Not Proper Enough (A Reforming the Scoundrels Romance)

by Carolyn Jewel

  Six more rounds proved her talent was no fluke. She simply did not miss the target. Her worst shot hit the edge of the paper, and two struck just inside the inner ring. He judged them done for the morning when he noticed her surreptitiously shaking her right arm.

  They cleaned the pistols on the field, and when they were done with that and on their way to his carriage, he said, “If you should encounter Mr. Lane on one of those nighttime walks of yours, I expect you or Martine to shoot him.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The following morning. Bouverie.

  EUGENIA TURNED FROM THE WINDOW WHEN FENRIS came into the parlor from a door other than the one she’d come through. In a house built on the scale of Bouverie, this could not possibly be the best parlor. It wasn’t nearly grand enough. It had the advantage of intimacy, simply on account of its size, which was smaller than the other parlors she’d seen on previous visits.

  The predominant colors were cream and pale gray and very much suited her mood. The chimney was carved wood, the mantel squared off and narrow, with chimney glass that went only halfway to the ceiling. A slate gray fringed drapery filled the gap between the ceiling and the glass. Ten wooden chairs lined the walls, and there was but one table and that in the center of the room. She’d elected not to sit. The windows, high and narrow, overlooked a side street where the world was almost entirely gray with fog. Today they might well have rain. Perhaps snow.

  “Mrs. Bryant.” Fenris bowed to her. She had the impression, based on no more evidence than a slight disarrangement of his hair, that he had dressed hastily. “It’s fortunate you found me here.”

  “I would have tracked you down, wherever you went to ground.”

  He glanced at the table, empty of anything but a rather ugly blue and white vase. “You have no refreshments.” This appeared to surprise him. “Shall I call for tea? Cider? A bite to eat?”

  “Thank you, but no. It’s too early for that.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched, and he adjusted his coat. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit at such an hour of the morning?”

  If she’d had Martine’s umbrella, she would have hit him with it. He deserved it. “You know very well why I am here.”

  He approached her but stopped short of coming close enough to touch her. “I fear I don’t.”

  “The entire city is talking. Did you think I would not hear?”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “There must have been fifty people who left their cards with me just this morning, at an ungodly hour, I might add. My poor butler is exhausted.” She shivered and kept her shawl close around her, for the room was cold.

  “Come closer to the fire.” He gestured. “Please.”

  She stayed where she was. Once again, she had that sense that the world was falling away from her.

  “If you don’t,” he said with a sigh, “I’ll have no choice but to build up the fire to prevent you from catching a chill. In a fortnight’s time Camber will have discovered the shortage in coal, and task some poor young maid with the waste. She will be discharged through no fault of her own. I shall then be obliged to find her another position and half of London will think it’s because I’ve had my way with her.”

  “Do you mean to say such a rumor would bother you?”

  “It would.” His eyes landed on her with no sign of humor. “Particularly because I don’t fuck my servants.”

  “But you would me?”

  “Yes.” He spoke curtly, but she was not going to be intimidated by him. Let him glower and try to shock her with crude language as much as he liked. “And very well, too, I hope you’ll agree.”

  She walked to the fire and stood with her hands out. “Next time I call, I’ll bring my own coal, and we’ll have a cozy visit.”

  Fenris laughed, but she didn’t think she was imagining he wasn’t entirely at ease. And no wonder. “Woolen stockings are a great help.” He moved to her side, a polite distance between them. She shot him a look. He wore tan breeches, a forest green coat and a gold waistcoat with a damask pattern worked in the same color thread—the embroidery was exemplary—and Hessians with tassels. Practically gaudy for him. Lily’s medallion hung from his watch chain. When she lifted her chin, she found him watching her. “Why have you come?” he asked.

  “Don’t let’s play games.”

  He shrugged. “As you wish.”

  She was not about to back down or slink away without having carried out the task that had brought her here. “You can’t honestly intend to duel Mr. Lane.”

  Fenris did not react, and that in itself told too much. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  She clapped her hands slowly. “Bravo, my lord. Bravo. The very incarnation of confusion stands before me.”

  “Thank you.” He bowed with all intended irony, she was sure. “I assure you, however, I am indeed confused.”

  “Lord Aigen has already called on Mr. Lane on your behalf.”

  “Has he? I wonder why.”

  “You know he has. Are you mad?” She took a step toward him. Lord, the havoc this man played with her emotions, from the moment she’d heard of the challenge to right now. “No one will believe there’s anything illicit between us. There’s no reason to meet anyone at dawn tomorrow or any other day.”

  “People will believe anything if it is sufficiently salacious or scandalous. If I do nothing, our affair—”

  “There is no affair.”

  “—is all but fact. That’s hardly the point, whether we are having an affair or not. Lane and his cronies will talk, and it won’t matter if it’s lies or pure truth.” He shook his head. “You, of all people, should know that. We ought to be married immediately.”

  “No.”

  “He insulted you.” His low voice sent a shiver down her spine, and her throat thickened. She had to stop herself from begging him not to meet Lane. How had this happened to her, that she was in the middle of something so unbelievably asinine and deadly? “He used an epithet that no gentleman should ever use against a lady. I won’t let that go unanswered. Nor will I allow anyone to think I would compromise you.”

  She moved away from the fire and instantly regretted it. “They won’t. No one will think that of you.”

  “It wasn’t just Lane who saw us and heard what was said.”

  “But I don’t care!” She took a step forward and stopped herself. She could hardly speak, but she forced out words thick with incipient tears. “Fenris. I don’t care.”

  “I do. Someone must protect my reputation.” He leaned against the table with the ugly vase. “If you won’t, then I fear it’s up to me.”

  She glared at him, unamused and angry. “Ought I to send Hester to throw a glove in his face and inform him I’ll meet him at dawn?”

  “Miss Rendell would certainly run circles around the fool.”

  “Pistols at twenty paces, sir.”

  “Choice of weapon is his.”

  “I don’t see why.” She let out a frustrated breath. “Honestly, Fenris. He didn’t insult you.”

  “No?” He pushed off the table and strode to her. “Then you have a peculiar recollection of the events of that night. I clearly recall that he implied I was a sexual intimate of both you and your maid.” He was closer than she’d thought, close enough that if she’d wanted, she could have touched her medallion, now the only fob hanging from his watch chain.

  “I wasn’t insulted.”

  “You ought to have been.”

  “Why?”

  He pretended astonishment. “Am I to understand that you’d be willing to engage in an affair with me? We needn’t ask your maid to join us. Unless?” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “My God, are you ever serious?”

  He touched the medallion, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger. “Far too often.”

  “There’s no need for violence; that’s all I came here to say.” This wasn’t going at all how she planned. “Isn’t this sort of thing usually avoided by a
n apology?”

  His smile faded. “I don’t intend to apologize.”

  “Don’t be dense. I mean Mr. Lane. It seems to me a part of Lord Aigen’s duty to you in such a matter is to convince the offending party to apologize.”

  “Ginny. My dear.” He pressed a hand to his heart, and she could have screamed, she was so frustrated by his cavalier attitude. “Is it possible you’re frightened for my safety? I’m touched.”

  “Hardly.” He was constantly shifting the conversation from where she meant it to be. She put a hand on the table and immediately removed it because her fingers trembled. Fenris believed his honor and hers were at stake, and, with a sinking heart, she realized there was a vanishing small hope that he would back out. “Yes, of course I am. Fenris, please. I don’t want to be the woman responsible for the death of Camber’s heir.”

  “That is unlikely.” He remained close. Close enough for her to touch. She had to put her hands behind her back to keep herself from throwing her arms around him. Hysteria would not help her cause.

  She took a steadying breath. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

  He lifted a hand. “I am reckoned an excellent shot.”

  “Mr. Lane can shoot the face from the Jack of Clubs.” She pressed her lips together before continuing. “Several people were only too pleased to share that fact with me. You said yourself he’s an excellent shot, so don’t deny the danger.”

  “Shooting a living man is substantially different than murdering the Jack of Clubs.”

  “What if you’re killed? What then?”

  He walked to the fireplace and stood by the screen, hands extended to a fire that could easily have been mistaken for one that had been banked for the night. “In such a case, my poor father will have to find a woman to provide him with another son. It’s not my fault he was so shortsighted as to fail to sire more than one son capable of stepping into his shoes. Or mine.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake, Fox.” She set a hand on the table again, but made a fist so he wouldn’t see her trembling. “Why are you treating this as if it’s a joke? If you die, your father might never recover from the loss. How can you be so cold and unfeeling?”

  He glanced at her then back to the fire, and she didn’t imagine the flash of disappointment she saw in his eyes. “I was raised to it.”

  “Don’t,” she said. He made such a jumble of her emotions she hardly knew how to put words to her intentions, and now she was feeling both foolish and inarticulate. “Don’t do this.”

  “Defend my honor? And yours? I’d not ask you such a thing.”

  She had no answer for the bitterness of his reply except for the shameful thickness that crept into her words. “You could be killed.”

  Fenris kept his back to her. “I might only be wounded, you know.” When he moved, he turned only his head. He smiled though his eyes were bitter. “Think of that.”

  “Be serious.”

  “Never more, Mrs. Bryant. There are other advantages to this duel you’ve overlooked.”

  “Is that so?”

  He faced her again, with a smile as cold and brittle as ice. “You might bring the very intriguing Miss Rendell along to help you nurse me back to health. What better way for a couple to discover they are destined lovers but for one of them to be brought back from the brink of death?”

  Eugenia deliberately misunderstood him. “You don’t deserve Hester.”

  He fingered the medallion again. “Doubtless so. But then I am not in love with her, so my heart is safe from her. If I were in love with her, I promise you, I would do all within my power to make sure I did deserve her.”

  Eugenia went still. She did not want to hear him. She did not wish to understand what he was telling her. “Duels are illegal.”

  “They are.” He walked away from the fireplace.

  “There. You see?”

  “Not at all. What is your point?”

  She wanted to stomp her foot, she really and truly did. “Dueling is illegal. That is my point.”

  “Are you accusing me of intending to engage in an illegal activity?” He laid a hand over his heart, and this time there was a hint of a genuine smile on his face. “I am shocked. Shocked, I tell you.”

  “You cannot meet Mr. Lane.”

  “If only he were easier to avoid.”

  She took a step forward and was struck by an overwhelming sense of intimacy that extended beyond the impact he had on her senses. She had been to bed with this man. She’d touched him, kissed him, caressed him, and she had, for God’s sake, written her name on his belly in purple, scented ink, and he had convinced her he adored her for all her boldness. “Fox. Please.”

  He took her hand in his. “Your concern is all a man hopes for from the woman whose honor he will defend on what may be the last day of his life.” All trace of a grin vanished from his face, but she did not trust him in the least. “Will you give me a kiss so that if I am mortally wounded I will have the sweet taste of your lips as my dying memory?”

  “I am not amused.” She tugged on her hand, but he didn’t release her. “I’m not.”

  He put his other hand to her back, between her shoulder blades. An erotic shock ran through her. Her arousal so stunned her that she stared into his face, unable to marshal coherent thought for several seconds. She wanted to go to bed with him again.

  His head dipped to hers, and still she did not move. Not an inch. When his lips brushed hers, she steeled herself against a desire to throw her arms around him and not let go.

  When he kissed her, she could barely stop the tears that burned in her eyes, or hold back the sobs building in her chest. He could not meet Lane. He couldn’t. She stepped forward, into his embrace, and told herself this was nothing but animal lust between them. She was overreacting because of all the horrible things she’d been imagining since she heard the first rumor of a duel. His hand settled into the small of her back, and he let go of her hand to hold the back of her head.

  Her breasts felt heavy, there was a flutter in her belly, and, God help her, all the sensation in her body seemed to relocate between her legs. His mouth was astonishingly tender. So tender. As the contact between them continued, her desperate state seemed to transfer to him, for his tenderness turned carnal. His tongue swept into her mouth, and, ninny that she was, she answered his invitation. Fox kissed her as if he could barely control himself, and how could she not respond to that when she was mad with lust?

  He ended the kiss, and all she could think was no, don’t let this end yet. He drew in a breath, a gasp, really, and his arms stayed around her though it made no sense to her at all that he would react this way.

  “Don’t be angry.” His words were low. “Please don’t be angry.”

  “I’m not angry.” She only wished she knew what she was. If not angry, then perplexed. Yes. That. But how was she to account for the giddiness? The quiver in her belly? The trembling knees? She drew in a breath. Let it out. Then another until she felt she had all those wild emotions under control.

  A wry smile twisted his lips. “Perhaps you are overcome with desire?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. No. Of course not.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You destroy me.”

  “The only thing I know is that this is madness. Us. We are madness together.”

  “Sweet madness, surely.”

  “We were mad, the both of us. At Upper Brook Street and just now.” She moved away from him, to the window where the fog continued to block the view. She was bereft.

  “At least now I go to my doom knowing the delight of our mutual madness.”

  She whirled, her skirts whisking around her ankles. “If you’re killed, will that help anything?”

  “It would prevent me from living with the dishonor.”

  “Fenris.”

  He gazed at her. “Fox.”

  “I’ll never understand you men.”

  “I rarely feel I understand women.”

  “Please.
Is this really necessary? A duel.”

  He shrugged. “I will be astonished if Mr. Lane does not deliver an apology before the night is out.”

  “If he doesn’t?”

  “Then I will meet him tomorrow morning and hope that I am the better marksman. Regardless—unless I am killed, of course—you and I will have to be married.”

  “Still you make light of this?”

  “Not in the least. Marry me, and I can go to my fate knowing there is a chance I’ve left a son behind to carry on another generation in direct descent from the very first Camber to grace this earth.”

  “I am at a loss. You cannot be reasoned with.”

  “At the moment, I feel I am entitled to that sentiment more than you.”

  “Good day, then.” She headed for the door but halfway there, turned back. “I don’t wish for you to be killed on my account. If you believe nothing else I’ve said, believe that.”

  He gave an ironic smile. “We make progress, then. I’ll call on you tomorrow. Unless I am dead, in which case, I hope you’ll find it in you to forgive my absence.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  EUGENIA SAT UP IN BED, HEAD ON HER KNEES, LISTENING to the clock chime. One o’clock in the morning. Most of London was still awake, balls and formal dinners winding down. Plays, ballets, and operas were over by now. The Haymarket was probably a crush of people and carriages, all going nowhere quickly.

  All anyone had talked about tonight was the rumored duel between Fenris and Dinwitty Lane. The rumor transformed constantly. The duel was over a slight to a woman, variously whispered to be Lady Tyghe, a ballet girl, an actress, a German countess who wasn’t even in London, and a certain Miss R. There were three Miss Rs in Town this short season, only two of whom were considered likely candidates for such an argument. Hester was not one of them.

  According to another version, Fenris and Lane had quarreled over a horse, with the usual inability of some people to refrain from jokes in very poor taste. The irony was that the version that said she was responsible for the argument was universally dismissed as absurd. Which it ought to be. With every iteration, every ridiculous rendition, with every rumor shockingly close to accurate or nowhere near the truth, Eugenia’s stomach had twisted into a tighter knot.