by Jo Beverley
Deirdre growled as she struggled to arrange her skirts with decency. They were all over the place, showing her shift, her stockings, and even a glimpse of a garter. “If there was a dragon, I’d feed you to it,” she snapped. “Put me down, you idiot.”
He made no move to obey, but he slowed the horse. “I think dragons are only interested in virgins.”
Deirdre glared at him. “Put me down!”
“No. I’m taking you home.”
“I have legs, Lord Everdon.”
He looked down and grinned. “So I see.”
Deirdre gritted her teeth and wriggled harder until her skirts were decent. “A gentleman, my lord, would not have remarked on that fact.”
“True, but he still would have enjoyed the view.”
“In fact, a gentleman,” continued Deirdre, “would never have thrown me over his saddle bow in the first place.”
“No? It seems to happen a lot in books. But if you were truthful,” he pointed out, “you’d acknowledge that I didn’t. Didn’t you appreciate the skill in the way I landed you right side up?”
“No.” Deirdre looked away and tried to pretend this ridiculous performance wasn’t happening, that he wasn’t even there. The attempt was futile when she was sitting on his hard thighs and his arm was strong about her.
He spoke softly into her ear. “Perhaps we should do it again, so you can admire my technique.”
“Once you put me down, my lord, you’ll not have the chance to capture me again.”
He laughed. “I’m almost tempted to see what means you would use to avoid it. But discretion prevails. I have no doubt you’d succeed. I think you would succeed at anything you set your formidable mind to.”
This casual praise so overwhelmed Deirdre that she relaxed against his chest. “Good, for I have set my mind to marrying Howard.”
They were approaching the stable lane. “Were you off visiting him then?”
“Yes.”
“And singing on the way home. He must have made you happy.”
“He always makes me happy.”
“Lucky man,” he said softly, almost wistfully, his breath brushing warm over her cheek. She could not deny that it sent a shiver down her spine. She told herself that to be in the same situation with Howard would give her even greater pleasure.
They were just short of the stable yard gate when he halted the horse. Before she could act to evade it, he captured her chin, and a light kiss tickled her lips. “You did hit me,” he said.
“Under great provocation.”
But Deirdre wasn’t angry. She thought perhaps Everdon was coming to understand just how she felt about Howard. When he really understood, she knew he would cease his teasing and leave her alone.
That afternoon Lord Everdon sought a word with Deirdre’s mother. He was coming to understand Lady Harby and admire her shrewd common sense, but he still winced at first sight of her boudoir. It had been assembled impeccably in green and cream—doubtless by one of her daughters—but subsequently “improved” with cushions, cloths, and ornaments in a rainbow of brash shades.
It was overwhelming, but it was so unabashedly in keeping with the lady’s wishes that he was inclined to be charmed.
He came straight to the point. “I think it would be wise to invite Mr. Dunstable here for dinner, Lady Harby.”
“Invite him here, Everdon? Why, pray? I have no time for the man.”
“From what I hear, he is a rival for Lady Deirdre’s hand.”
She looked a little uneasy. “I don’t deny, my lord, that Deirdre has an interest in that direction, and him in her. It will not be allowed to come to anything.”
Everdon wondered what course Lady Harby had planned to prevent the marriage if the worse came to the worst. He had no doubt she had something in mind. She and Deirdre had much in common. “If that is the case,” he said, “nothing is served by keeping them apart, and I would like to meet the man.”
“Ah,” she said, nodding. “Know your enemy, eh?”
“Not at all,” he replied innocently. “It is just that I have an interest in mathematics.”
Lady Harby snorted. “Have it as you wish, my lord. But I won’t single out Mr. Dunstable. We’ll have a small party in your honor—just dinner and an informal hop.” She smiled. “I gather Dunstable don’t dance, and has no conversation intelligible to lesser mortals.”
Everdon returned her smile. “I see we understand each other perfectly.”
Lady Harby fixed him with a look. “Do you intend to have her, then?”
Everdon took a pinch of snuff. “I consider us engaged to marry, Lady Harby.”
“That’s not what I asked. I reckon she’s told you of that foolish agreement I made with her. If you cut loose, she’ll end up with Dunstable.”
“Lady Harby, I cannot possibly cut loose and still be considered a gentleman.”
Lady Harby did not look particularly reassured.
She announced the plan for the evening entertainment at dinner, casually adding that Mr. Dunstable may as well receive an invitation.
Deirdre was startled, and immediately suspicious. After the meal when, as usual, Everdon joined the ladies ahead of the Stowe men, she asked, “Do I have you to thank for Howard’s invitation, my lord?”
Deirdre had been sitting on a window seat near an open window that looked out onto a small courtyard full of roses, and he had joined her there. The wall beneath the window was covered by climbing roses, and the perfume filled the air.
“Now, why would you think I am to blame?” he asked.
“Blame?” Deirdre echoed warily. “Why blame?”
“An unfortunate choice of words. I confess, I expressed an interest in meeting the man, that is all.”
“Why?”
“Why not? I have an interest in mathematics.”
“I find that hard to believe, my lord.”
He met her severe look with a pained one. “What will I have to do to bring you to use my name, querida? Any of my names.”
Why did a foreign language have such an effect on a lady’s heart? Deirdre looked away and said, “Is that an endearment? Please don’t. And as for your names, I cannot feel comfortable with that level of intimacy.”
“Perhaps if I were to kiss you more often…”
She turned back sharply, then laughed. “I am beginning to get your measure, my lord. You delight in teasing. I will not dance to your tune anymore.”
He said nothing, but leaned out of the window and plucked a spray of rambling roses—soft cream, blushed with pink. He carefully broke off the thorns, then said, “Stay still.”
Somewhat to her surprise, Deirdre did as she was told, and stayed still as he tucked the roses into the fillet that held her hair on the top of her head. The feel of his fingers against her scalp was perhaps the most intimate sensation she had ever experienced, more so even than his kisses.
She looked up at his intent face. “I’m sure that looks very silly.”
His eyes met hers, and only inches away. “Allow me to know about these things. It looks very well indeed.” His hands were still raised, and she felt his fingers travel through her hair. “It is as delicate as silk.”
“That’s one way of describing it,” she dismissed, seeking a brisk tone. “It’s far too fine. It’s impossible to do anything with it without hours of curling, and heavy applications of oil.”
He caught a tendril and curled it around his finger. “I can think of any number of things to do with it, where such ministrations would be decidedly out of place.”
Deirdre stared at him, dry-mouthed. “My lord…”
“Don.”
“Don…please don’t…”
“Don’t what?”
Deirdre sidled away, so he had to release her hair. “You know perfectly well what. It is outrageous for you to be saying such things to a woman who is betrothed to another.”
“But at the moment, you are betrothed to me.”
“A mere fiction.
It is unconscionable of you to trade on it.”
“But I’m not,” he said simply. “I’ve flirted like this with many women, none of them a future wife. If we really were betrothed, we would have progressed rather further, I think.”
She looked at him in shock. “What? But you surely wouldn’t…I certainly wouldn’t…” She caught herself up. “Oh, you outrageous man! How do you make me speak of such things?”
His eyes laughed at her. “Do I make you? Then let me take you further.” He captured her hand and kissed it, and would not let her flee. “My dear innocent, there is a world of sensuality between that kiss on the hand and the marriage bed, and the betrothal period is the ideal time to explore it. Otherwise, the marriage bed is likely to be somewhat of a shock. You should be traveling these paths with your mathematician.”
He turned her hand and pressed a warm kiss into her sensitive palm.
Deirdre snatched her hand free, heart racing. “And probably would be,” she said tartly, “if it were not for you.”
But in the months since that unorthodox proposal, Howard had made no move to develop intimacy between them until today’s clumsy kiss. They clearly did need practice.
The other men were coming into the room. “No,” said Everdon softly. “If you had come back from London free to marry Howard, you would not be exploring gently. You would have rushed into it. I don’t recommend it.”
Deirdre rose, glad of an excuse to interrupt this discussion. “I hardly think your recommendations on marriage are of great value, my lord.”
It was only when she was a few steps away that she realized he might take that as a comment on his failed marriage rather than his rakish life. She turned back, an apology on her lips.
His smile was wry. “There you may have a point, mia.” He carried on, “The advice is sound all the same. Don’t we learn best from our mistakes?”
Deirdre was achingly aware that she had hurt him. Before she could make amends, however, her brothers hailed Everdon to go off to play billiards, and she was glad when he agreed.
Then Henry said, “Why don’t you come, Dee? I’d bet you could give even Everdon a match.” He turned to the earl. “She’s demmed good.”
Everdon looked at her. “Are you, indeed? More surprises. Care to accept a challenge?”
Deirdre had been avoiding the billiards sessions, but she didn’t see why Don Juan’s presence should deny her all pleasures. “Very well, my lord.”
As they walked into the hall, which housed the billiard table, he said, “What prize to the winner?”
Deirdre chose her favorite cue and blocked his next move. “I’m not playing for kisses,” she said firmly.
“Very well. How about honesty?”
She turned. “What?”
He appeared suspiciously innocent. “The winner is allowed to ask one question and receive a completely honest answer.”
On the surface it seemed innocuous—Deirdre did not think she had any dreadful secrets—but she distrusted the look in his eyes.
“Very well,” she said. “But only as long as the question is not of an indelicate nature.”
“So be it.” His quick acceptance revived all her suspicions. What question did he have in mind?
He shrugged out of his tight-fitting jacket and set up the balls. Deirdre found his shirt-sleeved state, even though he retained both waistcoat and cravat, almost as stirring as she found Howard in that condition. Really, the fact that a lady only ever saw a gentleman completely and formally dressed had alarming consequences.
They tossed and he won the right to start. She soon saw he was very good. His action was smooth, he knew just where the balls should contact for greatest effect, and he was pretty good at planning ahead for future shots.
Not as good as she was, though. As soon as she had a turn, she quickly overtook his score. The turn changed a few more times, but she always pulled ahead. This wasn’t surprising, for she was concentrating mightily. Deirdre had become quite certain that she did not want to have to answer Lord Everdon’s question, whatever that proved to be.
When she executed her winning shot, however, he showed no particular chagrin. In fact, he applauded. “Bravo! Where did you learn to play so well?”
She knew she was flushed with victory. And relief. “I just practice a great deal. I find it a soothing discipline. I never went away to school—none of us girls did—so I’ve had plenty of opportunity to practice. My father and Rip taught me a little, but mostly I’ve taught myself.”
“It’s clearly a natural talent. Very well, ask your question.”
Deirdre was taken aback. In her determination not to have to answer his question, she had given no thought as to what she would ask him. To her dismay, the only questions that came straight to mind were decidedly indelicate.
How many women had he made love to?
How old had he been when he first…?
“I need time to consider,” she said quickly. “Is it allowed that I claim my prize later?”
“Very well.” His lips twitched. “I don’t mind indelicate questions, you know…”
Deirdre quickly called upon her brothers to make up teams—she with Henry, Everdon with Rip. It proved to be an even balance, and the contest went on until the clock struck eleven and Lady Harby shooed them all off to bed.
Deirdre lay sleepless for many hours that night, wondering just what question to ask Lord Everdon.
And what question he had wanted to ask of her.
6
THE NEXT MORNING Deirdre took her mother’s list and wrote out the invitations to the party. Then she hurried off to Foote’s Cottage to deliver Howard’s herself. She was fortunate, and caught him at a moment when he had attention to spare.
“At Missinger?” he said, reading the note. “But I thought your parents wouldn’t let me cross the threshold.”
“You know Mother doesn’t approve of our plans, Howard. But I’m sure this is an acknowledgment that she will soon have to give in.” Deirdre thought it best to leave Lord Everdon’s machinations out of it.
Howard tapped the letter thoughtfully against his fingers. “Or that she believes she’s won.” He suddenly smiled at Deirdre in a way that reminded her surprisingly of Lord Everdon. “We’ll have to make sure she realizes her mistake, won’t we? You are very important to me, Deirdre.”
He opened his arms, and Deirdre went into them, bursting with happiness. “Oh, Howard. I do love you.”
“That’s good,” he said, and kissed her again.
This was much more like the time Everdon had kissed her by the barrow. There were strong arms around her, but this time she wasn’t struggling. His mouth was more forceful.
More…sloppy…
Deirdre had to repress an urge to struggle. Where was the magic of love? Nothing weakened her limbs, or made her want to surrender to more.
When he’d finished, she felt only a surge of relief.
Despite her efforts, he recognized her discomfort, but it did not upset him. He grinned. “What’s the matter, little innocent? Am I too bold for you? You were the one wanting kisses.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, dragging up a bright smile. “Of course I want to be kissed by you, I mean. See how flustered you make me? It’s just I am unused to such things.”
“So I should hope.” He turned her and sent her on her way with a playful but stinging slap on the behind. “Off you go. I have work to do.”
Deirdre found herself out in the street in a daze, resisting the urge to rub her bottom. What on earth had come over Howard?
She headed back to Missinger, thinking that her world became stranger and stranger every day. Lord Everdon made her feel unlike herself, and now Howard, the fixed point of her life, was changing.
In their extraordinary conversation yesterday, Everdon had said she and Howard should be exploring sensuality in preparation for their marriage. Presumably this was what he meant: that it would take time to grow accustomed to each other, to come to e
njoy kisses and…and other things.
He had clearly been wise when he’d spoken against a hasty marriage. It was certain that she could not look forward to the marriage bed when she hadn’t yet learned to enjoy Howard’s kisses.
On the other hand, honesty compelled her to admit that she had quite liked Everdon’s kisses from the first. What did that imply?
She tussled with this conundrum for quite some time, walking briskly along the path back toward Missinger.
It was, she decided at last, a simple matter of practice. Lord Everdon’s skill came from misbegotten expertise, and therefore was nothing to be proud of. Howard’s roughness doubtless came of inexperience, and was therefore proof of virtue. Both she and he would improve their skill in time.
She nodded as she walked. That explained it perfectly.
Perhaps she could make an aphorism of it, and distribute it to all young ladies.
Beware the man who kisses well.
She could embroider it on a banner to be hung at Almack’s. She chuckled at the notion as she crossed the narrow bridge spanning the stream that divided the fields from the park.
“Happy again? Oh, lucky Howard.”
Deirdre started. She looked down and saw Lord Everdon sitting by the stream below the bridge. Today the noontime heat had brought him to dispense with not just his jacket, but with waistcoat and cravat as well. Like Howard, he was in his shirt and breeches, and looked positively dangerous. He had even loosened his cuffs and rolled them up his muscular forearms.
“I am on my way back to the house,” she said quickly.
He captured her eyes. “Come and keep me company.” When she hesitated, he added, “Please, Deirdre.”
Deirdre found herself walking down the gentle slope to sit by his side. At least she had the sense to leave three clear feet of grass between them.
“Now,” he said, “tell me what makes you so happy today.”
Deirdre knew it would be fatal to her composure to look at him. She concentrated on tossing daisies into the fast-flowing stream. “Just a general satisfaction with life.”
