The Rake's Handbook (13 page)

She tried to face him, but he stopped her and replied in a broken voice, “In this chapter, you don't turn around.”

One of his hands moved around in front of her, and his palm spread outward, covering her waist. He pulled her full against him, and the incendiary heat between them flared. The pressure from his mobile lips assaulted her neckline, while his hand gently cupped her breast. Her soft moan mingled with his low growl, and the sound escaped into the air above them.

He moved his hand slowly, lightly tracing the outline of her breasts over her wool gown. His long fingers unbuttoned several buttons around her neck and pulled the gown lower over her shoulder until one breast was covered only by her short stays and chemise. He found the swell at the side of her breast, and he rubbed his palm back and forth where the curve began. Then he cupped her full breast—
hard
.

“Oh,” she cried, warmth claiming her body. Any attempt at speech was over. Lost in the fog of passion, she passed control of her physical responses to his deft touch. He finally moved his hands to her shoulders and turned her to face him. Even in the light of a gathering dusk, she could see his potent gaze, and another long sigh escaped her. He leaned forward to brush his clever lips back and forth over hers. With their lips barely touching, he paused. His face filled her vision, and she focused on the stubble covering his cheek. She didn't move; her heartbeat raced. What was he waiting for?

Did she say “yes”? Maybe she did, without saying the word.

He covered her mouth with an urgent, rhythmic kiss. He kissed her deeply, pulled back until his lips lingered, then returned deeper. Pulled back and kissed deeper. Her wits melted into extinction. The stubble around his skillful lips scraped her skin, causing an inferno within, and her heartbeat echoed around her. She opened her mouth in a blatant invitation, and received his tongue deep within her mouth. He withdrew it, plunged again, and made seductive circles over her tongue.

Heaven, heaven,
heavens
.

He lowered her below the elbow-line of the carriage and onto the squabs of the seat. His broad chest covered her in warmth. Lost in their rhythmic kiss, he freed several ties and tugged at her stays. The garment dropped a few inches, giving him enough room to reach under her chemise and free the top of one breast to the cool air. Helpless and wanting his touch, she arched again as he took the top of her breast into his mouth. His tongue played lazy circles over the swell of flesh. She stroked his hair, while a pounding noise grew louder, like rolling thunder, and she arched to its beat.

An unfamiliar voice rang out, “Tom, my lad, clap yo'r eyes on th' bonny moon.”

This was followed by laughter, and she opened her eyes. More than a dozen men and women stood ogling them over the side of the carriage. Part of a large crowd heading for the road and moving around them like a rock protruding in a swift stream.

“
Hell's fire
.” Mr. Thornbury reflexively sat up. In the next few seconds of panic, he pulled up her half stays and managed to straighten her gown.

“I reckon yo' ha' yo'r own fireworks there, gov,” said one man.

The crowd responded with a hearty cheer.

She heard several complaints about the fireworks spoiled by “the bloody rain.” So without their promised Catherine wheel, everyone had headed for home in the direction of the main road.

“Ay, and I seed his are all bust too,” someone yelled. Raucous laughter exploded amongst the crowd.

Dr. Potts and Lord Parker ran to join the gathering mob around the carriage.

She sat dazed, uncomprehending, breathing hard. Above all of the shouts and laughter, she heard, “Seems we missed all the fun.” Dozens of people stood fixed in place around the carriage and whispered to their neighbor.

Mr. Thornbury's raised voiced boomed over the crowd, “Ladies and gentlemen, Mrs. Colton has just agreed to become my wife.”

Ross turned to find Mrs. Colton's face a bright scarlet.

“How dare—”

He automatically held out his hand, for some reason he didn't comprehend. “I apologize. Failed to think properly—couldn't—think properly. Tried to save your—our—reputations.”

She glared at his palm and clapped her mouth shut.

Ross noticed several ladies standing fixed around the rail of the carriage, unable to call forth speech.

While a grim Dr. Potts gripped the side of the carriage so tightly, his knuckles reddened. “You, you, you,” he spat out before he quickly led his daughter away.

Deane moved forward through the retreating crowd and climbed with difficulty into the landau. The others in their party arrived only to hear the news from the gossiping mob. Mr. Allardyce's face reddened too, and without comment, he hurried back to stop his daughters from approaching. Ross's other house guests wished the couple well and headed to their carriages for the return journey to Blackwell.

The sunlight had faded into early dusk, but Ross could still discern Mrs. Colton's anger. Her stiff movements as she righted her gown, coupled with a dark glare worthy of his mother's best disapproving stare, persuaded him to hold off awhile before he attempted another remark upon their current predicament.

Deane failed to catch his aunt's angry countenance and appeared quite pleased with the news. “Engaged to Ross. I couldn't be happier. Told you he was a bang-up blade. Yes, dash it all, I suppose you know that already.” Deane embraced Mrs. Colton and planted a loud kiss upon her cheek. “Capital fellow, Elli, capital. I wish you both happy.” He leaned over and shook Ross's hand at least five times up and down. “Well, this is news, indeed.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out an object for Mrs. Colton. “Here is a most excellent gingerbread nut. Consider it an early wedding gift. But a gingerbread nut can't compete with betrothal news, now can it?”

Mrs. Colton stared at the sweet in Deane's hand.

The coachman returned from the festivities, and Ross jumped out to assist him in raising the top of the landau. Not an action he would normally do, but it did spare him the sight of Mrs. Colton's barely constrained anger. Yanking on the black folding head harder than he planned, Ross whipped the top out from George's grip. He ignored his coachman's surprised expression and fastened the latches on his side. After his latches were closed, he took a deep breath of the soft dusk air and watched the light gray clouds darken with the approach of nightfall. Caught in the fog of temptation, he'd failed to behave like a proper gentleman. He'd put the foundry at risk, and he'd endangered his mother's sanity.
Damn, he was an
idiot.

George snapped the final latch into place, climbed up on his seat, and gathered the ribbons.

His coachman's actions roused Ross away from his atmospheric contemplations, and he joined the others in the carriage. They soon got under way on their return journey to Pinnacles. He settled back into the comfort of the landau's thick squabs, his much-tried body seeking rest.

Deane, in spite of his words to the contrary, embarked upon the wonders of gingerbread nuts.

“Enough!” Mrs. Colton exclaimed seconds later.

Choking on the word “diaphanous,” Deane raised his brow and turned to Ross, a silent male question to another male about an inexplicable female response.

Mrs. Colton reached out to squeeze Deane's hand. “I apologize. I fear I have the headache from all of this excitement. Mr. Thornbury's proposal was never accepted, you understand. He and I have many things yet to discuss.”

“But…” Deane turned to Ross again in mute inquiry.

Ross was unsure of the meaning behind her use of the word “many,” but he did want one fact to be known. He had not planned to become engaged to Mrs. Colton, but a true gentleman must be ready to save a lady's reputation at all times. Once several citizens had witnessed their indiscretion, he'd failed to see any other way to lessen the scandal, other than announcing their betrothal. But her terse words and rigid manners persuaded him to save his explanations for a later date. Doubtless she'd praise him for his quick thinking once she was at leisure to consider her current situation. “Your aunt and I must make arrangements before any formal announcements are made—”

“But you will publish the news soon?” Berdy said. “Elli?” Without a reply from her, he addressed Ross. “You must tell me everything. You
do
mean to wed, don't you?”

“Berdy, please.” Mrs. Colton's mouth remained open, so she probably intended to say something.

“I keep my promises,” Ross added, pulling his stare away from the allure of her well-kissed lips and the location of the hiding dimple. “Your aunt and I reached an agreement, a tentative agreement, but an agreement nevertheless. We celebrated our success with a little affectionate kiss, that's all.”

With that statement from him, her mouth closed, and her expression might be described as
wry
.

“Kissing in public, how scandalous,” Deane exclaimed. “I'm sure this fair will be remarkable for many and be remembered for years to come.”

“Years and years,” Ross answered.

The slightest of grins finally broke across Mrs. Colton's face.

Deane leaned forward and whispered to Ross, “Things we must discuss, what?”

Ross had no idea what a young man with aspirations to become a Pink of the Ton needed to say to him, but he knew well enough to save that request also for another time.

Deane continued speaking without reply or provocation. “I can't wait to wear m' new silk waistcoat at your wedding. The stripes are a splendid sky blue, very modest, and the buttons are made of silver lattice work.” The young man straightened. “Of course, I will join you both when we walk down the aisle… I can see—”

“Please,” Mrs. Colton said with tight-lipped restraint. “Why don't you tell me about the fair?”

Her question proved successful, as the two adults continued their journey without exchanging words. Only the sole efforts of the youngest in their party kept the mostly one-sided conversation flowing smoothly.

During the return journey to Pinnacles, Ross found the leisure to contemplate his announcement. For some reason, he couldn't help but rejoice in his good fortune to have Mrs. Colton—Elinor—as his bride, since he enjoyed her spirited company. While being a gentleman and saving her was his first thought upon their discovery, he now recognized the prosperous lands he would gain upon marriage. With the joining of their estates, together they would build Blackwell into one of the great properties of Cheshire.

Still, he harbored a slight uneasiness that affection motivated his proposal. An obvious conclusion, since his friends' wager had surprisingly irritated him, and today he readily gave in to the attraction that flared between them. His famed control of passionate situations had deserted him entirely. These ruminations were interrupted by a vague haberdashery question from Deane. Ross replied, “Yes, I admire curly brimmed hats too.”

Ross liked the idea of marriage to Elinor. All in all, he should have considered this engagement before. Indeed, he should have presented it to her earlier as a marriage of convenience. He needed to respond politely to one of Deane's questions again. “No, you are right, white satin is inappropriate for that time of day.”

Ross began to realize he truly liked Mrs. Colton. No, not liked, he was fond of her, not overly fond, nor in love—just fond. He glanced in her direction again. The widow appeared overset, biting her lower lip until it disappeared under the upper. The sight created a strong desire to embrace her. Tease and kiss her until he achieved his desired wish—a small “oh.” Annoyed by this thought, he congratulated himself on his decision to postpone their betrothal discussion to a later date when his sanity returned. So when she accepted his formal proposal, he'd remain calm and proper. For the remainder of the journey, instead of considering his mother, Lucy, or the foundry, as he should, he contemplated his bothersome desire to provoke the appearance of her frolicking dimple.

After their arrival at Pinnacles, he invited Deane on a journey the following week to observe gears used to lift heavy weights, similar to those planned for his foundry's wench. Deane eagerly accepted his invitation, and Ross exited the carriage to hold the door open. Deane scuttled out of the landau as best he could, but Mrs. Colton lingered behind. More than likely formulating the right words to chastise him.

He seized her hand and gently pulled her from the carriage. “We have much to discuss. I'll call upon you tomorrow afternoon, sweetheart.”

***

An early morning mist claimed the courtyard as Ross mounted the broad back of his dappled gray and adjusted the reins in his gloved hand. His morning ablutions had left his hair wet, so the light wind quickly chilled him. Off in the distance, he heard his mother's voice calling him. Explanations were the very, very last thing on earth he wanted now. First, he needed to make sense of yesterday's remarkable events.

He spurred the gray toward his tenants' farms to check upon the new hedgerow repairs. While he regretted being caught in an unseemly position, the announcement of their betrothal must go a long way in stemming any scandal. Although gossip may flare up for a time, he was confident it would settle down once they were wed.

It began to drizzle, so he pulled his hat firmly down on his brow.

Focus, Ross.
Six months ago he had paid for hedgerow repairs, so he'd better damn well get back to work and make sure the job had been completed to his satisfaction. He glanced at a small shrub planted in a spot where one day it would fill a hole in the hedge above it. The green plant seemed alive—good.

When he returned to the house, Rowbottom informed him his mother requested his presence in the drawing room. By the expression on his butler's face, Ross understood avoiding her was not an option.

Mother.
How would she respond to his recent news?

His mother might have two very different reactions upon hearing of his betrothal to Mrs. Colton. First, she might object to the match because she deemed Elinor a frivolous chit, but by now she must have reached a similar conclusion about Lucy.

The widow's earlier denial of the lease probably created an even larger impediment to his mother's acceptance of the alliance. After hearing about Elinor's refusal to sign, Lady Helen had remained silent for a full two days.

He next considered his mother's opposite reaction to the situation. She might be delighted over his engagement. She had pleaded for him to wed, and now her long-sought-after wish of his marriage would come true. The other advantage, and probably the strongest argument in Elinor's favor, was that his mother would achieve her greatest dream—grandchildren.

Since his mother never mentioned reasons for him to wed, other than love and grandchildren—love being impossible for him. He gained confidence that Lady Helen would likely approve of the match due to the possibility of grandchildren. He grinned, his mind eased. Now he looked forward to witnessing her happiness when she learned of his impending marriage. “Mother.
Motherrr
,” he yelled through Blackwell's hallways. He found her in the formal drawing room, sitting with pen and paper at a small table, the green leather surface obscured by numerous furniture catalogs.

Upon his entry, Dr. Potts rose and nodded a brief greeting. The doctor's gray wool coat matched the sunken gray color of his cheeks and the hair at his temples.

Ross nodded in return and took a chair next to his mother. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. “Ah, there you are, dear. Trying to avoid me?” He settled in his chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him.

“Honestly,” Lady Helen said, shaking her pen. “What will the servants think about all your bellowing? They will say I raised you in the local tavern.”

“I'll take my leave of you now, Lady Helen,” Dr. Potts said, stepping forward to stand next to Ross's chair. “Sir, may I have a word with you before I leave?”

“Of course.” He waited, curious about the doctor's request.

Dr. Potts frowned. “I mean a private word.”

“Ah.” He expected some news of his mother's health, so he followed the physician out of the room into the hallway. “Yes?”

Dr. Potts gave him a fulminating stare. “You must break off your engagement to Mrs. Colton. Immediately! I fear the shock has caused your mother great harm. Despite her brave speech, her spirits are not strong. For the last twenty minutes she has only mumbled on about furniture. I cannot get a single salient response from her, and I fear for her mind.”

“Sir, the engagement is my business. Mother is pleased with the news, I'm sure.”

“So you are fixed upon matrimony?” Dr. Potts lifted his chin.

Ross stiffened his posture. “Yes, I am.”

“I warn you.” The doctor glared at him again. “Whether or not your handbook is satire or not, the people around here gossip about little else. Some people, a very few, consider it a lighthearted jest, while others consider it vulgar and totally inappropriate that a person living within our vicinity could pen a book like that. If you wed Mrs. Colton, she will become tainted too and thus isolated from Polite Society. So unless you want a future of madness for your mother, and Mrs. Colton secluded forever, you must call off. Do you understand me?”

Ross struggled to contain his fury.

“If you do not immediately dissolve this engagement, there will be other severe consequences as well. Consequences in regard to your foundry. I suggest you think about your actions carefully.” Dr. Potts strode to the entrance without taking his leave.

After waiting a minute for his anger to cool, Ross dismissed the doctor's reckless threats, except those related to his mother's state of mind, and returned to the drawing room. Since his mother had already heard about his engagement from someone else, he stood silently for several minutes, carefully watching her for any sign of distress. To him, she appeared well. There was no evidence of the return of her low spirits; therefore, the evidence proved the doctor's concerns had to be unjustified. Unjustified too in regard to Mrs. Colton. Why would one little satirical tome be taken so seriously, as to cast off a popular neighbor, and a widow to boot? The doctor's threats made no sense and sounded like overblown rubbish.