by Amelia Grey
“I don’t like being an unwise person, Chandler,” she whispered earnestly.
“No, Millicent, you are not foolish. You are intelligent, beautiful, and desirable.” He reached up and slowly caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers as if they had all the time in the world to be together.
“What would you have done if Phillips or one of the maids had come to the door?”
He kissed her cheek, letting his lips travel down her neck as he whispered, “I would have produced your dance card, which I have in my pocket, and said I found it on the floor as you were leaving the party. I rushed to catch you before you departed, but couldn’t, so I followed you in my coach. I would have handed it to him along with a guinea. No one would be the wiser.”
“That shows how much practice you have had meeting young ladies in secret.”
“I have some experience.”
“Too much.”
“Enough.”
“So much that I am no match for your machinations.”
“As it should be.”
Millicent tilted her head back, giving Chandler freedom to explore the soft skin behind her ear before he moved up to brush his lips across her eyelids and down to her cheekbone. He made her feel sensuous, languorous.
“I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if I didn’t see you and hold you,” he murmured across her cheek.
The warmth of his breath on her skin, the strength of his body pressing against her, the seduction of his words made Millicent want to forget everything but this man and the way he made her senses come to life. She loved the way he touched her and soothed her fears.
Wanting like she had never known before filled her. She lifted her mouth to him. The soft warmth of his tongue swept the outline of her lips slowly, teasingly before taking them passionately in a kiss that was meant to weaken the last vestige of her reserve, and it did.
His hand moved up from her waist to cup her breast. Millicent’s breath quickened. His palm flattened against her breast and gently moved up and down, causing ripples of pleasure to course through her.
From deep inside herself she found the strength to say, “I must go in. Hamlet barks to let Lady Beatrice know I’ve come home. She will send Glenda looking for me if she doesn’t hear me coming up the stairs soon.”
“All right,” he whispered. “I’ll let you go.”
No, don’t.
“But only after I have one more kiss. I want to go to sleep tonight with the taste of your lips on mine.”
He bent and pressed his lips to hers in a soft, lingering kiss. In the coolness of the night, his lips were warm, his body firmly protective. He circled her in his arms and brought her up tightly to his chest and hugged her to him. It felt wonderful.
Millicent sighed contentedly. She had been disappointed when she hadn’t seen him tonight, and while she knew she should be angry that he continued to jeopardize her reputation, all she could think was that she was so happy he took the risk in coming to see her.
“You taste of liquor,” she said softly into the warmth of his mouth.
He nodded a little. “I’ve been drinking, trying to forget about you.”
“Obviously, it didn’t work.”
“No. It didn’t. We don’t suit, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I fear you are in my soul.”
Millicent’s breath caught in her throat. Did he mean that? When he said things like that, she almost could believe he meant every word.
“You know all the things to say to make a lady lose her head over you, don’t you?”
Chandler lifted his head. She wondered if he was trying to look through the darkness into her eyes and read her innermost thoughts. She couldn’t allow that to happen. She had to take advantage now while she had him at a weak moment.
“I want to know what pleases you.”
“You know how to kiss and tease and make me desire you as I never have any other man. You are a rake. It is what you do, what you are good at and I can’t fight you.”
“Millicent, you misunderstood me.”
“No. I am not ashamed of wanting your touch, or your kisses. I have longed to feel about a man the way I feel about you, but I will not fall victim to believing you care about me, Chandler. Don’t try to make me believe you care.”
“All right.” He stepped away from her. “I guess it is best we know where we stand.”
Millicent took a deep breath, wondering where she’d found such courage. It would have been so easy to have believed him. Thank God she hadn’t.
“Will you agree that I can call on you tomorrow and take you for a ride in Hyde Park?”
“Why do you insist on pressing me on this matter?”
“I tried to come to a conclusion about that very thing tonight, and I have no answer other than I want to be with you.”
“If I agree to see you openly, will you promise not to see me in secret again?”
“No.”
He drove her to madness! “You are a mystery, Chandler. Why see me in open and secret?”
“How can I kiss you the way I want to, the way you want me to, if I don’t see you in secret?”
“That is the problem. I fear I am only a mad dash away from scandal.”
“And so you are. I’ll call on you at half past three today. Be ready.”
With those parting words he slipped away into the misty darkness.
***
Chandler’s lashes fluttered against the bright sunshine of midday. He squinted, his eyes not wanting to adjust to the daylight. Had he been dreaming about Millicent or had she really been in his arms?
They were in a room lit only by candlelight. She wore a low-cut gown of pure white gossamer. Her skin glowed like the finest alabaster and felt as soft as the most expensive silk the Orient spun. She tasted of honey. He was kissing her. Madly. Until the harsh light of reality intruded.
No, it had been only a dream. He had left her at Lady Beatrice’s door.
He kept his eyes closed and rolled over. The sheets were cool to his back. The pillow fit snugly under his head. He didn’t want to wake from the sweet dream, but had no choice. Even though he hadn’t seen his valet, Chandler knew the servant was moving about the room, quietly opening the draperies, laying out his razor, pouring warm water into the washbowl.
Chandler’s lashes fluttered again.
“Good morning, my lord.”
Chandler remained quiet. He wasn’t ready to move or speak. His lower body wasn’t prepared to admit that Millicent was not in the bed with him. After a moment or two, reluctantly, he raised his head and looked around. Winston stood at the one window where the draperies were still closed.
“That’s quite enough light, Winston,” he managed to say and laid his head back down.
“Very well, sir.” He left the draperies alone and walked over to the wardrobe. “Lord Dugdale is below stairs wanting to speak to you.”
That woke Chandler. He sat up in the bed, “Andrew? At this time of day? That’s odd. Did he happen to say what he wanted?”
“No, sir. Only that it was urgent, and he was prepared to wait until you were available to see him.”
Something had to be wrong for his friend to pay a call midday. Millicent crossed his mind. He wondered if anyone had seen him with her last night at Lady Beatrice’s and had written about it? He grunted a laugh. No, if anyone wrote about them the information would have come from her and he felt sure she wouldn’t report on them again. So what was wrong?
“Tell him I’ll be down as soon as I dress.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take him some tea and scones. That should occupy him until I get down.”
As soon as Winston closed the door behind him, Chandler rose. He washed his face and shaved with the warm water the valet left for him and wet his hair before combing it away from his face.
He stepped into the fawn-colored trousers Winston had laid out and pulled the white shirt over his head. He didn’t take the time to don a collar and
neckcloth, he could do that later in the day. It wouldn’t matter to Andrew that he wasn’t properly garbed; however, Chandler took the time to stuff the tail of his shirt into his waistband as he headed down the stairs.
He rounded the doorway into the sitting room and saw a splendidly dressed Andrew pacing in front of the unlit fireplace. He took a deep breath and ran a hand over his damp hair before entering the room.
“What has you up and out so early?” he asked as he walked into the parlor.
“It’s about time you decided to rise from your slumber. Where the devil were you last night, anyway? I couldn’t find you anywhere.”
“Fines managed to locate me, and we had a drink together. Sorry you missed us.”
“After the third club, I called it a night. The weather was brutish. Where the devil did he find you?”
Chandler looked at the tray of tea and tarts and could see Andrew hadn’t touched it. It was unusual for anyone to ignore his cook’s apricot tarts. He knew everyone always enjoyed them, but he’d never realized that he always took them when he called on a lady until Millicent had mentioned it. Now he realized she was right. Since she was a writer of gossip he wouldn’t be surprised to find out that she knew more about him than he knew himself.
“Well?” Andrew asked.
“That’s not important, but you being here at this hour is. What’s the reason?”
“This.” Andrew held out a sheet of newspaper. “Have you seen it?”
Chandler tensed, but he hoped it didn’t show. Maybe Millicent had told one of the gossip columnists about their clandestine meeting last night after all.
Instead of taking the paper, Chandler picked up the teapot and calmly poured himself a cup. “My eyes have been open all of five minutes, Andrew. What do you think the odds are I’ve seen that paper?”
“This is no time to be so damned sarcastic, Dunraven, and I’m in no mood for it, besides.”
Chandler returned the pot to the silver tray and asked, “Would you like a cup?”
“No, thank you. You know I don’t drink the vile stuff, but I will have a brandy, if you don’t mind.”
It must be bad. He’d never seen Andrew drink brandy in the middle of the day during their wildest years. But the odd thing was, whatever was written in that paper didn’t worry Chandler like it should. He should be furious at even the prospect that Millicent had talked about his late night call on her, but he wasn’t.
“Not at all. Help yourself, then stop pacing, sit down, and let me wake up while you tell me what has you stewing.”
“The damned gossipmongers are after me again.”
“You?”
Relief washed down him. Thank God it wasn’t anything about him and Millicent.
“You sound surprised.”
“No, it’s just that we’ve been in their columns for years.”
“What have you done this time?”
“Nothing, of course.”
“Good, then. Don’t worry and have a tart. I know you like these.” Chandler picked up one and took a generous bite.
“It’s that bastard Lord Truefitt. He says I’m hanging out for an heiress because I’m in financial trouble.”
Chandler choked on his tart and spilled his tea into his saucer. He coughed and set the teacup down on the table.
“Damnation,” he muttered.
“Damn right,” Andrew answered.
Millicent was responsible for that being written. She had mentioned to him that she’d heard of an earl who was in financial trouble and suggested he might be the one stealing from the houses, but she had refused to tell him the earl’s name. Now he knew why.
She thought Andrew might be the Mad Ton Thief. Damnation!
Andrew poured himself a generous amount of the liquor from the decanter, and turned back to Chandler. “The bastard is trying to ruin my chances with Miss Bardwell.”
Chandler cleared his throat again and said, “Wait a minute. You’re seriously pursuing Miss Bardwell?”
“Well—er—I’m not sure it is serious, you understand. That’s not the point.” Andrew took a generous sip of his drink and went back to the rosewood sideboard and poured another splash into the glass.
Andrew was stammering like a street ragamuffin caught stealing a loaf of bread. That was so unlike him. “When did this happen?” Chandler asked.
“The column is in today’s paper.”
“No. This talk of hurting your chances of a match with Miss Bardwell. Have you made an offer for her hand?”
“Of course not. And I don’t know that I will. It’s just that if I wanted to—” He paused. “That’s not important. It’s one thing to write about a gentleman’s escapades with the fairer sex, but quite another to write about his pockets. That’s going beyond the pale, I have half a mind to hire a Runner to find out who this Lord Truefitt is and give him a taste of scandal. I don’t know where he gets his information, but I doubt he’ll be writing anything after I get through with him.”
Chandler would speak to Millicent and tell her that both he and his friends were off-limits to scandal sheets.
“Hold on, Andrew, what exactly does it say?”
“It all but says I’m ready for the poorhouse, that’s what it says.”
Wanting to calm his friend, Chandler said, “Here, let me see that.”
Chandler took the paper and read the first few lines of the column and looked up. “I don’t think it is as bad as you think. In fact, I think it’s a play on words.”
Andrew walked over to Chandler and looked over his shoulder at the paper. “What do you mean?”
“I think it’s one of those things that has a hidden meaning.”
His friend gave him an incredulous look. “The only thing that is hiding is your comprehension. What the devil are you talking about?”
“No. I think what he’s really saying here is that the three of us don’t spend the time together that we used to.” Chandler continued to make up his answer as he talked. “Fines and I were just talking about that last night.”
“Well, we don’t spend the kind of time together that we used to, but what has that to do with what this newspaper says about money no longer being my friend?”
“I’m sure the money aspect was only used so it would fit with the quote from Shakespeare, but the true meaning is that they aren’t seeing the three of us together anymore.”
“Hmm. You really think so?”
Chandler pretended to study the paper again, knowing he’d have a long talk with Millicent about this later in the afternoon.
“Yes, yes, after reading it again I’m sure of it. You’ve heard how popular Truefitt’s column has become since he’s been using Shakespeare. Don’t give it another thought. Those who don’t know you might think from this that you’ve fallen on hard times, but no one in the ton will.”
“If only you are right,” Andrew said, then drained his glass.
Chandler took a long hard look at Andrew and wasn’t sure he liked what he saw. Could there be any truth to what was written about his friend? No, Andrew would have told him if there was a problem.
But he couldn’t help but wonder where in London Millicent got her damning information.
Fifteen
“To say the truth, reason and love keep little company together now a days,” and if that were not true, why would Miss Pennington be spending so much time on the dance floor and in Hyde Park with Lord Chatwin? Her father has made it clear he wants a match before the Season is out. Can he expect an offer for her hand from Lord Chatwin?
—Lord Truefitt, Society’s Daily Column
Wide blue skies dotted by puffy white clouds served as a canopy to the beautiful day as Millicent and Chandler rode in the curricle toward Hyde Park. Bright sunshine caressed their backs and a midspring breeze lightly fanned their hair. It was the kind of day that made Millicent glad she didn’t have to be inside, surrounded by dark furniture and heavy draperies.
Chandler had arrived splendidly dressed
in his riding coat of dark brown with shiny brass buttons adorning the front lapels and the sleeves. He grinned like a schoolboy when he presented her the predictable box of apricot tarts, which he then made light of when he gave them to her. From behind his back he unexpectedly produced a cutting of fresh Persian lilies from his own garden. She didn’t even want to think about what the extra gift might mean.
Before leaving the house, Millicent had asked her maid to see to it that two tarts were sent up to Aunt Beatrice with her afternoon tea and that the rest should not be touched. Millicent would take those to Lady Lynette tomorrow afternoon. After all, she had promised to do so if she should ever receive the highly prized gift. The lilies Millicent had sent to her room so that only she would enjoy their fragrance and their beauty.
Much to Millicent’s surprise, and after a long discussion, her aunt had sanctioned her afternoon ride with the most notorious member of the Terrible Threesome. According to Aunt Beatrice, Lord Dunraven would lose interest in Millicent quickly once she became available for him to call on. And Beatrice decided the closer Millicent became with such a notable member of the ton the more gossip she would hear.
Nothing was more important than that. And of course, her aunt warned her that she must be very careful that Lord Dunraven behave as a proper gentleman at all times.
If Aunt Beatrice only knew!
Millicent had worried about Lord Dunraven looking at this afternoon outing in Hyde Park as encouragement, but she couldn’t deny the rushing thrill that raced through her chest when she placed her gloved hand in his to be helped into the carriage. And again, when his arm touched hers as he hopped onto the leather-covered cushioned seat beside her, and later his leg brushed the hem of her skirt as a groom handed him the ribbons.
She had tried hard not to be smitten by him but knew she was failing miserably. All he had to do was look at her and her stomach quivered.
Before he’d arrived, she’d vowed to conduct the outing with the utmost consideration for propriety. Many eyes would be upon them and she must be circumspect. She really had no choice in agreeing to see the earl in the polite world. And she had to somehow force him not to seek her out in secret.