Lord Suitor (4 page)

"Because
I've asked for your hand in marriage." Nat hissed the words. "Walking
outside with Mitcham is not what I would expect from my affianced." He
winced at the pomposity of his words. No wonder she clenched and unclenched her
hands. Very sensibly, he kept a wary eye on them, fairly certain that they were
an indication of the state of her temper.

Tessa
inhaled sharply. "You have asked my father if you could approach me. That,
as yet, you haven't done, my lord."

Nat
winced at her tone. "I intended to ask you tonight if I might call on you
tomorrow."

"Did
you?" She looked him up and down, and took a dainty sip of her wine.
"Well then, do I take it that is your request?"

He
nodded. "Yes."

"What
a pity. I'm sorry, my lord, I am otherwise engaged." She curtseyed. "Now
if you will excuse me, as you said my maman wanted to speak to me, then perhaps
I better find her."

"Dammit,
woman." Nat wanted to shake her. Did she enjoy being obtuse? "You
know that was just a ploy."

"Do
I?" Tessa opened her eyes wide, and he saw the fire sparking in their deep
brown depths. "Ah well, if you say so. However, it is perhaps best I find
her and check." Her language was stilted. "Your service." Tessa
shoved her glass into his midriff and barely gave him time to take hold of the thin
crystal stem before she spun on her toes and marched toward the door.

Nat
stopped her by catching hold of her hand as she passed him. Wine spilled over
her glove. Neither acknowledged the spill. "Enough, Tessa. We need to talk.
You have to give me your answer."

"I
do? Then I thank you for your oh so kind offer, my lord. I am delighted to say"—she
paused and lifted his hand from hers—"no."

She
left the room at what Nat recognized was as fast as she could walk without
running.

Well, that went according to
plan, I don't think.
Nat
had spent many a long hour plotting what his course of action should be. And
with a few unwary words, he'd thrown all that work out of the window. He
sighed, swallowed the rest of his wine, made a note to tell Jane it was watered,
and went to hunt out a card game.

If
the wine was watered, the brandy was not. After a couple of hours, and
considerably too many brandy-filled glasses, Nat was thick headed and several
hundred pounds the richer. His unfortunate opponent was the hapless Mitcham,
and it had afforded Nat great—and savage—pleasure to trounce him honestly.

Eventually,
Mitcham stood up and let his chair fall to the ground. He held on to the edge
of the green baize-covered card table and blinked owlishly at Nat.

"I'm
finished, Fenniston. I'll arrange a draft on my bank for you. The better man
won." He sounded none too pleased about it. Which, Nat mused, he wouldn't
be, not when his coffers were many pounds lighter than at the start of the
evening.

Nat
inclined his head in agreement and idly wondered if Mitcham was good for his
debts. He'd played deeply a lot over the last few weeks. No doubt he'd soon
find out.

"The
better man, in every way, Mitcham, remember that. Ply your type of wooing
elsewhere than around the ladies of my good friend Birch."

"Ha,
is that the way the wind blows? You can't marry 'em all, you know."

"Who
says I'm going to marry any of them?" Nat asked him urbanely. "I
merely take objection to anyone trying to achieve their own ends by
coercion."

"Point
taken. I think I'm fated you know? To be unlucky in love and unlucky in cards.
I don't have the knack of wooing or winning. Ah well. I'll arrange for my man
to bring the necessary to pay my debts tomorrow." He hesitated as Nat
nodded. "Fenniston, from one who had no idea, to one, if rumor is correct
knows every way imaginable, and succeeds admirably with any of them, how should
one go about wooing a woman?"

Nat
wasn't sure he was the right person to ask.

Chapter Four

Tessa
left the room on shaky legs and made her way along the corridor, away from the
ballroom, and to the ladies’ withdrawing room. She had to pull herself together
before she moved back into the crowd and came within the orbit of her mother's
piercing looks. Sometimes she was sure Mijo not only had eyes in the back of
her head but could also read minds. If nothing else, Tessa did know it was
through her maman that she had her own skills. However, Mijo was in a class
apart. Tessa merely had heightened senses, but who knew what Mijo had? She
wouldn't say.

A
smiling attendant poured Tessa a glass of lemon water, and she exchanged it for
the wine she still held.

"My
lady, your gloves and dress." The maid pointed to the streaks that adorned
the silk and cotton. "I don't think I can do much for those here."

Tessa
looked to where the maid pointed. Long, ugly strips of darkened material
couldn't be missed. There was no way she could return to the ballroom in such a
state. People would gossip. In one way, it was a relief to have her mind made
up for her about what to do next. For once she was able to thank the staining
properties of red wine.

“No
matter," she said reassuringly to the maid, who looked worried, as if she
might be given the blame. "I have the headache, and I came to ask for my maid
and my carriage to be called and a message given to my maman. Please let her
know I've returned home, and the carriage will be sent back for her."

All
in all, Tessa thought, as fifteen minutes later, she sank back into the soft
seats of her family's town coach, it was a convenient, if unsatisfying end to a
tense and unsettling day. How on earth could she even contemplate a betrothal
when her mind was full of a certain ruffian she'd never really set her eyes on,
but knew every contour of intimately? She sighed, and Doris, her young and
eager maid, leaned forward from her seat opposite.

"My
lady, is there anything I can do?"

Tessa
remembered her supposed headache just in time not to shake her head. "My
bed will work wonders."

If I don't have those unsettling
dreams as usual.

Tessa
put her head back and closed her eyes. Ever since that night in Devon all those
months ago, she'd been plagued by dreams of dark, almost black eyes. The face
they were set in was blurry, and however hard she tried, she couldn't picture
it, but the eyes remained clear in her mind—and in her dreams.

They looked into my soul.
Not only that, the dreams they
featured in also recreated their activities of that night in glorious color and
in arousing detail. Tessa wriggled and groaned. She was sure she'd seen those
eyes recently and not just in her dreams.

"My
lady, I'd better get your mama to come home at once. You're feverish." It
was Doris, her voice sharp with worry. "Should I call Doctor Sloan?"

Oh Lord, now look where your
imagination has got you.
"No,
Doris, I'm fine," Tessa said quickly. "My skirt was twisted and stuck
under me. Not pleasant. Ah, home at last." Tessa didn't think she'd ever
been more pleased to feel the carriage draw to a halt, look out of the window,
and see the familiar front door than she had at that moment. Deceit didn't sit
well on her.

"I'm
going straight to bed," she informed Thurbelow, as he held the door open
for her. "Please send the carriage back for her ladyship and the others
and tell them I'll see them in the morning." Tessa headed for the stairs,
followed by Doris. As much as she needed time alone to think, Tessa knew she
needed Doris more. The hooks of her gown were nigh on impossible to undo by herself.

He managed it one handed.
She shut her eyes in despair.
Get out of my head.
It wasn't as if it
was even a similar gown. A warm country gown had no comparison to the silky
evening wear she wore now.

Within
the hour Tessa had dismissed Doris and was happy by herself in her bedchamber.
Attired in her night rail and robe, and sitting in the large, comfortable chair
she'd drawn up before the fire, Tessa stared into the flames and tried to sort
out her muddled thoughts.

Her
one night of bliss, her initiation, as she thought of it, had given her a very
definite opinion of what she wanted, expected, from any marriage. However, and
there was the rub, how could she say to someone,
I’ll only marry you if you satisfy me in the way my smuggler did? You
need to make my skin tingle, my insides quiver, and my body react in a way I
never thought possible, so I shout and scream my release and beg you for more?
Oh and
your
body, when it gains its
own satisfaction inside me, has to react in the same way?
It was not
something she could introduce into everyday conversation. It wasn't something
most men would appreciate hearing. Men were such touchy creatures they wouldn't
see it as a compliment on their prowess, just the opposite.

Tessa
stirred uneasily in her chair. During those long hours of enforced darkness, her
highwayman had taught her some very interesting ways to satisfy herself. After
the first few fumbling—and embarrassed at her temerity—attempts, she was happy
with how to touch and tease herself until she was panting and sated. However,
it wasn't the same.
It is not him
.

Tonight
though, she knew nothing she did would ease the ache deep inside her. The
unexpected offer from Lord Fenniston had thrown her somewhat.

Why
her? Oh, they were neighbors in Devon, but he had never shown any interest in
her. In fact she hadn't noticed him singling her out in any way, exactly the opposite.
One occasional country dance did not show a partiality for anyone. They'd never
waltzed, he'd never asked for her hand into supper, and never solicited her
company at a picnic or to the theater. No, if anything, she would have thought
he preferred Lady Elizabeth Cantor or Frederica Stowe. Nor did Tessa think he
chose to spend time with those ladies as a smokescreen for his desire to have
her as a wife. They were both too much all woman for that, and she was well
aware neither would put up with such cavalier behavior.

Nor would I.

Somehow,
Tessa accepted, as she stirred the glowing coals back into flames, Nathaniel
Fenniston was not the sort of man to dissemble in that way. It wouldn't be kind
to either lady, and she didn't think he would ever be deliberately unkind. No,
he was an honorable man, but did that mean he was the man for her? Somehow, she
needed to find out. On that sobering and complicated thought, she put the
fireguard in place and took herself to bed.

Yet
again she dreamed of her smuggler. She felt his hands on her as he showed her
how to please both him and herself. Heard his voice as he praised her efforts
and moaned his appreciation. Recalled and recreated in her dreams how his body
stiffened and he shouted out his completion as he spilled onto her skin. Shivered
and writhed as his lips met her quim and sucked on the soft flesh there and
then drew the hard nub into his mouth. She gasped as her juices gathered, ready
to help her fall over the edge of sanity and reason.

Tessa
woke with a gasp to see the thin light of dawn creep around her curtains, and
to feel the warmth and dampness of her arousal slick her skin. Her body tingled
with awareness. Should she?

A
quick glance at the timepiece on the mantel told her she had time enough to
assuage her needs.

Tessa
stretched out to fumble in her nearby sewing basket, to retrieve something she
had secreted there.

A
few days after her encounter with the smuggler she'd found a package in her
bedside cabinet. She had no idea where it had come from, or who had placed it
where she would see it so readily. The outside wrapper merely had her name on,
and the cryptic message "for your eyes only."

Puzzled
she ripped the paper and unwrapped the fine lawn material that covered the
contents. It was a smooth, wooden darning mushroom, with a note attached to it.

When
she read the words, Tessa didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Inscribed in a
very elegant hand it said:
Close your
eyes and run your fingers over this. Now imagine what it feels like and use it
accordingly until we meet again.

Intrigued,
Tessa had done as directed and discovered it was the perfect facsimile of a
male staff. "Pego" her smuggler had called it as he taught her how to
fondle and taste. At first she'd held it and stroked it, until her mind played
games on her. A few nights later, her dreams included him, his pego, and his hands
showing her how indeed a humble darning mushroom
was
the perfect substitute for a man. No, not perfect, she amended,
adequate.

Although
to this day, Tessa couldn't work out why both her pillows had an indentation in
it. Surely she wasn't that restless? Or how she found one short black hair on
the sheet. There was no way she would divulge that she carefully wrapped the
hair in paper and hid it in her keepsake box.

Now
she stroked the smooth as silk wood over her mound and then carefully inserted
the handle into her channel. It might be a substitute, but Tessa had a vivid
imagination, and the gentle, in-out movement, combined with visions and
memories of the words he spoke and the way his hands stroked over her, soon
made her pant and bite back a scream.

Her
body shook and her juices ran as she tumbled into a climax that filled her with
a mixture of happiness and regret. The former because he had shown her what
fulfillment she got from listening to her body's needs, the latter that it
wasn't him who gave it to her. With a sigh big enough to rock the vases on the
side table, Tessa threw back the covers and went to wash what was now her most
prized possession before she returned it to her sewing basket. Heaven help her
if her maman asked to borrow it. Luckily, as everyone knew, Tessa only ever
picked up a needle as a last resort, so they wouldn't think to assume she
actually owned a darning mushroom.

She
scrambled back into bed a few seconds before Doris arrived with her morning
chocolate, a list of events her maman assumed Tessa would attend, and a promise
to bring her washing water immediately. Tessa sipped her chocolate as she
looked at her maman's elegant writing. Mijo always transcribed a diary of
events for each of her children, neatly annotated.

One
stuck out because Mijo had underlined it.

12 noon. Tessa: Ride in the park
with the Earl of Fenniston. Blue pelisse.

Tessa
looked at it thoughtfully, and then, very deliberately tilted her mug, and let
the contents drip slowly and then faster over the paper. Only when every word
was unreadable did she stop and with a mental word of apology to the staff, let
the mug roll over the covers and coat them liberally in the rest of the unguent
liquid.

By
the time Doris returned, Tessa was out of bed, and had bundled the covers up
and made sure her daily indigestible as Dare called it, was scrunched up in the
grate, its sorry state evident.

Doris
gaped and set the ewer down on her washstand with a thump before she returned
to look at the pile of covers.

"What
on earth, my lady?"

Tessa
grimaced. "A bee surprised me. I spilled my chocolate."

Doris
blinked, as well she might. It was somewhat early in the year for bees, even if
the weather had been unseasonably warm.

"However,"
Tessa went on, "I'm meeting Lady Howell at eleven for refreshments and
then to walk, and then I believe it’s an afternoon musical soiree at Mrs.
Coplestone's. Hetty Howell and I are going together. Please tell my maman, that
as we both know Lady Howell's refreshments will be enough for breakfast and
luncheon, and very probably dinner as well, I'm not eating first. I'll see her at
the soiree."

Doris
curtseyed. If she thought it strange Tessa didn't tell her maman herself, or
say she would be home to change, Doris was too young and inexperienced to
challenge her. Which was something, shamefully, Tessa had counted on. Susan,
her newly retired lady’s maid, wouldn't have let her go so easily.

However,
Tessa argued with herself, as she stealthily left the house some hour later,
needs must. At least she had Doris with her, although once she got to Hetty
Howell's, she'd send Doris home. Hetty's mama would chaperone them until she
put Tessa in a coach to return to Birch House and dress for dinner, and
another, in Tessa's mind, boring evening of socializing.

****

Hetty
pounced on Tessa once she left her pelisse—a dark red that suited her
admirably, not the blue her maman had suggested—with the majordomo and joined
Hetty in her own private sitting room. Hetty shut the door and leaned on it as
she looked her friend up and down.

"What's
all this about that idiot Mitcham saying he's been bested in love or some such
twaddle?"

"Twaddle,"
Tessa said, although her heart sank, and she avoided the intense stare from
Hetty's gray eyes. What on earth had happened after she left the ball?

"I
told Roger he was talking in his cups."

Roger
was Hetty's younger, and aspiring to be a pink of the ton, annoying, and often
ineffectual, brother. Neither Hetty nor Tessa held out much hope for him. He
was, as his father was fond of remarking, too easily led astray. Only his heir's
strong family resemblance could convince his peer he hadn't been cuckolded.
That, plus Lady Howell was not one to be trifled with. Lord Howell loved his
wife dearly, but would be the first to admit her astringent personality was not
to everyone's taste.