard-won guise of unaffected insouciance Elizabeth withdrew her hand, hoping her employer wouldn’t notice how it was shaking, and forced herself to look elsewhere in an effort to calm herself.

The refreshment tables drew her attention and offered her an honest excuse to put some distance between the clothier and herself.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Mr.

Ives, I’d like to see what I can find to eat at the refreshment table.

I’m afraid in my haste to be ready on time, I failed to eat.”

She indicated a general direction.

“Besides, several of our younger customers are eyeing you, no doubt hoping for a dance.

I’m sure you’ll want to oblige them.”

Farrell slipped a hand beneath her elbow, hardly encouraged by her efforts to send him chasing after other maids.

“Actually, I’m of a mind to join you, but I must say, Elizabeth, you don’t have to be so formal while we’re away from the shop.

You know my name better than anyone.

I give you leave to use it.”

Elizabeth sought to speak, but found that her voice had lost its strength.

Clearing her throat, she made another attempt.

“Do you think I should be so casual when there are so many listening ears about? Thus far, we’ve managed to avoid the damage of gossips’ slurs by not associating with each other in public.

Should the rumormongers hear me addressing you by your given name, they may be wont to make much of the familiarity.”

Farrell was seriously tempted to curse all the nosey biddies to a life of unending boredom.

Reluctantly he accepted Elizabeth’s excuse, not that he agreed with her, but he knew of the difficulty it would entail getting his assistant to change her mind.

She could be damnably iron-willed at times, especially when it came to personal matters and, he suspected, affairs of the heart.

In another area of the room, a tall, handsome woman of middling years peered through her lorgnette as the younger Birmingham couple waltzed past.

Loftily raising a brow, she leaned aside to the shorter lady who stood near her elbow.

“Surely I misunderstood you, Mrs.

Brewster.

Did you say that Mr.

Birmingham found his bride under a coach? That sounds rather like he found her under a cabbage leaf in his neighbor’s garden. Eligible bachelors here in the Carolinas don’t go hunting for brides in such an odd fashion, do they?”

The plump, round-faced woman started in surprise at her companion’s deductions and, in a highly agitated state, fluttered her lace fan, making the peacock feathers on her elaborate headdress flutter as well.

“My dear Mrs.

Winthrop, I said nothing of the sort! Miss Raelynn certainly wasn’t underneath a coach, although she might have been if Mr.

Jeffrey hadn’t leapt into the road after her.”

The tall gentleman standing beside them lent his attention to the plump milliner.

“Do tell, Mrs.

Brewster.

You’ve stirred my imagination to the point that it must now be satisfied.”

“Most eagerly will I do so, my lord,”

Mrs.

Brewster rejoined with a nervous little twitter.

She flicked her thin lashes coyly as she began to relate the details of the younger couple’s meeting.

Unaware that they were being discussed in nearly every circle of guests, Jeff continued to sweep his bride about the ballroom as he basked in the adoration shining in her darkly lashed, aqua eyes, much as a man might revel in the warm rays of the sun in the midst of a frigid land.

“Have I told you this evening, my pet, how utterly enchanting you look? But then, I’ve yet to see you when you’ve been anything less than ravishing.

Indeed, I’m most aware of that fact when you’re wearing nothing at all.

Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Immensely,”

Raelynn assured him, her soft lips curving upward enticingly.

Dancing with her handsome husband made her feel as if she were a young girl again, being swept around a garden in the arms of her Prince Charming.

Her fingers slid inward across the broad expanse of his shoulder and, in the guise of smoothing a satin lapel, caressed his hardened chest beneath the fine cloth of his frockcoat.

“You make me feel very much like a princess, Jeffrey.”

“Your appearance attests to your right to feel that way, my dear.

I’m nigh besotted indulging myself in the sights.

Your new gown is certainly no less than resplendent.

Even so, it fails to equal your radiance.

If not for the vivid recollection I have of watching your toilette, I’d be of a mind to think that Farrell had talked you into wearing it without all those frilly undergarments women are wont to pile on underneath their clothing.

It clings to you divinely.”

Smiling, Raelynn allowed her thoughts to drift back to before the ball.

He had looked for all the world like some dark-skinned sultan admiring his favorite concubine as he lounged back upon her chaise and watched her dress.

Tizzy had been more than a little anxious arranging her hair under his close attention and had dropped the comb countless times until Jeffrey had taken pity on the girl.

Retiring from their chambers, he had closed the hall door behind him, allowing the maid to breathe a sigh of relief.

“The satin they used to make my shift is so sublime, it makes me feel utterly delicious.”

Jeff pressed a hand behind the small of her back, bringing his young wife imperceptibly closer.

“You look utterly delicious, madam, so much so that I’ve been wanting to devour you since you left me alone in the tub.”

Raelynn peered up at him flirtatiously through silken lashes.

It was just like her handsome husband to turn her words around to his advantage.

“I meant inwardly, Jeffrey.”

“I’d really like to take another look at your chemise,”

he teased with a grin as his gaze dipped briefly to her bosom.

“We have guests, Jeffrey.”

“That doesn’t keep me from recalling how beautiful you are underneath all that fine apparel or how enticing you look when you’re lying warm and sated with desire in my arms.”

Raelynn’s cheeks deepened to a rosy hue as she thought of the many times he had made her forget herself in the passionate fervor of their union.

Though her only experience in the art of lovemaking was what she had learned in his arms, he seemed a very bold and accomplished lover.

She had never dared ask how he had come by such knowledge.

Nevertheless she was wont to wonder at times, but that usually caused her to suffer recurring doubts about Nell and others he might have pleasured.

Still, whenever those glowing emerald eyes settled on her and silently communicated his cravings, he could make her dismiss everything from mind but her growing involvement with the man.

It was a simple fact that, whether clothed or as naked as the day he had been born, Jeffrey Birmingham could command her complete attention. “I have visions just as titillating, sir.”

A roguish grin slanted across his lips.

“It seems we’re of one mind, madam.

Nearly every hour of the day my thoughts hearken back to what we do together in the privacy of our bedroom.

It’s nice to know you’re affected in much the same way.”

She tilted her elegantly coifed head curiously.

“I’ve been wondering about something, sir.”

“Yes, madam?”

“Our bed would sleep a whole family comfortably.

Did you have some particular penchant in mind when you specified its dimensions?”

“I suppose upon espying it, one might have cause to won der if it had been ordered especially for the purpose of accommodating a couple’s activities in bed.”

“You mean it wasn’t?”

she challenged sweetly.

His eyebrows flicked upward briefly above smoldering green orbs.

“Very likely, madam.

You see, for some years past I’ve carried in my mind a vision of a naked, pale-skinned goddess who could lure me into rapturous dreams.

Her breasts were delicately hued, soft and round, her belly of the creamiest hue, her thighs so temptingly joined together, I became fairly besotted with a desire to mount them.

My yearnings became deeply seeded, and I began to aspire to the belief that someday I would be able to claim the lady of my dreams and bring her to life with a kiss.”

“Your kisses would bestir the heart of the most reluctant maid, sir.”

“You were reluctant yourself once upon a time.”

“Only because I was ignorant of all delights that awaited me in your arms.”

Jeff threw back his head and laughed in hearty amusement, causing his wife to glance around in sudden chagrin.

She couldn’t predict how their guests would respond to her husband’s unrestrained hilarity, but as one might expect, the two of them now claimed the attention of nearly every person in the room.

Still, that didn’t bother her nearly as much as the fact that they had also fallen prey to the glum stares of the dejected.

Young as she was, she had obviously shattered the hopeful prospects of women several years older than herself, some of whom were young widows with far more experience with men.

“Jeffrey Birmingham, what will our guests think?”

she whispered, striving hard to sound stern.

The difficulty for such a task seemed mainly centered on the gratification she felt being the wife of such a man.

“Just look, Jeffrey.

There’s no one else dancing.

We’ve become the attraction for this evening.

People will presume the worst.”

“Aye, such fantasies bestir their imagination,”

he assured her, swirling her about.

He gave her a grin closely reminiscent of a leer.

“If they could read my mind, madam, they’d be doubly shocked.”

A dimple showed at the corner of her mouth as she fingered the lapel of his frockcoat again.

“ ‘Tis evident your thoughts don’t need stimulating, sir.”

“Not as long as I have you for a wife, my love.

All I need do is look at you, and my aspirations and other things raise to lofty heights.”

Lifting her gaze coyly to his, she emulated a museful vein.

“ Other things being?”

A dark eyebrow angled roguishly upward as the green eyes gleamed back at her.

“You’re teasing me, madam, and I’m wondering for what purpose.

If you wish a private demonstration, I’m sure we can find someplace where I can exhibit my ardor without causing you undue embarrassment.”

Raelynn’s fingers tracked a trail up to the high collar of his stiffly starched shirt.

“It’s fairly easy to ascertain by the questionable fit of other men’s clothing that you’ve either been gifted with an exceptional tailor or a superb physique, sir.

I would never mind a private exhibition.”

Jeff peered at her obliquely, growing more intrigued by the moment.

“Any specific area you’d like to view, madam?”

“You know, Jeffrey, you really should lift your sights above your loins,”

she teased sweetly.

“You might discover that there are other parts of a man’s body just as worthy of admiration.”

“You haven’t answered me,”

he pressed, reluctant to move away from such a titillating subject.

“As a bride of three months going on four, do you ogle other men to make a comparison to me? Or do you do so merely out of curiosity?”

His question drew an honest gasp from her.

“I don’t ogle other men, Jeffrey.”

“You ogle me.”

Her fine nose lifted loftily.

“That’s different.”

Jeff leaned above her ear to whisper, “I like it when you do.”

A captivating grin curved Raelynn’s lips as she cut her eyes aslant at him.

“The pleasure is mutual, sir.”

“Oh, oh.

Now you’ve done it.”

His wife glanced up in bemusement.

“What’s wrong?”

“We’d better change the subject before I embarrass myself,”

he cautioned.

“These breeches can be damned revealing at times.”

The aqua eyes slipped downward briefly, drawing an amused chuckle from him.

“Got you!”

Raelynn tossed her head, like a child who had been thoroughly miffed by the prankish trick of a hopeless tease, but the corners of her lips seemed to have a will of their own as they curved in amusement.

“I wouldn’t have been at all surprised, knowing what a lecher I have for a husband.”

“I became a lecher the day you entered my life, madam.”

Satisfied, Raelynn smiled and resumed toying with his carefully wrapped stock.

“And I became a wanton the day you took me into your bed, sir.

I can hardly think of anything else.”

Servants moving about with trays laden with libations, musicians extracting melodious notes from instruments, elegantly arrayed ladies and gentlemen talking in muted tones seemed somehow detached from the private world in which the couple had entered.

Yet it wasn’t until Jeff had relinquished Raelynn for a dance with an elderly gentleman of impeccable character that he realized how time seemed to slow to a snail’s pace when they weren’t together.

Even as he talked with some of his hunting companions, his eyes seemed inclined to watch her dutifully smiling and dancing with the elder.

When, after bestowing another such glance upon her, he encountered the blatantly amused stare of his brother, Jeff felt his own cheeks grow ruddy in chagrin.

“Pleases you a mite, does she?”

Brandon gently prodded, stepping near.

“More’n a mite,”

Jeff readily acknowledged as he gave his brother a crisp nod of affirmation.

He allowed himself a final glance at Raelynn before he turned and followed along behind his older sibling, much as he had oftentimes done as a child.

Heather was seated in a large, wing-backed chair with her dainty, slippered feet residing on a low footstool and a lace shawl carefully draped around her shoulders in such a way as to mask her ponderous belly.

Earlier that day, Jeff had instructed servants to place the chair in a spot where the expectant mother could view the entire room without having to move about, the only possible hindrance to her visual range being the guests who might overlook her presence.

“Little chance of that,”

Jeff had replied when Kingston had posed such a question.

“Even well along with child, she’ll have her own circle of admirers and friends who’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”

As expected, Heather was surrounded by a small collection of guests who had paused to pay their respects.

Farrell Ives had led Elizabeth Dalton upon his arm to that very spot where they were now engaged in conversation with the charming Mrs.

Brandon Birmingham.

In much the same manner, Thelma Brewster had hastened across the room, but only after noting the couturier among those presently talking to the pregnant beauty.

Thelma brought her companions with her, the widowered English lord and Lydia Winthrop, both of middling years.

Although Mrs. Winthrop had grown up near the Charleston area, in the last score of years she had taken up residence in London after marrying a wealthy Englishman. Recently she had made the voyage to visit friends in the Carolinas. As for the nobleman, he had lived most of his life near that great metropolis in Eng land and had every intention of returning once he concluded his business in the area.

“My dears, have you met Lord Marsden?”

Lydia Winthrop queried, with an elegant sweep of her hand drawing the tall, lank gentleman forward.

“We became acquainted while sailing here from London.

Nasty weather, we had, too.

Tossed our ship about more than I could abide, but that is neither here nor there.

Lord Marsden came here on a quest to find a suitable track of land to buy as a wedding gift for his daughter and her fiancé.

Mrs. Brewster assured us that it would be perfectly acceptable with our host if his lordship came along with us, seeing as how the Birmingham men could likely advise him on the best acreages to be had in the area.”

Lord Marsden cleared his throat as if he were about to launch himself into a long speech.

“Yes, of course, I didn’t wish to intrude, you see, but these kindly ladies insisted.

I sincerely hope our host isn’t averse to strangers imposing upon his hospitality.”

Heather smiled up at the man.

From where she sat, he seemed to loom over the pair of ladies who flanked him, especially the portly Mrs.

Brewster, who was nearly a half head shorter than the more elegant Lydia Winthrop.

As for his lordship, he was definitely a bland sort, tall, lean, long of limb, with lank, brown hair and a dour face typical of some pompous aristocrats.

Although his dark blue frockcoat and breeches were finely tailored, they were as sober as the man’s face.

“Rest easy, my lord,”

she urged graciously.

“I’m sure my brother-in-law will be honored by your attendance.

But as to your purpose here, Jeffrey and Brandon are both capable of assisting you in your search for land, but if you’re not overly pressed for time tonight, please enjoy the festivities and help yourself to the refreshments.

Jeffrey has an exceptional cook, so the cuisine promises to be simply delectable.”

“Thank you for making a foreigner feel at home, madam,”

Lord Marsden replied graciously.

“You’re very kind indeed.”

“My pleasure to be of service, my lord.

Now, please,”

Heather bade, “enjoy yourself and feel free to have a look around if you’d like.

Since so many guests have made requests to view the improvements that have been done here at Oakley, most of the rooms will be open for inspection.

The house is a fine example of the plantation homes in this area and has become a real gem since my brother-in-law refurbished it.

Only Jeffrey’s personal chambers will be reserved for his private needs and those of his immediate family during the festivities.”

Lord Marsden responded with an abbreviated bow.

“Your family is most courteous, madam.”

Turning aside, he followed the two older women who were strolling across the room.

When Lydia Winthrop paused to indicate the ceilings and walls of the ballroom that were elegantly embellished with flower festoons of delicately hued pargetry adorned with elaborate gilding, his lordship dutifully followed her gaze upward.

“I remember this place when Louisa’s parents lived here,”

Lydia mused aloud.

“It was a fine house then, but nothing at all to what it is today.

Never once did I imagine it could look this grand.”

“Albeit, madam,”

his lordship replied, “in comparison to the great homes of London, you must agree that it seems a bit wane.

Yet I suppose in contrast to the humble dwellings I’ve seen here in the Carolinas, it would be equivalent to a modest English estate, although nothing too grand, you understand.”

Mrs.

Brewster’s buoyant smile faded forthwith.

The fact that her own tiny apartment and millinery shop took up less space than the room they were occupying made her wonder if, after a visit to her establishment, Lord Marsden would be inclined to look down his long, thin nose at her.

She thought it wise to lead the subject elsewhere.

“Miss Heather is a very fine lady, perhaps the most enchanting in the area ...

besides Miss Raelynn, of course.”

His lordship withdrew a snuffbox and sprinkled a little powder on the back of his hand.

Inhaling a few small particles into each nostril, he raised his head and pompously elevated his brows as he pressed a handkerchief aside his nose.

“She bears the coloring of those dastardly Irish. Is she?”

Momentarily struck speechless, Thelma Brewster searched her memory.

“I-I think so.

I mean, I seem to recall hearing someone say her mother came to England from Ireland after her marriage to Heather’s father.”

Lord Marsden bounced on his toes as he lifted his angular chin almost level with his long nose.

“Too bad.”