Violet v-5

by Jane Feather

  An elderly man was crossing the hall. He looked up and blinked rheumy eyes in astonishment as Tamsyn jumped from the bottom stair.

  “Good morning, you must be Belton,” she said with a cheerful smile. “Lady Fortescue told me how wonderfully well you manage this household.”

  Lady Fortescue! The old man stared, and Tamsyn could almost see the cogs turning in his brain as he tried to fit this astonishing britches-clad figure who'd spent the night in his lordship's bed with Lord St. Simon's sister.

  “If Lord St. Simon returns before I do, will you tell him that I'll be back this afternoon?” she said blithely, going to the door.

  “Yes, miss,” he muttered, belatedly moving to open the door.

  “That's all right, I can manage, thank you, Belton.”

  Tamsyn pulled open the door. “Oh, it's raining again! What a poxy miserable climate this is.” She pulled up the hood of her cloak, raised a hand in farewell to the dumbstruck servant. “Until this afternoon!” And she was gone, jumping down the three steps to the pavement and racing up the street, head down against the persistent drizzle.

  Belton shook his head in bemusement, wondering if he was getting too old for his job. Had she really been dressed in britches? His lordship must have developed some strange tastes in Spain-a heathen land it was, or so they said. Closing the door, he tottered off to his pantry and the bottle of medicinal brandy he kept there for moments of stress.

  Tamsyn hailed a hackney, directed him to the King's Head at Charing Cross, and sat back going over her plan. The rain was a damned nuisance with so many errands to run.

  Gabriel was stolidly consuming a platter of eggs and sirloin in the taproom as she entered. “You're early,” he observed.

  “Yes and I haven't had breakfast.” She hitched a chair over with her toe and sat down. “Landlord, I'll have a plate just like this, please.”

  The landlord grunted. In the dim light he could see a lad sitting beside the giant Scotsman. He went into the kitchen, and a few minutes later a serving girl brought a second plate.

  “'Ere y'are, sir.” She bobbed a curtsy, shooting Tamsyn an appraising look from beneath her eyelashes, clearly wondering whether the young man was worth cultivating.

  Tamsyn grinned. She was accustomed to such mistakes when the light was bad. She leaned over and chucked the girl beneath the chin. “Here's a pretty lass. What's your name, then?”

  “Annie, sir.” The girl blushed and turned her head aside.

  “Well, fetch me some coffee will you, Annie?”

  “Aye, sir.” She bobbed another curtsy and hurried off.

  “Och, little girl, you ought to be ashamed of yourself,” Gabriel said mildly, taking a draft of ale. “Teasing the child like that.”

  Tamsyn merely chuckled and attacked her breakfast with a voracious hunger.

  “Things went all right, then,” Gabriel observed.

  “Looks like you had a night to build up an appetite.”

  Tamsyn nodded, her eyes shining as she spread mustard on her sirloin. “We'll be going back to Spain soon.”

  “Good,” he said laconically. “I'll be glad to shake the dust of this place off my feet. And so will the woman. But what of the Penhallan?”

  “I think I have to let it go, Gabriel,” she said, keeping her eyes on her plate. “Will you mind?”

  His face darkened. “You do what you wish, but I intend to see to those gutter sweepings, lassie. But I'll do it in my own way and in my own time. It won't affect your plans.”

  Tamsyn was silent. She knew she couldn't stop him.

  For Gabriel it was a sacred obligation, and he'd feel the baron's eyes on him until it was done. But Gabriel's vengeance must not affect her own confrontation with Cedric, and for that reason she would face her uncle alone. Gabriel's temper was too uncertain, and if he came across the twins while he and Tamsyn were visiting with Cedric, there would be no way to prevent him from dealing with them on the spot. And then there would be witnesses to the inevitable bloody mess, and Cedric could lay charges, and Gabriel would probably end up on the scaffold in Bodmin jail.

  But he would never permit her to go alone, if he had the faintest inkling of such an intention, so he must believe that her love for Julian St. Simon had superseded the need to exact her parents' vengeance.

  “So we'll fetch the woman and be back to Spain, then?” Gabriel resumed, a slight frown in his eye.

  Tamsyn nodded and took a gulp of coffee. “But not until the morning. I wish to give the colonel a little present first, something to remember while we're gone.”

  Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Not something requiring my help, I assume.”

  Tamsyn smiled. “No, I don't think so, Gabriel.”

  “Then I'll bide here. Mine host has a decent enough cellar, and I daresay I'll find some congenial company.”

  “Well, will you come with Cesar to Audley Square at daybreak? I'll slip out through the window again and meet you in the mews. We'll ride back to Cornwall, collect our things, and come back with Josefa.”

  Gabriel nodded. Such an unorthodox departure didn't strike him as peculiar; it was the way they were accustomed to doing things in the mountains. However, something about this change of plan disturbed him. It wasn't in character for the bairn to abandon a mission with such insouciance.

  Tamsyn wiped her plate clean with a hunk of bread, finished her coffee, and stood up. “I need to change and fetch some money, Gabriel.”

  He reached into his pocket for the key to his room.

  “Top of the stairs, on the left.”

  In the bedchamber Tamsyn changed into one of her cambric gowns and swapped her riding boots for a pair of jean half boots that wouldn't be nearly as effective in the rain and the puddles. She shoved her riding clothes into a cloak bag to take with her, put a billfold and a purse of coins into a reticule, examined herself in the spotted looking glass with a critical frown, then returned to the taproom, trying to remember not to stride.

  Annie was clearing the table and nearly dropped the tray at the transformation. “Oooo,” she said. “Yer not a bloke!”

  “No,” Tamsyn agreed. “But you're still a pretty lass.”

  “Oh, wha' a cheek,” Annie said, bridling. “You got no call to play games like that… takin' advantage of an innocent girl.”

  “I wasn't taking advantage,” Tamsyn pointed out logically. “Since I'm not a man, how could I have been?”

  Annie sniffed and returned to the kitchen with her tray.

  Gabriel was still sitting at the table nursing a refilled tankard. “You're away, then?”

  “Yes.” She bent to kiss him. “I'll see you at daybreak.”

  “I'll be there.”

  Tamsyn raised a hand in farewell and went outside into the rain-swept gloom of London Town.

  She returned to Audley Square in the early afternoon. Belton opened the door and found himself face-to-face with a conventionally dressed young lady. If it weren't for her distinctive hair, he would never have believed it was the same person who had left that morning. “Please, could you send someone to bring the parcels from the hackney?” she asked, just her eyes visible over the armful of packages she held.

  “Let me take those, miss.” Belton moved to relieve her of her burdens.

  “No, no,” Tamsyn said, afraid that the old man would drop them onto the wet steps. “But there's more in the coach.”

  Belton called over his shoulder, and a stalwart young man in a baize apron and leather britches emerged from the kitchen regions. He glanced curiously at the young woman clutching her packages, then went out to bring in the rest of her purchases.

  “Has his lordship returned?”

  “Not as yet, miss. I expect he's gone to one of his clubs. Usually does of a morning, when he's in town.”

  “Good.” That suited Tamsyn. By the time Julian returned, she would be ready for him. She started up the stairs. “Have those packages brought up to his lordship’s apartments please, Belton, and could y
ou send up two wineglasses and a corkscrew?”

  The stalwart young man trotted after her, his arms filled. “Put them on the couch,” she instructed, dropping her own on the coverlet. “Thank you. And could you light the fire, please? It's such a miserable day.” She waited as he raked ashes, laid kindling, and struck flint on tinder. The wood caught, a plume of fragrant smoke arose, and a flame shot up the chimney.

  The lad carefully laid on logs, then stood up, wiping his hands on the seat of his britches just as a red-cheeked girl of about thirteen came in through the open door with the glasses and a corkscrew. She, too, couldn't hide her curiosity as she glanced covertly at his lordship's extraordinary visitor. A right lime trollop, no better than she ought to be, old Mrs. Cogg in the kitchen had opined. Maisie had never before met someone who was better than she ought to be.

  “Wonderful.” Tamsyn offered a somewhat distracted smile as the lad departed with a jerky bow, followed by the girl; then she flew across the room and locked the door behind them. She stood tapping her front teeth with a fingertip. How long did she have?

  It took fifteen minutes to layout her carefully selected picnic. Vintage claret, dainty shrimp barquettes, smoked oysters, dressed crab, strawberry tarts, and fresh figs. Nothing that couldn't be eaten with the fingers.

  The fire was crackling nicely now, the candles were lit, and the room, despite its oppressive furnishing, felt quite cozy. She threw off her gown, thrust it into a corner of the armoire together with her half boots, underclothes, and the cloak bag with her riding britches. Then she shook out the gown that had taken her hours to select. The blonde silk lace shimmered, soft and lustrous in the candlelight. She slipped it over her head, and the delicate material, the painstaking work of a dozen Chantilly-Iace-makers, caressed her naked body, as sensuous as a spring breeze.

  She stepped up to the cheval glass and examined herself. The gown had cost a small fortune, but the effect was everything she'd aimed for. It was as demure and virginal as a bridal nightgown. The wide, exquisitely edged sleeves reached her elbows, drawing attention to her delicately rounded forearms and tiny wrists. Her neck rose slender and graceful as a swan's from three tiers of lace ruffles, and her almond-shaped eyes were huge and luminous, their deep violet startling against the creamy pallor of her face and gown, the silvery sheen of her hair.

  Experimentally, she fastened a band of white velvet ribbon around her hair. The effect was astonishing. It accentuated the air of childlike innocence that was somehow not what it seemed.

  Tamsyn turned slowly, examining herself in the mirror. Her bare feet peeped from the embroidered lace hem, and the material drifted down her body, the lace so fine that her skin glimmered beneath.

  She felt as she had when she'd planned her Aladdin's cave, as seduced by the game as she knew Julian would be. Her loins were moistening, her nipples hardening, and her spine tingled.

  She unlocked the door, cast one final look over the inviting table, and curled up in a massive black-leather armchair beside the fire.

  Julian, after a relatively satisfactory session with the prime minister, had repaired to Horseguards to see what old friends and colleagues he might usefully find, and then to the Admiralty to discover what ships were sailing to Lisbon in the next week. A frigate, escorting a convoy of merchant shipping, was due to set sail from Portsmouth under a Captain Marriot by the end of the following week, and it looked like the likeliest passage he would find. The captain would need to be officially informed that he'd have four passengers on the voyage, and Julian would need to get the requisite instructions from the appropriate admiral, but that wouldn't take more than a day or two.

  Feeling very cheerful, Julian went back out into the drizzle, to where a damp urchin was holding Soult. The lad caught the sixpence with a cheeky grin as his lordship mounted, and ran off, biting the coin to test its mettle as if he couldn't believe the largesse.

  Julian rode home, left his horse in the mews, and entered the garden through the gate. He glanced up at the window of his bedchamber. It was closed against the rain, but light shone warm and welcoming from within.

  An involuntary smile crossed his eyes, and his heart jumped with pleasure at the thought that Tamsyn was waiting for him.

  He entered the house through a side door and strode upstairs, encountering no one, which didn't surprise him. He never entertained at home and was so rarely in residence himself that Belton and Mrs. Cogg managed to run the house with the help of a lad for the heavy work, and a kitchen maid. Most of the rooms were kept under holland covers anyway.

  He entered his bedroom and then stopped. Tamsyn was a tiny figure in shimmering pale lace framed against the heavy black leather of the armchair, swallowed somehow in its depth. Smiling, she uncurled herself and stood up.

  “Have you had a trying day, milord colonel?” she said softly, coming toward him. “I've prepared a picnic for us.”

  He stared at her, his breath suspended. Dear God, she was wearing a ribbon in her hair! And the gown, so demure and yet so unutterably wicked. She looked as virginal, as innocent, as a child in the schoolroom, but her skin glowed in luminous promise beneath the material that stroked over her hips and outlined the soft swell of her breasts, the hard, dark tips of her nipples.

  His head swam as she stepped closer to him and lifted her face in sweet demand for a kiss. Still speechless, he bent his head and kissed her lips.

  “Will you take off your sword?” she said, stepping back before he could put his hands on her. “It's such an ugly, great thing and so unrestful.”

  Unrestful. This woman was the most unrestful he'd ever encountered! But her hands were unbuckling his sword belt, lifting it away from him with a grimace of effort. And it did look absurdly large and menacing beside her delicate fragility. But she was neither delicate nor fragile! He watched in bemusement as she placed the sword carefully in the corner of the room and turned back to him.

  “May I help you with your boots?”

  In the same trance he sat down in the chair she'd just vacated. With a little frown of concentration, she straddled his lap with her back to him and hauled on his left boot. The curve of her backside, opalescent beneath the spider's-web covering of the gown, was impossible to resist. He placed his palms on the damask globes, and the heat of her skin seared his hands.

  “I'm trying to concentrate,” Tamsyn said as the boot came off. “I have to do it like this so I don't get mud on my gown.”

  “I'm not objecting,” he murmured, finally finding his voice as he smoothed the gossamer material tightly over her bottom. “I'm sure you're supposed to wear something underneath this.”

  “That rather depends on where one's wearing it,” she said with a grunt of effort, falling back onto his lap, sitting on his hands as the second boot came off. “There.” She tossed it to the floor to join its fellow. “Now, shall I take off your coat, and then I'll bring you a glass of wine and a smoked oyster.”

  “In a minute,” he said.

  “Of course,” Tamsyn said meekly. “Whatever you wish to do is what I wish to do.”

  “Now I've heard everything,” Julian observed, but he was smiling. Whatever game this was, it was one he was more than happy to play. He moved one hand to encircle her waist, holding her firmly in place, while his other hand slithered beneath her, the tips of his fingers inching into the cleft of her bottom until she wriggled with a little gasp. Finally he let her go. “I don't want to tear this gorgeous virginal garment… at least,” he added, “not just yet. So you'd better get up.”

  Tamsyn slid off his knee, shaking down the gown.

  “Whatever you wish, my lord.” She went to the table and poured wine into a glass. She brought it over together with a platter of smoked oysters and, with a shy smile, sat on his lap again. She held the wine to his lips, then began to feed him the oysters. “Do you like them?”

  “Mmmm,” he murmured with his mouth full, distracted by her slight weight on his thighs, the scent of her skin, the impossibly shy
smile, the deceptive purity of the blonde lace. “I think I'm going to enjoy this game.”

  Her eyes widened in hurt innocence. “A game? This is no game, my lord. I wish only to please you. I wish to do whatever you wish me to do.”

  She held the wine up to his lips again, then took a sip herself, before placing the glass on the' table beside the platter of oysters. She swivelled on his knee until she was nestled against his chest, her body curled against him.

  She was like a small bird, her heart beating against his shirt front. Vulnerable, frail. And it didn't matter that he knew she was neither of those things. It didn't matter that he knew her to be a fierce and uncompromising, tempestuous bandit. For the moment she was all sweet innocence, and she was driving him wild.

  She kissed the pulse in his throat, and her body shifted on his lap, an infinitesimal movement that nevertheless brought the blood surging into his loins. Her voice was musical as she murmured soft words of passion to him, weaving threads of enchantment around him and it took him a minute to hear exactly what this innocent, fragile little creature was saying. There was nothing in the least sweet and virginal about the words; they were the hungry, earthy words of passion and need that riveted him with their brazen sensuality, shocked him to his core as they dropped from the soft lips of this shyly smiling girl.

  “You siren,” he whispered on a low throb of desire. She nibbled his lip, delicate little bites of the most exquisite sensuality, and her eyes were closed. Again she moved on his lap, but this time with more purpose so that she captured his erection between her thighs.

  “Lift your skirt,” he demanded, his voice now a rasp of need.

  Obediently, she raised herself just enough to pull the lace up over her hips. Her fingers moved on his waistband and his aching flesh sprang free. He caught her waist and swivelled her on his lap so that her back was to him. He slid his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her just sufficiently to drive into the pulsing warmth of her belly.