by Cheryl Holt
The horrid shrew had vividly reminded Hannah that she shouldn’t be cordial with him. Not because Miss Darling had warned her away, but because of how wicked he was. She was reconsidering her acquaintance with Sybil Jones too.
Miss Jones and Viscount Marston brought fun and interesting changes to her life. They were wealthy and sophisticated, and they reveled on the fringes of the world where Hannah had resided before Winston and Amelia had chased her away from Parkhurst.
She was lonely and overwhelmed, but that was no excuse for bad choices. She knew better than to associate with them, but they’d been kind and helpful. When Hannah maintained a connection to them, she dragged herself down in a fashion that she recognized to be wrong and improper.
“I probably shouldn’t,” she said.
“Don’t be absurd. You’re coming with me. We’re not arguing about it.”
“I’m not an invalid. I can walk the rest of the way.”
“Of course you can, but you don’t have to. You will permit me to ease your day a bit.”
He took her basket, imperiously slipping it from her hand to his own, then he swept his arm theatrically, indicating she should proceed to his vehicle. An outrider had been watching them, and he whipped the door open, ready to assist her as she climbed in.
It would be churlish to refuse, and she was also quite sure Viscount Marston wouldn’t let her decline. If she tried, he’d pick her up and carry her over bodily.
“You can bully me just this once,” she said, “but don’t get used to it.”
“Am I bullying you? I thought I was practicing my manners.”
“I’m always glad to bump into you, but I can’t figure out why.”
“You’re wild about me.”
“In your dreams maybe.”
He smiled a delicious smile, and she realized why a doxy like Miss Darling would feel so possessive about him. Any woman who latched onto him would have a hard time releasing him. Hannah, herself, was regretting that she couldn’t hold onto him, and he’d never been hers in the first place.
The outrider lifted her into the carriage. Viscount Marston gave directions to his driver, then he climbed in too. He set the basket on the floor, then slid onto the seat across from her.
They tarried in silence, staring, waiting for the horses to pull them away. There was such a sense of expectation in the air, as if something amazing was supposed to happen. She couldn’t imagine what he was thinking, but as to herself, she was terrified she was about to babble a stream of comments that would embarrass her forever.
“I’ve missed you,” he said, as if he’d yanked the words out of her mouth.
The admission thrilled her. “Don’t tell me that. It makes me like you.”
“Haven’t I mentioned this previously? You should like me.” He patted his thigh. “You’re much too far away, and I insist you sit on my lap.”
“It sounds incredibly risqué, so I shall stay right where I am.”
He ignored her and leaned forward. In a quick, fluid move, he hauled her over and nestled her down. She was on her knees, her thighs spread, her skirt stretched so tight the seams were about to rip.
He swiftly grasped how her clothing had failed to cooperate, and he tugged at the hem, baring a bit of her calves, her stockings visible. The ease with which he arranged her had her assuming he often traveled around the city with females snuggled on his lap.
She should have been incensed, but she couldn’t muster any outrage. She was too happy and wouldn’t castigate herself over what was occurring.
“That’s better, isn’t it?” he said.
Before she could reply, he drew her to him and kissed her. She participated with great relish. Fate was determined they fraternize, yet why would she have a destiny with him? They were different people who led completely different lives.
The embrace continued for an eternity, going on and on until she was plunged into a puddle of lush desire. His tongue was in her mouth, his curious palms roaming over her torso.
She never pinned up her hair; it was too difficult without a maid. She simply tied it with a ribbon, and he’d jerked the ribbon free, so he could riffle his fingers in the soft strands. It felt so riveting that it had to be a sin.
She was beginning to understand why females got themselves into so much trouble with cads. Throughout her life, there had been stories about girls who were ruined by scoundrels. She’d never been able to fathom why a girl would succumb, and she’d told herself that she had a stronger character, that if a rogue ever started flirting with her, she’d send him packing.
But she’d fallen into that exact sort of romantic trap. She was secluded in a dark carriage, the curtains closed, and she was delighted by her predicament. She warned herself to stop what she was doing, to remember herself, but when would she ever have a chance like this again?
She’d bumped into him by accident, and it seemed to be the only way they would ever cross paths. If she could receive a few kisses in the process, ones that she would fondly recollect, how could that be wrong?
Eventually, they rattled to a halt, and they might have been driving for hours, but she’d been too distracted to notice. He must have had his driver slow down and take the scenic route. He was just that type of manipulative scalawag.
Their lips parted, and she sighed with pleasure. He sighed too. She was still sprawled on his lap, laying on his chest, and he’d mesmerized her to the point that her limbs were paralyzed.
She needed to slide away, to straighten her hair and clothes, so when his outrider opened the door, she wouldn’t provide any hint of how she’d been misbehaving. The door didn’t open though, leaving her to suspect, once again, that she wasn’t the first young lady who’d dallied with him in his coach.
He probably had a secret signal to let his servants know when it would be all right to intrude.
“Since I keep running into you like this,” he said, his tone warm, his gaze enchanting, “I’ve decided it’s not a coincidence.”
“Is it your habit to meander through London in the afternoon, kissing any ninny who is foolish enough to climb into a carriage with you?”
“I won’t answer you except to say that any girl who dared would have to be very, very pretty.”
It was a sweet compliment, and it washed over her like cool rain. “Does flattery work to get you what you want from women?”
“Yes, always.” He grinned his wicked grin. “It’s worked on you, hasn’t it?”
She smirked. “I thought, if a man ever tried to seduce me, I wouldn’t fall for it. Why are you so good at it?”
“I’ve had tons of practice.”
“Ooh, you are horrid! You’re not supposed to brag about being a scoundrel!”
“I am horrid. I never deny it.”
“Have we arrived?” she asked.
“I expect so.”
“I should head inside.”
But she didn’t move. Neither did he. They simply stared and smiled.
Finally, he said, “Could I spend an evening with you? What would you think of that? Could I escort you to the theater? Or I’m hosting a supper next week. If I invited you, would you come? My father will be there, and he’s quite fascinating. If you met him, it would give you some idea of why I’m such a wretch.”
She chuckled. “You’re not that bad. You like to pretend you are, but you’re not.”
“You are the only one who believes I’m wonderful, and I shall tell myself I am—merely because you’ve proclaimed it. Come to my party,” he said. “Be my special guest.”
She froze, her mind awhirl over what her response should be.
She wasn’t a debutante who needed her mother to review her social engagements, and she liked to attend parties. Anymore, her world was so small, and she rarely encountered anyone who would bother to include her in a soiree.
She figured it would be intriguing to see his home, to be introduced to his father, but would Miss Darling be there? Or if not her, would other disre
putable characters be present?
London was a huge city, but in certain circles, it was more tight-knit than a rural village. Her customers occasionally recognized her as Sir Edmund’s daughter, and they assumed she’d been beggared after his death. They didn’t realize she was in town because she chose to be.
They frequented her shop, and sent her other customers, because they were sorry for her, but if she started openly mingling with doxies and gamblers, what would people’s opinion be then?
She was risking a lot by living alone. If she exacerbated the rumors, stories would spread that she had become a doxy too.
“I just can’t,” she said, feeling more despondent than was warranted.
“Why can’t you? Are you descended from Puritans? Do you have priggish attitudes? You’ll never convince me of it.”
“I’m on my own, and I support myself, so I’m already considered very odd. I can’t consciously aggravate my situation.”
“My family members have been aristocrats for centuries. My father is Earl of Swindon now, and I will be earl after him. It’s not as if I’m asking you to visit a den of iniquity. I actually have some very nice, very posh friends. You’d fit right in, and it would be good for you.”
“Tell me this. Would Isabella Darling be there and serving as your hostess?”
He scowled so hard she was surprised his face didn’t crack. “Why on earth would you mention Miss Darling to me?”
“I simply heard some gossip about you I shouldn’t have heard.”
“Who was gossiping?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
He scoffed. “It matters to me.”
She ignored the comment and said instead, “I would be thrilled to join you in your box at the theater or sit by your father at your supper table, but you have an entire facet of your existence that is very risqué, and it would be hazardous for me to tiptoe out onto the edges of it.”
A muscle ticked in his cheek. “I will admit to having various levels of acquaintances, but they don’t intersect. I’m adept at keeping them separate.”
“But you always have a mistress.”
She was stunned to have raised such a sordid topic, but Miss Darling’s audacity had left Hannah furious and curious. Furious, because the woman had such gall. Curious, because his world was so different from hers. She constantly tried to be decent and upstanding, while he constantly tried to be indecent and corrupt.
“Yes, I always have a mistress,” he ultimately confessed.
“Is it currently Miss Darling?” He shrugged, but didn’t reply, and she asked, “Are you in love with her?”
He sputtered with amusement. “No, definitely not.”
“Then why consort with her?”
He bristled with irritation. “Could we not continue this discussion? There are many ways in which I am despicable, but you needn’t worry about what they are. Nor should I describe them to you. It’s not appropriate, not by any standard.”
“Are you interviewing for a second mistress too? Will you have two at the same time? It’s what I was told.”
He coughed out an embarrassed breath. “Who have you been talking to? I demand to be apprised.”
“I notice you haven’t answered my question. Are you holding interviews? Will you dally with Miss Darling, but have another doxy on the side? I don’t know how these things are arranged, but that seems quite debauched to me. Isn’t one enough for you?”
She didn’t like how he was glaring at her. He was exasperated that she’d had the nerve to interrogate him about his bad habits. She was sure no one ever had. He was a nobleman’s son, and it was an established rule that they could act however they pleased. In fact, depraved conduct was practically expected.
No doubt he was so immersed in his dissipation that he wasn’t aware of how an ordinary person—her for instance—might view his wicked antics.
“I’m not searching for a second mistress,” he said, “and I don’t hold interviews. And as to Miss Darling, she and I have been friendly for a lengthy period, but we’re about to part.”
Hannah wondered if he’d shared that news with Miss Darling. The imperious shrew wouldn’t take it very graciously.
“Why are you parting with her?”
“We’re not that compatible and that’s all I’ll say about it.”
She studied his eyes, not liking the spark of temper she observed there, and she rested a palm on his cheek. “Don’t be angry with me.”
“I’m not angry,” he claimed. “I’m mortified. I forget how awful I can be, and I can’t defend myself to someone like you.”
“I hope this explains why I can’t accept any invitations from you. When I run into you, it’s so joyous, and it seems as if we’re destined to be together, but I could never fit in your life.”
“I suppose not,” he glumly concurred.
“I mean, do you cohabitate with Miss Darling? Is she living in your home and strutting about as if she’s your wife? I’m confused by that scenario. It sounds morally bankrupt to me.”
“Miss Darling and I don’t cohabitate.”
“She has her own lodging? That you pay for? Has she been worth the expense?”
He snickered and shook his head. “No, I can categorically state that she hasn’t been worth it.”
Hannah slid onto the other seat. She straightened her hair, and she smoothed a hand down her skirt to guarantee she was suitably covered.
“If you pass me on the street in the future,” she said, “please don’t stop and offer me a ride.”
“All right, I shall refuse to be courteous.”
“I wish you’d think about giving up your trollops. You’ll be an earl someday. You should start setting an example.”
“There’s no chance of that. I’ve never understood the point of decent behavior.”
“And I always try to behave in a stellar manner.”
He chuckled. “I have more fun than you.”
“I’m certain that’s true.”
Apparently, their conversation had wound to an end, and she was bereft at realizing it. She didn’t note him flashing a signal to his servants, but an outrider opened the door, so she had to climb out. With the moment having arrived, she panicked.
Would she really never see Hunter Stone again? Is that what she wanted?
She yearned to apologize for being so blunt, yearned to insist she hadn’t been serious, but that would be insane. He was so fabulously amazing, like a comet streaking across the sky and lighting up her world. He’d flirted with her, and she’d reveled in it, but she had to be content with having no more of him than that.
“We’re always saying goodbye,” she told him.
“But then we meet again.”
“I expect Fate will get tired of fussing with us. Some other deranged couple will be thrown together, and we’ll be free of this odd pull that connects us.”
“Are you sure we should be free of it?”
“No, but I’m telling myself it’s for the best.”
He clasped her hand and kissed it. When he drew away, he was smiling at her so fondly. Then, as if a candle had been blown out, his dear expression was carefully masked. He grabbed her basket and lifted it out to his outrider who put it on the ground.
She didn’t move, and Hunter raised a brow, clearly indicating that she’d been dismissed. She turned to the outrider, and he helped her down. He picked up her basket and said, “Would you like me to carry it in for you?”
“No, I’m fine. I can manage.”
He shut the carriage door and leapt into the box to sit next to the driver. In a matter of seconds, the vehicle rolled away. The curtains were closed, so she didn’t have a final glimpse of Hunter. She thought he might peek out to wave, but he didn’t.
She stared until he vanished around the corner, and she had to physically restrain herself so she didn’t run after him and claim she hadn’t meant any of it.
What was wrong with her?
She went inside, the bel
l jangling as she entered. Jackson was seated on a chair behind the counter, loafing, as if he’d been waiting for her.
“Whose coach was that?” he asked. “It looked like Viscount Marston’s crest.”
She could have lied, but why would she? “Yes, he passed me while I was walking home, and he gave me a ride.”
“You were gone for so long. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back.”
“He and I were…ah…chatting, so I was delayed.”
His tone was much too casual for her liking, as if she was being interrogated by a suspicious parent. She wasn’t adept at prevarication, and she couldn’t hold his gaze.
“Your gown is crooked,” he said, “and your hair is mussed.”
“Oh.” She peered down, frantically searching her clothes for what was out of order, but she couldn’t find anything.
“I was joking.” He pushed himself to his feet and gestured to the basket. “Shall I take it up to the apartment for you?”
“No, I’ll do it. I have a headache, and I might nap for a bit. Would you watch the shop for me?”
“Yes, of course.”
She trudged toward the rear of the building, where there were stairs that led up to their apartment.
“I like Viscount Marston,” Jackson said. “I wouldn’t want you to suppose I don’t.”
She stopped and glanced back. “I like him too.”
“I wouldn’t necessarily imagine he has your best interests at heart though.”
“I know that, and despite what you presume, he’s been a complete gentleman with me.”
“Has he?”
Jackson was much too mature for being just fourteen. He flashed such a skeptical glower that she felt like a total fraud.
“I’m a sensible adult,” she said, “and I’m perfectly capable of deciding whether or not to have a male acquaintance.”
“He isn’t your typical male acquaintance, and he has a very bad reputation with the ladies.”
“He brags about his exploits because it enhances his notoriety as a cad, but I’m certain much of it is rumor and innuendo.”
“I can befriend his stable boys. They’ll tell me what’s true and what isn’t.”