Delightfully Dangerous (Knights Without Armor Book 1)

by Marly Mathews

  “If I had, I might not have known when to stop. There is courage in holding back as well, Lady Lydia. There is a price to pay no matter what decision one makes. Sometimes you must be calm and ride out the storm, rather than…charging headfirst, and acting recklessly.”

  “So…you are saying I act recklessly?”

  “You don’t exactly think before you leap. Take a stubborn lad named Jamie. He isn’t exactly someone who thinks his plots through, is he?”

  Touché. She could feel anger growing within her. Oh, how she wanted to punch him. Instead, she turned away from him. Gently, he turned her back to face him.

  “We shall discuss this face to face, my lady. What must I do to stop you from ever mentioning a certain someone ever again? You cannot use something I did in my past against me forever. I might have chased after the wrong woman, but I was sensible enough to see that I was wrong before it was too late.”

  “Sensible? You call being thrashed soundly in a duel, sensible?”

  A vein throbbed in his forehead. He looked absolutely fit for murder. Instead, he slackened his grip on her, and then finally released her, making her feel a little forlorn at the loss. She loved the feeling of his touch. No matter how hard she tried to deny it, having him close to her, having him touch her so intimately was something that made her tingle from her scalp right down to her toes.

  Strains of music from the house carried out to them, and she regretted her rash actions of leaving the ballroom, to seek the solitude of the gardens. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one with that idea in mind. Their somewhat small audience was growing, and they were quite transfixed by their performance.

  “I should go back inside,” Lydia said softly, attempting to force her way past Richard who had decided to become more of a wall than a door. He blocked her path, and he didn’t seem inclined to move. “My lord, you are in my way.”

  “I know,” he said softly. “I want you, Lydia, and I shan’t give up until we are wed.”

  His thrilling words made her heart skip in her chest. If she was short of breath before, she was gasping for air now.

  “Lord Tisbury, if you wish for us to remain friends, then you will allow me to pass.”

  Richard looked quite undone by the swift change of her tone. Something about her countenance must have told him to leave well enough alone. Without another word, he stepped aside.

  She ran back into the house with Richard in hot pursuit. This game of chase they were playing was becoming quite trying. Ordinarily, she would have been delighted by the attention, instead, tonight it was vexing her to no end. Familiar faces danced around her. The stale air of the ballroom sent her senses reeling. Off to the side, Lord Eden was smiling and talking with an older gentlemen.

  “Lord Tisbury, Lady Lydia, pray, a moment of your time. I wish to introduce you to Sir Simon Blount. It seems that he’s an old friend of Lady Holt’s.”

  With her heart thundering in her chest, Lydia skidded to a sudden halt, and in her haste she almost lost her balance. Had Richard not been right behind her and offered her a steadying hand, she feared she would have been flat on her bum on the floor.

  Zounds! The portly elderly gentlemen standing with Lord Eden was Sir Simon. But that couldn’t be. She’d created Sir Simon out of thin air…hadn’t she? Or had she plucked him from her memory? She had been going through some society books on the peerage, gentry, and minor nobility right before—oh no. Closing her eyes, she prayed for strength. She’d done it again. She’d made a mull out of everything.

  What if Sir Simon actually had a nephew by the name of Jamie Poole? She couldn’t move. She seemed completely petrified.

  “I do believe I am Lady Lydia’s uncle, isn’t that right, eh, wot?” Sir Simon said in a bombastic voice that echoed through the ballroom. Thank heavens the music played on, almost drowning out the sound of his voice.

  Lydia couldn’t breathe. The world spun around her. He knew. Sir Simon knew what she’d done. The truth was out. She was ruined. Utterly ruined! Blinking against the incoming darkness, she tried to steel herself and remain upright. It was over. Her reputation was besmirched. No man would have her now. No man except Richard…and perhaps, even he wouldn’t like dealing with such a scandal. That was it. She was going to succumb to a fainting fit. She’d always snorted derisively when her sisters had them—and now she was lowering herself to their damsel in distress level. It was not to be borne!

  “Lady Lydia, are you ill?” Lord Eden asked.

  “By Jove’s beard, I do think I’ve frightened the poor little bird. We’ve only met once before, when she was a little bit of a thing. Theodora always tells me I’m an intimidating fellow. She’s always calling me an old fool when I frighten the ladies.”

  He was Theodora’s husband. Oh, no. He was that Theodora’s husband. She could only hope and pray that he’d left his wife in the country.

  “She would have come to Town with me, but she insisted on taking the waters in Bath. It’s always been her favorite place to holiday. She likes it better than, as she calls it, stuffy, filthy old London. So, alas, I am here all alone, and since we are best when we are apart, I decided to make London my escape from the country—and my wife.” With those words, he let out a bellowing laugh. “’Course, I also had to come to town and check up on my scapegrace of a nephew. I’ve heard he’s been up to no good again. I shall have to take him in hand and see that is he properly reformed.”

  He was here to check up on his nephew? Merciful heavens, she was done to a cow’s thumb. Streaks of light swam before her eyes. The candlelight of the ballroom was dimming. She was slipping backward into a hole devoid of light.

  “Lydia?” Richard asked, all formality gone from his tone. She fell back into his arms, and let the darkness swallow her up.

  Lydia awoke to find herself on a fainting couch in the drawing room. The room was empty save for a solitary figure staring out the window. It was Richard. He had his hands clasped behind his back, his composure rigid. If she wasn’t mistaken, he seemed quite worried. How had he managed to secure time alone with her?

  Sitting up, she let out a groan that she tried to muffle. Richard turned from the window, and when he saw that she was awake, he crossed the distance between them.

  “Where is everyone?” she muttered weakly.

  “Your mama made certain you had only had a fainting spell, and promptly wanted to return to the ball. She’s having a good time getting reacquainted with your uncle, Sir Simon. It would seem they have much to catch up on. My mama overheard Sir Simon telling her all about the trials and tribulations of his dear wife.”

  “And Micah?”

  “He left you in my care after I told him you had accepted my marriage proposal.”

  “You varlet,” she muttered, heat rising to her cheeks. “Why…why would you say such a terrible thing?”

  “I announced it to all and sundry after you fainted in my arms, Lydia. You can thank me later when you are in better spirits.”

  “I’ll do no such thing. You understand that I shall break off this betrothal, do you not?”

  “I think I can change your mind before that happens.”

  “You, sir, are awfully confident in your skills of persuasion.”

  He handed her a cup filled with ratafia. “Drink this,” he murmured. “It will calm your nerves. You were quite rattled back there.”

  “I thought I was utterly ruined.”

  “You can’t be ruined now. I have it all in hand, do not fret.”

  “No. No, you don’t. I did not accept your proposal of marriage.”

  “A minor trifle,” he answered, waving his hand dismissively. Her stomach muscles tightened. Richard was far too used to getting his way. He’d never give up, until she gave in.

  “My lord, you are not taking things seriously. I thought it was all over for me. I feared I was going to be the next big scandal to hit the ton.”

  He snorted. “Not bloody likely. There are quite a few other scandals that would
outshine this tempest in a teapot.”

  “He is my uncle.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Oh, no.” She clapped her hands over her face. “That must be where I plucked his name from.”

  “Memories are tricky things sometimes,” Ricard mused. “They inspire us even when we do not realize it.”

  “I won’t marry you.”

  “Maybe not tonight, but one day you shall. This will put an end to you gallivanting about as that scapegrace, Jamie Poole.”

  “No, it won’t,” she said softly, sipping at the punch. “I shan’t give up Jamie until I’m ready…and I’m not ready yet. Pip is counting on me to see him through his next bout.”

  “He shall survive without you.”

  “He needs me, Lord Tisbury.”

  “I need you,” he said, lifting her feet so he could sit on the chaise longue with her.

  “You are taking far too many liberties, sir,” she cried, sitting upright and pulling her legs away from him. She swung them over to plant her feet firmly on the floor. “It was madness for them to leave you with me without a chaperone.”

  “You think we are alone?”

  “Yes, you said as much.”

  “Your ears betray you, my dear. My mama decided to play chaperone. Unfortunately, she imbibed a bit too much, and she is currently feigning sleep. Of course, with the way she drinks brandy like water, we both know the darling is quite alert under that guise of sleepiness.” Lydia looked behind her to see Lady Tisbury, who had fallen asleep on a chair. “And besides.” He shrugged his shoulders, “You weren’t worried about having a chaperone when you took me to Pip’s boxing match.”

  “You are being insufferable!”

  “You are being a stubborn little chit.”

  Lydia couldn’t take it any longer. She lunged at him. He caught her fist before it struck his nose. “Nice try, my dear.”

  She let out a frustrated scream, which was loud enough to rouse Lady Tisbury.

  “What? What…children, children. Don’t fight. Save that for after the wedding.” With a knowing smile on her face, Lady Tisbury closed her eyes and sighed.

  “I’m leaving you, Lord Tisbury.”

  “I won’t let you continue going to those blasted fights.”

  “I’d like to see you stop me.”

  “Never ever serve me with a challenge, Lydia. You shall not like the outcome.”

  “I am retiring to my bedchamber. Do not follow me.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it. I shan’t follow you to your bedchamber until we are married.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you I am not going to marry you? I’d rather relegate myself to a life of spinsterhood over taking you as my husband.”

  He put his hand over his heart. “You wound me grievously, my lady. I do believe you’ve shot me with an arrow straight through the heart. I die, I die,” he said in jest.

  Lydia rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to laugh. “You are very droll, sir, but you shan’t wear down my defenses that way.”

  “Silly girl,” she heard Beatrice mutter as she continued to feign sleep.

  “You, see, Mama thinks you should willingly throw yourself into my arms.”

  “I did not say that. You shall kindly stop putting words into my mouth, Richard,” Beatrice said sharply, therefore breaking her illusion of slumber. “What I do think, however, is that the two of you are both playing the part of the fool. And you are doing it with grand aplomb. You should see a good thing in front of you, and grasp onto it before it’s too late. Now, then, I do believe I’d like to return to the ball. I trust you to both continue fighting each other, I daresay you shan’t be doing anything else.” With a rustle of her skirts, she stood up, and with those parting words, she left them.

  “Your mother is quite the lady.”

  “She does have her moments. She’s wiser than we all give her credit for. She’s right you, know.”

  “Is she? I don’t think we are acting like fools.”

  “I do. We are playing the part of two perfect harlequins, and deep down you know that to be true. You also know you love me, Lydia.”

  “I do not.”

  “You do.”

  “You are an insufferable bore.”

  “An insufferable bore would not go to boxing matches with you.”

  “I intend to go to one Thursday next.”

  “I do not think that’s a wise idea.”

  “If you try to control me, sir, you shall never win me.”

  “I’ve already won your heart.”

  “That might be—” Her cheeks reddened, as she admitted her weakness for him, “However, you have not won my hand.”

  “If you intend to go to that bout, then I intend to chaperone you. You will have to give up Jamie someday.”

  “Today is not that day. Neither is next Thursday. Pray do not clip my wings, sir.”

  “I shall take this as part of our courtship. I shall woo and win you, my darling. I shall have you begging me to kiss you. Begging me to caress you, and love you as only a man can love a woman.”

  “I hate you, Lord Tisbury.”

  “Those aren’t the three little words I’m waiting to hear, but you are quite close. Hate is only the reverse of love—and since you feel quite passionately about it, you only need to be given a little nudge in the right direction.”

  “You, sir, are an insufferable popinjay.”

  She stamped her foot and raced to the door. Before she could leave the room, she heard him say, “I love you too.”

  ichard was in high dudgeon.

  It was taking longer to woo Lydia than he’d expected. He supposed he deserved everything she was throwing his way and then some, but continually being rebuffed by her was starting to wound him deeply. At least he’d taken care of Mr. Newson by announcing to everyone at the ball that Lydia had accepted his proposal of marriage.

  “My lord,” his butler, Mr. Townsend, said, “you have a visitor.”

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s a Mr. Reeves, sir. He says the two of you are old friends.”

  “Send him in,” Richard said, instantly alert. He had expected a visit from Reeves.

  “Yes, your lordship,” The butler left, and two minutes later a footman showed Jonathan ‘Jack’ Reeves into Richard’s study.

  “What do you want, Reeves?”

  “You bloody well know what I want…sir,” he said. Reeves spat out sir as if he quite objected having to recognize Richard’s authority.

  “No, I do not.”

  “I want out.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Reeves. You’ll always be one of my agents.”

  “I don’t care what you think. The war is bloody over.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then, let me go.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen. We need you to keep sending your reports. I like to know what’s happening out there on our streets. And besides, we made a deal a long time ago. For my silence, you continue to do what you do best until I say you are done.”

  “You have no honor, sir.”

  “On the contrary. My silence is the only thing that protects you, Reeves. What do you think our mutual friend would do if he knew the truth?”

  “Damn you to hell, Tisbury.”

  “Lord Tisbury,” Richard insisted.

  “Lord Tisbury,” Reeves sneered. “I’ve had to live with what I did for ten long years. Every time I think of it my gut twists. I was sent to protect Maria and I didn’t. Because of me, because of me, she ended up dead. If he knew I could have…I should have saved her…he would never forgive me. We both want to save Alex from the truth—that much we’ve always agreed upon.” Richard was surprised to hear the emotion thickening Reeves’s voice. Reeves still had a heart apparently.

  “Aye. He doesn’t deserve to know what truly happened. It was you who begged me to stay quiet all these years. You put the shackles on yourself.”

  “I might have
done just that—but I’m ready to be set free, and if the truth is the only way for that to happen, then so be it. You only want me because I fit right in with the people your sort deem rabble. I shall find a way to tell him.”

  “I’m quite certain you will, eventually. You’ve always been rather—inventive. Lies have always been your currency, haven’t they?”

  “I’m sick of doing your dirty work.”

  “It’s not my dirty work. I only ask for you to look and listen, and to report anything back to me that might prove a risk to national security. You’ve been quite helpful in the past, though Alex’s reports have been more reliable. He actually has prevented attacks right here within the city.”

  “I don’t care how you rationalize what you and your blasted lot do. I won’t throw a fight again. Do you understand? I won’t be made to look the fool against someone like Pip Bird. He’s not got the makings of a true fighter no matter what Alex thinks—Pip doesn’t have the stomach for it. If Alex wants to fight he should just get back into the ring himself, at least he’d make me a worthy opponent. Retirement just doesn’t suit him. And if you mess up one of my fights again, your lordship,” he said with a sneer, “you’ll be in the ring with me.”

  “Are you threatening me, Reeves?”

  “I’m just merely telling you how it is. If you get in my way again, if you try to ruin my credibility amongst me mates, I’ll make certain you come out the loser.”

  “You forget who trained you.”

  “You’ve sat behind a desk for too long. I’ve been exercising my muscles. I’ve been out amongst what your lot view as the hoi polloi, sometimes living in the rough, but always living like a man who isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. You’ve been living like a soft dandified man in your large manor houses, catered to by your servants, and interacting with people who turn up their noses at my kind. Perhaps my kind is sick of it. Perhaps they’d like to bite back at those who rule over them.”