‘Oh, dear.’ The contact between them was intimate. If she had any understanding of anatomy, it would explain why Cyn Banester was finally nonplussed.
He raised a hand to her face and drew one finger down her cheek, tangling with a red curl. ‘Now I will take the kiss you offered. When I am through with you, you shall scream and bring the house down upon us, so that I might plead convincingly for your hand.’ Those wide green eyes were blinking at him again, more expectant than frightened.
It made him feel strangely dizzy, probably from a loss of blood to the brain. When she looked at him like that, he could not seem to think clearly, even though it would be better to take such a major step with a clear head. He was sure there were things he was missing in all this. Probably some vitally important reason to postpone the decision until morning. But with one last look at her lips, he threw his reservations aside, closed the last inches between them, let the full breasts crush against his vest front and pressed his lips against hers.
Until recently, Jack had had little experience with true ladies of any kind. One could hardly count bored wives and randy widows as genteel. They’d been seeking a bit of adventure and he’d been happy to provide it. But he had never kissed the sort of young lady he was kissing now. She was of limited experience, cautious, unworldly, but with all the grace, innocence and sweetness of a Juliet. So he did his best to be a worthy Romeo, demonstrating all the ardour of first love, but with just a bit more confidence than that doomed lad would have managed. If this first kiss had to last him until the wedding night, then it must be memorable.
Her mouth opened in surprise like the first bud of May, and as he delved into it he felt the growing, urgent heat in his loins. It was a heat that must go unanswered tonight, he reminded himself. But that did not mean he should not give her reason to be eager for more.
He must have succeeded. When he pulled away from her, he felt her mouth trying to find his again, even as he kissed his way down her throat. ‘Your lips, like cherries,’ he whispered. ‘And breasts as white as...’ No matter how much he wanted to taste them, it could not be wise to use two food references in a row. ‘As white as matched doves.’ He could almost hear the groans and the thunder of boots as the gallery hammered on the kicking board to express their disgust at his hyperbole. He was but a hackneyed mummer with no right to improvise. But the words seemed to work on Cyn, for the sigh she offered was of contentment and not protest. He stared down at her body. ‘Do I dare to touch them? I cannot. And yet I must.’ He placed a hand beneath her breasts and pressed up as he lowered his face to them, covering the exposed skin with kisses, while leaving the best of them tantalisingly hidden.
In response, the little minx rose up on her knees, pressed her body to his and her chest to his lips, her fingers tangling eagerly in his hair until he held her, one hand splayed over the globe of her breast and another over the globe of her hip. She was a perfect armful, and his common sense struggled with his withered conscience to find a reason not to hoist up her skirt and take the evening to its logical conclusion.
Not tonight. He had but to wait a bit and he could have all he wanted of her, gorging himself on the sweetness until he was sick of it. In a few months, Lord Kenton would be experiencing a tragic death and the girl would be a wealthy widow. Then Jack would be free of his wife and richer for the experience. Before he had to visit the ‘undiscovered country’ he would have ample time to investigate as yet uncharted places on the lovely Cyn. It was hard to imagine that he was to be paid for becoming lord and master to such a tasty bit of pastry. But if some man must make the sacrifice, then why not him?
He sighed in contentment and buried his face more deeply between her ample breasts. Then he remembered that before it went further, they must be discovered here. He sighed an au revoir into her cleavage and gave her a vicious pinch upon the bottom, making her shriek.
‘Cynthia!’ As if on cue, her mother burst into the folly to find the girl, dressed but dishevelled, in the arms of the eligible Lord Kenton.
‘Mother!’ After a moment of dazed confusion, Cyn remembered her role and threw a hand theatrically across her brow. It was overdone. Given time, he could teach her to play the compromised innocent more convincingly. For now, it would have to do.
The sad display had the desired effect. Her mother rushed forwards to take the disgraced girl in hand. ‘How dare you, sir.’
Jack raised his hands again, as he had done when the girl held the gun upon him. ‘Alas, I could not help myself, Lady Banester. A surfeit of wine and moonlight, a waltz. And the supreme loveliness, the charm, the fresh perfection of your daughter... I was undone.’ Jack could see the crowd gathering in the doorway, preventing an exit which he’d not have sought in any case.
He dropped to a knee. It was the one farthest from the entrance so that the majority of the people gathered could see his profile as he placed a hand over his heart. ‘I will do the honourable thing, of course. And with pleasure. I do not regret my precipitous action, if it encourages this sweet girl to a proper union which will make me the happiest of men.’
He bowed his head, as though conquered. ‘Say you will accept me, Miss Banester. Take my hand, my heart, my everything. I lay them at your feet.’
Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a spark of suspicion in the cat-green eyes of his lady love. If she hadn’t have been so pretty, he’d have been annoyed at the criticism of his acting. He was in full form tonight and the rest of the audience was in the palm of his hand. He could hear sighs of envy coming from the girls crowded in the doorway. They’d have accepted his proposal in a heartbeat. Now that it was made, his intended was looking at him as though she was no longer quite sure she wanted him.
But it was far too late for a change of heart. Her mother had seen the whole thing and clapped hands enthusiastically across a matronly version of the bosom that her daughter had inherited, tossing her dark-red curls as she looked heavenwards. ‘Thank you, Lord Kenton, for protecting my little girl.’
‘What the devil?’ Unlike his statuesque and lovely wife, the diminutive Sir William Banester needed to push his way through the crowd for a better view. ‘Kenton, you ass. Get up off the floor. If you want her, you can have her, of course. But you could have asked in the parlour, like a normal gentleman. Now enough of this nonsense. We can settle it in the morning. Thea, come away.’
‘Yes, Papa.’ His betrothed did her best to look both contrite and happy, but cast one last glance back at him, as though still a little surprised that her plan had succeeded.
He could hardly blame her. He was surprised as well. ‘Until the morning, my love,’ Jack said, holding out a hand in a farewell gesture. There would be time to sort out the details, he was sure. ‘I will visit properly, if your parents will receive me. We have much to discuss.’ He gave Lady Banester a look worthy of any hopeful Romeo.
‘Of course, Lord Kenton. We would be honoured.’ She offered a sweeping curtsy so imbued with grace that Jack nearly stammered the truth: he was the one honoured to be received by such a lady and to be marrying her equally beautiful daughter.
Then he remembered himself. He was not the humble Jack Briggs, itinerant actor. He was Lord Kenton and he was the catch of the Season. The Banesters should be happy to have him. And he was happy as well, for tonight he would write to the earl and announce the impending and successful completion of his scheme.
Chapter Two
Trying to catch the best light in the shop window, Cynthia Banester flourished the two pieces of lace she held, admiring their drape and softness, but unable to decide between them. Vieux Flandre was beautiful, but expensive, and a bit heavy for the face of a girl with nothing to hide. In comparison, the Brussels seemed almost too simple for such a special event. ‘Which is better?’ she asked, holding the two veils up to her mother for approval.
‘Take them both,’ Lady Banester answered without a second thought.
‘I am only marrying once and therefore have no need of a sec
ond veil.’
‘But if you should change your mind later...’
‘About Kenton or the veil?’
‘Either, dear. It is always wise to have an understudy waiting in the wings.’
Thea sighed. It had been foolish of her even to request her mother’s input, for she should have guessed what the answer was likely to be. Father had often joked that he would not trust her to choose the lesser of two evils, should the devil decide to open a shop on Bond Street. ‘Mother,’ Thea said gently, ‘I must make a selection. We no longer have the money for unnecessary extravagances.’
‘Perhaps we do not, but Kenton does. Once you are married, you have but to send him the bills. He is a viscount, after all. He will take care of everything.’
Thea winced. That had been her plan from the first. And it was all going much too well. It had been three weeks since she had waylaid the poor man, plucking him out of the card room at Lady Folbroke’s ball with promises of a moonlight stroll in the garden and an urgent need for private conversation. He had gone, like a lamb to the slaughter, and they were engaged before midnight. Since then, he had made regular visits to her home, each one properly chaperoned to prevent the ardour he had displayed when they were alone. He had danced with her when they met at balls, escorted her to musicales and behaved like a complete gentleman on each outing.
The church had been reserved, the banns read, the invitations sent and the menu chosen for the wedding breakfast. Had she written the script for a perfect engagement, she could not have done better.
And Kenton had offered no objections to the lack of intimacy, nor shown any sign of waking to the realities of his situation. Why was he not bothered by the fact that she had tricked him? That she had drawn her little pistol and waylaid him like a highwayman stopping a coach? She deserved outrage or ostracism in response. She had feared a total failure, if Kenton measured the worth of her family connections as she did lace veils. A sensible man should have been more eager to take a bullet than her hand.
Her mother tapped her hand with an ivory fan, then replaced it on the haberdasher’s counter. ‘You are thinking about him again, aren’t you?’
‘No, Mama.’
Her mother smiled knowingly. ‘Of course you are. When you try to conceal your feelings, my darling, you are as transparent as glass. But you have no need to hide these. It is only natural to think of such things, when one is young and in love...’
‘Do not put too fine a point on it, Mother,’ Thea said firmly. ‘You know my reasons for seeking him out and they have nothing to do with love.’
Her mother cast a sidelong glance in her direction. ‘Judging by his speech to us when we discovered you, you’ve charmed him. He was most fulsome in his praise. And I have seen the way he looks at you since.’
Her mother was right in that, at least. Her betrothed bathed her in respectful but doting attention, taking her driving in Hyde Park, escorting her to the opera and behaving as though they had known each other for years and not days. She should be flattered. She was flattered—and excited—by his attentions, but they also filled her with a strange combination of guilt and unease. At last, she blurted, ‘That is just the problem, Mother. Why does he behave so? I have done nothing to earn even a jot of his affection.’ Anyone who had been in town for any length of time had at least formed suspicions about the Banester family, its eccentricities, profligacy and rumoured bugbears. But it seemed Lord Kenton was too new to the country to know why they could not marry. Or perhaps he was too rich to care.
Her mother gave a quick scan of her body and toyed with the lace on her own bodice. ‘You have inherited certain assets that make even strong men malleable. When I was your age, I had admirers aplenty. When I performed, half the young lords of the day threw roses on the stage and the rest sought out my changing room. But then I met your father...’
‘No stories, please.’ Thea dropped the lace in her hands and put them over her ears to forestall any more of her mother’s ridiculous anecdotes about the ardent courtship of young Sir William. Her mother’s previous career was not quite a secret amongst the ton. But it had taken all her charm and much of Father’s money to make the truth fade into insignificance. Now that the fortune was gone, they could not afford to have the old scandal resurrected.
‘Very well.’ At forty, her mother’s pout was every bit as pretty as a girl half her age. ‘But allow me some pride. If you have charmed Kenton without effort, it shows that the apple has not fallen far from the tree, no matter how we wished to change your nature.’
‘I am no actress, Mother. I have no desire to dazzle the man with illusion.’ It was why she had brought the gun. Using a weapon had not been fair, but at least it had been cold, hard and real.
Her mother sensed her weakening and took up the fan again to give her another tap on the wrist. ‘Do not waste time feeling sorry for him, Thea. A gentleman should have seen the risks of taking a young lady out in the garden alone. What happened to him after was his own fault.’
‘Perhaps he is not quite right in the head,’ Thea suggested. That made more sense to her than his sudden, willing attachment. ‘His behaviour has been rather odd, has it not? So many men seem to return from India with tales of fever and malaise. But he is tanned and hardy.’ And very handsome, if Thea truly wished to be honest.
‘His complexion indicates nothing more mysterious than a strong constitution,’ her mother replied. ‘It guarantees virility, which you will appreciate soon enough, if you do not already. If the kiss I interrupted was any indication...’
‘Mother!’
Her mother gave her an innocent smile and laid a finger to her lips to indicate a shared secret. She had been hinting since the first night that she had caught more than a brief glimpse of the way Kenton had behaved and the eager way Thea had responded to him. Her approval was no more maternal than Thea’s response had been maidenly. It was all very inappropriate.
‘I meant,’ she corrected, returning the conversation to a safer topic, ‘that Kenton’s stories of his travels are almost too grand to believe. All wild adventures, narrow escapes, tigers and tea.’ And, more worrisome, he spoke of bejewelled ladies and hinted at romantic escapades while veiling the details with Oriental silk. The stories were very exciting, but she’d had more than her fill of exaggerated anecdotes from her mother. She should have learned better and sought something more mundane in a marriage partner. Instead, she was sighing over Kenton like the silliest girl in London. ‘If his life was as wonderful as it seemed, then what brought him home?’
‘I expect it was his father,’ her mother answered. ‘The Earl of Spayne is seldom in town, though he lives only a county away. His health is rumoured to be failing. He could not have been comfortable with his heir spending half a lifetime away from home. Continental education and exotic travels are quite all right, but they should be taken in moderation.’
Thea raised an eyebrow at the disapproval in her mother’s voice. It was a rather parochial sentiment from a woman who’d spent her formative years in a travelling band of players. ‘I merely wonder if he exaggerates the happiness of his past. He seems a most contented fellow. Perhaps he is simply choosing to ignore or forget some hardship.’ Or else he was too stupid to understand the things that had befallen him. Her pathetic attempt at kidnapping had made no impact on his mood, unless one could count this total and inexplicable infatuation.
Even more frustrating was her illogical desire to believe him. Before forming her recent plan, she had thought herself immune to his looks and charm. She had managed to resist them the better part of the Season. It had been easy when she could keep a distance from him. In close quarters, his speeches inflamed her curiosity and she’d become a rapt listener.
And his kisses inflamed something else entirely. Had she ever thought that her first kiss would be accompanied by reverent and impassioned poetry? She did not dare to share the details with her mother, who was already too willing to give her advice on the matter, based on the s
cene she’d witnessed. Thea could imagine the frank response she would receive if she announced that the man she intended to marry had heaped praise on her breasts and demonstrated his approval of them so strenuously that her heart had almost hammered its way out from under them.
Of course, then she might learn if all men kissed as Kenton did. His lips had been as hot as the Indian sun and had left her just as dazed. She did not really need a husband for anything other than the fortune he possessed, but she could not help but be a little grateful that he offered so much more.
She felt another prod from the fan. ‘And you are gone again. Really, my dear. I said it was normal to be so distracted, but that did not mean I encouraged it. You must keep your wits about you when you meet the man’s family. Perhaps you did not realise that Kenton’s uncle is Mr Henry de Warde. If you could manage to make him aware of the difficulty he’s placed us in...’
‘The idea had crossed my mind,’ Thea said, all thoughts of romance fleeing from her mind. ‘It will be a challenge not to tell him what I really think of him, when next I see him face to face.’
‘You must exercise diplomacy, my dear. And perhaps just a touch of the charm you used to snare Kenton.’
Thea thought of the pistol, which must still be tucked between the cushions of the gazebo bench, unless Kenton had retrieved it for her after Mama had hustled her away. ‘If I am given the chance to make my case to Mr de Warde, I shall use persuasion even stronger than that.’ She would gladly put a ball between the man’s beady eyes if it meant that she could restore even a fraction of the money that he had swindled from her father.
‘I doubt your new husband would allow that, dear. Much stronger persuasion than you used on Kenton would have you uncovered to the waist.’
‘Mother!’
Lady Banester sighed. ‘I merely approve of your choice of gown when you finally decided to arm yourself for the hunt. It was quite lower than your usual necklines and you notice it had the desired effect on your quarry. We must choose lingerie for you with similar results in mind.’
Two Wrongs Make a Marriage Page 2