He groaned in response, deepening their kiss.
A woman’s shrill laughter floated on the air, a sudden reminder that others roamed nearby.
Apparently all the reminder Nick needed. He set her from him with a sudden jerk. She stumbled, her arms flailing about as she caught her balance. She ached, frustrated, only pride stopping her from begging for more.
He glanced about, his chest lifting with labored breaths. His eyes settled on her, bright and gleaming in the shadowed garden. “Lesson two: never allow a man to get you alone. His only purpose is to take advantage of you.”
“I see,” she said tightly, trying to still the wild thudding of her heart. “Thank you for the advice.
Next time I will better choose who accompanies me into a garden.” Gathering her skirts, she attempted to walk past him, but he blocked her path. She lifted her chin to glare at him. “Let me pass.”
“So you can find Havernautt to finish what I wouldn’t?”
Meredith shook her head and threw up her hands in exasperation. “What is it you want from me?
To personally select every gentleman I keep company with?”
“I’ve made my desires clear. I simply want you to behave yourself.”
She jabbed him in the chest. “Like I just did with you?”
“A mistake,” he admitted, nodding grimly. “You have the knack for pricking my temper.”
“What does rousing one’s temper have to do with kissing?”
He crossed his arms over his impressive chest. “Lesson three: provoking a man’s temper often provokes his physical passions.”
“Interesting,” Meredith murmured, only too well understanding his meaning. Attraction had nothing to do with kissing her. Her pride suffered a blow for that. She suddenly doubted her earlier assumption that he desired her. After all, what did she know of matters between men and women? She had been unable to tempt her husband into consummating their marriage. Why should she think herself able to tempt Nick?
“There seem to be countless ways to attract someone who might normally find you repellent,”
Meredith said hollowly.
“True,” he agreed, his easy agreement further wounding her. “Now, back to the issue at hand. Do I have your promise to behave? Contrary to your implications, I have no qualms in watching other men court you. In fact, I greatly anticipate seeing you wed. I will heave a great sigh of relief on that day. But in the meantime, I would hope you conduct yourself with proper modesty.”
“I can’t promise that I’ll conduct myself to meet your approval, and I won’t explain my actions to you on every occasion. If you disapprove of my behavior and have qualms about the gentlemen I entertain, then perhaps you should keep your distance.”
Nick sighed and looked out at the shadowed garden. After a long moment he nodded and startled her by saying, “Very well. Perhaps that is best. I’ll let you go about your husband hunt your own way.”
Disappointment rushed over her. She had not expected such willing agreement. Did that mean she would not see him anymore? The possibility gave her a pang of regret.
“I’ll stay away. Just see that you’ve found yourself a groom by the end of the Season.” He nodded, as though quite decided. “Yes, that way you’ll be sure not to prick my temper, and we will not have any more of these unfortunate lessons.”
Unfortunate. Is that really how he viewed kissing her? Meredith swallowed past the knot in her throat. “Have no worry. I’ll find a husband.” An unexciting, peaceful man. Someone safe.
Someone totally unlike Nick.
An awkward silence hung between them before he suggested, “You best get back before you’re missed.”
“What of you?”
He waved a hand aimlessly. “Oh, I’ll find my way out through the gardens.” He craned his head as though searching for a hidden gate.
“Shouldn’t you make your farewells? It is bad form to just sneak off.”
His expression turned indulgent. “Ah, Meredith, always expecting me to conform. Do you really think I care? Before tonight most of these people never knew I existed. My absence will hardly be noted.”
But they all knew now. Every woman inside would mourn his disappearance. By tomorrow his name would be on the tongue of every matchmaking mama and papa. Handsome, titled, rich: an irresistible catch. At least with his departure she could stop making a fool of herself over a man who viewed her as an irksome rash—something he would rather ignore but felt compelled to carefully mind.
His tall figure merged into the darkness until she could no longer make out his shape. The clang of a gate soon sounded, echoing in her heart. She lingered a few moments, trying to rid her mind of him before heading back inside, to the string of dance partners Lady Derring doubtlessly had waiting for her.
* * *
A visit to a lending library had seemed a splendid idea. Certainly it would be an excellent reprieve from the endless shopping trips Lady Derring dragged her on throughout Town. How many reticules and gloves could one woman need? Meredith refused to accept that a lady must possess one for every gown. The escape from yet another excursion to Bond Street—and Lady Derring’s constant harpings—
presented itself in the form of Lord Havernautt. Since Lady Derring’s party, he never strayed far.
If on any given day he did not appear, a bouquet of hothouse roses arrived in his stead. Slowly but surely, she had put the unsuspecting gentleman to the test. So far he seemed to satisfy all her criteria. Her feelings for him, though kindly disposed, did not run to love or even remotely close to the blood-singing attraction she felt for one particular man. From all appearances, and with Lady Derring’s assurances, Lord Havernautt was quite well set and would have no problem maintaining her and her family, should he be inclined to make an offer. As to the matter of his willingness to father children, he had made a few casual remarks that led her to conclude he desired offspring. All things considered, it appeared to Meredith that she had found her man.
“I do believe he is quite taken with you, Meredith,” Lady Derring had announced upon the arrival of the third bouquet, glowing with such satisfaction one would think she had accomplished some great personal feat. Yet her triumph was only momentary.
Remembering her primary charge, she had soon shifted her attention to Portia and subjected her to a withering glare. “If only getting you wed would prove as easy.” As always, that complaint inevitably led to the next. “Where has Brookshire got off to lately? Incredibly rude of the man not to accept any of my invitations.”
Had she been so disposed, Meredith could have informed Her Grace that Nick was not likely to appear at any more of this Season’s functions. For all that he vexed her, longing ripped through her. She could not deny that she craved the sight of him, that she missed the taste of his mouth on hers. It had been a fortnight since their last encounter, and she suspected he meant to keep his promise and stay away. Only she could not forget him, spent far too much of her time daydreaming over him. Meredith pressed the backs of her fingers against her heated cheeks, well imagining the twin spots of pink staining her face as she stood amid aisles of books, fantasizing about the very man whose sole goal was to get rid of her.
“There is a charming cafe next door.” Lord Havernautt’s voice intruded on her wonderings.
“Would you care to stop in for tea? If it’s no longer drizzling we may sit beneath the portico and watch passersby for anyone we know.” She dropped her hands from her face and smiled brightly, perhaps too brightly—anything to distract her from her guilty thoughts. With a willing nod, she placed the book she had blindly been thumbing back on the shelf.
“Yes, let’s find Portia.”
In their search for the young lady, Meredith came face-to-face with Adam Tremble.
“Lady Brookshire.” His hand fluttered to his throat, mirroring her surprise. Those knowing eyes of his raked her elegant day dress of dark green muslin, staring overlong at her middle, taking in the absence of a protruding belly. He fingered his yellow and peach cravat, and she blinked, momentarily distracted by the striped pattern.
“Mr. Tremble,” she greeted, acutely conscious of Lord Havernautt hovering close at her side, waiting for an introduction. She stifled a sigh and forged ahead with the unavoidable. “Lord Havernautt, this is Mr. Tremble, a dear friend of my late husband’s.”
“A pleasure, sir.” Lord Havernautt inclined his head.
“Indeed.” Mr. Tremble’s lips flattened into a thin line. “You appear in fine form, my lady, though the last time we met you were in a decidedly delicate way.” He let the statement hang between them, lifting a brow, clearly awaiting an explanation.
Meredith had hoped her lie would not follow her to London. Foolish perhaps, but other than Lady Derring, no one appeared to know of her alleged pregnancy. Now here stood Adam Tremble, armed with the knowledge of her lie, once again proving a nuisance.
Biting her bottom lip, she glanced at Lord Havernautt’s face. Only curious surprise there. Well, she supposed it premature for him to make any judgments from what little Tremble had revealed.
Satisfied that he did not appear dismayed, she turned to address Tremble and award him the information he clearly sought. He was either ignorant of the fact that such subjects were not discussed among mixed company or chose to disregard etiquette in the hopes of discrediting her before her companion. From the haughty flare of his nostrils, Meredith suspected the latter.
“Unfortunately I am no longer enceinte.”
Tremble’s lips twitched as though tempted to smile. “A truly dreadful loss.” He spoke the proper words. Only her ears detected the gratification in his dulcet tones.
“Indeed, Lady Brookshire,” Lord Havernautt said, quickly contributing his sympathies. “I had no idea the extent of your grief. How have you borne it?” He clasped her hand in his, adding, “Poor, sweet lady.” His heartfelt, anxious gaze made her feel the veriest of wretches, especially in front of Adam Tremble, who knew full well of her deceit.
“Oh, you need not pity Lady Brookshire,” Tremble inserted. “She is always a woman to land on her feet.” From his pointed look at the two of them, he clearly thought she had found a plump pigeon to pluck. With Lord Havernautt holding her hand, they probably appeared quite the cozy couple. She extricated her hand and looped her arm through Lord Havernautt’s.
“It was lovely to see you again, Mr. Tremble,” she lied, urging Lord Havernautt along.
They located Portia in the nether regions of the library, her nose buried in a dog-eared copy of The Rights of Women in the British Empire, and coaxed her next door with them.
There, taking a sip of tepid tea, Meredith fidgeted under Lord Havernautt’s worshipful appraisal.
Apparently she had just been elevated in his eyes. He gazed at her as though she were a hero newly returned from war. Blast it, why did she have to bump into Adam Tremble with Lord Havernautt, of all people? If she did wed him, that lie would stand forever between them. Lies were a sticky business. One always led to another/then another…
Thankfully, Portia kept the conversation lively, chattering all the way back to Lady Derring’s about the books piled high on her lap, allowing Meredith to mull in silence beside Lord Havernautt.
Finch was waiting for them in the foyer. “Lady Derring is holding tea,” he told them.
The moment before they entered the drawing room, Lord Havernautt grasped her elbow to keep her from following Portia. Meredith lifted her face inquiringly.
“Are you well, my lady? You have been withdrawn ever since meeting with that Tremble fellow.
I hope painful reminders did not spoil your day,” he murmured.
His kindness increased her discomfort. She twisted the fingertips of her gloves, stretching the fabric until the fine meshed cotton was translucent. “No, I enjoyed our outing.”