The Lord's Persuasion of Lady Lydia

by Raven McAllan

  ‘Naked will always do as long as we find the correct place for it, though.’ He watched a tell-tale blush spread up her chest. ‘You,’ he lowered his voice, ‘me… together.’

  She didn’t bother to get on her high horse, or contradict him. She took a swift look around, as if to check they would not be overheard. ‘Decorum is paramount. One must remember one’s status.’

  The tone, an accurate mimicry of the haughty Mrs Drummond-Burrell, was uttered so deadpan that Harry almost choked. ‘Oh, well done, my dear, I almost found myself looking around for her and making excuses for whatever she deemed I had done and should not.’

  ‘Yes, well, that was very ill-bred of me,’ Lydia said rapidly, in a horrified voice. ‘My mama would ring a peal over me if she knew, and rightly so. Please, I beg you, do not disclose my ill manners to anyone.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say ill-mannered at all, but natural, perhaps? More true to life than you let on,’ Harry said shrewdly and didn’t make it a question. ‘I won’t squeal. As long as you promise me one thing.’

  He paused once more and she raised her eyebrow. ‘Which is, my lord?’ Her face was pale and he hoped she wasn’t about to faint. ‘I cannot promise anything untoward.’

  ‘Don’t ever hide your real self from me, Lydia. I want to see the genuine you, not the persona you present to the ton.’ If his words disconcerted her, she didn’t show it.

  ‘You are,’ she said, then sipped her wine and wrinkled her nose. ‘This is me.’

  If he hadn’t noticed the tell-tale, jumpy pulse in her neck, and watched her carefully of late, he might have believed her. As it was, all it did was serve to make him more determined to discover every facet of Lady Lydia Field. He waited until she fidgeted – just the merest wriggle – and enjoyed the stab of satisfaction that hit him. Cruel, but oh so satisfying. That this banter was unexpected and welcome struck him as ironic. What was he thinking about? His first idea had been to make overtures to Lydia because of her insipid nature, sure she had no real interest in him. His intentions were to warn her off Jeremy – if indeed she had any intentions in that direction. He had his doubts, to be honest. Nothing so far indicated she had romantic thoughts about anyone. Perhaps all he had to do was show Jeremy she wasn’t the woman for him.

  Originally he had thought her too old, too boring, and too insignificant for any man. Now, this hitherto unseen facet of her personality was the exact opposite of what he had thought to discover. Which was the true Lydia Field? Harry accepted he wouldn’t be satisfied until he discovered everything about her. He twirled his empty glass and looked at his companion with consideration. Would she be willing to do that? What if the result wasn’t what he wanted? Harry decided the upshot was he wanted her anyway. For the first time in his life he properly accepted his personal code of honour was shot to pieces. It might come back and bite him, but he knew he could do nothing else but see what happened. Now, to proceed with the how and when, and ignore the why.

  For now.

  ‘If you say so.’ He returned to their conversation. ‘That how you show me you are, is truly you,’ he elaborated at her blank look. After all, he was picking up a discussion they had in effect ended a few minutes before. ‘Now, I suggest you drink up and I’ll return you to your mama.’

  Lydia sighed. ‘Must you? If my mama sees us together again my life will be hell.’ She put her hand over her mouth. ‘Ah… um… I’m sorry, but you know what I mean.’

  ‘Don’t apologise,’ Harry said in his best ‘don’t scare the debs’ voice. The one young, impressionable ladies sighed and quivered over if on the receiving end. It seemed to have no discernible effect on his companion who just looked at him quizzically and showed no other reaction. He put his hand on her bare shoulder and relished the slight quiver that ran over her skin and teased his senses. Not so unaffected, after all, thank the lord. One step nearer his goal. It seemed he had more true rakish tendencies than he had previously supposed. ‘Would it be too bad?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said baldly. ‘She will insist I try to encourage you. Which we both know would be futile. I’m not in your league.’

  He opened his mouth but she forestalled him by putting her hand in the air. ‘Do not try to demur, my lord. I know what I am and what gentlemen think of me. It doesn’t bother me. I am happy in myself and, believe me, I would do anything not to have to abide by these petty rules and regulations.’

  ‘A lady after my own heart. Shall we set out our own?’ he asked with a quirk to his lips. ‘Do as we want, not as we are expected to? Discover how we can please each other?’ Whether he should have spoken so, and shown his hand so soon, was immaterial. He had, and had no intention of rescinding any of it. She was the only woman he’d ever met who hadn’t bored him rigid within minutes.

  ‘I intend to soon.’ She shut her mouth with a snap and looked away.

  ‘As in?’ Did she mean she was willing to be his lover? ‘Be mine?’

  ‘What?’ She looked startled. ‘Do not be stupid. You do not want me except as a challenge. That end result as likely as… as… oh, I don’t know…’ she burst out.

  ‘For Prinny to stop being profligate?’ Harry suggested.

  ‘Probably.’ Lydia shook her head. ‘Please, forget I said anything. I’m getting ahead of myself and don’t want to tempt fate.’

  He rather liked the thought of temptation, himself.

  ‘Not even a little bit?’ He tilted her head up by pressing on her chin. ‘We could see how we mesh?’

  Why did he hold his breath? This was all so unlike him. For the first time in his life, Harry was in the novel position of wanting to discover more about someone who had no interest in him. Even after he’d flirted, teased her and shown her he was interested in knowing her better. Usually it was the other way round.

  ‘Lydia?’

  She raised one eyebrow at his informality. Harry made haste to redeem himself. Surely she was not a stickler for such formality once she was introduced and comfortable with her companion? After all, in the throes of lovemaking no one would want to be called… Hold on. Stop torturing yourself.

  ‘My dear, I had hoped we were at a stage where, in our own company, we could dispense with convention and be Lydia and Harry,’ Harry said earnestly. ‘There is no need to be formal, surely?’

  Lydia still had a guarded, suspicious expression on her face. ‘Why?’ she asked baldly.

  To be honest or not?

  ****

  Lydia glanced at the man beside her and frowned, as he seemed to have trouble answering her question. Surely it wasn’t that difficult? ‘I am not asking you to recite Shakespeare,’ she said somewhat tartly as the silence lengthened. ‘All I asked was…’

  ‘I know what you asked,’ he interrupted her with a grin. ‘And Shakespeare would be easier to proclaim, I assure you.’ He struck a pose. ‘To be or not to be and so on.’

  She grinned like an urchin, and nodded. ‘Oh, very good, do you know any more?’ Her voice, she hoped, was full of very over the top, insincere admiration. ‘You do that so well.’ Lydia blushed. ‘I like it.’

  He inclined his head. ‘I was often in amateur theatricals while I was at Cambridge. It was a relief from studying. Otherwise I feel I was well on the way to getting a reputation for all work, no play, and that would never have done.’

  She looked doubtful. ‘Why did I never hear that?’

  ‘Easy,’ Harry answered complacently, and grinned. ‘Because I was careful not to show how much the studying side of university life appealed to me.’

  ‘I wish I had the chance to learn more,’ Lydia said wistfully. ‘Soon, though, I will read and learn to my heart’s content.’ It couldn’t come quick enough. ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon, my lord.’ Her tone intimated anything but. ‘I interrupted you and I know how much gentlemen like their… er, dislike that. So you were saying?’

  ‘I was debating whether to say something innocuous and banal. Anything that would satisfy most women, but…’ He held his hand up an
d she shut her mouth on the snappy retort she had been ready to give him. ‘But I understand and accept that is not the way for us to proceed. And were you about to say us males like the sound of our own voices?’

  In that split second Lydia went hot, cold and hot again, and Harry chuckled. ‘‘Tis generally true, but to me it’s a waste of breath if what is uttered is total drivel. And oh yes, before you try to give me a disclaimer, I agree it often is. Now, if we are to have any sort of relationship we need to be open and honest. And, more importantly, you are not most women.’

  She burst out laughing. By the perplexed expression on his face, it was not the reaction he had expected. Was it a good or a bad thing? Lydia honestly had no idea.

  ‘My lord… Harry.’ She amended her words quickly. ‘How many times does it need saying? We are not likely to do so. As for me being like other women? I’m glad you understand that, if nothing else, I intend to be my own person. However, it still doesn’t answer my question. Why? And while I have your attention I will expand on that. Why informality, when we will no doubt see very little of each other from now on? I do not intend to stay in the capital any longer than I have to. Once I leave…’ Her well-rehearsed words faltered as he shook his head. ‘What?’

  ‘I have no idea where you got the notion we are nothing to each other,’ Harry said emphatically. ‘But you are very wrong.’

  Did she say that? She didn’t think so. Before she had a chance to query his words, Harry took her arm.

  ‘You, my dear, and I are going to see a great deal more of each other, I promise you. A great deal.’

  His tone made her bristle. How dare he say something so outrageous and expect her to agree to it? ‘I think not, my lord,’ she said frostily. ‘Now I feel I’d best go in. Alone.’ And make sure you do not go anywhere near my mama. She stood up, shook out her flounces and curtsied. ‘Thank you for an enlightening and… interesting conversation.’

  He laughed and stopped her withdrawal by taking hold of her wrist. ‘You aren’t thanking me properly.’ The pulse in her wrist jumped and he grinned. ‘Exactly. A proper way to thank me would be with a kiss.’ Why was he baiting her? Lydia reined in her temper – lord, she should think a kiss was one step – no, ten steps – too far, surely?

  ‘A true gentlemen would let me go,’ she said icily.

  His eyes twinkled. Damn him, was that the look she had heard women say made them want to swoon? Now, on the receiving end of it, she could understand that.

  ‘Ah, but I’m not just a gentleman, am I? I’m a lord.’

  ‘Lords can be gentlemen, or so I have been led to believe.’ She did her best to make her voice level and undemanding. ‘Even rakes have a code of honour. Do you agree?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ he purred. ‘And I have now decided to adhere to it, instead of to my own. So much more scope. And of course it is in the way you define the word gentleman – and rake.’

  She knew her jaw had dropped open as she listened to his outrageous words. ‘You, what… argh, you are…’ Damn, she wanted no more than to wipe the smile off his face. Oh, and slap him for good measure.

  Of course she did neither.

  Bloody infuriating… Words failed her. She glared and held her free hand rigidly to her side and counted to ten.

  ‘As you are no gentleman, then I suppose it is no use asking you to unhand me?’

  He inclined his head. ‘No use at all.’

  ‘Then…’ She gave in to temptation, and stood on his immaculate evening shoes. Hard. ‘I need not be a lady.’

  My goodness, did I really say that? What will he think? And what exactly do I mean by it?

  To her chagrin, before she could fathom her thoughts, he laughed.

  ‘Let’s dance.’

  ****

  Damned bloody men, nosy debs and their mamas. Plus, of course, her own mama, who could hardly contain her excitement.

  ‘Two dances,’ the Countess crowed as they got into the carriage for the ride home. ‘And supper. Plus, he stood up with no one else. You do know what that means, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lydia snapped, at the end of her patience. ‘I bored him so much he chose to depart before you thought to ask him of his intentions.’

  Her mother’s jaw dropped but for once she seemed to have no comeback and the rest of the journey was silent. Occasionally, the Countess opened her mouth, took one look at Lydia, sniffed audibly and shut it again. She really did hurt so very well, Lydia decided, unsure whether to be annoyed or amused. In the end she sensibly chose the latter.

  Lord, how she hated sniping at her mama, but really, at times her parent was enough to try the temper of a saint. Something Lydia accepted she was not, nor ever would be. By the time she clambered into her bed and pulled the covers around her, Lydia’s head ached and she wished Harry to perdition.

  After the number of people who had approached her and asked delicately, and also not so delicately, what he’d said, why he had singled her out, and, from her mama, when he was going to call, she would cheerfully have throttled him if he had been anywhere near. Smiling and raising her eyes with incredulity as she answered as briefly and boringly as possible, Lydia decided the sooner she left the hell hole known as the ton, the better. Plus, Lord Birnham – might he rot and his perfect teeth fall out – he, damn him, she supposed was wise to it all, for after the supper dance and escorting her to the dining room for food, he’d disappeared and she’d had to fend for herself.

  Next time I will be my shy persona come hell or high water, she vowed as she blew out the candle.

  Who says there will be a next time?

  Why did she try to kid herself? Harry Birnham had made his intentions clear. He wanted her, and was prepared to go against what she knew were his own personal rules to have her He intended to make love to an innocent.

  Why did it not worry her more? Because she knew he wouldn’t force her? Or because she looked forward to him persuading her to let him show her what lovemaking was all about.

  All she had to do was not share her thoughts on the matter until she was totally clear about them herself.

  ****

  Lady Melchester was not only a crony of her mama, but also Esther’s mother. The following evening, Esther had pounced the minute Lydia appeared at her mama’s ball and dragged her off to her old bedchamber.

  ‘Now, tell me what’s going on,’ she said as Lydia attempted to tidy her hair into the neat-ish chignon she had arrived with. ‘Why is everyone asking me what you and Harry are up to?’

  ‘Because he is annoying, infuriating, does not listen, and will not take no for an answer,’ Lydia snapped, as she sprayed on some of Esther’s perfume, sneezing as some of the spray went up her nose

  ‘Bless you.’ Esther hugged Lydia. ‘I knew it would happen sooner or later.’

  ‘What would?’ Lydia asked, puzzled. ‘He’s always been like that as far as I can tell.’

  ‘Not him, you ninny. You. You have at last noticed a man in a way other than how well he can ride or shoot.’

  ‘As in how well he annoys me?’ Lydia said with a scowl, annoyed at her friend’s smug tone. What on earth was Esther going on about? She decided to, as her papa had once put it, go for the jugular, take charge of the conversation, and ignore all else. ‘Oh, I’ve known that for a long time. He is insufferable. The dratted man just takes no notice of anything I say if it is not what he wants to hear. Take last night, for instance. Did I want to dance? Oh no. Did he pay attention? Not at all. Two dratted waltzes and supper. Good lord, mama was nigh on ready to book the church. It has to stop.’ She tweaked the tiny flounce around her neckline. ‘I think I’m about to have a very serious illness. One that renders me totally ineligible.’

  ‘Would it really be so bad if he did offer for you?’ Esther asked tentatively. ‘After all, he is a good catch, would, I’m sure, be an attentive husband, and… what? Why such a dismissive noise?’

  Lydia snorted as she looked at her friend. ‘Just because Edward loves you, i
t certainly does not mean every marriage is the same. Harry Birnham might want me, but he will not wed me. That is not his intention. Can you honestly see a rake like him behaving in such a manner?’

  ‘Yes, I can,’ Esther said stubbornly. ‘When he finds the right woman.’

  ‘Well, that, my dear Esther, is not me,’ Lydia said emphatically, surprised at the pang of disappointment her words gave her. ‘He is amusing himself at my expense.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Esther didn’t sound convinced. ‘I don’t agree with you; after all, he has to marry sometime. Why not to my best friend?’

  ‘How long have you got?’ Lydia asked. ‘The reasons are endless, but I’ll itemise a few. Because I do not want a marriage of convenience, and I’m certain it would be no more than that, for we all know he’s made his ideas on the subject known most emphatically. Plus, the fact I am your best friend will have no effect on the outcome at all. Lastly and most importantly, I leave for Devon in sixteen days’ time. Now…’ She moved determinedly towards the door. ‘Do you think we should show our faces downstairs?’

  Esther stared and her jaw dropped open. She shook her head and made a great show of pressing her ears as if she were not hearing properly. Lydia stuck her tongue out, and opened the door into the corridor.

  ‘Nasty.’

  ‘You must be evading the subject if you willingly want to go back to the ballroom,’ Esther said shrewdly, as she followed her friend out of the room and closed the door behind them. ‘I’ll say no more, but remember I’m here for you if you need to talk or want advice. Of any kind.’

  Lydia hugged her. ‘I don’t, but nor do I want the wrath of my mama heaped on my head. I only have a few more days to endure in the capital, so I’m doing my best to do it with grace and politeness.’

  ‘To everyone?’

  Lydia chuckled. ‘Perhaps not everyone.’

  ****

  He was fascinated. Or, perhaps, deep in lust.

  Along with all the other local youths of his village, Harry had been initiated into the art of sex by the blacksmith’s daughter. The emotions he’d had for Eliza Lipping were out-and-out adolescent hormones. Eliza had been fun, enthusiastic and very helpful in the art of sex, but both he and she had known it was a fleeting time only. She taught him what good sex was all about and he’d practised and honed his art ever since.