by Sophia Nash
"Accept my challenge? I did not—" she said before he interrupted.
"Oh, yes, you did. But I've forgotten. You are Welsh and the Welsh are known for reneging on challenges."
She was well and truly hooked if the look on her face was any indication. She was a gambler at heart.
"Well, I shall prove you wrong, sir."
"Now we must discuss the terms, chérie."
"The terms?"
She seemed to have forgotten her prior dislike of the endearment. "Yes, what each of us would gain from this understanding. I daresay I shouldn't have to give you a farthing if you're successful before me, given the promise of fifteen thousand a year."
She had a disturbing gleam in her eye. "Oh, you would get off too easily, my lord. Let us say that you would have to walk clear around Hyde Park during the social hour dressed in an ensemble I should pick out for you."
William threw back his head and laughed. "No doubt it involves some hideous Welsh fisherman's rags? Oh, you are very good, mademoiselle. Very good indeed," he said, smiling. "But now it is my turn. I fear I must be equally devious. If I'm able to find a female I would be willing to actually marry"—and here he shuddered theatrically— "thereby giving up my current lifestyle, and if she should accept my proposal, you would be required to—to burn all those disgusting peasant rags you own, and wear only proper, pretty gowns to Farquhar's specifications. And no pantaloons, ever."
"What?" She looked distressed.
"Well, we must make it worth the effort. And furthermore, each much approve the other's choice of spouse," William said. "As I am a gentleman," he said, taking her arm and wrapping it within his own before continuing toward the villa, "I feel it only sporting if we agree to assist or teach each other in the provocative arts of securing a partner."
"I'm not at all sure I will approve of your ways."
"Yes, but you must try to be unprejudiced. As you said, I'm familiar with what gentlemen are looking for."
She gurgled with laughter. "Oh, all right. But what if we both fail in this ridiculous endeavor? I for one find it a distinct possibility." She was looking him over from the tip of Farquhar's ridiculous new hat to the overly tight breeches in crimson.
"I never fail, mademoiselle."
"I see," she said, suppressing a smile.
"It is agreed then. Now regarding the lessons. I propose the first shall begin tomorrow, in secret. It seems you favor taking the air along the seashore. I shall inadvertently be strolling along the same path as you tomorrow, precisely at the ungodly early hour of ten o'clock."
"And what will the lesson entail?" "Let's start alphabetically, chérie, shall we? Let's see.… A for Attitude, B for Behavior and let us say also"—he eyed her primly restrained breasts— "Bosoms and how they should be displayed to their best advantage." He fully expected her to strike him for that indiscretion but it seemed he couldn't shock her. She might have turned an alarming beet red in embarrassment, but she apparently viewed him as an intimate friend—like a sister.
"All right, my lord. And I shall teach you about C, D, and E—Character, Distaste for dandies, and the Error of your ways—all of which my father taught me well."
At least she recovered from embarrassment rapidly. She now wore the gleefully happy expression he enjoyed teasing to full blossom.
"Ah, I see. You hope to truly reform me then, Chérie."
"Indeed, my upbringing demands it. Shall we begin? Or do you need time to contemplate the course of our mutual education?"
Chapter Four
“WHY would I need to know where you're going so early in the morning?" Farquhar brushed the shoulders and back of the light gray coat adorning William. The valet peered around to look at Will's reflection in the cheval glass. "It's not my place to be wondering that sort of thing, is it now? Not even when you wouldn't rise this early for a meeting with royalty." Farquhar sniffed.
"Oh, I don't know." William held back a grin. "Perhaps you are right about the Prince Regent. The man is a dead bore. But, I suppose I would rise to see the queen at this unholy hour—but so far, I've been fortunate. She rises later than I."
"Well, I for one am glad those escapades"— Farquhar lifted his eyebrows as high as possible— "are long over. I am still having nightmares over those trysts. I was sure we'd be tossed out of the country—made to swim the Channel, despite everything we did for the Crown."
"As I remember, you have nothing to complain about. You won more bets below stairs than any gentleman at White's."
"And how else was I to eat?" Farquhar took a deep breath to launch into his favorite topic. "What with the many long years of sorry pay from British intelligence for risking our bloody necks, and the inconsistent manner I am currently compensated…" "Martyrdom never suited you."
"Well." Farquhar's face puckered. "I see we are evading questions this morning."
"Do you have a fan, dear boy?" William asked, turning from the glass. At least he had found a coat of Farquhar's that was a touch more conservative. The white pantaloons were another story. They were so tight they bordered on the obscene.
"A fan? Certainly." Farquhar looked delighted by the proposition of William stretching his personal wardrobe to the limits. On the way to retrieve the article, Farquhar stopped in midstride. "What, pray tell, are you going to do with a fan at nine o'clock in the morning?"
Knowledge dawned.
"Ah. So we have a little assignation planned? A lady, I presume, with the care you have taken this morning. And is my fan to be a gift? I'm not at all sure I can part with it. It was painted by a celebrated artist and is worth—"
"Give over. I shall return it to you before noon," William interrupted the endless stream of his valet's words.
"Touchy, aren't we?"
Farquhar disappeared for a moment and returned carrying two fans of differing sizes. "Now you must take great care when—"
"Thank you," William said, taking both fans from Farquhar in midsentence.
"You promised there would be no more running and hiding." Farquhar attached a tiny white rosebud to William's lapel and looked him square in the face. "Just tell me you are not planning on seducing one of those silly Mornington chits. Even though I can't abide their brother, I've no desire to go willy-nilly about the country again so soon. And Lord knows I'd have to ask for references and my last pay if I had to face the sight of one of those females in your bed for the rest of my life."
"Your observations never fail to amuse. And you know I haven't a farthing to pay you for the last quarter. So I daresay I'll have to allow other, more"—he scratched his chin—"charitable gentlemen the honor of courting the Misses Mornington."
"Then—"
"Then, nothing, mon vieux. I am out to take the air."
"The air? You? Take the air at ten o'clock in the morning?"
William murmured his assent.
"Ah, then it must be the Welsh female. At least she has tolerable teeth and knows when to stop clacking them."
William laughed. "So she does."
"Well, don't forget Mr. Derby will be coming to see you this afternoon along with the architect. They cannot be put off much longer."
"That is why I look the veritable bridegroom, dear boy," William said.
Jack Farquhar stopped brushing the lint from the back of William's coat. "Far be it for me to give you my opinion," he huffed. "Besides, feelings of guilt have never been your forte."
Sophie knew she was being foolish. She had taken extraordinary care in her dress on this glorious blue-sky morning. It was something she had not cared to do since leaving London's elegant townhouses.
She bounded down the steep descent of the footpath to the narrow strip of sand below. Her white silk gown with gold braiding billowed out behind her as a gust of wind played havoc with her carefully coiffed curls.
She had even allowed Karine to squeeze her into the horrid contraption meant to flatten and minimize her top-heavy physique. Her maid seemed to take delight in torturing her. It wa
sn't as tight as it had been during the last, almost fatal, interview with Lord Coddington, but still it made breathing difficult. She endured it because Lord William had said they would discuss her bosom—of all the audacious topics. Why, in all her years she had never heard a gentleman utter that word. Sophie pulled up the edge of the gown's low band of silk to conceal herself more.
"Miss Somerset, delighted to see you." Lord William pushed away from a tall rock and handed her down from the small berm of sand above the beach. "I wondered if you would renege on our agreement."
"Of course not. I'm curious to hear your advice, my lord," Sophie said. "It is certain to be less tedious than Aunt Rutledge's lessons on becoming a lady."
He bowed his head slightly and winked at her. "If I cannot entertain you, how can I hope to educate?"
She placed her hand on his broad forearm and for the first time in her life Sophie felt petite and almost feminine. He was so very tall and large in the shoulders. His gray coat seemed ready to burst at the seams. And his pantaloons. How ever did he get them on? What sort of gentleman wore such tight-fitting white pantaloons, which outlined… She averted her gaze.
This sort of gentleman.
"So you plan to teach me about 'attitude' while we walk?"
"I believe we can canvas all of the topics by the time we reach the Berrow, which if I remember correctly, is not more than two miles from here. And then you shall have the return to teach me your tricks." He smiled with just a twinge of wickedness.
The sun shone brightly, its rays bounced off the wavelets. A dozen small seagulls screeched, dipping and soaring in the stiff breeze above the shallow hollows of the tufts of sea grasses.
Out of the corner of her eye, Sophie saw Lord Will pull two fans out of his coat. The first, made of painted ivory and black lace, he handed to her. With a refined, practiced gesture, he opened the other, a mask fan on a delicate bone monture. He peered through the eyeholes and winked at her.
Sophie smiled. "What is this?"
"Attitude, ma chérie. Nothing conveys self-assuredness and sly innuendo as well as a fan used properly." He wafted the air with a haughty feminine elegance.
Sophie stopped and laughed until tears coursed down her face.
"I do beg your pardon," William said dryly. "To begin, holding a fan in your left hand, like this, indicates that you would like to make the other party's acquaintance. This is especially useful when you want to bypass about twenty fusty relatives in the courtship process."
"Of course, how dandy." She began to laugh again.
"Do be serious," he said, closing the fan with a snap and poking Sophie in the ribs.
"Ouch!"
"That's not at all the response you would want from a gentleman."
"Whatever do you mean?"
"Poking means, 'I like you. Pay attention to me.' "
"Oh, I see."
"Now you try," Will said.
Sophie held the fan in her right hand and half opened it in front of her face.
"No, no, no. Half opened with the right hand in front of the face indicates 'I don't like you, I love another.' "
Sophie shook her head and grinned. "No wonder I scared them all away in droves."
Will used his closed fan to gently brush a strand of curls that had fallen from her coiffure.
"And I suppose that meant something?"
Will smiled and Sophie was dazzled anew by his handsome features.
"You learn quickly, chérie. It means 'Do not forget me.' " She looked up into his laughing eyes. "Don't worry. I shan't."
Oh dear, God, what was she saying to him? It was those warm brown eyes of his that always made it hard to think properly. She swallowed and tried to regain her composure.
"If that is the case in this mock seduction then you must fan your face quickly, indicating your passion for me," he said slyly, coming around more fully to face her. He stilled her fan with his hand and closed it. "And now, if you wish to encourage an honorable gentleman's intentions, you would tap the handle on his lips." William reversed the fan's ends and returned it to her hands.
Gently, ever so gently, Sophie held her breath and brushed the handle on Will's full, bronzed lips.
He arched one brow and glanced at her mouth.
Sophie licked her dry lips and couldn't breathe.
"Ah. So we proceed to the next lesson—kissing," he whispered.
Sophie dropped her gaze. "I thought it was…uh… bodices."
"Bosoms, ma chérie. Yes, kissing and the other go nicely together, indeed." He led her over to the relative seclusion of a rock ledge.
"I really don't think I need any lessons in either, my lord." She was unable to meet his gaze.
"Ah, but you do, my dear. I guarantee the ladies and gentlemen of London have refined techniques. And since you cannot return to London and reassume the hunt for a husband using the innocent virgin method"—and here he batted his eyelashes and tittered behind his fan—"you must become thoroughly practiced in the arts of a flirtatious coquette."
She wasn't at all sure she had the nerve to actually kiss him. He was far too handsome, far too uninterested in her. She loathed the idea of making a fool of herself.
"Then," he continued, "you'll drive the gentlemen all wild with longing and you'll have your choice of all the hopefuls. And who better to show you than me? For I'm perfectly harmless, by your own words, am I not?" William lifted her chin with his large hand. "And perhaps," he said, rolling his eyes, "you'll tempt me to throw off the shackles of my unnatural nature."
"All right," she said quietly, unexpectedly. It wasn't what she'd meant to say. It was just that the picture he'd presented, that of all the Lord Codfishes of London on their knees and begging for her hand with true desire in their eyes, tantalized her.
Her hand slowly moved the handle of the fan over the dark flesh of his lips.
She looked up at him with huge trusting eyes.
He almost felt a twinge of guilt. Almost. He shook himself. This was ridiculous. It was not as if she was a virgin. The London papers had been most explicit in her fallen status. He hardened his resolve when her lips glistened invitingly in the sunshine.
He lowered his face to hers and paused for just the slightest moment. Pausing before a kiss heightened desire and gave the illusion he cared enough to give her a last chance to cry off. For some confounded reason he found it difficult to proceed.
The lightest touch of cool fingertips swept across his cheek, like an innocent dove fluttering against him. He shuddered and closed his eyes.
All at once, her tender lips brushed a kiss on his cheek.
He angled his mouth toward hers and returned the kiss, barely resting on the softness he found nestled there. He resisted the urge to part his lips and crush her to him. William breathed deeply and pushed slightly away.
"Ah yes, the innocent kiss. Ma chérie, I think you've mastered that one quite well," William whispered, looking down at the dazed sweetness of her face.
He tried to reassemble his thoughts and his campaign. "Let's proceed to the flirtatious kiss, then, shall we? One you must master if you intend to slay the heart of a suitable gentleman."
"I don't know if this is really necces—"
He lowered his head and captured her lips once again, swallowing the rest of her words all at once. For long moments he teased the seam of her lips with his tongue, urging her to open to him. Her light breath on his cheek aroused him and it took every ounce of self-control not to gather her up in his arms. Instead, he cupped her face with his hands and teased the tendrils of hair that had come loose in the slight breeze.
He longed to touch her breasts. Her shape fascinated him. He'd seen her tiny waist silhouetted in the sunlight. And her tall carriage supported the most impressive display of femininity he'd ever beheld, despite the rigid armor she sported.
With a slowness meant to torment him, he moved his hands to her waist and gently slid his hands up the sides of her body. He inhaled deeply her rose scent and
placed his hands on the sensitive area below her breasts.
A sheet of hardened metal—or something like hardened metal—greeted his hand. This was no simple corset. He'd never felt anything like it before.
Reluctantly, he broke off the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. "My dear, this…this article you're wearing is impossible. How can you even breathe?"
Before she could answer him, he nudged the edge of the silk bodice and found the strings of a bow holding an exceptionally wide tooled whalebone busk in place. He deftly untied the laces and pulled out the tortuous device in a fluid movement before she could stop him.
"My lord!" she exclaimed. "That was very wrong of you. Give it back!"
She had the most beautiful eyes. So easy to read and openly honest.
"No, I think not. We should send it off to London—where they're always looking for new forms of torture to coerce confessions."
His gamble worked. She couldn't hide the merriment in her expression.
"I sense it not only hampers your breathing, chérie, but will dampen the spirits of your most ardent admirers. You must never use this again, unless you have need of a chastity device," he added dryly.
"My aunt says I must wear it lest I appear too common. And I'm so tired of males looking at me with knowing glances. It's always been the case, even at twelve years old."
He shook his head. "Chérie, there are ladies who would gladly give their teeth to have your physique. You must stop covering yourself, and start taking pride in your, mmmm, assets."
"Well, I'll admit it's difficult to breathe with it. I know I should be mortified, but I feel ever so much better." Miss Somerset smiled timidly.
"No, no. You have exquisite teeth. You must smile more fully and raise your head to look down the end of your nose at us, the less fortunate members of the ton. That's it. Now we must practice the kiss again, and you must open your mouth this time."
"What?" She looked flustered. "Oh, this is ridiculous."
"Come, come, you almost had me thinking of petticoats and stockings instead of, of waistcoats and watch fobs. Let's try again." He stifled his smile and kissed her again. God help him if she obeyed his instructions.
