After that, Lady Pippsbury settled her daughters upon the stool, and Cornelia was in little doubt that they would play through until the gentlemen appeared, and beyond.
Mrs. Bongorge and Esther excused themselves as Persephone began a halting rendition of ‘The First Noel’, in a key not altogether soothing.
Her aunts, sitting with Mrs. Nossle, were dozing and Cornelia couldn’t help but notice that Lady Studborne had also taken the opportunity to rest her eyes.
It had been a very long day and there was nothing Cornelia wanted more than to retire. Rising, she went to whisper in the duchess’s ear.
“Very sensible.” Lady Studborne patted Cornelia’s hand. “Who knows how long the gentlemen will be, and we have something rather fun planned for the morning. Take your rest, my dear. I shan’t be long behind.”
Cornelia’s room was located at one conclusion of the corridor, with her aunts next door. Lord Fairlea, the baron and Burnell were opposite and, where the passageway turned a corner, Mrs. Bongorge and her sister had chambers, as did the Pippsbury contingent.
Voices drifted from the far end.
“We ought to have stayed in London.” The young woman speaking sounded decidedly sulky. “Even if he doesn’t marry Mrs. Mortmain, I don’t see what good it will do me. I haven’t a clue what to say to him. I’d far rather marry someone like Lord Fairlea.”
“A title isn’t everything.” The other voice was dismissive. “Half of those foppish aristocrats haven’t two pennies to rub together. One mightn’t know it to look at him, but Mr. Burnell is obscenely wealthy—thanks to all that oil.”
“I suppose that would be something.” The first seemed to consider. “But, truly Stella, I’m in no hurry to marry anyone at all. From the little you’ve told me, it sounds rather frightening—and Mr. Burnell is so…”
The low laugh was most certainly that of Estela Bongorge. “Yes, he is… But, you needn’t concern yourself too much on that score. As his wife, you’d only be required to do occasional duty. A man like Burnell would find more suitable partners for his true needs.”
The voices dropped, so that Cornelia was unable to discern more of their conversation. She considered a moment, then tiptoed further along. Mrs. Bongorge was known to be well-informed of Society gossip, and Cornelia couldn’t help wondering what she might be saying about Ethan.
However, as the voices became audible again, she realised they were talking of someone else entirely.
“Do you notice her face when he talks to me? I believe the expression is ‘like a cat’s bum’.” Mrs. Bongorge laughed wickedly. “Of course, I could have him any time I liked. I’d be interested to see how he rides in the saddle. Has he learnt any exotic lovemaking techniques on his travels, I wonder?”
“Really, Estela! There’s no need to be coarse.”
“Sweet Esther, I’ve long since given up acting the virgin. It was a tiresome role even when it was true. It may suit Mrs. Mortmain to present herself so but I doubt that approach will hold Burnell’s attention when there are other, more enticing delicacies within reach.” She laughed again, seductively. “With all that’s said of her mother, I’d expected more, but it seems she knows nothing of how to tempt or tease. She could have half the rakes of Mayfair lined up at her boudoir and not know what to do with them. No wonder Mortmain was sniffing about elsewhere on the night he died. As for Burnell, I can’t begin to understand what he sees in her.”
Cornelia felt herself sway. Mrs. Bongorge’s words were no more hurtful than many she’d heard before, and yet her stomach knotted. It seemed she couldn’t win. Her reputation was linked irrevocably to her mother’s shocking behaviour, and to her failure as a wife to Mortmain.
On that count, Burnell had hinted as much on the train journey, asking if she wanted everyone to think her dull and stodgy. Well, he hadn’t put it quite like that—but it was what he’d meant, and Mrs. Bongorge was of the same opinion. She’d seen right through Burnell’s attempts to appear romantically interested.
Pushing down her tears, Cornelia stumbled away, leaving the women’s voices behind her. Hadn’t she given up caring what people said? After all, none of them knew her.
Only her aunts could claim that but, even with them, she hid her deepest wishes, and her fears. The true impulses of her heart were hers alone, held safe from prying eyes.
She hardly saw where she was going. Reaching her room, the door seemed to shift and dissolve. She wavered, her knees suddenly weak.
All at once, a hand slipped about her waist and she was staring up into dark eyes.
“Cornelia?”
When had anyone spoken her name so tenderly?
A wave of longing rose within her. She wanted him to pull her close and hold her there. She needed his warmth.
“Kiss me.” She sighed the words so faintly, she wasn’t sure he’d heard but his head lowered. She stood on tip-toe, reaching for him.
He gazed at her a long moment, and then his mouth met hers. His lips were soft but his arms were commanding, pressing her to the hardness of his body. She opened to the gentle intrusion of his tongue and, in answer to her small moan, he deepened the kiss.
She didn’t want to think; only to be here.
He scooped beneath her bottom, lifting her higher, so that she was entirely in his arms, her face above his.
“Cornelia?” His voice was rougher than before, heavy with desire for something more than their kiss.
She was aware of his knee pushing between her skirts, and he was breathing hard, his lips moving to her neck, his mouth trailing kisses along her collarbone. His jaw grazed the upper curve of her breast.
She might let him push open the door and carry her to the bed. Lose herself to his hands and mouth and his demanding masculinity; lose every memory of hurt and just let herself feel.
But how could she let that happen when it would be a lie? This was passion and nothing more—but still she struggled, not wanting to return to herself.
“We shouldn’t…”
“Are you sure about that?” His voice was husky.
“I mean…you shouldn’t kiss me like this.”
“How should I kiss you?”
Breathless, she opened to him again, letting his tongue enter her mouth, wanting to surrender to everything he was offering her.
It was a wicked, intoxicating kiss—fierce and dangerous—and she fell into it with abandon, her limbs weak with longing.
Only the sound of far-off laughter woke her to where she was. She pushed against his chest and, with a groan, he allowed her feet to find the ground but he didn’t release her.
He rested his forehead against hers. “What do you want, Cornelia?”
What she wanted in this moment wouldn’t bring her heart contentment—not the sort that lasted; she wasn’t naive enough to confuse what was happening here with love.
As voices floated up the stairs, footsteps and the swish of skirts, she pulled free.
Once safely inside her room, Cornelia leaned back against the door, willing her pulse to steady itself.
What had she been thinking!
Her lips still throbbed with the imprint of Burnell’s. Closing her eyes, she touched her mouth with trembling fingers. No one had warned her that a kiss could feel like that, making her forget where and who she was.