Deliciously Hazardous (Regency Four Book 4)

by Virginia Taylor

  Her next smile was impossible to repress, mainly because she didn’t have to continue killing fish any longer. She knew someone had to, but she preferred not to be that someone. She would rather kill flowers to put them in vases. “In that case, I retire defeated.”

  He buckled the fish basket and took her rod from her, preparing to carry everything back to the house. “I suspect no one has ever defeated you.” His steady gaze landed on her mouth.

  “You are quite wrong, though I am about to turn that around. You know, if you are set on marrying a young heiress, you are looking in all the wrong places. Many a rich industrialist would love a title for his daughter.” She stared at him, narrowing her eyes against the sun behind him.

  “No doubt, but I can’t imagine living the rest of my life with a woman who had not been brought up in the only circles I know.”

  “It’s not so hard. I had no problem with Horace’s friends. He was very protective of me and made sure that I was never introduced to unsavory persons. I was treated like the Princess Royal.”

  “Whereas, if I married a cit, she would be out of her depth most of the time. She would have much to learn about landed properties and titles without anyone to teach her. My mother would be of no use. She would be horrified to have to deal with a class of person she would see as greatly inferior.”

  She spread her hands. “We are brought up this way and it is sad that we see no worth in anyone outside our social circle.”

  “It’s not so much that. I respect my employees and don’t see any lesser than I, but I am aware of my position, which is to run my life as the business that employs them.”

  “Well, let me teach you how to romance Miss Smith.”

  “I’m afraid she is in the same position as I. She hopes to marry money.”

  “Such a shame. I really want to teach you how to romance a woman.”

  He turned away from her and began to stride back to the house. “And how would you do that?” he said over his shoulder, not glancing at her.

  She managed a few quick strides and caught up to him. “I would have to show you,” she answered in a breathless voice.

  She saw the quick surprise on his chiseled face before he stopped walking. “Before you offer to teach me the country dance, I am perfectly adequate on the dance floor.”

  “Ah, but I suspect you don’t know how to take a woman into your arms and kiss her until she wants to give you her body as well as her soul.”

  “What makes you think so?” He turned to face her, his expression neither outraged nor surprised. Instead he appeared to be amused.

  “Anyone with a title and a social presence can attract a woman. I suspect you are in great demand with other people’s wives, and bored widows. However, Miss Smith and Miss Leigh, two every sweet young ladies, are more attached to Lord Hartley. I doubt you could charm either enough to have her ready to throw away her life to have you.”

  His mouth relaxed. “Oh, so now she has to throw away her life. I can see I have a lot to learn. Are you sure you are the right person to teach me?”

  She glanced to her left and then to her right. “I can’t see anyone else offering.”

  “I might be up for a lesson or two if this is to be a physical demonstration rather than some sort of prosy description.” He held her gaze.

  “Definitely physical.” She glanced at her feet, a little conscious that her cheeks had warmed. Somehow her body had heated.

  “Do you mean I would have to kiss you?”

  “Of course not. I would have to kiss you, which is far worse.”

  “I’ll think about it.” He turned away.

  “I could offer you a sample and if it works, we could go from there.” She seemed to be a little short of breath.

  He lowered the rods to the grass and carefully placed the fishing basket on top. “Will any touching be involved?”

  “Not initially.”

  He stood with his eyes closed and a pained expression on his face. Her insides began to tickle. She had never seen this humorous side of him. Usually his comebacks were swift and to the point.

  Approaching slowly, she stood for a moment only a whisper away from him. Then she placed her hands on his shoulders, lifted to her tiptoes, and brought her mouth to within an inch away from his. He would have felt her breath stirring the air around his face, and the warmth of her body, but he didn’t move. She noticed the muscles in his jaw clench.

  He filled his chest with air. “Get it over with.”

  “This is part of the whole experience. You need to feel me close to you, feel my warmth, the scent of my body.”

  “You smell like a fish,” he said between his teeth.

  “Your neck smells like wet wool, an amount of starch, and a greater amount of impatience.” She idly rubbed a thumb tip along his bristled jaw line. Her insides shivered. She had only once touched him in an intimate way before.

  He opened his eyes and reached for her hips. “This could end up being a poor idea.” With his gaze on hers, he pulled her body into his. “Do you think you can manage to kiss me now?”

  “You’re touching me.”

  “I didn’t make the rules. You did. I didn’t say I would obey them.”

  “In that case, the lesson will not start until you agree to my rules.” She pushed back against him, staring into his amber eyes.

  He used a ruthless tone, perhaps assuming she didn’t feel the rod in his breeches rising against her belly. “What’s in it for you?”

  “I want a baby.” She needed to swallow.

  Although his hands kept her hips against his, his eyes narrowed and his mouth firmed. He shook his head. “I am not going to be the father. Look elsewhere for someone to ruin you. I’m sure you won’t have a problem finding willing volunteers.”

  “Let’s be frank with each other, shall we? I am rich and I have a title. I am also not hard on the eyes. I suspect that if I put myself on the market, I would have many willing aspirants for my hand. The problem is that I am not certain if I can conceive.” Her cheeks began to warm but she realized she had spoken the truth. “I don’t want to be stuck with anyone who married me for my title and my money if he can’t give me a child.”

  “You are making a real mess of this, my girl.” His lips thinned. “If I got you with child, why would another man want to marry you?”

  “Because of all the aforementioned, my money, etcetera.”

  “We could make another deal instead.” His eyes narrowed on her face. “If I get you with child, I will marry you.”

  She couldn’t have been more astonished. He had decided to take her to bed. The breath eased out of her chest. She didn’t know whether to smile or to assume nonchalance, but first she needed to swallow. “You would be much happier with a sweet little wife you can bully.”

  “I gave up my romantic ideals a long time ago.” His face lost all expression. “Now, all I require from a wife is money and an heir. But I am not trying to convince you. I’m not at all sure I would be able to live with a woman who needles me as often as you do.”

  “You could spend my money while I look elsewhere for my entertainment. Many marriages work well this way.”

  “You are making my decision hard.”

  “Is that what you call it?” She moved her hips against him, indicating she was well aware he was fully erect.

  A crease formed on one side of his mouth. “My head and my body have a great disconnect.” He dropped his hold on her hips. “I will need to do some serious thinking about this.”

  She turned her back on him, hiding her satisfaction, never imagining she could have pushed him as far: never imagining that he was as susceptible to her womanly charms as his body had indicated. “Unfortunately, so will I. Young Lord Hartley is rather appealing. Perhaps I should try him first. If he can get me with child, he would make a perfect husband.”

  “He is almost inarticulate.” His eyebrows descended.

  “I can make up for that.”

  He took h
er upper arm and turned her around, pulling her up against him and staring down at her. “You would break his heart, and for what?” His hands settled on her waist and his eyes glinted. He stared at her, and lifted a hand to her jaw, which he smoothed with a thumb, encouraging her to lift her head. His lips slowly lowered to hers while his other hand flattened on her back.

  No more encouragement was needed for her to wrap her arms around his neck, lengthening her body to fit against his. The kiss lasted no longer than a few seconds before he lifted his head and stared deep into her eyes. Her heart thundered against his hard chest and each breath she took was forced into her lungs. “If I had known you could kiss like that, I would have snatched another long ago.”

  His thumb ran lightly across her cheek. “Do we have a deal?” he asked in a considering voice.

  “I haven’t kissed Lord Hartley yet.”

  “Hebe, you would try the patience of a saint. If I didn’t pass your selection test, let me know. Now.”

  “Don’t you think we should try more than a harmless little kiss?”

  “So, now I’m to be tested for my bedding skills, am I?” He smiled and then he began to laugh. The air echoed with a sound that she had never heard from him before. Dimpled brackets appeared beside his mouth and his eyes lengthened into glinting slits. He was finally beginning to melt. With luck, she would take him to boiling point and she would have him in her arms, perhaps not to keep, but she would certainly try.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Rydale didn’t know what to make of Hebe. He understood that she amused herself by teasing men, but he couldn’t yet differentiate between the words she meant and the words she used to entice. Like any other red-blooded male, he didn’t want to be made to look foolish. Her proposition might be one of her games and be meant to pay him back for all the times he had refused to dance to her tune. Not that he had totally changed his mind. Her morals were certainly loose, but he had always known that. Although he couldn’t say he wanted to marry a woman that most of his friends had sampled first ... though none had actually mentioned her availability. Then again, he had no right to judge. He wasn’t exactly driven snow himself.

  Since she appeared to have nothing more to say, and since he needed his body to concentrate on anything but her, he walked her back to the house in silence. After a final questioning glance, she left him at the lobby door. He took his fish basket to the kitchen and went up to his room to change, having seen a group had gathered on the lawns to play bowls. After his shirt and cravat had been refreshed and he had changed into buckskins, he strolled outside to be with the others. Hebe had not yet joined them.

  “Catch anything?” Langsdene called out to him from the garden side of the lawns.

  He made his way over. “Enough to make baked fish in wine sauce for tonight, your cook said. Lady Hebe helped. She wasn’t as much a hindrance as I had expected.” His voice sounded casual, but he found he needed to ease a finger under his starched cravat.

  “We’ll make friends of you two, see if we don’t.” Winsome smiled. “I’m sure you were friends long ago. Hebe is so easy to be with. No one ever disliked her.”

  “Except Rydale,” her husband added. “He always preferred demure types like you, my dear one.”

  “You can’t deny he has excellent taste, in that case,” answered his life’s companion, easily one of the most mischievous women in the ton. She had the sweetest of tongues and the cleverest pen in all of England, not for writing, but for drawing lampoons. No one would want to get on her bad side or they would see themselves cartooned in the daily newssheet, though these days, she rarely sent in one of her witty depictions.

  If he understood Hebe’s allusions, he had to court her if he wanted to bed her. Since his skills in that department had probably rusted a little, he wasn’t sure where to start. Unfortunately, he had always desired her, and if he didn’t make a push she would offer her delights elsewhere. Since her charms came with a fortune, he should be doubly keen to do as she wanted. However, he had no intention of deliberately impregnating any woman who was not his own. The conundrum set him thinking about a way around the problem of having her without taking her.

  A carriage load of people had arrived, mainly neighbors, and a suggestion was made by Winsome that she should open the house tonight for an impromptu supper dance. This would be sure to have her servants scurrying around, but Langsdene had never worried about trying to control her. She did as she wanted, regardless. Most of her plans seemed to fall into place.

  “It won’t be a problem at all,” she assured her guests who were already organizing times and various other people who may like to attend, too.

  Appearing quite delighted, Mrs. Rumpton, who lived nearby, glanced at her two unmarried daughters. She had also examined Rydale more than once, clearly speculating about his eligibility. With his pockets to let, he was a bad bet for either of the fresh-faced country lasses, neither of who appeared to mind. As Hebe had said, he had a title, and not only that, he also had a spare for a son.

  The other set of neighbors, showed equal enthusiasm. Winsome appeared not to see this sort of impromptu decision as out of the ordinary. Perhaps for her, it wasn’t, but Rydale had never heard of a function being organized so casually. After the whole lot had rumbled off in various conveyances, and Mrs. Rumpton and her daughters had hurried away on foot, Hebe arrived. She had changed out of her walking gown into a flimsy creation in blue. When she stood against the sun, he could see the whole shape of her body. Hartley certainly did. He crossed to her and engaged her in conversation.

  Swallowing his annoyance, Rydale turned back to Rose Temple. Winsome joined them, speaking pointedly to Rose. “You will do your share of singing tonight, and Della will play the piano.”

  “Naturally,” Rose said, curling a finger under her chin. “Miss Smith has a lovely voice. Perhaps she would join me in a duet.”

  Hebe deserted Hartley and joined the two. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask me.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “If you plan on singing, warn us all first so that we can find another room to occupy for the duration.” Della Thornton gave a crack of laughter.

  “Too cruel.” Lady Hebe tried to look miserable but made a particularly poor showing. “No one ever lets me contribute to the entertainments.”

  Winsome hugged her. “Your greatest contribution is not singing and we will be more than grateful if you refrain.”

  The four ladies convulsed with laughter while the other guests smiled in a puzzled way. “Of course, now we all want to hear her sing,” Rydale said, catching Hebe’s quick glance.

  “No, you don’t,” three of the ladies said in a chorus.

  Hebe’s chin tilted up. “Perhaps I should sing specially for Lord Rydale.”

  Winsome shook her head. “Please do,” she said, her laughter making her gasp. “But make sure the rest of us are not within hearing distance.”

  Hebe moved close to Rydale’s side and slipped her arm beneath his as if he was about to take a pleasant stroll with her. “You are a perfect gentleman, Rydale, because you didn’t laugh, too. I think I shall have to spare you.”

  He surprised himself by grinning down at her. Apparently, he couldn’t help but be charmed by her. She couldn’t be held responsible for the fact that other men were, too. Aside from that, he was still wavering about sharing her bed. On the one hand, yes. On the other—may he go straight to hell—God, yes.

  After an early dinner, the guests entered the wooden paneled music room, which the servants had cleared for dancing. A string quartet and a piano sat at one end and a lace-clothed supper table at the other. Three sets of chandeliers lit the area, bolstering the wavering light from the wall sconces. A sparkling crystal punch bowl sat replete with pineapple, oranges, lemons, and strawberries, but more than likely not any brandy.

  Della began an amazing rendition on the piano, while Rose picked up a music sheet. A few violinists were beginning to assemble—where Winsome found them, he
don’t know, but the dancing would begin soon. He glanced across to Lady Hebe, and her physical attributes, which included her face and those she had barely concealed by her tight puce bodice, caused a sudden hard thumping in his chest.

  Knowing he couldn’t resist her, he crossed the floor and stood in front of her. “May I book the last dance of the evening?”

  “When you are hoping I will be worn out?”

  “When I am hoping I will see you not very much later.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “How much later?”

  “After everyone has retired for the night.”

  “You have accepted my offer?”

  “Apparently. I will come to your room.”

  “I will try to stay awake, in that case.” She flipped a nonchalant hand. “If you don’t wish to be my first partner, go away and beg someone else so that I can look appealingly available. I don’t want to cause any gossip.”

  “Would you allow me to pour you a glass of punch first?”

  “Oh, yes. I forgot your scrupulous manners. Certainly pour me a glass of punch. No, don’t. Lord Hartley is approaching with one. Off you go.” She smiled over his shoulder at young Hartley.

  Squaring his shoulders, he left and immediately asked Miss Corinne Gordon to dance with him.

  And spent the rest of the evening longing for the end.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Hebe arranged herself carefully on the bed, her hair loose over her shoulders, the drape of her watered silk nightgown beautifully lit by a candle reflected in the mirror opposite. She waited, her heart thundering while she counted to a hundred, and then hundreds more, the hollow in her chest expanding by the second. Her neck ached with tension. If he didn’t come soon, she would die of nervous exhaustion.

  On that thought, the floorboards creaked outside her door. Panicked, she sat up, ruining the whole effect of the practiced flirt awaiting her lover in the dead of night. While her mind knew this, her sudden fear that she would appear nervous dried out her mouth. She couldn’t let Rydale know that she’d never had a lover before him. He wasn’t the type to be interested in teaching an innocent the ways of the world.