Page 14 of The Duke's Sister's Absolutely Excellent Engagement (The Notorious Briarwoods Book 11)
T he luxurious green-lacquered coach rattled through the cobbled streets of London, heading from Heron House, far on the outskirts of the city, deep into the newest areas which were developing every day. Once, there had been considerable distance between the west of London and Heron House on the river.
Nestor felt certain that with the way the city was growing, one day Heron House might be a part of the great city itself.
Instead of looking out at the new houses and squares and greens that filled the west of London, he focused on his wife and thought of where he was taking her.
Nestor had a very particular place in mind. He was going to take her to one of the oldest parts of the city, one in which his grandmother and grandaunt, Estella, had reveled and still did in many ways.
How he loved London! How could one not? It was a city that was vital, thriving, and beautiful. Some might not say so. Some might say that Paris was the most beautiful city in the world, but he could not agree with that. Over the centuries, London had evolved, surviving fires and plagues and wars. The city had been nearly destroyed by fire under the reign of Charles II. But it was after those flames that many of the most beautiful buildings and churches had been put up. It was a testament to his family’s ideas about life. That out of suffering, beautiful things could come. And he was about to invest in that theory both emotionally and physically. Yes, with her approval, they were going to bring to life something that had been almost abandoned long ago.
“Where are we going?” she asked, her face alight with anticipation. Ever since they had wed, it felt as if her happiness had been increasing daily.
“It is a secret,” he whispered playfully. “Though perhaps if you kiss me, I’ll tell you.”
“You are a rogue!” she said, even as her cheeks turned a delicious pink and her lips parted.
“I know, but you love it.”
“Well, that’s because you are wonderful at kissing.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her across the coach to sit upon his lap. He linked his arms about her and nuzzled her neck. “I did not imagine that anyone could ever be as happy as I am now,” he said.
“That has to be a lie,” she replied, tilting her head back so that he could kiss the line of her neck.
“What?” he exclaimed. “How could you say such a thing to me, your husband?”
She tugged on the lapel of his fine great coat. “Because I have met your entire family, and they are all ludicrously happy. So, of course you know that such happiness exists. I’m the one who should say such a thing.”
“And are you?” he queried, his breath catching in his throat.
Was she happy? Was he succeeding?
“Yes,” she said as she traced her fingers over his cravat, tracing the stick pin. “Though I confess, it is a rather new thing. Part of me fears that you’ll be seized at any moment and taken from me. I was accustomed to suffering for so long.”
Gently, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re mine now to take care of and nothing shall harm you ever again.”
“Oh, Nestor,” she said. “You are truly a knight on a white horse, aren’t you?”
His lips twitched. “Well spotted. I used to dream that I was one of the knights of the era of chivalry.”
“You would have looked magnificent on a charger,” she replied.
“Why, thank you, but the truth is, the reality of those knights was quite different than the fiction. They were all a bunch of brutes, terrorizing the countryside, and then in stories, they sang songs and recited poetry to the women they loved.”
“What a conundrum,” she breathed. “Humans are such odd creatures.”
“I cannot argue with you on that point,” he said.
The coach rolled to a stop. His hands tightened about her. “Are you ready for your surprise?”
“You leave me quite mystified.” She glanced out the window. “It’s not Bond Street. So you haven’t brought me to buy any clothes or jewels.”
“Do you need more clothes?” he asked, ready to take her shopping after this visit should she require it.
“No,” she exclaimed. “You have made certain that I have everything that I could possibly need. And honestly, if I have to have another visit to the modiste, I shall expire under a pile of fabric and hats.”
A laugh rumbled out of him. “Well, we wouldn’t want to have such a death on my hands, would we?”
“No. It would be far too tragic,” she teased as he reluctantly helped her off his lap. How he wished to make love to her. But it would have to wait. He wanted to make love to her all day long, every day.
It amazed him how making love to her did not make him feel satiated. Oh no, he longed for more of her. And she was very generous. They were as one on that score. Later, as soon as they arrived home, he would have to sweep her away to their retreat in the woods and show her just what sitting upon his lap could do to him.
The footman opened the coach door, and Nestor pulled himself together, stepped down quickly, turned, and offered her his hand. She slipped her lace-gloved hand into his and carefully stepped down. He made certain that she did not step into any of the mire that was on the London street and guided her towards the pavement.
“Where are we?” she asked, glancing about. “This looks a great deal like Covent Garden and the area near Drury Lane and your grandaunt’s theater.”
“You are not far wrong,” he said, keeping hold of her hand, mindful of her delicate leather boots as they traversed the pavement. “We are very close to my grandaunt’s theater. Now, I suggest you look up.”
She blinked and pressed a hand to her pink straw bonnet. “At the sky? It’s becoming gray. It will rain soon.”
“Yes. The end of summer is fast approaching,” he agreed patiently, feeling like a boy on Christmas morning, for he was so excited. “We shall all have to go to the country soon. Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” she replied, the ribbons on her bonnet dancing ever so slightly. “I should love to see where you spent so much time as a child.”
“Good. But I think you should see this before we head out to the estate.”
“What is it?” she queried, her brow furrowing with confusion.
“This,” he said simply. “It’s yours.”
“Mine?” She shook her head and laughed, clearly enjoying the outing but still not sure of what he meant. “What’s mine? London?” she teased.
“No,” he murmured before turning and gesturing before him. “The building.”
“The building?” And then she looked confused again.
“The Duke Theater,” he exclaimed.
Her jaw dropped, and she tilted her head back, taking in the once-stunning facade as his words began to register. “A theater? For me? Why?”
“Because,” he said playfully, “of what can happen inside a theater.”
And with that, he pulled out a large key and opened the door. They slipped inside the dark space. It was musty and full of dust and broken furniture. The foyer had once been truly grand. It had been built in the days of Charles II. It was a beautiful theater, meant to host the most important of Londoners and the lowest as well. So that everyone could have entertainment.
“Come,” he urged. “Let me show you.”
He led her to where the audience would have sat so long ago, and he and Margery gazed at the stage, which was bare now. The curtains hung ragged, but when she looked up, she let out a gasp.
“How beautiful,” she breathed.
Celestial beings were painted on the ceiling and old chandeliers drooped, like once great dowagers who had lost their shine. Spiderwebs had left their long-ago lace-like veils amongst the crystal and along the walls.
“Why is this for me?” she asked, lowering her gaze back to him.
He was silent for a moment. It was a large gift. Perhaps a ridiculous gift. But he hadn’t purchased the theater to impress her. He had bought it for the little girl she had once been. So, he replied simply, “Because you love the ballet.”
She stilled. “You know I can’t perform here, Nestor.”
“You could if you truly wanted to,” he said, “but I understand that might be a bit much even for us Briarwoods. Yet, here you could see the ballet thrive in England. This theater will be different than all the rest in London, if you wish it. We can refurbish it, and you can make it a dedicated theater for dance. What do you think?”
She turned about slowly now, as if seeing the aged building anew, seeing the spirit that longed to be reborn. “You can’t possibly be serious, can you?”
“I am.”
“You’re giving it to me?”
He crossed to her, standing just behind her, loving how close she felt as she gazed at the stage again. He wound their hands together and whispered, “Yes, though I’d like to help you run it, if you don’t mind.”
She swallowed. “You wish to run a theater. With me?”
She suddenly shivered.
“What is it?” he asked, suddenly nervous. “Have I done something wrong?”
“No.” And then a laugh, so pure, so full of joy, bubbled up from her. It bounced off the walls and ceiling and seemed to echo through the building. “I swear I just felt my mother and father roll in their graves. They would have been horrified by such an idea. Me running a theater? Me hiring dancers and performers and supervising productions? They would have hated it.”
“Do you hate it?” he asked, barely able to contain his hope that he had found her just what she needed. All his aunts and uncles had causes they supported, but he had not known what he should do beyond his usual charities. But Margery’s deep love of ballet had been evident in the way she never missed a lesson with Monsieur Georges.
And so this had seemed the perfection solution. The world needed more beauty, more art, more dancing.
“Hate it?” she breathed. “I love it. Somehow, you have seen my dream, the one I had as a girl, and given it to me, Nestor.”
His heart melted at that. How could it not? And the triumph he felt was the most powerful thing he’d ever known. “You can do as much or as little as you’d like,” he began. “You can ask for the expertise of my grandaunt and my grandmother. Or you can never have a Shakespeare performance on this stage and dedicate it to dancing alone, for we do not need to care if it turns a profit.”
“You don’t need to care if it turns a profit?” she asked, agog.
He smiled at her, pulling her into his arms. “No, it is for our pleasure. Not for our purse. And if our lives are full of pleasure, our purses will increase.”
She slipped from his embrace for a moment and began to walk forward. She drew her fingers over the broken seats, turned slowly, crossed up to the stage, and let her hands hover just over the boards. For a moment, he watched her as if she was lost in another world. He could swear that she was envisioning future performances of dancers leaping across the stage, turning and pirouetting in grand costumes, telling stories that would fill the hearts of Londoners.
“Nestor,” she said, “this is not what a duchess is supposed to do.”
“You are not a duchess yet,” he reminded, following her to the stage. “And even when you are, it won’t matter,” he replied.
“Why not?” she protested, whipping around to face him.
“Because,” he said without hesitation, “my grandmother became a duchess. She was one of the greatest actresses on the London stage. She raised herself up.”
“Wouldn’t it be seen as though I am descending?” she lamented, her voice barely more than a whisper as if she couldn’t quite give herself permission to have all of this.
“No,” he said. “When you are one of us, you can do whatever you wish, and I wish you to actually do what you wish. And it’s clear to me that you have loved dancing since you were little, and you’ve begun to claim that desire back bit by bit. But now I want you to seize it. Without apology or hesitation.”
“Oh, Nestor,” she exclaimed and rushed into his arms.
They were quite alone in the theater. It was still and quiet, ghost-like. Almost as if they could feel the presence of the hundreds and hundreds of people who had come here night after night, witnessing stories told on the stage. He could almost feel the spirits of the performers too, their souls and lives spent entertaining those who had come to this place for near a century.
“The king came here, you know?” he said softly, tracing his hands along her back. “Charles II loved the theater. As did his dear mistress, Nell Gwynn. It’s said they came here together.”
“Truly?” she asked, her eyes alight with enthusiasm.
“Yes,” he affirmed, eager to share all the stories he knew. Eager to see that look in her eyes only increase. “And David Garrick is said to have performed on the stage. One of the few places he performed that wasn’t the Garrick Theatre. And I think that this old place deserves a second chance, don’t you?”
She slipped her hands up to cup his face. “I think everyone and everything deserves a second chance if they once had goodness in their heart,” she said softly.
“Then we shall resurrect it?”
“We shall,” she said. “Monsieur Georges will be so pleased. Would you mind terribly if I appointed him as the ballet director?”
“I cannot imagine anyone else.”
The truth was Monsieur Georges had been adrift for many years, being only a tutor and sometimes dancing for the theater or the opera. Monsieur Georges had once been one of the most renowned dancers in Paris. But he had had to leave all of that behind, fleeing because he had been too close to a member of the royal family. And he had also apparently felt he could no longer live with people who killed so wildly and cared so little for the happiness and lives of others.
“Yes,” he said. “This would be the most wonderful place for him.”
“For us,” she said.
And he took her into his arms, but then she gently smiled and said, “There is something I must share with you.”
“I am with child,” she said softly as she gazed up into his eyes, searching for his reaction. She had suspected it for a week, but she’d finally sought out an answer and had gotten it this very day.
“I beg your pardon?” he blurted, his eyes wide, his face astonished as if she had spoken Greek rather than English.
“The doctor confirmed it this morning,” she explained. “He came when you were out on your morning constitutional with your cousins.”
“You are with child,” he said simply, as if her words were finally being absorbed.
She nodded, swallowing. She’d never expected to feel so nervous. But she did. “Are you pleased?”
He let out a cheer of triumph and his face shone with pure happiness as he picked her up in his strong arms. “How could I not be pleased?” he all but crowed. “This is the greatest wish of any man!”
“I don’t know if that’s true for everyone,” she said, her own nerves now easing, replaced by joy at his reaction. “But it certainly is true of your family!”
“This is the best news I have ever received,” he continued happily. “You have given me so much!”
His pleasure filled her with bubbling satisfaction. All her life, she had tried to please people and to see how much joy she’d given her husband was an utter triumph!
After he twirled her around, he set her down.
They slowed, gazing into each other’s eyes, and she at last felt as if she had found her purpose. She had fulfilled the role she’d been born for. This was the pinnacle of her life.
Nestor kissed her fully, powerfully in their empty theater. She knew that he was going to make love to her now, and she wanted that. She wanted to feel completely unified with him in this moment.
So, without ado, she urged softly, “Make love to me.”
His smile turned wolfish, that male look of satisfaction that she had come to recognize and adore. For it meant that he was about to take her into pure ecstasy.
“I love this side of you,” he growled before kissing the curve of her neck, just above the collar of her spencer.
If she was honest, she did too. Once, she would’ve been far too reticent to do something like this—something so wild—but with him, she was capable of anything. Capable of being totally free.
He had helped her to give herself permission to take what she desired.
As Nestor shrugged off his great coat and laid it out on the floor and lowered her down, she bit her lower lip, anticipating what was to come.
He stretched out beside her, caressing her body through her gown, and then he began to inch up her skirts.
She looked up at the fresco upon the ceiling and studied the celestial beings as he began to kiss his way up her limbs, pausing on her inner thighs.
He kissed and kissed until he parted her legs and found her most secret place. Over the weeks, he had gotten better and better at this, because he paid so much attention to what she actually liked.
He took her folds into his mouth and licked her, teasing his tongue over the petals. She wound her hands into his hair, gasping, arching at the perfect feel of his mouth taking her to heaven.
She could scarcely think now as she stared up at the beautifully painted figures overhead, so lost was she in the magic that he could work upon her body.
And then he slid one finger and another into her, teasing that miraculous spot inside her body.
She had never even known that it existed until him, but now she was keenly aware of it as he teased it over and over again with his fingers.
As his mouth worked over her sex, and she felt herself tossed wildly into her need for him, he pressed his tongue against the apex of her folds.
A wild moan rumbled from her throat as bliss pulsed through her and her world spun about.
Nestor swiftly undid his breeches, then thrust into her hot, welcoming body.
He paused for a moment, connecting with her as he always did. For this was never about just one of them. He always made it about them, their union, their shared joining.
Margery’s heart expanded then. If she had thought she’d known love before, she realized it had been a pale imitation of what she now felt for this man. She wrapped her legs about his powerful waist and urged him home.
Their gazes locked, and as if only they existed, they melded into one. One being. One heart. One storm of perfect passion.