Miss Lacey's Last Fling (A Regency Romance) (12 page)

"And what makes you smile like the cat who swallowed the canary?"

She thought Max, who had naturally followed them to Easterbrook House, would remain in the card room the rest of the evening, and was surprised to see him back in the ballroom. "It is all your fault, my boy."

"What is my fault?"

"You have led my niece straight into the arms of every libertine in town with that wretched Almack's waltz. Upon my soul, Max, it looked as though you meant to make love to the girl right there on the spot, with all the ton looking on and the patronesses swooning."

A smile twitched at the edge of his mouth. "I merely flirted with her. Nothing more."

"Quite so. And now, because no woman can resist such charm, you have made her appear fast, thereby giving permission to every other young buck to have a go at her. Why, only a few moments ago Lord Radcliffe maneuvered her onto the terrace, and I am certain you can imagine his intentions."

"The devil you say."

"Yes. Oh, and here they come now. I ask you, Max, does she not have the look of a woman who has just been well and truly kissed?"

"Well, I'm dashed!"

Fanny gave a smug smile as Max turned on his heels and stalked away like an angry bear. Yes indeed, the boy was definitely smitten.

Chapter 8

Rosie heaped her plate with a most unladylike quantity of food. She was ravenous, having eaten very little the night before. During supper, she and Mr. Newcombe, her partner for the supper dance, had been joined by several other couples, and more talking and laughing had taken place than eating.

There had been no recurrence of the headache this morning, for which she was grateful. One more day, at least, without the disease overtaking her. She sat down at the breakfast table and a footman poured her a cup of tea. When he asked if there was anything else she would like, Rosie looked at her plate and laughed. "No, Thomas, I am persuaded this mountain of food will suffice."

When the footman had left her alone with her meal, Rosie considered some of the other appetites she'd indulged during her stay in London—appetites she hadn't even known existed. The longer she stayed with Fanny, the more she came to realize how much of her life in Devon had been spent as a spectator, watching her siblings' lives unfold but almost never taking part in the action herself. So many wasted years!

She was almost thankful for the dread disease. Without it, she would never have had the courage to do some of things she'd done. In fact, she would have been mortified at her indecorous behavior. However, knowing she had but a few short months left on this earth, she had ceased to care what anyone thought of Rosalind, including the ever reserved and proper Rosie.

With so little time left, she was pleased to have worked her way through so much of her list. She had indeed managed to achieve the two major objectives set for the evening. She had waltzed with Max, and she had been kissed.

When she had agreed to stroll on the terrace with Lord Radcliffe, she knew he meant to kiss her. Of all her admirers, she had hoped it would be him. She liked him. He made her laugh and flirted outrageously. She had been told he had a reputation as an active rake, but nothing quite as wicked as Max or Lord Overton. Just your ordinary, everyday rake.

Rosie smiled to think how low she had sunk to consider a rake as ordinary. What would her sisters, especially Ursula, say if they knew the sort of men with whom their spinster sister consorted?

Last evening, she had most definitely consorted with Lord Radcliffe.

She had wanted more than a simple kiss—she had been kissed before, twice, by young men in the neighborhood near Wycombe Hall. Rosie had wanted to be
thoroughly
kissed, whatever that meant. She had once overheard her sister Pamela telling Ursula how John Stansfield, now Pamela's husband, had thoroughly kissed her the night before. Ursula, ever prim and proper, had shushed her youngest sister before Rosie could hear any more. But the dreamy tone of Pamela's voice told her it had been wonderful.

There was no question that Lord Radcliffe had been thorough, and Rosie had enjoyed it. He had held her very close and had done more than simply press his lips against hers. Much more. Why, then, was she somehow reluctant to check the item off her list, as though the kiss had been less than satisfactory? Or less than thorough?

"Heavens, child, are you going to eat all that?" Fanny swept into the breakfast room and took a seat opposite Rosie. Her aunt seldom joined her for breakfast, and Rosie wondered what brought her downstairs so early this morning.

The footman had followed Fanny into the room and proceeded to serve her tea, bread, and jam from the sideboard. She looked across at Rosie's plate and grimaced. "Do you eat like this every morning? I do not know how you do it."

"I am not usually so piggish, aunt, I assure you. But I am especially hungry this morning." Rosie grinned sheepishly. "And I did not think anyone would be witness to my gluttony."

"Caught out!" Fanny said. "How you stay so slender on such a diet is a mystery to me."

"What brings you down so early?"

"I wished to have a word with you. I forgot to mention it last night. It just flew right out of my head."

"What did?"

"Who, not what. Thomas. I saw Thomas at Almack's."

"Thomas?" Rosie looked around for the footman of that name. Surely
he
had not been at Almack's.

"Your brother, my dear. He was watching you waltz with Max."

Rosie almost choked on her eggs as a knot formed in the pit of her stomach. "Thomas? Here in London?" Her brother had been on a walking tour of the Lake District with two of his friends from Cambridge. What was he doing in London? She had been so certain none of her family would be in town during her visit— no one to see her new mode of dress, her indiscreet behavior, her curricle racing, her flirting, her waltzing, her kissing rakes. But now Thomas had seen. "Oh, God."

"Yes, I thought you might not be pleased. I fully expect the boy to turn up on my doorstep this morning and demand to take you home to Edmund."

"No!" Not yet. She was not ready to go home yet. There was still so much she wanted to do. She would not allow her brother to spoil what time was left to her. "No, he will not," she said with conviction. "I am of age—four years his senior in fact. He cannot tell me what to do."

"That's the spirit!"

"If he comes, I shall be happy to see him. But if he kicks up a ruckus over what he saw last night, I shall send
him
packing. But truly, aunt, Thomas has never been so very high in the instep. Not like Ursula. I do not believe Thomas will give me away. Did he see anything else? I mean, besides the waltz? Was he at the Easterbrook ball as well?"

"I did not see him there. Were you afraid he might have seen something, for example, like your return from the terrace on Lord Radcliffe's arm with your lips swollen and your cheeks flushed?"

Rosie's hands flew to her cheeks, which were flushing even now. "Oh, no. Please tell me you exaggerate, aunt. Please tell me it was not so obvious."

"Only to those who were looking." Fanny smiled broadly and then began to chuckle. "Of course, almost everyone
was
looking. After your Almack's waltz with Max—who, by the way, received a good scold from me for looking as though he meant to ravish you on the spot—all eyes were upon you through the rest of the evening, even those that pretended they were not. Word of your little spectacle spread fast, my dear."

"Oh, dear. Did I make a complete cake of myself?"

"On the contrary," Fanny said. "I am persuaded every woman there was green with envy. First, every rake and rogue at Almack's gathers around you, and ignores the crop of young chits trotted out by their mamas. Do not underestimate the irresistible lure of a rake, even for the most sober and respectable of women. They may snort and scowl, but you may depend upon it, each one of them wishes it had been her that attracted the attention of so many interesting men. Then, the most celebrated rake of them all leads you into a waltz during which he dances altogether too close, and with you looking wide-eyed and completely enthralled. What on earth was he saying to put such a look in your eyes?"

Rosie sighed at the recollection of Max's words. "He said I looked beautiful in red."

"Hmph. I suspect he said a great deal more, but never mind. Then, after dancing with every attractive man at the Easterbrook ball, you disappear for a quarter hour with Lord Radcliffe and return looking well kissed, and him looking smug as the cock of the walk. All in all, I would wager you had a better evening than any other woman in the room, and they all knew it."

Rosie could no longer hold back her smile. "It
was
rather wonderful. All of it."

"Tell me about William Radcliffe and his kiss. Was he any good at it?"

A laugh exploded from Rosie like a sneeze. Her aunt's audacious question took her quite by surprise. But if anyone could help her sort out her feelings, it would be this worldly woman with all her experience of men. "I am not sure," Rosie said with perfect honesty. "He seemed to know what he was about."

"I should think so." Fanny's eyes were alight with amusement. "But your reaction tells me something was lacking."

"I cannot think what it could be," Rosie said. "He did more with his lips and his—" She stopped, feeling suddenly awkward to be speaking of such intimacies.

"His tongue?"

Rosie's cheeks flamed with embarrassment and she knew she must be glowing bright as a strawberry. "Yes. Let us say simply that he did more than I expected. And yet..."

"He did not set your soul on fire? You did not feel your toes curl up in your slippers and your knees grow so weak you would have collapsed had he not been holding you?"

Rosie stared at her aunt. "Is that how it is supposed to be?"

"With the right man. Unfortunately, it sounds as though Lord Radcliffe is not the right man. Pity. He has such lovely golden hair. Well, no matter. You must simply keep looking for him."

"For whom?"

"For the right man, of course."

"But I am not looking for the right man," Rosie said. "I have told you I am not shopping for a husband. I only want to enjoy a few things before—" she almost said before it's too late, but caught herself in time "—before I return to Devon."

"Quite so. And who said anything about husbands? Enjoyment has nothing to do with them. And I do believe, despite the less than perfect kiss, you rather enjoyed yourself last evening."

"Oh, I did. Very much."

"Especially your waltz?"

"Yes, especially that. I am sorry it caused so much talk. I still cannot credit how those odious women are allowed to set the rules for everyone else."

"It was not so much your defiance of their petty rules as the way you and Max danced." A mischievous grin split her face. "My dear, it was almost scandalous. He held you much too close."

"Did he?" Rosie had been aware of little more than his eyes and his voice and the spell he spun with his words. She became warm all over at the memory of it.

"Yes, he did. Because you are older, I think you might have got away with breaking the rules had Max danced with you properly."

"I confess it seemed perfectly proper to me." And perfectly wonderful.

Fanny gave a crack of laughter. "He is a devil, that boy. Knows what to do with a dance."

"Rules or no rules," Rosie said, "I cannot wait to do it again. By the way, Lady Samantha Kirby has arranged a group to attend the Opera House masquerade this week. I told her I would go. I believe she invited Max as well." She was quite sure of it, actually. "And Lord Radcliffe, Alfred Hepworth, Dwight Newcombe, and several others. I hope you do not mind? Are they quite improper, these masquerades?"

"Sometimes. They are frequented by the cits and tradesmen and all sorts from the underclasses. But with everyone masked, one never really knows who is there."

"You do not mind if I go?"

"Of course not, darling. It is sure to be grand fun. I used to attend now and then, years ago."

"What did you wear?"

Fanny chuckled. "All sorts of daring costumes. My favorite was a shepherd, complete with crook and lamb. And short pants. I was a classical shepherd, you see. A sort of Daphnis. My, but it was liberating to dance without the confines of skirts."

"How I should love to do that! Perhaps I can convince you to help me put together an equally shocking costume. But what I should really enjoy, if you will indulge me, is for you to tell me more of your favorite memories. What other shocking things did you do when you were younger?"

"So many things." Fanny gazed into the distance and smiled. Her blue eyes softened as though recollecting an especially pleasant moment from the past. "So many things. Those were wild and wondrous days."

They sat for some time, nibbling at their breakfast and sipping their tea, while Fanny related tales of her youth. When the footman looked impatient to clear the table, they moved to the morning room. Rosie sat in a large wing chair with her feet tucked beneath her skirts. Fanny snuggled into a corner of the sofa and stretched out her legs. At Rosie's prompting, she continued to tell stories of exotic parties, of yacht races, of dancing naked in Roman fountains, of Paris before the revolution, of risqué theatricals, of champagne baths, of Brighton and the Prince Regent. What a life her aunt had led! How Rosie wished she had not waited until it was almost too late to begin to know this remarkable woman.