Miss Mischief - A Regency Romance (18 page)

Now that she had met Marcus Hathaway, she was convinced of it. He was a lure that pulled her eyes towards him and she found it hard to resist. She did not
want
to resist it, for she felt as if she were on the verge of a great discovery. When she looked at Lord Hathaway her heart did a peculiar little flip-flop that was entirely agreeable. She was not saying that she was in
love
with the man, of course. She had met the gentleman the day before and only foolish schoolgirls and wistful spinsters believed in all that faradiddle about love at first sight (and she distinctly remembered feeling more annoyance than infatuation when she had looked up and seen him standing over her, wearing an expression that had been a mixture of amusement and concern. Indeed, when he had pulled her out of that puddle of mud she had been inclined to box his ears, although that had been more a case of frustrated fury at the idiocy of the situation).

It had to be said, however, that the more she saw of him, the more she liked him. Better than that, the more she saw of him, the more she wanted to try that little experiment that had popped into her head the previous evening, just as she had been drifting off to sleep. She had been thinking of Marcus, of how he seemed to dominate any landscape that he stood in and she had sleepily marveled that any man should be so commanding. It wasn’t as if he were a boisterous man who tried to dominate the conversation. Heaven only knew, she was all too familiar with those types. Instead, Lord Hathaway possessed an air of calm assurance about him that seemed to suggest he did not need to push himself forward. That he did not
want
to do so. Was it modesty? No, she’d decided, that didn’t quite sum him up. It was more of a calm certainty of his place in the world, an assurance that seemed to be at odds with what she had learned of his circumstances. He had told her that he was a young nobleman without any income, or any prospects and yet he seemed entirely at ease with the knowledge. Perhaps, she reflected with a sudden flash of insight, his experiences during a time of conflict had given him a different perspective. Certainly he did not seem to be driven by the same concerns about status and rank, which was a rarity in the world she lived in.

She’d smiled, thinking of the confidence with which he traded words with her, enjoying the bandinage as much as she did. Perhaps it was because he had sisters and was used to the vagaries of the female gender, but there was no awkwardness in their conversations. Indeed, she wished he would show a little more uncertainty in his dealings with her for she had the distinct impression he did not take her seriously. And she
wanted
him to take her seriously, she really did. The question was, how was she to go about getting her wish?

As she’d finally drifted off to sleep, she had found herself wondering if the man’s managing ways extended to knowing how to kiss a girl. Did he do so with the same calm competence he applied to everything else?

It had been a delicious thought and it came back to haunt her the next morning. What would it be like to be kissed by Marcus Hathaway? To have him take her in his arms and claim her mouth with his own? Would he be rough? Forceful? She rather thought that he would go about it with the same deft proficiency he applied to everything else; footpads, large roan geldings and tiresome chits who landed themselves in no end of trouble all seemed to be within the scope of his abilities. She didn’t want to be classed as just another problem, however. He thought of her as a poor young thing that needed to be rescued and that was all very well, for the time being. But it would never do in the long term, not for what
she
had in mind.

Johanna had never been kissed before. The clumsy attempts by some of her bolder admirers did not count for they stirred nothing but a mild irritation in her or, sadly, a strong desire to giggle, something she usually repressed in deference to their delicate manhood. Until a very short time ago – yesterday, to be precise – she had not thought overly much about what it would be like to be truly kissed by a gentleman that she found attractive.

All that had changed now.

Now she could think of little else.

Unfortunately, he was not the type of man who would be likely to take advantage of her, she reflected ruefully for he was tiresomely honorable, so much was obvious. Which meant that she would have to make the first move. It might be bold of her, it might even be unseemly but she couldn’t imagine a better man to practice her first
real
kiss on. She was prepared to wager that he was not as indifferent to her as he seemed; she had surprised several glances from him that had suggested he might be more appreciative of her charms than he pretended to be. It wasn’t wishful thinking, was it? She certainly hoped it was not, because it would be extremely embarrassing to fling herself on the man only to be put firmly, but she had no doubt, kindly to one side. She did not know what she would do if he rejected her advances and shook her head ruefully at the prospect.

‘It will be a salutary lesson for you, my girl!’ she murmured. But not, she thought, one that she would care to experience with a man she had set her sights on.

Could she be wrong about the smolder of attraction that she felt stir in her, every time she looked at Marcus Hathaway? Was she so sure that it could burst into a solid flame of desire – or whatever other aphorism a female with a limited range of literature to draw on could evoke – or was she just deluding herself? Whilst she had known the man for less than twenty-four hours, she thought that it would be remarkably easy to fall in love with Lord Hathaway. He had been perfectly honest with her, telling her of his straightened circumstances, quite possibly in a subtle bid to let her know that he was not husband material, but it had not put her off.
She
had a great deal of money. Even if her father did marry again, a very large sum had been put aside for her, thanks to her doting grandfather who had passed away when she was five. She certainly had more than enough to reinstate Lord Hathaway back into Society, if that is what he desired although she had to say that traveling the countryside like a gypsy had its attractions. If she discovered that his lordship was indeed the man she thought he was, there would be no need to go up to London and trawl through the gentlemen there. She did not wish to participate in the marriage mart if she could possibly avoid it. She had no objection to experiencing the delights of London, but Aunt Agnes would ensure those delights were strictly curtailed. It would be far better if she could go a married woman and enjoy the metropolis on the arm of her husband.

She paused, contemplating the direction her thoughts were traveling in.

Marriage? Really? Could she
really
be considering marriage to a man she hardly knew?

It rather depends on how he kisses, I suppose. If merely looking at him makes me breathless, what will kissing him be like?

She suspected it was well worth the risk of trying, anyway. And if it was as extraordinary as her body’s responses seemed to suggest it might be… well, marriage might be a definite consideration. She had certainly liked what she’d seen of the man so far and she was eager to discover more.

It was, she reflected wryly as she went down the stairs, going to be a busy afternoon. After the ride – and before dinner – she must lure Lord Mordern into a quiet room and into a situation he would find it hard to extract himself from, when discovered. He would need to be expelled and her father soothed with reassuring words and – quite possibly – brandy. Then it would surely be too late for Lord Hathaway to brave the road again, which meant that he would undoubtedly stay until morning. The risk, she knew, was that he would slip out in the early hours when she was sleeping and she wouldn’t get the chance to delay him further. She would have to think of the best way to manage such an eventuality. Perhaps something would come to her during her ride? Fresh air and exercise usually have a very beneficial effect, so anything was possible.

She found Lord Hathaway already waiting and it wasn’t long at all before Lord Mordern joined them. He was resplendent in the appropriate costume, faultless buckskins and gleaming top boots. Lord Hathaway was wearing what he had at breakfast and, to Johanna’s critical eyes, far outstripped the other man for elegance, even if the outfit was well worn. Both men had broad shoulders and narrow waists, both were long-legged and tall but it was Marcus Hathaway, with his unruly dark curls and vivid blue eyes that drew her gaze. Beside him, Lord Mordern appeared a trifle seedy.

She tilted her head inquiringly. ‘Are we ready, then?’

‘We await your pleasure,’ Lord Mordern said warmly.

Despite the fact that the outing had been marred by Mordern’s presence, the moment Johanna was in the saddle she felt a familiar lift of the heart and an eagerness to ride. As promised, Hermes was a model of equine excellence and Lord Mordern had been provided with a very decent black gelding Johanna had acquired the previous year. With company such as this, Belle was inclined to mind her manners and, after only ten minutes she was happy to keep step with her companions. They took the path Johanna often took over the fields, heading for the open weald and conversation remained sporadic, each rider concentrating on taking some of the edge off their restive mounts. After a time, when the ground opened up they let the horses have their heads and Johanna laughed aloud with pleasure as the cool wind whipped her cheeks and the world flew by in a delicious blur of speed. She did not ride this way over all of the downs, only ground that she was familiar with. A rabbit hole could bring a horse down and break a leg all too quickly. But there were places where it was perfectly safe for the horses to gallop and such times never failed to delight her. Like dancing, riding was one of the great pleasures in Johanna’s life and she went most days, except when the weather was too dreadful to set foot out of doors.

It wasn’t until they had turned back towards the Hall that conversation became possible.

‘You ride very well,’ Lord Mordern complimented her.

‘I have been doing so since I could sit unassisted on the back of a horse, so I suppose it is inevitable,’ Johanna replied, still too invigorated to entirely resent the comment. ‘Not uncommon, when one lives in the country.’

‘I think your ability on a horse would be uncommon anywhere,’ Lord Hathaway returned with a shake of the head. ‘Do you always ride like a demon?’

‘Only if it is safe to do so,’ she returned, with a shrug. ‘The ground around here is perfectly sound – the rabbits and other burrowing animals prefer the softer ground nearer the forest and the groundskeepers walk the area regularly – so the horses aren’t likely to come to grief.’

He grinned at this. ‘I wasn’t thinking about the horses. No wonder your father wants you to take a groom with you.’

‘Oh, grooms! They have difficulty keeping up and complain all the time. Only young Jem likes to go for a good canter, I’ve found.’

‘He clearly has no respect for life and limb. You’re a handful, Miss Claybourn,’ he retorted, but she was delighted to hear a note of admiration underlying the words. He might be censuring her – ever so lightly – but he admired her as well. She had not galloped to engender any such response, but it was gratifying, nonetheless.

‘Miss Claybourn is obviously a skilled rider,’ rather predictably, Mordern came to her defense. ‘Clearly she can be trusted to keep her horse under control.’

‘Clearly,’ Lord Hathaway replied. There was no missing the sardonic note beneath that single word.

‘I daresay Hermes could go all day,’ she said, eyeing the big roan. He rather dwarfed her dainty Belle. ‘Where did you get him?’

‘He was a gift. One that I have learned to appreciate over the past few months. I have no idea what his bloodline is but it must be a noble one.’

‘He is certain very impressive,’ Mordern agreed. ‘You must have affectionate friends.’

There was just a hint of inquiry in that observation. Johanna pricked up her ears but of course, Lord Hathaway had no intention of confiding.

‘Quite,’ he agreed. ‘What about you, my lord? Do you keep an extensive stable? What is your home county?’

Johanna grinned inwardly. Lord Mordern had made vague references to ‘his place in Berkshire’ but hadn’t been very forthcoming on the subject when quizzed. So much so that she’d wondered if he
had
a place. Perhaps inveterate adventurers knocked about without having a hearth to return to, living off the largesse of others while trying to find a more permanent address. He was probably quite good at cards, specifically, fleecing greenhorns of their money. She could easily imagine him at the card tables.

‘Berkshire,’ Lord Mordern said now. He sounded entirely untroubled but then, he always did. ‘My place lays to the east of Bracknell Forest.’