What a bloody nuisance! Tightening his grip on her waist and hand, he watched her eyes widen as they moved smoothly across the floor. He would like to see her eyes when he pleasured her, to hear her make a sound of delight as he …
Nearly tripping over his wayward thoughts—and over his own feet—he swallowed and focused on the present. Possibly this was merely lust after all. He should steer Margaret toward a secluded spot in his back garden and kiss her senseless.
One of them would be senseless at any rate!
And then the waltz came to an end, and Cam led her back to her family. Eleanor and Beryl had disappeared. Since they weren’t supposed to dance, they were probably sampling the sweets set upon towering trays in the dining room.
Having no wish to remove himself from Margaret’s company nor to dance with another lady, Cam considered his options. Dancing a third dance with her would be considered utterly discourteous to the others at the party.
“Shall we go find my cousin and your young sister? They might be up to mischief.”
He watched Margaret’s expression change from surprise to agreement.
“I suppose I should help bring my sister to heel. Mummy, I was never like Eleanor, was I?”
Lady Blackwood raised an eyebrow. “No, my dear.” Turning to him, she added, “None of my daughters have been anything alike. At Eleanor’s age, Jenny would not be at a party but home solving a puzzle, while Maggie would most likely be perusing every page of Le Follet while trying out new hairstyles in front of her looking glass.”
“Mummy,” Margaret blurted. “I’m sure you’ll have Lord Cambrey thinking I care about nothing but fashion and appearance.”
“Not at all,” Cam heard himself saying in her defense. “Clearly, you have put the magazine’s lessons to good use and should be commended for studying it. You are easily the most fashionable lady here.”
What inanity was he uttering? Plus, he’d insulted the other Blackwood women. “Present company excepted, of course,” he added hastily.
Stop talking. Just. Stop. The three ladies were looking at him, no doubt thinking the same thing. Jenny was plainly trying to keep from laughing at him, and Margaret was blushing profusely. All he could do was offer his arm, which she took.
After another bow to the other ladies, he took Margaret away, ostensibly to go look for the lost girls.
“That was very smooth,” she muttered to him under her breath.
He took that as a good sign. They were familiar enough with each other she could tease him for his faux pas. Very good indeed.
“I strive to be smooth,” he returned. “After all, I am an eligible bachelor this Season.”
It sounded as if she snorted. “You’ve been an eligible bachelor for more than one Season. I’m certain ladies have assumed you were seeking a wife. Or didn’t you realize?”
Was she calling him old? Maybe, but she also agreed he was eligible.
“I haven’t much cared about that, in truth, until this year.”
They were standing in the wide hallway. Alone. Glancing around to be sure, he decided to press his case.
“I wish to call on you in the morning and take you riding.”
Truthfully, he wanted to skip the weeks of horse rides and carriage outings, accompanied by her maid, and the stilted visits in her parlor with a companion close by during which they would speak about nearly nothing while mildly flirting. It all seemed for younger people.
Yes, he wanted to take her riding, then get her alone, kiss her, talk about whether she liked to live in Town or in the country, kiss her some more, and decide immediately if they were suited.
He could be romantic and even delay gratification after they’d made a decision, but to waste time before they knew if they would make a good match seemed silly. Perhaps he was too old for this game.
“I would love to,” Margaret said. He wasn’t imagining she visibly brightened and moved a little closer. Her eyes twinkled and she licked her lips, moistening them, and all he could do was stare at their plump perfection.
Suddenly, he felt encouraged. Dammit all, he was John Angsley, nearly thirty and not a wet-behind-the-ears youth. In a swift move, he propelled her backward into the shadows under the staircase, pulled her body against him, bent low, and claimed her mouth.
Soft lips yielded under his firm ones. Glad to discover she wasn’t skittish, Cam rested his hands at her waist, small and curved from what he could feel through the layers. In return, she set her gloved hands upon his chest.
Their kiss continued without protest, so he tilted his head, slanting his mouth to better cover hers. Cam wanted to nibble her full lower lip, but that seemed rash. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help touching it with his tongue, licking its plump shape, tasting her.
Almost instantly, she parted her lips, and his tongue slipped inside.
Exploring her sweet mouth, he lost track of time until he heard footsteps coming down the stairs above their heads. Quickly, he broke contact and jumped back before taking hold of her hand and pulling her from the secluded area out into the light of the hall.
Margaret looked delightfully dazed, and her mouth had the slightly swollen appearance of the freshly kissed. A swell of pride arose in him.
Most importantly, he needed to ensure they didn’t appear to have been loitering or doing precisely what it looked like they’d been doing.
“Yes,” he said, loudly, “I agree it was a shame so many houses had to be demolished for Waterloo Bridge Station, but in the end, I’m sure it will benefit Londoners tremendously.”
Margaret looked at him as if he’d gone mad. Then she smiled and began to giggle.
“Of course, my lord,” she said, trying to catch her breath, “Waterloo Bridge Station!”
By this time, the footsteps, two pairs in fact, had reached the bottom of the stairs and were chasing behind them into the dining room. The wayward girls had reappeared.
“Is it time to eat?” Beryl asked, moving past them to examine what had already been laid out. Small meat-filled pastries one could pick up with one’s fingers, equally small squares of mince tart, and more was being brought from the kitchen on trays. The pudding display had not even been put out.
“No, it is not yet time,” Cam said, grateful for the ordinary task of chastising his cousin. “The dancing has barely begun. Anyway, it is a warm enough evening. Why don’t you and Eleanor take a stroll in the garden? I think I saw fireflies by the roses.”
The girls laughed, and Beryl rolled her eyes. “We don’t care about fireflies, Cousin. But we will go outside anyway. Maybe we will spot some couples kissing out there.”
They wandered toward the door, but then Beryl paused. “Just the same as we found some kissing in here.”
Disappearing in a peal of even louder laughter, the girls left them in silence.
Cam looked at Margaret who stared back at him.
“Oh dear,” she said at last, though she didn’t look particularly concerned. “Eleanor won’t say anything, my lord. Do not worry overmuch about her. What of Beryl?”
“Beryl needs to be locked up until she learns some manners. I’m afraid she is running a little wild here without her mother’s supervision.”
“I believe she would say it was you and I who were running a little wild.”
He grinned at her. “Touché.”
Should he mention anything more about the kiss? Any apology would be a lie, and she seemed the type who wouldn’t take kindly to him pretending regret any more than she would pretend outrage.
Deciding to leave it as a particularly good memory of this party, Cam gestured to the feast being constructed by the servants who kept hurrying in and out of the room with still more trays laden with food.
“Would you like to taste anything before the herd of hungry dancers storms in?”
“Thank you, no.” She gave him a long look that left him wondering, but all she said was, “I had better return to my family.”
Taking her arm, Cam led
her back into the parlor, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment. He had kissed the prettiest woman at the party.
Hell’s bells! He’d kissed the prettiest woman in all of London.
Unfortunately, hovering around her sister and mother were Lords Fowler and Burnley, viscounts both. Cam couldn’t find any fault with either of them except they existed and were now going to be close to Margaret.
At that moment, there was nothing much he could do except dance with other guests and keep his eye on her. Luckily, Lady Chatley, who was pleasant if a little bland for someone of her youth, had finished the previous dance and hopefully would welcome the next with him.
In no way could he have imagined in thirty minutes by his pocket watch, he would find Margaret kissing another man.
Chapter Four
“You looked a likely pair,” Lady Blackwood said, after Lord Cambrey was out of hearing.
Maggie smiled. A likely pair. She hoped so. But what could she say without gushing like a ninny?
“The earl is a superb dancer.”
“But do you like him?” Jenny asked.
“Well of course, I like him,” Margaret answered. What a silly question her sister had asked. So unlike her. “After all, what is there not to like?”
Sighing, Jenny tapped her toe as the musicians signaled the start of the next dance.
In the absence of Lord Westing, with whom she’d greatly enjoyed a number of discussions and dances but who apparently had not been invited, Maggie took the hand of Lord Burnley, who was an admirable polka dancer. When the musicians played two polkas back to back, it seemed only natural to dance a second with him and then to go in search of refreshments together.
The evening was a grand success, mostly because of John Angsley’s incredible kiss. Who knew a kiss could be like that, full of the promise of even more delight?
Thinking of it, recalling the feel of his lips—and his tongue!—and how her body had reacted with heat and fluttering and even dampness, all those thoughts had kept her mind busy through the two dances while she smiled and kept up her steps.
While sipping ginger beer, when the fair-haired viscount suggested they take a stroll in Lord Cambrey’s garden, she accepted. After all, what harm could there be when Beryl and Eleanor were, in all probability, swinging from the trees like little monkeys and keeping their beady eyes on everyone?
Oddly, however, the garden was deserted. Maggie felt a queer sensation in her stomach as she realized she was alone with a man for the second time in one evening. What did that say of her character? She had no idea. She didn’t feel loose or immoral. She simply wanted to experience a little life. Surely at her age, such a longing was acceptable.
Leaving their glasses on the railing, they stepped down from the terrace and into the well-kept gardens.
“It’s quite dark,” Maggie said, because it surprised her as the Devere townhouse in which she now resided had lamps burning nearly every night in the yard. Still, she realized the foolishness of her statement. Of course, it was dark! It was nighttime and the exterior of the house had not been set up for guests. They should return indoors at once.
Instead, Lord Burnley tucked her arm under his, and they walked down one narrow path, past a birdbath, and down another until they’d traversed the relatively small garden, ending up at the back wall.
“I know we’ve only been introduced a few times and danced even fewer, but I have watched you and asked after you, Miss Blackwood.”
“Really?” Maggie let him step closer. As Lord Burnley gave off no hint of danger, she allowed him to continue.
“Yes, really. I should very much like to get to know you better. From what I know already, you have a lovely disposition.”
She nearly laughed.
“That’s kind of you to say, my lord. Perhaps the exchange of a vowel is in order as more might call me lively than lovely in regards to my disposition, and not always in a complimentary way, either.”
He smiled at her.
“Difficult to believe. I’ve heard only from your admirers.”
Her admirers? Such as John Angsley, she hoped.
Suddenly, she wished to get a little closer to the house and to the light, which she could see spilling from inside through the many windows.
“Shall we?” Maggie gestured back the way they’d come.
“Of course,” the viscount agreed, and they turned as one toward the house. “May I call on you at your brother-in-law’s home?”
Considering the matter for a moment, she didn’t feel the rush to say absolutely yes as she had when John asked her to go riding. Yet, neither did she feel a definite no. In the back of her mind always was the thought of what had happened to her older sister. Jenny had accepted on faith and a verbal promise Lord Michael Alder was going to declare for her, and then in the blink of an eye, he broke that faith.
No arrangement was certain, Maggie knew that, not until a contract was signed and a ring was placed on one’s finger, even then …
“Yes, you may.” And she looked at him to bolster her rather cool response with her practiced smile.
Soon they were back at the steps of the veranda, and Lord Burnley’s hand stroked her arm by her elbow above her glove.
“Miss Blackwood.” He held her still.
“Yes?” Turning to him, she felt a small jolt of excitement.
His blue eyes looked very dark in the dim light and intensely focused on her, his pleasing face was made more interesting by the play of shadows, and his pale hair was catching the light, shining like a halo.
“I know this is terribly forward,” Lord Burnley said quietly, “but I should very much like to kiss you. May I?”
Her heart sped up. Oh dear. She knew it was wrong to kiss John one minute and then Lord Burnley, whose given name she couldn’t recall, the next. However, she did want to kiss him. If only to compare. If only to know without a doubt how special it was with John. How else was she to find out if the sensation coursing through her body when John kissed her was extraordinary or the same as she would feel with every kiss?
There was really only one way.
“Yes.”
He didn’t hesitate, which she liked about him. Lowering his head, he pressed his mouth against hers, even tilting his head as John had done.
His lips were not unpleasant. They were firm and dry. His breath was clean with a hint of ginger. His clean-shaven face was not abrasive. He didn’t nibble her or lick her lower lip. And she felt no inclination to part her lips and touch his tongue.
This kiss felt … nothing like John’s kiss. Agreeable but not toe-curling. Her heart didn’t pound, and she didn’t get warm and moist. She didn’t even mind when it ended. Everything about it was exactly how a kiss ought to be, except for the man doing the kissing.
Maggie had her answer.
And then she heard a cough, or it might have been a growl.
They broke apart with haste, and she turned to see John standing above them on the raised terrace. Backlit by the lights of his own home, Lord Cambrey’s face was in darkness. Even so, Maggie could detect an angry scowl. Her insides quivered at the position in which she’d foolishly let herself be discovered. Not because she worried over her reputation, for John would say nothing to anyone, nor because she wished the kiss could have continued.
No, her only regret was in piling on the offense of missing their dance at the Marechal’s ball, she’d now shown herself to be as flighty and shallow as she’d heard some claim. Usually those accusations were whispered by other women blatantly jealous of her appearance, looking for some fault to find.
Though Maggie knew better than to claim credit for her looks, if she hurt John, she certainly would have to accept the blame for her thoughtless actions.
“Miss Blackwood, is that you in the darkness?”
How kind of him to pretend he could barely see them.
“Yes, Lord Cambrey, it is. Are you looking for me?” She moved away from Lord Burnley’s side and began to climb
the stone steps.
“I told your mother I would seek you out. Your sister is not feeling quite herself and wishes to leave. Since Eleanor has already reappeared, it is only you they are waiting for.”
His voice was calm, but she could detect an edge to it she’d never heard before. Censoring, disappointed, perhaps let down.
An unfamiliar emotion, shame, trickled through her, causing her throat to tighten. When John did not touch her, did not even take her arm as they reentered his home, she felt a keen sense of loss. Behind her, she heard Lord Burnley’s footfalls on the steps but didn’t turn to acknowledge him.
John uttered not another word, and they walked in silence down the hallway to the party. Regret consumed her, making her fervently wish she could undo what she’d done, or at least have done it somewhere more discreetly. If only she could have made her discovery over the uniqueness of her feelings for the earl without having been discovered by him.
Blast it!
What’s more, her fall from John’s good graces was for nothing because Jenny had recovered her good health with a glass of chilled tonic water and mint leaves. They were staying at the party. Everyone now began to move toward the dining room precisely as Maggie reached her family.
With a silent nod, John disappeared into the throng. When next she saw him, he was holding a plate for Jane Chatley while the lady chose what to stuff into her great smiling gob.
“Maggie, are you listening?” Her mother’s voice broke through her unkind thoughts.
“Yes, Mummy. What did you say?”
“If you have to ask, then no, you were not listening.”
Hearing Eleanor laugh, Maggie turned to her, a flash of irritation nearly making her order her sister to behave. Seeing her sister’s wide eyes and innocent face, however, she stopped. She had no one to blame but herself. She was the one who needed to behave better.
Instead of the nasty remark she nearly made, Maggie asked Eleanor, “What do you fancy eating? I say we try everything. It’s important to try new things,” she added. “Otherwise, how will one know what one truly likes.”
Beastly Lords Collection Page 40