Than you for your continued support. I appreciate it.
Standard disclaimer.
"Gwen. Gwen, dear...you must wake up. Here, I've sent for tea." Daisy stood over her sister's bed, her small hand gently shaking her shoulder.
Grumbling and stirring, Gwen squinted up at her sister's face.
"I don't want to wake up."
"Well, you must. Things are happening, and I thought you should be prepared."
"Things? What things?"
Gwen lurched upward and put her hand to her aching forehead. One glance at Daisy's small, concerned face, caused her heart to thump unpleasantly.
"Sit back against the pillow," Daisy replied, "And I'll give you your tea. There."
Accepting the cup of steaming liquid, Gwen painstakingly gathered her thoughts, which were as fuzzy and scattered, as rolls of carded wool.
She had a vague memory of Arthur escorting her into her room last evening, where a warm bath and a helpful housemaid waited for her.
She had bathed and changed into a fresh nightgown, and had popped into bed, before her sister had returned from the festivities in the village.
After a long, dreamless sleep, she might have convinced herself, that the events of the previous night had never happened...if it wasn't for the lingering soreness between her thighs.
What now? she wondered anxiously.
Arthur had said that he intended to marry her. In the light of day, however, he might very well reconsider the offer.
And she was not certain whether it was what she wanted.
If she had to spend the rest of her life, feeling like an unwanted obligation, that had been forced upon him...
"What 'things' are happening?" she asked, cutting off her train of thought.
Daisy sat on the edge of the bed, facing her.
She was wearing a blue morning gown, her hair pinned untidily at the nape of her neck.
Her concerned gaze fastened on Gwen's weary features, as she began to speak.
"About two hours ago, I heard some kind of to-do in Mother and Father's room. It seems that the Earl of Westcliff asked Father to meet with him privately...in the Pendragon parlor, I believe. Then, later Father returned, and I poked my head in to ask what was going on. Father wouldn't explain, but he seemed quite excited, and Mother was having conniptions about something, laughing and crying, and so, Father sent for some spirits to calm her. I don't know what was said between the Earl of Westcliff and Father, but I rather hoped that you would..."
Daisy broke off, when she saw that Gwen's cup was rattling on the saucer.
Hastily, she reached over to take the tea from her nervous hands.
"Dear, what is it? You look so strange. Did something happen yesterday? Did you do something that the Earl of Westcliff took exception to?"
Gwen's throat closed hard around a wild laugh.
She had never felt this way before, caught in the perilous margin, between anger and tears. The anger won out.
"Yes," she said, "Something happened. And now he's using it to force his will on me, whether or not I wish it. To go behind my back and arrange everything with Father. Oh, I won't stand for this! I can't!"
Daisy's eyes turned as round as dinner plates.
"Did you ride one of Earl Pendragon's horses without permission? Is that it?"
"Did I...God, no, if only that were it." Gwen buried her heated face in her hands. "I slept with him."
Her voice filtered through the cold screen of her fingers.
"Yesterday, while everyone was gone from the estate," she ended.
A shocked silence greeted the bald confession. And then,
"You...but...but I don't see how you could have..."
"I was drinking brandy in the library," Gwen said dully. "And he found me. One thing led to another, and then I was in his bedroom."
Daisy digested the information in wordless astonishment.
She tried to speak, then took a sip of Gwen's discarded tea and cleared her throat.
"I suppose, when you say you slept with him, it was more than just a nap?" Daisy asked.
Gwen shot her a withering glance.
"Daisy, don't be a pea wit."
"Do you think he'll do the honorable thing and make an offer for you?"
"Oh yes," Gwen said bitterly. "He'll turn 'the honorable thing' into a big fat bludgeon and batter me over the head with it, until I surrender."
"Did he say that he loves you?" Daisy dared to ask.
Gwen made a scornful sound.
"No, he didn't utter a single word to that effect."
A puzzled frown creased her sister's forehead.
"Gwen...is it, that you're afraid he only wants you because of the perfume?"
"No! I...oh God! I haven't even consider that. I've been too scattered..."
Groaning, she snatched the nearest pillow and crammed it over her face, as if she could smother herself. Which, at the moment, didn't sound half bad.
Thick as the pillow was, it didn't completely muffle Daisy's voice.
"Do you want to marry him?" she asked.
The question caused a stab of pain in Gwen's heart.
Tossing the pillow aside, she muttered,
"Not like this! Not with him making the decision with no regard for my feelings, and claiming that he's only doing it, because, I've been compromised."
Daisy considered her words thoughtfully.
"I don't believe the Earl of Westcliff will characterize it that way," she said. "He doesn't seem like the kind of man, who would take a girl to bed, or marry her, unless he truly wanted to."
"One could only wish..." Gwen said grimly. "...that it mattered to him, what I wanted."
She left the bed and went to the washstand, where her own haggard reflection, glowered back at her from the looking glass.
Pouring water from the pitcher into the bowl, she splashed her face and scrubbed at her skin with a soft square of toweling.
A fine cloud of cinnamon powder wafted into the air, as she uncapped the small tin and dipped her toothbrush into it.
The crisp bite of cinnamon banished the sour, pasty feeling from her mouth, and she rinsed her mouth vigorously, until her teeth were as clean and smooth as glass.
"Daisy," she said, glancing over her shoulder, "Would you do something for me?"
"Yes, of course."
"I don't want to talk to Mother or Father just now. But I have to know for certain, if the Earl really did offer to marry me. If you could manage to find out..."
"Say no more," Daisy replied promptly, striding to the door.
By the time Gwen had finished her morning ablutions and had buttoned a white cambric robe over her nightgown, her younger sister had returned.
"There was no need to ask," Daisy reported ruefully. "Father is gone, but Mother is staring into a glass of whiskey and humming wedding music. And she looks positively blissful. I would say beyond a doubt, that Earl Pendragon made an offer."
"The bastard," Gwen muttered. "How dare he leave me out of everything, as if I were incidental to the whole business?" Her eyes narrowed. "I wonder what he's doing now? Probably ensuring that all the loose ends are tied. Which means, that the next person he'll want to speak to is..."
She broke off with an inarticulate sound, while rage pumped through her, until it seemed to steam from her pores.
The controlling wretch that he was, Arthur Pendragon would not leave it to her, to end her friendship with Lord Gwaine.
She would not be allowed the dignity of a proper farewell.
No, he would take care of everything himself, while she was left as helpless as a child, in the face of his machinations.
"If he is doing what I think he is," Gwen growled, "I will brain him with a fireplace iron!"
"What?"
Daisy was obviously bewildered.
"What do you think he...no, Gwen, you can't leave the room in your nightclothes!"
She went to the doorway and whispered loudly, as her older sister stormed into the hallway.
"Gwen! Please come back! Gwen!"
The hem of Gwen's white gown and robe, billowed behind her like the sails of a ship, as she stalked through the hallway and descended the great staircase.
It was still early enough, that most of the guests were abed.
But she was too incensed to care who saw her.
Furiously, she charged passed a few startled servants and by the time she reached Arthur's study, she was breathing heavily.
The door was closed.
Without hesitation, she burst through it, sending it crashing into the wall, as she crossed the threshold.
Just as she had suspected, the Earl was there with Lord Gwaine. And both men turned at the interruption.
Gwen stared into Lord Gwaine's impassive face.
"How much has he told you?" she demanded, without preamble.
Adopting a neutral and pleasant facade, he replied softly,
"He's told me enough."
She switched her gaze to Arthur's unrepentant countenance, perceiving that he had delivered his information, with the lethal efficiency, of a battlefield surgeon.
And having decided on his course, he was pursuing it aggressively to ensure victory.
"You had no right," she said in seething fury. "I won't be manipulated, Pendragon!"
Deceptively relaxed, Lord Gwaine stepped away from the desk and came to her.
"I wouldn't advise wandering about in dishabille, darling," he murmured. "Here, allow me to offer my..."
However, Arthur had already approached Gwen from behind and proceeded to place his coat around her shoulders, concealing her night garments from the other man's view.
Angrily, she tried to knock the coat away, but Arthur clamped it firmly on her shoulders and pulled her stiff body back against his.
"Don't make a fool of yourself," he said close to her ear. She arched furiously away from him.
"Let go! I will have my say with Lord Gwaine. He and I both deserve that much. And if you try to stop me, I'll simply do it behind your back."
Reluctantly, Arthur released her and stood aside with his arms folded across his chest.
Despite his outward composure, Gwen sensed the presence of some strong emotion inside him, one that he was not entirely successful at controlling.
"Then talk," Arthur said curtly.
From the stubborn set of his jaw, it was obvious, that he had no intention of allowing them a moment's privacy.
Gwen reflected, that there were few women, who would ever be foolhardy enough, to think that they could manage this arrogant, bullheaded creature.
She feared that she might be one of them.
She shot him a narrow-eyed glance.
"Do try to keep from interrupting, will you?" she asked smartly, and turned her back to him.
Maintaining a nonchalant facade, Lord Gwaine half sat on the desk and waited, to hear what she had to say to him.
Gwen frowned pensively, wanting very much to make Lord Gwaine understand, that she had not intentionally deceived him.
"My lord, please forgive me. I didn't intend..."
"Sweet, there's no need for an apology." He studied her with a lazy thoroughness, that seemed to un-earth her private thoughts. "You did nothing wrong. I know well enough, how easy it is to seduce an innocent."
After a skillful pause, he added blandly,
"Apparently, Pendragon does too."
"See here..." Arthur began, bristling.
"This is what happens when I try to be a gentleman," Lord Gwaine interrupted.
He reached out to touch a long lock of Gwen's hair, as it streamed over her shoulder.
"Had I resorted to my usual tactics, I'd have seduced you ten times over by now, and you would be mine. But it seems I placed too much confidence in Arthur's, much-vaunted sense of honor."
"It was no more his fault than mine," Gwen said, determined to be honest. She saw from his expression, however, that he did not believe her.
Rather than dispute the point, Lord Gwaine released the lock of hair and spoke with his head inclined toward hers.
"Love, what if I were to tell you, that I still want you, regardless of what may have occurred between you and Pendragon?"
Gwen could not hide her astonishment at the question.
Behind her, it seemed that Arthur could hold his silence no longer, his voice crackling with annoyance.
"What you desire is irrelevant, Gwaine. The fact of the matter is, she's mine now."
"By virtue of an essentially meaningless act?" Lord Gwaine countered coolly.
"My lord," Gwen said to Lord Gwaine, "It...it was not meaningless to me. And it is possible, that there might be consequences. I could not marry one man while carrying another's child."
"My love, it is done all the time. I would accept the child as mine."
"I can't listen to much more of this," came Arthur's warning growl.
Ignoring him, Gwen stared at Lord Gwaine in open apology.
"I couldn't. I'm sorry. The die has been cast, my lord, and I can do nothing to reverse it. But..." She reached out impulsively and gave him her hand. "...But, in spite of what has happened, I hope that I will be counted among your friends."
With a curious smile, Lord Gwaine gripped her hand warmly, before releasing it.
"There is only one circumstance, in which I can imagine refusing you anything, sweet...and this is not it. Of course I will stay your friend."
Looking over her head, he met Arthur's gaze with a dark smile, that promised the matter was not yet finished.
"I don't believe that I will stay for the remainder of the house party," he said blandly. "Though, I should not like for my precipitate departure to cause any gossip, I'm not certain that I will adequately be able to conceal my, er..disappointment, and therefore, it is probably best that I leave. No doubt we'll have much to discuss when next we meet."
Arthur watched with narrowed eyes, as the other man departed, closing the door behind him.
In the smoldering silence that followed, he brooded over said man's comments.
"Only one circumstance in which he would refuse you...what does that mean?" he asked.
Gwen rounded on him with a furious scowl.
"I don't know and I don't care! You have behaved abominably, and Lord Gwaine is ten times the gentleman you are!"
"You wouldn't say that if you knew anything about him."
"I know that he has treated me with respect, whereas, you regard me as some kind of pawn to be pushed this way and that..." She thumped both of her fists hard on his chest, as he took her in his arms.
"You wouldn't be happy with him," Arthur said, disregarding her struggles, as easily as if she were a writhing cat, he had caught by the scruff of the neck.
The coat he had placed around her shoulders fell to the floor.
"What makes you think I would be any better off with you?" Gwen asked.
Arthur clamped his hands around her wrists, and twisted her arms behind her back, giving a grunt of surprise, as she stomped hard on his instep.
"Because you need me," he said, drawing in his breath, as she squirmed against him. "Just as I need you."
He crushed his mouth on hers.
"I've needed you for years." Another kiss, this one deep and drugging, his tongue searching her intimately.
She might have continued to grapple with him, had he not done something that surprised her.
He released her wrists and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close in a warm, tender embrace.
Caught off-guard, she went still, her heart thumping madly.
"It wasn't a meaningless act for me either," Arthur said, his raspy whisper tickling her ear. "Yesterday, I finally realized, that all the things I thought were wrong about you, were actually the things I enjoyed most. I don't give a damn what you do, so long as it pleases you. Run barefoot on the front lawn. Eat pudding with your fingers. Tell me to go to hell as often as you like. I want you just as you are. After all, you're the only woman, aside from my sisters, who has ever dared to tell me to my face, that I'm an arrogant ass. How could I resist you?"
His mouth moved to the soft cushion of her cheek.
"My dearest Guinevere," he whispered, easing her head back to kiss her eyelids. "If I had the gift of poetry, I would shower you with sonnets. But words have always been difficult for me, when my feelings are strongest. And there is one word in particular, that I can't bring myself to say to you. That word is 'goodbye.' I couldn't bear the sight of you walking away from me. If you won't marry me for the sake of your own honor, then do it for the sake of everyone, who would have to tolerate me otherwise. Marry me, because, I need someone who will help me to laugh at myself. Because, someone has to teach me how to whistle. Marry me, Guinevere...because, I have the most irresistible fascination for your ears."
"My ears?" Bewildered, Gwen felt him duck his head, to nip at the tip of her earlobe.
"Mmmm. The most perfect ears I've ever seen."
As the Earl traced the inner crevice of Gwen's ear with his tongue, his hand slid from her waist to her breast, savoring the shape of her figure, unregulated by corset stays.
She was keenly aware of her own nakedness beneath the gown, as he touched her breast, his fingers curving over the soft, small shape, until the nipple gathered tightly into his palm.
"These too," he murmured. "Perfect..."
Absorbed in caressing her, he unfastened the tiny buttons of her robe and Gwen felt her pulse begin to thunder, her breath mingling in rapid puffs with his.
She remembered the hard planes of his body brushing lightly over hers, as they had made love, the consummate fit between them, the sliding flex of muscle and sinew beneath her hands.
Her skin tingled with the memory of his touch, and the clever explorations of his mouth and fingers, that had reduced her to shivering need.
No wonder he was so cool and cerebral during the day...he saved all his sensuality for bedtime.
Stirred by his closeness, she caught at his wrists. There was still much they had to discuss...issues too important for either of them to ignore.
"Arthur," she said breathlessly, "don't. Not just now. It only muddles things further, and..."
"For me it makes everything clear," he said.
His hands slid to either side of her face, cradling her cheeks with yearning gentleness.
His eyes were so much darker now, she realized.
"Kiss me," he whispered, and his mouth found hers, catching at her top lip and then the lower, in nuzzling half-open caresses, that sent rich quivers of responses, all the way down to her toes.
The floor seemed to move beneath her feet, and she grasped his shoulders for balance. Then, he covered her mouth more firmly with his, the moist pressure disorienting her with a fresh shock of pleasure.
Continuing to kiss her, Arthur helped Gwen to wrap her arms around his neck, and caressed her shoulders and back, and when it became apparent that her legs were quivering, he eased her to the carpeted floor.
His mouth wandered to her breast, catching the tip as he licked at it through the fragile white cambric.
Colors dazzled her eyes, deep red and blue and gold, and she realized dazedly, that they were lying in a patch of sunlight, that had been enriched by the row of rectangular stained-glass windows.
It dappled her skin in lavish hues, as if she were caught beneath an unraveling rainbow.
Arthur took hold of the front of Gwen's nightgown, tugging impatiently at the two sides, until buttons popped and went scattering across the carpet.
His face looked different to her...softer, younger, his skin tinted with the flush of desire.
No one had ever stared at her this way, with a fiery absorption, that blocked out every other awareness.
Bending over her exposed breast, he licked the soft caramel skin, until he found the bud and closed his mouth over it.
Gwen panted and arched, pushing her body upwards, straining with the need to enfold him completely.
She reached for his head, her fingers slipping into the thick blonde hair.
Understanding the unspoken plea, he nibbled the tip of her breast, using his teeth and tongue with tormenting gentleness.
One of his hands rucked up the front of her gown and slid to her stomach, the tip of his ring finger delicately circling her navel.
A fever of desire consumed her, as she writhed in the pool of colored light-spill from the window.
His fingers slid lower, to the verge of tight, silky curls, and she knew, that as soon as he touched the little peak half hidden in the folds of her sex, she would reach a summit of blinding pleasure.
All of a sudden, Arthur drew his hand away, and Gwen whimpered in protest.
Cursing, he tucked her body beneath his and pulled her face into his shoulder, just as the door opened.
In a moment of frozen silence, breached only by her ragged breaths, Gwen peered out from the concealing shelter of Arthur's body.
She saw with a start of fright, that someone was standing there. It was Percy Hunt.
A ledger book and a few folders secured with black ribbon, were clasped in his hands.
Blank-faced, Hunt lowered his gaze to the couple on the floor.
To his credit, he managed to retain his composure, though it must have been difficult.
The Earl of Westcliff, known to his acquaintances, as an eternal proponent of moderation and self-restraint, was the last man Hunt would have expected, to be rolling on the study floor, with a woman clad in her nightgown.
"Pardon, my lord," Hunt said in a carefully controlled voice. "I did not anticipate that you would be...meeting...with someone at this hour."
Arthur skewered him with a savage stare.
"You might want to try knocking next time."
"You're right, of course."
Hunt opened his mouth to add something, then, appeared to think better of it, and cleared his throat roughly.
"I'll leave you here to finish your, er...conversation."
As he withdrew from the room, however, it seemed that he couldn't keep from ducking his head back in and asking cryptically,
"Once a week, did you say?"
"Close the door behind you," Arthur said icily, and Hunt obeyed with a smothered sound, that sounded suspiciously like laughter.
Gwen kept her face against Arthur's shoulder.
As mortified as she had been, on the day that he had seen her playing rounders in her knickers, this was ten times worse.
She would never be able to face Percy Hunt again, she thought, and groaned.
"It's all right," Arthur murmured. "He'll keep his mouth shut."
"I don't care whom he tells," she managed to say. "I'm not going to marry you. Not if you compromised me a hundred times."
"Guinevere," he said, a sudden tremor of laughter in his voice, "It would be my greatest pleasure to compromise you a hundred times. But first, I would like to know what I've done this morning, that is so unforgivable."
"To begin with, you talked to my father."
His brows lifted a fraction of an inch.
"That offended you?"
"How could it not? You've behaved in the most highhanded manner possible, by going behind my back and trying to arrange things with my father, without one word to me..."
"Wait!" Arthur said sardonically, rolling to his side and sitting up in an easy movement.
He reached out with a broad hand to pull Gwen up to face him.
"I was not being high-handed in meeting with your father. I was adhering to tradition. A prospective bridegroom, usually approaches a woman's father, before he makes a formal proposal."
A gently caustic note entered his voice, as he added,
"Even in America. Unless I've been misinformed?"
The clock on the mantel dispensed a slow half-minute, before Gwen managed a grudging reply.
"Yes, that's how it's usually done. But I assumed that you and he had already made a betrothal agreement, regardless of whether or not, it was what I wanted..."
"Your assumption was incorrect. We did not discuss any details of a betrothal, nor was anything mentioned about a dowry or a wedding date. All I asked of your father, is for permission to court you."
Gwen stared at him with surprised chagrin, until another question occurred to her.
"What about your discussion with Lord Gwaine just now?"
Now it was Arthur's turn to look chagrined.
"That was high-handed," he admitted. "I should probably say that I'm sorry for it. However, I'm not. I couldn't risk the possibility, that Gwaine might convince you to marry him, instead of me. So I felt it necessary to warn him away from you."
He paused before continuing, and Gwen noticed an unusual hesitancy in his manner.
"A few years ago," he said, not quite looking at her, "Gwaine took an interest in a woman, with whom I was...involved. I wasn't in love with her, but in time, it was possible that she and I might have..."
He stopped and shook his head.
"I don't know what would have come of the relationship. I never had the opportunity to find out. When Gwaine began to pursue her, she left me for him."
A humorless smile edged his lips.
"Predictably, he grew tired of her within a few weeks."
Gwen stared compassionately, at the severe line of Arthur's profile.
There was no trace of anger or self-pity, in the scant recitation, but she sensed that he had been hurt by the experience.
For a man who valued loyalty as he did, a friend's betrayal and a lover's perfidy, must have been hard to bear.
"And yet, you remained friends with him?" she asked, her voice softening.
Arthur replied in a careful monotone. It was obvious, that he found it difficult to speak of personal matters.
"Every friendship has its scars. And I believe that if Gwaine had understood the strength of my feelings for the woman, he would not have pursued her. In this case, however, I could not allow the past to repeat itself. You're too...important...to me."
Jealousy had darted through Gwen, at the thought of Arthur having feelings for another woman. And then her heart stopped with a jolt, as she wondered what level of significance, she should place on the word 'important'.
Arthur had the Englishman's innate dislike, of wearing his emotions on his sleeve.
But she realized, that he was trying very hard to open his closely guarded heart to her, and that perhaps, a little encouragement on her part, might yield some surprising results.
"Since Lord Gwaine obviously has the advantage in looks and charm," Arthur continued evenly, "I reasoned, that I could only weigh the balance with sheer determination. Which is why I met with him this morning to tell him..."
"No, he doesn't," Gwen protested, unable to help herself.
Arthur looked at her then, his gaze quizzical.
"Pardon?"
"He doesn't have the advantage over you," she informed him, her face heating, as she discovered, that it was hardly any easier for her to reveal what was in her heart, than it was for him.
"You are very charming when it suits you. And as for your looks..." Her blush deepened, until she felt heat pouring off her. "I find you very handsome," she blurted out. "I...I always have. I would never have slept with you last night, unless I wanted you, no matter how much brandy I had drunk."
A sudden smile blossomed on Arthur's lips.
Reaching out to her gaping bodice, he pulled it together gently, and stroked the backs of his knuckles, against the silky surface of her throat.
"Then, may I assume, that your objections to marrying me, are predicated more on the idea of being forced, rather than, deriving from any personal prejudice?"
Absorbed in the pleasure of his caress, Gwen gave him a bemused glance.
"Hmm?"
A soft laugh escaped him.
"What I'm asking is, would you consider becoming my wife, if I promised that you wouldn't be forced into it?"
She nodded cautiously.
"I...I might consider it. But if you're going to behave like some medieval lord and try to browbeat me into doing what you want..."
"No, I won't try to browbeat you," Arthur said gravely, though she saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "It's obvious, that such tactics wouldn't work. I've met my match, it seems."
Mollified by the statement, Gwen felt herself relax a little.
She didn't even protest, when he reached out to pull her into his lap, her legs dangling over his.
A warm hand slid beneath her gown to her hip, in a clasp that was more comforting, than sensual, and he stared at her shrewdly.
"Marriage is a partnership," he said. "And since I've never entered a business partnership, without first negotiating terms, we'll do the same in this situation. Just you and I, in private. No doubt there will be a few points of contention...but you will find that I am well versed in the art of compromise."
"My father will insist on having the final say about the dowry."
"I wasn't speaking of financial matters. What I want from you is something your father can't negotiate."
"You intend for us to discuss things like...our expectations of each other? And where we are to live?" she asked.
"Precisely."
"And if I said that I did not want to reside in the country...that I prefer London to Hampshire...you would agree to live at Pendragon Terrace?"
He regarded her speculatively, as he replied.
"I would make some concessions to that effect. Though, I would have to return here frequently to manage the estate. I gather you're not fond of Stony Cross Park?"
"Oh no. That is...I like it very much. My question was hypothetical."
"Even so, you are accustomed to the pleasures of town life."
"I would want to live here," Gwen insisted, thinking of the beauty of Hampshire, the rivers and forests, the meadows where she could envision playing with her children.
The village with its eccentric characters and shopkeepers, and the local festivals, that enlivened the leisurely pace of country life.
And the estate manor itself, grand and yet intimate, with all its nooks and corners to nestle in, during rainy days...or amorous nights.
She couldn't help blushing, as she reflected that the owner of Stony Cross Park, was by far, its most compelling attraction.
Life with this vital man, no matter where they resided, would never be dull.
Stay safe!