Wallflower (Old Maids' Club, Book 1) (26 page)

Tabitha waved in return with a pained
smile as they drove past, then returned her attention to the
libertine causing her more immediate concern. “My lord,” she said
through gritted teeth once the dragons were out of both earshot and
sight, “I should think if you are overheated, you ought to back
away from my person.”

“
I merely thought to help
ward off your chill,” Lord Oglethorpe said, his tone obsequious and
smug. He placed a firm hand on her knee and leaned closer to
her.

Tabitha slapped his hand away and
stretched to reestablish a more appropriate distance between them.
“That is entirely unnecessary. Thank you for your
thoughtfulness.”

Another move and he was almost atop
her. His hand returned, more forcefully, groping up the length of
her thigh with thick, probing fingers. With his other hand, he
grabbed hold of the back of her head and jerked her toward him,
settling his mouth over hers in a repulsive kiss.

A scream rose in her throat, but was
muffled against his assault. She flailed her arms against him, but
he rolled himself over her until she was trapped beneath him,
moving his hands to capture and confine hers. He reeked of pipe
tobacco and sweat, and the scent poured uncontrollably into her
nostrils. His legs settled on either side of her as his tongue
forced entry to her mouth, hard and plunging, and devoid of any
tenderness.

Tabitha whimpered. What could she do?
Why wasn’t someone coming to her rescue? At least a dozen people
had gone past them in the last half hour. Surely someone was there,
someone could see. Couldn’t they?

She dug her half boots into the ground
beneath her and lifted herself as well as she could, but his weight
held her captive. The small movement freed enough of her gown that
she could move her legs; Tabitha lifted her knee in a kicking
motion, connecting with his manhood.

He rolled off her with an, “Oof,”
coming from his mouth, reaching down to hold himself where she’d
struck him. “You’ll regret that, you fat bitch.”

Tabitha scrambled to her feet while
she had a chance. She doubted her efforts would grant her much
time. Indeed, he struggled to rise before she had decided what to
do. Closing her eyes, she kicked forward, aiming her half boots at
the same spot. It worked; he was writhing on the ground again
almost immediately. There was no more time to debate her options.
Tabitha turned and fled, before the mongrel had a chance to recover
and chase after her.

~ * ~

Turning from Bond Street toward
Hanover Square, she finally allowed herself to slow her pace. She’d
been in a near run since leaving Lord Oglethorpe behind at Hyde
Park, but now she was almost home. She was safe.

How incredibly footsore she was! She
might have a blister on the bottom of one foot, but she couldn’t
stop to deal with it now. For all she knew, Oglethorpe could be
right behind her. Indeed, she had often turned at the sound of an
oncoming carriage to be certain that wasn’t the case as she rushed
along.

This wasn’t something she could tell
Father or Owen or Toby about, either. If they knew what he’d done,
they’d either call him out or force her to marry Oglethorpe.
Neither option appealed to her. In that regard, she was lucky no
one had come to her rescue and witnessed the scene.

The clatter of horse and carriage
sounded behind her again. Tabitha’s head turned, and she
immediately wished she hadn’t looked. Lord Devonport was almost
upon her already, leading a team of two before his
curricle.

“
Lady Tabitha?” He passed
her, and then the carriage slowed and drew to a stop just in front
of her. “Why are you out alone? And why are you crying?” he asked
as he leapt down.

“
Crying?” Was she truly?
Tabitha touched a glove to her cheek and it came away wet. “I
suppose I am.”

His eyes were bloodshot, but filled
with concern. “Come. I’m taking you home.” Placing one hand in the
small of her back, he grasped her arm in his other and helped her
into the curricle. He hadn’t given her the opportunity to decide
what she wanted. He had just acted.

“
I’m almost there,”
Tabitha said feebly. “It is no trouble.” But with the aid of his
team of horses, they arrived before her father’s house almost
before she had raised her unconvincing objection.

Lord Devonport tossed the reins to a
groom before descending, and then he turned and lifted her down.
Heat rose up the back of her neck at the touch. His hands rested on
her waist for a moment once she was safely on the ground, keeping
her too close to him, to his warmth. Too close to his safety. But
she couldn’t pull herself away, despite the knowledge that anyone
could see them.

Finally, he removed his grip and faced
Shelton Hall. “Shall we?”

Tabitha placed her hand on his arm and
allowed him to lead her inside. Livingston opened the door and took
Lord Devonport’s hat.

Lord Devonport guided her into the
drawing room. “Inform Newcastle that his daughter has need of him,”
he said to Livingston as they brushed past.

“
I would, my lord, but his
lordship is not at home.” The butler bustled along beside them,
signaling a maid for tea as he went. “Is Lady Tabitha unwell?
Should I send a footman out for the doctor?”

A doctor? Good heavens, she wasn’t
ill. “No doctor is necessary, Livingston. I’m quite all
right.”

A frustrated sound, one reminiscent of
a wild animal’s growl, issued from Lord Devonport. He took more
care than necessary to settle her on the Grecian sofa. “Raynesford,
then.” At the shake of Livingston’s head, he tried again. “Shelton?
Lady Raynesford? Is no member of the family at home?”

“
No, my lord. And I have
to question why you are the one to return Lady Tabitha. I expected
Lord Oglethorpe to do that, since he collected her earlier for a
picnic. Indeed, I did not expect her home for another hour or
more.”

Lord Devonport snapped his head around
to the butler, and Tabitha could only imagine the flashing blue
fire that must be in his eyes, though she did not know why such a
response would be called for at present. “That is none of your
concern,” he said, standing straight before the butler with
command. A tremulous maid hurried in to set down the tea service
and then left again before she could be stopped. “When a member
from the family returns—any member—send them straight in. I’ll see
to Lady Tabitha’s needs until that time.”

“
Very well, my lord. Ring
if you should need anything.” Livingston folded into a deep bow,
and then backed out of the room.

With shaking hands, Lord Devonport
poured out a cup of tea, adding milk and two cubes of sugar as was
Tabitha’s wont, and passed it into her hands. How did he know how
she took her tea?

“
Drink. It’ll calm my
nerves.”

Although sorely tempted, she refrained
from pointing out how ludicrous his statement was and instead took
a soothing sip. He removed a handkerchief from a pocket of his coat
and gently blotted it against her cheeks. His touch was light as a
feather. When he finished, he placed it in her free hand and closed
her fingers over it. Then he gently untied the ribbons of her poke
bonnet and freed it from her head, placing it on the occasional
table next to the sofa.

He neglected to sit, neither beside
her nor across from her; instead, he paced a path through the open
spaces in the drawing room, trailing an unsteady hand through his
hair and glancing frequently over to her. It was as though he
wanted to make sure she hadn’t disappeared in front of his very
eyes. Once her cup was half-empty, he stood straight and tall
before the hearth with his hands clasped firmly behind his back,
staring her through with a piercing gaze—one much like he wore when
he kissed her, though laced with a tinge of anger.

“
Have you calmed down
enough to speak with me, Tabitha?” His voice was so soft she had to
strain to make out all his words.

Tabitha knew what he wanted to
discuss. She didn’t particularly care to talk to anyone about it,
but she couldn’t keep running away. Running only served to put her
in harm’s way, it seemed. “Yes.”

In two strides, he reached her side,
falling to the sofa beside her and taking one of her hands
earnestly into his own. “What did Oglethorpe do?” His words were
hardly more than a strangled groan. “Has he compromised
you?”

“
No!” How could he have
guessed such a thing? She couldn’t let anyone think that. Not now.
Not ever. Tabitha racked her mind for something she could tell him,
something that wouldn’t lead to imminent disaster. Nothing readily
presented itself to her mind.

“
Very well,” Lord
Devonport said. He took a deep breath before continuing. “Why don’t
we start at the beginning? Lord Oglethorpe took you on a
picnic?”

That would be good. If she could start
there, then maybe she would have time to formulate her story in a
manner which would not end up with her becoming betrothed to
anyone. Though it was admittedly rather difficult to think of
anything at all with Lord Devonport so near, save running her
fingers through the hair he habitually mussed with his own
fingers.

“
Yes. He had asked me to
accompany him today more than a week ago. We went to Hyde Park, to
a quiet spot in a grove of willows.”

“
You mean to a secluded
area where no one could interrupt his nefarious plans,” Lord
Devonport grumbled, tightening one hand into a balled
fist.

She started. Damn and blast, it seemed
he already knew everything that had happened. Did he know what Lord
Oglethorpe had planned? Had he watched them from some undisclosed
location? He could just be playing a game with her, trying to see
if she would admit the truth of the situation.

Lord Devonport pushed himself back
into his seat, putting a bit more distance between them. “I’m
sorry. I shouldn’t have interrupted. Go on.”

How much should she reveal? Every word
felt like a dagger in her stomach, twisting and turning as she
sealed her fate. “We had not been there long when he tried to kiss
me.”

Lord Devonport bolted out of his seat
and halfway across the room in what appeared a single movement,
knocking over an occasional table with his booted feet and punching
his fist through thin air as he went. Tabitha’s eyes widened at his
display of pique. She’d never seen him so animated in his
displeasure. It sent tingles of awareness straight through to her
toes. Would he be so distressed if she were someone
else?

“
Did he succeed?” When he
asked his question, Lord Devonport did not turn to face her,
staring instead out the opened draperies that lined the bay
window.

Ought she to tell the truth or a lie?
Tabitha had only a moment’s hesitation in which to decide. “No,”
she said before she could second-guess herself. “I struck him for
his impertinence and left.”

Several moments passed in which Lord
Devonport seemed to be having a silent argument within his own
head. He vacillated between nodding and murmuring and then shaking
his head in frustration. Finally, he turned to her. His eyes were
more heated than she’d ever seen them, burning her to the core.
“You’re certain he did not succeed, Tabitha? I have reason to
believe he would not have given up so easily.” His gentle words
hung on the stillness between them.

He knew. She couldn’t fathom how he
had done it, but he knew. Tears stung her eyes, spilling over
without her blessing.

“
Don’t cry.” Lord
Devonport rushed back to her side, stepping over the fallen
occasional table and her bonnet with ease and drawing her into his
arms. Somehow, he extracted the handkerchief from her grip and
dabbed it to her cheeks again. “Please don’t cry. Just tell me—tell
me what he did. I need to know, sweetheart.”

Tabitha had to tell him at least a
closer semblance to the truth. He would not give up until she did.
Drawing in a breath to staunch her tears, she said, “He kissed me.
I didn’t want his kiss, so I struck him—” No, Lord Devonport had
not believed that part of the story moments ago. “I struck him with
my knee between his legs. When he was howling in pain, I left him
where he was and headed home.”

One corner of Lord Devonport’s mouth
curled up in a smile. “You kicked him between his legs? Good girl.
Your brothers taught you well.”

“
My brothers had nothing
to do with that,” she countered.

“
Of course not.” He patted
the back of her gloved hand in a placating manner. She ought to
kick
him
between
his legs for his unwanted mollification. But after several moments
had passed, he still did not set her hand free. His grip grew
tighter, more insistent. “You’re all right then, Tabitha? You are
no worse for wear?” He drew her hand over to hold it between both
of his own on his lap, tracing through her glove the unseen lines
of her palm with a finger. It tickled, sending warm waves of
pleasure all the way to her toes.

“
I’m fine, my
lord.”

“
Good. That’s
good.”

The finger causing such delightful
tingles moved to the soft flesh on the underside of her arm,
swirling a tormenting cascade of delight up to her elbow. Tabitha
watched its path as it went. She jumped when he touched her there,
on the inner bend of her arm, until she could hear the blood
roaring through her veins. And then his hand moved over, ever so
slightly, until his torturous finger was working enchantments on
her breast.