Oh, my stars, Lucida thought in surprise. He’s flirting with me! “Swords, then?” she suggested, one eyebrow arching up as she tried hard to suppress her growing amusement. Hopefully one with a dull blade. The palm deserved nothing less than to be badly shredded. To be separated from its stalk and its fronds split apart into dozens of frondlets.
Frondlets? Was there such a word? she found herself wondering.
Stephen shook his head. “I cannot believe that would be a very fair fight, my lady. Fred would end up in shreds all over the marble floor, and then some poor servant would be left cleaning up the mess.” He paused before giving her a shake of his head. “No, I think I shall give him the cut direct and remove you from his influence.” His bent arm appeared before Lucida. She blinked before she wound a gloved hand around it, rather surprised he wasn’t seeing to the dismemberment of the offending plant. Didn’t he know Fred would simply turn his attentions on another unsuspecting chit? Well, it won’t be me, she thought with a sigh. She would never again stand anywhere near a potted palm in her entire life!
“Thank you for saving me from Fred, my lord. Had he accomplished his sinister plan, I would find myself ruined. Why, I would never be able to trust another potted plant for as long as I lived.” And I shan’t. Fred is a such a rake, they must all be, she thought.
Stephen allowed a chuckle, rather happy to know there was another chit at the ball who had a sense of humor and wasn’t afraid to use it. “So glad I could be of assistance.” He dared a glance in the direction of the dance floor to find a longways dance had commenced some time ago. It would be awkward to insert themselves into the proceedings now. “Perhaps we can take a turn about the gardens,” he suggested. “Until the next dance,” he added when he realized he would be no better than Fred in her estimation should they find themselves a dark alcove in which to engage in a bit of kissing. Probably beneath the fronds of some randy palm tree.
“Only if you keep the errant palm fronds at bay, my lord,” Lucida replied happily as they made their way to the double-doors leading to the flagstone terrace.
About to assure her he would, Stephen noticed Lady Jane dancing with a man not much older than he was.
“What is it?” Lucida asked, pausing to follow Stephen’s line of sight and feeling a bit disappointed to find his attention on Lady Jane.
“Who is that man dancing with Lady Jane?” he asked.
The wave of jealousy was hard to tamp down, but Lucida did her best to keep her voice light. “My cousin, George,” she replied matter-of-factly. When she realized the earl probably wouldn’t be familiar with the viscount—the man had only held his title for two years—she added, “George Bennett-Jones. He is Viscount Bostwick now.”
Stephen gave a nod, his brows furrowed. “He was rather free with his affections toward that auburn-haired woman next to the punch bowl,” he remarked, having paid witness to the man kissing the woman on her cheek earlier that evening. Later, he had seen the man kiss her on the nape of her neck when he joined her for a conversation with Lord and Lady Morganfield.
Lucida relaxed a bit, realizing his attention wasn’t on Lady Jane at all. “That woman would be Lady Bostwick. She is Morganfield’s daughter. You would remember her as—”
“Lady Elizabeth Carlington,” he interrupted with a nod, recalling a conversation he’d had at the soirée. Some of what he had read in Will’s copy of Debrett’s Peerage and Barontage was beginning to make sense, although the edition he had worked so hard to learn was obviously out of date.
He resumed leading them out of the double-doors onto the terrace, his brows still furrowed. “Does she mind, do you suppose?” he asked after a time.
“Mind?” Lucida repeated, not sure of the earl’s meaning.
“Being the subject of so much affection? In public, I mean,” he clarified, his expression suggesting he was still bothered by what he had witnessed by the punch bowl.
Lucida allowed a grin then. “Lady Bostwick welcomes it, I am sure. I have never seen her admonish my cousin for displaying his affections, even if it’s not acceptable for him to do so.”
Stephen continued frowning. “Would you? Admonish your husband, I mean?” he asked then. “Should he kiss you in public so that anyone might see?”
Rather startled by the question, Lucida took a moment to consider her answer. “I suppose it depends on how much affection I felt for him,” she finally replied, still rather surprised by the topic of their conversation. “And how much he felt for me, of course.” They walked along in silence for a moment, Stephen still rather deep in thought.
When he didn’t reply, Lucida wondered if she might have said something he found disagreeable. “May I ask as to why you’re wondering, my lord?” Lucida queried gently, finding the topic easier to speak about than the weather or the latest French fashions. Besides, the man seemed genuinely curious about her opinion, something she had never experienced with the other men she’d had occasion to speak with at Society events. She was rarely in London, after all, preferring the family’s country estate in Sussex.
Stephen took in a deep breath, rather surprised at how fresh the air seemed despite there not having been rain for the past few days. “I admit to a bit of... curiosity... about the members of your sex. Especially when it comes to matters of affection.”
Lucida was suddenly glad they were out-of-doors so her blush couldn’t be easily seen under the paper lanterns that bobbed in the slight breeze. “The affection itself, or how it is displayed?” she countered carefully.
Pausing a moment, Stephen considered her query. “Would a woman dare display her affections? Like your cousin does?” he asked. When he noticed Lucida’s look of puzzlement, he shook his head. “In public, I meant, of course,” he amended.
“Well, probably not for just anyone to see,” she replied quickly. “I rather think everyone would think her fast if she did.” She paused a moment. “Although if someone noticed how she held her fan in a certain gentleman’s direction, I suppose they would be able to discern her... affections.”
Stephen blinked. Held her fan? He struggled to recall if his mother had ever mentioned fans whilst she explained the arts of seduction. “I do believe I have been away at sea far too long, my lady, for I do not know of what you speak.”
Lucida felt a glimmer of hope at hearing the earl’s admission. How much should she tell him? What could she demonstrate without making a fool of herself? Or him?
She lifted the closed fan that dangled from her wrist and held it up between them. “The way a lady holds her fan can inform a gentleman as to her situation. As to her... intentions,” she said softly as she opened the fan.
Stephen angled his head, his brows furrowing as he regarded the fan. Even in the dim light, he could make out the painting that decorated the thin fabric covering the body of the fan. Several men and women in evening dress were standing about in what appeared to be a well-appointed parlor. “Perhaps you can demonstrate?” he suggested, silently cursing his mother for not having told him about ladies’ fans.
Although she appeared a bit shocked by his request, Lucida gave a nod. “If I am fanning myself slowly...” She opened the fan wider and held it beneath her face, flicking her wrist so the fan barely moved. “It means I am married.”
“Are you?” Stephen asked, his eyes widening suddenly.
Lucida shook her head. “No, my lord. If I were, I assure you, I would not be wearing this hideous white ball gown.”
Stephen frowned. “But your ball gown is quite beautiful,” he replied with a shake of his head.
Blinking, Lucida suddenly decided she would wear the very same gown at every ball for the rest of the Season. “Thank you, my lord. Now, if I fan myself very quickly, like this...” She flicked her wrist so the fan swept up a breeze that even Stephen could feel from where he stood. “It means I am engaged.”
Taking a step backward, Stephen’s eyes widened. “You could have said something earlier, my lady,” he said with a hint of di
sgust. “I would rather not be challenged to pistols at dawn, even if it is with a palm tree,” he said with not the least bit of humor.
Lucida’s mouth dropped open for only a moment before she realized he was teasing. “I assure you, I am not engaged, my lord. And I was quite clear when I gave my answer to the potted palm.”
Stephen shook his head. “Fred is probably all droopy with disappointment now,” he murmured, moving so he stood closer to her.
“I rather doubt it,” she countered. “He’s probably already turned his affections on Lady Jane.” The words were out of her mouth before she could censor them. Seeing the earl’s sudden arched eyebrow, she lowered her fan to her side and glanced away.
“Are you angry with Fred?” Stephen asked, his manner rather sober. “Jealous, perhaps?”
“Of course not!” Lucida responded, her own manner suggesting she was irked by his comment.
“You’re not jealous of Lady Jane, are you?”
The fan suddenly snapped shut. “No. Why would I be?”
Stephen moved another step closer. “She stole a palm tree from you,” he whispered, one eyebrow arching up. “Fred, who spent a good deal of time in your company,” he added, his manner still most serious.
“She cannot steal what was never mine,” Lucida replied curtly. She half-opened the fan and pressed it to her lips, her sigh audible.
Stephen knew the signal for a kiss even if he had never learned fan-speak. He lifted a finger to her wrist and pulled it away, so her hand and the fan it held dropped to her waist. Stephen leaned over and pressed her lips with his until the pillows of her lips completely touched his. He knew immediately she had never been kissed before. She held her breath as if breathing would break the spell he had cast over her.
Gently suckling her lower lip, he placed one hand on her bare upper arm and did the same with his other. The palms of his hands gently tugged her closer to his body as his lips captured more of hers.
She tasted of champagne and strawberries and smelled like honeysuckle. Or perhaps they were merely standing near a honeysuckle bush. Stephen didn’t know, nor did he care. He simply continued the kiss as if he were freely allowed the impropriety of kissing a debutante.
When Stephen finally pulled away, he didn’t do so because Lucida pushed his shoulder, or because she made some sound of protest, or even because he needed to take a deep breath. He did so because he heard her name being called from somewhere far away.
Lucida stared at him, her eyes suddenly blinking as if she’d been awakened from a deep sleep. “What is it?” she whispered when she could finally figure out how to use her lips for something other than kissing.
Stephen had half a mind to tell her Fred was looking for her, but he gave her a quick shake of his head. “I heard your name...”
Goodness! Lucida stilled herself. She’d had no idea kissing could be so... pleasant. So invigorating. So breathtaking and so very…
“Lucida!”
The sound of her mother calling her name suddenly had her gasping. “Forgive me,” she managed to get out before giving Stephen a curtsy and hurrying off toward the ballroom, her fan dangling from her wrist as her hands scooped up the sides of her gown lest she trip on the skirts as she hurried away.
Stephen caught sight of a stockinged ankle as she made her way around the hedgerow and had to tamp down the reignited desire he felt for the young woman.
Forgive me?
He should be the one asking for forgiveness! Christ! He had been the one to pull her into that kiss. He had been the one to press his lips against hers and gently force them open with his own. The one to angle his head ever so slightly so his lips fit against hers. To suckle gently and then let go, only to recapture her lips again and again. And then he had been the one to make the kiss last far longer than any kiss should last.
He rather doubted he had ever kissed a woman for that length of time in his entire life! Why, his lips still tingled from their touch on hers!
He should be ashamed, he supposed, although he certainly didn’t feel particularly ashamed. Even though he had been tempted to use his tongue to explore her teeth and mouth, he had resisted the urge in favor of simply tasting her lips. Of reveling in her light scent of honeysuckle and those from the greenery surrounding them. Of gently holding her steady within the circle of his arms.
Had Lady Lucida wanted to stop him from kissing her, she need only push him away or put voice to some kind of protest. Instead, she had simply moved closer so the fronts of their bodies touched, so she could lean against him as he continued to taste her. She had even hummed her apparent approval!
Taking a deep breath, Stephen wondered how long he should stay behind the hedgerow. A minute or more? It might take that long for his arousal to subside, although if he continued to think about the damned kiss, he would be sporting the bulge in his breeches for the rest of the night!
Stephen turned around intending to find a stone bench on which he might sit while he waited when a figure suddenly appeared from beyond the end of the hedgerow.
“Good evening.”
Stephen took a step back. “Good evening,” he answered, a bit uncertain as to whom he addressed as he couldn’t make out the identity of the man in the dim light.
“I’m George.”
“Stephen. Slater,” he managed to get out, his voice far calmer than he felt. He extended his right hand and the man reached out and shook it.
“Nice evening for a walk. Or a secret assignation, perhaps?” George hinted.
Stephen nodded, wondering at the man’s comment. “It is,” he finally answered. Was this George the same George that Lucida had mentioned? Did the man think Stephen had taken liberties with his cousin? Am I about to be challenged? “I thought to get some air. The ballroom is a crush, and the palm trees seem intent on misbehaving,” he managed to get out before he realized someone else was about to join them.
“Oh, George, I thought I would never be able to take my leave of Mother...”
The two gentleman turned their attention to the woman who suddenly appeared from around the end of the hedgerow, but George was quick to wrap an arm around her waist to ensure she didn’t collide with Stephen. “Careful, my sweeting. We’re not yet alone,” George said in a lowered voice, his amusement apparent.
“Bellingham! Oh! I beg your pardon!”
Stephen recognized Elizabeth Carlington Bennett-Jones and realized this George was, indeed, George Bennett-Jones. He bowed and reached for Lady Bostwick’s hand. “You needn’t, my lady. I was just about to return to the house,” he managed to get out. He gave George a nod. “Enjoy your secret assignation. I promise, I won’t tell anyone you’re out here,” he added with a quirked brow.
George angled his head and allowed a grin. “Do take care with Lady Lucida, won’t you? She is my favorite cousin, and although she favors the country, I shouldn’t want to hear she’s been ruined this evening.”
Stephen stopped in his tracks and turned to regard the viscount with a wry smile. “If your cousin was ruined this evening, it was at the hands, or the fronds, rather, of a rather large, amorous potted palm named Fred. Good night.”
George and Elizabeth both frowned as they watched the young man depart the hedgerow and head in the direction of the house. “Oh, and I was so hoping Lucida was out here being kissed by him,” Elizabeth said with a sigh. “He is Devonville’s son, although I’m not quite sure which one,” she murmured. “I cannot tell the two apart.”
George rolled his eyes, positive his cousin was being kissed by the son of a marquess.
But not the earl, William Slater.
Stephen Slater was the bastard.
When Elizabeth reached up and kissed him on the side of his neck, all thoughts of his cousin and the Slaters took their leave, and George concentrated on kissing his wife.
Returning to the ballroom, Stephen slowly made his way to the opposite side of the room, intent on finding the refreshment table. He didn’t really want to dance
with anyone else—and rather doubting he would be allowed to dance again with Jane or to spend another moment with Lucida—Stephen decided to merely watch the proceedings as he pondered what to tell his brother. Jane was probably too young, and the viscount had said Lucida preferred the country.
And then it dawned on him.
What could he say to his brother? He didn’t even know their last names!
Stephen had just decided he wouldn’t mention them at all when he caught sight of a young woman entering the ballroom from the hallway. At first hidden behind a footman carrying a tray of champagne glasses, the chit deftly helped herself to one before stepping sideways. Her gaze seemed to take in the painted ceiling, the walls—everything but the people in the room. That is, until she spotted him.
Stephen gulped. Pale blonde hair, silver-gray eyes and a pink gown had him thinking he was seeing a rather young version of his mother. She’s gorgeous, he thought, reminding himself to close his mouth.
Perhaps I will stay at the ball a bit longer, he decided as he helped himself to a glass of champagne and made his way toward the chit.
Chapter 15
Welcome to Oxfordshire
The next morning
Awake when the first rays of light pierced his room, Will was the first to eat breakfast and take his leave of the inn at Hurley.
The thought of seeing Barbara Higgins again had his pulse increasing, his Hessian-clad heels digging in a bit deeper into the ribs of his mount. Although not a large horse—the warm blood wasn’t a Thoroughbred but rather a pure-blooded Arabian from North Africa—Thunderbolt was fast. And he loved to run. Too bad the roads out of London had been too crowded for him to do so.
Now that Will could see the bell tower of Saints Peters and Paul church, its octagonal spire a testament to its Norman origins, he knew they were closer to their destination. Thunderbolt was enjoying a run down a country lane that, according to the last road sign Will had studied when they first crossed the River Isis, would lead them to the hamlet of Broadwell.
The Caress of a Commander Page 10
