Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman (16 page)

‘I suppose I should say I regret it, but if ever lightning bolts would be dispatched to strike down one uttering an untruth, that would have to be the time.'

His speech had the desired effect; some of the alarm in her eyes abated. ‘I'd speak carefully, lest a lightning bolt be dispatched for your calling down the Almighty in so inappropriate a situation.'

‘The giving of pleasure is a pure gift, devised by God himself,' he said, his heart in every word.

She looked away, her cheeks pinking. ‘I don't really know what to say.'

He tipped her chin back up so she had to meet his gaze. ‘You don't need to say anything.'

He knew he would pay for the episode, but he was struck with grief as he saw recognition of the gravity of what she'd just permitted begin to register. A frown of alarm and regret creased her brow, while the panicked urge to flee widened her eyes.

All these years, he'd avoided compromising a virgin so as not to be forced into wedlock; now the girl he'd just thoroughly compromised wanted to escape this place—because she didn't want to be compelled to marry
him
.

The bitter irony of it twisted his lips in a grim smile. But
what strong emotion, repressed passion and a reprieve from danger had led them into sharing, threatened the dream she'd nourished since she was a girl. He'd better reassure her she had nothing to fear from him before dismay led her to renounce even a vestige of friendship.

Cursing the old Greville for letting things spin out of control, he said, ‘It was unwise, certainly, but with no lasting consequences. Except, I hope, a memory of the joy pleasure can bring.'

She bobbed her head quickly as, avoiding his eyes, with more force than necessary, she pushed away from him. ‘I must go. Papa will be worried.'

‘Yes,' he agreed, sorting through all the words he wished he could say to find something that might prevent her from chastising herself for a weakness she already regretted. ‘We mustn't have you go from one abduction to another. But you needn't worry; I'm wonderfully inventive. By the time we arrive, I will have concocted a story to explain any lost time. To make it creditable, however, we must tidy you.'

To his relief, she let him adjust her bodice and smooth down her skirts. With aching fingers, he helped her pin up her hair, keeping himself from placing another kiss on her head as a sorrow keener than that cutlass slash seared his heart.

She took a step towards her horse, then hesitated. ‘Whatever story you concoct, make sure there's nothing in it to alarm Papa.'

‘There won't be,' he assured her. ‘Nothing to alarm you, either. You mustn't feel uneasy; no one but the two of us will ever know what happened here.'

The lessening of the anxiety on her face both relieved and pained him. So she did dread discovery—and the threat of being trapped into wedding him.

‘I know you would never hurt me.'

Meaning, she trusted him never to reveal their indiscretion. He supposed that was something.

‘Of course I wouldn't. I only hope my rashness hasn't destroyed our friendship.'

She blushed a bit. ‘I believe we've rather shockingly bypassed the bounds of “friendship”.'

‘My fault. You are irresistible, you know.'

‘I, at least, am supposed to be able to resist.'

‘You mustn't feel ashamed! In another time, another place, your passion will be blessed and sanctified. Remember this afternoon, if you do at all, as a preview of the delight to come with the one to whom you eventually pledge your hand.'

‘Oh, I'm not ashamed!' she replied. ‘Or…not much. Oh, how awful that sounds. I enjoyed it immensely, as you have good reason to know. I'm just…disappointed in myself, I suppose, for my weakness in going far beyond what I should have allowed.' She shook her head wonderingly. ‘I had no idea I possessed so…unruly a nature. Thank you for trying to make me feel better about my lapse.'

‘I assure you, your eventual bridegroom will treasure that “unruly nature”.'
A man that will never be me.

With a short nod, she turned away, although she allowed him to give her a leg up on to her mare. ‘I shall not bother you chatting on the way home, but let you put that “wonderfully inventive” mind to perfecting your explanation of our long absence.'

At that, they set off for Ashton Grove.

Greville had no heart for light banter in any event. They'd escaped the consequences of indiscretion this once, but in her averted eyes and wary stance, Greville read that Amanda would not place herself into temptation again. There'd be no more walks or rides, no more intimate chats at midnight.

No more stolen kisses and secret caresses.

This journey together would be their last. In riding home, she'd be riding out of his life.

But that outcome had been ordained from the beginning. If he'd foolishly allowed his heart to become too involved, that was his own fault. He would just have to batten down his emotional hatches and ride out this gale. Doubtless there'd be days of rough sailing ahead, in which he paid in anguish for the folly of falling in love with her, but he'd survive them and move on.

After all, he'd survived hard times before. Could sending her off to London make him feel any worse than the despair of that filthy hold of a prison hulk, waiting to be forced into a role for which he had neither inclination nor training?

He resisted the woeful voice saying it could.

A
manda rode home in silence, a churning mass of thoughts crowding her brain as the pleasant sensual haze finally burned off. As she considered her behaviour, she grew more and more aghast. She hardly dared glance at Mr Anders.

Mr Anders…Greville. It was rather silly to avoid thinking of him by his first name, after all the liberties she'd just allowed him. Liberties, a painful honesty corrected, she'd not just ‘allowed', but enthusiastically encouraged.

She could still scarcely believe her recklessness. Bewitched beyond prudence, she'd risked her reputation, her whole future, Papa's good regard and the respect of her neighbours and friends. A paroxysm of distress twisted within her at the knowledge of how much embarrassment and shame she might have brought upon a dear man who'd already suffered so much, if her lewd behaviour were ever discovered.

Of course, she'd not been herself, her equilibrium rocked by having her safe world and almost her very person violated.

She had good excuse for her relief that the newcomer to Neville Tour had been a man she knew and trusted. There'd
been some excuse for throwing herself into his arms and weeping out her fear. Some excuse, even, for the boiling over of the desire that had simmered between them since that first morning in the breakfast room.

But there was no excuse for becoming so swept away that she allowed him intimacies only a husband ought to share.

It should be a sobering lesson in how little restraint character, upbringing and morality exercised over the powerful passion he evoked in her. A warning not to trifle again with so uncontrollable a force.

Thanks heavens Greville, at least, had kept his head, for, possessed by mindless craving, she'd certainly not have stopped him, had he pushed for the consummation the hardness pressed against her said he'd wanted. Her chagrin and remorse increasing, she acknowledged that he—and he alone—had saved her from total ruin.

Despite her current embarrassment, she should have the courage to make herself face Greville now, before they reached Ashton and private talk became impossible, and acknowledge how much she owed him. Not only had he not taken what could have so easily been his, she suddenly realised, but afterwards he'd done what he could to reassure her. Rather than treating her like the lightskirt she'd shown herself, he had gentled her with a caressing touch and spoken eloquently of the purity of passion between a man and wife.

Perhaps she hadn't lowered herself in his opinion after all. An immense sense of relief warmed her at the thought. She'd grown to value his approval as she valued his companionship and delighted in his company.

Just how deep did her feelings run for Greville Anders?

Sudden panic pulled her back from even examining the question. It didn't matter how much she esteemed him; a man in his position had no part in her future. She couldn't allow herself even to contemplate disappointing Papa, breaking her
solemn vow to Mama and horrifying society by following the reckless path of desire and throwing herself away on a man in what everyone in her world would consider a shocking
mésalliance
.

Assuming he even wished to wed her. He was, after all, very experienced with the ladies, a self-proclaimed former rake and rogue not yet fully redeemed. Though she knew he cared about her, she had no assurance he was interested in anything more permanent than dalliance.

Something about him drew her like iron filings to a magnet. She'd been deceiving herself all along, thinking she could befriend him and keep leashed the strong attraction that flared whenever they were together. The episode at the Neville Tour today showed just how dangerous that assumption was.

Since she'd just demonstrated she couldn't trust herself to resist him, for the time remaining before she left for London, she would have to avoid his company. No more walks and chats, shared laughter…or burning kisses.

A wave of desolation swept through her.

It must be the lingering effects of the upsetting events at Neville Tour, she told herself, trying to suppress it. Before they reached Ashton, she would allow herself one more opportunity to speak with Greville before she turned him back into ‘Mr Anders' and kept him there.

And then get herself to London with all speed, before her resolve wavered, and her newly discovered weakness dragged them both into a dishonour from which there was no escape.

 

By the time she'd got all the sorry details sorted out in her mind, they'd reached the stable drive. By the copse of trees before the final turn, she pulled up her mare, signalling at Greville—Mr Anders—to stop as well.

‘Before we go in, I need to thank you.'

He shook his head. ‘There's no need.'

‘No, you must let me say it. Bad as our indiscretion was, it could have been much worse. The fact that it wasn't, I owe solely to your prudence. You exercised restraint while I exhibited none. Not that I will be hypocrite enough to deny how much I enjoyed it. But…' she felt her face flaming ‘…as I hope you know, that episode cannot be repeated.'

‘I know,' he replied quietly, with a smile that looked somehow…melancholy. ‘I shall try hard to remember not to tempt you.'

‘And I will try not to place us in a position where you can tempt me.'

He nodded. ‘Best we get back, then.'

As her stomach dropped to the vicinity of her kneecaps, he kicked his horse into motion. After a shocked moment of immobility, she urged the mare after him.

What did she expect from him? she asked herself angrily. To beg her to continue their friendship? To say he'd be desolated if they spent the next few weeks meeting as polite strangers, before she left for London and walked out of his life for good?

He'd been more realistic than she all along, never more so than today, after that episode at Neville Tour. He apparently recognised well before she had that their indiscretion meant the end of their friendship.

Would she find anything in London to replace it?

That dismaying thought made her want to weep again.

As they drew within sight of the stables, Jenkins ran out to meet them. ‘Hurry straight to the house, Miss Amanda. Your papa's taken ill again.'

Instantly every other concern fell away. ‘Another attack? How bad is it?'

‘Don't know, miss. But Miss Althea sent for the physician, who arrived about half an hour ago, and told us we was to send you in the second you got home.'

An awful thought occurred to Amanda. ‘Lord Bronning didn't hear anything about Black John and—'

‘No, Miss,' the groom assured her. ‘He'd already taken to his bed by the time I got back. Master George was back, too, and neither he nor I saw the need to tell anyone what happened in town or at the Tour.'

Urging the mare forwards, Amanda felt a guilty wave of relief that nothing in her behaviour had contributed to her father's condition. The relief was swiftly followed by a renewed alarm.

The attack could be serious. Papa had been ill, too, during that awful summer. He'd never fully recovered his strength and vigour after Mama's passing.

A few minutes later, they reached the front entrance. Greville dismounted and stood ready to help her down. After a moment's hesitation, she let him.

‘You go on in,' he said, his touch at her waist light and impersonal. ‘I'll see that the horses get back to the stable.'

‘Thank you…for everything.'

He gave her the shadow of a smile. ‘I can say with perfect honesty, it was a pleasure.' The smile faded; an intense look came over his face, as if he wanted to say something else. Shaking his head instead, he said, ‘Go on in, now. Your cousin will be waiting.'

Despite her anxiety to reach her father's side, with him standing there close beside her, a treacherous longing rose in her. She knew she dare not see him alone again; this had to be the last time. Oh, how she ached to kiss him, to show by that tender salute that she esteemed him and would always treasure the friendship they'd shared.

But then he moved away, leading the horses towards the stable, and the moment was lost. A bittersweet ache rose in her throat. ‘Goodbye, my dear friend,' she whispered to his retreating back before turning to hurry up the steps.

‘Lord Bronning is in his chamber, Miss Amanda,' Sands told her as he held open the door. Tossing her cape in his direction, she headed for stairs, moving as rapidly as her skirts would allow. She rushed down the hallway to her father's room, and, after a soft tap, walked in.

The physician looked up, put a finger to his lips and inclined his head, indicating her sleeping sire. Motioning Papa's valet to remain, he escorted her back into the hall.

‘How is he? What happened?' she demanded urgently.

‘It appears he's had another of the attacks he suffered last summer. I won't dissemble; this one was serious, with sharp pains in his chest and a great difficulty in breathing. I've given him a few drops of digitalis and some laudanum. He's weak, and still in pain, but resting now.'

‘What should we do for him?' she asked, fear consuming her. She simply couldn't bear to lose one more person dear to her.

‘Keep him calm and quiet, let him rest. I recommend that he remain abed for at least a week. Light food, no spirits. Let his body recover.'

‘Is there nothing else?' she asked, dismayed by how little it appeared she could do.

‘I'm afraid not. His constitution must recover in its own time. But…'

‘What?'

‘I understand you are shortly to leave for London. On no account should Lord Bronning accompany you. The jarring in the coach, the dust and damp of an inn, the noise, smoke and commotion of London would be most injurious. In order to properly recover, he must remain quietly here at Ashton Grove.'

‘Of course. Thank you, Doctor.'

The physician nodded. ‘If it will not trouble you, I'll remain the night, in case I should be needed.'

‘I'll have Mrs Pepys prepare you a room at once.'

‘I believe Miss Althea has already done so. I must say, she showed uncommon presence of mind. Evidently she was the first to discover Lord Bronning after his attack. Gave him some of the tincture I'd left, then summoned Sands and his valet to convey him to his chamber. If, instead of taking such prompt and effective action, she'd had gone off in useless hysterics, your father might not still be with us.'

‘I'll give her my heartfelt thanks. Will you dine with us?'

With a smile, he shook his head. ‘I very much doubt you will wish to entertain tonight. Don't worry about me; I'll take a tray in my room, as I suspect you'll wish to take a tray here, where you can watch over your papa.'

‘Thank you, Dr Wendell. I'll go back to him now.'

She slipped back into the room, to find her father still sleeping. After whispering to his valet to go to supper, she took his place by her father's bed.

Covering his hand with hers, she watched him, tears tracking down her cheeks. Poor, dear Papa. How she wished she could take all his cares upon her and will him back to health!

As she settled in beside him, a sudden realisation broke through her anxiety. She wouldn't be going to London after all. Although Papa had never intended to accompany her into the noise and confusion of the city he disliked, there was no possibility she could leave here with him so ill.

She'd have to stay at Ashton Grove…and put off her Season yet again. In the midst of the wave of frustrated disappointment, a sneaky little thrill sparked through her. She'd have to stay at Ashton Grove…where Greville was.

How long could she resist his appeal with them both here, residing under the same roof? The turbulent emotions of their ride back resurfaced: her attraction to him, her longing for his company pulling against a well-founded fear of his effect on
her and a new appreciation for the strength of her passionate nature.

Her mind flew back to those delicious moments at the Neville Tour.

Oh, the sensations he'd sparked in her, his mouth exploring hers in a tangle of tongues! His lips against her throat, her ear; his hands smoothing and fondling her breasts until the nipples peaked under his stroking thumbs. And then, the wonderful, wicked blaze of pleasure as he caressed her knee, her thigh, and up into that hot, sweet secret place. Desire accelerating in a rush until she was breathless, mindless, racing towards a peak more exquisite than she could ever have dreamed.

Exhilarated by her first taste of fulfilment, a deep hunger consumed her to experience it all, to feel within her the hardness that had pressed against her belly, probing the passage his fingers had pleasured…

Her father stirred and she came back to the present with a jolt. Heavens, if she couldn't keep herself from lustful thoughts of Greville while seated beside her gravely ill father, how could she hope to hang on to prudence and discretion during the long slow weeks necessary for Papa to recover?

Even with the best of intentions, avoiding Greville's company would be difficult if she remained here for any length of time. How was she to resist the desire that pulled her to him, the urge to deepen a friendship that should rather be curtailed, lest passion propel them into folly?

Before she could begin to sort out the tangle of anticipation, dread, confusion and uncertainty this new situation evoked, her father stirred again. As she clutched his hand tighter, he opened his eyes.

He focused on her, his face relaxing in a smile. ‘Hello, puss. I expect I gave you quite a scare.'

‘You did indeed,' she replied, willing the tears away. ‘It was most unhandsome of you.'

Patting her hand, he chuckled softly. ‘I'm heartily sorry.'

The door opened softly and Althea peeped in. ‘Come in, my dear,' Papa said. ‘I expect Dr Wendell told you how resourceful our girl was today. Before I'd barely realised what was happening, she knew just what to do.'