Thank you for your continued support. I appreciate it.
I do not own Merlin or the characters, neither do I own Cold Hearted Rake.
"I've waited a fortnight to see this," Bia said excitedly, as Athena practically vibrated in the carriage seat beside her.
"And I've waited my entire life," Athena said jubilantly.
Mr. Harcourt had promised to arrange for Gwen and the Pendragon sisters to visit his department store after hours, and allow them to shop for as long as they liked.
He had told the saleswomen to leave out their counter displays, of any items that young women might fancy, such as gloves, hats and pins, and all manner of adornments.
The sisters would be free to visit any of the eighty-five departments in the store, including the book department, the perfume hall, and the food hall.
"If only Cousin Will were with us," Bia said wistfully.
Will had returned to the Priory, after having spent less than a week in London. He had admitted to Gwen, that there was no more novelty left for him in any corner of London.
"In the past," he'd told her, "I did everything worth doing...multiple times. Now, I can't stop thinking about all that needs to be done at the estate. It's the only place where I can actually be of use to someone."
There had been no concealing his eagerness to head back to Hampshire.
"I miss him too," Athena said.
"Oh, I don't miss him," Bia replied impishly, "I was just thinking, that we could buy more things if he were here to help carry the packages."
"We'll set aside the items you choose," Arthur said, "And have them sent to Pendragon House tomorrow."
"I want you both to remember, the pleasure of shopping lasts, only until it's time to settle the bill," Gwen added.
"But we won't have to do that," Bia pointed out. "All the bills go to Cousin Arthur."
Arthur smiled.
"I'll remind you of this conversation, when there's no money left to buy food."
"Just think, Cassandra," Athena said brightly, "If you marry Mr. Harcourt, you'll have the same name as a department store!"
"He hasn't proposed to her yet," Gwen said evenly, knowing that the thought held no appeal for Cassandra, who didn't desire attention or notoriety in any form.
"He will," Bia said confidently. "He's come to dinner at least three times, and accompanied us to a concert, and let us all sit in his private box. Obviously, the courtship is going very well."
Pausing, she added with a touch of sheepishness,
"For the rest of the family, at least."
"He likes Cassandra," Athena remarked. "I can tell by the way he looks at her. Like a fox ogling a chicken."
"Athena," Gwen warned, then glanced at Cassandra, who was staring down at her gloves.
It was difficult to tell whether the courtship was going well or not. Cassandra was a bit secretive on the subject of Mr. Harcourt, revealing nothing about what they had discussed, or how she felt.
And so far, Gwen had seen nothing in their interactions, to indicate that they actually might like each other.
Gwen purposely avoided discussing the subject of Mr. Harcourt's intentions for Cassandra with Arthur, knowing it would lead to another pointless argument.
In fact, she hadn't discussed much of anything with him, during the past two weeks.
After the family's morning excursions, he usually left to meet with lawyers, accountants, or railway executives, or to attend the House of Lords, which was back in session.
And most nights, he returned late, weary and disinclined to talk, after having been sociable all day.
But only to herself could she admit how much she missed their intimacy. She longed for their companionable, amusing conversations, and the easy charm and comfort he had given her.
Now, he could barely bring himself to meet her gaze.
She felt their estrangement almost as a physical numbness. And it seemed, they would never find enjoyment in each other's company again.
'Perhaps, this is for the best,' she thought bleakly.
After his coolness to her, regarding her possible pregnancy...her monthly courses still hadn't started...and the way he had deceived her into coming to London, merely as a pretext to push Cassandra and Mr. Harcourt together, Gwen would never trust him again.
He was a manipulator and a scoundrel.
The carriage arrived at the mews behind Harcourt's, where one of the back entrances would allow them to enter the store discreetly.
After the footman opened the door and set a movable step on the pavement, Arthur helped the young women from the carriage.
Gwen was the last to emerge, taking his gloved hand as she stepped down, then releasing it as soon as possible.
"This way," he said to her, leading the way towards an arched entrance. And the others followed at their heels.
A blue-uniformed doorman opened a large bronze door and tipped his hat.
"Welcome to Harcourt's, my lord. At your service, ladies. Mr. Harcourt is waiting at the central rotunda," he said.
As they passed through the doorway, he handed them each a little booklet in turn, the ivory and blue covers stamped with gilt letters that read, Harcourt's, and below that, Index of Departments.
Harcourt's was a pleasure palace, an Aladdin's cave designed to dazzle its customers.
The interior was lavishly appointed with carved oak paneling, molded plaster ceilings, and wood flooring with intricate insets of mosaic tiles.
Instead of the small, enclosed rooms of traditional shops, the interior was open and airy, with wide archways that allowed customers to move easily from one department to the next.
Glittering chandeliers shed light on intriguing objects, that had been heaped inside polished glass cases, with even more treasures artfully arranged on countertops.
In one day of shopping at Harcourt's, one could buy an entire household's worth of goods, including crystal and china, cooking utensils, hardware, heavy furniture, upholstery fabric, clocks, vases, musical instruments, framed artwork, a saddle for the horse, and a wooden ice refrigerator and all the food to store inside it.
The party approached the central rotunda, six stories high, with each floor framed by gilded scroll-work balconies.
It was surmounted by an enormous stained-glass dome, with scrolls, rosettes, and other flourishes.
Mr. Harcourt, who was standing beside a plate-glass counter, looking down at its contents, glanced up at their approach.
"Welcome," he said, a smile in his eyes.
The twins erupted with happy exclamations and thanks, while Cassandra shook her head and smiled.
"This is a wonderful place. It's even more grand than I had imagined," she said.
"Let me take you on a tour," Harcourt offered, than slid a questioning glance to the rest of the group. "Would any of you like to accompany us? Or perhaps you'd like to start shopping?"
He gestured to a stack of rattan baskets near the counter.
The twins looked at each other, and decisively said,
"Shopping!"
Mr. Harcourt grinned.
"The confectionery and books are in that direction. Drugs and perfumery over there. Back there you'll find hats, scarves, ribbons, and lace..."
Before he could finish the sentence, the twins had each grabbed a basket and dashed away.
"Girls..." Gwen began, disconcerted by their wildness, but they were already out of earshot.
She looked at Mr. Harcourt ruefully and said,
"For your own safety, try to stay out of their path...or you'll be trampled."
"You should have seen how the ladies behaved during my first bi-annual sale discounts," he told her. "Sheer violence. And screaming. I'd rather go through the train accident again."
Gwen couldn't help smiling.
Mr. Harcourt dipped his head and escorted Cassandra away from the rotunda.
"Would you like to see the pianos?" Gwen heard him ask, but Cassandra's timid reply was muffled, as they retreated from sight.
Arthur came to stand beside Gwen.
After a long, uncomfortable moment, she asked,
"When you look at them, do you ever see two people who feel even the slightest infatuation for each other? There's no natural ease between them, no sharing of mutual enthusiasms. They talk as if they are strangers on an omnibus."
"I see two people who haven't yet lowered their guards with each other," came Arthur's matter-of-fact reply.
Pushing back from the counter, Gwen wandered to an elegant display of stationery supplies, in another area of the rotunda.
A lacquered tray of scent bottles occupied the counter-top. And according to a small framed placard, the scent was intended specifically for ladies, who wished to mist their correspondence with fragrance, that was guaranteed not to stain paper or cause ink to run.
Wordlessly, Arthur came to stand behind her, his hands coming to rest on the counter, on either side of her.
And she inhaled sharply.
Caged by his hard, warm body, she couldn't move, as she felt his mouth touch the back of her neck.
She closed her eyes, her senses mesmerized by the vital masculine strength of him.
The heat of his breath stirred a wisp of hair that lay on her nape, the feeling so exquisite, she trembled.
"Turn around," he whispered.
Gwen shook her head mutely, her blood racing.
"I miss you..." One of his hands lifted, his fingertips caressing her nape with erotic sensitivity. "...I want to come to your bed tonight. Even if it's just to hold you."
"I'm sure you'll have no problem finding a woman who's eager to share her bed with you," she said tartly.
He pressed close enough to nudge the side of her face with his, the friction of his shaved chin brushing her like a cat's tongue.
"I only want you," he quietly said.
She stiffened against the pleasure of feeling him all around her.
"You shouldn't say that, until we discover whether or not I'm with child. Although, neither answer would ever make things right between us."
His lips gently nuzzled into the skin beneath her jaw.
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I shouldn't have reacted that way. I wish I could take back every word. It wasn't your fault; you have little experience in the act of love. I know better than anyone, how very difficult it is to pull back, at the precise moment that you want to be as close to someone as possible."
Stunned by his apology, Gwen continued to stand facing away from him.
She hated the vulnerability that had invaded her, the rush of loneliness and desire that made her want to turn in his arms and start weeping.
But before she could come up with a coherent reply, she heard the twins' vociferous chatter, and the clinking and rustling of a great number of objects being carried at once.
And Arthur moved away from her.
"We need more baskets," Bia said triumphantly, entering the hall.
The twins, who were clearly having a splendid time, had adorned themselves outlandishly.
Athena was dressed in a green opera cloak, with a jeweled feather ornament affixed to her hair, while Bia had tucked a light blue lace parasol beneath one arm, and a pair of lawn tennis rackets beneath the other, and was wearing a flowery diadem headdress, that had slipped partially over one eye.
"From the looks of it," Gwen said, "You've done enough shopping already."
Athena looked concerned.
"Oh, no, we still have at least eighty departments to visit."
Gwen turned to Arthur, who was trying, without success to stifle a grin. It was the first time she had seen him truly smile in days.
Enthusiastically, the girls lugged the baskets to her and began to set objects on the counter in huge pile.
There were perfumed soaps, powders, pomades, stockings, books, new corset laces, racks of hairpins, artificial flowers, tins of biscuits, licorice pastilles and barley sweets.
There was also a metal mesh tea infuser, hosiery tucked in little netted bags, a set of drawing pencils, and a tiny glass bottle filled with bright red liquid.
"What is this?" Gwen asked, picking up the bottle and viewing it suspiciously.
"It's a beautifier," Bia said.
"Bloom of Rose," Athena chimed in.
Gwen gasped, as she realized what it was.
"It's rouge." She had never even held a container of rouge before. Setting it on the counter, she said firmly, "No."
"But Gwen..."
"No to rouge," Gwen replied, "Now and for all time."
"We need to enhance our complexions," Bia protested.
"It won't do any harm," Athena chimed in. "The bottle says that Bloom of Rose is delicate and inoffensive. It's written right there, you see?"
"The comments you would receive, if you wore rouge in public, would assuredly not be delicate or inoffensive. People would assume you were a fallen woman. Or worse...an actress."
Bia turned to Arthur. "Cousin Arthur, what do you think?"
"This is one of those times, when it's best for a man to avoid thinking altogether," he said hastily.
"Bother," Athena said. Reaching for a white glass pot with a gilded top, she gave it to Gwen. "We found this for you. It's lily pomatum...for your wrinkles."
"I don't have wrinkles," Gwen said, with dawning indignation.
"Not yet," Bia said. "But someday you will."
Arthur grinned, as the twins snatched their empty baskets and scurried away to continue shopping.
"When my wrinkles appear," Gwen said ruefully, "Those two will have caused most of them."
"That day will be a long time coming," Arthur said. Looking down at her, he cupped her face with his hands. "But when it does, you'll be even more beautiful."
The skin beneath his gentle touch flamed, almost scorched.
Desperately Gwen tried to make herself pull away from him, but his touch had paralyzed her.
His finger slid around the back of her neck, holding her steady, as his mouth sought hers.
A shock of heat went through her, and she went weak, swaying as if the floor had tipped like the deck of a ship.
Then, his arm went around her, locking her against his body, and the feel of his effortless power devastated her.
I'm yours, he'd once made her say in the carriage room, as he had taunted her with sensual pleasure.
And it had been the truth. She would always be his, no matter where she went or what she did.
A soft moan of despair slipped from her throat, but Arthur's kiss absorbed every sound and breath.
He feasted on her lips with controlled hunger, his head turning as he deepened the angle, to fit their mouths together more closely.
Touching her tongue with his, he enticed a response, his kiss tender and fiercely demanding.
And poor Gwen, she was lost in a confusion of pleasure, her body flooded with ungoverned craving.
Then, without warning, Arthur pulled back. She whimpered and reached for him blindly, her lips following his.
"Someone's coming," he said quietly.
Leaning against the counter for support, she fumbled to smooth her dress and tried to control her breathing.
Cassandra and Harcourt were returning to the rotunda.
And the corners of Cassandra's mouth were curved upward, as if they had been tacked there with pins. But something about her posture reminded Gwen of a lost toddler, being led in search for its mother.
Gwen's apprehensive gaze was drawn to the glitter on Cassandra's left hand.
Her stomach dropped, all the sensuous warmth created by Arthur a few moments ago leaving her body, as she realized what it was.
A ring.
After a mere two weeks of courtship, the bastard had proposed.
Stay safe!