Page 31 of Sir Hugo Seeks a Wife (Cinderellas of Mayfair #1)

I pledge my life to you.

I promise to be true.

Where can we go from here?

You’re all that I hold dear.

When Athene returned to bed, she looked mighty pleased with herself. In fact, she looked like she could teach Venus a trick or two. She sat on the mattress, sliding her hip up against his. Her warmth seeped into Hugo’s body. That included his heart.

He lounged against the piled pillows, still half lost in memories of that spectacular climax. He observed her with the wonder that she always aroused in him. This morning, the wonder was more powerful than ever. “Kiss me, Athene.”

With leisurely grace, she leaned in to press her lips to his. He tasted the fresh mint of her tooth powder and beneath that, the rich flavor that was hers alone.

“We got sidetracked last night,” he said, when she at last lifted her head.

“Oh?”

“You didn’t tell me what happened after George died.”

He was sorry that he asked. The softness drained from her features, and her lips turned down.

“I sat with him for a while, wondering what on earth I could do. I know it sounds selfish. It was selfish. But I was in a dreadful fix. My thoughts were more for my own dilemma than the death of the man I once thought I loved. I had nothing to my name. We hadn’t had much left anyway, and the people who beat him up had taken even that. ”

“He wasn’t worth your tears.”

“He was young, and he died alone and too soon.” She looked even sadder, which made Hugo feel like the lowest worm in creation. “It’s a waste, however you look at it.”

“He left you in a damned pickle” An understatement, if ever there was one.

Hugo felt queasy to think of the danger that she’d been in – and him not yet knowing her and able to rescue her.

A penniless, lone woman trapped in a conquered city.

He barely resisted remarking that he hoped George fried in hell.

A faint smile lightened Athene’s solemn expression. “Then Sylvie came.”

“God bless Sylvie.” Not for the first time, Hugo was conscious of the fragile fate that had united him with his love.

If not for Athene’s chance meeting with Sylvie, she’d have faced violence – even death – in Vienna.

His gut tangled in painful knots at the thought of all her remarkable fire quenched forever.

“Amen. She said I could work with her in the Margrave’s kitchen if I wanted to.”

“So you did.”

She shrugged. “It was better than going on the streets. And I already liked Sylvie. I still like Sylvie, not to mention what I owe her.”

Hugo, too, owed Sylvie more than he could ever repay. She’d kept Athene safe for him to discover. Perhaps he could do something to help her. “But how did you end up in London?”

“We both got out of Vienna as soon as we could. The French have no love for the English. Even working in a noble household, we were in constant danger.”

“Still it mustn’t have been easy to start again.”

“Easier than you’d think, thanks to Sylvie’s genius with sugar.

The Margrave paid her well, and she’d put together the savings to equip a kitchen in Blackfriars.

Once Gunter’s started stocking her bonbons, she was on her way.

Her creations were such a success that she found investors and set up Sweet Little Nothings. ”

Sylvie had come to London with money? That was interesting. Had a lover subsidised her in Vienna? Or even back in England? He didn’t believe she’d amassed a large nest egg working as a pastry chef. “And you stayed on as her scullery maid?”

Athene’s snort was scornful. “I would have, if I’d had an ounce of talent as a patissière. My dear Sir Hugo, you’ve taken up with a woman who can’t cook.”

“Horrors,” he said blandly. “It’s a good thing I’m rich enough to employ a few servants, then. You have other talents.”

The searing memory of her lips on his dick distracted him for a second as Athene went on. “I wasn’t very handy in the kitchens, but I used to do her books and deliveries and anything else she needed.”

“So how did the poetess appear?”

“As a game. I used to make up silly verses. I’d done it since I was a child trying to amuse my older brother. We started putting a few lines in the regular customers’ orders. At least I couldn’t chip the china when I had a pen in my hand.”

Hugo hooked a hand behind her head and drew her in for another kiss. “You’re so clever.”

Her laugh was self-conscious. “I doubt Milton is wobbling on his monument.”

He cupped her cheek. “Clever and brave and beautiful.”

She frowned. “Now I know you must be besotted. I think I’m rather odd-looking.”

“You know I’m besotted.” More than that, but he was too aware of her skittishness – even now – to avow the true depth of his feelings. Would he ever be able to confess his love without fear of chasing her away?

“I have the family nose.” She touched the feature with one hand. “It’s commanding on a man but not becoming on a woman.”

“I admire your nose.” He caught her hand and brought it down to rest over his heart. “It befits an empress.”

Her laugh was dismissive. “Strong features aren’t in fashion.”

“To Hades with fashion. You’re beautiful in a way that time will never erase.”

She stared at him wide-eyed. “Hugo…”

He kissed her again then twisted her under him. She giggled and protested. But not too much. While he explored that luscious, daring mouth, he reached for the hem of her nightdress.

“You’re going to…” she murmured, clutching his back.

“I am indeed, if it’s all right with you.”

“I thought you might be tired.”

“Tired? I’ve barely begun.”

With another laugh, she stretched out beneath him in ardent surrender.

***

It took Athene about six weeks to remember why she’d hated being George’s mistress.

To her shame, it wasn’t because of the consciousness of sin.

She must be irredeemable, because she’d loved sharing a man’s bed.

Even after she’d lost all respect for George, she’d liked the way he touched her.

Until even that pleasure was indelibly tainted by her contempt for him.

Nor was her dislike for the mistress’s role based in the loss of respectability. It wasn’t even about having to avoid arousing her neighbors’ curiosity, for fear that they might gossip about Hugo and sully his local reputation.

No, none of those perfectly valid reasons. Instead, it was the endless waiting around. Her life only proceeded in her lover’s presence. Everything else was just holding her breath.

She and Hugo had left the inn in Putney after a week of rapture such as she’d never imagined possible. Even better, she’d discovered a friend as well as an unforgettable lover. After all the solitary years, only trusting Sylvie, that emotional closeness was as powerful as the sensual spell he cast.

Not in any particular hurry, they’d traveled north, staying at secluded hostelries where they conjured enchantment in a range of opulent beds.

The last inn was in York, where Athene had a first taste of waiting, while Hugo went out and located a charming little house near the impressive medieval walls.

The residence was luxurious and had a private back garden that caught the sun.

Or at least what little sun November offered.

On one side, it was bordered by a disused chapel and on the other by a reclusive widow.

A maid, a cook, a groom and a footman meant that Athene didn’t need to lift a finger.

Generous wages ensured the staff’s discretion.

A natty carriage with a pair of high-stepping bays occupied the small stables at the end of the garden.

An extravagant wardrobe from York’s best modiste filled the dressing room adjoining the bedroom.

For a while, everything remained joyous.

Hugo stayed with her for a fortnight, and Athene had never been so happy.

She’d missed Yorkshire since the day she’d left it.

York was a beautiful city, and Hugo took her out driving to explore the countryside.

For the first time in ten years, she could breathe.

She’d pined for the open spaces and huge, changeable skies of her home county.

Now she was back here with the man she loved. What could be better?

Then Christmas approached, meaning he had to go back to Hampden Crags where his family gathered for the festive season.

And Athene had a taste of what her future would entail.

Waiting for the man she loved to fit her into his busy, fulfilled life, crammed with commitments and activities and social contacts that as a kept woman, she could never share.

When they were alone together, she knew that he respected her as an equal. When he left her in what was essentially a sumptuous cage, she couldn’t help feeling like his guilty little secret.

Hugo was with her now, and she struggled to control her resentment. After all, she was to blame for their situation.

At least she couldn’t doubt his desire for her.

That hadn’t faded. Tonight he’d barely come through the door before he’d whisked her upstairs and into bed.

He hadn’t even paused to remove her clothes before he’d unfastened his breeches and pushed inside her.

Through the cascade of kisses and caresses and whispers of pleasure, she’d forgotten that she hadn’t seen him for a week and that she’d spent Christmas on her own, with not even Sylvie to keep her company.

Now she lay cuddled up against him in what should be the blissful aftermath, and all she could think about was that he’d leave her again. Her life would turn empty, until he could get away to York once more.

His arm tightened around her. They were both panting, after their precipitous ride to paradise. “By God, I’ve missed you.”

With a short laugh, she pressed her lips to his neck. She’d managed to pull off his neckcloth and coat, but otherwise he was fully clothed, too. “I can tell. You didn’t even take off your boots.”