by Lara Temple
‘Yes, I do. I am not accustomed to speaking about Tim and I reacted badly. Not even my aunts know everything, just the two men who were with me in France. I wasn’t angry at you and I don’t really think you were meddling. Forgive me.’
She shook her head again.
‘I knew it wasn’t really at me and it was foolish to expect you to talk to me about something so precious to you. As you said, we hardly know each other. I don’t particularly like talking with people about what hurts me, either. Perhaps because I already told you things I only told my closest friends and I wanted to help and I didn’t know how and I made a mull of it; I know it was presumptuous of me. Do you forgive me?’
Hunter reminded himself he was in a civilised drawing room under the very watchful and hostile eyes of his hosts. He had no idea what to do with the fist clenching around his lungs, but doing any of the things the rest of his body was clamouring for was strictly impossible. He took the book and closed it, allowing himself a light brush of his hand along her fingers, trying to ignore the dangerous heating in his groin. He was allowing this aggravating lust to dictate his actions again, but at the moment he was too unsettled to care. Besides, he had to tell her he would be returning to London and he preferred to do that without an audience.
‘I hear the Welbecks have a very fine Stubbs of Diomed. Have you ever seen it?’
‘Yes, it’s in the green room,’ she replied as he drew her to her feet, the telltale tinge of colour filling out her lips, and he held himself from tightening his hold on her hand as he led her towards the green room.
* * *
‘Do you like it?’ she asked, looking at the painting.
‘Like what?’
The confusion in her eyes turned to laughter.
‘You don’t care much for art, I gather. Why did you want to see it, then?’
‘I never said I wanted to see it. I am more interested in the green room.’
She glanced around with a frown.
‘Why? Is there something special here?’
‘Two very rare commodities. Privacy and you.’
She stilled.
‘I see. No one has ever called me a commodity before. I am not certain I appreciate being categorised with corn and turnips.’
‘The schoolmistress should know most terms have multiple meanings. In this case as something of value or necessity.’
‘It’s not that I am not impressed, but don’t you ever become weary of always having a suave answer ready?’
Hunter considered various less-than-polite responses to his betrothed’s impertinence.
‘I certainly do if my efforts aren’t being appreciated. I recall a very direct request that I flirt with you.’
‘And you do it beautifully, but I think I was wrong to ask it of you. It is rather like harnessing your chestnuts to a gig.’
‘Good God, woman! That must be the most insulting compliment I have ever received. You might try for a touch of suavity yourself.’
Her face lit with a surprisingly shy smile and he stepped forward and stopped. He had come here to tell her he was leaving, not to settle the debate in his mind whether this was just a girl to be handled lightly or a woman to be seduced to the point of mutual combustion.
‘I sent a letter to your father yesterday care of Buxted.’
The laughter drained out of her eyes and she raised her chin.
‘What did you tell him?’
‘That you are here and the key points you and I have already discussed. That the three of us need to resolve this issue. Reasonably.’
‘I see.’
He moved back towards the picture, not looking at her.
‘I think it best that you stay here and I return to London until he arrives. My being here...complicates matters. Besides, you don’t need me here.’
That sentence had sounded reasonable enough when he had formulated it in his mind. There was no reason to feel just as he did when he woke from his nightmares, shaky and emptied. It was ridiculous to feel guilty about abandoning... He wasn’t abandoning her. This was precisely where she wanted to be with precisely whom she wanted to be. Simply because he was aching to bed her didn’t mean he should subvert her whole life and his for a bodily urge. He was neither ready to assume a burden like her nor willing to expose his weakness to her, and that was precisely what would happen if he allowed himself to think with his body rather than his mind.
‘I see,’ she said again, but her voice sounded distant.
There, it was done. Time for a swift exit.
‘Perhaps I should stay until your father arrives. I don’t want you to face the worst of his anger alone.’
She shivered or shook her head, he couldn’t tell, but when she spoke her voice was clear.
‘There is no need for that. He can’t hurt me any more. You shouldn’t stay because of that.’
The key now was to walk out and let her proceed with her dreams, however flawed. She would probably discover soon enough that Phyllida wouldn’t let go of Welbeck that easily, perhaps even less easily now that he was hankering after another, and very wealthy, woman. Phyllida would consider it piquant to deck herself in jewels purchased with another woman’s money. It wasn’t his business. He was probably being petty because the thought of anyone...
‘Won’t you stay for the jumping and the fête tomorrow?’ she asked suddenly. ‘It’s the best day of the fair. I hate the thought that you feel you must leave because of me. It’s just one more day.’
Just one more day. He shouldn’t; he could do a great deal of damage in a day.
‘Perhaps...one more day. But I would think you would rather remove me from the field now that you are doing so well with Welbeck, no?’
‘I’m not quite that shallow. I don’t know how to thank you for—’
‘Whatever you do, don’t start thanking me!’
She looked up, startled, but then she smiled.
‘I forget sometimes how sensitive you are.’
‘That’s more like it. I was wondering how long before you started abusing me again.’
‘I was trying to thank you!’ She laughed.
‘Your gratitude, like your compliments, leaves a great deal to be desired. Your abuse, on the other hand, provides a perfect excuse to punish you a little in turn.’
He moved towards her. He was surely allowed one more taste...
‘That isn’t punishment.’ Her voice, quick, breathless, and both mischievous and touched with longing, cleaved through him and whatever shreds of suavity he still possessed incinerated in the heat that rose through him. God help him, he was blushing; he could feel the singe of fire in his face, everywhere. It was wrong. He had no business taking this any further when he had no intention to follow through. If he did one hundredth of what he wanted to do to her he would probably both terrify her and end up trapped...
He backed her against the wall and the silver-grey of her eyes darkened in an invitation as clear as the flush on her lips and cheeks and the arch of her back as her hips met his for a moment before pressing back, just enough to make him painfully aware of how hard he was. These teasing tastes were moving quickly from the realm of playful pleasure to sheer torture.
‘Are you sure you haven’t done this before?’ he asked, tracing the line of her cheek with his knuckles, his voice husky and strange even to his own ears. ‘You are far too good at this.’
‘Mrs Petheridge always told me to insist on employing the best instructors if I wanted to excel.’ Her own voice sank to the melodic rasp that did so much damage to his control. How on earth had she managed to make the mention of her headmistress erotic?
He gave in and sank against her, gathering her to him, moulding his hands down the dip of her back and to the soft round curve of her behind. He groaned, his hands tighten
ing on the pliant flesh, and she rose against him, her hands twisting into the lapels of his coat, her hips arching against his again, and he held her there, trying to remind himself why it was not a good idea to toss up his virgin betrothed’s skirts in the unlocked and very exposed drawing room of his hosts and discover if she was as damp as he was hard.
She pushed away so abruptly it took him a moment to notice the door opening.
‘Hunter,’ Phyllida Melkinson’s silken voice admonished from the doorway. ‘Not the hackneyed “come see the painting” ploy. So déclassé. You are usually much more original.’
Hunter resisted a powerful urge to toss her out, under no illusion she had just happened to enter the green room by chance.
‘I think you have mistaken the room, Phyllida. We left your quarry in the main drawing room.’
She unfurled her fan with a smile, her eyes shining bright blue victory above the ivory sticks.
‘Under the circumstances don’t you think it wise to revert to calling me by my title, my dear Lord Hunter?’
Hunter held Nell’s arm as she tried to pull away. He was definitely off form to have made such a foolish error.
‘I was just taking a leaf from your book and leaving your poor husband out of it. Now if you don’t mind, we are busy.’
‘So I see. Appreciating the livestock. Such fine sturdy beasts, don’t you think, Miss Tilney? I do believe I heard Lord Welbeck mention that you were wont to ride astride as a child? Very daring. I am almost jealous.’
‘Of what, Lady Melkinson?’ Nell asked and Hunter felt the tension in her arm. ‘I would have thought you well versed in riding all forms of sturdy beasts.’
The fan dropped to dangle by its ribbon from Lady Melkinson’s wrist and Hunter, too, slackened his hold in shock and amusement at the unexpected vulgarity of Nell’s comment. But Phyllida recovered swiftly.
‘Oh, most amusing. I see all those years in the stables have given you a certain finesse, my dear. Perhaps you might be a match for Hunter after all. He is quite worthwhile, even if one has to share. Oh, don’t bite my head off as I see you wish to, Hunter. I shall remove my presence so you can continue your campaign to secure the heiress, but really, my dear Miss Tilney, I assure you you have no need to buy yourself a husband as your equally horse-mad mama apparently did. You do see such alliances do not always prosper...’
Her words petered out as Nell tugged out of Hunter’s hold and took three long strides towards her.
‘You will not mention my mother, or I will...’
Lady Melkinson shrugged, but there was a flicker of fear in her eyes and when she spoke again she had put a chaise longue between them.
‘Or you will what? Really, there is no need for such histrionics. Everyone knows Tilney married your mother so he could expand his stables, no pun intended.’
‘Or I will have a tearful word with your husband about how you are throwing yourself at my betrothed,’ Nell continued with resolution, the words grinding out between her teeth, but Hunter could hear the quiver of tension in her voice and moved towards her. ‘Downstairs gossip has it that Lord Melkinson has already threatened to curtail your pin money after a certain scandal in London. If I hear one more mention of my mother’s name on your lips, I will happily add wood to that fire and you might have to make do with whatever baubles you can cozen from your lovers. So I suggest you watch your words carefully from now on, you little...’
‘Nell?’
They all turned to the door where Charles stood staring in shock.
‘What on earth is going on here?’
Lady Melkinson sank onto the chaise longue with a small sob and drew out a lace handkerchief from her reticule, pressing it to her eyes.
‘I merely remarked that Miss Tilney shouldn’t be here unattended and she... I have never been so insulted in my life.’
‘Somehow I doubt that,’ Nell muttered, and Hunter crossed his arms, trying not to smile.
Charles entered the room, his hands raised placatingly.
‘I suggest we all return to the drawing room. It really is quite improper for you to be here alone with Lord Hunter, Nell, engaged or not.’
‘Please, Mr Welbeck,’ Phyllida said prettily. ‘There is no need to chastise Miss Tilney. She is clearly unused to polite society.’
Nell rounded on her.
‘I may be unused to polite society, but I am very used to spoilt girls like you who think they can manipulate people around them with impunity. Certainly in the lower forms of the school where I work. As for you, Charles, I will accept rebukes regarding my conduct from your mother, not from you or Lady Melkinson. I certainly won’t remain silent while she insults my mother.’
‘I am certain Lady Melkinson did not intend to insult—’
‘Are you, Charles?’ Nell interrupted. ‘On what precisely do you base that certainty?’
Charles’s glance flickered over to Lady Melkinson, who dabbed her handkerchief to the corner of her eye. He held his hand out towards Nell, smiling.
‘If she did, then naturally it was most improper and I will ensure she will not do so again. You were right to chastise me as well, but I really did mean it for the best. Won’t you please come in to supper with me, Nell?’
Hunter wondered that Welbeck had not realised how telling his words about Phyllida were. He could see Nell noticed the familiarity immediately and her mouth bowed, her eyes darkening. She shook her head.
‘You are very kind, but I have the headache. I will ask for something to be brought to my room. Good evening.’
Welbeck moved towards her, but she evaded him and left the room.
* * *
Nell refrained from taking the stairs two at a time, but only just barely. Clearly the same considerations didn’t apply to Hunter because he caught up with her halfway up and she wished it wouldn’t be considered childish to shove him back down. First he raged at her, and then he disappeared for a whole day only to turn up and pull the rug out from under her with that apology, then to tell her he was leaving her to her fate. And after he had unsettled her once again with his flirting and his embrace he hadn’t even come to her defence when that woman, who had also probably once been one of his endless succession of mistresses, tore strips off her. He was the very last person on earth she wanted to speak to right now.
‘Leave me alone!’
‘Presently.’
He took her arm and she tugged it away abruptly and nearly stumbled on the last step. He took it again, steadying her.
‘It is a bit late to be offering assistance when I no longer need it!’ she snapped, turning to glare at him.
He frowned down at her.
‘If you had needed my help, believe me, I would have come to your aid. But you didn’t.’
‘Yes, I did. She just sat there play-acting in the most unconvincing way and he believed her...’
‘Well, that’s her stock-in-trade, isn’t it? It’s not surprising she does it well.’
‘She made a fool of me.’
‘No, she didn’t. You were magnificent. You won that round hands down and she knows it.’
‘What on earth are you talking about? I ranted like a demented schoolteacher and she sat there like a stricken kitten. I know you are just desperate to wash your hands of this whole affair, but you could have done something other than stand there smiling!’
‘You had her against the ropes—can’t you see that? That was precisely why she had to resort to such a cheap trick. You most certainly didn’t need my help.’
‘I may not have needed it, but I wanted it. Even if you don’t want to marry me, I thought you were my friend.’ She felt very foolish and young as the words came out, even more so because she was so raw and confused. Everything was moving too fast. She had been racked by guilt all day at hurting Hunter. She hadn
’t even been able to apologise because he had disappeared to Wilton in the morning. It had been almost a relief to have Charles seek her out during the day and she had even felt the warmth in his eyes was sincere and not just a manifestation of his usual offhand cheerfulness.
When Hunter entered the drawing room in the afternoon she had just hoped for an opportunity to apologise. His own apology had shaken her and probably contributed to her willingness to sink into the disturbing but increasingly familiar warmth of flirting with him, seeking to erase the traces of tension between them. But then that woman had to ruin it by practically parading both him and Charles like possessions, confident that all it took was for her to bat her lids in their direction and they would come running. Hunter’s words, that she had had the upper hand, were ludicrous.
It was always hard to read Hunter’s face; sometimes it was the light-hearted humour or the teasing that served as a mask, but now, like those painful and unsettling moments in her room, it was a forbidding blankness that came between them and reminded her he was far from the easy-going rake people thought him to be. She was beginning to distinguish shapes in the dark shadows in his eyes. She could see conflicting currents of anger and compassion and even resentment. When he spoke his voice was without inflection, but the calm unravelled as he spoke.
‘If I had felt you needed to be saved from someone who could do you real damage, believe me, I would have had their face in the dust before they got within hailing distance of you. Why the devil do you think I made it a condition of the engagement that you board at that school and never return to Tilney? But interceding between you and that doxy would be more of an insult to you than to her. Four years ago I saw you take down a tyrant and, however hard it may have been, don’t tell me you don’t look back at that moment with pride. Now tell me you don’t feel good about not being the one who collapsed in fake tears on the sofa.’
Her hand closed tightly on the knob of the banister.
‘What do you mean you made it a condition?’
Chagrin flickered in his tawny eyes.