Word of a Lady: A Risqué Regency Romance (The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Book 3)

by Sahara Kelly

  “Well now, that’s to be expected.” He nodded genially. “I have heard similar sentiments from that very chair more than a few times.” He turned to a shelf behind him and pulled out a pile of what looked to Letitia like samples of leather. “As far as binding goes, I think the lighter and more feminine we can manage, the more likely we are to pull in the ladies. What do you say?”

  He put several pieces of skin on the table, and Letitia moved closer, extending a hand and touching the soft stuff reverently. There was a blushing pink, which was most attractive, a dove grey, a beautiful warm reddish brown, and a pale lavender shade. Each was slightly textured and she looked up at the shelves behind him to see if there were any samples.

  “Don’t bother,” he advised. “These just arrived last week and I immediately thought of Cytherean Tales. We haven’t used any of them yet…your book will be the first.”

  “If you accept it,” cautioned Letitia.

  He sat back. “I’ll confess, Miss Smith. Had you refused to make those changes, I’d have accepted it anyway. I do feel that if you’ve dealt with some of my suggestions, it will be a stronger story and thus sell even better. But either way, I know quality when I see it. So what would you think about using the pink?”

  A quarter of an hour was spent in debate about the various merits of pink leather over the others; and included the consequent discussion on type, cover imprint colours and other physical details that sent Letitia’s head whirling.

  Her book was going to be published. It was a dizzying thought she had difficulty accepting.

  Finally, they were done, rising at the same time from their respective chairs.

  “Dove grey it is, then, Miss Smith. With the gold imprint. Stunning, elegant yet not overt in its declaration of interest to either gentlemen and ladies, but appealing to both. I think you’ve hit on the ideal combination.”

  “With your assistance, sir.” She smiled at him. “What should I do now?”

  He pushed a piece of paper across his desk and removed a pen from the inkwell. “Sign here.”

  She looked, and sucked in air. It was her contract, already signed by Mr. Lesley.

  She scribbled her name, aware that she would reveal her identity by doing so. There was no way she could sign a legal document in any other way.

  She passed the pen back to him, glancing at him nervously as he sanded the ink, blew it clean and looked at her signature. He nodded. “Thank you, Miss Smith. That’s all you need do for now.”

  He gave her a kindly smile. “We will send a message when your book has been printed. At that time, you can tell us where you’d like your personal copies sent and then…it’s up to the reading public, bless them.”

  “And no one will know any details about the author…?”

  He shook his head. “Absolutely not. In fact, you and I are the only two people aware of that information. Not even my assistants will know.”

  Reassured, Letitia heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

  Unable to believe the events of the last hour, Letitia made her farewells, then aped Kitty by practically dancing to the carriage waiting outside. “I can’t believe it,” she called, waving and seeing Hecate’s head through the window.

  She gathered her skirts. “Great news, girls. I did it. I’m an author.” She did another little jig across the street and dashed around to the side of the carriage.

  Which put her straight into the arms of James FitzArden who was waiting by the open door to help her inside.

  He caught her, laughed, said “Well done, Letitia, love. Congratulations…” and kissed her.

  Right there, in the daylight, outside her publisher’s offices.

  It was shocking, outrageous, unexpected—and completely wonderful.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I cannot believe he kissed you. On the lips. Just like that. In public. Where anyone could see…” Kitty was still shocked to her core.

  Unperturbed, Letitia fastened a pin in her hair. “Why ever not? There was nobody of importance there. We were in a very quiet area…it was a casual gesture, no more than that.”

  It was a façade, of course. A full fifteen minutes had passed until Letitia’s breathing returned to normal, and by that time the girls had exclaimed and questioned and discussed it all in minute detail.

  “But has he declared himself then? He seemed most familiar, to me,” Kitty frowned.

  “Of course not. We’re friends. We always have been.” Letitia kept her countenance.

  After his improper embrace, James had smiled at her, helped her into the carriage and closed the door. “I’ll see you all at the Seton-Mowbray do tonight.”

  He’d vanished into London’s busy streets without further ado, leaving Letitia with lips that burned and a fire in her loins that had nothing to do with her book.

  She’d struggled to control her responses, relying on her excitement about her contract to cover the shakiness that swept her when she tasted him, a lingering memory of the quick dart of his tongue into her mouth.

  Now, many hours later, she’d regained that control and was able to prepare for her first ball with only the normal nerves experienced by ladies upon such a memorable occasion.

  Kitty considered herself an old hand at this, of course, and took a great deal of pleasure in bossing her sisters around mercilessly.

  “Do stop, Kitty. You’re driving me to Bedlam with your incessant prattle.” Hecate scowled at her. “I know what I like and what I don’t like. I don’t like all those curls and fiddly bits around my face. Nor do I like anything other than the gown I have. It was my choice and I am most content with it.”

  Surveying her youngest sister, Letitia came to the conclusion that Hecate should always be allowed to dress herself.

  The lemon yellow silk turned her hair into soft gold, and brought out the colour of her eyes, which seemed to vary—tonight they were teal blue, but at other times could be the pure blue of a summer sky. She was a striking young woman, made even more so by the simplicity of her gown. She’d refused any ornamentation other than a trim of matching yellow lace at the hem, the edge of the puffed sleeves and the neckline. A band of the fabric circled beneath her breasts and ended in a large bow with trailing ends. It was sleek, elegant, and in Letitia’s opinion, utterly stunning.

  Kitty sniffed. “Well it’s not in the current mode, you know.”

  Hecate picked up a small pair of silver earrings. “Neither am I, dear, so don’t distress yourself.”

  Fluffing the pastel blue of her silk skirts and slipping a bracelet over her long white gloves, Kitty shrugged. “As you will. ’Twas always your way to be different.”

  “I don’t do it to be annoying, Kitty. Truly…” Hecate sounded apologetic. “It’s just that I know what I like. Shouldn’t we all know what we like?”

  Kitty surrendered and laughed. “Indeed, my sweet Hecate. You are going to be trouble, I know.”

  “In what way?” Now Hecate definitely looked nervous.

  “Why with the gentlemen, dear. They’ll take one look at you and it will be a veritable stampede, I vow.”

  Letitia sighed. “Hecate, ignore Kitty. She will, as always, be the centre of attention. We, on the other hand, will have the advantage of going in to dinner before everyone else. Thus assuring ourselves of the very tastiest morsels they have to offer.”

  Hecate laughed. “Oh lovely. Yes, I agree.”

  Kitty shook her head. “Just wait and see.” She scurried toward the door. “Don’t delay. We have to leave shortly.”

  Hecate took a breath. “Will I do, Letitia? Honestly?” She picked up her shawl and gloves. “Be truthful, dear.”

  “You are beautiful, Hecate. Your beauty has nothing to do with the mode, the Ton, or anything ordinary people may deem to be the pinnacle of perfection. You are unique. And knowing it makes it even better.” She gave her sister a careful hug. “Now go and be extraordinary.”

  Hecate’s wide smile was thanks enough, as she left to join Kit
ty.

  Left alone for a few moments, Letitia took the time to study her own image. The gown she’d chosen was green, the deep green of winter fir trees.

  It slid from a high waist in a column of colour down to a hem embroidered with pearls and small sparkling beads; a pattern based on the designs of the ancient Greeks, whose styles were rapidly becoming popular. She liked the simplicity of the trim, and had asked that it be repeated on the matching shawl.

  Her skin glowed against the shining fabric, her décolletage on full display thanks to the daringly low cut of the bodice. She was no young miss making her debut. It might be her first ball, but she was long past the age of being considered an eligible bride for any of the young men eager to begin the next generation of their prestigious line. Or, to be more accurate, she would not be considered by their mothers, for they usually did most of the selecting, leaving only the final choice to their offspring.

  Laughing at herself, she knew she didn’t care. Her gown was pretty, her hair glowed and sparkled with one or two beaded aigrettes, and she was going to what might be the only ball she’d ever attend.

  And it was entirely possible she might even have a dance with James.

  Secure in the belief that she’d re-created that impermeable wall around her emotions, Letitia turned from the mirror with chin held high. It was going to be a good night for the Ridlington sisters.

  She’d make sure of it. Word of a lady.

  *~~*~~*

  “Lady Venetia Allington, Miss Letitia Ridlington, Miss Kitty Ridlington, Miss Hecate Ridlington.”

  The words rang loudly over the crowd of guests at the Seton-Mowbray ball, as all four women walked carefully down the staircase to be welcomed by their hosts.

  Letitia noted with amusement the six massive chandeliers, suspended from a very high ceiling over a huge ballroom. It would seem that the Seton-Mowbrays were not concerned about displays of wealth. They possessed it, and showed it off quite elegantly. Nothing was over the top, but everything was first class.

  The grey haired gentleman welcomed them with a friendly smile. “Lady Allington, how delightful.” He took her hand and bowed, as she responded with the appropriate phrases…finishing with “and these are my dear nieces, Ridlingtons all, and very much looking forward to this evening.”

  Letitia curtseyed. “Good evening, sir.”

  He eyed her with curiosity. “A Ridlington, eh? Haven’t seen one of them in an age.”

  “Then tonight’s your lucky night, sir,” she smiled. “You have three of them all in one place.”

  He laughed back. “I like your spirit, gel.” He passed her on to his wife, a surprisingly young Mrs. Seton-Mowbray, who looked—thought Letitia privately—as if she might have been his mistress before becoming his wife.

  However, the greetings were smooth, the line behind them growing larger, and they were into the ballroom proper before Letitia had chance to do more than dip a curtsey to Mrs. Seton-Mowbray.

  “Goodness, wasn’t she pretty?” whispered Hecate, eyes wide as she looked around.

  “She’s his third wife,” Kitty whispered back. “He wants more children, he says.”

  “Poor dear,” muttered Letitia, thinking of Harriet. She stopped dead in her tracks.

  “What?” sputtered Kitty, who had nearly walked into her sister’s back. “Are you all right?”

  Letitia glanced at her sisters. “I just remembered where I heard the name before. Seton-Mowbray. Harry mentioned it.”

  “Harry? Oh, your maid…” puzzled Kitty. “How would she know the family?”

  Letitia shook her head. “Never mind. It was a passing thought of no matter. Shall we find a chair for Aunt Venie?”

  That lady had already found a friend and was chatting companionably near the girls. She beckoned them when she saw them turn to her. “Do come over, darlings.”

  And the introductions began.

  There were so many people, realized Letitia. So many names and faces, some scrawled on her dance card, to her surprise. Not sure if she’d remember them all, she stayed close to Hecate, who was generating interest of her own. Both women were over the age of the average debutante, and that fact alone seemed to attract the attention of more than a few gentlemen.

  Hoping that their presence at this affair rendered most of them acceptable dance partners, both Letitia and Hecate accepted requests for dances, and when the music began Letitia was stunned to realize that she had a partner for everything up to the supper dance.

  After an energetic country dance, a pair of quadrilles and a cotillion, she was ready to catch her breath.

  A tall man approached, his face striking, his hair thick and dark. Letitia’s writer’s mind immediately described him as “chiselled” and she wondered if he’d stepped out of the pages of her story.

  “Our dance, Miss Ridlington?”

  “It is?”

  A full lip quirked upward. “Indeed yes.”

  She fumbled for her card. “Oh here, yes, I apologize. You’re Mr. Seton-Mowbray.” She glanced around. “The son of our host?”

  “I have that honour, yes.” He held out his hand. “Come dance with me. I will tell you all about my family while you pretend to listen.”

  She bristled, but took his hand, allowing him to lead her to the floor.

  The first bars of a waltz drifted over the ballroom and she looked up at her partner. “Firstly, sir, I never pretend to listen. I either do or I don’t. So what you say will determine which it shall be. Secondly…I’m not very proficient at the waltz.”

  He grinned, a relaxation of his features that rendered him even more handsome, if such a thing were possible. “Then we are well suited, Miss Ridlington. Because I’m very good at it. Very good indeed.”

  In that, he had not lied. Letitia found herself whirling around the floor in a smooth rhythm, guided by the expert pressure on her back from his strong arm.

  It was a most enjoyable sensation, and she found herself laughing up at him in delight. “This is so pleasurable, sir. Thank you.”

  “The dance has just begun. Why are you thanking me now?”

  “In case I forget later,” she chuckled. “Being quite swept away by the honour of dancing with such an expert.”

  “I can see that happening, yes.” His grey-blue eyes betrayed the humour of his comment.

  They traversed the room and turned to reverse their progress. “So, sir,” said Letitia. “You have yet to bore me…”

  “I try not to bore beautiful women, whenever I can avoid it,” he quipped.

  She sighed. “And now you’ve begun.”

  “You don’t care for compliments, Miss Ridlington?”

  “Not particularly. I have a mirror. This evening I have achieved a level of appearance I consider acceptable. I’m far more interested in my surroundings, the guests, even yourself, sir.”

  “You consider me of interest?”

  Letitia raised an eyebrow as he guided her through a turn. “Along with ninety-nine percent of the rest of the female guests, yes. Of course. And you must have a mirror too, so please don’t try and persuade me that you’re not aware of it.”

  “I might have a wife, you know.”

  “You might. But you don’t.”

  This time it was his eyebrow that rose. “And you base that assumption on…what, if I may inquire?”

  “The fact she doesn’t have you chained to a wall in a dungeon, sir. I can assure you that most women, should they wed a man of your bearing, would be most unlikely to let him loose in a London ballroom.”

  This time, he laughed aloud, turning heads in their vicinity. “Well done, Miss Ridlington.” He leaned toward her as the waltz neared its end. “But it’s possible I might have her chained in the dungeon…”

  His expression and his sensual tone sent an odd shiver down Letitia’s spine. She dismissed it as merely a consequence of being held in the arms of a very attractive and delightful dance partner.

  So she merely smiled, curtseyed as the mus
ic ended, and allowed him to lead her back to Aunt Venie’s chair. Where he looked at Kitty for a long moment. “Miss Ridlington,” he said, bowing. “A free dance perhaps?” He touched her card.

  Kitty’s chin went up. “I believe I shall have to disappoint you, Mr. Seton-Mowbray.”

  “I doubt that, my dear.” His gaze lingered on her face. “I doubt that very much indeed.”

  Curious as to the interchange, Letitia opened her mouth to ask a question, but a touch on her shoulder distracted her.

  She turned—and there he was. Smiling at her, warmth in his eyes, looking so pleased to see her, she didn’t have the heart to turn and walk away. Which she should have done, of course.

  “My dance, Letitia.” James bowed politely.

  “I don’t think…” She reached for her card.

  “My dance. After which I shall take you in to supper.” He linked her arm through his and drew her out onto the floor. “You look lovely, by the way. London suits you.”

  The quadrille began, separating them, then bringing them back together. It wasn’t the best dance for a continuing conversation, so Letitia didn’t even try to begin one. He’d told her she was lovely. Well, what of it? He’d probably said that to at least a dozen other ladies thus far.

  And would he be off to his mistress when this evening concluded?

  That was the sticking point. Letitia had told herself it was none of her business so many times she wondered why she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe it. Her affection for James was just that. The affection of one friend for another. Neither were obliged to disclose their business to each other. So she danced, smiled and exchanged a few words where appropriate.

  And bravely fought the urge to either walk away from him, burst into tears and cry all over him—or just grab him by the ears and kiss the blazes out of him.

  “You look tense,” he commented at the conclusion of the last figure.

  “I do?” I wonder why.

  “Come, let’s catch a breath of air.” He kept her hand in his as the dance ended, placing it on his arm as he walked her through a set of double doors and out of the crowds.