Whisper To Me of Love (15 page)

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Authors: Shirlee Busbee

BOOK: Whisper To Me of Love
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Walking with Zachary to the door, Royce asked, “Are you seeing them this morning?”
“Oh, yes! We are going for a ride in Hyde Park.” Zachary added casually, “Perhaps one day next week you and some of your friends would care to come riding with us?”
“Excellent idea!” Royce agreed cordially. “I'll speak to George and some of the others about it.”
They parted amicably, each going his separate way. Royce returned to his bedroom to finish dressing, and catching sight of the juice-stained bed, an odd smile curved his mouth. He would say one thing for the advent of the little pickpocket into his household—he wasn't bored!
During the next few days, there were no more confrontations between Royce and Pip, although he saw her now and then as she flitted busily about the house doing various chores. On more than one occasion, to his growing irritation, he found his gaze drawn irresistibly in her direction. Through half-shuttered eyes, he would watch as she worked, and he would marvel again at the smooth alabaster skin and the strikingly lovely features. To his annoyance, inevitably his gaze would slide consideringly over the gentle thrust of her bosom and the slimness of her waist and hips under the old gingham gown, and the indecent thoughts that filled his mind during those times disturbed him and made his lips twist with derision. It wasn't, he reminded himself sardonically, as if his carnal needs were not being taken care of frequently and most enjoyably! But despite Della's opulent charms and Heather's bold pursuit of him, and his own best intentions, whenever Pip was in his vicinity, invariably he was conscious of decidedly
dis
honorable speculation about her.
If it weren't for her amazing resemblance to the Earl (he hadn't quite decided how he was going to make use of
that!
) and the promise he'd made that she could remain here in order to escape the one-eyed man, he mused savagely one morning as he was preparing to join some friends at Manton's Shooting Gallery, he'd toss her out into the streets on that delectable little derriere of hers and put an end to this increasing fascination she seemed to hold for him! Angrily pulling on his fastidiously polished black boots, ignoring the outraged shriek from his valet, Spurling, he was beginning to wonder if this damned one-eyed man even existed. Certainly there had been no sign of him! Not that he gave a bloody hell about that supposedly villainous creature—the way he was feeling right now, he'd welcome the chance to vent some of his frustration, and a bruising fight with a master criminal would be just the thing!
To his utter fury, Pip entered his bedchamber just then, a freshly ironed stack of cravats over her arm, and Royce swore softly at the sudden leap of his pulse. Cursing his earlier concurrence with Chambers's suggestion that because Pip was so inept in the kitchen, she be assigned to Hazel to help with the cleaning and running of various errands throughout the house, Royce glared at her. If she'd just stay out of his sight!
Oblivious to his valet's openmouthed stare, antagonism fairly radiating from him, he said rather harshly, “I ordered those cloths twenty minutes ago. What the devil took you so long?”
Pip had done her best to keep out of his way these past few days—his powerful presence unsettled her and roused emotions that made her toss and turn restlessly at night on her narrow little bed. Unfortunately it
was
his house, and some contact with him had been unavoidable, but those moments when she had to be in the same room with him were fraught with a prickly awareness of that long, lean body and the bright, hooded gaze that followed her every movement. No words would pass between them, and she would keep her features deliberately expressionless as she worked swiftly, wanting desperately to get away from him, the knowledge that he watched her making her resentful and yet tremble and feel strangely breathless.
She had tried very hard to keep a civil tongue lately, and though she was embarrassed at Spurling's presence, Royce's unfair attitude weakened her restraint. “Well,
excuuuse
me, guvnor!” she drawled brashly. “If you bloody well wanted them in such a hurry, perhaps your lordship could have stirred himself to come and get them!”
Royce's mouth tightened, but as he stared down into her flushed, angry features, the expressive gray eyes and the haughty tilt to the little nose, he felt his fury ebb and laughter rise up inside of him. As a servant, she was proving to be singularly impertinent! But there was something about her that, in spite of himself, he found vastly appealing. She needed to be taught a lesson, though, he decided with a glint in his eyes, one he was eventually going to enjoy teaching her, about the foolhardiness of sassing one's employer! But willing to let her escape unscathed this time, he took the cravats from her arm. “Remind me,” he murmured dryly as he turned away, “to beat you someday, will you? Now, please leave; you've annoyed me enough for one day.”
Not certain whether she was relieved or angry at his dismissal, Pip glared at his broad back and, to poor Spurling's utter shock, stuck out her tongue at Royce. What she wouldn't give to yank that tawny hair from his arrogant head!
Royce smiled when he heard the door slam forcefully behind her. Little termagant! It might be a pleasure to tame her to his hand.
He frowned at that thought and deliberately dismissed her from his mind. The morning at Manton's Shooting Gallery passed pleasantly, and Royce was pleased to see that the idle weeks in London had done nothing to interfere with his unerring aim. He parted from his friends a few hours later and was strolling toward the house on Hanover Square when Heather Cresswell accosted him.
She was driving a high-perch phaeton pulled by a pair of magnificent high-stepping black geldings. Smiling up at her, Royce admitted that she made an attractive sight with her guinea gold curls peeking out from under the rakishly tilted dark green hat, and her lush figure well displayed in a formfitting black riding habit trimmed in the same green color as her hat. He had sent her an enormous basket of fragrant yellow roses and a polite note the morning after they had made love, but he had not seen her since that night.
Holding the reins easily in her black-gloved hands, she asked archly, “Would you like a ride? Or are you one of those men who don't trust women to drive as well as they do?”
Grinning, Royce shook his head and lithely swung up into the place beside her. “When they are as beautiful as you, I find that it really doesn't matter,” he murmured lightly.
She tipped her head at his compliment and set her horses in motion. They drove in silence for a moment and then Heather shot him an avid glance and, forgetting all her plans to lure him further into her web, admitted petulantly, “I expected to see you before this—didn't the night we shared mean anything to you? Where have you been?”
Royce looked at her thoughtfully. While he had been paying lazy court to her, her reputation was not unknown to him—the widow Cresswell was discreet with her lovers, but she had by no means remained chaste since her husband's untimely death. They had made each other no promises, and her sudden possessiveness grated on him. Picking his words with care, he replied, “I apologize if you feel neglected, but I wasn't aware that the night we spent together constituted more than it was—a very pleasurable interlude for both of us.”
Suddenly aware that shrewishness would gain her nothing, Heather cunningly changed her tactics. Royce Manchester was everything she had ever wanted in a man, and she was determined to be his wife. Her green eyes narrowed calculatingly as she stared ahead. He had wanted her that night they had made love, she thought slowly, and never doubting her allure, she was positive that she could make him want her again.... If she could arrange for them to be caught in a compromising position ... As she deliberately let one of her hands slide down to his muscled thigh, a sensual smile curved her full mouth. Boldly she explored the hard flesh beneath her fingers, and glancing over at him, she said breathlessly, “I've missed you, darling. I had hoped that you would come to me again.”
“I think,” Royce drawled coolly as he politely removed her fingers from his thigh, “that you would do well to keep your hands on the reins.”
“Oh, pooh,” she protested with a pout, “never tell me that you are a prude.”
Royce almost smiled. Prudishness was not one of his failings! But Heather's actions faintly repelled him, and he was startled to find himself thinking of Pip and her audacious behavior. At least, he admitted cynically to himself, Pip's outrageous manner toward him was refreshing—if infuriating.
With an effort, he switched his wayward attention back to the woman at his side, and sending Heather a mocking glance, he murmured, “Far be it for me to tell a beautiful female anything!”
Wanting to end the conversation, Royce fortuitously caught sight of one of the most notorious gossips in London and swiftly seized the opportunity. Smiling down at Heather, he said, “But I would suggest that you acknowledge Lady Belmont's wave, unless you want tongues to wag faster than they are already.”
Heather's mouth tightened at the sight of the dowdy female who was waving at them. Cutting Lady Belmont was not to be condoned, and sighing for the lost opportunity, Heather pulled her horses over and smiled sunnily at the older woman. Quite how it happened, she was never certain, but in the course of the next few moments, Royce vacated the vehicle and she found herself driving off with Lady Belmont at her side!
Having escaped Heather's clutches, Royce wandered home in search of solitude. He met Zachary in the hallway, just as his cousin was on his way out again. Recalling their earlier conversation, he said, “I spoke with George at Manton's this morning, and if it is convenient with you, we shall go riding on Tuesday in Hyde Park.”
Zachary readily agreed to the date and disappeared out the front door. Feeling strangely out of sorts, Royce walked into the library, thinking that he might while away a few hours examining some of the fine books that lined the walls.
Unenthusiastically his gaze wandered around the pleasant room, stopping abruptly when he caught sight of a black, curly head peeking above the back of one of the red leather chairs that were scattered about the long room. Having a fair idea of who those curls belonged to, Royce walked over to the secluded corner where Pip sat reading.
Totally absorbed in a novel, Pip didn't hear his soft-footed approach. It was apparent she had been sent in here to dust. A feather duster lay forlornly against the chair in which she sat; several dust rags and a container of lemon-scented beeswax were scattered along the shelf near her head.
She had no idea that he was in the room until Royce suddenly reached across and plucked the book from her hands. She gasped in surprise, then, seeing who it was, she scrambled to her feet. Her face a picture of vexation and guilt, she muttered, “Bloody eyes! I thought you had left the house! You're not supposed to be here!”
Tamping down an urge to laugh, Royce drawled mockingly, “I wasn't aware that you were in charge of my social calendar.” Not giving her a chance to answer, he looked at the book in his hand. “Is this some new duty that has been assigned to you? Reading Jane Austen?”
Pip flushed, wishing that it had been anyone else who had caught her and that the sight of him didn't cause her pulse to leap in the most peculiar manner. “You know very well it isn't!” she said defiantly.
Royce stared at her, one hawkish brow rising at her tone of voice. Cursing her unruly tongue, Pip looked away, uneasily conscious that she was in the wrong. She owed him a great deal, and he had been
extremely
forbearing, she admitted grudgingly. Grimly Pip brought her volatile emotions under control. “Chambers sent me in here to dust and ...” A look of wonder crossed her expressive face. “I've never seen so many books, and I just ...” She shrugged. “I got to looking at them and before I knew it, I was thoroughly engrossed.” She flashed him a look from beneath her lashes, and despite her best intentions, asked impudently, “Are you going to beat me?”
Her sheer bravado dragged a reluctant laugh from Royce, and shaking his tawny head, he admitted, “I probably should, but I won't ... this time!” A glint entered his golden eyes and he added dryly, “When you do finally make me lose my temper, I suspect the beating I shall give you will ensure that you don't sit for a week!”
The gray eyes flashing dangerously, she replied tightly, “And do you think that you shall escape unscathed if you lay a hand on me?”
Royce looked at her, at the tempting rosy mouth and the bosom heaving beneath her gown, and something powerful and elemental surged fiercely through him. Incredulously he realized that he would very much like to lay his hands on her, but not in anger... . A sensual smile curved his mouth. No. Not in anger. Displeased with the direction of his thoughts, he sought a way to diffuse the situation, and glancing down at the book in his hands, he asked lightly, “Do you like to read?”
Not quite trusting the expression in his golden eyes, Pip answered cautiously, “I don't know—a pickpocket usually doesn't have time for such entertainments.”
“But then, how many pickpockets do you know who know how to read?” Royce asked teasingly. “I doubt reading is a requirement for deft little fingers!”

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