“My lord, I thought I made myself clear when we spoke. I do not wish to engage in the sort of conversation you think I am interested in. Now, if you want to talk about the fine weather we are having or the books we are purportedly here to discuss or...oh!” She squeaked in surprise as Edwin’s mouth came crashing down on hers.
It was an angry kiss, one borne of frustration and loneliness. She could only hold her breath until his fury subsided; when it finally abated, he drew his head back, looking into her eyes with a golden hunger.
“Miss Stanhope, Titania, you cannot tell me my reputation has so ruined me in your eyes you cannot abide my presence. Please, tell me there is another reason so I can hope to find at least one honest woman in the world.” His ferocious tone changed midway to an anxious query.
She could not say a word, could not lie to him as she knew she must, so she did the only thing that felt true: she reached up for his neck with the one hand he hadn’t captured while holding her mouth up to be kissed. Edwin took her invitation as greedily as a drowning man takes air, his kiss as ardent and caring as the previous one had been charged with anger.
She opened her lips to allow his tongue entrance. He licked her lips lightly, then delved into her warm mouth, plundering its recesses until Titania thought she might faint from the sheer pleasure. One hand moved to support her back while his other released her wrist in search of much more dangerous territory. He slid his hand up her waist to the underside of her breast, which he grasped with his palm as his fingers hunted for her nipple. It was easy to find; the peak strained against the thin fabric of her gown, and he drew lazy circles around it with his finger until he finally rubbed his finger across its surface, drawing a smothered moan from Titania.
She reached up to hold on tighter to his shoulders, their massive bulk strong against her hands, and she kissed him deeper, using her tongue on him as he had on her. She was astonished to find herself losing control, succumbing to this man’s caresses like the most wanton of women.
Her thoughts stopped their brief wandering as he maneuvered her against the wall of the small room. As he started to pull up her skirt, her breath coming in shorter and shorter bursts, a small noise startled them—it sounded like glass shattering in the other room—and they drew apart, staring at each other as their breathing grew more quiet. Titania held her fingers up to her mouth. They were swollen and sore.
“You understand now, my lord, why I think it best we not meet under these circumstances.” She grabbed her skirts and fled the room, knowing if she said anymore, she would be begging him to finish what he had started.
Edwin stared, forcing himself not to chase after her. Confound it! This kind of situation was exactly what he had promised himself would never happen again. He tried to keep his mind occupied by thinking steadfastly of his favorite battle tactics.
His traitorous mind insisted, however, on drifting back to his broken-nosed Titania, a woman he had been struck by—literally and figuratively—as soon as she had barreled into his chest. By the time he actually knew each her name, he was enthralled. Tonight’s events were sure indication he was not in control of his destiny and emotions nearly as much as he thought.
Edwin attempted to straighten his cravat, smiling as he recalled how it had gotten mussed. His heart did a flip as he saw Titania gesticulating wildly to Lord George. Apparently, she was trying to extricate her escort from a pastry so she could depart, most likely before seeing him again.
Edwin did not attempt to speak with her again; right now, she was as skittish as he, and he needed to think. If he could only keep his mind on the parts above the neck that fascinated him, it would not be quite as hard to maintain some sort of nonchalance. As it was, his heart was in danger of being captivated. Again. Would the result be less disastrous than the first time?
Chapter 9
“Can you hurry, please?” Titania urged her companions. She spotted Lord Gratwick and gave Miss Tynte a little push. She wasn’t in the mood for his version of oily charm. She grabbed Lord George’s arm, pulling it to haul him along as she walked quickly to the door of the town house. When they had finally all been bundled into the carriage, she sank back on the squabs in relief. Her mouth felt bruised where Edwin had kissed her, and her breasts were still tingling from having been caressed so thoroughly.
How could one kiss, and yes, some corporeal explorations, make one’s wits so befuddled? She recalled a conversation she had had with her mother about love and marriage. It was not long before her mother died, and she had been insistent that Titania marry for love, as she did.
“But,” Titania probed, “wasn’t it hard?”
“Yes, of course it was, my dear,” her mother replied. “But when I met your father, none of it—disgrace, disapproval—mattered. What mattered was that I had found my love, a man whom I could be with until the end of my life. Which,” she finished with her usual talent for dry understatement, “looks as if it’s coming pretty soon.”
Titania’s reverie was broken by Lord George’s bluster.
“The Earl of Oakley is not the most, shall we say, au courant in fashion, is he, Miss Tynte?” Lord George softly inquired. “So careless in his clothing, I swear his cravat was wilted!”
Titania smothered a smile as she realized she had played a part in earning Lord George’s disapproval.
“And those boots!” he exclaimed.
At least I don’t have those on my conscience, Titania thought.
Lord George continued, his mouth pursed in disapproval, “They were scuffed as if he had been tromping around in the mud! Really, I know he has just come from America, but he is a gentleman’s son, after all, and as a future marquess, he is obliged to make proper appearances!”
Miss Tynte gave a soothing smile. “Lord George, not everyone is as—how do the young bloods say it?—bang up to the mark as you. You have an unerring, and some would say remarkable, eye for color.” Titania tried hard not to giggle, and caught her friend’s eye in a conspiratorial glance. She knew she would laugh if she tried to speak, so she kept silent, as did Miss Tynte. Lord George did not seem to notice, chatting nonstop until he waved good-bye from his carriage window.
“OH MY GOODNESS, THAT was close,” Miss Tynte gasped when they were back home. “When you looked at me—”
“—I thought I was going to burst out laughing right there. Elizabeth, how could you? ‘Some would say a remarkable eye for color.’ The poor man.”
They chuckled together, then Miss Tynte cleared her throat.
“What happened tonight, Titania?”
“Wh...what do you mean?” Titania tried to look as innocent as she had been five hours earlier. Miss Tynte regarded her with a look Titania had feared ever since she had earned it by attempting to conjugate Latin in the pluperfect without paying attention to her verbs. Or something like that. Anyway, suffice to say, it did not appear that Miss Tynte was fooled.
“Titania,” she continued, “were you doing something improper?”
Well, Titania thought to herself, if by improper you mean allowing a man to kiss me passionately, stroke my breasts, and attempt to lift my skirts up, then yes, I guess you could say I was doing something improper.
“What do you mean by improper?”
“You cannot pull the wool over my eyes, young lady. First you were on the sofa with Mr. Fell, then when I next looked for you, you had disappeared. Then when you did reappear, you were somewhat flushed and made us leave rather precipitously. What were you doing with Mr. Fell?” Miss Tynte demanded.
Huzzah! She didn’t have to lie! She pulled the shreds of her tattered dignity around her like a cloak. “Nothing. Mr. Fell and I continued our discussion on the sofa, then I discovered I was in need of some privacy. I am shocked that you thought something had happened between us. If I had known London society would have corrupted you to the extent of thinking a lady would disappear with a gentleman, I never would have asked you to accompany me.”
Miss Tynte pursed her lips. �
�I knew it was a mistake to let you read Caesar’s battle tactics. Well, you did ask me, and I’m here, so don’t think I’m not watching you.” Titania decided on a counterattack.
“And what about you? What are you doing with that flush on your cheek and that spring in your step? You didn’t have that at Ravensthorpe!” she declared self-righteously. Miss Tynte rose out of her chair, shaking her skirts out.
“I am going to bed, Titania. It is clear I need my strength to fight the battle on all fronts. Good night.” She patted Titania’s cheek and walked out of the room, leaving a faint scent of roses.
“YOU ARE AN ABSOLUTE disgrace!” Henri shouted when he saw Edwin at the end of the evening. “You are absolutely unable to keep your boots out of the streets and your coat from getting completely wrinkled, and you look just like what you are: a man who has come from the American backwater, with no sense of how someone in your position should look.” He scowled at Edwin, planting his hands on his hips.
“So quit. You could always go back to what you were doing before we met—I bet those men you cheated are much less angry now.” Edwin gave Henri a disingenuous smile, then turned away from him and began to loosen his neckwear.
Henri made an impatient clucking noise, then swatted Edwin’s hands away. “And your cravat looks as if a flock of chickens has been pecking away at it in search of food.” He skillfully removed Edwin’s cravat, then began to shrug him out of his coat.
Edwin allowed Henri to continue, absentmindedly stretching his neck as he felt its freedom. He held his arms over his head, letting Henri remove his shirt. When that, too, was removed, Edwin absentmindedly ran his hand down his chest. He paused, remembering Titania’s small, but strong, hands on his shoulders. He drew a deep breath, then exhaled, thinking furiously on something—anything—but her hands and where they had been. It would hardly do to embarrass himself in front of his manservant, who was also his best friend. He sat down suddenly, just as Henri was gesturing toward his feet.
“Henri, you have been pestering me to start wearing clothing proper to my position. It did not matter before, but now I think it is a good idea.”
“Yes, my lord.” Henri was grinning so wide Edwin was worried his face was going to split. “Provided, of course, you listen to me in regards to the treatment of your neckwear.” Edwin nodded in resignation as Henri handed him his robe. Henri turned the covers down on Edwin’s bed, then practically pranced toward the door. “Tomorrow to Bond Street to see Weston, and Hoby. Oh, Edwin, you have made me so happy!” He gave one last delighted smirk, then bowed out of the room, Edwin chuckling at his glee.
Edwin removed his robe, laying it on the chair. He stalked naked to the bed and slipped under the cool sheets, which were soothing on his heated body. Folding his hands under his head, he gazed up at the ceiling. Titania. Even her name was luscious. She was lovely and intelligent and sensitive and quick and all he had never believed he could find.
He wanted to spend time loving her properly in a bed, and not in a side cupboard; of course, he thought with a wicked smirk, if a side cupboard was what she wanted, he would certainly acquiesce. It took all his patience not to go hammer at her door now, wearing nothing but his heart, and demand her hand.
Perhaps, though, it would be more proper to wait until Henri had worked his magic. Titania, he had heard, was well dowered, and he did not want anyone to presume he was an impoverished fortune hunter.
HIS IMPOVERISHED LADY woke up the next morning feeling as if she had just discovered Croesus’s riches. She practically vaulted out of bed, chirping merrily for Sarah as she foraged through the wardrobe for something to wear down to breakfast. Sarah came in, holding a pot of tea.
“What are you bein’ so dern cheerful for, then?” she asked. She watched as Titania hauled out her old riding habit, which Sarah had tried to make sure remained safely back at Ravensthorpe. She marched over, slopping tea onto the floor as she went, grabbing the habit from Titania’s hand.
“Miss! You cannot venture forth in public in that old thing! Besides being hopelessly out of fashion, it is altogether too tight! You are much—” She paused, searching for the right word.
“Sturdier?” Titania supplied helpfully, gesturing toward her ample bosom.
Sarah sighed, putting the tea down on the table. “Yes, miss, sturdier, if that is ’ow you term it. In any case,” she continued brusquely, “you cannot wear that in public, and that is final.”
With that, she folded her arms and glared. Titania, knowing when she was beaten, walked back over to the wardrobe and extricated another piece of clothing.
“Does this pass inspection, then?” Titania held out her new habit, a dark chocolate brown that fit almost as tightly as her maligned black one.
Sarah gave a reluctant nod. “It will contain you, at least, even if it shows just as much as that other one.”
“It looks good, then?” Titania asked, peering at herself in the glass. Sarah’s response was a low grumble, which Titania interpreted as a yes. Satisfied, she picked up her jacket and ran downstairs.
“Oops, sorry, Stillings.” Titania barely avoided a collision with her butler as she entered the breakfast room. She scooted around him, grabbing a piece of warm bread as she sat down at the table. Stillings gave her the same look he had always bestowed when she was dashing about the house as a young lady should not, and gestured toward the letters at the edge of her plate.
“Miss, it appears that there is some correspondence that deserves your immediate attention,” he said in his most butlerish tone.
“Yes, Stillings, I see,” she said meekly, quickly stuffing the last crumb in her mouth. She picked up the first letter and felt a frisson of fear down her spine. She had seen too many of them not to recognize a bill.
It was indeed a bill, and very large at that. It appeared that in addition to stealing the tenants’ rents and pocketing the money intended for improvements to the estate, the ridiculously greedy overseer had also bought many items on the Stanhope credit. As Titania stared at the paper in her hand, she glanced over at the remaining pile and realized there were many more such letters in the pile. She began to sort through them with a trembling hand.
Bills for jewelry, wine, and clothing. She quickly opened each one, consigning the bills to their own malignant pile. Totaling them all up, she slumped in her chair. The remaining pieces of her mother’s jewelry would not even begin to cover the debts. There was also the matter of maintaining the London house and appearances. And paying the taxes. And her aunt. The list went on and on.
If any potential suitor—wealthy potential suitor, Titania quickly amended—realized that allying himself with her would also bring a swarm of debts around his head, he would run as quickly as possible toward the next available debutante—probably blonde, tiny, and young. She sighed, all notions of riding, or anything fun, for that matter, chased from her head.
Just as she was about to throw her head on the table and have a good sob, Stillings returned.
“Well, Stillings, what good news are you bearing now?” Her butler ignored her sarcastic tone.
“Miss, Lady Wexford is here to see you. She says she knows it is a trifle early, but she was hoping you were ready for your ride. She is waiting in the drawing room.” He gave her a tiny bow, then left quickly, probably anticipating her throwing something at his head.
Titania rose slowly, gulping down the cup of tea that Stillings had placed in front of her. It was, she thought even more grumpily, prepared exactly as she liked: plenty of milk with just enough sugar to take the edge off. She couldn’t even justify lashing out about that. She left the bills where they were and went to greet her friend.
If she were lucky, Claire would have purchased a new riding habit or something and wouldn’t insist on discussing Lord Gratwick. Or any other peer of the realm.
Once safely perched on her horse—a very staid old mare, this time—Titania felt almost...happy. She sniffed the fresh spring air, loving the way the scent of the new
grass mingled with the leather of the saddle. “Do you smell that?” she asked, turning toward Claire.
Claire looked confused. “Smell what—the horse?”
Titania giggled. “No, silly, the grass, and the air, and everything. It smells lovely.” She felt a great warmth inside her that had nothing to do with duty, or obligation, or sacrifice. She wanted to shout her happiness to the world, but that would require explaining it to herself.
Claire gave a hesitant sniff. “Mmm. At least it smells better than London usually does. And speaking of smelly London”—she gave Titania a naughty smile—“are you going to the Landon masquerade?”
“Yes, the duke was a friend of my father’s, before they both got respectable. Not that my father stayed respectable. Who are you going as?”
“A mermaid, or a fairy, or something like that. Lord Chatham says costumes should be an outward manifestation of the soul. Isn’t that delicious?” Claire sighed. “And you?”
Titania wished she could go as a critic and disabuse Lord Chatham of his talent for poetry. She turned to Claire.
“Mrs. Hastings, the Ravensthorpe housekeeper, sent some of my mother’s old court gowns, probably thinking I would need them for my presentation at court. So I thought I would go as the Duchess of Devonshire—she was always one of mother’s favorite people. They wore the most outlandish clothing back then. I only hope I can navigate those wide skirts.”
As well as navigate the path of a singular lady. Why did wearing a disguise suddenly seem so appealing?
Despatch from the battle front, March 1813
Is it some sort of Cartesian geometrical absolute that insists that the less eligible a gentleman is, the more likely he is to be all that a young lady would want?
Why is it that financial security is also almost always affiliated with only a vague awareness that there are things in the world other than port, prime goers, and fetching waistcoats? Meanwhile, the men who simply will not do are those with wit, humor, understanding, and looks. It is enough to make a young lady question the order of the universe.
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