How to Live Indecently

by Bronwyn Scott

  “Someone who loved me.” Daphne said after a moment of thought.

  “Not someone you loved?” Jamie prompted, his eyes trained on a set of shadows to his left. He was certain they were being followed. The carriage was only half a block away now. He was missing the comfort of his swordstick. He never went walking at night without it, but he’d not anticipated needing it when he’d gone downstairs to the ball that evening.

  “Well, I’d prefer that too, but if I could only choose one, I’d choose the former. I could grow to love him if he loved me.” There was a sadness to her answer. Jamie was tempted to probe, but his shadows were inching nearer.

  “I think we have company.” He jerked his head slightly to the left to indicate the two followers. I haven’t any weapons on my person but there may be a pistol—”

  “No matter, I have a dagger,” Daphne interrupted. She gave him a quick nod to indicate she’d seen the men in question.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I have a knife. Now shut up and kiss me, you can beg later.”

  * * *

  Her night had been going swimmingly. It was not about to be ruined by footpads who were probably no more than oversize bullies. Daphne didn’t wait for a response. She turned into Jamie, pulled his head toward her and kissed him full on the mouth. He resisted fractionally out of surprise, but she reached up to suck his earlobe, whispering, “It’s under my skirts. Get it.”

  Jamie understood the ruse all too well. “Ah, the old ‘young swain and strumpet’ routine,” he growled, getting into his part with vigor. They’d reached the back end of the carriage. Jamie hoisted her onto the back step where the tiger would stand, and rucked her skirts up to her knees, his bulk blocking the men’s view of her. But she could see them over his shoulder while she ran her fingers through his hair and sucked on his ear, Jamie’s hands hot on her legs.

  “They’re hesitating,” she whispered.

  “Of course they are. They can’t make up their minds whether or not to attack a man while he’s busy making love to a woman.” Jamie’s voice was excitedly hoarse. In spite of the danger, Daphne’s breath caught as his fingers slowly, deliberately, slid the small dagger out of its sheath, letting his hand linger at the curve of her calf. She felt entirely wanton in that moment. She had her skirts up and a man standing intimately between her legs on Piccadilly, doing decadent things to her calf with his fingers and she liked it. More than that, Jamie liked it. His dark eyes glittered with dangerous desire.

  “I would gladly oblige if we had the time,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to press a kiss against her throat but his body was tense and alert beneath her hands, waiting for a signal that action was imminent.

  “Oh, no, they’re moving.” Her hands stilled on his shoulders. The two shadows became hulking forms of men as they edged closer.

  “Stay behind me and don’t panic,” Jamie instructed before he turned sharply and faced their assailants, the blade of her dagger gleaming in the streetlight.

  “Good evening, gentlemen, is there something I can help you with?” There was dangerous steel to Jamie’s voice that suggested he was not to be trifled with

  “We’re here to lighten your pockets, guv’nor.” One of the men brandished a club. Daphne felt herself shrink back against the carriage despite her best efforts toward bravery, but Jamie made a ‘come on and test me’ gesture with his hands. “You’re welcome to try.” He took a step forward, putting distance between the oncoming fight and her. The man with the club swung first on Jamie’s right. Daphne swallowed her scream and the fight was engaged.

  It lasted only a minute or two. The men were bullies and had not been expecting a fight. Jamie had been. Jamie had disarmed the man with the club with a slash of the dagger and his fists. Then he turned his attentions on the other with a sharp, disabling jab to his stomach and another to his nose, resulting in a flow of crimson. It was enough to send the pair scurrying down the nearest alley clutching their wounds.

  Daphne gripped the carriage wheel for balance. She wasn’t squeamish by nature, but neither had she ever experienced that kind of bloody violence up close. Laughing, teasing, mischievous, handsome Jamie with his endless repository of knowledge of Egyptian sex practices had done that. Jamie faced her, triumphant.

  “You made them bleed,” she managed to get out.

  He gave a cocky half grin and strode toward her, bracketing her against the carriage with his hands. “Have I shocked you?”

  Daphne steadied herself, the initial surprise of the violence starting to pass. “As a wise man once said, ‘Only in the best possible way.’”

  Jamie laughed. “Good, because I am about to shock you again.” She hardly had time to breathe before he pulled her to him in a fierce kiss, the warrior inside him still very much alive in the aftermath of the fight. He pressed against her, his arousal hard and insistent against the apex of her thighs as his hands bunched her skirts.

  “Do you mean to ‘oblige me’ in the middle of the street?” She whispered, well aware her own legs were wrapped about him, encouraging just such a thing.

  “I mean to put the dagger in its sheath.” Jamie’s voice was full of unmistakable innuendo as his hands slid the little blade home with metaphoric intent.

  Daphne trembled at the wickedness of his gesture. Her instincts had not been wrong. She was safe with him. He’d proven that to her in the most literal way possible. With her dagger and his fists he’d defended her, saved her. The footpads might have been asking for Jamie’s money, but they wouldn’t have stopped there. He’d been fighting for her as much as himself. A man fighting for his woman was a potent aphrodisiac indeed, one that sent her pulse racing and her better judgment to the hinterlands of her conscience.

  She was safe with him. Was she safe from him? Did she want to be safe from him?

  What a glorious madness this was turning out to be. If only this night could last forever.

  Chapter Five

  The Strand, 11:00 p.m.

  Hell’s teeth! He’d nearly taken her in the middle of Piccadilly! One could not call what he’d been about to do “making love’ by any extent of the definition. There was enough of the gentleman left in him to know the difference, which is why he was now driving them onward trying to ignore the extremely painful state of arousal that had taken up residence in his trousers. What he needed was food and activity to take his mind off his charming companion and he knew just where to find it; the Coal Hole on the Strand.

  Jamie turned the horses west onto New Street toward the Strand and tried for conversation. The most obvious question being, “Are you going to tell me why you brought a concealed weapon to a ball?”

  Apparently the obvious question didn’t have an obvious answer, from the way Daphne fussed with her skirts, taking overly long to settle them, searching for an answer. Apparently, this wasn’t a subject she wanted to pursue, which made it all the more interesting. “You make it sound like I was plotting murder.”

  Jamie steered the team out onto a narrow street. “You have to admit it seems an odd accessory compared to a fan and a beaded reticule.”

  “A girl can’t defend herself as well with those.”

  Jamie shot her a knowing glance. “Does a girl have a need to?”

  “On occasion. It’s nice to be prepared, as you will agree from our recent encounter.” Daphne gave an exaggerated sniff of superiority that made Jamie laugh. He was acutely aware he’d been laughing a lot this evening, a rather unusual occurrence but one he wholeheartedly enjoyed. It was clear conversation wasn’t going to get him any relief. He tried food.

  “I’m hungry, how about you? I know a place that serves hot meals until two in the morning.” A half hour ago he’d been thinking the Albany too scurrilous for her. Now he was dragging her off to decidedly middle-class entertainment. Perhaps it was because they’d already been set upon by footpads. Nothing worse could really happen. Perhaps he was still carried away on the tides of his adrenaline. The fight, the kiss,
the discovery of a knife up Daphne’s skirts, had all been fuel to his masculine fire. He needed to do something physical before he exploded.

  The Coal Hole was in Fountain Court. He and Riordan had frequented it on occasion, not enough to be recognized but enough to know its clientele: actors, artists, a few clerks and the coal carters that had given the place its name. It was definitely not a place to take a society miss. Actors and artists could drink too much and get up to mischief just as well as anyone else. But if her earlier behavior was any indication, Daphne needed a physical outlet for the energy coursing through her as badly as he did.

  Jamie tooled into Fountain Court, his conscience demanding he give Daphne a choice. “It’s a song and supper room,” he explained, waiting for a polite protest on her part, but none came.

  “If it’s too much, just tell me,” Jamie prodded, giving her permission to demur. “If I’ve gone too far—”

  She cut him off with one of her radiant smiles. “That’s the thing about adventures. You can never go too far.”

  He’d like to argue with that. He nearly had gone too far back in Piccadilly with his hands under her skirts. But her excitement was contagious and he was in no mood to be good for both of them. The Coal Hole it would be. He grinned and winked. “Come on, Daphne, let’s go to a real party.”

  * * *

  A real party indeed! It was more than that, it was heaven. Daphne didn’t know what to pay attention to first; the music, the food, the decor. The musician in her decided for her; it would be the music.

  The hall was alive with raucous late-night energy of people having unfettered fun unbound by the rules of Mayfair and she wanted to be part of it. The massive head table set at the front of the room was filled with people singing over their supper plates to the accompaniment of a violin. Her own fingers itched to play, to join in the fun. Would she dare it, given the opportunity?

  Jamie ushered her forward, her gaze unsure where to look first as they passed through the room. Lavish red drapes with gold fringe hung at the windows and the tables were elegantly set with silver that suited a Belgravia mansion.

  Was it really possible to simply walk into such a place? “Don’t we have to pay to get in?” Daphne whispered, shaking some of her awe.

  “No, but you have to pay to get out.” Jamie chuckled, his voice close to her ear to be heard above the noise. “John Rhodes, the proprietor, makes his profit on ‘wet money,’ money from selling food and drink, and with his prices, he makes plenty of it. But the food is good, better the usual pub fare.” He gestured toward the extensive buffet running the length of the left side of the room. “Come help yourself, the oysters here are excellent.”

  The buffet was a feast for the eyes, platters piled high with chops, beefsteaks, deviled kidneys and immaculate oysters on the half shell. She had no idea how to eat an oyster, but Jamie laughingly filled her plate with them.

  “I doubt the Starry Night ball is serving any of this.” Daphne joked as they finished with the buffet line.

  “To their great loss. Oysters beat lobster patties any night.” Jamie flashed a wink. “Let’s find a table.”

  Daphne surveyed the great, crowded room. She knew exactly where she wanted to sit; as close to the singing as possible. “There’s a table down front.” She didn’t wait for Jamie’s answer before she began wending her way forward toward the table. She wanted to be as close to the activity as possible. A violinist had begun to play a quick tune and people had gotten up to dance in a cleared space. These were not the sedate tunes haunting Mayfair musicales. Her hands longed to join in. She could almost feel the instrument in her hand, the bow in her fingers.

  “Are you sure you want to be this close?” Jamie asked, joining her at the table, but she could see he was thrilled over her choice, his own energy bristling and potent in this vibrant place. He shrugged out of his coat before sitting and she wished she could do the same, but there was no way to disguise her blue ball gown for anything other than what it was.

  “A pretty woman is never overdressed.” Jamie whispered, putting her worries at ease. “You look fine. Now, try an oyster.” He pushed one forward on her plate, laughing in good humor when she reached for a fork. He trapped her hand with his. “Watch and learn, Daphne. Tonight, no forks, just slurping.” He took one from his own plate to demonstrate, swallowing it down with enviable élan.

  “There’s nothing better than oysters in season.” He grinned, picking up another oyster, mischief on the make in his eyes. Your turn.” Jamie held the shell for her, making it sensually clear he meant to feed her, his eyes dark, his voice low and seductive as he brought the wide end of the shell to her lips and tipped it. “Take one bite on the way down and let it fill your mouth with its flavor.”

  She held his eyes over the plate, taking the oyster full into her mouth, and chewed once while Jamie whispered hotly, “Tell me what you taste.” This was a dangerous, decadent game they played, hands brushing lips, mouths speaking words that seemed to take on entirely different meanings, the oysters a metaphor for something far more sexual. Desire for kisses, for touches like the ones he’d lavished on her in Piccadilly fired her blood.

  “Salty. Like the sea,” she managed to answer. Jamie’s darkening eyes were nearly as distracting as the fingers he’d left at her lips. Without thinking, she flicked her tongue across her lips and licked the tips of those lingering fingers.

  “Temptress.” Jamie grinned wickedly and her breath caught, her desire intensifying at the thought she could tempt a man such as he. She wanted to tempt him, wanted to seduce him. The notion was entirely wanton and once it took root in her mind, it was impossible to dislodge.

  Jamie stood up to get them another round of drinks during a break in the singing and the music. “I’ll be back in a moment. Will you be all right?”

  From the corner of her eye she spied a spare violin lying propped against the head table. The question came again: Did she dare? Daphne smiled up at Jamie. “I’ll be fine.” She’d be more than fine. She had a plan. When he came back she was going to seduce him.She had her answer. She would dare it and more.

  Chapter Six

  The Coal Hole was doing a brisk business and the place was crowded as Jamie made his way to the bar. Brown ale at the Coal Hole beat any champagne at his mother’s ball. He could hear snatches of John Rhodes cajoling the crowd in his deep baritone to provide some entertainment from the masses amid the general laughter.

  “What’ll it be, mister?” the barkeep called over the general din.

  “Brown ale and cool cider,” Jamie yelled. Around him the volume of the room seemed to swell and then the cry went through the crowd. “Lady up!”

  Jamie turned in mild amusement to see who John Rhodes had coaxed to the front, and stalled. Lucifer’s balls, it was Daphne. Mild amusement turned to outright delight at the sight of her with her disheveled hair and blue dress atop the singer’s table. Jamie let out a whoop. Now, this was a party.

  “That your woman?” a man asked beside him at the bar.

  “Lord, yes!” Jamie laughed, calling to the barkeep good-naturedly, “Hurry up with those drinks, that’s my woman up there!” Around him, men he didn’t know slapped him on the back and called him a lucky man. Because of her. Not because he was the Folkestone heir. He hadn’t been Viscount Knole for several hours now and he found he liked it quite a bit. Tonight it was enough to be her man.

  Jamie grabbed up the tankards and made his way back to the table, his eyes mesmerized by the sight of her as he sloshed through the crowd. Daphne was riveting. She’d grabbed up a violin, much to the thrill of the crowd, and had joined the other musician in a set of Cornish country dances.

  His Daphne was a performer nonpareil, her bow flying across the strings, her hand confident on the neck of the violin. He hardened at the thought of that confident hand on him. The rest of her body swayed artfully with the tempo, an invitation to any hot-blooded male.

  The area around the singers’ table was throng
ed, but she saw him over the top of the crowd. Suddenly, she gave a final slice of the bow and passed the violin down into waiting hands in exchange for a tankard of someone’s ale. Her eyes met his and held, a wild light lit those blue eyes as she took a healthy quaff; yes, a quaff, there was no other way to describe it. This was no missish sip. She swallowed to the crowd’s applause. A dare took her mouth in a temptress’s smile. She tossed her head and crooked her finger at him like the most sensual of courtesans calling her lover.

  Jamie didn’t hesitate, his arousal at an all-time high. The crowd cleared a path and he sprang to the table, taking her in a dramatic kiss that had the crowd roaring its approval. He swept her into a waltz step, the remaining violinist changing his tune to match.

  This would be no ordinary waltz. He would claim her with this dance, making it clear he was her only partner. A woman like Daphne was dangerous. The man who would hold her must always be prepared to fight for her, especially in circumstance like these.

  Jamie paid no heed to the Mayfair rules. There was no polite distance between their bodies, his hips pressed against hers in pursuit as he danced her backward along the length of the table, noting how the music changed to something more exotic. There was a foreign, gypsy flavor to it now.

  Daphne stepped back from him, head and skirts held high, her eyes flashing as she danced on her own, a dance of subtle movement, of hips and shoulders, of feet executing a complicated pattern beneath her lifted skirts. The dance teased, flirted, invited. And Jamie answered, his body accepting the invitation. His arms were above his head, hands clapping a steady rhythm, his hips answering her invitation. Those matrons in Mayfair who feared dancing was a wicked sexual allegory would have been very much affirmed in those beliefs if they’d seen the good viscount’s display.