Beastly Lords Collection

by Baily, Sydney Jane

  “Failed?” Rather a harsh word he thought for his attempted rescue of the toy boat.

  “I mean, if you’d become soaked while retrieving the boat, it wouldn’t seem so senseless.”

  She was right. Damn it! And, in truth, his pants were uncomfortable as hell.

  “Plus, having Lord Toddingly swoop in,” she continued, “like a knight, I imagine he rather emasculated you.”

  With that statement, she turned to join her son, leaving him with his jaw slack.

  Emasculated? Emasculated! Could she be serious? He would like to show her exactly how masculine he was! In private. With her reclining upon a bed, lips pouting from being kissed, eyes begging for him to come to her, her bare skin flushed with desire.

  Finally, she’d said more than a few words, and they were insulting!

  What’s more, she expected him to stand there in wet clothing while her son played.

  First things first, he drew his flask out of his pocket, unscrewed the cap, and took a healthy sip. At least he wouldn’t catch a chill. He used to keep gin in it but now preferred the smoother pleasure of brandy. He took another drink.

  “I believe I will head home to change. I live on the northeast side of the park,” he said, gesturing vaguely in the direction with his flask.

  Her eyes widened, and if he didn’t think it impossible, she seemed delighted.

  “I’ll send my carriage back to take you home,” he assured her.

  She shook her head.

  “We’ll walk from here.” Her tone was definite.

  What could he say? This was not how he’d hoped their first outing would end.

  “As you wish. Goodbye, Harry,” he called to the boy, who, to his credit, turned and waved with a cheerful smile. He liked Harry’s face and his eyes reminded him of Michael’s own younger brother, Gabriel.

  She said nothing until he said, “Good day to you, Mrs. St. Ange.”

  Then she nodded. He paused. Surely, she could not be so rude. Just as he turned away, she added, “Good day.”

  No “my lord” for him as for Toddingly. This woman was infuriating. Moreover, she plainly had some grudge against him. Even worse, it didn’t matter. He still wanted to be with her, no matter how she treated him. What a half-wit he was!

  *

  Ada knew she shouldn’t feel so triumphant, but she did. After all, it wasn’t every day one got to see a nobleman in his bare feet or see him set down a peg. Yet that was exactly what had happened to Lord Vile.

  Obviously, he had so wanted to be heroic in front of her and her boy. Not because he cared a fig for Harry, of course, but to impress her. Instead, he’d looked foolish.

  The outing had worked better than she could have hoped. It had even driven him to drink!

  Now, more than ever, because his pride had been wounded, he would attend her and attempt to win her admiration. And she would relish every moment of him doing so.

  Chapter Eight

  As expected, within a day, another missive from Lord Vile arrived at her door. This time accompanied by flowers. Carnations and pinks, to be exact.

  Having never received flowers from a man before, she admitted to a small sensation of pleasure. Even though she realized he’d done nothing more than send his servant to a flower girl on a street corner to purchase the sweet bunch, tied with a silver ribbon, he’d succeeded in making an impression.

  The note was similar to the previous one, except more specific:

  Dear Mrs. St. Ange,

  Despite failing to retrieve Harry’s boat, I hope you will not hold it against me. I would like to call upon you tomorrow at two o’clock in the afternoon for a carriage ride.

  Lord M. Alder

  Again, he wished to get her alone in a small space. She knew he would kiss her and then attempt to touch more of her. Seduction was his aim, but she intended to hold out for his heart. At some point, she knew she would have to let him take a few small liberties with her person, and she was prepared for that, but not yet.

  Tomorrow, he could have another small taste of her, and then she would abruptly be unavailable until after his next appointment with Mr. Brunnel. The good financial news would put Lord Vile in an ebullient mood, and undoubtedly, his black heart would open a little more to her, especially after a few days’ absence fueled by anticipation.

  Lord Alder,

  Given your reputation, a carriage ride seems the height of folly, and I am not foolish. However, I will be ready in my riding habit at two if you wish to bring a gentle gelding for me.”

  Mrs. St. Ange

  She certainly didn’t fancy trying to ride her own carriage horse, who was rather round in the withers and swayed in the backbone. If Alder didn’t have a horse for her to ride, then they would go for another walk. At least, she was getting exercise.

  Before she knew it, it was time for her dinner alone with Lady Pepperton. The widow’s invitation had arrived the day before, and Ada saw no reason to avoid her new friend, merely because she was trying to destroy the woman’s former paramour.

  In fact, their sociable association could only help.

  “So good to see you,” Elizabeth said. “You look splendid. Come in, come in. Madeira?”

  Ada nodded.

  “Perfect.”

  Soon, Ada was ensconced in the widow’s drawing room, her feet on a small velvet footstool, sipping red wine, and hearing about the breakup of Lady Pepperton and Lord Vile.

  As far as Ada was concerned, Elizabeth had done well to be rid of him.

  “What did you get out of your six months?” she couldn’t help asking, for it seemed to her this charming woman shouldn’t have wasted so much time on such a hedonist of a man.

  Elizabeth stared at her as if she were two-headed.

  “My dear, it was not about getting anything out of the association. Neither of us needed anything tangible from the other. I didn’t expect flowers and chocolates, after all.”

  Ada felt her cheeks grow warm since she’d already received the former. However, Elizabeth didn’t seem to notice.

  “The relationship was satisfactory in many ways. I liked having him come to me when I summoned him, I suppose. We didn’t talk about much beyond the weather and what we might eat. Nothing of importance because we both knew it was silly to invest too much intimacy in something that was never going to be a sentimental attachment.”

  Given how Ada’s friend Maggie felt about her husband, John, or the deep feeling that bound her parents, Ada couldn’t fathom spending six months with someone only skirting the surface and remaining completely unattached.

  She was firmly of the belief if she spent time with a man, and exchanged kisses and much more, it would be because she wanted to be with him forever. With the exception, of course, for her enticement of Lord Vile, whom she wanted to punish and then oust from her life as quickly as possible.

  “I’m awfully glad your heart was not in it, and that you’re not sad.”

  Elizabeth had a wonderful laugh, which Ada appreciated hearing. “I could never love a man such as Alder. He was too unreliable for my taste. Yet we had a very good time together.”

  Ada didn’t like to think of their very good time. She assumed it was something akin to what had occurred between her and him in the gazebo. At least, he had seemed to enjoy it. She vaguely recalled the blend of terror and excitement, along with something unfulfilling and disappointing, and then the outright shock of what had occurred. What she had willingly allowed.

  Ada definitely wouldn’t declare it a good time and was still surprised how women sought out the experience.

  “So, he is unreliable and shallow, and yet you found him good company?”

  “You say that as if it is beyond the pale. I assure you, Alder has some rather good assets. Why all this interest? Are you thinking of taking up with him?” And Elizabeth’s lovely laugh broke out again.

  When Ada didn’t join in and, instead, sat staring straight ahead, the widow said only, “Oh.” However, her laughter sto
pped.

  “It’s not what you think,” Ada began. How could she explain what it was? Simple revenge? Did she even want to? What if Elizabeth felt a sense of loyalty to her former paramour and told him?

  Determined to keep her plan to herself and be truthful, Ada said, “I have absolutely no interest in him as a beau, nor would I ever want to have a ‘good time’ with him.”

  Elizabeth took her measure, then nodded.

  “Either way, I’m not bothered,” the widow admitted. “As I said, I could never love him, though I’m convinced I could have made him fall in love with me if I’d wanted to. If he’s capable of such.”

  “He was once engaged to someone I know,” Ada blurted.

  “Really?” Elizabeth looked intrigued, then she frowned. “He never mentioned it.”

  Ada shrugged. “Why would he? It meant nothing to him, for he was the one who broke it off. Anyway, it was about four years ago.”

  “Was it you?” The question came at her quickly.

  “No, I swear it.” Yet she wouldn’t reveal Jenny Blackwood’s name either, for it was all water under the bridge.

  “Strange,” Elizabeth said. “I’ve never heard a whisper of his close brush with marriage, but then I was abroad for much of the decade before I met my husband, rest his soul. Anyway, Alder’s behavior or his affaires de coeur wouldn’t have stopped me taking up with him. In answer to your earlier question, there was one thing I wanted from him which I hadn’t had with my husband, and Alder provided that perfectly.”

  Ada sighed. They were back to the physical relations between a man and a woman, the mysterious act about which she couldn’t fathom what was all the fuss.

  “You weren’t bothered by his reputation that earned him his nickname? His drinking and whoring?”

  Elizabeth cringed at the last word. “I admit he drinks more than some. Though I don’t think it was gin or enjoying a few harlots alone that earned him his atrocious moniker.”

  “No?” Ada felt a prickle of discomfort.

  The widow shook her head, dark curls swishing about her neck.

  “The bon ton doesn’t care overmuch about a little drinking or whoring, though the places he chose to do both did raise eyebrows, to be sure. No, it was his reputation for preying on gullible young ladies that caught their attention—and even made them fearful. Most of haut society still think it vile to seduce an innocent.”

  “Of course,” Ada said, forcing herself not to let her mind wander back to that night, and the terrible shock of it.

  “And it’s not even for the sake of the young lady,” Elizabeth continued. “Basically, everyone’s concern is the perceived theft from the future husband of the moment of deflowering. Also, of course, the worry someone’s going to end up with someone else’s bastard.”

  Ada swallowed, unable to speak.

  Elizabeth shrugged. “As for me, I guessed any man who could seduce a debutante into giving up her most prized possession must be quite skilled at making love.”

  Ada wouldn’t ask if her new friend had guessed correctly as to Lord Vile’s skills. She could see the answer on her face. The woman had enjoyed herself. Then Elizabeth sighed.

  “The only nuisance in the end of an affair is having to find another man. The tiresome search is on.”

  Yet her expression, eager and even excited, belied her words. The widow looked all too ready to dive into the hunt.

  *

  Michael brought Ada a gentle gelding as requested. Doing anything else would be ungentlemanly, and he was determined to be a gentleman in her eyes. Except when he was kissing her, as he intended, or bedding her, as he also intended though not that day.

  Obviously, a good rider, she’d effortlessly taken her narrow skirts in her left hand, grabbed the pommel with her right, and placed her left foot in his hand. In the next instant, with his assistance, she’d sprung lightly up and into the ladies’ saddle, hooking her right leg over the pommel.

  Patient and unmoving, she’d allowed him to secure her booted foot into the stirrup and even arrange the skirts of her riding habit.

  When he glanced up at her, she was looking straight ahead while he touched her. Was it because she was moved by his touch or utterly unmoved? He couldn’t tell.

  “Either north toward Grosvenor Gate or west to Kensington Gardens,” he offered as their route, “but I will avoid the Serpentine altogether, madam. On that, I will brook no argument.”

  “Indeed.”

  Seemingly, it was her favorite word for irritating him, being noncommittal, and giving him a set-down all at once.

  When she said nothing more, he decided they would go west along Rotten Row, skirting the bottom of Hyde Park.

  They rode in silence for a few minutes, which suited him fine. He was, as expected, on her right, which gave him a delightful view of her rounded bottom with the habit pulled tightly to her left.

  “You cut a fine figure,” he said at last, keeping his voice down as they drew alongside the Crystal Palace and the crowds of visitors.

  She wore a becoming riding costume of green velvet which he had longed to remove from the moment he’d assisted her into the saddle.

  Ignoring his remark, she glanced to her left at the building.

  “Incredible,” she stated.

  “I agree,” he said, “but how do you mean?”

  She kept her gaze on the structure. “That the builders could design and have it up in nine months. The size of it, the design. Never mind what is inside, though the exhibits are enough to addle the brain, I think the building itself with all that glass and iron is a marvel.”

  “Again, I agree. How many times have you been inside?”

  This brought her gaze around to meet his. “Four times. My father numbers Henry Cole among his acquaintances, so naturally, we were invited to the queen’s opening of the exhibition. What about you?”

  “I wasn’t invited,” he said, hoping she realized his sardonic tone was directed at himself. For he’d done nothing in the world of invention to warrant either knowing Cole, who’d practically created the entire exhibition singlehandedly, or being a member of his inner circle.

  “I suppose your father is also a member of the Royal Society for the Encouragement of Arts, Manufactures, and Commerce.”

  “Naturally,” she said.

  “I have not even sent a Cole’s greeting card,” he said, “though I have received one,” he added, hoping to soften the iciness surrounding her. “For this reason, I am grateful to the man.”

  “Indeed,” she said.

  He rolled his eyes. “Pray tell, why are you disgusted with me now?”

  “Mr. Cole has done a great deal more than come up with the simple idea of a Christmas card!” she snapped. “Even now, he is developing a Museum of Ornamental Art at Marlborough House. Did you know he invented a marvelous teapot?”

  “A teapot?” Michael bit his tongue in order not to mention that one could brew tea in just about anything.

  “He’s written books, too.”

  “Truly?” Michael had read a lot of drivel in his day. It seemed to him any Tom, Dick, or, in this case, Henry could write a book.

  In any case, he had no doubt Cole was as smart as everyone said. Thus, Michael wasn’t about to bring up how much he enjoyed the exhibition’s handily placed public toilets. Yet, he had thought they were a treat. A penny well spent, in fact. The seat had been clean, and the attendant had handed him a fresh towel and a comb to tidy himself up while he was in there. He’d drawn the line at the shoe shine, however, as his own valet would have been insulted had a new coat of wax appeared on his Hessians while he was out.

  “Shall we go in?” he offered. “I have a few guineas on me.”

  Mrs. St. Ange raised her chin in the air. “I have a season pass, thank you. And no, I’m not dressed for it.”

  He never quite understood why ladies in riding habits didn’t wish to do anything but ride while wearing them. Perfectly serviceable outfit, as far as he was concerned,
but they couldn’t stand being without their poufy skirts and their bits of lace, he supposed.

  On the other hand, it gave him a reason to ask her to go with him again. And in a carriage.

  They rode along, surrounded by other riders, as far as West Carriage Drive, which divided the park from the gardens.

  “Shall we keep going?” he asked. “Maybe all the way to the basin?” Where he would keep his boots and stockings on, by God!

  Since she nodded amiably, they continued with their horses at an ambling pace. Once in Kensington Gardens, they left some of the other carriages and riders behind, and he started to think he might find a place where he could be alone with her for a moment.

  In a small copse of sweet chestnut trees, with the pond just ahead, he suggested they dismount, stretch their legs, and let the horses graze.

  She stared hard at him. Finally, she agreed.

  “You shall have to assist me,” she told him, as if there was any doubt he would.

  He got down off his horse in record time, secured its reins to a branch, and then was at her left side, ready to touch her again.

  “Leg over the pommel,” he instructed, pulling her other booted foot from the stirrup.

  “I know that,” she snapped, lifting her right leg up and over the high pommel of the sidesaddle. Then, with nothing to keep her up, she slid down the side of the horse into his waiting arms.

  “Hmm,” she said, with her hands resting on his chest, their bodies not merely close but pressed together. She had nowhere to look except at his tidy cravat or up to his face.

  With her head tilted up, it was easy. Michael pressed his mouth to hers.

  “Hmm,” he mimicked against her soft lips.

  She didn’t seem to mind being kissed, neither stepping back, nor pushing at his chest. He had to admit kissing her was different. She made him want to be cautious with her, a little gentle and slow. He’d bedded wenches and he’d bedded aristocratic ladies before, even a duchess! Yet he’d never felt the sense of carefulness he felt with her.

  It gnawed at him, telling him she was someone he could—and should—cherish. How strange, considering she was one of the prickliest females he’d ever met.