by Lara Temple
She knew he was waiting for her to comment, which was precisely why she didn’t. She also knew that there was nothing more to this mild seduction than a typical male show of power, like a peacock flashing its tail. She’d been through this with the other Carrington men at one point or another. It seemed second nature for them to make use of their considerable physical charms to get their way. To their credit, neither Julian nor Marcus had held a grudge when rebuffed.
She shouldn’t be offended Lord Westford was like his cousins, but strangely she was. She had told Julian she had let go of her high opinion of Captain Carrington years ago, but it seemed some of her grandfather’s high expectations lingered.
Not that she was surprised he was as smooth as his cousins at this game. Someone with his looks, innate charm, and intelligence was likely to have played it often enough. She just didn’t like it that he was playing it with her. Still less did she like the fact that her body disagreed with her. In fact, it was now humming happily at the friction, and trying to make her breathe in the warm scent of sandalwood and musk that emanated from him.
Just a couple more minutes, she told herself, and then this little reminder of who was in control would be over. If she was wise, she would allow him this victory after an evening that must have been rubbing him the wrong way in a hundred different directions. Then he would be so much easier to manage.
So said her mind. Her tongue, however, had other ideas.
‘I am appreciating your tactics, my lord. They are most...persuasive. Though at the moment they are sitting rather a shade too low on my back. I think if you shift your hand a tad higher, you will achieve the same effect without risking gossip.’
His smile turned inwards again, assessing. ‘Like this?’
His words were as smooth as his hand as it eased the silk of her gown against her back, his fingers finding and tracing her spine until they reached the stiff barrier of her stays. His finger teased that line and the tingling continued, its path unimpeded, wrapping around her ribs, over her shoulders, creeping up her cheeks.
It was all done as he turned her from the very edge of the dance floor, and by the time they were back in the fray of the other dancers his hand was decorously settled precisely where the strictest of dancing masters would approve.
Genny’s colouring did not lend itself to blushing, but she could feel an uncomfortable pinching sensation cresting her cheekbones. She refused to drop her gaze, locking it with the angry challenge in his dark blue Carrington eyes. She knew full well this was no attempt at seduction. He was paying her back.
Against all the advice she would have given herself, had she been in a more amiable frame of mind, she went to cut him off at the knees. ‘I hope... I very much hope, Lord Westford...that you haven’t been practising that particular sleight of hand with your other dance partners. It is shockingly bad Ton.’
His hand flinched against her back, dragging her momentarily too close and almost making them stumble. Then it relaxed again, and although there was a slight darkening of the tanned skin of his sharp-cut cheekbones, there was no other sign of discomfiture or anger when he spoke.
‘I know it’s been dogs’ years since we met in Spain, but unless you have changed drastically it’s not like you to antagonise people unnecessarily. Certainly not people who have a hold over you.’
She was about to deny that he had a hold over her, but since she lived in what was actually his home, and was currently wearing clothes that had been indirectly paid for by him, she kept her mouth shut. In fact, she was beginning to wonder why she was finding it so hard to play her own game with him.
No, she knew why. Julian had been right about her. She was angry with Captain Carrington. More than angry—she was furious with him.
She could not get over her almost childish expectations of the Captain Carrington her grandfather had so admired. When the old Lord Westford had died, so soon after Charlie, Genny had been convinced it was merely a matter of time before the new Earl arrived to untangle the mess left after his grandfather’s death.
But, although she knew he had learned of it, arrive he hadn’t. Instead, Mary and Emily continued to receive letters with tales of Askalon and Stamboul and Alexandria and Nafplio, and Genny had wondered at what point Mary and Emily might begin to doubt, as she did, his priorities.
But as months had passed and their little cage had shrunk, ‘Darling Kit’ had remained Darling Kit, unblemished by expectation and disappointment. Genny wouldn’t have been surprised if his half-sister and stepmother had thought of some excuse for him, had he decided he was too busy to come to Emily’s wedding.
She took a deep breath and forced a smile. ‘You are quite right, Lord Westford. I apologise. It has been a long day. Thank you for the dance.’
His smile held, but now it was purely surface—under it she felt something flicker...perhaps an echo of the anger she hadn’t even realised was boiling so hotly inside her.
‘You’re welcome, Miss Maitland. And thank you. This was by far the most...enlightening dance I have had this evening.’
The music slowed and faded. He still held her hand, and now tucked it over his arm as if to lead her back to Lady Westford, but for a moment they stood unmoving at the edge of the dance floor, like two wary dogs.
She meant to move away, back into the orderly motion of the evening, but for a moment she could not remember what it was she was supposed to do next. It was as if she had walked into a room and now stood there, wondering what on earth she had come for.
She knew hesitation was to society what a rustling in the bushes was for a hunting dog. Every alarm bell in her head was pealing, but she couldn’t think of the right course of action.
Without turning her head, she could see Lady Sophronia and Lady Sarah Ponsonby watching her and Lord Westford with unmasked curiosity. Then she saw Julian approach and gave an audible sigh of relief. Lord Westford watched him as well, with that same half-smile on his face—not unpleasant, but certainly not pleasant.
He nodded to Julian, and Julian returned the nod but addressed Genny. ‘My turn, Genny?’ he asked, holding out his arm.
She placed her hand on it with relief, and was surprised to see Marcus back in the ballroom as well, watching them without a flicker of expression on his face. Clearly Julian had been orchestrating some action of his own since he’d seen Kit lead her onto the dance floor. No doubt he’d lined Marcus up to dance with her next, and perhaps some other cronies of his.
She felt like a fox that had tumbled into a wolves’ den. Her newly discovered dislike of Lord Westford rose a notch.
‘Thank you, Julian,’ she said softly as they went down the dance.
‘No need. I thought it would be best to spread us Carringtons about a little. I thought you weren’t planning on dancing tonight, though?’
‘I wasn’t. He forced my hand.’
Julian glanced over his shoulder. ‘Strange. Perhaps he doesn’t enjoy being ordered about by you as much as I do. Never mind—he’ll get used to it if he hangs about long enough.’
That stung as well, but she tried to smile. ‘I was doing it for you lot, you ungrateful wretch.’
‘Sheath your claws, love. I am grateful. Resistant, but grateful. Difficult combination to carry off well. Marcus is doing rather poorly with it, and I think my unwelcome cousin is at the end of his rope as well—which is understandable, given this evening’s baptism of fire. You’d think people would refrain from gossiping about a man in his own home, but this vicious flock of carrion crows can’t seem to help themselves, and I’ve no doubt he was meant to overhear quite a bit of it. It’s like bear baiting for the Ton—prod the beast and see what he does. All told, I am impressed with his performance, since as far as I can tell he hasn’t bitten off anyone’s head...yet. But if you’d like me to thrash him for you I’ll be happy to oblige,’ he said hopefully.
Genny smiled at his
light-hearted nonsense. She felt better already, and was wondering why on earth she’d allowed herself to become so unsettled.
It was merely the natural outcome of her concerns for Serena.
Nothing more.
Chapter Five
Kit resisted the urge to snatch his grandmother’s cane and toss it out of the window. The constant tapping was almost as aggravating as her words.
‘I would have preferred...’ thump ‘...you give warning...’ thump ‘...of your arrival...’ thump ‘...last night...’ thump ‘...Christopher.’
Thump, thump, thump.
She looked like a wizened dancing master, marking out the rhythm for a group of disappointing pupils. Or perhaps the steward at a medieval court. Kit did rather feel like an errant courtier, summoned to an audience before an aging queen. Instead of a court jester she had Carmine the canary cackling in a cage by her armchair. And on the other side she had her three ladies-in-waiting, seated in a neat row, watching him being dressed down.
Three heads—corn-yellow, honey-brown, and dark wood—were bent over three embroidery frames. Two of the ladies were even embroidering.
Serena’s design was an abundance of flowers in sedate lavenders and blues. Mary was completing a shepherdess, surrounded by a rather overweight flock. Both were rich in detail, and would no doubt bloom into fine cushions or screens one day.
Genevieve Maitland, on the other hand...
Kit wasn’t in the least surprised to see that she wasn’t doing much more than prodding her stretch of fabric with her needle. The result was either a surly cat or a shifty-looking toad.
He turned away from the monstrosity and sighed. He’d been annoyed to find that his grandmother had assembled an audience for their first tête-à-tête in almost ten years. He didn’t mind Mary’s presence—she’d always been a calming influence on the stormy Carrington sea—but he wished the Maitland girls weren’t there.
Thump, thump, thump.
‘Having stayed away this long, Kit,’ his grandmother continued after she had recalled his attention, ‘it is rather unfortunate you could not have postponed your return until closer to Emily’s nuptials. Still, now you are returned it is highly improper that you remain living in the docks like a common sailor. There is nothing for it but that you shall have to come and stay here with the family.’
He squeezed his hands more tightly behind his back. He’d been in plenty of skirmishes with hostile navies, and even more hostile pirates, but his preferred tactic had always been to elude, not engage. He resorted to brute force only when necessary, no matter how satisfying it could be. One always paid a price for violence.
He reminded himself of how well this had worked for him over the years even as he dreamed of turning a good three hundred guns on his grandmother. He couldn’t resist a shot across her bows, though. Just a warning...
‘Thank you for the invitation to stay in my own home, Grandmother.’
‘Do not be flippant, Kit. It was always understood that I shall have use of the Carrington House for my lifetime.’
‘It being understood is not a contract.’ He knew before the words were out that they were a mistake.
She gave a slight superior smile. ‘Not in trade, perhaps. But a gentleman’s bond is above such vulgar considerations.’
Damn. Brute force was looking as seductive as Aphrodite rising from the waves right now.
He gave a slight bow. ‘Thank you for the clarification, Grandmother. I shall consider your invitation.’
‘I don’t see that there is anything to consider, Kit. Surely we both want what is best for Emily? You are not au courant with society’s ways, but I assure you that now you have stepped into its world, were you to immediately retreat to your...boat...and attend no more events, the brunt of society’s thrust would be felt by your half-sister.’
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t think of anything he wanted to say that he wouldn’t later regret.
‘I am certain Emily would be delighted if you joined us here before she departs with Peter for his grandparents’ house in Hampshire, Kit,’ Mary said, searching in her sewing bag and extracting a pair of silver scissors. ‘And she does worry that you must be dreadfully uncomfortable, sleeping in a ship’s cabin.’
‘My cabin is very comfortable, Mary, and the docks are not very far away. Carrington House is actually quite conveniently situated, so far east of the fashionable centre of town.’
‘Berkeley Square is eminently fashionable,’ Lady Westford protested, rising to the bait like the most succulent trout.
A slight dimple formed in Miss Maitland’s cheek, but she kept her head bent over in her pretence of embroidering. He had no doubt the last thing she wanted was anyone interfering with her sway over this all-female household.
‘I will consider your invitation, Grandmother,’ he repeated, wandering over and picking up a Sevres figurine of a shepherdess with a sheepdog half hidden by her broad skirts. It was one he’d bought for Emily for a long-ago birthday. He turned to Mary. ‘Where is Emily, by the way?’
‘She has gone with Peter’s mama and his younger sisters to visit the Menagerie,’ Mary replied. ‘The younger girls have never been to London, and are trying to see as much of Town before they depart. Tomorrow we are attending a lecture on Roman treasures at the museum. Do say you will come.’
He smiled at her enthusiasm, weighing the blushing shepherdess in his hand. ‘Tomorrow, I am afraid I cannot, but I shall try to come here in the evening if you aren’t engaged elsewhere.’
Mary hesitated, and Miss Maitland’s head dipped a little further. This time it was Serena who spoke, her pale blue eyes lighting with sudden and surprising pleasure, like a child waking and remembering it was her birthday.
‘Oh, but we are going to see Kean play Sir Giles Overreach at Drury Lane tomorrow. We have not been to a play in...in years, and only last night Miss Dalrymple was telling us how marvellous it is now they have rebuilt the theatre after the fire. She said it is as pretty as a music box—all white and gold, with tableaux from Shakespeare and the most opulent boxes. Oh, you must come...’
‘I do not think Kit would care to attend a theatrical entertainment,’ Lady Westford said with finality, her cane hitting the floor with a sharp snap.
It knocked Serena out of her reverie and sent a flush up her pale cheeks. It was such a sharp transformation that Kit stepped into another pit he would have never thought he would enter in a hundred years.
‘On the contrary, Grandmother. I am curious to see how Drury Lane has changed since I was last there... How long ago was it? Twenty years? You might better remember. We were there together, weren’t we?’
He saw the memory rise along with a faint flush on her papery cheeks.
‘I do not recall.’
‘Don’t you? Perhaps once we are all there tomorrow evening it will spark your memory.’
He turned away from the flash of anger in his grandmother’s eyes and caught sight of Serena’s face. Her pale blue eyes were wide and a little red, as if she was about to cry. He noted too that Miss Genevieve Maitland’s hands were tight on her tambour frame, her gaze on her sister’s profile.
He pulled tight on his temper and smiled at Serena Carrington. ‘Thank you for the suggestion, Mrs Carrington. It is not a play I am familiar with, but I am certain that anything with Mr Kean is well worth watching. I shall depend upon you to tell me what the play is about.’
The three women in a row smiled in unison. Serena with relief, Mary with pleasure...but most surprising of all was Miss Genevieve Maitland. Her smile was utterly different from any he had seen her wear the previous night. Gratitude lit her face, softening her carefully held mouth and bringing two dimples to full life in a way her society smiles hadn’t.
So he had inadvertently discovered how to tame the little general—defend her pack.
But Lady Westford
was not done with him yet. Having been foiled, she abandoned subtlety. ‘Do you think that wise, boy? People are bound to comment on your choosing to appear at the theatre of all places. I think it best to confine your appearances to less contentious settings.’
There were limits.
He turned back to his grandmother, but Miss Maitland spoke first.
‘Perhaps you are right and that is best, Lady Westford. We shall already be quite crushed in the box, as Julian will be joining us, as well as Lord Ponsonby and Lady Sarah.’
‘That is hardly reason for Kit not to be present in his own box, Genny,’ Mary reproved a little sharply.
Lady Westford looked between the two of them with a rather malevolent smile that made Kit’s jaw clench even harder.
Before he could comment, Genny Maitland rose, her eyes downcast as she folded her embroidery and laid it in the basket. ‘I didn’t mean... Of course you’re quite right, Mary... Pray, excuse me. I must go. I must see Mrs Pritchard about the menus...’
When the door had closed behind her, Lady Westford turned to Mary. ‘Well done, Mary Carrington. Do her good to have her wings clipped. Too used to having her own way by half.’ Several decisive thumps of her cane sent Carmine trilling in a rare show of harmony.
‘I didn’t mean...’ Mary looked contritely at the door.
‘But Genny agreed with you, Lady Westford.’ Serena said hesitantly, a thread of hurt in her voice.
‘I don’t need people agreeing with me, girl. If there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s toadies!’
Carmine broke into syncopated chatter and Lady Westford rapped his cage with the knob of her cane, silencing him.
‘Help me upstairs, Serena. I am tired. And, Mary, you ring for Mathers and tell her to come up to me.’
The two women sprang into action with an alacrity that Kit would have commended in any of his men, but now made him wish more than ever that he could toss both his grandmother and her cane out of the window.
