Kilby wrapped her arms around the viscountess before she had settled on the bench and fiercely hugged her. "Thank you. It is a wondrous gift." She returned the scent bottle to the box and stuffed it into her reticule.
The footman handed Priddy the larger box. In turn, she offered it to Kilby. "What is this? It is heavy." Tugging on the cord, she removed the box from its coarse canvas wrapping. She gasped in awe at what she beheld. "Is this what I think it is?"
"I suppose; it depends on your guess," the viscountess teased.
On her lap was a toilet table box made out of black japanned iron that had been gilded. The edges of the lid were decorated with a repeating diamond design containing an inner narrower shell pattern. Within the center was a painted enamel plaque. The painting expanded on the images carved in filigree on the scent bottle. The limbs of the tree spread out gracefully across the top, while the dark-haired beauty took advantage of its shade. The lady's hand was extended as she patiently coaxed the unicorn to her.
"The lady is so lovely," Kilby murmured in awe as she caressed the lid. "And the workmanship of the box is so detailed."
Priddy beamed with delight. "Look inside."
Needing no further encouragement, Kilby turned the small key in the lock and opened the lid. On the inside of the lid was a polished metal mirror. Within the box, there was a hairbrush with boar bristles, a tortoiseshell comb, a hand mirror, a button hook, a glove stretcher, and a shoe horn. Each silver piece was decorated with the scrolling filigree with dainty roses that matched the scent bottle.
"Thank you, Priddy. The box contains a veritable treasure," Kilby said, kissing the older woman on the cheek.
"No, my dear Kilby," the viscountess countered gently. "The rarest treasure is you."
"Trouble?"
"That was what I was trying to decipher." With his hand braced on the saddle, Fayne squinted up at Lord Everod as he approached on horseback. Waiting for the man to dismount, he gestured at his horse. "Moments ago, the animal bolted unexpectedly. Whatever ails the creature persists." It had taken all his strength and skill to get the agitated horse to halt.
Everod crouched down and examined the horse's left leg. "A bee sting?"
"Perhaps," Fayne said, his hand stroking the animal's smooth, gleaming croup affectionately. "I was fortunate the incident occurred in the park, instead of a busy street. Someone might have been injured."
Like me, for instance.
Murmuring assurances to the edgy horse, Everod moved around to check the right hind leg. He paused and scowled at Fayne. "Where were you two nights past?" the viscount demanded, suddenly recalling the reason that had him combing London for his errant friend. "What happened? Was the wound Hollensworth delivered worse than you let on at the fair?"
The chest wound was healing. There was no sign of infection. His arms, legs, and torso, on the other hand, had some impressive bruising. "No, I am quite fit despite Hollensworth's clumsy attempts with a single stick."
Fayne had not seen any of his friends since the afternoon at the fair. Nor had he seen Kilby. He had decided to ride through Hyde Park in hopes of encountering her there. She was a beautiful lady. Most of the ladies he was acquainted with took great pleasure in displaying themselves at the park. This was the second afternoon he "had ridden his bay in the park. There had been no sign of the lady or her friends.
"Do you see any sign of injury?" Fayne asked.
"Nothing." Everod cleared his throat. “The ladies were disappointed that you did not join us at my house. Lady Spry-ing, in particular, was rather vocal regarding her dismay."
Ah, Fayne mused, the dusky-skinned Velouette. With a distant fondness, he recalled thoroughly enjoying her lusty appetite. He shrugged off the reminiscence. These days, he hungered for a violet-eyed little wolf. "My friend, I had every confidence that you could keep those ladies amused without any assistance from me."
The viscount laughed heartily and stood. "Indeed. Savoring the company of two ladies at once was a pleasurable means to pass an evening. It certainly surpassed getting foxed with you, Cadd, and Ramscar."
"If it isn't, then you are doing something wrong!" Fayne sardonically quipped.
Everod just gazed distantly ahead with a faint grin on his face.
Most likely, the man was recalling the particulars of his pleasurable evening. Fayne had a similar expression on his face whenever he thought about tasting Kilby's flawless breasts.
The viscount snapped out of his private musings. "If it wasn't your injuries, what kept you from coming to the house?"
"The duchess," Fayne said, wearily sighing. Naturally, his petulance was only for appearances. No self-respecting gentleman would admit that the two ladies in his family had him wrapped around their little fingers. "She and Fayre had learned of the duels I had participated in, and fussed over my injuries. Later that evening, the duchess wanted to attend a late supper at Lord Guttrey's. With my father gone, I felt obliged to offer her an escort."
The viscount scowled, his brows pinching together. "Guttrey? He's still alive?"
Fayne grinned at his friend's puzzled amazement. "Apparently so. And he entertains on occasion, too."
The highlight of the entire evening had been the precious minutes he had spent with Kilby in the conservatory. It had been difficult to let her go. As he had guessed, Lady Quennell had whisked the lady away to avoid any awkward confrontation with his mother. In truth, he had been more alarmed that Kilby had encountered his former mistress, Morrigan Du Toy than he had been about her meeting the duchess.
He had seen Morrigan when he finally joined the other guests in the drawing room. Once they could speak openly the widow had expressed a desire to rekindle their old friendship. He had caught his mother observing their quiet discourse. She had been shaking her head in dismay. Clearly, Mrs. Du Toy was not a suitable candidate for the next Duchess of Solitea. Fayne privately agreed. Then again, when they had been lovers, marriage had not even glimmered in his ardent thoughts.
"Well, I benefited nicely from your duty," Everod said smugly. He went low and ran his hand along the underside of the bay. "I am tempted to send your mother a token of my appreciation."
Fayne snickered. "Please refrain from doing so. You will only encourage her." Sending the duchess gifts was trouble his friend did not want. Everod was a bit younger than his mother's usual lovers. For some reason, he suspected the duchess would make an exception for his bawdy friend. The prospect of the viscount and his mother together was really disturbing.
"Hold. What's this?" The viscount cursed and straightened. "I think I found the reason your bay bolted."
Fayne circled around the head of the gelding, giving its neck a pat as he crouched low to see what Everod had found. He noticed the three-inch crease on the horse's right flank. The wound was raw looking, but there was little blood loss.
He sighed. "I think we can rule out a bee sting."
Everod chuckled. "I would have to agree. I'd wager a flying piece of stone was the culprit." He walked over to his horse that had been idly nibbling on the grass. "It could have been worse."
Fayne agreed. A little healing salve and a few days of being spoiled by one of the grooms and the bay would be fine. "Even so, I find it peculiar since our gait was too slow to—" He broke off, distracted by the carriage to the right of them. It was the couple within who had caught Fayne's attention. The dark-haired gentleman looked vaguely familiar. The blonde hair he glimpsed beneath the lady's bonnet even more so.
"Another problem?" Everod politely inquired. Curious, he glanced at the couple who had obtained his friend's rapt interest.
"No," Fayne said, grinning like a fool. If the woman in the carriage ahead was Lady Lyssa Nunnick, his luck had changed in his favor.
He was in the card room.
Exhilarated by her discovery, it was all Kilby could do to stop herself from brazenly introducing herself to Lord Tulley. Discreetly, she admired him from the respectful distance she ke
pt between them.
Lord Ordish had told her that he was younger than the other gentlemen he had singled out as men who had once courted her mother's affections. According to snippets of information she had gathered from Lyssa, Priddy, and several others, Rutger Elliot, Earl of Tulley, was forty-two years old and had been married once eight years ago. His countess had died three months into their marriage. The details of her demise were rather sketchy, and no one dared to speak of the lady in front of the earl.
Good grief, could this man possibly be her father? No. She immediately discarded the notion. It was impossible to view any of the gentlemen she had encountered as her father. Weldon Fitchwolf, Marquess of Nipping, was her father. Kilby sensed it wholly in her heart. Archer had to be lying to her and she refused to let him take her family from her to justify his selfish ambitions.
Although Lord Tulley was clearly too old for her, she thought he was a handsome gentleman. His dark brown hair, just shy of black, was cut stylishly short. Observing his profile while he sipped his drink, she noticed his lips were full and his nose straight. He looked slightly bored with either his companions or the game he played with them. Kilby took a deep breath, wondering if she had the courage to approach him on her own.
"Little wolf," the Duke of Solitea murmured in her ear. "Care to dance?"
Lady Kilby shivered as his hot breath teased her ear. As she tilted her head in his direction, Fayne got the impression the lady was not pleased to see him. "I beg you, never call me that silly name ever again," she said curtly, opening her fan with a practiced snap of her wrist. "What if someone heard you?"
She was stylishly attired in a dress of mulberry sarcenet. Draped over the dress was a diaphanous robe of white net that fluttered about her; the front of it was cut diagonally, making the sheer covering longer at the back. Around her neck and on her upper arms she wore a double strand of carnelian and silver beads. Matching earrings dangled pertly from her earlobes.
"I am the only one who knows you howl softly when pleasured," he said, turning her so she concentrated on him instead of whatever had intrigued her in the card room. He was anticipating getting her alone to see if he could coax those impassioned husky cries out of her again. "If anyone overheard us, they would assume it was an endearing abbreviation of your family name. Of course, they would also know we shared an intimate connection."
One he hoped to share again with her soon. Their hosts, Lord and Lady Sallis, resided in one of the older town squares. The house was huge in comparison to some of the newer residences being built. With so many rooms, Fayne was certain he and Kilby could disappear without anyone noticing their absence.
"I told you four days ago that what happened in Lord Guttrey's conservatory was an aberration," she said primly behind her fan. "By the bye, how is your mother? Is she here this evening?"
Fayne was not going to allow Kilby to escape him so easily. The day he and Everod were riding together in Hyde Park, the lady in the carriage had indeed been Lady Lyssa Nunnick. Regrettably, her male companion had been Lord Darknell. For obvious reasons, both he and the viscount had taken a mutual dislike to each other. While Everod distracted Darknell with idle conversation, Fayne had charmed what information he could about Kilby's plans for the week out of her friend. His plans to seek out the lady had failed miserably when he had missed her on two other occasions. He had almost convinced himself Lady Lyssa had deceived him about Kilby's whereabouts when he espied her in the Sallis's ballroom.
"If I said yes would you dash out of here as you did at Guttrey's supper?" Fayne asked, prepared to chase after her this time.
"Of course," she said, crossing her eyes at him for his intentional obtuseness. "Perhaps it is uncouth of me for mentioning your father so soon after your loss; however, you force me to speak plainly. I know what was said the night Lady Quennell visited your family, the accusations that questioned my good character. Priddy related to me the family's confusion regarding my friendship with your father."
"You must forgive us, my lady, it was a—difficult night," Fayne quietly said, recalling the rage and grief that had struck them all when they realized the duke was dead. "Accusations might have been uttered in the blind heat of torment. 1 suffer no such confusion now."
"You are merely being kind," she replied, looking unconvinced. "And so am I. Despite what your family might think, I am not so unfeeling as to cause your mother any unnecessary anguish."
Fayne sensed Kilby's earnestness. He was still trying to understand the lady who had captured his father's interest in his last days. A part of him envied his father for having claimed her first. Had she loved him? He had already gathered she was neither thoughtlessly ambitious nor cruel. "There is no need for you to run from me this evening," he confessed, pleased his mother had decided that she did not need his services once she was satisfied that his recent recklessness had left him unharmed. "I am wholly yours if you desire it."
Kilby looked away and glanced curiously at the card room. "And ... how many ladies have received this generous offer from you?"
A dangerous question. Answering it truthfully would never get him what he wanted from the lady. "This very evening or in the past year?" he asked mischievously.
Amused, she glanced back at him, searing him with her violet eyes. "I thought as much. How many have refused you?"
He was not certain of the game she was playing with him, but he did not mind the challenge. "Why, absolutely none, my lady." He blatantly lied.
"Really?" she marveled, her eyes flashing with indulgence. "It is a shame, though."
"Not from my perspective," he said, wondering how she would react if he suggested they leave the ballroom now. "I savored every pleasurable moment."
"No, you incorrigible man, I meant it is a shame I must ruin your perfect record by refusing your kind offer." She blithely ignored his stunned expression. "I meant it when I told you that I was not interested in pursuing our friendship further, Your Grace."
A surge of unjustifiable resentment rose and exploded in his chest. "Give me a few minutes alone with you in the Sallises' gardens," he said with terse impatience. "And then refuse me."
Kilby's features darkened with regret. "You tempt me, Your Grace. It is a challenge I would be unwise to accept."
CHAPTER 8
Kilby forced herself to walk away from the Duke of Solitea. It was a difficult task when every nerve in her body was so aware of him. When the man stared at her with those beguiling green eyes, she felt her will to resist him weaken. If he sensed the full depth of her desire to explore the passion between them, he would have whisked her out of the ballroom and she would have been helpless to deny him.
"Oh, I see, His Grace found you," Lyssa said, greeting her with a brief hug. At Kilby's puzzled expression, her friend nodded at something behind her.
She turned back and saw Fayne broodingly staring at her. His burning regard was arrogant and transparently possessive. Her body trembled in response. The duke was going to have to stop looking at her in that manner. Someone was bound to notice.
"How did you know he was looking for me?" she asked, deliberately turning away.
"His Grace approached Darknell and me while we were driving in Hyde Park several days ago," Lyssa confided, thrilled with the notion that her friend had gained the attention of a duke. "Darknell, naturally, warned me not to reveal your whereabouts to him. Nevertheless, while the duke's companion distracted our mutual friend, I did reveal to His Grace that you would be attending the Sallises' ball this evening. Did I do something wrong? I thought you would be pleased."
From Lyssa's perspective, the young duke was everything Kilby should be seeking in a husband. He was handsome, wealthy, and his position in polite society far eclipsed Archer's. He was perfect—well, almost.
It was a pity he was Solitea's heir.
Kilby did not blame her friend for her hasty attempt at matchmaking. If Fayne were so determinded to seek her out that he approached he
r friends, he would have eventually found her on his own. He might have even sought out Priddy's assistance. Kilby could well imagine how thrilled the viscountess would have been by that prospect.
"You did nothing wrong," Kilby said cheerfully. She could feel the weight of Fayne's stare on her. Becoming increasingly agitated, she gripped Lyssa's hands. "I need to leave the ballroom for a few minutes. Will you let Priddy know if she asks after me?"
Her delicate brows furrowed in concern. "Are you ill?" Lyssa asked, holding on to Kilby before she could escape.
"Not really. I am unused to so many people. I just need a few minutes alone."
"You might try the informal parlor. No one should be there," her friend helpfully suggested. "I could sit with you, if you like?"
Kilby wrinkled her nose. "No. Stay and enjoy the ball. I will not be gone for long." Releasing Lyssa's hand, she pivoted and headed out of the ballroom. Fayne had disappeared. If she had any sense, she would leave the Sallises' house and wait for Priddy at home. However, Fitchwolfs were made of sterner stuff. Once she calmed down and composed herself, she would focus on her task of meeting Lord Tulley and forget all about the flirtatious Duke of Solitea and his sinful kisses.
"She was the pretty wench you were flirting with at the fair," Cadd nonchalantly remarked as Fayne observed Kilby depart the ballroom. "The lady who gave you the gossamer frippery, the favor."
"Who was Solitea flirting with?" Everod asked, shouldering himself in between the two men.
Fayne saw no point in hiding his growing obsession. Everod had been with him the afternoon he had approached Lady Lyssa Nunnick. One of them was bound to discover her name. "Lady Kilby Fitchwolf," he said, his tone warning them off.
The viscount cocked his head, trying to glimpse more than the back of her head. "Ho-ho! What's this? Are you keeping secrets from your friends?"
He accepted his friend's teasing with his usual sarcastic manner. "Not much of a secret when you gents are involved, is it?"
Barbara Pierce - Sinful Between the Sheets Page 10
