Her lips were quivering and her jaw absolutely ached with the need to laugh. “Of course, my lord.”
He nodded his head slightly to the others. “If you would excuse us. I promise to return Miss Hawthorn in a few minutes.”
She took his arm and he led her toward a set of French doors that opened onto a large balcony where a number of guests had gathered. Once outside he said, “I believe it’s safe, now.”
She let out a breath and then gave into a fit of laughter. “Weren’t they supposed to burn that?” she choked out.
“Yes, but I’m afraid I’ll need to take matters into my own hands. I’m considering lighting a small bonfire in the garden. Would you care to join me?”
“You wouldn’t really burn it.”
He took her hand and pulled her into the shadows at the far corner of the balcony. “Oh, but I would. She was threatening to have it made over for Cecelia.”
Priscilla tried to visualize the pink headdress on his sister and shuddered. “How terrifying for Cecelia. I hope you talked your aunt out of it.”
“We finally convinced her that feathers make Cecelia sneeze.”
“The way she tossed those feathers about, I’m surprised you didn’t all have sneezing fits. How on earth did your aunt manage to get a hold of it? Do you suppose they put it back in the window?”
“I don’t know, but I mean to find out." His words came out in a grumble. "The worst of it is, I’ve had to pay for the loathsome thing twice.”
“Shocking. Positively shocking.” Laughter bubbled up inside her and she began giggling all over again.
He shook his head in mock severity. “You are completely lacking in composure, Miss Hawthorn. Are you going to giggle all through dinner?” He paused. “But I think I know how to fix this.” He bent down and covered her mouth with a gentle kiss. The effect was instantaneous. She stopped laughing and melted into his embrace, inhaling his scent, luxuriating in the supple strength of the arms wrapped around her. It lasted only a very few seconds. She felt him tense and pull away. “It worked,” he murmured.
For a moment she was quiet, trying to regain her senses, waiting for her heart to stop hammering against her chest. One minute she was fine, the next she was hanging on to him with no thoughts of her own.
“It did,” she said in a breathless whisper. “But someone might see us. We aren’t the only ones out here.”
“We’re well hidden in the shadows and no one else is paying the slightest bit of attention.”
She peered around him toward the far end of the long balcony and was relieved to see that he spoke the truth. There were others enjoying the night air as well as their own agenda and none seemed aware of their presence.
He held her chin with his thumb and forefinger and held her gaze. “Now, have you managed to compose yourself, Miss Hawthorn? Or do I need to silence you again?”
Desire welled up inside her. She very much wanted to be silenced. It took all the self-control she could muster to say, "I believe I've managed to regain my composure.”
"How disappointing." He gently caressed her cheek with the back of his hand but made no move to hold her. Then he let out a heavy sigh. “I’m happy to see you, tonight. I’ve had a dreadful day. You are, thus far, my only bright spot.”
With considerable effort she spoke in a light teasing tone. “Has it been so terrible? Did the little dogs create havoc again?”
“They did, but that isn’t the whole of it.”
She tilted her head. “No? What other grave misfortune have you suffered today?”
“I suppose it all began with a miserably frustrating ride in Hyde Park. I don’t know why I bother riding there. Rotten Row is the best it has to offer and even that isn’t the place when one needs a neck or nothing gallop and I badly needed a hard gallop this morning.”
She opened her mouth to speak when he added, “Yes, I know. I should have gone to Richmond. I don’t know why I didn’t." He took her hands and pulled her further into the shadows. "Tell me, Miss Hawthorn. Do you ride?”
She hadn't ridden since her brief stay with Patrick's family several months ago. Pushing that memory from her mind, she said, “Yes. But do go on. Tell me more about your day.”
He groaned softly. “When I arrived home, my butler and valet were in the midst of chasing Aunt’s dogs who were in the midst of chasing a kitten. Due to my own lack of forethought, I ended up in the mix. I was brutally attacked by said kitten while surrounded by the pack of yapping vermin who did obey my commands up to a point but were still vastly annoying. And then I was outmaneuvered by a seventeen year old female who somehow talked me into letting her keep the kitten.” He paused to take in a breath. "I'm afraid it got worse.”
Something in his tone had changed with that last sentence. She wasn't certain she wanted to hear his answer but couldn't seem to help herself. “How could it have possibly gotten worse?”
He pressed his lips against her forehead. “One day I will tell you about it. I’m certain you will find it amusing. But until then, let’s just say that I spent a great deal of time wanting something I couldn’t have and that desire left me in a bad way.”
Her cheeks grow hot and she was grateful for the cover the darkness gave them.
“I believe I’ve made you blush,” he murmured.
His words took her by surprise and she jerked her head up and looked at him. “You couldn’t possible see whether I’m blushing or not.”
“I’ve found you blush very easily.” He ran his fingertips up the length of her silk gloves to the bare spot beneath her cap sleeves.
Please stop,” she whispered as he caressed her bare skin with the pads of his thumbs.
“You don’t like it?”
“I like it far too much.” His very presence made her aware of her body in a way that she had never experienced with anyone else. Her pulse jumped, she felt the blood thrumming through her veins, a tension coiled between her legs. She swallowed, and her mind latched on to a subject she hoped might cool down this heated, consuming attraction between them. “Have you talked to Bertie?”
“No, I haven’t.” He stopped abruptly and let out a heavy, broken sigh. “This is becoming quite unbearable, Priscilla. No matter what I say; no matter what I do to distract myself, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life. And I want you all the time. It doesn’t stop. I haven't been able to make it stop.”
The night sounds, the music, the murmured conversation around them, all stopped. The beating of her heart echoed in her ears. She was quiet a full half minute before she said, “I don’t know what to do.”
“I’ll show you.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“Are you certain of that?” he asked.
She didn't know what to say. “I’m not certain of anything where you’re concerned.”
He dropped his hands to his side and took half a step back giving them both time to recover their wits. After a few moments he said, “I have a favor to ask of you. It’s for Cecelia, really.”
Grateful for any change of topic, she said, “What is it?”
“Cecelia’s come out ball is to be in a few weeks." His voice resumed its normal cadence. "Aunt Mirabella’s determined to make my sister wear something fit for a court jester. Would you be willing to lend your expertise and accompany Cecelia to the modiste if I promise to keep my aunt otherwise engaged? I want Cecelia to enjoy herself and I’m afraid Aunt Mirabella’s outlandish ideas make it difficult for her.”
A shopping expedition with Cecelia sounded like great fun. “I would be happy to help under one condition.”
“Name your terms.”
She smiled at him. “You must tell me how your sister outmaneuvered you when she convinced you to let her keep the kitten. I may need the tactic for future reference.”
He laughed. “Well, if you must know, she gave me a pitiful look.”
Could he be managed that easily? She wasn't certain she believed it. “Truly? That’s all s
he had to do?”
“She’s quite good at pitiful looks. This one was exceptional.”
“You’re far too soft, my lord.”
Stratton threw his head back and burst out laughing. “Not where you’re concerned, love.”
Once more, Priscilla felt her cheeks burn. She wasn’t certain she understood his comment, but wasn’t about to let him know it. “I believe you’re being most improper again.”
“I believe you’re right.”
“We should go back inside. They’ll be wondering where we are.”
“Mrs. Hutton is probably itching to box my ears for running off with you and leaving her and Lord Hamilton to deal with Aunt Mirabella. Is there any chance I’ll be forgiven?”
“Possibly.” She straightened out her skirts before taking his arm. “I would suggest sending her a box of chocolate truffles and a very large bouquet of flowers.”
“Lord Hamilton won’t mind? It’s fairly obvious he fancies her.”
“He adores her. The poor man has been pursuing her since we returned. They’re perfect for one another.” She paused a moment. “It’s my fault, really, that she hasn’t agreed to marry him.”
“She won’t leave you, will she?”
“She hasn’t said so, but I’m sure that’s the reason.”
“Things will work out,” he assured her. “Now, let’s go rescue her from Aunt Mirabella before I’m past all hope of forgiveness.”
Lady Williams kept a cool, impassive expression as she watched the couple emerge from the balcony. She hadn’t realized they would be attending this evening. It seemed Philip had spoken the truth about Priscilla Hawthorn and Lord Stratton. Even so, she wasn’t overly concerned by Stratton’s attention to Priscilla. The little wench was nothing but a spinster with no experience in the art of seduction. Other than a head of blond hair, a pair of blue eyes, and an impressive bosom, she had nothing to recommend her. Lady Williams had no doubt that she would quickly have the situation in hand. It was an annoyance, but really, how difficult could it be?
“What are you thinking, my dear?” Lord Bennett had come up behind her. “You seem a million miles away.”
She turned and looked up at him. He really was very good looking. Regular bouts at Gentleman Jackson’s kept him fit and lean. His dress was elegant and the thick wave of silver hair gave his handsome face a refined countenance. It was a shame he was nearly penniless.
“Nothing of great importance, my lord,” she said demurely. “It just occurred to me that a man who would court and marry a woman strictly for her money is not a true gentleman. I don’t think I could bear to be involved with someone like that. Oh, I know it’s done all the time, but I think it’s terribly vulgar, don’t you?” She smiled sweetly as she flicked open her fan. “It’s dreadfully hot in here. Would you be a dear and find me something cool to drink?”
His eyes narrowed slightly as he gazed at her. “Of course. I’ll be back in a moment.”
Chapter Eleven
Priscilla had just left Lady Almont's withdrawing room, when she heard a familiar voice.
“Miss Hawthorn, I thought you had disappeared on me.”
Flushing with pleasure, she turned. Stratton strolled toward her with a mischievous glint to his eyes. "Were you following me again, my lord?"
He came up beside her. "I was."
She tried to frown at him but couldn't make her lips oblige. “You can be amazingly covert. I don't know how you do it." Her gaze dropped as she collected her thoughts. "I noticed a slight tear on the hem of my gown and had to have it mended. I thought you had gone into the salon to play cards.”
His lips curved into a faint smile. “I'd much rather spend my time with you than play cards. It was only a ploy to ensure that no one will be looking for me in the ballroom for a while. Besides, I’ve no wish to go home with my pockets empty and I haven’t won a hand since I’ve met you. At this rate, I’ll be a pauper before the season is over.”
Putting her hands on her hips, she said, “You’re most unjust! Your run of bad luck at the tables has naught to do with me.”
He reached up and gently touched her cheek. “You’re wrong about that. I can’t concentrate on my hand when I’m thinking about you.”
She closed her eyes as a jolt of desire ran through her. “I believe you exaggerate,” she said slowly.
“On the contrary.” He brought his hand down to his side.
She opened her eyes and gazed at him. Her pulse fluttered as she took in the sensual curve to his lips, the blatant need that blazed in his eyes. Her throat went dry and for a moment she couldn’t speak. She took in an uneven breath.
His eyes darkened and he held out his hand. ”Will you come with me?”
This was not playful flirtation. The sudden surge of blood in her veins, the prickling of her nerves, the pounding of her heart, these all told her that she had no doubt as to what he was asking. She couldn’t plead innocence as to his intentions. And once decided she couldn’t change her mind. She moistened her lips and glanced down the deserted corridor. “Does anyone else know you’re here?”
“No. The dinner crowd has scattered and guests are still arriving in droves. It has all the signs of a crush. I don’t think we need be concerned.” He paused. “If you have any doubt, love, don’t do it.”
There were a hundred reasons as to why she shouldn’t go with him but none seemed important enough to stop her. She didn’t say anything but inclined her head in acceptance as she took the hand he offered. They strolled quietly through a maze of hallways flickering with candlelight. “I’ve completely lost all sense of direction. Where are we going?”
“To the staircase at the rear of the house,” he said easily.
“And after that?”
“The rear wing of the fourth floor is used for storage.”
“Have you been there before?”
“No. I don’t make a habit of this. I only heard of it in passing.”
She desperately wanted to believe him.
“It seems deserted enough back here,” he murmured a few minutes later when they reached the narrow staircase. “I imagine most of the servants are up front helping with the ball.” He placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her up the narrow steps. On reaching the third floor, the din of the ball behind them was barely audible and the halls were poorly lit. “Wait a moment.” He went over to the closest wall sconce and removed a taper. “The fourth floor may not be lit at all.”
She felt a delicious fluttering in the pit of her belly. “I’m feeling terribly wicked,” she whispered.
“Excellent,” he murmured. “Being wicked is always more fun than behaving.”
They crept up the last flight of steps and after reaching the top, faced a very dark corridor. “You were right,” she said. Apprehension traveled up her spine. “It’s pitch black up here. I can’t see a thing.”
He held the taper up. The light from the candle was meager but the flame illuminated an area large enough to keep them from stumbling. “Your eyes will adjust in a moment.”
“Where do we go from here?” she whispered.
She could feel the deep rumble in his body as he laughed. “There’s no one up here but us, love. You don’t need to whisper. In answer to your question, I suppose we stroll along and open doors until we find something that strikes our fancy. Shall we begin here?”
“Yes.” Priscilla felt another flutter in her belly. It was all she could do not to giggle.
Stratton pulled opened the first door. It creaked loudly and the smell of lye and vinegar hit them in the face.
“Cleaning supplies I believe,” Priscilla commented.
“Not at all romantic.” He shut the door and they went to the next. It was packed with furniture.
“Third time’s the charm,” Stratton said optimistically as he pulled open the next door. The room was too full of crates and boxes to allow admittance. “Then again, possibly not. The next has to be it,” he added.
�
��You sound so certain.”
“I believe what you hear is desperation.”
He opened the next and took a step inside. The night had grown hazy and only the barest hint of moonlight drifted through the window. He moved the flickering candle around to get a better look. The room was almost bare. There were a few trunks on one side of the wall and against the other was a table partially covered with a dust cloth.
“Ah. This is an improvement. A little moonlight, enough space to move around. Do you find our accommodations agreeable? Have we reached our destination?”
She scrutinized the room as best she could. “We have.”
He took her hand, drew her inside and shut the door. Then moving over to the window, he dripped candle wax on the window sill and secured the taper. And before she realized what he was doing, he tossed back the dust cover, caught her around the waist and swung her up on the table.
“Good heavens. Why did you put me up here?” The candlelight offered enough light for her to realize he was stripping off his gloves. “And why are you removing your gloves?”
“I’m trying to avoid a sore neck. And,” She could hear the laughter in his voice as he stuffed his gloves in his pocket, “you’ll soon find out why I removed my gloves.” He rested his palms on the table. “I’m about to kiss you, Miss Hawthorn.” He leaned up against her and brushed his lips across hers. “You know, kissing often leads to shameless behavior,” he whispered into her ear.
“Kissing does? Are you certain?” she murmured. “What kind of shameless behavior?”
He nuzzled her cheek and she tilted her head to allow him access to her neck. “I really shouldn’t tell you. Mmm. This really won’t do.” He gently nudged her knees apart and moved in-between them. “That’s better.”
She rested her hands on his shoulders; a shiver of delight traveled down her spine as he lightly kissed her earlobe then traced the tip of his tongue along the curve of her ear. “Why is it shameless?” she asked unevenly.
He nibbled on her earlobe. “Are you certain you want to know?”
The Bewitching Hour Page 17