She was driving a high-perch phaeton pulled by a pair of magnificent high-stepping black geldings. Smiling up at her, Royce admitted that she made an attractive sight with her guinea gold curls peeking out from under the rakishly tilted dark green hat, and her lush figure well displayed in a formfitting black riding habit trimmed in the same green color as her hat. He had sent her an enormous basket of fragrant yellow roses and a polite note the morning after they had made love, but he had not seen her since that night.
Holding the reins easily in her black-gloved hands, she asked archly, “Would you like a ride? Or are you one of those men who don’t trust women to drive as well as they do?”
Grinning, Royce shook his head and lithely swung up into the place beside her. “When they are as beautiful as you, I find that it really doesn’t matter,” he murmured lightly.
She tipped her head at his compliment and set her horses in motion. They drove in silence for a moment and then Heather shot him an avid glance and, forgetting all her plans to lure him further into her web, admitted petulantly, “I expected to see you before this—didn’t the night we shared mean anything to you? Where have you been?”
Royce looked at her thoughtfully. While he had been paying lazy court to her, her reputation was not unknown to him—the widow Cresswell was discreet with her lovers, but she had by no means remained chaste since her husband’s untimely death. They had made each other no promises, and her sudden possessiveness grated on him. Picking his words with care, he replied, “I apologize if you feel neglected, but I wasn’t aware that the night we spent together constituted more than it was—a very pleasurable interlude for both of us.”
Suddenly aware that shrewishness would gain her nothing, Heather cunningly changed her tactics. Royce Manchester was everything she had ever wanted in a man, and she was determined to be his wife. Her green eyes narrowed calculatingly as she stared ahead. He had wanted her that night they had made love, she thought slowly, and never doubting her allure, she was positive that she could make him want her again.... If she could arrange for them to be caught in a compromising position ... As she deliberately let one of her hands slide down to his muscled thigh, a sensual smile curved her full mouth. Boldly she explored the hard flesh beneath her fingers, and glancing over at him, she said breathlessly, “I’ve missed you, darling. I had hoped that you would come to me again.”
“I think,” Royce drawled coolly as he politely removed her fingers from his thigh, “that you would do well to keep your hands on the reins.”
“Oh, pooh,” she protested with a pout, “never tell me that you are a prude.”
Royce almost smiled. Prudishness was not one of his failings! But Heather’s actions faintly repelled him, and he was startled to find himself thinking of Pip and her audacious behavior. At least, he admitted cynically to himself, Pip’s outrageous manner toward him was refreshing—if infuriating.
With an effort, he switched his wayward attention back to the woman at his side, and sending Heather a mocking glance, he murmured, “Far be it for me to tell a beautiful female anything!”
Wanting to end the conversation, Royce fortuitously caught sight of one of the most notorious gossips in London and swiftly seized the opportunity. Smiling down at Heather, he said, “But I would suggest that you acknowledge Lady Belmont’s wave, unless you want tongues to wag faster than they are already.”
Heather’s mouth tightened at the sight of the dowdy female who was waving at them. Cutting Lady Belmont was not to be condoned, and sighing for the lost opportunity, Heather pulled her horses over and smiled sunnily at the older woman. Quite how it happened, she was never certain, but in the course of the next few moments, Royce vacated the vehicle and she found herself driving off with Lady Belmont at her side!
Having escaped Heather’s clutches, Royce wandered home in search of solitude. He met Zachary in the hallway, just as his cousin was on his way out again. Recalling their earlier conversation, he said, “I spoke with George at Manton’s this morning, and if it is convenient with you, we shall go riding on Tuesday in Hyde Park.”
Zachary readily agreed to the date and disappeared out the front door. Feeling strangely out of sorts, Royce walked into the library, thinking that he might while away a few hours examining some of the fine books that lined the walls.
Unenthusiastically his gaze wandered around the pleasant room, stopping abruptly when he caught sight of a black, curly head peeking above the back of one of the red leather chairs that were scattered about the long room. Having a fair idea of who those curls belonged to, Royce walked over to the secluded corner where Pip sat reading.
Totally absorbed in a novel, Pip didn’t hear his soft-footed approach. It was apparent she had been sent in here to dust. A feather duster lay forlornly against the chair in which she sat; several dust rags and a container of lemon-scented beeswax were scattered along the shelf near her head.
She had no idea that he was in the room until Royce suddenly reached across and plucked the book from her hands. She gasped in surprise, then, seeing who it was, she scrambled to her feet. Her face a picture of vexation and guilt, she muttered, “Bloody eyes! I thought you had left the house! You’re not supposed to be here!”
Tamping down an urge to laugh, Royce drawled mockingly, “I wasn’t aware that you were in charge of my social calendar.” Not giving her a chance to answer, he looked at the book in his hand. “Is this some new duty that has been assigned to you? Reading Jane Austen?”
Pip flushed, wishing that it had been anyone else who had caught her and that the sight of him didn’t cause her pulse to leap in the most peculiar manner. “You know very well it isn’t!” she said defiantly.
Royce stared at her, one hawkish brow rising at her tone of voice. Cursing her unruly tongue, Pip looked away, uneasily conscious that she was in the wrong. She owed him a great deal, and he had been extremely forbearing, she admitted grudgingly. Grimly Pip brought her volatile emotions under control. “Chambers sent me in here to dust and ...” A look of wonder crossed her expressive face. “I’ve never seen so many books, and I just ...” She shrugged. “I got to looking at them and before I knew it, I was thoroughly engrossed.” She flashed him a look from beneath her lashes, and despite her best intentions, asked impudently, “Are you going to beat me?”
Her sheer bravado dragged a reluctant laugh from Royce, and shaking his tawny head, he admitted, “I probably should, but I won’t ... this time!” A glint entered his golden eyes and he added dryly, “When you do finally make me lose my temper, I suspect the beating I shall give you will ensure that you don’t sit for a week!”
The gray eyes flashing dangerously, she replied tightly, “And do you think that you shall escape unscathed if you lay a hand on me?”
Royce looked at her, at the tempting rosy mouth and the bosom heaving beneath her gown, and something powerful and elemental surged fiercely through him. Incredulously he realized that he would very much like to lay his hands on her, but not in anger... . A sensual smile curved his mouth. No. Not in anger. Displeased with the direction of his thoughts, he sought a way to diffuse the situation, and glancing down at the book in his hands, he asked lightly, “Do you like to read?”
Not quite trusting the expression in his golden eyes, Pip answered cautiously, “I don’t know—a pickpocket usually doesn’t have time for such entertainments.”
“But then, how many pickpockets do you know who know how to read?” Royce asked teasingly. “I doubt reading is a requirement for deft little fingers!”
Brusquely motioning her to the chair in which she had been sitting, Royce lounged on the black damask sofa across from her. Somewhat gingerly Pip obeyed him, a wary cast to her face.
Royce grimaced at her stiff posture, her hands folded demurely in her lap, but he couldn’t help noticing what a very pretty picture she made, her black hair and clear skin contrasting attractively with the red leather of the chair, the gray eyes clear and direct beneath their long, spiky lashes.
Consideringly his gaze slid over the slim figure, and he frowned. He really was getting tired of that blue and white gingham gown. She needed more clothes....
Jerking his thoughts away from the disturbing images that flitted through his mind, he inquired softly, “Are you a good pickpocket?”
Still cautious, but relaxing slightly, Pip couldn’t help crowing, “Guvnor—I’m one of the best!” She shot him a dark look. “You were just lucky when you caught me!”
Lazily Royce retorted, “Lucky is not precisely the word I would use to characterize myself these past days.”
Pip grinned, but for once, wisely kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to argue with him, and to her astonishment, she didn’t want this conversation to end. Greedily she was storing up every moment of it, memorizing his handsome features, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the way his beautifully sculpted mouth twitched with suppressed amusement when she said something particularly outrageous. Against her will, covertly her eyes traveled over the grace and suppleness of that tall, muscular body as he reclined indolently on the sofa across from her, and she was aware of an odd warmth seeping languidly through her slender body.
To their utter astonishment, they talked easily for several more moments, Royce encouraging Pip to tell him of her life in St. Giles, Pip convincing Royce to detail some of the differences he found between England and America. It was an odd moment in time, and Royce found himself rather annoyed when Chambers entered the room and disturbed the strange intimacy between them.
“Oh, sir!” he exclaimed, embarrassed. “I didn’t realize that young Pip was here with you!” He glanced curiously at them and then asked uneasily, “Er, is there anything I can get you?”
The moment was shattered, and rising to his feet, Royce shook his head and summarily dismissed the butler. Annoyed with himself for allowing the little pickpocket to intrude further into his life, Royce glanced sourly at Pip, who had also risen upon Chambers’s entrance. A sardonic twist to his mouth, he said cynically, “You had better report to Chambers immediately—your advent into my life has caused enough gossip as it is, and I don’t need to find myself the object of my own servants’ tittle-tattle!”
Stung at his abrupt change, Pip retorted sharply, “You were the one who ordered me to sit down!”
“And it’s probably the first damned order I’ve given you that you’ve obeyed!” Feeling the need to enrage her, to put some distance between them and the odd little intimate interlude they had shared so briefly, Royce added icily, “Before you cause me more trouble, please follow Chambers, and take your bloody dust rags with you!”
Pip was surprised at the shaft of pain that went through her at his cold words. “You’re the one who caused all the trouble!” she retorted, trying to bide her bewilderment. “My life was just fine until you appeared in it!”
“Oh?” he asked derisively. “You’re eager for the life the one-eyed man has planned for you?”
Infuriated at the way he turned her words on her, she said rashly, “At least with him I wouldn’t have to put up with the likes of you!”
Something snapped inside of Royce at her words, and stunning both of them, he caught her wrists in his hands and pulled her next to him. “Are you saying you want to become his mistress?” he asked, his voice thick with some savage emotion he could feel but not understand.
Frightened of the sleeping tiger she had roused, confused by the elation his reaction made her feel, Pip glanced away from the glittering golden eyes and almost whispered, “No. No. I don’t want to be his mistress!”
That tempting mouth of hers was mere inches from his, and Royce felt his body stirring. His gaze locked on her rosy lips, he lowered his head to kiss her when Pip said in a very small voice, “I don’t want to be your mistress either.”
Royce let go of her, his face an icy mask. Pip didn’t dally. In less than a second, she was out the door like a doe escaping from a tiger, a large, very hungry tiger....
CHAPTER 9
The ride through Hyde Park proved to be enjoyable, although Royce was not precisely pleased when the Earl of St. Audries’s friends, Rufe Stafford and Martin Wetherly, invited themselves to join them. He was even less pleased when the two men clung like leeches to the group and politeness forced him to invite them back to the house to partake of the light repast that Ivy Chambers had prepared in anticipation of several of the gentlemen accompanying Royce and Zachary home.
The group consisted of perhaps fifteen gentlemen, including George Ponteby, Allan Newell, Francis Atwater, Stafford, and Wetherly, as well as several of Zachary’s friends. Leland and Jeremy were naturally part of the group, but Royce was plainly astonished to see that young Julian Devlin had also been included. While all the others were busy serving themselves from the lavish buffet set out in the dining room, Royce cocked an eyebrow in Julian’s direction and glanced questioningly at Zachary.
Almost shamefacedly Zachary murmured quietly, “He’s not really a bad sort, you know. He can’t help it if the Earl is his father!” Looking slightly apologetic, Zachary added, “You don’t mind that he is here, do you?”
“Good Lord, no!” Royce said with a laugh. “I am just surprised, since when you last spoke of him, it was with great dislike.” A teasing glint in his eyes, he added, “And that must have been, oh, let me see, all of four days ago.”
Zachary grinned briefly. “The thing is, Royce, I thought he was a haughty bastard like his father, but he isn’t.” Glancing around to see that the others were still preoccupied with the tempting delicacies spread out before them, his young face intent, Zachary said soberly, “Last night a group of us were carousing in Covent Garden when we accidentally crossed the Earl’s path. St. Audries was extremely drunk and spoke very sneeringly to Julian. By God, I’ll tell you true, I wouldn’t have been able to prevent myself from striking out if anyone, much less my father, had spoken to me in that insulting manner, but Julian behaved most admirably. When St. Audries could not provoke Julian to action, I guess he wanted to find someone else to annoy.” Zachary’s mouth twisted wryly. “Unfortunately, he spotted me and launched into a vitriolic attack on Americans—you and me in particular. It was all very ugly and embarrassing, but in a flash Julian interrupted his father and defended me! I was astounded, I can tell you, even more so later in the evening when he came up to me and apologized for his father’s behavior.”
Thoughtfully Royce glanced across at the subject of their conversation. Julian Devlin was a son any man would have been proud to claim—tall, handsome, a charming manner about him, and from everything that Royce had heard, universally well liked by both the younger and older members of the ton. So what had this exemplary young man done to arouse his father’s ire? Was it simply sheer cussedness on the Earl’s part? Could the Earl possibly be jealous that his son enjoyed the admiration and acceptance that was denied to him? Or was it merely the differences of opinion and life-style that differentiate one generation from another? Somehow Royce didn’t think it was as simple as that, and he found himself, as the afternoon progressed, speculatively glancing now and again at young Julian Devlin.
The group had long ago finished eating and had left the dining room and were at present scattered about the front salon, discussing what little news there was concerning Napoleon and the pitched battle that was certain to take place soon in Belgium. Since Napoleon’s escape from Elba in late February, all of Europe had been closely monitoring the former French Emperor’s movements. The representatives of the victorious allies, Russia, Britain, Prussia, and Austria, as well as members of a French delegation, had been attending the Congress of Vienna, where they had been trying to divide Napoleon’s Empire amongst themselves; however, Napoleon’s escape had vanquished all of their petty squabbling and they had been galvanized into action as they had been forced to hastily reassemble their armies to meet this new threat to peace.
By June, Napoleon’s troops were already marshaled along the Belgian frontier awaiting his immin
ent arrival from Paris. The Prussian army, under Marshal Blücher, was poised on the lower Rhine, and the Duke of Wellington’s headquarters were at Brussels. Since Wellington had no definite intelligence regarding Napoleon’s movements, he was keeping various divisions of his army within easy distance of that capital. The stage was set for a great struggle; all that was needed was the appearance of the great man himself, Napoleon....
“Just think,” Francis Atwater said slowly, “while we are here calmly discussing the situation, Blücher and Wellington may be at this very moment fighting for their very lives against Napoleon.”
“Or,” Royce commented dryly, “Napoleon may have suffered his final defeat.”
A small silence fell over the room as the gentlemen considered both statements, then George Ponteby suddenly raised his glass of hock and said loudly, “To Wellington, may he thoroughly trounce the Corsican monster!”
There were murmurs of agreement from everyone, and each man drank to the impromptu toast. The conversation became less serious after that, some gentlemen proceeding to lay wagers on when the battle would take place, others putting aside talk of Napoleon and discussing the attributes of their tailors, their horses, or their mistresses, depending on who was talking.
Standing a little apart from the others, Royce idly studied the various men in his salon, his gaze pausing for a moment on the animated features of Julian Devlin as that young man argued with undisguised enthusiasm the merits of a particular horse he had just purchased at Tattersall’s. Royce couldn’t hear what he said, but it was obvious from the expression on the faces of Jeremy and Leland that they disagreed, while Zachary appeared to be seconding every word Julian uttered. Smiling faintly, Royce took a sip of hock, watching the play of emotions that crossed Julian’s handsome face.
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