An Improper Lady (The Powder and Patch Collection) (2 page)

Chapter Two

Bella cast an experienced eye around Lady Anstruther’s ballroom. Yes, she was the most elegantly attired woman present, she affirmed. She did not have to wonder if she was also the most beautiful. With her glorious chestnut locks, wide almond-shaped eyes and impossibly perfect features, no other woman could hold a candle to her.

The company was rather thin on this November evening, many of the nobility having retired to their country estates in preparation for the Christmas festivities. There were no new faces to attract her attention. Sighing, Bella resigned herself to an evening of unmitigated boredom. She was dancing a desultory minuet with a smitten baron, who cast wary glances in the direction of his wife whilst blatantly propositioning Bella. Her tactic of parrying his advances with a polite, distant air only served to deepen his resolve to make her his mistress.

Glancing up, Bella saw that Sir Peregrine Pomeroy had just arrived, and her features relaxed into an involuntary smile. Lady Anstruther bustled over to greet him and he bowed gracefully over her hand. Sir Peregrine was every hostess’s darling, a gentleman who danced every dance, made himself agreeable to dowagers and maidens alike and was prepared to indulge even the plainest debutante with a mild flirtation. It helped that he was also extremely wealthy, and his lineage was impeccable.

Bella had come to know Sir Peregrine better in recent months while they were both engaged on the same purpose, bringing their mutual friend, Jack Lindsey and Rosie Delacourt - a couple clearly made for each other - together. Their success as a matchmaking team had cemented their friendship. Bella enjoyed Sir Peregrine’s company more than she could have imagined possible.

“
Odds blood, my lady!” Her partner’s sulky tones drew her attention reluctantly back to him. “It seems you would rather feast your eyes on that damned man milliner Pomeroy than talk to me!” Sir Peregrine enjoyed a quite unprecedented success with the ladies. This fact caused considerable disquiet amongst other men, many of whom resorted to casting scathing aspersions upon his masculinity.

“
That,” Bella informed him, as the dance ended and she sank into a curtsey, “is the first sensible observation you have made this evening, my lord.” Leaving him glaring after her with his mouth opening and closing like a fish, she moved gracefully across the room. His wife - a little, mousy woman - cast Bella a fulminating glance. She scurried over and tugged at her husband’s arm to remove him from the centre of the floor, where he was the object of some pitying glances and a few sniggers.

“
Stirring up your usual tempest in the matrimonial saucepans, I see?” Sir Peregrine enquired, as Bella drew level with him, and she laughed.

“
I
do
have a reputation to maintain,” she reminded him, enjoying the look of smiling admiration in his eyes.

“
And you work devilish hard at it,” Sir Peregrine agreed. “You are looking more beautiful than ever tonight, Lady Bella, if such an eventuality is possible. It seems Paris has agreed with you.”

“
It always does,” she sighed reminiscently. She knew the French capital was his favourite city as well as her own. “No-one in England can make my gowns the way Celeste can.”

Sir Peregrine raised the quizzing glass, which hung from a ribbon attached to his pocket, and surveyed her through it. It was indeed a beautiful dress. Bella made the most of her dramatic colouring by wearing vivid, jewel-like shades that would appear too harsh on a less fortunate lady. Her gown on this occasion was of deep amethyst, which, together with the snowy lace at her breast and elbow, accentuated the golden tones of her skin. She rarely wore paint or powder, and the sheen on her dark hair, like the deep rose of her lips, owed nothing to artifice.

“Celeste is
une
artiste extraordinaire
,” he agreed. “But I am certain that no other lady does justice to her gowns by filling them quite as interestingly as you
do!” Sir Peregrine observed audaciously. He lowered his glass, but not before she noticed – with a little thrill of pleasure - that his gaze lingered a fraction longer that was necessary on the swell of her breasts.

Before she could respond to his compliment, the musicians struck up a lively country dance and Sir Peregrine took her hand. Conversation during the set was limited to occasional remarks, and Bella was aware of the smouldering glances of several of her would-be beaux. It did not sit comfortably with these gentlemen to see their goddess openly flirting with a man who was, in their eyes, little more than a walking fashion-plate.

As the dance ended, and she rose from a deep curtsey, Bella looked up into Perry’s smiling grey eyes. A jolt of pure, unrestrained lust shot through her body, taking her breath away. She knew instinctively that he felt it too.
What was it about him?
Bella liked a man to be a man. Scented fops were really
not
her type!
And yet…

Proffering his arm with his usual grace, Sir Peregrine led her over to an alcove and sat next to her on a small settee. A waiter brought wine and Bella sipped it gratefully, unnerved by Sir Peregrine’s nearness. Chivalrously, he claimed her fan and waved it back and forth, cooling her flushed skin.

“You seem a trifle flustered, my lady,” he murmured, a wicked gleam lighting his eyes as he watched her reaction.

“’
Tis merely the exertion of the dance, sir,” she replied with what she hoped was an assumption of calm.

“
Ah!” his smile deepened. “So that’s what it is!”

He turned to watch the dancers and Bella’s eyes were drawn to his hands. They looked surprisingly strong, with long slender fingers and perfectly manicured nails. She swallowed the sudden lump which constricted her throat at the thought of those hands on her body.
Have done with this! Take him to bed and then forget him, as you have done with so many others before.

Before she could speak, Sir Peregrine rose. “I must crave your pardon, my lady.” He bowed low over her hand. “But I have arranged to meet a friend who is on a short visit to London, and only called here on my way to that engagement.”

Bella wanted to weep with frustration. “That is a shame, Sir Peregrine.” It was now or never, she decided. “I was about to suggest that you and I leave this place and… ah, renew our acquaintance further, in private.” Was she blushing? She could definitely feel her face burning.
Nonsense! I have not blushed since I was twelve!

Sir Peregrine smiled and she noticed the slight gap in his otherwise perfect teeth, the cleft in his chin and a tiny, star-shaped scar at his right temple. Why was it that when she focused on him, her every sense became oddly heightened?

“I do not think I have ever had a more tempting offer.” Keeping hold of her hand, he drew her out of her seat and towards him, demonstrating an easy strength she had not dreamed he possessed. She forgot for an instant they were in full view of a ballroom full of hundreds of people and her body arched sensually towards him, preparing to meet his embrace. Fortunately, he released her hand and provided a timely reminder. “But I must regretfully decline.”

And he was gone, leaving Bella staring after him in stupefaction. She was absolutely sure he wanted her as much as she wanted him!
So what was the wretched man playing at?

Fairly thrumming now with lust, Bella flopped back into her seat with something less than her usual grace. Several gentlemen, noting that the most beautiful and notorious woman in London was now alone, hurried to her side. The invitation in half a dozen pairs of eyes should have gratified her. She could have their pick of them. All of them were attractive, masculine and openly lusting after her.
Damn you, Sir Peregrine Pomeroy!
Bella - to the shock of the gossip mongers, who watched her every move with hungry interest - went home alone.

***

Although The New Spring Gardens were generally closed for the season from September to March, they were opened one crisp November night for a masked ball. This novel entertainment was organised by the Duchess of Wendover to celebrate a visit from some Venetian friends. Fortunately, the evening was dry and not too cold, and the revellers imbibed hot rack punch to keep any chills at bay. Clad in hooded domino cloaks and wearing masks to hide their features, the guests danced, feasted and engaged in flirtations and amorous assignations. The fact that it was winter, when the gardens should have been closed, lent a clandestine flavour which added piquancy to the occasion.

Bella, as always, was much in demand. She scintillated on the dance-floor, her scarlet domino like a beacon amidst the paler colours. Her eyes scanned the company restlessly, but she very much doubted anyone would guess which tall, willowy figure they sought.

Sir Peregrine, clad in a silver grey domino, arrived late with a party of friends, and was immediately hailed by several ladies as their preferred dance partner. It was almost an hour later when he finally sought out Bella and solicited her hand for the minuet which was just beginning.

“
I would rather go for a stroll,” she told him, raising her voice to be heard above the cacophony around them. The perfect bow of her lips, accentuated by the upward sweep of her mask, curved into a roguish smile.

Although he acceded to her request, Sir Peregrine commented, as they walked along the deserted paths, “You are aware of the scandalous nature of the activities which take place in these secluded walks, my lady? Can I trust you with my good reputation?”

“Probably not,” Bella admitted serenely, taking his arm. He glanced down at her in mock alarm, and she gave a gurgle of laughter. Her scheme to get him alone was proceeding perfectly… exactly as she had planned.

Chapter Three

Bella led Sir Peregrine into a decorative summer house in a dark, secluded corner of the gardens. He paused and unhooked a lantern from one of the trees, carrying it inside with him. The only furniture was a table flanked by four high-backed chairs.

Bella, putting the hood of her domino back and removing her mask, turned to face him. She knew exactly what to say to snare him. It was, after all, something in which she had plenty of experience! Before she could speak, however, she was seized and crushed in an iron embrace, her lips claimed in a burning, demanding kiss. It wasn’t in her script… but that made it even more exciting! Thrilling to the sensations his tongue aroused as it plundered her mouth, she surrendered completely, melting against him, her desperation mounting to match his. With a sound between a groan and a laugh, he drew back and his mouth traced a fiery path down the column of her neck.

“
You have no idea how much I want you, my beauty.” His voice was husky with desire. Passion made him momentarily forget his fashionable drawl.

Bella tilted her head back to look at him in the half light. “Of course I do!” she laughed throatily. “You must know, it
cannot
have escaped your attention, how
desperately
I want you too!” She broke off and, boldly taking his hand, held it against the luscious swell of her breasts, so that he could feel her hardened nipples straining against the stiff material of her bodice.

Long fingers slid inside the lacy neckline, and she savoured the touch of his fingers against her flesh.

“Here?” he raised a questioning brow, glancing around the tiny room.

Bella nodded. “Now! This minute! I want you to
feel
how I ache for you. I don’t want safety. I want it to be wild, raw and dangerous...” She was cut short as he jerked her to him again, making her senses swim with the fervour of his response.

“
Then, by God, you shall have what you want!” She was caught up against the solid sinew of his chest and ruthlessly kissed. Eagerly, she returned his tongue’s caresses with her own, intoxicated by such erotic intimacy. Her domino and his jacket were tossed carelessly aside before he resumed his searing assault on her aching lips. She had dreamed of his kisses so many times, and the reality did not disappoint her!

He slipped the shoulders of her low cut ball gown down, and Bella assisted him by wriggling her arms free so that her breasts were released from the frothy lace. The rounded fullness of their curves gleamed pale in the dim light. Sir Peregrine pressed hungry lips to their yielding softness, causing Bella to murmur her appreciation. His lips found her nipple and she shivered as he rolled his tongue, with tormenting deliberation, across the hardened flesh. A sound between a sigh and a groan escaped her when he took the throbbing peak into his mouth, sucking the sensitised bud. The insistent pulse between her legs started to beat out of control.

The back of Bella’s thighs were pressed up against the table and she was glad of its support, unable to stand on her own as his teasing lips further stoked her spiralling desire. Sliding her hands beneath his shirt, she traced the smooth, sculpted muscles of his back with questing fingers.

His lips returned to claim hers again, and she instinctively stood on the tips of her toes to better fit her body to his, her eyes widening in delight as she felt his pulsating hardness. Pressing herself unashamedly against him, she returned his kisses with an enthusiasm that she knew would inflame him further.

Sir Peregrine’s hands were lifting her skirts now, cupping and caressing the soft roundness of her buttocks, before lingering briefly and tantalisingly at the velvety folds between her legs. He lifted her so that she was seated at the edge of the table with her skirts around her waist. Gently he parted her legs, placing his body between her knees, and caressed her slender thighs. Those magical fingers delved into her secret core, tenderly stroking the softness within. His thumb found the place from which all her heat and longing emanated and moved in a circular motion which drove the breath from her body. She reached out a hand and slowly, teasingly undid the buttons of his breeches. When he was free of this restraint, she arched her hips towards him, exulting in the feeling of his hardness pressing into her.

Suddenly – shockingly - he paused, scanning Bella’s face in the flickering orange gloom of the lantern. She sensed he was about to say something.

Running footsteps just outside made him turn his head, and he withdrew, hurriedly fastening his breeches. Turning, he shielded Bella from view with his body, while she straightened her own clothing.

***

A young girl ran full tilt into the summerhouse, her breath catching on a sob when she realised it was occupied. She was unmasked and her hood was thrust back so that, in spite of the poor light, her enchanting countenance could be clearly seen.

“
Oh!” she gasped in alarm, and turned as if about to run away again.

Sir Peregrine, ever chivalrous, noted the tears which glistened on her cheeks. “Please, do not leave on our account!” His voice was soft and reassuring.

Bella made a huffing sound, which he pointedly ignored. “Instead do, pray, tell me how I may be of assistance. I can see that you are distressed, Miss…?”

“
Chorley,” she supplied in a voice that was little above a whisper. “Primrose Chorley.”

On anyone else, Bella thought savagely as she slid from her perch on the table, the name would sound nonsensical. But this girl, with her pale, blonde hair and air of fragility, actually did look like the flower she was named after.

Primrose raised huge, grateful eyes to Sir Peregrine’s face and a shy smile trembled on her lips. Taking the hand he extended gratefully, she allowed him to lead her to a seat at the table.

Just as well the silly little chit had no idea what had almost taken place on its varnished surface!
It occurred to Bella that her uncharitable thoughts might be reflected on her face and, schooling her expression into one which was less ferocious, she joined her companions.

Primrose eyed her cautiously and, in spite of her annoyance at the interruption, Bella’s kind heart was touched. She smiled comfortingly, and the girl relaxed slightly.

“Do tell us what troubles you, child,” Bella said kindly. “Sir Peregrine is right, you know. We may be able to help.”

She met Perry’s eyes over the blonde head, and he grinned at her apologetically. She gave a tiny shake of her head, wanting to let him know that there would be other opportunities. Her attention was claimed and her arms suddenly full, as Primrose hurled herself into them.

“No-one can help me!” she sobbed hysterically against Bella’s shoulder. “I must marry a man who sniffs!”

“
Will any man who sniffs do, or do you, perhaps, have someone specific in mind?” Sir Peregrine asked, resting his hip against the table and regarding her with an interested air. Bella threw him a look of amused reproach, but Primrose appeared not to have noticed his sarcasm.

“
It is Sir Edmund Tunstall,” she said, recovering slightly. She was one of those fortunate women, Bella noticed with a pang of envy, who looked not one ha’peth the worse for her tears. Instead, as she turned to look at Sir Peregrine, her face was slightly woebegone but still quite devastatingly pretty.

“
Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” he advised her kindly. “Fellow chews tobacco and,” he shuddered fastidiously, “spits the remains out in public!”

This pronouncement had the effect making Primrose’s lower lip tremble pathetically, and Bella said, “I think what Miss Chorley is trying to say is that she has no choice in the matter, Sir Peregrine.” She offered her handkerchief to Primrose, who accepted it gratefully. “Is that correct child? Are you being coerced into marriage with Sir Edmund?” Primrose nodded and dabbed at her eyes with the dainty square of lace.

The whole story tumbled out in fits and starts. Prompted by pertinent questions from Bella - and the occasional frivolous one from Sir Peregrine - Primrose explained the circumstances leading up to this outpouring of emotion. She was eighteen years old, an orphan who lived in the care of her aunt - a lady who, it appeared, harboured large ambitions. Mrs. Grimwald had several daughters of her own, all of them younger than Primrose. Her burning desire was to see each of these damsels creditably wed. She planned to marry her pretty, impoverished niece to the highest bidder – as it was referred to by the vulgar – so that Primrose might subsequently launch her cousins upon the unsuspecting London social scene.

Mrs. Grimwald’s only requirement when seeking a suitable spouse for Primrose was wealth. Once Sir Edmund Tunstall began to show signs of interest, she had decided he would fit the bill very nicely.

Tonight, Primrose and her aunt were Sir Edmund’s guests, and that gentleman was showing flattering signs of being on the verge of declaring himself. Mrs. Grimwald, a somewhat lax chaperone when the occasion warranted, allowed him to lead her niece off along one of the quiet walks.

“
Even though, before we set off this evening, she told me that no lady would ever allow herself to be alone with a gentleman in one of the dark paths!” she sniffed resentfully.

Sir Peregrine regarded Bella steadily over Primrose’s golden head, one brow raised meaningfully. With a slight tremor in her voice as she bit back the laughter which threatened to bubble, she said soothingly, “’Tis perfectly true child. No
lady
would do so! But do, pray, continue.”

Sir Edmund had squeezed Primrose’s waist and tried to kiss her. She, foreseeing a future in which she must submit to such activity on a daily basis, promptly ran away from him.

“And now,” she sighed dolefully, “I must go back, because Aunt Lucretia will be looking for me and,” her emotions threatened briefly to overcome her again, “she will be so very angry!”

Bella paused to consider the matter. While she sympathised with the girl, Primrose’s plight was not an uncommon one. She knew nothing to the detriment of Sir Edmund, except, of course, that unpleasant tobacco chewing habit Sir Peregrine had referred to. There was no reason to suspect he would be anything other than kind to his young wife. And, after all, Bella herself had been married at Primrose’s age to a kindly, older man.

“You do not have to return, if you do not wish it!” The words were out before she had time to think about them. She was aware of Sir Peregrine regarding her in some surprise. “Is there no-one you can turn to?” she asked, modifying her tone.

Even in the gloom, it was evident that Primrose was blushing, “Well, there is Ned…” she murmured, and the change in her expression was quite remarkable. She seemed inclined to drift into a daydream, and was recalled to her surroundings by an impatient cough from Sir Peregrine.

“Ned Smith,” she explained. “He was one of the officers stationed near my aunt’s home in Cheshire. We became friends and we found that, well, we happened to,” she collected herself and continued in a rush. “We fell in love!”

“
And your aunt did not approve?” Bella asked.

“
She did not know. We made a pledge to wed, but Ned’s regiment moved on and, although he promised to return for me, my aunt brought me to London before he could do so…” She reached for the handkerchief again.

“
Come now! This is encouraging,” Bella said in a rallying tone. “All we need to do is get a message to him and I am sure, from what you have said, that Ned will come for you. Where did his regiment move to?”

But here they found a fatal flaw in Miss Chorley’s powers of recall. She could describe in detail the blueness of her Ned’s eyes, and recount every one of the sweet nothings he had whispered in her ear. But, try as she might, she could not recall any of the details of her beloved’s military career. He was an officer, on that point she was adamant. No, she did not know his rank. Captain, perhaps? He was from Liverpool, she knew that much for sure. No, stay! Was it Leeds? Which regiment was he in? A frown of concentration furrowed her smooth brow. She did not think they had ever discussed it, but she was
fairly
sure it was a cavalry regiment.

Sir Peregrine took charge of the situation. “Seems to me we have spent long enough debating the matter. It is late and I, for one, have no desire to have your aunt and Tunstall descend upon us. Not enough chairs, for one thing,” he pointed out, in a practical vein. “Tell you what, talk about it further in the morning after a night’s sleep.”

He looked pointedly at Bella, who took her cue from him. “Yes indeed, my dear, you may stay with me tonight, and tomorrow we will discuss what must next be done.”

Once Primrose had been assured, several times, that they did not intend to inform her aunt of her whereabouts, she made a remarkable recovery. It was a young lady with sparkling eyes and a winsome smile, therefore, who was handed by Sir Peregrine into his carriage some ten minutes later.