Rhyme and Reason

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  Taking a sip, he said, “Almost anything. I find it unlikely I will ever be a fan of the marquis’s poetry.”

  Emily fought to keep her smile in place. Why did he have to speak constantly of his distaste for her work? How she wished she could enlighten him, but the momentary pleasure of seeing his shock would come at the cost of her reputation and Miriam’s.

  “I hope your friend appreciated the book you bought,” she said quietly.

  “Yes.” He held her gaze as he took another drink.

  Blast this man! He had a facile gift for words, even when he used a single one, that she longed for.

  Raising her own glass, she said, “You need not worry, my lord. I have no interest in prying the name of the recipient from you. I was simply inquiring.”

  “I am not worried, Miss Talcott.” He held out his arm. “If I were to buy a gift for an incognita, it would not be something as chaste as a book of bird-witted poems.”

  “Chaste? Half the ladies in the room had rising color in their cheeks when Valeria read.”

  He drew her fingers within his arm. “And most of the men were trying not to chuckle, knowing they had said something as weak-minded to their convenient in order to court her favors.”

  “You are outrageous!”

  “So I have been told on numerous occasions.” He bent toward her as they walked across the room. “And you find it most amusing, Miss Talcott.”

  “Yes.”

  When she added nothing more, as he had, Lord Wentworth laughed. “A bittock of my own medicine?”

  “I prefer to think of it as honesty.”

  “That is very important to you, isn’t it?”

  Emily chided herself. She knew better than to speak out of hand, but she did so over and over in his company. “Of course, honesty is important to me. I—”

  “Emily!”

  Sure she had never been more pleased to see her friend, Emily turned to take Valeria’s out-stretched hands. “A wonderful reading, Valeria.”

  “Thank you.” She flashed a brilliant smile at the viscount. “Are you enjoying the reading, Lord Wentworth?”

  “As much as Simpkins, I would say.”

  Emily had not noted Mr. Simpkins lurking, as he was so often, behind Valeria.

  “My dear Emily,” Valeria said, giving Mr. Simpkins no chance to respond, “you must read for us now. In French!” Her smile broadened. “She speaks it with rare flair, my lord. Did you know?”

  “As Miss Talcott and I are the newest of friends, there is much I do not know of her.” Lord Wentworth finished his champagne and put the glass on a nearby table. “I had thought she might be more familiar with Latin.”

  “Latin?” asked Emily.

  “To know the scientific names of your plants.”

  Glad for the course the conversation was taking, Emily forced the tension from her shoulders. “Fortunately I need not know more than which ones prefer shade and when to water.”

  “You underestimate your skill.”

  Valeria, who never could bear to be left out of any conversation, interjected, “But will you read one of the marquis’s poems for us in French, Emily?”

  “Yes, please do,” Lord Wentworth said. “It should be most enjoyable.”

  Emily shook her head. “I came to tell you that Miriam and I will be taking our leave.”

  “So early?” Valeria’s lips became a perfect pout. “But why?”

  She glanced at Mr. Simpkins, who seemed to be intent on the toes of his shoes. Resisting her yearning to scowl at him and ask him why he treated her sister so basely, she faltered. The truth would hurt Miriam; to lie would hurt Valeria. What a bumble-bath!

  A footman rushed up to Valeria, who bent to listen to what the servant had to say. Her eyes grew as round as her mouth.

  “Impossible!” she gasped.

  “What is it?” asked Lord Wentworth.

  Valeria flushed, grew pale, then regained her normal color. “Please wait here. I must tend to this without delay.”

  “Valeria—”

  “Emily, please do not leave until I come back.” She grasped Emily’s arms. “Promise me!”

  Unsettled by Valeria’s fervor, she nodded. She watched as her friend rushed away in the wake of the footman. The orchestra in the corner of the room began to play.

  Lord Wentworth raised a single brow, but said nothing when Mr. Simpkins mumbled something under his breath and scurried away.

  Not sure what to do, Emily sipped on her champagne.

  “Would you like more?”

  She flinched at Lord Wentworth’s question. Disquiet hung in the air like the heaviness before a storm. Something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong. Something much more than Miriam’s shattered heart, although that was enough to break Emily’s own. Looking down at her glass as Lord Wentworth repeated his question, she discovered it was empty.

  “No, no more champagne, thank you,” she said.

  “Miss Talcott, you look as if you could use some fresh air.”

  “I think that would be a good idea.”

  “May I?”

  This time when he offered his arm, she did not hesitate to put her fingers on it. She seldom got these troubling sensations, but she had learned to listen to them.

  Before they had walked more than a few steps, trouble materialized in front of her. Lord Lichton was a pudgy man with an over-inflated sense of his own worth and few manners. She had never seen him wear the same waistcoat twice, so she guessed he was full of enough juice to intimidate much of the Polite World. His hair was thinning to the light brown of his eyes.

  “Good evening,” he said with a nod toward Lord Wentworth. “May I steal a few moments of Miss Talcott’s time from you, Wentworth?”

  Sickness cramped Emily’s stomach. Only one reason would bring her to the earl’s attention. Papa’s gambling debts!

  “If she wishes. Do you, Emily?”

  She stared when Lord Wentworth used her given name. His mouth was drawn into a straight line, and she suspected he shared her distaste for Lord Lichton. If he hoped to spare her the earl’s court-promises by suggesting an intimacy between them which allowed such informality, Lord Wentworth was kind, but mistaken. The glitter in Lord Lichton’s eyes did not come from adoration, but avarice.

  “I would be delighted to speak to Lord Lichton,” she said.

  “I shall find us some more champagne,” Lord Wentworth said. “I think it is time we drank another toast to honesty.”

  Emily recoiled from his fury. Not that she could fault him when she had reprimanded him for being false. Yet how could she speak of what she was certain were Papa’s gambling obligations to Lord Lichton in front of Lord Wentworth?

  “Valeria has a small parlor this way,” she said, gesturing toward a narrow arch. “We may speak there.” She hoped she could pay her father’s latest debts. Even a few guineas might bankrupt them now.

  Lord Lichton nodded and stepped back to let her lead the way. He was silent until he was seated across from her in the tiny room which was bright with lamplight and the rose-colored upholstery. He folded his arms over his barrel chest and said, “I enjoyed your father’s company at His Grace’s table last night.”

  “I am pleased to hear that,” she answered, although she was nothing of the sort.

  “Your father plays the king’s books with fervor.”

  “But with little luck.”

  The earl had the decency to blink at her forthright answer, but a smile spread across his full mouth. “You are a unique woman, Miss Talcott. As pretty as a spring morning, but with a wit that rivals a man’s.”

  “Thank you.” She clasped her hands. “Then I am sure you won’t take offense when I ask you what Papa owes—”

  “I thought I might find you here.” Lord Wentworth entered the room, grinning. “It is quite bright in here, isn’t it? I suspect our hostess does not want to allow an untoward rendezvous to take place.”

  Lord Lichton stood as the viscount handed Emily the
glass he held. “Wentworth, we are speaking of a private matter.”

  “Emily, I trust it is not too private.” A crestfallen expression did not fit well on his face, especially when his eyes, dancing with merriment, warned he was enjoying the chance to fun the earl.

  “Of course not.” When Lord Wentworth motioned with the tips of his fingers, she whispered, “Of course not, Damon.”

  Lord Lichton’s eyes widened. “I did not know you and Miss Talcott were so well acquainted, Wentworth.” Suddenly, he chuckled. “Ah!”

  “Ah, what?” asked Lord Wentworth.

  “Dare I believe you have your mind on obtaining something other than your winnings from Talcott’s elder daughter?”

  Lord Wentworth smiled, but Emily saw disgust in his gray eyes. “Lichton, your words prove you are in no danger of losing your reputation as a boor.” Holding out his arm, he said, “Emily, you have suffered his company too long.”

  She let him lead her out of a door at the far side of the room. Even though she was grateful to Lord Wentworth for helping her escape, she knew Lord Lichton would be calling at Hanover Square soon to demand his winnings from Papa. She was certain he would be in a foul mood.

  “Are you all right?” Lord Wentworth asked.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “‘My lord?’” He grimaced. “I had hoped to be in the absurd position of owing Lichton a debt for allowing us to set aside such absurd proprieties.” Turning to face her, he took her hands and led her to stand in front of the windowseat and a tall window that patterned starlight across the floor. “Would it upset you too much to continue calling me Damon? Unless you have taken a liking to ‘Demon.’ Your sister seems to enjoy using that epithet when she thinks I cannot hear her.”

  “Miriam meant nothing by her words, my—”

  “Damon,” he said softly.

  She nodded, knowing that battling him on such a small matter was futile. “Allow me to apologize for my sister’s insult.”

  “No doubt she believes her words to be the truth, but ’tis not your sister we are speaking of. Would you be too distressed to continue to call me Damon?”

  “I—”

  “Honestly, Emily.”

  Again she could not halt her lips from tilting in a smile. “Honestly, it would not upset me too much.”

  He did not release her hands. When she looked up from where his fingers caressed hers as lightly as a twilight breeze, a smile drifted across his lips. It was provocative, daring her to release the flood of questions dammed within her. She must not, even though she longed to know why he continued to seek her out.

  “I believe,” she continued, “I owe you another thank you for coming to …”

  “Rescue you?” He laughed when fire billowed up her cheeks, and she feared the truth had put her to a rare blush. “No need to mince words, Emily. I know Lichton for the irritating block that he is. It was my pleasure to rescue you from his company.”

  “Now I must ask you to excuse me.” She drew her hands out of his. “I have left Miriam too long alone.”

  “You are a poor chaperone.” His finger tilted her chin toward him. “For her and for you.”

  “For me? I have no need of a chaperone.”

  His arm slipped around her waist. “For the first time, you are mistaken.”

  Before she could reply, he tightened his arm around her. His fingers curled across her nape, sending tendrils of luscious warmth along her. Gently, he tipped her face closer. The brush of his lips against hers was scintillating, but he drew away with only that brief touch.

  This was not the type of kiss she had thought would satisfy a man who had earned the name Demon. He seemed the kind of man who wanted so much more.

  Her voice quivered. “Mayhap you are correct. I should have considered I might need rescuing from you.”

  “Do you truly wish to be rescued from this?” His face lowered toward hers.

  Before she could reply, an elbow struck her back. She whirled out of Damon’s arms and stared at Graham Simpkins who recoiled.

  “Pardon me, miss,” he mumbled. Cowering back into himself, he did not raise his gaze above the middle of Damon’s waistcoat. “Pardon me, sir.”

  “Are you lost, Simpkins?” Damon asked, the taint of amusement stealing the warmth from his voice.

  “Wentworth?” Mr. Simpkins wrinkled his nose and shook himself like a dog coming in out of the rain. “I thought you had taken your leave.”

  “Not yet.”

  Mr. Simpkins turned toward Emily. His eyes grew wide. “Miss Talcott? Here alone with—Well, well.” He continued to mutter to himself as he hurried away.

  Emily wondered what else could go wrong tonight. She should have listened to her own instincts to stay home this evening.

  As if he could hear her thoughts, which was a most uncomfortable idea, Damon said, “No one heeds Simpkins’s grumbling. You need not fear for your reputation. After all, you have done nothing which would tarnish it.”

  “I let you kiss me.”

  “Kiss you?” He laughed as he grasped her elbows again and drew her back to him. “That was no more than a chaste salute. You would have had to worry far more if Simpkins had witnessed this.”

  His mouth was anything but gentle as it claimed hers. It demanded that she give as much pleasure as he offered. He pulled her up against his firm chest. Her hands were sliding along his arms before she could halt them. She wanted this kiss from this man. It might be madness, but she had been practical for too long.

  His lips coursed along her neck, eliciting a spark on each touch. Delighting in the brush of his hair against her cheek, she swept her fingers through it. Her knees threatened to betray her when his tongue teased the curve of her ear. With his breath burning a tempest through her, she clenched onto his sleeves.

  Slowly, his lips rose. Opening her eyes, she saw his face so close. He smiled, his gaze sending another flush of pleasure through her.

  “See, Emily?” he whispered. “That is a kiss that would set every tongue in the Polite World wagging.”

  She pulled back, horrified.

  Damon smiled. “No one saw us, so you need have no worry.”

  Emily sat on the windowseat, gratified it was so close when she could not trust her knees or her heart that urged her back into his arms. “I hope you are not mistaken.”

  “I am not. But you are mistaken about many things.”

  “What do you mean?”

  When he sat beside her, he folded her hand between his. “Do not look so shaken by my simple comment, Emily. I meant only that I had hoped you now would understand why only the ladies in the room flushed at the so-called passion in the marquis’s poems.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He grazed her cheek with his lips. “That is the limit to the passion that frog puts in his poems.” Cupping her chin in his palm, he said, “I prefer more.”

  As he bent toward her, Emily stood. Her breath strained against her bodice, but she fought to keep her voice even. “You have made your preference clear.”

  “And you disapprove?” he asked, setting himself on his feet.

  “No, I mean—you should not have taken such liberties, my—”

  “At the very least, I believe our kiss shows we are good enough friends, Emily, so you may continue to use my first name.”

  “Friends do not kiss on the lips.”

  His smile returned. “Now that sounds like the voice of experience. You have kissed many friends? Any as you just kissed me?”

  “No, I mean—” She clamped her lips closed. A brangle with him would gain her nothing. He was too facile and would twist every word she said. Clasping her hands in front of her, she said, “That is none of your bread-and-butter.”

  “I believe that is the most honest thing you have said to me this evening.”

  “I must return to Miriam. She expected we would be leaving posthaste.”

  “You are right. I have taken too much of your time, but I trust you now s
ee my point about that frog poet.”

  “You have your opinion, Damon, and I have mine.”

  He laughed and offered his arm. “Allow me to escort you back to the gathering.”

  “That would not be a good idea. If we were seen together—”

  “You fret far too much. Lichton knows I came to retrieve you from his attempt to dun you.”

  “But he thinks we are …” She lowered her eyes as he chuckled again.

  “You do have imagination.” His finger under her chin tipped her face up. “I enjoy that virtue in my friends.”

  “The only virtue you enjoy in your friends?”

  Again he laughed. “Now you sound as if you still are listening to your sister who labels me ‘Demon Wentworth.’” Again he held out his arm. “While I enjoy your virtues, Emily, allow me to vaunt what you seem to believe is my singular one by gallantly escorting you.”

  “Why are you belittling yourself?”

  He drew her arm within his. “In hopes that something I say might bring your smile back. I had not intended to distress you so.”

  “You did not.”

  “Ah, more honesty.” He led her along the corridor. “Or I hope it was honesty.”

  “It was.”

  Emily waited for his reply, but he said nothing as the music of the orchestra swelled over them. Her trepidation that every eye would turn toward them disappeared when no one seemed to notice them. For that, she should be happy, but why were they being ignored? It was not the way of the ton to disregard a potential topic for gossip.

  One pair of eyes had been watching for their arrival, she realized when Mr. Colley strode toward them. The handsome man flashed a smile at every woman he passed, but he had none for Emily when he halted in front of her. He gave Damon a curt nod before saying, “This is disturbing, Miss Talcott.”

  “This?” She wished just one person would make sense tonight.

  “What I hear of the time you are spending in Lord Wentworth’s company.”

  Horror struck her anew. “Did Mr. Simpkins—?”

  Damon’s hand squeezing her arm halted her. Smoothly, he said, “Colley, you should not be berating Miss Talcott.”

  “I simply question her taste.” He raised his nose and sniffed. “You are making calf eyes at both Wentworth and Simpkins, are you?”