Living London (11 page)

He paused for a moment, glanced around, and followed my lead. "Miss Westin, do not tempt me." He glanced at my lips as he spoke, and his expression turned hungry, making my stomach clench.

"Lord Ashby? May I please call you by your first name?" I knew it simply wasn't done, but I also knew given my background that he wouldn't take offense. He'd be shocked for sure, but wouldn't take offense. It was getting tiresome always having to say Lord Ashby, which seemed so old-fashioned, when Morgan was what I thought of when I pictured his face.

"Of course if…" He paused, seeming unsure of himself for a split second. His hesitation changed in an instant to bold confidence that took me by surprise. "May I, in turn use your given name as as well?" I nodded, a grin tugging at my lips.

He sobered slightly, furrowing his brow. “Only when we’re speaking alone. It could damage your reputation.” His eyes were sincere.

"Or your own," I added, watching him, waiting for his reaction. Gone was the surprised expression I had been accustomed to finding on his face whenever I spoke honestly or out of character for a lady. "You hardly seem shocked by any of this," I added after a moment of scrutinizing his features, feeling oddly disappointed by his lack of response.

"I'm growing accustomed." He spoke through a grin.

I played along. "Really? Somehow I feel insulted."

"We both know you're not," he answered, his one eyebrow rising in disbelief.

But I rather liked how I kept him on his toes. His reactions were so very amusing. A smile crossed my lips as I thought of a way I could easily wipe the smug grin off his beautiful face. "Morgan?" I asked, whispering his name so he had to bend in slightly to hear me. It worked like a charm, and I wondered why I hadn't thought of it before. 

"Yes, Jocelyn?" His words were spoken softly, with a husky quality I found attractive. Bending farther forward, I placed the lightest of kisses on his lower lip, lingering only for a moment, afraid if I stayed longer I'd be discovered by someone. And as thrilling as the danger was, I didn't want to trap him.

I leaned back to await his reaction, but I didn't make it far. "Oh, no you don't," he said hoarsely as he wrapped a strong arm around my waist and pulled me deeper into the shadows. "You have no idea how long I've waited to do this."

Soft lips molded against mine, teasing them and temping them to open to his desire. Warm hands moved up my back, bracing it and pulling me closer and flush with his body. The lines of his coat pressed into my dress and the scent of cloves and honey surrounded my senses. He kissed me like I was water and he was a nomad in the Sahara. While the fierceness of his lips was overwhelming, his touch was gentle. I pressed against him, allowing him to deepen the kiss further. I released a breath.

His body tensed, and I felt the hard lines of his shoulders bunch under my caressing hands. He broke the kiss abruptly, breathing heavily. I watched him, studying his features and the clenching of his strong jaw. His eyes appeared black in the shadows, reflecting a small amount of candlelight. He reached up, tracing the outline of my face. His fingers left a warm trail I knew I'd feel hours later, and I closed my eyes in response, memorizing the feeling of his arms around me, feeling his chest brush mine as he caught his breath. I didn't want to go back to the ball, ever. I wanted to say right here.

It's not like I'd never been kissed before — if you count kissing Bobby Thornton in the sixth grade behind the gym on a dare. Or the one date I'd had just before Nanna died, when the guy had actually licked my face. Reading about the kisses in the romances that Nanna and I loved so much had built up this idea in my mind. I didn't think anything would come close, and I was afraid I'd be proven correct someday. But I was wrong, deliciously wrong. All the famous rakes I'd read about had nothing on Morgan Ansley's kiss.

"You far more enticing than I imagined…addictive.” His voice tickled my ear as he whispered into it, nuzzling my hair with the end of his nose.

"Am I now?" I asked, leaning back to see his face more clearly. He held me still with one hand was around my waist while the other cupped my cheek.

Chuckling, he leaned forward. And his lips met mine again, speaking in a language that hadn't changed throughout time.

****

Trying to keep the grin off of my face, I slipped back into the ballroom, hoping no one had missed me. I had a good ten minutes till Morgan would come into the ballroom, so I tried to find Amelia and Lord Rake.

"You should really be more careful you know." The voice only barely registered before a hand swung me around and began to dance with me.

I gasped, realizing I was no longer walking but waltzing. "Reg?"

"Who else?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." I was a terrible liar, but I tried hard to maintain eye contact without looking away guiltily.

"Liar," he accused, waiting for me to crack.

I couldn't stop a small smile from lifting the corner of my mouth. I may not have known Reg for long, but I knew he'd keep my secret if I were to tell him. But I wouldn't speak of it, at least not unless he tortured it out of me. Which probably would not take much effort at all.

"I see that grin. Don't you dare try to hide it from me. You might as well tell me before I start to guess."

"Guess at what?" I replied innocently.
I need to learn a poker face.

He tilted his head and began to scan the room. "Lord Heath?"

"What? No! He's with Amelia!" I protested, wondering why he'd accuse me of a secret tryst with the man.

"Ah ha! So you admit that there
was
someone." A smug grin stretched across his face and narrowed his brown eyes.

"I never said anything, just simply was offended that you would think I'd do that to Amelia."

"Hmm… Lord Haymore?" he asked with a barely contained chuckle.

I spoke through clenched teeth. "Do not ever mention his name to me again, ever." Just thinking of him made me want to take a bath.

"Oh? And why not?"

"Because if you do, I'll find the greenest debutante and tell her you hold a secret crush for her, and I'll make sure her mother overhears."

"You wouldn't dare! I don't believe you." Reg didn't seem as convinced as his words. "But I'll refrain from mentioning the lecher around you if it bothers you so much."

"It does."

"Ah." His face lit up with a devilish grin, contrasting fiercely with his decidedly outlandish attire.

"'Ah' what?" I asked, annoyed and slightly concerned with the look.

"It seems that Lord Ashby has reentered the ballroom."

"Oh? Is that so? I fail to see why you'd be so interested."

"Oh, well, it seems that
he
is smiling."

"And? Is that so strange?" Surely he couldn't piece everything together.

"No, it is not. But he's not simply smiling, love. He's strutting like a peacock and grinning like a fool. Astoundingly enough, wearing the same expression you tried to hide when you walked into this very room not more than ten minutes ago… the perfect distance in trying to avert talk when one has had a secret rendezvous." His eyes watched mine, waiting for me to give away my secret. How did he do that? If he were that observant, surely others noticed as well.

"No, no one else noticed, I made sure of it. Why do you think I pulled you into a dance, a waltz no less? You're secret's safe with me. I'm just thrilled the ol' boy finally made a move. He's been watching you. Almost wondered if I were going to have to step in and do something." He muttered the last part. "Here we go." He bowed and walked me over to a content Amelia, who watched me with bright eyes.

"Reg, nice to see you."

"Always a pleasure, Amelia." He bowed and left us alone.

"So?" I asked with wide eyes and a knowing smile.

"He's been the perfect gentleman." She spoke with a grin, seemingly astonished.

"You know, they always say that rakes make the best husbands," I whispered. Didn't they always say that in the books?

Amelia rolled her eyes. "No, rakes do
not
make the best husbands.
Reformed
rakes do," she added, blushing slightly. Gone was the ice princess, and I sincerely hoped that Lord Rake knew what he was doing. If he hurt her, I'd — well, what did one do as revenge in the Regency era? I'd have to ask Libby or Mrs. Trimbleton later.

"So your virtue hasn't been violated, I take it?"

"Not once." She giggled.

"Good. I'd hate you to lose your innocence in a crowded ballroom."

"Jocelyn! You cannot say such things!"

What did I do wrong?
"Pardon me," I apologized immediately. I'd have to ask Libby about that too.

After a scolding glare, her eyes took on an impish look. "If anyone is to worry about her innocence, I believe it's you."

"Me?"

She nodded behind me, making me turn around and meet a pair of clear blue eyes that watched me from across the room. Morgan had been cornered by Arynna, but probably hadn't heard a word she had said. Following his gaze, she turned and saw me. I spun around, but didn't miss the icy glare she sent in my direction.
No new friend made there.

"So?" Amelia asked, breaking me from my musing.

"Hmm?"

Her eyebrows lifted, and she leaned forward, waiting for me to catch on. I glanced around the ballroom. Too many ears could overhear the words I wanted to share with my friend. "Come see me tomorrow and you'll find out."

"You're horrible! I can't believe you won't tell me," she whined.

"I'll tell you, you'll just have to wait a little while."

"Why? Unless…" Her eyes widened. She looked at Morgan and then back to me again, a smile showing most of her straight teeth.

"Tomorrow." She nodded.

"Tomorrow."

Chapter Eleven

Amelia came for tea the next afternoon. She was all grace and poise until the door shut, and then she pounced like a cat with a mouse. "He kissed you," she stated.

"Yes." Wanting to draw out the moment of anticipation a little further, I left it at that and waited for her to burst.

"Yes? That's all you can say? Yes?" Her exasperation was evident in her voice, and she stood up.

"Actually, I kissed him first."

She dropped into the chair, staring at me as if I had spoken in Swahili. "I thought you said he kissed you."

"He did, after I kissed him."

"So, what, please tell me what was it like. Where did he kiss you?"

"On the lips," I remarked smartly, only to have Amelia swat at me with her dainty gloved hand.

"Horrible! I know he kissed you on the lips. When, where? At the ball?"

I went on to explain the whole ordeal with Lord Haymore and then about how Morgan found me in the darkened hallway. It sounded so romantic when I spoke about it. I could hear the storyline forming in my head. By the end of the conversation, Amelia admitted to knowing something had happened when Reg had danced a waltz with me.

"Why would that be so odd?" I asked, confused.

"Because waltzing can be used to… indicate one's feelings or attachment."

"Ah, and Reg avoids all of those things, so his dancing with me could be misunderstood." I got it. I owed Reg big time. He had totally taken one for the team. "I'll remember to thank him."

"Oh, he'll simply be thrilled that Lord Ashby finally did something."

"He said as much when we were dancing."

After Amelia left I thought about her, Reg, Libby, Morgan and even Mrs. Trimbleton. Back home I'd had no one left. High school had been slow torture, and by the time I had finished and begun college, Nanna had started having her spells. Between taking care of her and finishing my degree, I'd had no time for friends, a boyfriend, or anyone. The thought of waking up in my own time was becoming less and less alluring. Nothing waited for me there. In London I had friends, and Nanna's promise of finding love.

Maybe Nanna had known what she was doing. I certainly hoped so. I had already had my heart broken once when she died. I didn't need it broken again.

****

I really wanted to kiss him again. Hey, I’d settle for just being around him at this point! But how did a girl go about this in Regency times? It wasn't as if I could text him or check his social media status to find out where he was or what he was doing. I had to either wait for an opportunity or for him to call on me.

But patience was a virtue I had yet to master. Frustrated, I decided to take a walk through Hyde Park. It wasn't the "fashionable hour for a walk," as Mrs. Trimbleton had explained—that took place around four p.m. But I needed some air.

The process of changing into a "walking dress" amused me. Who knew there were dresses for walking, or any other activity? It was fascinating, all the polite clothes one had to wear during this era. Walking dresses, riding habits, ball gowns, attire for home… the list went on. I still missed my jeans, but the extravagantly feminine air was growing on me. And even though I wasn’t wearing any makeup, I didn't feel naked like I would have back home. Here, no one else had it on either.

Putting on the only straw bonnet I could stomach wearing, I wondered why the English were so obsessed with remaining freckle-free when they rarely ever saw the sun. Rain did not cause freckles or a tan if my translucent white skin were any indicator.

Libby had wanted to accompany me on my walk, but I told her I'd be all right on my own. If I could attend a ball without a chaperone, I certainly didn't need one on a walk so close to home. As I strolled through the park, I noted the trees and wondered if any of them would still be there in a few hundred years. Ironic.

"Miss Westin!" called a strangely familiar voice.

"Miss Westin!" came a second voice, different but similar to the first.

Spinning on my heel, I looked in the direction of the voices. Perched on a dangerously high curricle were the Dannberry brothers. "Fancy meeting you here again!" the older one said.

"Indeed! You're looking well! How are you?" the other one added.