The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection (5 page)

She didn’t get the chance.

As if trying to prove her uncle’s belief that there was something innately unacceptable about her, her foot slipped. A small puddle of water spilt by some careless drinker made the marble floor under May’s feet slick. Her foot shot out from under her and before she could catch herself, the toe of her slipper became entangled within the folds of her gown’s long skirt. May pitched forward and fully expected to humiliate herself in front of the utterly grim Viscount Evers.

Time slowed. She watched as he stepped forward and spread his arms like a lover greeting some long lost key to his heart. He caught her, his gloved hands curling delightfully around her shoulders in an attempt to save her.

He teetered, his fingers digging into her skin as he struggled to gain his faltering balance. His injured leg could barely support his own weight much less hold up against a clumsy cow such as herself. How nobly stupid of him to rush to her rescue.

Not until that moment did May realize he wasn’t very tall. He was much taller than most women, yes. But he didn’t tower over her like some men, which at the moment was probably a very good thing. Many a time her aunt had swayed, just as the viscount swayed now—a fall imminent. She had never allowed her aunt to fall, and since the viscount was so doggedly determined to save her, May planted her feet and used her strength to help steady him.

“Bloody hell.” His jade gaze simmered with anger once they had both found a solid footing. He released her arms and took a hasty step backward. His jaw tightened as he gritted his teeth and fought gravity’s pull on his injured leg.

May refused to be shocked by the foul language he’d muttered only loudly enough for her hearing. Her aunt had been known to spew far worse after such a close call. Infirmities had to be terribly humbling.

That’s not to say she didn’t feel a slight burning in her cheeks. She had so much to be embarrassed about—the near public stumble brought the room’s gazes upon her. A man’s cursing couldn’t possibly aggravate her already mortified state.

“I say.” Lord Nathan Wynter advanced, white-faced, from where he had stood chatting with Lady Lillian, Iona’s very fair, very beautiful younger sister, and her doting mamma. He darted a distrustful eye in May’s direction. “Are you quite well, Evers? Shall I summon a sedan chair to carry you home?” He waved the cane in his hand, trying in a most obvious manner to get Viscount Evers to take the prop.

“Get that away from me, Wynter,” the viscount forced from behind clenched teeth.

May stiffened and so did Viscount Evers—visibly so. Lord Nathan’s rush to assistance only rubbed salt into a prideful man’s wounds.

A crowd was beginning to form. Questions poured out from helpful friends and the merely curious minded. May’s cheeks felt firebranded singed beyond repair. She could feel the viscount’s humiliation as if it were her own.

This was her fault. Grace and elegance, such important traits for a proper lady, were foreign elements in her limbs. Hadn’t her uncle, her governess, and many of the
ton’s
matrons declared it to be so?

May held up her hands to quiet the crowd to a dull murmur. “I must thank you, my lord,” she said loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear. “My careless ankles are forever putting me in impossible situations. If not for your quick actions, I believe I would now be sprawled on the floor, hopelessly tangled in yards of muslin. You have my humblest gratitude for saving me from such a horrific fate.” She gave him a sweet smile, bowed her head, and curtsied deeply.

The women in the crowd nodded with smug satisfaction. Several of the town tabbies vocally agreed with her assessment. The scene ended as quickly as it had begun with members of the
haut ton
wandering off and returning to their own sphere of concerns.

Only Lady Iona, her younger sister, the very pale, very lovely Lady Lillian, Lord Nathan, and the viscount remained behind, their gazes directed generally toward May. Lady Lillian quickly turned from May and beamed—quite unabashedly—up at Viscount Evers.

He gave the group a cursory glance before capturing May’s gloved hand in his own. His brows crinkled as his expression darkened. He pulled her a step closer to him, holding her a hair’s breadth away from improperly close.

“Madam,” he said, his voice a low scold, “what are you about?”

Chapter 4

“What am I about?” Miss Sheffers tilted her head back till her bonnet hung at a precarious angle, much in danger of falling off. She glared up at Radford with those haunting violet eyes. Her nose wrinkled in concert with her frown.

What was she about
? Such a simple question, yet he doubted it was one she could answer.

Madness must have possessed him to wonder about such a fairyland creature. Why else would he have approached Miss Sheffers and Lady Iona Newbury but for a freak onset of madness? He’d been speaking with Lady Lillian, trying his hand at flirting outrageously—a safe undertaking under the watchful eye of the young lady’s mamma—when he caught sight of Miss Sheffers. She was wearing another worn dress, faded pink in hue. Her russet hair, a riot of curls, was barely contained under a straw bonnet.

As Lady Lillian spoke softly about a gown she had recently purchased, Radford had found his attention drawn to the rather elfish Miss Sheffers. She’d appeared to be in the middle of a serious
tête-à-tête
with her friend, Lady Iona. An eerie darkness cast a shadow over her expression.

Miss Sheffers was troubled?

Of course she was. Only a half-wit wouldn’t be troubled with a writ of eviction hanging over her head. The lady was in imminent danger of being tossed out on the street. A fey creature such as she might be tempted into taking a foolish action—like forcing her way into a bachelor’s home.

With a wave of his hand, he could save her.

He had hobbled over to impulsively do just that when both women turned and gazed upon him as if he were the devil risen from hell with the smell of brimstone still fresh on his clothes. And that was when all hell actually did break loose . . .

Radford shuddered at the memory. His cursed leg had failed him before he could utter two coherent words to the lady. Though he had tried to save her from falling—she ended up saving him. Humiliation flooded his veins.

What was she about?

She’d added insult to his humiliation by taking the full blame, by making herself look the fool.

“I don’t welcome your help or your pity, madam,” he said to her, his anger growing as he conjured up the only reason she would have fallen on the sword for him—him, the villain evicting her from her home.

Pity.

She pitied the poor, helpless cripple.

“I am quite capable of taking care of myself. I don’t need an insignificant speck of a lady on the brink of disgrace and disaster as a champion.”

“Very well.” She twisted her wrist, trying to wrench free from his iron hold without drawing attention to herself. She blinked furiously when he refused to break his hold. “Very well,” she said again, her voice growing husky. She swallowed hard. “I will never deign to assist you again, my lord. Flames may spew from your head and I would not spare you a drop of water.”

He enjoyed far too much the spirited way she fought him. His body heated as he entertained visions of playing the part of a villainous count set on dragging this uncommon fairy princess back to his lair. Then he might slay her with passionate kisses on those satiny lips of hers and perhaps do much more than that . . .

Good Lord, he
was
mad.

He let his fingers slip away from her delicate wrist.

“I say,” Wynter drawled. He inserted himself between the sputtering, yet somehow utterly sensual, Miss Sheffers and Radford, hooking his arm with the latter. “I do beg your pardon, Miss Sheffers, ladies. Evers and I have a morning appointment and we mustn’t be late.”

They had nothing of the sort. But Radford understood his friend’s motives and agreed. Something about Miss Sheffers’ manner drew out the rogue in him. Such uncontrolled behavior couldn’t be borne.

He had a wife to find, not a mistress.

In light of that, he bowed and gave his excuses, purposefully flattering the young, flowery Lady Lillian before taking his leave. For Lady Lillian, not some impoverished wood elf with a questionable heritage, satisfied the qualifications on his marriage list. The lady would prove an unquestionably acceptable viscountess and no doubt produce a brood of unquestionably acceptable children.

* * * *

Uncle Sires and Mr. Tumblestone arrived at May’s and Aunt Winnie’s little cottage a few minutes before noon to accompany them to afternoon chapel services. The two perfectly matched black carriage horses with white blazes on their foreheads snorted and pawed the cobbled road, anxious to be moving again.

May eyed them carefully. It wasn’t in her nature to trust such great beasts, preferring to travel under the power of her own two feet. Though they may not always be reliable, she felt confident that she could keep her own feet from running away in a panic as she’d seen some carriage horses do on the noisy London streets.

If not for Aunt Winnie’s health, May might have spoken up and suggested a stroll. For her aunt, she bit her tongue and lent her shoulder to help guide Winnie to her uncle’s carriage.

Aunt Winnie wrapped herself in a wool shawl and shivered in the stiff summer breeze.

“Are you certain you shouldn’t stay home?” May asked for the third time.

Winnie looked drained. The lines on her face were more deeply etched than ever before, and she leaned on May’s arm with nearly all her weight as they made the long walk to the carriage. “I am convinced God would not ask you to risk your health in this manner.”

“Poppycock.” Winnie bristled. Struggling, she took a few steps before reaching out again for May’s assistance. “I may be tired, but I am by no means an invalid.”

There was no hope for it. Aunt Winnie would climb out of her deathbed rather than miss afternoon services and have her friends guess the extent of her ailing health. May tried her best, but the old bird had an unbreakable will of her own.

In that, they were kindred spirits.

Only, May’s strong spirit was beginning to feel the strain of responsibility. The morning post had brought a letter from her father’s solicitor in reply to a desperate plea she’d made over a week earlier. He’d written that despite his disapproval of her uncle’s actions to declare her parents dead, he could do nothing legally to put a stop to it. So, unless her parents appeared on the next boat landing in London, May would have to find another source of funds.

All she wanted was to keep Aunt Winnie safe and happy and to hold on to the content, albeit slightly dull, life she led.

She would just have to find a way . . . and be more discreet the next time she decided to act. That rogue, the slightly unhinged Viscount Evers, only compounded her troubles. She was still reeling over the shabby way he’d treated her in the Pump Room before turning to Lady Lillian and lavishing all those pretty compliments on the lady’s ears.

He was a scoundrel, a villain. She’d find no help from that quarter.

As always, she would have to rely on her own survival instincts. They got her through a bumpy come-out and through her required visits with her uncle. She was confident her sharp instincts would see her through this current crisis.

Her mind was still working on that very problem as she helped her aunt climb into the carriage. She felt hemmed in within the contraption after her uncle and Mr. Tumblestone climbed in behind her and filled the small, darkened space.

As the carriage carried them to the small chapel adjacent to The Circus where Uncle Sires owned a house, the conversation focused on Aunt Winnie’s health.

“I have contacted the most respected doctor in London, Winnie. He has agreed to travel here within the week to see you,” Uncle Sires said. “I wish to have you settled in my home before he arrives.”

Aunt Winnie gave May’s hand a squeeze. “I am happy at the cottage. I do not desire to move anywhere.”

Uncle Sires flicked a glance toward May and frowned. “I understand your attachment to the child. But you will have to let her go. She has her own life to live, do you not agree?”

“Of course she does, but—”

“You will be happy with me, Winnie. You will want for nothing. I have been remiss, letting you flounder so near poverty with May. But I have made plans to change that. Everything has been decided. You will see. This is for the best.”

No one in the carriage could argue the point. Uncle Sires had the wealth of Croesus. No longer would Aunt Winnie need to drink watery tea while nibbling on day-old cakes. She would have everything.
The best
.

Wasn’t her uncle’s offer also May’s fondest wish for her aunt come true?

After church, Uncle Sires directed the carriage to carry Aunt Winnie back to the cottage for a rest while he chaperoned Mr. Tumblestone and May on a walking tour of Bath.

“Give it time. We need to let the relationship bloom,” May overheard Uncle Sires telling Aunt Winnie just before the carriage jerked into motion.

Mr. Tumblestone strolled beside May along a stretch of shops on Pulteney Street. Like a man who’d never visited a city as large as Bath, he had expressed a keen interest to walk the famed Pulteney Bridge. May didn’t have it in her heart to deny him, even if she were given the chance. Uncle Sires led the way with Mr. Tumblestone and May lagging just a step behind.

All and all, the elderly Mr. Tumblestone acted a complete gentleman, doing nothing to force her attentions. He spoke in docile tones and made an effort to include May in the conversation, asking her opinion and occasionally pausing to admire a dressmaker’s elegant gowns or some fine piece of metalwork in a shop window.

Unlike the previous dreary day, the sun hung high in the cloudless sky and a cool breeze eased the summer heat. Everything was perfect, absolutely perfect.

So why did May silently pray for the earth to open up and swallow her whole?

This was every woman’s dream—to find a kind man willing to marry her. This could be the beginning of a new adventure and perhaps even her shot at finding her happily-ever-after.