A Dance of Manners

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

  “Because America stands to gain from knowing what is going on with us and Napoleon,” Simon finished.

  While Lady Waitley gaped at him for daring to interrupt her, Southbury said, “You have a point there, Alcott. The States blame us for aiding the Indians in their boundary skirmishes and have been itching to get control of Canada. If they have first-hand information that our hands are full with the French, they might act.”

  “Nonsense.” Caroline didn't want to waste time discussing politics. “What we witnessed was a rendezvous between two lovers. Why, he nearly took her in the middle of a public road! How terribly humiliating for Lady Felice if anyone else had seen that spectacle! If you want him as your son-in-law, Lord Southbury, I would advise you to keep watch.”

  Southbury drew his lips into a tight line. “I intend to do just that, Lady Waitley.”

  Caroline smiled.

  * * * *

  In between bouts of wanting to kick himself hard for giving in to Miss Bouvier's charms, Andrew suppressed a wide grin. Never in his wildest fantasies had he envisioned passionate response. He could still taste her warm, sweet mouth. What would other parts of her taste like? And yet ... could she possibly have been using him?

  “Do not play poker anytime soon,” Devonshire told him as he poured them both a drink in his library. “Emotions are warring all over your face. Was she that good?”

  Andrew felt his face grow warm. Damn it. He hadn't blushed about bedding a woman since he'd lost his virginity. And he hadn't even had Ashley. Not yet.

  He opened the Celtic legends book still lying on the table and flipped a few pages, trying to sound nonchalant. “From what I can tell, she is a very skilled lady.”

  “Perhaps in more ways than one?” Hart asked.

  Andrew had told the duke about Ashley's activities that afternoon. And, even though the evidence seemed to indicate that she had, indeed, passed something on to that dandy who'd tipped his hat, Andrew's gut told him she was no spy. Yet something was off. He just wished he could find out what.

  “I wish I knew,” he said with a sigh and put the book down.

  “Hmmm,” the duke said thoughtfully. “I have been unable to find out where her lodgings are. If she is using another name, that could indeed be troublesome, almost as much as the mysterious white-liveried coachman with the white horses.” He set his snifter down. “I think it is time for the ultimate duty to your country.”

  Andrew met his gaze but made no reply.

  The duke grinned. “From the expression on your face, I doubt you will find it a difficult duty.”

  Andrew forced himself to grin back. He looked forward to taking Ashley Bouvier to bed, but not for the purpose of procuring information from her. She would hate him if she found out.

  He'd used people before to extradite information for Wellesley. It should make no difference whether she hated him if it meant keeping England from fighting on two fronts. But it did. Why should it bother him this time? He wanted to see joy on her face, not pain. To feel her ardor, not her anger. He wanted her to desire him, not hate him.

  “To England,” he said and drained his brandy.

  * * * *

  Ashley looked around the ballroom for Andrew. The memory of his kisses and his strong embrace made parts of her go all tingly again. She sobered a bit. His conversation on the way back had certainly been anything but seductive. He had talked almost totally about the war and Colonel Wellesley's leadership abilities. Luckily, she was able to keep up with him.

  A hand took her elbow, and she turned to see Lord Southbury frowning at her.

  “We shall dance,” he said in a tone that didn't leave room for argument.

  The last person she wanted to dance with was Lady Felice's glowering father, but the grip he had on her hand told her he wasn't about to let go. “If you wish, sir.”

  “I will make perfectly clear what I wish,” he said as they moved into the throng of dancers. “I wish for you to stop throwing yourself at my daughter's intended.”

  Her temper began to simmer. “I have not thrown myself at anyone.”

  “Well, of course, you Americans are more brazen than we are,” he answered in a condescending tone. “You probably do not see it that way. Luring my future son-in-law away from the hunt today with promises of a tryst is simply not acceptable in Society.”

  Ashley felt her face flush, from anger or embarrassment she wasn't sure. She'd had no intention of luring Andrew away. Quite the opposite. And how did the earl know about what had happened, anyway?

  The man was watching her like a hawk. “Nothing happened!”

  He smiled, but his eyes were cold. “Kissing in the middle of the road is nothing?”

  How could anyone know that? No one had been there. Only Andrew and herself. Her cheeks flamed. “Did Andrew say...?” Surely he wasn't rake enough to spread the rumor himself?

  The earl's smile widened into a leer. “Why would he deny it? An American divorcée is just another light-skirt to him.”

  “Oh!” She stopped dancing and pushed away from him. “I'm not going to listen to this! You're the one who is—”

  “Do you mind if I cut in?” Andrew asked with a formal bow.

  He looked resplendent in his evening attire and the scent of soap and spice swept Ashley back to the heat of their kisses and being enveloped in the male smell of him. Then she remembered what Southbury had said.

  “You may not cut in,” Southbury replied. “Should you not be seeking out Felice?”

  Damn them both. She desperately wanted to walk away, but that wasn't an option. She definitely had her fill of the Earl of Southbury. Andrew's ‘intended’ could bloody well wait. He had some explaining to do.

  She placed her hand on his arm. “I'd be delighted, my lord.”

  He put his hand on her waist and gave her a rather strange look when she stiffly held her distance from him as they danced. “Is something wrong?”

  “You tell me.”

  He frowned. “Pardon me?”

  “I didn't think you were the kind of man who would kiss and tell,” she said in an exasperated voice.

  His frown deepened. “What are you talking about?”

  “You deny that we kissed today?”

  “No. Of course not.” His forehead smoothed and a corner of his mouth quirked up. “It was a very nice kiss, I must say. Would you like another?”

  “Stop it! I just had to listen to your future father-in-law tell me what a light-skirt I am.”

  The frown returned, and he took her firmly by the elbow and led her from the dance floor. He didn't speak until they were on a secluded part of the terrace. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he looked down at her.

  “For your reference, Southbury is not my future father-in-law. Now what the hell are you talking about being a light-skirt?”

  She told him what the man had said. “No one else was there. It had to be you.”

  His eyes turned to obsidian. “I swear to you I have said nothing. Why would I start such a rumor when I want to make love to you?”

  Ashley's anger deflated like a leaking balloon. Her rage left her and her knees felt weak. “What did you say?”

  “I said, I want to make love to you.” Andrew moved closer and drew her toward him, his hands lightly caressing her back. “Tonight. Now.”

  “Here?”

  He grinned. “The outdoors can be exciting, but perhaps not the risk we want to take right now? I think I have enough patience to get you upstairs and into a proper bed.”

  He wrapped his strong, warm fingers around her hand. “Come on. I know a secret way to get back in.”

  Intrigued almost as much by the hint of conspiracy as she was with the thought of actually getting naked with him, she let Andrew lead her through the garden and into the maze where he abruptly turned a corner. They came to a hidden door. He opened it then lit the torch in the wall, holding it up for her to see the stone stairwell.

  The stairwell door opened behind a tapestry in h
is bedchamber. “This used to be the old duke's room,” he said as he crossed to the other door to make sure it was locked. “The passage was meant for escape in case of a siege, but I suspect he used it for more clandestine purposes as well.” He untied his cravat and stripped off his coat and waistcoat, tossing them aside as he moved back to Ashley. He put his arms around her waist. “Like ours,” he said and kissed her softly.

  That light kiss kindled a flame deep inside her. Andrew removed the pins from her hair and laced his fingers through the strands as he arranged them, his fingers brushing across her breasts, tantalizing them. His eyes smoldered as he ran his hands slowly along her rib cage and then upwards, cupping the sides of her breasts. Ashley arched into him with a low moan.

  Deftly, he undid the buttons to her gown, his gaze holding hers, and then he eased the gown down until it puddled at her feet. His hands traced the rounded curves of her hips and belly. Then he kneaded her breasts through the sheer chemise, his thumbs rubbing against her nipples, making them pebble instantly. He bent his head to fan hot breath across the tip of one, teasing her.

  Ashley caressed the hard muscles of his broad chest then she ran her hands over his shoulders, pulling his head against her. Her breasts felt full and heavy, and the heat that coursed through her, tingled her nipples.

  He smiled as he resisted her push. Instead, he tugged the chemise down, exposing her breasts to him. “Beautiful,” he murmured and leisurely circled his tongue around one, the concentric circles growing ever smaller as he reached the peak. He lightly glazed it while his hand pulled gently at the other hardened nub. Ashley nearly screamed her need to have him suckle her.

  He gazed at her, and then he obliged, covering the tight bud with his mouth and drawing deep. She whimpered as his rhythmic sucking blazed through her body to synchronize with the throbbing at her core.

  One of his hands slid down her belly and palmed her mound, pressing against the sensitive nib. He slipped his hand through the slit in her drawers. She trembled and then gasped when he began to do marvelous things to her.

  “So wet already.” He moved to suckle the other breast while he manipulated her most feminine part with expertise.

  Tension built, the flames at her core building into an inferno. Her body began to convulse and then she shattered, coming against his hand. Her legs buckled under her.

  Andrew caught her. “Hmmm. That was nice.” He laid her on the bed then removed the rest of her clothes.

  She looked up at him, her breath still coming in ragged gasps. “I've never been able ... no one has ever...”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Your husband never took the time to pleasure you?” Then he grinned as he shed the rest of his clothes. “His misfortune, sweetheart. We have only begun.”

  Naked, he was beautiful. It wasn't a word she usually associated with a man, but she could think of no other. He truly was a Celtic god. In the golden light from the banked fire that glowed in the hearth, his muscular arms and thighs looked like smooth marble. A light dusting of black hair across his chest trailed down into a thin line across sculpted abs to disappear into a nest of black curls from which protruded a very hard shaft. A big, long, thick shaft.

  “Oh, my.” Dh's had been maybe half that size. Even as she looked at it, it grew. Would it even fit?

  “It is all yours.” Andrew sank down on the bed between her legs.

  She reached for him, her hand barely able to encircle his manhood, then stroked him. He inhaled sharply, and then gently removed her hand.

  “Ah, lady. If I let you do that, I shall not last.” He spread her legs wide, then nibbled his way up her inner thigh. “And there is so much more I want to do.”

  Her skin tingled where his moist lips had been, and a quiver began deep inside her belly. He used his hands to splay open her folds. Then his tongue was there, titillating her, bringing her almost to the brink. Fully aroused, every nerve ending on fire, she'd never had such a powerful need. Her hips lifted to meet him, and she made a mewling noise deep in her throat when his tongue flicked across her thrumming nub. And then his mouth closed over it, and he suckled hard. A thousand sparks flashed in front of her eyes as her world exploded.

  Before she had time to recover, Andrew lifted himself over her, nudging her entrance with the tip of him. She wrapped her legs around his thighs, and he drove into her, stretching her and filling her completely. He paused for a moment, giving her time to adjust. Then he began to thrust, long and hard and deep. She writhed beneath him, undulating in rhythm, wanting all of him.

  He lifted her legs over his shoulders and ground deeply into her. Muscles clenched hard, gripping him tight. He threw back his head and groaned, a thin sheen of sweat glistening his body as he rode her harder. Her blood sizzled, her entire body a fiery inferno. Her climax built, and her body began to spasm. One final thrust hammered against her womb, and she erupted in one magnificent contraction. Andrew's roar of release followed a split second later.

  They lay winded for several minutes, unable to talk. Finally, Ashley turned in his arms and rested her head on his shoulder, thoroughly sated, although guilt niggled at her conscious. “There's something I need to tell you—”

  “Shhh.” Andrew laid a finger against her lips.

  For a moment, she thought he savored the moment, but then she heard the sound of the doorknob being turned. She shot up in bed, clutching the sheet to her. “My God, someone's trying to break in!”

  “Do not worry. It is locked.” He was already on his feet pulling on his breeches. “The armoire is large enough for you to hide in while I take care of this.”

  She slipped her chemise over her head and stepped into the clothes chest, leaving it open a crack, as Andrew slid the bolt on the door. “What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?” he asked as the Earl of Southbury dropped the pin he'd been using to pick the lock and straightened up. Lady Waitley and Lord Alcott were behind him.

  The earl's voice boomed in the hallway. “You have that American harlot in there. You have embarrassed and disrespected my daughter, shaming her with your blatant display of indiscretion. I left Felice sobbing, her heart breaking over this. How dare you treat your intended bride—”

  “For the last time, Southbury, Lady Felice is not my intended bride. If her heart is breaking, it is because she will not have access to my wealth. Last Season, her heart broke because Hart turned her away from his bed.”

  “How dare you insult my daughter? I am calling you out, sir!”

  Andrew cocked a brow. “Do you wish to die so soon, Southbury?”

  “Now, now,” Lady Waitley intervened, “no one needs to duel. Lady Felice is an attractive young woman who will have no trouble finding a suitable match.”

  “Indeed,” Simon said. “I will court her myself.”

  Lady Waitley gave him an arched look while Southbury made an indistinguishable sound in his throat. She turned back to Andrew. “I am sure you will do the honorable thing, now that Miss Bouvier has been disgraced, and offer for her.”

  Andrew waved an arm, but continued to block the door. “As you can see, there is no one in my bed.”

  “Or under it?” Simon sneered. “Perhaps we need to search the room.”

  “I think not.”

  “Hiding someone?”

  “If I were, it is none of your business,” Andrew replied.

  “Well!” Lady Waitley declared. “I never thought you to be a cad, Lord Tiverton. Even if the woman is an American, you have tarnished her reputation to the point that the duke will send Miss Bouvier packing—”

  “Why would I want to do that?” Hart asked as he came up behind them.

  All three of them jumped. As Southbury pompously tried to explain, the duke's face darkened.

  “Tiverton is my guest,” he said. “As are you. I am appalled that any of you would stoop to this. Now return to your own quarters. If word of this debacle gets out, you will be the ones asked to leave. Do I make myself clear?”

  They scurri
ed off like rabbits escaping from the fox. Andrew waited until they had gone down the stairs before he spoke.

  “That was good timing on your part, Hart. What brings you to my room?”

  The duke glanced over Andrew's shoulder, but made no attempt to enter. He pulled a note from his waistcoat.

  “This just arrived by special messenger from Prinny. I think perhaps you should come with me to read it.”

  Andrew hesitated and glanced toward the armoire. “Could you give me a few moments?”

  His friend shook his head. “This is important. It might significantly impact your ... uh ... friend.” He, too, looked at the armoire and then back to Andrew.

  “Ah. Well, then.” With one last glance toward Ashley, he stepped out into the hall and closed the door.

  * * * *

  Andrew surveyed the crowd gathered for lunch in the huge dining hall. Where was Ashley? She had been gone when he returned to his room last night. Not that he'd expected her to linger and wait, but her scent on his pillow had left him restless for the remainder of the night. Never before had he wanted to actually sleep with a woman after lovemaking. But he wanted to hold Ashley's naked, warm body against his. To cup her breast even as they slept. To awake to further delights.

  Lady Waitley had been right about one thing, though. If word of their tryst got out, Ashley would be ruined, even if she weren't a member of the ton. He would do the right thing and offer for her. Strangely, that thought no longer frightened him. Debutantes had tried to lure him into seduction so they could catch him in the parson's trap, but Ashley was different. He wouldn't mind at all waking up to her for the rest of his life.

  He looked around the room again. Lady Waitley wore a glum expression and Simon a surly one. Southbury studiously avoided him. But all three had been moving from group to group, and people spoke in low tones in their wake.

  He sighed. Too bad Prinny's messenger had made such an obvious entrance. The note said that an American frigate had been spotted, cruising the waters off Brighton.

  It was just a matter of moments before the news spread through the guests and more than one had asked about Miss Bouvier's whereabouts.