How Not to Chaperon a Lady--A sexy, funny Regency romance

by Virginia Heath

  ‘I have a rehearsal this afternoon, so I won’t be home until tonight.’ She pouted and rolled on her side, ensuring the silk robe slipped to her waist and knowing full well he adored what a little gravity did to her breasts. ‘Are you really going to make me wait that long?’

  His eyes travelled up her body, obviously tempted and then he wrenched them away as he shrugged on his shirt and then his waistcoat. ‘I shall be outside the theatre waiting for you on the dot of ten ready to ravish you. Don’t be late or I won’t be responsible for my actions.’

  ‘And if I am?’ Because they both knew she would be as a point of principle now.

  He snapped open a starched cravat and wound it around his neck. ‘Then I shall have to break down the stage door, fling you over my shoulder and then I’ll have my wicked way with you on your dressing room floor.’ He grabbed his coat and bent to brand her mouth with a thoroughly decadent kiss, then as he reluctantly pulled away there was an odd look on his face. An air of determination about him she hadn’t seen before. ‘Charity, last night was lovely...really special and I meant to say...what I wish I’d have said...’ He winced at his clumsiness at articulating his emotions. ‘What I’ve been meaning to say...’ He swallowed, so awkward it made her smile and Griff laughed and shook his head. Then he stared earnestly into her eyes, then took her hand and stared at that as his fingers idly twirled the gold band on her wedding finger. ‘You see, my darling Charity...’

  Darling! How marvellous.

  ‘The thing is...’

  ‘Mr Philpot...’ Mrs Gibbons’s knuckles rapped on the door and he dropped her hand like a hot coal. ‘Your curricle is outside and by my reckoning you are now a full forty minutes behind schedule.’

  Wincing again he stood and smiled sheepishly in either relief or irritation at the interruption. ‘I had better go.’ He jerked a stiff thumb at the door but before he turned, she caught his sleeve.

  ‘What have you been meaning to say, Griff?’

  He smoothed a hand over her hair, his expression filled with yearning. ‘Something much too important to attempt to articulate in a hurry and on the hoof.’ Then he kissed her again with aching tenderness, his hands cupping her cheeks. ‘I dare say they’ll hold till tonight so that I can do them justice.’

  That sounded as if he was finally going to admit that he had deep feelings for her if the heartfelt use of darling was any gauge—maybe even his love. The prospect made her heart swell against her ribs and choke her throat. A little overwhelmed thanks to the happy tears which suddenly pricked her eyes, she neatened his cravat knot and smoothed his lapels to cover it, feeling for the first time like his wife in every sense of the word. ‘Then go and be brilliant.’

  She watched him leave and then sank back against the pillows grinning for several minutes as she basked in the joy of it all, then hastily pulled the covers over her as Mrs Gibbons knocked on the door again.

  ‘Mr Philpot insisted you should have your peppermint tea and toast in bed this morning because you need your rest.’ The housekeeper shot her a knowing look as she deposited the tray on the nightstand. ‘And I wanted to remind you that it is my half-day off if you need anything pressing.’

  ‘Only some help with my hair, Mrs Gibbons, then I might visit one of my sisters or do some shopping, so you can leave earlier if you want. I know you are eager to spend time with your grandchildren.’

  * * *

  The older woman helped her get ready and then happily bolted out of the door. While Charity waited for the carriage, she couldn’t resist wandering into Griff’s study to see if there really were covert tickets to Figaro hidden in his drawer.

  The top of his desk was a shambles, which was most unlike him. Clearly in his haste to find all the right drawings this morning he had rummaged through all his papers fast and hadn’t had the time to put them all back in the labelled leather tubes he meticulously organised them in. All her fault and she wasn’t the least bit repentant about it, but feeling wifely, she sat in his big leather chair and set about tidying it. Thanks to Griff’s penchant for order, it wasn’t an onerous task. The name of each project was written in the top left-hand corner of each enormous sheet of parchment and each page was numbered so she made short work of putting them all in the proper cases.

  As she rolled up the last set of plans for the Philpot Two-Cylinder Mine Ventilation Pump Version No. 13 she spotted her name on the corner of a sheet hidden beneath his blotting pad. She retrieved it and laid it flat on the desktop and then blinked in surprise at the title written in Griff’s precise, sloping handwriting—How to Fix the Unfixable.

  More staggering still was the diagram filled with boxes and arrows which all circled and linked to a giant heart in the centre which was emblazoned with their names and flanked by two chubby hand-drawn Cupids wielding bows.

  In typical Griff fashion, each box was numbered and contained a specific set of instructions. Some were very detailed, some sparse. In one—Make Charity Aware You Exist—was a list. Pick her up from the theatre; insist on eating meals together; use every opportunity to offer her your arm; be the first face she sees in the morning and the last at night; attend every social function she wishes to attend without complaining.

  In the box marked Foolproof Ways to Woo a Woman he had crossed out leave her love notes, pick her flowers and carve your initials on a tree and left in sit together under the stars and take a long drive in the countryside. Under Grand Gestures was only one thing written in capital letters: MUSIC ROOM.

  But the box which utterly disarmed her and made her heart melt like butter was the one labelled Ways to Make the Most Beautiful and Sought-After Woman in the World Fall Hopelessly in Love with Gruff Griff the Fun-Spoiler because that was completely empty save the three tiny pen marks which suggested he had pondered that conundrum long and hard and hadn’t the faintest clue how to proceed. It also told her that he had no earthly clue that he really didn’t need to ponder that conundrum at all because she had already fallen hopelessly in love with him. That momentous event had happened at approximately half past three on a blustery Wednesday morning in Bloomsbury Square seventeen long years ago.

  She stroked her index finger around the heart and the cherubs which told her he cared. What a daft pair they were. And what a lot of time they had wasted hiding what they truly felt. Tonight, she would cast aside her stubborn pride and risk baring her soul to encourage him to do the same.

  ‘Mrs Philpot?’ The maid poked her head around the door. ‘You have a caller. A gentleman.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘A Lord Denby. Are you home?’

  ‘Good heavens, no!’ What on earth could he possibly want? Unless... She groaned out loud. ‘Actually, I will see him.’ Because if he had come for what she suspected he had, she would enjoy sending him packing with a flea in his ear and would let him know in no uncertain terms that while he might have scant regard for the vows he had taken, she had meant every single one of hers.

  * * *

  Griff couldn’t wait to get home. Every minute of his interminable meeting with the investors had felt like an hour and he practically sprinted out of the office the second they signed the contracts in the hope that he might catch his lovely new wife well before she left for the theatre this afternoon. Usually, he would have hung around with his father to toast their good fortune, but today he had much better things to celebrate and all of them with Charity.

  Last night had been astounding and not just because she had welcomed him into her lush body. There had been an unmistakable connection between them that hadn’t been there before. It was impossible to quantify or explain what had occurred in his bed beyond a profound meeting of souls, which would have been a wholly unsatisfactory classification as far as his academic brain was concerned if it hadn’t been the absolute truth. It had hit him like a steam-powered loom shuttle the second he hauled her into his lap and had left him reeling since, altho
ugh why the blazes he hadn’t told her all that at the optimum time last night was a mystery.

  At the time, as always, not vocalising his feelings was habit. Self-preservation. The morbid fear of her rejection, which was ridiculous when she had given herself to him so freely and completely. There had been affection in her eyes as well as desire and he was kicking himself for not seizing the moment and making the single grand gesture which ultimately meant the most.

  But enough was enough! He couldn’t wait a second more to tell her that he loved her. That he had always loved her and always would. She was his everything and he couldn’t be more delighted to be shackled to her for all eternity.

  He pulled up his curricle with a screech outside his house and sprinted up the steps, suddenly wishing he had a huge bouquet of flowers to surprise her with.

  The maid opened the door and he barged past grinning at his great good fortune. ‘Where is my wife?’ He fully intended to kiss her until she was breathless first then confess all.

  ‘She went out a couple of hours ago, sir.’ Instantly he deflated. ‘But she left you a note.’

  He found it propped against the ormolu clock Dottie had bought them as a wedding gift and impatiently tore open the seal.

  My Darling Husband,

  I very much enjoyed your outstanding performance last night—so much so I must insist upon an encore later and perhaps an early matinee tomorrow?

  Passionate regards

  Your wife

  P.S. I was particularly impressed with your costume, Griff. Naked suits you.

  He laughed at the saucy note and then sniffed it because the minx had doused it with her seductive jasmine perfume too—purely to torture him. It had worked. He was already as stiff as a board and would likely remain in that state until she put him out of his misery later.

  With a soppy grin on his face, he read it again as he backed towards the sofa, congratulating himself at his good fortune to have a wife who made no secret that she adored his touch. And who was he to disappoint her? If she wanted an encore, it would be his pleasure to give her one. Or two. Or five if he didn’t die beforehand, but what a magnificent way to go. Buried deep inside Charity as she writhed in ecstasy as he told her that he loved her.

  Picturing it, Griff flung himself on to the sofa and then scrambled back to his feet clutching his backside as he yelped in pain. ‘What the blazes!’

  Carefully, he extracted the barb which had pierced his poor buttock by a good half an inch, then stared at it in agony. Because on top of the thick silver pin was an emerald the size of a quail’s egg and it certainly wasn’t his.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  It was barely one minute past ten when Charity burst out of the stage door, but instead of finding Griff sat there waiting in his curricle as she had expected, he had sent the carriage. She tried not to feel disappointed, knowing he must have a good reason else he wouldn’t have let her down and climbed into the carriage clutching the red-ribbon-tied box she had bought expressly for him from the scandalous modiste’s around the corner of Covent Garden who specialised in nightgowns and undergarments that left little to the imagination.

  In the absence of Mrs Gibbons, when she arrived home she let herself in with her key. The hallway was dark but a thin shaft of light spilled from beneath the door to Griff’s study so she shrugged out of her coat and headed there with her little gift for him, convinced he had orchestrated the completely empty house in order to give them more privacy for the carnal delights of the night ahead. She pushed open his door and to her complete surprise, found him sat at his desk working. ‘I thought you were picking me up? I was promised a ravishing on the dot of ten.’

  ‘I couldn’t. I have too much to do.’ He didn’t even bother looking up. That was her first inkling that something was wrong.

  ‘Griff?’ She walked towards him, depositing her box on the corner of his desk before she sat beside it. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘We got the contract today and now there are a million things to do on the back of it.’

  ‘Congratulations. But surely it doesn’t all need doing right this minute?’ She touched his arm and felt every muscle stiffen. ‘It’s late. Come to bed.’

  He shook his head. ‘I have too much on my mind, I couldn’t possibly sleep.’

  ‘Who said anything about sleep?’ She smiled seductively as she stroked his arm. All bravado but she was floundering again and didn’t know why. ‘I bought you a gift...why don’t you open it? I guarantee it will banish all thoughts of work immediately.’

  His eyes snapped up, cold and unreadable and he sat back, severing the contact. ‘I have to work tonight, Charity.’

  It was a curt rejection and it cut like a knife. ‘I see the disdainful and disapproving Griff of old has returned with a vengeance. What hideous crime have I committed this time to be so callously treated?’ Had her flirty note offended him? Did he think such a wanton display of intent suddenly unseemly when he certainly hadn’t had any objections about her forthrightness last night or this morning?

  ‘Not everything is about you, Charity.’

  Her temper snapped and she sent his precious papers flying with an angry sweep of her hand then stormed to the door. ‘Go to hell, Griffith Philpot!’

  ‘You’re too late, Charity Philpot, for I am already there!’ Something whizzed through the air and hit the wall in front of her before it bounced back on to the floor at her feet. ‘I should imagine your precious Lord Denby is missing his most prized bauble and must be frantic as to its whereabouts. Although I cannot imagine how he came to lose it in our drawing room?’

  Feeling sick to her stomach at the implication she bent and picked it up, then stared back at him as bland as bland could be even though he had just shattered all her foolish hopes for them and their marriage into smithereens. ‘He must indeed be frantic. Thank goodness you found it. I shall make sure I return it to him first thing.’ And with that she turned on her heel.

  ‘Don’t you think you owe me some sort of explanation?’

  ‘Why would I waste my time defending myself when you have already found me guilty? And why should I even have to defend myself in the first place?’

  ‘Because you invited Denby into this house!’ His chair toppled over as he surged to his feet. ‘Blasted Denby of all people! Here! Under my roof.’

  ‘It was our roof a moment ago.’

  ‘Don’t you dare be flippant with me!’

  ‘And don’t you dare jump to ridiculous conclusions! Or blow hot and cold again when you promised me faithfully that you wouldn’t!’

  ‘How can I not when he is the one that got away? The one you’ve always really wanted! The superior peer you would have chosen if you’d had a choice! So I shall ask you again, what was Lord Denby conveniently doing in this house on our housekeeper’s only day off?’

  ‘I’d have thought that obvious.’ She wouldn’t cry in front of him. Wouldn’t give him that satisfaction of knowing how much his cruel words wounded. Let him think what he wanted because he would anyway. ‘He came here intent on seduction and, being the sort who is so free and easy with her favours that I have kissed significantly more men than a proper young lady ever should, I let him.’ That was the answer he clearly expected because no matter what she did, how hard she tried, he would always think the worst.

  ‘Be serious, Charity!’

  ‘I am being serious. There is no point denying it.’ She shrugged, doing her best impression of a guilty woman unapologetic even though she was dying inside. ‘We made passionate love on the sofa first and then, for good measure, we did it again in your bed. We went at it like hammer and tongs for hours as I am sure the remaining servants will confirm thanks to all the noise we were making.’ Furious, she flung open the door. ‘And there I was thinking that you were an outstanding lover...but then I had nothing to compare that first experience with—but my go
odness...’ She flapped a hand in front of her face as if she were hot. ‘What a fool I was to save myself for you when Lord Denby was truly magnificent.’

  Then she slammed the door. Apparently not just on Griff, but on all the foolish dreams she had woven around him.

  * * *

  Griff stood paralysed and mortified for ages, his breath sawing in and out until his brain finally began to function again for the first time in hours. Then the remorse was overwhelming. Why had he done that? Said those awful things? After last night, after this morning, after everything had changed for the better, why had he attacked first instead of thinking?

  Because attack had always been his default position when his feelings for her overwhelmed him and he couldn’t express them as he wanted to. Except now he could express them that way, and the only reason he hadn’t was blind fear and irrational jealousy. Years and years of it all stored up and never properly vented and it had all exploded like his power loom leaving senseless carnage in its wake.

  Shaking and queasy he noticed the gift she had bought him and immediately felt even worse. She had brought him a present and he had behaved like an imbecile. A lovesick, unreasonable and irrational cretin. Exactly as he always did wherever Charity was concerned.

  He undid the red ribbon and pulled out the flimsiest, gauziest, most scandalous garment he had ever seen. Her costume for their encore, selected on purpose to drive him insane with lust. Him, not blasted Denby. The man she had undeniably saved herself for no matter how many others she might have kissed beforehand. And he had thrown it in her face.

  On leaden feet he climbed the stairs, ready to beg and plead for forgiveness, to spill his guts and pray for her mercy, only to discover that like everything he should have done, it was far too little and much too late. For on the nightstand next to his bed was her wedding ring and the maddening, passionate, fearless woman of his dreams was gone.