Her figure would serve as well, although she had never been overly fond of it. She was far and away too short and her bosom rather too full for her liking. Still, her waist was proportionately small and her neck graceful and her skin unblemished. All in all, she was holding up nicely. At least for the moment.
Would he think so?
It was rather absurd that she was this apprehensive about to night. Or was it anticipation that knotted her stomach? She hadn’t seen him since Susanna’s gathering, five full days ago. While she certainly hadn’t sought him out, she’d made no effort to make herself scarce either. Why, one night she’d attended a dinner hosted by Mrs. Windham that might have been considered a small, private affair save that there were easily two hundred of the lady’s closest friends in attendance. Another evening had brought her attendance at Lord and Lady Carlyle’s musicale, where the entertainment was considerably more polished than at Susanna’s. On yet another night she’d joined a small group of friends at the theater for an eminently forgettable performance of an equally forgettable play. However, it featured an actress she rather liked, and by that virtue alone redeemed itself somewhat. Admittedly, one of the reasons she might not recall details of the play was that she had spent a great deal of the evening casually searching the theater for His Lordship.
Still, to be entirely fair, she had been the one to dictate when and where they would dine. Therefore, it wasn’t at all reasonable to blame him for the fact that they had not seen each other, although it did bring up all sorts of unpleasant thoughts. Was he anywhere near as eager to see her as she was to see him? To give the man his due, even without appearing in person, he had made his presence felt. The day after the evening at Susanna’s, a book of Keats’s work was delivered with a note expressing His Lordship’s hope that this poetry would prove more palatable than that at Lady Dinsmore’s. Two days later there had been a simple note, no more than a few lines, expressing how much he was looking forward to seeing her again. Very polite, nothing whatsoever improper, yet it did seem to her that there was a distinct undercurrent that sent a thrill of anticipation racing up her spine. Of course it could well be that that thrill had nothing whatsoever to do with either his words or his intentions and everything to do with hers. Yesterday two dozen roses had arrived, yellow, which Judith found somewhat surprising. She would have thought Lord Warton was more of a red rose type of fellow, but then it was probably best to set aside any assumptions she had previously made about the dashing viscount.
Blast it all. She stared into the mirror. There had been nothing whatsoever between them up to now, save a moment at a ball and a conversation on a winter night, and the man had her heart thudding and her mind thinking all sorts of unreasonable thoughts based on nothing but conjecture. In addition, those annoying geese had taken up permanent residence in her stomach. How much worse would it be when they had actually spent some time together? When she was in his arms. Or…She smiled slowly. How much better?
She glanced at the clock. It was time. She could, of course, make him wait a bit longer, but that would be playing a game she had no wish to play. She drew a deep breath. In spite of the candid manner they’d adopted thus far, it was inevitable that between men and women there would be some games played.
She cast a confident grin at the Judith in the mirror. Making him wait was simply not one of them.
Gideon resisted the urge to pull out his watch and check the time. He steadfastly refused to glance at the French gilded clock perched on the mantel although the timepiece with its ornate golden figures and matching candelabra was almost impossible to ignore. Nor would he act in any way as if he was aware of the minutes ticking by. He was not about to give in to the restlessness prompted by nerves that currently held him in its grip. He didn’t like it one bit and could not remember the last time he had experienced anything remotely similar. It was very much an exercise in self-control, and Gideon was, as usual, pleased with his ability to rule his own impulses. Aside from that, neither clock nor watch was necessary. Gideon had always had the unique ability to accurately judge the passage of time. He knew he had been waiting for Lady Chester for precisely six minutes thus far and fully expected to wait for at least six more. She was a woman, after all. Besides, if she had been awaiting his arrival he would have been somewhat taken aback. While he hadn’t a doubt in the world that she was as eager to see him again as he was to see her, for her to have greeted him personally upon his arrival would have been unseemly. There was a proper way to do this sort of thing.
Unless, of course, she had changed her mind about seeing him again.
Nonsense. He brushed the thought aside. He was, after all, wealthy, attractive, witty, and in considerable demand with the fairer sex. He was considered quite a catch, not that marriage had anything to do with this. In addition, while he didn’t know Lady Chester well—indeed, he didn’t know her at all—she was obviously the type of woman who would have let him know she had decided against furthering their acquaintance long before he had arrived at her door. She was not a shy, retiring maiden but rather an experienced woman who knew her own mind. If she did not want him, in her home or her bed, he was confident she would make her feelings known. He liked that. There would be no foolish games with Lady Chester. Everything would be aboveboard and honest between them.
Gideon clasped his hands behind his back and strolled around the perimeter of the parlor. The house itself was large, in a fashionable part of the city. Like most formal parlors, this was a room that was used primarily for the entertainment of guests. Still, one could learn a lot about a person from the manner in which she decorated her home. All in all, it was not an unpleasant room. While not overtly feminine it was still a bit cluttered to his way of thinking, with statuary and vases and the assorted odds and ends that ladies were so fond of. It was the current fashion and as such unavoidable. His own home was considerably fuller than his well-ordered nature preferred, thanks to the influence of his aunt. But then she was his only living relative and he was willing to humor her in those things that were of little consequence, including the decoration of his home—or rather their home. Besides, it was no doubt the very temperament of women that led them to feather their nests in such a manner. That too was unavoidable.
Paintings covered the walls, landscapes and portraits primarily. English works for the most part, although he did note a significant number of French artists. On one side of the fireplace was the unmistakable style of Boucher, while a Fragonard graced the far wall and a David hung on another. The selection was an interesting mix of the frivolity of pre-Revolution France and much darker, more somber later works.
The furniture was intricately carved, again in the style of the times. Heavy drapes covered the tall windows, and he wondered if Lady Chester kept them drawn during the day against the fading effects of the sun. He rather hoped not. She struck him as a creature of light, and he would hate to be wrong about that. A creature of light? He smiled to himself. What an odd, whimsical notion. Not at all the sort of thing he usually thought about a woman.
“I do hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.” Lady Chester swept into the room and reached out her hand to him. Her blue eyes sparkled in the gaslight, her skin glowed, her blond hair shone like pale gold. A creature of light. How had he managed to wait five full days?
“Indeed you have.” He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “Every moment not spent in your presence is an eternity.”
She raised an amused brow. “Very good, my lord. Very good indeed.”
His gaze met hers directly. “Yes, I am.”
She laughed and pulled her hand from his. “I meant your words, and you knew exactly what I meant.”
“Ah, yes, but can one really separate the man from his words?”
“I should think so.”
“What, or rather who would Keats be without his words? Or Byron or Shakespeare?”
“I have no idea.”
“Neither would anyone else.” He cast her an overl
y smug smile. “My point exactly.”
She studied him for a moment. “You are very clever, my lord.”
“And good.” He wagged his brows at her in a decidedly wicked manner. “Don’t forget good.”
“I daresay you won’t allow me to forget good.”
“No,” he said in a low voice, “I won’t.”
His gaze met hers, and for a long moment neither of them said a word. Nonetheless, there was an exchange between them. An ac knowledgment of sorts, of shared desire and mutual curiosity and anticipation. Delightful and exciting.
She drew a deep breath, and the moment was lost. Pity. It was the sort of moment when a man could take a woman—even a woman he scarcely knew—into his arms and she would go willingly. Although it was probably for the best. His own breath was oddly unsteady as well, and who knew what loss of self-control that might lead to.
Her gaze slipped to the unwieldy, brown paper–wrapped package he had left on a nearby side table. “Is that for me?”
“Direct and to the point. No coy pretense with you as if you weren’t aware of the large, bulky package that could, in fact, be nothing but a gift.” He nodded in a mock serious manner. “You dispense with the playing of games, my lady. I like that.”
“Not at all.” She laughed. “I quite enjoy playing games and I have every intention of playing games with you. Unless it has to do with gifts.”
He winced. “Rather mercenary of you, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think so. I would term it…” She paused to find the right word. “Practical. Yes, that’s it. If you have brought me a present and placed it in plain sight, which indicates it is not meant to be a surprise, then it’s nothing short of impractical to pretend I haven’t seen it. Mercenary implies greed, and your gifts thus far have not been extravagant enough to provoke greed.”
“I did not wish to offend you with extravagance,” he said slowly. Gideon had thought, with this particular woman at this particular time, extravagance would be an error in, well, tactics. “I hope I was not mistaken.”
“Of course not, although extravagance is rarely offensive.” She cast him a brilliant smile. “However, it has been my experience that men give women expensive gifts as a lure to entice them into their beds. An advance on the position of mistress, as it were. As I do not intend to be your mistress, your gifts were entirely appropriate and quite, quite perfect.”
“They were?”
“Most certainly.”
“But you do not…that is to say…what I mean is…” Words, at this particular moment, failed him completely. But then he had never been in this position before. Nor was he entirely certain what his position was.
“Absolutely not.” She shook her head firmly.
“Then I fear you have me confused and”—he smiled wryly—“more than a little disappointed.”
“My dear Lord Warton.” She laughed again, and he noticed what a lovely laugh it was. Honest and direct, as if it came from somewhere deep inside. And deep inside, she obviously found him rather more amusing than he would prefer. “You and I are dealing with a difference in perception or perhaps definition. Mistresses are supported in a financial manner by gentlemen in exchange for their favors and possibly their affection as well, I would imagine. I have no need of financial support from a gentleman, therefore I find the very term mistress”—she wrinkled her nose—“inaccurate and inappropriate and rather subservient as well. I have no intention of being subservient. Ever.”
“I see,” he said, although he really didn’t. Best then perhaps to keep his mouth shut. Still…“Then in regard to you and me—”
“I am confident you shall not be the least bit disappointed. Now then.” She nodded pointedly at the package. “May I?”
“Please do.” He hadn’t the vaguest idea what had just occurred here, yet he was fairly certain an understanding had been reached. Damned if he knew what it was.
She approached the package and studied it curiously. It was rather obvious, at least to him, that it was a plant of some sort. He grinned in anticipation. But it was the perfect plant.
She tore off the paper carefully to reveal a tall orchid plant sporting a large blossom with pale pink petals, a darker lavender center section, and a few fat leaves. He knew little about plants in general and nothing at all about orchids, but this was an outstanding example. At least that’s what he’d been told.
She stepped back and stared. “Oh my.”
“It’s a cattleya”, he said proudly.
“Indeed it is,” she murmured, still staring at the plant. “Cattleya labiata, to be precise.”
He stepped toward her, feigning interest in the orchid. “And a fine specimen too, I understand.”
“Very fine indeed.” She leaned closer and studied the plant. “And in excellent condition.” She glanced at him. “You’ve taken good care of it.”
He shrugged modestly. “I will confess it has not been in my possession long.”
She straightened and smiled at him. “How did you know?”
“About your passion for exotic plants, particularly orchids? A mutual friend told me.” And wasn’t it exceptionally clever of him to have talked to Lord Helmsley about Lady Chester’s likes and dislikes?
“A mutual friend?” Her smile remained but her voice held a curious note. “Do you mean Lord Helmsley?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“You discussed my likes and dislikes with Lord Helmsley?”
Rather awkward to tell the woman you hoped would soon become your lover that a former lover of hers had told you how to win her affections. It didn’t seem quite as clever now as it had a moment ago. While she did not appear angry, it might be best to be completely candid with her. Still, he chose his words carefully. “I have to confess I did exactly that.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“Why?” He considered the question. Honesty might well be the only way out even if honesty, in regard to women, was something of a new concept for him. He blew a long breath. “I wished to impress you. To curry your favor. To sweep you off your feet with the thoughtfulness of my manner. I was trying to be—”
“Wonderful?”
He nodded. “Exactly.”
“Charming? Dashing?”
“That too.” He smiled in a rueful manner. “Dare I ask if I succeeded?”
“That depends on what, beyond my penchant for orchids, you learned from Lord Helmsley,” she said pleasantly. He wasn’t entirely sure he believed it.
“I can assure you, Lady Chester—”
“Judith.” She smiled. “If we are to be”—her blue eyes twinkled—“friends, you should call me Judith.”
“Are we to be friends?”
“You are entirely too impatient, my lord.”
“It’s a flaw.” He shrugged. “I mentioned that I had flaws. And if I am to call you Judith, you must call me Gideon.”
“As in the biblical Gideon?”
He chuckled. “As in a grandfather named Gideon who insisted his only son name his only male grandchild after him.”
She raised a brow. “In the Bible, Gideon had seventy sons.”
“And numerous wives and concubines as well.” He grinned. “If I recall he lived to a very ripe old age and died happy.”
“I don’t doubt it for a moment.” She waved at the orchid. “Would you be so kind as to carry this into the conservatory for me?”
“Ah, the famous conservatory.” He picked up the pot carefully and followed her. “I am quite looking forward to seeing it.”
“Are you interested in plants then?” She led him out of the parlor and down a long corridor.
“I admit to absolutely no knowledge about plants beyond the ability to distinguish a daisy from a rose. However, I am interested in anything that captures your attention,” he said smoothly. Very good. Honest and charming at the same time.
She cast a smile over her shoulder. “Did Lord Helmsley tell you about the conservatory as well?”
&n
bsp; “It was mentioned in regard to your interest in plants.”
“You must have spoken at length.”
“Yes. Er, no. Not really,” he said quickly, trailing behind her through the endless corridors of the house although he scarcely noticed their progress. “I should tell you Helmsley was most circumspect during our conversation.”
“Then that is not the Lord Helmsley I know.”
“Circumspect is perhaps the wrong word. Discreet is a better word.” Discreet? He groaned to himself. That didn’t sound at all as he had intended. It was precisely the sort of thing one might say if one were trying to hide something. And he wasn’t. Not really. “Nor did I inquire about anything of a particularly personal nature.”
She laughed but didn’t comment.
“I’m beginning to feel rather foolish,” he said under his breath. “I do hope, Lady Chester—Judith—that you do realize my intentions in speaking to—”
“Here we are.” She pushed open a glass-paned door and stepped inside.
“See here, Judith, I really must insist that you stop for one moment and allow me to ex—” He stepped after her and pulled up short. “Good God, it’s a jungle.”
“Do you really think so? I’ve always thought of it as an overly abundant garden.” She glanced around. “Or perhaps it is something of a jungle if one can have a civilized, orderly jungle.”
“That is the question,” he murmured. “I would say the answer is no.”
In spite of Helmsley’s description, Gideon was not the least bit prepared for Judith’s conservatory. He had, of course, visited the Palm House at Kew and had on several occasions been a guest of the Duke of Northumberland at Syon Park and seen the great conservatory there. While this was significantly smaller, it was no less grand in nature.
A Little Bit Wicked Page 3