Lord Barford looked a bit doubtful at this assertion, and folded the fan hastily. “If you are feeling more robust, Lady Manning—”he began.
“Why yes, certainly, I would be pleased if you would escort me to the refreshment table,” said Louisa, rising and taking his arm.
The viscount had perforce to lead Lady Manning through the crowd, which he did while looking acutely uncomfortable. She leaned on his arm and gazed up at him, her dark lashes fluttering.
“You are really too kind,” she murmured as he handed her a glass of lemonade. She sipped it delicately as the young man anxiously glanced around.
“I—I believe my mother wants me,” he gasped out. “I see her waving at me.”
Louisa, wide-eyed, scanned the room. “Is your mother here?” she asked. “Perhaps you could introduce me to her.”
Barford hastily backed away. “I’m—I’m sure she would be delighted. Some other time, perhaps,” he muttered, and turned and beat a hasty retreat. Louisa gave his back a calculating look.
“What schemes are you hatching now?” came a low voice in her ear.
With a start, Louisa spun around, and slapped Gresham’s sleeve lightly with her fan. “Gracious, what a shock you gave me, Tristan,” she said. “Why ever would you think I am scheming?”
He chuckled. “You always scheme, Louisa. It is as natural to you as breathing.”
“Did you approach me for the sheer pleasure of insulting to me?” she asked.
“No—but you make it terribly easy,” he replied. “I came merely to assure myself you are up to no mischief.”
“Mischief? In what way could I cause trouble, Tristan? I am a mere widow, living on the fringes of Society.” She gazed up at him earnestly.
“Ah, Louisa, you never disappoint me.” Lord Gresham smiled down at her, and to anyone watching, he appeared to be flirting shamelessly with his former mistress. “I do not care what sort of designs you have on Mr. Wyman; indeed, I think the two of you may deserve each other. And Barford, while a fool, is far too frightened of his mother to fall prey to you. But both these gentlemen are courting Miss Ashdown, and I warn you not to involve yourself with her.”
“Miss Ashdown?” Louisa blinked up at him. “Ah yes, I have it. The winsome child with the dark hair. “
“You know precisely who Miss Ashdown is,” said Tristan. “And you will leave her be.”
“Why would I even spare a thought for a girl of her age?” asked Louisa. “But you Tristan—you seem very concerned with her.”
He laughed. “Even at my very worst, I never entangled myself with schoolgirls,” he said. “She is safe from me. But, as I know you far better than I wish to, I seek to keep her safe from you as well.”
“I have no interest in your Miss Ashdown,” said Louisa petulantly. “But I do begin to wonder why you would waste effort in protecting Gravesmere’s cousin. You have changed vastly, Tristan.”
“I must be growing old,” he answered. “And feeble minded.”
“Well, I cannot imagine why you are behaving this way,” said Louisa candidly. “Sylvia tells me you have resisted every lure she has thrown your way.”
“Sylvia is not as alluring as she believes herself to be,” said Gresham. “And do, please, tell her I said so.” He made an elegant bow, and left her.
Lord Barford scurried across the room, looking once over his shoulder to see if Lady Manning was in pursuit. He slowed a bit when he realized his escape had been successful, and looked about, seeking Miss Ashdown. Having spotted the object of his desire, he tacked across the room towards her, reaching her side and bowing low.
Mr. Wyman and Sir Robert Hartnell were also present, and Mr. Wyman gave the viscount a disdainful glance.
“You look harried, Barford,” he observed.
Cecilia smiled at him. “I thought you went to fetch me a lemonade, Lord Barford,” she said.
The viscount looked down at his empty hands. “Oh, yes, it was spilled, I regret to say,” he answered. “Do accept my apologies.”
“Ah yes, I saw you with the lovely Lady Manning,” said Mr. Wyman. “It seems that you are far better acquainted with her than I believed.”
“Not at all,” said Barford stiffly. “She jostled my elbow, and there was an unfortunate accident. As a gentleman, I could do no less than assist her.”
“You looked very cozy,” observed Mr. Wyman. “But of course, I was not present, so I cannot judge.”
Cecilia looked up at Lord Barford, a touch of doubt in her blue eyes. “Do you know Lady Manning well, Lord Barford?” she asked.
“Not at all,” he hastened to assure her. “I was honor bound to assist her, and as soon as I could, I returned to your side.”
Cecilia seemed to be content with that, but Mr. Wyman sighed ostentatiously. “But without lemonade, my good fellow. Miss Ashdown, I will see if I can be more successful at the task of assuaging your thirst. I promise not to be distracted by the presence of other ladies.” He bowed over her hand elegantly and sauntered off.
With a sigh, Caroline seated herself in a chair against the wall. Not only had Cecilia come perilously close to creating a minor scandal, but she had apparently listened all too well to Lady Lansdowne’s poisonous words. It would not do for more people to notice her intimacy with Lord Gresham. She had thought they had been very careful, but eyes seemed to be everywhere. She looked around the room, and saw Gresham again. This time he was speaking to Lady Manning, his head very close to hers, the lady’s large violet eyes gazing up at him warmly. Caroline bit her lip and looked away.
“Darling, you look exhausted,” said Lady Halliwell, approaching her with a bright smile.
“I had no idea chaperoning a young woman could be so tiresome,” replied Caroline, attempting to throw off her bad temper. It was none of her business if Gresham chose to speak to an old friend. “I have no doubt that I am absolutely haggard.”
“Oh, you could never be haggard, you are far too lovely,” said Lady Halliwell. “Besides, surely Lord Gresham’s flattery keeps you feeling young, does it not?”
“What?” asked Caroline, too surprised to form more words.
Lady Halliwell looked at her closely, and Caroline swiftly adopted a blank expression. “Why I was speaking to Sylvia Lansdowne a few moments ago; she assures me that you are Lord Gresham are great friends. It must be so invigorating for you after four years of widowhood.”
Caroline resisted the urge to swear. “Dear Sylvia, what a pity she has so little sense,” she responded instead. “I have no idea why she has this notion in her head. Lord Gresham and I are acquainted, certainly, but I suppose I should be insulted if anyone imagined me to be the sort of woman to whom he would pay court.”
“Ah, but he is so handsome, and delightfully scandalous. They say he is -” Lady Halliwell paused, “- well equipped to please a lady. Do you not find him at all tempting?”
Caroline shut her fan with a snap. “I have never given a moment’s thought to the matter,” she said firmly. “I wonder at Sylvia thinking I am a rival for his attentions. It seems astonishing that she would be so insecure about her own appeal, or perhaps she is deluding herself.”
“La, you are so fierce!” said Lady Halliwell. “I did not mean to offend you, my dear. I only teased you. No one would believe you would involve yourself with a rake such as Lord Gresham.”
Perversely, Caroline was annoyed by this assurance, but she fought back the emotion. “Thank you, Henrietta. Have you perhaps seen my cousin? I have a headache and must find her so I can go home.”
She stalked off, leaving Lady Halliwell gazing after her, mystified.
Chapter 15
Breakfast the following morning was a subdued affair; Cecilia clearly still felt the sting of Caroline’s annoyance, and Caroline herself was much preoccupied with considering the gossip that was apparently now clinging to her name. The women ate in silence, each pondering her own thoughts.
Bunton entered and handed Caroline a note. “This was just
delivered, my lady,” he said. “I thought you would wish to see it.”
“Thank you, Bunton,” said Caroline absently. She saw the missive was addressed to her in Allegra’s hand, and she opened it, perusing it quickly.
“Oh, no,” she said quietly.
Cecilia looked up. “Is something wrong?”
“No, not really,” said Caroline. “Allegra won’t be able to join you this afternoon; her son is not well, and she wishes to be sure that he is properly cared for.”
Cecilia made a moue of disappointment. “Oh, what a pity, she promised me that we would attend Lady Strotherweld’s Venetian breakfast.”
“How charming that sounds,” said Caroline. “I suppose I must cancel my appointment with my solicitor.” After the events of the previous evening and the conversation that had passed between her and Tristan earlier in the day, she was almost glad that another encounter had been put off. She didn’t relish discussing Lady Lansdowne’s mischief making with him.
“Oh, would you? Thank you so much, Cousin.” Cecilia beamed at her. “That is so kind of you, particularly since you were so annoyed with me last night. I am sorry for vexing you.”
“Pray, do not mention it again. My concern was all for you, my dear. But now I must notify my solicitor. Forgive me a moment, dear. What time is the breakfast set for?”
“Three-o-clock,” said Cecilia brightly.
Caroline nodded. “I will be ready.” She gathered up the pile of notes and invitations that lay next to her plate and went to the morning room, where she hastily dashed off a billet to Lord Gresham. With a sigh, she addressed it and gave it to a footman, asking him to deliver it immediately. She had not gone a day in the last week without seeing his lordship, and she knew that she would miss him. But their affaire could not last forever, and she might as well begin learning now how to live without him.
Determinedly, she turned to the accounts that she had been neglecting over the past weeks. It was just after twelve-o-clock, and she could yet salvage something useful from the day. Half an hour later she was immersed in her calculations, when the door opened and Bunton entered the room.
“Lord Gresham, my lady,” he intoned.
Caroline sat bolt upright in her chair and turned to see Tristan standing in the door, a smile she didn’t quite like on his face. He bowed low. “Lady Eskmaine,” he said.
“Oh! Oh, my,” said Caroline. “Thank you, Bunton.”
The butler exited, too well trained to show his curiosity.
“What are you doing here, Lord Gresham?” asked Caroline. “Did you not receive my note?”
“I am here precisely because of that message,” said Lord Gresham, closing the door behind the butler and producing her missive from his pocket. “I found it quite extraordinary.”
“Really?” Caroline realized to her chagrin that she sounded flustered. She stood and gripped the back of the chair she had been sitting in, keeping the piece of furniture between herself and his lordship. “Whatever is wrong with it?”
“It informs me that you regretfully cannot keep our appointment this afternoon,” said Tristan, giving the paper a disdainful look.
“A very proper sentiment,” said Caroline firmly. “I am obliged to attend Lady Strotherweld’s Venetian breakfast with Cecilia this afternoon, as Allegra has cried off.”
“Ah, but you promised we would meet every day,” he replied. “I had thought you to be a woman of your word.”
Caroline flushed slightly as she remembered the way the promise had been obtained from her. “I said I was regretful,” she pointed out.
A smile flickered over the corners of his lips. “Only regretful?”
“Very regretful,” she admitted. “But it cannot be helped.”
He moved closer, and her hands tightened on the chair. “And what precisely did you mean last night, when you refused to speak with me?” he asked.
“Nothing at all,” said Caroline. “Surely you are aware that Lady Lansdowne, for reasons that escape me, is telling all the world that you and I are - are - are friends. If you had approached me, the gossip would only be encouraged.”
He laughed. “If you are going to listen to what Society has to say, my girl, you will never leave your house again. Why should you let Sylvia’s nonsense bother you?”
“It does not bother me at all,” countered Caroline, annoyed with herself for feeling perturbed that he had used Lady Lansdowne’s given name. “I merely have no wish to encourage her, or to become a subject for common gossip.”
“Ah, so I imagine that is why you told Lady Halliwell that you have never given me a moment’s thought?” Lord Gresham’s eyes glinted coldly from under his heavy eyelids.
“You cannot possibly hold against me what I said in an unguarded moment—and I have no idea why she would share that with you!” protested Caroline. “Lady Halliwell was almost vulgarly curious, and I had no intention of discussing our—our—” she paused.
“Our what?” asked Lord Gresham. He closed the gap between them, and, seizing the chair with one hand, moved it away. His other hand closed around her wrist, not tightly, but firmly. “How would you describe what is between us?”
“We are friends,” said Caroline.
He raised an eyebrow. “And so you behave this way with other friends?”
“Of course not,” said Caroline. “We are—very good friends.”
Gresham raised his other hand to cup her cheek gently. “I have had any number of good friends, but I have never gone with them to the lengths I have gone with you.”
“Nor have I,” said Caroline.
“Do you think you might admit that we are lovers?” he asked gently.
“Not to Lady Halliwell!” exclaimed Caroline.
He appeared amused. “No, not to Lady Halliwell. To me?”
“Very well. We are lovers. Does that satisfy you?” She tried to ignore his hand, which had slipped down to caress the side of her neck.
“I am happy to hear it. But no, I would not say that it satisfied me. Only you satisfy me, Caro.” He leaned forward and kissed her, gently, persuasively, and she responded despite her determination to discourage him.
“Are you sure you have no time for me today?” he asked, his lips just barely raised from hers.
“I cannot. I want to, Tristan, but I cannot,” she murmured.
“Perhaps I can convince you,” he said, and lowered his lips again, pressing them more firmly against hers, compelling her to open her mouth to him. Tristan’s tongue sought the warm, sensitive surfaces within, and soon Caroline found herself holding him tightly, the excitement of his kiss shooting through her. She felt her breasts swell against her bodice, and moisture start to collect between her thighs.
Caroline pressed herself against him, seeking to feel his stiffness, but was impeded by her skirts. Tristan slid his hands down to her hips, pulling her hard against him, until she could feel the prize she sought, as he deliberately rubbed against her. Lifting his lips from hers, he smiled down at her as he brought one hand up to remove her fichu, then inserted a finger in her bodice to expose one nipple. He bent down, lashing it with his tongue, and then sucking until Caroline groaned. She squeezed her thighs together beneath her full skirts.
“Cousin!” Caroline heard dimly Cecilia’s voice calling her. She wrenched herself away from Tristan, giving a gasp of dismay as she turned towards the door.
“Oh no,” she said. “Cecilia!”
“The devil fly away with Cecilia,” said Tristan. “Ignore her.” His hands closed over her shoulders as his lips moved delicately over the nape of her neck.
“I cannot ignore her! The servants know I am in here. And the door is unlocked!” She pulled at her bodice and stuffed her fichu hastily into place, shocked and frightened to think that anyone might have come in. “Quickly, you must hide!”
Tristan released her at that and stared down at her in amazement. “I must hide? Forgive me, but I thought Miss Ashdown was your cousin, not your husband. One
of the advantages of our friendship is your lack of the latter.”
“Don’t be provoking,” said Caroline. “Cecilia heard the nonsense Lady Lansdowne was spewing last night. If she sees you here, she will be more than curious. Please, Tristan.” She dragged on his hand and he followed her reluctantly behind the settee, where she urged him down. “I will get rid of her quickly.”
“This is very irregular and even embarrassing,” said Tristan. “I thought my days of skulking behind settees were over. I am a shade old for this.”
“I am sure you’ve done this more times than you can count,” said Caroline with a touch of temper, and he grinned at her insolently. “Please, Tristan,” she repeated.
“If you will promise to make up for it later,” he said.
“I promise,” she snapped, forming a fairly good guess as to what he would want from her.
“Very well.” He subsided behind the settee. “This is so undignified,” he objected.
“Shh,” hissed Caroline. Footsteps were heard outside the room, and the door was flung open, to reveal Cecilia in a gown of white muslin, worked with broderie anglaise and a delicate pattern of gold stitching linking tiny blue flowers. A deep flounce of lace frothed about her shoulders and fell from her elbow length sleeves over her forearms. The white over dress opened over a blue petticoat in the same shades as the flowers, quilted with gold stitching. She looked remarkably fresh and beautiful, Caroline thought.
“Cousin, thank you so much; when I went to my room, this dress was on my bed! It is so lovely.” She twirled into the room, making the skirt swirl about her.
Caroline glanced down briefly at Lord Gresham, who only gave her a wicked smile. “I am so glad you like it, my dear,” she said in a weak voice. “You look ravishing.”
“Oh, it is so kind of you, and after last night, when I was so poorly behaved. I do apologize again, Cousin. I hope you do not think less of me for it.”
“No, dear, but please do not repeat it,” said Caroline. She realized to her horror that Gresham had wrapped his hand about her ankle and was slowly sliding it up her leg, his fingers gently stroking her skin through the silk of her stocking. He paused briefly at her knee, where he spent a few seconds teasing the sensitive area behind it, and then moved up, very slowly, to her thigh. She felt her knees grow weak, and she clutched at the back of the settee for support.
Sense & Sensuality: Caroline's After Dark Georgian Romance (The Gravesmeres Book 3) Page 15