by Claudy Conn
Jarvis appeared and announced, “The Marquis of Bruton.”
“Drat!” said Nigel.
“Loose fish,” whispered Seth. “Don’t like the blasted fellow.”
“You may show him in Jarvis, thank you,” said their aunt Sissy.
Seth looked surprised, “Didn’t think you liked him either.”
“Don’t … but he runs with prince regent, and one does not wish to make enemies in that quarter unnecessarily.”
Taffy had very definite views about Bruton, but she wasn’t letting on just yet. She rather thought she might need to further a friendship if she was to solve her dear friend’s problem, so she kept her thoughts on Bruton to herself.
At least with her, he had never overstepped, and he had never bored her—there was that, and probably only that, in his favor for as he walked into the room, she once again concluded he thought too much of himself.
After placing a perfunctory kiss upon her aunt’s hand, he bent over hers and said, “I have gone through the agony of sitting in hell waiting for this moment.”
He brought himself up from her hand and nodded to her brother and uncle who had no qualms displaying their open displeasure with him. They were polite, but just barely.
He took up the back of a Windsor chair and pulled it near to where she sat. “May I?”
“Of course,” she answered. “Or did you think I meant to keep you standing? I am not so heartless, especially to a man who has gone through hell … just for me.” She was tickled with inner laughter.
“Precious beauty, what I suffered before is nothing to what I suffer now,” he answered adroitly.
“How so? I allowed you to sit, my lord.” Taffy was enjoying herself immensely. She had this man’s measure.
“Because your beauty always slays me, and yet I find myself coming back for more.”
“And if I were out of looks—pale with fatigue, of ill mood and manner—what then, my lord?”
“Were you sick with fever, pale with weariness, still would I find you the most ravishing woman in all the world.”
“Don’t you believe the blackguard…” said James Fenmore with an accompanying laugh, but it was obvious to Taffy, he quite meant his words. On his arm was her dear friend, Catherine. Jarvis had no doubt thought it unnecessary to announce them first as they were such frequent visitors.
Cathy’s face went white, and Taffy realized Bruton was looking at her through his quizzing glass, deuce take the fellow, for she was sure he meant to make her nervous. Why?
“Cath … James … what a delightful surprise…” she said and got to her feet with her arms open to receive her friend.
“Indeed, I met Lord Fenmore on the way here, and we walked together,” said Catherine as she bent and kissed Taffy’s cheek and squeezed her hand. “It is a lovely day…”
Pleasantries were exchanged and refreshments served before Taffeta was able find a moment in a quiet spot near the window and touch Cathy’s hand, “Dear, this won’t do. You must tell me what the marquis has done to offset you so.”
“I can not speak of it…”
“And still you will.” Taffeta regarded her friend intently. “Cathy … you and I have never kept secrets from each other.”
Catherine laughed shakily, “That is not quite correct, Taffy dear. I didn’t keep secrets from you, but you … oh … the secrets you have kept from me.”
Taffy pulled a face at her, but they were being called back into the conversation that had taken over the room about the upcoming soiree for the evening. Taffy whispered, “This is not done.”
Catherine sighed, “I know, Taffy… I know.”
~*~
The rakehell Hotspur tried desperately to keep Taffeta out of his thoughts, but the harder he tried, the more she would sneak up on him and laugh, and the sound—a sound he had grown to enjoy—made him long for her company.
He stood in the Home Office with Sidmouth and found he actually had to concentrate on the matter at hand.
“Look Tarrant, if you don’t want to get involved this time,” said the Viscount of Sidmouth, Home Secretary, “I can release you from your obligations.”
Tarrant stopped his pacing and rounded on the home secretary. “Certes! I did not ride to Dover and handle our little problem because I want out, and well you know it, so don’t talk nonsense to me, Henry. You damn well know better.”
Sidmouth laughed. “Calm down, lad. Egad, but that temper of yours needs letting. All I was … well, you seem preoccupied … especially when I mentioned the Rogues Three in Nottingham.”
“What I am is not preoccupied, but at a loss to understand why the Home Office would be interested in such a minor apparition of the Luddite movement.”
“Let us review the situation,” said Sidmouth frowning.
“Fine.” He would review and dismiss it, for no matter what happened, no one was going to know the identity of the Rogues Three. “But what you should be reviewing is the fact we have a leak in the Honor Guards unit.”
“Then our problem is twofold. We must plug the leak, and we must stop the Rogues Three.”
“They have stopped their aggression against the mill owners, and from the information I received, have packed their bags, and left the county.” said Tarrant.
“And brought their little ken here to London, if rumor is to be believed—besides, should they not be punished for their acts in Nottingham?”
“Not our job. The local authority is looking into it, and I don’t believe that little band is one and the same with the three working London.” Tarrant shrugged and looked away.
“My information may be wrong, but if the Rogues Three are merely mimicking their Nottingham counterparts or not, they still must be stopped.”
“Indeed, I quite agree. These three scoundrels have a completely different style. I can tell you that, as when I was visiting with my aunt, I was in a position to learn a great deal, and those three never injured the mill owners they robbed. Our London three are murderers and traitors!” Tarrant said impatiently.
“If word of our plans leaks to Napoleon…”
“Then whoever these London Three are, we must not allow anything ‘important’ to be leaked their way. I have a thought on the subject.”
“Aye, you may be right, but Tarrant, this is an ugly business, and I caution you to watch your back.”
The next hour saw them finalizing plans to get documents to their man in France before Tarrant bowed himself off, saying, “I damn well mean to put an end to this blackguard!”
Chapter Eight
Aunt Sissy looked around Lady Rathborn’s ballroom and turned up her nose as she leaned into Taffeta and whispered, “Cecilia means to outdo me with all these flowers, and constant champagne, but she shan’t because her ballroom is too small, and her musicians only passable!”
Taffy laughed and said, “Naughty thing—but I doubt anyone can outdo the ball you gave me. It was perfect.”
Aunt Sissy preened and sighed. “The marquis is just thirty, but remember love, he has a reputation of being a heartbreaker. He trifles with young maids—so different than the Hotspur. Bruton takes the innocents and ruins them…”
“How do you know this?”
“I know … and look, Fenmore is making a cake out of himself for your friend, Catherine, but she scarcely gives him a smile. What is wrong with the chit?”
“I don’t know, something has made her … cautious,” replied Taffy as her eyes narrowed, and she made up her mind. “I shall be right back…”
She knew the next dance was a waltz for she had promised it to some young man, and she meant for Cathy to waltz with Fenmore. She hurried to them and managed to trip into her friend, knocking her right into Fenmore’s arms. The musicians struck up the waltz.
Somehow the young man, whose name she couldn’t remember, managed to run her to ground and started to lead her onto the dance floor, but not before she said, “Cathy … do not sit this one out too. Lord Fenmore, I am persuaded, wi
ll not dance until he has waltzed with you.”
Fenmore winked at Taffy and took Catherine’s hand and was openly relieved when she allowed him to lead her onto the floor. Taffy sighed happily, turned, and gave her dance partner a smile that instantly won her an affectionate expression.
She had only danced a few moments with her hopeful suitor when the Marquis of Bruton tapped his shoulder and ousted him with a derisive remark.
She looked up at Bruton’s face and said, “That was not nice, my lord.”
A soft, self-assured tone answered her, “Nothing ever is in love or war.”
“I am not involved in war … or love, and prefer … nice.”
He laughed, “I shall have to remember that, although nice is not something I do very often.”
“So I have heard, and since you now admit… I suppose, I must as people advise, be wary of you, my lord.”
“You needn’t be, for I mean you no harm. In fact, I rather think I mean to make you my wife,” he said nonchalantly.
She was shocked and nearly pulled out of his hold, “You can’t be serious. You don’t even know me. I can think of only one reason you would want such a union, and it isn’t a pretty one!” Taffeta was outraged.
“You mistake. I know what I need to know, you are beautiful, titled, and worthy of my name.”
“I will not have this discussion with you. It is most improper!” said Taffeta, pulling away and inclining her head. “I am sorry … but I am a bit weary and must find my aunt and take a seat.” Before he could lend her escort, she had fled him and started wending her way through the crowd of dancers.
Two strong hands were suddenly on her shoulders holding her in place, and a welcome voice that nearly made her lunge into his arms said, “Sunbeam—steady now. Whatever did the devil say to you?”
“It was nothing…” She looked up at him and discovered it took everything she had not to sink onto his chest and make him hold her tight. He was here; finally he was with her…
“Damn the man’s soul—it was something. Shall I run him through?” he asked and tipped her chin up, and as their eyes met, Taffeta knew that although he was trying to make her smile, he would defend her honor. She could see it in his face. He was ready and able to do battle.
“No … no … it was nothing…” she repeated. She couldn’t have a scene, and Tarrant looked as though he was ready to stomp over to Bruton and lay him low. Taffy’s heart pumped furiously, spelling out his name, his size, his magic touch, but he wasn’t letting go of the issue.
“It was something, obviously,” he answered on a frown.
“He said I was worthy to be his wife.” She seethed as she repeated the words. “He is a very bad man, and he thinks I am worthy his badness!”
Tarrant stared at her for a long moment before mirth exploded from his lips, and he began an uproarious laughter that turned heads. She watched as he finally got control, and realized how absurd she had sounded.
He took her chin, heedless of tongues ready to wag, his voice low and filled with pleasure. “Taffeta … you are a wonder. My complete wonder.” He put her hand through his arm and said, “Come, let us get some refreshments and take them into the garden…”
“Yes, and then, my lord, you may tell me where you have been,” she said with what she hoped was a flirtatious look.
“Did you miss me?” he asked, his eyes bright as he waited for her answer.
“I noticed you were not about,” she answered, giving him a little, only a little.
“I am glad of it, sunbeam. I… There are big guns about to go after the Luddites and squash them if they can, and the Rogues Three are wanted for treason and murder.”
Her eyes opened wide, “Treason and murder? But that is absurd.”
“Precisely and yet, as I said—big guns and squashing. I am looking into the matter, for whoever is behind the London three posing as the Nottingham Three … needs to be stopped. They are traitors.”
“Indeed … we can help.”
“You and yours had better stay well away from it. Leave it to me.”
She considered this for a moment. “Hmm, you may be right. I shan’t even say anything about it to Seth and Nigel.”
“Good girl,” pronounced Tarrant, smiling at her warmly.
“Why were you absent from the meeting about the death penalty for the Luddites?”
“It was a lost cause. Defeating it—just impossible now.”
Instead of taking her into the dining room, he had led her outdoors without stopping for refreshments, and she was vaguely aware he stopped their little stroll where they were well hidden by a row of evergreens. No one from the ballroom’s French doors would be able to see them, and she turned to say breathlessly, “You said you would feed me?”
“Did I?” His voice was low. “Will this do?”
She had heard the husky desire in his voice and the hard determination. She found herself wrapped in his strong embrace with his mouth covering hers, devouring … tasting … taking … infusing her with an undercurrent of festering need. Her longing met and matched his as his tongue lapped at hers and seemed to drink and taste with an unquenchable thirst.
Taffeta’s response was primal, as she pressed her yearning body into his, and suddenly it was like an internal explosion between them that drew and melded them together.
She clung to him, holding on, and wishing he would never let her go. She knew she wished he would take her away, take her completely, and make her his own. She returned the fervor of his embrace with a passion that swept away all logical thought.
He handled her deftly as his fingers explored her and turned her into an unabashed and wanton creature. Her heart reverberated with a riotous flurry of sensations, and she never wanted this time with him to end. He lifted up all the wildness in her and gave it release. She wanted him to take her and hide her away from the world, somewhere private where she could explore their mutual needs. She wanted to feel him, all of him.
He broke away and whispered, “Taffeta.”
When he said her name, it was like an enchanted melody that made her tippy toe up for another kiss.
He chucked her under the chin and said, “Beauty, you beauty—would that I could call in the debt now, right now… But, I had better get you back indoors before your brother calls me out.”
Slap, a splash of cold water. They were in the garden! Of course, he had to take her back, and yet she felt herself reel backward from the sudden rejection. He so easily could put her aside? He so easily could resist her? Was she so undesirable he could take his kiss and part from her while she was still floating in the wind?
She had expected words of love and devotion, of undying need and passion. What she got was totally unexpected. Cold, calculated logic. He was the rakehell Hotspur, and didn’t seem even mildly ready to take her to bed.
He should be making assignations with her. He should want to meet and make love to her. She still quivered from his touch, and a sure hurt replaced desire. She felt her protective shields rush around her to protect her as she answered. “Indeed, and my brother should call you out—fie my lord, seducing a maid in the garden!” She attempted to make light of their encounter with a tease in her tone. She started to turn and walk away, but he grabbed her arm and frowned at her.
“What are you talking about? Certes woman—”
She cut him off, “Call in your marker, my lord, so I can get it over with and forget all about you, for this is torture—waiting, forever waiting…” A catch in her throat made the words sound jerky, and she breathed in air trying to stop the tears that threatened. She could do only one thing at that moment. She needed to save face and run. She yanked hard out of his hold and rushed toward the garden doors and back into the ballroom where she found Catherine, and hugged her fiercely to say, “Cathy, some men are beasts, beasts I tell you, and oh, do not let me cry.”
“Cry? Nonsense. I don’t know which of them has upset you, but put up your chin and make him see what he is los
ing. There is naught like to you, my sweet Taffy,” said her friend who took her hand and firmly led her to the dining room. “Cake, is the answer at the moment. We must have cake … all kinds of cake, and then we will dance with many and forget the one.”
Taffeta squeezed her hand and looked at her friend, “Love you, Cath. Yes, we will eat cake, chocolate cake, and we will dance with many…” She eyed her for a moment and then said, “And then you will come home with me tonight, and we shall talk, you and I, just like we did when we were in school, and you will tell me why Bruton worries you so.”
Catherine smiled and then sighed. “Yes, I suppose you will hound me until I do, but I won’t until you tell me which man was a beast to you tonight and why.”
“Deal,” said Taffeta as she watched the Hotspur take his leave of his hostess and depart the ball. This brought back the flood of hurt and tears that threatened to engulf her, but Taffy was made of sterner stuff, and instead, she vowed to put the rakehell Hotspur out of her mind with chocolate, lots of chocolate!
~*~
Catherine Frome’s father, Sir Miles, sat back heavily in his coach to contemplate the fates, well satisfied his daughter was safely on her way with Lady Taffeta. He would have had to send her home alone from Lady Rathborn’s ball, if he wished to keep her safely out of what they were sure was about to occur.
Sidmouth and he had come up with a plan earlier that day and set it about he would be carrying home a ‘packet’ from Lord Rathborn meant for Wellington. What they needed was to flush out the traitor and had allowed the person Tarrant believed was their ‘leak’ to overhear their plan.
Frome had instructed his driver to take the route that would lead them out of the city toward Dover. He needed to make it appear as though he was indeed quietly delivering important documents to waiting hands at the coast.
He told himself, this was all absurd… He was more than fifty years old, and a man his age should not be engaging in such dangerous pastimes. But this was for country—for his beloved Albion!
