A Lady's Guide to Improper Behavior (22 page)

“Colonel James will never know that I’m spying on him,” she retorted in a low voice. “And I’m only making certain he’s safe.”

A few weeks ago she wouldn’t have been able to imagine herself riding about Mayfair in the middle of the night. She wouldn’t have been able to imagine any reason dire enough to justify such a breach of propriety. Now, though, she was beginning to wish she’d left Sally at home so that she could perhaps attract Tolly’s attention and they could find a way to sneak him into her house, or her into his. It didn’t matter, as long as she had another chance to be alone and naked with him.

Finally Tolly reappeared, collecting his lovely gray gelding Meru from a waiting groom and swinging back into the saddle. It was far too dim to make out his expression, but at least he seemed well and whole—or as whole as he’d been when he’d gone inside.

“Duck,” she whispered, pulling Sally down beside her to the rather sticky floor of the hack.

A moment later someone knocked high up on the hack’s door. “I can see you down there, you know,” Tolly’s voice came.

She straightened. From the back of his horse Tolly sat looking in at her. Now she could read his expression—but she still wasn’t certain whether he was amused or annoyed. “Hello,” she ventured.

“What are you doing out here?” he demanded,
keeping his voice low and sending a glare at the driver when he started mumbling something.

“You said you were going out to meet someone in secret. I was worried.”

“So you came out here to protect me.”

“Well, yes.”

Tolly leaned sideways, grasping the bottom of the hack’s open window with one hand. “Come here.”

Theresa scooted up against the door, covering his hand with hers. She stood, leaning into the opening to kiss him. Warmth crashed through her again, dispelling the evening’s chill with one hard beat of her heart.

Sally gasped. “Miss Tess! You can’t!”

Slowly Theresa straightened again. “That was nice.”

“Only nice? I’ll have to work harder next time.” He glanced up at the driver again. “Take them to Charles Street. I’ll ride along with you just to be certain you arrive home safely.”

“Just to be certain?” she repeated, smiling.

“And to tell you that you’re brilliant.” He grinned back at her. “And that I’m apparently about to become a novelist, after all.”

Arthur Peters ducked back around the corner as the hack and Colonel James on his horse passed by. Once they were well out of sight he returned to his own horse and the two men waiting with it.

“Anything?” one of them, Mr. Williams, asked.

“Several things. Follow James and Miss Weller to make certain they aren’t going anywhere but their respective homes.”

“We’re watching a chit, now?”

“This one, we are. And be glad you’re going after her; I have to go wake Lord Hadderly.”

It was becoming a very crowded and foul kettle of fish. Middle-of-the-night meetings with the Duke of Sommerset, a secret attachment of some sort with Miss Weller, and something about a novelist. He might well be setting himself up for a thrashing, but Lord Hadderly didn’t like secrets. And this smacked of several very large ones.

She’d followed him. Bartholomew kept pace with the hack as it turned onto Charles Street and up to the foot of the Weller House drive. Theresa, until very recently obsessed with propriety, had sneaked out of her house in the middle of the night. And she’d done it because she was worried about him.

The notions of trust and betrayal had consumed him for the past year, but he hadn’t stopped to think that Theresa trusted
him
. And Sommerset trusted him. How and when had this happened?

“Promise me that you’re going straight home, Tolly,” Tess whispered as she stepped down from the hack.

“I promise.” He reached down for her hand, wishing he could risk dismounting on his own, but fairly certain his knee wouldn’t tolerate any more of that tonight. “I want you in my bed, Tess,” he breathed, twining his fingers with hers.

“I want to be there.”

“Miss Tess,” the maid said, hurrying up to them, “we must go inside.”

She nodded. “I’m calling on Amelia tomorrow. Perhaps I’ll bring some writing tablets.”

“You should stay away from me,” he countered, still gripping her hand. “Sommerset is of the opinion that if word of my intentions gets out, things could get very nasty. And there’s absolutely no reason for you to be caught up in that.”

Her shoulders rose and fell, and he abruptly realized he wasn’t certain whether he wanted her to agree with him or not. Her safety was of course paramount, but he felt like a better person when she was with him.

“Don’t forget,” she said with a clearly forced smile, “I’ve already published a booklet. I may be of some assistance.”

“Tess.”

“Don’t try to make me stay away, Tolly.” A tear ran down her cheek.

God
. He would give her the moon, if she only asked him for it. “Come if you wish, then. I’ll leave it to you.” Reluctantly he released her fingers. “But now go inside. It’s cold.”

“I didn’t notice.”

“Oh, I did, Miss Tess.” The maid took her arm and began half dragging her mistress toward the front door. “Please, miss. Before someone sees.”

It was far too late to keep Theresa from being ruined, but at the moment the two of them—and Lackaby—were the only ones to know it. For her sake, he wanted to keep it that way.

Once she was inside the house and the door quietly and safely closed, he clucked to Meru. At the corner he slowed a little, making a show of adjusting his stirrup while he took in the two riders hiding in the shadow of the large oak trees there. For a brief
moment he considered confronting them, but at night and unarmed but for his boot knife and the cane rapier, he decided against it. And he wanted to make certain that they followed him home rather than staying close to Weller House.

Sommerset had warned him that things would get more dangerous. He just hadn’t expected it to begin already.

“What do you think?” Bartholomew stood back from the billiards room curtains the next morning and looked out over the street.

Lackaby moved up to the other side of the window. “This one looks tougher than that fellow last night. And he’s better at hiding himself in plain sight.”

Bartholomew nodded. “Hopefully the Company is just trying to avoid being taken by surprise.”

“By what? You suddenly decide to run for prime minister?”

“I don’t know. But as long as they don’t know we’re watching them, I suppose we have the advantage.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.”

No, it didn’t. “For the moment keep this to yourself.”

Lackaby left the window, passing by the billiards table with a longing gaze. “Who would I tell? The grooms? The butler? They ain’t much in the way of military assistance.”

Bartholomew limped after the valet. “No, they aren’t. Which is why I don’t want to involve them.”

“Aye. I’ve never heard of winning a campaign by writing a book before, but I suppose we’ll find out.”

“Just remember that we’re not discussing any
books, either. Only Stephen knows.” And that had been quite the conversation earlier that morning. Surprisingly, though, his brother had finally agreed that this seemed the best solution.

“Only Lord Gardner and you and me and Miss Tess, you mean.” Lackaby sent him a sideways glance as he hefted Bartholomew’s arm over his shoulder to help him down the stairs. “She does know what you’re about, I assume.”

“Yes, not that it’s any of your damned business.”

“Aye, Colonel.”

Gripping the balustrade to stop them both on the landing, Bartholomew pushed his valet back a step. “I take that back. If anything does go wrong, you have one duty—see that Theresa Weller is safe and protected. Is that clear?”

The valet drew himself up for a crisp, precise salute. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. And thank you.”

“I only hope you can write, or all this will be for nothing.”

“Get me down the damned stairs, Louis.”

“You’re a cruel man, Colonel.”

“You have no idea. And settle in; this is going to be a siege.” Privately he hoped he could put the swirling nightmares in his mind into some sort of coherent order, as well, and that he could do it quickly. Because the longer it took him to save his reputation, the more likely the East India Company would be to discover what he had planned.

Y
ou’re off to see Amelia again?”

Theresa stopped halfway out the front door of Weller House. “Yes, Grandmama. I may stay for dinner, but I’ll send word to let you know.” She headed out again, Sally on her heels.

“What about the Brewster recital?”

“I’ve sent my regrets.”

“Just a moment, Tess.” Grandmama Agnes hurried down the staircase. “For ten days now you’ve been running out the door to James House. Do you think I haven’t noticed that you’ve canceled every afternoon engagement this week? Not to mention that a dozen
men have come calling without you even sending your regrets for not being home to receive them.”

“I miss my cousin,” Theresa offered.

“And what about Colonel James? He has nothing to do with this, I suppose?”

Theresa blushed. “You know a lady never calls on a gentleman. It’s not at all proper.”

Her grandmother grinned. “But a lady does call on her cousin at a home where a very handsome bachelor also happens to reside.” With a cackle, Agnes pulled a bonnet from the rack by the front door. “I miss Amelia, myself. Ramsey, I’ll be at James House if anything should arise. I may stay for dinner, but I’ll send word.”

With a smile, the butler sketched a bow. “I’ll inform Lord Weller when he returns from Parliament.”

“Yes. He may wish to join us. Good thinking, Ramsey.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

Theresa stifled a frown as she found herself following her grandmother out to the carriage. She’d been hoping to finally manage some time alone again with Tolly. With Sally, Lackaby, and Lord Gardner all hovering about, plus Violet attempting to wheedle out of her brother what he was scribbling all the time and Amelia pestering both her and Lord Gardner for the same information, Tolly had barely managed to kiss her a half dozen times in ten blasted days.

Now today she would likely have to spend all day sitting about and chatting with Leelee and her grandmother.
Damnation
. She already felt half ready to combust. Every night she dreamed of being in his
embrace, and every morning she couldn’t wait to see him.

“Spending the day with my two dearest girls,” Grandmama Agnes said with a smile, patting Theresa on the knee. “Oh! Perhaps we should go have luncheon with Lady Primstead. She mentioned that her Lady Duchess is going to have kittens. That cat has the most pretentious name, but she does have very pretty eyes.”

“Yes,” Theresa agreed, attempting to keep the smile on her face, “that sounds delightful. I do think I might stay behind. Colonel James has been reluctant to…exercise his leg, but I seem to be able to goad him into taking a walk.”

“You goad him into it, or he likes to spend time in your company?”

Theresa let out a sigh. “It’s complicated.”

Agnes snorted. “Complicated is good. And your old grandmama isn’t quite as daft as you think. Is he as fond of you as you are of him?”

“Am I that obvious?” Theresa asked, a small measure of relief running through her.

“I’m very crafty.” Agnes’s smile softened. “If not for that blasted Hadderly getting everyone to think that Colonel James lied about the attack that killed his men, I would be hoping to hear about a match. Under these circumstances, however, I’m very proud that you have remained his friend.”

Oh, she was very much more than his friend. “Thank you for saying that, Grandmama.”

“You’re welcome. And I won’t force you to accompany Amelia and me to luncheon.”

“Thank you again.”

Agnes patted her on the knee again. “I hate to say this, because I haven’t seen you so happy in a very long time, but be a little cautious, my love. I would hate for you to finally give your heart to someone only to discover that you can’t tolerate his circumstances.”

With a nod, Theresa hugged her grandmother’s arm. “I’m very lucky to have you, Grandmama.”

“Yes, you are. And don’t you forget it.”

Considering that she hadn’t bothered to discover whether Amelia would even be home or not, Theresa was very pleased to find her cousin in the small James House garden, cutting flowers. “Leelee!” she exclaimed, pushing back her abrupt guilt that she’d spent nearly every minute of the past ten days at her cousin’s home and had barely exchanged a dozen words with her.

“Tess! And Grandmama!”

“We’re here to take you to luncheon,” Agnes announced, hugging her granddaughter. “Or I am.”

Leelee looked over at Theresa. “Ah. He’s upstairs, in the east sitting room. Again.”

“Thank you,” Theresa said, with a grin she couldn’t help.

“If you know what he’s doing up there, I wish you would tell me. I don’t like being barred from entering rooms in my own house. Particularly when my cousin goes wherever she wishes.”

“I—” Theresa closed her mouth again. Instead of attempting to explain something she couldn’t, she flung her arms around Amelia in a tight hug. “It’s all to help,” she whispered in her cousin’s ear. “I’d tell you if I could.”

“That’s what Stephen keeps saying.” Amelia grimaced. “Oh, go on. What are daisies compared with Colonel Tolly James?”

She didn’t wait for another invitation. Leaving Sally behind in the garden, she hurried up the back stairs, past Tolly’s bedchamber, and up to the closed door marking the east sitting room. She knocked. “Tolly? It’s me.”

Silence.

Then, a heartbeat later, she heard chair legs scraping against the wooden floor, and the distinctive thump of a cane. The key on the inside of the door turned, and the handle lifted. The door cracked open, and a hand, fingertips stained black with ink, reached out to circle her wrist. Then he pulled her inside and closed the door behind them.

“Hello,” he said, pushing her back against the closed door and kissing her.

She flung her arms around his shoulders, kissing him back. After better than ten days of being so close and barely able to touch, he felt so warm and solid and delicious that she wouldn’t have cared if Lackaby was in the room next to them.

A heartbeat later she turned her face away a little. “Lackaby’s not in here, is he?”

“I banished him for incessant pacing.” Tolly rested his forehead against hers. “I’m very glad you didn’t listen to me when I said you should stay away.” Slowly he kissed her again, teasing at her mouth until her heart pounded and she could barely breathe.

“I’m…I’m not here to distract you, you know,” she managed, groaning as his hands lowered to her
hips, pulling her up against him. She could feel his arousal between them, and her knees went weak.

“You’re not distracting me,” he returned, shifting his attention to her bare throat and jaw. “You’re saving me from pitching myself out the window.”

“Tolly!” She shoved his shoulders. He retreated all of an inch, but at least he stopped kissing her long enough that she could think. “There is to be no pitching out of windows.”

“It was just an expression.” He ran a hand through his dark, disheveled hair. “I am not a writer. Lackaby keeps yelling at me to add more adjectives, and Stephen says I’m too brutal.”

“What happened was brutal.”

He nodded. “And I want it out of my mind for just a damned minute or two.”

Theresa reached between them to loosen the knot of his cravat. “Then perhaps I can be of some help, after all.”

Tolly smiled, the expression sensual and wicked and just for her. “I was hoping you would say that.” With a click he turned the key again, locking the door.

“I don’t know how much time we have,” she said, untying his cravat and pulling it free. “Sally will come looking for me, and my grandmother’s here, as well.”

“Then we’ll have to hurry.” He pulled her fingers away from his waistcoat. “Don’t bother with that.”

“But—”

His mouth took hers again. “If I don’t have you now, Tess, I cannot guarantee my sanity.”

They sank onto the floor in such a tangle of limbs
and clothes that she could barely tell where she stopped and he began. Where before he’d been slow and gentle and careful, clearly he had more urgent things on his mind today. He grabbed her skirt in both hands and yanked it up around her waist. Then he turned her onto her back, leaning over her for another burning, openmouthed kiss.

Somehow he managed to kneel between her thighs, keeping his weight on his good knee. Swiftly he unfastened his trousers and shoved them down. Theresa felt wild, wanton, and she couldn’t tear her eyes from him, from his large, aroused manhood. She ached for him, and she couldn’t imagine any clearer evidence that he wanted her. Badly, apparently.

“Theresa,” he murmured, settling his body over hers.

“Now, Tolly. Please.”

He angled his hips forward, sliding inside her. Theresa gasped, wrapping her ankles around his thighs as he thrust into her again and again, harder and faster until she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even think. Abruptly she shattered, throbbing, clinging tightly to his shoulders.

“Oh God,” she moaned. “Oh God.”

His pace increased as he gazed down at her, amber eyes glinting. “Mine,” he rumbled, sinking down to kiss her again. “Say you’re mine, sweet Theresa.”

“I’m yours, Bartholomew James,” she managed, tangling her fingers into his hair.

With a groan he came, holding himself hard inside her. Theresa slid her arms around him as he lowered his head to her shoulder. Both of them breathing hard, they lay there tangled on the floor together.

“I feel better now,” she breathed, smiling.

Bartholomew lifted his head again, grinning back down at her. “Not a great deal of finesse, but I have to agree.” He kissed her soft mouth again. “The next time I intend to very slowly remove all your clothes and then lick every bare inch of your skin.”

“That sounds very nice, too.”

“Nice has nothing to do with it.” With an even more wicked grin he sat up beside her. “And now I’m going to be disappointed if someone
doesn’t
come knocking at this door almost immediately.”

Chuckling, Theresa climbed to her feet. For heaven’s sake, she hadn’t even removed her shoes. She lowered her skirts again, smoothed at them, then dragged the writing chair over for Tolly. “I almost threw my own grandmother out of the carriage this morning because I thought I would miss seeing you.”

With a stifled groan, Bartholomew hauled himself to his feet. Straightening, he fastened his trousers again. All morning he’d been distracted with thinking of her—though in truth he had been distracted by thoughts of her for weeks. At least now he would survive through the day.

Moving as swiftly as he could, he unlocked the door again, shoved it half open, and pushed his chair back to the desk where he’d been sitting for the past ten days. As he passed Theresa, though, he couldn’t help pausing for another kiss.

“How far have you gotten?” she asked, pulling another chair up beside him.

“I’ve finished with the section about that last patrol of mine. And I prefaced it with various accounts I’d heard about the Thuggee before that.” He picked up
his dipped pen, then set it down again. “Frankly, not much else about my time in India is anything worth writing about. And even less worth reading about, I think.”

She frowned. “I think it’s fascinating.”

“You are unique.” He glanced at the page again. “The idea is have as many people as possible read
this
.” He lifted the thin stack of papers. “Not to make me known as a great writer. And an entire book, I’m afraid, will only prove that I’m more adept at riding and shooting than I am with pen and paper.”

For a long moment Theresa gazed out the window. “You said Sommerset had contacts with the publishing houses.”

“Yes, but dull is dull, my love. No matter how—”

“Does he have contacts with the
London Times
?”

Bartholomew looked at her. “You mean I should serialize the story?”

“Or print it all at once as an editorial. It doesn’t matter, after all, if everyone knows it’s your opinion, because that is all you mean for it to be.”

He smiled. “Have I mentioned lately how brilliant you are?”

She shrugged, her gray-green eyes dancing. “It never hurts to say it.”

“You, my dear, are brilliant.”

“Thank you.”

Slowly he gathered up the stacks of papers that littered the desk and the window sill. “If all I need is a very widely read editorial, I’m nearly finished.” He handed her one of the two stacks. “In fact, I would be honored if you would read it and give me your
opinion. I’ll take the other version to Sommerset, and see if he’s of the same mind.”

“Now?”

“I want to marry you, Theresa.” He stood. “I have no intention of stalling about with this—unless you’ve changed your mind.” It physically hurt to say it, but he absolutely was not going to trap her into anything. Never. “Just tell me, and I—”

She smacked him in the shoulder. “Stop that. I wouldn’t be here now if I’d changed my mind.”

“I just wanted to hear you say it.” He leaned down and kissed her again.

“Thank God I’m not Lady Weller,” Lackaby said from the doorway, “or I’d be needing my smelling salts about now.”

“Shut up, Lackaby.” Bartholomew glanced over his shoulder at the valet. “Go have Meru saddled. I’m going out for a bit.”

“You have a book to write, Colonel. You told me to tie you to that chair if you couldn’t sit in it on your own any longer. And I am a man of my word.”

“I may be finished.”

The valet blinked. “Beg your pardon, but not even the goddess Kali could write that fast, and she has four hands.”

“A slight change of plan, which I am not going to waste time discussing with you. My horse.”

Blowing out his breath, Lackaby left the room again. Bartholomew turned back to Theresa. “I need to go get my leg brace. Will you stay here until I get back from Ainsley House?”

She nodded, her fingers clutching the pages he’d
given her and an alluring mix of worry and hope on her pretty face. “I will.”

“And no following me,” he added. “And no telling anyone where I’ve gone. Sommerset wants as little public involvement as possible.”

“I know that. I’m only…I don’t want to begin hoping yet. If Sommerset still thinks a full-length memoir would serve you better, then—”