A Wicked Gentleman (14 page)

He caught himself reflecting that whatever the reason for her appearance, it pleased him deeply, and his pleasure had little to do with the prospect of retrieving the thimble. Everything about her fascinated him. She was a challenge, serene, composed, despite her present disadvantage, and radiating a most powerful sensuality. A sensuality all the more arousing because he wasn't convinced she was aware of it.

What kind of marriage had she had? One that had unlocked the door to that sensuality, or merely half turned the key?

His body stirred at a reverie that had become uncomfortably lustful and he welcomed the diversion as a footman entered with coffee. The silence continued until the coffee had been poured, dainty Sèvres cups passed around, and the servant had left the salon.

Harry, a slight frown in his eye, turned the conversation in a direction that would banish lustful thoughts. “Country ways don't always go down too well in town,” he said abruptly.

“I beg your pardon?” She sipped her coffee, her spine prickling at the implication of criticism.

He pursed his lips. “Nell, ladies do not roam the streets without any form of escort.”

She decided to ignore the familiarity, “Nonsense. I'm a widow way past the age of discretion. My reputation is in no danger, I assure you.”

“Well, now there you're wrong,” he said, putting down his cup. “In this town, reputation is all and everything, and having it compromised is a very uncomfortable matter.”

She looked at him sharply, alerted by something in his voice. Her indignation faded. “You sound as if you know something about that.”

He turned away, but not before she'd caught the dark shadow that crossed his eyes. He stood, hands behind his back, gazing out of one of the long windows overlooking the street. His shoulders moved in the semblance of a shrug, and his tone was careless as he said, “It may be unjust, but it's a much more serious matter for women.”

Cornelia frowned. His tone told her to drop the subject, but a perverse instinct pushed her to probe further. She put her cup aside and reached down to unfasten her remaining boot. She was tired of feeling unbalanced, and it also gave her the excuse not to look at him as she said, “Maybe so. But I get the feeling you've been touched by the injustice yourself. Some member of your family perhaps?”

Anne's body at the foot of the stairs, limbs asprawl, the strange angle of her neck.

“Not at all,” he stated with sudden brusqueness. “I was merely issuing a friendly word to the wise.” He spun around from the window and went to the sideboard, where he poured himself a glass of sherry. “If you and your friends intend to enter society, then roaming the streets with only a pair of imitation dogs as escort will do you no good.”

Cornelia stretched her stockinged feet thoughtfully, flexing her toes. “I'm grateful for the advice.” Her smile was dulcet but didn't deceive him for a moment. “It's kind of you to have such a care for my reputation, even though such care loses a little of its sincerity in present circumstances. I am, when all's said and done, alone with an unmarried man in his house at his invitation.” She waited to see if he would correct her statement, but he didn't.

He caught himself gazing at her feet. They were very long, with very high arches, and there was something undeniably erotic about them. His eyes traveled upwards. The erect posture, straight back, slim shoulders, the long neck. The direct challenge in the blue eyes. She was playing with fire and enjoying every minute of it.

“You are a very dangerous woman, Lady Dagenham,” he said softly.

The air crackled and it wasn't just the sudden hiss and spit of a log in the grate. He stepped towards her, reaching for her hands, drawing her to her feet. Even when she was shoeless, her eyes were almost on a level with his own. “You give no quarter, do you?” he murmured, running the palm of his hand against her cheek.

Cornelia wanted to move but couldn't. The pulse in her throat was beating so fast she could barely swallow, and her cheek was alive beneath the smooth palm. She had never considered herself in the least dangerous, in the least ruthless, and yet as he spoke the words she knew they were true. Something inside her was coming to life beneath the glint of the green eyes, the light caress of his hands, the low sensuality of his voice. The woman she believed she was was not all that she was. The widow, the respectable mother of two, was also capable of seduction.

And with that conviction came its pair.
This man was dangerous, the most dangerous man she had ever encountered, but she could meet and match him.

A heady sense of excitement flooded her, jolting the pit of her belly, tightening her loins. When he kissed her, she felt only jubilation, a deep and mysterious sense of triumph. His lips were hard against her mouth, his tongue insistent, his hands palming her face. She opened her mouth for his tongue and welcomed the press of his loins against hers, the hard nudge of his penis and her own moist warmth.

And then reality broke into the tight dark world of pure sensation. She pulled free of his hold at the same moment as he lifted his mouth from hers. They both stepped back. Cornelia averted her head, her fingers inadvertently brushing her mouth.

“So much for reputation,” she murmured.

“So much for country mice,” he returned with a smile. He touched her shoulder. “Nell?”

She turned back to him, her gaze both straightforward and a little bemused. “I don't know what's happening? I…I haven't felt anything like this since Stephen…” She looked away again, trying to marshal her thoughts and the words to go with them.

“Your husband?”

“Yes.” Her shoulders lifted a little as she sighed. “You've never been married, I take it.”

“I
was
married,” he said evenly. “She died.”

“Ah.” She turned back to him. “I'm sorry.”

He opened his hands in a gesture of resignation. “It was four years ago. An accident.”

“Did you love her?” For some reason the answer mattered.

He didn't reply immediately, then said without expression, “I believed I did.” He moved towards her again, taking her hands once more. “Nell, that's in the past. This is the present. From the first moment I met you I've been drawn to you. Have you not felt it too?” He lifted her hands to his mouth, brushing her knuckles with his lips.

“No,” Cornelia stated with absolute truth, although she didn't move her hands. “I've disliked you immensely from the moment I laid eyes on you. I thought you felt the same way about me.”

He laughed and released her hands. “Your honesty is delightful…but tell me now, in truth, do you still dislike me?” He walked to the sideboard and poured her a glass of sherry, refilling his own at the same time.

“In truth…” She took the glass from him. “In truth, no.” She took a long sip, and said with irritation, “Oh, this is so inconvenient.”

“Why?”

“I don't have time for dalliance.” Cornelia sipped her sherry. “Liv is the one looking for a husband, not me. And if reputations are so vital in this town, then indulging in a liaison is hardly sensible.” Her gaze over the lip of the glass was fierce, but the residue of the exultant triumph of that kiss was as legible as the most impeccable script.

“It could be managed,” Harry said. “It
is
managed every hour of every day and night in the five square miles of this town inhabited by the upper ten thousand.”

Cornelia raised her eyebrows. “Are you proposing an arrangement, sir? I'm flattered, I assure you, but I fear I would be far too expensive and would make a most unrestful mistress.” She tapped her forefinger thoughtfully against her lips. “I would require a house, of course, a carriage, box at the opera—”

“Oh, have done, Nell,” he said sharply. “I'm in no mood to jest about this.” He came towards her, his green eyes narrowed. “We'll not talk of it further now, but I ask that you think about it.” He laid a finger on her lips, pressing lightly. “Come now, we're both adults, we know the world. There's no reason why two people who are so attracted to each other should not take their discreet pleasure where they find it. As I said, it's hardly uncommon.”

Cornelia wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry foul. She had never received an indecent proposal before, and against all her instincts, she found this one both exciting and complimentary. Marriage was about so much more than passion that passion itself tended to get lost in the tendrils of domesticity. A relationship based on pure lust…

Harry was right that plenty of folk had them in the most august echelons of society. The liaisons of the royal princes, and even, it was rumored rather less scandalously, their sisters, were as near public knowledge as if they'd been broadcast in the broadsheets. They certainly provided fodder for the satirists at
Punch.

Then she remembered the earl of Markby. And excitement drained away.

Her face closed, and her voice was expressionless as she said, “My situation is a little different from most, sir.” She bent to pick up her discarded boot. “I need to go back to Cavendish Square.” She raised the boot in an eloquent gesture.

Harry had always been blessed with the knowledge of when to step back. He had no idea what had wiped the last traces of arousal from her countenance, but it was time to leave well enough alone. He inclined his head and reached for the bell. Hector appeared almost immediately.

“Send to the mews for the curricle, Hector. I am escorting Lady Dagenham home.”

Hector said solemnly, “Yes, m'lord, right away. Eric was able to perform a temporary repair on her ladyship's boot. I'll fetch it directly.” He turned back to the door, pausing with his hand on the latch to inquire, “Should I have the dogs installed in the curricle, my lady?”

“If you would be so kind, Hector,” Cornelia said. “Under the seat for preference.”

The tiniest curve of the lip gave Hector away. “I will endeavor to arrange them so that they won't be a nuisance, ma'am.”

“I doubt you'll succeed, Hector,” she responded.

“No, my lady.” He slid from the room.

Cornelia sat down to put on her boot. She was not prepared for assistance, but at the same time not surprised when Harry knelt and took the boot from her. He slid it onto her foot, molding the soft leather over her ankles, and fastened the tiny buttons and laces with a dexterity that astonished her. Men didn't usually have such fine hands. Unless they made jewelry, or were engravers. She'd have expected Viscount Bonham to have light hands with a horse's mouth, and a keen eye and swift move with a fencing sword or a hunting pistol, but his long, slender fingers deftly twisted loops around buttons with all the delicacy of an artist.

“There.” He sat back on his heels and his hands remained on her ankle, massaging the sharp bone. “Now all we need is the other one…Ah, Hector, exactly on cue.” He held out his hand for the boot that the butler brought over to him.

Cornelia was past caring what the butler thought about anything. She submitted her foot to another round of the viscount's intimate attention, then firmly stood up, testing her weight on the repaired boot. “Thank you, Hector, I'm most grateful. This will take me home.”

“The curricle is at the door, my lord.” Hector opened the door onto the hall and moved in stately fashion to the front door. “The dogs are installed.”

“You are very kind.” Cornelia gave him a warm farewell smile, aware of a slight wobble in the repaired boot as she walked down the steps to the street, where the curricle awaited at the curb, a pair of handsome grays in the traces, a sharp-faced groom holding the reins. Tristan and Isolde had been tethered firmly on short leads to the driver's seat.

Cornelia closed her eyes at the sharp yapping welcome as Harry handed her up.

“I trust they won't do that all the way to Cavendish Square,” he commented, taking his own place. “It'll spook my horses.”

“I'll keep them quiet.” Cornelia bent and scooped the two onto her lap, settling them comfortably under each arm. It seemed to calm them, and they gazed attentively and with a distinct air of superiority from beneath thick fringes at the scene on the street below them.

“Why isn't my reputation damaged by being driven through the streets beside a man in his curricle?” Cornelia inquired sweetly. She needed to return their relationship to its previous footing. She knew where she was in this lightly combative banter.

“Don't be disingenuous. You know perfectly well,” Harry replied. “It's too public to be scandalous. Now, if we were in a closed carriage, creeping around in the dark, there might be cause for concern…Eric, keep your eyes and your ears on the road.”

“Yes, m'lord,” the groom said stolidly from his perch at the back of the carriage. He was finding the conversation most interesting, but unfortunately his master and the lady spent the rest of the journey in silence.

Harry drew up outside the house on Cavendish Square and looked with interest at the open front door, the loaded drays lining the pavement in front, the bustle of workmen moving in and out with ladders, buckets of paint, lengths of wood. “You've been busy,” he observed.