by Conn, Claudy
* * *
Lord Wimborne’s deep gray eyes watched Myriah’s body as she ran off. He felt a wave of heat rage through him. His hard-on was damned uncomfortable in his breeches, and he knew he had to stop giving in to this mindless desire he had for her.
What was wrong with him, anyway? Why did it matter what her real name was? She had been instrumental in saving his brother’s life, and Billy was his treasure. There too lay another source of his discomfort. He had no desire for his brother to develop an attachment to Myriah. Billy had said he wasn’t interested, yet Lord Wimborne found this hard to believe. Indeed, he could not imagine how any man would not fall prey to Myriah’s charms … and certainly Billy was no sophisticate. In fact, Billy’s preoccupation with the flaming chit was beginning to disturb Kit greatly. Again he thought, she would have to go—and soon!
* * *
In Billy’s bedchamber a blazing fire crackled and gave a warm backdrop to a cozy scene.
Myriah’s back was to Billy while her head was bent forward, her long red tresses over her face as she toweled them dry. That she was clothed in nothing more than Master Billy’s long, dark brocade dressing gown and that she was in a state of dishabille seemed insignificant to both parties as they bantered amicably with one another.
Forgotten were conventionalities and pompous aunts—especially her aunt Emily, who would have raised her eyes to heaven and declared Myriah quite lost to a sense of the proprieties. Here was a friend—the brother she had never had—and Myriah so needed him now.
London had made her lonely. Odd, for she had been surrounded by frivolous society, but her dearest friends were already married and away in the country. Her new London friends saw her as too great a competition for the London beaux. And the London beaux too often felt it necessary to make of her an object they believed needed coddling. Myriah had discovered she was not formed for such a life. She felt estranged from all her present peers and needed someone to laugh with, be at ease with … to understand and be understood.
The headiness, the intimacy of the situation with Billy Wimborne had made them fast friends. Each was in need of companionship, and neither saw the other as anything but a friend. All reserves had somehow dissolved.
Myriah had come into Billy’s room earlier in search of a dressing gown to wear after her bath, as she had very little in the way of clothes with her.
She had been in a stormy mood, a state resulting from her disagreeable conversation with Lord Wimborne.
Billy had laughed at her and called her a veritable Titian, saying her face was the color of her hair and didn’t it look odd against her blue-green eyes?
That made her giggle, and having found that his dressing gown would serve, she made for her bath a bit more in spirits. The soothing hot water rinsed away her bad temper, for Myriah was one of those creatures who fired up quickly but rarely sustained her temper.
When she was nearly finished with her bath, she heard Billy shouting her name. Drying herself quickly, she shrugged on his dressing gown and sped barefoot across the cold wooden floor to his room. He grinned at her boyishly.
“There now, m’girl … ain’t I bright? I had the fire lit for you!”
She pulled a comic face. “Puppy! Is that what you rushed me out of my bath for? I would have stayed another hour soaking if you had not sounded as though the house were coming down round your ears!”
He laughed, looked her over, and laughed again. “Lord, but you look like a damp she-devil, you do!”
She proceeded to take her place by the fire. “The very least you could have done was to have the fire lit in my room.”
“Would have been a waste, m’dear! We are thrifty here, at Wimborne, or haven’t you noticed?” he said with a lack of gravity in his voice that made Myriah glance at him sharply. “Thrifty, that’s what we are,” he went on. “And since I was feeling a bit chilled, thought I’d—”
“Odious boy!” Myriah exclaimed from beneath her hair, blowing at it to keep it out of her mouth. “Trying to make me think you’d done it all for me.”
“Rather clever, ain’t I?” He grinned.
It was at this moment Lord Wimborne appeared in the doorway of Billy’s room. He scanned the cozy scene and, though the proprieties had never really governed his lifestyle, it would be factual to describe his reaction of stiff surprise as definitely bordering on prudery—a thing most odd in a fellow whose social delights had little to do with priggish manners.
Lord Wimborne observed little of the natural ingenuousness of the scene, for what he saw was a wildly alluring female, obviously naked beneath his brother’s dressing gown!
If that was not enough to shock his soul, there was the disconcerting circumstance that he was unable to take his eyes away from the open neckline, too large to hide the tantalizing whiteness of Myriah’s full and exquisitely perky breasts. Added to this was the fact that the bewitching creature seemed totally unembarrassed—indeed she appeared to taunt his young and innocent brother by flaunting her wild red hair.
To further fuel his indignation, he could not help but notice that his scamp of a brother seemed fully at ease with the minx. The thought occurred to him that perhaps Myriah was not the respectable maid she would have them believe but an adventuress … and his brother her prey!
“Indeed—do I intrude?” his lordship said, gray eyes dark with his thoughts.
Billy looked surprised at his brother’s tone. “Hold, Kit—what’s towards?”
Kit turned angrily and for some inexplicable reason felt irritated with Billy. “You … ask me what is towards? Indeed, Billy, in the face of this delectable scene, I find it a bit much!”
“Eh?” Billy replied, genuinely all at sea.
Myriah understood Lord Wimborne’s meaning all too well, and the shyness she had experienced when she first heard his voice was replaced with seething indignation. She brushed her flaming locks away from her face, and her own eyes flashed at his lordship. “Your disgusting insinuations do your brother little justice, my lord. Or do you believe him as boorish as yourself!”
Billy’s eyes lighted with sudden understanding, his face with openmouthed disbelief, for the notion struck him as insanely ludicrous. All at once the room exploded with his laughter, and he made an attempt to raise a pointing finger at Myriah while he demanded of his brother, “You … you think … Myriah and I …?” And then he burst out with roaring laughter once again.
Myriah looked at herself. Frowning over her state of disarray, she glanced at Billy and advised with a wagging finger, “Not funny, sir,” with which she burst out laughing herself.
Lord Wimborne reevaluated the situation but said nothing as he started out the door, throwing over his broad shoulder, “I asked if Cook could stay a bit later today and serve us dinner here … in your room, Billy.”
“Excellent … and I want some meat … rare meat!”
Myriah shook her head as she left him and went to her own room to get dressed. His lordship was stirring her up all the time. She would no sooner calm down from one encounter than suddenly she’d be sent spiraling again. It had to stop … somehow.
* * *
Dinner turned out to be a lively event in the warm and cozy confines of Billy’s room.
Myriah found herself seated across from his lordship with the small table between them, while Billy still took a tray in his bed.
A knock sounded at the open door, and they turned to find Tabby standing there looking worried. “Yes, Tabby?” Myriah smiled at him.
“M’lord …?” Tabby returned, looking at his lordship. “Fletcher sent me to fetch ye real quick. There be a riding officer, a corporal at the stables, and he means to come up to the house and ’ave a word with Master William.”
“What?” shrieked Myriah.
“I was afraid of this. It seems he was able to think clearly once he got away from your pretty face, Miss White,” his lordship said with a frown. “Very well, I’ll handle him. Keep him below. I shall be down presently.�
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“My lord, Billy will have to show his face,” Myriah stuck in. “If we hurry, perhaps we can manage to pass through the thing creditably.” An idea flashed in her head, and she rushed back to her room to fetch Billy’s discarded dressing gown.
She returned to find both men staring at her speculatively. “We will put him in the brocade gown—over his nightdress … his legs, thank God, are in good working order, and with any luck, the wound will not open.”
“My dear girl, if Billy attempts to take those stairs, there is every good chance that the wound will open up, and that is precisely what our hungry exciseman is looking for!” snapped his lordship.
“But Billy will not take the stairs. He will stand at its height and haughtily request to be told why he needs be disturbed from his bath!”
“Splendid!” Billy declared. “’Tis just what I shall do. Stoopid fellows—did they think they had me boxed in?”
Lord Wimborne’s eyes narrowed, but he had already picked up the robe and assisted his young brother into its folds. Billy winced with pain as his arm was both stiff and sore; bending and shoving it into the robe was not easy.
Kit stopped and eyed him anxiously. “It was bad, eh, lad?”
“Stuff!” retorted Billy.
His lordship helped him to his feet and with a steadying hand left him to Myriah. She clucked her tongue, for he was white with pain, and she looked worriedly at his arm. They waited at the doorway listening to Lord Wimborne berating the exciseman below for coming at such an inconvenient hour. They waited for the right moment and clearly overheard …
“May I ask why my brother must be summoned … or do you landsmen make it a practice to deal with landowners in such a manner?” his lordship asked cuttingly. The young military man blushed the color of his red coat, for although everyone knew the Wimbornes were dished, without a sou to their name, that name was still quite important in Sussex.
“I am extremely sorry, my lord … but as the matter is of the gravest nature, because one of our men was certain that he recognized your brother as the man he shot …”
“My cousin has already told you Mr. Wimborne’s hat was in her possession, and therefore he could not have dropped it the other night.”
“Yes, my lord,” interjected the landsman, “and I do not doubt her. However, your brother must show himself, if only to clear his good name, for the man we pursued was hit—and badly!”
“I, sir?” said a proud young man from the top of the stairs. “I have no need to clear my name … ’twas never in question! I find your statements to my brother, his lordship, most insulting and have every intention of making a report to your superiors.”
Kit’s gray eyes twinkled as he watched Billy above stairs put on a show. Myriah caught the look, and her own danced in unison.
“Oh, Cousin Billy … I am sure the good officer meant you no harm.” Myriah cast the suffering man a look of gentle understanding. “He was after all only doing his duty.”
Corporal Stone shot her a grateful look and, finding that Billy was apparently all in one piece, said quietly, “I do beg your pardon. I shall reprimand my man, as he must have been mistaken. It was after all … dark.” He sighed and turned to his lordship. “I am very sorry to have troubled you and shall do so no longer.”
The double doors were closed behind him; three pair of eyes lit with triumph, and after a careful moment the halls of Wimborne Towers reverberated with the sound giddy laughter.
The excursion had tired Billy more than they had at first realized, and when he was at last returned to his bed, he closed his eyes, thoroughly exhausted. Myriah and Lord Wimborne left him sleeping and retired below stairs to the library, where a fire was still dimly burning.
Lord Wimborne positioned another log on the fire, dusted his hands against one another, and turned a warm smile upon Myriah. They had scraped through a very sticky business, and he was disposed to feel a bit friendlier towards her.
She looked stunning in her peacock blue, and in the firelight her curls glittered temptingly … urging him to touch.
Myriah eyed him, feeling strangely missish. “You are suddenly very quiet.”
He smiled ruefully. “Was I? I was wondering about the man you are so against being married to. Is he so unsuitable that you had to run?”
“Sir Ro … I mean … well … never mind his name—to answer your question, he is completely suitable. In fact he is probably any maid’s dream. He is handsome, strong, amusing—”
“A veritable god!” snapped his lordship. “It staggers the mind, my girl, why you have balked!”
“But, my lord … I am not in love with him,” answered Myriah, wide-eyed.
“Ah, so it seems you won’t marry without the questionable emotion,” Kit teased, his eyes taking on some merriment.
“Certainly not!” retorted Myriah. “Would you?”
He chuckled. “As you see, I am still a bachelor, my girl.”
“So you have never fallen in love?”
“Luckily I have escaped the plaguey emotion.”
“But … but you must be … how old are you?” Myriah asked.
“Seven and twenty this past March,” Kit responded, flicking her nose. “And you, sweetings?”
“I shall be one and twenty in a month’s time.”
“Ah—a veritable old maid!”
“Odious creature!”
“Name calling, my dear, is not nice,” he admonished her playfully.
“Then do not call me ‘sweetings’, because my name is Myriah.”
“Myriah …?” he said slowly, looking her over. “Your name suits you well, for if memory serves me, it means pernicious!”
“Oh! Wretch! Pernicious indeed! Your memory does not serve you, my lord, for it means no such thing! It is a biblical name, though I do spell it differently, and it means spirited!”
She sighed and moved away from him, but the sadness in her voice was not lost on him. She looked at him then and added, “Mama had the naming of me—she nearly died giving birth to me, for I came early. She said I was just a slip of an infant, and my fighting for life at birth won me the name Myriah. But Papa would have it that Myriah was what he always called Mama … and because I was her image, he claimed he had the naming of me.”
“And from that moment on, of course, you have tried to live up to your name?” teased his lordship.
“I have never had to try.” She sighed heavily. “’Tis no pleasant thing to have the blood of a runner and be made to walk. I am forever being told, ‘No, Myriah.’ ‘It would not do, Myriah.’ ‘Don’t, Myriah.’ Faith, you can have no notion what it is to be able to fly … and be forbidden the use of your wings!”
He read the pain in her face, and it brought a frown to Kit’s dark eyebrows. “Your parents are no longer pleased with your spirit?”
“My parents? Oh, Papa … well, he is a man, and to be fair he is really good about most things. He says I am Mama … all over again, and that pleases him. But he has sisters, many sisters—and they don’t see it quite in the same light. He has to deal with them, and it isn’t always easy. How could it not affect him?” She sighed again and played with her fingers. “It was different when I had Mama. She always understood. She said it was like watching herself growing up. How we laughed together …” Her voice trailed off as her heart rediscovered a scene long ago.
Kit felt rough fingers work at his heart. “When did you lose her, Myriah?”
“Five years ago. I came home from school to find her with fever. She died shortly after. She had never before been low or ill. Papa was in shock for such a long time … but he and I are friends. Papa says I am Mama in every way. But he is wrong. She was contented, so sweetly contented … and I no longer am!”
Myriah had never before spoken to anyone about this.
She did not now understand why so much had flowed so freely. She only knew that she had let down her guard before this man, who was virtually a stranger.
“Poor Myriah, but
it is not Myriah White from Dover … now is it?” Kit asked, because he had an urge to hear the truth from her lips. He had a need to trust her completely—to have the lie dispelled.
Myriah’s guard went right back up. Why did he harp on that single point? What was he after, confound him! She couldn’t tell him who she was—she didn’t want him to know she was an heiress.
It was obvious he was in need of money, and although she had begun the lie to spare her name from being bandied about in gossip, she now needed the lie for another reason.
“I … I don’t know what you mean,” she said.
All at once he was towering over her, pulling her almost roughly, certainly hungrily against his hard body. His gray eyes smoldered above her own. “Don’t you know that you have not learned the knack of it, Myriah? You have such speaking eyes … they give you away. You shouldn’t lie—unless you can.”
“Why … my lord,” she said, avoiding eye contact, her blood rushing throughout her body and turning her mind into mush. “Just recently you declared I lied very well.”
Suddenly she was tight in his embrace, and his kiss burned her lips intensely as his tongue parted them and dove to find a willing partner.
Myriah felt her body go limp and pliable in his arms. She felt helpless to stop him because she didn’t want to. What she wanted was his kisses, and she realized here were her bells and rockets and …
She wanted his tongue to go on teasing hers—to feel the velvet lapping seductively at her own. She wanted his hands all over her body.
She ran her fingers up his rock-hard chest and held on with a passion she had never known she was capable of feeling. She suddenly realized he had undone the lacing of her gown so it was falling to the floor—and she stepped out of its velvet folds and used the rug to work her slippers off her feet.
She knew herself a wanton creature when she started pulling at his jacket and it came away and fell to the floor. Somehow he was out of his shirt, and oh … she thought, oh … his chest …
She noticed the etching of a tattoo and traced its unusual design with her fingers across his sensuous, hard torso. He growled low in his throat, and the sound sent erotic shivers through her. A voice called her name. ‘Myriah … you are turning into a tart … ’