Daphne eyed the vehicle with trepidation. She’d never ridden in such an expensive carriage. Only wealthy gentlemen had rigs like these. Certainly no one in her Dorset village had anything like it. Her father’s carriage was sturdy enough for traveling, but it was older. The family did all their local driving in a pony trap. Whoever her companion was, he had rich friends.
Of course, she’d known from the start he wasn’t a nobody. A nobody couldn’t get an invitation to the Starry Night ball. She’d only gotten hers through the labors of a great-aunt who’d taken pity on the family’s circumstances and offered her a season in hopes of finding her a good match. Daphne did feel a twinge of guilt over that. A lot of effort had occurred to get her here, and she’d run out at the first opportunity. It was enough to make her rethink her impulsive decision.
The stranger smiled reassuringly at her hesitation, misunderstanding the reason for it. “It’s not as impossible as it seems to get up. Put your foot on the rim and grab hold of the seat rail to pull yourself up.” His hands were at her waist, ostensibly for extra support, but there was something more in his touch, something electric and knowing about the way those hands lingered at her hips, reminding her that along with the warmth and mischief in his eyes, there had been an element of potent sensuality too. Her stranger was no foreigner to the pleasures of the flesh.
Daphne pushed aside her hot thoughts and scrambled on board without too much embarrassment, but her clambering was nothing like his athletic vault into the high seat. He picked up the reins with ease and steered the horses into the stream of evening traffic. Daphne held on to the seat rail for dear life. How did anyone manage riding in these contraptions?
“Are you all right?” He looked over at her, his brown eyes full of concern. “Not having second thoughts, are you?”
“I hadn’t realized how far from the ground these were.” Daphne admitted.
“That’s why they’re called high flyers. You can hold my arm, if you like.”
Oh, she liked all right. It was comforting to take his arm, to feel the flex of strong muscle beneath the fabric of his coat as he drove. The earlier sense of security she’d felt flooded back. She was safe with him.
“This can’t go on forever,” Daphne said, relaxing a little.
“What can’t?”
“Not knowing your name. I can’t go all night without knowing what to call you. I have to call you something.”
He thought for a moment and she knew from the hesitation he was debating giving her his real name. “It’s Jamie. James, technically, but my friends call me Jamie.”
“I’m Daphne de—”
“No last names.” He cut in sharply but not unkindly.
“Why not?”
He shook his head and clucked to the horses. “Trust me, it is better this way.”
She understood what he meant. When these eight hours were over, they may never meet again. More important, they wouldn’t have the tools for meeting again, for finding one another. Tonight, he wanted an adventuring partner. He didn’t want a woman who would cling or make demands he had no desire to fulfill. The message was clear. He would not welcome any overture on her part to find him once tonight was finished. The realization stung, but it was best to know the rules from the outset. They would live hour to hour and when the night was over, their association would be over too, regardless of where their adventure led. It was what she wanted.
And it would lead somewhere. She was not naive enough to think their adventure would simply comprise driving around in the carriage. She’d seen the want, the primal desire rise in his eyes when he’d looked at her. But his attention had been flattering, nothing lewd or salacious like the lust she’d seen in the eyes of other men.
This man would not take what she was not willing to give. That decision would be hers to control. Even if she was wrong about his nature, she was not without her resources. No man would find her defenseless again.
The real issue was how much she would be willing to give. She had no doubt he could a coax a woman into giving him everything he asked for. If he could coax a carriage, he could certainly coax a kiss. Just the thought of any coaxing sent a lovely little thrill straight to her stomach.
He steered the horses into Piccadilly and Daphne looked about her avidly, drinking in the sights of early-evening London. She’d seen nothing of London at night outside of ballrooms. Another thrill of forbidden pleasure ran through her. “Where are we going?”
“The Egyptian Hall. There’s a fabulous display of ancient artifacts I’ve been dying to see—mummies and sarcophagi.”
Daphne laughed at his joke and let the warm spring evening settle around her, trying to ignore the sense of disappointment. “A museum doesn’t sound all that scandalous.” Maybe there would be no coaxing. It was a supremely depressing thought.
He leaned close to her ear. “Then you haven’t seen a museum with the right man.”
Ridiculous hope surged yet again. Perhaps they’d be scandalous after all.
“This will be the first of our four exciting things before four this morning.”
“Four? Impossible,” Daphne challenged. Most of decent London would be closed within a couple of hours.
He gave her a wink. “My dear Daphne, nothing is impossible.”
Chapter Three
The Egyptian Hall, Piccadilly
9:00 p.m.
Jamie brought the phaeton to a halt in front of the Egyptian Hall. He hopped down and tossed the reins to a waiting boy hired by the museum to watch carriages. Daphne waited for him to come to her side and help her down, relishing the feel of his strong hands at her waist as he lifted her, his touch suggesting he was the right man indeed for museums and much else her active imagination dared to conjure up.
The Egyptian-style façade, which gave the building its name, loomed in front of her, statues of Osiris and Isis flanking the entrance over papyrus columns and a cavetto cornice.
“Isn’t the museum usually closed by now?” Daphne furrowed her brow, taking in the light spilling out from the entrance foyer.
Jamie took her hand and she marveled at how natural the gesture felt. “It’s open late tonight because of the special exhibit.” He dug in his pocket and produced the shilling apiece admittance fee. He picked up a pamphlet about the exhibit and handed it to her, explaining. “It’s a posthumous exhibition of Giovanni Belzoni’s discoveries in the Valley of the Kings. I wasn’t old enough to fully appreciate it when it came through the first time in ‘22.”
He ushered her into the first exhibition hall, his hand warm and confident at the small of her back. His gestures were proof of how ingrained his gentlemanly behaviors were and perhaps some other less gentlemanly behaviors too. His touch implied he was at ease with women, that he knew how to touch not just women but her. Daphne was quickly deciding a bad boy playing good was an intoxicating combination and beyond his polished exterior, that’s precisely what Jamie was. Good gentleman stayed on verandas, bowed to society’s dictates and danced with partners of their mother’s choosing. Jamie had done none of those things. Instead, he was escorting a woman he barely knew through a nearly deserted museum, his hand at her back promising all nature of sensual delights in a single touch.
“I’ve never been here.” Daphne trailed a hand over a glass case containing canopic jars with carved stoppers in the shape of animals heads. “Bullock had sold his original collection by the time I was old enough to come to town.” Needless to say, there hadn’t been money to come to town when she was old enough either.
“It was fabulous to see. There were items from Cook’s voyages to the South Pacific in this very room. Then there was the Africa Room, which was an artificial jungle full of animals and trees, all life size.”
“It sounds fascinating.” And it did. Such wonders were beyond Dorset, beyond her. What would her gallant gentleman think if he knew he was escorting a knight’s penniless daughter? Sir de Courtenay’s family may have breeding and beauty, but they hadn’t
a cent to their name. Her family had barely afforded finishing school for her. A fashionable season with all the London delights when she’d turned eighteen had been out of the question. She’d come out at a little country party hosted at the local assembly rooms and endured the attentions of older men who thought a girl in her circumstances would welcome any advances.
No, she would not think on such things. Tonight wasn’t for those regrets. Jamie was right. It was best there were no last names between them for reasons other than the obvious. She knelt to look into the case more closely. “I wonder what these jars were for? Perfumes? Maybe they were part of an ancient lady’s toilette.”
“I assure you they were for nothing quite that lovely.” Jamie chuckled.
“What were they used for?” Daphne pressed with a teasing tilt of her head. “You can’t simply leave it at that.”
“They were used for storing internal organs after mummification. Each of the stoppers represents one of the sons of the god Horus.”
Daphne wrinkled her nose and drew back her hand in reflex. “I suppose I deserved that.”
“You did ask.” Jamie laughed and steered them toward the next chamber. She was glad to see the room was full of jewelry, beautiful collars of gold and lapis lazuli.
“How is it that you’re interested in ancient Egypt? Are you a historian?” Daphne asked in an attempt to learn a little more about her escort.
“An amateur historian only.” He shrugged as if his knowledge was of no significant import. “My primary interest is the Renaissance, although I’ve spent a good deal of time on the local histories of some villages in Kent. The cut of this gold collar is exceptionally well crafted.” He hurried on, no doubt trying to cover the slip, fearing he might have said too much, given too much of a hint as to where he was from.
A mannered, learned gentleman from Kent who wore exquisitely tailored clothes and had friends who had access to expensive rigs. No wonder he didn’t want any last names.
Daphne let the slip go by without comment.
She was content to let him lead her through the exhibit, room by room, highlighting pieces as they went. He was an apt guide and Daphne thought she could have wandered the Egyptian Hall all night with him beside her, his hand at her back, his voice low at her ear, his dissertation for her alone. He smelled of citrus and lemon, sharp and tangy and utterly stimulating.
“What an intriguing item,” Daphne exclaimed, stopping near a case at the end of the exhibit. The item in question looked like a beaded necklace with a crescent collarlike piece at one end and a pestle-style piece at the other. “What is it?”
“Do you truly want to know?” Jamie asked with the faintest hint of a challenge. “Remember the canopic jars?” He lifted a dark brow in mock caution.
It’s clearly not used for storing organs.” She wanted to know. Jamie’s mouth fought back a smile that belied his teasing censure and suddenly she knew. “It’s wicked, isn’t it? And the other items in the case? Are they wicked too?”
“Perhaps it’s too wicked for a fine English rose like yourself.” Jamie murmured, putting on a credible show of prevaricating.
“Never.” Daphne drew herself up and squared her shoulders with a toss of her head. “Tell me. I dare you.”
* * *
She was irresistible, all curves and golden curls as she issued her challenge. He didn’t so much want to tell her as show her. But either option was definitely inappropriate. He knew a true gentleman would not tell her. A gentleman didn’t discuss such things with a lady, and his companion was definitely a lady; a sheltered one at that in spite of her innate penchant for boldness. But he was not a true gentleman for all his outer trappings to the contrary and that made all the difference. True gentlemen were boring. He’d met them at his clubs.
He would tell her and she would be shocked but perhaps deliciously so.
His eyes lingered on the pale rose of her lips, guardians of that most kissable mouth. The exhibit would be closing soon, the museum was all theirs. “If I tell you, you’ll have to pay a forfeit, such knowledge does not come without a price.”
Her white teeth nibbled her bottom lip as she contemplated the offer, but her sharp eyes knew exactly what he was asking for. “All right, a kiss then.” she conceded with all the hauteur of a queen granting favors to a subject, although he noted the pulse at the base of her neck beat in rapid excitement at their game. She was not immune.
“Just one?”
“Very well. One kiss for each item.”
Two kisses. That was much better.
“It’s a menat, a fertility piece, and rather phallic in design.”
“That’s quite a vocabulary you have,” Daphne replied dryly, her comment proof that the conversation had already gone too far.
“Oxford.”
She tossed him a doubtful look. “I had no idea how interesting college could be.”
“Professors have to get all those randy young bucks to class somehow.” Jamie flashed her a brief grin and went on. “You’ll note how the pestle fits perfectly inside the space left by the U-shaped crescent?” Jamie felt his body rise in response to the images such words conjured up. “The second item in the case is a book of Egyptian tantras, a guide to sexual pleasure.”
Beside him, she blushed hotly, a small “oh” forming on her delectable mouth. The “oh” was most telling. Although she’d blushed at his reference, the “oh” had not come out in a shocked gasp. Instead, it had come out “oh?,” a question of quiet curiosity.
“Oh, yes. The Egyptians believed there were sixty-four sexual modes.” Jamie responded. “Now, as to my forfeit.”
She turned to face him, mischief in her eyes. “Your two kisses. You may kiss me once on each cheek.”
The hell he would. “I only kiss my sister on the cheek.”
“Oh.” This time, the sound came out as a most feminine gasp as he covered her mouth with his.
She was soft compliance in his arms. He teased the seam of her lips apart with his tongue and she opened to him, her body conforming to his, warm and yielding. His Daphne was no shrinking violet when it came to this kiss. Her desire was as evident as his once he’d made his intentions known. Her hands were in his hair, her breasts against his chest, her skirts pressed flat between them, leaving little chance that she’d not feel the proof of his arousal. But he was not ashamed of it.
Why shouldn’t she know he wanted her? That he found her enchanting in ways he’d not found a woman for ages? He was tired of the bold widows who wanted him solely for the physical pleasures of their beds and the simpering innocents who thought it was a sin to touch so much as a man’s sleeve before marriage.
Jamie deepened the kiss, running his hands low down her back to cup the delicious curve of her derriere. She was an intoxicating mix of bold seduction and well-bred hesitation; eager to explore the mysteries of passion. Not that those mysteries should be explored in Bullock’s Egyptian Hall no matter how empty the place was.
Jamie ended the kiss with a husky whisper. “Forfeit satisfied.”
Her beautiful eyes shadowed. “I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?”
Jamie tucked her hand through his arm and brought her knuckles to his lips. He kissed them. “Only in the best of ways.”
Chapter Four
Piccadilly, 10:30 p.m.
“Why shouldn’t a woman kiss a man like she means it?” They strolled the south end of Piccadilly, Daphne helping herself to another chestnut from the bag, courtesy of a late-night vendor hoping to catch theatergoers on their way home. She bit into the warm treat and Jamie watched her savor it, thinking some most manly thoughts about the soft bite of her teeth sinking into certain other tender parts with the same gentle relish she was lavishing on the chestnut.
The kiss might have satisfied the forfeit, but it had not satisfied him. It had left him aroused in a fashion that went beyond lusty physical gratification. He didn’t merely want to bed her and be done with it. He wanted her.
She wo
uld be an extraordinary lover with the right man, with a man who would love her exactly the way she was. She was not the sort who could be refashioned into a society doll. He was doubly glad she’d chosen to leave with him. Jealousy spiked when he thought of her being bartered to simply anyone with the right price. Such a marriage would destroy her. She was not made for complacency.
She took another chestnut. “Well?”
Jamie dragged his thoughts back to the question. “I think a woman should love as she pleases but not indiscriminately.”
“Like a man?” Daphne countered, shooting him a swift challenging look that said he’d not get off with a pleasing but vague answer.
“I don’t think a man should love indiscriminately either.” Jamie answered, satisfied that his reply stymied her temporarily. Clearly, she hadn’t expected him to agree. “Think of the problems that could be avoided if men were more responsible with their relationships.”
“Or if men and women were encouraged to marry for love, to manage relationships on their own without familial interference,” Daphne snapped with surprising vehemence and a little more loudly than perhaps she’d intended, drawing only a few heads their way as people bustled to and from evening entertainments, reminding Jamie the streets were emptying. It was time to return to the carriage.
They passed a dark Fortnum & Mason and his stomach growled, reminding him it had been a while since luncheon and man did not live by roasted chestnuts alone. There was nowhere suitable to take her for a late supper. The Bath Hotel was just up ahead but they risked being recognized. The Albany, with its eating booths, was a few blocks away but Jamie discarded the idea immediately. It was one thing to be bourgeoisie, it was another to be completely outré. The Albany housed gentleman bachelors in elite style, but it was not a place for women, even escorted women.
“Who would you pick if you could choose on your own?” Jamie guided them back up the street toward the waiting carriage. It wouldn’t do to tempt fate. He was regretting having been out this long, this far from the carriage, but the evening weather had been fine and it had been exhilarating to stroll with her down the street without a thousand eyes watching his every move and gossiping behind their fans in speculation.
How to Live Indecently Page 2
