Taffeta & Hotspur

by Claudy Conn

  He held his burning cheek, and his face was an expression of fury about to be unleashed. “Oi don’t mean to let ye get away wit that—no oi don’t…” he said as he raised a fist and moved menacingly toward her.

  Out of nowhere, a mountain of a man appeared. He was all light and darkness, strength and power, control and fury, and he stepped between her and the ruffian. With his one hand under the brute’s chin and his fingers tightening around the ruffian’s neck, he said, “I think you need to have some water to cool you down. Indeed, that is just what you need.” Down went the drunken lad’s head into the pool of bubbling water, where the Hotspur held him down for some moments before pulling him up by his collar and demanding, “Did you like that? Will you remember what it felt like to be helpless and at another’s mercy?”

  In answer, the lad choked and spluttered. Hotspur shook him, “Get out of here, and I will remember your face, and if ever I see you hurt an animal … any animal again, I shall dole out to you what you have doled out to it. Am I understood?”

  Taffy waited, but although he opened his mouth, nothing came out. The ruffian nodded his head vigorously, and Hotspur pushed him into the waiting friends at his back and watched them all scramble away.

  Her hands were full with the wretched puppy, but she felt an urge to applaud and hug Tarrant. Fenmore arrived on the scene next, and Taffeta said, “Oh my, you’re here as well? This is excellent. I would be so thankful if you will apologize to my brother and Miss Frome. I must return home at once as this poor thing needs immediate attention.”

  Fenmore’s brows were up with surprise, but he readily agreed, and Taffeta turned to Hotspur and said happily, “I shall call him George.”

  “You can’t call him George,” cried Tarrant with great amusement. “You see, as cute as he may be, he is a mongrel, and you can’t give him the prince regent’s name.”

  She frowned, “Silly, but that is no problem for I have a better name. I shall call him Valiant. Only just look at his sweet brave eyes…”

  “Jimmy, thank you,” said Lord Tarrant to his friend. “I will see Lady Taffeta and her new charge safely home now.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t ask that of you,” Taffy replied at once. “You are here … I am sure with er … someone … and will be missed.”

  “No, I brought no one here. I came alone, and I am taking you and your young Valiant home.”

  “Yes, he is starving, poor thing, and I could never enjoy the concert knowing he needs food and care.”

  Fenmore nodded and looked at his long time friend, Tarrant, with interest as he bowed himself off.

  Tarrant turned back to Taffy and asked, “And what of your aunt? Will she not be unhappy you have left her party?”

  “Oh, no,” Taffy answered brightly, “She said she had no desire to sit outdoors when the weather was still so cool. She is off with friends … some card game or other.”

  He offered his arm and smiled warmly as she placed her hand in its crook and allowed him to lead her to his coach.

  ~*~

  Tarrant helped Taffeta inside his coach, and took the puppy from her to set him down on a blanket at their feet. The pup looked adoringly up at Tarrant who shook his head and said, “No, don’t look at me like that; I’m not your benefactor.”

  Taffy laughed, picked Valiant up, snuggled him with her fingers and chin, before putting him back down. Sitting back up, she turned a grateful face to his lordship. “It seems I am once again putting myself deeper in your debt.”

  “I am well pleased with that.” He grinned and teased her.

  She looked into his eyes. It was dark in the carriage, but she could see a strong bright glitter in his dark orbs as he returned her look. “When do you mean to call in your marker and be done?” she asked, trying to press the issue, not sure if she wanted him to say he would forgive her the marker. Part of her wanted him to call it in…

  “In time…” he said, his expression enigmatic.

  She sighed. The next thing he did was to put his arms around her and draw her close.

  “However, I wouldn’t mind a down payment,” he whispered as his mouth first brushed lightly over hers, teasing her with sensations. As her lips parted, his tongue found its mark and lapped at her own in an erotic, slow, and sensual movement that set her tingling with desire.

  What was happening? It was a kiss … just a kiss and yet, rockets exploded in her head and fireworks went off in her blood, traveling throughout her body. She gave herself to his kiss and realized she had been hungry for it—waiting for it. What was wrong with her? She was behaving like a tart.

  His tongue drew on hers and taught it a new rhythm, as his hand moved to cup her breast beneath her cloak. She should have been shocked—not at his action, but at her reaction. She should have been horrified with herself, but she wasn’t. She wanted his touch, and owned it to herself. She heard him then as he whispered her name.

  “Taffeta … you are delicious, but that is all for now. It is bad enough we are alone in my carriage, without giving fuel to the gossip mongers. We might be seen.”

  She was off her game, taken off guard, and she couldn’t find the words to respond. She should have come back with something witty or offensive or… But all she could do was lick her lips and look up and into his seductive eyes.

  He held her face with his ungloved fingers, “You beauty you … do you know what you do to me?”

  “I know what you do to me.” She surprised herself by answering him.

  And then he shocked her by saying, “Don’t allow it. You must not find me desirable. You must not think me as anything but the scoundrel you have called me. I have made a deal with you and mean to cash it in when it suits me—remember that. It is a deal—nothing more. That is who you must know I am. For I will never be more—it isn’t in me.”

  His words slapped her in the face and ruined the dream. A dream that had developed because of her premonition, a premonition that was blocking her ability to have the visions she had come to rely on. He looked so serious. She had to buck up and handle this—it was all part of growing up, wasn’t it? “Then call in your marker, and let’s be done,” she said softly.

  “I am not ready to be done, but I shall call it in, sunbeam. Believe me, I shall call it in. Will you be ready when I do, or is it all bluster?”

  She eyed him ruefully and turned away to pet her sleeping pup and stare out the window at the passing traffic.

  ~*~

  Tarrant surprised Taffeta again when they reached her aunt’s town house. He insisted on accompanying her inside and to the kitchen where she rummaged for just the right sized basket.

  “Do you have the Chronicle about?”

  She hurried off and returned, waving the newspaper about. She saw he had cut out a portion of the basket to allow the small pup to get in and out of it at will and smiled. He seemed to know what he was doing, so she simply watched as he took the paper from her and shredded it into the basket, spreading a few leavings of paper on the floor around the front of the puppy’s new sleeping area.

  While she waited, she finely chopped some cooked chicken and fed it to the weak little Valiant, cooing to him all the while. He fell asleep chewing on a final morsel, and Taffy sighed contentedly.

  “Come along…” he said taking her hand.

  “I mean to take him to my bedroom.” she answered. “But I will put him in here when I can’t watch him.”

  Without another word, he dropped her hand, bent, and picked up the basket and the pieces of the Chronicle, and said, “Right then…”

  “Well … but … you can’t…”

  “Lead the way.”

  “You can’t go to my bedroom,” she answered, frowning.

  “Oh I can, and I will, but this time only to deliver your pup there.”

  She put up her chin and went ahead of him to the stairs and then down the long hallway to her bedroom. She opened the door wide and stood aside to allow him passage with the basket and the sleeping pup. He placed i
t gently at the foot of her bed and turned to leave, but even as he started out the doorway, he turned and took one long stride and had her wrapped in his embrace.

  His kiss was wilder this time, hungry, demanding, and she got lost in the passion it generated in her. His mouth on hers was in control not only of her lips, but of her body, and she pressed into him.

  He elicited physical and explicit sensations from her that she couldn’t deny—and knew she would not feel for anyone else.

  Friends talked about the magic of finding ‘the one’.

  Was the Hotspur … her one?

  His hand was on her breast, sensually cupping and fondling and generating a reaction she was embarrassed to own. He taught her in that moment she was a woman in waiting—waiting for his touch.

  His tongue showed her how to give and bend to him, and then somehow he had managed to undo her gown enough to release her from the bodice, and he was bending his head to suckle at her hard yearning nipple.

  She gasped with pleasure and made no attempt to stop him. She knew the rules. Maids did not give themselves before marriage. She knew this, but oh, she wanted him, had never wanted anyone like this before, and she whispered, “What am I doing?”

  Suddenly and without warning, he straightened and backed away from her as though he had suddenly been stung. “I… I… Forgive me…” With which he turned on his heel and vanished.

  What the deuce? She asked herself as she heard him hurry down the stairs and out the front door. Faith and la … just what the deuce!

  ~*~

  The rakehell Hotspur leaned back against the plush squabs of his leather carriage seat and tried to call himself to order. What the devil is wrong with me? He had planned a convivial evening at Vauxhall and then a tryst with the Connors woman just to get some physical relief from his constant hard-on. He couldn’t remember when last he had been with a woman … and this one was driving him mad with desire.

  The next thing he knew, he had heard Taffy’s voice berating someone, and it was all he could do to control himself from killing the devil for even looking at her, let alone threatening her.

  Then, he looked at the pup, poor little survivor, and realized it had been starved as well as tortured, and his heart went out to the little Valiant, as she named him. The pup couldn’t be more than six weeks old, newly weaned, and every emotion was pinpricked into action.

  However, she then announced giving up her night at Vauxhall, giving up her concert to take the puppy home with her and nurse it. He found himself not only amazed, but touched—deeply touched.

  She seemed to constantly astound him with her actions, but what was worse, he was drawn to her in a way that just would not do. He wanted to do things with her he had never done with an untried maid. He did not tamper with virgins, and if that was what she was, he had no intention of calling in his marker or seducing her…

  He felt something for her … something so strong he found himself constantly looking for her, and when he couldn’t find her, all he did was think about her. Absurd.

  I am done with love. It served no purpose and led to pain. He was much happier as he was, enjoying his life and doing what he wanted when he wanted. Now look at him … playing nursemaid to a green girl who played nursemaid to a mongrel. This should have made him frown, but instead he realized he was smiling!

  He would keep up the pretense of the so called ‘marker’ because if she was not a virgin, then by all means, he would satisfy his need for her. That was fair and just, was it not? A bit of sport. That was all it was, wasn’t it? He was merely entertained by the Lady Taffeta—nothing more.

  He was fairly certain he would never get the opportunity to get her into his bed as he believed she was an innocent. He would not break his rule and play with an innocent in that fashion.

  Tonight when he took her in his arms and kissed her, and then began removing her gown … when he was on fire and couldn’t stop himself from touching her breast, suckling her nipple… Damn, he had been nothing more than a cad with a hard-on. He knew it the moment she whispered, “What am I doing?”

  He had swept her away with seduction and had been no better than the scoundrel she had called him. Why had the fates played their nasty little game with him and sent Taffeta, the highwaywoman, to haunt his thoughts? Why?

  A sweet tongue slowly licked cherry lips … laughing eyes looked into his… Damn… But the touch of her skin…? He had to get her out of his system. Only one way to do that—avoid her as much as possible! Forget her, ignore her. He would do it. He would…

  That was the only way to break from the driving, raging need when she came into view—and then even afterward, when she was no longer in his sight.

  A heavy sigh escaped him. Tomorrow he had promised to take her for a ride in his phaeton, yes, but after that—he would avoid the chit.

  What made it all worse was he suspected Taffeta was beginning to fall for him. He couldn’t have that—she wasn’t up to snuff. There was only one decent way to handle this situation, and that was to forget all about her.

  ~*~

  Lady Taffeta threw off her gown and stomped around as she donned her nightdress and brushed her long golden locks. She looked in the mirror and asked her reflection, “What is wrong with you? What is wrong with him? What does it all mean, for goodness sake?”

  She grimaced at the young woman looking back at her and shook the hair brush at her. “You are behaving like a schoolgirl, an infatuated schoolgirl. You will end by getting your heart broken by a rogue of a man—”

  Her conversation with herself, however, was interrupted when she heard her brother call out, “Taffy! Taffy!”

  “Up here, Seth,” she answered and went toward her door, but her brother was already there, flinging her door open wide and storming her bedroom, with Nigel right beside him.

  He immediately spied the sleeping puppy and exclaimed, “So it is true!” He walked over and surveyed the wretched babe deep in slumber. “I hope Tarrant beat the hell out of the blackguard who hurt this poor thing—why … its ribs are nearly out of its skin. I never… You did very well to bring him home, Taffy—proud of you.”

  She went to her brother, sank into his arms, a thing she hadn’t done for many years and then surprised them, herself included, by bursting into tears.

  “There, there … he’ll do now,” Seth patted her back and attempted to soothe her. “Couldn’t h ave anyone better to look after him. There, there.”

  Nigel cleared his throat, “Indeed, and we will help you with his training. He’ll be right as rain and before you know it, taking walks in Hyde Park with you. What did you name him?”

  “Valiant.” She sniffed.

  Nigel and Seth chuckled in unison, “So he is, Valiant indeed,” remarked Nigel, bending to pet the exhausted puppy. “He’ll do … a few weeks time, aye… He’ll do…” He seemed to be talking to himself as well as to her.

  She led them to the settee and indicated with a wave of her hand she wanted them to sit, which they did, and then she demanded, “Now, tell me everything … what of Cath and Lord Fenmore?”

  “Fenmore … Cath?” Her brother frowned, and then his face cleared, “Damn if you don’t have something there. The man couldn’t keep his eyes from her. Noted it a few times but didn’t think anything of it at the time, because he talked about you and how astonishingly in control you were in your efforts to save the mongrel and how you wanted to call it George.” This made her brother burst out laughing, but she stared him down, and then Nigel cleared his throat.

  “I noted it as well,” said Nigel. “Noticed it immediately, and what’s more, I think she likes him as well. For when he wasn’t looking at her, she was looking at him.”

  “Oh, excellent, I so hoped it would take…”

  “Did you? Did you see it in one of your visions?” her brother inquired lightly.

  She frowned. “Not getting any visions lately…” She didn’t add she only got visions of herself in Tarrant’s arms. She shook her h
ead. “I don’t know what is wrong, but haven’t had any visions since that night we held up the Hotspur.”

  “Scared out of you!” Her brother snorted.

  Nigel, ever serious, said, “You might have a point there, Seth.”

  “Well, did you two see Cathy home?”

  “Aye, that we did, and all is well,” said her brother.

  Tarrant running away from her skipped into her head, and she thought, Not so very well for me, no—not so very well at all.

  Chapter Six

  Nattily attired in his caped black greatcoat, his tie superbly fashioned in the mathematical style, his superfine waisted and tailed coat of blue fitting his so very perfect body, his breeches of buff cream tightly molded over his muscular thighs, and his Hessian boots gleaming in their blackness, the Hotspur, Tarrant, took the ribbons of his high perch phaeton, ordered his tiger at his back, and tooled his high stepping dapple greys through the hum of London’s morning traffic.

  He told himself he hadn’t dressed to impress Lady Taffeta, that this was his usual style when he took out his high perched phaeton, but he knew in his heart it was a lie.

  When he had regarded himself in the long looking glass, he had wondered absently if she would like the way he looked. He caught the question in his head and immediately berated himself. What the devil are you doing? She was a chit—lass … a virgin, and all he could think about was getting her into his bed and driving himself into her in every imaginable position he had ever fantasized about. He was a cad.

  She was a child, playing at games she knew nothing about. She was an imp of a woman. He shouldn’t be thinking about her. He should visit Melody Conners and relieve himself of his raging and demanding constant need.

  These thoughts were driving him mad, and then there stood Mrs. Melody Conners at the curbing flagging him down. Should I stop? He had no choice. She was stepping into the street. He pulled up his greys and smiled.