Page 7 of Margins of Love
“Almost twenty?”
She nodded.
“And how close to twenty are you?” He could lose himself in her eyes.
“Four days away.”
He jerked his head back in surprise. There would be a birthday during the house party, and Lady Bustle-Smith had not mentioned it to his mother. Birthdays were usually a grand affair that their hostess and her offspring capitalized on for social engagements, a chance to throw lavish parties and spread more gossip. Fave swallowed acid and hoped that Allison or her mother would not soil this beauty’s special day.
“And nobody knows?” he asked.
She was a head shorter than him, and he looked down with a slight tilt of his head. But he enjoyed her upward gaze. It resonated deep within him, into his abdomen, and down to his more sensitive region.
“Well, my parents know. As does my brother.” She smiled sheepishly, flirting back.
His chest felt tight, and he thought of his grandfather’s arrhythmia. Indeed, Fave’s heart skipped beats. But this was no ailment of the heart; it was the thin air that surrounded this gorgeous girl, making it hard to breathe, to think.
“And who are your father and brother?” he asked, hoping his words made sense despite the dearth of air reaching his brain.
“Mr. Ilan Newman. Of London.” She inclined her head and torso into a near-curtsy.
“And what is your name?”
“Rachel.”
“Rachel Newman.” He tested her name on his tongue and sighed with pleasure. “Delighted to make your acquaintance.” He took her hand and brushed a kiss on her knuckles. He was unable to let go, for the warmth of her skin pulled him in like a magnet.
She blushed bright crimson but did not pull away. Rather, she held his gaze. A chill traveled along his spine. The corner of her mouth twitched, and in a heart-stopping moment, her face was illuminated with the most transfixing, bright smile. Her teeth were almost perfectly straight and uniformly white, but their tilt had a certain feminine flair that captured his artistic eye in a trance. He could not look away from her glistening lips.
Intrigued, excitement spread through his entire body. “Pearler, also of London. At your service.” He bowed his head. “Call me Fave. All my friends do.”
“I hope to be worthy of your friendship.”
“I am certain you will be.”
CHAPTER6
April 5, 1813.
Fave swungthe saber through the air and threw his fencing mask on the tiled orangerie floor. He was distracted, feeling his loneliness more acutely than usual. His visit to Brockton House had grown complicated. Rachel had come and gone from his dreams all night. When had his innocent flirtation with her turned to lust? His body burned for her, ached for her touch. Her glistening lips were engraved in his mind. Fave had imagined every possible angle in which he could lay his mouth on hers, slowly entering his tongue until she moaned his name. This thought pattern could only be detrimental to his health. He rubbed his hair in frustration. He could not rid his mind of the sparkling fairy hairs that had escaped her updo and the soft candlelight on her fair skin. Her smile had bewitched his senses, and he felt utterly unprepared to face the magic she might exert on him again.
He regretted being so cold towards her at the library and wondered how little he cared now that she had scribbled in the collectible antique. At least somebody was enjoying the beloved classic before Lady Bustle-Smith pawned it off. Fave’s temper became that of a wild stallion’s at the thought of their vengeful hostess. His rage and heat gave him an abundance of energy.
“En-garde!” Fave nodded at his best friend and cousin, Arnold.
“Allez!” And with a hop-forward, Arnold pushed the saber’s point into Fave’s heart.
Arnold had arrived in time for their morning fencing match. The two of them cut an impressive duo, both muscular in tightly tailored white fencing gear. Fave’s hair was slightly longer and unruly, several shades lighter than his cousin’s. Arnold was taller, with more angular features but a dark, glowering quality to his warm eyes.
Swinging his sword usually made him feel strong, especially considering his powerlessness when facing his chosen fate. And yet, fighting with Arnold did little to calm Fave’s spirits today.
“Fencing and swordplay,” his grandfather had always stressed, “are for the feeble-minded. A true man is distinguished by hisνο?ς,” using the Greek word,nous, for intuition. Fave dropped his head in memory of his grandfather. If he only knew how to live out the teachings from his grandfather’s stories. If only he could ask him for advice one more time.
He snapped out of his reverie when Arnold called, “You’re not in the match.”
“You jumped too early,” Fave hissed as he took off his gloves and turned to the door of the orangerie. Lady Bustle-Smith had just renovated it and displayed only a few plants, leaving plenty of room for an indoor fencing match.
“You need a nice girl to tup, cous. Maybe you will find one who pleases you at the house party.”
