Taffeta & Hotspur

by Claudy Conn

  “What won’t be an easy thing?” cried a large casually dressed man. He walked up and put a friendly hand on Tarrant’s shoulder and gave him an affectionate shake. “Easy? That isn’t a word to describe anything you do, you old devil you!”

  “Jimmy!” Tarrant’s said boyishly as he greeted his friend. “When did you get back from Leeds?”

  “Last night, and I head about you and Bruton. Beat him again, eh?” He shook his head. “Don’t know why you let him egg you into these things, Thurston. Dangerous man…”

  “Oh, and I suppose you think I am a puppy at his mercy?” His brow lifted.

  James Fenmore laughed easily. “Take a damper. You know I meant no such thing, but that one doesn’t play by the rules…” He immediately changed the subject by turning to Seth and asking, “Now who is this young pup?”

  Tarrant made the introductions, and soon the three fell into easy camaraderie. It was not long before they went off together to Jackson’s saloon for a bit of ‘sparring’ with the champion.

  All the while, and in his own fashion, the he was taking the young duke’s measure and liking what he found. It didn’t fit with the game they had been playing in Nottingham. He still could not understand how or why they had allowed Taffeta to join in their prank.

  He could see the lad was full of fire and brimstone and plans to change the world for the better. It was all so very intriguing.

  Chapter Four

  Thurston Tarrant watched the entrance Lady Taffeta made with Nigel on one arm and her brother on the other. She was a diamond of the first water, and he heard the remarks of both men and women all around him. Her aunt, the Lady Sissy Marble had launched three daughters in years past and knew the knack of throwing a ‘coming-out’ ball.

  Lord Tarrant bent to Sarah Jersey, the regent’s favorite and present mistress, and whispered in her ear. “A favor…”

  She turned and her words sounded hopeful to Tarrant. “Rogue … but do quickly, ask away, for Tarrant, you are the very specimen of a man … and I like you in your black velvets…”

  He laughed, “Ah Sarah, I can always count on you.”

  Surprise lit in her eyes as she asked, “What is the devil Hotspur planning? For I swear you are, and it has naught to do with getting me alone and in your arms!”

  He smiled sweetly at her. He liked Sarah, but had to walk a delicate line. He had to appear to want her but stay far enough from the edge. “Lady Marble has it in mind to strike up a waltz for the first dance. I thought you might sanction it for Lady Taffeta?” He purposely caressed her with his gaze.

  “You lecherous thing … she is too naive for you. Just look at her, a famous beauty yes, but those eyes … pure innocence.”

  He looked at Taffy in her white satin gown which scooped low over her full breasts. She had chosen to offset the white with aqua threading throughout, and it was most charming. Her long, copper-tinged gold curls cascaded from the top of her head to the middle of her back, and wispy curls ornamented her forehead and ears. She was completely stunning. “Yes, I am, as ever a cad, but it is only a dance after all…”

  “It would ensure her season, and Sissy and I are good friends…” She then rapped his knuckles with her fan. “Go on then … lead her out for the first waltz.”

  ~*~

  Lady Taffeta found herself looking up and into the Hotspur’s smoldering dark eyes, and in spite of herself, she was conscious of his charm. She felt warm all over, and a tickle of desire sprang up and teased her between her thighs in a way that made her want the feeling to last.

  He smiled, took her elbow, and deftly led her away from her aunt Sissy and the elderly nobleman who had been boring them both. Taffy looked back and saw her aunt had used the opportunity to escape, and smiled to herself before she turned a frown to Lord Tarrant.

  “Just what are you doing?”

  “Preparing to waltz with you, my lady,” he said glibly.

  “Really? They have not even struck up the music yet, and I have not been given permission from the Jersey to waltz…”

  The musicians, as though in his employ, began at that very moment to play a very pretty waltz, and Taffy’s lips parted with surprise.

  He chuckled and said, “And as for permission…” He nodded toward Lady Jersey.

  Taffy looked toward the great lady of Almack’s, and Sarah, Countess of Jersey, who inclined her head with approval. Taffeta lowered her eyes in elegant thanks and looked up at Tarrant.

  “How did you arrange that with the regent’s woman?”

  “Hush … we don’t say such things out loud; you never know who might hear and carry it around that you are gossiping about her.”

  She sighed, “Yes, of course, you are right, and it wasn’t nice of me either.”

  She gave herself over to his expert lead as he tooled her around the ballroom in an exhilarating movement. Manners dictated she look at him and carry on a light conversation with him, but she couldn’t seem to look anywhere but at his chest.

  “I am so pleased you like it. I’d hoped you would,” said Tarrant suavely.

  “What? Like what?” she asked, bringing her eyes up to his face.

  His smile was genuine, and his eyes glittered with amusement. “My waistcoat. You seem very interested in its design.”

  She felt herself flush. “Indeed, the embroidery is unique and sets off the deep black velvet of your coat…” She smiled devilishly.

  “You have such a naughty look in those beautiful eyes of yours…” Tarrant said on a husky note.

  “And the tails of your coat, my lord, just the right length—oh yes, you are clothed quite beautifully.” She continued to tease.

  “A younger, less experienced man would be now yours forever … slayed by your beauty, enchanted by your eyes, and bewitched by your sense of humor…” he said to her on a low note.

  “But you are not a younger, less experienced man, so you are safe,” she said and gave him a saucy look. “You are all of eight and twenty … quite an old man.”

  He stiffened for a moment, and then she giggled which must have won him over because he roared with laughter. Heads turned to see the Hotspur so animated by a debutante.

  “Does London yet meet with your approval?”

  She sighed. “I have been to London before … as a child. I was not impressed then, and I am not now … however, this waltz is quite fun.”

  He chuckled. “Lady Taffeta, we are kindred spirits, you and I.”

  “Do you think so? I do not.”

  “You miss riding your horse freely and unattended, I suppose?”

  “Yes … my aunt says I would be gossiped about and that even I would not find London gossip mongers an easy thing to contend with.” She remembered once more the pledge he had taken from her and stiffened.

  He seemed to feel it for he immediately puzzled up and asked, “What is it? What have I said?”

  “Naught. You have only reminded me what an obligation I owe you—if I don’t want to be meat for them to chew.”

  The waltz was drawing to an end, and he would have to lead her back. She knew she had not given him much time to respond, but even so, she had hoped he would relieve her of her promise.

  Instead, he said softly, “Ah, of course … which you mean to repay, do you not?”

  “I do not go back on my word.”

  He delivered her to her aunt, bowed, and walked away.

  Her aunt hugged her and asked, “Darling … your season is made! However did you get him to lead you out for the first waltz? He has never done so with any debutante ever before, I do assure you.”

  “Of all the absurd things…” Taffy shook her head. “That anyone should look my way because Tarrant danced with me…”

  “It is the way of the world,” announced her aunt happily. “You would have taken the haute ton anyway, my dear—why, just look at you. You are a wealthy beauty and sister to an established dukedom, of course, you would have been taken, but now…”

  And right on
cue, two young gentlemen came to add their names to her dance card. She sighed, for now there was yet another thing she would be indebted to his lordship Hotspur for—her popularity. Grrr.

  ~*~

  Tarrant had a nagging thought as he returned to his group of cronies and watched Lady Taffeta as imperceptibly as he could manage. The lady actually seemed to be waiting for him to call in his marker. For some unknown reason this irritated him. Was she then no more than a thrill seeker? And had she been with other men? He couldn’t believe this, there was too much of the innocent about her to be ignored. But, she had plenty of freedom at home—had she been with the local gentry lads? When he thought of her in someone else’s arms, he felt like he could put a fist through a wall … and that annoyed him further. Why should I care? Because … because, he liked her. Damn if he didn’t like the little vixen!

  And liking her, he had begun to know her. Knowing her, he rather thought she was the sort who believed in ‘love’. She just didn’t have the ‘look’ or the demeanor of a woman experienced in the art of sex. Even her style of flirting was fresh and light. Yes, she looked an innocent, and yet?

  And then he saw her being led into the second waltz of the evening by the Marquis of Bruton—his enemy and rival in so many pursuits. He felt bile begin to form in his throat, and he had a sudden urge to tear him away from Taffy and throw him out the window. What the deuce was wrong with him? He felt violence stir up inside of him and couldn’t imagine where it had come from. He had seen Bruton ruin young maids…

  He watched Taffy throw her head back as she laughed with obvious pleasure while Bruton twirled her round the floor. He watched Bruton’s hand on the small of her back and felt an agitation shake him to his core. Damn the man’s soul! She conversed with Bruton, easily, sweetly, and looked comfortable with the charmer. He recalled she had not looked happy when he took her to the floor.

  Tarrant moved toward the musicians, and a notable sum was exchanged. The waltz ended sooner than it normally would have and when it did, Tarrant stood ready to take up Taffeta’s hand. She turned toward him—and he knew a moment when all air left his lungs. Her eyes, those bright laughing eyes, looked askance as she regarded him, and he swept her with a quick glance, feeling heat beat a rhythm that pounded out her name in his blood.

  Her voice held surprise. “My lord…”

  He smiled enigmatically and took up her gloved hand, turning for a moment to the marquis, “Bruton … didn’t think you would be back in London already.” This was calculated to sting, for it had been Bruton who had tried to sway a race in his favor by using his henchman to throw a tree branch in his way when he rounded the bend in the route. Thanks to Tarrant’s quick witted and faithful groom, who had noticed Bruton’s man and followed him in time to stop him and retrieve the long many limbed branch from the road, he had won the race against Bruton and left him, once again, red faced and out for payback.

  Bruton inclined his head a moment, but as he withdrew, his smile was all for Lady Taffeta. Tarrant was annoyed. He had apparently and unwittingly brought Taffeta to Bruton’s notice by leading her out for the first waltz. He bent and said softly, “Now, don’t be setting your cap on that one; he is a rake of the first order.”

  “Faith!” snapped the lady. “I have sworn to keep my handkerchief out of your path, and if you forbid me rakes and rogues … la, who is left here in London?” Her eyes twinkled at him, and he wanted to take her up and away…

  “Naughty puss,” he said flirtatiously.

  “Answer the question, my lord—who should I set my cap for?”

  He decided to play along with her game. “That young dasher there seems a catch, and a nice chap.”

  “Hmmm, not my sort. He would not approve of my antics, which I must confess to the man I marry.” The light in her eyes was dancing.

  “Must you? Why is that?”

  “Oh, if love is to survive the rigors of marriage … secrets have no place between a man and a woman … at least, not important secrets.”

  “And so this chap must know your foibles and still want you?” Tarrant teased her.

  “Of course … in fact, he must want me because of my foibles. They will never go away. They might ease up with time and circumstance, but we are who we are.”

  “And you? Will you want a man in spite of his baggage?”

  “Oh but baggage makes us who we are. Of course, when I fall in love, it will be with my eyes and heart open.”

  “Yet … you would give yourself outside the marriage bed?” he asked frowning.

  “If I must…” she said with a slump of her shoulders. “I … keep my promises.”

  “Look there…” he said pointing with his chin. “Now there is someone you might want to drop your handkerchief in front of.” He hurriedly changed the subject.

  She wrinkled her nose, and looked at another very handsome beau. “No, but I think that one…” She indicated with her chin. “Look, I like the yellow of his hair and the way it falls across his forehead…”

  “You don’t … he looks twelve years old!” Tarrant laughed out loud as they watched the young man trip and spill his punch onto the dowager at his side. “No, that one would never be able to brandish a pistol in the dead of night and hold a carriage at bay.”

  She sobered at once. “Stop it. Oh … how can you toy with me in this dreadful manner? I own that I am in your debt, my lord, what more do you want of me?”

  “Ah, you own to it, but will you pay up when I call for it? I think not.” He eyed her, trying to take her measure.

  Later, when he returned her to her aunt, he bent and whispered in her ear, “An answer … will you come to me when I ask? Will you repay the debt you owe—for if you like, I can call in my marker, as you earlier called it, as soon as we can arrange the time…” He was more than teasing her; he was attempting to get her to renege.

  She put up her chin, “I do not break my word … to anyone, not even a scoundrel, for you are more than the rakehell Hotspur, you are the scoundrel Hotspur. Who else would have taken such a promise?”

  He felt the flame of irritation sprint through him, and he bent low over her hand and said softly, “Excellent, you will do well to remember it.”

  All at once and before he had released her hand, she felt a wave of dizziness. He grabbed hold of her and whispered, “Taffeta, what is it? Are you all right?”

  “Taffeta, Taffeta…” Her aunt touched her cheek and turned to Tarrant. “We need to find her a chair…”

  He watched as she snapped herself out of whatever was wrong, and he saw that it had taken extreme effort. She pulled away from him and looked up at his face, blushing until even her lovely neck went pink.

  Just what happened? he wondered.

  Chapter Five

  Taffy sat back and thought about the moment when Tarrant had been returning her to her aunt. What must he have thought?

  She had suddenly been overtaken by one of her visions, and it had been so real. Usually they unfolded before her like a play on a stage, but in this one, she wasn’t there as an observer, she was just there as the participant.

  They were in a hayloft, and she was naked, lying back against a wool knit blanket. She was looking up at him, at his huge throbbing staff, and it wasn’t the first time they had been together like this. They were lovers!

  No. She wasn’t going to allow this to happen. Even if she had to give herself to him to keep him quiet about her uncle and brother … and her; it would be that one time only…

  There with Tarrant, she knew she had to get out of her vision, and she had managed to do that, but not before he lowered himself to her, brushed her mouth with his warm sensual lips, and whispered, “Sweet sunbeam…”

  Her aunt had called to her, helping her to break from the vision, and they had found her a chair. She had been filled with heat, not because of her vision, but because in her vision, she had welcomed his touch…

  Now, the morning after the ball, Taffy tried to vanquish this memory
as she watched her aunt preen and compliment herself on the success of her ball. She found herself squeezed as her aunt hugged her and declared jovially, “La, but all of London will be talking about it for weeks to come. I was so proud of you. Taffeta, imagine, dancing with the Hotspur … twice!” She clucked and went to the fireplace, poked at it, and turned to Taffy to add, “It bordered on indecent … twice with the same man, and that man, Lord Tarrant! La, my dear, well done.”

  “Aunt Sissy, you make too much of it.” Taffeta laughed at her antics and bit into a biscuit.

  “La, but I do not. You two whirled around the dance floor. It was Tarrant’s second waltz with you—and they are calling you the new beauty! You have become the talk of the season.”

  “Oh aunt, it is all nonsense.”

  Her aunt eyed her, “You are a diamond—la, child and your taste in clothing is perfection. That is a very fetching morning gown. The blue draws on the gray color of your eyes … and the fit is very alluring. Fetching, very fetching, for I suspect we shall soon have morning callers.”

  Taffy laughed and waved this off, “Thank you, but I do hope not. It is so pleasant just to sit quietly about this morning. I hardly slept last night.”

  As though to prove her aunt a fortune teller, Jarvis, their butler, appeared at that moment and announced, “Miss Catherine Frome asking to see Lady Taffeta.”

  “Cath? Here…” Taffy jumped up with excitement and said, “Yes, Jarvis … do show her in. Thank you.” She turned to her aunt, “Of all the wonderful things…”

  “A school friend, dear?” asked her aunt.

  “Yes, my very dearest…” And then Catherine entered the room.

  Taffy’s excitement took over the room as she rushed to embrace her friend, and the two squealed with obvious affection for one another. It was a moment before Taffy remembered her manners and turned to her aunt to say, “Aunt Sissy, Lady Marble, this is my dear friend Catherine Frome.”