Tessa's Touch

by Brenda Hiatt

  "But why?" he demanded, aware that the hounds might find the scent again at any moment. "It's obvious you don't even like the fellow. Is it something to do with my making you an offer yesterday?"

  Though she glanced up for an instant, allowing him to see the pain in her eyes, she did not answer.

  "Tessa?" he prompted. "Are you somehow being forced to this?"

  Still, she said nothing, responding only with a quick shake of her head.

  Frustrated, he said, with deliberate sarcasm, "So, is this your way of ensuring that no one can ever take you away from your precious Papa? Is it because he needs you so much, or because you need him? I thought you more courageous than that, Tessa."

  Her head came up and she glared at him, anger replacing pain —as he'd intended. "Courage has nothing to do with it! And you're a fine one to talk, when it's as much your fault as—" She broke off, clearly having said more than she'd intended.

  "So, it does have something to do with our night out together," he said. "I take it we were somehow discovered? Are the Emerys threatening to tell your father unless you marry your cousin?"

  "Not . . . not exactly." She averted her eyes again. "Papa did find out I wasn't at the Hilltops' that night, but not that I was with you. He is convinced that I'll be ruined if I do not marry quickly, so when Harold, ah, offered, he insisted I accept."

  "You did not see fit to tell them that you'd already received an offer of marriage —from me?" Anthony wasn't sure whether he was more hurt or angry. Had he completely misinterpreted her feelings for him?

  But when she faced him again, her brown eyes swam with sadness, and a longing that made him hope again. "I couldn't! Don't you see? That would be tantamount to admitting—"

  At that most inopportune moment, the hounds gave tongue again, and at once she spurred her mount forward to get in position for the continuation of the hunt. Anthony cursed under his breath, but only at the delay.

  His path now seemed clear. As soon as he could arrange a private audience with Sir George, he would admit the truth. Surely then he would insist that Tessa marry Anthony rather than her opportunistic cousin. He'd inform her of his plan at the next check.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 15

  Tessa was determined to keep her distance from Lord Anthony for the remainder of the day's ride. He had already tricked her into admitting more than she'd intended, but if she told him the rest, he would feel obliged to do something he'd regret for the rest of his life. She couldn't allow him to do that.

  Her efforts were helped by the fact that the hounds cornered the fox only half an hour later, without another check. Using the excuse that she didn't want to watch the kill, she at once rode back to meet her father and Lady Killerby, coming up at the rear of the field in the phaeton.

  "Let's go home, Papa, shall we?" she suggested as soon as she reached them. "You must be cold —and tired."

  "Nonsense," said Lady Killerby. "You're neither, are you, George?"

  He shook his head. "I appreciate your concern, Tessa, but this has been the most enjoyable day I've spent in years."

  "And you certainly don't want to miss my little party," the dowager added. "Not to worry, Miss Seaton, we can sit him as near the fire at Ivy Lodge as you would at Wheatstone."

  Tessa nodded, but her heart sank. How would she avoid more conversation with Anthony if they all went to Ivy Lodge?

  "I'll just go home to change, then," she said, thinking that perhaps she could take long enough about it that the party would be over before she arrived.

  But Lady Killerby would have none of it. "No, no, my dear! That's the point, don't you see? Everyone is to come in their hunting attire— though I suppose those who managed to get muddy or wet, like your poor Mr. Emery, will insist on changing into something dry."

  "Then Uncle Emery is coming?" she asked her father.

  Sir George nodded. "And Harold too. It seemed only proper, considering you two are now betrothed." Some of the sparkle left his eyes.

  Lady Killerby sniffed, but only said, "Yes, I told Emery to bring his son along, at Sir George's behest. But now, we'd best be on our way, if I'm to be there to welcome my guests. Let's take the road back, Henry," she said to her driver.

  Tessa rode alongside, glancing nervously behind from time to time to make certain Anthony wasn't catching them up. Surely with both Uncle Mercer and Harold at Ivy Lodge, she needn't worry about him resuming their earlier conversation?

  Unfortunately, he was already at his hunting box when they arrived, having apparently taken a quicker route back. "Ah, there you are," he greeted them from the front steps. "Killer has been directing the preparations in our absence, and everything is ready. Did you enjoy the meet, Sir George?"

  "Very much indeed," Tessa's father replied. "Lily insists I accompany her to every hunt she attends while she is in the country, and I plan to do just that."

  That was news to Tessa, and not particularly welcome. "Papa, are you sure—" she began, but Anthony was already talking again.

  "Excellent! Glad to hear it. Clearly, you're a tonic for more than your son, Lady Killerby." He gave Tessa a meaning look, which she ignored.

  "Is there a room where I might freshen up, my lady?" she asked, dismounting and handing her reins to a waiting groom just as Mr. Turpin, Lord Rushford and Sir Charles came around the corner from the stables.

  Lady Killerby jumped lightly down from the phaeton. "Of course. I'll take you up while Anthony and one of these others help your father into the house."

  Tessa followed Lady Killerby inside and up two flights of stairs to the bedchamber she indicated. Inside, she found a washstand with hot and cold water, a comb, a looking glass and a necessary.

  Ten minutes later, feeling much refreshed, she reemerged —to find Anthony waiting in the hallway.

  "What say we finish our talk?" he suggested, smiling down at her in an intimate manner —far too intimate a manner, considering that she was technically betrothed to another man.

  Her heart quickened its beat. "I . . . I don't believe I have anything more to say," she stammered, cursing her tongue for not giving him the scathing set-down he deserved.

  He moved closer, which did not help at all. "But I have many questions to ask," he said softly. "Tessa, do you really wish to marry Harold Emery?"

  She looked up at him and he seemed to fill her senses. Clutching at the shreds of reason, of what she knew was right, she nodded. "I must," she whispered.

  "That's not what I asked. Do you want to?"

  Now he was only inches away, his hazel eyes boring into hers. He smelled of horses and the clean outdoors and something else, a masculine scent uniquely his. She knew that her response to this question would seal her fate —and his.

  Steeling her resolve, for his sake and for her father's, she looked into his eyes and lied. "Yes."

  There. She'd done it. Now—

  He gripped her by the shoulders and pulled her against him, then pressed his lips to hers— roughly, demandingly, not at all like the tender caresses she remembered from the abandoned cottage.

  She froze, stunned, but only for an instant, because something equally demanding awoke within her. With a moan, she pressed herself against him, not caring how wrong this was, how foolish, how— anything. Only that she needed this, and needed it now.

  He released her shoulders and gathered her to him, his lips gentling as she responded. Scarcely knowing what she did, she opened her mouth to him and he plundered it with his tongue, stroking, possessing —knowing. They were fused. One.

  It was as though she'd been waiting for this since they'd left the cottage, as though her body, her mind, had been craving exactly this, and she was now complete —or more nearly complete. His lips moved over hers and parts of her body far distant responded, from the tips of her breasts to the place below her belly, to her very toes. She never wanted this kiss to end, never wanted to return to cold reality.

  Even as a shadow of that thought passed through her fevered
brain, a slight sound from downstairs intruded, breaking the spell of madness that had her in its grip. With a gasp, she pulled back, panting, to stare up at him.

  Though he was still flushed with passion, he smiled, humor glinting in his eyes. "Now. Tell me again that you wish to marry Harold Emery."

  "Why—? How could—?"

  "I know how adept you are at deception, Tessa," he said. "You've hidden things from your father for years. But while you may be able to lie convincingly with words, your body has not yet learned to do so. I wanted to know the truth —and now I do."

  She swallowed painfully. "But . . . it really doesn't change anything, except to make me regret what I must do even more."

  "Why?" he demanded fiercely. "Why can't you marry me instead? Because of your father?"

  "That's only a part of it," she confessed, finally admitting her deepest worry. "I could never fit into your world, Anthony. You must know that. Your family would despise me and I would be a constant embarrassment. I may be able to acquit myself well on the hunting field, but in a ballroom, or in London Society, I would be as out of place as a horse or a hound would be."

  "I don't believe that," he said with a certainty that tempted her to trust him, though she knew she dared not. "Tessa, please, let me—"

  At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, he broke off and hastily released her. Tessa took two quick steps backward, frantically smoothing her hair with her fingers.

  "Here you are, still," exclaimed Lady Killerby from halfway up the stairs. "Come along down, both of you. Our guests are beginning to arrive."

  Wordlessly, they followed her down, Tessa completely unsure whether she felt more relief or vexation at the interruption. She should feel relief —she knew that. Nothing Anthony could say would change the facts. A match between them would be unsuitable in the extreme, and Society would be only too eager to punish them both for it.

  A hum of voices greeted them as they approached the parlor and Tessa found upon entering that nearly a dozen people were already present —to include her uncle and cousin.

  "Ah, there's my bride-to-be," said Harold loudly, coming toward her. She was almost certain his father had prodded him from behind, and the joviality of his tone sounded decidedly forced. "I wondered where you were, my dear."

  Turning up the corners of her mouth in something she hoped approximated a smile, she said, "I merely went to freshen up after the hunt. My hair was quite a disaster, I assure you."

  She suspected it was not much better now, after her passionate encounter in the hallway. Her lips felt bruised and swollen. Surely the whole room must suspect the truth? But no one seemed to be staring, and Harold merely put a possessive hand on her elbow and led her to a chair between him and his father.

  Lady Killerby was greeting a pair of newcomers, two men Tessa remembered from the hunt, though she did not recall their names. Once she had them supplied with sherry and biscuits, she moved about the room to be certain all of her guests were comfortable. Tessa thought she took particular trouble over Sir George, who seemed delighted at the attention.

  "Thank you again, my lady, for inviting my son and myself to your little gathering," Uncle Mercer said when she passed them.

  Tessa thought Lady Killerby's smile looked very slightly strained. "Not at all, sir. As connections of Sir George's you are quite welcome, I assure you. But pray, don't monopolize Miss Seaton. As the only other lady here, she must help me to entertain our guests. You two see her all the time, after all."

  Out of the corner of her eye, Tessa saw Harold frown. "But—" he began, but his father gave a quick head shake.

  "Not here, Harold," her uncle murmured. "If we want to be accepted by people like these, we must play by their rules." Then, to Tessa, "Go on, then, girl. Help her ladyship pour tea, or whatever it is she needs you to do."

  "Perhaps you can speak with Mr. Thornton, there in the corner, and draw him into conversation with some others," Lady Killerby suggested.

  Hoping that she could keep her thoughts focused enough for such a task, Tessa moved to comply.

  Anthony, watching from across the room, noticed young Emery's deepening scowl with some amusement. So, the fellow didn't care to have Tessa speaking to other men, did he? Small wonder, since Tessa had not entered into this betrothal of her free will. Both Emerys must worry she'd find some way to get out of it.

  None of the other men were taking any notice of the pair, apparently realizing instinctively that they were not really a part of this circle. Smiling, Anthony walked over to them and sketched a bow that was so slight as to be a mockery.

  "Welcome to Ivy Lodge, gentlemen," he said. "I trust you will not catch a chill from your dunking today, Mr. Emery?"

  One or two gentlemen within earshot chuckled, and the older man frowned. "I imagine not, my lord. Our family is known for possessing excellent health in general."

  "Glad to hear it. I'm sorry you were not able to join us in today's meet," Anthony then said to the younger Mr. Emery. "Why have we not had the pleasure of seeing you ride this season?"

  Harold Emery's face darkened, but after darting a glance at his father, he managed a brief smile. "I've been too busy." His abrupt reply bordered on rudeness.

  "Ah. I should think spending so much time with horses would make you an excellent rider, sir."

  "I do all right."

  "I'm glad to hear it," Anthony said cheerfully, "for you wouldn't want your bride to show you up, I'm sure. Never good for a man's ego, that —or so I hear. Which reminds me, I have not yet congratulated you on your . . . conquest."

  Now young Emery was scowling again, heedless of his father's nudging. "Thank you," he grated.

  "I must say, you don't seem nearly as happy as I would expect of a man who is to take the lovely Miss Seaton to wife. Why, if I were in your place—"

  "You're not," Emery snapped. "She'll make me happy enough once we're wed—if she knows what's good for her." He did smile then, but it was far from a pleasant expression.

  Mercer Emery leaped to his feet. "Really, you are most kind, my lord, and my son is more grateful than he can properly express for your attention. Come, Harold, I believe Sir George wishes to speak with us." So saying, he fairly dragged the younger man over to the fireplace, where Sir George was chatting animatedly with several of the sportsmen, oblivious to the exchange which had just taken place.

  Anthony watched them go, a grim smile playing about his mouth. Perhaps it was uncharitable of him to goad a man he was so certain of defeating, but young Emery seemed such an uncouth, bullying fellow that he really couldn't resist it.

  Still, he didn't want to make things more unpleasant for Tessa before he had an opportunity to extricate her from Emery's clutches. He glanced over to where she was urging Mr. Thornton to try a canape. Several other men had gathered around her and seemed to be vying for her attention —not that Anthony could blame them.

  As though feeling his eyes upon her, she looked up and for a long moment their gazes locked across the room. Faint color stole into her cheeks and a shy smile curved her lips before she turned back to the group of gentlemen.

  Tessa was the loveliest, liveliest, most generous and most intelligent woman Anthony had ever known. The very idea of her bound to a boor like Harold Emery was outrageous —a crime against nature itself. How could Sir George even consider such a thing?

  He moved over to Rush, who had just returned to the room. "Have you discovered anything?" he asked in a low voice.

  "I haven't had time for much," Rush replied softly, "but it seems the decline of Wheatstone's productivity has coincided precisely with Mr. Mercer's stewardship of the estate. Invalid or not, Sir George can't be entirely blind to it. Emery must have some sort of hold over him, and I suspect it is more than his relationship to the late Lady Seaton."

  Anthony nodded. "And the son?"

  "I watched him ride up to the house," Rush said, "and he makes his father look a right Meltonian. Worst seat I've ever seen. I'd guess he's as poor
a horse-trainer as his father is a steward. We'd be doing Sir George a real favor to rid him of those two, apart from the threat they pose to Miss Seaton."

  "I agree —and the sooner the better." He wouldn't put it past young Emery to compromise Tessa in some way to make it that much harder for her to cry off. The fellow might not even be above rape, if he thought it would serve his interests.

  "Will you come along when we take Sir George home after the party?" he asked.

  Rush nodded. "Of course. What do you have in mind?"

  Briefly, Anthony outlined his plan.

  * * *

  Afternoon was creeping toward dusk when the party began to break up, the gentlemen heading out to their lodgings to change for dinner. Tessa was relieved, for the past hour had been one of the most difficult of her life.

  For her father's sake, she had continued to accept congratulations on her upcoming marriage, though she was determined it would never take place. If her father would not release her from the betrothal, she would run away rather than marry Harold.

  Then there was Anthony's disturbing presence, though he had not so much as spoken to her for the duration of the party. The occasional glances they'd exchanged, however, had heated her blood and turned her thoughts into most improper channels.

  Even when he was not looking at her, just knowing he was in the room was so distracting that it was all she could do to attend to whatever conversation she was a part of. She'd had to ask various gentlemen to repeat themselves so many times that by now they probably all thought her hard of hearing.

  "Oh, are we not returning in the phaeton?" Sir George asked when they reached the front door.

  "I've asked Lady Killerby to let us use the closed carriage, Papa, as it is turning colder," Tessa explained. Also, as it was still light, she was hoping the enclosed vehicle might impede her father's view of Wheatstone somewhat as they approached.