Nor did she. The enormous red flower on her hat was a perfect contrast for her light tan pelisse. Not a single person snickered at him while he was driving in the park. Rose and Sir Ian stopped him to congratulate him about the long line of females he apparently had beating at his door. “So early in the morning, too, “ he said cynically.
Winsome patted his knee in a consoling way, and he relaxed a little more. Her group of light-hearted friends made being serious rather difficult. He managed to smile at her and realized his chest warmed when she smiled back. If she had kept her hand on his knee, more than his chest would take notice. Being without a mistress for all these months made him rather too susceptible to females, and to Winsome most of all. Possibly because she didn’t take him seriously, as a normal healthy male, he had a need to impress her.
The Temples left. “Have you noticed that not a single doting mother has called me over to introduce to her daughter,” he muttered to Winsome.
“Straighten your hat.”
“What?”
“You look like a rake. You could at least try to look like a serious lord.”
He frowned. “I am a serious lord. A slight tilt is the fashion.”
“Not if you are trying to impress mothers. Mothers want proper contenders for their daughter’s dowries. A tilt only impresses those with an eye to fashion. Cross over to that tree. I’ll make you presentable to any doting mother.”
He noted the tree and the lower branches, which would hide them from view. His heart stepped up a beat. So, she was happy to get him married off, was she? She didn’t feel a speck of interest in him, herself? He took that not only as an insult, but also as a challenge to his masculinity, for he had developed an interest in more than her mind.
A quick snap of the reins and he did as instructed. Then he turned to her. Her charming face held a careful expression. He focused on her luscious lips and his blood began to pound. He rested his free hand across the back of the seat. She leaned closer, her arms lifted either side of him. Since yesterday, he’d had a need to behave badly with her again.
He splayed his fingers across the top of her collar. She drew a sharp breath and her gaze connected with his. “I do hope you are not planning on doing what your eyes tell me you are planning on doing.”
“I do hope you are planning on straightening my hat.”
The dimple appeared again. “If I try, it will only make it easier for you to do what I think you plan to do.”
He hesitated. “It will.”
“Stalemate.”
“Harris, step down and meet me at the end of the path.” The groom left so fast that he intimated he had been awaiting the order.
Langsdene leaned forward, all his concentration on Winsome’s lush mouth. He slowly lowered his head until his lips met hers with a gentleness that belied his urge to snatch her into his arms and cover her all over with kisses. The woman had an annoying effect on him. Always had, even when she used to sit silently and watch him adoring Rose.
He resettled his lips, desperate for her to open to the light teasing of his tongue. She flickered hers to meet his and his heart rate stepped up. He had not imagined her responding this way. Apparently, she hadn’t spent the past few years merely tending to her parents.
The idea of her previous experience hit him with a desire he could barely contain. He breathed in her heady scent as her fingers met at the back of his neck and she arched into him. Her lovely breasts sat against his chest. Being on a bench seat put him at a great disadvantage when he should be enjoying her whole body. Without lifting her onto his knee, he could do no more than enjoy her mouth. His mind must have been wandering to think of starting this in an open park. Clearly, he only needed to be with her to want her all over again. He’d never experienced carnal desire for Rose, being contented to worship her beauty from afar.
Winsome was more an earthly, forbidden pleasure. He tried to tell his clamoring body that as a lady, she wasn’t available to him. Even then, each time he tried to stop kissing her, he merely positioned his mouth to begin again. Then her hands lifted from his shoulders and she removed his hat.
Realizing she had ended the kiss, he straightened, his nether regions thrumming. He dragged in a breath. “Thank God, you are about to make me look less rakish. Now I will be able to impress sweet young virgins.”
“That was the idea, was it not?” Her voice sounded husky.
“If so, I erroneously kissed you. How can I take it back?”
“One moment.” She placed his hat back on his head and stared critically at her arrangement. “Yes, that’s better, I think.”
He laughed. “Now, how will you arrange the rest of me to make me look respectable?”
She swallowed. “Let’s hope no one looks before you subside.”
“A remark well-calculated to make sure I will not subside for a quite a while.”
She didn’t answer.
CHAPTER 7
Winsome somehow maintained her composure on the way home, astonished to see she had unraveled Langsdene. She wondered what he had expected when he threatened her with a kiss. Naturally a strong willed woman would accept his challenge. However, not only had she participated with unexpected pleasure, she now had him speculating how far she might go. She smiled to herself. A woman with sense, and she was one, would do more than call his bluff. Whether or not he had recalled her private foolishness, he had clearly put her long-ago embarrassment behind him.
If only she had.
Instead, she had lost her confidence and her self-respect. She had been weak and foolish. Then a few years later she had accidently stumbled onto a way to express her conflicted feelings about him. During her retribution, she realized she had been as much at fault as he, and she began to make amends. Now she had little to regret and much to anticipate because John had begun to desire her.
She stepped out of his curricle with the aid of Harris, who didn’t meet her gaze. More than likely, he disapproved of his master’s behavior. John always had high standards and his servants would have been cut from the same cloth.
“Do have breakfast,” her mother called as Winsome passed the morning room. “You’ll not have the energy for tonight if you don’t eat.” Tonight Winsome would be acting as Ann’s chaperon again.
She stopped. “John kissed me,” she said too softly for her mother to hear. Then she raised her voice. “I think I should wear the brown again, tonight.”
Her mother stood in the doorway. “What did you say, my dear? John kissed you?”
Winsome’s shoulders drooped. “He did, and I took my punishment with grace.”
“I’m so proud of you. It must have been quite dreadful. The man is clearly experienced and would know exactly how to please a lady.”
Winsome lifted her chin. “I could well be the first lady he has ever kissed. Did you think of that? No. You’re too busy trying to push me at him.”
“It appears that he is under my spell.”
She gave her mother a quick kiss on the cheek. “I do hate you, mama. Everyone is under your spell.”
“And I love you too, my dear. Please don’t wear the brown. If you have him interested, you ought to make a push to keep him paying attention.”
“He’s using me to gain information. He’s not really interested in me. He simply can’t resist a challenge, that’s all.”
If she had believed he would truly be attracted to a woman her age, with her lack of beauty, that evening she wouldn’t have insisted Jane dress her hair in those awful ringlets again.
Her dresser intoned evil spells the whole time she hooked up the brown gown, and she utterly refused to find the brown paisley shawl. “I’m sure your ma don’t want you to borrow it, and I’m not one to steal into her rooms to sneak it out. I would be dismissed should I do such an evil deed.” Jane crossed her arms across her flat chest.
“I might freeze, Jane. Surely you can find it in your heart ...” Winsome let her pitiful tone peter out.
“Don’t pl
ay your tricks with me, Miss Winsome.” Jane pressed her lips together. “I will not help you look any more dowdy than you do.”
Winsome sighed. She had the same problem. She wished to look her best in case she saw John, but she couldn’t deliberately try to attract him in case she failed. He would have to be fascinated by her no matter the color of her gown. “I’ll wear the topaz choker tonight.”
“With the gold patterned shawl?” Jane offered a hopeful tilt of her eyebrows.
“Heavens, no. That would look quite nice. I’ll take the purple.”
Jane covered her face with her hands. “Miss Winsome, I never thought I would see the day when people would turn their backs on you.”
“You won’t have to because you won’t be there. In any case, I’ve seen worse combinations.” She frowned at her ghastly reflection in the mirror.
“But never on you. You are known for your fashion sense,” Jane said in a doleful voice.
Winsome relented a little, and sighed. “I won’t wear the gold, Jane. But if you will not accept the purple, what is the next worst?”
Jane rubbed her forehead. “The green. You would resemble a tree.”
“The green it is.”
When she arrived downstairs in time for dinner, her elegant Papa had emerged from his study. For the past thirty years, he had been writing the history of his forebears who had settled during the conquest in England. Apparently, he could spin this out forever. He glanced at her, and his bright blue gaze settled on her dull gown. “Going out raking tonight, I see.”
Mama raised her eyes heavenward. “I hope you won’t mind if your daughter remains a spinster forever, my love.”
He shook his head. “She told us nigh on ten years ago that she would never marry. I enjoy her company. I will be happy to keep our dear daughter with us.”
Winsome’s gray-haired father was tall and handsome as well as being a scholar, and fortunately had the family sense of humor. Winsome loved her parents who couldn’t have been more doting, or more wishful to have a large brood of grandchildren to spoil. She dipped her gaze, knowing she was a wretch to insist on going her own way, and now she was too old to start a family. “I have it on the best authority, Jane’s, that I look no worse than a tree.”
Papa gave a shout of laughter and Mama joined in on the joke. At least they understood why she had to repel Langsdene. They didn’t know that she could only keep her pride this way, for she had never stopped wanting the man who, all those years ago, had been appalled by the idea he might have compromised himself with her.
Later, after her cousin Ann had settled herself into the carriage with a hot brick on her lap, she turned to Winsome. “Gossip says you went driving with Lord Langsdene this morning.” Ann wore a delightful overlay of green embroidered gauze over her yellow satin gown. “People were rather puzzled.”
“Did I make him look respectable? That was the reason why he asked me to accompany him.”
“Let’s hope he never finds out he has been sorely misled.” Ann laughed and readjusted her shawl. “Papa showed me the cartoon of him in the paper this morning. He said no daughter of his would line up with the other debutantes to compete for him.”
“Nor you should,” Winsome said, surprised. “Did my uncle recognize him as the man in the paper? He was only a nose and foot.”
“Everyone knows it is him.”
“But he didn’t come off badly. Why would your father think less of him?”
“I didn’t say he does. But you have to admit that no one wants to look like only one in a line of women competing for the same man.”
Winsome nodded slowly. She hadn’t been at all sympathetic with him about the caricature but perhaps he had been impugned.
The crowded ballroom had been decorated with a canopy of pink silk hanging over each doorway, matching the pink silk bows that adorned the pots of tall ferns placed in the alcoves. Groups had already formed on the sides of the room, awaiting the music. Winsome spotted Chaperone Corner and dragged Ann in that direction, keeping out of the sight of her old friends who might wonder about the way she had dressed, which was silly, because no one looked smart all the time. Anyone could have a moment or two of bad taste. Ann was asked onto the floor before Winsome had time to scrutinize the room.
After her cousin was deposited back to her side, Winsome noticed Langsdene striding in her direction. She began a smile that froze when she noticed the firm set of his jaw. His narrowed eyes and the thinning of his lips caused her to snatch a panicked breath. She took a step backward, her heartbeat fluttering high in her chest. He shot her one fiery glance, and then his gaze switched to Ann. An appallingly insincere smile crossed his aristocratic features. “Miss Herries, good evening. I hope I am the lucky man who is granted the next dance with you, which is a waltz, I believe.”
Ann blinked at Winsome, who stood frozen to the spot. “May I?”
Winsome swallowed. Apparently, kissing a very correct earl in the park had put her into the group of women he would not associate with in public. “You may.” Her back stiffened. She stood, her cheeks icy cold.
Ann gave him a dazzling smile. “I am flattered, my lord, and rather relieved. I thought my chaperon would never let me waltz.” After a quick glance at Winsome, her expression shuttered, and she glided off onto the floor to await the music.
Winsome’s empty chest ached. While standing on the sidelines, she managed a doting chaperon smile, while inside she shriveled with the crushing knowledge that again she had kissed Langsdene, and yet again he had scorned her. If she could have covered her head with her leaf green shawl and rustled from the room, she would have, but her pride would not allow her to show her humiliation. No more than ten hours ago, Langsdene had kissed her and alluded to the same happening again. Tonight, his expression abhorred her. Even if no one else knew about the kiss, she did.
Her heart beating too fast, she melded back into Chaperone Corner where she was regaled with a monologue about a maid who simply could not take orders and who had scorched a ribbon she had ironed. The whole time Winsome nodded, but her throat closed over. She didn’t know what she had expected to happen the next time she saw Langsdene, but she had imagined at least a scrap of recognition and perhaps even a greeting. She hunched tighter into her shawl. Perhaps this morning, she had acted shamefully yet again. Perhaps she ought to have fought off his far too welcome advances.
Langsdene brought Ann back and conversed politely with her on the sidelines until she was importuned for the next dance. Having been seen waltzing, she was now in great demand. As soon as she pranced off, Langsdene sidled closer to Winsome. “You will dance this waltz with me.” He used a clipped tone.
She glanced at his hard jaw line. “I will not,” she said, her chin raised, “allow you to tell me what to do.”
“Take my hand with a semblance of grace or I will drag you onto the floor.”
For a single moment she considered challenging his edict. But one glance at his haughty expression and she did as he ordered. He marched her to the centre of the room. One of his hands gripped hers. The other flattened on her upper back. When the music began, he stared over her head while he efficiently guided her into the steps.
“How could you do this to me?” he said through his teeth.
She snatched a breath. “What do you think I did?” Her heartbeat tripped in a chest that could barely move.
“You made a fool of me.” His furious expression said he knew she had drawn the caricatures. She couldn’t force out a single word. Explanations rose to her throat and withered under the hot anger that tightened the muscles around his mouth. “I will not argue with you here. You will meet me in the library within five minutes of leaving the floor.” His expression hardened.
“My good man,” she said, managing to lift her chin. “I simply cannot. Not in five minutes. I am not familiar with this house and I refuse to spend the night opening and closing doors.”
“Good man me again and you imperil your life. The li
brary is on the ground floor and opens off the hall. From the front entrance, it is the second on the right.”
She swallowed. “I know I won’t be able to find an excuse to leave the ballroom.”
“Oh, I’m sure a woman as plausible as you will manage with ease.”
She dropped her gaze. “I’ll need to bring a chaperon if we are to meet in private.”
He shot her a glance that would have turned an icicle into a quivering puddle and she refrained from further words. The longest waltz since the licentious dance had been accepted into society finally passed. He took her back to Ann, and disappeared.
Winsome tapped her fingers on her arm, trying to think of a place to hide while the last minutes in her drab life flew by. Finally she said, “I’ll be back soon.”
“Wicked Winsome.” Ann laughed. “Be off with you and please try return with your dreadful ringlets undisturbed.”
A little confused by the comment, Winsome pushed through the crowds filling the ballroom doorway. Her mouth dry, she pattered down the marble staircase to the hall, counting doors as she went. The purported library was open. As she neared, she noted high shelves of leather-bound books inside. Langsdene stood by the doorway and, as soon as she entered, he pushed the door shut and shoved a chair under the handle.
She offered him a chilling glance. “I wouldn’t invite you to be one of my guests if you sequestered rooms in which to imprison people.”
“Danton won’t mind. He’s my cousin.” His eyes glittered with a shade of sardonic blue. “He is always telling me I should make free with his library.”
“Possibly not for committing a murder.”
He breathed with impatience, his anger not abated. “I don’t mind what you joke about but when it comes to making a fool of me ...”
“I can explain, though I know you won’t understand.” The insides of her mouth dried.
“Everyone who was in the park this morning stared at me and then at you. Clearly we were not as hidden under that tree as I thought.” His eyes narrowed into haughty shards. A wide sweep of his hand indicated her gown, her shawl, and her ringlets. “And tonight you dressed as a chaperon again. You as well may have emptied a chamber-pot over my head as done this.” He paced to the window and back.
Artfully Wicked ('Pon Rep' Regency Rogues Book 1) Page 4
