Taffeta & Hotspur

by Claudy Conn

  “Tarrant…” she said in a soft alluring voice. “I missed you last evening … wherever did you vanish off to?”

  “Something unexpected kept me from you, Melody,” he said in a low flirtatious voice and was aware of a sudden impatience to be off. What the hell was wrong with him?

  “How very vexing, but I trust you may find your way to me this afternoon, for a private bit of … relaxation?”

  She was a lovely piece of bit and fluff, and he was sure to enjoy an hour’s frolic with her in her bed, but…

  “I am afraid not, lovely lady; I am already otherwise promised.” He watched her pout and laughed to himself as he waved and tooled his horses back into traffic. He pulled up at Lady Marble’s townhouse, and nimbly planted himself on the curbing, giving the ribbons to the young groom acting as his tiger. “Right then, Jason, I shan’t be long, but walk them if need be.”

  “That oi will, m’lord,” said the lad grinning, obviously proud to work for Tarrant. “Probably will ‘ave to if ye’ve come fer a loidy … all of ‘em keep them standing too long.”

  Tarrant laughed and pulled the peak of the boy’s wool cap down over his eyes, “Cheeky, but you are right. I don’t think this lady will keep us waiting though. She is a bit different than most of her kind.”

  He skipped up the steps and found Jarvis very civil as he showed him inside. He didn’t have to wait at all. As he suspected, Taffeta must have been waiting at the top of the stairs she was presently bouncing down toward him.

  She was a vision of cheery life, an alluring figure clothed in a fitted aqua velvet driving ensemble designed to display her provocative figure. Her long, highly dressed, copper lit gold curls cascaded down one elegant shoulder. On her tilted head rested a chip hat of matching aqua with netting and one twirling white feather. Short thick wisps of her hair ornamented her forehead and ears, and her bright gray eyes twinkled impishly, without a hint of what had passed between them the previous evening in her bedroom. He could see she meant to put it aside and be comfortable. She was more than stunning, and everything about her took his breath away.

  As she came toward him, he discovered he had lost the ability to breathe. The rakehell Hotspur, gourmet of women, prince of flirts, proponent of cynicism, received his leveler completely in that moment. And then, he attempted, with careful reserve, to vanquish it. He told himself he had recognized she was incomparable at their first meeting. So, what was this? She is not for me … not for me, he repeated silently.

  With a calm demeanor, he went forward to greet her, and again, all built-in resolves were shaken, for what must she do but take his hand and shake it famously.

  “My lord…” declared Lady Taffeta, still holding onto his kid gloved hand, stepping back to eye him with teasing admiration. “My, but you do look an out-and-outer, a regular dasher, a…”

  He felt his lips quiver, but he restrained the bubble of mirth and admonished sweetly, “Take a damper, sunbeam. We made one another a promise—I don’t seduce, you don’t throw your cap…”

  “Ah, but you did not promise to not seduce, and I think that is what you have been trying to do to me—soooo, if my cap falls at your feet, you have no one to blame but yourself,” said the lady glibly, and her bright gray eyes laughed at him. “And you really do look absolutely—”

  “Ravishing.” He cut her off. “I know. I always mean to.” He led her toward the front door.

  “Oh, there you are…” cried Lady Marble, sticking her face out of her morning room to wave them off. “Such a lovely day for a ride.” She eyed Tarrant. “Don’t you dazzle my niece, sir, for I shall hold you to account.”

  He laughed out loud. “You needn’t worry, my lady, Taffeta and I have quite agreed, we are both quite off limits to one another.”

  “Oh?” replied her ladyship on a note of disappointment. “Pity.”

  With this last, he led Lady Taffeta toward his waiting phaeton.

  Taffy leaned into him and said on a giggle, “What you need is to be set down a peg. You are far too lofty, you know.”

  “Where is your puppy?” he asked, effectively changing the subject.

  “Oh, the dear little man ate most of his breakfast and even tried hobbling about. He is so very weak but getting better. He is in the nether regions of the kitchen as cook is very fond of dogs and will look after him while I am gone.” She sighed. “He slept most of the night and only whimpered once for me…”

  “And what did you do when he whimpered?” He found he couldn’t look away from her eyes.

  She smiled softly and sighed again. “I cuddled him and put him back to sleep. We gave him fresh paper in his basket this morning, but cook has a method of housebreaking … and will start teaching him as soon as he is strong enough. In the meantime, I have promised to help her clean up his basket and supply her with fresh newspaper, so we must get a great deal of them…”

  He burst out laughing and helped her into the carriage, “Yes, I am familiar with the method of housebreaking a pup.” He shook his head and laughed again. Never was there such a chit! Her conversation was so natural, and he almost allowed the thought to enter his head, But love? No, love could not, would not work for him. He didn’t believe in love—it was no more than … no… love was an impossible emotion, and he certainly was not about to—

  “Tell me, my lord…” said the lady, bringing him out of his cogitations. “Have you been abroad?”

  “Aye…”

  “Not just to Paris, where my parents took us when we were still so young, but—”

  He grinned, “Yes, I know what you are asking. One of my favorite places was Venice.”

  “Oh, I do so want to go to Venice … gondolas and history and Italians.”

  He laughed once again as he tooled his horse through the London traffic toward Hyde Park. “You are a wonder. I never know what is in that busy brain or what you will say next.”

  “I hear Italy has some very plausible rascals?” she asked ignoring this.

  “Aye, you would find yourself very comfortable there,” he answered teasingly.

  She inclined her head, but her eyes were lively when she brought her gaze up to his, “A flush hit, my lord.”

  “Then I must make it up to you by letting you decide our destination … a sedate ride through the park or somewhere else?” He pulled up his pair of dapple greys as he eyed her, looking for a response and once again found himself caught up by her bright gaze.

  “The Peerless Pool!” she announced, looking like a schoolgirl.

  “No … absolutely not, funny little brat. Who the deuce has been telling you about the Peerless Pool?”

  “Well Seth and Nigel went there and enjoyed it excessively, but when I asked them to take me there, they became very stuffy and said ‘twas impossible.’”

  She tickled him in ways he had thought would never happen to him again. She looked so demure and innocent, and then she batted her lashes purposely, and he burst out laughing once again.

  “Will you not, my lord?”

  “Certainly not!” he answered jovially. “Taking you to the Peerless Pool would forever ruin your reputation. It would have been bad enough for you to be seen there with your brother and uncle, but with me?” He shook his head. “Disaster. Pick another place, sunbeam.”

  She pouted at him, and he wanted to take her in his arms. She interrupted his thoughts by touching his thigh and igniting his already charged bolt of desire into a blaze he had to quiet.

  “I don’t know of anything else…” she said, still pouting. “And I don’t pout.”

  “Don’t you? Ah, then it is merely a very good imitation of one.” He chuckled, and then an idea came to him. “I know just what you would like—I rather like the place myself.”

  Her eyes opened wide, and he almost lost concentration, but she grabbed his upper arm, and even through the thick wool of his greatcoat sleeve, once again, he felt a titillating wave of excitement.

  “Where?” she asked with a bit of a bounce.r />
  He thought with some amusement that she was so young, so spirited, and full of life, and he wanted her more than he would soon be able to control. He cleared his throat and answered, “The Royal Exchange.”

  “Sounds dashed flat to me,” said the lady with a slight frown.

  “You won’t think so when we get there. It is where they house the wild beasts…”

  He had definitely hit upon the place in all the world she would enjoy, and she told him so enthusiastically, “Oh, oh… I do forgive you all your sins … yes, yes, the Royal Exchange!” She was quiet for a moment. “I have always wanted a monkey…”

  He looked shocked, “Well, I am not getting you one. You may look … you may even touch where they allow, but we are not foisting any wild beasts on your poor aunt.”

  Taffeta laughed, “No, you are quite right, I have already turned her kitchens into a kennel with Valiant.”

  As he tooled his team around the corner, Taffeta exclaimed, “Tarrant … look, at that man! What a beautiful man—who is he?”

  “Sir Francis, and it is not the thing to be pointing at men simply because their looks are pleasing. He noticed you…”

  “Oh pooh,” she answered. “Men are forever pointing out women to one another.”

  “It is not the same thing, Taffy. You simply can’t go about ogling handsome bucks.”

  “Why not?” Taffy shrugged. “All the town bucks spend a great deal of time ogling the chits!”

  He laughed in spite of himself, “Incorrigible minx!”

  “Besides, he had such fine shoulders…” She teased him in answer.

  “Bah, wadding,” retorted Tarrant a bit irritated.

  “Yes, but he was dressed to the nines…” she pronounced.

  “Dandy.”

  “Well, I thought him good looking,” she replied.

  He eyed her suspiciously, “And so the Lady Taffeta collects her handsome beaux?” His voice was dry and touched with irritation.

  “Now what does that mean?”

  “Evidently you take it upon yourself to give as good as you get. The town bucks preen and ogle, and you feel entitled to the do the same. Town bucks collect pretties, do you feel it your right to collect a list of hearts?”

  She suddenly went serious. “That is not nice. Odd that you should take such a notion into your head. I rather thought you were up to snuff.” The tease had returned to her gray eyes. “You see my lord, I don’t ape cruel behavior.”

  Caught, he wouldn’t give it up. “You wouldn’t lead a man on?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Then what of Fenmore?” he replied triumphantly. “I rather thought you were leading him an excellent dance the other night.”

  She put up her brow, “When I danced with Fenmore, he did the leading, and it was most enjoyable.” With this, she read out loud, “Ah, the Royal Exchange!”

  Chapter Seven

  Two days had passed since Lady Taffeta’s excursion with Tarrant, and she had not seen or heard from him since.

  Moping about wasn’t her style, and yet, she felt a fit of the ‘blue devils’ start to overtake her mood. It was time to own up to what she felt, and what she felt, she conceded, was a great deal more than infatuation.

  She loved everything about him. His great big, hulking good looks. His dark, mysteriously lit eyes she could never quite read and kept her guessing all the time. She loved the way he moved, like a stalking wild beast, graceful and yet powerful. And she loved his kisses, his touching, and wanted more.

  What was she going to do? He was a rogue and had a slew of women all vying for his affection and his bed. He didn’t want her; not really, for he hadn’t even called in her marker, and it didn’t appear as though he meant to do so.

  He probably thought she was nothing more than a silly schoolgirl. Maybe her kisses had done nothing for him? Maybe he thought she would be inadequate in bed, and on that score, he might be right. What did she know about the art of making love? She shook her head over the problem. Naught—except what she and her friends had whispered about and giggled over in the dark of night when she had been at school.

  However, her aunt constantly clapped her hands together and declared she was in heaven. Sissy told her the rakehell Hotspur had gotten her coined the ‘incomparable’ amongst the haute ton. How absurd. But apparently Tarrant had never before given a marriageable chit so much public attention, and had everyone jabbering with excitement and speculation.

  The last two mornings had been overloaded with callers, and she was heartily weary of the entire social scene. Each time Jarvis would appear, she would look hopefully, only to find it wasn’t Hotspur…

  And her dear Cathy! That was another problem she was going to have to solve. Something awful had happened to Cathy, for although she had tried, she could not get her to speak about it. All she knew was it had something to do with Bruton, and Bruton was ever lurking about making her friend uncomfortable.

  Taffeta wasn’t sure what to make of him, but flirted with him in an effort to get to the bottom of Cathy’s distress, hoping he might let something slip during their conversations.

  Third on her list of matters to dissect and solve was the gentleman Lord James Fenmore. He was besotted with Cathy, but Cathy kept him at a distance, and he had adopted Taffy as his confident. He was forever seeking her out and then mooning over Catherine and asking her what next he should do to win dear Catherine’s approval.

  Then, if those things weren’t enough of a trial for any one young woman in her first London season, there was Nigel and Seth.

  Her brother Seth had come of age and now had sole guardianship of her, and he had been playing the superior card all morning, coming on strong, and she was heartily sick of it.

  She sighed; for she would just have to let it all slide for the moment as her aunt had already raised a glass of champagne—to her brother.

  “’Tis only eleven o’clock…” Her voice, even to herself, sounded as though she was whining, and she sighed again. She picked up a glass, rolled her eyes, and joined in the birthday toast to her brother.

  A sip later, she wrinkled her nose but said, “Hmm, lovely…”

  Seth laughed, and Nigel said, “Another toast from me, nephew. Here’s to you, Seth. Thank Jupiter, the brat is now yours to order about.”

  “No one can order me about.” Taffy rounded on them. “The very idea,” she said, teasing back and then turned to Nigel. “Look who is going all fashionable—that is an oriental knot you have sporting your tie.

  “Well, one must keep up if one wants to be taken seriously, and I do think our arguments in Parliament have not been for naught,” retorted Nigel.

  “What are you talking about?” Seth looked scornfully at him. “After you gave your speech, they called you a radical.”

  “Yes, but then Lord Byron got up, and his speech silenced everyone. It was quite beautiful.”

  “Read the last paragraph,” entreated Seth. “Where he speaks about the bill…”

  “What bill?” asked Lady Marble, showing some interest.

  “A death penalty has been proposed for all Luddites caught smashing frames and looms,” explained Nigel.

  “You cannot mean it?” cried Taffeta.

  “Indeed, a death penalty is severe, but something must be done to stop the destruction of property.”

  “Yes, something must be done—pay them a decent wage so they don’t starve,” argued Taffeta hotly.

  “Aunt Sissy, Taffy, listen to Byron for he is so very eloquent on the subject,” he said and then began reading: “Suppose it passed. Suppose one of these men, as I have seen them—meager with famine, sullen with despair, careless of life which your lordships are perhaps about to value at something less than the price of a stocking-frame—suppose this man, and there are a thousand such from whom you may select your victims, is dragged into court to be tried for this new offense by this new law. Still there are two things wanting to convict and condemn him, and these are, in my opinion
, twelve butchers for a jury and a Jeffreys for a judge.”

  Taffy clapped her hands and pronounced, “There you are. Lord Byron is a much better man than I was led to believe. I shall most certainly seek him out and applaud him…”

  “No, you shall not,” admonished her aunt. “He is not the sort of man you should be interested in…” She added. “Nor is the Marquis of Bruton.”

  “What had Lord Tarrant to say about the bill?” Taffeta asked as casually as she could.

  “He was absent,” answered her brother.

  “You mean he did not take a seat for such an important meeting?”

  “No, but it wasn’t going for a vote yet, but it does look as though the Tories will have their day, and the death penalty will pass.”

  “No … oh no…” Taffy cried. “I can not believe Tarrant did not stand up against the bill…”

  “What is all this interest in the Hotspur?” asked Nigel.

  She colored up. “I have no interest in him as such, only in the fact that I have learned he carries a bit of weight among his peers. He is not, by his own words, a Tory…”

  “No, he is not a Tory,” Her aunt Sissy stuck in. “But I have never known him to take an active part in politics.”

  “Besides, I suspect he is out of town,” said her brother.

  At that point, Valiant appeared in the open doorway and wagged his tail. She regarded him with interest as he eyed the people he had surely grown to love and started to make his way toward her. She knew he must have made some effort to escape the kitchen and sniff his way to her. Apparently exhausted, he plopped down only a few feet from the doorway.

  Taffy laughed and ran to pick him up and snuggle him, took him back with her to the sofa, and allowed him to sleep in her lap. “Is he not beautiful, Aunt Sissy?”

  Her aunt regarded him approvingly, “I must say for a mongrel … his black and white markings are quite outstanding. He looks as though he might have Border Collie in him. Yes, he is quite a nice little thing.”