Tempting a Proper Lady (8 page)

“It could have come from the ballroom, Mrs. Wallington-Willis.” The lieutenant's voice came from just on the other side of the hedges.

Slowly Cilla lowered her hand.

“It sounded as if it were right here,” Cilla's mother said.

Samuel captured Cilla's hand before she could retreat completely. He held it for a long moment, then stroked his thumb over her palm. Fire streaked to her loins. Her eyes slid closed; her breath caught.

“It could be anyone, anywhere,” the lieutenant said. “Perhaps you were mistaken when you thought you saw her come out here.”

Cilla tugged at her hand, and he let it go. Disappointment swept over her like a wail of grief. She suppressed it. A man was not in her future. Especially not this man. She wanted to believe in his innocence, but she had been wrong before. Cilla curled her fingers into her palm as if to hold the memory of his touch.

“I suppose I could have been mistaken,” her mother said. “I had hoped the two of you could renew your acquaintance.”

“We will have that opportunity on Friday,” the lieutenant said. “I am most grateful for the invitation to dinner. You said she will be there?”

“Have no fear of that, Lieutenant. I will make certain of it.”

Dinner? She hissed in a sharp breath.

“What's wrong?” Samuel murmured.

She shook her head, not trusting herself to answer.

“Clearly she is agreeable to your attentions,” her mother said. “After all, you are the only man she danced with tonight.”

“It was my honor. Allow me to escort you back into the ballroom,” the lieutenant said.

Cilla listened to their footsteps as they faded into the distance.

“What's wrong?” Samuel asked again.

“My mother appears to be matchmaking.” She straightened to her full height—slight though it was—and looked him straight in the eye as she said, “I think your idea to meet privately is a good one.”

“I agree,” he said. “When and where?”

“Friday,” she replied. “I will leave it to you to name the place.” Then she turned away.

“Mrs. Burke.”

She paused and glanced back at him.

“Why are you willing to believe me when others do not?”

She hesitated, then said softly, “The look in your eyes when you thought you had lost. There were no lies that night.”

He did not answer, and she hurried away, leaving him standing alone in the garden.

Before she begged him to touch her again.

T
he next morning Cilla joined Dolly and Annabelle in the drawing room of their rented town house.

“Good morning, Cilla,” Dolly all but sang. Dressed in a simple morning dress of dark blue, Dolly waved a hand at an empty chair at the large round table where she and Annabelle were sorting through the day's post. Invitations teetered in a large stack in front of them. “Come on now, you just have to help us figure out which invitations we should accept.”

“We return to Nevarton Chase in a few days,” Cilla said, taking the offered chair. “Plus, Annabelle has her appointment with Madame Legere for the first fitting of her wedding dress this afternoon. I do not imagine you will be able to accept many invitations.”

“Nonsense! Everyone wants to see my darling,” Dolly said. “We'll accept as many as possible so everyone in London gets to know her.”

“What time is my appointment with Madame
Legere?” Annabelle asked, trying to peer over the pile of invitations at Cilla's notebook.

Cilla consulted her schedule. “One o'clock.”

Annabelle squealed and clapped. “This is all so exciting! I can't believe that in a month I will be a married lady.”

“I can't believe it, either.” Dolly sniffed and searched for her handkerchief as her eyes welled with tears. “My baby is all grown up!”

“Oh, Mama,” Annabelle rolled her eyes and then grinned at Cilla. “Get used to Mama's spells, Mrs. Burke. It'll only get worse the closer we get to the wedding.”

“I just love you so much,” Dolly said. She sniffled again, then dabbed her handkerchief on her moist eyes. “Let's change the subject or else I'm going to get these letters all wet. Cilla, we got two for you this morning.” She dug around in the pile, then withdrew two notes and handed them across the table.

Cilla took them, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Who would write to me here?”

“Well…” Annabelle flashed a conspiratorial look at her mother. “One of them looks like it's from a gentleman.”

“Perhaps that dashing lieutenant you danced with last night?” Dolly suggested with a sly grin at her daughter. “Very flattering, wouldn't you say?”

“Very,” Annabelle agreed.

Cilla frowned down at the two missives. One bore her mother's distinctive script, but the other had clearly been penned by a man. The bold, slashing
letters were unfamiliar. She opened her mother's first.

“Never mind that one. Open the other one,” Annabelle urged.

“My mother has invited me to dinner on Friday evening,” Cilla said, scanning the note.

“That's your free day, so I don't see any problem with that,” Dolly said.

“I shall have to write back to her.” Cilla set down the letter and picked up the other.

Annabelle leaned over the pile of invitations and tilted her head to try and read the note Cilla had set down. “Oh! She's invited Lieutenant Allerton for you!”

“Annabelle!” Dolly exclaimed. “Where are your manners?”

“I'm sorry.” She sat back in her seat. “Please tell me you're not angry, Mrs. Burke. I'm just so excited that you have a beau!”

“You could have simply asked me to see it,” Cilla said. “And the lieutenant is hardly a beau.” Then she opened the second communication.

“May I see it?” Annabelle asked.

Without looking up from the second note, Cilla handed the first across the table. She barely heard Annabelle's comments to Dolly about the dinner invitation. It was the words on the other note that captured her complete attention.

To continue our conversation in a more private setting as we discussed
. The note had to be from Samuel. She had not promised a private meeting on Friday to anyone else.

A picnic? Such an odd venue for a business conversation—though it would certainly be private. Remembering his flirtatious mien during their time in the garden, her heartbeat sped up. Certainly he did not intend anything improper at their meeting.

Did he?

Did she want him to?

“Mama, she's blushing!” Annabelle's voice shook her free of her increasingly heated reverie.

“She certainly is.” Grinning from ear to ear, Dolly said, “I'm betting that one is from a certain gentleman, isn't it, Cilla?”

Cilla fumbled with the note, trying to refold it. “Yes, it is from a gentleman.”

“I knew it! It's the lieutenant, isn't it?” Annabelle crowed. “Can I read it?”

“Not this one.” Cilla tucked the note away in her pocket.

“Oh.” Annabelle's face fell.

Cilla held out her hand. “May I have the note from my mother, please? I need to respond to her invitation.”

“Sure thing.” Annabelle handed over the other note and watched Cilla tuck it away. “But you can't
fool me. Your hand is shaking, and you're blushing fit to bust.”

“Nonsense.” Yet her face heated from chin to hairline.

“Ah, sweet love,” Dolly said, and began sorting invitations again with a knowing smile curling her lips. “What else do we have on the schedule today, Cilla?”

Grateful for the change in subject, Cilla eagerly glanced at her notes. “After the dressmaker, we are scheduled for tea with Lady Iften at five o'clock.”

“Lady Iften.” Dolly sighed. “And her five giggling daughters.”

“They are the earl's cousins,” Cilla reminded her. “And Annabelle's bridesmaids.”

“I need bridesmaids, Mama,” Annabelle said. “We didn't bring anyone from home so we have to use Richard's family.”

“I know,” Dolly said. “I just wish they weren't so…cheerful. It sounds like a gaggle of geese have invaded the house!”

Annabelle stifled a laugh. “They're not that bad, Mama. Most of them are very sweet. Except that Edith. I don't like her much, but I didn't know how to leave her out without offending someone.”

“Edith, Eliza, Elinor, Emily, and—who was the other one?” Dolly asked.

“Esther,” Annabelle said.

“Yes, Esther. Why would a woman name all her daughters with the same letter at the beginning of their names? Makes no sense to me at all. Here, Cilla.” She pushed a stack of unopened missives toward her.
“You start on this pile. I hope to have our responses written out before we leave for Madame Legere's.”

“Maybe you can answer your own letters as well,” Annabelle teased.

Cilla accepted the stack of invitations and began tearing them open, hoping her duty would help her ignore the note in her pocket.

And the man who had sent it.

 

“A picnic? Do you think that is wise?” Stripped down to his shirtsleeves, John circled in a defensive position, hands spread in preparation to fend off an attack.

“It's perfect,” Samuel replied. Also in shirtsleeves, he kept pace with his friend, watching for an opening. A good spar was just what he needed. “We'll be out in the middle of nowhere. No one will see us. No one will ever suspect she's helping me stop the wedding.”

“But it is my job to find the nowhere,” John grumbled.

Samuel jabbed, and John dodged. “What's wrong with here?” Samuel asked, circling again.

“Here? We're in the middle of a bloody meadow.”

“Seems like the perfect picnic place to me.” He swung again, and again John eluded. “Besides, you picked this meadow.”

“You said you wanted to spar outdoors, in a place where the servants would not gossip about it. This is outdoors, and no one is around for miles.”

“Can you suggest a better place for a secret picnic?”

They paced each other. “It just seems rather…open,” John said.

Samuel stopped and straightened. “I can't meet her at the house or a public restaurant or hotel where someone might see us together. Aside from the fact that it would reveal our relationship, her reputation could be damaged.”

“And you care about that?” John straightened as well, though he kept a wary eye on his opponent.

“Of course I care! I need the woman's help; I don't want to harm her.”

“And an intimate picnic is the way to convince her to help you.”

“Intimate? I'm trying to create a relaxing setting.” His mind flashed to last night in the garden, those searing moments of madness when she had touched his mouth—and he had for one moment entertained the fantasy of where he
really
wanted her to put her hand. He pushed the memory away, settling back into fighting stance and forcing himself to think about the present. “Come now. Are we doing this or not?”

“You are the one who keeps going on about the widow.” John flashed a grin and took his position again. “Comely thing, isn't she? Just be sure she does not get too
relaxed
.”

Damn John's perception. “Don't be ridiculous.”

“You have been on an island for nearly two years, Captain. No one would fault you for a pleasant tumble with a fetching woman like Mrs. Burke.”

“I would.”
At least afterward
. He lunged at John.

John twisted out of the way at the last second, then blocked Samuel's punch with his arm. “Why? Your betrothal has ended. You are not committed to any other woman. Do not try and tell me you do not want to taste her charms.”

“Of course I want her. I'm not dead.” Spurred by his own frustrations, Samuel landed a punch on John's ribs a little harder than he'd intended.

The slender man sidestepped out of range, pressing a hand to his rib cage. “Then why not enjoy her company?” John came back swinging. His blow glanced off Samuel's jawbone as Samuel tried to dodge.

Samuel moved his jaw from side to side to ease the sting—and to be certain it still worked. “Damn it, you are relentless.”

“Just making sure you know your own mind.”

“Of course I do.” Samuel rubbed the sore spot on his face.

“You know, Annabelle was a sweet farm girl. She had no idea how the world worked. Now the widow Burke—” John gave an appreciative chuckle. “There's a woman who knows how things are.”

Samuel scowled and settled back into position. “What do you mean by that?”

“Just what I said.” John's mouth curved in a wicked grin. “No doubt she would be glad of a bit of passion to liven up her life. And she is a widow, so as long as you are discreet, there's no harm to anyone.”

The same thoughts had occurred to him—more than once. But he had chosen his path, and he would keep to it. “I told you, ours is a business relationship.”

“In that case, perhaps you wouldn't mind if I had a go at her.” The words had barely left his mouth before Samuel struck. John reeled backward and clapped a hand to his bloodied lip. “Then again, maybe you would.”

“She's a paid employee. She hardly chose this situation,” Samuel said. “I suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head about her. She can't help the position I'm putting her in.”

“Ha, and which position would that be?” When Samuel glared and took a step toward him, John held up one hand in surrender, the other pressed against his lip. “All I'm saying is this: You are no longer engaged to Annabelle, so it would hardly be out of line to seek some comfort from the lovely Mrs. Burke, for purely physical reasons if nothing else.”

“How the devil did we get onto this subject?' Samuel snapped.

“You started it, mooning on about the picnic you are planning.”

“I'm not mooning,” Samuel grumbled. “I need Mrs. Burke's help to stop the wedding. However attractive she is—”

“And a widow,” John reminded him again.

“—
despite
being a widow, I have no intention of taking advantage of her.”

“Now that is a shame. But then again, perhaps it is best not to mix business and pleasure.”

“Exactly. Now let's change the subject. Have you looked into those orphanages of Raventhorpe's?”

“I have. On paper they look legitimate. I would
have to go there to tell if anything is not what it seems.”

“Plan on doing that. Soon.”

“And leave you all alone to fend for yourself? You would be lost without me.”

“I can take care of myself.”

Grinning with an amusement that grated against Samuel's battle-scarred will, John fell back into defense posture. “In that case—prove it, my friend. It seems to me in the absence of a dalliance with the widow Burke, a bout of sparring is just what you need.”

Samuel smiled slowly. “First man down buys the ale.”

“Done.”

They took their positions again, circled.

John's grin had a gleeful mischief to it, a taunt ready on his lips. Suddenly his expression changed. “Get down!” he shouted, then leaped for Samuel just as a gunshot cracked across the meadow.

Their horses, tied to a nearby tree, shrieked in alarm. John rolled off Samuel. “Are you hit?”

“No.” Samuel rolled onto his stomach, then started inching forward on his elbows toward his discarded coat—and the pistol that lay with it. “Where is he?”

“Just in those trees I think.” John gestured toward a small wood, then reached down and slid his weapon of choice—a slender but well-made dagger—from the strap inside his boot. “I'll go around these rocks over here and get behind him. Watch my back.”

“John, no,” Samuel hissed, but his friend ignored him and headed out, using the nearby rocks as cover. “Damn it.” Samuel braced himself, then shot to his feet, racing for his coat while trying to stay as low as possible. He dove for the garment, finding the familiar shape of the pistol even as another shot rang out.

Brandishing the weapon, he looked up and studied the trees John had indicated. A glimmer of sunlight reflecting off something metallic alerted him to the shooter's location. He got to his feet and ran alongside the rocks toward the shooter.