Deliciously Hazardous (Regency Four Book 4)

by Virginia Taylor

  He watched in a deep breathing silence while she took the stairs to her room.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Hebe changed for dinner, aching and a little stiff because of the fall. She also noticed an incipient bruise on her hip which, sadly, judging by Rydale’s reaction to her veiled offer, no one but she would ever see. “Did you manage to open my jewelry case, Flora?”

  “No, ma’am. At least we know your jewels are safe.”

  Hebe suppressed a rueful sigh. If her virtue was a jewel, the analogy worked well for her. She was totally safe from Rydale. “Not if someone steals the whole case, which I am not expecting. I don’t believe that any of my friends would steal from me, and I’m certain that the servants wouldn’t consider such a thing. But it’s such a shame. I have some lovely pieces and now, when I have a suitable place to show them off, I can’t.” She sighed. Her comparisons to her person worsened by the second.

  “I haven’t given up hope of borrowing a key, but you can see the problem, can’t you, ma’am?”

  Hebe stared at her face in the mirror. Her features were not unappealing and her body had barely been touched. “Of course. If a key opens my case and that of another, it makes a key superfluous.” Perhaps Rydale had never wanted her, even when she was younger. Back then, he was certainly offered many bedroom invitations. Her offer today hadn’t disturbed a hair on his burnished head. “When we get back to town, I should be able to have another made. It won’t be the end of the world if I have to sit down for dinner unadorned.” She examined her hair. The natural curl had come alive with the wetting and, in fact, the tendrils around her face would need no encouragement to look quite perfect, despite the fact that her looks didn’t attract Rydale.

  Flora brushed out the length and then began a twist that would need few clips to keep in place. Within minutes, Hebe’s hair sat in a mass of curls at the top of her head. A few ringlets escaped around her hairline, softening her face. Again, she only had pearl eardrops to adorn her evening gown of gold satin, embellished with an overskirt of cream lace. She pulled on her long white gloves, and left for the drawing room.

  Being almost the last to arrive, she made an entrance. Everyone turned to glance at her, many with concern in their eyes. Della walked over to her and took her hand. “I hear you had a tumble from your horse. I hope you didn’t hurt yourself too badly.”

  “Only my pride, Della. I’m not used to falling in the mud. I have been a very spoilt woman for the past few years and it is almost a treat not to be watched over as if I might crumple when not supervised.”

  “I hear Lord Rydale galloped off to the rescue.” Miss Smith had possibly missed the episode, having been well shielded in the carriage on the way back from the picnic.

  “I’m not sure if he was Sir Galahad or Sir Gallopmad. He chased me quite a distance and when he caught me, I was already grounded and my horse was happily munching grass in a nearby paddock.”

  Miss Smith clasped her dainty hands together and made a perfectly charming face of sympathy. “He is quite the hero.”

  “He would have to be, don’t you think? He not only had to retrieve my horse, but he had to lift me back into the saddle.” She knew Rydale would eventually need to turn and glance at her, and she admired the fact that he managed to resist for so long. Finally, she caught his eye and, of course, his polished manners meant he needed to come over to her.

  “You seem to have recovered from your ordeal, Lady Hebe.” He bowed, carefully refraining from glancing at her cleavage.

  Since he was the only man in the room who was determined not to look, next time, she would make sure she lowered her neckline especially for him. The others accepted that she had breasts like any other normal woman, but he couldn’t cope with the sight. Unfortunately, the sight of him made her insides melt. She had always thought he was the most attractive man of her acquaintance and her mind hadn’t changed during the past years. His hair sat perfectly in place, his sideburns had been expertly clipped, his skin was as smooth as the top of the cream bowl, and those brandy colored eyes of his were expertly framed with thick stubby eyelashes.

  Today she had also seen him without a jacket. His toned athletic body, even now in her memory, shortened her breath. She imagined him naked and her body began to warm. Suddenly, she needed to swallow. “I have a particularly nasty bruise, Rydale. A lady would never mention where.”

  “Do enlighten us.” He smoothed a crease in one of his carefully starched cuffs.

  Miss Smith glanced at him, her mouth not quite closed. “You shouldn’t ask,” she said in a shocked whisper. “She already said she mustn’t mention where.”

  “Lady Hebe doesn’t abide by society’s rules.” His perfect eyebrows lifted as he glanced at the naive debutant, who would surely not be the right wife for him.

  Miss Smith glanced back helplessly at Hebe.

  “He has known me forever, Miss Smith. And he had stop seeing me as a lady, if he ever did, since he had to haul me around like a sack of potatoes today. But I forgive him, because all in all, he is a gentleman. He not only rescued me, but he took me to shelter and brought me back safely. You can’t fault that.”

  “Indeed. The other gentlemen were prepared to follow, but Lord Langsdene said Lord Rydale could handle you.”

  “The earl is a very fine judge of character. Lord Rydale can. If only Lord Rydale could find a key for me, he would be quite perfect.”

  “Are you still unable to open that case?” He queried her with his gaze.

  “As you see. I am unadorned, yet again.”

  His eyebrows lowered, and the somewhat bland expression on his face indicated he was considering her words. “Since I aim to be to be quite perfect, Lady Hebe, I will look more deeply into the matter. Would you trust me with your jewelry case?”

  “Do you mean you wish to remove it from my possession?”

  “That is exactly what I mean.”

  If only he knew her analogy.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Rydale knocked on Lady Hebe’s bedroom door next morning to return the jewelry box, after spending half the night puzzling out how to pick the lock. Surprisingly, she opened the door herself. He ran his gaze over her, realizing her beauty was innate and she needed little decoration. No piece of jewelry could take the place of the way her green eyes lit with enthusiasm when she spoke. Her smile reminded him that spring would arrive each year to renew his interest in life. She wore a pink silk dressing robe that covered her from her neck to her toes, and her dark auburn hair tumbled like a waterfall over her shoulders.

  Pretending she wasn’t in a state of dishabille, and assuming the conversation would echo all the way down to the end of the hallway, he nodded without greeting her. “It’s done,” he said, putting the box into her ready hands, “but without the key you can’t lock it again. You will need to find another place to keep your valuables. I suspect Winsome would have a safe you could use.”

  “Thank you, Lord Rydale.” She inspected the lid. “How on earth did you open it without damaging the lock?”

  “I managed to re-activate it.”

  Her mischievous gaze met his. “Dear Lord Rydale, how very disreputable you are. Where did you learn to do that trick?”

  “Trial and error, Lady Hebe.” He bowed courteously and left for the breakfast parlor. Lock-picking wasn’t one of his talents, but once he had started, he discovered that he wouldn’t let a piece of frippery defeat him.

  Although he’d had little sleep while pondering the problem, the morning sky outside shone a clear blue with no sign of clouds, and the steaming loaf of bread on the breakfast table looked particularly appetizing. He could almost say his mood this morning was one of satisfaction. He smiled at Miss Smith.

  Apparently seeing him in a reasonable mood perplexed her for a moment and then she flashed her guileless smile back at him. “It is promising to be a beautiful day,” she said, turning to take a hot scone from the tray being offered by Max, the footman.

  “I agree with
your prediction.” As man who rarely discussed anything as mundane as the weather, Rydale surprised himself. “Does the countess have anything planned for us today?”

  From across the table, Winsome glanced up at him, a wicked smile on her face. “Rescuing fair maidens must suit you, Alex. Usually you are such a grouch in the mornings.”

  “Which is why speaking to people before midday has not been my habit for many years.”

  “That is exactly what I mean.” Winsome accepted a dish of curled pats of butter from Max. “As for plans this morning, I usually leave my guests to do as they wish. We could have a game of bowls on the lawn, or the gentlemen could go fishing. We also have a billiards’ table, but I think that sort of thing is better left for later in the day. Do you have anything you wish to add to the list, Alex?”

  “I am in the mind to fish in your well-stocked stream.”

  “Perhaps you would teach me to fish?” said a sultry voice as a waft of roses in the form of Lady Hebe sat herself beside him.

  “I doubt I would have the patience,” he answered politely, his heart thumping a little louder than before. How the seductive widow had managed to dress and put her hair up in fashionable curls in the time since he had last seen her, he couldn’t imagine. She had made good use of her jewelry box and wore a simple malachite necklace set with gold, and matching earrings. Her gown was a pale watery blue.

  “I suspect your patience is not as lacking as you insist. He managed to open my jewelry box for me,” she said to everyone with a smile that she had somehow packed with innuendo. “Without a key. Now everyone else needs to watch out for his or her valuables. We have an eminent lock-picker in our midst.”

  He turned to her, trying to disguise his amusement. “Your gratitude overwhelms me.”

  “Don’t be silly, Rydale. I would trust you with my life. I did, yesterday, as it happens.”

  “You were in no danger of being killed, Lady Hebe. You have a well rounded rump to cushion you if your horse tosses you off.” He cut off a bite of omelet.

  “But if I should break my neck ...”

  “Your mare would need to stand in line. I suspect many a person would be delighted to get in ahead of her.”

  She laughed. “I’m supremely grateful that not only have you refrained, but you have saved me from a thorough soaking, and you have restored my jewelry to me. You are my hero of the moment.” She patted his hand in a motherly way that nevertheless sent his body into alert mode. “Is he not heroic, Winsome?”

  “I have never seen him in quite that light, but perhaps I should now.”

  “We must reward him with an hour or two of fishing, in that case.” Her husband, Langsdene, grinned at Rydale, not at all worried that if his friend went fishing, he would now be obliged to take Lady Hebe with him.

  Rydale glanced at her. “You don’t really want to learn how to fish, do you, Lady Hebe?”

  “Not if you don’t want my company.” She stared at her hands in her lap, her expression downcast. Faked, of course. “I’m determined to be nice to you today.”

  He leaned to murmur into her ear, trying to ignore the fact one of her loose curls tickled his cheek, reminding him too easily that she was an available woman. “Your acting skills are lost on me. I know how manipulative you are.”

  She reared back, her eyes widened with the innocence she had lost long before she married. “You wrong me, my lord.”

  Perhaps he did. Perhaps he didn’t. No matter. He straightened his posture and reverted to his normal voice. “If you really want to learn how to fish, I would be pleased to accept your company.”

  Then she decided to stare at him, as if considering her answer. Her lower lip jutted. “No, you wouldn’t. I will leave you to your idle pleasures. I’m sure I can be of some use to Winsome.” She managed an exquisite expression of disappointment, her eyes blinking rapidly and her mouth a little askew.

  Exasperated, he turned to the younger lady on his other side. “Would you like me to teach you how to fish, Miss Smith?”

  “Oh, dear me, no. I couldn’t bear the sight of those poor little fish caught on hooks.”

  “But Lady Hebe is wishful to catch a fish on her hook.” He managed a sideways glance at the lady.

  “Only a certain fish, Lord Rydale. I don’t want an ordinary one. I want a fish who appreciates being caught by me. I will stun him before he dies and he will never know what happened to him.”

  He squared his shoulders. Her blatant allusions caused his thoughts to wander into hazardous territory . “You could be sorry,” he said to a slice of toast.

  “I’m bound to be, but if I don’t try, I will wonder all my life what fishing is all about.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Hebe desperately wanted Rydale, even if only as a lover, but she knew he would fight her every step of the way. He had a puritanical streak a mile wide, and he had never approved of her. Because of that, she had made up her non-existent vices long ago to aggravate him. If he had discussed her with any other gentleman in the past, he would have found she was as pure as a newly opened daffodil. Or was. Of course, she had married in the meantime and had discovered a few vices she had never previously known about.

  Not that she hadn’t loved Horace. She had, as a friend, when he ceased his night-time visits to her. After he had made his shame-faced confession known that he was in love with another man, ‘his best friend,’, he treated her like a queen. He had apologized profusely, justifying that he had hidden his other life because he had honestly wanted a child. That was not to be. Although she mourned the lack as much as he, she had far more happily played the role of his hostess.

  As for Rydale, he wanted a young, fertile heiress. If he tried, he could have any number but he treated all the sweet hopefuls the same way he treated Primrose Smith—as if she were a precious doll, rather than a desirable woman. A precious doll would not suit a man like Rydale, who had a brain as well as a fit, muscular body, and a healthy appetite for women.

  The latter interested Hebe as much as the formers. She knew now what she had missed. If Hebe could at least teach him how to charm a woman, he would have more of a chance to reach his goal. And in the meantime, she was determined to reach hers, to finally have him as her lover, if not her husband.

  Perhaps the proper place for this sort of intrigue was not in the country home of her friend, but she needed to at least start him thinking.

  She changed into a walking gown, the sturdiest outfit she had, although she knew she wasn’t dressed for fishing, or not for fish, at least.

  Rydale met her downstairs and cast his eyes over her gown. “You will regret this, you know.”

  “I may not.” She raised her chin.

  “I have made enquiries. Langsdene says he had a pair of old boots that may fit you. Winsome seems to think that you can fish wearing a gown. You likely can if you stand on the edges, but if you catch anything large, you will need to leave the landing to me.”

  “I will do exactly as I am told,” she said, following him. “I don’t wish to spoil your sport.”

  He led her to the back lobby where he indicated a pair of scruffy boots she could put on, which presumably belonged to Winsome. Holding his shoulder, she stepped into each. “Hm, these could have been made for me. Very comfortable.”

  His eyes narrowed suspiciously. He grabbed a bag full of heaven-knew-what and two fishing rods from the corner of the room. She followed him outside and across purple fields of flowering teasel and chicory, through a green thicket, and to a rushing brook with a shallow edge. Her feet had hurt before she started. “I should have worn my own shoes until we arrived here.”

  “You would not have liked clumping through the pastures in your delicate footwear.” He set his bag on the grassy riverbank and began pulling out bits and pieces.

  Realizing that she would have to take this seriously, she watched and listened while he explained. “Sounds easy enough. I simply have to stand here with the line in the water waiting for a fish to take
the bait.”

  He glanced at her from beneath his eyebrows. “Unlikely,” he said in a patient voice. “Fish need to be encouraged.”

  “Is this what we call a metaphor?”

  His mouth twitched. This bright and sunny morning, he was in a more mellow space than she had ever seen him. She liked him this way but she also liked him when he was arrogant and annoying. The challenge of him had always intrigued her.

  He showed her how to settle the bait. Taking a deep breath, she put a slimy worm on her hook and cast her line in the stream, as he did. He looked surprised. “Well done,” he said. “Now stop talking.”

  “I haven’t been talking,” she answered indignantly. “I have been listening to you talk.”

  He didn’t answer. He simply stood with his line in the water. When he flicked a fish out of the water, he took the scaly wriggler off the hook and put the corpse into his reed basket. Fortunately, she didn’t catch one. He caught another and then another in quick succession. That appeared to satisfy him and he turned to her. “Cast your line again but first we need to check your bait since you haven’t caught anything yet.”

  She reeled in her line and sure enough, her clever worm had escaped. Hoping the next would be as wily, she added another, and cast her line back in. Unfortunately, she caught a fish. Suppressing her queasiness, she added the poor creature to Alex’s basket.

  “You’ve proved your point.” His rod lay at his feet. “Do you want to return now?”

  “Heavens, no. I can’t let you catch more than I did. I will have to stay here all day if that is how long it takes me to beat you.” She managed a smug smile.

  Offering her his superior, eyebrow-lifted expression, he pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his breeches and rocked back on his heels. “I would make sure that I stayed one fish ahead of you, even if I had to remain here for a week.”