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‘If you think that, you are deranged,’ Lydia said bluntly. Evidently she had forgotten her need to efface herself. Harry hoped she would continue to do so.
‘I’m not your type, my lord,’ she continued. ‘Everyone knows a man like you would have no interest in me. Even thus far will have people wondering how much brandy you have taken. So, again, why?’
That was much too complex to reply there and then, and to be honest he wasn’t sure he could answer. He was no longer sure of his motives. Originally he had thought to be unethical and divert some of her attentions from Jeremy to himself. Thence to try and get to the bottom of why Jeremy thought it necessary to wed her. But now, he understood that there was more to it than that. Exactly what more he wasn’t going to try to discover. Not yet.
Now he accepted he wanted to get to know the lady… just because…
‘Are you promised to anyone?’ he asked abruptly. ‘Have an understanding?’ If she had he might need to rethink his tactics.
‘Good lord, no,’ she said, startled. ‘Why on earth would I? I am single by choice and intend to stay that way… Ah.’ She went red and shut her eyes briefly. ‘I mean, my lord, who would want me? I’m past the age of men offering for me.’
‘But you would like some air; I’ve seen you look longingly towards the gardens.’ He hadn’t, but it was a calculated guess. ‘I’ll say Lady Raith asked me to, if you like,’ he said with the lazy smile he was aware usually made a woman turn into a simpering imbecile.
Lydia Field was made of sterner stuff, it seemed. She ignored it.
‘But she hasn’t,’ she pointed out. ‘And that doesn’t answer my question.’ Lydia paused and he swore she counted to three and did her best to compose herself.
Curious.
‘Truly, my lord, you are most kind, but there is no need.’ Her voice had no animation, no expression and again he wondered at her chameleon-like abilities.
Harry grinned. ‘Yes I am, and yes there is. Go into the ballroom and give me five minutes.’
He stared at her until she inclined her head, smiled oh so sweetly, and curtsied. ‘You are too gracious, my lord.’ She somewhat spoiled the meek and mild persona by muttering under her breath. Something along the lines of, God save me from high-handed men?
Really? Surely not? Truly, Lydia Field needed investigating. Harry turned on his heel and went in search of his godmother.
‘You want what? Why?’ Lady Raith asked suspiciously three minutes later, as Harry ran her to ground as she swept up the stragglers in the dining room and shepherded them towards the ballroom. ‘What do you want with her? Hold on.’ She pointed at a young lady who stared longingly at Harry. Lady Raith raised her voice. ‘Miranda Forrester, go on into the ballroom now. Your mama is waiting for you.’
The young deb, in a dress that Harry considered was first cousin to a meringue, blushed, curtsied and left the room.
‘Silly chit,’ Lady Raith said with a chuckle. ‘What do they see in you?’
‘My charm? Wit?’ He shook his head. ‘Lord only knows, I do nothing to encourage them. They just keep appearing in my vision like flies.’
His godmother snorted. ‘Really? Poor deluded things. As you insist you give them no encouragement, it’s more likely your fortune. Now, where were we? Lord, Harry, you do confuse me.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Stop changing the subject.’
Harry laughed. ‘Of course, my dear, and of course I would never cast aspersions on your summing up of the situation.’
Lady Raith guffawed. ‘Bad boy. Ah yes, Lydia Field. Why her and what are you up to?’ She narrowed her eyes and stared at Harry with suspicion. ‘She is not for you.’
‘I’m up to nothing, Rosie, not a thing.’ Harry spoke soothingly. His intended dalliance was for only him – and, when it happened, Lydia – to know about. ‘The lady in question turned her ankle on the way in. I thought a breath of air might help. Especially after the last ball she was at, where Donkin hit her accidentally on the cheek and was sent home bosky. Him not her. She seems to be accident prone.’
‘I should hope she wasn’t bosky,’ Lady Raith said indignantly. ‘We women do not get bosky. And you can hardly call her accident prone if it was Donkin’s fault,’ she pointed out acerbically. ‘And, do not call me Rosie – I feel like an apple if you do. Rosemary,’ Lady Raith said automatically, as she patted Harry’s cheek. ‘Always Rosemary and you know it. You are a good boy.’
The ‘boy’, well into his late thirties, grinned and ignored the niggle of remorse for not owning up to his true intentions. How could he, though, when, all of a sudden, he wasn’t totally sure of them himself? ‘I try.’
‘Hmm. Very well, where is she?’ Lady Raith asked as Harry bussed her cheek. ‘No need for that. I know damned well you’re up to something, and no doubt you’ll tell me what in your own good time.’ She patted his arm. ‘Let’s go and see if we can find young Lydia for you.’
‘I believe she is sitting outside the antechamber to the right of the ballroom. The one you call the blue room,’ Harry said. ‘For the love of God, Rose… Rosemary, do not intimate I asked for the introduction. It might make her faint on the spot. I rather think the lady in question would prefer not to be the centre of gossip. If people think it’s you being your usual medd… oh, you know what I mean.’ What a load of twaddle he was spouting. Not the meddling bit – that was oh so true, as he had often found out to his detriment in the past – but the rest.
‘I never meddle,’ Lady Raith said with a twinkle in her eyes.
Harry snorted.
‘Bad boy. Not unless I deem it necessary, anyway. Now, promise me something. Be gentle, Harry, she’s not the sort who understands innuendo and the badinage you men enjoy with ladies of a more robust nature. Lydia is a quiet, biddable, sweet young thing. She’d make any man a dutiful wife.’
He nodded. ‘I hear you.’
‘But are you taking heed, I wonder?’ she asked shrewdly. ‘All I’ll say is remember your rules. Shy and biddable is not for playing with.’
His godmother sounded so certain about Lydia’s mindset, Harry wondered if he had imagined those few times of vivacity. Maybe it was down to her situation at that moment? Although the thought of that young lady, naked, and writhing under him in ecstasy as he discovered the true woman beneath the prim and proper and boring persona she presented, was enough for him to rue how tight his clothes were.
Harry smiled vaguely, discreetly adjusted his now more than interested cock, and ran his finger around the top of the immaculate cravat that threatened to choke him.
Whatever, he still intended to go on with his plan. She was a puzzle he aspired to solve.
‘You don’t need to worry, love,’ he said emphatically. ‘I have no intention of getting leg-shackled any time soon, and as for setting up my nursery? Really, can you see me willingly with a hoard of scrubby offspring?’ The mental picture that conjured up – of blond-haired, blue-eyed moppets – struck an uncomfortable chord he couldn’t define in his mind.
Harry shuddered theatrically, and Lady Raith shook her head at him, before kissing him resoundingly on the cheek with a flourish. ‘Incorrigible.’
‘Oh, yes.’
He perceived the exact moment Lydia noticed he’d carried out his promise – he preferred it not to be thought of as a threat – and he and Lady Raith were about to approach her. Harry could almost see her straighten her shoulders and tense up, waiting for what no doubt she perceived as the instance the axe was to fall.
Goodness knows why she was so worried, he thought, as Lady Raith acknowledged Lydia’s curtsey with a kiss to her cheek. Lydia’s expression was wary, and she twisted her fingers together.
‘Now, Lydia, my dear, I see your cheek is fine from the other night. Young idiot. Him, not you. Mind you, Harry fixed him, I believe. Good sort is Harry, especially for things like that. And now my lintel caused you injury. You’ll hate all things to do with the ton before long at this rate. Let’s hope Harry can relieve your worries and show that we’re not all bad. I’ve given him all the usual warnings.’ Lady Raith tempered her generally booming voice to what she fondly thought of as a whisper.
Well, Harry mused with a grin, to her it probably was. To everyone else it was a normal tone of voice.
‘Yes, thank you, my lady, he did all that was necessary,’ Lydia said in a soft, colourless, almost not to be heard voice. ‘He was most kind.’
‘No need to thank me as well,’ Harry murmured and felt instantly ashamed as she reddened and bit her lip.
‘Lydia, my dear, I think you and Lord Birnham could do with a stroll on the terrace,’ Lady Raith said before anyone else could comment. ‘It’s hot in here.’
Harry agreed. His cravat was too tight, his shirt stuck to his body, and, as for his evening breeches, he daren’t hazard a guess. He’d just caught a proper glimpse of Lydia Field’s silhouette and it promised so much. His body as ever showed its interest in her, and he willed his staff to quiescence. He was doing a lot of that lately, and with no interest in finding someone to soften it in a more earthy and pleasurable manner. He smiled wolfishly, and Lydia gulped, apprehension writ large on her face.
Am I being fair? He refused to answer himself.
Rosemary beamed at him and gave a discreet nod in Lydia’s direction. Harry recollected his plan and bowed. ‘My dear Lady Lydia, shall we?’ He held out his arm.
Now why did Lydia look at it as if it were an adder about to strike?
****
A gentle cough from Lady Raith brought Lydia out of her reverie, and she wondered why on earth she had such an uncomfortable sense of disquiet, and butterflies in her stomach. Those she could perhaps put down to the length of time since she had last eaten. However, the unnerving impression that, once she took hold of the proffered arm, her life would never, ever, be the same again had nothing to do with food, or the lack of it. She had never thought herself fanciful before, but now?
Ah well. Fatalistically, Lydia took his arm. After all, what else could she do? No thunderclap rent the air. She didn’t fall down in a faint. No one turned to stare or point the finger at them. The musicians still scraped away in the ballroom. Muffled sounds from the card room, and an odd thud or two as the dining room was tidied, could be heard. Everything carried on as it should. Thank goodness. She might not be quite as biddable as people thought, but nor was she the sort of person to create a scene. Unless, of course, it was warranted. Fleetingly, she wondered just what would warrant such an action and hoped she would never have the need to find out. She loved her mama and, even if she wasn’t enamoured with ton-ish life, Lydia was dutiful enough to never unintentionally upset her parents by acting in an uncouth or uncivilised manner. Or so she prayed. For although she thought she had conquered her childish temper, Lydia understood herself well enough to know she would never want to put that to the test.
Harry glanced at the arm she held, and Lydia realised she had tightened her hold. Deliberately, she relaxed her fingers, cursed at the deep creases she could now see in what had been immaculate cloth, and smiled tremulously. ‘I’m sorry, my lord.’
She chose not to say why and hoped as an aristocratic gentleman he wouldn’t ask what for. That was her intention anyway, although knowing her luck, her expression would appear to indicate she was in pain or constipated.
‘Now then, that wasn’t so bad, was it?’ Harry asked in a teasing voice as they left the room together. ‘No apology needed. This way.’ He pointed to the French windows that led out onto the long, wide terrace that ran the length of the house and edged the landscaped gardens beyond. ‘We have left the protection of Lady Raith and nothing has befallen us. No clap of thunder and no one struck dead.’
‘No, my lord.’ She smiled as if she had just understood she was supposed to do so and wished he wasn’t so appealing in this mood. It was the last thing she needed. Any vague ideas that she looked on him even the slightest bit favourably would help her mama to disrupt the plans Lydia had formed to escape the ton. Not that anything would come if it – she knew enough about rakes to understand that – but her mama would work whatever transpired for all it was worth. Drat the man. Why him of all people. Harry Birnham was not noted for altruism, so why start now?
‘No dragons I need to slay and mess my evening coat?’ he said in a teasing voice. ‘No puddles to put it over and ditto?’
She giggled and bit her lip. Giggled? Oh, for goodness sake. Grow up. I am no longer a young, impressionable deb, so I need to act like it. ‘It has not rained for days, my lord. I believe you are safe,’ she said composedly. ‘We are indeed fortunate. We can just enjoy ourselves and the surroundings.’ However hard she tried, she couldn’t raise enough enthusiasm to make that sound appealing.
One male eyebrow lifted and it was no hardship to colour up and look at her toes. It was that or match his quip with one of her own. They walked on for several paces until, beside her, Harry sighed. ‘They are lovely slippers, my dear Lady Field, but I’d prefer you to look at me, not your shoes. Unless they have something I do not?’ He paused and waited.
Lydia slowly glanced at his face and he raised the other eyebrow.
The question seemed harmless enough, but… ‘Or the other way around?’ he added.
‘No, my lord.’ The stupid milksop act was so hard. Especially when she wanted to act normally with Harry, and show him she did have a brain. She thought he was the sort of man who would appreciate it.
****
It had been the most unusual evening, and for once he hadn’t been at all bored, Harry decided, as several hours later he took out the elegant jewelled pin he favoured, unwound his cravat and threw it over a chair. Foster, his valet, helped him out of his form-fitting coat, stroked the lapels lovingly, and carried it and the long neck cloth away. It didn’t matter how many times Harry informed the man that he was well able to manage and there was no need to stop up for him, Foster would silently appear, help him out of his boots and top clothes and leave him to finish undressing in peace. When Harry remonstrated, Foster had smiled.
‘My lord, it is my duty and honour to help you,’ Foster said earnestly. ‘Plus, if I may be so bold to say so, over my dead body will you use a book jack on your Hobys unless it is an emergency.’
‘I’ll have evening shoes on,’ Harry pointed out. ‘Not boots.’
‘That’s as maybe, but your jacket now,’ Foster said stubbornly but politely. ‘You need my help to get out of it.’
‘I’m a rake. Rakes can undress and dress themselves.’ And their ladies.
‘If you were in rake mode, my lord, undoubtedly you would not be here,’ his valet said, stating the obvious. Harry nodded, resigned to the fact that Foster would indeed wait up. He stripped slowly and stretched as he ran over all the events of the evening. It had proceeded as he expected until his unexpected encounter with Lydia Field and then, well, it had been very different to any other ball he’d attended.
His jaded palate had un-jaded – if that was indeed a state of mind – very quickly. With a self-satisfied grin, Harry turned down the covers on his bed, rolled onto the mattress, stretched out on his back and put his hands behind his head. Over the last few hours his plans for the immediate future had dramatically changed. Instead of pursuing his usual practice of his clubs, Jackson’s salon, and Tattersalls, he intended to pursue Lady Lydia Field and discover what she was all about. Oh, not to take any dalliance outside the realms of polite and acceptable behaviour, but just to find out what made her tick. One thing he was certain of was that she would never do for Jeremy, whatever the reason Jeremy had in mind. That young man would sulk for days if thwarted and, even on such a short acquaintance, Harry understood enough about Lydia to realise she would never stand for such nonsense as Jeremy was wont to indulge in.
She would suit me perhaps? Many years hence. What on earth had she done to him? To even contemplate the wedded state for many years hence brought him out in goosebumps. He knew the day would have to come eventually, but please God, not yet.
However, something had to be done. If Harry had thought Jeremy truly in love, he would stand to one side, even if he couldn’t condone a marriage with his heir still being so immature. Strangely, Harry understood Lydia didn’t fit the idea he had always had of a biddable wife. Those sparks of temper she showed him indicated that. So why was his mind flirting with the idea of marriage to her, one day?
One day was not now. He put the idea out of his mind and turned it to the knotty problem of Jeremy and her, and her idea of what was pleasant and what was not.
‘You mean you really do not like the gaiety and activities of London?’ he had asked after a decorous turn along the terrace during which slowly their footsteps matched. ‘Not the tea parties or theatres?’
‘Definitely not, my lord. Apart from the proximity of Hatchards and its shelves of books, I prefer walks in the country and the comfort of my own home, and friends, not sycophants,’ Lydia said with certainty. ‘That makes me an oddity in our world, I know.’ She looked over the edge of the terrace wall towards where tiny candles flickered in the garden. ‘Perhaps we should go back now.’
‘Is my company so bad?’ he asked in a humorous tone to show he was jesting and not serious. ‘I am devastated.’
She looked up at him. He knew she would see a shadowy figure in the semi-darkness. No one else was around them, and he thought her reply would be along the lines of they were too secluded. Instead she surprised him.
‘Coming it too brown, my lord. You know your worth, and I am not going to fall for that. My reason is much more mundane. I know our stroll will get back to my mama sooner or later, but I prefer later,’ she said with a ladylike chuckle. ‘After all, once I leave the capital it will not matter. Before then, if she catches wind of your kindness, she will turn it in her mind to interest, and neither of us will have a moment’s peace.’ She began to walk back towards the house. ‘I do not desire that and I am sure you feel the same.’ Her tone told him that she neither wanted nor expected him to reply.
‘Leave the capital?’ Was she going on a journey?
‘It is of no consequence.’ She firmed her lips. ‘I intend to go to the country very soon. I’m sure you have other places to be.’
As it was obvious she wasn’t going to say anything else, Harry very properly escorted her inside and left her before her mama or any of her parents’ cronies spotted them. Then he spent another half an hour or so chatting to his peers, and departed before his godmother decided it was time to insist he danced with some young woman or other.
Once he retrieved his hat and cane, he ambled along St James’s and dropped into his club, saw no one he wanted to spend time with, and eventually strolled home.
As the watch called four outside his window, Harry punched his pillow and turned out the lamp. Was he ready to be subjected to the sort of interference pushy mamas could try to inflict? He was an old hand at ignoring or distracting them, and much too wily to be entrapped by any schemes thought up, but even so, it could become wearing if he had to always be alert and aware of anything of that kind all the time.
Nevertheless, he intended to get to know Lydia Field better.
Much better.
Even that thought hardened his cock and made his muscles clench so tightly he had to force himself to relax. Some of his firmly entrenched rules had, he decided, just melted away. He couldn’t carry on like that. After all, if Lydia was ready for a little intimacy, with no strings, who was he to deny her? Better him than anyone else.
And if she wasn’t, he thought uneasily, what then? Harry made a conscious decision. If he was to get any peace he needed to quench his desire for her, and to that end seduction might be necessary.
Bed her and not wed her. That was what rakes did; he might as well live up to his reputation for once.
Chapter Three (#u96749984-dd9a-57c3-9da1-34f94e0e8359)
Lydia surreptitiously looked at the clock on the wall of the milliner’s and did her best not to show her boredom. Why on earth did either she or her mama need yet more bonnets? It seemed her parents were deliberately ignoring the fact that her twenty-sixth birthday was but a few weeks away, and then elegant headwear would be among the last things she bothered about. Either that or her mother was determined to cram as much into these days as possible, to show Lydia what she would be missing if she kept to her plan. Did she hope it would change her daughter’s mind? Why didn’t she realise it was more likely to do the opposite?
Not for the first time, Lydia wondered if somehow she had been swapped with another child at a young age, or just been brought up by her mama and papa on behalf of someone else. She certainly didn’t seem to have anything in common with them.
‘Lydia, are you deaf? I asked if you prefer the blue or the lilac silk on this bonnet,’ her mama said snappily. ‘Please pay attention. It is important and Madame Lois has other clients to attend to after us, you know.’
Madame Lois smiled graciously. ‘You are my priority, Madame, you know that.’
Lydia mentally rolled her eyes as the Countess preened. ‘Even so. Lydia?’
Thus addressed, Lydia searched her mind how to give a tactful response. ‘Mama, I don’t much like either or really care,’ she said as patiently as she could, ignoring the milliner’s shocked, indrawn breath. The bonnet in question she thought neither flattering nor appropriate for any occasion she could imagine her mama attending. ‘If you must have it choose that pale green; it is much more flattering for your skin tones.’ She didn’t say any more, but even so her mama bristled.
‘Are you saying there is something wrong with my skin?’ she demanded acerbically. ‘That I am old?’
Lydia sighed. She should have kept her mouth shut and her thoughts to herself, and told her mama to choose whichever she preferred. Tact was not her best suit. ‘Not at all. I just don’t think you really suit blue or lilac. You do, however, suit green, especially that soft shade,’ she added diplomatically.
‘Lydia, please pay attention,’ her mama snapped.
So much for diplomacy.
‘It’s not for me, it’s for you.’ her mama said crisply. ‘So what do you think?’
Never. ‘No, I thank you, but it is not necessary, Mama, truly it’s not.’
