A Wicked Gentleman
Page 14
He caught himself gazing at her feet. They were very long, with very high arches, and there was something undeniably erotic about them. His eyes traveled upwards. The erect posture, straight back, slim shoulders, the long neck. The direct challenge in the blue eyes. She was playing with fire and enjoying every minute of it.
“You are a very dangerous woman, Lady Dagenham,” he said softly.
The air crackled and it wasn’t just the sudden hiss and spit of a log in the grate. He stepped towards her, reaching for her hands, drawing her to her feet. Even when she was shoeless, her eyes were almost on a level with his own. “You give no quarter, do you?” he murmured, running the palm of his hand against her cheek.
Cornelia wanted to move but couldn’t. The pulse in her throat was beating so fast she could barely swallow, and her cheek was alive beneath the smooth palm. She had never considered herself in the least dangerous, in the least ruthless, and yet as he spoke the words she knew they were true. Something inside her was coming to life beneath the glint of the green eyes, the light caress of his hands, the low sensuality of his voice. The woman she believed she was was not all that she was. The widow, the respectable mother of two, was also capable of seduction.
And with that conviction came its pair. This man was dangerous, the most dangerous man she had ever encountered, but she could meet and match him.
A heady sense of excitement flooded her, jolting the pit of her belly, tightening her loins. When he kissed her, she felt only jubilation, a deep and mysterious sense of triumph. His lips were hard against her mouth, his tongue insistent, his hands palming her face. She opened her mouth for his tongue and welcomed the press of his loins against hers, the hard nudge of his penis and her own moist warmth.
And then reality broke into the tight dark world of pure sensation. She pulled free of his hold at the same moment as he lifted his mouth from hers. They both stepped back. Cornelia averted her head, her fingers inadvertently brushing her mouth.
“So much for reputation,” she murmured.
“So much for country mice,” he returned with a smile. He touched her shoulder. “Nell?”
She turned back to him, her gaze both straightforward and a little bemused. “I don’t know what’s happening? I…I haven’t felt anything like this since Stephen…” She looked away again, trying to marshal her thoughts and the words to go with them.
“Your husband?”
“Yes.” Her shoulders lifted a little as she sighed. “You’ve never been married, I take it.”
“I was married,” he said evenly. “She died.”
“Ah.” She turned back to him. “I’m sorry.”
He opened his hands in a gesture of resignation. “It was four years ago. An accident.”
“Did you love her?” For some reason the answer mattered.
He didn’t reply immediately, then said without expression, “I believed I did.” He moved towards her again, taking her hands once more. “Nell, that’s in the past. This is the present. From the first moment I met you I’ve been drawn to you. Have you not felt it too?” He lifted her hands to his mouth, brushing her knuckles with his lips.
“No,” Cornelia stated with absolute truth, although she didn’t move her hands. “I’ve disliked you immensely from the moment I laid eyes on you. I thought you felt the same way about me.”
He laughed and released her hands. “Your honesty is delightful…but tell me now, in truth, do you still dislike me?” He walked to the sideboard and poured her a glass of sherry, refilling his own at the same time.
“In truth…” She took the glass from him. “In truth, no.” She took a long sip, and said with irritation, “Oh, this is so inconvenient.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have time for dalliance.” Cornelia sipped her sherry. “Liv is the one looking for a husband, not me. And if reputations are so vital in this town, then indulging in a liaison is hardly sensible.” Her gaze over the lip of the glass was fierce, but the residue of the exultant triumph of that kiss was as legible as the most impeccable script.
“It could be managed,” Harry said. “It is managed every hour of every day and night in the five square miles of this town inhabited by the upper ten thousand.”
Cornelia raised her eyebrows. “Are you proposing an arrangement, sir? I’m flattered, I assure you, but I fear I would be far too expensive and would make a most unrestful mistress.” She tapped her forefinger thoughtfully against her lips. “I would require a house, of course, a carriage, box at the opera—”
“Oh, have done, Nell,” he said sharply. “I’m in no mood to jest about this.” He came towards her, his green eyes narrowed. “We’ll not talk of it further now, but I ask that you think about it.” He laid a finger on her lips, pressing lightly. “Come now, we’re both adults, we know the world. There’s no reason why two people who are so attracted to each other should not take their discreet pleasure where they find it. As I said, it’s hardly uncommon.”
Cornelia wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry foul. She had never received an indecent proposal before, and against all her instincts, she found this one both exciting and complimentary. Marriage was about so much more than passion that passion itself tended to get lost in the tendrils of domesticity. A relationship based on pure lust…
Harry was right that plenty of folk had them in the most august echelons of society. The liaisons of the royal princes, and even, it was rumored rather less scandalously, their sisters, were as near public knowledge as if they’d been broadcast in the broadsheets. They certainly provided fodder for the satirists at Punch.
Then she remembered the earl of Markby. And excitement drained away.
Her face closed, and her voice was expressionless as she said, “My situation is a little different from most, sir.” She bent to pick up her discarded boot. “I need to go back to Cavendish Square.” She raised the boot in an eloquent gesture.
Harry had always been blessed with the knowledge of when to step back. He had no idea what had wiped the last traces of arousal from her countenance, but it was time to leave well enough alone. He inclined his head and reached for the bell. Hector appeared almost immediately.
“Send to the mews for the curricle, Hector. I am escorting Lady Dagenham home.”
Hector said solemnly, “Yes, m’lord, right away. Eric was able to perform a temporary repair on her ladyship’s boot. I’ll fetch it directly.” He turned back to the door, pausing with his hand on the latch to inquire, “Should I have the dogs installed in the curricle, my lady?”
“If you would be so kind, Hector,” Cornelia said. “Under the seat for preference.”
The tiniest curve of the lip gave Hector away. “I will endeavor to arrange them so that they won’t be a nuisance, ma’am.”
“I doubt you’ll succeed, Hector,” she responded.
“No, my lady.” He slid from the room.
Cornelia sat down to put on her boot. She was not prepared for assistance, but at the same time not surprised when Harry knelt and took the boot from her. He slid it onto her foot, molding the soft leather over her ankles, and fastened the tiny buttons and laces with a dexterity that astonished her. Men didn’t usually have such fine hands. Unless they made jewelry, or were engravers. She’d have expected Viscount Bonham to have light hands with a horse’s mouth, and a keen eye and swift move with a fencing sword or a hunting pistol, but his long, slender fingers deftly twisted loops around buttons with all the delicacy of an artist.
“There.” He sat back on his heels and his hands remained on her ankle, massaging the sharp bone. “Now all we need is the other one…Ah, Hector, exactly on cue.” He held out his hand for the boot that the butler brought over to him.
Cornelia was past caring what the butler thought about anything. She submitted her foot to another round of the viscount’s intimate attention, then firmly stood up, testing her weight on the repaired boot. “Thank you, Hector, I’m most grateful. This will take me home.”
; “The curricle is at the door, my lord.” Hector opened the door onto the hall and moved in stately fashion to the front door. “The dogs are installed.”
“You are very kind.” Cornelia gave him a warm farewell smile, aware of a slight wobble in the repaired boot as she walked down the steps to the street, where the curricle awaited at the curb, a pair of handsome grays in the traces, a sharp-faced groom holding the reins. Tristan and Isolde had been tethered firmly on short leads to the driver’s seat.
Cornelia closed her eyes at the sharp yapping welcome as Harry handed her up.
“I trust they won’t do that all the way to Cavendish Square,” he commented, taking his own place. “It’ll spook my horses.”
“I’ll keep them quiet.” Cornelia bent and scooped the two onto her lap, settling them comfortably under each arm. It seemed to calm them, and they gazed attentively and with a distinct air of superiority from beneath thick fringes at the scene on the street below them.
“Why isn’t my reputation damaged by being driven through the streets beside a man in his curricle?” Cornelia inquired sweetly. She needed to return their relationship to its previous footing. She knew where she was in this lightly combative banter.
“Don’t be disingenuous. You know perfectly well,” Harry replied. “It’s too public to be scandalous. Now, if we were in a closed carriage, creeping around in the dark, there might be cause for concern…Eric, keep your eyes and your ears on the road.”
“Yes, m’lord,” the groom said stolidly from his perch at the back of the carriage. He was finding the conversation most interesting, but unfortunately his master and the lady spent the rest of the journey in silence.
Harry drew up outside the house on Cavendish Square and looked with interest at the open front door, the loaded drays lining the pavement in front, the bustle of workmen moving in and out with ladders, buckets of paint, lengths of wood. “You’ve been busy,” he observed.
“Very,” Cornelia agreed, bending to unfasten the dogs’ leads. “In a few days we should be finished.”
“Quite an undertaking, putting that house in order,” he said, handing the reins to Eric, who had jumped down and was holding the horses’ heads.
Cornelia didn’t tell him that only a fraction of the mansion was being refurbished, or that the refurbishment was only skin-deep. She merely nodded, saying, “It’s a beautiful house, it seems a pity it was allowed to go to rack and ruin.”
“Quite.” His tone was dry. He jumped down and held up his hands. “Give me the dogs.”
“Take Isolde. If Tristan goes first, she’ll fling herself after him.” She held out the female of the pair. Harry took the other terrier and set them both on the pavement, holding both leads in one hand. He reached up his free hand to assist Cornelia from the curricle. “I’m not sure how secure that heel is, so be careful.”
She had been about to disdain the helping hand but thought better of it. A fortunate precaution, as the heel buckled almost immediately as she put her weight on it, and she found herself hanging on to his hand as she transferred her weight to the other foot.
“I think I had better see you safely inside.” Harry took a firm grip of her elbow. “Eric, walk the horses for ten minutes.”
“Please don’t trouble, Lord Bonham.” Cornelia set her hand on the railing. “I can manage the last few steps into the house with or without a shoe.”
“But I insist, Lady Dagenham,” he returned as formally.
Cornelia pictured the chaos within, the beating of carpets, the curtainless windows, the overpowering smell of paint, the pails of dirty water, and the army of mops and moppers. “I can’t offer you anything in the way of hospitality.” She opted for the bald truth.
“I wasn’t expecting it,” he said cheerfully. “But I own I’m interested to see what progress you’ve made.”
He released the dogs, who were straining against their collars towards the open front door and they raced into the hall with excited yaps. “That’s better. They may be small but they certainly know how to make their wishes known. Now, please, allow me.” He slid his hand to her waist and half lifted her up the steps into the hall.
Cornelia was no lightweight, and Viscount Bonham, while tall, appeared more lean and lithe than muscular; however, her feet barely skimmed the steps. She found her footing on the parquet of the hall, and found herself to be slightly out of breath despite the lack of exertion that had brought her there.
“Such gallantry, my lord,” she murmured.
“What else did you expect, ma’am?”
“From a man who makes salacious proposals to a bare acquaintance, anything, I daresay,” she responded.
Harry’s response died on his lips as Lady Farnham appeared on the curve of the stairs.
“Nell, is that you? Oh, this is such chaos…oh, Lord Bonham, what a surprise.” Aurelia collected herself and came down the stairs, a smile on her lips, her hand outstretched in welcome. “I fear we’re ill equipped for visitors. Did you meet Lady Dagenham on the street?”
“Not exactly, Lady Farnham.” He took the hand and raised it to his lips. “Lady Dagenham had an unfortunate accident and fetched up on my doorstep.” He shot Cornelia a wicked smile.
“Oh, what happened, Nell?” Aurelia was all concern, hurrying down the last few steps. “Are you hurt?”
“No, not at all,” her sister-in-law reassured. “My heel broke when the dogs started at a horse, and I tripped on a curbstone. Lord Bonham was kind enough to bring me home.”
Aurelia shot her a puzzled glance. What on earth could have taken Nell to Mount Street and the doorstep of her nemesis? “How kind of you, viscount,” she murmured. “Won’t you come into the parlor? The least we can do is offer you a glass of sherry or Madeira.” She turned towards the door in question.
“Mischief-maker,” Cornelia hissed at Harry.
He gave her a bland smile. “My lips are sealed.” He followed Aurelia into the parlor.
Cornelia hesitated. He would not say anything to her friends about what had transpired between them. He may have implied that he was ready to make mischief, but she knew he wouldn’t actually do it. She had no idea why she felt he had some kind of honor…but he did. It seemed Harry Bonham was a man to be known by instinct not by deduction.
She shrugged and made her unstable way upstairs to find a pair of shoes with intact heels.
When she came down again, Viscount Bonham was taking his leave of Aurelia and Livia. He smiled at Cornelia, and it was not a social smile. It was a smile that held a wealth of understanding and promise.
Cornelia struggled to ignore both. She said easily, “Oh, are you leaving, viscount?”
“Yes, sadly, ma’am. But it’s cold, and I can’t leave my horses too long.” He bowed over her extended hand.
“No, of course not. I must thank you for your assistance…And such a kind offer.” Her smile, cool and courteous, was a challenge in itself.
“Oh, not kind, ma’am, not in the least. One that benefits us both,” he returned. His gaze slid down her body, and she felt her skin quicken in response.
Prudently, Cornelia stepped back from the brink. “Let me see you out, sir.” She walked to the open door.
Harry followed, drawing on his driving gloves. He glanced back at the bustle in the hall. Lester was folding up the stepladder, and for an instant, their eyes met. The question in the viscount’s was answered by an infinitesimal shake of the other’s head. No luck thus far.
It was time Harry went to work in earnest. He stepped outside the front door and turned back to Cornelia. “Tell me, Nell, are you all serious about entering society?” There was no mockery in his voice, nothing sardonic in his tone, and nothing of passion either.
Cornelia took the question at face value. “Yes, Liv needs to find a husband. Ellie and I are her chaperones.”
He laughed softly. “Chaperones indeed. I don’t know about Lady Farnham, but I suspect, ma’am, that you will prove an inadequate chaperone.”
He stroked his chin, frowning at her. “I can be of assistance, Nell. For your friend’s sake, why not accept what’s freely given?”
“Freely given?” She looked at him suspiciously.
“I swear it.”
“Then what do you suggest?” She folded her arms, hunching her shoulders, unsure whether it was the ambient temperature that was cold or something inside herself.
“You all need new wardrobes…or a semblance of such,” he stated flatly. “You look—”
“Positive dowds,” she finished for him. “Yes, my cousin has already said so with lamentable lack of delicacy. So how else can you be of assistance, Lord Bonham?”
“I can bring visitors with the right influence to your doorstep,” he said mildly. “If you’ll take my advice about whom to use to dress you all, when you’re ready, I will deliver a patroness of Almack’s to your drawing room.”
Cornelia considered this. She had little doubt that the viscount could do what he promised, but there was something dangerously intimate about his involvement in the improvement of their wardrobe. But then she reflected there were three of them. There was nothing intimate about one man advising three women in matters of fashion.
“And why would you be so generous with your time, sir?”
He looked at her. “I leave that to your imagination, Nell.” He walked down to his waiting carriage, turning to tip his hat. “Do you accept my offer?”
Everything told her to say no. Instead, Cornelia said thank you.