How to Beguile a Beauty (15 page)

“A pity, as I would have liked to see the red-eyed nut-hatcher.”

“Red-eyed,
five-legged
nut-hatcher,” Tanner said. “The four-legged sort is still flourishing quite well with the hazelnuts.”

“I stand corrected, thank you. I suppose I'll simply have to make do with having you slay one of the double-tailed sort. You'll not want to risk warts, after all. Brave heroes, I'm convinced, should not be plagued by warts.”

“They would vastly take away from my consequence, I agree. And if the dragons have all gone in search of greener pastures? How then am I to impress you, fair maiden?”

“Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something,” she said, and then her eyes got rather wide and she looked away from him.

“Lydia?” he asked after giving her a few moments to compose herself. Clearly she was as unused to verbal sparring with a man as he was with a woman. They were two rather reserved people, actually, except for the fact that they were trying, perhaps too hard, to not be so very circumspect anymore. Staid. Safe. Careful.

“Yes?” she asked him, sitting very erect and proper on the sidesaddle.

“Have you brought along the boots?”

Did she know what he was asking her?

Slowly, she turned her head toward him and looked him full in the face. As if she'd come to some sort of decision. “You said I would be able to see the world from the top of one of the hills. How could I not bring the boots? I'm…I'm very much looking forward to everything you can show me.”

Tanner's mount danced a bit as he accidentally tugged on the reins. Either she knew what he'd been saying, or she was so innocent he should pack her up the moment they got to the posting inn and send her home to her brother.

“There are so many things I want to show you, Lydia,” he said, watching her closely.

“And so much I want to learn,” she replied softly, her long lashes coming down to hide the expression in her eyes.

So beautiful. So chaste and demure.

Was she telling him without telling him that she was ready for more? He believed she was. Hoped she was.

He had Rafe's blessing, along with his advice that a woman can weary of being treated like a fragile flower. If that hadn't been enough, there had also been the whispered words from Charlotte as he quit the study: “Tell her, Tanner. Show her. She's ready to wake from whatever dreams she's hidden in for so long. She longs to be a woman. Don't let anyone else be the one who wakes her. Not if you love her.”

Ahead of them, the coach began to slow as they approached a small hamlet and the Hoof and Claw. A fresh team and food and drink would greet them on their arrival. Along with the Baron Justin Wilde, currently prettying himself up in one of the bedchambers, cheerfully determined to make his friend's life as complicated as possible.

“At my invitation, no less,” Tanner muttered under his breath.

“Pardon me? Did you say something?” Lydia asked him as they turned their horses into the inn yard.

“I asked if you're hungry. Justin promised to order us a meal.”

“I was so busy saying goodbye to everyone that I completely forgot breakfast. Is that why he rode ahead? That was very thoughtful of him.”

“That's Justin, thoughtful. The man is positively brimming with thoughts all the time. Let me help you down.”

Tanner dismounted, handing the reins to the young ostler who'd run up to grab them, and walked around his horse to raise his arms to Lydia. She kicked her foot free of the stirrup as she lifted her other leg up and over the pommel before resting her hands on his shoulders.

Gripping her slim waist, he allowed her body to slowly slide down his, holding her still until the ostler had led their mounts away. He searched her eyes with his gaze, longing to tell her how beautiful she was, how just the sight of her smile could steal his breath from him, make him want to promise her not just the world but the sun and the stars. Instead he said quietly, solemnly, “I don't say things as well as Justin does, Lydia. But when I say something, I mean it.”

She lifted a hand to his bandaged cheek, cupping it gently for the space of a heartbeat. “I know. I'll remember.”

He felt foolish, even disloyal to one of his best friends. “I'd never hurt you.”

“I know that, too.” Her hand drifted back down to
her side. “They're probably wondering where we are. Shall we go inside?”

He nodded, then stepped back and offered her his arm.

J
ASMINE AND
L
YDIA
were given over into the capable hands of the innkeeper's wife and escorted to a room set aside for them, to refresh themselves, while Tanner was also shown to a chamber, perhaps the same one occupied by the baron.

“Oh, isn't this a lovely room?” Jasmine said as she headed straight for the pitcher of fresh water and the white earthenware washbasin. “Do you mind if I clean my hands first? You've been riding, and even with gloves, you're probably very dusty and smell of horse, and I wouldn't want to wash in dirty water.”

Since the girl was already pouring water into the basin, Lydia didn't bother to answer what would have seemed an insult from anyone even an inch more cunning than Jasmine Harburton. She only walked to the small mirror hanging above a dresser to check on the position of her hat, the rather small, silly one that mimicked a man's curly brimmed beaver, but was worn at a rather rakish angle atop her blond curls, angled down over her left eye. Perhaps it was the color she liked best, a perfect match to her emerald green riding
habit. Or, more probably, what made the hat so special was the fetching array of peacock plumes stuck to the back of it and standing in the air a good eight inches or more, and the half-veil that she'd pulled down once she was aboard Daisy, so that when she'd looked at Tanner, it was through the clever wisp of veil. She felt jaunty in this hat. Even sophisticated.

Full of false courage? Goodness, if a hat could make her feel this way, imagine how courageous men felt when they'd strapped on a sword. Were both women's hats and men's swords to be considered weapons? And what battle did men and women fight?

“Now there's a question I would
never
ask Charlotte, because she'd probably answer me,” she told her reflection quietly.

Still, she'd certainly have to blame something for her outlandish behavior out there on the road with Tanner, so it might as well be an inanimate object like a hat. Every time she'd opened her mouth a part of her had been astounded at the words she heard herself saying. And then she'd touched his cheek. Simply reached up and touched him. The gesture had seemed so right, so natural. He was so earnest, so sincere, telling her he would never hurt her.

And all when she was wishing he would grab her, crush her against him, give life to the feelings that were bubbling so close beneath her surface these past days. In the solitude of her rooms, lying in her bed, picturing his face…she had felt the same stirrings she'd experienced when she'd touched him moments
ago, heat burning through her glove, searing her. Searing him, as well?

She thought it might. No, she knew it did. He wanted her, as Nicole would term the thing. Carnally. He wanted her body. She'd be an utter fool not to know that, sense that.

She wanted his body. His mouth on hers. His hands on her body, teaching her, awakening her as she so longed to be awakened. She wanted to understand these longings, this surprising awareness of her body whenever he looked at her.

Lydia was not a fool. She knew she wasn't simply driving down to Malvern to see the sights, or to bear Jasmine and Justin company, make up the fourth in a casual game of whist after supper.

They'd be alone, she and Tanner, at some point. Even if that meant tramping the hills until he stopped being so honorable and careful and gentle with her. Even if that meant she had to
give him a nudge.

“All right, Lydia, your turn,” Jasmine trilled, already ruching up her skirts. “I'll just step behind this screen and…well, do you mind if I use it first?”

It took a moment for Lydia's mind to drag itself away from what were definitely uncommon thoughts for her and back to the mundane. “There's only the one?”

Jasmine's voice came from behind the screen. “Oh, no, look at that. There are two. How thoughtful. Now I don't feel so bad about racing ahead of you. But I had to go
so badly,
for at least the last half hour. I thought
about knocking on the panel and informing the coachman, but how does one say anything so intimate to a man? Certainly I couldn't do it. There,” she said, coming out from behind the screen and once more unerringly heading for the wash basin. When she was done, she picked up the second clean linen towel and used it before tossing it onto the floor, as she had the first one.

Looking at the two crumpled towels after she'd been behind the screen, and then lifting the pitcher, to learn that Jasmine has used up all the water, Lydia felt a little niggle somewhere inside her. A small but growing suspicion that possibly Jasmine wasn't entirely the sweet, silly widget she appeared. For all her prattling and confessions of nervousness, she certainly did seem able to plow forward and get exactly what she wanted.

Like the front-facing coach seat, which she hadn't offered to share until Lydia had expressly asked her to move her skirts (spread from side-to-side), so that she could ride facing the horses, as well. And then there was the matter of the small basket of sugared rolls Tanner had ordered packed and placed in the coach for the two of them. Or there had been. When Lydia had decided to try one, as the sweet smell lingered inside the closed coach, it was to find that Jasmine had already eaten them all on the way to Grosvenor Square. Yes, she'd apologized quite prettily, saying she was such a selfish pig and so ashamed—but the sugared rolls were still gone, weren't they?

Now there were the towels, and the clean water, and even the chamber pot, if there had been just one.

She mentally scolded herself for thinking badly of a young woman who could be considered rather thoughtless and even ill-mannered, but who could certainly not be termed selfish. Although she did, one way or another, always seem to get what she wanted, didn't she? Even as she protested she didn't want any of it.

Like a Season in London.

Like all her pretty gowns.

Like the Malvern jewels she wore around her neck.

Like Tanner?

Picking up one of the towels and taking up the soap, Lydia looked over her shoulder and said conversationally, “You must be so anxious to get to Malvern.”

“I must?” Jasmine frowned prettily as she patted at her curls, but then smiled. “Oh, yes. I am so much more comfortable in the country. Tanner is a dear to give me this respite from all of the hustle and bustle.”

“I meant you must be anxious to see…your friend.”

“How did you—oh!” Jasmine lowered her eyelids, and Lydia could actually watch the progress of a flattering blush rushing into her cheeks. “Oh. You mean Br—Bruce. No, I cannot think of him,” she declared at last, dramatically. “I must not.”

Had the girl been holding her breath, forcing color into her cheeks? No, that was ridiculous.
She
was being ridiculous, Lydia told herself.

“That's his name? Bruce?”

Jasmine nodded empathetically, biting her bottom
lip while bright tears gathered in her eyes. “I'd really rather not say.”

All right, that was more than enough! She hadn't lived with Nicole for over eighteen years without being able to tell when she was being put on. And Jasmine wasn't half so accomplished in the art of deception as was Lydia's twin.

She dried her hands on the small dry spot left on the towel, and then folded it and laid it beside the basin. “Tell me about him, please. Tell me about Bruce. For instance, does he have a last name?”

“I didn't know you could be so mean, Lydia, to force me to—very well, if I must. It's Beattie. Bruce Beattie. Oh, but it makes me so sad to speak of him.”

Force yourself,
Lydia thought meanly, but only said, “Is he a laborer on the Malvern estate? Is that how you met him?”

Jasmine shook her head. “He…he's the schoolmaster in Greater Malvern, which is very close by our small estate, and Tanner's, of course. We…we met at church.”

“A schoolmaster? That's a very respectable occupation.”

Jasmine sighed piteously. “Not when your father dreams of seeing his only child made a duchess. But I've told you all of that.”

“The deathbed request, yes. I remember. You have much to be sad about, Jasmine,” Lydia said, pulling out pins in preparation of taking off her hat, even though it hadn't moved a bit since Sarah had first pinned it to her curls. But she wished to be alone with her thoughts for
a few minutes and was even willing to sacrifice the hat to that purpose. “And I'll wager that my insensitive questions have quite robbed you of your appetite.”
The questions, and a full basket of sugared rolls.

“I suppose so. But I can't allow myself the indulgence of turning maudlin. Tanner would notice—he always does—and would ask questions of his own. I will have to force myself to eat. Will you soon be ready to go downstairs?”

Lydia had two pins clamped between her teeth, but managed to tell Jasmine to go on without her, and inform the gentlemen that she'd be down directly.

Once alone in the room, her gaze went to the reticule Jasmine had left lying on the bed along with her gloves and bonnet.

No. She wouldn't do it. She wasn't a snoop. In addition, she was thinking unlovely things about a girl whose only sin was a bit of thoughtlessness. Along with a penchant for melodrama…and sugared rolls.

She left her hat on the dresser and slowly approached the bed, clasping and unclasping her hands, her palms itching to pick up the reticule, pull open its drawstring closing, and take a peek inside. Ladies often carried some of their most favorite keepsakes with them at all times. Didn't she still have the piece of blue ribbon pinned inside her own reticule?

Nicole would do it. In a heartbeat, Nicole would do it. If she wanted to know something, she never stopped to consider if the thing was right or wrong. It would only, to Nicole, be
necessary.

“Oh, the devil with it,” she breathed at last, tossing good manners to one side and snatching up the reticule.

The first thing she saw when she looked inside was a single sugared roll. No wonder she'd been able to smell the rolls long after they were gone. Because they hadn't all been gone, had they?

All reluctance to snoop deserted Lydia at the sight of that sugared roll. With narrowed eyelids and new determination she pushed her hand past it to see a lace-edged handkerchief, a small mirror, three silver coins, and a much-folded piece of paper.

It was the paper she withdrew and unfolded as she walked to the window and the sunlight. “What fine penmanship, just as a schoolmaster should have,” she said, her voice sounding loud in her own ears. And then she began to read…

My beloved,

As I lay here in my lonely prison, the intoxicating taste and sweet musky scent of you still mocking me, our hungers only momentarily slaked, my loins grow taut with desire, already anticipating our next passionate coupling—

Lydia gasped and quickly closed her eyes, whether at the meaning of the words or the overblown ridiculous nature of them she didn't know. She should stop reading right now, right this very moment.

Really. She should.

—
I wonder if, even now, you know how securely you hold my heart, as well as my body. We will be together soon, forever. No more clandestine meetings, no more
hurried loving fraught with the danger of discovery. I weep when I must leave you, I berate myself for a coward and a fool each moment we are apart. Soon, sweet angel, soon. I promise you I shall l find a way. We will fly these damp shores forever, you and I, and you will be my queen in Paris for all of our days.

Your beloved, always,

The note was signed simply with a large, flowering letter B.

Lydia noticed that another line followed that signature.
P.S. Remember what you promised. The key to our future, my darling.

The request made no sense, and Lydia dismissed it as unimportant when measured against the rest of the nonsense she'd just read. She folded the letter once more, careful to make use of the same creases, and with shaking fingers replaced it in the reticule.

Shame on Bruce Beattie! Taking advantage of a naïve young girl, making her promises he couldn't keep, all while stealing her virginity from her, knowing full well that her father would never allow the marriage.

She wished she hadn't succumbed to her curiosity, even forgave Jasmine the sugared roll, and offered up a quick, silent prayer that Mr. Beattie's words were not now indelibly imprinted on her brain for all time.

There was a knock at the door that made Lydia nearly jump out of her riding boots, followed by Tanner's voice asking her if she and Jasmine were ready to go downstairs.

She took one last peek in the mirror, hoping she
didn't look as guilty as she felt, saw that her curls were mussed, and decided she didn't care. She took a deep, steadying breath and then quickly opened the door. “Tanner. Hello. Jasmine has already gone. I…I had some difficulty with my hat.”

He reached out and touched the loose corkscrew curl that had managed to fall forward on her forehead. “Now I'm torn. Do I like the veil best, or this fetching curl?”

She was still too overset thanks to her snooping to take much notice of his flattery. “Tanner, don't tease,” she said, pushing the curl back in place. “Shall we go down?”

Lydia first saw Baron Justin Wilde lounging at his ease, one shoulder propped against the doorway to the private dining room inside the small inn, appearing fresh, devilishly handsome, and every inch the epitome of fashion in his impeccable attire. And, goodness, but didn't he know it.

He pushed himself upright and made a show of pulling his watch from his waistcoat pocket. Flipping open its ornate golden lid, he then raised his eyebrows as he checked the hour. “It may be time to reconsider your horseflesh, Tanner. I've been waiting on your arrival this past half hour or more. But it was worth the wait to have the pleasure of your company again, fairest Lydia.”