Wildfire Kiss (9 page)

Her aunt cut her off again. “I ain’t a green girl,
dearest. I didn’t say every man waltzing you about was after a
fortune you do not have. I asked why men like Colonels Higgens and
Chesterfield are forever ringing our doorbell, for they are
notorious
fortune hunters!”

“Oh!” exclaimed Corry with great relief. “Here comes
Babs now and with the count in attendance, so you see all is
well.”

***

“Babs … I must tell you, you shouldn’t be seen
alone with that man,” the count advised in a low voice. “It isn’t
the thing. Do you know what they call him?”

“No, what?” Babs fibbed.

“Lord Wildfire, and it ain’t just because he was a
devil on the battlefield, although that is where it first
started …”

“Oh, ah …” she said, trying not to show
interest. “I knew something about him being with
Wellington …”

“You knew that? Didn’t know you know that.” Otto
shook his head. “It don’t signify. Next time you rip your gown and
it needs pinning … take your cousin, or
me
for that
matter …”

“You are a dear friend, Otto,” she said patting his
arm.

“That I am … care for you …” He saw her
expression and burst out laughing. “Not like that, you little
devil … but I do enjoy your company. Good fun … and as I
consider you perhaps my dearest friend—don’t want the gossip
mongers flapping their tongues with your name.” He shook his head.
“I am not in the petticoat line … but very comfortable with
you.”

Babs laughed. “Otto, I know that you find me useful
as a shield. It is quite all right.”

“Nonsense.” He laughed. “You have many uses.”

She slapped him playfully and then said,
“
Oh—oh
. Judging by Corry’s expression, we haven’t come a
moment too soon.”

***

Sir Edward Danton was looking his very best as he
entered the Rutledges’ ballroom. He thought that even Beau himself
would declare his style
first-rate.

His black velvet, overly long tails were the height
of fashion, and Weston, London’s finest tailor, had fit it to his
slender form with perfection. His cravat was tied with precision,
and his chestnut curls gleamed around his handsome and angular
face. He moved with ease as he walked towards his goal, stopping to
make idle chatter with friends and acquaintances.

He had been anxiously awaiting the moment when he
would take her into his arms for a waltz. It wouldn’t be the first
time he had waltzed with her, and yet he found himself nearly
breathless at the thought. It was absurd.

He was a seasoned sophisticate and had enjoyed his
fair share of beauties over the years, but this one, this one
bouncing madcap had captured all his thoughts and needs and
desire.

As it happened, a waltz struck up as he approached
her, but Otto had already led her onto the floor. He frowned but
did not allow this to stall him as he squeezed through the throng
of dancers and tapped Otto on the shoulder.

Otto had no choice but to relinquish his prize, and
Danton looked down into her dark eyes and nearly felt stunned. She
was exquisite. “Now, I can breathe …” he said softly to her as
his gaze caressed her full, rosy lips.

“Oh, were you having trouble, sir?” She flirted with
him, giving him a flash of her dark eyes. “Air back in your
lungs?”

He knew she was only flirting. He knew she enjoyed
flirting, but this time he would show her that flirting with him
was playing with fire. “No,” he answered. “Not quite satisfied, but
I intend to be … very soon.” His gloved hand took strong hold
of her waist and squeezed lightly before he allowed it to slide
down her back and lightly touch her rump before returning it to her
back.

***

Babs was shocked at his audacious touch. He had
taken a liberty no other had ever attempted. She did not believe
she had invited him to feel he had the right, or had she? Had she
gone too far with her flirting? Perhaps so?

She had been distracted as of late. Her mind forever
full with quite another man. All she could think of, all she could
see, was the duke with his bright blue eyes looking into
hers …

She stiffened against his presumption, and Sir
Edward laughed. “My dearest Babs, can it be you do not know what I
have been trying to tell you—show you?”

“Just what do you mean, sir?” She really didn’t
care, for she had a sudden urge to flee him and the dance.

“I mean to apply to your father and take you as my
wife, my lady, my love,” he answered on a serious note.

She nearly stumbled as she missed a step and looked
sharply at his face. He was most definitely in earnest. She lowered
her eyes. She had no wish to hurt him … or anyone, and she had
not realized his attentions had reached this stage. She was sorry
for it. “I am honored, Sir Edward, deeply aware of how desirable
you are as a match, but I am also very sorry to have to tell you
that … that it is not possible.”

He looked stunned, and Babs bit her bottom lip. “Do
you know how many women have chased me hoping to hear me
propose?”

“I can only imagine.” Babs kept her gaze averted and
wanted with all her heart to run. She had to be brave. She had to
ease this moment for him, but his expression went from shock to
anger, and a tickle of fear made its way into her stomach.

He suddenly grabbed her gloved hand and strode off
the dance floor with her in tow. She did not wish to make a scene
or draw anyone’s attention but tried as best she could to pull out
of his hold. “Sir …
please stop
… Sir Edward, what
do you think you are doing?”

He stopped, turned, and glared at her. “Lady Babs,
you will accompany me into the garden, for I mean to talk to you in
private …
now!”

Perhaps she owed him this?
she wondered as
she allowed him to lead her out the garden doors, but she felt
miserable and kept her eyes lowered.

Torches were lit everywhere, and she pulled out of
his grip and remained near the garden doors. “You may talk
here … I am not going alone with you any further.”

He turned on her then, and his face was a mask of
white fury. “Lady Barbara, I mean for you to carry my name. Do you
actually say me nay?”

“I would make you miserable, sir,” she tried
reasonably. “We certainly would not suit.”

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “What new
kick is this?’

“Please, Sir Edward, I have enjoyed our friendship,
your escort on many occasions, but I am persuaded you would not be
happy with me as your wife. I am not at all dutiful. In time, what
you think intriguing would pall on you … and become
tiresome.”

“Is that what is worrying you?” He laughed.
“Nonsense. I want you, Babs. Haven’t I convinced you of that?”

“Stop … oh, do stop …” Babs was at a loss
suddenly and wanted to escape. He wouldn’t listen. There was
nothing else she could say without hurting him, and she had no wish
to hurt him.

“No, darling, you would never pall on me, and in
time you will learn to behave as you ought—”

She cut him off. “Behave as I ought? You see …
you don’t know me. I am behaving as I ought. I cannot marry where
my heart is not engaged … I am sorry, Sir Edward. I … I
do not love you.”

Babs realized suddenly that Sir Edward did not take
rejection well. He grabbed hold of her and shouted as he bent to
force a kiss on her, “Then you will learn to love me … you
will learn very well!”

“Let me go!” Babs cried, thoroughly distressed. “You
are hurting me …”

“
I suggest
,” came a strong male voice, “you
release the lady at once!”

Babs turned to find the duke standing there,
clenching and unclenching his fist. His jaw worked with his
controlled anger, and he looked his name, Wildfire. Instinctively
and without realizing what she was doing, Babs broke free of
Danton’s suddenly lax hold and ran the few steps to the duke.

He smiled reassuringly at her as he bent his arm for
her hand. “My lady, allow me to escort you to your aunt, who has I
know been quietly worried about your direction.”

“Nick!” Sir Edward called furiously. “This is none
of your affair, and you would be advised to stay out of my
way.”

“Ah, Ned, you know me better than that,” was all the
response the duke gave him as he led Babs back into the
ballroom.

“Will you tell me, little terror, why you went out
there with him?”

She put up her chin. “You were most kind to
extricate me …”

“So then indulge me by answering my question,” he
insisted.

“I am a terrible, awful thing. I am ashamed to admit
that I must have led him to believe … I did not know …
but it is in part my fault …”

“Ah, and my Charles is quite correct,” said the
duke.

“Is he? What does Chuck have the good fortune to be
correct about?”

“About you. He says you are a handful, and, my
little terror, so you are, but here is your aunt, and I think she
means to have a go at you.” So saying, he gave her a low bow and
backed away, an amused glint in his eyes.

Babs turned to face her aunt.

Nine

THE LOBBY OF the House of Commons was in an uproar.
Corn Laws were the subject of heated debate. The deplorable state
of the economy had to be discussed, and, to a man, opinions were
rife and loud.

The Duke of Barrington sighed as he looked around.
He was waiting for his cousin, Charles, and Mr. Wethering to
arrive, as Wethering was due to speak.

Eventually, he and Charles would make their way over
to the House of Lords, and they would take their seats, but first
he wanted to discuss his own intended speech with his friend.

The buzz of voices suddenly got louder.

Tempers seemed to be on the rise.

He was damned frustrated with politics. All talk no
action.

On the battlefield it was the opposite.

While the duke mused on these thoughts, a man
hurriedly made his way into the House of Commons. His name was
Bellingham, and the duke’s eyes narrowed when he saw him. He didn’t
know what it was, but all at once he had a bad feeling.

Bellingham had a personal grievance that the duke
had heard about on more than one occasion. Looking at the man now,
it appeared his grievance had boiled over.

Wildfire knew that Bellingham had been allowed to
sit in prison in Russia. He had taken the only course open to him
as an Englishman and appealed to his representative stationed there
at the time—Granville Leveson Gower—who had done nothing to help
him.

During the poor man’s incarceration he had gone
bankrupt, and he’d returned to England a broken man. Nick felt
heartily sorry for him, but … now … now something was up.
Nick took a step forward, not sure what he should do. A state of
frenzy filled the air around the man, and Nick actually felt the
vibes across the room. Did no one else notice?

He was too far away from him, but nonetheless he
started pushing through the crowd of men standing about in small
cliques. The duke heard him ask for Gower only to be told, “Not
here …”

“But he is due to speak,” Bellingham answered and
then looked about as though crazed.

The duke saw it at once and started towards him, his
hand outstretched.

“Well,” said Bellingham. “Here is England …
here is our prime minister …” He waved the pistol he had
shrugged out from under his cloak and brought it into line.

Charles had reached Nick by that time, but Nick had
no time for him as he pushed through trying to reach Bellingham.
“
No! Hold!”
he shouted, catching more than one man’s notice.
However, it was already too late. The noisy room was brought to
total quiet by the reverberating boom of Bellingham’s exploding
pistol.

The prime minister, the Right Honorable Spencer
Perceval, lay still and bleeding on the marbled floor.

The Duke of Barrington was aptly named, because like
wildfire he was everywhere at once, doing everything. He had the
gun in hand; he had Bellingham. He managed to instruct two sturdy
gentlemen to take over in that regard as he bent to look over the
prime minister’s wound.

Wildfire called for a doctor and for the beadles,
sending men scattering to do his bidding. He took command and
brought the hubbub into order around him.

But for the prime minister of England it was over,
because he lay dead …

The duke closed his eyes. “This is a tragic
affair …
despicable …”

***

It was natural and quite inevitable that the prime
minister’s murder would dominate drawing room conversations, and it
did for some days afterwards. Tales of the duke’s quick-mindedness
and ability to lead during a crisis were applauded and came to Lady
Babs’ ears. She felt a swelling of pride, though why she should,
she told herself, was more than she could understand.

Otto stood, his hands clasped at his back as he
spoke to Lord Waverly and his sister, giving a lengthy discourse on
the numerous problems that the prime minister’s murder had
created.

Babs’ father tried to maintain a quiet interest, but
his daughter (with a silent giggle) could see he was about to nod
off.

Lady Jane would interrupt him from time to time to
add her own epitaphs to the horrible events that had taken place,
but Babs, in spite of her usual good humor, sighed and looked
away.

Three days had passed since the Rutledge ball, and
Babs was in a sorry state. She had not seen the duke since that
night. Her mind was boggled with frustration and something else she
could not name.
What is happening
, she asked herself. What
was she feeling? She was too old for schoolgirl crushes … this
was so much more.

Corry touched her hand, for she was fully aware of
why Babs was in such a restless state. “Don’t, Babs … it is
not like you to pine …”