Where Have All the Scoundrels Gone?

by Donna Cummings

  "There is no need."

  He tilted his head and watched her, as if knowing the shawl had been a ruse. Ever since Gemma had planted the idea of a discreet liaison with this man, Honora could think of nothing else. It had risen to the level of need, a nearly unbearable one. While she wrestled with herself, he moved back to the table, and she told herself it was time to depart.

  Instead of doing that, however, she blurted, "I have never played the game. Before I could enjoy it, I would need some instruction." She laughed. "After all, I am a better artist than billiards player."

  His grin was a heart-stopping one. She might have misjudged her ability to withstand its effects for an entire hour, especially in such a close setting.

  "I would be happy to instruct you," he offered. "And perhaps I will even divulge some of my secrets about the game."

  "It would make it more enjoyable for you if I am at least a little bit of an adversary."

  "Quite true. And maybe we shall advance your skill level to the point that you can best Richard one day. Without letting him know, of course."

  "You seem to enjoy tormenting him."

  He bit back a smile. "I cannot spend all of my time tormenting the Dowager."

  "I have spent so many evenings listening to her rail about your wickedness. It is almost as though I know all your secrets already."

  "Do you now?" His eyebrows lifted slowly, his eyes watching her intently. "I shall have to create some more, just to keep things interesting."

  Honora nearly sped out of the room. She had no business attempting to flirt with this man. He was worldly and experienced, while she had spent the past three years of her widowhood serving as his aunt's paid companion.

  Which was yet another reason she should leave, the most important of all. Her livelihood depended on the income the Dowager provided her.

  Yet a part of her wanted more from life than attending to someone else's needs. It had not even been a consideration until her first meeting with this man. Now that need had grown until she could not force herself to leave, despite knowing it would be the most prudent choice.

  "Have I frightened you off?" he asked, his voice filled with amusement. "If so, my apologies."

  "No," she lied. "I am made of sterner stuff than that. After all, I have been keeping your aunt entertained these past several years."

  His laugh was rich and warm, and she could feel the most inconvenient responses rushing throughout her body. "You deserve a great deal of acclaim for that. I wonder that you did not dissuade her from her current matchmaking scheme."

  "Actually, that may be partly my fault. I had meant to distract her from something else, and suggested she needed a new diversion. Once she hit upon this, there was no changing her mind."

  He walked toward her at an unhurried pace, until he was standing directly in front of her. "My aunt and I are quite similar, it seems."

  He made it impossible to mistake his intent. Nor would she be able to dissuade him, now that he was indicating she was the object of his interest. She fought off a shiver.

  "Perfect," she answered boldly. "I am intent on learning, and cannot have you abandoning my education now."

  His lips curved into another one of his secretive, seductive smiles. It let her know he was enjoying the other game they played—the flirtatious one—and she felt chills race over her. She might be in over her head, but she was unable to stop, at least not now. She would permit herself the indulgence of one hour with this man. After that...

  He swept his arm toward the table. "Then let us commence your instruction."

  ***

  William gazed at his aunt's companion, completely taken with her. He had found her intriguing from the moment he had clapped eyes on her, and it had only increased with each encounter. He had appreciated the commentary she had offered on his sketches, and admired her acceptance of the less-than-kind comments regarding her participation in the daily social events. No complaining or heavy sighs from her. She had merely kept to herself, doing her best not to call further attention to her presence.

  Yet he had been unable to keep his attention away from her. He knew there was more to her than the quiet companion she presented to the rest of the world. He had seen that when she had been one of the Sirens during the water extravaganza. His body reacted to the memory of her dampened clothing outlining the curves usually well-hidden from view. He had tried to draw those curves, but without success, just as he had been unable to replicate on paper that playful smile of hers.

  One day he hoped he could convince her to let him draw her as a live model. He needed more than the feverish remembrances he unsuccessfully tried to use now. They served only to frustrate him, and thwart his ability to draw anything at all.

  "We should start with some basics," he said, tearing his mind away from thoughts of Honora modeling for him. "This is the cue, which is used to hit the balls into the various pockets."

  She took the stick from his hand, and he could see her wondering how she might possibly use it since it was taller than she was. "It shall take some skill to wield this." She tilted it and nearly slammed it right into his stomach. He danced away just in time.

  "I am so sorry!"

  "The skill will come, do not fret about that. It shall also serve to sharpen mine."

  "Except you had not planned to utilize your dancing steps. Perhaps you should stand back while I learn how to handle this."

  "Of course. Do whatever makes you feel most comfortable." He desperately wanted to assist her but could see how much she wanted to do things herself. Who could blame her? After being at his aunt's beck and call constantly, it must be liberating to be the one who decided what she would do.

  "I think I have a better feel for it now." She bent over the table and held the cue in her hands. "What do you think?" She turned to look at him, nearly catching him watching her in a most improper fashion.

  He cleared his throat. "You need to loosen your grip a bit." No, he could not let his thoughts follow the temptation of those words. "Here, let me demonstrate."

  She started to stand, to give him the cue, but he stopped her with a gentle touch to her shoulder. "It will make more sense if you stay where you are."

  "Oh." Her voice was soft, and much too tempting.

  William reminded himself to remain a gentleman, but his body had other ideas apparently. He kept his lower body as far from her as possible, while placing his arms over hers. He gently loosened the fingers of her right hand, and then her left.

  "You need to allow it room to move back and forth."

  She stiffened, and then he swore there was a muffled laugh. He nearly sagged with relief. This lesson would not last very long if everything he said sounded like he was describing something else entirely. And she was well aware of that. Which was even more tantalizing.

  "Let it slide between your fingers. Give it a few tries, until you feel comfortable with it."

  She followed his instructions, repeating the movements slowly and deliberately, until William could think of nothing but her hands on him in the same fashion.

  Before he realized it, she had moved back until her bottom was snug against him. He could not halt the groan of pure pleasure. He tried to muffle it in her neck, but she turned until she was facing him, trapped between the billiards table and his exceedingly aroused body.

  "I am definitely comfortable now," she said, her voice soft and breathy. "With the cue, I mean."

  He gave a brisk nod, not entirely sure his voice would work if called upon. Her eyes were slightly wary, as if gauging his reaction, and he was tempted to brush his fingers across her beautiful cheekbones and taste her lips. It was pure torment to resist her, but he counseled himself to wait until another day. He stepped back a pace.

  She grabbed his waistcoat. "I am comfortable with this too."

  "I am not certain I am," he said with a laugh. He brushed a hand through his hair. "I—"

  William had no chance to say anything else, for in the next instant
she raised on her tiptoes and placed her mouth on his. It was a sweeter sensation than he had anticipated. She kept her fists curved around his waistcoat, preventing him from retreating, not that he had any intentions to move away. Not now. Instead, he folded her into his embrace, holding her gently, tenderly, permitting her to kiss him in her exploratory fashion.

  Her breathing grew more rapid, and a small moan escaped, though she was likely not aware of it. He needed to get closer to her. Without thinking, he picked her up and placed her atop the table. She halted her kisses for a brief moment, and tilted her head back to look at him, but when she saw how it made him more easily within her reach, she smiled.

  "I am enjoying this game of billiards. There is a great deal more to it than I could have known."

  "It is why it is so important that you choose the right instructor." He nibbled at her bottom lip. "Not everyone is able to teach the subtleties and nuances."

  "As you are."

  He placed his hands on either side of her, resting his fingertips on the table. She dotted kisses on the corner of his lips, teasing, and playful. It was immensely arousing, making him want more, but he also wanted her to trust him. If that meant restraining all of his intense urges for her, so be it. Especially when their time together was bound to be brief.

  "I would be happy to add to your instruction on the morrow."

  Her eyes lit up with unabashed interest. "I would like that. I shall have as my goal besting you at this very game."

  He tilted his head back and laughed. "It is not likely. But I will give you every opportunity to ensure you have a sporting chance." He gave her a quick kiss. "And not just at billiards."

  She did not respond to his last words, but her eyes widened once more. "I must return, before your aunt awakens and wonders where I am."

  "Permit me to assist you." He wrapped his arms around her waist, and found himself unable to resist another kiss or two. Her arms twined about his neck. "I wish you did not have to leave."

  "I feel the same. Though I am thrilled to have this secret to think upon until tomorrow's lesson."

  William wanted to rail against the unfairness of it all. Miles and Richard were permitted to pursue the objects of their affection without resorting to secrecy. Why should he have to sneak about? He kept his frustration to himself though. There was no need to cause her distress. Nor did he want her to change her mind about the wisdom of their encounters.

  He slowly tugged her off the table and let her body slide against his until her slippers touched the carpet. Her cheeks pinkened in the most delightful fashion but she did not chide him. In truth, her expression seemed regretful, as though she too wished they could pursue each other in a more public manner.

  She smoothed her skirts, as well as a stray curl, and then reluctantly headed towards the door.

  "Mrs. Beaumont."

  She spun around to face him. "Yes?"

  "I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

  Her smile was a beauteous sight. "It fills me with a great deal of anticipation as well."

  He nearly called her back, but she raced to the door and slipped outside before he could say a word. It was probably for the best. His anticipation was about to get the best of him, something that had never happened in this way before.

  Chapter 17

  Honora forced herself not to race to the billiards room the next day, but it took every bit of her strength to meander and pretend she had no particular destination in mind. In truth, she had feared she might go mad the entire day, waiting for the moment when the Dowager retired for her daily nap.

  What would she do if her employer chose to stay awake one day? Honora would not let herself imagine it, not now when she was about to see Mr. Travers once more.

  She halted outside the room, her hand hovering over the door handle while she tried to calm her breathing. Over the years, she had become quite practiced at presenting a serene façade. Today it was a challenge to do so.

  With one last exhaled breath, she opened the door and peered around it. Mr. Travers stood there, impossibly handsome, smiling as he beckoned to her.

  "Come," he said. "We have but an hour to strengthen your skills."

  "I am confident an hour will be quite sufficient."

  "Does that mean I shall not have this hour to look forward to each afternoon?" He pretended to frown. "It is already my favorite."

  "After one encounter?"

  His smile was devastating, as usual. "Yes."

  "It would be cruel of me to deprive you of such joy." She walked slowly to the billiards table. Fortunately, her plain day dress concealed her wobbly knees, a direct result of merely seeing him. What would happen if he wished to resume the kisses from the previous day? She placed a steadying hand on the edge of the table.

  "I consider you the least cruel person ever born," he said, joining her near the table. He picked up a cue and handed it to her.

  "How can you know so much about me?"

  He laughed. "It is the fate, or curse, of being an artist. I am able to see what people believe they are hiding."

  "Oh dear," she muttered, moving to the opposite side of the table. "How shall I keep my secrets while in your company?"

  "Best you divulge them all now," he teased.

  "And you consider yourself a sporting man?" she scoffed. "That is like telling a gambler to lay his cards on the table and then make a wager."

  He grinned again, and Honora realized she had not seen him do so very often when they were with others. But for some reason, she seemed to bring him genuine amusement. It felt like a victory, being able to spar verbally with this accomplished man and have him find it as enjoyable as she did. Perhaps she had not lost all of her skills the past three years, as she had feared.

  "Funny you should mention a wager," he said. He studied the table for a moment, and then turned his gaze to her. "I propose we place a small bet on the outcome of this next game."

  "I have little with which to wager." The Dowager was not stingy with the salary she paid, but Honora was not willing to gamble her savings, not when she had plans to set up her own residence one day.

  He shook his head. "I did not mean money. I had something else in mind." Her face must have registered her shock, for he quickly added, "If I win this game, I would like you to sit as a model for me."

  She narrowed her eyes, pretending to contemplate such a notion, when in reality she was trying to settle her racing heart. It would be exciting, not to mention rather scandalous, to sit as his model. It would also leave proof, not only that she had existed, but that she had inspired someone to immortalize her.

  "Sit as a model? For a sketch, as you did with your cousin and Mrs. Seton?"

  "No, I would prefer something a bit more detailed than one of my parlor sketches."

  She nibbled on her lip as she pondered what to do. He was a great deal more skilled at this game, so she had to be prepared to serve as his artist's model. "Perhaps you could detail what you had in mind."

  "Of course. I would like to do a portrait, most likely in oil."

  "That could take some time."

  "Yes. But the end result would definitely be worth it."

  She managed a laugh, albeit a nervous one, since she was not certain if he was talking about painting, or something else. It mattered little. Her mind and heart were set on spending more time with this fascinating man, no matter the outcome.

  "I find those terms agreeable. And if I win—"

  He chuckled. "It is a possibility. After all, I am an excellent instructor."

  "Yes, well, if I win, then I would like some additional instruction. In sketching techniques."

  "I find those terms agreeable as well." He nodded in the direction of the table. "Shall we commence this battle?"

  For the next half hour, they played the game. Honora was not entirely sure if she was supremely lucky, or if he was even more skilled at pretending he was losing. He was a great sport about it, feigning shock when a ball missed the pocket aft
er seeming like a sure shot, and applauding her efforts each time she garnered an advantage over him.

  "Mrs. Beaumont, you were born to play this game." He bowed graciously. "I concede defeat."

  She felt her cheeks warming at his gallant gesture. "I have to admit I feel a bit of guilt. If not for your excellent instruction, I would have had little chance to best you."

  "You are much too modest. And I cannot feel as though I lost when I now have the opportunity to add to your instruction."

  Her heart did a little joyful dance at that thought. "It shall have to be on the morrow, I am afraid, since the Dowager will be waking soon, needing my company."

  He lifted her hand in his. "I have never felt jealousy toward my aunt until this very moment." He grinned before placing a tender kiss on her knuckles. "Now I fear I will be scowling at her throughout dinner."

  "You had best not," she said with a laugh. "I have enough on my hands trying to divert her. Do not add yet another task to my list."

  "You have my promise."

  He paused, tilting his head while he regarded her. Before she could ask what he might be thinking, his mouth was on hers, and she lost the ability to think. His kiss was tender yet passionate, as if designed to calm her and arouse her at the same time. She placed her hands against his chest, presumably to steady herself, but the feel of his heartbeat speeding up proved too exciting. She deepened the kiss. He followed suit, tugging her closer to his body at the same time.

  There was nothing more she wanted than to stay nestled in his arms, kissing him for the next eternity, but she had to return to her responsibilities. This delightful interlude, a mere hour that sped by much too quickly, made her a bit resentful at not being in charge of her own destiny. Still, she had the hour tomorrow to look forward to, along with a chance to advance her fledgling artistic skills.

  She reluctantly stepped back a couple paces. His frown was definitely not feigned, but he quickly replaced it with a rueful smile. "Until tomorrow, Mrs. Beaumont."

  "Until tomorrow," she agreed, and then headed to the door before she could attempt to sneak one last kiss.