Lady Reluctant

by Maggie Osborne

  “You’ve become a beautiful woman, Blu.” His gaze brushed the top of her breasts before returning to her eyes. “In a few weeks you will meet and conquer a dozen admirers.”

  An odd expression drew his features. For a helpless moment she stared at his mouth, remembering the pressure of his lips hot and demanding against her own. With a suddenness that weakened her knees she was swept by a nearly overpowering urge to rush forward into his arms, to cover his face and hair with hurried touches, to press her nose to his skin and inhale the sharp clean scent she remembered so vividly. To taste his lips again and again and again.

  Swallowing hard, she clenched her hands into fists. No. Never again would she throw herself at him; never again would she offer him an opportunity to reject and humiliate her. If any were to taste the bite of rejection, it would be he.

  Blu wanted revenge. Revenge was a law she understood; one by which she had lived most of her life. She wanted him to know the pain of turning aside when his body flamed with desire. As she had done. She wanted him to look into her eyes and ache with the urgency of his need. As she had done. And then—then, she wanted to step away and smile and leave him shaking with the pain of his passion and the pain of his dismissal. As she had done.

  Eyes narrowing, she calculated the intensity in his steady gaze, and her confidence grew. She had not realized the fullness of her transformation until she saw it reflected in his darkened gaze. Yes, Lady Katherine, Cecile, and Aunt Tremble had told her numerous times, but she had discounted their assurances as encouragement to continue. But Thomas had no reason to wish her success. What she saw in his gray eyes was genuine and it elated her.

  When Thomas looked at her now, he saw one of his own kind. The resemblance was superficial and they both knew it. But outwardly, she had become the type of woman to arouse his interest. The stunning young woman in her mirror was no illusion. Now that she saw herself reflected in a man’s admiration, she could finally accept that she was beautiful.

  A dizzying sense of power raised a tremble to her fingertips and she lifted her skirts so he wouldn’t see, turning gracefully toward the light shining through the French doors.

  “What can be keeping Cecile?” she asked lightly, feeling a twinge of guilt that she had set her course to seduce Cecile’s betrothed. To assuage the pang, she reminded herself the seduction would end in rejection and Cecile would never learn of it.

  Walking ahead of Thomas on the path, she threw back her head and laughed because she had learned to talk with her bottom. Knowing he watched from behind, she found herself walking seductively, more languidly, more provocatively.

  Like everything else she could not unlearn, the new walk had become part of her.

  At the steps leading up to the French doors, she turned to face him, her cheeks flushed with power, her eyes soft with seductive determination.

  With no thought to who might be watching, Thomas stepped up to her and grasped her arms so tightly she nearly cried out.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded in a low, angry voice.

  His gray eyes burned down into hers like twin suns. The heat of his body radiated toward her, surrounding her, scorching her flesh. Of a sudden they were both breathing rapidly and the scent of wine flowed over her lips. The instant he touched her, a moist tremble began in her privates and swept upward.

  “Release me!” she said between her teeth. His mouth, his naked mouth hovered above her lips, and her mind flashed to the moment they had stood in the doorway of his cabin and the kiss he had given her. When she drew a gasping breath, she inhaled the scent of his cologne, the hint of Caribbean smoke, the tang of rice starch, and a faint drift of perspiration. The combined scents swirled in her mind, leaving her light-headed.

  He wrenched his gaze to her eyes. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Blu,” he said angrily.

  Boldly, she returned his stare before she jerked from his grasp. After smoothing her skirts, she lifted a shaking hand to her hair, knowing the gesture thrust her breasts forward. Then, smiling at his expression and the hoarse sound he made, she turned to greet Cecile as Mouton pushed her chair into the terrace followed by Monsieur.

  Triumph pulsed through every breath. He had touched her and she had demanded her release. It was a small rejection, very small, but it was a beginning. In an unguarded moment she had read in his moonlit eyes that she could have her revenge if she wished it. And by God she did. He would pay.

  ~ ~ ~

  To Thomas’s relief, Blu did not join them in the garden, but excused herself and stepped into the drawing room. A few minutes later, a maid’s silhouette appeared at an upper-story window and candlelight blossomed behind her. He stared upward, frowning, resisting the knowledge of which chamber was Blu’s. When he lowered his gaze, Monsieur was watching him. For a brief moment they examined each other, then Thomas reached inside his waistcoat for his cigars.

  “Do you mind?” he asked Cecile, needing something to occupy his hands.

  “You know I don’t mind,” she answered, smiling. “I enjoy the scent of smoke.”

  “Monsieur? Will you join me?”

  “Thank you, I believe I shall,” Monsieur murmured, accepting one of the thin Caribbean cigars.

  Cecile closed her eyes and inhaled the smoke and the heavy scent of the roses. “It’s a lovely evening. Much cooler outside.”

  In the moonlight her hair appeared white, her pale skin as smooth as cream. Leaning against the wall at the foot of the garden, Thomas smiled at her and silently wondered why she had never inflamed his desire. She was lovely, compliant, and eager to please him. With one exception—his eyes flicked to the upper story—he would rather spend time in her company than with any other woman he knew. There were few subjects Cecile could not discuss in a learned manner, her opinions meshed with his, everything about her was agreeable.

  He regarded Cecile with great affection but he felt no passion toward her. When he thought of taking her to his bed, he anticipated the event with mild pleasure, but no genuine eagerness of passion. If it transpired that she could not bear children or that she took no pleasure in congress, he would experience regret but not despair.

  “What are you thinking, Edward?”

  He was thinking he had never seen her naked as he had seen Blu, had never touched her body, nor had they exchanged more than a chaste kiss.

  Looking away from the upper story and the shadows passing before the window, he knelt beside her chair and touched her hand. “Cecile—you know I would never willingly do anything to injure you, don’t you?”

  Surprise lifted her delicate eyebrows and she laughed. “Of course. Whatever made you ask such a thing?”

  “You’ve been like a cherished sister to me. I want you to understand that whatever happens, I will always take care of you. You will never want for anything.”

  “I know that, dear Edward.” Leaning back, she frowned and studied his face. “Is something amiss?”

  “No.” He had given his pledge and he would not dishonor it. When he rose to his feet, Monsieur was regarding him, having forgotten the ash growing on the end of his cigar.

  “Well.” A smile appeared on Cecile’s lips, the smile she wore when she was about to request a favor. “Mama and I wish to beg your assistance.”

  He laughed and pushed her chair toward the French doors. “You know I can refuse you nothing.”

  “We would like you to teach Blusette to ride.”

  His hesitation was slight but he wondered if the sharp-eyed Monsieur noticed. “Perhaps I agreed too hastily,” he said, stubbing his cigar beneath his boot. “I regret to say my schedule is crowded for the next few weeks.”

  “Please, Edward,” she implored, reaching a hand to him. “I beg you to rearrange your invitations. Blusette must learn to ride.”

  “Perhaps Monsieur?”

  Monsieur cleared his throat and a hint of sympathy appeared behind his goggles. “It shames me to admit I never learned the art, Your Grace.”

&
nbsp; Thomas glanced at the lighted window above him, then swore silently. Damn her. Damn her full mouth and mocking eyes. Damn her laughter and the whisper of her sigh. Skin as golden as sunlight. Hair that shone like stars at midnight. A body that inflamed his senses.

  “Edward? Please say you will.”

  Had she asked anything else, he would readily have agreed. How could he explain his refusal to do so now?

  “Thank you,” Cecile said, recognizing his acquiescence. She pressed his hand and laughed. “Don’t look so glum. You might find the outing enjoyable.”

  When they entered the drawing room, he saw Cecile give Lady Katherine a tiny nod and watched Lady Katherine return a satisfied smile.

  Good God. They were deliberately throwing Blu in his path. He passed a hand over his eyes, then drained his glass of port.

  He understood Blu’s game. He knew what she was doing and what she wanted. He also knew how dangerous the game could be.

  14

  Monsieur insisted upon accompanying Blusette and His Grace to Charlton Mews for Blu’s riding lesson. Mouton, who for the first time would remain with Cecile instead of serving as Blu’s shadow, strongly agreed with Monsieur’s stand. Everyone else, having private reasons, objected.

  “I shall accompany you,” Monsieur said firmly, drawing on his summer gloves. “That is that.”

  “But there’s no need,” Blu objected, exasperated. She glared at him in the mirror as she pinned on her hat. “Further, I shall ride inside the carriage.”

  Hotly protesting, Blu followed him around the drawing room pleading her case. His Grace was company enough; she did not require two protectors; Monsieur had no knowledge of riding; he had not completed transcribing Lady Katherine’s letters.

  “Blusette is correct,” Lady Katherine agreed, adding her voice to the argument. “I have several letters which must be dispatched at once.”

  “I will accompany Blusette and His Grace to the Mews,” Monsieur insisted stubbornly. It was not in his nature to resist authority and doing so raised a sheen of perspiration to his brow. He mopped his upper lip with signs of distress, but nothing anyone said could budge him.

  “Well!” When she understood he would not obey, Lady Katherine lifted her nose to the air and withdrew, huffing imperiously about the insolence of servants.

  “But I don’t need you!” Blu exclaimed angrily when the others had departed and she and Monsieur waited alone for His Grace.

  Monsieur held his head rigidly but glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “I do this for Lady Cecile, Blusette, not for you.”

  Blu’s eyebrows soared toward her hat brim and she turned to stare at him. “Whatever are you implying?”

  Facing forward, his spine as stiff as his lips, Monsieur said, “I know what you are doing. I have observed your antics with His Grace.”

  Color rushed into her cheeks. “Go on.”

  “Mouton and I are disappointed in you.”

  Her own shoulders stiffened and she drew back, stung to the quick by their judgment. “What is it you think I’m doing?”

  “You are attempting to steal away Lady Cecile’s betrothed.” Before she could protest, he clasped her gloved hands. “Blusette, you have grown up taking what you wanted, when you wanted it. That was life on Morgan’s Mound. But here you must consider others. Lady Cecile loves you; it would devastate her if you, her beloved sister, took the one thing Lady Cecile cannot replace. Her betrothed.”

  “I don’t want to keep him, I just want—”

  “No.” She could never remember hearing Monsieur speak so sharply before. “I have watched the two of you at table, at cards, during walks, in the drawing room following dinner. You provoke the Duke. You seduce him.”

  The accusation hung between them like an echo and repeated in the steady judgmental gaze behind Monsieur’s goggles.

  “I would die before I would hurt Cecile,” Blu said quietly. “I love her. But you know what the Duke did to me. All I want is payment in kind.” Pressing Monsieur’s hands, she met his troubled gaze. “My honor demands revenge, Monsieur. The Duke must suffer as I have done. But Cecile shall never know, I promise you.”

  “And if she learns of it?”

  “She will not. You know I could not bear to wound her. Finding Cecile was like discovering a missing part of myself. I would never do anything to hurt her. This has nothing to do with Cecile. It’s between the Duke and myself.”

  “Dear Blu.” He shook his head and pressed her fingers. “I beg you to change course while you still can. Or is it already too late?”

  Mr. Apple announced His Grace then, and Blu cast a hasty glance toward the drawing room door before speaking a last whisper to Monsieur. “Please try to understand.” She heard the approach of footsteps. “If the juicing upsets you, look aside.”

  “I cannot condone this,” he answered stiffly, rising to his feet. “Mark my words, Blusette. You court disaster.”

  ~ ~ ~

  In truth, she did. But her current disastrous challenge had nothing to do with Cecile or Thomas. It had to do with the enormity of horses. Having observed them only from a safe distance, Blu had not realized how large they were. Or that they had teeth, and stamping feet as lethal as hammers. She wet her mouth then pulled her lower lip between her teeth and gazed with a wary expression at the animal the groom led toward her.

  “Are you frightened?” Thomas inquired, noting her chalky face and the trembling hands she attempted to conceal in the folds of her riding skirt.

  “No!” she lied. Casting a quick glance toward the barn, she sought Monsieur and perhaps an excuse to delay the lesson until another day. He sat on a stool beneath the shade of a parasol, calmly reading one of Aunt Tremble’s new plays and sneaking glances at Blu over the pages. When he noticed her signals, he fixed his eyes on the pages and steadfastly pretended not to see.

  Dammit. He well knew she wished to be rescued. But he was punishing her for the provocative remarks she had addressed to His Grace in the carriage. Sliding a look toward Thomas, she tried to guess his mood. His expression blended amusement, resignation, and irritation.

  “We could decide against the lesson,” he suggested as the groom drew abreast of them. “Not all ladies ride.”

  Uneasily, Blu inspected the monster horse. The beast turned his head to stare at her. “Arc you inferring I don’t have the sand to ride a horse?”

  Thomas released a sigh. “There is no disgrace in being afraid, Blu.”

  “I am not afraid!” Who did he think he addressed? Some sheep-livered, beef-witted, vaporous lady friend of his? “Beau Billy’s daughter is afraid of nothing.” Leaning forward from the waist, she glared into the horse’s dark eye. “Certainly not some buffle horse.” Elbowing past Thomas, she spoke to the groom. “Well? What do I do?” How difficult could it be?

  From the corner of her eye, she watched Thomas’s groom lead out his horse. In one smooth motion, Thomas mounted as she watched, the motion graceful and elegant. If he could ride, she determined grimly, inhaling the warm, earthy scent of horseflesh, she bloody well could too.

  “Yes, I see. This leg goes over the saddle thing.”

  “Ah, no, miss.” The groom explained she would ride sidesaddle. A grin appeared on Thomas’s face as her own countenance clouded in disbelief.

  “That is the most caw-handed bit of flummery I ever heard. I’ll fall off if I do it that way. No, I prefer to ride astride like His Grace,” she said firmly, pointing to Thomas.

  “Sidesaddle, Miss Morgan,” Thomas instructed pleasantly. “Ladies ride sidesaddle.” His gaze challenged her.

  “But that isn’t fair,” she muttered. However, he had spoken the magic words. Ladies rode sidesaddle. Whatever a bleeding lady did, she could do. “Very well,” she said finally, acquiescing with ill grace. “Put me up there.”

  “Mayhaps I should explain—” the groom began, but she waved him to silence with an impatient gesture.

  “I can do it! Give me a hand up.”

&
nbsp; “As the lady commands,” Thomas ordered with a nod. The groom shrugged, bent, and cupped his hands for Blu’s boot.

  It looked so ridiculously easy. She didn’t know what went wrong. Possibly the horse was to blame as he shifted the instant the groom tossed her up. She felt the saddle slide beneath her skirts and tried to catch something but her fingers closed on air. Then she was sailing over the saddle and falling down the other side, crashing to the ground on her back and buttocks with enough force to knock the air from her lungs.

  “Christ!” In a flash, Thomas leaped from his mount and ran to her side. “Are you injured?” She sat sprawled on the ground, gasping and sputtering and red in the face. But when he extended his hand to assist her to her feet, she slapped his glove aside and struggled up unassisted. Committing the error of treating her as he would have treated any other lady of his acquaintance, he assumed her fall would end the riding lesson. “We’ll return next week,” he said to the groom with a gesture of dismissal.

  “In a pig’s eye, we will,” she snapped, spitting the words. “I’m here now and I’m damned well going to ride this scurvy thing!” After slapping the dirt from her skirts, she stamped around to face the horse and jerked the bridle down so she could look him square in the eye. “Listen to me, you lug-loafed rat dropping. This is Blu Morgan speaking. You are not to move when I mount. Do you hear me? You will obey me. You will not bite me, step on me, run away with me.” Leaning closer, she stared hard into the horse’s flaring right eye. “If you do—by God’s teeth, you will regret it!”

  After a moment of intense staring, she dropped the bridle and presented herself at the horse’s side where she gave the openmouthed groom a cold look. “Again, if you please.”

  A mixture of annoyance and amusement flickered across Thomas’s expression. He examined the freckles standing out on her pale face like painted dots, noticed the tremble she vainly tried to conceal. And he shook his head as he regained his mount.