Authors: Lavinia Kent
Had her thoughts been that clear? She really had only meant to kiss the man.
She tried to collect herself. “There you go, trying to control me. I don’t see that this is any way to persuade me that I wish to wed you and it certainly is not helping me find a husband.” She was just about sputtering with emotion by the end of the sentence. If she focused on anger she might be able to put aside the other feelings that were raging through her body. Yes, focus on anger—whether real or not.
“I do apologize. You are correct. I must be more helpful with your quest. And I promise that should you wed another man I will not kill him for what you do within your marital bed. As for as my own suit, however, I do believe I should be honest about what you will get with me as your husband, and if you do not like it you should stop flushing in such a becoming manner when I give any type of command.”
And she felt the flush rise upon her cheeks yet again. What was it about the man? She’d never responded to anyone else in such a manner. “I am in need of refreshment. Fetch me some lemonade.”
“Now who’s trying to take command?” He laughed and for a moment she was afraid he would pat her head. “I will allow it—for now. You do look as if you could use a cooling drink. Feeling a little hot and bothered, are you? Perhaps that is the reason for your temper. Have you not enjoyed your punishment?”
She would not deign to answer that. “I am waiting for my drink.”
He laughed again and then with a slight bow of the head and a “Yes, my lady” turned to get the drink.
It was her chance. Despite his protestations of wishing to help her, it was becoming very clear that she would never find a husband while he hovered about. Keeping her eyes on him, she sidestepped backward behind a group of older matrons and then slipped out into the hall. She paused then. The choices available were limited—the gardens, the retiring room, or, if she were truly daring, the gentlemen’s card room. The thought caused her lips to quiver. Such thoughts were exactly how she had gotten into this situation.
The ladies’ retiring room offered respite, but she might be trapped there. The gardens were not a choice. She was not risking a repeat of her past two garden experiences. But where did that leave her? The library? She almost laughed at the thought. There might be some unused parlor left empty, but that would hardly help her find a potential husband and the more she argued with Duldon the more determined she became to prove he was not her only choice.
Chapter Twelve
She’d slipped from his sight again. Damn the girl. Duldon knew Bliss was avoiding him on purpose. He’d known it when he left to fetch her lemonade, but he’d gone anyway. Her need for some control in her life was clear, and he had no desire to hinder her—not completely, or at least only in certain circumstances. The image of her spread across the wide bed at Ruby’s, hands and feet constrained, filled his mind. He shook his head to clear it of images of pale velvet skin and black silk bonds.
He looked again about the ballroom. Where was she?
It had not occurred to him that she’d actually manage to hide. He stared out into the dark gardens and wondered. He’d done a quick stroll through, and only disturbed one couple, but unless Bliss was hiding under a bush or a bench she was not there. The Milburnes’ gardens were not large and offered few hidden spots. He doubted it would be possible to do more than sneak a quick kiss without being disturbed.
So where was she? This was a much smaller affair, and house, than the Evanstons’, and there weren’t a lot of choices.
Turning, and giving one last gaze out over the shadows and lanterns that displayed the rich greens and delicate night blooms, he strode back to the ballroom. Bliss had been wearing yellow, and not the color of sunflowers or butter, but a yellow that screamed its very existence. It should have been impossible to miss. There was one young woman dressed in a light primrose yellow and one dressed in a shade of deep sunshine. Nowhere, however, was there a yellow that could mark only a child’s toy or a fishing bobber.
Nodding greetings to the Millers and the Bobsons, he hurried past before he could be asked for advice on the latest bills in parliament or on the new corn crops that were supposed to weather drought. Slipping up the stairs, he paused at the door leading to the ladies’ retiring room. It would be unlike Bliss to cower away from him, but over these last days he’d learned that it was very like Bliss to act unlike herself, and if that wasn’t a contradiction he didn’t know what was.
Granted, she had him acting very unlike himself. He’d always been happy to wait for women to come to him, so why was he scenting after her like a hound on the hunt? Where was the emotional control he’d always had before?
Miss Swilp walked out of the retiring room and blushed slightly to be seen exiting the chamber.
“Is Miss Danser in there? Her brother is looking for her,” he said.
Miss Swilp turned her nose up slightly. “If you mean Miss Bliss Danser, I do not believe she is. I have not seen her since early in the evening and in a gown of that color it would be hard to miss.” It was impossible to mistake her negative tone. “I was not aware that Swanston was here this evening. If you would like help finding her I am happy to oblige. We have been friends for years and I am sure I know her favorite places. Have you tried the library? She does like books. Or what of the gardens, perhaps she is hiding in the corner. It can be difficult if no one asks you to dance. I do know that she has not been herself these last days, always looking secretive. It could be that she has a hidden admirer, but it is more likely that she is in the doldrums because your aunt, Lady Perse, has not asked her to tea. It is always hard when those who expect everything don’t get what they want, don’t you agree?” Miss Swilp nodded as if taking his answer for granted and continued. “I would expect we will find her trying to trap a husband. It is high time that she found a spouse, and even though she is a duke’s daughter no one seems to be asking for her. Should we start looking in the cupboards?”
He certainly didn’t know where else to look, but the thought of wandering the house peering into pantries with Miss Swilp on his arm was not a welcome one, though he was enough of a gentleman that he could only respond with utmost politeness. And given the grip the woman had taken on him he doubted he could dislodge her without physical force. It occurred to him that if she considered Bliss old enough that she needed to be trapping a husband she might put herself in the same category. The thought of being trapped into matrimony with Miss Swilp caused him to shudder. He’d barely survived a five-minute conversation with her earlier in the evening. The thought of a lifetime was quite unbearable.
Leading him about like a trained pup, Miss Swilp approached a door under a back stair and prepared to swing it open. He could only close his eyes and hope they were not about to interrupt some tired chambermaid seeking a moment’s peace.
Already he was plotting how to leave Miss Swilp behind. He did not want company when he found Bliss. Perhaps a few kind words now would allow him to depart without a fuss in a few moments. He turned to her, a kind smile upon his face.
—
Bliss leaned back against the pantry wall and wondered how she’d gotten herself into this situation. When Lord Temple had approached her and asked if she’d like to go examine a particularly fine Rembrandt she’d taken him at his word. She’d had many such artistic tours over the years and the greatest risk was always tedium. It was amazing how many Elizabethan ladies looked exactly the same in their high collars and endless rows of long pearls. Her own pearls were probably from that period. God, how she hated the things. Her father was always prattling on about how they were an additional dowry all by themselves. He was right that the hideous things were probably worth the price of a grand estate, but that would only make them valuable if someone wanted to buy them and she’d yet to hear of anyone wanting to trade an estate for four yards of baubles. Objectively they might be beautiful, but every time she saw them she remembered her mother wearing them, her fingers weaving them into patterns and knots. They’d been the perfect plaything for the duchess, a woman unable to stay still for even a moment.
They should have been a fond memory, but every time Bliss wore them she remembered wanting her mother, needing her mother, and being given a necklace of beautiful beads instead. No necklace, not matter how precious, could ever replace what she had lost.
A creak sounded in the hallway outside the pantry, forcing Bliss back to the present moment. It was probably only a footman looking for more candles or a maid seeking more napkins. It couldn’t be Lord Temple. Surely he’d never think to look for her here. She must keep her thoughts in the here and now, no matter how tempting it was to escape by letting them wander to other matters, not that thinking of her mother lying in the casket was exactly escape.
Another creak. Another step. And then whoever it was passed by.
Bliss let out a long, but very quiet, sigh of relief.
Against her will the sensation of Lord Temple’s fingers slipping into her bodice came to her. She’d been wrong. His fingers were not snakes. They were eels. Her breasts still felt as if they’d been tracked in slime. It might be unfair. She knew that the man had been perfectly clean, but she could not escape the sensation.
She’d promised herself she’d give him a chance—and she had. She’d followed him patiently through the upstairs halls of the house and had not even demurred when he’d led her into the dark bedchamber. It was unusual, but not unheard of, for family paintings to be hidden away in back corners. She’d even heard of one man who kept a Titian in the privy chamber because it helped him relax his bowels. It was strange that no candles were burning and that no one else was around. Normally by this point in the evening guests were looking for any chance to wander and escape the crowd. Even looking at the pictures of a lord’s great-great-aunt became a form of entertainment.
No, she’d not been suspicious at all. She’d been wishing Lord Temple would speak about something besides breeding his newest stallion and the racer that didn’t like whips, but she’d been proud of herself for remaining open-minded. The man surely did not realize he was a bore on the subject—and saying things more than slightly unfit for a lady’s ear. Swanston would have boxed his ears if he’d heard him discussing how the stallion had pounded into the quivering mare and how she’d squealed. Bliss could not even imagine Duldon’s reaction.
And the whips? Why did the man think she wanted to discuss whips?
She’d worked hard to change the flow of the conversation. If they could simply discuss world affairs or the latest gallery exhibit then the conversation would turn about. Lord Temple must be interested in art if he wanted to traipse up three flights of stairs to stare at paintings. There must be something they could talk about.
And if that didn’t work perhaps she’d try kissing him. She’d meant it when she told Duldon that she needed to broaden her horizons. How was she to know if kissing him was exceptional when she had so little to compare? Lord Temple would not have been her first choice for kissing, but he was not a bad choice. If she were to read a written description of him she’d find him quite pleasant. He fit her criteria in almost every respect. He did have a title, but then so did Duldon. It would be hard for her to find a suitable man who did not.
Yes, she’d been more than willing to kiss him—only then he’d grabbed her. He’d simply grabbed her. No sweet meaningful looks. No poetic words. No statement of how desirable she was and that she was the one he’d been looking for all his life. He’d simply grabbed her. He’d come at her from behind, wrapped his strong arms about her, and his fingers had gone straight down her bodice, pinching at her nipples like cherries in a bowl, the heavy odor of brandy on his breath hinting that he’d had more than enough to drink.
She shuddered again at the thought. She wasn’t clear why his touch had been so different from Duldon’s, but it had.
Another step in the hallway. She’d have to plan her escape soon. If she could just make it back to the ballroom she’d be safe.
“Are you hiding in here, my sweet Bliss?” Lord Temple’s voice crept about the room. She hunched deeper into the shadows.
The crunch of his feet moved closer. “I do enjoy a good game, but this has gone on long enough. You’ve shown the proper resistance, now come and claim your reward. I promise you’ll be well pleased. I know all about you. I know just what you like and I am ready to try playing.”
She doubted that. How could Lord Temple possibly know what she liked? She didn’t even know what she liked. He’d probably heard rumors about her. There were always rumors about her. Rumors that she was fast, that she was willing to try anything. And while she might think being willing to try anything meant riding with no saddle or walking along the edge of a high balustrade, men always seemed to think it meant something else.
Hopefully the rumor was not a new one. She’d been busy enough with the old ones. Her true friends knew she’d kissed only four boys in her life, and that was including Duldon. Her heart filled with gratitude that she had not included Lord Temple in that number. If he’d only waited a few more moments she might have.
“Come on, my pretty thing. If you don’t come out soon we won’t have time to play tonight and my great hammer is more than ready for you.”
Pretending she did not know what that meant seemed by far the wisest course. How much lower into the shadows could she sink? And how long would it be before some servant came searching for more glasses or table linens?
“Damn you, girl. Don’t make me wait. I am not a man known for patience.”
Given that he’d moved from “my pretty thing” to “damn you, girl” in less than a minute she supposed that was true. Luckily this time his voice had sounded slightly more distant.
The sound of a door swinging shut and his next comment was so muffled she could not make out more than “bloody ass.” It was unclear whether he was calling her a bloody ass or saying he would give her a bloody ass. In neither case did she feel the need to follow him.