Debbie Raleigh - Some Like It Brazen.doc

by Some Like It Brazen (lit)

  “Perhaps we do have something in common,” she reluctantly agreed.

  “It is a beginning,” he murmured with a rather mysterious smile.

  A beginning to what?

  Before she could inquire, she was distracted by the unmistakable sound of her father’s voice.

  “She must be here somewhere. Inform her that I expect her to make an appearance in the drawing room without delay.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” a decidedly nervous servant replied.

  “And I do mean without delay,” the Duke growled. “Even if that means dragging her in by her hair.”

  “I…of course, Your Grace.”

  Clenching her hands, Bianca allowed her gaze to collide with the amused hazel eyes. Blast, but she should never have allowed herself to be distracted. Now it was too late to escape.

  With unnerving ease, Lord Harrington read the emotions flitting over her countenance and stepped forward to whisper directly in her ear.

  “Do you desire a knight in shining armor?”

  She tensed, more at the feel of his warm breath stroking over her skin than his odd question.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “My carriage is awaiting me just beyond the gate. I could whisk you away before you are discovered.”

  Whisk her away?

  Away from the yammering fools who cared for nothing for her? Away from her father, who had somehow become the enemy?

  Away from the terrified footman who was even now scurrying in her direction to pull her into the townhouse by her hair?

  It sounded like paradise.

  Still, she was not about to escape from one marriage trap to tumble into another.

  “I cannot be alone with you in a carriage,” she protested.

  “Ah, it is a Tilbury, which Biddles assures me is all the crack, not a closed carriage. Besides which, we would hardly be alone. I have a groom as well as a footman with me.”

  That did indeed change matters.

  There was certainly nothing scandalous in a drive through the park in an open carriage and in the companionship of servants.

  Still, she hesitated.

  Not that she did not trust Lord Harrington. Everything about him inspired trust.

  It was more those tiny shivers inching down her spine she did not trust.

  There was the heavy crunch of footsteps on the graveled path, and Bianca frankly panicked.

  God almighty. Anything was preferable to the horror of an afternoon being trapped in a room with a group of spineless toadies.

  “I…yes,” she muttered before she could come to her senses.

  “Then, one knight in shining armor to the rescue,” he breathed before taking her arm and wrapping it firmly through his own. “This way, my damsel in distress.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  He had taken complete leave of his senses, Edward acknowledged as he assisted Bianca onto the bench seat of the Tilbury and vaulted up beside her. Taking the reins from the groom, he set the horses into motion.

  He had come to London with every intention of establishing his place as Earl of Harrington.

  Among society.

  Among his pompous, appallingly priggish extended family.

  And, most importantly, among those powerful gentlemen who would be necessary to begin the various reforms he knew were so desperately needed for the common laborer.

  And yet here he was endangering it all because of a pair of midnight eyes and a smile that made his toes curl in his glossed boots.

  One did not need to have been born and raised among society to realize that angering the Duke of Lockharte was very much akin to pointing a loaded pistol to one’s own head.

  Should the gentleman choose, he could see that Edward was all but shunned by society. And that any legislation he might wish to bring before the House of Lords would be squashed before the ink dried upon the parchment.

  Could a few stolen moments alone with a female, no matter how delectable, be worth such a fate?

  He slanted a sideways glance at the perfect porcelain countenance and slender form settled close enough for him to feel her feminine heat. A smile curved his lips.

  Oh…yes.

  She was worth it.

  And if that made him a loon, well then, so be it.

  Turning his attention back to the heavy traffic, he easily weaved his large bays onto Westminster Bridge. His skill with the ribbons was at least one asset since coming to London, he wryly acknowledged. A skill direly needed considering the number of dandies and drunken asses who littered the streets.

  They had reached Newington and turned onto High Street when his companion shifted to regard him with a faint frown.

  “You do know that you have gone far past both Green Park and St. James’s?” she demanded.

  Avoiding a pack of filthy urchins that darted from a narrow alley, he flashed her a quizzical glance.

  “Did you particularly desire to visit one of the parks?”

  “It is the customary destination for a drive.”

  He smiled with wry amusement, recalling his few tedious turns through Hyde Park. He had witnessed snails clipping past him as he had been forced to crawl through the narrow lanes. And then there had been the barely concealed sneers and snubs along the way.

  Not a pleasure he was anxious to repeat.

  “I believe we can safely say that I rarely do what is customary,” he murmured.

  “So I am beginning to realize.”

  He lifted his brows. “Does that trouble you?”

  “I suppose it all depends.”

  “Depends upon what?”

  She met his gaze squarely. “Upon where you are taking me.”

  “Ah.” His smile became teasing. “I assure you that it does not include the docks or any ship involving the white slave trade.”

  She rolled her eyes at his teasing. “I cannot express the depths of my relief, but you still have not answered my question.”

  Slowing his massive bays, Edward gave a shrug. “I have a few errands that I must complete.”

  There was a faint pause. “In this neighborhood?”

  Edward cast a swift glance over the narrow, shabby buildings and even shabbier inhabitants who shuffled along the street.

  Certainly not the most romantic of locations, he ruefully acknowledged. Hell, it barely scraped the edge of respectable.

  Who could blame the woman for regarding him as if he had taken leave of his senses?

  Still, he calmly pulled his carriage to a halt before a nondescript building and handed the reins to the waiting footman.

  What was the purpose in pretending to be something he was not?

  Turning, he regarded her with a searching gaze. “Does it trouble you to be here?”

  She unconsciously wrinkled her nose at the foul smells that drifted from the gutters.

  “It is hardly an area that I frequent.”

  “I thought all society ladies devoted themselves to charities and those less fortunate?”

  “Not by personally visiting them.”

  Edward found himself puzzled by the genuine shock in her voice. He had been raised by a mother who took a personal interest in all about her. From the lowest tenant to the local squire, she had clucked and fussed and commanded them with equal concern.

  And not from a tidy distance.

  “Then how do you assist?”

  “By donating money and clothing and other items they might need. We also have luncheons to bring their needs to the attention of those in the House of Lords.”

  Her chin tilted to a defensive angle, and Edward battled his amusement.

  “Ah.”

  The dark eyes sparked with a sudden fire. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I believe there is something upon your mind.”

  His lips twitched. “Where it most definitely should remain. It will only make you angry.”

  The fire smoldered. “You have already succeeded at that.”

  Edward consi
dered a long moment before he lifted a shoulder in resignation. For such a tiny thing, Lady Bianca possessed an inordinate amount of determination.

  Some would say mulish obstinacy.

  But not him. At least not when she was close enough to take a poke at him.

  “Very well.” Leaning against the back of the padded bench, Edward chose his words with care. “I was about to suggest that society ladies seemed happy to support charities so long as it does not risk getting your hands dirty.”

  She gave a small jerk, as if caught off guard by his charge.

  “You believe I should come down here to sweep floors and empty chamber pots?”

  He ignored the edge in her voice. “I think I would wish to know that the money I donated was being used to assist those in need and not to line the pockets of the directors,” he said in reasonable tones. “The only means to do that is to personally speak with those in need.”

  Her lips thinned, as if she wished to argue his logic. Then, glancing toward the nearby building, she gave a loud sniff.

  “Is that what you are doing here today?”

  “In part. I also have a task from one of my tenants in Kent.”

  He had once again managed to catch her off guard. Not surprising. He managed to shock and bewilder most of society.

  “A tenant?”

  His expression became somber as he recalled his brief meeting with Joseph before leaving for London. The poor man had been nearly beside himself with worry.

  “His sweetheart was…lured from her home by a scoundrel near two months ago. He fears that she was abandoned here in London and that she may be found at one of the almshouses.”

  She turned with a frown. “He wishes you to take her back?”

  “Not against her will,” he retorted. “But without family or friend in town, it may be that she is unable to make her way home. He has sent his entire savings to assist in her return.”

  The soft lips parted in surprise. And jolted Edward with a shaft of sudden heat.

  God almighty.

  Too easily did he recall the searing delight and the precise taste of those lips. The manner in which they had moved beneath his own. The satin heat that had left him hard and aching the entire night.

  “He wishes her return even if she has been with another?” she demanded.

  With an effort, he wrenched his thoughts away from such dangerous sensations.

  Not that his stirring body was entirely cooperative.

  He cleared his throat. “Joseph loves her.”

  “Indeed, he must,” she murmured.

  Needing to put a measure of space between him and her warm scent, Edward leaped gracefully onto the street.

  “Remain here. I shall only be a moment.”

  Without warning she was on her feet. “You do not imagine I intend to remain here, do you?”

  He blinked in surprise at her vehement tone. “I will leave my servants with you. You will be perfectly safe, I assure you.”

  In a flurry of muslin, she was launching herself from the carriage to stand at his side. With her hands planted upon her hips, she regarded him with a tight expression.

  “This almshouse happens to be one of those charities that I support,” she informed him in clipped tones. “Obviously I am in need of inspecting the premises.”

  He gave a soft chuckle as he met her defiant expression. Surely such a spirited lass must have some Irish in her.

  “You flounce very well, muirnin,” he complimented. “No doubt you’ve had a great deal of practice?”

  “Flounce? I take leave to tell you, sir, that the daughter of a duke does not…,” she began, only to halt as she encountered his glittering gaze. She threw her hands in the air. “You are a horrible man.”

  “So I have been told,” he readily agreed, holding out his arm. “Are you prepared to discover how the truly poor are forced to suffer?”

  She glanced toward the large, brooding building that had nothing in common with her usual haunts.

  Half expecting her to balk, Edward found a flare of admiration racing through him as she tilted her chin and firmly laid her fingers upon his arm.

  “Yes.”

  It was a distinctly subdued Bianca who returned to the pristine streets of Mayfair.

  As much as she would have liked to claim it had been courage or generosity that had led her into the almshouse, inner honesty forced her to admit that it had been sheer pique.

  She did not care at all for that hint of condescension in Lord Harrington’s manner when he had discussed her charities.

  As if she were some worthless ninny playing at helping others.

  Now she was forced to admit that he had not been far from the truth.

  A shiver inched down her spine as she recalled stepping into the dark, musty building. Suddenly she was not witnessing poverty from the safe distance of her carriage or tidily reading about it in the London Gazette.

  It had been as tangible as the stale air that was rank with unwashed bodies and festering disease. As tangible as the sight of frail women clutching their precious children as if in fear they might be yanked from their arms. As tangible as the stoic composure of the wounded soldiers left in corners like broken toys that had been tossed in a rubbish heap.

  Gads, never had she seen such need. Such hunger. Such bleak desperation.

  And yet the worst thing of all had been the sudden glimmer of hope in the eyes that had followed her. As if they believed she could somehow offer them salvation. As if they expected her to do…something.

  Anything.

  She had been playing at helping others.

  Oh, no doubt her money helped to feed some. And to keep a roof over others.

  But did it truly change lives?

  Did it offer a future for those poor, wretched children?

  Still pondering her dark thoughts, Bianca had allowed Lord Harrington to lower her from the carriage and lead her back through the gate to the garden.

  Astonishingly, she felt no distress at facing her father and enduring his awaiting lecture. Her troubles seemed rather petty at the moment.

  Walking at her side, the large nobleman at last reached out to grasp her arm and pulled her to confront his searching gaze.

  “You are very quiet,” he murmured. “I suppose that I have offended you past all bearing?”

  Bianca hesitated. Certainly no other gentleman of her acquaintance would ever have dared to take her to such a place. Nor to have challenged her smug assurance.

  Oddly, however, she felt more grateful than offended.

  While Stephen had readily taken her to any number of bawdy entertainments that had made her feel daring and oh-so-bold, they had been no more than titillating diversions.

  They had revealed nothing of the stark, shocking world beyond her protected existence.

  It was rather refreshing to be treated as if she possessed the sense and ability to deal with such hard truths, even if they were bound to give her nightmares.

  “No. Indeed, you were right,” she conceded with a rueful smile. “I did not realize…”

  “What?”

  “The misery of those poor people.”

  “Ah.” He regarded her with open curiosity. “And now that you do?”

  That was the rub, of course. It was one thing to realize something needed to be done. And quite another to know how to do it.

  “I shall…well, I am not entirely certain, but I shall do something.”

  A slow, rather mysterious smile curved his lips. “I do not doubt for a moment that you will.”

  Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Now you are just patronizing me. You think me a spoiled henwit.”

  He gave a shake of his head, his hand lifting to gently cup her cheek.

  “No, I think you a dangerously determined young lady who could very well alter the world if she wished to do so.”

  Bianca’s heart missed a rather important beat.

  For as long as she could remember, she had been acclaimed fo
r her beauty, her charming manners, and, occasionally, her wit.

  But never, ever had anyone admired her staunch will.

  Indeed, it was more often than not branded a curse.

  “Lord Harrington,” she breathed.

  “Yes?”

  “That is really one of the nicest things that anyone has ever said to me.”

  His brows lifted as that familiar twinkle returned to his eyes.

  “I comprehend why you have no desire to wed any of your suitors if I managed to best them in compliments. I have been told I have the charm of a blundering ox.”

  Suddenly aware of the warmth of his fingers as they stroked her cheek, Bianca found herself struggling to breathe.

  Did the dratted man have no notion of his effect on poor females?

  “I did not proclaim you to have charm,” she countered.

  As if not content with simply stealing her breath, the nobleman took a step closer, his legs tangling with her skirt.

  “But you do think me charming, do you not?”

  What she thought was that he was delectable.

  And the desire to press against that solid, wholly male form was so hideously fierce, she nearly groaned aloud.

  Shocked and more than a bit dismayed by her unladylike reaction, she forced herself to take a deep breath.

  “Sir,” she at last managed to protest.

  As if sensing the heat simmering through her, the hazel eyes darkened as his fingers skimmed to the tender curve of her neck.

  “Edward,” he husked. “My name is Edward.”

  “Edward.” The name tumbled far too easily from her lips.

  Never allowing his gaze to stray from her own, the gentleman untangled the ribbons of her bonnet and tossed it aside. Then, cupping her chin, he tilted her head upward.

  “Have you noticed that we always seem to end up alone in one garden or another?” he murmured.

  Not entirely a bad thing, Bianca had to admit.

  Despite a faint pang of guilt, she could not deny that she very much enjoyed being touched by this gentleman.

  It was not the sweet longing that she had shared with Stephen, she hastily assured herself.

  Instead, it was a sharper and infinitely more urgent awareness. As if she had suddenly discovered she was starving when she had not even known she was hungry.