Not Proper Enough (A Reforming the Scoundrels Romance)

by Carolyn Jewel

  “It was my pleasure.” She smiled, and Eugenia was just so pretty when she smiled like that.

  “Did you like that?”

  “I did.” Her smile was too sweet to bear. “I watched you in the glass.”

  “Us.” He swept back that same curl. “You watched us.”

  “Yes, Fox. Us.”

  He sat up enough to cup his hand over the back of her head and bring her down to him so he could kiss her. He captured her mouth in a kiss that was all tongue and strongly suggested she was not repelled by him or what they’d done. They were both a little out of breath when he released her. “I like my sex hard. It needn’t be that way between us, of course. But I want to fuck you, and I would like it very much if it was hard and fast and both of us naked. Do you mind me telling you so crudely?” She shook her head. “Good. I like that, too.” He kissed her again. “I know it’s unfair you’ve not had pleasure.”

  “I did.”

  “Well.” He couldn’t help a smile. “I believe you’ve paid me a bigger compliment than I deserve, for I’m sure I’m the only one who came.”

  She shook her head ruefully, but she was smiling, thank God.

  “Soon, Ginny. I want to take you there with me next time.”

  She tidied his clothes for him, and what she thought of that revelation about him, that he could speak to her using such words and brazenly promise her satisfaction, he had no idea. “We ought to get back, don’t you think?”

  Chapter Seven

  A week later. No. 6 Spring Street.

  EUGENIA ADJUSTED HER MEDALLION AND WONDERED if she ought to change the ribbon it hung from. “What do you think, Martine? Is this the right blue? Look in the box and see if there isn’t a better blue than this.”

  Her maid stood behind her, examining Eugenia’s reflection in the glass. “You look lovely, milady. And the ribbon is perfect.”

  “Perhaps we ought to do something different with my hair.” She touched the fall of curls around her forehead. “I wish I had darker hair and that it didn’t curl so.”

  Martine laughed. “Milady, half the ladies in London wish they had hair your color and the curls as well.”

  She sighed and poked at her hair. She didn’t need curling papers; that was true. “I always wanted dark hair like Mountjoy’s. So much more dramatic.”

  Someone tapped on the door and called out, “Milady?”

  “Yes?” She reseated the comb in her hair. She knew she wasn’t anywhere near as beautiful as Lily, but she had something, and now that she was back in colors, she could wear rich shades in combinations that complemented her so often lamented coloring. Martine was right. She might have grown up wishing for Mountjoy’s dark hair, but her blond hair and blue eyes were the fashion, and that was something, to find one’s looks fashionable through no effort at all.

  One of the upstairs maids opened the door. “His grace the Duke of Camber and Lord Fenris are downstairs for you, milady.”

  “Thank you.” She didn’t dare turn around and let anyone see the color in her cheeks. That was the problem with having such fair skin. She had mixed feelings about seeing him again. Half the time she was ashamed of herself for what had happened at Bouverie, and the rest of the time she wanted the sex he’d warned her he liked. She wanted his cock in her hands, in her mouth, and inside her. All the pleasure with no risk to her heart.

  She touched her hair comb once more. Fenris, that horrible, awful man, made her pulse race. “Have you told Miss Rendell they’re here?”

  “I’m on my way to her now, milady.”

  “Excellent. Thank you.” She took a deep breath and turned away from her image in the mirror. Whatever the state of things between her and Fenris, driving out with him and Camber was nothing short of a triumph. All London would see Hester and who she was with. After all, what greater proof of social acceptance was there than to be seen with those two men, riding in Camber’s new landau? “My cloak, Martine?” She half turned on her chair as she called to the maid who was on her way to tell Hester that Camber and Fenris were here. “Sally, please tell them I’ll be down shortly.”

  Sally curtseyed. “Yes, milady.”

  Martine fetched Eugenia’s cloak, helped her into it, and brushed off every last speck of lint or dirt. Eugenia stayed motionless during the process. She would be serene, she decided. Perhaps even a bit icy, lest Fenris get the idea that she was prepared to enter into an affair with him. She wasn’t, she’d decided. Nothing formal. Nothing he could control. If she did take him to bed, it would be on her terms. Not his.

  “Thank you, Martine.” She waited while her maid finished with three more swipes of the lint brush before she went to Hester’s room. She wasn’t much surprised that Hester was nowhere near dressed. One gown lay abandoned on the bed. One of the upstairs maids held another, while Hester’s maid shook out the skirts of yet a third. Hester herself sat at a desk writing out something in a notebook, wearing only stays and her chemise.

  “Lady Eugenia, good afternoon.” She pointed at one of the two potted plants sitting atop the desk. One was in a blue pot. The one she indicated was in a white pot with a red and gold Chinese dragon painted on the side. “How would you describe the color of those leaves?”

  There were dozens of leaves, all no more than the size of her fingernail. They formed a domed shape that rose some two inches above the pot at the center and high point. “Green.”

  “Yes, but what color of green? Would you say the leaves are dark, medium dark, medium, or pale?”

  She faced the maid. “Has she decided what gown to wear?”

  The maid curtseyed and held up the gown in her hands while pointing to another on the bed. “This blue or the citrine, milady.”

  “I think we must call this a lighter medium green, not now pale.” Hester wrote something in her notebook.

  Eugenia tapped Hester’s shoulder. “My dear, Camber and Fenris are here. You must get dressed.”

  “I am dressed.” She looked at her lap. “Oh. Well, I thought I was.”

  Eugenia waved to Hester’s maid. “She’s wearing the blue.”

  Hester sat sideways on the chair. “Have I a gown that color of green?” She pointed at the potted plant on the desk.

  “I don’t know. Do you? Does she?”

  The maid returned to the wardrobe and brought out a green muslin.

  Hester squinted. “Is that a good match, do you think? I don’t think so. It’s not the right sort of green.”

  “Why does it matter? You will look very pretty in that frock. Or the blue one.”

  “Because it would be so very amusing to tell Camber that the leaves of his violet are exactly the color of my gown.” She half stood and stared at the pot, then at the gown. “That green is too pale.”

  “The citrine gown, then.”

  Hester shrugged. “If there isn’t a green like that, it makes no difference to me. Pity. I would have loved to see his face.”

  Eugenia took the pen from Hester’s hand and put it away. She also capped the ink. “Do get dressed, Hester. Now. Two very handsome gentlemen are waiting for you. Wear the citrine.”

  “Citrine.” She squinted at the bed. “It’s inaccurate to call it citrine when the color of the stone naturally varies. As well call it topaz. Or amethyst, for that matter.”

  “I’ll entertain them while you finish dressing.” Eugenia sent a stern look in the maid’s direction. “I shall see you downstairs shortly.”

  Camber stood when she came into the parlor. Fenris was already standing, but Eugenia made a point of barely glancing at him. Which felt wrong now. He wasn’t her enemy anymore. She still did not like him the way she liked Lily or any of her friends, but he wasn’t an enemy. Just a man with whom she’d been horribly, wonderfully indiscreet.

  Camber straightened his coat and after that touched his hand to his cravat. The thought that he might have taken especial care with his appearance, or that he might be worried about how he looked, startled her. Ridiculous, of course. T
he duke of Camber was surely not a vain man.

  When she’d curtseyed, he took her hand, but his eyes darted past her shoulder. “Lady Eugenia. Good afternoon. Is Miss Rendell coming?”

  “Hester will be down shortly.”

  “Excellent.” Camber promptly lapsed into stony silence.

  Fenris had so far kept his distance. Whether that was out of respect, or regret, or plain indifference, she didn’t know. No matter the answer, he impinged on her senses with such force that she could not keep from glancing at him. His gaze met hers, and she was instantly a complete muddle of emotions. She put an end to the tortured silence and curtseyed to the man. “My lord.”

  Fox. His intimates called him Fox, after that ridiculous extra name of his. She’d called him that herself.

  He nodded curtly, hands clasped behind his back. Not for her life could she dislodge her recollection of their reflected images; his head tipped back, mouth tense. His prick velvet hard in her hand. She’d never forget the way he’d given himself up to her, the way he’d pulsed in her hand. The scent. The sound of his groan as he came.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Bryant.” Despite his formal greeting, there was an uncertainty about him that made her think he did not intend to deal a deliberate insult. Quite the opposite, actually. She rather thought he was trying hard not to offend her by presuming anything. Was it possible he was as unsettled as she about what had happened?

  “My lord.” Weak at the knees for no good reason, and with no control of her wayward thoughts, she sank to a chair and stared at her feet until she’d gathered her wits.

  What had happened between them was madness. Really, nothing more than the result of her slow return from the dark, dark time after Robert’s death. During her marriage she’d enjoyed the physical intimacy. Was it so surprising that she missed that? She’d grown used to having a man’s arms around her at night, someone to steal a kiss from her during the day, or send her a lingering glance that promised passion. She desperately missed those moments of intimacy, and Fenris, well, he’d just happened to be there when she was weak. That was all. Nothing more complicated than that.

  She looked up and found both men staring at her. Fenris cocked his head in a silent inquiry. No one would believe she’d been in his arms. Or that she’d done…what she had. No one. Everyone knew their history of mutual dislike.

  “As I said, Miss Rendell should be down shortly.” She bit her lower lip. What would it be like if she took him to bed? The fact that she could entertain such a thought shook her deeply. It could happen. If she wanted it to. Heavens. Would she like that hard, quick fuck he wanted? She’d lost her mind. Then and now. Her and Fenris? Unthinkable. Impossible. Exhilarating. “She’s very much looking forward to the outing. As am I.”

  “Yes.”

  “The fog’s lifted just in time,” Camber said into the silence that followed. “We’ll be able to see the street, eh, Fenris?”

  “Most fortunate,” the man replied.

  She wanted to touch him again.

  At last, Hester appeared, an ermine muff dangling from one hand. She wore the citrine frock and, well. There was a great deal to be said for the way the bodice contained her bosom. Yellow silk roses were pinned in her dark hair, and, honestly, Hester looked very well so long as one did not examine the back of her frock. She’d gone and tacked the pale yellow ribbon to the back of her skirt, with much the same unfortunate effect as before. Hester did not like the way ribbons flapped in the breeze, she’d once explained when Eugenia demanded to know why she continued to ruin the line of her gowns with those careless stitches.

  Camber stepped forward and gave Hester a sweeping bow. “Miss Rendell. How lovely you look.”

  “Your grace.” She bent a knee.

  “Shall we?” Fenris gestured to the door at the same time he offered his arm to Eugenia. She rose—thank goodness she could stand without trembling—and put her hand on his sleeve.

  Fenris walked slowly so that Camber and Hester would get far enough ahead for him to lean to her and say in a deliberately provocative manner, “Is something the matter?”

  “No, nothing.” She was lying, and they both knew it. “Why do you ask?”

  “You looked…stricken a moment ago. You’re not ill, are you?”

  “I enjoy perfect health, my lord.” She adjusted her cloak and kept her hands at her side as they walked out. At the door, Camber collected his coat and hat. He did not look at her or at his son. No, he was all eyes for Hester, who was at present engaged with buttoning her coat. She was off one button. Eugenia would have gone to her to avert at least that disaster of fashion, but Camber stepped forward and rebuttoned her coat. All very avuncular, of course. The entire time he was fixing her coat, they continued their discussion of the best method of dividing bulbs.

  Fenris kept his hands clasped behind his back, his hat in one hand. She stopped walking.

  He looked back at her, glanced at Camber and Hester, then walked back to her. “Ginny?”

  “You shouldn’t call me that.”

  “They won’t overhear.” Ahead of them, the butler opened the front door. Camber and Hester walked out. Momentarily alone with her, Fenris bent close. “You have but to say the word. Come to Bouverie. The staff knows you have leave to visit the library. You can find the Turkish room from there, I daresay.”

  She didn’t have words. Only a muddle of emotions. And lust.

  “We can have that quick fuck any time you like. Consider me at your service.”

  Hester appeared in the doorway. “Lady Eugenia?”

  “On our way, Miss Rendell.” Fenris gave a glance toward the door. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “Awful man,” Eugenia murmured.

  He smiled slowly and gave her his arm. “Yes. But I think you like that about me.”

  Outside a glossy red landau waited at the curb, a liveried coachman in the driver’s box. The Camber coat of arms was emblazoned on the sides in gold, blue, and silver. A matched pair of charcoal black geldings was hitched to the landau.

  The groom bent to put down the step and took over at the door after Fenris himself assisted Hester then her to the forward-facing seat. Eugenia maintained a bland smile as she placed her fingers on Fenris’s hand. She would absolutely not engage in an affair with the man. Impossible. Wasn’t it?

  Once she was seated beside Hester, she smoothed a gloved hand over the black leather seats and then along the lacquered wood, shining ebony, crimson, and gold. The duke’s landau was as sumptuous inside as out.

  Camber climbed in and sat opposite Hester. Fenris, still on the walk, at last put on his hat and sat opposite Eugenia. Hester beamed at her. The only fault in the otherwise wholly satisfactory seating arrangements was that she was facing Lord Fenris, and how could she look at the man without thinking of all the things they hadn’t done?

  He watched her, Fenris did, with a lazy, sleepy stare that made her think of sex.

  Perhaps she ought to find out what he would be like in bed.

  Chapter Eight

  BEFORE THE CARRIAGE MOVED ONTO SPRING STREET, Hester pulled a notebook from inside her muff. She held it up for Camber’s inspection. “I have been keeping meticulous records. You?”

  The duke produced a similar notebook. “Did you think I would not?”

  Eugenia slumped a little on her seat, biting back a groan with more effort than she liked. How was Hester to find a suitable husband if at every free moment she was talking about soil and sunlight and the exact shade of green one ought to assign to a leaf?

  “Never doubted it,” Hester said.

  The groom climbed into position at the back of the landau, resplendent in his livery, but Fenris signaled the driver to stay. “Mrs. Bryant, do you get travel sick?”

  “No.” She refused to think about him in the Turkish room. “Why?”

  He tapped his father on the shoulder. “Camber, please take Mrs. Bryant’s seat.” He held out a hand. “Mrs. Bryant?” His eyes held hers. Honestly, he
had the most beautiful brown eyes. “It’s easier this way. One of them will fall off the seat trying to see the other’s notes.”

  He was right. And it would be Hester who’d end up in a heap on the floor of the landau. She put her hand on his and the exchange of places was made. Hester and Camber immediately set to comparing pages of their notebooks. Hester produced a tiny pencil, and she and the duke took turns amending their pages.

  So immersed were the two in their mutual plant-madness that the rim of Camber’s beaver hat touched the edge of Hester’s bonnet, which, she now saw, had been put on haphazardly. The bow was the sort that ought to be tied at the side of one’s cheek, but Hester had managed, somehow, to tie hers under her chin. One of the ends of the ribbon was, therefore, a good deal longer than the other.

  The carriage headed off, and Eugenia tried, she really did, to be unaware of Fenris beside her. She sat straight and clutched the side of the carriage to prevent her shoulder from touching his. Or their legs from touching. He crowded her on the seat. Not deliberately, she didn’t think.

  Refusing to touch him even incidentally only intensified his effect on her. She watched the houses they passed, counting doors and posts. Anything to keep from looking at Fenris and thinking improper thoughts. None of that helped. She could not stop the recollection of her glimpse of his strong thighs and the flat plane of his belly. His prick, heavens, she adored his prick. Thinking of him made her blood heat.

  Since Robert’s death, she’d drifted through life, unable to feel deeply about anything. Fenris, of all people, had proved she was not dead to sensation. God help her, in his arms she had felt alive for the first time since Robert died. She wanted that again. And more. She did not dare look at him. He would know. His father would see, and he’d guess, and that could only lead to disaster. She counted windows and attempted to calculate the tax.