“I was trying to find a moment’s peace,” he said and then sighed deeply. “And you?”
“The same,” she admitted.
“Ah.” He took a step closer. His sharply defined features were bathed in the ghostly pale light of the moon. “Our hosts would be horrified to learn of the reason for our escape.”
“I just needed a moment to collect my thoughts”—she rushed to explain—“not flee from anyone particular.”
“No? Not even from that droll Mr. Tumblestone?” His brows rose. He crossed his arms over his chest and presented a languid pose only properly executed by the most notorious of rakes. “He is what? Sixty years old? I shiver at the rumor that you are soon to be his bride.”
Was he mocking her?
“I wonder if Lady Lillian is shivering at the thought of you as a husband,” she returned cruelly.
A frightening look of pure anger tightened his lazy expression. His lips hardened into a thin line.
“I have struck a chord, have I?” Good. She was glad for her tongue’s accurate marksmanship. “Perhaps you’re only too aware that you’re old enough to be her father.” May wasn’t certain of the fact. She knew that Evers had passed his thirtieth year. For how many years, she could not guess.
“My age?” His grim expression relaxed. “You think my age frightens her as thoroughly as Mr. Tumblestone’s frightens you?” He laughed then, a low sound that rumbled in his throat. “You’ve overlooked one important fact, my pretty thief. I am a man in my prime. A man with lustful needs.”
May didn’t trust the wolfish gleam that suddenly brightened his eyes or the deepening pitch of his voice. She had read stories about men being transformed into beasts by the sight of a full moon. The situation coupled with an inordinate amount of moonlight pouring through the window was enough to make her wary.
A single woman should never be caught alone with a man, especially in an unlit room. Such an oversight in propriety could leave her reputation in tatters.
“My lord,” she whispered as he leaned forward, closing the gap between them. The pure scent of him, a refreshing blend of cheroot and vanilla, left her senses reeling.
He peeled off a glove. The rough pad of his thumb caressed her lower lip. She gasped, unable to catch her breath. Her mind could barely form a protest before his head dipped down and his lips captured hers.
At first, shock paralyzed her. She couldn’t pull away even if she had wanted to. Then, a deep heat rose up from low in her belly, melting her resolve . . . washing away any warring thoughts. She pressed her hand against his chest, thrilling in the raw sensations a kiss—naught but a simple kiss—could conjure in her.
* * * * *
The caress wasn’t much more than a brush of her lips. Radford reined in his desire to run his tongue over her soft lips and tease open the entrance.
She’d tensed at his initial touch. He’d fully expected her to jerk her head away. The sensual sigh she breathed instead emboldened him. She wanted this kiss as much as he. When she pressed her hand against his shoulder, he took the cue and pulled her closer so their bodies could meld together.
Her fairy lips tasted of the sweetest nectar, stirring a mysterious, overpowering sensation in the center of his chest.
Ah, if only he could kiss those full, warm lips all night—but alas, that was not all he would be doing if he did not draw away . . . immediately . . . without a moment’s delay.
He tore his lips from hers but kept a firm grip on her shoulders. If the misty look on her shadowed expression was any indication, she was on the verge of a swoon.
“A thousand pardons, Miss Sheffers,” he whispered.
Her swollen lips remained pursed, invitingly kissable, as she stared upon him with befuddlement.
He realized then what he should have known right away by the tentative play of her lips against his. This woman . . . this four-and-twenty year old sensual woman had just experienced her first romantic kiss. He had awakened her body to the enticing pleasures of the flesh and she’d responded like a woman long starved for affection.
Her passions had stirred timidly at first, but they promised to burn hot enough to make his head spin.
Damnation. His passions were stirring as well.
“I should have never,” he said with a rush, though it was a lie. He regretted nothing. “I forgot myself . . . ” And the lovely Lady Lillian he planned to marry. “I do apologize.”
She blinked. A lusty glow softened her strange elf-like features. In the pale moonlight she looked otherworldly . . . almost beautiful.
He should have never started something in this darkened, leather-scented library that he could have no hope of continuing. Despite all her earthy allure, Miss Sheffers fell short of the qualifications he’d detailed on his list.
“You do understand?” He wondered if anything he had said had penetrated her foggy head.
She blinked again, this time clearing the innocent bedroom glaze from them. “I did not scream or slap your cheek, my lord, because I dearly wish to avoid a messy scene.” Her voice was husky and not without a tremble. “It was most inappropriate for you to have taken advantage of me like that . . . kissing me, indeed! I hope you do not attack other women who might have the misfortune of stumbling into an empty room with you.”
Her chin came up, and her features tightened into a prude’s scowl.
“My dear Miss Sheffers”—Radford could not help but chuckle—“I believe you did much more than refrain from protesting.”
Even in the dim light he could see the color of her tan cheeks deepen.
“I certainly did not—”
He pressed a finger to her mouth and silenced her protests as he indulged in one last pleasure and caressed those apple-sweet lips.
“You certainly did,” he whispered. He could feel her skin quiver in response to his touch and the sound of his voice. A hint of milky passion returned to her gaze.
She blinked it away. “Excuse me, my lord. I will be missed.”
Miss Sheffers ducked her head away from his gentle strokes and slipped out of the library.
And his life . . .
For never again should he consider such a dalliance. Raised by a father who held honor and chivalry above all things, Radford firmly believed in a man remaining faithful to his wife—or in his case, his future wife, the lovely Lady Lillian.
Chapter 7
It was only a kiss.
May picked up her pace and tried to ignore the warmth the memory of the previous night’s surprising and wonderful encounter in the Newbury library brought to her cheeks. Aunt Winnie, feeling drained and tired after two consecutive nights of excitement, had wanted to spend the morning lounging abed. So they decided to forego their regular visit to the Pump Room.
With the morning free, May set out on a brisk walk up Beechen Cliff, hoping the fresh air and vigorous exercise would do the trick and clear her mind. For a third night, sleep had eluded her while she puzzled over her feelings toward the changes occurring in her life.
Gracious, it was only a meaningless kiss.
Men kissed women all the time.
Just not her.
Never her. At least, not before last night.
Not that she had minded being overlooked. Men only seemed to laud women who displayed a meek mind, spirit, and body—a weakness May loathed to feign. She was strong and healthy. Why should she slip into a fit of vapors just to win a man’s kiss?
May’s cheeks heated anew as the memory of the way the viscount’s lips had pressed against hers replayed its pleasing script. That simple brush of lips had made her tingly, alive all the way down to the soles of her feet.
But his magic had not addled her mind!
She’d seen women turn into besotted fools. An educated, independent woman such as herself
must resist falling pray to such folly.
Viscount Evers displayed only too clearly his typical male character in the way he’d fawned over the simpering Lady Lillian once he’d rejoined the ball. He spent the rest of the evening laughing at her inane chatter and offering his arm when she appeared near to faint—as ladies were wont to appear after a long evening in the company of a beau. His cat-like grin was smeared with satisfaction as he supported Lady Lillian’s weaving pose. The expression told May all she needed to know.
Even though he didn’t pursue her company after stealing such a kiss, even though his gaze had never once strayed her way during the long hours that followed—he could have at least taken notice of her standing beside him while she spoke with Lady Lillian. No matter, she would have no interest in such a man, anyhow.
Mary Wollstonecraft had warned in her treatise for women’s rights how men who sought a withering woman for a wife made dreadful companions. Men such as those were only too ready to throw the yoke of servitude on the weaker sex.
May would never allow herself to fall prey to a man who could not respect her as an intellectual equal. Respect, Mary Wollstonecraft had written, had to come before marriage.
Gracious. Just a week ago, May would have happily considered herself a spinster—a woman well suited to live life alone or in service as a lady’s companion. But now her uncle seemed set on seeing her married. And soon . . .
Just last evening he hinted that an announcement might be made by the end of the week. The end of the week!
That was why she’d escaped the party and fled into the darkened library the night before. Everything was moving too fast. She and Winnie had always enjoyed a relatively quiet existence. When in London, suffering the droll company at teas and losing a night’s sleep when attending a dinner party or ball were once the worst of her worries. Of course that was all before Winnie had fallen ill.
Much like her parents, Winnie would not always be around.
May shuddered in the early morning breeze that whipped down from the top of Beechen Cliff. The chill passed through her like an unwelcome premonition. Uncle Sires was in the right to want to take Aunt Winnie away with him back to Redfield Abbey. He had the money and connections to see that his sister got the best care.
For May to cling to her beloved aunt would be unfair—as unfair as his uncle declaring her parents dead. There was simply no solid logic to support the decision.
The slope of the hill turned steep. May’s thoughts drifted off as her gaze turned to the ground and her concentration on keeping her balance.
“Ho there!” a voice called out as she neared the top.
May cupped her hand over her brow and peered up at the broad silhouette of the Viscount Evers standing on the ridge, his hands on his hips like a conqueror. She was only a few yards below him and could not politely turn around and pretend she hadn’t seen or heard his call.
The best she could do was curse quietly under her breath and brace herself for the encounter. A shame, really. She was looking forward to enjoying the sweeping vistas of Bath and a few blessed moments of solitude to straighten out her poor, mixed up head. Seeing the viscount, now, when she needed to forget him, could do nothing good for her nerves.
“Do you require assistance?” he asked.
“I can manage well enough,” she said through clenched teeth as her foot slipped on a rock. Her balance wobbled for a heartbeat—much too long for her pride. Belatedly she added a half-cowed “thank you”.
“I doubt I would be able to rush after you if you were to trip. You would undoubtedly roll all the way back to Bath,” he said. An unmistakable lilt of laughter moved underneath his smooth tone.
“I would never expect you to make such an effort for my sake, my lord.” She’d taken a difficult path and was forced to lift her skirts in order to make the last steep step to the top. The bounder didn’t have the good graces to avert his gaze.
A fiendish grin spanned the length of his cheeks and he crossed his arms over his chest. “I cannot tell you how glad I am that you refused my helping hand. I would have hated to miss such a view.”
“You are a cad, my lord.” May lowered her head and made a show of smoothing her skirts in an effort to hide her embarrassment.
“And you, Miss Sheffers, must be a shameless hoyden.”
May’s head came up with a snap. “A what?”
“A shameless hoyden, Miss Sheffers.” Viscount Evers held her gaze prisoner with his peculiar expression, a heady mixture of amusement and attentiveness.
The look stole May’s breath. She could only whisper, “I do not know what you could mean, my lord.”
An ebony brow rose on the viscount’s perfectly serious face as he looked around. “Perhaps you have hidden your companion or outpaced her?” he said. “For only a hoyden would venture so far afield alone. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Having been raised by a very proper aunt, she naturally agreed. May only took these occasional early morning excursions of hers to places she supposed deserted.
“My aunt is not well enough to take such a hike and our housekeeper is far too busy to be burdened with the responsibility of following me about.” It wasn’t a strong argument, but it was the best May could utter.
Blast the man. His wicked presence muddied her mind. She was an independent woman, well accustomed to free use of her thoughts. She would not let him do this to her.
“I had hoped for a few moments quiet, my lord. Your presence here intrudes on that.” She managed to say in the gentlest tone possible. She did well to keep her passions in check around a rake who could lure her into a kiss with the mere brush of his thumb against her lips.
Viscount Evers lowered himself to sit on the ground, struggling with his stiff leg. “I believe we both are looking for the same thing. Join me.” He sat with his legs sprawled out in front of him and patted the ground beside him.
May lifted her chin. “It would not be proper.”
“Because your Mr. Tumblestone wouldn’t approve?” Evers asked, his tone mocking. “He will soon be your affianced, will he not? Your name and his rose amongst the tittering last night. You should be grateful to have found a willing man, one woman said. She made some vague allusion to your family background.” He tilted his head toward her.
May’s back stiffened. Her family history was none of his business. Heaven knows she had been taught to keep quiet about it. Uncle Sires used to threaten to lop off her amber curls and make her go around as bald as a smooth marble if she were ever to even breathe her father’s name in public.
“You have no right to pry into my private business, my lord,” she bit off the words.
“Pry?” A wicked smile played at his lips. May could feel her cheeks heat as she remembered how those lips of his had touched hers. “Why no, I suppose I don’t have a right. I just was wondering who in your life would believe it improper for you to sit here . . . beside me . . . unescorted.”
A hungry gleam darkened his eyes. May took a step back.
“Perhaps I find it improper, my lord. There are dangers, are there not, in a lady finding herself alone with a gentleman?”
He didn’t answer right away and when he did, his tone was laced with regret. “Yes, Miss Sheffers, I believe there must be.”
* * * * *
Radford had started out at dawn without a destination. The climb to the top of Beechen Cliff had been an arduous one despite the fact that he’d forged a much gentler slope than the ridiculously steep route Miss Sheffers had taken. The effort had been worth the pains pulling through his leg.
He hadn’t lied when he’d told May that his quest was similar to hers. Up here, with the orderly Georgian city below punctuated with the medieval spires of Bath Abbey at its heart, Radford felt removed . . . free almost.
His mother had purred her delight over La
dy Lillian all during the carriage ride home last night. The marriage was a fait accompli, to hear her speak.
Instead of relieving his own doubts regarding the decision, her happiness only seemed to shrink the cage he’d been confined to the day his horse had been shot out from under him. He felt trapped—angry. He’d been cursing the birds in the trees when he saw her.
He shouldn’t have been surprised. Miss Margaret Sheffers, with her unusual wood-sprite features, would naturally be at home up here, under the gently rustling beeches. Without a care for staining her bright yellow and white striped cotton dress she climbed straight up—the most direct route, if not the most difficult.
And now that he and she were up on the hill together, Radford had to fight to keep his thoughts about her from straying from the respectable path.
“You were here first. I will leave you to your thoughts, my lord,” she said and turned to make a descent following the same steep path.
“Wait,” Radford called.
As much as her company disturbed him and his solitude, he knew her departure would leave him more miserable than before. He struggled to his feet, silently cursing all the while his foolish notion of lounging on the ground like some high-flying Corinthian. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a horridly shameful thought sprang to life. The thought whispered in a singsong voice that if he could find a way to take a tumble in the grass with this fairy creature, his weaknesses and pains would disappear—and become naught but a bad dream brought on by an overindulgence in some rich meal.
Yes, she’d chase his misery away like the sun would extinguish a nightmare. For where else should such dreaded dreams be vanquished to but to Avalon where this creature with her mysterious birth must call home?
The Marriage List Page 6