Miss Pymbroke's Rules (12 page)

What he had not counted on was his own response.

Devil take it! Perhaps an hour with the twins was what it was going to take to banish the memory of a pair of the sweetest lips he had ever tasted.

“Devil take all virgins,” he said under his breath. Then he shouted to the coachman, “Take me to Half Moon Street, Jake.”

Chapter Six

For the second time in as many months, Lord Carrisworth stood in Rundell and Bridge’s, gazing down at a dazzling array of diamond necklaces that had been brought out for his inspection. On this occasion, he needed two of the expensive baubles.

His mind went back to the night before. That particular part of his anatomy eager for action when Miss Pymbroke had been in the carriage had seemed to have dosed itself with laudanum between South Audley Street and the twins’ residence in Half Moon Street.

By the time he was ensconced in their sitting room listening to their chatter, he’d been laughing so much he’d been able to almost forget his desire for Miss Pymbroke.

The visit had proven useful in another way. Monique and Dominique’s popularity on the stage had grown to remarkable proportions. The marquess had talked with them about the future, and then outlined a plan. It would enable them to live on their earnings, along with a generous settlement from him, all of which would be carefully invested and looked after by his own competent solicitor. The girls’ happiness prompted them to kiss his lordship’s cheek declaring he was better to them than their own Papa. This, of course, caused the marquess to stoutly admonish them never to repeat those words in Society.

Soon after rising the next morning, Lord Carrisworth decided it would be prudent to visit the famous jewelers in order to obtain the gifts that would publicly signal their dismissal as his “mistresses.”

Deliberating over his selection, he heard the door to the shop open. “Perry!” the Earl of Northbridge called out. “You are looking grave as a judge. Have you decided on a bride after all? One who finds the family betrothal ring not to her taste?”

The marquess grinned. “How ridiculous. I should not wish to enter an institution which has so obviously addled your wits. I am here purchasing Monique and Dominique’s farewell jewels. Why are you here? Selecting a trinket for a new flirt?”

Lord Northbridge’s face rapidly lost its smile. His expression serious, he spoke quietly. “Gloria and I will be celebrating the anniversary of the night she agreed to become my wife. I have come to commission something special.”

The marquess raised a long-fingered hand to his brow. “Damn my tongue. Accept my apologies, Charles? I am weak of brain this morning.”

Never one to remain vexed for long, the earl clapped his friend on the back. “I shall forgive you on the condition you accompany Gloria and me to the Lexhams’ turtle dinner tonight.”

“The Lexhams? Such exemplary company. Too tedious by half,” the marquess grumbled. Seeing the stubborn look in the earl’s eye, however, he capitulated. “Very well, Charles. Since I am shortly to be mistress-less and have no other plans for the evening.”

The two gentlemen decided on a meeting time and parted company amiably when the earl moved down the counter to consult with one of the jewelers.

Selecting two necklaces at random, Lord Carrisworth scribbled out the twins’ direction and concluded his transaction. He began turning away from the counter only to have his attention caught by a shimmering set of yellow topaz eardrops.

Immediately, a picture formed in his mind of the golden highlights that graced Miss Pymbroke’s brown tresses. The eardrops would complement her coloring perfectly. Of course, she would refuse such a gift as improper. Gentlemen restricted their tokens for the ladies to something inconsequential like flowers or sweetmeats. He could not give them to her.

Noticing his interest, the man behind the counter swiftly said, “You have superb taste, my lord. Those are particularly fine stones from India.”

The eardrops winked up at him.

It was then Lord Carrisworth remembered he rarely behaved like a proper gentleman. “Wrap them up,” he commanded.

* * * *

Kitchen maid Molly Grimes hurried through the windy London streets on an urgent errand. She ran because Mrs. Witherspoon, the cook who ruled her domain with a heavy skillet, would box her ears if she dawdled. Lady Lexham was holding a turtle dinner that very night, and Mrs. Witherspoon had been horrified when she found they were short of the necessary bay leaves for the turtle soup.

Breathless, Molly entered a shop with Jack Millweed, Apothecary and Herbalist inscribed above the door. Her heart sank when she saw the proprietor was busy with another customer.

Ten agonizing minutes went by without Mr. Millweed being able to serve her. Growing more frightened as every minute passed, Molly finally screwed up her courage and called to a girl engaged in dusting the bottles behind the counter. “Please, miss, could you help me? I’ll be in terrible trouble if I don’t get back soon.”

Lizzie Millweed glanced at her father and received a nod of consent. “My name’s Lizzie. What can I get you?”

Gratefully, Molly gave her order and began chatting. She was in awe of all the herbs and potions around her. A good country girl, she believed the mysterious powers of the elixirs could cure anything.

As Lizzie handed her the bay leaves and two pence change, Molly lowered her voice to a whisper. “There be a ’andsome first footman I’ve wanted to walk out with for ever so long. Do you ’ave any love potion I could get with this ’ere money?”

Lizzie looked doubtfully at the coins. Then, her expression brightened. She leaned close to Molly and said, “I can get you something, but don’t tell no one. Some gentry-mort paid for it, then ordered it thrown out.”

Both girls rolled their eyes at the strange ways of the Quality.

Lizzie disappeared into, the back room for a moment. When she returned, she darted a furtive glance at her father before slipping Molly a bottle marked “Love’s Helping Hand.” Molly couldn’t read, but Lizzie giggled and assured her it would make whoever took it nice and friendly.

After thanking her, Molly ran all the way back to Lady Lexham’s, but still received a sharp slap from Mrs. Witherspoon, who declared she had taken too long.

Rubbing her reddened cheek, Molly covertly watched the cook add the bay leaves to a large pot of simmering turtle soup. She knew Mrs. Witherspoon would taste the soup throughout the day.

As soon as the older woman bustled away, Molly ran to the pot and poured in half the contents of the bottle Lizzie had given her. Had not Lizzie said it would turn anyone nice? And she still had plenty left for Will, the footman.

Despite her throbbing cheek, Molly went about her duties humming.

* * * *

Clad in a blue sprigged morning gown. Verity sat in the window seat of her bedchamber, gazing down at South Audley Street. More than once she had told herself she was not hoping to catch a glimpse of the Marquess of Carrisworth. She was merely admiring the fine day and organizing her somewhat troubled thoughts.

“Here is that sanctimonious book you left for me, Mouse,” Louisa said, sweeping into the room and handing Verity the copy of Correct Thoughts For A Lady. “I do wish you would refrain from preaching to me, and that includes giving me sermonizing books.”

Turning her gaze to her sister, Verity said, “I do not look at it as ‘preaching.’”  She placed the book next to her and held out her hands to Louisa. “Dear Louisa, it is only out of my affection for you that I beg you to think how easily one’s reputation is damaged. I know you told me at breakfast that you left that shameful masked ball well before it grew wild, but to attend it to begin with was surely unwise.”

“Pooh,” Louisa scoffed, ignoring Verity’s outstretched hands and instead studying her reflection in the glass above the satinwood dressing table. “You forget, as a widow I am allowed much more freedom than you.”

Verity dropped her hands to her sides. “Even so, people will gossip.”

Satisfied with her appearance, Louisa turned a speculative gaze toward her sister. “Your own reputation would be damaged far more than mine if word got out that you had appeared in Portman Square last night, so let us not speak of it again. I am going driving with Sir Ramsey—no; don’t say a word against him. Someone must amuse me today since Lady Iris has insisted on dragging us all to Lady Lexham’s dull turtle dinner tonight.”

Louisa blew Verity a careless kiss and tripped from the room.

Verity sighed and shrugged her shoulders. For the moment, she could not concern herself with Louisa’s behavior. It was her own mortifying actions of the night before that had served to bring hot color to her face every time she remembered them.

And she had been able to do little that morning save recall her response to Lord Carrisworth’s disturbing kiss. Wanton! That is what she had been. And, further, there was the humiliating fact that whenever she thought of her reaction, by necessity she relived every moment of his embrace.

As the image focused in her memory, she could see again the laughter in his green eyes before his lips came down on hers. She closed her eyes and remembered the potent sensations that had flooded her body at the warm touch of his mouth and the strong feel of his arms around her. Her lips tingled at the memory.

Verity pressed shaking fingers to her mouth. This would not do! Ladies did not have lustful notions.  She was not like her father! Verity picked up the copy of Christian Thoughts For A Lady and held it to her as if it would shield her from her own thoughts and feelings. She was foolish beyond permission for allowing the practiced charms of a rake to affect her so. Drawing a deep breath, she determined to be on full guard around the marquess, lest she end as just another of his amusements—like the twins.

A scratching on the door preceded the entrance of a meek Betty. “Lord Davies has called to see you, miss.”

Good Heavens! Verity thought. What on earth could he want? “Show him into the drawing room. I shall be down presently. And, Betty, there is no need to take yourself to task any longer about last night. You explained your fears to me and said you were sorry for your actions.” The maid’s tearful apology earlier had touched Verity’s heart. “Let us forget the matter.”

Betty straightened her shoulders. “Thank you, miss.”

Downstairs a few minutes later, ensconced in the drawing room, Lord Davies stood admiring himself in the pier glass. With his new false calves providing his legs with an athletic build, his lavender pantaloons looked very fine indeed. A pink- and lavender-striped waistcoat, topped by a plum-colored coat, nipped in at the waist and well padded at the shoulders, completed his ensemble.

Despite his pleasure in his appearance, Lord Davies chewed his fingernail nervously. Roxanna Hollings had given him this assignment, for which she was prepared to pay him handsomely.

The actress had summoned the baron to her house the day before, and after seeing him comfortably seated with a glass of the best canary had proposed her plan. “I have a mind to be Carrisworth’s mistress again, James. The respect I command as such pleases me. I do not view those silly French girls as any obstacle. Rather I am convinced his thoughts are taken up by that moralizing Miss Pymbroke.” Roxanna’s red lips formed a moue of distaste.

Lord Davies had said, “Very pretty girl, Miss Pymbroke. Innocent-like and refreshing. Her Puritan airs add to her charm.”

Roxanna’s blue eyes narrowed. “Men are contrary, and if you tell them they can’t have something, they immediately decide it is the only thing they want. The Pymbroke chit is forbidden fruit, and since there is nothing more appealing to a man of the world”—Roxanna snapped her fingers for emphasis—“his interest is captured.”

Lord Davies’s brow furrowed, but he immediately smoothed it with his fingertips, fearing the formation of a wrinkle. “So you’ve been plotting. What do you want me to do?”

As she considered him, Roxanna’s lips curved into a smile. “Ah, James, it is unfortunate you cannot be as perceptive at the gaming tables.”

Ignoring the ugly flush that rose to his lordship’s face, she continued. “If Carrisworth were to see the virtuous Miss Pymbroke giving you her warmest attentions, he would believe she is just like any other female and some of her luster would fade.”

“But she’s already rejected me once. You saw for yourself, the afternoon at the theater,” Lord Davies protested.

“True. But you were too blunt. You must win her trust and then carry out the plan.”

Lord Davies’s expression suddenly turned shrewd. “What’s in it for me?”

Roxanna rose and poured out another measure of wine for her guest. “My new protector, Rupert, the Duke of Covington, is rich as Croesus. I shall supply you with money for your penchant for gaming ... and, if all goes well, perhaps even pay off your tailor as a bonus,” she ended with a chuckle.

Lord Davies was once a wealthy man, but deep gambling, resulting in heavy losses and an obsession for clothes had finally reduced him to being purse-pinched. News of this had reached his tailor, making that merchant increasingly reluctant to extend the baron any further credit.

At the thought of his debts being wiped away and his tailor’s willingness to supply him with whatever he desired, Lord Davies’s pulses quickened as they never had under the ministrations of any female, no matter how desirable. He licked his lips. “I’ll do it,” he told the pleased Roxanna.

Now, in South Audley Street, Miss Pymbroke entered the drawing room, dropped him a brief curtsy and, with a coldly questioning look, settled herself in a chair. Lord Davies charged forward with his scheme to ingratiate himself with the straitlaced young girl.

“Miss Pymbroke!” he cried in a voice full of anguish. He dropped to one knee in front of her, at the last moment adroitly placing a handkerchief on the floor so as not to soil his lavender pantaloons. “I am deeply ashamed of my boorish behavior toward you at the theater. Say you forgive me and smile upon me, else I shall shoot myself!”

“Lord Davies!” Verity exclaimed, startled by his dramatic assertion. “Do not speak so, I pray you. Please, sit down and calm yourself.”