Living London (13 page)

"Yes, absolutely." He kissed me once again. A delightful tingle swirled inside my chest as his fingers traced my arm just before ending the kiss. His smoldering gaze held me captive. If this was what it meant to be ruined, then count me in.

****

"What on earth happened to you? And who is that gentleman who brought you home?" Mrs. Trimbleton scolded as she shooed me into my room after she'd discovered me tiptoeing down the hallway.

"We were caught in the rainstorm, and Lord Ashby was kind enough to bring me home." My cheeks heated with a blush just thinking of that ride home.
Hmm, rain may not be so bad after all.

"Well, I've never seen you in such a state, and that includes the time you tried to pluck a feather from the pond in Derbyshire and fell in. But you were only eight, so we could hardly chasten you. But Jocelyn, have a care! People would talk if they saw you in such a state, with Lord Ashby no less!"

"Yes, Mrs. Trimbleton. I'll try to be more careful in the future."
To not get caught.

She called for Libby and went to notify the kitchen to bring up hot water for a bath. I regarded myself in the mirror. What a mess, but rather than being horrified at my appearance I saw the swell of my lips, the light in my eyes, and the wet mop of golden hair that somehow still felt warm from Morgan's hands. Feeling exceptionally cheerful, I twirled around the room and found an amused Libby watching me from the doorway.

"Lord Ashby?" she asked with a knowing look.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." I stuck my nose in the air with a look of haughty defiance.

Libby burst out laughing. "Oh, forgive me, miss, it's just… well, you don't pull that look very well, especially when wet."

"Oh, well, yes," I admitted, casting her a grin.

"Let's get you out of your damp clothes before you catch your death."

After a bath, a hot meal, and an hour of waiting by the fire for my hair to dry, I began to miss electricity and its many benefits anew, but not nearly as much as I would have thought. Everything took so much longer, but life moved slower. In my own time, it appeared that we traded. Though things took less time, our lives were more rushed and hurried. Like electricity, I missed my smartphone and its internet access whenever I had a question. But the idea of asking a person rather than computer was a whole different aesthetic. My hair dryer could have dried my hair in ten minutes, but instead I was sitting by a warm fire with a good book, good tea, and light conversation with Libby.

As nice as technology was, relationships with people had been overwhelmingly more helpful and comforting. And rather than simply trying to get each day right and fumble my way through the moment, I took a step back and realized I didn't want to go back. Here in this time I had friends, people who cared, and Morgan. In such a short time, I developed more roots than I'd had back home. It was a sobering thought but also comforting. London was beginning to feel like home.

Chapter Twelve

"Jocelyn!" Amelia floated over to me as quickly as was proper.

"Amelia! I was looking for you," I gushed as I gave her a quick hug.

"Good. We need to talk."

Her eyes brooked no argument, and I was concerned as I followed her to a deserted balcony overlooking the main ballroom of Almack's. I still couldn't believe I was here. When I'd received the voucher I'd immediately pressed it between the pages of my favorite book, wanting to keep the precious paper safe.
Almack's!

As we entered the high perch, I viewed the sea of people milling about — some dancing, some heading to a game room to play cards. The sound of music and voices echoed through the richly decorated hall. "So, what's up?" I asked, immediately chastising myself for my slip up. Amelia gave me an odd look before I corrected myself. "I'm sorry. I meant to say, what is the problem?"

She eyed me with thin patience and friendly tolerance as she began to tell me her dilemma. "As you know, Lord Heath asked me to the ball the other night, and well… he asked me to take a ride with him in the park. We did and, to shorten the story, without any details…" Her voice dropped to a murmur as my eyes widened. I began to protest, but she silenced me with a pointed look around the room.

Ooooh, when she does tell me, it will be worth the wait.
"Yes?"

"Well, let's just say he made his intentions clear." She cleared her throat daintily. "And now I find myself unsure." Her expression had gone fearful.

"Why?" I asked, confused.

"Do you remember what you said about rakes being the best husbands?"

"Yes, and you corrected me, saying that reformed rakes made the best husbands."

She looked up at me with a sincere expression. "How does one know if the rake
is
reformed?"

Good question. In all the books I'd read, it was simply understood because I could read the man's perspective, see into his head or heart. But it wasn't like that in real life. Amelia only had his actions and words to go by. What would she do if the rake in question was simply acting? Trust her heart? What if her heart wasn't the one lying?

"I don't know," I replied.

"Neither do I," she said in a miserable tone. "I want to believe him, but what if I'm wrong?"

She would be heartbroken. Lord Heath had captivated her from the start, and as much as she tried to fight it, she'd never been able to move past it. If he were simply playing with her emotions, the damage would be devastating. Honestly, I didn't know what to do or say. But I did know that time would give us our answer. "Well, we wait, we watch and we hope for the best." I spoke with conviction as I grasped her gloved hand.

With a nod, she gave me a rueful smile. We both wanted more than a wait-and-see answer.

As we left the balcony I glanced around, absorbing my surroundings. Gilded layers of molding surrounded everything, with a generous layer of crown molding finishing the grand height of the room. The polished floor reflected the candlelight, the rich fabrics, and the extravagantly-dressed ton. Even with my diamond-and-sapphire necklace and tiara, I didn't feel overdressed. Amelia and I walked into the main ballroom and went to get some of the notoriously sour, watered-down lemonade. It was worse than I had imagined. Reg walked up with a scowl as he eyed our cups dubiously.

"I see you've experienced the lemon water. I refuse to call
that—"
He pointed to my small cup. "—lemonade. It's more of a form of torture. But the
orgeat
is even worse, so stay with the lemon water." Reg cringed then returned his gaze to the sea of people. He'd dressed outlandishly again, and I suppressed a smile at his sense of style, or lack thereof. The bright cravat was turquoise this time, and he wore a silk coat in a bright blue with gold buttons. His oversized monocle only added to the absurdity of his dress. He still wore the ridiculous high heels that made him stand at an odd angle, and I wondered how he had waltzed in those the other night.

I turned away so he wouldn't notice my amusement and searched for Morgan. I had been at the party for over an hour and hadn't noticed him enter — and I had definitely been looking. Feeling bored just standing by the refreshment table, I asked Amelia to walk with me.

As we went around the room, I saw Arynna beaming at someone and flirting shamelessly. A large potted plant blocked her target's face. She laughed at something the gentleman said and swatted at him artfully with her fan. Leaning forward, she gave him a view of her low-cut bodice. I resisted the temptation to shake my head in disbelief. Some girls never changed — they would do anything and use anyone to get what they wanted. Based on the way she was batting her eyelashes and pouting her lips, it seemed she wanted whoever stood behind the plant.

The poor guy. She was beautiful, no doubt, but she'd be a pain to deal with day in and out. I turned away, no longer wanting to watch Arynna be a wanton flirt. When I glanced to Amelia, I halted my steps upon seeing her hurt expression. Her eyes widened, and she let out a small gasp. Following her gaze I noticed the plant no longer blocked the gentleman's face.

Lord Rake!
Rather than looking politely interested in Arynna, he was grinning, seeming to enjoy himself. I squeezed Amelia's hand as she glanced away, spinning on her heel and taking me with her. We weren't quick enough. I glanced back and saw Lord Rake notice our abrupt change in direction and an aggravating smirk mar Arynna's features.

"I'm leaving. I've had enough for tonight. I guess I have my answer, hmm?" She spoke steadily, but I could see her eyes shining as she held the tears at bay.

Jerk, sleezeball, player
. None of these would have made sense to her, so I searched for the word that could fit all those horrible traits. "Cad." I seethed.

Amelia looked into my eyes with a steely resolve. "No… rake." She cursed the word and bid me goodnight as she left, leaving me with the itching desire to dismember Lord Heath.

As I debated whether or not to stay, a warm hand caressed my back for an achingly short moment. "Miss me?" Morgan asked as he took my hand and kissed it; his gaze never left mine.

"Always."

"Good." His blue eyes twinkled with mirth and desire that made my skin tingle.

"You clean up nicely," I commented as my gaze took in how the cut of his coat accented his broad shoulders.

"I could say the same about you, but I must confess to having a certain fondness for rain-soaked ladies, above all else."

"Do you now?" I raised my eyebrow, knowing he had other things on his mind besides my state of dress at that point.

"Absolutely." His voice was deep and alluring creating a now familiar flutter in my chest that happened whenever he was around. "May I have this dance?"

"You're the only one I'd want to dance with," I answered honestly.

"Good. Make sure it stays that way."

"No," I countered, "
you
make sure it stays that way." He chuckled as he led me to the dance floor. "You're holding me a little close, don't you think?" I remarked, not caring but wanting to tease.

"As far as I'm concerned I'm not holding you nearly close enough." He punctuated his statement by drawing me in tighter.

"I see." I took in his dark, hooded gaze as he focused on my lips before clearing his throat and looking away.

After our waltz, I was thrilled to simply sit and talk with Morgan on a settee on the edge of the ballroom. We had the kissing chemistry, but there had to be more, and talking with him reminded me of why we had that physical chemistry.

"Are you enjoying your evening?" Morgan asked.

"Of course, though I must admit to finding it a bit more delightful recently. I can't imagine why." I grinned.

"Nor can I, couldn't be the company." Morgan teased.

"No, it certainly is not the company."

Morgan chuckled at my remark.

"So tell me, have you begun to remember anything? Isn't that what usually takes place once a person has experienced the loss? Slowly what was lost becomes found?"

"Well…" How did I tell him that I was pretty sure I'd never remember any of the past? At least the one he had experienced with me. "So far I'm a clean slate." I answered honestly.

"I'm truly sorry. I must admit to at times forgetting that you don't recall your past. If it helps, you are just as I remember you."

"Thank you, it is wonderful to know that." I paused, curious at his response. "What do you remember of me?" I tilted my head as I asked, searching his expression. To my delight, Morgan flushed slightly and glanced away with a small grin.

"Wouldn't you care to know?" he remarked with a mischievous grin.

"Absolutely, I'm beginning to think it's terribly fascinating."

"Miss Westin… I will confess to watching your début with rapt interest, but the rest of the story… perhaps will have to wait."

"I tend to be horribly impatient."

"Perhaps waiting will fortify that particular virtue."

"I doubt it." I cast him a teasing grin.

"I believe you… you are the impatient sort, and I doubt I'll ever reform that particular trait. And I must confess once more thing, Miss Westin.

"Yes?"

"I'm particularly fond of that vice of yours." He lowered his voice as his gaze dropped to my lips. "Especially your impatience in regard to me."

The heat in my face spoke of a large blush, and I averted my eyes as I remembered initiating our first kiss.

After a while, he excused himself to bring us back some more lemonade. I looked down at my lap and played with my gloves. It still seemed surreal to be living in Regency London, waltzing, dancing and maybe even falling in love.

"Miss Westin, may I have the pleasure of this dance?" said the oily voice of Lord Haymore effectively putting an end to my silent musings. Closing my eyes and swallowing hard to get rid of the gag reflex, I glared at him. Not even for a moment did I try to fake a polite indifference.

"Lord Haymore." I spoke coolly, purposefully not answering his question. My silence bought precious time so I could search for the Dannberry brothers, or Morgan. Anyone, really.

At my hesitation he pulled me up off of the settee with surprising strength and speed. "How nice of you to accept." He grinned, exposing his yellowing teeth.

"I don't remember accepting." I spoke through clenched teeth as I pulled my arm away from his grasping fingers.

"You will," he assured me, and I narrowed my eyes.

"Listen, you—"

"Ah, here you are Miss Westin! So sorry I'm late." The elder Dannberry's voice cut off my improper tirade, which would have surely caused a stir. "So sorry, ol' chap." He patted Lord Haymore's back a little harder than necessary, earning a glare. "Miss Westin promised me this waltz." His expression was innocent, and I could tell Haymore was searching for a reason to doubt the exchange, validating his prior claim.

"Yes!" I spoke up, not giving him a moment to argue. "As I was just telling Lord Haymore, this dance was spoken for by you, Lord Dannberry." As I turned to smile a thank you to my grandfatherly hero, I heard Haymore stomp away, leaving the smell of sour brandy in his wake.