by Conn, Claudy
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.”
“Perhaps.” He grinned. “But I rather think all those things will bring you some measure of entertainment.”
“No, it won’t. The haute ton my aunt so desperately intends for me to enter sounds a dim-witted lot only interested in the cut of their clothes and the latest on-dit.”
He laughed, and she heard the genuine amusement in his laugh before he said, “You may be pleasantly surprised.”
She considered this with a wrinkle of her nose. “Do you think so? This is what Nigel and Seth keep saying, so perhaps you are right.”
“Moppet,” said Lady Watson with a shake of her head. “As though you have anything exciting happening here in Nottingham.”
“But we do. What of the Luddites?” Taffy bit her tongue. She couldn’t possibly tell Lady Watson what was so exciting about the Luddite movement.
“Luddites, eh?” said Tarrant. “We had something of a riot last week in the Riding Country. It is a terrible business, and at present, I don’t see a solution.”
“The solution is to pay these people a fair wage. It is the only solution,” said Taffy with feeling. “Shouldn’t England’s peers work in Parliament to do just that?”
“Indeed, Taffy is quite right, you know. It is Parliament’s duty,” said Nigel.
“The only talk I have heard in Parliament about the Luddites is a heated desire to put them to trial,” said Tarrant with a shake of his head.
“Monstrous!” cried Taffy.
She found Tarrant looking into her eyes and was caught off guard a moment, but only for a fraction of a moment, when he said, “You must feel strongly. Your eyes are alive with gold-lit flames …”
Was he actually flirting with her? She blasted such a thought away. No, he was not; he looked at her like she was nothing more than an ignorant schoolgirl. She was sitting and still managed to put her hands on her hips. “Of course I feel strongly. We should all of us feel strongly. Such things should not be allowed to go on.”
“However, they are too often a part of life,” he answered quietly. “You are young and a bit naïve still, and as I have no wish to shoot down your ideals, I shall leave it at that.”
“Well, I am not naïve,” her brother interjected with some vigor. “And my sister is quite correct. We can not allow such things to stand.”
“Indeed,” added Taffy strenuously. “If men in your position worked to prevent injustices …” She shook her head and saw he was staring at her again. Was she getting through to him? Did he agree with their point of view? Would he help them in Parliament? “Are you aware, my lord, these people’s working conditions at the mill are not bearable? Are you aware of the pitiful wages, of the dangers from the machinery … the hours they are forced to work?”
Her brother was clearly drawn in by her passion. “Indeed, Tarrant, they are worked no better than slave labor. They are starving, so they accept anything they can get, and their employers take advantage of that.”
“Yes, I quite agree with you … their situation is dire, but what they need to do is make active verbal protest. I can’t condone their riots—the smashing of machinery, their attacks of violence on innocent people. Good lord, lad, I have even heard of a group of Luddites here in Nottingham who meets in Sherwood Forest. It is said they have taken to robbing the rich on the highway in the name of Robin Hood with the excuse they are giving to the poor.”
“And why was Robin Hood admired as a hero for his efforts, and these people scorned?” she asked heatedly.
“Robin Hood is a legend.” His voice was grim as he continued, “The Luddites are a fact of life, and another fact is they will be crushed if they continue in their present course.”
Taffy was frustrated, and she allowed it to show. Men just did not think women should involve themselves in politics, and she was heartily sick of this attitude.
“Well, as a peer of the realm, I for one, plan to do something about it when I get to London,” declared Seth with feeling.
“Aye,” agreed Nigel. “We’ll take them on, won’t we, Seth?
Soup plates were placed in front of them, and Lady Watson, with a pleasant smile, said, “Now, enough talk of politics. Cook has prepared a wonderful potato and leek soup, and we must not allow it to get cold …”
~ Two ~
It was late afternoon, and Lady Taffy was sparring for wind. Thurston Tarrant, the rakehell Hotspur, was the man in her visions—no doubt about it whatsoever.
This is, of course, impossible, she told herself. Her dream vision had to be off somehow—could be off? Now and then, she managed to change a vision, not often, but it did change. Oh, this was all wrong.
She had come home in a great irritation of nerves, changed into her green riding habit, plopped a matching top hat on her head, grimaced at her reflection, and thrown it off. How could she have been dreaming about such a cad of a man? He was a rogue of rogues. He was a heartbreaker … why had she seen him naked and … why had she been naked? What a stupid question. She set this aside. It had to have been some strange quirk of the mind. She wasn’t getting the entire story from the small snippet of a premonition—that was it; it had to be.
What she needed was a good run to dissipate her confusion and put her back in order. But the thing was, she was in a state of agitation because never before had she met such a man as Thurston Tarrant.
Her brother had said he was the very devil with the ladies. Oh yes, the rakehell Hotspur could certainly have no place in her life. What she wanted when she fell in loved was not a rakehell, but a man who would love only her—faithfully. This one, this Hotspur, would be faithful to no one woman.
Her brother had said there wasn’t a woman who didn’t want him, eh? Well, she could see Tarrant thoroughly believed in his own myth. Hotspur, indeed! And then her mind’s eye recalled his perfect naked body reaching for her in her dream. She recalled how she felt in her vision, hot and ready and willing. It brought on a wave of heat in the present, and her blood surged through her body. This had to stop. The vision was a mistake … an error … a false dream that meant nothing.
He was an arrogant, rude, and puffed up with his own consequence sort, and he had been impudent enough to think she was interested in him. Well, at least she had managed quite neatly to put any such notions he might have had on that score deeply into the earth.
She had exchanged dagger for dagger, hit for hit, during lunch and then again just as she quit his company. But the truth was it had not been pleasant, and she had not enjoyed a moment of the cold war he had engaged her in during their afternoon.
Lady Taffeta had been cosseted and adored all her life. What little she could remember of her mother had been dear and loving. Her father had openly adored her. Seth and Nigel were wont to tease her, but never had they, or any of their friends, treated her with such disdain. More than that, their friends had recently been quite gallant and flirtatious, a circumstance she had been learning to appreciate.
This Hotspur had the audacity to think she had set her cap for him, so she had spent the entire luncheon trying to convince him of the reverse—vision be damned! The effort had left her breathless with chagrin. These agitating thoughts had taken her stomping toward the stables, where she had tacked up her chestnut gelding without benefit of her groom’s help.
She led her favorite riding horse outside and mounted him with ease. Her loose hair blew freely about her face as the wind picked up. She walked her gelding onto the bridle path and then put him into an easy trot, telling him all the while she was very happy he was in a chipper mood, for she was not.
His ears pricked to her voice as he listened, and she reached over and patted his neck affectionately. “There, never mind me.”
She wanted to keep to the fields and wooded trails, and in order to accomplish this, she was forced to skirt the lands dividing Watson Halls from Grantham. The gate was closed. With a silent oath, she set her pace and went into position with her heels well down and her body neatly poised. Her gelding’s ears flickered alertly as he looked ahead at the jump.
“I know, Red Moose. You don’t like the high jumps … truth, I don’t much either, but the gate is closed, and I don’t feel much like getting down and up. Let’s just take it. Right then … here we go.”
She knew her horse loved her, and he told her so then with a soft sound, something between a snort and a whinny. She laughed and encouraged him, saying, “I love you, Moose … come on … pick up the pace … and we’ll do fine. Just think of it as only a few feet higher than a log. Honestly, you could step over it … nothing to worry about, Moosey.”
She legged him on, and he obediently went for the jump, changed his mind at the very last moment, and made as though to duck out and refuse. Taffy screamed irritably, “No, sir, no … You know better.”
She went into position and drove him, but his sharp movements shifted her position in the saddle and sent her off balance. Her gelding did finally accede to her demand and took the gate flying, landing heavily on the other side, which sent her sideways in her saddle when he planted his fores on the ground.
She nearly lost her seat completely, and with no dignity whatsoever, she scrambled, grabbed his neck and mane, and managed to right herself. As she settled back into her saddle, she told him, “Odious brute, you almost lost me there.” Taffy, however, was so relieved she was still in the saddle she released a nervous laugh and added ruefully, “You certainly are well named, Moose.”
“Damn if you didn’t make him do it. Didn’t think he would for a moment there …” She heard the chuckle of a male rider making his way alongside her. “I thought for a moment I might be picking you up off the ground. Well done, Lady Taffeta,” said the rakehell Hotspur.
She had been nearly surprised enough to lose her seat again, and blew out a whiff of air as she spun around and discovered, of all people, the Hotspur seated on his horse, grinning broadly.
She knew what she must look like—a complete mess. As she started to speak, she discovered she was hindered by a long tress between her teeth. She removed her hair from her mouth, but the wind would not cooperate and blew it right back. She wished she had at least pinned it back. However, she managed to draw herself up and regain her composure. She eyed him coldly and thought, Of all people to witness a clumsy jump—it had to be him. Grrr. She could have cried right then, but instead she said with an edge of haughtiness, “My lord, I thank you, but I must admit it to have been my fault. I should have stopped Moose and brought him back in for a better line to the gate.”
“Agreed, but nevertheless, you made him take it, which he did like a rocket, and you managed to stay put when he landed badly.”
His grin made her want to throw mud at his face.
She grimaced. “He doesn’t like jumping; I don’t know why I made him …” She patted the horse’s neck and managed an amiable laugh. “Poor Moose, the big jumps frighten him.” She sighed. It was over and done. He had seen her at her worst. So be it. Brush herself off and move on. “What brings you out? I had thought you would be packed and off for London by now.”
Tarrant’s black stallion pranced beneath him, and he took a moment to bring his horse under him. She could not help but admire his horsemanship. He was strong of leg and quiet of hand.
The two horses touched noses, and the stallion seemed pleased to find Moose submissive so they fell easily into step beside each other, leaving Tarrant free once more to converse.
He eyed her and said, “As to that, it was my intention, but my aunt wishes me to stay for dinner, and I have dutifully accepted. She is the favorite of my aunts, and I don’t see enough of her.” The stallion snorted for an unknown reason and pranced a bit until he quieted him again.
Taffy laughed appreciatively as she indicated with a flick of her chin. “He suits you—restless.”
His eyes stared into hers, and once again he was the man in her vision. Feral with desire … coming for her, and she was oh, so willing. She had to stop this. She couldn’t think of him like this. Maids were not supposed to …
Tarrant jarred these thoughts when he laughed and said, “Let’s call a truce, you and I, shall we?”
“A truce, my lord? Were we at war?”
He smiled, and she was all too aware of his magnetism. This one was dangerous. He had a killer smile and a singular charm to go with it, and when he used it, a woman could forget he was a scoundrel.
He inclined his head. “I don’t know why it was, but I think lunch was a sparring contest.”
She eyed him warily. The devil was actually flirting with her. Does he think I would be an easy conquest? Ha! “A truce, then. I shall not throw my handkerchief
… or cap, your way, and you won’t try to seduce me.” She watched the devil glitter in his eyes, and it was most definitely intriguing. She had to keep him at arm’s length for certain.
He laughed again and answered easily, his eyes full with his amusement, “I shall have to consider this …” Without warning, he leaned over and lightly, easily managed to kiss her lips, parting them, and expertly found refuge there for his tongue.
She was startled by the unexpectedness of it. She was shocked by her reaction both in her body and mind. She felt the blood race through her veins, calling all her nerve endings into action. She felt her heart begin to purr with anticipation. She felt a spot between her thighs tickle her with heat and an itch to be touched …
His kiss was everything she had expected the rakehell Hotspur’s kiss to be, and, more, it was what she wanted it to be.
She went to war with herself and somehow found the ability to pull away abruptly. She put up her chin. “Am I to assume, then, we have not negotiated a truce?”
His laughter resonated on the breeze, and she found herself smiling in spite of the frown she tried to maintain. He said, “Must it be one or the other?”
“One or the other …” she answered firmly.
“Then I think not,” he said brightly. “War it is, my lady, and to the victor go the spoils.”
She made a show of sighing heavily. “Well, you still needn’t worry I shall aim my cap your way. You are not at all the sort of man I am after.”
His pique set his jaw, and she had an urge to giggle but managed to control herself.
“Oh, really? What sort of man are you after?”
She beamed mischievously. “What every girl wants, of course. A knight of the Realm, a hero, a man of principles and romance—a man who will always take her side …”
“He doesn’t exist,” retorted Tarrant harshly.
She looked at him sideways. “Then I am destined to be a spinster.” With this, she clicked her horse and took off into a heady canter.
He caught up to her in a moment, for she could see his black did not mean to be left behind, and they collected their horses and moved along head in head. They slowed as the field ebbed and the wooded path opened before them.