Ridiculous (40 page)

Shoffer pressed her up against the tree in an instant, trapped between the implacable strength of his body and the rough bark.

“No, you will not.” He rested his forehead against hers. “Stay. Stay with me.”

“I cannot. You know I cannot.” But she clung to him, relishing the heat of his body.

“We could spend the summer together,” continued Shoffer. “I have properties that could benefit from a visit. I should not trust my secretary and business manager with everything. We could travel together. Alternate one of your properties with one of mine. Spend every day and night together until we have burned out this need.”

“Simpson might be busy with other matters next year and appreciate the respite,” Millicent murmured into his neck cloth. “But we cannot any more than we could be together here. Do you think staff in country inns gossip less than London servants?”

“There must be a way.”

Millicent only shook her head.

“You could visit my house,” suggested Shoffer. “We have spent hours together in the library without comment.”

“With your sister in the house? Visitors and servants in and out at all hours? No. It will not do.”

“Damn it, North, the season has only a few more weeks to run. There must be a way.”

“We could visit your mistresses’ house…”

“Two men going to a house of assignation where no woman resides? You are correct. I do not pay the staff there enough to keep that secret.”

“Then we are back to my first assertion. It is not possible.”

“And, yet, I am unwilling to end this liaison before I am sated.”

Millicent drew back and regarded him calmly. “How romantic.”

She could almost hear his teeth grinding.

“Damn it, North, you know what I mean. We have been together one night only. This does not count! You cannot say that I have exhausted your desire for me any more than I have tired of you. If we could but find time this season, we might wear out this need and return to being friends.”

Millicent swallowed her shock and found herself speechless. Lack of romance was one thing she must accept. After all, she could not expect flowers and poetry when attired as a gentleman, but to baldly state his expectation that passion would fade quickly took her breath away.

“I suppose,” she said when she could form words, “I should be grateful that you envision us remaining friends. You will have considerable power over me once this affaire is over.”

“Oh, North, give over. We were friends long before we were lovers. If we are careful and do not quarrel too much, I do not see us enduring some terrible rupture. Besides, Beth would not permit me to cut you when the rumors of your perversion went about; she is unlikely to give up your friendship for any lesser reason.”

“Perversion,” repeated Millicent and dropped her hand down to seize and squeeze his buttocks. “The perversion was not mine alone.”

He laughed, released her, and stepped back.

“We should return to the party. For now, North, we should give serious thought to solving the problem rather than protesting impossibilities. You have more experience in deception than me; therefore, I have great faith in your inventiveness.”

“As Your Grace commands.”

Chapter Seventeen

“What are your plans for the day, Beth?”

The breakfast room at Trolenfield house was grey and dreary, despite the bright colored wallpaper. A dismal driving spring rain rattled the tall windows, necessitating the lighting of lamps despite the early hour. Beth was not usually up before noon, but today she was neatly attired in a warm walking dress and tucking into her food with determination.

“I am assisting Mildred’s cause,” said Beth. “Today, I shall go to as many at-homes as I can and tell everyone that we both shall be attending her afternoon tea. Whether it rains or not!”

By the end of the sentence Shoffer was paying attention to his sister’s every word. Anything to do with the Boarder family had the power to claim his complete attention.

“My apologies. Why must you do this?”

“Mildred’s invitations have been out for two weeks and she has yet to receive a single acceptance, beyond ours that is. I suppose she is not considered high enough ranked for her invitations to be coveted.”

Two weeks. Shoffer suppressed a groan. Two weeks of the season fled and Millicent was still avoiding him. Whichever event Shoffer chose to attend, he would find Mr. North had just left or was expected later. If he remained, North would not appear and if he left, he would find himself trailing from party to party in North’s wake.

Pitiable, poor, pathetic moon-calf.

Not, he knew, the best way to suppress rumors.

Shaking his head he forced himself to pay attention to Beth.

“That surprises me, considering how popular Mr. North is,” continued Beth.

Shoffer did not comment. The rumors about Mr. North must be well distributed by now. His star could well be fading and the Boarders’ place in society with it.

“Well, certainly we shall attend Mildred’s party,” said Shoffer. “I was not aware that there were any difficulties. As Mr. Simpson took a hand in the arrangements, it should be a success.”

“It shall be, if only we can persuade the
ton
to attend. Poor Mildred is beside herself and threatening to cancel. I keep telling her not to. If she retreats now, she will never risk trying again.”

Shoffer smiled at Beth. The girl had matured this season. No longer the fragile little shadow she had been after last season, she stepped up and became a dignified lady aware of her own power. A woman of character and strength.

However, her brother still regarded himself as her protector. If an action of his could further a cause of hers, then he would act. Besides, even though he had warned Millicent that there was a risk of invitations falling off, he had no wish for the end of the Boarder ladies first season to fizzle after such a dazzling beginning. He was fond of Mildred and little Maude and wanted them to be happy.

“What entertainment is planned?”

“I told you, there will be music. Mildred has hired a well-regarded small orchestra to play while people converse, but there is no expectation that people will dance. Mostly, they are expected to stand about, eat, and talk.”

Shoffer considered for a moment.

“Might I suggest the soprano Mademoiselle Therese be invited to sing?”

Beth’s eyebrows rose. “Does she not have a … reputation?”

“Indeed, but it is an afternoon event and she will be gone long before dark so husbands will be safe from her. I only suggest it as then I can speak of the gathering in my clubs. The presence of the beautiful Therese will cause a few of the eligible gentlemen to attend. We can pass
that
gossip along to the marriage minded mothers who might then consider bringing their daughters.”

Beth considered that. “I do not know that Mildred can afford to hire M. Therese.”

“I could visit her and suggest she accept an invitation, instead. I know the lady desires some illusion of acceptance by the
ton
. She might forgo her salary in exchange for a proper invitation.”

“Oh? Would she do that for you? I had no idea she was your mistress.”

“Beth!” cried Shoffer. “What a thing to say!”

“Bother that. I am old enough to know about such things as mistresses.”

“You are not even old enough, in my opinion, to put up your hair and dance. Have pity for my grey hair.” Shoffer patted his hand on his chest. “You will stop my heart entirely saying such shocking things.”

“Oh, phoo.”

“Besides, she is not under my protection. I only suggest it as a way of creating interest in Mildred’s gathering.”

“I shall consider it.” Beth fiddled with the eggs on her plate for a moment, then continued. “I know. You will invite that handsome tenor so that the ladies will have someone to swoon over and some other stars of the stage, as well. We shall create a sort of afternoon salon. A socially acceptable way for the ladies of the
ton
to meet actors. Usually we cannot call on them or visit them after performances, as that would be scandalous, but to see them in the afternoon, to praise their acting, that would be entirely proper.”

“I suppose,” said Shoffer, not entirely convinced he wanted his sister in the presence of actors.

“Surely, you and North together could persuade them to come.”

Shoffer cut his beefsteak. Considering the changes in her personality, he could not take the risk Beth might not take it into her mind to go visiting the theaters should he refuse. “Very well.”

“Excellent.” Beth rose to her feet. “Up brother, and away. You have much to accomplish.”

Shoffer grinned back at her, then turned to the nearest footman. “Please send a message for Maricourt Place. Inform Mr. North he must attend me while we go about guaranteeing his cousin’s party’s success!”

By not writing a note, he forced the footman to announce the command. North, he knew, would be forced by his own family to go out with him. There had to be a way for him, in between their errands, to find time alone with Millicent in the same room as a bed.

* * *

Shoffer was arguing with his valet about the complexity of his cravat – wanting something simple he could recreate without assistance if he was lucky enough to disrobe that afternoon – when the message arrived.

An unscented, folded, and sealed corner of parchment with his name scrawled across the front lay on the footman’s salver. Suspecting it was some excuse from North he flipped it open and read the signature. Immediately his body tightened and came to full arousal.

She had signed it “Helene.” Her female name. The female he had enjoyed for one night and who had tormented him and left him sleepless every night since.

Helene.

And if she had signed her name Helene, it was obviously a signal that she wanted him to enjoy that female body, again. Shoffer was entirely in favor of that idea.

Fortunately for his blushes, his valet was distracted and the footman had already turned away. Shoffer pulled free of his valet’s hands and stalked across the room to stand staring out of the window until his body had calmed.

“Your Grace? Is something the matter?”

Shoffer did not turn. “No, Ikelsby. You may go, I shall finish here myself.”

There was a moment’s silence, then the door closed, marking Ikelsby’s departure. Shoffer again opened the note and smiled as he read.

“Your Grace, please meet me at your
other
house at two. Helene.”

Helene!

Millicent.

Tucking in the ends of his cravat as he ran down the stairs, he called for his horse rather than the carriage. He wanted to be there when she arrived to answer the door himself, just in case she arrived in her disguise as Mr. North. He did not want her loitering on the doorstep an instant longer than necessary. Never before had he ridden at such speed through London’s crowded streets. He was directing his horse around the last corner when he spotted a lady strolling along the pavement. Tall and dignified, her pacing firm and her parasol raised proudly over the feathers in her bonnet, her hips swayed in a manner that caused more than one man to turn his head to watch her walk away. She was attired in a costume that suited her very well, while still being somewhat out of fashion. He recognized that step, that form, that economy instantly and his lips curved as he came alongside, swung down to the ground and faced her.

Ringlets framing her face beneath her bonnet, Millicent smiled up at him as she offered her gloved hand in greeting.

“Your Grace,” she murmured, bobbing a small curtsy.

He bowed over the hand, then turned it over to kiss the inside of her wrist.

“My dear M…”

“Ah, ha?” She waggled a finger at him.

“My dear
Helene
. I have missed you beyond words.”

“Have you? But I have hardly noticed your absence.”

“Oh, cruel. When you are the sunlight of my day,” he waved at the overcast sky, “it is dismal and grey without you.”

She inclined her head toward him. “How flattering.”

“Minx.”

“Lecher.”

He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and they strolled along the last few yards, Shoffer leading his horse. At the house, Shoffer knocked rather than let them in with his own key. The housekeeper’s husband appeared immediately, peering around the door, then squeezed past them to deal with the horse. When the housekeeper arrived, Shoffer reached into his vest pocket and handed Millicent his key.

“Mrs. Fosters, this is Helene Winthrop. She will be visiting me here from time to time.”

Mrs. Fosters was polite, but her eyes remained unimpressed as she bobbed a curtsy. Millicent was not surprised. No doubt Mrs. Fosters saw an ever changing parade of ladies through these doors, and was confident in her employment. She was here before the ladies and would be there long after.

“Do you require anything?” asked Mrs. Fosters. “Tea? Sherry?”

“No, thank you,” said Millicent.

“And your luggage?”

“Thank you, but I shall not be living here. His Grace and I will visit only.”

With the introductions over, Shoffer took her arm and guided her up the stair.

“I was very pleased to receive your note, my dear,” he said. “How did you manage to … escape?”

Millicent laughed as he escorted her to the upstairs bedroom. “Ah, well, for a while I considered changing in a hackney, but you are correct, the floors are filthy and the drivers are not drunk enough to ignore a male passenger entering and a female alighting. Then I considered leaving my home before the servants were up and about, but that would not do. Do you have any idea the hour they get up? Then,” she drew off her bonnet and her curls and tossed the wig and hat onto a nearby table, “I found a house for rent that backs onto the same mews that runs behind this house.”

“So close?” Shoffer seized his cravat and dragged it free, throwing it across the room. “Excellent. But will
your
servants not comment?”

“I have not hired any staff. I cleaned one of the rooms myself and set it up as a dressing room.” She loosened the bodice of her pelisse and shrugged out of it. “If I am careful no one shall take note of my comings and goings. I shall enter through the mews as a man and exit the front door a lady.”