Betsy bobbed a curtsy, and Hannah caught the little maid’s secret smile as she left. Reminders of some of the things they had spoken about caused Hannah’s face to flush, and she poured the tea to cover it.
“I do not care if I am excused,” Rhone said, bringing her attention back to the present. “Societal expectations are not high on my list of concerns. You seem to desire acceptance, so it should be high on yours. Will your staff be ready to receive Lady Hawthorne and her niece?”
He took the teacup from her, and Hannah briefly wished he would upend it on himself. It irked her to have him making decisions for her, but there was no getting around the fact that she needed a chaperone. Fighting him on it would just be petulant.
“We will be ready. Should I be expecting any other additions to my household?”
“Not at the moment.” He stirred the liquid in his cup idly. “You should, however, expect to attend a ball twelve days hence at the residence of Mr. John Conduitt and his wife, Catherine. They are sponsoring your introduction to society.”
Hannah barely kept her composure. She had dreamed of attending a real London ball for as long as she could remember. “Why would they do that? I have never met the Conduitts.”
“On the contrary,” he said with a raised finger. “Your father was a man of science?”
Hannah nodded.
“Surely you must remember that he enjoyed regular debate with Sir Isaac Newton, Mrs. Conduitt’s uncle. Catherine accompanied her uncle on a visit to—” Lord Rhone paused, coming up short. “Where did you live before you started menacing the neighborhood?”
“Idyllwild.”
Lord Rhone stared at her blankly.
“It’s in Suffolk on the coast,” she elaborated.
“Catherine accompanied her uncle to take in the sea air at Idyllwild,” he continued, “and the two of you became fast friends. You kept in touch and are quite close.”
“My father didn’t allow visitors.” No visitors and no visits. Hannah had been completely isolated.
Rhone sighed his impatience. “Would I be correct in assuming your esteemed parent is no longer among the living?”
Hannah nodded again. “He died of a stroke six months ago.”
“Then we will claim he made an exception for the illustrious Sir Isaac. He can hardly gainsay us.” He sipped his tea with a raised eyebrow, inviting her to argue.
Hannah should have been concerned at the way he fabricated history with such confidence, but she was mostly impressed. “How do I know them really?”
“They’re good friends of mine. Catherine has experience being the center of the ton’s attention. She will help you navigate their treacherous waters.”
“That is exceedingly kind of her.”
“She is exceedingly kind. She is also intelligent and practical. You two should get on rather well.”
Hannah couldn’t tell if he had intended the compliment, given the deep scrutiny he was giving a loose thread on his cuff.
“There is one more thing,” he added, still inspecting the cuff.
“Oh?” Hannah couldn’t imagine what more she could need. He had arranged for a chaperone, a companion, and an introduction into society by way of a ball.
“We will need to offer some explanation for our engagement and the scene on your doorstep.” Lord Rhone refused to look at her, giving all his attention to his sleeve.
“I suppose we will,” Hannah agreed with rising suspicion. “Do you have any ideas?”
* * *
Miss Howard had been remarkably civil thus far, but one never knew when she might turn violent. He needed to stay alert in case she lunged at him.
“We will say that you and I fell madly in love, but your father didn’t approve of the match.” From the sound of it, Gavan imagined the man didn’t approve of much. “His death freed you to pursue our attachment, and you moved to London as soon as your mourning period ended.”
“That’s close enough to the truth,” she said after a moment to consider.
This was the tricky bit. “That would have been the blissful end of it, but you saw something quite distressing the morning after your arrival.”
“That’s very dramatic. What did I see?” Her curiosity piqued, Miss Howard leaned forward with interest.
Gavan stood and went to the sideboard to pour himself a stronger drink and get out of clawing distance. “You saw two women leaving my townhome.”
She frowned. “That hardly seems sufficient to drive me to violence.”
For safety’s sake, Gavan refrained from mentioning that mere flirtation drove her to violence. “They were nude.”
“I see,” she said dryly. “How lucky that I should be the only one to witness that.”
Gavan leaned against the mantel. He had always appreciated intelligent women, but he was beginning to understand why a man might choose a slightly dimmer wife. “The entire square got an eyeful.”
“You’re saying this actually happened?” Miss Howard’s adorably prim expression couldn’t go unanswered.
Gavan raised his glass to her.
“You are unbelievable. What were they . . . ? Never mind. I can guess what they were doing.” She stood up and paced.
He kept a sharp eye on her, defensive instincts on high alert. It was fascinating watching her mind work. Gavan could practically see her sifting through facts.
She stopped her motion a safe distance away. “Madly in love and freshly out of mourning for my father, it is a wonder I didn’t do more than strike you.”
“Violence is vulgar, but a man is expected to behave with discretion. Popular opinion should be that it was badly done on my part.” With a few well-placed whispers, Gavan would guarantee that was exactly what people thought.
“Presumably I forgave you if we are to remain engaged. What did you do to atone for your behavior?” Hannah asked.
The new light in her eyes made Gavan extremely nervous. The very fact that she was entertaining his scandalous proposal implied an enterprising nature that he wasn’t entirely certain he was prepared for. “What do you have in mind?”
“It would have to be as public and outrageous as your offense,” she said.
“Meaning it will also have to actually happen.” Gavan tried to anticipate the direction of her thoughts.
She nodded. “It wouldn’t do for people to think I’m spineless.”
No danger there, clever little minx. “The soothing of the female ego is usually done with gifts.”
“Why, yes, I believe it is.” The light in her eyes became a twinkle.
Well played, Miss Howard. Since her retribution was going to be monetary rather than physical, Gavan sat back down in the armchair and prepared to be fleeced. “Have you any suggestions on what sort of offerings might meet with your favor?”
Miss Howard tapped a fingertip to her lips. “A new vehicle; something light I can drive myself. If it were also extremely fashionable, that might open the door to reconciliation.”
Gavan coughed on the whiskey he was attempting to swallow. “I see I have chosen to spare no expense.”
“How could you and risk losing the woman you love?” She was glowing with barely contained amusement.
“You said ‘open the door.’ How many rounds of gift giving do you imagine it will take before we are reunited?”
“Three.” She stopped attempting to contain her mirth.
“How reasonable of you.” Gavan made a mental note that Miss Howard’s bloodthirsty nature extended to negotiations.
“It is a love match. Some allowances must be made for emotional inclination.” She smoothed her hands over her skirt, placed them in her lap, and beamed like a small sun.
Gavan indulged himself in the simple pleasure of observing her enjoyment. When was the last time he was that happy? “And my second gift?”
/> “A new wardrobe. Whichever modiste is the rage right now should do quite nicely,” she said with blatant avarice.
“That might be difficult to arrange.” Gavan knew just the establishment, but appointments were hard to come by.
“One suspects a gross flaunting of one’s wealth could overcome such an obstacle.” Miss Howard sipped her tea, the prim façade returning.
Gavan chuckled. He knew plenty of men with less tenacity than the plucky Miss Howard. “Ewan may actually suffer an apoplexy.”
“Who is Ewan?”
A pain in Gavan’s backside and author of this farce. “My cousin. He fancies himself my financial and moral guardian.”
“Are your finances as defunct as your morality? I can draft a note to cover any expenses.” The minx was most worried about losing her gifts.
“My finances are perfectly fine.” And apparently so were hers. Gavan added London’s many fortune hunters to the list of potential future husbands for Miss Howard.
She gave a tiny sigh of relief and went right back to business. “Then the third gift should be jewelry. Something unique that flatters me specifically. It should show a great deal of thought.”
She was lost to reality for a moment, her expression taking on a faraway look. Was Miss Howard a romantic?
“I know that will be hard for you,” she continued, “so I will prepare a list of suggestions.”
If she was a romantic, it was a sentiment entirely under the control of her managing nature.
“I’ll take care of it,” he interrupted.
“It’s important that it be perfect, otherwise—”
“I said I will take care of it. Don’t worry.”
She clearly ignored the second direction, given her worried expression, but she didn’t argue. Gavan decided to leave the rest of the discussion for a later day, lest something happen to ruin their progress.
“Can you be ready after breakfast for a trip to the modiste?” He stood to go, and she copied him.
“What if you can’t get an appointment?”
“As I am committed to grossly flaunting my wealth, I have every confidence it will be managed.” Two early mornings in a row. Gavan had been engaged for less than a day and already it was wreaking havoc on his life. He deserved some sort of medal for this.
Miss Howard walked with him to the foyer, and he couldn’t help but notice her earlier joy turn pensive. He vastly preferred her exuberance. “Is something amiss?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. She frowned and met his eyes. “When we first met, I was certain you were horrible and arrogant. You’re certainly arrogant, and your manners leave much to be desired, but what you’re doing is unexpectedly decent.”
Gavan watched a tear form at the corner of her eye.
“Damnation,” she exclaimed. “I do not cry. Why does this keep happening?”
Gavan was not prepared to deal with a sobbing woman. The only thing for it was to put some of the fire back into the hellcat, and he knew exactly how to do it. It also had the convenient benefit of being exactly what he’d wanted to do since they first met.
He brought his hand up to her jaw, brushing the tear away with his thumb. Confusion registered in her honey-colored eyes, before his lips pressed firmly to hers. Gavan braced himself for violence, but it didn’t come. When she kissed him back, leaning into him with a breathy sigh, Gavan’s minuscule reserve of self-restraint disappeared.
Threading his fingers through her upswept hair, Gavan stepped her back until she was pressed between his body and the wall. He stroked the side of her neck with his thumb, all the while launching a gentle assault on her mouth. She hummed with pleasure, and Gavan smiled against her mouth. He nipped her lower lip with his teeth. She gasped with surprise, and Gavan’s tongue advanced, dancing with her own.
She responded with eagerness and curiosity. Grabbing the sides of his coat, she pulled him closer and devoted herself fully to the exploration. Gavan tried to regain his senses, but her enthusiasm overwhelmed him. He pressed his hips firmly into hers—the soft heat of her against him was exquisite. She moaned her approval, and Gavan let the last of his reservations go.
Honey. Everything about her reminded him of honey. The slow, consuming sensation of her. Her sweet, rich taste. He wanted more. He wanted every part of her. His free hand moved to explore the curves of her body. She tensed suddenly, and Gavan froze in response. Gentling his kiss, he massaged with the hand still tangled in her hair. She started to melt, then stiffened again. Her hands on his jacket moved to his stomach and gently pushed.
Gavan lifted his head. She looked magnificent. Her lips were swollen, and her eyes were wide and dazed. Her hair was a glorious mess, and he was unable to stop himself from sliding it through his fingers.
“What is in this for you?” she asked.
He must have missed something in his exploration of her sinfully soft chestnut locks.
“The engagement. What do you gain from it?” she clarified. The dazed expression was clearing rapidly.
“This isn’t enough?” Gavan moved to taste her again.
She leaned into him for a moment but then shook her head and retreated. “No, it isn’t.”
She tried to sidestep out from her pinned position but only succeeded in rubbing herself against him. He groaned.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I need a moment.”
“What’s wrong?” She shifted again.
Gavan put both hands on the wall beside her head, trapping her. “It would be easier if you didn’t move.”
She leaned back against the wood paneling and contemplated his outstretched arm. A smile flirted with the edges of her mouth. “Would you like me to stomp on your foot again?”
“Please don’t.” His instep was still recovering from her last attack.
“Then answer the question. You are arrogant and horrible. You’re not doing this out of decency. Why?” She was disturbingly calm, resting in the cage of his body and accusing him of perfidy.
Gavan sighed. “My cousin Ewan threatened to shoot me.”
“Why would he do that?” The puzzled moue of her lips inspired a whole new set of wicked thoughts.
“He has an overly protective nature toward women.”
“But you don’t.” She said it with such certainty, Gavan found himself insulted.
“Our formative experiences with the fairer sex were fundamentally different,” he defended.
She tilted her head to the side, putting those silky locks back into his hand. “How so?”
Gavan really didn’t want to talk about this particular subject, but his fingers were weaving through her hair of their own accord. He couldn’t bring himself to let it go and move away from her.
“Ewan’s mother married a very unpleasant man and suffered for it.”
“And you?” Her eyelids lowered under his ministrations.
“My mother could not be stifled by King or country, and certainly not by a lone man.”
That sent her back to alertness, and she looked like she was about to launch a fleet of follow-up questions. Good sense required Gavan to lean down and capture her lips again with every ounce of expertise at his command. He was prepared for her passionate response this time and used it to his advantage.
* * *
He did the most fascinating things with his mouth. Rhone’s tongue stroked against her own in a rhythmic motion, starting a bittersweet ache at her core. Hannah moaned her confusion at the new feeling, and suddenly his thigh was there. The pressure was incredible. It satisfied the ache and taunted it to new heights, inspiring a level of need she hadn’t known existed.
Hannah tried to get closer, hating every layer of skirt and petticoat. His hands read her mind, positioning her skirts until the only thing between them was the rough weave of his trousers. Wit
h subtle suggestion, he taught her hips to match the delicious dance of their tongues. The feel of his lightly calloused hand on her bare thigh surprised her back to awareness.
Rhone applied his expert mouth to the side of her neck, and Hannah tried to ignore the sudden strangeness of his hand in such an intimate place. She had almost forgotten about it, again finding that sweet rhythm, when his fingers brushed the dewy curls between her legs. She squawked an indelicate sound of shock.
He lifted his head, and they both stared at each other, frozen. The intensity of his emerald gaze so close to hers was unnerving. When she made no move to put distance between them, his fingers made a questioning advance. She clapped her hand over his through her skirts, stopping the motion.
“No?” He was surprised.
Hannah couldn’t blame him. Her body was aching with an unnamed need that protested her refusal.
“No,” she said, cursing her interfering mind.
He withdrew his hand from underneath her skirts, slowly. “Are you sure you don’t have more questions?”
He brought her palm up to his mouth, placing a gentle kiss in the center.
Hannah’s entire body shivered from the odd intimacy of it. “Not . . . not at the moment.”
“Not even just one more?” He removed his leg from between her thighs with torturous reluctance.
The friction arced through her and she whimpered. Rhone placed a steadying hand on her waist as her skirts settled back down between them. He placed another deceptively sweet kiss in the center of her palm before slowly backing away to the opposite wall.
“Tomorrow morning,” he said, “wear something hideous, or I cannot guarantee we will make it to the modiste.”
Chapter 5
As soon as the front door closed behind Rhone, Hannah fled to her study. She leaned heavily against the desk and thanked whatever force was keeping her knees from buckling. Hell and damnation. The things he had done. The way it had felt. Good Lord, his hands.
What had gotten into her? Hannah hadn’t intended to kiss him back, but his lips were so nice and her mind worked through problems so much faster when she had a distraction. She had been on the verge of tears, but then he kissed her. The confusion dropped away as all of her senses were overridden. Every sight, smell, and sound had only been him. It was far too fascinating not to explore.
A Convenient Engagement Page 4