Springtime Pleasures

by Sandra Schwab

  Not to forget a somewhat dubious parentage.

  For hadn’t there been a scandal surrounding her parents? An old scandal, true, but as he knew, the gossipmongers of the bon ton loved nothing more than dragging up salacious ancient scandals whenever it suited them. An elopement of a girl of good family with an impoverished artist most certainly fell into this category, alas. It was a small miracle that this hadn’t been bandied around yet. But then, the “giantess” was not the sort of girl the fops and talkative tabbies took any notice of. Wallflowers typically never were—thank God! If they had the smallest inkling… It did not bear thinking of!

  No, in all truthfulness, Miss Stanton did not meet high standards of respectability. But still, he found her utterly enchanting.

  Griff was still pondering this conundrum when he led her to their dance.

  She moved easily and gracefully, as he well knew by now, and her green eyes sparkled at him whenever they met on their course down the ballroom. Her gloved hands, which had so confidently handled the ribbons during their drive, felt deliciously narrow and delicate in his. The latter was but an illusion, of course, for though her figure was trim and her limbs slender, Miss Stanton was anything but a wilting daisy—as countless wild boars and highwaymen must know to their cost. Still, the illusion of delicate femininity was nice.

  More than nice, really.

  “What shall we talk about during our dance tonight?” he asked her with a smile.

  Her eyes twinkling with what he suspected was suppressed laughter, she lifted her shoulder a little. “You do know my shocking propensity for committing the most atrocious blunders. It will be much safer if I leave the picking of a topic to you.”

  They parted. When they met again, he suggested, “Shooting bears? I know about the partridges and the highwaymen, of course.”

  As he had hoped, this earned him a peal of laughter. His heart was galloping in the most idiotish fashion, and he felt positively lightheaded with a range of disturbing emotions. Yet despite these alarming symptoms, he couldn’t help grinning with satisfaction.

  “Oh, I didn’t actually shoot the highwaymen,” she informed him when she could. “That remains a task for the future.” Mischievous humour lurked in the corners of her mouth and made her sweet face glow.

  Griff wished he could dare to dance a second set with her without setting the tongues wagging. But until he informed the earl and the countess of his intentions, it would not do to show a special preference for any young lady.

  Yet how to relinquish this one, this special, sweet, funny girl, after a mere half hour? After he had witnessed the miraculous effect she had had on his sister, he simply couldn’t. Not this evening, when his heart was brimming with gratitude and warmth and so much more.

  And this evening, he didn’t. In one fell swoop, he consigned conventions and the call of duty to the devil. He could make it work, he was sure. With guidance and the right instructions she would be able to act the proper young society miss, wouldn’t she?

  Yes, she would, he decided. She must.

  His heart hammered in his chest. He was acutely conscious of each look, each touch that passed between them. Each sweep of her lashes, each time her lips curved with mischief and merriment and sheer life.

  No, tonight he would not let her go.

  When the last notes of the dance had died down and the sounds of polite clapping had subsided, he took her hand and planted it securely in the crook of his arm. “Would you care for some refreshment?”

  She opened her mouth, but he didn’t even wait for her answer. “Excellent,” he said, and dragged her to the small salon where refreshments were served. Fortunately, the room was so crowded, it proved to be the easiest thing in the world to sweep her out of the room unnoticed.

  “What—”

  Brain fever. Definitely brain fever. Smiling, he put his finger over her lips. “I think you had to visit the ladies’ retiring room and then you lost your way.” This said, he led her swiftly down the corridor before any servant or straggling guest caught sight of them.

  “How curious. My sense of direction is generally excellent.”

  “Most curious,” he agreed, shooting a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure that nobody had noticed their flight. He vaguely knew the general plan of the house, having been invited to parties and dinners a few times. Wasn’t there a second staircase at the back of the house leading to the conservatory on the ground floor?

  Miss Stanton chuckled, but she came with him willingly, he was glad to note. “You are very daring tonight.”

  He felt daring. No, he felt as if he could take on the whole world! Positively bacon-brained. “It is not very difficult to be daring tonight,” he answered lightly. “After all, you haven’t brought your special reticule.”

  “Oh, pffft.” She waved this argument aside as if it were an annoying fly. “I can still do you bodily harm if you insist.”

  Yes, there was the staircase. Not as grand as the front staircase and insufficiently lit right now. Brilliant!

  He stopped and turned, letting her palm slide off his arm so he could catch her hand in his. “And will you?” he asked, looking deeply into her eyes, which were almost black in the dim light.

  She searched his face, then her lips curved in that way of hers that made his brain turn to mush. “I think I will reserve judgement for now.”

  He pressed her hand. “Good.” He managed to make his voice sound light even though his heartbeat pounded in his ears like a drum.

  Two drums.

  A whole battalion of drums.

  Still regarding him, she cocked her head to the side. “We are doing a very naughty thing, aren’t we?”

  “Shockingly naughty.” He wondered whether it had occurred to her that she would be as good as ruined if they were found alone. But he must—must have her for his own for at least a little while. He knew how such things were played, and he would take care that they would remain undiscovered.

  “Shockingly naughty, even?” One black brow rose. “How very exciting! Then pray lead on, sir.”

  He sketched her a mock-serious bow and, her hand still resting in his, led her down the stairs and into the dark conservatory. Only in the middle of the Season, rooms in Mayfair were never really dark, thanks to the many lights which lit up Town.

  “How pretty!” Miss Stanton exclaimed as he carefully closed the door behind them.

  “Yes, isn’t it? Lord Frimsey is rather fond of palms and ferns and other kinds of exotic plants. He had this conservatory added when he inherited the title. There should be a bench somewhere.”

  They ventured deeper into the slightly humid semi-darkness from which the greyish forms of plants rose like washed-out spectres of their daylight selves. “The trellising is done in semi-Chinoiserie style,” he informed her somewhat inanely.

  Glancing around with apparent interest, Miss Stanton sank down onto the bench. “Is it called semi-Chinoiserie on account of the missing red lacquer?” When she turned towards him, he saw she was grinning slyly. In the dim light, her eyes were too dark pools a man could easily drown in.

  “Ahhhh, yes, the red lacquer,” he said, remembering the drive in Sammy Whitstock’s high-perch phaeton, the feeling of her body next to his, and all at once he knew that coming to the conservatory had been a grievous mistake.

  He should take Miss Stanton back to the ballroom straight away before their absence was noticed. Though who should notice their absence in the press of Lady Frimsey’s party was anybody’s guess.

  Still…

  Yet instead of insisting they go back, he sat down next to Miss Stanton and took her gloved hand. Again. “I have long wished to thank you for all you have done for my sister.”

  At his words, the amusement disappeared from her face. “I haven’t done anything, really,” she said softly as she returned the pressure of his fingers. “Isabella is a darling girl, and you must know that it is nothing but a pleasure to be her friend.”

  “No.�
� He shook his head. “Indeed, you are too modest. You know—surely you must know what an uplifting effect you have had upon her.” He swallowed, his heart nearly bursting with all he wished to say to her. “Tonight she is like the old Isabella before…” He took a deep breath. “You didn’t talk about male cousins and siblings when I joined you earlier, did you?”

  With her free hand she pushed her spectacles up her nose. She looked at him, then looked away. It seemed to him as if her colour deepened. “I am afraid we did not.”

  “How very wonderful!” He smiled broadly. Izzie had been roasting him just as she would have done as a little girl in pigtails.

  “Well, I trust you wouldn’t find it so wonderful if you knew what we have been talking about.” Miss Stanton sighed, still not looking at him.

  Greatly intrigued, he asked, “What have you been talking about, then?”

  Another sigh, then finally she turned back to him. Somewhat sheepishly, she admitted, “I asked her what a courtesan is.” And then, more crossly, “You, if you remember, failed to explain the term to me.”

  A whoop of laughter burst out of him, surprising them both.

  “My ludicrous, darling girl!” As if of its own volition, his arm slipped around her shoulders, and his mouth swooped down to capture her lips.

  They tasted as sweet as he had imagined—no, sweeter, so much sweeter—and in a heartbeat, the kiss changed from friendly and teasing to wild and passionate. Soft, startled moans came from deep within her throat as he suckled her lower lip and ran his tongue over the satiny inner flesh.

  She murmured something, and then he was inside her mouth, tasting her fully for the very first time.

  Her body melted against his. One of her hands fluttered against his face, curved around his neck, and finally moved to his shoulder, where her fingers kneaded his flesh as if she were a purring cat.

  Griff stroked the column of her throat and loved how this made her sigh and arch against him. Inexorably, his hand glided lower, running teasingly over her collarbone, and then lower still until one small breast nestled in his palm.

  A small whimper awarded him and spurred him on. Passion raced like liquid fire through his veins, burnt away all logic and reason, consumed him, devoured him, made him want to consume her.

  One of her legs drew up over his thighs, and the next moment his free hand was around her waist, assisting her, moving her so she sat almost astride him, her hips moving deliciously against his. Their tongues tangled in a wild dance while his hand on her waist guided her, showed her how to press against him to elicit the greatest pleasure. She took to this with as much enthusiasm as she took to everything else: her hips wriggled and rolled, and his cock swelled to meet her. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, and then she broke the kiss, flinging her head back on a moan that sounded very loud indeed in the humid silence.

  Griff stilled.

  He opened his eyes and stared at the girl arched in his arms, her eyes closed in rapture. And I haven’t even taken off her spectacles, he thought stupidly.

  “Dear God,” he said while the erotic fog that had held him in thrall gradually evaporated.

  Miss Stanton blinked. A heartbeat later, her eyes opened fully to gaze at him.

  Under her look shame engulfed him. What am I doing? Despoiling an innocent young woman in Frimsey’s conservatory? He licked his lips. “Miss Stanton,” he began awkwardly, only to have her interrupt him.

  “Under the circumstances I believe you can call me Charlie. Or Carlotta, if you prefer.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not Charlotte, though, unless you wish me to do you bodily harm.” Her mouth curved as her gaze roamed his face. “Does this—” She moved her hips slightly. “—constitute reason to shoot you when I see you next?”

  Griff groaned. “You must think me a blackguard—”

  “Not really.”

  “I am a blackguard. A damned bastard of the first order.” A man of distinction? Ha! A rotten cad, more likely! Unsuccessfully, he tried to move her off his lap. “You must be so shocked.”

  “Not really.” Stubbornly, she held on, clenching her thighs.

  Griff groaned again. “Don’t, I beg you…” As his body reacted in typical fashion, he momentarily lost his train of thought. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He swallowed hard. “You ought to be shocked. I am surprised you’re not lying in a dead swoon at my feet.”

  This made her giggle. Giggle!

  “My lord must take me for a veritable pea-goose.”

  He frowned. “This is no laughing matter,” he admonished her. “I nearly did the unspeakable—”

  She kissed him, with tongue and everything.

  She was a fast learner.

  “Hmmm,” she said when she finally lifted her head. “I never knew a person could taste as good as you do.”

  “Miss Stanton…”

  “Charlie.” She settled more comfortably on his lap, which unfortunately meant she was now straddling him, her pelvis pressed to his, which delighted his deuced cock to no end.

  He tried to fight her, but found that she was as obstinate as a mule.

  “Not that I have kissed any man other than you.” She thoughtfully pursed her lips. “I found the boys in the village all rather… lacking, if you know what I mean.”

  “God!” He closed his eyes and let his head fall back.

  The minx took the opportunity to press butterfly kisses onto his throat. And then she actually licked over his Adam’s apple.

  “Argh!” He jerked against her. “Don’t do this! We really shouldn’t—”

  She snuggled her face against his shoulder. “Is that your male instrument that I can feel down there?” Again she wriggled her hips in that horrid fashion—probably in case he wondered which ‘down there’ she was referring to.

  “It is,” he said in strangled tones.

  She nodded. “Just as I thought.” She sounded obscenely happy about it.

  “You shouldn’t,” he felt compelled to inform her primly. “It is not seemly. We should go back.” He felt like a drowning man. Drowning in the scent and feeling of her. “Immediately!”

  She lifted her head. “Must we? My body feels all hot and tingly. Worse than during our drive. You will be so shocked when I inform you that you have the most astonishing effect on my body, my lord.” She grinned. She was, it would seem, hugely enjoying herself.

  Minx!

  Against his better judgement, Griff grinned back. “The feeling is mutual, I assure you.”

  Her grin widened. “Good. For it makes me want to do things, and I don’t even know what. I trust, though, that you do?”

  She was, Griff decided, beyond the pale. No lady he knew would talk in such a willy-nilly fashion about things that pertained to physical intercourse. Not even his past mistresses had so openly talked about the effects he had had on their bodies.

  Her body.

  Dear God.

  “I will not ravish you in Frimsey’s conservatory if that is what you are talking about,” he said sternly, trying to wrench back the control of the situation.

  “Oh.” Her face fell. Absentmindedly, she stroked his cheek. She was still wearing her gloves.

  At the sight of them, Griff’s heart sank. I am a bastard, he thought miserably.

  Suddenly the impish smile was back on her face, and a dreadful foreboding gripped him.

  “What about the Tollham ball? Are you invited? I’m sure you must be, being a viscount and everything. Don’t they have some sort of library with all kinds of interesting nooks and crannies?”

  Griff groaned.

  Chapter 10

  in which our heroine meets a crocodile

  Miss Carlotta Stanton to Miss Emma-Louise Brockwin by Two-penny Post

  My dear Emma-Lee,

  last night’s ball was a rather pleasing affair, even though 1 of the gentlemen upset the punch bowl & ended up with his nice shirt & waistcoat stained a delicate pink. The ladle landed on the head of an old lady, who took it as an attempt on her life
& left in a huff. Lady Frimsey was disconsolate.—Do you remember Miss P.’s warnings about Forming Hasty Attachments? It would seem that I have formed such a one (to Lord Ch., if you wonder), though I’d not call it hasty precisely. I suspect my regard exceeds even the stage of Warm Affection as I have found to my shock. No, not shock, but [scrawled out]. I feel as if my blood has suddenly turned into tiny little bugs crawling all around my veins. It is rather disconcerting, I confess.

  Yrs, C.S.

  ~*~

  Miss Emma-Louise Brockwin to Miss Carlotta Stanton by Two-penny Post, posted the same day

  Dear Charlie,

  the feeling of bugs crawling through one’s body can also derive from smoking spotted mushrooms. I trust you have done no such thing.—Dearest friend, please do not take this amiss, but are you sure that your regard does not simply stem from your desire to Fix a Problem? You so love solving other people’s troubles, & given the size of this particular problem, you will, of course, find it most to your liking & unlike any other challenge you have faced before. But you know how puzzling you’re finding the peculiarities of Town. So please, please, please exercise caution how you proceed.

  Your loving friend, ELB

  ~*~

  Miss Carlotta Stanton to Miss Emma-Louise Brockwin by Two-penny Post, posted the very same day for last delivery

  Dear Em,

  you will be shocked to hear that the Horses Have Already Bolted & all that. I have kissed him! C.

  ~*~

  Miss Emma-Louise Brockwin to Miss Carlotta Stanton by Two-penny Post, posted in the evening of the same day for next morning’s first delivery

  At the ball??? Have you taken leave of your senses??? If you do not take care, Charlie, you will be ruined, & then when he decides to abandon you, you will have to shoot him. If I don’t get him first, that is.—Do not do anything Rash, I beg you, unless you are very, very, VERY certain of the gentleman’s affection!

  Your worried friend, E.L.