Three Times Tempted, page 4
As she watched now, she saw nothing to change that original assessment. He even had that nervous nitwit Lily blushing and giggling at his stories of the animals’ antics at the Royal Menagerie. Elizabeth positively glowed in his presence. At least Imogen had the comfort of knowing that she wasn’t alone in finding the Tierneys’ American visitor engaging.
“Black, will you come into the study? I want to get your thoughts on a new folio of Italian garden designs that just arrived.”
Imogen had been so busy staring at Mr. Black that she hadn’t noticed Lord Tierney at the other door. The glance he bestowed upon Elizabeth and her friends was indulgent rather than disapproving. “That is if you can tear yourself away from your admirers for a few minutes.” He bowed to the curtsying girls. “Lady Imogen. Lady Harriet. Miss Bilson. Your servant.”
“At once, my lord.” Mr. Black bestowed a charmingly rueful smile on his audience. “You’ll excuse me, my ladies?”
“Elizabeth, I’ve told you before that Mr. Black is here to work, not for your entertainment.”
“Yes, Papa,” Elizabeth said, uncrushed by the gentle reprimand.
Mr. Black’s manner with the earl held no hint of toadying. Imogen liked his self-confidence in this elevated company. It reminded her of one of her favorite people, her father’s head gardener. Blaine might have been born one of twelve children in a hovel on the estate, but he judged himself as good as any person living, and better than most. Having worked beside him since she was thirteen, Imogen would agree.
There was something so inviting about Mr. Black’s ease with himself. Especially in London, where everyone scrabbled for just a little more prestige, a shred of advantage, a favor from someone further up the pecking order.
Mr. Black bowed again and turned to follow Lord Tierney out of the room. Did his glance linger a moment longer on Imogen than on her friends? Or was she falling victim to wishful thinking? He hadn’t paid her any special attention. Perhaps because Imogen had been absurdly tongue-tied in his presence, in stark contrast to her volubility last night.
Harriet lingered behind Lily and Elizabeth as they returned to the drawing room. “You didn’t have much to say for yourself in there. Are you feeling all right?”
For pity’s sake, Imogen hoped she wasn’t blushing again. “Perfectly.”
“I thought you’d want to badger Mr. Black about gardens. We usually can’t shut you up when there’s someone around with an interest in landscaping.”
“Elizabeth told me not to monopolize the conversation.”
“Since when do you listen to Elizabeth?” Harriet’s glance was unimpressed. “You never listen to anyone. Goodness me, your father terrifies everyone, and I don’t think you even listen to him.”
Hurt, Imogen stopped as Elizabeth and Lily progressed further along the corridor. “You make me sound frightfully selfish.”
Harriet stopped, too. “I don’t think you’re selfish. Or no more than most people.”
Not exactly a ringing endorsement. This was her supposed best friend speaking. Perhaps Harriet was right to call her self-willed. But that didn’t make Imogen any happier to hear the criticism. “Thanks very much,” she said with some sarcasm.
Harriet shook her head, her light blue eyes serious. “You like to go your own way.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Except you achieve it more than any girl I know. I’m surprised you haven’t worked out a way to get back to Hamble Park.”
Another of those horrid flushes heated Imogen’s face. She hadn’t confided in Harriet about her plans to be sent home in disgrace, although her friend knew that she was interested in neither a quick marriage nor a London season.
Or at least she hadn’t been until she met Mr. Black.
Harriet was in general cautious and obedient. She wouldn’t approve of Imogen taking matters into her own hands.
“I’ve decided to stay in London,” she mumbled.
Harriet rolled her eyes. “That’s just like you. You complain your head off about something, then change your mind on a sixpence.”
“Why are you being so mean?”
Harriet’s delicate jaw set. She was a pretty girl, and she and Imogen had been the belles of the Gloucester assemblies since they’d come out to local society four years ago. “I’m not being mean.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Harriet, Imogen, what are you two squabbling about back there?” Elizabeth asked from the drawing room doorway.
“Nothing,” Imogen said, feeling awkward. “I’m at home to callers this afternoon. I’d better go, or Stella will come looking for me.” As if to confirm what she said, the clock in the drawing room chimed twelve.
“Are you coming to the Delacorte ball tonight?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes. Are you?”
“I’ll see you there.” A footman passed with a note on a tray, probably for Lord Tierney.
Lord Tierney was closeted away with the man who was the reason behind Imogen’s changed attitude to her London season. Perhaps she might once have tried to get Harriet alone, so she could tell her about last night’s rendezvous. But right now, she was out of charity with Harriet, the way that Stella was out of charity with her. Disharmony ruled in Lorimer Square today.
“Frederick, when you go back downstairs, can you please summon Lady Imogen’s maid?” Elizabeth said to the servant. “Her ladyship is just going.”
Imogen said goodbye to Elizabeth and Lily, and even managed a smile for Harriet, although that didn’t stop her friend from looking disgruntled.
Imogen’s thoughts drifted away from Harriet to what was coming up. She had an afternoon of polite conversation to get through, followed by dinner. Then she’d be at the Delacorte ball, looking for a chance to slip out to meet Mr. Black.
The thought sparked a ripple of excitement. She was about to break every rule laid down for well-bred young ladies. Again.
Last night had started her on the path to scandal. Perhaps Harriet’s criticism might hold just an atom of truth. Although that didn’t give her the right to say those hurtful things.
It never occurred to Imogen to miss her appointment with Mr. Black. Instead, anticipation made her feel as if she’d swallowed a bottle of champagne. Her very blood fizzed.
The hours before she escaped into the Delacorte garden would hang heavy indeed.
Chapter 3
When Caleb heard light, rapid footsteps approaching along the path, he reached out through the greenery to catch Lady Imogen’s arm. “Be careful,” he whispered, tugging her into the thicket. “The Delacortes have a watchman on duty.”
“And Papa is here tonight, watching me like a hawk.” She was quick enough to reply in an immediate whisper.
She stared up at him. It was too dark for her face to be anything but a pale blur, but he now knew that her wide eyes were the deep blue of delphiniums and that her wealth of black hair had the glossy sheen of a raven’s wing. He also knew that those soft lips were the delicate pink of the amaryllis lily in his Redouté book at home in Saratoga.
In the Lumsdens’ gazebo, he’d seen that she was beautiful. But today at the Tierney house, her loveliness had stolen his breath away.
Caleb was afraid that she might be in danger of stealing his heart away, too. As he’d watched her struggle to hide how flustered she was to meet him in public, he’d wanted to carry her away and kiss her until she was dizzy.
He’d wanted to kiss her last night, too. He wanted to kiss her now. He feared wanting to kiss her might turn into a lifelong affliction. “I had to climb the wall. The back gate was locked.”
“What a pest.”
“Exactly. You’d think they were worried about intruders.”
Caleb heard a muffled giggle, which reminded him that he still clasped her slender arm. He should let her go. His hand didn’t hear his mind’s half-hearted command.
She was wearing something pale and floaty. Completely unsuitable for hanging about in the cold. But the smooth skin beneath his fingers was enticingly warm and standing close to her like this, he sensed the faint heat radiating from her body.
“I’ve never encountered a watchman at a ball before,” she said. “In most cases, the hosts encourage their guests to stroll in the gardens.”
“It’s too chilly for strolling.”
“It was too chilly last night.”
“I’m glad you braved the weather.”
“So am I.”
For a long moment, they studied each other, although it was too dark for him to see her expression. He was overjoyed that she was here, until something she’d said earlier niggled at him. “Why?”
“Why what?” She kept her attention on his face and didn’t move away.
“Why is your father watching you like a hawk? Did someone see us together last night?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Her sigh expressed frustration. “But Lord Halston sent flowers and called at the house this afternoon. His sudden interest has Papa in alt. He’s very keen on the idea of Halston offering for me.”
Caleb didn’t like the sound of that. He didn’t like it at all. “But the fellow’s a rake.”
He’d managed to find out a little about the man Lady Imogen had so rashly invited to meet her last night. It hadn’t been difficult. Gossip raged about the disreputable earl. The latest on-dit was that his mistress had shot him in the arm after he served the woman her marching orders.
Given Caleb didn’t know the man, he probably shouldn’t wish that the mistress had better aim. Anything to stop Halston from ruining Lady Imogen’s life. She deserved better than a man with such a besmirched reputation.
Caleb was thinking purely altruistically of course.
The hell he was.
“He’s also rich and influential, and so far he’s proven elusive when it comes to choosing a wife.”
“And I’ve heard that he’s handsome.”
“Very.”
“Damn it…”
“You sound…jealous.”
He felt her studying him through the darkness. His hand still wasn’t obeying his mind, because it edged her a fraction closer. Since last night, her delicate floral scent had tormented his memory. Now with every breath, he caught an alluring drift of sweetness. He fought the urge to sweep her into his arms and bury his face in her soft white skin until he drowned in that haunting fragrance.
“I only met you last night.”
“I know.”
He exhaled in surrender. “But I am jealous. I don’t want handsome, rich, eligible gentlemen courting you. Feel free to tell me I’m an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot.”
Shock as powerful as a blow from a prizefighter crashed through him. “Lady Imogen—”
A boot scuffed on the gravel path, and the faint glow of a lantern penetrated the leaves. Caleb drew her deeper into the shadows. Somehow that meant pulling her against his body. Her warmth seeped into him, and his arm found its way around those lush female curves.
She was shaking. With cold? With fear of discovery? Hell, never let it be because she was afraid of him.
He didn’t think so. She wasn’t trying to escape. When she twined her arms around his waist, pressing closer, his heart skipped a beat.
No, she wasn’t afraid of him, thank the Lord.
Knowing he asked for trouble, he rested his cheek against the silky cushion of her hair. He shouldn’t touch her. She shouldn’t rest so willingly in his embrace. But by Jericho, he loved that she did.
The watchman came to a halt outside the shrubbery. Did he suspect that someone was concealed there?
Caleb’s hold firmed around Lady Imogen, although if they were discovered, that wouldn’t help them at all. It wouldn’t be too bad for him. He’d lose the Tierney contract and any chance of further commissions in England. But he could survive that.
Lady Imogen would suffer a scandal and the loss of her good name. He was well aware what was at stake for her. American girls might have more freedom than their English counterparts, but women who were reckless with their reputations paid the price in the New World, the same way that they did in the Old.
Caleb heard a few scrapes, before the pungent smell of tobacco tinged the cold air. He lifted his face from Lady Imogen’s hair and heaved a silent sigh of relief. The man paused to light his pipe from the flame inside the lantern.
When Lady Imogen inched closer, Caleb’s embrace tightened. Just to keep her from the night air, he told himself, although he didn’t believe it.
After a minute, the watchman ambled off and the scent of cheap tobacco faded with him. For a little longer, Caleb and Lady Imogen remained entangled, then to his great regret, she shifted.
“I can’t stay.” Her voice was unsteady. He hoped that was because she found the experience of touching him as powerful as he found the experience of touching her. Although she was an innocent, so perhaps the strangeness of a man’s embrace ruffled her. “I’m supposed to dance a waltz with Lord Halston before supper.”
“Will I see you tomorrow?”
“It’s the Wetherby musicale. I won’t be able to sneak out.” She went on in a hurry. “But I need to tell you something before I go.”
“That this is all too dangerous?” Caleb was grimly aware that she took an awful risk, meeting him like this. He mightn’t approve of strict divisions of rank, but this was the world that this delightful girl inhabited and she was subject to its rules. “If I had any honor, I’d finish this now.”
“I wouldn’t like that.”
For an English girl, she was very plainspoken. He liked that. He liked it even better that she wanted to see him again. “Neither would I.”
To his surprise, she reached out to touch his arm. “I want…”
He burned to hear what she said next, but she shook her head and lifted her hand away. He retained just enough sense not to seize it back. “What? What do you want?”
“I must go.” He heard her muffle a sigh. “But before I do, I must tell you that Lord Halston has invited me to his house in the country on Saturday for a few days, and Papa wants me to go.”
“I’m developing a great dislike for Lord Halston.” And for the father who used this girl to further his ambitions.
“He’s very charming,” Lady Imogen said, with a hint of the teasing humor that he always found so disarming.
Halston must be charming. From what the Tierneys’ servants said, he’d seduced half the females in the kingdom.
“Damn him, I’m sure he is.” Then the significance of what she’d said sank in. “You’re leaving London?”
“Only for a little while.”
How could that sound like an unbearable punishment? He’d known this girl little more than twenty-four hours. It shouldn’t matter that he wouldn’t see her tomorrow night, or that she’d move out of reach for a couple of days after that.
But it did matter. It mattered more than anything else he could remember. What in blazes was happening to him? “Where?”
“Prestwick Place. It’s in Buckinghamshire. That’s not far from London.”
Was she hinting that she’d like him to follow? He didn’t care if she was. He wasn’t letting her out of his sight, especially in the company of that devil with the ladies, Lord Halston.
Through Caleb’s fit of unreasonable jealousy, something sparked at the back of his mind. “Prestwick Place, did you say?”
“Yes. Do you think—”
He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips for a quick kiss that affected him more than the brush of lips over kidskin-covered fingers should. He heard her breath catch. Shock or pleasure? “Leave it with me.”
“You want to see me again?”
His laugh held a mocking edge. “What do you think?”
For a breathtaking second, her fingers curled around his, and he cursed that she couldn’t stay. “I’m glad.”
“Let me check that it’s safe to go.” In any rightly run world, she wouldn’t have to go at all.
Caleb inched out onto the path and confirmed that the watchman wasn’t in sight. Lilting music drifted from the house. Through the French windows, he saw people dancing. Soon that crowd would include Imogen, twirling around in Lord Halston’s arms. By Harry, that stung.
“You should be fine to go,” he whispered, as Imogen emerged from the thicket.
“I wish we had longer.”
That same aching regret he felt rang in her low voice. She spoke with the perfect upper-crust accent that always sounded absurd and artificial to him, as if London high society consisted of painted dolls or actors playing a part in a silly play. But something about Lady Imogen’s voice pleased his ears. He could listen to her all day.
As if he’d ever have the chance to do that.
“So do I. But if I follow you to the country, it should be easier for us to meet.”
His vision had adjusted to the darkness enough for him to see the way her gaze focused on him. “Can you do that?”
“I think so. I’ll try and get a message to you.”
Even in the gloom, he knew she smiled. “It would be lovely if you could come to Buckinghamshire.”
Caleb smiled back, enchanted. “Wouldn’t it?”
“I must go.”
“Wait.” He caught her arm as she turned. During these last forbidden minutes, he’d touched her often. Certainly more than a gentleman should. Yet he couldn’t regret it. In fact, he was greedy for more. Perhaps if he arranged things as he hoped, in the country they could escape observation. “You’ve got a leaf in your hair.”
As he carefully picked away the offending greenery, trying not to muss her hair, he heard another of those muffled laughs that always made him want to smile. She was such a game girl. No shrinking violet would dare society’s disapproval by sneaking out to a secret assignation with an ineligible suitor.
A suitor? Was that what he was?
The thought crashed through him and settled in his mind, even while his more practical side told him that he was being an idiot. Worse, he invited an ocean of trouble. He had a grim premonition that if he persisted in pursuing Imogen, things would get very messy indeed. And not just for him.
