Candice Hern (13 page)

“I will see myself out, my dear. I believe my hat and gloves are still on the hall table.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you for a most…enlightening afternoon.”

“Yes.”

He bowed over an elegant leg, turned, and left.

Edwina sank down into her chair and tried to compose herself. How foolish that she had not been able to manage a single coherent sentence. He would know how thoroughly he had discomposed her with that kiss. More so than she had unsettled him earlier. Everything was a competition with him, a challenge. He would have wanted to best her in this, too.

And he had done so.

She was still shaken by it. Damn. She hadn’t wanted this. She had never wanted this wild, chaotic feeling again. This tempest of confusion, this jumble of sensation was the last thing she ever wanted to experience again. She could not govern it, and that frightened her.

If it was simply a matter of the physical, even
sexual reaction, she could have controlled it. She
had
controlled it earlier. It had been difficult, but she had done it. It was more than physical, though. The whole afternoon had left her emotions in a state of total disarray.

And she hated that.

She had set out only to play a game of flirtation, to challenge him with a little gamesmanship of her own. But it had not turned out as she’d expected. Even while she was “seducing” him, she knew it was not completely a game. Now that he’d kissed her like that—surely not out of competitiveness alone, but with pure passion—her feelings for him had taken a new turn. Her stomach was knotted up with confusion and excitement and anxiety and wonder. She feared to put a name to it. But she was certain of one thing.

She hated the feeling.

And, God help her, she loved it.

What the devil was she going to do about Anthony Morehouse?

Tony soaked in the bath Brinkley had prepared for him after his return from Golden Square. His arms dangled limply over the edge of the copper tub. His valet’s mouth had puckered up in disapproval when he saw the sadly rearranged neckcloth, but he said nothing more than to suggest a hot bath. No doubt he’d assumed much more had
taken place that afternoon than a bit of harmless dalliance in Edwina’s drawing room.

Harmless? The way his heart had raced, he’d been damned near apoplexy. Lord, what an afternoon.

He pondered all that had happened, reliving every tantalizing detail, as he relaxed in the warm bath. Edwina’s “demonstration” had not entirely surprised him. A woman of her beauty and her age must surely have had some experience of physical passion. He had hoped to tease her into a decent kiss, if nothing else. Her thoroughly erotic performance, though, had been more than he could ever have dreamed. The woman had the makings of a sorceress.

And he was completely willing to fall under her spell. If only he could contrive an opportunity for further demonstrations.

One thing he ought to have expected was the way she had taken total control of the situation, never allowing him to make a single peremptory move. Edwina Parrish was definitely a woman who liked to be in charge. He wondered what it would be like to make love to her. Would she allow him to participate at all?

Though she had provided a compelling and provocative display, it had not actually given him the proof he sought, the proof that she could desire a man. It only proved she knew how to make a man desire her. He had suspected the truth, but had not
been one hundred percent certain. Her brother’s words still rang in his ears.

That was why he’d kissed her. He’d wanted to be sure, to remove that last niggling doubt.

And he had done so. Her response to his kiss left no uncertainty as to her nature. She could desire a man. She could even desire him, if she would only loosen up a bit.

He wondered what had brought about this powerful need of hers to be in full command of every situation? Nicholas mentioned how she had changed since going to France during the Revolution. Had something happened there? Something specific and personal? Or was it simply a matter of watching the Revolution turn on itself, when its violence consumed its own leaders? For someone who strongly supported its principles and ideals, it must have been devastating to witness such an outcome at close hand.

Tony closed his eyes and replayed their kiss in his mind. Her infernal control had slipped a bit then, to be sure, and she had grown pliant in his arms. He rather suspected her response had even stunned
her
a little. Though she had let down her guard for a moment, freed herself from whatever self-imposed discipline was at work, it had been involuntary. There had been pleasure between them, incredible pleasure, and yet Tony did not believe it pleased her. More likely, it scared her.

Poor Edwina. There was a passionate nature be
neath all that control. Probably inherited from her mother. It was a shame to so deliberately restrain it.

Tony was doing everything he could to insure she won their wager for the
Cabinet
. But as he recalled her pliant body in his arms, he was surprised to discover there was something else he wanted to do for her. Something she deserved equally as much.

He wanted to set her free.

Free from those unnatural restraints on her emotions, her feelings, her passions. Free from that powerful need to keep her defenses up at all times. Free from whatever chains bound her heart. He wanted to give her the freedom to let go, the freedom to live.

He wasn’t sure why he wanted to do this for her. Not because her beauty shot raw desire through his veins. It was more than that.

He cared for her. He liked her. He had a special sort of affection for her, perhaps because he’d known her as a child, and he wanted to do this.

Though she was contemptuous of his gambling, there was something to be said for it. Living so often on the knife edge of risk fired his blood, fueled every moment with a sense of immediacy, made him feel alive. Perhaps the best thing he could do for her was to teach her how to find some of that excitement in her own life. By letting go. By letting down her defenses. By accepting that it was all right for someone else to take charge now and then.

He finished his bath and Brinkley helped him
into the evening clothes he’d laid out. He had nothing special planned for the evening. He probably ought to find a woman to slake the restlessness, the hunger brought on by the almost-seduction of the afternoon. But he knew he would not. The hunger was not of a general nature, easily assuaged by a convenient bed and a willing female.

He wanted Edwina. No one else would do.

Most people believed him to be a libertine of sorts. He’d done nothing to encourage that reputation, but there it was. Probably had to do with his well-known liaison with Flora all those years ago.

The fact was, though, he was what you might call serially monogamous. He never got involved with more than one woman at a time. He seldom indulged in one-night flings. He preferred to get to know a woman, to spend time with her. Some associations where shorter in duration than others, but he was always faithful while they lasted.

And even though he was not—yet—having an affair with Edwina, he found he wasn’t interested in anyone else at the moment. So instead of female companionship, he went in search of good friends and good play.

The evening began at White’s, as it so often did. Before he could make his way to the tables, he ran into Victor Croyden in the coffee room.

“Evening, Morehouse. Playing whist tonight, are you?

“I thought I might see about a game or two.”

“Hoping to win a gentleman’s magazine this time?” Croyden cackled at his own witticism and slapped Tony on the shoulder.

“Think I’ll stick to the usual blunt,” Tony said. “Easier to deal with.”

“Ah. Having problems with the
Cabinet
ladies, are you?”

“Not particularly. In fact, it’s turning out more profitably than I’d expected.”

Croyden’s eyes widened with interest. “Oh? How so?”

“Made a few changes. Subscriptions are up. Hope to see them doubled by November.”

“Doubled?” Croyden chuckled. “I would not expect such an increase if I were you. But then, you don’t have any experience in these matters, do you?”

“None whatsoever. But I am learning. And I have every faith in your niece’s ability to turn this enterprise into a huge success.”

“Edwina?” He clicked his tongue. “A word of advice, Morehouse. Never depend on a bevy of old women and spinsters to do a man’s job. If you really want to make a profitable venture out of the thing, you’re going to have to bring in someone else to run it.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. Miss Parrish is doing an excellent job. In fact, it is due to her efforts that the subscriptions are likely to double in so short a time. She’s expanding the fashion reporting. Brought in
new writers and artists, and new advertisers. Revenues are increasing.”

“Oh? Revenues up? I wonder, Morehouse, if you have not got in over your head with this business. A bit out of your element, eh? I might be interested in buying it back. Or we might play for it again. What do you say?”

“If I were going to sell it to anyone,” Tony said, “I would sell it to Miss Parrish. She is responsible for its success. It ought to be hers.”

“Sell it to Edwina? Are you mad?”

“I don’t believe so. In fact, I am seriously considering giving it to her.”

“Well, if that’s not the most damned fool thing I ever heard. Got a screw loose, Morehouse, and that’s a fact. A woman shouldn’t be allowed to run such a business.”

“Seems to me a woman’s been running it for years. All you ever did was collect the profits. And now that those profits might be growing, you want the thing back. Well, you can’t have it, Croyden. I’d give it to Edwina before I’d sell it back to you.”

Croyden puffed up like a pouter pigeon, scowled, and sputtered incoherently. Finally, he made a curt nod and left without another word. The bastard.

Tony turned to find Ian Fordyce standing close behind him. He took Tony by the elbow and steered him to a private corner with a pair of unoccupied chairs.

“What’s got into you, old man?” Ian asked as he
sank into one of the comfortable wing chairs. “You’ve let this magazine—this
woman
—take on too much importance in your life, I think. I told you there was nothing but trouble ahead.”

“There’s no trouble, Ian. I just don’t like that fellow Croyden and the way he tries to take advantage of his niece.”

“Awfully protective of her, are you not?”

Tony laughed. “Edwina Parrish is not a woman who needs protection, I assure you.”

“But there’s something going on, isn’t there? Damn it, Tony, you haven’t fallen in love with the woman, have you?”

Had he?

“I don’t know, Ian. Maybe. I don’t know.”

It was true. He hadn’t bothered to put any sort of definition on his feelings for her. He didn’t love her. But he might be a little bit
in
love with her.

“Maybe?” Ian clucked like an old hen. “Good Lord. You’re done for, old man. Well, they say she’s a beauty.”

“She’s stunningly beautiful.” Especially with her hair down and her eyes glassy with desire. “But it’s not just that. I like her. She’s quite unconventional. Doesn’t care a fig for Society or propriety.”

“Much the same could be said of you, my friend. Perhaps you feel a kindred spirit in her.”

“No, we’re not at all alike. Her motivations and objectives are as far removed from my own as they could be. She flouts Society because she seeks to re
form it. She cares about factory workers and displaced farmers and education for the poor. I only wish I could claim such selfless compassion. It’s true I’ve been flouting Society most of my life, but that’s only because…” He paused. He had almost said “because of my father.” But that didn’t make any sense. Why would he say such a thing?

“Because,” Ian said, finishing the thought for him, “you’ve been doing it so long, it’s second nature to you. I remember when you were sent down from Cambridge over that gaming hell you’d set up in your rooms. You wore expulsion like a badge of honor, as if it was your defining moment.”

“It was, in a way. It proved my father had been right about me all along.”

Ian smiled. “Lord, I remember how furious he was. But you rather liked being the bad boy. You were so damned good at it.”

A waiter strolled by with glasses of brandy on a silver tray. They each took one. Tony warmed the glass in his hands.

“To tell you the truth,” he said, “I never really enjoyed making my father angry. It just seemed inevitable. I was never going to be the son he wanted.”

“And so you have found in Miss Parrish another who has placed herself outside the accepted standards of polite behavior?”

“Possibly. Though her disregard for convention is born out of principle and a completely different
sort of upbringing. I do not believe she set out deliberately to be rebellious, as perhaps I did. It is simply her nature—independent, confident, generous, unapologetic. It’s all a part of who she is.

“Listen to yourself, Tony. You’re in love with her.”

He shook his head. “I am smitten, to be sure. Infatuated. Definitely in lust.”

“I’ve known you for too long, old man. I see the signs.” He tossed back the brandy, gave a little shudder, and set the empty glass on the candle stand beside his chair. “But what about all those wagers between the two of you? Is that still going on?”

Tony thought of the afternoon’s wager, and a little shiver of recollected desire shot through his body. He countered the fire with a long swallow of brandy and allowed its soothing warmth to calm him. “It is still going on. But it’s different now. At first, it was a matter of goading her, taunting her, challenging her because of all that humiliation she heaped on me when I was a boy. I wanted that damned Minerva back. But now…”

“Now you want more. You want her.”

Tony looked at his friend and sighed. “God help me, Ian, I do.”

“Is she going to be just another challenge for you, then? I know how you love the thrill of the game, but what if your luck runs out this time? Are you prepared to fail with Miss Parrish?”