How to Live Indecently (3 page)

No, she would not think on such things. Tonight wasn’t for those regrets. Jamie was right. It was best there were no last names between them for reasons other than the obvious. She knelt to look into the case more closely. “I wonder what these jars were for? Perfumes? Maybe they were part of an ancient lady’s toilette.”

“I assure you they were for nothing quite that lovely.” Jamie chuckled.

“What were they used for?” Daphne pressed with a teasing tilt of her head. “You can’t simply leave it at that.”

“They were used for storing internal organs after mummification. Each of the stoppers represents one of the sons of the god Horus.”

Daphne wrinkled her nose and drew back her hand in reflex. “I suppose I deserved that.”

“You did ask.” Jamie laughed and steered them toward the next chamber. She was glad to see the room was full of jewelry, beautiful collars of gold and lapis lazuli.

“How is it that you’re interested in ancient Egypt? Are you a historian?” Daphne asked in an attempt to learn a little more about her escort.

“An amateur historian only.” He shrugged as if his knowledge was of no significant import. “My primary interest is the Renaissance, although I’ve spent a good deal of time on the local histories of some villages in Kent. The cut of this gold collar is exceptionally well crafted.” He hurried on, no doubt trying to cover the slip, fearing he might have said too much, given too much of a hint as to where he was from.

A mannered, learned gentleman from Kent who wore exquisitely tailored clothes and had friends who had access to expensive rigs. No wonder he didn’t want any last names.

Daphne let the slip go by without comment.

She was content to let him lead her through the exhibit, room by room, highlighting pieces as they went. He was an apt guide and Daphne thought she could have wandered the Egyptian Hall all night with him beside her, his hand at her back, his voice low at her ear, his dissertation for her alone. He smelled of citrus and lemon, sharp and tangy and utterly stimulating.

“What an intriguing item,” Daphne exclaimed, stopping near a case at the end of the exhibit. The item in question looked like a beaded necklace with a crescent collarlike piece at one end and a pestle-style piece at the other. “What is it?”

“Do you truly want to know?” Jamie asked with the faintest hint of a challenge. “Remember the canopic jars?” He lifted a dark brow in mock caution.

It’s clearly not used for storing organs.” She wanted to know. Jamie’s mouth fought back a smile that belied his teasing censure and suddenly she knew. “It’s wicked, isn’t it? And the other items in the case? Are they wicked too?”

“Perhaps it’s too wicked for a fine English rose like yourself.” Jamie murmured, putting on a credible show of prevaricating.

“Never.” Daphne drew herself up and squared her shoulders with a toss of her head. “Tell me. I dare you.”

* * *

She was irresistible, all curves and golden curls as she issued her challenge. He didn’t so much want to tell her as show her. But either option was definitely inappropriate. He knew a true gentleman would not tell her. A gentleman didn’t discuss such things with a lady, and his companion was definitely a lady; a sheltered one at that in spite of her innate penchant for boldness. But he was not a true gentleman for all his outer trappings to the contrary and that made all the difference. True gentlemen were boring. He’d met them at his clubs.

He would tell her and she would be shocked but perhaps deliciously so.

His eyes lingered on the pale rose of her lips, guardians of that most kissable mouth. The exhibit would be closing soon, the museum was all theirs. “If I tell you, you’ll have to pay a forfeit, such knowledge does not come without a price.”

Her white teeth nibbled her bottom lip as she contemplated the offer, but her sharp eyes knew exactly what he was asking for. “All right, a kiss then.” she conceded with all the hauteur of a queen granting favors to a subject, although he noted the pulse at the base of her neck beat in rapid excitement at their game. She was not immune.

“Just one?”

“Very well. One kiss for each item.”

Two kisses. That was much better.

“It’s a menat, a fertility piece, and rather phallic in design.”

“That’s quite a vocabulary you have,” Daphne replied dryly, her comment proof that the conversation had already gone too far.

“Oxford.”

She tossed him a doubtful look. “I had no idea how interesting college could be.”

“Professors have to get all those randy young bucks to class somehow.” Jamie flashed her a brief grin and went on. “You’ll note how the pestle fits perfectly inside the space left by the U-shaped crescent?” Jamie felt his body rise in response to the images such words conjured up. “The second item in the case is a book of Egyptian tantras, a guide to sexual pleasure.”

Beside him, she blushed hotly, a small “oh” forming on her delectable mouth. The “oh” was most telling. Although she’d blushed at his reference, the “oh” had not come out in a shocked gasp. Instead, it had come out “oh?,” a question of quiet curiosity.

“
Oh
, yes. The Egyptians believed there were sixty-four sexual modes.” Jamie responded. “Now, as to my forfeit.”

She turned to face him, mischief in her eyes. “Your two kisses. You may kiss me once on each cheek.”

The hell he would. “I only kiss my sister on the cheek.”

“Oh.” This time, the sound came out as a most feminine gasp as he covered her mouth with his.

She was soft compliance in his arms. He teased the seam of her lips apart with his tongue and she opened to him, her body conforming to his, warm and yielding. His Daphne was no shrinking violet when it came to this kiss. Her desire was as evident as his once he’d made his intentions known. Her hands were in his hair, her breasts against his chest, her skirts pressed flat between them, leaving little chance that she’d not feel the proof of his arousal. But he was not ashamed of it.

Why shouldn’t she know he wanted her? That he found her enchanting in ways he’d not found a woman for ages? He was tired of the bold widows who wanted him solely for the physical pleasures of their beds and the simpering innocents who thought it was a sin to touch so much as a man’s sleeve before marriage.

Jamie deepened the kiss, running his hands low down her back to cup the delicious curve of her derriere. She was an intoxicating mix of bold seduction and well-bred hesitation; eager to explore the mysteries of passion. Not that those mysteries should be explored in Bullock’s Egyptian Hall no matter how empty the place was.

Jamie ended the kiss with a husky whisper. “Forfeit satisfied.”

Her beautiful eyes shadowed. “I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?”

Jamie tucked her hand through his arm and brought her knuckles to his lips. He kissed them. “Only in the best of ways.”

Chapter Four

Piccadilly, 10:30 p.m.

“Why shouldn’t a woman kiss a man like she means it?” They strolled the south end of Piccadilly, Daphne helping herself to another chestnut from the bag, courtesy of a late-night vendor hoping to catch theatergoers on their way home. She bit into the warm treat and Jamie watched her savor it, thinking some most manly thoughts about the soft bite of her teeth sinking into certain other tender parts with the same gentle relish she was lavishing on the chestnut.

The kiss might have satisfied the forfeit, but it had not satisfied him. It had left him aroused in a fashion that went beyond lusty physical gratification. He didn’t merely want to bed her and be done with it. He wanted
her.

She would be an extraordinary lover with the right man, with a man who would love her exactly the way she was. She was not the sort who could be refashioned into a society doll. He was doubly glad she’d chosen to leave with him. Jealousy spiked when he thought of her being bartered to simply anyone with the right price. Such a marriage would destroy her. She was not made for complacency.

She took another chestnut. “Well?”

Jamie dragged his thoughts back to the question. “I think a woman should love as she pleases but not indiscriminately.”

“Like a man?” Daphne countered, shooting him a swift challenging look that said he’d not get off with a pleasing but vague answer.

“I don’t think a man should love indiscriminately either.” Jamie answered, satisfied that his reply stymied her temporarily. Clearly, she hadn’t expected him to agree. “Think of the problems that could be avoided if men were more responsible with their relationships.”

“Or if men and women were encouraged to marry for love, to manage relationships on their own without familial interference,” Daphne snapped with surprising vehemence and a little more loudly than perhaps she’d intended, drawing only a few heads their way as people bustled to and from evening entertainments, reminding Jamie the streets were emptying. It was time to return to the carriage.

They passed a dark Fortnum & Mason and his stomach growled, reminding him it had been a while since luncheon and man did not live by roasted chestnuts alone. There was nowhere suitable to take her for a late supper. The Bath Hotel was just up ahead but they risked being recognized. The Albany, with its eating booths, was a few blocks away but Jamie discarded the idea immediately. It was one thing to be bourgeoisie, it was another to be completely outré. The Albany housed gentleman bachelors in elite style, but it was not a place for women, even escorted women.

“Who would you pick if you could choose on your own?” Jamie guided them back up the street toward the waiting carriage. It wouldn’t do to tempt fate. He was regretting having been out this long, this far from the carriage, but the evening weather had been fine and it had been exhilarating to stroll with her down the street without a thousand eyes watching his every move and gossiping behind their fans in speculation.

“Someone who loved me.” Daphne said after a moment of thought.

“Not someone
you
loved?” Jamie prompted, his eyes trained on a set of shadows to his left. He was certain they were being followed. The carriage was only half a block away now. He was missing the comfort of his swordstick. He never went walking at night without it, but he’d not anticipated needing it when he’d gone downstairs to the ball that evening.

“Well, I’d prefer that too, but if I could only choose one, I’d choose the former. I could grow to love him if he loved me.” There was a sadness to her answer. Jamie was tempted to probe, but his shadows were inching nearer.

“I think we have company.” He jerked his head slightly to the left to indicate the two followers. I haven’t any weapons on my person but there may be a pistol—”

“No matter, I have a dagger,” Daphne interrupted. She gave him a quick nod to indicate she’d seen the men in question.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I have a knife. Now shut up and kiss me, you can beg later.”

* * *

Her night had been going swimmingly. It was not about to be ruined by footpads who were probably no more than oversize bullies. Daphne didn’t wait for a response. She turned into Jamie, pulled his head toward her and kissed him full on the mouth. He resisted fractionally out of surprise, but she reached up to suck his earlobe, whispering, “It’s under my skirts. Get it.”

Jamie understood the ruse all too well. “Ah, the old ‘young swain and strumpet’ routine,” he growled, getting into his part with vigor. They’d reached the back end of the carriage. Jamie hoisted her onto the back step where the tiger would stand, and rucked her skirts up to her knees, his bulk blocking the men’s view of her. But she could see them over his shoulder while she ran her fingers through his hair and sucked on his ear, Jamie’s hands hot on her legs.

“They’re hesitating,” she whispered.

“Of course they are. They can’t make up their minds whether or not to attack a man while he’s busy making love to a woman.” Jamie’s voice was excitedly hoarse. In spite of the danger, Daphne’s breath caught as his fingers slowly, deliberately, slid the small dagger out of its sheath, letting his hand linger at the curve of her calf. She felt entirely wanton in that moment. She had her skirts up and a man standing intimately between her legs on Piccadilly, doing decadent things to her calf with his fingers and she liked it. More than that, Jamie liked it. His dark eyes glittered with dangerous desire.

“I would gladly oblige if we had the time,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to press a kiss against her throat but his body was tense and alert beneath her hands, waiting for a signal that action was imminent.

“Oh, no, they’re moving.” Her hands stilled on his shoulders. The two shadows became hulking forms of men as they edged closer.

“Stay behind me and don’t panic,” Jamie instructed before he turned sharply and faced their assailants, the blade of her dagger gleaming in the streetlight.

“Good evening, gentlemen, is there something I can help you with?” There was dangerous steel to Jamie’s voice that suggested he was not to be trifled with

“We’re here to lighten your pockets, guv’nor.” One of the men brandished a club. Daphne felt herself shrink back against the carriage despite her best efforts toward bravery, but Jamie made a ‘come on and test me’ gesture with his hands. “You’re welcome to try.” He took a step forward, putting distance between the oncoming fight and her. The man with the club swung first on Jamie’s right. Daphne swallowed her scream and the fight was engaged.

It lasted only a minute or two. The men were bullies and had not been expecting a fight. Jamie had been. Jamie had disarmed the man with the club with a slash of the dagger and his fists. Then he turned his attentions on the other with a sharp, disabling jab to his stomach and another to his nose, resulting in a flow of crimson. It was enough to send the pair scurrying down the nearest alley clutching their wounds.

Daphne gripped the carriage wheel for balance. She wasn’t squeamish by nature, but neither had she ever experienced that kind of bloody violence up close. Laughing, teasing, mischievous, handsome Jamie with his endless repository of knowledge of Egyptian sex practices had done
that.
Jamie faced her, triumphant.