Artfully Wicked ('Pon Rep' Regency Rogues Book 1)

by Virginia Taylor

  She caught her breath and blinked. “You object to my attire?”

  “Good God, woman. I spent the morning with a truncheon in my trousers after kissing you. And you are playing me for a fool. If you don’t intend to let me court you, you should not have allowed me to kiss you. Where are your morals?”

  “Morals?”

  “Stop echoing me. People are watching us. You know how society loves to gossip. And here you are tonight, as good as rejecting me in front of everyone we know.”

  Her mind whirling, she grabbed hold of the arm of the couch. “I think I need to sit down, if you don’t mind, my lord.”

  “And don’t my lord me.”

  Very carefully, she placed herself on the leather seat. “Let me see if I understand this correctly. You are furious because I dressed as a chaperone?” She held his gaze.

  “You dressed as a mockery of a chaperone. No one under sixty year wears bunches of ringlets. As for that gown and shawl ... you certainly know better. You could have told me, not the world that you would rather be a foolish spinster than consider than me.”

  “I object to spinsters being called foolish. In my eyes, no one is wiser than a spinster. The word says it all. She has eschewed marriage.”

  He gritted his teeth. “You kissed me this morning like a woman who is interested in more kissing. Do you want to pursue a relationship with me, or should I look elsewhere?”

  She stared at him until his tight face relaxed, until with a proud tilt of his head, he crossed the floor and stood in front of her. Then she rose to her feet and placed her palms on the front of his black waistcoat. “You can’t imagine how much I want to pursue a relationship with you,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. She lifted her head and stared straight at him.

  His eyes turned smoldering blue. He snatched her into his arms. His bristled cheek rested against hers while he stood completely still, breathing in and out, as if savoring the moment. Finally he raised his head. “Then, why the gown?” His voice sounded husky.

  She buried her face in his cravat, the fresh starch of his collar prickling the side of her face. “I wanted my chaperon role to be distinct from my social presence.”

  He leaned back, his expression half puzzled, half listening. “You are your own social presence.”

  She wound her arms around him, staring up at his handsome face. “I’m not as confident as I appear, you know.”

  “I often wondered.” His hands settled on her waist and his forehead creased. “You always seemed as if you were silently assessing me. On occasions, I thought you quite liked me, and then you would say something cutting, and I would feel the barb. You certainly thought my romantic poetry was ridiculous.”

  “Sometimes your rhymes were unconsciously hilarious. Ah, my love swoops like a dove from above.”

  “I was trying to be romantic but I doubt I have the capacity.” His lips relaxed.

  “Your later life proves that. The only doves you know are the fallen variety.”

  He didn’t appear to be listening. His thumb brushed across her cheek and he stared at her mouth. His eyebrows drew together, and his gaze caught hers. “Do you remember playing hide and seek at Rose’s house after I had come down from Oxford?”

  Her body tightened. “Hide and seek. Such fun. I quickly learned the best places to hide. Della was too brilliant at tracking.” She needed to force herself to sound flighty.

  “I’m speaking of a specific time.”

  She knew he was, but she couldn’t work out how to divert this conversation. “I’m not quite certain which time you mean,” she said, flattening her palms on the lapel of his jacket, and staring at her splayed fingers.

  His voice deepened. “So, I’m only one of many males you played hide and seek with?”

  “You know very well that even Sir Ian played, let alone Rose’s brothers. Why are you bringing this up now?”

  “I’m glad you don’t remember, but for the past few days, since seeing you again, a certain day has been plaguing my memory. I behaved badly and even if you don’t remember, I want to apologize.”

  “You’re forgiven if I can’t remember.”

  “I was wondering why I forgot myself with you this morning. I know you are a respectable woman and I can’t expect to make love to you whenever I wish.”

  “More like wherever you wish.” The whenever part had not been in question since this morning.

  “I am speaking of an event perhaps ten years ago,” he said, persisting. “I thought I was in love with Rose but of course, that was a mere infatuation.”

  “I was rather prone to infatuations myself.”

  He ignored her interjection. “You said you knew all the best places to hide. I recall finding a large cupboard in the stillroom. I thought no one would go there because it was dashed cold. Then suddenly you climbed in too.”

  “It would have been squashy because normally I only had room for me. I wonder where I went after I found you had taken my best spot.” Her pulse began to flutter in her neck.

  “You squeezed in with me. We were jammed tight together. Maybe you giggled. I always liked the way you laughed. Often, no one understood your witticisms but me.”

  “Too true.” Her throat closed over.

  “And I remember you handling certain parts of my body.”

  She tried a haughty lowering of her eyelids. “A certain part of your body was pressing into me. I thought I should push it away.”

  “So, you do remember?” He sounded triumphant.

  “You shouldn’t remind me. A gentleman wouldn’t.”

  “A gentleman enjoys having that certain part handled, although that causes the part to grow unruly. Possibly you made a mistake but you kept making the same mistake.”

  “You know very well you covered my hand with yours to make sure I kept erring.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment. “I think I kissed you, too.”

  “The space was tight. I expect you couldn’t find room to rest your face.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know what came over me. Being crammed into a tight space together is no excuse for me to behave badly.”

  “I expect you’ve done worse.”

  “Not to a young lady. You wouldn’t have been more than eighteen.”

  “Some women are married by then.”

  “You are being very generous. Have you forgiven me?”

  She wet her lips. “Yes,” she whispered. But only in the past two years, and not because he had done anything at all repellent to her at that time. When she had opened the door to her favorite hiding place in the cupboard, he already sat there. With a smile, he had invited her to share the space with him. Suppressing her giggles, she finally settled comfortably across his lap, which hadn’t appeared to faze him. Quite the opposite, in fact. He had laughed and kissed her. Then she had tried to move what she now knew he called his truncheon to make herself more comfortable. He had hissed in a breath.

  “Is that you?” she had asked, surprised and he had explained about men’s bodies, very politely, and without embarrassment. “Does it feel strange?”

  “Not at all. It’s an instrument of great pleasure.”

  Perhaps the dark proximity gave her the courage, but she made sure of discovering his pleasure for herself. She had taken advantage of the moment, imagining he would see her as rather original. The years had taught her that she had made a great fool of herself, but back then he had embodied all her dreams. She had admired him for his scholarship as well as for his athletic body.

  In the cupboard she had discovered he was warm and nice. She didn’t doubt that even then he’d had experience with women, but she had wanted just once to be special to him. He had allowed her to take him to a certain point and then he had come to his senses. He had stopped kissing her and he had taken himself in hand, breathing hard, and apologizing profusely. “I suspect that by now someone has been found. I don’t think we should be discovered in here together.”

  “I’ll
go then.” She thought about hiding elsewhere but as she crept down the hallway, she could hear the others discussing where she might be and she gave herself up.

  Some minutes later, John also came out of hiding. He didn’t glance at her.

  Ever. Again.

  After all, he loved Rose. He shouldn’t be intimate with her friend. His father died within the next month, and he became the seventh Earl of Langsdene, leaving to live in his family’s town house. And Winsome hated him for letting her dream. He had made a fool of her, and she had decided to make a fool of him.

  “And this morning, what was that?” he asked, smiling down at her.

  “A kiss.”

  “Do you allow everyone who chooses, to kiss you?”

  “Do you allow everyone who chooses, to kiss you?”

  “As a matter of fact, no, I don’t, because few women come up to me and try to inveigle a kiss or two. Even less, except in certain establishments, sit on my knee. I can safely say you were the first lady to do so.”

  “I could be the first and the second if sat on your knee now.”

  He shook his head. “I think, perhaps, not here. I would like a few standing kisses but more than that and the door will be too obviously locked for too long and you will be talked about.”

  Her shoulders slumped. She would adore kissing sessions with him but more than likely that would never happen. She could hardly meet him in everyone’s library, and he wouldn’t have permission to lock the door in each household. Tonight she would snatch the chance offered to her. She slid her arms around his neck, her breasts swelling against his chest. The expression on his face softened into smile that combined desire with patient humor. The last was a trait she had always admired in him.

  His palms splayed on her back, his head lowered, and the rasp of his bristles brushed her cheek. His lips settled on hers. The gentle kiss opened her lips. His tongue tickled inside her mouth, tasting her until she responded with tastings of her own. Her body thickened with an unknown languor and she could have done this with him for hours. When his truncheon began to press against her belly, she had a dreadful urge to touch him there. However, she didn’t mean to start anything she wasn’t sure she could stop.

  “I don’t think we can do this here,” she whispered, though if he had caressed her breasts, she didn’t doubt she would melt into a pool of desire. Apparently she needed his touch, not for stimulation, because she was already a panting mess, but to ease the ache.

  However, as in the cupboard, he didn’t attempt to dishonor her. Instead he remained a gentleman, and settled a careful hand on the nape of her neck. “Your first time should no more be in my cousin’s library than it should have been in a stillroom cupboard.”

  “What makes you think this would be my first time?” She pouted like a precocious miss, while her insides tickled with laughter.

  “It would be your first time with me.” His words whispered across her cheek.

  She heaved a sigh. “All talk and no action, my lord.”

  “You’ll be the death of me, Winsome. You can’t doubt I want you, but I don’t plan on ruining you.”

  “Is that a euphemism?”

  “In this case, no. We need to return to the ballroom. I’ll call on you tomorrow.” Without any effort, he lifted her away from him. Those hard muscles of his were not only there to make his jacket fit without a wrinkle.

  “Did you mess my hair?”

  “How would I be able to tell?”

  “Your manners, John, are atrocious. Ann told me not to return with my ringlets disarranged, though why she thought they might be is a puzzle to me.”

  He shook his head, his lips curved in a reluctant smile. “Leave now, Winsome, while I adjust myself.”

  “Do you need help?”

  He fixed his gaze on hers. “This is why you are called Wicked Winsome, no doubt.”

  She laughed and turned. He was welcome to think that, but her wickedness came more from her sense of humor and her caricatures.

  “I’ll call on you early tomorrow morning and we can visit the privacy tree again.” His eyes gleamed with humor and a touch of whimsy.

  She closed the door behind her. His artful expression kept her insides alight with happiness until she fell asleep that night.

  CHAPTER 8

  Langsdene opened his morning newssheet. The footman began to hover. The indoors’ staff had a habit of creeping around cautiously whenever Langsdene had been lampooned, the paper being ironed in the kitchen before he had a chance to see which of his shocking faults needed to be made public. His light mood suddenly plummeted. He rubbed the back of his neck, expelling a long, slow breath.

  “You may leave, Thomas.” He tried to keep his focus on the front page, but waiting caused his breathing to speed up. Refolding the pages, he found the caricature.

  Today his lordly image stood with his back leaning on the edge of the drawing’s frame, glancing moodily at a tiny woman dancing in the palm of his hand. In the background, the Prime Minister and the cabinet pored over a newly published book titled Frankenstein. ‘An attack on industrialization, my lord!’ shouted one person from the back of the parliament. ‘Clearly in support of the opposition,’ said Lord Liverpool in answer.

  Langsdene straightened his shoulders, trying to contain his murderous thoughts. According to the caricaturist, he would rather have women in the palm of his hand than to take an interest in industrialization. The man had wronged him. Industry would be the savior of the poor and would enrich the entire nation. He slapped the paper on the table. Likely, this caricature would demean him in the eyes of others. Would Winsome think less of him? He couldn’t afford to be demeaned in her mind. He wanted to be in the palm of her hand, figuratively speaking, and he wanted to be used as she clearly wanted to use him. For the first time in his life, he was completely besotted, and if the cartoonist lost him her regard ...

  Leaning back, he rubbed at his forehead. When he had seen her hair dressed in the old-fashioned ringlets last night, his heart had dropped. He had expected to see the witty, enticing creature he had kissed in the park. Instead, he saw a staid spinster that he had no right to be mentally undressing. If she had meant to get rid of him, he would naturally need to cut her first, the only problem being that he couldn’t. He wanted her, regardless of how she dressed.

  And last night, she’d had him so befuddled that he had all but proposed to her, which would be very wrong of him before he had asked her father for her hand. At her age, she could flout her parents if they didn’t wish to lose her. However, presuming she cared for him as much as he had begun to think he cared for her, he would rather do the decent thing. First the settlements would need to be discussed, and the plans for her future. Regardless, if she wanted him, he accepted that he was hers for the taking.

  She had a rare ability to relax him and show him that life could be more diverting than he had previously been led to believe. Since he had inherited the earldom, he had studied how to keep his lands fertile and how to keep his tenancies in profit. Possibly, at times his thoughts were too serious but her irreverence relaxed him. For him, moments of light-heartedness were rare. Naturally he couldn’t touch a lady unless he was willing to marry her. Therefore, his interest in marriage expanded by the hour.

  In the years since he had inherited his title, he had grown accustomed to flattery and being sought by mothers interested in marrying their daughters well. He had met Winsome in the days when he was a mere Mister, before he had money of his own or a choice about where he would prefer to live.

  Back then, he wasn’t a particularly brilliant match. His father was hale and hearty and likely to last for another thirty years, if not more. A title hadn’t been in the offing for Langsdene’s immediate future, nor a more than respectable income. But Winsome had certainly been willing to accept his callow opportunism nine years ago. While he had shared the cupboard with her, he hadn’t believed for one minute that she was merely interested in a good marriage. Unlike any of the ot
her young eligible ladies, she showed far more interest in the workings of his body. As did he, at the time. His thoughts caused his face to relax. Yes, she did indeed appreciate his body.

  Not only was Win clever and amusing, she treated her parents with the same good humor she treated her friends and her less fortunate cast-off suitors. She did not use others as the butt of her wit but instead simply enjoyed the differences. The only thing he disliked was her habit of making herself lesser to make more of others. Miss Ann Herries, who could compete favorably with any new debutant, did not need her cousin to look drab so as not to steal the limelight. In fact, Miss Herries had been the one to mention to him last night that he should understand Win was less confident than one would expect, given her refreshing personality.

  He carefully folded the paper and paced off to his dressing room. His valet stood, brushing down his black jacket. “I’ll be riding this morning, Barlow.”

  “Very good, my lord. Should I put out the burgundy waistcoat and the dark blue jacket for you?”

  “If you would. Thank you.” Langsdene inspected the fresh cravats Barlow had lined up for him on the shelf beside the extendable mirror. Unlike many other fashionable bucks, Langsdene tied his own knots. “You could possibly be wondering why I have changed my morning habits lately. To save speculation with the others in the servant’s hall, I should inform you that I am riding this morning with a rather delightful lady.”

  “A lady, my lord?”

  “Such surprise, Barlow, is insulting.”

  Barlow, a man whose mouth more often pursed with scrutiny, managed a dour smile. “My only surprise is caused by the fact that you have decided to leave the house so early for two days in a row.”

  “I have surprised myself as well.” Langsdene slipped his shirt over his head.