Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  The library was not far from the ballroom; George entered and looked around, deciding it would do fine for his needs. Checking the knob, he found the door did not lock, though, and he wondered if that might pose a problem. Perhaps a look­out would need to be employed. And if he couldn’t arrange one in the short time until their second dance, then proper position in the room would have to suffice.

  George decided he would have to be sure he stood facing the entrance while Elizabeth’s back would need to be oriented toward the door. Then he would nod and take her hand in his, holding her fingers a bit longer than propriety normally allowed, and be sure to kiss her knuckles completely—a brush of his lips would not suffice. He would lower her hand then, perhaps even keeping it in his grasp for just a moment more. Then he would use the forefinger of his other hand to caress her jaw and angle her head just so. Gazing into her eyes, he would pause before lowering his lips to hers.

  It would have to be a tender kiss, almost a caress. He would explain himself as he made each move, he decided, ensuring it would be construed as a demonstration and not simply an opportunity for him to do what he had hoped to with Lady Elizabeth ever since their sudden dance at Lord Weather­stone’s ball. And he would only use his lips to engage Lady Elizabeth—it would not be seemly to introduce his tongue during this demonstration.

  As he made his way back to the ballroom, he found him­self wondering if Trenton had used his tongue in his attempt at a kiss with the young woman. Perhaps it was that she found most unpleasant. George bristled at the mere thought of the earl engaging Elizabeth in such a manner, his usually calm temperament suddenly turning to anger. His frown must have been apparent, for Edward Bingham nudged him with an elbow. His daydream interrupted, George regarded the earl with surprise. “Ellsworth.”

  Bingham snorted. “You looked as if you wanted to kill someone just then,” he chided the viscount, leaning back so his belly protruded in front of him. Had he been a member of the opposite sex, one might have mistaken him for a woman in the last stages of breeding.

  George gave the earl a sideways glance. “Given the oppor­tunity, perhaps I would have,” he answered under his breath.

  Bingham nodded in response. “Just be sure there are no witnesses when you do,” he commented lightly before wander­ing off.

  Chapter 24

  A Kiss is Not Just a Kiss

  Excited, nervous and just a bit giddy, Lady Elizabeth downed her glass of champagne in just a few gulps. Lady Hannah arched an elegant blonde eyebrow. “Elizabeth!” she admonished her friend. “How many of those have you drunk?” she wondered in a hoarse whisper. Lady Charlotte glanced about, hoping no one else had witnessed her friend’s action.

  “Shush,” Elizabeth replied with a grin. “That was only my second this entire evening. I am simply thirsty …”

  “Then have a glass of punch,” Lady Hannah offered as she turned to take one from the refreshment table. She started to give it to Elizabeth, but the older girl waved it off.

  “I think not. I saw what Grandby poured in there,” Eliza­beth countered with a shiver of disgust.

  Hannah’s eyebrow lowered as she sniffed the red liquid. She took a sip from the crystal tumbler and seemed to hold it in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. “I can’t taste anything out of the ordinary. A bit too much orgeat …” She downed the rest of the punch and then shrugged as Charlotte and Elizabeth watched her. She refilled the glass and turned to smile at her friends. “What is it?” she asked as she saw their looks of surprise.

  “Hannah! The Earl of Torrington poured an entire bot­tle of Russian vodka into that bowl,” Elizabeth whispered as loudly as she dared.

  Her friend looked at the tumbler and shrugged, taking another sip. Charlotte moved to the refreshment table and took a glass from the footman. Taking a drink, she found she couldn’t taste anything out of the ordinary.

  Elizabeth sighed, deciding the two couldn’t get too tipsy on the punch. Her second glass of champagne had reached her knees, though, and she nearly giggled at the pleasant sen­sation. She checked her dance card and took a quick look at the large clock that hung just above where the orchestra was seated. Two more minutes and she would meet George in the library. She and George had already danced once; it was dur­ing that quadrille that he had engaged in small talk and com­plimented her on the cream silk de Naples gown she wore. He had asked if he might take her on a tour of the British Museum in the morning, an invitation she accepted before she had a chance to give it any thought. Near the end of the dance, he explained where she should meet him for their next dance.

  This dance.

  He promised a better kiss than the one Gabriel Welling­ham had bestowed on her.

  Part of her wanted George to prove his point since that first kiss had been rather awful. But another part of her wanted George to fail in his attempt, for then she would be sure it was merely she who had to modify her expectations of what a kiss should be. Indeed, she could learn how to appreciate a wet, sloppy kiss if kisses were supposed to be wet and sloppy.

  The licking, she wasn’t so sure about.

  “I must find Mr. Bennett-Jones for this dance,” Elizabeth stated as she heard the orchestra begin playing. She moved away from her friends, and then, sure no one was watch­ing her, stepped out through the nearest door. Having been in Lady Worthington’s home several times, she knew exactly where to find the library. Certain she wasn’t seen, Elizabeth ducked into the room and quietly closed the door behind her. Holding the knob to lock it, she was dismayed to find it did

  not have a lock.

  “I’m afraid we’ll have to make do without a lock.”

  Elizabeth gasped and whirled around to find George lean­ing against a library table, his arms crossed over his chest and his face sporting a mischievous grin. Her breath caught again as she realized the man wasn’t as unattractive as she had first thought. In fact, with his sable hair combed into a perfect Titus style and the close fit of his evening wear and the grin that lifted his eyes, and indeed, his entire face, Elizabeth thought him rather handsome. “George!” she whispered hoarsely, meaning to scold him for startling her.

  “I’m sorry, my lady,” he said as he bowed. “I thought you would at least look about the room before you closed the door,” he teased, but then his breath caught as he took in the sight of her again. Auburn curls atop her head were dressed with satin ribbons and mother-of-pearl combs, a single strand of pearls graced the base of her long neck, and the satin gown displayed the tops of her breasts and a rather deep cleavage.

  Curtsying to his bow, Elizabeth nearly rolled her eyes. “It is I who should be apologizing, George. I do hope you have not been waiting long,” she hedged as she moved to stand before him.

  My whole life, he almost said. “Just a few moments. Enough time to read The Iliad and half of The Odyssey,” he added as he waved toward a copy of Homer’s epic poems left open on the table. Two glasses of champagne stood next to the book. “Will you join me in a toast?” he wondered as he picked up the glasses and held one out to her.

  Smiling at his attempt at humor, Elizabeth felt the ner­vousness leave her body. This was George. Just George. She had nothing to fear from him. He was just going to kiss her. “Of course,” she finally said, moving a step closer to take the glass.

  George’s eyes closed for more than a blink, as if he were saying a silent prayer. “To the art of kissing,” he stated, holding his glass out to touch hers.

  He heard her slight inhalation of breath at his toast and wondered if she was shocked. He cocked an eyebrow before taking a sip of the champagne. And then he watched in sur­prise as Elizabeth drained her entire glass in a single gulp.

  Handing the empty glass to him, she straightened. “An excellent idea, George,” she said, the sound of her voice saying his name much more intoxicating than the champagne.

  George put down the glasses and angled his head to regard her. She was beautiful. Despite having danced with her earlier that evenin
g, he had done so in a crowded ballroom and was well aware too many eyes were on them. He dared not stare for fear someone would realize how he felt about her. But now, here in the privacy of the library, it was just the two of them, and there was no one to witness his gaze, no one to pass judge­ment should his gaze linger too long.

  Slowly lifting a finger, he paused before sliding the back of it along her jawline, barely touching her skin. He heard her breath catch and hold before he lowered his head over hers and slowly, very slowly, placed his lips over hers. He had planned to explain what he was doing every step of the way; for some reason, it seemed rather wrong to be describing what he was about to do. Actions spoke louder than words, after all.

  And his actions were downright deafening.

  Perhaps it was the effect of the champagne or maybe it was just the giddiness she had felt all evening, but Elizabeth took delight in the sensation of his firm lips, the wash of his warm breath over her cheek, the way his eyelids slowly closed over his eyes and the curve of his long dark, gold-tipped lashes as they rested against the tops of his cheekbones. Her first impression was to giggle—the bare touch of his lips to hers tickled at first. And then he pressed a bit harder. His lips parted a bit more, and hers followed, not wanting to lose their lock on his. The light scents of amber and sandalwood touched her nose, enhancing the taste of champagne on his lips. A tendril of pleasure shot through her belly, surprising her so that, a bit unsteady, she had to reach up with one hand to grab his lapel for support.

  Thinking she meant to push him away, George quickly ended the kiss, reluctantly pulling his lips from hers but then trailing featherlight kisses down along her jawline before he thought he really should pull away. A whimper of what sounded like despair made him pause. A hand pressed against his jaw to move him back to where her lips were suddenly on his, capturing them so he was forced to respond in kind. Her arms reached up to wrap around his neck while one of his encircled her waist. His other hand moved to the back of her head. Fingertips caressed the nape of her neck. The palm of his hand supported her head as he again moved to sprinkle kisses down her jaw, down her neck and to the hollow where her pulse beat so quickly, it seemed to vibrate against his tongue and lips.

  So when George suddenly froze his movements, his body tensing, Elizabeth did the same. “What is it?” she whispered, surprised she could speak with any kind of coherency. But she had felt the vibration in the floor, too, and gasped.

  “Follow my lead.” George straightened but left the one hand on the back of her head. He moved his arm around a bit, ensuring his wrist was against her coiffure. Realizing almost too late her arms were still wrapped around his neck, Eliza­beth dropped them to her sides.

  The door to the library swung open and Lady Fletcher halted in midstep. “Good God!” One of her hands had gone to her chest as if she were having an attack. “George? Is that you?”

  “Oh, thank God, Lady Fletcher. I am so glad to see you!” George announced with what sounded like a great deal of relief. “Please, do come in. And close the door, won’t you?” he added in a hoarse whisper.

  Her back to the door, Elizabeth could only imagine what Lady Fletcher had seen upon entering. Just what is George doing? she wondered, still feeling his wrist pressed against her hair. I’ll be ruined! Lady Fletcher wasn’t the worst gossip in the ton, but she certainly had friends who were.

  Lady Fletcher looked taken aback by George’s pronounce­ment. “Whatever is going on here?” she wondered as she shut the door, still stunned George hadn’t moved away from the woman who stood in front of him.

  “This dance, Lady Fletcher,” George said in a voice that suggested he was complaining. “Just as Lady Elizabeth was going under this arm, my cuff link caught in her hair. I fear the poor girl will never deign to dance with me again. I thought if I could get us in here, I could get my cuff link released without ruining her curls, but I’m making a cake of it.”

  The older lady gave a very loud sigh, one Elizabeth hoped was of relief and not something else. Like disbelief. “Oh, please George, do stop moving, won’t you?” Lady Fletcher scolded as she glided over to stand next to the two of them.

  “Hello, Lady Fletcher,” Elizabeth ventured, her voice sounding a bit uncertain. “I would curtsy, but I dare not make the situation worse than it is.”

  “You’re excused, of course,” the baron’s wife said with a wave of her hand before she moved it out of Elizabeth’s line of sight and to the back of her head.

  Elizabeth could feel a bit of hair pulling and then a satis­fied, “There!” before George’s hand left the back of her head to fall to his side. She watched his expression change as genuine relief seemed to wash over his face.

  “How can I ever thank you, my lady?” George said with such conviction, even Elizabeth believed he had snagged his cuff link in her hair. The man was a quick thinker on his feet!

  “Yes, how can I thank you, my lady?” Elizabeth wondered, moving a hand to the back of her coiffure to determine if she would need to pay a visit to the retiring room. A maid might really need to pin up her hair.

  The older woman regarded the two of them. “You’re very welcome, Lady Elizabeth. I once had my hair snagged by Lord Appleby’s diamonds. They were far larger than yours, George,” she added as she actually took his wrist in hand again and examined the cuff link through her lorgnette before going on. “Took down my entire coif. I had to leave the ball on account of his negligence.”

  “Oh, dear. That must have been awful!” Elizabeth com­mented, a good deal of sincerity in her voice. She wondered if perhaps the lady’s ‘entire coif ’ was really a wig that had come off. Considering Lady Fletcher’s age, she decided that was exactly what had happened.

  “Now, as for you, George, I expect a dance,” Lady Fletcher stated with no hint of humor.

  George nodded. “Of course, milady. Just name which one and I shall be there with bells on,” he said lightly.

  “This one will do, actually.” She turned to Lady Elizabeth. “May I suggest you make your way to the retiring room, dear girl? I believe you’re in need of a repair,” she added with a wave of her lorgnette.

  Realizing she was being dismissed, Lady Elizabeth curt­sied to both Lady Fletcher and to George. “Thank you again, milady,” she said before hurrying from the room, so stunned from the surprise of having someone walk in on them, she hadn’t had a chance to even think about the kiss.

  The kiss!

  Or was it many kisses? she wondered. How long had she stood there engulfed in the pure delight of those all-consum­ing kisses? George’s lips had been warm and not wet, and pos­sessive but not overly so, and so light and deft as they trailed along her skin, sometimes barely touching her and other times suckling her so she nearly cried out from the pleasure of it. George hadn’t been boasting when he claimed there was an art to kissing.

  The man was a master!

  And he hadn’t licked her. At least, not like Gabriel had. George’s tongue had barely touched the hollow of her neck as her pulse pounded against the skin there.

  And then they had been interrupted.

  She suddenly felt bereft at not knowing what he would have done next. Would his lips have captured the skin there and suckled and supped until she really did cry out? Her entire body trembled at the thought of it. Her breasts suddenly felt heavy. And a deep craving developed deep inside her belly.

  What has George Bennett-Jones done to me?

  He had held her as if she were a fragile doll, his fingers caressing the nape of her neck so that shivers of … even now, she felt the flesh on the back of her neck quiver at the thought of it. She paused and backed up against the hall wall, took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. It took a very long time, but when she was sure she was no longer under George’s spell, she hurried off to the retiring room.

  Chapter 25

  An Aunt’s Advice

  George regarded Lady Margaret Fletcher with a cocked eyebrow. “Your timing was … probably perfect,
Aunt Mag­gie. Thank you again for agreeing to guard the door,” he said with a sigh. He hoped his face wasn’t red with the embarrass­ment he felt. To be caught with his hand in the biscuit jar, or in this case, his cuff link in Elizabeth’s hair, was still mortify­ing. Despite the realistic way in which he’d covered his illicit kisses with the marquess’ daughter, he had a feeling Margaret Fletcher wasn’t fooled. His mother’s sister was perceptive, and she could be a gossip should a topic strike her interest. He had only asked her to stand near the library door so that he might have ‘a chance to talk to Lady Elizabeth in private’. The request had been immediately granted, the Amazon of a woman tak­ing great delight in being somehow involved in her nephew’s assignation with a marquess’ daughter.

  “Nonsense, George,” she answered with a wave of her fan, a rather happy expression crossing her matronly face. “It was positively exciting to know that my nephew might actually be kissing Lady Elizabeth in the library during a ball!” Her face took on a more serious expression. “You were kissing her before your cuff link ruined everything, I hope?” she stated suddenly.

  His mouth opened in astonishment as George realized if he denied the kiss, he would leave, Aunt Maggie quite disap­pointed. But he couldn’t have the woman telling every other woman in the ton her nephew had stolen kisses during Lady Worthington’s ball! “Aunt Maggie!” he chided her. “I have no intention of exposing Lady Elizabeth to gossip that could hurt her chances of a advantageous marriage,” he admonished as he pulled his topcoat sleeves into place.

  “Oh, poppycock, George,” Lady Fletcher replied, waving her closed fan and soundly whacking his arm with it. “I cer­tainly wouldn’t tell anyone any such thing. I just want to know for myself,” she claimed in a lowered voice, her nose quite high up as she made her statement. “Besides, if the gossip did hurt her chances of a marriage with that Wellingham boy, well then, all the better for you, right?”