Whisper To Me of Love

by Shirlee Busbee

  Royce had barely entered White’s Club that afternoon when he was accosted by none other than Francis Atwater. His rakishly handsome face alight with speculation, Francis had said, “Well done, Manchester! I hear that your little pickpocket is definitely a lovely bit of baggage.” Smirking, he had added, “I just wish that it had been my pocket she had been picking!” Since George had already made a similar comment, Royce had been halfway prepared, and instead of glaring as he had at George, he had simply smiled and continued on his way. What Royce had not been prepared for was to find himself and the little pickpocket the topic of conversation among his acquaintances wherever he went that day! To his dismay, he discovered that he had only to enter his usual, exclusively male, haunts for conversation to falter a second and then to take off more loudly as someone would cry out jovially, “Here he is now, the lucky rogue! Tell us, is she as beautiful as that young cub Leland says?”

  And while, for the most part, Royce was able to take the teasing in good stead, he wasn’t thrilled when Rufe Stafford and Martin Wetherly accosted him later that afternoon and, with salacious curiosity evident in their expressions, proceeded to bait him unmercifully. His dark eyes full of malice, Rufe Stafford drawled, “And to think I was of the opinion that you were actually doing a good deed!” Martin Wetherly, standing by his side, smirked and added snidely, “Oh, he was, my good man, he was—a good deed for himself! ” Wetherly was plainly enjoying himself, in spite of the ill-disguised animosity in his brown eyes. Deciding he would gain nothing by trying to defend himself to the Earl’s bosom friends, Royce merely smiled tightly and went on his way.

  If one more person commented one more time about his good luck, Royce thought grimly as his valet helped him into his formfitting coat, he feared he’d throttle him! It was damned bad luck, as far as he was concerned! Taking one last look as he prepared to leave his room, Royce wondered sourly if his male friends would think him quite so lucky if they knew about the mysterious one-eyed man and if it were their houses that would be under attack by God knew what sort of murderous rogues! Ha!

  In some respects Royce had not been overly surprised at how swiftly the news of Pip’s sex had traveled through the circles of the male members of the ton, and he had been partially prepared to endure a few days of being the butt of sly jesting before interest waned and some other new bit of gossip or scandal caught their attention. He had known that the ladies would learn soon enough all the facts pertaining to the little pickpocket—after all, husbands did talk to wives and, of course, between lovers—but Royce had figured that he would have at least one day of grace before enduring another wave of sly questioning and speculative glances.

  However, he was proven wrong on this surmise also. No sooner had he paid his respects to Lord and Lady Mortimer and was on the point of joining the other guests than Lady Mortimer, a matron of some fifty years, tapped him lightly on the arm and said in her blunt manner, “Heard about the little gel you’ve got in your house, Manchester.” Her wise blue eyes boring into his, she added, “Hope you mean well by her.”

  Since most of the advice he had received this day had been to the contrary, Royce smothered a grin and murmured some polite reply before joining the other guests. Hoping that it was merely a fluke that Lady Mortimer had already learned about Pip, he made his way through the silk- and satin-garbed crowd, stopping to chat with first this person and then that. He was quite a popular fellow, and from his previous trips to London and his relationship, however distant, to the Pontebys, Royce was very familiar with numerous members of the ton. But as he continued on his way and met the raised eyebrows and unusually cool manner of some of the more formidable matrons, as well as the arch looks and knowing smiles of some of the less circumspect ladies, Royce’s heart sank. Good Lord! Was there no one in polite London who hadn’t heard of yesterday’s exploits and the surprising aftermath?

  The Mortimer ball was not the sort of social event that Royce looked forward to, and up until Pip’s unexpected advent into his life, he had been on the point of crying off and finding a livelier way to spend the evening. It had been a desire to escape for a while the nudges and sly smiles of his friends at the various clubs and gaming hells he frequented that had prompted him to attend the Mortimer ball after all—that and a strong desire to put the problems associated with Pip from his mind. He had thought, mistakenly as it turned out, that an evening mingling in mixed society, with the more rakish element not in attendance, would allow him to postpone thinking further about Pip and would also allow him some breathing space.

  Meeting the condemning stare of yet another socially rigid matron, and guessing correctly the reason for it, Royce sighed. All of London, it seemed, was positive he had procured the little pickpocket for his own salacious and vile purposes, and one half congratulated him for it, while the other half condemned him! He was being seen as either a clever knave or an iniquitous seducer of innocents. Neither reputation found any favor with him, and determined to put it all behind him, with a decisive stride he sought out Julia Summerfield, the tall, cool beauty who was also one of the two women he had concluded might make a suitable bride for him. A short while later, as he whirled the statuesque young lady about the ballroom floor, Royce was able to push Pip from his mind, his gaze resting appreciatively on Julia’s lovely face. They were waltzing, Royce’s hand at her waist firmly guiding Julia as they skimmed elegantly across the floor, her blue, gauzy gown billowing out around her.

  At twenty-two, Julia was a very self-possessed young lady, and it was the calm, unruffled air about her as much as her lovely features—hair as fair as summer wheat; large, intelligent, thickly lashed eyes; and queenly grace and build—that had first aroused Royce’s interest. She was tall, without the coltish gawkiness of so many tall women, and there were no simpering, missish mannerisms about her—something Royce found very refreshing, having had to endure the mawkish antics of several young ladies over the years.

  Smiling into her china blue eyes, Royce remarked lightly, “You are a delightful partner; I have seldom waltzed with anyone as graceful.”

  Julia smiled serenely and replied courteously, “You are very polite.”

  At her words, unexpectedly the picture of Pip sitting in the tub, the damp, black curls framing her animated face, and her gray eyes filled with impudence as she had said, “Coo! And a right polite cove you can be, Royce Manchester!” flashed through his brain. It was an unsettling occurrence, all the more so when he realized disturbingly that Pip’s comment held more meaning for him. More than a little irritated at his wayward thoughts, Royce frowned slightly.

  Seeing his frown, Julia asked, “Is something wrong?”

  Instantly composing his features into a pleasant mask, Royce answered easily, “Of course not. Why do you ask?”

  Effortlessly following his lead around the crowded floor, Julia said, “You were frowning ... and I wondered if perhaps something was troubling you.”

  There was a note in her voice that made him look at her more closely, and when she flushed under his intent gaze, he said resignedly, “You’ve heard about the pickpocket, haven’t you?”

  Her eyes not meeting his, she said stiffly, “I believe it is common knowledge.” Then, in a rush, she added, “Everyone is talking about it.”

  “And what is your opinion on the matter?” Royce asked curiously as the waltz ended and he escorted her from the floor.

  “It isn’t my place to have an opinion about your private life,” Julia answered modestly.

  Suppressing the unkind thought that she sounded priggish, and pursuing this conversation for reasons unclear to himself, Royce inquired slowly, “But suppose you did have the right to make judgments about me—what would be your opinion then?”

  They had almost reached the area where Julia’s chaperon, a maiden aunt, sat, and Julia stopped and stared searchingly into Royce’s dark, handsome face, his amber gold eyes very bright beneath the arching black brows. Her expression calm, she said deliberately, “I’m certa
in you had your reasons for acting as you did ... and as long as you do not flaunt the relationship, I feel it is no one’s business.”

  His eyes hard, Royce asked bluntly, “Not even a wife’s?”

  Steadily meeting his gaze, she said quietly, “Not even a wife’s.”

  Oddly dissatisfied with her answer, Royce left Julia in the care of her aunt and wandered into the punch room. He had not precisely planned to remain faithful when he married—who did?—but he found it strangely distasteful that Julia was prepared to overlook his peccadillos. Again his thoughts turned to Pip. He had no way of knowing, but he suspected that she would not be so sanguine about the situation. And to his intense annoyance, he found himself wondering exactly what Pip’s answer would have been to the same question. Growing increasingly angry at the way Pip seemed to have invaded his every thought, after enjoying several cups of the strong drink and enduring more sly comments from the gentlemen gathered around the punch bowl, Royce decided to go in search of more convivial company. He was looking through the colorful, constantly shifting throng for his hosts, intending to take his leave, when someone to his left murmured, “Ah, there you are! I wondered if you would tear yourself away from the charms of the little pickpocket and join us this evening.” When Royce spun around, Allan Newell raised his quizzing glass and added, “I hear that she is really quite a fetching little thing beneath all that grime. Who would have guessed it?”

  Garbed in a dove gray coat and black evening breeches, Allan Newell looked very elegant. His crisp sable hair framed an almost handsome face and brought attention to the lustrous darkness of his eyes. His pleasing looks, coupled with his fine manners and reputed wealth, made his appearance here tonight not surprising.

  Not bothering to hide his irritation, Royce gave Newell a curt bow and said grimly, “You know, the next person who makes mention of yesterday’s events or the titillating fact that the pickpocket is a female, I think I shall do him a violence.” Giving Newell a hard look, he ended bluntly, “I trust you understand me?”

  A superior smile on his mouth, Newell tilted his head slightly. “Oh, my! You really are annoyed about all this, aren’t you?”

  “Wouldn’t you be?” Royce asked levelly.

  Newell shrugged. “No doubt. It must be devilish uncomfortable finding oneself the object of so much libidinous speculation.”

  “Devilish, indeed!” Royce admitted with a grin, suddenly finding the situation humorous. If utter strangers wished to waste their time pondering his designs on one particularly saucy little pickpocket, who was he to deny them their pleasure? In a much better frame of mind, he continued his search for Lord and Lady Mortimer, still intent on leaving.

  He had just spied Lady Mortimer talking to Lady Jersey when a voluptuous young woman with guinea gold hair stepped into his path. A warm smile upon her full, red mouth and invitation in the big, green eyes, Heather Cresswell asked flirtatiously, “Have you been looking for me?”

  Of the two women he was considering as possible brides, Royce found himself most drawn to Heather’s blatant sensuality. He admired Julia and usually found her to be charming company, but there was something about Heather that appealed to his deeply carnal nature. Not quite as tall as Julia, she was still a trifle above average height, and despite her patrician features, there was something about Heather that made most men think the most deliciously lewd thoughts. It may have been the slight sway in her walk, or the lush ripeness of her figure—which she had no qualms about displaying freely—or even the pouting lure of her full lips that attracted a man’s attention, but whatever it was, Royce found himself suddenly in not such a hurry to leave the ball. Since she was a widow and, at twenty-six, able to handle her own affairs, Heather was allowed far more license than someone like Julia, and Royce saw no harm in paying outrageous court to the widow Cresswell.

  Heather’s blatant attempts to fix his interest with her amused Royce, but since he wasn’t against an enjoyable dalliance with such an attractive woman, he made no attempt to free himself from her clinging presence. In fact, as he smiled mockingly down into Heather’s darkly lashed green eyes, he decided sardonically that an undeniably public flirtation with her might go a long way in settling all the wagging tongues Pip’s advent into his life had caused.

  “Have I been looking for you?” Royce repeated teasingly. “But of course I have.... Why else would I be here?”

  Heather laughed, and tapping his arm with her fan, she said lightly, “What an absolute bouncer!” One slim eyebrow arched. “I suppose that is why you have been part of the Summerfield chit’s court—pining for me?”

  Royce lifted her hand to his lips; his golden eyes dancing, he murmured, “Naturally.”

  “La! What a rake you are.... And if you were not the most fascinating man here tonight, I wouldn’t allow you to charm me this way.” Heather wasn’t lying. As far as she was concerned, he was quite fascinating, and she was determined to have him—with or without the benefit of a wedding ring! Almost avariciously her eyes scanned his tall, powerful form, lingering on the broad shoulders covered by the expertly tailored plum coat, and the long, elegantly muscular legs clothed in well-fitting kerseymere pantaloons. Thinking of that magnificent body naked and locked passionately to hers brought a flush to her cheeks, and speculatively she raised her eyes to his, not bothering to hide the fact that she found him attractive. Very!

  The expression in her green eyes was not hard to decipher, and Royce almost smiled at her obvious lures. Seduction of the widow Cresswell had not been on his mind, but if the lady had different ideas ... A warm gleam entered his golden eyes. If the lady had different ideas, who was he to dissuade her? Bending his tawny head, he asked softly, “And do I? Charm you?”

  Heather’s breath quickened at his warm breath on her ear. She glanced enticingly over her shoulder, the mocking retort dying on her lips at the sudden sensual glitter in his eyes. Hot, wild hunger shafted through her body. She wanted him! Wanted to know if that hard, mobile mouth was as exciting as it looked ... was desperate to let that powerful body possess hers. Aware that she might be throwing away a chance of marriage, but too mesmerized by him to care at the moment, recklessly she admitted, “You know you do.” Oblivious to whoever might be watching them, she ran a caressing finger down his sleeve and added huskily, “If we were alone, I might be able to show you how very much you do charm me.”

  The invitation was implicit. A boldly carnal curve to his lower lip, Royce murmured, “I think we’ve done our duty to the Mortimers’ ball, don’t you? May I escort you home?”

  Heather didn’t hesitate, her nipples instantly swelling beneath her silken gown. “I would be delighted to have your company.”

  They bid their adieux, and a scant while later, Royce was sprawled easily on the plump velvet cushions of Heather’s town coach, Heather half sitting, half leaning against him. The interior of the coach was in darkness except for the occasional dull gleam as they passed one of the gaslit lamps that dotted the cobblestone streets, the sound of the horses’ hooves rhythmically echoing in the stillness of the night.

  There was a warm intimacy between them, and the coach had not traveled half a block before Royce lazily pulled an eager Heather into his arms, his mouth coming down passionately on hers. Heather groaned at the force of the hungry desire that flooded through her at his touch, and the fleeting thought occurred to her that his kiss was even more exciting than she had imagined. Shamelessly she pressed nearer, frankly offering herself to him, and when his devastating mouth left hers and traveled lower, she arched up frantically against him, her fingers clenching his thick, tawny hair.

  He freed her breasts, and his lips on her naked flesh was an exquisite torment that had Heather twisting wildly in his embrace. Hungry for him, she boldly caressed the thick bulge in his pantaloons, and his growl of pleasure excited her immensely. It took but a moment to release him from the pantaloons, and she was trembling with anticipation as her hand closed around the hard, heated power of him.


  Nearly melting with desire, she sank back against the velvet cushions, the sway of the coach adding to her pleasure as Royce’s hands unerringly probed beneath her silken skirts. Deliberately he brought her to the brink with his caresses, and just when she was certain she would die of longing, his forceful body joined with hers. She splintered into a million sparks of ecstasy, her scream of delight caught in his hard kiss. In the hours that followed Royce proved to Heather again and again that not even her most erotic dreams could have prepared her for the reality of his powerful lovemaking.

  Entering the house on Hanover Square shortly before dawn, Royce greeted Chambers somewhat absently, his thoughts still on the beauteous charms of the lovely widow. It was only when Chambers rather noisily shot the bolt of the newly installed lock that Royce was jolted back to his present circumstances. Memories of the previous hours vanished, to be replaced by the unpleasant knowledge that his home was probably under siege by some malevolent villain, and almost irritably, Royce said, “I see that the locksmith has been here as I requested.”

  “Oh, yes, sir. He came late this afternoon and took care of everything.” Keeping his face carefully expressionless, Chambers added, “Including the new bolt on the, er, young lady’s door.”

  A cynical smile crossed Royce’s face. Everyone was so certain that he had Pip’s seduction in mind, and he wondered sardonically what the gossips would say if they knew about the locks on her door! Locks that would keep her as safe and chaste as a novice in a nunnery!