Unbefitting a Lady (11 page)

‘You shouldn’t speak of your father like that,’ Phaedra said,
clearly shocked he’d be so irreverent.

‘Why not if it’s the truth?’ Bram’s answer was harsher than he
intended. ‘You don’t know him,’ Bram amended. His father had revered his older
brother to the exclusion of him and his sister. Eloise had been brought up to
think of herself as a nuisance to the family, an expensive flower to decorate
another’s garden. She’d married the first decent match to come along to appease
their father and get out.

‘I didn’t exactly fit into my father’s plans for me.’ He didn’t
dare say anything else for fear of giving himself away.

‘What was that?’ Of course she’d want to know. But Bram had
other things on his mind than his father. He was sitting beside a fire on a
deserted island, never mind it was in the middle of an estate, with a mostly
naked woman of delectable proportions. It was amazing they were still just
talking.

Bram leaned in close to Phaedra’s ear, breathing in the scent
of her. She smelled of water and wind and ever-present apples. ‘The church,’ he
ventured. Perhaps she would think his family were gentleman farmers. It wasn’t
out of the realm of possibility his father had ‘aimed high’ for his son. He
feathered a breath past her ear, his hands kneading her shoulders. ‘That’s why I
know so much about sin.’

‘I bet you do.’ She gave a soft laugh and leaned against him,
her head lolling comfortably on his shoulder. The fire and the intimacy of their
situation were starting to work their magic. She was feeling safe and
comfortable.

‘I wish we could stay here for ever,’ Phaedra confessed
drowsily.

Bram reached with one arm and threw the last of the kindling on
the fire. They would have to go soon. ‘Aside from the swim back, why would you
want to stay here? We are lacking in amenities.’

Phaedra stretched against him. ‘Aunt Wilhelmina is planning a
party for me in lieu of me going to London for a Season.’ Apparently that issue
had been resolved with a compromise.

‘Don’t you like parties? Pretty dresses?’ Bram encouraged. He’d
yet to meet a woman who wasn’t swayed by the promise of a new gown.

Phaedra laughed and turned to face him, a little smile flitting
on her lips as they sat cross-legged. ‘Do you want to know a secret?’ she said
in low tones. ‘I can’t dance.’

‘You can’t?’ He had a hard time believing it. Phaedra was
athletic. She could swim, she could ride. How was it that she couldn’t dance? He
loved dancing; the feel of his hand at a woman’s back was one of Society’s
permissible pleasures.

‘It’s not for a lack of trying. Aunt Wilhelmina hired countless
dancing instructors for Kate and me but apparently the males in the family got
that talent.’

‘Maybe you simply haven’t found the right partner?’

‘Maybe I simply can’t do it,’ Phaedra replied honestly.

‘Maybe you haven’t had the right instructor,’ Bram argued. He’d
not met Aunt Wilhelmina but from Phaedra’s description, he could imagine the
sort of dance master she’d hire. One of those prim and prudish gentlemen in a
cheap black suit, who thought dancing was the stiff performance of figures and
patterns. Dancing was anything but that. It was passion and life, energy and
motion, an exquisite form of human expression.

‘Stand up,’ Bram urged, rising and brushing at the sandy dirt
on his quilt. He shifted his quilt to his waist to free his arms.

‘What are you doing?’ Phaedra rose, uncertain, clutching her
quilt about her.

‘Not me,
we. We
are dancing.’ He
took her hand and placed it on his shoulder.

‘Oh, no,
we
are not doing this.’
Her quilt slipped to the ground and Bram moved her into his frame, his hand at
her back, feeling her skin through the damp silk. His other hand closed over
hers and he moved them into position. ‘Ready? One, two, three, one, two, three.’
He guided them into motion, dipping and swaying as he counted. ‘You’re doing
fabulously,’ he said, slowly taking them through a turn on the other side of the
dying fire. ‘Don’t look down. Look up, at my eyes.’ He held her firmly against
him as they moved, their proximity much closer than a ballroom would allow, her
hips flush against his, their bodies keeping no secrets.

She was liquid in his arms, her pulse starting to race at her
throat, her pupils dark with desire. Her body knew what this was even if her
mind didn’t. Dancing was sex. Public sex, the kind of intercourse Society
permitted on the dance floor.

Bram brought them to a halt, brushing her lips in a slow kiss,
desire heating him as thoroughly as the fire. ‘I want nothing more than to lay
you down right here on the quilts.’ His voice was raw with want, his body driven
past the point of control.

‘Alicia warned me about men like you. You make promises you
can’t keep,’ Phaedra protested in a hoarse whisper, but her breath was coming
fast and hard, evidence that she’d been as affected by their dance as he had,
that desire was riding her as well. He was not alone in this.

Bram nipped hard at her ear, his hands moving to take her
breasts in his palms, his thumbs stroking the nipples erect. ‘She’s vastly
underestimated me. I never make promises about pleasure I can’t keep.’

Phaedra’s hands were at his waist, fumbling with the blanket,
her voice a mixture of sultry seduction and trembling need and in her eyes there
was wildness. ‘Then do it, Bram. Make me a promise.’

He had to make himself some promises as well, starting with a
promise not to take this too far. There was pleasure they could have and then
there was the pleasure they couldn’t. Bram lowered her down, spreading his quilt
on the ground for a makeshift mattress, conscious only of the moment, her mouth
on his, her hands in his hair and the pleasure that would follow.

Chapter Eleven

S
he was being reckless. She’d been reckless
the moment she’d stepped into the water. She should have stopped long before
this. She should have stopped before they’d built a fire. Even before that. She
should have stopped before he’d stepped out of the lake, glistening and naked, a
woman’s most carnal fantasy. The point was, there’d been several opportunities
to stop and she’d heedlessly ploughed past them, her curiosity getting the
better of her by far.

Now her hands were tugging his quilt loose, her curiosity a
step closer to being satisfied. He’d pegged her aright the other day. She’d
watched too many stallions cover mares not to wonder about her own sexuality.
Why not solve that wonder with a man like Bram who knew what he was about?

The quilt slipped from his hips and he knelt down on the
blanket, gesturing for her to join him. ‘It’s time for those undergarments to
come off, Phaedra. Wherever did you find such things?’ His eyes roved her body
as she sat beside him.

‘I made them. Actually, my maid, Henny, and I did them.’
Suddenly self-conscious, Phaedra fingered the lace trim at the hem of the
chemise. ‘I needed something I could wear under breeches and shirts. The usual
chemise was too long. I took a pair of Edward’s old smalls, cut them down and
used them for a pattern and we bought more suitable fabric. It was Henny’s idea
to trim them.’ She was rambling. She couldn’t help it. Bram was tracing the tiny
lace on the smalls with his index finger, sending a delicious shot of heat to
her belly.

‘Silk is more suitable for stable work or for the wearer?’ Bram
laughed and stretched out beside her, propping himself on an elbow. He resumed
his intimate tracing, knowing full well what he was doing to her. ‘I will like
thinking of you roaming the stables in your breeches and silk smalls.’ His voice
was husky, his eyes dark with desire.

‘You most certainly will not!’ Phaedra protested in embarrassed
alarm.

Bram laughed down at her softly. ‘I most certainly will and
while I am thinking of that, you can be thinking of this.’

His hand slipped beneath the undergarment. Phaedra gasped
against the thrill and the shock of his hand against her most private parts. He
stroked her and all shock was forgotten in the wake of the sensations his touch
roused. Phaedra arched up against his hand, her body seeking more. As wondrous
as they were, the sensations were incomplete.

He sought her core with a finger and she shut her eyes against
the wave of pleasure sweeping over her like a tide, crashing and building
against the shores of her sensibilities until she could not bear the exquisite
pain of near-fulfilment any longer. She arched against his hand one final time,
Bram’s voice soft at her ear at the crucial moment. ‘Open your eyes, Phaedra.
Let me see your pleasure.’

She managed to oblige as the tide took her, gathering her up in
a whirlpool before she crashed, her eyes locked with Bram’s, his blue gaze her
only anchor in the sea of passion. She was breathing hard when she had enough
sense to take stock of such things. Bram’s hand was in her hair, pushing it out
of her face.

‘No wonder Aunt Wilhelmina says it’s a sin.’ She sighed. ‘No
one would get anything done if they thought they could do that all day. Kate
hinted at it, but...’ Phaedra shook her head. This was what Kate had tried to
tell her. No wonder words had failed her usually erudite sister. Words were
failing her now.

‘Amen.’ Bram smiled.

Phaedra glanced down the length of his body. His member jutted
hard and thick against his stomach. Inspiration struck. ‘Can I do that for you?’
She reached down to take him in her hand.

Bram sucked in his breath. She’d take that as a ‘yes.’ Phaedra
slid her hand the length of him in exploration, noting the heat, the long ridge,
the soft tip. She paused in wonderment at the new sensations.

‘Don’t stop, don’t stop now,’ Bram said through gritted teeth,
obviously frustrated by her distraction. Each word came out with great effort,
his mind and body engaged elsewhere. Then came the wonderful moment when she
felt him tense beneath her hand, his body gathering itself right before he
released.

A smug smile split her face. She’d done this to him, the master
of pleasure.

‘You seem mighty pleased with yourself.’ Bram chuckled.

‘As do you.’ Phaedra nestled closer, her head on his chest, her
hand tracing light patterns on his torso. ‘So,’ she began, wondering if her next
words would spoil the mood or enhance it. ‘If you don’t want to talk about your
family, perhaps you’ll tell me about yourself. Where do you come from, how is it
that you know horses so well?’

‘You’re not going to give up, are you, minx?’ Bram sighed
reluctantly into her hair. She could feel his hesitation in the altered rhythm
of his breathing.

‘It’s only fair,’ she said gently. ‘You know a lot about me but
I know hardly anything about you.’
Except that you give
pleasure beyond compare.
Maybe that was enough to know. Maybe she
didn’t need to know any more. It would make letting him go easier when the time
came. ‘Where did you work before you came to Castonbury? Surely that can’t be an
enormous secret. I’m starting to think you have something to hide.’

‘Most women like a little mystery in a man,’ Bram teased, but
Phaedra would not be dissuaded. She sat up and faced him.

‘I’m not most women,’ she said baldly. ‘You have nothing to
hide from me, nothing to be ashamed of.’

A shadow passed across his eyes ever so briefly Phaedra thought
she might have imagined it. ‘All right, I used to work at Nannerings, it’s a
riding school in London. My students were young dandies who fancied themselves
candidates of the
haute école
and young ladies who
thought it romantic to learn to ride there.’

‘I’m sure you had something to do with the last,’ Phaedra said
wryly. Every young lady in London would want to ride if he was their
instructor.

‘I was heavily sought after,’ Bram admitted obliquely, but it
told Phaedra enough. He was more than a groom, more than a stable hand with good
looks and rakish charm. She knew how Society worked. Nannerings would have been
a meeting place where the
ton
would encounter those
less
tonnish
, perhaps the sons of gentry who’d come
to make their fortunes in the big city.

There would have been invitations, a chance to briefly elevate
one’s social standing, especially if one was as charming as Bram. Hostesses
would find him quite the handsome novelty to parade around their musicales and
soirées. It explained why he danced so well even in a quilt and several other
things about him that didn’t fit, like his expensive boots, why he’d not been
afraid to take a swing at Sir Nathan Samuelson, why he’d not been afraid to
pursue a duke’s daughter. He didn’t see himself as their inferior. He saw
himself as a man who might claim to be their equal in some ways.

‘You’re staring,’ Bram broke in.

‘I’m
thinking
,’ Phaedra corrected.
‘It all makes sense now.’

‘What does?’ His eyes began to crinkle into the lines of
smile.

‘You do.’ She could be as oblique as him. Let him be tortured
by his own device for a bit.

Bram shook his head, grinning. ‘Minx. I won’t even ask because
you’re not going to tell me.’

‘Why tell you?’ Phaedra tossed her hair over one shoulder. ‘You
already know who you are.’ A man between, neither highborn nor low. She envied
him that limbo. It enabled him to craft his own life.

‘I’m the man whose going to have to swim back to shore.’ Bram
groaned. The fire had effectively died. It was their cue to end the interlude.
‘I don’t suppose you have a row boat stashed on the island?’

‘What would you do if I said yes?’ Phaedra rose, gripping her
blanket tight about her. There
was
a boat on the
other side if the weather and rot hadn’t gotten to it.

‘Why, honey, I’d love you for ever.’ He was only joking, of
course, and they both knew it. But still, the sentiment was nice. To be loved by
a man like Bram Basingstoke would be a worthy prize indeed. But a difficult one
to claim.

It would be folly to speak out loud the question looming in her
mind. They had done a most intimate act together. Did it mean anything to him or
was she just another of his Nannerings students? Was this nothing more to him
than an exercise in physical release, not all that different than his cold water
swim?

For her, it was impossible to walk away from this encounter, or
swim away as the case may be, and not be honest about the fact that he was
laying siege to her finer feelings whether he wanted to or not. Those were
questions she didn’t have the courage to ask, not now, for fear that she was not
ready for the answers.

The boat was where it was supposed to be and Bram rowed them
back to shore wrapped in a quilt. Phaedra hoped there was no one on shore to
mark their progress—two quilt-clad refugees from the island in an old wooden row
boat.

‘You know,’ Bram said, pulling the boat up to the shore. ‘We’ll
have to take everything back out there.’

‘When the weather’s warmer. Don’t forget, we’ll have to swim
back,’ Phaedra countered coolly, trying to pretend she wasn’t already thinking
of the next time they could be together.

‘Only if you want to wait that long.’ Bram gave her a naughty
wink. The dratted man had read her mind yet again. If today had decided
anything, it was that she was going to take Bram’s offer. How could she not when
it had only heightened her desire. There was more pleasure to be had and she
would have it with him.

Phaedra gathered up her clothes and began to dress, watching
Bram saunter over to his pile on the west side. Even at a distance, she enjoyed
watching him bend and flex his way into his breeches. But then suddenly the
bending and flexing stopped.

Bram dove into the tall reeds, parting them like Moses, beating
at them as if he were flushing out prey. Something, no,
someone
, emerged and ran, fleeing to a horse tethered in the
distance with Bram giving naked chase after him. Whoever it was had enough lead
on Bram to get away with a vault into the saddle and a vicious kick. The
intruder had fled.

Phaedra covered the distance to Bram at a run. ‘Are you all
right? What happened?’

Residual anger rolled off Bram in sheets while he dressed. ‘He
was here while we were out on the island. In short, the stranger saw us,’ Bram
said grimly, squatting once more. His hand traced a heavy boot print in the
sticky mud, perfect for holding an impression. ‘I suspect our visitor was
waiting for our return.’

Phaedra shaded her eyes and looked out to the island, a clearly
visible landmark in the not so far-off distance. It would not have been
difficult to see them if one really looked. This was bad news indeed. If the
stranger went to Giles with what he’d seen, it would be devastating. ‘Did you
get a look at him at all?’

Bram shook his head. ‘The horse was nondescript, brown with a
black mane.’ A bay, then. There were countless bays in Derbyshire. That was of
no help.

‘Hair colour?’ Phaedra quizzed. It would be a long shot. Most
riders would be wearing a hat.

‘Maybe red? I wasn’t paying attention.’

Phaedra froze.

‘You think you know who it was,’ Bram said grimly.

‘Hugh Webster.’ Phaedra sighed. The only redhead she knew of
was Captain Hugh Webster, the very worst person to be seen by, in her
estimation. ‘He’s been paying visits to Alicia.’ If he went to Giles with
this... The thought didn’t bear completing.

Bram read her mind. ‘I think he’ll come to us with an offer of
blackmail first once he regroups. It gets him nothing if he tells Giles except a
duel and that can hardly be what he wants. If he comes to us, he might think
he’ll make some money.’

‘I have nothing of value.’ Phaedra shrugged.

‘You have Warbourne,’ Bram said succinctly, ‘and you have
yourself.’ Then he paused, debating what to say next.

A cold pit was growing in Phaedra’s stomach. She wouldn’t give
up Warbourne. She’d rather have the whole world know she’d been alone with Bram
than give up the colt. ‘Go ahead, say it.’ If there was worse, she wanted to
know.

‘This piece of information might gain him more if he sold it to
someone else instead of coming back to us. Who is he friends with?’

Phaedra swallowed hard, the bigger risk becoming self-evident.
‘Sir Nathan Samuelson. Webster was with him in Buxton, if you recall.’

‘I don’t, I was busy elsewhere, punching his friend.’ Bram
offered her a mischievous grin that made current circumstances seem less
serious. ‘Perhaps the best option is to sit tight. We’ll see what he does and
not worry about it until then. There’s no sense jousting with ghosts.’

‘I think you mean windmills.’ Phaedra smiled in spite of her
misgivings.

Bram grinned. ‘Well, of course not windmills. They would hurt.
Those blades are fairly sharp, you know.’

* * *

Sir Nathan Samuelson was tired of being the Montagues’
doormat to rejection. It was about time the tides turned in his favour and it
seemed they had. The promise of a juicy titbit of news from Webster was welcome
indeed. He needed a wife, a rich one, and fast. He poured a drink for himself
and for Captain Webster. Webster sprawled in a chair near the fire.

‘That Basingstoke has overstepped himself this time.’ Webster
took the glass and gulped a healthy swallow.

‘Really? Do tell,’ Nathan replied. ‘There’s a man who needs to
come down a notch or two in the world. He doesn’t understand his place. He’s a
groom, a horse handler.
I
am a peer of the realm and
you’re a captain. We’re both far above him in station.’

Sir Nathan loved nothing so much as knowing his place in the
world was loftier than someone else’s. However, status only meant something if
everyone agreed to the rules. He didn’t care much for equality. It was a value
he had little use for. What was the point of it? If everyone had status, then no
one had status. Equality ruined everything.