Читать книгу Scandal in the Regency Ballroom: No Place For a Lady / Not Quite a Lady - Louise Allen - Страница 11

Max waited a moment. Several guests rose and made their way out. He joined them, making his way out through the long windows on to the terrace that ran the full width of the gardens. At intervals steps went down to the lawns and at the far end there was a charming summerhouse.

Max strolled along. Where is she? Had he misunderstood? Then he glimpsed a flutter of pale draperies behind one of the pillars of the summerhouse. ‘Bree?’

‘In here, my lord. Thank you for coming. I could only hope you would understand my meaning. How is your shoulder?’ Some light reached them from the house where every room blazed with illumination, but it was not intense and he moved close to study her face. Her voice was a touch breathless, but otherwise she was remarkably composed for a young lady in such a compromising position.

‘A little sore, but healing well, thank you. I did not expect to find you at such a party. I was having trouble believing my eyes.’

‘I was shocked to see you too, although why I cannot imagine—I am sure you must go to endless smart parties. I was being mischievous, I am afraid, teasing you by pretending I was not myself. Then Mr Latymer asked me if I knew you. I should have said yes, in an indifferent way, and he would have thought nothing of it. Then I realised I risked all sorts of embarrassments if you greeted me later. I will warn Piers not to react if he meets you.’

Max took her by the elbow and steered her to the front of the summerhouse where its arcade overlooked the silent gardens. Bree perched on the balustrade and leant her back on a pillar.

‘Your brother is here too?’ How had both the Mallorys inveigled their way in?

‘Of course—you do not know who we are. Viscount Farleigh is our half-brother. Our mama married twice. She was the daughter of Lord Grendon, so we have dozens of Grendon cousins—most of them are here tonight. Then, when James’s father died unexpectedly, she married again, for love. It was very romantic—her horse bolted and Papa jumped a five-bar gate on his hunter and galloped after her and snatched her from the saddle. Mama used to say he snatched her heart and never gave it back.

‘As you can guess, there was the most frightful row. Mama was only just out of mourning and, although Papa was perfectly respectable and owned land, some of the family had drifted downstream socially. The cousin who was a highwayman was almost an insuperable obstacle, but fortunately—in the opinion of the old viscount—he was hanged just before the wedding, poor man. His grandfather insisted on bringing James up, so we are not at all close.’

‘So you must be the skeletons in the cupboard Avery was telling me about.’

Bree gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘That’s us.’ He could see from the glint of light on white teeth that she was smiling. ‘James insisted we come along and demonstrate that we do not swig gin out of the bottle or try to sell doctored nags to the unwary or whatever it is the Dowager believes we do, the old gorgon. I think we surprised her.’

‘You surprise me,’ Max admitted. ‘You must agree, breeches and beaver hat do not show you to your best.’

She chuckled. ‘They are very practical, but I do prefer being a girl. I enjoyed dressing up for this evening. I took your advice, you know.’

‘You did?’ Max shifted his position so he could sit facing her. ‘What about?’

‘I almost had my hair cropped. My coiffeur wanted me to, I wanted to, or I thought I did. But at the last minute I remembered what you said, and didn’t.’

‘It looks … very well.’ And I want to take out every single pin and comb, very, very slowly, until it all tumbles down.

‘Thank you! I must go back.’ She jumped down off the balustrade, shaking out her skirts. Max smiled, his amusement at her lack of concern unseen in the gloom.

‘Bree?’

‘Yes?’ She stood poised on the top step, ready to flit back along the terrace.

‘Will you dance with me this evening?’

‘Me?’ Even in that light he could make out the incredulity on her face. ‘My lord, earls are far too top-lofty for the likes of me.’

‘Earls dance with the sisters of viscounts and the granddaughters of barons, and I’ll wager Lansdowne has already asked you for a dance.’ And she is not an innocent little bourgeoise, she understands this world, my world, even if she is not actually apart of it. This is becoming something very different, and I can’t fool myself it is not. He stood looking at her, thoughts rushing through his mind. Now I have to do something about Drusilla.

‘Yes, well …’ She was in a delightful dither, his stare only adding to her confusion. Max found it strangely encouraging that he seemed to have this effect on her. ‘Lord Lansdowne is about to become my brother-in-law.’

‘Well …’ Max pursued, moving closer ‘… I am so top-lofty, as you put it, that I will dance with whom I choose, especially if they happen to be the most beautiful girl in the room.’

‘Me?’ Bree felt her insides execute a swoop of delight. It was not true, of course, although she flattered herself she was looking more than passable this evening. It was very strange being out here alone with a man like this. It was even stranger being here with the man she had been dreaming about for days and who, she had very sensibly decided, was completely beyond her touch.

Now she was here, such sensible considerations did not seem particularly relevant.

‘Yes. You.’ He was very close suddenly. The man seemed to move like a cat, for all his height and breadth. ‘Do you think I deserve a reward for saving your hair?’

‘I … you …’ He is going to kiss me. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, although whether to his spoken question or his unspoken one she had no idea.

Bree had never been kissed before. Not by a non-related male. Not kissed full on the mouth by a man who appeared to have made a study of just how to reduce an independent, mature, sensible female to a state where all she was capable of was clutching as much of his torso as her hands could encompass and clinging on in the faint hope that her legs would continue to support her.

She hadn’t known what to expect. Certainly rather more activity than was occurring. It was incredible that he could achieve the effect he was, simply by holding her very firmly against his chest with one arm and cupping the back of her head with the other hand whilst applying light pressure to her lips.

Only—it was not just pressure, she realised hazily. He was exploring her lips with his, moving from corner to centre, catching the fullness of her lower lip between both of his, releasing it to slide to the other corner and then back to the centre. This time he used his teeth in a light, teasing nip that shot sensation, shockingly, right to the core of her.

His tongue, sliding out to run along the join of her lips, made her gasp against his mouth. She felt his smile. ‘Shh,’ he whispered without lifting his mouth and the sound hummed against the sensitised tissue. Back came his tongue, sliding, pressing now. What does he want? Oh!

The invasion breached her feeble defences, leaving her shaken. If someone had told her a man would put his tongue in her mouth and she would like it, she would have been disgusted and incredulous. But it was … Bree gave up trying to think straight and tentatively touched her own tongue tip to Max’s.

It was moist and velvety and hot, this intimate exchange of touch. This caress. And it was making her feel as though she were in someone else’s body altogether. Her breasts, pressing heavy against cool linen and the fine friction of superfine cloth, felt decidedly swollen. They tingled most disconcertingly and it seemed that the only relief might be to press closer. And in the pit of her stomach—no, lower, in an area where no modest young woman should be giving any thought to, there seemed to be a strange, hot, liquid feeling.

As she shifted her grip to hold more securely to Max’s shoulders, she became aware of a pressure against the curve of her belly. She might be inexperienced, but she wasn’t ignorant. One knew the mechanics of the thing—in theory. But she hadn’t exactly comprehended that a kiss could have quite such a startling effect on a man. Max lifted his head.

‘Bree. I had not intended doing that.’ He sounded rueful, and to her delight, shaken.

‘Why not?’ she asked, the poor light defeating her efforts to read his face.

‘One does not kiss young ladies, on the terrace, in the dark. Surely your chaperon warns you about these things?’

‘I do not have one.’ She realised that Max was not the only one who was feeling shaken—her knees were trembling.

‘You’re going to need one if you are intending to attend any more social events. It will be noticed if you do not. The lady who resides with you will probably do.’

Why was he talking about chaperons when the presence of one would have stopped him kissing her as he just had? Bree blinked in the gloom; perhaps Max really was regretting that kiss. Perhaps he thought she would take it as some sort of declaration and chase after him.

‘I do not have a female companion,’ she explained, trying to keep any hint of chagrin out of her voice.

‘Does Farleigh realise that?’

‘No.’ Bree bit her lip. Now that she and Piers had been introduced to the Lansdowne clan it seemed unlikely that they would be able to slide back quite so easily into social obscurity. ‘I suppose I had better acquire one.’

‘It’s as well. Men really are not to be trusted, you know.’ Max gave her a gentle push in the direction of the terrace.

Bree resisted the pressure. ‘All men? You included?’

‘Oh, me in particular, Miss Mallory.’ The amusement in his voice had a hard edge. ‘Definitely, you should be beware of me.’

‘Nonsense,’ she said stoutly. ‘I asked you to come out here—and I could have left at any moment when you kissed me. And besides, if you are such a dangerous seducer, you could easily have had your wicked way with me the other night and you were the perfect gentleman.’

‘I was, wasn’t I? I wonder what came over me. Did it not perhaps occur to you, Miss Mallory, that I was behaving with such restraint with the intention of lulling you into a false sense of security in order to entice you into my power later?’

‘Have you been reading sensation novels, my lord?’ Bree enquired tartly. ‘I realise that many men find a dangerous image to be an attractive one to cultivate, but I do credit you with more sense than that.’

He laughed, a genuine snort of amusement. ‘You never answered my question about a dance.’

‘Certainly, my lord—I have an entire card full of country dances to fill!’ Without waiting for his response, she picked up her skirts and ran down the steps to the terrace. The allegory about riding tigers floated into her mind from nowhere. She was riding a tiger now, and very exhilarating it was. But how did one get off?

Bree studied her face in the mirror in the ladies’ retiring room while a maid valiantly brushed at the lichen clinging to her skirts. The effect on her face of being thoroughly kissed was startling. Her cheeks looked as though she had rouged them, and her mouth was bee-stung and rosy pink. Her eyes were wide, and something sparkled in them, try as she might to lecture herself for wanton behaviour.

‘Bree! There you are.’ It was Georgy, sweeping in. ‘Look at my hem! Oh, thank you.’ She smiled sweetly at a maid who came forward with a sewing basket.

‘I … I feel a little flushed,’ Bree admitted. ‘I came in here to cool down a trifle.’

‘You look fine to me. The colour suits you,’ Georgy assured her. ‘You mustn’t be shy—go on, they’ll be starting the dancing in a minute, and you’ll want to get your card filled up with all the most eligible men.’

That seemed unlikely to occur, but Bree was pleasantly surprised. The attentions of Viscount Lansdowne and the approval of his sister apparently gave her a certain cachet and, although her card was not full, it was gratifyingly almost three-quarters complete when she showed it to Piers.

‘Am I too late, ma’am?’ The deep voice made her jump, even though she had been tensed for Max’s appearance ever since she had come into the ballroom. ‘I apologise for addressing you before being introduced, but I am not acquainted with your chaperon.’ Bree narrowed her eyes at him and he smiled back with an air of perfect innocence. ‘Max Dysart, Ea—’

‘But, Bree, you must know Lord Penrith, he rescued yo—’ Piers’s clear, excited voice cut through the hum of conversation. Interested faces turned.

‘Lord Penrith? Why, of course, you came to the aid of young Hinkins, our driver, at Hounslow a few evenings back, did you not? Piers told me all about it—thank you so much.’ She directed a look of such quelling intensity at her brother that he shut his mouth with a snap and melted back into the crowd.

But the group of men he was with had heard more than enough to pique their interest and he found himself the centre of attention. ‘I say, Mallory, do you have anything to do with the stagecoach Penrith was driving?’ one gentleman demanded.

‘I own the company,’ Piers admitted. ‘Half of it, that is.’

‘I see your brother has fallen amongst the Nonesuch Whips,’ Max commented softly. ‘Tell me which dance I may have, and then I’ll go and distract them if I can. Otherwise you’ll have a yard full of bucks all wanting to drive a stage.’

‘The second cotillion?’ Bree asked distractedly. ‘And thank you, I would be grateful.’

Max bowed gracefully and strolled off to join the crowd around Piers. To her relief the focus of their attention switched immediately to him. For such a big man, he really looks surprisingly good in evening dress, Bree mused. I would have expected him to look his best in buckskins and boots, but he appears positively elegant. Good tailoring, of course, but—

‘What an extraordinary coincidence that Penrith should be sitting opposite you at dinner.’ Mr Latymer’s voice in her ear jerked her abruptly back from her contemplation of broad shoulders under well-fitting superfine.

‘Er … yes, it was, was it not? Naturally I am glad of the opportunity to thank him.’

‘Yet you did not mention the acquaintance earlier.’ Mr Latymer raised an eyebrow. ‘In fact, you denied it.’

‘Of course. I had not been introduced.’ Bree pulled herself together. ‘And, however grateful I was to his lordship—given that I understand it was his drag that caused the accident in the first place—the fact that he was able to assist one of Piers’s drivers is stretching an excuse to claim acquaintance to its limit.’

‘Hmm. Our dance, I believe.’

Almost half an hour spent executing intricate figures with a number of other couples was not the best situation in which to carry out a conversation, and Bree was grateful for it. But Mr Latymer obviously had something on his mind, and she was not surprised when, after the dance, while she was sitting fanning herself, he returned to her side with a glass of lemonade.

‘I would be fascinated to see around the headquarters of your coaching company, Miss Mallory. Might I call?’

‘Why, of course, but it is not my company—Piers can make arrangements for you to see behind the scenes.’

‘Then you have nothing to do with it?’

‘I occasionally assist with a little paperwork,’ Bree said airily. It would be just her luck to be there when Brice Latymer turned up.

‘What a good sister you are.’ There was warmth in his tone. Bree shot him a glance from under her lashes and was surprised to see warmth in his eyes also—the sort of warmth she had discerned in the gaze of another gentleman altogether. Goodness, she thought, flustered. Piers is right, I am going it!

‘I am very fond of Piers, and he intends to take over the running of the company full time when his education is finished. My uncle is the other owner, but he lives in the country, so I do what little I can to help,’ she added, hoping it sounded as though she occasionally glanced at the bill for candles.

‘But you could spare some time to drive with me?’

‘Drive?’ Bree, feeling herself going hot and cold all over, plied her fan energetically.

‘Yes. I have a new phaeton you might enjoy.’

‘Oh. Your phaeton. Of course.’ Of course, not a stagecoach … Of course, he doesn’t know … ‘Thank you.’

Bree shot a distracted glance in Piers’s direction, hoping he was being discreet. To her horror he was deep in conversation with the lanky young man she recognised as Max’s cousin. There was nothing for it, she would have to go and extract him before he did any more damage.

‘Miss Mallory, our dance, I believe?’ It was Lord Lansdowne.

‘Yes, of course.’ Bree flipped open her card. It was a country dance and immediately afterwards she had the cotillion with Max—all she could hope was that he had discouraged the Nonesuch Whips from a mass descent on the Mermaid.

She curtsied and took her place. At her side Lord Lansdowne waited while the first couple set off down the double line. ‘Would you care to drive with me some time this week?’ he enquired.

Another one! Really, this would be quite amusing if it were not so awkward. She could hardly abandon the business to its own devices until the Whips lost interest in the possibility of a whole stagecoach company to play with. Yet, on the other hand, if she was discovered to be the actual manager of the business, James would be mortified and the Dowager deeply disapproving. One look at the Lansdownes had left Bree very clear about who called the tune in that household. The old besom might well take it into her head to forbid the match.

‘Of course, my lord, I would be delighted.’ What else could one possibly say? The dance took them off down the line, into an intricate measure at the far end and left them separated by several couples. The necessity of keeping a smile plastered on her face for the length of the dance did nothing for Bree’s nerves, nor for her temper.

Lord Lansdowne, obviously impervious to her simmering state, swept her an extravagant bow and deposited her neatly in front of Lord Penrith.

‘Thank you so much, my lord.’ Bree curtsied, smile intact.

‘It was a pleasure. I will call at the earliest opportunity.’ Lansdowne made a mocking bow towards Max. ‘I yield to you, Dysart.’

‘Miss Mallory. Our cotillion.’

‘Oh, no, you don’t.’ Bree tucked one hand firmly into Max’s elbow and headed for the doors on to the terrace. ‘I want to talk to you.’

‘Really, ma’am, you have me all of a flutter. Alone with you on the terrace twice in one evening—people will begin to talk.’

‘They’ll have to see us first,’ Bree retorted, marching down the steps into the maze of clipped yew that framed the formal pool.

‘Your friends the Whips! You said you’d distract them, but two of them have asked me to drive with them and your dratted cousin is exchanging cards with Piers, and the rest are hanging around him like wasps round a honeypot and how am I to run the business not knowing which gentleman is about to appear in the yard and start poking about? I can hardly wear breeches and a false beard until they lose interest, can I? And stop laughing at me!’

Max had folded up on to an ornate bench and was clutching his sides in abandoned amusement. ‘Oh, please, try the false beard.…’

‘Wretch!’ Bree took a swipe at his elegant crop with her fan. ‘It is not funny.’

‘I can quite see that from your point of view it is not,’ Max agreed, getting his laughter under control with an effort. ‘But, Bree, this may be a blessing in disguise. At least now you are forewarned of the danger—after all, once your brother became betrothed to Lady Sophia your days of managing the yard were doomed. Sooner or later someone is going to find out, and then think of the kick-up there’d be.’

He looked up at her standing in front of him, and smiled. Bree took her hands off her hips and tried not to glower. ‘A chaperon, a business manager—what are you going to tell me I need next? James is costing us a great deal of money.

‘What is it with you men and stagecoaches? You’ve got drags, you’ve got much better bloodstock than we can afford—why do you want to play with my stagecoaches?’

‘It is not your company, when all is said and done. Don’t you want to get married, have a family of your own?’

‘I suppose so, but I am resigned to it. By the time Piers is old enough to take control, I will be too old to find a husband.’

‘So find a business manager, then find a husband,’ Max said. ‘And don’t frown at me, it creases your very nice forehead.’ He got up and smoothed the furrow between her brows with his thumb. ‘I fail to see why you cannot find a good man to manage your business.’

‘Piers would resent it.’ It was tempting and yet, what on earth would she do with herself all day without the company to run? Shopping and calls and parties until she found a husband? Then more of the same, plus children? The children were intriguing, the unknown husband and the daily social whirl were not. ‘I would die of boredom.’

‘Find a man with an estate you can become involved with, start a charity, play the ‘Change, take a lover …’

‘Max!’ He was altogether too close. She could smell the light, citrusy cologne he wore, the trace of soap, the exciting tang of masculinity overlaid with all the refinements of clean, well-groomed sophistication. He was showing an altogether commendable, if very disappointing, restraint about trying to kiss her again.

Perhaps he didn’t like it last time. I am very inexperienced after all. Completely inexperienced. Perhaps he doesn’t want to do it again. I shouldn’t want him to—this can’t possibly lead to anything.

‘You are a delicious innocent, Miss Mallory, and I should not be out here with you.’

‘That’s true. But you were in the carriage with me before, so I know I can trust you. But then I looked dreadful.’

‘You looked edible,’ Max said, reminiscently. He reached out and let one finger trail lazily up and down the column of her neck. It felt strong, hard, slightly rough against her soft skin.

‘You, my lord, must have a very strange taste in women, if you thought I looked better then than I do now,’ Bree observed as repressively as she could manage, given that her insides appeared to be hollow and her breathing was not working properly.

‘I did not say that.’ The finger was exploring the whorls of her ear now, rubbing the lobe, then drifting up behind it into the soft hair. ‘Now, I think you look utterly seductive.’

‘Are you trying to seduce me?’ Bree asked, swallowing hard.