The Perfect Waltz (9 page)

“Nonsense! James is very protective of my safety,” she argued. “Why, he was the one who came up with the design for this extra strap, and that’s what made the whole endeavor workable.” She pulled back her habit and showed him the strap.

Sebastian gave the strap a fleeting glance, trying not to notice how the fabric pulled tight against the graceful line of her thigh. He said nothing. He was still too angry at the idea of her being assisted to risk her neck for a pointless trick.

“I fell off so many times before he came up with this.”

He was so horrified he must have jerked on the reins. His horse pulled sharply back, and she passed him. He swiftly caught up. “You. Fell. Off?” He was furious again. Why the devil was she so driven to risk her safety for such a stupid reason?

She laughed. “Just minor tumbles. I’m very careful, you know.”

“Careful? If that’s your idea of careful, you ought to be locked up,” he growled half to himself.

Her face changed immediately. “I know all about being locked up, Mr. Reyne,” she said. “It’s one reason why I relish the freedom to do things like this!” And without warning, she galloped away, veering off in an unexpected direction.

He wrenched his horse around and sped after her, but she’d had the jump on him, and he couldn’t reach her in time. Under his horrified gaze, she once more leaned down over the left side of her horse, stretched out her hand, and snatched another leafy twig from the ground.

“Ha-ha!” Again she brandished the twig in victory.

In fury at the deliberate provocation, Sebastian spurred his horse and thundered down on her. This time there was no question in his mind. As he came level with her, he reached out and snatched her forcefully off her horse. She gave a squeak of surprise, struggled a moment, then suddenly gave in and let him take her, kicking free of her stirrups and letting go of the extra strap.

He pulled her hard across his thighs, wrapping one arm tightly around her.

He expected a tirade, or a slap, or some other example of feminine outrage. She surprised him. Apparently quite unfazed by his unceremonious manhandling, she said nothing, just wriggled her bottom into a more comfortable position. The movement almost brought a groan to his lips. If he hadn’t already been quite painfully aroused, that would have done it. Her warm curves settled into the cradle of his thighs. Sebastian felt himself break out in a sweat.

She slipped one arm around his torso and, supported by his left arm, leaned against his chest. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?” she said in a conversational tone, adding in a mocking imitation of his earlier speech, “Are you mad, risking your neck in such a foolhardy endeavor?” She sounded amused! Silky, golden curls tickled his chin. He could smell her perfume and under it, the sultry tang of feminine heat. He tightened his grip and set his jaw. Quite possibly he was mad, he thought grimly. He’d never snatched a lady from her horse in his life. He had no idea what had come over him.

She shifted her bottom, and he stiffened. He’d never carried a lady across his thighs, either.

With her left hand she played with the buttons of his waistcoat. “Kidnapping is an offense, you know.” She sounded quite unworried. “What ransom do you plan to set?”

He snorted. Another example of how sheltered a life she’d led. He could easily have kidnapped her in truth. Anyone could have. London was a hotbed of crime. And she’d be worth a pretty penny.

Kidnapping had once been a quite respectable occupation of the aristocracy. An acceptable method of filling coffers. And arms . . . He savored the warm weight of her against him. He could see their point. If he were a medieval knight and she a kidnapped lady, he wouldn’t ransom her, he thought. He’d marry her. His arm tightened. But life was not a story book. Especially not his life. “You know perfectly well I’m not kidnapping you. I’m saving you from the consequences of your own recklessness.”

“Oh, I see. Is that what it was? An exercise in stuffiness. Forgive me for not immediately perceiving it.” She wriggled her bottom again. The effect was about as far from stuffy as he could imagine.

“Will you keep still!” he growled and then remembered to add, “Please.”

For answer she squirmed again. He made a sound under his breath, and she said in a breathy voice, “Sorry, but this mode of transport is new to me, and a little . . . unsettling. Before this the closest contact I’d had to a man’s body was during a waltz . . .”

He couldn’t think of a thing to say. He was remembering their waltz. Her innocent admission told him she was also aroused, but being so sheltered, did not realize it.

He rode slowly back with Hope Merridew in his arms, tucked against his chest. Her rose-vanilla-woman scent teased his nostrils, her curls tickled his chin, and her soft backside pressed against his rigidity.

He wanted her like he’d never wanted any woman in his life. If only they could just ride on like this, into the future, to some place far away, where his problems would disappear . . .

But problems never disappeared, he knew. They were either dealt with or they got worse. Sebastian knew how to deal with his problems. He’d already found the solution. And it didn’t involve Miss Hope Merridew. She was just a beautiful dream.

And he wasn’t a man who indulged in dreaming. He preferred plans to dreams.

He glanced around and saw her groom ride up to where her horse had stopped to graze, lean down, and capture the dangling reins. “I see your groom has finally done something to earn his keep.”

“He isn’t my groom, and I won’t have you criticize him.”

Sebastian snorted. “How do you think you’ll stop me? His job is to protect you, and he failed.”

She said nothing, but it was such a provocative silence he was forced to look at her. It was a mistake. Their eyes met. He hesitated for a few seconds. He was drowning in her eyes and fighting it all the way. He knew better than to complicate matters, and Hope Merridew was a complication if ever he’d met one. He swallowed. Just one kiss wouldn’t hurt, surely . . . Just to taste her, to know . . .

She gazed deeply into his eyes, her baby-soft skin blushing deliciously. Her eyes were huge and as blue as a summer sky in the morning. This close he could see each individual golden lash, clustered thickly, curling at the ends. They fluttered, and her lips parted slightly. It was all the invitation he needed. Deliberately, he bent down, his eyes locked with hers, and captured her with his mouth.

The taste of her entered his blood like wine, going straight to his head. He tasted her again, deeper, warmer, more intimately. He told himself he should stop, that he shouldn’t be doing this . . . but he couldn’t help himself. His body strained to get closer to her, aching to taste more of her, fully, all over.

He felt her hands, soft, cool, gloveless, slide up his jaw, holding, exploring him. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and she pulled him closer, as if she was as absorbed in the kiss as he.

The horse sidestepped, breaking the kiss. He stared down at her, drowning in her blue, blue eyes, gazing hungrily at her damp red lips.

“I’m so glad we met again this morning,” she whispered. “The waltz was very nice, of course, but this . . .” She sighed and smiled mistily up at him. “This is so much nicer.”

At the sweetness of her smile, guilt flooded him. He should not be toying with an innocent so. And he was toying with her; it could be nothing else. He’d considered his situation from all angles weeks ago and charted his plan. He’d commenced his run, the die was cast, and all was in place.

This sweet young woman did not fit with his plans in any way. Her body curved perfectly into his, fitting as if she were made for him, but in no other way did she fit with his plans or his sisters’ needs or his life. No. It was impossible to change direction now. She might be what he wanted, but his wants were not important. She was not what he needed in a wife. Lady Elinore was what he needed.

As the knowledge settled over him, he felt his face harden. Miss Merridew’s groom trotted toward them, her hat in his hand, her horse in tow. With every pace, Sebastian’s heart closed back in on itself.

“If he’d been any sort of decent groom, he would have protected you from this, too.” He gave her one last hungry, driving kiss, then slipped her off his lap, lowering her to stand on the dewy grass of Hyde Park.

“Good-bye, Miss Merridew.” She lifted her hand, and he caught it in one last, hard grip. “Don’t take any more foolish risks. Not with sticks and horses’ hooves. Nor with strange men.” And he cantered away.

 
He rode like a god, Hope thought, a very controlled god just now, but earlier, when he’d thundered to her rescue, lifting her effortlessly out of her saddle, indifferent to the fact that he was astride a powerful beast galloping flat out, he’d been more centaur than cit. That was probably why she’d let him carry her off.

She narrowed her eyes, watching as he disappeared into the distance. How did a man who’d started life as a factory brat learn to ride as if he’d been born to the saddle?

“You all right, Miss Hope?” James arrived. “What happened?”

Hope sighed rapturously. “I met a man, James.”

“Yeah, I saw. Sorry, Miss Hope, I should’ve stopped it. I’m going to throttle that Jasper!”

“Jasper?” She took the reins from James and groped in her pocket for a lump of sugar for her horse.

“At the stables. Giving me this . . . this creature!” He gestured in disgust at his mount. “I won’t call it a horse. Clothes horse more like! Got as much get-up-and-go as one! Anything past a trot is beyond it!” He fixed her with a stern look. “But even if I wasn’t there, Miss Hope, you know full well you didn’t ought to be riding with a strange man like that.”

Hope smiled dreamily. “I know. But he’s not a stranger. I danced with him last night, in fact.”

“You don’t mean this was an assignation, Miss—cos if it was, I’m not having a bar of it, and I’ll never take you out in the morning agai—”

“Calm yourself, James, dear. It wasn’t an assignation, I promise you. I had no idea anyone else would be here. He just galloped up out of nowhere.” She rubbed the velvet muzzle of her horse and said softly, “He thought he was rescuing me from certain death, and I didn’t have the heart to stop him.”

James snorted.

“He was furious when he realized I didn’t need rescuing.” She smiled to herself, recalling his protective anger and the careful way he’d tucked her body against him. “I suspect I’ve met a hero, James.”

James snorted again.

She gave him a mischievous look. “Getting a cold, James?”

“If anyone saw you, miss, you’d be in the suds. And so would I.”

“Oh, pooh! Nobody saw me, and you know perfectly well I wouldn’t let anybody blame you for my misbehavior. Now stop being so stuffy and get down and help me to mount my horse, please. I’m hungry, and I want my breakfast.”

 
“Lady Elinore mentioned she would attend the musical evening at Lady Thorn’s tonight,” Giles said casually. The two men were dining at Giles’s club. “And as I happen to have an invitation, I wondered if you’d like to attend. Further the courtship and all that.”

“A musical evening?” Sebastian pulled a face. “Bunch of tabbies sitting around listening to some dashed soprano!” He shook his head. “No, thank you. Not my sort of thing at all.”

“And dancing is, I suppose,” Giles said with an ironic look. He set his port glass aside and stretched. “It doesn’t matter. I just thought you might like the opportunity to further your courtship of Lady Sensible. I believe she invariably attends these things. And it’s not a soprano, it’s some Hungarian violinist, fresh from the Continent. Has all the ladies swooning, apparently.” He added mischievously, “Even the sensible, dutiful ones. Thought I’d look in on it, see what all the fuss was about. Sure you don’t want to come?”

Sebastian shook his head. Apart from being uninterested in music, he didn’t want to risk running into Miss Merridew again. “No, I am taking Lady Elinore for a drive in the park tomorrow. That is more my idea of an efficient courtship. I shall return to the house and write some letters.” It wasn’t just efficiency. The visit to the park had another purpose. He needed to erase a persistent image from his mind, the image of a slender, feminine body swinging from a horse, of golden curls tickling his jaw and chin, of a warm feminine body pressed against his.

Another visit to the park with a different lady would erase those images, he thought.

Giles nodded. “A much better notion, I’m sure. Lady Thorn is calling it a small private soiree, but half the females of the ton are said to be going. This fiddle player has ’em all in a twitter.’Twill be a shocking squeeze, no doubt.” Giles carefully picked a speck of lint from his jacket. “Alas, the Merridew girls are not going. I would have liked to further my acquaintance with them. Such delightful girls. But music is not at all an interest of theirs.”

Sebastian frowned. If Miss Merridew wasn’t going to be there, there was no reason why he should not attend. He’d resolved to avoid her if possible. He drained his port glass and stood to leave. As they waited in the hallway for a footman to bring them their coats and hats, Sebastian said thoughtfully, “Now I come to think of it, it’s probably not a bad idea to attend the concert tonight. It will give Lady Elinore and me something to discuss when we drive out tomorrow.”

It seemed Giles had discovered more fluff in the folds of his coat, for he mumbled something in response, but Sebastian could not hear it. When he eventually donned his coat and looked up, Giles’s eyes were dancing. “Very sensible of you, Bas, I agree. It will make a most useful topic of rational conversation.” He clapped his hat on his head at a rakish angle. “On to Lady Thorn’s then for an evening of serious pursuit—I mean cultural pursuits. Of the dutiful sort. Any pleasure we might have out of it will be swiftly shown the door.”