Wildfire Kiss (24 page)

“Tonight has nothing to do with tomorrow. London is
something we will do if it will please you and Nigel, but tonight
we will go through with our rig, just as planned,” Taffy said with
some determination as she folded her arms across her middle.

Their carriage had approached a long, winding drive
cutting through neatly clipped, lush green lawns. Flowerbeds of
daffodils were in riotous bloom. Tulips of rich shades gently
flowed in the breeze, and with a sigh of resignation, Lord Nigel
pointed out the fact they were fast approaching Lady Watson’s front
drive.

“So then, it is settled?” Taffeta pursued quickly.
“We go as planned?” She watched as her uncle and brother exchanged
defeated glances. She knew they were honor-bound to proceed as they
had promised. They had given their word, and she was sure they
would never renege. She was also sure they relied on her very
unique and secret abilities, which had been of service to them in
the past. Taffy’s ‘gift of sight’ had saved them already more than
once.

They nodded at her, and her brother said, “Aye
then … this last time, vixen.”

She smiled, pleased enough, and hoped these strange
dream visions of the handsome stranger would stop and allow her to
concentrate on the job at hand.

*

Hotspur!
Lady Watson considered the amazingly
tall and well built Corinthian conversing amicably with her as he
stood by the long window in her parlor. He was eight and twenty and
still full of fire—the very devil of a man. Even the dandy cut of
his light blue coat and buff-colored breeches couldn’t disguise the
athletic swell of his lean and sturdy form.

His black, windswept curls were neatly at variance
with his rugged and thoroughly masculine countenance, and his
smile, so rarely seen by most, was almost incongruous in contrast
to his dark, stern eyes. Everything about him gave credence to the
name the
haute ton
had given him.

Hotspur indeed—an appropriate name if ever there was
one. An odd thing, considering his youth. Oh, he had ever been the
passionate lad, full with high, romantic ideals. But she had
watched those ideals wither unmercifully, and he had put an end to
such beliefs, putting them away, if not banishing them
completely.

She could remember him at twenty—warrior-hearted,
generous, shy, and so very much in love. That was then, and
now … now he was
Hotspur!

She patted the empty spot beside her on the richly
upholstered, Regencystyled sofa of yellow damask. “Already itching
to be off, Tarrant? Never say you are bored after only one morning
in my company.”

He smiled warmly at her. “Aunt Lizzie, favorite of
my aunts, dear to my heart, I must admit,
I am
feeling
edgy …”

“Ah, too much vapid conversation, but I shall look
to entertain you better … shortly,” she replied, teasing him
back.

He eyed her. “Oh? What are you up to?” And then,
before she could answer, he sighed heavily and said, “I was
thinking of taking Demon out for a run.” He put up his hands as she
started to object, laughed, and admonished her, “It is only a ride,
after all.” He paused, and she pulled a face before he said, “Wait
a moment. You are up to something, aren’t you? What have you done?
Something, I’d swear.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” She avoided his
eye.

He chuckled. “Well, I wasn’t sure before,
but
now
I am. Come on then, Aunt Liz, what is towards?”

“I only meant you should just leave the stallion be.
He is grazing happily in my stud paddock and is happy for the time
off, I am sure.”

“Right … as though you give a fig about such
things. What are you up to, Lizzie dearest?”

“Again, I repeat, I don’t know what you mean.” She
busied herself with the folds of her skirt, sweeping away an
imaginary wrinkle. Her aged hand then fluttered to the puff of
white curls that ornamented her regal head. “Do come and sit with
me, Tarrant. There is so much I want to discuss with you.”

However, at that moment she saw the sound of
carriage wheels scraping against gravel draw his gaze to the
window. She watched him as he stood rigidly, observing the carriage
as it came to a complete stop in the courtyard just within their
view. A footman went forward to open the carriage door, and a
dainty blue silk shoe emerged.

“Ah,” remarked Lord Thurston Tarrant as he turned
and stared at her. His hands clasped behind his back, he leveled a
disappointed look at her and said in a tone that displayed a level
of hurt, “So then …
Et tu, Brute?
”

Her lashes fluttered. “I don’t know what you can
mean.”

He paced, and she could feel his tenseness. She saw
the irritation lingering in his eyes. This was the first time she
had ever tried to throw a female in his way, and she knew he would
be angry. She had not been able to help herself, and even as the
sneer marred his good looks and destroyed the smile that had been
there only a moment ago, she still felt she had done the right
thing.

“Do come and sit with me, and I shall explain
later …” she offered.

Tarrant eyed her. “I thought myself safe with you,
Lizzie … you have never played matchmaker before. You know
that is why I come and visit you …”

She sighed. “’Tis not what I am doing now.” She was
lying, and when he raised a brow at her, she realized he knew. “I
simply thought … well, you shall see …” she said as she
got up and joined him at the window.

There they watched the newcomers just outside, and
he grimaced at her. She smiled at him and said on a whisper, “She
is such a wild young thing … and I thought she could use a
friend in London … at the balls …”

“And you thought I …?” He raised a brow at her
again, and his surprise appeared genuine.

“She is a diamond, Tarrant, don’t you think?” She
sighed heavily.

He wagged a finger at her. “Think you I have not had
diamonds enough thrown at me?”

“Yes, but …”

The Duke of Grantham, Lord Nigel of Rothbane, and
the Lady Taffeta were announced, and the Hotspur stood back and
apart to better observe their arrival.

The ‘diamond’ wore a simple blue redingote that
covered an alluring female figure. She seemed to have an easy
manner, allowing her to unbutton her overcoat and throw it off to a
nearby chair.
Hmmm
, he wondered,
is she a frequent
visitor here at Aunt Lizzie’s?

Next went her matching blue bonnet, displaying
bright yellow hair lit with copper, thick with a profusion of curls
trailing over her ears and down her back. Her waist was tiny, and
for a moment, he imagined his hands holding her waist, and he felt
himself get hard …

He frowned as he made an attempt to stop it, but as
he looked at her full breasts, nipples hard and probing the soft
material of her gown, his hard-on began to pulse.
Hell and
fire!

This had to stop—she was a veritable schoolgirl, and
then as she turned fully to him with her aunt’s introductions, he
saw her face.
Hell and fire is right. She is stunning!

Her gray eyes were bright with amusement, her nose
pert, her lips full and rosy, and he wanted to take her into his
arms and drive his tongue into her mouth and …

“I am very pleased to meet you.” His tone was
reserved.

She laughed. “Are you? You don’t look very pleased.
In fact, you are wearing a scowl,” Taffy said, her merriment
charming.

He chuckled in spite of himself. “Am I?” He gave her
a false smile. He had to set her apart, to display he wasn’t
interested. “Is that better?”

“Oh, I don’t think so. Try again when you mean it,”
said Taffy, turning her back to him and plopping herself on the
sofa with his aunt.

“Tarrant surprised me with a visit when he arrived
yesterday. I was just about to tell him you, Seth, and Nigel were
coming for luncheon today when you arrived.”

“Oh, is that why he is all dark and gloomy?” Taffy
teased. “Thought he would have you all to himself? Well, we won’t
intrude too long …” She smiled up at Tarrant sweetly.

He was again taken by surprise. She was at least
refreshingly direct, and then he scowled and turned away from her
to enter into conversation with the two young gentlemen who were in
a lively discussion at his back.

Taffy entered their discussion about politics, and
before long, he found he was actually enjoying himself. Their ideas
were innovative, youthful, naïve at times, but definitely
interesting. He had never met a woman interested in such matters
before. His aunt appeared totally at sea and got to her feet,
telling them she would see about getting things ready in the dining
room.

Taffy was off the sofa and standing with them,
wagging her finger at her brother with good humor, laughing,
pointing out references from the
Chronicle
, quoting members
of Parliament, and fascinating him.

He was taken aback by her, sure he should not be
conversing with such a young chit in such a fashion, and
yet …

Her style had caught his interest, and the next
thing he knew, he was watching the way she moved. Her walk was a
series of bounces—so full of life—and her body looked so damned
provocative. There was something in her every step displaying she
was happy to be alive, and yet, she was graceful and feminine. She
was new, shiny and bright … but he knew better than to fall
victim to such charms. She seemed to glide in a whirlwind of
unconscious high spirits and displayed sweet affection when his
aunt had remarked upon something amusing. She hugged his aunt
affectionately and placed a kiss upon her white cheek.

“Don’t squeeze me so, child,” cried Lady Watson with
a laugh. “I’m too old and will, in all likelihood, crack.” She took
Taffy’s hand. “Now … in with you … time to eat.”

“Is it true they call you the Hotspur …?” Seth
asked as they walked toward the dining room.

His uncle exclaimed in a shocked accent, “Seth!”

“What?” He took to blushing.

Tarrant laughed out loud and bowed his head. “The
same, sir,” he said as he noted from the corner of his eye Lady
Taffeta was studying him rather openly. It was not a surprising
circumstance. He had achieved over the years an education in the
arts of the female. He had been subjected to maids of many
admirable qualities and had suffered more than he cared to remember
from their missish airs and coy flirtations. He knew he was a
marriage prize. He knew, but it had not always been so. It had not
been true when his oldest brother had still been alive with both
the title and most of the fortune. He had only been the second son
and had been in love with a beautiful woman, but she had wanted
more … more than the second son.

He understood the game, and he loathed its
intricacies and its inherent dishonesty.

They reached the dining room, took their seats, and
Taffeta said to him across the table, “That black of yours, the
stud we saw when we came up the drive, is magnificent. I don’t
think he was here when we were last,” she said and then turned to
his aunt. “Was he, Lizzie dear?”

“Absurd child, what would I do with such a beast?
His name is Demon, and he belongs to Tarrant here,” answered Lady
Watson. “His lordship is considered quite a horseman, and we
believe Demon will let no other on his back.”

“A Corinthian is what his lordship is.” Taffy’s
brother stuck in and then receded into a deprecatory cough. “Or so
I have heard …”

Taffy turned her bright gray, interested gaze back
to Lord Tarrant. “So then, are you saying Demon is the very devil
to handle, my lord?” Her eyes twinkled at him, and once again he
was mesmerized by her.

“That he is—in fact it’s how he got his name.” He
discovered that against his will, she had drawn a smile from him.
He had meant to ignore her to the point of rudeness.

Lady Watson’s pug, at this point, managed to push
open the dining room door, which had not been totally closed. He
stopped at the threshold, surveying the assembled group, and with a
screeching series of barks, ran over, and dove into Lady Taffeta’s
lap.

She petted the dog with a laugh, saying, “Do stop
it, you vicious, adorable little thing. There now, go sit by
Lizzie … there is a good boy.”

*

With this, Taffy returned her attention to her
companions and discovered Nigel and her brother had engaged Tarrant
in conversation, and she used the time to better peruse him.

He was the man from her dream. She had seen this at
once, and how she had controlled the fit of coughing she nearly
succumbed to was more than she presently knew.

At first she thought she must be wrong, but when she
looked at him fully, she knew: he was the man … only he had
been naked in her vision … and … this was wrong—all
wrong.

He was devastatingly handsome … more handsome
than any man she had ever seen; however, here, unlike in her dream,
he appeared cold-hearted and arrogant.
Yes, insufferably
arrogant.

His manners, though polite, had been decidedly
aloof. She decided he was probably no better than any London
Corinthian puffed up with his own consequence. He could not be the
man in her vision. She knew she could never be romantic with such a
man … and it was clear he certainly was not interested in
her.

She shrugged him off in her mind and returned her
attention to Lady Watson, who had smiled and asked, “And so, my
child, you will be leaving for London and dear Sissy’s soon? Are
you very excited?

“No, dreading it, in fact,” Taffy said on a heavy
sigh. “It is bound to be dull work.”

Lord Tarrant regarded her, and she was, for a
moment, caught up in his gaze.

“London … dull work?” he quizzed.

She wasn’t sure if she liked his tone or the manner
in which he lifted his dark brow, as though he didn’t believe her.
“Yes, dull work, when one considers what it is all about—at least
to a female.”