Regency Scoundrels And Scandals

‘I expect he is going to the park as we are and our ways just happen to coincide.’ Elinor looked dubious, but Bel was not going to scramble about in the carriage, peering out at the traffic behind them. ‘Why should anyone want to follow us? I do believe you are a secret novel reader, Cousin! I can assure you, I am not being pursued by a wicked duke for some evil end. Perhaps he is after you.’

Elinor blushed so furiously at the suggestion of novel reading that Bel decided that not only must she consume the productions of the Minerva Press avidly, but that Aunt Louisa had no idea and would not approve. ‘I have just borrowed The Abbess of Voltiera from the circulating library, if you would like to have it as I finish each volume,’ she offered. ‘It is quite blood curdling.’

‘That would be very nice,’ Elinor said primly as they entered the park. ‘Oh look, there’s a gentleman waving to you. See? On that horse close to the grove of chestnuts.’

Ashe. Bel followed the direction of her cousin’s gaze and saw Mr Layne approaching them on a good-looking bay hack. ‘Pull up,’ she called to the coachman as her treacherous pulse returned to normal. ‘Mr Layne, good morning. Cousin Elinor, may I make known to you Mr Layne, the brother of the renowned poetess? Mr Layne, my cousin, Miss Ravenhurst.’

He brought his horse alongside the carriage and leaned down to shake hands. ‘A lovely morning for a drive, is it not?’

‘Delightful,’ Elinor agreed. ‘Are you also a poet, Mr Layne?’

‘Not at all, I fear. I can hardly rhyme moon and spoon.’ Patrick laughed, shaking his head in self-deprecation. ‘All the talent in the family is with my sister. I manage my uncle’s estates.’

‘That requires talent also,’ Elinor observed.

Now he would be perfect for her, Bel thought, suddenly struck as she watched them chatting easily. Mr Layne showed no sign of alarm at either Elinor’s despised auburn hair, nor her appalling dress sense. He was a young man with his way to make in the world and, with her connections and excellent common sense, she was just the sort of woman to…

‘Oh, look, Cousin Belinda, that man who was following us has just driven past.’ Elinor pointed.

‘What?’ Mr Layne stood in his stirrups to observe the rear of the curricle that was sweeping away down the carriage drive. ‘Has someone been annoying you ladies? Shall I catch up to him and demand his business?’

‘No! I am certain it was just coincidence that he was behind us for such a way. Please, do not concern yourself Mr Layne. See—he has gone now.’

‘Then let me ride beside you as escort in case he comes back.’ He reined back to one side and matched his pace to the barouche as it moved off, keeping far enough away so as not to appear to be with them.

‘A very gentlemanlike young man, I think,’ Bel observed quietly.

‘Indeed, he is.’ Elinor glanced sideways to observe Mr Layne from under the brim of her bonnet. ‘You are fortunate in your admirers, Cousin.’

‘Goodness, he is no such thing. I must tell you, Elinor, I am firmly resolved against a second marriage and to encourage anyone to have expectations—not that Mr Layne has any, I am sure—would be most unfair.’ No more husbands. And no lover either. Bel repressed a wistful sigh. There was no point in repining; she had daringly given herself an opportunity and it was all her fault it had ended as it had. Lord Dereham could not have acted more chivalrously, poor man.

They trotted along as far as the Knightsbridge gate without further incident. When they reached it Mr Layne came up and touched his hat. ‘Your mysterious follower has gone, it seems, ma’am.’

‘I am sure it was simply a coincidence, but thank you for your escort. We are going to Gunter’s for some refreshment—would you care to join us?’ Bel had hoped for some peace and quiet with Elinor to recover the tone of her mind a little, but she had the notion that perhaps she could matchmake here. After all, she had never heard her cousin utter a single opinion about a man before.

‘Thank you, but I regret that I have an appointment shortly. Do enjoy your ices, ladies.’

Bel and Elinor watched him canter away, Elinor’s face unreadable. Bother—perhaps she was indifferent after all.

‘Gunter’s next, please,’ Bel called up to the coachman and settled back against the squabs. Rescuing Elinor from Aunt Louisa was a worthwhile project, she felt. But how to get her into new clothes? She was never going to attract gentlemen dressed like that, even the amiable Mr Layne. This needed some planning. ‘I am so pleased you could drive with me,’ she remarked as they turned into Charles Street. ‘Do you think Aunt Louisa would spare you again?’

‘I should think so.’ An unexpected twinkle showed in her cousin’s green eyes. ‘I am sure she would think it a sacrifice well worth while if I can provide some chaperonage for you.’

They were still smiling over plans for further expeditions as they walked into the confectioner’s, securing a place in a corner with a good view of the room. Elinor ordered a vanilla ice and chocolate, and, despite her resolution to have only a small lemon ice and a cup of tea, Bel succumbed to the same choices.

‘It is delicious if you chase a spoonful of ice with a sip of chocolate,’ Bel was observing when Elinor sat bolt upright and said in a penetrating whisper, strongly reminiscent of her mother,

‘It’s that man again!’

‘What man?’ Bel had her back to the door.

‘The one who was following us into the park. He is coming over, the presumptuous wretch. Oh, dear, and I do not have a hatpin!’

‘We are in the middle of Gunter’s, Elinor, nothing can happen to us here, you have no need to spear him—’

‘Lady Felsham, good morning.’

Bel dropped her spoon into the saucer with a clatter. ‘Lord Dereham!’ It was Ashe, standing there, large as life, smiling blandly as though he had not seen her since the dancing party. Elinor cleared her throat and Bel realised she was gaping at him in complete shock. Please, she prayed, please don’t let me be blushing like a peony. ‘Good morning. May I introduce my cousin, Miss Ravenhurst? Elinor, Lord Dereham.’ They shook hands. ‘Will you join us?’ He is here, he is smiling, he has forgiven me…

Elinor’s eyebrows rose as Ashe took the third seat at their small round table and clicked his fingers for the waiter. Her lips narrowed. ‘Do you know, my lord, I am convinced that I have seen you before today, several times. In fact, I could have sworn you were following us.’

Bel tried to kick her under the table, missed and made contact with Ashe’s ankle. It was a very small table. ‘Oh, yes,’ Ashe admitted, wincing. ‘I followed you into Hyde Park. Amazing how easy it is to bump into acquaintances, even at this time of year.’ He smiled. ‘I would have stopped to chat, but you were talking to Mr Layne and I did not want to interrupt.’

‘How fortunate you were able to find us here then,’ Elinor observed severely, obviously not believing a word of it. Bel shook her head at her slightly. This was not the time for her cousin to take her pretend role as chaperon so seriously.

‘Was it not?’ Ashe beamed at her as the waiter produced a pot of coffee for him. ‘I could have sent a note, of course, but I wanted to make sure that the problem Lady Felsham is having with the plumbing is now corrected. I could send my own man round if it is not.’ Elinor was looking baffled. ‘Lady Felsham bought her house from me,’ he explained. ‘I feel responsible for the problem she is having with it.’

‘Oh. I see.’ Elinor took a sip of chocolate and subsided, obviously disappointed that this was neither a Gothic horror story nor a case of over-amorous pursuit for her to foil.

‘Or I could have called later, but I am going to be visiting old Mr Horace this evening. Do you know him?’

‘Old Mr Horace?’ Did he mean what he appeared to mean? Bel opened her mouth, shut it rapidly and tried to get her tumbling thoughts into some sort of order. ‘The, um…northern gentleman? The one with the snowy white hair and the problem with his teeth?’ Ashe nodded. ‘And you are going to visit him again?’ Another nod. ‘That is very kind of you, Lord Dereham. I had understood that your previous experiences with the old gentleman were not encouraging.’

‘He is somewhat eccentric,’ Ashe agreed. ‘And a very poor conversationalist. But I derive a great deal of, um…satisfaction from the relationship. And hope to obtain more.’

Now she must be blushing. How could he be so brazen? But it seemed that she was forgiven for falling asleep: she just hoped that he would not be disappointed tonight. She was very certain that she would not be.

‘Virtue,’ Elinor pronounced piously, ‘is its own reward.’ She looked somewhat taken aback when both of her companions collapsed into peels of laughter.

Bel sat in front of her dressing table mirror, brushing her hair. It shone in the candle light, picking up the auburn highlights that all the Ravenhursts had in their hair, even if they were not redheads like Elinor and their cousin Theophilus.

She was quite pleased with her appearance tonight, she concluded dispassionately, studying her reflection. That was a good thing, considering that she had spent the whole evening fretting over it. The good night’s sleep and the fresh air that morning had restored her colour and the smudges had gone from under her eyes. Around her on the stool pooled the silken folds of a new aquamarine nightgown with ribbon ties on the shoulders and at the bosom and not a great deal of substance to its layers of skirt. As for the bodice, Bel was careful not to breathe too deeply. Ashe, she was hopeful, would like it.

She twiddled the earrings in her ears and then removed them, her fingers hesitating over her jewel box before lifting a long, thin, gold chain. She fastened it, observing the way it slithered down into the valley between her breasts. Was she trying too hard? What would he expect? She bit her lip in indecision, then touched a tiny dab of jasmine scent where the chain vanished into shadowed curves.

There. Enough. When she found out what pleased Ashe, then she could be more daring. The thought of what that voyage of discovery might entail sent a shiver up and down her spine as the landing clock chimed the three-quarter hour. Soon he would be here.

The minutes dragged as she sat waiting, elegantly disposed in the armchair, her volume of Byron open and unread in her lap. When the scratch on the door came she was so tense that the book fell to the carpet as she jerked upright and she was scrabbling on the floor behind the bed for it when the door opened and she heard Ashe come in.

‘Hello, Horace old chap. Where has Bel gone?’

‘Here.’ She popped up from the other side of the bed, painfully aware that her hard-won pose of seductive sophistication was completely ruined. ‘I dropped my book.’

‘Not playing hide and seek, then?’ Ashe smiled. ‘A pity—I can think of some entertaining forfeits.’

Bel felt hopelessly gauche. Ashe seemed to regard this lovemaking thing, which she had always assumed was a rather serious business, as a game, as fun. ‘I am sorry about last night,’ she said, eager to get that over with. ‘I was so nervous I could not sleep the night before and then when you were so gentle and soothing I could not help myself drifting off. You must have been so angry with me. It is very kind of you to come back.’

‘Don’t apologise, Bel,’ Ashe said shortly, something very like the anger she feared flickering in his eyes. ‘Don’t you dare. Do you think I would expect you to make love when you were tired and apprehensive? I am not your husband, I do not expect anything as my due. We give each other only what we are able to, what we want to. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ Bel lied, unable to believe it. Men made demands in bed, women obeyed them, that was the way things were. The only difference was that some men made those demands more nicely than others and would take the trouble to ensure the woman enjoyed the experience.

He smiled, the warmth chasing away the spark of anger. ‘Tell me what you would like? Shall we read poetry together?’

‘I would like you to kiss me,’ she said, boldness masking the fact she could not stand the tension of waiting any longer. He was probably teasing about the poetry in any case.

‘Very well, my lady. I feel a trifle overdressed.’ Ashe had come in pantaloons and long-tailed coat, not in the formality of knee breeches. As she watched, he heeled off his shoes and shed coat and waistcoat on to a chair, then turned and held out his arms.

Bel walked into them, sliding her palms up his chest, feeling the heat under the fine cotton, catching her breath as they passed over his nipples, hardening under her touch. As she looked up, his lids lowered in sensual pleasure and his arms came round her.

Chapter Nine

The caress of Ashe’s mouth was as gentle as it had been the first time he had kissed her, but this time it was surprisingly undemanding. Gradually Bel began to feel impatient with the respectful slide of closed lips over hers. She wanted his heat again, the taste of him, the hard thrust of his tongue, the indecent way he had sucked her lip between his.

Greatly daring, she parted her lips and ran her own tongue along the join of his, feeling them curve into a smile before he opened to her. Hazily Bel was aware that he had lured her into taking the initiative, but she was too engrossed in exploration now to feel resentful at his tactics.

She let her tongue slide languorously over his, then answered a sudden thrust with one of her own, duelling, teasing and being teased while the taste and the scent and the feel of him swept over her, until she felt she was melting into his body.

Ashe lowered his hands until they cupped her buttocks and pulled her up against him so she could feel the hard ridge of his erection against the curve of her stomach. It was a blatantly sexual display of desire and the intensity of the response it provoked in her was outrageous. She wanted him, now, desperately.

Heat seemed to pool low inside her, and she wriggled against him, seeking relief for the ache that was building, just where he pressed. Arousal, desire, sheer physical yearning—all the things she had not realised existed, had now only hazily began to suspect, could be hers with this man.

Shockingly she felt Ashe grow harder as she clung close, and deep in his throat he growled softly, the sound vibrating against her lips, a masculine signal of need that should have terrified her. Instead she felt powerful, amazed that she could have this effect upon him despite her ignorance and his experience.

Bel slid her fingers between their bodies and began to unbutton his shirt. Impatient with the mother-of-pearl buttons, she tugged and pulled and then, as her fingertips met skin and the rasp of hair, she froze. ‘Go on,’ he said huskily in her ear. ‘Touch me Bel. I want your hands on me.’

‘I do not know what to do,’ she whispered. But it seemed her hands did know, sliding under the parted front of the shirt. She felt the tickle of hair on her palms and then hot, satiny skin as they slid over his ribs. Back to the centre, then down over ridges of muscle to the flatness of his stomach where the hair seemed to focus. Her thumb found his navel and dipped in, wiggled experimentally, provoking a gasp of laughter.

He was moving his hips against her as he held her, signalling his need, yet he controlled it for her. It seemed impossible that this big, powerful man would let her explore like this, would seem content for her to set the pace.

Ashe lowered his face into the angle of her neck and began to lick slowly up until the tip of his tongue found her ear. The caress brought back memories of lying crushed beneath him on the floor, his mouth hot and moist as he explored her, and all she could think about was feeling his body over hers again, his heart against hers, his mouth taking hers.

Bel’s fingers slipped lower, into the waistband of Ashe’s trousers where the tantalising trail of dark hair vanished. ‘Yes. Bel, yes.’ The fastenings were tight; he sucked in his breath so she could twist her fingers round and open them, then her hand was curling round the hard, hot, terrifying length of him. A moment later and she was on her back on the bed, Ashe was shedding the remains of his clothes and she was staring wide-eyed at the first naked man she had ever seen in the flesh.

And what flesh. Bel swallowed. He was beautifully made, the candlelight flickering over smooth muscle and long limbs and…Suddenly she was nervous, her eyes closed tight. She was very aware of how flimsy her own garment was, how she must look to him, sprawled wantonly on the bed.

‘It’s all right, Bel, don’t be frightened.’ His weight dipped the bed beside her and Ashe began to stroke her quivering body, his hand running softly over the fine silk. It whispered against her skin. ‘I won’t do anything until you want me to, I promise.’

‘I do want you to. To do everything. Anything. But I do not know what those things are that I want.’ Bel opened her eyes and smiled ruefully. ‘That is what is so scary.’

‘Then, Bel, let’s find them together.’ He smiled back, then bent to kiss her breast just where the edge of the nightgown ended. ‘Belle, bella, bellissima.’ His lips fastened over one nipple and he began to suck it gently through the gossamer fabric, sending shock waves of sensation through her. She writhed, gasped, clutched his head, uncertain whether she wanted him to stop at once or never stop at all. It seemed he intended never to stop. Perhaps she would simply die of the sensation. Tongue, teeth, lips combined to send her into a fever, reduced her to a helpless, panting puddle of longing and desire.

Just when she was certain she could bear it no longer she felt his hand caress up under her skirts, his fingers slide into the secret folds that were hot and wet for him, slip between them to find the entrance to her body and then, as she arched in shock against his mouth, into the heat. Bel sensed her muscles clasp around the intrusion as his thumb found the single aching focus of her straining body and she felt his weight over her, his mouth on hers as she screamed in agonised delight and collapsed, shuddering, under him.

She wondered hazily if she had lost consciousness for, as she regained her senses enough to differentiate between the parts of her own body and his, she found the nightgown was gone and she was moulded, flesh to flesh, heartbeat to heartbeat with Ashe.

‘Let me take you, Belle,’ he murmured and surged into her on one powerful thrust. Always before she had lain rigid under such an onslaught, enduring the meaningless, effortful, mercifully short male striving towards release. Only now Ashe seemed quite as concerned to bring her to that peak of ecstasy again as to reach his own, and it seemed that the beautiful body dominating hers was quite capable of going on for as long as it took. She wanted it to last for ever because it was so wonderful, and yet to be over at once, because she wanted to share that storm of completion with him.

She felt the tension twisting into unimaginable heights, felt a change in his body, heard his breath rasp in his throat and curled her legs around his hips, pulling him in. ‘Ashe! Ashe, please…’ He gave one more thrust as she lost herself, then she was conscious—just—of him leaving her, holding her tight, gasping into her hair as they fell together, down into darkness.

Ashe rolled on to his back, bringing Bel with him to lie cradled against his chest in the curve of his arm. She gave a soft whimper of pleasure and snuggled close as his groping hand found the corner of the sheet and pulled it over their damp bodies.

He gazed up at the underside of the curtains as he let the aftershocks of their lovemaking shudder through his body. It had been beyond anything he had imagined and he could not understand why. Bel was lovely, sweet, eager. But she had come to him completely untutored and repressed—as close to a virgin as a woman could be after sleeping with a man. She had none of the tricks to pleasure him his mistresses had known—and yet the tentative wonder of her hands on his body, the awe in her eyes, the total trust with which she had given herself to him were powerfully erotic. And humbling, he realised.

‘Bel?’

‘Mmm?’ She snuggled in closer, rubbed her cheek against his pectorals and found his nipple with her lips. ‘Mmm.’

‘Stop it, wicked woman. Let a man catch his breath.’ She released the tense flesh and he saw her ear go pink at what she must have thought was a reproof. ‘I like it too much,’ he explained, mentally cursing her husband again, and she relaxed. ‘Are you—are you all right?’

He had expected her to be shy at the question, to answer hesitantly. Instead she wriggled up until she was sitting, her knees curved into his hips, and smiled at him, the sheet pooling around her. Glowing, that was the only way to describe her. Her skin was flushed pink, deeper across her breasts. Her hair tumbled wantonly around her shoulders and her eyes, fixed on him, were wide and wondering. ‘All right?’ She shook her head, the curling locks shifting in the candlelight. ‘That phrase hardly seems adequate. I had no idea it was like that. Is it always like that?’

It seemed he had not disappointed her. Ashe felt himself relax. He had not been conscious of a tension, but now he saw what a responsibility he had accepted and how hurt Bel could have been if she had chosen a man who did not live up to the trust she had placed in him.

‘I find it hard to believe that it would ever be like that for me again,’ he said seriously. ‘It can be as good—it will be—but that was special.’

‘Oh.’ Bel considered this, equally serious. ‘But I did not know what I was doing.’

‘You didn’t need to; you did what came naturally and that was…wonderful.’

‘Oh,’ she said again, dropping her lashes. ‘May we do it again? Soon? I mean, of course, when it is a convenient evening for you.’

‘It is very convenient now,’ he said smiling.

‘But—’She glanced down to where her wriggling had pulled the sheet away from his loins, and her mouth opened slightly in surprise as her gaze had the predictable effect on him.

‘You see what you can do just by looking? If you would like to explore,’ Ashe suggested, lifting her hand and placing it on the flat plane of his stomach, ‘we can see just how soon that convenient moment will arrive.’

Bel was woken by the pressure of Ashe’s lips against her temple. ‘Sweetheart, I must go now. What do you want to do about the bed?’

She struggled back to consciousness through what seemed to be a drift of rose petals, swansdown and fluffy clouds and found him sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed and smiling at her. ‘What time is it?’

‘Four.’ It was not a dream this time either, then. He had been there, he had made love to her—three times—he seemed pleased with her and she, she was still floating. Three times, each time different, each time blissful… ‘The bed?’ he prompted, grinning at her befuddlement.

Bel pushed back her hair with both hands and looked around at the tangle of bedclothes and the tumbled pillows. ‘We will never make it look as it did before,’ she concluded. ‘If you can arrange the covers so it looks as though I was restless and pushed them right off, and pass me that copy of Byron…’ She heaped up the pillows and snuggled back into them, half-sitting, half-lying, then remembered her nightgown, found it on the floor and dragged it on. ‘There. I could not sleep, sat up half the night reading and fell asleep with my book.’

Ashe straightened up from arranging the covers artistically and grinned at her. ‘Very convincing. But I think next time I had better wake up in time to make the bed—or we strip it first.’ He came round to the side of the bed, then bent and kissed her. Bel put up a hand, cupping his stubble-shadowed cheek and enjoyed the rasp of whiskers as she rubbed gently.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered. Next time, there is going to be a next time.

‘No, ma belle, thank you.’ Then he was gone, shoes in hand, slipping out of the room. The door snicked shut and she was alone. Bel tossed the volume of poetry carelessly on the covers as though it had fallen from her hand, reached out to pinch the wick of the remaining candle and lay back against the heaped pillows.