Sweet Seduction hmtl

by Patricia Pellicane

  "Tell him the truth." At four and twenty, Meg was long past the age of consent and had little fear of her father's disapproval. Years ago she had given up any chance for marriage and had chosen instead to care for her sickly mother. Now that her mother had passed on, she was far beyond the age where most girls married. No one wanted a woman of twenty-four when there were an almost endless supply of seventeen-year-olds. Since she was no longer marriageable in her estimation, it no longer mattered that she was chancing her reputation by leaving the house unchaperoned.

  Thinking back on her missed opportunities, Meg wasn't sorry she'd chosen as she had. She'd seen all too often the conditions most women were forced to live under once agreeing to that holy state of matrimony. If she had a choice, and she supposed she did, she'd choose to remain as she was. Free of a domineering husband. And Meg had yet to see one who wasn't. Free to come and go as she pleased. Free to do as she would.

  Lena, on the other hand, would no doubt marry within the year. Their mourning had ended last month, and their father had brought both his girls to London to witness Queen Victoria's coronation and to become acquainted with their English relatives.

  London was an excitement neither woman was quite prepared for. The sight of narrow streets filled to overflowing with every kind of humanity imaginable frightened Lena but set Meg's heart to beating double time with exhilaration. She loved the sights, the smells, the sounds. She wished the street parties might go on forever. She absorbed into all her senses the smells of cooking, of horses, of exotic perfumes, the hawking of

  vendors, the children playing underfoot as men and women teased and flirted. It was like attending an enormous fair. And when she'd been with her father's people yesterday afternoon, she felt her most joyous, her most at ease. She'd known within minutes that she'd come home.

  While Lena readied herself for yet another ball in honor of the young queen, Meg changed into a bright, yellow skirt. The garment flared out in a full circle when she turned before her mirror and came to rest about two inches above her ankle. Meg grinned at her daring. A lady didn't show her ankle, but she would tonight. A ruby red blouse slipped off one shoulder, no matter how often she tugged it back into place. A bright green scarf was tied over her loose black curls, another at her waist, and huge gold earrings were set to her ears. Gold bangle bracelets clinked together on her wrists, and golden ropes twisted around her neck, coming to rest low on her chest between the smooth curves of her breasts.

  The clothes and jewelry were given to her yesterday when she and Lena had met their great-grandmother, Gypsy cousins, aunts and uncles for the first time.

  Meg couldn't be more pleased than to wear the loose, unconfining costume. Her only problem was that because the blouse kept slipping from her shoulder, she was forced to wear no chemise. Despite the baring of one shoulder, she deemed the blouse more modest than some of the beautiful ball gowns hanging in her closet. More than a few came dangerously close to exposing the entire bosom, and pieces of lace had to be placed in strategic places, lest the garment never be worn at all.

  Meg had never felt so free as she did now. She wished she had a dozen more such costumes so she might wear them every day.

  Noting the time, she hurried to finish her dressing. For Rogers's benefit, a floor-length cape covered her from head to toe. He would be accompanying her to the encampment and then returning home to let her father know Meg was in safe hands. Meg laughed at the thought of the stuffy butler seeing her in these clothes. The poor man would no doubt have an attack of apoplexy if she dared to show herself thus. Meg wished her sister a pleasant evening and smiled at one of Lena's dark looks as she left the room. Quickly she moved through the rented house, fearful that her father might return from his business meeting momentarily. It wouldn't do to be caught dressed as she was. No matter how independent she professed herself to be, Meg was still the daughter of John Fairmont, a man who believed in carefully protecting his own. And she knew her father would not take kindly to her going out with only a butler to act as chaperon, not to return till morning.

  Meg stood alone in the twilight outside the great house and waited for Rogers to hail a hansom cab. Her foot tapped nervously on the pavement as she silently hurried him along. Moments later she was leaning back against the worn leather seats of the hackney cab as Rogers climbed aboard, seating himself at the driver's side. She listened to the driver issue orders for his lazy horse to begin the short drive to the Gypsy encampment on the outskirts of London, then grinned when nothing happened. A moment later the snap of a whip caused the vehicle to lunge forward. Meg giggled as she imagined Rogers holding on for dear life. It was not without some cursing and quite a bit of tugging on the reins that the driver finally got control of his animal.

  "So, what are our plans?"

  "Mother wants us to stop by later. She's having a few friends over."

  "Just a few?" Tristan asked, his mouth twisting into a handsome smile. Knowing Mrs. Whitehall since he was a lad, having attended school with her son, Tristan knew well enough what Edward meant by the term "a few friends."

  "A hundred or so of her closest. Seems some bloke, some long-lost cousin, has arrived from the Colonies, and Mother wants everyone to meet his beautiful daughters."

  "Which colonies?"

  "Yours, as a matter of fact."

  "Edward," Tristan sighed at the man who was picking imaginary lint from his meticulously brushed pant leg. "When are you going to get it into your head that the United States is no longer a colony of England?"

  "Isn't it?" Edward grinned. "Sorry, old boy, I thought it was"

  Tristan grinned back at his friend and then shivered at the thought of attending a formal gathering with hundreds of people. He hated parties. Especially big parties. "You could tell her you couldn't find me."

  Edward laughed. "I see you've forgotten my mother. She has spies everywhere. Have some pity, man. Don't make me face her alone."

  Tristan grinned. He had indeed forgotten that facet of the formidable Mrs. Whitehall's character. No doubt Edward wasn't far from wrong. His mother would somehow, someway, find out they'd been together and Edward would have hell to pay for not attending the party and bringing with him a most eligible bachelor. "We won't stay long," he coaxed hopefully.

  "I swear. A few minutes at most."

  Tristan nodded. "Fine. Let's go there first and get it over with. I don't want the thoughts of this party hanging around my neck all night."

  "After dinner."

  Tristan nodded again. "After dinner."

  Edward grinned as he watched his friend straighten the white ruffle at his dark sleeve. "A friend of mine, an actress, has invited us to a private party later tonight."

  "How private?"

  "Very. There will be just the two of us and her I friend."

  Tristan grinned. "Sounds interesting."

  "Believe me, she's more than interesting. You'll thank me in the morning."

  "What about her friend? Do you know her?"

  Edward smiled. "No, but I expect I will after tonight."

  Tristan laughed at the look of anticipation in his friend's eyes. "Why wait till tonight?"

  "She's working. Has a small part in some godawful play. Matter of fact, she's a godawful actress, but don't tell her I said that." Both men laughed in camaraderie. "First I thought you might like to see a bit of London."

  Tristan shot his friend a droll look. "Edward, I've seen London."

  "But not as it is now, my boy. The city has gone quite mad with its celebrations. People dance in the streets almost till dawn. I've never seen this much food or drink . . ."

  "Now that you mention it, I could do with a spot of ale." Tristan nodded as he imagined the crisp, biting taste. "Perhaps more than a spot."

  Meg giggled as her cousin hugged her. tightly against him and spun her in a dizzying circle. "Put me down, Nicoli."

  Nicoli laughed at the woman he held in his arms. Judging from the sound of her voice, she could hardly breathe.
"You're too skinny, Meggie," he said as he released her at last. "Look at my Marta here. Now this is a real woman. She makes a man happy to reach for her at night."

  The casual words about so intimate a happening brought a flush of dismay to Meg's cheeks. She covered her uncomfortable feelings with a weak laugh. "And I'm not real?"

  "Ya. You're real skinny."

  "Leave the child alone, Nicoli," her Nanna Magda interrupted the laughter as she shoved her way into the small gathering crowd of teasing relatives. The woman was bent almost in half with age. Meg figured she must be at least eighty or eighty-five years old. "Go help your wife with the children. We'll be leaving soon, and I want to enjoy my Meggie for a bit.

  "Come, child," said the elderly woman. "Sit with me."

  Meg did as she was told. Sitting on a brightly colored blanket at the foot of her Nanna, she looked up into the woman's wrinkled face and smiled into warm dark eyes, so much like her own. Meg was amazed at the laughter in those eyes. Her great-grandmother's body might be old and bent, but her spirit and zest for living was as young as any girl's. "Now tell me everything about you."

  Meg chuckled softly. "Everything?"

  "It can't be so long a story."

  "Do I look that uncomplicated?"

  "No, you look that young."

  Meg laughed. "But I'm not. I'm four and twenty."

  "So old." Nanna said gravely, and they both laughed.

  "Johnny's a good boy?" she asked, referring to her grandson, Meg's father. "He treats his girls right?"

  Meg smiled and then nodded. "He takes very good care of us."

  "And you live in a big house?"

  Meg nodded. "A very big house. We live in Maryland. We have horses and lots of space to ride them."

  "And one of those horses is yours?"

  "Yes."

  "What's her name?"

  Meg blinked with surprise. "Why?"

  "What a woman calls her horse tells a lot about her."

  Meg felt her cheeks grow pink. She hadn't thought of that when she'd named the animal. She wondered now what her great-grandmother would think when she said, with an almost embarrassed whisper, "I call her Delilah."

  Magda laughed low and throatily. "Good."

  "Why?"

  "No Buttercup or Pretty Girl for you." The old woman nodded. "That's good."

  The wagons were lining up, ready for the short trip to the city.

  "We go now." The old woman allowed her great-granddaughter to help her to her feet. A moment later Meg stood before the old woman. Magda looked long and deep into black eyes. A slow smile curved her thin lips even as her eyes grew sad. "I wanted to know you, but you'll be gone so soon."

  "No, Nanna. We're not leaving for another month. And I fully intend to spend most of that time with you."

  The old Gypsy only shook her head in silent regret. "Soon. Too soon."

  Chapter Two

  Tristan breathed a sigh of relief as he walked down the front steps, leaving the noise and confusion of the Whitehall home behind him. Despite his mother's obvious insistence, Edward had done the best he could, and they had left the ball within an hour of their arrival, claiming a previous engagement.

  The girl Lena had been pretty enough, but Tristan wasn't the least intrigued. She was too young. Barely seventeen, if he guessed correctly. Certainly it was the custom for women to marry at that age, but Tristan preferred his women a bit more sophisticated and worldly, never mind just barely from a schoolroom. Still, she had been easy to talk to. The girl was natural and sweet, actually, now that he thought on it, completely out of place in London's cosmopolitan society. She possessed no false air of importance but was filled with excitement at being in England for the first time.

  He'd been polite and had asked her a number of questions about her home. To their mutual surprise they'd come to realize that she lived only a few days' ride from his plantation. They had laughed together over the fact that they lived almost as neighbors and yet had traveled halfway around the world before meeting.

  No matter that he enjoyed her company, he nevertheless knew a sense of relief when the music began and her partner had come to claim her for the first dance. Lena had sent him a brief look of apology as she was led off to the ballroom. He grinned, knowing there would be a dozen more waiting in line once that dance was finished. Too bad she was so young. She really was a pretty little thing. He shrugged, knowing it didn't matter. He wasn't the kind to patiently wait his turn. When Tristan wanted a woman, he wasn't about to wait in line.

  The two men had three hours to kill before their eagerly awaited appointment. An appointment that promised an evening filled with endless pleasure. With varying degrees of enthusiasm, it was decided to spend much of those three hours discovering what delights the streets of London had to offer.

  In one hand Tristan held a meat pie, in the other a tankard of ale as he turned at the sound of a man calling out, "Make way, make way." The man, and a woman following close behind, were walking on stilts that had to be at least fifteen feet high. Tristan grinned as the pair moved out of sight. Immediately he turned back to the acrobats and watched their performance. Their sense of balance was incredible. At one point, they stood on each other's shoulders, four high, and then tumbled to the ground harmed. They bowed to the applause of the crowd while another of their group walked through the mill-joyous onlookers holding out a soft wool cap, hoping the audience would show their appreciation with a coin or two.

  Tristan finished his pie and was downing the last of is drink when Edward poked him hard in his ribs. "Look," Edward said as he turned from a pretty, if coarse, young woman, who was obviously giving him a come-hither look. "Gypsies. Want to get your fortune told?"

  "And my pockets picked?" Tristan shook his head. "No, thank you."

  "Come on," Edward said as he headed toward the large colorful group. "They'll be able to tell you where we can find the horses you want." Edward smiled. "No one in England knows more about horses and copper than tinkers."

  Tristan followed with some reluctance.

  The Gypsies were a beautiful lot. The men were strikingly handsome with dark, dramatic coloring. The women were lushly full-figured with olive-toned skin, dark flashing eyes, and long, curling, black hair. Their costumes were bright, cheerful, and pleasing to the eye, despite the gaudiness of wildly contrasting colors.

  There were two tents in all. One was being used to tell fortunes, while before the other stood a number of makeshift tables that boasted the tinker's talents. Handmade candlesticks, bowls, pots, and jewelry, all of copper, awaited an interested buyer's eye.

  Tristan stood on the edge of a crowd and watched a small group perform a lusty, sensual dance. No one watching could remain unaffected for long. The flickering firelight combined with the throbbing beat of the music lent an ethereal sense of exotic mystery to the scene. The flash of a teasing smile, the glorious movement of unbound breasts, the glimpse of a naked leg as a skirt was momentarily lifted caused many a man to shift uncomfortably, as they watched the Gypsy women or their own female companions with a decidedly hungry glitter in their eyes.

  Tristan had already been too long without a woman and was more than ready to spend the night sampling the delights of some lovely. He was experienced enough to know that any further teasing of his senses and he'd be sure to make a fool of himself later. Purposely he avoided the sensual entertainment before him and moved his gaze beyond the dancers to the fortune-telling tent. A young woman stood at its opening, obviously waiting her turn. Tristan's experienced eye looked over the pretty lady as he wondered why she would seek the supposed mystical knowledge of these people. What so distressed her that she thought to find endorsement of a happy future in words bought with gold?

  Tristan shook his head, knowing that the woman was about to waste her coin.

  For a long moment, Tristan was lost in thought and didn't notice at first the small woman who had just stepped from behind the tent. His eyes took in the soft glow of skin, a sh
ade or so lighter than the rest. Her complexion was slightly more delicate, her

  cheeks held higher color. Dark eyes flashed with excitement as she watched the dancers and then flashed again with laughter as a large woman came up behind her and whispered something near her ear. Full lips curved into a smile, exposing small white teeth.

  Tristan blinked as his conscious thoughts honed in on the beauty. She was small; the top of her head probably wouldn't reach his jaw. But her body was ripe and almost breathlessly provocative. He'd never seen a woman so slender and yet so full-figured.

  The green scarf that covered her head did little to hide thick black curls. The heavy mass hung loose over her shoulders, almost to her waist. Tristan could see its movement when she smiled again and shook her head.

  The reflection of the fire danced in eyes as black as her hair, and Tristan suddenly knew he wouldn't be

  siting an actress on this night. He'd found the woman he wanted.

  "She's a beauty all right," Edward said, noticing for the first time the reason behind his friend's silent preoccupation. "Why don't you have your fortune told? I'd wager that one is good at it. In fact," the man gave a decidedly dirty laugh, "by the looks of her, she'd be good at anything she does."

  Tristan shot his longtime friend a sharp look. Had he been another, the man would have already been lying on the ground nursing a bloody lip. Tristan didn't think on the reason behind this need to do bodily harm. In fact, he barely recognized the need above the more powerful one that was pounding in his loins.

  "What did I say?"

  "Nothing. Just shut up," Tristan said as he stalked off toward the tent the woman had just entered.

  "I can't do it." Meg's heart was beating wildly as she felt Marta's hands on her back pushing her toward the tent. "Marta, please, I wouldn't know what to say."