Leslie Lafoy (9 page)

“It’s just awful,” Em said sadly.

“But,” Tristan countered, “it could have been so much worse.”

“True,” Noland concurred. “And if it had been, we’d be packing away our dancing shoes for the Season. Instead, the revelry has been suspended only for the next two weeks. Time for paying respects and all. After that, the hunt’s back on.”

Simone sighed. “I suppose two weeks is better than nothing.”

Noland—for the first time—actually turned to look at her. “You’re not excited by the prospect of gala events and fabulous food?”

“I have a very low tolerance of boredom and pretension, Lord Noland.”

That makes two of us, my dear.

Emmaline stopped painting and looked around the edge of the canvas. “And I suspect you’ve reached the limits of the former in posing for me this morning, haven’t you?”

Simone grinned. “I’m not bored and no one has displayed the slightest bit of pretension, but I would appreciate it if I could stand and walk about a bit while I still remember how.”

His sister looked up at him. “Are we at a good stopping point for the day, Tristan?” she asked, intruding on his appreciation of dark eyes bright with amusement.

He considered the painting and the basic, broad strokes that had been laid down. As progress went, it wasn’t much. But there was an advantage in Em’s lack of creative speed. “I’d say so. And as long as Lady Simone is willing to be a good sport again tomorrow morning.”

“Certainly,” she assured them from the chaise.

“Then we’re done for the day,” Emmaline declared as she swished her brush about in a tin of cleaner. “Would anyone care for a bite to eat? I can speak with Cook and see if we could have some of her bread and apricot preserves.”

Watching Simone slowly stretch her back and shoulders, Tristan shrugged and replied, “I never pass up offered sweets.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Noland was a darting blur at the edge of his vision. “Let me carry your paint pot for you, Lady Emmaline,” Tristan heard him say.

Tristan looked over his shoulder just in time to see Noland wrest the tin away from Em as she protested, “It’s not paint, Lord Noland. It’s turpentine and it will destroy your suit if you spill any on yourself.”

Together they headed for the doorway to the main house, Noland trying to hold the pot, turn the knob, push open the door, and step out of Em’s way all while still flapping his gums. “I would gladly give up my entire wardrobe on your behalf, Lady Emmaline. No sacrifice would be too great to ask of me.”

“I hope he’s careful,” Simone said, chuckling as she swung her legs over the edge of the chaise and rose to her feet. “I don’t want to see Noland naked.”

“None of us do.”

“I think your friend is interested in your sister,” she offered as she bent over and scooped her hair ribbon up from the floor.

God Almighty, even from the back, the woman had the most incredibly inviting curves. He moistened his lower lip and forced himself to swallow. “I’ll have to make sure she gets out and about more.”

“You don’t approve of him?”

“Noland is nice enough and he comes from a respectable family,” he explained, watching her amble toward him and wondering just how quickly he could push the seduction. “But he doesn’t strike me as the sort who would make Em’s heart race till death do they part.”

“I can’t help but notice, Lord Lockwood,” she said softly, stopping before him and tilting her head up to boldly and brightly meet his gaze, “that you seem to have a fixation on racing and pitter-pattering hearts.”

Well, yes. Largely because his had a tendency to do just that whenever she was around. And his heart wasn’t the only part of him that found her stimulating. He casually shifted his stance to accommodate the growing tension while he stepped closer and placed his hands on her waist. “I like the way it feels,” he murmured. “Don’t you?”

Her eyes sparkled wickedly and the corners of her mouth tipped higher as she reached between them and toyed with the top button on his suit coat. “It is rather thrilling.”

“Rather?”

“In a barely marginal sort of way.”

“And what, precisely,” he pressed, “is so marginal about it?”

She undid the button, sending his heartbeat racing. “It doesn’t last nearly long enough.”

If only they were lovers already. Five minutes was all it would take for him to lay her down on the chaise and see them both satisfied. But since they weren’t and such a brusque—albeit efficient and masterful—-performance wouldn’t be at all appropriate for her first experience …

Very deliberately, he reached to her open neckline and began to mate the buttons with their holes, deliberately stroking the backs of his fingers lightly over the silken skin of her throat. “Choose the time and place, Simone,” he murmured as he worked, “and I’ll make the thrill last for as long as you can endure it.”

Desire and temptation danced in the ebony depths of her eyes.

“Midnight tonight?” he offered before propriety and caution could stifle her impulses. “I’ll wait for you in your family’s garden.”

Her gaze darted past him and then returned to his in the same second that she quietly cleared her throat and took a half step back. Wondering how Em had gotten Noland to shut up long enough for them to have arrived without making a sound, Tristan turned, letting his arms fall nonchalantly back to his sides. But it wasn’t Emmaline. Nor was it Noland.

“Lucinda,” he said tautly as his stepmother advanced toward them, dressed as always in black bombazine. As usual, she didn’t respond to his greeting. And as was his custom, he first tamped down the resentment of her attempt to make him feel like an uninvited guest and then graciously refrained from reminding her that he owned the house.

Having successfully managed to delay a full-scale confrontation for another day, he turned slightly and drew Simone to his side, saying, “May I present Emmaline’s friend, Lady Simone Turnbridge.”

Well, he may all he liked, Simone thought, but the older, considerably stiffer version of Emmaline didn’t really care whether he did or not. As Lucinda Townsend’s gaze raked her top to bottom, her blue eyes cold and sharp, he went on with the necessary formalities. “Lady Simone, as you may well have surmised, this delightful creature is Emmaline’s mother, the Dowager Lady Lockwood.”

His sarcasm wasn’t lost on Lucinda, either, and the woman’s gaze snapped to his. “I remain Lady Lockwood until you wed, Tristan.”

There wasn’t the slightest bit of warmth in the smile he gave his stepmother. “Which could be before the month is out. Sooner, if I can manage it.”

No loving family.
Simone watched warily, her heart skittering and her mind chattering about finding a reason to leave so the two could do battle privately. Lucinda’s jaw hardened for a second, and then, in the depth of her eyes, Simone saw a decision made. In the next second the woman shifted her attention to her. “You’re the Duke of Ryland’s ward. I’ve heard about you.”

Yes, well, most of London had. And since it was too late to beat a timely retreat … Simone smiled. “It was nothing good, I’m sure.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“But I’m just as sure that it was wildly interesting.”

Lady Lockwood blinked and rocked slightly backward. Tristan was still sucking in his cheeks and looking off to the far wall, his shoulders quivering with silent laughter, when Lucinda recovered from her shock and demanded, “Where is your sister?”

He cleared his throat and sobered. “She and Lord Noland left here mere moments ago, heading to the kitchen to beg bread and jam from Cook.”

“Leaving you and Lady Simone alone?”

He cocked a brow. “You’re not concerned about Em and Noland being alone together?”

“I’ll wait here with you for their return,” she announced, folding her arms across her clearly well-corseted midriff.

Simone was thinking that the woman’s disposition might improve if she were to loosen her laces, when Tristan drawled, “So … How goes the mourning?” At his stepmother’s glare he added brightly, “Any new furniture being delivered today?”

“No.”

The chill in her voice only seemed to encourage him. “Oh, of course,” he went on cheerily. “I should have remembered. Today is Wednesday. Jeweler day. Did he bring rubies or emeralds this time?”

“You are detestable.”

“What can I say?” he rejoined, the warmth leaving his smile again. “You inspire me to great heights.”

“Today was not jeweler day; it was solicitor day.”

“Ah, that explains the knocked knickers.”

The air between them crackled with icy fire. Simone mustered a smile and stepped away from Tristan’s side, saying, “I think I should be going.”

“I can’t say that I blame you,” he said while she retrieved her jacket from the back of the chair.

“Please extend my thanks to Emmaline for her hospitality this morning, Tristan,” she offered even as her mind suggested that the practice of good manners was a wasted effort in the situation. “Along with my regrets for not being able to stay longer.” She turned to Lady Lockwood and finished her performance with an outright lie. “It has been a pleasure to meet you, Lady Lockwood.”

“No, it hasn’t. The butler will see you out.”

Well, what did one say to that sort of dismissal?
I hope you fall down the stairs and break your nasty neck
?

“I’ll see Lady Simone into the care of her waiting groomsman,” Tristan announced, taking the jacket from her hands and holding it while she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

“I will remind you that while Lady Simone’s reputation certainly isn’t pristine,” Lady Lockwood countered frostily, “there’s no point in tarnishing it further by a casual disregard of propriety.”

Simone wasn’t the least surprised when he shrugged off the warning, took her by the elbow in open defiance of all-important propriety, and steered her toward the door. “You’re welcome to tag along if you’re so concerned,” he said without looking back. “But you might want to lag a bit behind so you don’t have to hear all the sordid details of our family story.”

“Do you know any limits to low conduct?”

He paused just past the threshold to look over his shoulder, smile thinly, and reply, “Certainly. And they’re considerably higher than yours.”

Simone didn’t bother to peer around him to see Lady Lockwood’s reaction. She’d seen quite enough already to well imagine the gleaming daggers in the woman’s gaze. As Simone and Tristan moved down the hallway toward the front of the house, she decided that it was a very good thing Lucinda Townsend hadn’t been much interested in mothering. From what Simone had seen so far, it appeared that the servants Lady Lockwood had hired to raise Emmaline had done a far better job of it than she could have.

“I’m sorry we placed you in the middle of that.”

“It was a bit awkward,” Simone allowed.

“Not to mention keenly unpleasant.”

“Well, yes.”

“Do you want to know the sordid details?”

She thought about it for a moment. One part of her was dying of a decidedly morbid curiosity. Another part, though … “I don’t know,” she admitted, looking up at him and noting his frown. “Would they make a difference in how I feel about my friendship with your sister? In how I feel about you?”

“Probably. And not for the better.”

“I don’t frighten or offend easily.”

“I’ve noticed that,” he said as a footman opened the front door for them.

Hearing the smile in Tristan’s voice, she glanced up at him. Yes, the frown was most definitely gone. “Along with the fact that I’m easily enticed?” she teased as they made their way down the front steps and toward the street.

He grinned and answered quietly, “I consider you to be nothing short of a delightfully formidable challenge.”

“Better that, I suppose, than to be thought of as wicked and wanton.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawled, his eyes sparkling. “I see the terms as wonderfully complimentary.”

Out in the street, her groomsman, Alvin, waited for her, the reins of her mount and his in his hands. He snapped to attention at the sight of them and then quickly went about flipping the leather straps over the animals’ heads. Another horse—presumably Tristan’s, given the way the animal tossed his mane and snorted in greeting—stood there with the others, his reins tied off on the iron ring.

“That’s because men and women are held to different standards,” she pointed out. “Will you be back here in the morning to give Emmy another painting lesson?”

“Yes.” Quietly he added, “But I’d prefer to see you alone at midnight.”

Midnight. Alone.
Her blood warmed and her pulse raced. She didn’t dare give Tristan an answer, not with Alvin so close by. Given the speed at which news of her missteps always reached the dinner table, she’d long ago decided that Drayton or Haywood paid the man extra to report on her every breath. She didn’t need to make any contributions to what was, in all probability, an already too interesting story.

Accepting the reins from Alvin, she said, “It’s been a pleasure to see you again, Lord Lockwood,” then placed her foot in the groomsman’s cupped hands and swung neatly up—and quite impressively, she knew—across the saddle.

“Lady Simone,” Tristan said with a wide smile and a brief bow.

She considered him from her elevated perch, her mind unexpectedly transforming reality into fantasy. Day became night and she straddled not the broad back of a horse but lean male hips. Her breath caught, and, her senses reeling, she wheeled the horse about, setting him into motion and her thoughts in a safer direction.

Tristan watched her ride away, narrowing his eyes to keep her in focus as the distance between them lengthened. Damn, she was a good rider. Anyone who could make a trot look comfortable and easy had been born to ride. At a canter … At a full gallop … A vision played across his mind: Simone half-standing in the stirrups, her body angled forward so she could stretch out over the animal’s neck and laugh as the wind whipped her face and tangled through her streaming black hair. He smiled, truly appreciating her heart, her indomitable spirit.

She didn’t frighten or offend easily? He’d bet the house behind him and everything in it that she didn’t frighten at all. Strong, independent, fearless, and resourceful. Not to mention passionate.