Living London

by Kristin Vayden

"So your virtue hasn't been violated, I take it?"

  "Not once." She giggled.

  "Good. I'd hate you to lose your innocence in a crowded ballroom."

  "Jocelyn! You cannot say such things!"

  What did I do wrong? "Pardon me," I apologized immediately. I'd have to ask Libby about that too.

  After a scolding glare, her eyes took on an impish look. "If anyone is to worry about her innocence, I believe it's you."

  "Me?"

  She nodded behind me, making me turn around and meet a pair of clear blue eyes that watched me from across the room. Morgan had been cornered by Arynna, but probably hadn't heard a word she had said. Following his gaze, she turned and saw me. I spun around, but didn't miss the icy glare she sent in my direction. No new friend made there.

  "So?" Amelia asked, breaking me from my musing.

  "Hmm?"

  Her eyebrows lifted, and she leaned forward, waiting for me to catch on. I glanced around the ballroom. Too many ears could overhear the words I wanted to share with my friend. "Come see me tomorrow and you'll find out."

  "You're horrible! I can't believe you won't tell me," she whined.

  "I'll tell you, you'll just have to wait a little while."

  "Why? Unless…" Her eyes widened. She looked at Morgan and then back to me again, a smile showing most of her straight teeth.

  "Tomorrow." She nodded.

  "Tomorrow."

  Chapter Eleven

  Amelia came for tea the next afternoon. She was all grace and poise until the door shut, and then she pounced like a cat with a mouse. "He kissed you," she stated.

  "Yes." Wanting to draw out the moment of anticipation a little further, I left it at that and waited for her to burst.

  "Yes? That's all you can say? Yes?" Her exasperation was evident in her voice, and she stood up.

  "Actually, I kissed him first."

  She dropped into the chair, staring at me as if I had spoken in Swahili. "I thought you said he kissed you."

  "He did, after I kissed him."

  "So, what, please tell me what was it like. Where did he kiss you?"

  "On the lips," I remarked smartly, only to have Amelia swat at me with her dainty gloved hand.

  "Horrible! I know he kissed you on the lips. When, where? At the ball?"

  I went on to explain the whole ordeal with Lord Haymore and then about how Morgan found me in the darkened hallway. It sounded so romantic when I spoke about it. I could hear the storyline forming in my head. By the end of the conversation, Amelia admitted to knowing something had happened when Reg had danced a waltz with me.

  "Why would that be so odd?" I asked, confused.

  "Because waltzing can be used to… indicate one's feelings or attachment."

  "Ah, and Reg avoids all of those things, so his dancing with me could be misunderstood." I got it. I owed Reg big time. He had totally taken one for the team. "I'll remember to thank him."

  "Oh, he'll simply be thrilled that Lord Ashby finally did something."

  "He said as much when we were dancing."

  After Amelia left I thought about her, Reg, Libby, Morgan and even Mrs. Trimbleton. Back home I'd had no one left. High school had been slow torture, and by the time I had finished and begun college, Nanna had started having her spells. Between taking care of her and finishing my degree, I'd had no time for friends, a boyfriend, or anyone. The thought of waking up in my own time was becoming less and less alluring. Nothing waited for me there. In London I had friends, and Nanna's promise of finding love.

  Maybe Nanna had known what she was doing. I certainly hoped so. I had already had my heart broken once when she died. I didn't need it broken again.

  ****

  I really wanted to kiss him again. Hey, I’d settle for just being around him at this point! But how did a girl go about this in Regency times? It wasn't as if I could text him or check his social media status to find out where he was or what he was doing. I had to either wait for an opportunity or for him to call on me.

  But patience was a virtue I had yet to master. Frustrated, I decided to take a walk through Hyde Park. It wasn't the "fashionable hour for a walk," as Mrs. Trimbleton had explained—that took place around four p.m. But I needed some air.

  The process of changing into a "walking dress" amused me. Who knew there were dresses for walking, or any other activity? It was fascinating, all the polite clothes one had to wear during this era. Walking dresses, riding habits, ball gowns, attire for home… the list went on. I still missed my jeans, but the extravagantly feminine air was growing on me. And even though I wasn’t wearing any makeup, I didn't feel naked like I would have back home. Here, no one else had it on either.

  Putting on the only straw bonnet I could stomach wearing, I wondered why the English were so obsessed with remaining freckle-free when they rarely ever saw the sun. Rain did not cause freckles or a tan if my translucent white skin were any indicator.

  Libby had wanted to accompany me on my walk, but I told her I'd be all right on my own. If I could attend a ball without a chaperone, I certainly didn't need one on a walk so close to home. As I strolled through the park, I noted the trees and wondered if any of them would still be there in a few hundred years. Ironic.

  "Miss Westin!" called a strangely familiar voice.

  "Miss Westin!" came a second voice, different but similar to the first.

  Spinning on my heel, I looked in the direction of the voices. Perched on a dangerously high curricle were the Dannberry brothers. "Fancy meeting you here again!" the older one said.

  "Indeed! You're looking well! How are you?" the other one added.

  "I'm doing well. I remember the correct year today!"

  "Fantastic, we're glad to hear it!"

  "We saw you at the Langton's crush," the elder commented. "Wanted to save you from that Haymore fellow but didn't make it in time. Apologies about that."

  "Thank you. Your heroics are appreciated."

  "Ah, he's never heroic, miss. I'm the heroic one. You need help, just remember to call on ol' George here. I figure I owe you with my spooking your horse earlier."

  "You're too kind. There's no hard feelings."

  "Kinder than you deserve," mumbled the other brother.

  "You wouldn't know kind if it bit your nose, you sour old frog."

  "Frog? That's the best you can come up with? Frog? Ribbit, ribbit. Better than being an overgrown…"

  "Gentlemen, please," I interceded, not wanting them to fall off their precarious perch. Both men had been standing up, and I could see the ton gossip. Brothers fall to their deaths while fighting over Miss Jocelyn Westin's honor. "You are both honorable gentlemen, and I'm thankful to count you as friends," I soothed, and it was true. The elderly brothers were amusing but had no ulterior motives, and I appreciated that particular trait.

  "Thank you, Miss Westin." They spoke in unison as they once again took their seats. "We'd best be off," George added. "Be sure to save us a dance next time. And oh, if ol' Haymore asks for another waltz, you just tell him I’ve already secured that dance, understand? That should keep that dimwit away."

  Smiling to myself, I nodded my head and watched them leave, arguing over whose turn it was to drive. I hadn't gone more than a few steps when I heard my name called again.

  "Miss Westin?" Morgan's clear voice sped up my heartbeat. Despite it not being the fashionable hour, I sure was running into a lot of people.

  "Lord Ashby, how wonderful to see you," I commented, wishing I could call him by his first name.

  "I was just about call on you."

  "Well, here I am." I spread my arms out and tilted my head playfully.

  "Indeed. Care to join me on a ride?"

  "Of course."

  He helped me into the carriage and shut the door. I sank into the soft velvet seat as he sat across from me. "As much as you were praying for rain the other night, I didn't think you'd appreciate the downpour we're sure to have in the near future, thus the closed carriage."
>
  "I appreciate your planning ahead. No one cares to be caught in a downpour. The wet dog look is one I can't wear with grace."

  He laughed at my joke.

  "I wanted to see you," he confessed, the light of his smile remaining in his eyes.

  "I was hoping you would."

  "So you didn't want to see me, just hoped I'd want to see you."

  I reached out with my slippered foot and nudged his Hessian boot. "You know that's not true."

  "Indeed." He paused, and a devilish grin lifted his lips and smoldered in his eyes. "You'll never believe what happened to me last night."

  "Oh?" I played along.

  "I was accosted by a beautiful siren that forced her attentions on me."

  "You don't say!" I gasped and pressed my gloved hand to my chest.

  "I do."

  "Well, what did you do?"

  "What any sane man would do in my situation."

  "And what is that?" I asked, wondering what he'd say.

  "I kissed her back."

  "You certainly did." My cheeks heated up just remembering his lips melting with mine, his body pressing against my own. His expression went from teasing to hungry. The tension in the air was electric, creating a powerful current that crackled with desire.

  "The closed carriage was a bad idea," he announced, closing his eyes and breaking the spell.

  "Oh?" I whispered, not quite recovered from the heated exchange.

  "Yes. It was a very, very bad idea."

  "Why's that?"

  He opened his eyes and gave me a look of unabashed desire. "Because I can't resist the temptation of your siren call now that I've tasted you. I can't keep my hands away from you now I’ve felt your skin. My body aches for you with a passion I'm not sure I can control…I don't want to control. That is why this is a bad idea." His eyes closed again and he leaned his head back, taking a deep breath.

  I'd never heard a more romantic speech—better than anything in any book I'd ever read, and he wasn't even trying to impress me. "Kiss me." My voice was husky, foreign to my own ears.

  "No."

  "No?" He'd turn me down? After everything he just said?

  "Why?" I asked, a little insecure.

  "Because it wouldn't be enough, and I'm afraid that, as alone as we are right now, if I started to kiss you, I wouldn't be able to stop."

  "Stop… kissing me?"

  His expression smoldered with heated emotion. "Oh no, therein lies the problem. Kissing you would only be the beginning."

  "I see."

  "Do you?"

  "Unfortunately, yes. Honor is aggravating at times, wouldn't you agree?" I was thankful for his self-control when mine was so obviously lacking.

  "You have no idea."

  "So…?" I asked, trying to distract myself from his handsome face, glorious body, and smoldering eyes. "Where are we going?"

  "Just around the park, nowhere specific," he answered, his eyes focused on my lips.

  I opened my mouth to ask another question when he tapped the roof with his hand and the carriage slowed. "Are we getting out?"

  "Yes. You deserve more attention than what I'm able to give in this deliciously small space, so we're going to walk." He let out a small laugh that said he was not amused. I tried to sober up, but failed.

  "I'm glad you're finding humor at my expense."

  "Never! I'm not laughing at you, simply with you."

  "Strange, I don't remember laughing."

  "Ah, well, I'm sure you meant to."

  "Hmm, I'm sure," he replied sarcastically.

  Trying to keep my grin in check, I took his offered hand and stepped out from the carriage. The simple touch made my belly stir, and I averted my eyes, trying to not throw caution to the wind and kiss him right there in broad daylight. I knew enough to realize it wouldn't be a good idea. Considering the sky, I wondered if we'd make it far before the heavens opened up, but I didn't say anything. A little rain never hurt anyone.

  He offered his arm, and we began to walk towards the Serpentine. The water didn't look like it carried much of a current. It benignly accented the green of the trees and grass.

  "Hard to believe it was frozen, isn't it?"

  "The Serpentine?" I asked stupidly.

  "Yes, and the Thames, just last winter. But ah, you don't remember that, do you?" There was no ridicule in his voice, only subtle realization.

  "I can't say that I do, but it sounds interesting."

  "Oh, it was. We had frost fairs, and everyone came back early for the season. Worst idea I'd ever heard of. Oh, it's true, the sight of the ice forming on London Bridge was worthy of note, but staying outside, having parties in the cold…well, not my idea of a good time. Bloo — er, deuced cold." He gave a slight shiver as if remembering the sensation.

  I grinned at his expression. "Yes, I can imagine it was."

  We walked a while, taking in the scenery. Morgan was easy to converse with. The butterflies in my stomach came from attraction, not anxiety. It was a pleasant change from the nearly constant stress of playing the part I had been thrown into. His charm made me blush, but his humor shined. Walking with him, feeling the strength of his arm under my hand made me feel so secure. I didn't want the experience to end.

  At that moment, a fat raindrop landed on my cheek. I looked up at the sky, and a sister raindrop landed on my nose. "We'd best head back, and I'll take you home," he said as a drop landed on and slid down his freshly shaven cheek.

  After a few steps, the rain began to come down in earnest, and by the time we were halfway to the carriage torrential rain fell from the sky. We tumbled in, sopping wet and with mud covering our shoes. I glanced up at the sound of suppressed laugher. Morgan was desperately trying to hide his mirth as he boldly took in my disastrous appearance. When I narrowed my eyes, he tried to cover his laugh with a cough, but failed. "You're right. The wet dog look, as you put it, can't be pulled off with grace."

  I reached over and smacked him on the arm, giving him my best glare, but I couldn't hold it and a bright grin broke through, followed by a fit of giggles. He looked so cute; no longer the rake saying seductive words in a closed carriage, but the boy next door, the kind a girl could have a crush on her whole life. His normally tousled hair was plastered to his head and sent rivulets of water down his face. His blue eyes twinkled with mischief, and his impeccable cravat and waistcoat were ruined. I'd never seen him look better. Too bad I looked like a wet dog.

  "Well, I guess that's what I get for being honorable," he commented, still grinning.

  "Hmm? Ahh, yes, in efforts to save me from yourself, you instead try to drown me. How gallant."

  "I do try."

  "You succeeded. Good thing I hated this hat."

  At my statement, he broke into a laugh. "Yes, I'd say its days are over." The hat was skewed from its perch atop my head, and the feathers drooped miserably. I reached up and tried to unpin it but couldn't. Libby must have used industrial-strength glue to keep it formed to my head.

  Blowing out a frustrated breath, I slouched into the seat as much as possible in a corset and silently cursed all hats. It was making my head itch.

  Seeing my frustration, Morgan reached over. "Allow me." He began to extract the hat from my head with gentle tugs, releasing the pins with efficient motions.

  "I think you might be better than my maid," I commented, wondering how he had amassed such a talent at something so intimate.

  "Sisters. I may not have many, but all you need is one." He paused after taking out the last pin. "To learn things you find astoundingly helpful at times like this." He removed the hat from my head and set it down on the seat across from us. "Better?" he asked, his voice soft.

  "Much, thank you." My answer came out breathy. He was so close, and I could smell the cloves-and-honey scent I remembered from the other night. Somehow the rain had made it fresher, stronger, and I found myself leaning in.

  "Miss Westin?"

  "Mmm?" My eyes closed as I inhaled the scent
I'd forever associate with rain, kisses, and carriage rides. Everything I'd always associated with London — carriages, romance, even rain — were becoming irrevocably welded with this man. Who knew falling in love could be so frightening? If he broke my heart, I'd never survive. I'd see him everywhere and remember his scent whenever it rained.

  But those thoughts faded as quickly as they'd assaulted me when his lips graze my jaw line. His touch was so tender, so achingly alluring. I wanted more but didn't want to miss each sensation his touch ignited within my body.

  "Jocelyn," he murmured as his lips traveled down my neck to the sensitive spot just above my shoulder. The sound of my name whispered against my skin sped up my heart to racing. I wondered if he could feel my pulse, tattle-telling on my body's response.

  His nose was cool as it traced across my throat onto the other side of my neck. He pulled down my dress just enough to kiss my bared shoulder, and I couldn't suppress a shiver of delight. Breaking contact with my skin, he gazed up at me with darkened expression that begged me to tell him no, to stop, to regain his senses.

  I couldn't find my voice, nor did I want to. Instead I leaned forward and gently initiated a kiss. His lips caressed mine into surrender, demanding I relinquish control. And I was more than happy to give in, to allow him to lead. He pulled me closer, and I willingly went, cursing my wet clothes as they made it impossible to move gracefully. My skin was so sensitive, whether from the cold dampness or simply from his touch. Even through my dress, the heat of his fingers was a glorious fire. His fingers trailed over my face and around my back, pressing me closer still till I could feel every line of his body through the muslin of my dress.

  His hands moved up my back then dove into my hair, teasing and caressing my wet locks. The remaining pins clinked to the floor. The tension in my scalp released, adding to the sweet abandon. His lips continued to tease and stroke my own. I grasped the back of his neck and pulled his hair gently to deepen the kiss. He demanded more and more till I found myself cushioned between the soft carriage seat and his hard body. He moaned in pleasure as his hands reached up a breath away from my breasts.

  The carriage jolted to a halt. Morgan froze, then raised himself up on his arms and gazed at me. His eyes whispered his emotions — first annoyance at our abrupt stop, then a mix between desire and self-recrimination, before he settled on an expression that could only be described as devilish.