A Scandalous Connection, page 11
“I have offended you.”
“No, why should you have?”
“I don’t know. I should not have spoken so openly, perhaps.”
“It is the thing about you, Miss Mayhew, that I most admire. Or perhaps it is the charming way your hair gleams in the sunshine. I have not yet decided.”
“Flirting again.”
“Teasing again. You should not allow tiny lights to enter your eyes when you smile. Very disturbing. And you are heading off the point.”
“That being?”
“That being that His Grace is in want of a wife.”
“Oh, not any wife. A rich wife. That is why we are all being paraded about in the hope of catching his attention. It is believed that although his rank would ordinarily cast him quite out of our grasp, his current circumstances are felicitous. He might, Mrs. Corey speculates, consider marrying into the merchant classes.”
Miss Bancroft gasped and threw a startled glance at His Grace. He, it must be said, was engaged in procuring a pinch of snuff from an exquisite box designed for this purpose. It was wrought in the purest of silver, but he did not, at that moment, seem to be diverted by this fact.
“Might he just?”
“Indeed, so. Mrs. Murgatroyd seems to think it is Daphne who will achieve these heights, but I rather think that Mrs. Corey has the advantage over her. Whilst Amelia is a trifle stout, her great uncle was a baron, and that must cast her in the superior mold.”
“Oh, infinitely!” Demian’s lips twitched.
“Personally, I favor Miss Fletcherson, but . . .”
The duke interrupted. “Does no one favor you?”
“Why, of course someone does! My Aunt Ermentrude thinks that because I am the daughter of Lord Dalmont—a very august gentleman, I am told, though he died when I was only three—I must surely have the advantage. Nothing I say can rid her of the opinion. I am afraid to say, she cherishes some quite spectacular hopes.”
“Ah, yes. The sylph at dusk.”
“Precisely.” Then came that delightful gurgle the duke found so entrancing. “Did I tell you it was a jeweled sylph?”
“Jeweled? But how dazzling. Miss Mayhew, your merino—however elegantly serviceable—begins to disappoint me.”
“Beg pardon for that. I reserve the gems exclusively, you see, for the duke.”
“Ah. And the sylph . . . ?”
Amy’s eyes danced. “That too, Mr. Hartford. Now, I beg you grant your thoughts a new direction before you overset me entirely.”
There was a moment—a trembling moment—when Amy thought he would not. Neither, one might add, did Miss Bancroft, who more clearly knew what fire the lovely Miss Mayhew was dabbling with than she herself. Amy might tease poor Mr. Hartford, but she had no notion she was addressing the duke. Miss Bancroft rather thought that if she did, she would have stilled her lively tongue. Still, despite several frantic warning glances at His Grace, no one was paying her the smallest heed. Again.
“You . . .”
“Miss Mayhew, it is my turn to ask you a favor.”
“Yes?”
“When this is over, when you have spent your freezing night—it might even be more than that—I fear a week—in mortal discomfort in the bowels of the south wing . . .”
“Yes?”
The duke continued, regardless of the heightened tension. Amy snapped open a pretty fan. He took it gently from her hands, hushing her apologies.
“When you have been returned to the bosom of your family . . .
“. . . with lurid stories to tell of our great misfortunes. . .
“. . . with lurid stories of your great misfortunes. . . ” the duke unblinkingly echoed her humor. “Then, Miss Mayhew, then might I call on you?”
“Then, Mr. Hartford, you may.”
“You have not forgotten I am merely an impoverished gentleman?”
“Not for a moment. You’ve not forgotten I am merely an upstart merchant chit?”
“Hardly that, Miss Mayhew, hardly that.”
“You have not yet met Aunt Ermentrude.”
“But I have met her niece. I believe that suffices.”
Ten
It was impossible, of course, not to peek. There was only so long a young lady of excellent lineage could crane her exquisite white neck through a dreary, open window. It was open, for Mr. Endicott had decreed that whilst the weather held out, they could do with fresh country air. Her ladyship disagreed, for the roads were muddy, and long wisps of straw and dandelions kept floating in up off the carriage wheels. Still, she was not so mawkish as to disagree, for she was perfectly certain Mr. Endicott would blithely disregard any views she might harbor on the matter. Besides, she had determined not to speak to him.
The detestable man seemed not to notice and instead, occupied himself with staring at the elegant scalloped sleeves of her deliciously blue organdy. At least, Lady Raquel hoped it was her sleeves he was concerned with, for his fascination was apparently avid as his gaze rested upon her person.
Lady Raquel flushed, for whilst she had disregarded the matter at the time, the gown was daringly cut despite its excellent preponderance of buttons at the back. Oh, if she had only worn the rose satin, with its nice, safe neckline and its girlish ribbons! She peeped crossly at Mr. Endicott through entrancing blue eyes. If she took care to keep her neck facing the window, it was very likely he would not notice a brief glance.
Oh, how wrong she was! Mr. Endicott noticed at once and grinned quite disarmingly, despite her annoyance.
“Good! I thought you would weary of the view. You will find, I believe, that I offer a much more interesting prospect.”
To her annoyance, she realized at once that he was correct. A foolish girl could look upon Mr. Endicott’s rakish countenance and excellent physique for a lifetime. Fortunately, Raquel was not foolish. She broke the stare they had somehow become locked in and announced that she abhorred coxcombs.
“Ah, you speak! I feared that you must have sustained some injury to your tongue.”
“None, I assure you.” Raquel felt that this was a rather paltry response, but her heart was suddenly playing dangerous tricks on her and sadly, she could think of no better rejoinder under the circumstance.
Mr. Endicott could, though, and he murmured, just loud enough for Raquel, but not poor Maria, who was holding her tooth with a vinegar-soaked handkerchief, to hear.
“I am relieved. It is a delightful tongue.”
Raquel’s glance shifted to the red velvet of the carriage floor. Her color, by now, was quite high, and she had certainly lost most of the calm, cool, self-control that she was famed for. There could be no mistaking Mr. Endicott’s meaning. Or could there? Could she be placing too much construction on his words because of her own wayward desires? Surely not. No, she could swear he was teasing her, flirting in some abominably deplorable manner that had all her senses quite at sixes and sevens and poor Maria looking from one to the other in miserable suspicion.
Raquel could not look at the crimson carpeting forever, so she was forced to look up, once more.
“Do not be fooled, sir. My tongue can cut like a whip.”
“Can it? Yes, I believe it can. Demian told me so.”
“You should not be speaking of me in that fashion!”
“We were not speaking of you, merely of your tongue.”
“Most improper and quite absurd.”
“Yes, but I delight in absurdity, and impropriety is my middle name.”
“That is patently obvious, sir!”
Mr. Endicott ignored her.
“So it cuts like a whip?”
“Yes.”
“Intriguing. Does it also taste as sweet as nectar? And is it as warm and soft as . . . ”
The coach jolted forward. It was not a moment too soon, for Lady Raquel was becoming mesmerized by his lips and the dark smile that played at the corners of his wholly illuminating eyes.
Maria, aware that there were strange undercurrents on this trip that doubtless Anders would blame her for, took another tiny swig at Cook’s gin, then moaned.
Lady Raquel stopped herself from catapulting into Mr. Endicott’s lap, but at the expense of having his firm arms steady her. They were strong and appealing, and dizzyingly warm. They also released her almost instantly, which came as both a relief and a sublime shock.
“We shall stop here.” His tone was crisp.
“Why?”
“Why?” He echoed her words with a faint rise to his brows.
“Yes. Why? I assume you have some reason for this dictatorial decision? Darris is hours from here. And if you think I need to rest, I am made of sterner stuff.” Raquel forced herself to be brisk. If she wasn’t, she would probably throw herself into his arms and disgrace herself utterly. If he read those thoughts, he showed no sign of it. He did, however, allow his features to soften and a small smile to enter his impossibly blue eyes.
“It’s not rest you need, Lady Raquel.” This he murmured, so possibly she did not hear, though her nose rose a little higher in the air.
“No, we shall stop here because your maid needs her tooth pulled. See, her face is swollen.”
Stricken at her self-absorption, Raquel noticed that the odious man was right. Not all of Cook’s gin could numb the pain of poor Maria’s tooth, nor slow the swelling around her jaw. By now, her eyes were wet with tears, and though the vinegar-soaked handkerchief was efficacious, it was not large enough to muffle the small moans that were escaping into its folds.
“Maria! Is this so? Do you need us to stop?”
Maria, overcome by the concern of her superiors and by the possible ire of Anders, moaned even louder.
“I should have known. It is my fault. Oh, Maria, why did you not tell me how severe it was?”
For answer, the little maid sobbed the more.
“There is doubtless a sawbones in the village. He will have to attend to her, but if you want to make Darris we shall have to press on.”
“Alone?” A flicker of alarm crossed Raquel’s face. Mr. Endicott’s expression was shuttered as he confirmed her fears.
“Indeed, my lady, I believe that to be the case. If you are squeamish, I can have the horses turned round. There is still time to return to London at a respectable hour.”
“No!”
“No?”
“No! We will push on to Darris. I am determined to do it.”
“Without the maid?”
Maria tried to say something, but instead, clutched at her offending jaw.
Lady Raquel looked directly into Mr. Endicott’s eyes. “Without the maid. I rely, completely, on your honor.”
Thomas laughed. “Is that quite wise? I warn you, Lady Raquel, that I am a rake.”
“I have inferred that, Mr. Endicott.”
“And still you come?”
Lady Raquel Fortesque-Benton took one of the deepest breaths of her life. She was strangely exhilarated despite being cast in such a scandalous position.
“And still, Mr. Endicott, I come.”
The tension in the chaise was dangerously high when the carriage drew to a halt. Maria, too concerned with removing her modest traveling case from the equipage and then with thanking Lady Raquel a dozen times or more for pressing a guinea into her hand, did not notice overmuch. But then, Maria had always been singularly unobservant, especially so as she was afflicted with an ailment so dire as the toothache.
Besides, she would escape lightly on the grounds of the excellent piece of gossip Anders was even now spreading around the upper hallways. Her ladyship was entertaining the duke of Darris’s suit. It would not have dawned on Maria that Raquel might, therefore, be flirting—or coming dangerously close to flirting—with society’s most notable rake.
He laughed out loud at Lady Raquel’s determined words. He also noted, with approval, that so far from blaming Maria for what was essentially her own fault, she had actually looked stricken. Further, she’d pressed a very handsome amount into those flushed, handkerchief-bearing hands. Better yet, there was a blush upon her cheeks he found promising. Definitely a thaw in Lady Raquel’s coldness.
“Bravely spoken. Now, Maria, you shall tell me which box holds my lady’s muff and pelisse, and you shall be off.”
“I am not cold.”
Mr. Endicott ignored the suddenly plaintiff tone.
“Which one, Maria?”
“That green one, sir, what is banded up wiv lilac cords.” It was fortunate Mr. Endicott could hear her through the handkerchief, which she now quite convulsively clutched in two woolen-clad fists.
“Very good, Maria, I shall attend to it. You run along, now.”
Maria knew a moment’s hesitation despite her pain. Anders would have her head if she had been derelict in her duties.
Lady Raquel remained in the carriage and ignored the excellent doeskin breeches that partially obscured her vision from the window. It was harder to ignore their contents, of course, but this she did, and quite nobly, though her errant heart was still playing ridiculous tricks.
“Yes, hurry, Maria. I should not like to think of you in agonies much longer. You may take tomorrow morning as a half day off, and offer up my compliments to her ladyship. Mama will be anxious to know that I am traveling safely.”
Maria bobbed a clumsy curtsy.
“Oh! And don’t have anymore of that gin. It will make you ill. Barley water is better, ask at the inn.”
“Yes, milady.” The maid bobbed again, grabbed her case and stepped out of the way of the carriage wheels.
“Go!” Mr. Endicott waved her away, for it seemed likely she would dither forever over the flagstones. Clearly, in spite of her pain, she was in two minds over leaving her charge.
“Yes, sir.” And with a last, uncertain glance at her ladyship, Maria obeyed.
Then Mr. Endicott’s fascinating doeskin breeches disappeared from view as he strode to the back of the chaise. Lady Fortesque-Benton could hear several muttered curses as he tried to extract the correct portmanteau from the three she had brought. He evidently succeeded, for it was not long before he was back in the lady’s line of vision. Through the window, he made an excellent sight, though Raquel would rather have had her tongue cut out than make such an admission.
Then she gasped in outrage. The man was actually opening her portmanteau, quite oblivious to the stares of his coachman.
“You can’t do that!”
Lady Raquel’s voice trembled between alarm, amusement and indignation.
“Whyever not?” Mr. Endicott asked idly as he continued to do just exactly as he pleased.
“You are a detestable man! I said I could live without my pelisse.”
“And I said that you can’t. Ungrateful girl, I should make you shiver with cold when the paths turn to ice.”
“Oh! You unspeakable . . . ”
But Raquel’s voice trailed off as the portmanteau snapped open to reveal, among the dimities, several delightful pairs of clocked stockings, two excessively delectable undergarments of crisp white linen, a mountain of petticoats, a satin slipper of pale cream, and a tangle of ribbons. For some reason, Mr. Endicott felt a strange tightening in his stomach that could not be attributed to these trifling things. Heaven knew, he was a connoisseur in the matter of lady’s undergarments. Lady Raquel’s were undoubtedly excellent, but rather plain for his customary taste. Perhaps he was responding to the sudden intake of breath behind him. He felt it soft and warm upon his neck.
He denied himself the impulse to turn around, so that the breath would become flesh. He had little doubt that if he did, Lady Raquel’s sweet bow lips would be his undoing. Instead, he rifled idly through the under-dresses and lace spencers and allowed a shadow of amusement to cross his face.
“Perhaps if I dig deep enough I shall find the promised pelisse.”
“Perhaps if I scream, someone will save me from an obvious barbarian. You are no gentleman, sir!”
The gentleman pulled out a pair of exquisite pantalets, raised his brows faintly, then placed them on top of the growing pile. They were smooth and long, and looked like they housed only the lithest of limbs. He valiantly tried not to think of that, but his thoughts were distressingly errant. It was therefore some several moments before he answered Lady Raquel’s accusation.
“Lady Raquel, you are spoiled, arrogant and obstructive. You are also excessively pleasing on the eye, and you test my manhood to its limits. If you don’t want me to show you what I mean by that singular statement, don’t try me any further. Be pleased that I am a gentleman, Lady Raquel, for almost certainly, were I not, you would have either been soundly reprimanded or thoroughly kissed by now.”
Thomas waited for the storm, but to his surprise, it never came. Only the breathing against his neck became more ragged. He wondered why, with a faint stirring of masculine interest.
Then he was all business, clicking the portmanteau shut with such firmness that several pieces of lace were sadly crushed and one particularly interesting petticoat flounce trailed tantalizingly from its confines.
He fingered it for a moment before turning to face Lady Raquel through the open window. Her eyes were bright and burning, but for all his experience, he couldn’t read them. He longed to trail his fingers along the slightly parted bow of her lips, then desisted. Some unaccountable part of him wanted to goad her. He told himself he was merely taming her, for Darris’s benefit.
“Speechless again. How edifying. What is it, the thought of the kissing or the thought of the upbraiding—I’d be decidedly thorough in both, I assure you—that silences you?”
Lady Raquel leaned forward in her seat. She wished she could feel as cool and controlled as she always did. This untitled upstart was heating her senses and meddling with her mind in the most intolerable manner. She was perfectly certain that she hated him. No one before had ever offered her anything but reverential respect, and not even the most daring of her suitors had ventured to kiss her in quite the manner Mr. Endicott suggested.
“Both. You are quite insufferable. If I were a male, I would kill you.”
“But you are not a male.”
“More is the pity.”
Mr. Endicott smiled and a sudden warm light of amusement lit his severe features.
