Not Proper Enough (A Reforming the Scoundrels Romance) (11 page)

“The citrine gown, then.”

Hester shrugged. “If there isn’t a green like that, it makes no difference to me. Pity. I would have loved to see his face.”

Eugenia took the pen from Hester’s hand and put it away. She also capped the ink. “Do get dressed, Hester. Now. Two very handsome gentlemen are waiting for you. Wear the citrine.”

“Citrine.” She squinted at the bed. “It’s inaccurate to call it citrine when the color of the stone naturally varies. As well call it topaz. Or amethyst, for that matter.”

“I’ll entertain them while you finish dressing.” Eugenia sent a stern look in the maid’s direction. “I shall see you downstairs shortly.”

Camber stood when she came into the parlor. Fenris was already standing, but Eugenia made a point of barely glancing at him. Which felt wrong now. He wasn’t her enemy anymore. She still did not like him the way she liked Lily or any of her friends, but he wasn’t an enemy. Just a man with whom she’d been horribly, wonderfully indiscreet.

Camber straightened his coat and after that touched his hand to his cravat. The thought that he might have taken especial care with his appearance, or that he might be worried about how he looked, startled her. Ridiculous, of course. The duke of Camber was surely not a vain man.

When she’d curtseyed, he took her hand, but his eyes darted past her shoulder. “Lady Eugenia. Good afternoon. Is Miss Rendell coming?”

“Hester will be down shortly.”

“Excellent.” Camber promptly lapsed into stony silence.

Fenris had so far kept his distance. Whether that was out of respect, or regret, or plain indifference, she didn’t know. No matter the answer, he impinged on her senses with such
force that she could not keep from glancing at him. His gaze met hers, and she was instantly a complete muddle of emotions. She put an end to the tortured silence and curtseyed to the man. “My lord.”

Fox.
His intimates called him Fox, after that ridiculous extra name of his. She’d called him that herself.

He nodded curtly, hands clasped behind his back. Not for her life could she dislodge her recollection of their reflected images; his head tipped back, mouth tense. His prick velvet hard in her hand. She’d never forget the way he’d given himself up to her, the way he’d pulsed in her hand. The scent. The sound of his groan as he came.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Bryant.” Despite his formal greeting, there was an uncertainty about him that made her think he did not intend to deal a deliberate insult. Quite the opposite, actually. She rather thought he was trying hard not to offend her by presuming anything. Was it possible he was as unsettled as she about what had happened?

“My lord.” Weak at the knees for no good reason, and with no control of her wayward thoughts, she sank to a chair and stared at her feet until she’d gathered her wits.

What had happened between them was madness. Really, nothing more than the result of her slow return from the dark, dark time after Robert’s death. During her marriage she’d enjoyed the physical intimacy. Was it so surprising that she missed that? She’d grown used to having a man’s arms around her at night, someone to steal a kiss from her during the day, or send her a lingering glance that promised passion. She desperately missed those moments of intimacy, and Fenris, well, he’d just happened to be there when she was weak. That was all. Nothing more complicated than that.

She looked up and found both men staring at her. Fenris cocked his head in a silent inquiry. No one would believe she’d been in his arms. Or that she’d done…what she had. No one. Everyone knew their history of mutual dislike.

“As I said, Miss Rendell should be down shortly.” She bit her lower lip. What would it be like if she took him to bed?
The fact that she could entertain such a thought shook her deeply. It could happen. If she wanted it to. Heavens. Would she like that hard, quick fuck he wanted? She’d lost her mind. Then and now. Her and Fenris? Unthinkable. Impossible. Exhilarating. “She’s very much looking forward to the outing. As am I.”

“Yes.”

“The fog’s lifted just in time,” Camber said into the silence that followed. “We’ll be able to see the street, eh, Fenris?”

“Most fortunate,” the man replied.

She wanted to touch him again.

At last, Hester appeared, an ermine muff dangling from one hand. She wore the citrine frock and, well. There was a great deal to be said for the way the bodice contained her bosom. Yellow silk roses were pinned in her dark hair, and, honestly, Hester looked very well so long as one did not examine the back of her frock. She’d gone and tacked the pale yellow ribbon to the back of her skirt, with much the same unfortunate effect as before. Hester did not like the way ribbons flapped in the breeze, she’d once explained when Eugenia demanded to know why she continued to ruin the line of her gowns with those careless stitches.

Camber stepped forward and gave Hester a sweeping bow. “Miss Rendell. How lovely you look.”

“Your grace.” She bent a knee.

“Shall we?” Fenris gestured to the door at the same time he offered his arm to Eugenia. She rose—thank goodness she could stand without trembling—and put her hand on his sleeve.

Fenris walked slowly so that Camber and Hester would get far enough ahead for him to lean to her and say in a deliberately provocative manner, “Is something the matter?”

“No, nothing.” She was lying, and they both knew it. “Why do you ask?”

“You looked…stricken a moment ago. You’re not ill, are you?”

“I enjoy perfect health, my lord.” She adjusted her cloak and kept her hands at her side as they walked out. At the door, Camber collected his coat and hat. He did not look at her or at his son. No, he was all eyes for Hester, who was at present engaged with buttoning her coat. She was off one button. Eugenia would have gone to her to avert at least that disaster of fashion, but Camber stepped forward and rebuttoned her coat. All very avuncular, of course. The entire time he was fixing her coat, they continued their discussion of the best method of dividing bulbs.

Fenris kept his hands clasped behind his back, his hat in one hand. She stopped walking.

He looked back at her, glanced at Camber and Hester, then walked back to her. “Ginny?”

“You shouldn’t call me that.”

“They won’t overhear.” Ahead of them, the butler opened the front door. Camber and Hester walked out. Momentarily alone with her, Fenris bent close. “You have but to say the word. Come to Bouverie. The staff knows you have leave to visit the library. You can find the Turkish room from there, I daresay.”

She didn’t have words. Only a muddle of emotions. And lust.

“We can have that quick fuck any time you like. Consider me at your service.”

Hester appeared in the doorway. “Lady Eugenia?”

“On our way, Miss Rendell.” Fenris gave a glance toward the door. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Awful man,” Eugenia murmured.

He smiled slowly and gave her his arm. “Yes. But I think you like that about me.”

Outside a glossy red landau waited at the curb, a liveried coachman in the driver’s box. The Camber coat of arms was emblazoned on the sides in gold, blue, and silver. A matched pair of charcoal black geldings was hitched to the landau.

The groom bent to put down the step and took over at the door after Fenris himself assisted Hester then her to the forward-facing seat. Eugenia maintained a bland smile as
she placed her fingers on Fenris’s hand. She would absolutely not engage in an affair with the man. Impossible. Wasn’t it?

Once she was seated beside Hester, she smoothed a gloved hand over the black leather seats and then along the lacquered wood, shining ebony, crimson, and gold. The duke’s landau was as sumptuous inside as out.

Camber climbed in and sat opposite Hester. Fenris, still on the walk, at last put on his hat and sat opposite Eugenia. Hester beamed at her. The only fault in the otherwise wholly satisfactory seating arrangements was that she was facing Lord Fenris, and how could she look at the man without thinking of all the things they hadn’t done?

He watched her, Fenris did, with a lazy, sleepy stare that made her think of sex.

Perhaps she ought to find out what he would be like in bed.

B
EFORE THE CARRIAGE MOVED ONTO
S
PRING
S
TREET
, Hester pulled a notebook from inside her muff. She held it up for Camber’s inspection. “I have been keeping meticulous records. You?”

The duke produced a similar notebook. “Did you think I would not?”

Eugenia slumped a little on her seat, biting back a groan with more effort than she liked. How was Hester to find a suitable husband if at every free moment she was talking about soil and sunlight and the exact shade of green one ought to assign to a leaf?

“Never doubted it,” Hester said.

The groom climbed into position at the back of the landau, resplendent in his livery, but Fenris signaled the driver to stay. “Mrs. Bryant, do you get travel sick?”

“No.” She refused to think about him in the Turkish room. “Why?”

He tapped his father on the shoulder. “Camber, please take Mrs. Bryant’s seat.” He held out a hand. “Mrs. Bryant?” His eyes held hers. Honestly, he had the most beautiful brown eyes. “It’s
easier this way. One of them will fall off the seat trying to see the other’s notes.”

He was right. And it would be Hester who’d end up in a heap on the floor of the landau. She put her hand on his and the exchange of places was made. Hester and Camber immediately set to comparing pages of their notebooks. Hester produced a tiny pencil, and she and the duke took turns amending their pages.

So immersed were the two in their mutual plant-madness that the rim of Camber’s beaver hat touched the edge of Hester’s bonnet, which, she now saw, had been put on haphazardly. The bow was the sort that ought to be tied at the side of one’s cheek, but Hester had managed, somehow, to tie hers under her chin. One of the ends of the ribbon was, therefore, a good deal longer than the other.

The carriage headed off, and Eugenia tried, she really did, to be unaware of Fenris beside her. She sat straight and clutched the side of the carriage to prevent her shoulder from touching his. Or their legs from touching. He crowded her on the seat. Not deliberately, she didn’t think.

Refusing to touch him even incidentally only intensified his effect on her. She watched the houses they passed, counting doors and posts. Anything to keep from looking at Fenris and thinking improper thoughts. None of that helped. She could not stop the recollection of her glimpse of his strong thighs and the flat plane of his belly. His prick, heavens, she adored his prick. Thinking of him made her blood heat.

Since Robert’s death, she’d drifted through life, unable to feel deeply about anything. Fenris, of all people, had proved she was not dead to sensation. God help her, in his arms she had felt alive for the first time since Robert died. She wanted that again. And more. She did not dare look at him. He would know. His father would see, and he’d guess, and that could only lead to disaster. She counted windows and attempted to calculate the tax.

As Camber had intimated earlier, the early fog had dissipated and turned a gloomy morning into a pleasant day. There was enough sun to counteract the chill of the wind as
they drove toward Rotten Row. It wasn’t long before the traffic slowed them considerably. The landau, in all its glossy red and gold, worked into the line of carriages. This proved easier than one might imagine since a duke, it turned out, took precedence in traffic, too.

Hester and Camber at last put away their notebooks, and to Eugenia’s delight, Hester waved to an acquaintance. Eugenia confined herself to sedate nods as befit her status as a matronly chaperone. No one, but no one, would guess she’d brought the Marquess of Fenris to orgasm. That was her private secret.

There were, naturally, many greetings to Camber and Fenris. Endless greetings, actually. The landau didn’t advance more than three or four yards without someone hailing one or both of the men. It seemed to Eugenia that half the members of the current Cabinet paid Fenris and Camber their respects. There were women, too. Innumerable women, most of them strikingly beautiful or handsome. The Duke of Camber and his son were both vital, handsome men. Indeed, one could hardly forget that fact, what with all the languishing looks and bold flirtations that flew the way of the two men. Fenris accepted all that as his due, while Camber, when he noticed, acknowledged nothing.

Hester and the duke returned to their notebooks, oblivious to the surroundings. “You’ve drawn a quite accurate leaf, your grace. Remarkable.” She looked into the duke’s face, a plain woman, no one could say otherwise, and yet so earnest and animated by her shared passion with Camber that she was transformed. Where on earth were all the suitable young gentleman botanists? “What would you say to coloring them? Watercolors would do, I think, don’t you? I ought to have thought of that before now.”

“Watercolors.” Camber nodded. The light emphasized the strong resemblance between father and son. No wonder so many women fluttered their eyes at the duke. “Yes. Yes, quite so. An excellent idea, Miss Rendell. Have I told you about my attempt to breed a yellow rose?”