The Outrageous Lady Felsham

‘Lord Dereham.’ Straight-backed, she dropped the very slightest formal curtsy. She could not be a day over twenty-six, surely?

‘Lady Felsham.’ He managed it without stammering like a callow boy, thank God, and bowed. There was a slight movement at the back of the room and he saw a plainly dressed woman of middle age in the shadows. A chaperon. Where the blazes had she been last night when he had needed her?

‘Please, sit.’ Her ladyship gestured at a chair and sank down on the chaise opposite. The woman at the back sat too. Not a chaperon, then, or she would have been introduced. Her dresser no doubt. ‘I am glad you are able to stay for luncheon, Lord Dereham.’

‘Thank you, ma’am. I am delighted.’ And I’m gaping at her like a nodcock. Pull yourself together, man! ‘I must apologise for invading your home last night. There is no hiding the fact that I had been celebrating rather too enthusiastically.’ A faint smile curled the corner of her lips. The lower lip had the slightest, most provocative, pout. What would it be like to nip gently? He dragged his eyes away from it. ‘I am somewhat confused about what then transpired. This is not helped by recollections of a white bear, which leads me to believe I was rather more in my altitudes than I had imagined.’

‘Horace.’ She might have been naming a relative. ‘He is a polar bear skin on the floor in front of the fireplace.’

‘Horace.’ The damned bear was called Horace. What sort of woman gave her hearthrugs names, for heaven’s sake? But at least he was not losing his mind. ‘I think I must have tripped and measured my length on your Horace,’ he added, the memories coming back now he knew the white bear was not a dream.

Ashe had thought her colour somewhat heightened when he entered the room. Now she flushed to her hairline. What the devil had he said? Lady Felsham could no longer meet his eyes. He closed them, searching the blurred pictures behind his lids. She had been lying on the fur. It was not Horace he had landed full length upon, it was her, and all those tantalising dreams of warm female curves, of the scent of her skin, of, Heaven help him, following the whorls of her ear with his tongue, were accurate memories.

Chapter Three

Ashe stared at his hostess and Lady Felsham gazed back, sitting there, outwardly composed, while inwardly she must be desperately wondering just what he could recall of all this—and whether he was going to gossip about it, or worse. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more anxious he realised she must be—he could ruin her reputation in one minute of indiscreet talk. It was not something he could hint about, and he had no idea to what extent she had confided in her dresser.

‘Might I crave a private word, ma’am?’ Her polite smile vanished and a shadowed look came into those frank grey eyes.

All she said was, ‘Step outside for a few moments, please, Philpott, and close the door behind you.’

Ashe waited for the snick of the catch before speaking. ‘I have placed you in a difficult position—’

‘Not as difficult as the position in which I found myself at three o’clock this morning,’ she interrupted him with some feeling. Ashe almost smiled; she could have been tearful or furious or even hysterical. As it was, her tart tone was refreshing.

‘No. I imagine not. I am also aware that there is very little I can do to make things better other than to offer my profound apologies and to give you my word that I will not speak of this to anyone.’ She nodded acceptance, her lips still unsmiling. The colour had ebbed from her cheeks somewhat, he was relieved to see; it seemed she trusted him. ‘It must have been terrifying for you and I can only wonder at the fact that you did not have me thrown out on to the street the moment you were free to do so. To have given me a comfortable bed and the attention of your servants is charity I am far from deserving.’

‘I doubt my nerves would have stood the results of screaming the house down and then being discovered pinned to the floor beneath an unknown gentleman,’ she said gravely. ‘Once you were on your somewhat unsteady feet I considered what to do and decided that my butler needed his sleep. In any case, the sight of your supine body on the front step would hardly have added to my consequence with the neighbours. I had plenty of time to assess you my lord, and I came to the conclusion that you were harmless enough.’

She was laughing at him now the anxiety was gone. The spark in those fine eyes was not mortification, nor indignation, but amusement. Ashe found an answering bubble of laughter rising and got it firmly under control. Lady Felsham might be prepared to see the funny side of this, but he still felt his own part to have been unforgivable.

‘You are too generous, ma’am. I trust I did not injure you.’

‘Not at all. Horace has thick fur and the carpet beneath was also good padding. I have slept more comfortably, I must admit.’ She smiled at last, a generous, warm smile that had him yearning to press his lips to it. ‘But after almost two years in mourning, living in rural seclusion, a small adventure is not unwelcome.’

There was a discreet tap at the door. ‘Come in!’

‘Luncheon is served, my lady.’

‘Have you an appetite, Lord Dereham?’ Lady Felsham rose to her feet with a graceful sway that had him fighting to keep his eyes away from her hips. ‘I can promise you that Mrs Hedges is an excellent cook.’

Mrs Hedges had indeed done them proud. Bel was thankful for the distraction the formalities of eating in company provided. Lord Dereham had greatly relieved her mind with his assurances of discretion and the impeccable way in which he was behaving, but even so, the sensations conjured up by even referring to the incident were physically most agitating. Bel shifted uncomfortably on her seat and tried not to fidget.

‘Butter, Lord Dereham?’ She helped herself to braised ham, then found herself staring at the big, capable hand with its long fingers and the healing scar across the knuckles as he replaced the butter dish on the table. It was the hand of a fighting man, a strong man, and she could not help but contrast it with Henry’s white, soft and carefully manicured digits.

‘You have not been back in England long?’ She tried to imagine that she was presiding over a vicarage luncheon party and not to remember his mischievous twinkle as she had remarked that a small adventure was not unwelcome. ‘Your agent led me to understand that you were with the army in Belgium.’

‘I arrived the night before last from Ostend and reached London late yesterday afternoon.’

‘Then no wonder you felt so…unwell yesterday. You must have been exhausted. The Channel crossing alone, I am sure, must be wearisome.’

‘You are kind to find an excuse for me.’ His smile really was very charming. Bel found herself smiling back. Seduced into smiling. He was dangerous. ‘But I have none, in truth. I went out to join fellow officers and we talked and drank—with the result you saw.’

It was on the tip of her tongue to remark that they must have been celebrating when she sensed a shadow. It was not so much that his expression changed, as the light went out behind those remarkable blue eyes. He was sad, she realised with a flash of empathy. On instinct she turned and nodded dismissal to the footman who stood silently by the sideboard. If her visitor was experiencing mental discomfort, he did not need an audience for it.

‘It must be so painful to remember all those men who could not be with you last night,’ Bel said quietly. ‘Is it sometimes hard to believe that you are alive and they are not?’

He had raised his glass to his lips as she spoke, but put it down at her words, untouched. Bel thought she caught the hint of a tremor in his hand, then he was in control again. ‘You are the only person I have spoken to who was not there who understands.’ He stared at the glass and at his own fingers wrapped around the stem. She waited, expecting him to say something further, but after a moment he lifted the glass again and drank. A sore spot, then, one to avoid. He was going to have a hard time of it though, once he went out into society again. Everyone would want to lionise another returning Waterloo officer, talk about the battle, demand to know about Wellington, ask about his experiences.

‘We are both going to find our new lives difficult. You have been in the army, I have been in seclusion,’ she observed. ‘Unless you are going back into the army, Lord Dereham?’

‘No. I will go to Horse Guards today and resign my commission. Quite frankly,’ he added with a rueful grin, ‘I am strongly tempted to bolt off to the country and rusticate on my much-neglected estate rather than face certain aspects of London life again.’

‘Town is very quiet just now,’ Bel reassured him. ‘That is why I came up in early June—to replenish my wardrobe and find my feet again without too many invitations. And then I found myself travelling to the Grand Duchy of Maubourg, of all places, for my brother’s wedding.’

‘Indeed? It sounds an adventure. That is an unusual place for your brother to be wed, I must confess.’

‘Not if you are marrying the Dowager Grand Duchess of Maubourg.’ Bel smiled reminiscently. ‘It was just like a fairy tale—or a Gothic novel, if one considers the castle. Quite ridiculously romantic.’

‘I am sorry, I should remember who your brother is, forgive me.’

‘My elder brother is the Duke of Allington. This was my second brother, Lord Sebastian Ravenhurst.’

‘Otherwise known as Jack Ryder! I knew there was something familiar about you—you have the same grey eyes.’

So, Lord Dereham knew Sebastian in his secret persona as spy, investigator and King’s Messenger. It was probably a state secret, but she risked the question. ‘Where did you meet him?’

‘On the morning of the battle.’ There was no need to specify which battle. Bel saw the realisation come over him. ‘Then that very handsome woman in man’s clothing was the Grand Duchess Eva? No wonder your brother looked ready to call me out when I tried a little mild flirtation with her!’

‘Indeed, you were dicing with death, Lord Dereham,’ Bel agreed, amused at the daring of a man who would flirt with any woman under Sebastian’s protection. ‘It is a most incredible story, for he snatched Eva out of Maubourg and back to England in the face of considerable danger.’

‘You are a romantic, then?’ He poured her more lemonade from the cut-glass jug at his elbow and watched her quizzically for her answer. Bel found herself drowning in that deep azure gaze, rather as she might surrender to the sea. He seemed to be luring her on to confess her innermost yearnings, her need to be loved, her wicked curiosity to experience physical delight. And just like the sea, he was dangerous and full of undercurrents. A completely unknown element. Of course she could reveal nothing. Nothing at all.

‘A romantic? I…I hardly know,’ Bel confessed, throwing caution overboard and wilfully ignoring the sensation that she might be heading for the reef without an anchor. ‘I would not have said so a few weeks ago. I would have said I was in favour of a rational choice of marriage partners, of very conventional behaviour and, of course, of judicious attention to society’s norms. And then, when Eva and Sebastian fell in love, I found I would have defied any convention in the world to promote their happiness. I virtually gatecrashed a Carlton House reception, in fact, then kidnapped poor Eva to harangue her for breaking Sebastian’s heart.’

‘Passionate, romantic and daring, then.’ He sounded admiring.

Bel knew she was blushing and could only be grateful that she had dismissed the footman earlier. ‘In the cause of other people’s happiness, Lord Dereham,’ she said, attempting a repressive tone.

‘Will you not call me Ashe?’ He picked up an apple and began to peel it, his attention apparently fixed on the task.

‘Certainly not!’ Bel softened the instinctive response with an explanation. ‘We have not even been introduced, ridiculous though that seems.’

‘I am sure Horace did the honours last night,’ Ashe suggested. ‘He strikes me as a bear of the old school. A stickler for formality and the correct mode.’

‘Even so.’ Bel allowed herself the hint of a smile for his whimsy, but she was not going to be lured into impropriety—her own thoughts were quite sufficiently unseemly as it was. And she was not going to rise to his teasing about her silly rug. Goodness knows what familiarity she might be tempted into if they became any more intimate than they were already.

‘Reynard, then?’ He was not exactly wheedling, but there was something devilishly coaxing about the expression in the blue eyes that were fixed on her face.