Lady Fiasco, A Traditional Regency Romance (My Notorious Aunt) (17 page)

He dropped his guard and looked at her with all the tenderness he felt. Specks of sunshine glimmered in her eyes, and her cheeks blushed an endearing pink. She seemed to test the depths of his earnestness without saying a word. He answered with a half smile.

She is doing it again
, he thought.
Pulling me toward her as if by magic
. Unbidden, he pulled her fingers into his palm, caressing them. His eyes traced a path across her velvet cheek to her lips and then down her ivory neck.

Confusing man
, Fiona thought, blushing under the intensity of his gaze.
You are no more predictable than my aunt. But, please, don’t take your hand away. I like how your fingers play with mine. Your very touch makes me feel as if I’ve stepped for a moment into heaven
.

Just then, a young blade driving a high-perch phaeton skidded around the corner, out of control, headed straight toward them. Tyrell jerked his hand away from Fiona and pulled the reins. He swerved his team out of the way with only inches to spare.

Kip whistled. “Nice work that, guv.”

“Yes, well, perhaps we ought to take a turn about the park, away from jackanapes who shouldn’t be allowed to hold a whip.”

Tyrell’s brows drew together in a silent brood, under which he cast sidelong glances at the woman seated next to him. Why did his traitorous body respond so quickly to this female? He fixed his eyes straight ahead and concentrated on controlling his cattle, controlling them perfectly. After taking one turn about the park, he headed back in the direction of Alison Hall.

“My lord,” said Fiona, “you are wearing your famous scowl.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Ah yes. The beastly scowl that makes me appear to be—how did Lady Haversburg phrase it—an ill-tempered old grudgen.”

“I don’t believe the word
old
was mentioned.”

“No? Well, that’s a comfort.” He laughed. “You may as well know the truth, Fiona. Lady Haversburg is right. I am an ill-tempered grudgen.”

“I am well aware of that, my lord.”

“Are you, indeed?” He frowned. “Unfortunately, I must risk proving myself even more of a killjoy. Fiona, you must not continue living with Lady Alameda. Not only is she a woman of questionable character, but sharing the same roof with Lord Alameda is… well, it’s reckless in the extreme. Dangerous.”

“What can have you against Marcus?” She noticed his brows pinched even tighter and something inside her registered a triumph.

“The man can’t be trusted, that’s what. You shouldn’t be anywhere near that reprobate.”

“But, Marcus has been everything that is kind to me. He is affectionate and generous with his time. Without his attentions, I fear I would sit against the wall at every event.”

A grumble came from deep within Tyrell’s throat. “I see you use his given name.”

“Of course.” She smiled and lifted her chin. “He is my cousin.”

 “Cousin or not,” he growled. “You ought not to be staying under the same roof with him. He’s a known rakehell, a complete wastrel, a womanizing scapegrace, and a scoundrel!”

“Really, Lord Wesmont.” She feigned offense, but the muscles in her cheek quivered with mirth. She found his hostility toward Marcus extraordinarily amusing.

Tyrell was too busy fuming and managing his team to notice. “I tell you, he cannot be trusted. You say he is affectionate. Ha! It’s his
affectionate
nature that troubles me. Exactly how affectionate is he?”

It was Fiona’s turn to glare at him. “You mustn’t trouble yourself on my account, my lord. As I told you before, my welfare is none of your concern.”

“It most certainly is my concern. You are”—he stopped—“you are… I am a friend of your father’s. Yes, that’s it. As your neighbor, I would be derelict in my duty if I didn’t concern myself with your welfare.”

“Oh fustian! You think I’m a little fool who can’t manage her own affairs. I am not nearly as green as everyone thinks.”

Tyrell arched one brow and cast his eyes knowingly over her. “Are you not green? I seem to remember having very little difficulty trapping you into a compromising situation. Or don’t you remember?”

“That is unfair, Lord Wesmont. That was a completely different situation. Besides you tricked me.”

“Yes, but that is precisely my point. It was easy to trick you. And if memory serves, you are rather susceptible to kissing. I don’t recall much resistance from you, quite the contrary—”

“Stop!” she ordered, knowing her face had turned blazing red.

She bit her lip in an attempt to steady her voice. “My lord, you have passed over unfairness and gone straight into cruelty. Do you really think I would have allowed anyone but you to kiss me like that? I’m well aware of how foolish it was. How can I forget? Especially when you remind me of it at every turn. I realize I was gullible. But that day…” Tears trickled out freely from her eyes. “That day was unlike any other.”

Tyrell’s chest tightened and part of his stubborn heart ripped open. He shifted the leather and tried to grab her hand, but she pulled it away.

He sighed heavily. “I’ve done it again, haven’t I? I’ve said everything precisely the wrong way?”

She nodded, wiping at her eyes.

He adjusted the reins, set his team to a well-controlled walk, and grabbed her waist, tugging her toward him. “Listen to me, Fiona. I don’t mean to be unkind. I don’t understand what happened to me that day. You were so beautiful in the water and sunshine, so earnest and sweet. I lost my head. I acted on my impulses and took advantage of you. Perhaps that’s why I worry that Alameda, who is most assuredly a shameless animal, might take similar liberties.”

He patted her tenderly. “Do you understand?”

She looked up at him, her dark eyes swimming with softness and a tentative trust that melted him to the core and made him start to burn with want. Her mouth was just a heartbeat away.

Gad
, he thought
, I’ve got to stop this nonsense!
He snatched his arm away from her and snapped the traces to make the team pick up speed.

Fiona looked down and twisted the finger of her glove. “If I left Alison Hall, where would you have me go? Back to Timtree Corners? They are only too glad to be shot of me. Truthfully, I am happier living with my aunt than I was at home. She may be eccentric, but she doesn’t accuse me of being forever underfoot. She doesn’t think I’m cursed. Marcus may be a rascal, but he is securely under her thumb. Nothing goes on at Alison Hall without her approval. So you see, whether I am painfully green or not, Aunt Honore keeps me safe enough.”

 “
I see
,” he said, and meant precisely the opposite. She was flat wrong, but what could he do about it?

They pulled up in front of her aunt’s town house. Tyrell handed the leads to Kip and jumped out of the curricle. He helped Fiona down, but did not linger holding her. He set her on the ground and stepped away without giving his treacherous body a chance to respond to her exotic smell, or the curve of her waist under his hands, or the small dimple on her left cheek that came and went with each smile. He stepped back so he could effectively ignore all of those things.

Fiona wondered if he had developed an aversion to her. Whatever the case, she had endured enough of Lord Wesmont’s fickle nature. She’d had enough of him being lover-like one minute and distant the next. She wanted nothing more than to deliver a swift kick to his shin. Instead, she stamped her slipper on the sidewalk, winced briefly at the pain it caused and proceeded up the stairs.

The front door opened. The butler waited in a mute vigil. Lord Wesmont tipped his hat to Fiona’s retreating figure and said formally, “I shall see you Thursday evening at your aunt’s
soirée
.”

“As you please.” Without turning around Fiona bobbed a less-than-gracious curtsy and continued to march up the stairs, her backside flouncing delectably from side to side.

Tyrell set his hat back firmly on his head and muttered as he climbed into his curricle. “Damnable girl.”

Kip’s mouth spread in a knowing grin. “Quite right, guv, a very damnable girl.”

Lord Wesmont snarled, “Thought you were deaf, Kip.”

Kip pulled on his forelock. “Yes m’lord, Deaf as yesterday’s pudding.”

“Well, see to it you stay that way.”

Chapter 15
The Soiree from Hades

H
onore floated down the stairway in a purple beaded gown, not beads sown onto fabric, but strung together like a coat of mail. Beneath a flimsy underskirt she wore nothing at all. If one caught precisely the right angle, Honore’s anatomy was quite visible through the glittering network of beads. Her breasts mounded up out of a very low neckline, and a huge garnet nestled in her cleavage.

Marcus drew in a loud breath. “My dear Honore, you will devastate the gentlemen.”

She tossed her nose into the air. “And why should I not?”

Marcus looked at her appreciatively. “No reason at all, my dear. You are a stunner.”

She inclined her head.

“I daresay every fellow here will go blind straining to look at you.” He tapped his fingers against the newel post. “Poor Fiona. You’ll put her quite in the shade. She’ll disappear into the woodwork next to you.”

Honore glared at him. “What is that to me? She looks after herself well enough.”

“Certainly. I merely thought, that as her chaperone—”

“I am not her dragon!” She poked her finger at his chin. “I’m not some old biddy consigned to the wall! Do you hear me? I’m not.” Honore stepped back and straightened her shoulders.

“Perish the thought. Hiding your superior charms would be a crime against nature.” Marcus hooded his eyes and shook his head. “
You
, in the role of duenna? It’s unthinkable. A tragedy. Yet, my dear, you have mentioned,
many
times
, that Fiona is your protégée, the offspring you never had?”

Honore cocked her chin in the air. “That was before I knew the girl. I’ve changed my mind. She’s as stuffy and dull as that lovesick earl who pants after her. No, she won’t do at all. Thank goodness, I hadn’t gone to all the bother of changing my will, yet.”

She flipped her hand backward against her forehead and briefly struck a pose of one of the seven muses. Then she patted Marcus’s cheek as if he were eight years old. “It’s of no consequence. I’ve other nieces. My brother in Hertfordshire had a daughter, and I believe my younger brother spawned several gels. If I decide to adopt a new protégée, I may look in that direction. But for now, I’ve had enough of schoolgirls, haven’t you? Excuse me, Marcus, I must attend to my guests.”

As Honore walked past him, Marcus glared at her undulating backside and muttered, “How many nieces can the woman have?”

His inheritance was safe for the moment. No point in killing Fiona now. But what if Honore changed her mind? Or found a new orphan niece to donate her wealth to?
Damn
. One solution seemed to elevate itself above the others—
get the inheritance now
. Tonight’s scheme to eliminate Fiona needed alteration. He had a new target.

* * *

Aunt Honore had seated Tyrell halfway down the enormously long dining table, directly across from Fiona, where they might glimpse one another but not converse. Equally annoying was the mountainous flower centerpiece that obscured their view unless one or the other craned their neck sideways.

The mischievous nature of her aunt’s table arrangement was not lost on Fiona. To Tyrell’s right, sat a voluptuous young actress. Fiona found herself wishing the footman would spill something hot on the young woman’s head. Where were her accursed catastrophes when she needed them?

On Tyrell’s left sat Maria Haversburg. Fiona noted how pleased Maria looked. She was fortunate Honore had placed her next to the one man in society who was not repulsed by her unfortunate breath.

Fiona strained to catch their conversation.

Maria confided, “It is a great relief to be seated next to you, Lord Wesmont. Mama warned me that the company might be a trifle fast tonight. She insisted that we must come and bear it. One dare not risk offending Lady Alameda. She gave me strict orders to be on guard, but nothing prepared me for this gathering of notorious poets, actors and…” She leaned closer and Fiona could not make out what she said. Maria gestured across the table, and Fiona quickly averted her eyes so that they would not know she’d been eavesdropping. “The man sitting next to Miss Hawthorn is said to be friends with Lord Byron. Can you imagine?”

“All too well.” Tyrell frowned into his wine glass.

Maria rattled on. “My goodness, when the tenor began to sing that song about country maidens, I tried not to listen. Truly, I did. But of course, I heard every word. I suppose I should have put my hands over my ears, but that would’ve been rude, wouldn’t it?”

Tyrell nodded, only half listening, and tried to steal a glance at Fiona. She looked like an enchanting sea nymph, with a wreath of tiny blue flowers encircling her head, and tendrils of escaping hair floating around her cheeks and whispering across her bare shoulders. Her dress was the color of seawater in sunlight, neither green nor blue, but it made her eyes appear as dark as the ocean during a storm.

The young man sitting next to Fiona bent too close to her.
Blast the bounder!
Tyrell wanted to run him through with a table knife. Poets! Why did Honore invite that rabble here? He cursed the lot of them. Nothing but a pack of dissipated dandies. Tyrell coughed loudly and glared at the poet insinuating himself on Fiona. The young puppy took no notice.

“My lord,”—Miss Haversburg touched his sleeve—“I believe that young man is foxed. Indeed, he and his friends were rather well into their cups long before dinner began.”

“It would seem so,” Lord Wesmont agreed, and stuck a fork of something into his mouth. He chewed. The something had no taste.

After dinner, Lady Alameda’s guests were invited to wander through various rooms filled with amusements, much like an indoor circus. Musicians played in the ballroom so that those who wished could dance. A magician entertained in an anteroom, and there were several card rooms available. Port, claret, and champagne flowed liberally throughout the house.