A Dance of Manners

by Cynthia Breeding, Kristi Ahlers, Erin E. M. Hatton

  She drew back. “Not right now. I have exciting news.”

  Simon raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Better than having me inside of you?”

  “Well, maybe not better. But I think you will find it worth the conversation.”

  “Mmm. As long as I can continue to feel you,” he murmured as he slid a finger deep inside her and used his other hand to press her against him. “Talk away.”

  She gave him a little push. “I can scarcely think or talk when you are doing that. Now listen!”

  With a resigned sigh, he muttered, “I am all ears.”

  “I discovered shocking news about that American woman.”

  “You? Shocked?”

  She ignored the sarcasm. “She told me she was just visiting for a month because she is getting over a divorce.”

  Simon eyes glinted. “That means she is an experienced woman. I will not have to go through all that tedious protocol to lure her to bed. Thank you for telling me.”

  “It is not you I want in her bed.”

  “Are you jealous, my dear?”

  “No. Think for a moment, would you? You would have to be blind not to notice the attraction between her and Lord Tiverton. Had I not found watching them dance so titillating, I might have been scandalized.”

  He laughed, and then his face hardened. “All the more reason for me to lure her to my bed. There is no love lost between Tiverton and me.”

  “And you are lucky to still be received by Society, Lord Alcott. Refusing to duel with him when your honor was at stake kept the gossips busy for weeks.”

  Simon scowled. “I did not compromise the girl ... not totally, at least. I did not have time to before he came upon us. Why risk getting wounded for a sin I had not yet committed?”

  “You do not have to explain yourself to me, sweets. But think about this. If we could catch him in a totally compromising position with Miss Bouvier—and have proper witnesses, of course—he would have to do the honorable thing and marry her.”

  “I do not think the same rules apply to married or divorced women as they do to debutantes. Are you forgetting how often we—”

  “I am not forgetting anything.” Caroline snapped her fan at him. “And I am especially not forgetting how that blue-blooded mother of his gives me the cut direct every time we are in the same place. What sweet revenge it would be to have her son—heir to the huge Ashford estate—forced to marry a foreigner and not someone of Quality. And a divorced foreigner at that. The scandal would be bloody marvelous. The Marchioness would be unable to hold that proud head up at any function for years.”

  “You are quite evil, Lady Waitley. Did anyone ever tell you?” He reached for her again and pulled her against him. “And the best part is, I like it. For once that noble ‘honor’ Tiverton brandishes will do him in.”

  “I thought you would like the idea,” Caroline said as she undid the buttons on his breeches and fondled his member as it sprang out of confinement. “We will work together. Your making him jealous will only help me. Now, let us get on to better, more interesting things, shall we?”

  “With pleasure,” Simon said and pushed her to her knees. “With pleasure.”

  * * * *

  When Ashley entered the immense dining room the next morning for breakfast, Lady Caroline waved her over to where she sat next to Andrew.

  “Do join us,” she said and moved over to an empty chair leaving the one next to Andrew available. “I was just telling the earl that His Grace has arranged for a game of lawn ball before lunch. Doubles actually.”

  “Doubles?” Ashley sat down, all too aware that now she was sitting next to nobility, not an actor.

  “Yes. You have a partner and the two of you have to hit the ball together or the stroke counts against you. It is quite the rage.” Caroline smiled and winked. “I am sure Lord Tiverton would be glad to show you how it is played.”

  Heat flashed through Ashley as she conjured a picture of standing in front of Andrew, his strong arms around hers and hands pressed together on the mallet. She could almost feel his hard abs against her back...

  “I would be delighted,” Andrew said, his eyes darkening as a corner of his mouth lifted and he held her gaze.

  Ashley felt herself blushing. The mere memory of his hand, sensually massaging her back while they danced, still warmed her. Not overly suggestive in the twenty-first century, but this was Regency England. He probably thought her a ... a wanton for allowing it. That was the word they used, wasn't it?

  She stiffened suddenly, remembering Lady Felice. “Your fiancée may expect you to join her, my lord.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “I do not remember becoming engaged.”

  Maybe not officially. Ashley had no intention of becoming part of a triangle, even if she didn't like the pouty, young heiress. She knew how it felt to be on the other end of that. “Lord Alcott said you were almost betrothed to Lady Felice.”

  Andrew's eyes narrowed slightly. “Perhaps Lord Alcott should mind his own business and stop spreading rumors.”

  “Indeed he should!” Lady Waitley intervened. “I was just telling him so last evening.” She turned to Ashley. “I can assure you that Lord Tiverton is a man who knows what he wants and does not want.”

  And right now, his eyes were telling Ashley that he wanted her. He focused first on her mouth, smiling slightly as her lips involuntarily parted, then let his gaze lower to her breasts. Her nipples beaded, and even though the morning dress had a high collar, she felt exposed. He shifted his gaze back to her face, a devilish glint in his dark eyes. A tingle began deep within her belly.

  Dear God. What was wrong with her? Dh had never affected her like this, not even on their honeymoon. How could a man make her so hot and not even touch her? She shivered in spite of the heat searing her body. No doubt the Earl of Tiverton was used to getting what he wanted ... and discarding it when he was through, which made Andrew Colton a dangerous man. She would do well to remember it, if she didn't want her heart broken again.

  Still, she had managed to somehow traipse through time. How often did high school history teachers actually get to re-live history? And with a diabolically handsome hunk whose broad shoulders could grace the cover of any modern romance novel?

  He widened his smile as if he could read her thoughts. “Do you take so much time in every decision you make, Miss Bouvier?”

  She felt herself blush. It was only a lawn game they were speaking about, played in broad daylight with lots of people about, not an invitation for anything more intimate. Surely, she could handle the handsome earl if she just kept reminding herself that none of these people were real in her world. She couldn't get hurt by a man who didn't exist, could she?

  “I accept your invitation, my lord,” she said, “but I must warn you that I play a rather good game of lawn ball.”

  Amusement lit his eyes. “I do not doubt that you are very good at whatever game you wish to play. I shall look forward to finding out.”

  * * * *

  Later, when Ashley descended the steps from the terrace on to the lawn, Andrew was standing near the gazebo, talking to the duke. Sunlight filtered through the branches of the white birch trees, highlighting the midnight-blue of his dark hair. He had abandoned his morning coat, and had rolled up the sleeves of the crisp linen shirt, the snowy white fabric accenting his dark, roguish looks. A navy waistcoat fitted closely to a narrow waist, and buff-colored pantaloons clung to heavily-muscled thighs. She tried not to think about what it would feel like to run her hands along those hard legs toward the buldge the trousers only partially hid.

  Andrew's eyes lit up appreciatively as he saw her, and he excused himself from the duke's presence to walk over to her. From the corner of her eye, she saw Lady Felice watching them, a scowl forming on her pretty face.

  He gave a small bow. “You are even more lovely this afternoon, Miss Bouvier. I believe that gown suits you well.”

  She smoothed the skirt of the finely woven muslin. The golden fabri
c with green sprigs and tiny white flowers did set off her coloring well, even if the neckline was cut a little low. Dacey had insisted that it was more than decent for an afternoon dress.

  Andrew extended his arm. “Shall we?”

  She almost tucked her hand inside until she noticed the other ladies had laid their hands on top of the arm. Simon was escorting Felice, although from the looks of her stormy face, she was none too happy about it. Ashley felt a slight ping of guilt. This wasn't her century, after all...

  “Lady Felice doesn't look pleased.”

  “Forget Lady Felice,” Andrew said as they walked down to where the game had been set up. “My choice is to be with you.”

  And tomorrow? Will you toss me aside for someone new? The thoughts rose unbidden in her mind and she pushed them aside. What the earl did was none of her business. It really wasn't. She would be leaving soon—as soon as she found that white-liveried footman and carriage

  “I wasn't able to find the coachman who brought me here,” she said.

  Andrew looked puzzled. “Why do you want to find the coachman?”

  She couldn't very well tell him because she was from the future and needed to go home. Soon. Before she succumbed to the desire that surfaced whenever he was near. She took a deep breath. “I don't want to wear out my welcome. It was kind of Lady Waitley to sponsor me, of course, but I'm renting a room—”

  “You are not staying with Waitley?”

  Had she just blundered? How many women rented places on their own? Surely, it wasn't unheard of. “No. I prefer a bit of solitude.”

  He gave her a thoughtful look. “Who brought you then?”

  She hesitated. “A carriage came for me from the duke.”

  “From Hart? I thought Lady Waitley only introduced you last night?”

  Why did it feel as if she waded through quicksand, sinking rapidly? “A carriage came for me,” she said and hoped her nervousness didn't show. “I ... I assumed I was being invited as a friendly gesture to a new neighbor, even if I'm only visiting. The footman said they always picked up guests this way. He was quite insistent that the duke not be kept waiting.”

  A slight frown creased Andrew's brows. “Can you describe either the coachman or footman? What were their colors?”

  “White livery with silver cord,” Ashley answered.

  “The duke's color is light brown,” Andrew said. “Or ‘straw’ for the races.”

  “I've noticed that. But these men wore white. I thought it odd, since it would show soil easily, but it was white. So were the horses. Four of them.”

  His frown deepened. “I know of no one who drives a team of four whites.”

  A sinking feeling began in the pit of Ashley's stomach. She had looked over the stables and the paddock after breakfast, but only found grays among the sorrels and chestnuts. She'd told herself that the coach-and-four had probably been stabled elsewhere since Devonshire's stables appeared to be full. But if Andrew didn't know of any such team ... Dear God. Was she stuck in the year 1811?

  She needed time to think, but one of the duke's valets rang a small bell, summoning all the couples for the start of the game. “Well, perhaps I was mistaken and it was a team of grays,” she said. “It was twilight, after all.”

  “Perhaps,” Andrew answered, but he didn't sound convinced. “I shall inquire for you later, although I do hope you will accept Devonshire's hospitality a bit longer.” He gave her his lopsided smile. “I would like to get to know you better.”

  Simon and Lady Felice were already at the first wicket when Andrew led Ashley to wait behind them for their turn. The look the girl gave Andrew could have frozen water in hell, and she ignored Ashley all together.

  Andrew chuckled as Lady Felice and Simon moved off in pursuit of their ball. “I think you have just been cut,” he said as he brought his arms around her and placed his big, warm hands over hers on the mallet.

  His scent engulfed her ... a slightly spicy aroma, mixed with something that was uniquely him. His chest brushed her back as he leaned forward to swing the mallet with her, and her knees weakened. She tried not to think about the slow pulsing that began at her core. Good heavens, how would she manage to go around the whole course if he was going to wrap himself around her like this at every shot? She'd never make it. Better to think of something else. Something practical ... historical.

  “So, what do think of Napoleon's marriage to Marie-Louise? Will the Austrian alliance harm your efforts in the Peninsular wars?”

  He stiffened momentarily and then his hands slid upward along her arms before he stepped back and released her. “You seem to be very knowledgeable about English affairs,” he said mildly as they walked toward the next wicket. “Are all women in America so keen on politics?”

  Ashley bit her lip. She couldn't very well tell him she was a history teacher in the twenty-first century. Nor could she talk about Britain's eventual victory. “My father is in the military,” she finally said. “He instilled an interest in me.”

  Andrew's gaze sharpened. “What branch?”

  “Navy. A commander.”

  He sucked in a breath. “So he—you—support the embargo?”

  How she wished she could tell him that her father was on board an aircraft carrier cruising the Gulf of Suez. She frowned, trying to recall the particulars that had led up to the embargo in the 1800s. France had originally declared that any neutral ships docking in England wouldn't be allowed entry in any French port and England had retaliated by issuing its own Orders-of-Council, saying that any neutral ship bound for France would first need to dock in England and pay a license fee. The whole thing smacked of kindergartners sticking out their tongues at each other.

  She shrugged. “Napoleon rescinded his Berlin and Milan decrees. Once England does the same, shipping will resume with you. I'm surprised your Colonel Wellesley hasn't brought that up. He's most persuasive, from what I've read.”

  Andrew gave her a thoughtful look before he stepped behind her once more and brought his arms around her. His warm breath tickled her ear as he leaned close and guided her hand on the mallet. “This is interesting,” he murmured.

  Ashley had the uncomfortable feeling he wasn't talking about lawn ball.

  * * * *

  Interesting, indeed. Andrew cursed softly as he made his way to Hart's library later that day. He didn't want to believe Ashley was a possible spy. Not whenever he touched her, his cock swelled instantly. Just smelling the lavender fragrance of her silky hair earlier had nearly undone him. It was fortunate the game ended when it did.

  “What did you find out?” Hart asked him after they were both seated with a way-too-early brandy in their hands.

  He swirled the golden liquid in its snifter and inhaled before he answered. “Her father is in the American Navy.”

  Devonshire raised an eyebrow. “How did you get that piece of information out of her?”

  “Not the way you think.” Andrew almost wished he had wrangled it out of her while she was lying nude beneath him. Perhaps if he quenched his thirst for her, he could clear his head and tend to more important matters. “She volunteered it.”

  “Umm. Did she pry for any information? About Wellesley, perhaps?”

  Andrew told him what she'd said, although he left out the part from their earlier conversation regarding supporting a country wanting to be free of its greedy ruler. Louis XVI had been a spendthrift, to say the least. “She also said America does not fully support its president about the war.”

  “Umm,” the duke said again. “The embargo is costing the Americans money in lost trade, but not as much as during the Non-Intercourse Bill a couple of years ago. I noticed Miss Bouvier wears a lot of silk. Only place to get that is France.”

  And she has a French name. He waited for his friend to bring that up, but the duke didn't mention it.

  Instead, he said, “Her father could be using her as intelligence. I think you need to get more information from her.”

  Andrew grinned
. “Ah, the sacrifices I make. Having to lure a lovely divorcée to my bed to serve my country.”

  Hart grinned back. “A hardship, to be sure. But be careful. Lady Felice was bombarding her father earlier with a real tantrum about being ignored this afternoon. Southbury will be watching you like a hawk.”

  He groaned. “I swear I have never said anything to give that spoiled chit cause to expect an engagement.”

  “Well, this is her second Season,” Hart said, “and you know Southbury does not expect his daughter to marry beneath her station.”

  “To hell with her father's expectations! Or the ton for that matter. I think the Americans have the right idea. No class divisions.”

  “Well,” the duke continued, “you have escorted Lady Felice far more often than any of the eligible dandies. In her eyes, anyway, it seems you are courting her.”

  Andrew set his glass down so abruptly that he sloshed it contents. “I have been a total gentleman! There are too many unhappily married women and widows out there for me to get caught in the parson's trap.” A muscle clenched in his jaw. “And tonight I will make sure a pretty, tempting divorcée is in my bed.”

  A sharp rap on the door interrupted them. The butler entered at the duke's command. On his silver tray, a crumpled letter lay.

  “For Lord Tiverton,” the man said with a slight bow.

  Andrew took the note and broke the seal. He swore under his breath as he finished reading it. “My chief steward has been seriously injured. The two men directly under him are both vying to give orders. I will have to ride home and take care of this.” He sighed as he stood. “It looks like Miss Bouvier will have to wait for the pleasures of bedding until tomorrow night when I can return.”

  Damn it. He was the one who didn't want to wait.

  * * * *

  Ashley was restless that evening. When Andrew hadn't put in an appearance at dinner, she'd found herself sitting next to Simon, who flattered her with flowery compliments until she was nearly nauseated with his sugary remarks. Did anyone really say things like “You've taken my heart, now take the rest of me?” She had a sneaking suspicion he was paraphrasing Lord Byron. Badly.