Читать книгу Reckless in Pink - Lynne Connolly - Страница 6

This early in the morning very few people of fashion ventured out into Hyde Park, so Claudia considered herself safe for half an hour to follow her inclinations. At the moment, that included riding properly, not the sedate walk allowed by society.

The rough track extended before her like a challenge, and only one or two people were cantering along it. The morning mist, like steam from a kettle, drifted around the bare earth and the grass bordering it. Trees spread their sheltering boughs at a short distance. Behind her lay houses and civilization. In front, who knew?

Claudia walked her horse, urged him to trot, and then to canter. The breeze drifted past, ruffling her hair, even though she’d taken care to pin it firmly to her head, and her hat on top of that.

As she passed a man riding on a fine chestnut, she kicked her mount into a gallop and shrieked.

Such delight, to let herself go for just a few minutes! Here in town she had to think every moment of every day, work out what she should do and why, and behave like a proper lady.

Hooves thundered behind her in a pounding gallop. A race! Her heart quickened and she urged her horse faster, leaning over his neck to gain an extra spurt of speed.

Her hat flew off, but apart from a shot of annoyance she ignored it. The breeze accelerated to a wind, and some of her hairpins went, too. She shouted with laughter, glanced to the side, and then back again.

Grim determination delineated the features of the man galloping by her side. He returned her glance.

After a moment, she recognized him. He looked nothing like the exquisite she’d met in the company of her brother at the draper’s.

This man wore plain riding-dress and rode with the skill of someone born in the saddle. No polite society smile graced his grim features. The hooded eyes and lazy regard were nowhere in evidence. In that one glance his sharp, fierce glare had almost stunned her.

Enough to make her lose her concentration for the second it took her horse to stumble. She had to stop.

Regaining her seat, she pulled on the reins, shortening them as her mount slowed his pace.

Lord St. Just did the unforgiveable. He rode close and tried to seize the reins. “What are you doing?” she demanded, snatching them out of the way.

“Dismount,” he ordered. That was what it was—an order.

Although she usually responded badly to commands, Claudia obeyed this one. If she did not, who could tell what he would do? She didn’t know him well enough to take the risk of defying him. If he told her brother what he’d just witnessed, Marcus could well make her early morning gallops impossible.

Sighing in exaggerated annoyance, she drew her horse to a halt by a couple of large elm trees. Before she could slide out of the saddle, he was off his horse and had his hands around her waist. His firm grasp and the way he held her as if she weighed nothing sent exhilaration flying through her. He settled her gently on the ground.

Then his annoyed expression brought her back to earth. “What were you thinking? I saw you and heard you cry for help.”

Even his voice sounded sharper, harder. She preferred this no-nonsense viscount to the man of fashion she’d met yesterday. However, she couldn’t allow him to get away with a blatant untruth. “I was shouting with pleasure, not crying for help. Don’t you know the difference?”

An expression she could only describe as wolfish made his eyes brighter, gleaming with feral promise. “Sometimes they sound remarkably similar.”

Dragging her close, he brought his lips down on hers.

When she gasped, he drove his tongue into her mouth. Was the man mad?

Mad or not, he kissed extremely well. Abandoning her reputation and her reason, Claudia flung her arm around his neck and returned his embrace with all the enthusiasm she could muster. Almost better than a dawn gallop.

He groaned, and the vibrations echoed deep in her throat. He liked this as much as she did. He slid his tongue around the interior of her mouth. She caressed it, the connection intimate enough to send a thrill right to the heart of her.

When he tried to pull away, she tightened her hold on him. She wasn’t ready for this to stop.

Unfortunately his strength was superior to hers, and on his second attempt he pulled away. But she didn’t let go.

“Lady Claudia, you are a flirt.”

She smiled wickedly. “Oh, I’d say this was a bit more than flirting, wouldn’t you?”

Shaking his head slightly, he removed her hand from his neck. “A reaction to thinking you were in danger, that’s all. I thought your horse had gone out of control. It’s a large beast for a small woman.”

She huffed her displeasure, but she didn’t move away. That would be to give ground to this man. “He might be a gelding, but Storm still prefers to be referred to as ‘he.’ I’ve known him since a foal. He’s as gentle as a kitten.”

As if to prove her point, Storm nudged her in the back and sent her off balance. Laughing, she fell into Lord St. Just’s arms. “Truly, there was no need for you to be concerned.” He was much stronger than she’d imagined, his fashionable clothes serving to disguise his strength. Today he wore a comfortable country coat in dark green, with a brown waistcoat and breeches. Nothing like his scarlet finery of the day before.

“And how exactly was I expected to know that?” He spoke incisively, each word snapped off, totally unlike his fashionable self’s lazy drawl.

He had a point. He didn’t know her well enough to know her prowess on a horse. “You’ll know next time. If you don’t recognize me, you’ll know my horse.”

“Society would condemn you for a hoyden if they saw you like this.” Amusement lurked at the back of his voice.

So Lord St. Just lost his temper, but it was quick as a flash, because he wasn’t angry now. Unless kisses dissipated his anger. Perhaps, having been a soldier, he was used to controlling his moods. But for that moment, he’d been angry. And she’d loved it.

He released her and bowed slightly. “I should leave you alone if I see you in distress again, is that it?”

“Certainly.” She put up her chin, but inside she was glowing, the effects of the kiss still radiating within her. She wanted him to repeat his action, but she doubted he’d do it just because she asked him.

This tedious season was growing far more interesting. A challenge would liven it up nicely. “I appreciate your concern, but there was no need. Except that—” She broke off, because the hint was better than saying aloud that she would claim another kiss if she could. He could infer what he wanted.

She bobbed a curtsey, but due to her riding habit, it was not as elegant as it otherwise might be. “Thank you for rescuing me, sir. Now if you could help me back into the saddle, I promise to go home at a sedate pace.”

“Madam, I live to serve.”

His deep voice and the heat in his eyes promised more, but she would not claim it now. Like a good wine, men improved if they were made to wait. Being a member of a large family had taught her much, not least that pearl of wisdom.

He threw her into the saddle with little seeming effort and then mounted his own steed. Lifting her leg over the pommel, she settled her left foot in the stirrup and took the reins, which he’d looped over the horse’s neck for her.

“Storm and I thank you.”

“Can he take a man’s saddle?” He wheeled his horse, ready to turn back.

“He’s my horse so he’s been trained for a side saddle. I daresay it wouldn’t take much to retrain him. Not that it’s likely to happen.” She gave Storm a consoling pat and set off at the pace she’d promised, a sedate walk. She didn’t go above a trot all the way home. He kept by her side the whole way, despite the groom she’d left at the gate falling in behind them as they left the park.

His conversation was unremarkable but clever. As her attention drifted from one subject, he moved swiftly to another, keeping her amused until they reached the mews behind her house. After she assured him she could get down by herself on the mounting block, he touched her gloved hand and told her to behave herself and remember her promise.

He left, his seat on his horse immaculate. Not at all like the man she’d met before. This man intrigued her.

She climbed down and went in the house to change for breakfast.

* * * *

Some families ate breakfast in their rooms, privately and in silence. Others ate in formal splendor, fully dressed and receiving guests. The cacophony filtering down the hall as Claudia made her way to the breakfast-parlor of the Strenshall London house sounded reassuringly familiar. She plunged in without hesitation. She needed some distraction to help her forget this morning’s disturbing but exhilarating meeting with Lord St. Just.

The sheer noise gave some people pause. Her cousin Julius, the grand Earl of Winterton, had visibly winced when he visited them last week. He had not been back for breakfast since.

They ate at noon, making the meal a feast. Most, like Claudia, had been out or at least up and dressed for hours. Not her brother Valentinian.

Val was dressed in a glorious red banyan embroidered with dragons breathing fire and sported the matching cap on his unwigged head. In defiance to his mother’s edict about keeping elbows off the table, Val had his firmly in place and his chin resting on his hand. Claudia sat next to him and deliberately knocked the offending joint away.

Val’s chin nearly hit the white linen cloth. He pulled his head clear with a whisker to spare.

Unrepentant, Claudia clapped her hands and shrieked with laughter, and she wasn’t the only one. Her twin, Livia, grinned, as did their sister, Drusilla. Val’s twin, Darius, positively howled.

Claudia’s mother had the ability to speak above the hubbub without actually shouting. “Claudia, you will apologize at once! I will not have such behavior at the breakfast table!”

“Or anywhere else,” her husband murmured, sparing a glance at his daughter before returning to his newspaper.

Claudia offered her apology, to have Val grudgingly accept it. The scold was worth it.

“Did you know that the Young Pretender could be in London?” her father said.

His heir, Claudia’s oldest brother, Marcus, scoffed. “That was four years ago, Papa!”

The marquess shrugged and turned a page. “I have no idea why it took The London Mirror so long to discover it, but it’s here now. Perhaps he’s returned.”

At least three conversations were going on while that small exchange took place. Each member of the family had its own pitch, the better to communicate. Claudia tended to converse just above her twin and Dru. Now she busied herself getting a plateful of hot food from the sideboard instead of taking part in the talk or responding to her brother. Val was currently grumbling about sisters and pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee.

Claudia took her seat and grinned at him. “Out late last night, Val?”

Val grimaced. If the women who flocked around him in company could see that face, they wouldn’t call him handsome. “Early, you might say. Nevertheless, I came out the winner. A thousand to the good.”

“Damn, Val, what are you doing? Robbing the tyros fresh off the stage coach?” Marcus demanded. Tricksters and madams thronged the coach yards in search of pigeons ready for the plucking.

Val waved a dismissive hand. “I play games of skill and make sure I practice. Most of the game is watching your opponents. It’s tiring.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry for you!” Claudia said. “You only won a thousand? That’s more than a workman earns in his whole life.”

Val grunted and drank his coffee in one gulp. Dark hair peeked out from under his cap, and his chin was covered with black stubble.

Claudia loved this part of the day. With the sound of fork and knife scraping against china and the clicking of tea-dishes and coffee-cups, together with the scent of her mother’s chocolate drifting over the aroma of freshly fried bacon, this meant more to her than any society dinner.

It meant home. Wherever they were, the family gathered for this meal. Her mother declared it was what kept the family together, although all were aware they would soon inevitably separate.

All the girls were of marriageable age. Soon they would leave home to form families of their own. Considering the family they came from, they would make a formidable generation. If they ever left home.

Unlike many families, their parents were not over-eager to push the three girls out of the door. They had money and influence enough. Time to find out who they were and what kind of husband they wanted, their mother told them, but not too loudly.

Claudia thought she would keep them all at home if she could. But by coming to London every year and keeping the house in the country full during the summer, her mama was providing every opportunity for them to find someone they would partner in life.

Her brother Val had recently become betrothed to Lady Charlotte Engles, the cherished only daughter of the Duke of Rochfort. Although everyone was pleased for him, nobody was quite sure how it had happened, even Val himself. He appeared content with his bargain, his mother expressing the forlorn hope that Lady Charlotte would settle him down somewhat.

Privately Claudia and her twin considered the ultimate outcome would be the other way about. When Val had announced his news, at breakfast of course, they’d run off to their bedroom as fast as they dared to discuss the development.

While Livia and Claudia were very different in temperament, their features were as similar as identical twins tended to be. For all their differences outside the confines of their bedroom, within it they frequently saw developments in a similar way. Indeed, Claudia had no idea how people without a twin managed to get through life. Even her own sister and brother, the singles in a family blessed by two sets of twins, seemed strangely isolated sometimes. She had no doubt that Darius had been the first to know of his twin’s betrothal.

Val had been uncharacteristically silent on the subject.

Today, though—the heat that swept through her, the shivers that tingled her skin when Lord St. Just had touched it—they were all hers. She refused to share that, even with her sister. What she’d done was forbidden and sinful. But the other sensations, the loosening and moistening of her most secret parts, had excited her and made her want more. Just by touching a man?

Now she knew it was possible, she wanted more and as soon as she could find it.

A footman carrying a salver full of correspondence followed a knock on the door. After moving the marchioness’s plate, he placed the post reverentially in front of her.

Lady Strenshall glanced through the pile, dividing it up. When her oldest son had the temerity to protest that he wasn’t a child anymore and didn’t need his post sorted for him, his mother had fixed him with one of her stony glares and said, mildly, “This is my house, my dear. My rules.”

As usual, her husband had grunted his assent. The marquess was never very communicative at breakfast. Although the public often repeated that his wife henpecked him, that was far from the case. He had a formidable presence in the Lords, was a stalwart member of the most exclusive clubs, and never missed an opening night of Garrick’s. When Lord Strenshall wanted to have his way, he usually got it.

Claudia’s mother put the letters into piles, and when she handed them out, commented on each. “Malton, you should let a little enjoyment into your life. Every one of your letters is on white linen-laid papers, the addresses are perfect copperplate, and most are hand delivered. From the City, I presume. For goodness’s sake, boy, I will exchange your letters for Valentinian’s one day.” She handed over the thick stack of business correspondence. Unless Marcus’s mistress cleverly disguised her presence by using perfect copperplate.

“Val, you should be ashamed of yourself.” His mama handed him three notes.

Claudia caught the pungent scent of violets from one mingled with the other’s attar of roses. The third was a bill. “Perhaps you will pay your tailor from your winnings. I caught one lurking by the doorstep the other day. It is most disconcerting to discover a man of that nature at one’s entrance.”

Lady Strenshall glanced up sharply, catching Claudia in the act of sniggering as silently as she could manage. She handed Claudia a letter that looked remarkably like one of Marcus’s. “If I didn’t know better I’d say this was something official. If it is, you should tell your father without delay.”

Lady Strenshall was of the opinion that the man of the house should handle official business. This was because, her daughters readily believed, that mortgages, court cases, and contracts of any kind bored her. She told the lawyer what she wanted and left him to take care of it, she said, and her husband served the same purpose. She got on with the important things in life, such as who their children should marry and where they should live.

Claudia had never shared that opinion, but she was woefully inexperienced in legal matters. She read through the letter, scripted in a hand she didn’t recognize, three times before she looked up from the paper in total shock. “It appears I’ve inherited a house.”