by Claudy Conn
“Taffy always gets into everything we do. Always has,” Seth answered with a wide grin in her direction. “And we are withdrawing.”
“Well, fond of her … we are both fond of her … spirited thing …” Nigel conceded, talking about her as though she weren’t there. “And yes, thank goodness, we are withdrawing.”
“You have never minded before, Nigel,” Taffy said with hurt in her voice.
“As to that, don’t mind now, quite the opposite really. You have been helpful, in fact, but that isn’t the point, is it?” Nigel answered irritably.
“That’s right. You’re a great ’un, and I’m proud to own it!” answered Seth.
“Well, but you shouldn’t, Seth. You are a duke. One day you will owe it to the line to take a wife and beget an heir. Your sister needs to marry to suit her station and have a life. You should not be referring to her as a great gun!”
“Bit out there, Nigel. Taffy has a life. Deuce take it, what maggot’s got into your head, with all this talk of marriage and heirs? None of us are ready for that.”
“That is just it … we should be getting ready for it. We all owe it to our names. Taffy may only be nineteen, but next month she will turn twenty, and she needs to attend the London cotillions and … not have these escapades hanging over her head. They may rear up and haunt us.”
“Oh pooh, as though I care for such things,” she said.
“Well, you should care for such things,” replied her uncle. “The job of guardian wears heavy on my mind lately.”
“I am happy here at Grantham with you and Seth. I don’t want to troll about for a man in London.”
Her brother barked a laugh, and Nigel shook his head. “Troll about, indeed. Taffy, don’t you want to be courted?”
“Have enough of that right here in Nottingham,” she said with a giggle. “Your friends have been doing a bang-up job of courting me these last few months.”
“Really?” Her brother was moved to exclaim. “Never say so, Taff … who?”
“Trevor Harley for one. He has been making up to me for the last three months. And Sir Edward tried to kiss me in the rose garden yesterday, and Jeffry did kiss me the day before …”
“Edward tried to kiss you? Jeffry did kiss you? I’ll run them through,” declared the young duke quite properly and then immediately burst into laughter. “’Pon my soul, Edward and Jeffries …” He went off into a rollicking course of mirth, and he slapped Nigel’s knee, who was also chuckling with amusement.
She waited patiently while it took them some moments to catch their breath again before returning to the issue at hand. “So, I am perfectly content to stay at Grantham and not bother with a London season.” She shook her head. “Don’t want to add my name to the lists of debutantes and stand in line waiting to be noticed …”
“You may be my sister, but I ain’t blind, girl … You wouldn’t be waiting in line, you would stand out … Have you looked at yourself lately?” answered her brother with another chuckle.
“Taffy, you are naught but a green girl,” pronounced her uncle Nigel.
“Take care, Nigel,” warned Taffy. She lowered her voice in annoyance and was satisfied to see they knew her well enough to know she was in a temper about to boil over.
“Oh, now, Taff, take a damper,” said her brother. “What Nigel means is that you will want a house of your own one day. You know Papa always said two women could not comfortably rule one household, and if one of those women were you … whoa.” He smiled at her and took her chin. “In order to make a suitable marriage, you are going to have to out-strut the best of them at Almack’s and choose the man of your dreams, not go wildly about with Nigel and me.”
“But, I am a part of it all … ” said Taffeta on an obstinate note. “And I shan’t allow you to shut me out at this stage. I want to see it through.”
“We allowed you to join us to shake you out of your depression over Papa’s death. We had to do something about your blues, and you seemed to take a keen interest in the Luddite movement. But then that first harebrained fetch came up, and we all did so splendidly, we never gave a monkey for the consequences.” He shook his fair head of curls ruefully. “No, we didn’t think then of the future. But, Taff, Nigel is right. We are taking you to London, and you will take your place amongst the haute ton.”
“Tonight has nothing to do with tomorrow. London is something we will do if it will please you and Nigel, but tonight we will go through with our rig, just as planned,” Taffy said with some determination as she folded her arms across her middle.
Their carriage had approached a long, winding drive cutting through neatly clipped, lush green lawns. Flowerbeds of daffodils were in riotous bloom. Tulips of rich shades gently flowed in the breeze, and with a sigh of resignation, Lord Nigel pointed out the fact they were fast approaching Lady Watson’s front drive.
“So then, it is settled?” Taffeta pursued quickly. “We go as planned?” She watched as her uncle and brother exchanged defeated glances. She knew they were honor-bound to proceed as they had promised. They had given their word, and she was sure they would never renege. She was also sure they relied on her very unique and secret abilities, which had been of service to them in the past. Taffy’s ‘gift of sight’ had saved them already more than once.
They nodded at her, and her brother said, “Aye then … this last time, vixen.”
She smiled, pleased enough, and hoped these strange dream visions of the handsome stranger would stop and allow her to concentrate on the job at hand.
~*~
Hotspur! Lady Watson considered the amazingly tall and well built Corinthian conversing amicably with her as he stood by the long window in her parlor. He was eight and twenty and still full of fire—the very devil of a man. Even the dandy cut of his light blue coat and buff-colored breeches couldn’t disguise the athletic swell of his lean and sturdy form.
His black, windswept curls were neatly at variance with his rugged and thoroughly masculine countenance, and his smile, so rarely seen by most, was almost incongruous in contrast to his dark, stern eyes. Everything about him gave credence to the name the haute ton had given him.
Hotspur indeed—an appropriate name if ever there was one. An odd thing, considering his youth. Oh, he had ever been the passionate lad, full with high, romantic ideals. But she had watched those ideals wither unmercifully, and he had put an end to such beliefs, putting them away, if not banishing them completely.
She could remember him at twenty—warrior-hearted, generous, shy, and so very much in love. That was then, and now … now he was Hotspur!
She patted the empty spot beside her on the richly upholstered, Regencystyled sofa of yellow damask. “Already itching to be off, Tarrant? Never say you are bored after only one morning in my company.”
He smiled warmly at her. “Aunt Lizzie, favorite of my aunts, dear to my heart, I must admit, I am feeling edgy …”
“Ah, too much vapid conversation, but I shall look to entertain you better … shortly,” she replied, teasing him back.
He eyed her. “Oh? What are you up to?” And then, before she could answer, he sighed heavily and said, “I was thinking of taking Demon out for a run.” He put up his hands as she started to object, laughed, and admonished her, “It is only a ride, after all.” He paused, and she pulled a face before he said, “Wait a moment. You are up to something, aren’t you? What have you done? Something, I’d swear.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She avoided his eye.
He chuckled. “Well, I wasn’t sure before, but now I am. Come on then, Aunt Liz, what is towards?”
“I only meant you should just leave the stallion be. He is grazing happily in my stud paddock and is happy for the time off, I am sure.”
“Right … as though you give a fig about such things. What are you up to, Lizzie dearest?”
“Again, I repeat, I don’t know what you mean.” She busied herself with the folds of her skirt, sweeping away an imaginary wri
nkle. Her aged hand then fluttered to the puff of white curls that ornamented her regal head. “Do come and sit with me, Tarrant. There is so much I want to discuss with you.”
However, at that moment she saw the sound of carriage wheels scraping against gravel draw his gaze to the window. She watched him as he stood rigidly, observing the carriage as it came to a complete stop in the courtyard just within their view. A footman went forward to open the carriage door, and a dainty blue silk shoe emerged.
“Ah,” remarked Lord Thurston Tarrant as he turned and stared at her. His hands clasped behind his back, he leveled a disappointed look at her and said in a tone that displayed a level of hurt, “So then … Et tu, Brute?”
Her lashes fluttered. “I don’t know what you can mean.”
He paced, and she could feel his tenseness. She saw the irritation lingering in his eyes. This was the first time she had ever tried to throw a female in his way, and she knew he would be angry. She had not been able to help herself, and even as the sneer marred his good looks and destroyed the smile that had been there only a moment ago, she still felt she had done the right thing.
“Do come and sit with me, and I shall explain later …” she offered.
Tarrant eyed her. “I thought myself safe with you, Lizzie … you have never played matchmaker before. You know that is why I come and visit you …”
She sighed. “’Tis not what I am doing now.” She was lying, and when he raised a brow at her, she realized he knew. “I simply thought … well, you shall see …” she said as she got up and joined him at the window.
There they watched the newcomers just outside, and he grimaced at her. She smiled at him and said on a whisper, “She is such a wild young thing … and I thought she could use a friend in London … at the balls …”
“And you thought I …?” He raised a brow at her again, and his surprise appeared genuine.
“She is a diamond, Tarrant, don’t you think?” She sighed heavily.
He wagged a finger at her. “Think you I have not had diamonds enough thrown at me?”
“Yes, but …”
~*~
The Duke of Grantham, Lord Nigel of Rothbane, and the Lady Taffeta were announced, and the Hotspur stood back and apart to better observe their arrival.
The ‘diamond’ wore a simple blue redingote that covered an alluring female figure. She seemed to have an easy manner, allowing her to unbutton her overcoat and throw it off to a nearby chair. Hmmm, he wondered, is she a frequent visitor here at Aunt Lizzie’s?
Next went her matching blue bonnet, displaying bright yellow hair lit with copper, thick with a profusion of curls trailing over her ears and down her back. Her waist was tiny, and for a moment, he imagined his hands holding her waist, and he felt himself get hard …
He frowned as he made an attempt to stop it, but as he looked at her full breasts, nipples hard and probing the soft material of her gown, his hard-on began to pulse. Hell and fire!
This had to stop—she was a veritable schoolgirl, and then as she turned fully to him with her aunt’s introductions, he saw her face. Hell and fire is right. She is stunning!
Her gray eyes were bright with amusement, her nose pert, her lips full and rosy, and he wanted to take her into his arms and drive his tongue into her mouth and …
“I am very pleased to meet you.” His tone was reserved.
She laughed. “Are you? You don’t look very pleased. In fact, you are wearing a scowl,” Taffy said, her merriment charming.
He chuckled in spite of himself. “Am I?” He gave her a false smile. He had to set her apart, to display he wasn’t interested. “Is that better?”
“Oh, I don’t think so. Try again when you mean it,” said Taffy, turning her back to him and plopping herself on the sofa with his aunt.
“Tarrant surprised me with a visit when he arrived yesterday. I was just about to tell him you, Seth, and Nigel were coming for luncheon today when you arrived.”
“Oh, is that why he is all dark and gloomy?” Taffy teased. “Thought he would have you all to himself? Well, we won’t intrude too long …” She smiled up at Tarrant sweetly.
He was again taken by surprise. She was at least refreshingly direct, and then he scowled and turned away from her to enter into conversation with the two young gentlemen who were in a lively discussion at his back.
Taffy entered their discussion about politics, and before long, he found he was actually enjoying himself. Their ideas were innovative, youthful, naïve at times, but definitely interesting. He had never met a woman interested in such matters before. His aunt appeared totally at sea and got to her feet, telling them she would see about getting things ready in the dining room.
Taffy was off the sofa and standing with them, wagging her finger at her brother with good humor, laughing, pointing out references from the Chronicle, quoting members of Parliament, and fascinating him.
He was taken aback by her, sure he should not be conversing with such a young chit in such a fashion, and yet …
Her style had caught his interest, and the next thing he knew, he was watching the way she moved. Her walk was a series of bounces—so full of life—and her body looked so damned provocative. There was something in her every step displaying she was happy to be alive, and yet, she was graceful and feminine. She was new, shiny and bright … but he knew better than to fall victim to such charms. She seemed to glide in a whirlwind of unconscious high spirits and displayed sweet affection when his aunt had remarked upon something amusing. She hugged his aunt affectionately and placed a kiss upon her white cheek.
“Don’t squeeze me so, child,” cried Lady Watson with a laugh. “I’m too old and will, in all likelihood, crack.” She took Taffy’s hand. “Now … in with you … time to eat.”
“Is it true they call you the Hotspur …?” Seth asked as they walked toward the dining room.
His uncle exclaimed in a shocked accent, “Seth!”
“What?” He took to blushing.
Tarrant laughed out loud and bowed his head. “The same, sir,” he said as he noted from the corner of his eye Lady Taffeta was studying him rather openly. It was not a surprising circumstance. He had achieved over the years an education in the arts of the female. He had been subjected to maids of many admirable qualities and had suffered more than he cared to remember from their missish airs and coy flirtations. He knew he was a marriage prize. He knew, but it had not always been so. It had not been true when his oldest brother had still been alive with both the title and most of the fortune. He had only been the second son and had been in love with a beautiful woman, but she had wanted more … more than the second son.
He understood the game, and he loathed its intricacies and its inherent dishonesty.
They reached the dining room, took their seats, and Taffeta said to him across the table, “That black of yours, the stud we saw when we came up the drive, is magnificent. I don’t think he was here when we were last,” she said and then turned to his aunt. “Was he, Lizzie dear?”
“Absurd child, what would I do with such a beast? His name is Demon, and he belongs to Tarrant here,” answered Lady Watson. “His lordship is considered quite a horseman, and we believe Demon will let no other on his back.”
“A Corinthian is what his lordship is.” Taffy’s brother stuck in and then receded into a deprecatory cough. “Or so I have heard …”
Taffy turned her bright gray, interested gaze back to Lord Tarrant. “So then, are you saying Demon is the very devil to handle, my lord?” Her eyes twinkled at him, and once again he was mesmerized by her.
“That he is—in fact it’s how he got his name.” He discovered that against his will, she had drawn a smile from him. He had meant to ignore her to the point of rudeness.
Lady Watson’s pug, at this point, managed to push open the dining room door, which had not been totally closed. He stopped at the threshold, surveying the assembled group, and with a screeching series of barks, ran over, and dove into Lady
Taffeta’s lap.
She petted the dog with a laugh, saying, “Do stop it, you vicious, adorable little thing. There now, go sit by Lizzie … there is a good boy.”
~*~
With this, Taffy returned her attention to her companions and discovered Nigel and her brother had engaged Tarrant in conversation, and she used the time to better peruse him.
He was the man from her dream. She had seen this at once, and how she had controlled the fit of coughing she nearly succumbed to was more than she presently knew.
At first she thought she must be wrong, but when she looked at him fully, she knew: he was the man … only he had been naked in her vision … and … this was wrong—all wrong.
He was devastatingly handsome … more handsome than any man she had ever seen; however, here, unlike in her dream, he appeared cold-hearted and arrogant. Yes, insufferably arrogant.
His manners, though polite, had been decidedly aloof. She decided he was probably no better than any London Corinthian puffed up with his own consequence. He could not be the man in her vision. She knew she could never be romantic with such a man … and it was clear he certainly was not interested in her.
She shrugged him off in her mind and returned her attention to Lady Watson, who had smiled and asked, “And so, my child, you will be leaving for London and dear Sissy’s soon? Are you very excited?
“No, dreading it, in fact,” Taffy said on a heavy sigh. “It is bound to be dull work.”
Lord Tarrant regarded her, and she was, for a moment, caught up in his gaze.
“London … dull work?” he quizzed.
She wasn’t sure if she liked his tone or the manner in which he lifted his dark brow, as though he didn’t believe her. “Yes, dull work, when one considers what it is all about—at least to a female.”
“How do you mean?”
“Sissy will insist I put up my hair all the time, and no doubt outfit me in the most fashionable gowns and make me hold my tongue and ride sedately and all manner of horrible things, and why? Because I must be paraded and then sold to the highest bidder! Outrageous. The entire thing a bore.”