A Question of Impropriety (10 page)

She reminded him of one of his more nervous horses, one which had been badly abused by a former owner and was disinclined to trust. He would handle her reins very care fully; gently but firmly he would lead her in the direction he wanted to go. He would teach her and she would trust him. Each step towards intimacy had to come from her. If he gave the slightest indication that he desired more, she would shy away as she had done yesterday.

‘Does your brother let you drive?' he asked to distract his thoughts from the agreeable way her bosom filled out her dress.

‘Simon considers horses to be a means of transportation rather than a way of life. He grumbles about the cost. And how if horses could eat coal, we would save a great deal of money.'

‘For me, horses are a way of life.'

‘That does not surprise me.' Her merry laugh rang out. ‘You appear to have a way with them. I had despaired of ever getting Jester out of that mud pool.'

‘Is the piebald your only horse?' Brett kept his voice care fully neutral, but watched her face for any sign of hesitation. She might not want to go into the village with him, but she
would
go to the ball. It would be the final act to push Simon Clare over the edge. Clare would learn a very important lesson. The best part was that Brett was having a far more enjoyable time than he had presumed possible. Miss Diana Clare was entirely unexpected.

‘Jester is good for generally driving about the country. Simon keeps a pair for the carriage, and I have a chestnut for riding. Robert, of course, is still on ponies. He keeps begging for a proper horse and I hope to convince Simon that he is old enough. But all that will have to wait until he returns from school.'

‘How old is Robert?'

‘Nine.'

‘Surely he could move on to proper horses? What is your brother thinking about?'

‘My sister-in-law was thrown from a horse. She took too high a jump because my brother had dared her and spent the last few years of her life in pain.' Diana's face became shadowed. ‘She eventually caught lung fever and died, but Simon has hated horses ever since.'

Brett regarded the horse's ears. He had no wish to feel sorry for Clare. But for the first time, he had a small glimpse of what the tragedy must have done to him. For a
long time, the only sound was the steady turn of the wheels and the clomping of the horses.

‘I had wondered about riding,' Brett said into the stillness. ‘Do you feel the same way as your brother?'

The torment of sitting next to her was growing with every breath he took. She was not his usual sort of fare, but there was something about her. He kept finding reasons why he had to see her, and couldn't help but think about the way she held her head or her hands.

He would make her want him, would make her forget about every thing but her desire for him. She would come to him.

‘I generally ride out every morning. Early. Sir Cuthbert's father used to let me use the Park's grounds as well as our own, but now…' She made a little gesture with her hands. ‘I had not wanted to disturb you. Or for you to feel that I was taking advantage.'

‘Please do not let the change of owner ship stop you.' He put his hands over hers on the reins, and they quivered beneath his. ‘You do take someone with you?'

‘Generally, I have a groom, but really, if I am riding on the Lodge's grounds, there is no point.'

‘Is there anywhere in particular you recommend for riding in the neighbourhood?' His eyes were intent on her mouth. ‘What is your favourite ride? Where is the best place to exercise a horse?'

Her fingers curled tighter around the ribbons and for an instant he was sure he had gone too quickly. ‘If you ride up the hill and past the spinney, the view over the Tyne is very good, particularly in the morning when the mist hangs and it has an other worldly look. It always makes me feel as if life is worth living.'

‘It is a good view to know about.'

‘Yes it is. You should go up there sometime.'

‘I intend to.'

Her eyes had turned a deep turquoise. Brett fought against the temptation to cup her face in his hands. They would meet there, one day, he promised himself, but not yet. She had to want it first.

‘Tell me about your nephew, the one you left London for.'

‘He goes to Dr Allen's Academy in Newcastle. He boards there.' Diana paused. How could she explain Robert? He wanted his father's attention, but Simon refused to pay any notice. ‘He gets into scrapes, but he means well.'

‘I should like to meet him. I enjoy speaking with children.'

Diana started and the horse began to move more swiftly. She grasped the ribbons and rapidly brought him under control. Brett raised an eyebrow.

‘Now there is something unexpected,' she said with a laugh. ‘It will teach me not to be surprised when I am driving a curricle.'

‘The horse—or the fact I enjoy other people's children.'

‘You and children.' Diana gave a smile.

‘Why?'

‘I would have thought as a founder member of the Jehu, you would be immune to the joys of such things. Drinking, gambling and debauchery—wasn't that the creed?'

‘People change and grow.' His eyes became hooded. ‘Children provide a respite from the strictures of the society. Some day, I should like my own. I like to think I will do a better job of it than my father. I swore I would on his deathbed.'

‘And I wish you well with it.' Diana disliked the slight quaver in her voice. No doubt, he would marry some Diamond of the Season. She had to remember that theirs was an acquaintance, a friend ship, not one destined for the altar.
She refused to even consider dreams of what that might be like. And yet, it refused to go away.

‘You seem perturbed, Diana.'

‘I think the paint fumes were rather stronger than I expected.' She gave her head a shake and banished the image of Brett holding a baby. ‘But driving has revived me.'

His fingers closed over hers, a warm firm grip, but one that did not allow for refusal. ‘Then would you care for another challenge and a wager?'

‘What sort of wager?'

‘A simple one. I will wager you driving the bays whenever you want against a dance at the Bolts' ball.'

‘But I am not going to the ball,' Diana replied quickly before she could give into the temptation. Wagering with him could only be dangerous. How could she even be contemplating such a thing?

Brett raised one eyebrow. ‘Are you not confident of winning, Miss Diana?'

‘In order to dance with you at the ball, I would have to be going to the ball. I am not.' She clenched her fists. ‘In any case, I do not make a habit of wagering.'

‘And the thought of going to a ball is so dreadful that you are not prepared to risk it for the pleasure of driving my bays…whenever you want to.' He rubbed his hand across his chin. ‘It appears to me that you do not consider yourself an expert driver, and this is why you have no wish to take up the challenge. It has nothing to do with wagering and every thing to do with you not feeling confident.'

Diana bristled. Not confident? She could tackle anything. ‘What do you want me to do?'

‘I have set up a little obstacle course. Something to test my reflexes. It occurs to me that if you can complete a
clear round, you will prove to my satisfaction that you can drive…unless you are afraid of losing.'

‘I am not afraid.' Diana drew a deep breath and ignored the sudden warning voice in her mind. This was not a wager per se. It was about proving him wrong. But she had to think strategically. ‘I have doubts that you can complete this course.'

He pursed his lips and she thought for a moment he would refuse.

‘How sensible you are, Miss Diana.' As he took the reins from her, his voice became liquid honey. ‘The rules of the course are that you do it as quickly as possible and the curricle does not hit any of the hurdles. I shall demonstrate.'

The curricle went through a gate into a harvested field. Bits of stubble and gleanings still lay about, but the ground was firm. Five sets of hurdles were placed at odd angles to each other, providing a series of quick turns.

Diana wrinkled her nose ‘The hurdles seem to be set awfully close together.'

‘It can be completed…if you know what you are doing.'

Brett clicked his tongue and the black gelding set off at a fast pace. Once the curricle tipped on to one wheel and bounced back down, but he managed to make it through all the openings.

‘Well done.' Diana clapped her hands.

Brett gave a boyish smile. ‘It is your turn, Miss Diana. At a trot, if you dare…'

‘Of course I dare.' Diana spat on her gloves and took the ribbons. She regarded the first opening, went over the course in her mind, trying to remember how Brett had done it. It was the fourth set of hurdles that was the most
difficult. Once she got past them, every thing would be straight for ward.

‘Whenever you are ready.'

She flicked the reins and the horse set off. The first set of hurdles flew by. The second and the third. Diana reined in tightly and felt the curricle slip a little. She corrected her grip and aimed for the fourth set, held her breath and heard the carriage wheels slide through.

She let out a breath. Risking a glance up at Brett's face, Diana could see it had become set.

The last hurdles loomed in front of her. An easy set, slightly narrower than the others, but her line was true. She would do this. She could imagine the bays in front of her, responding to her every moment. She would drive out every day. She flicked the ribbons, urged the horse forwards, to complete the final obstacle.

The curricle started to go through. Diana winced as she heard the slightest crunch of the wheel against the left hurdle. She pulled back, trying desperately to change the angle as the hurdle seemed to hold. The curricle went through and she pulled the horse to a stop and prayed.

She released a breath.

‘I have done it! I have done it!' She raised her hand in triumph.

Behind her, a distinct thump re sounded. She glanced back and saw the hurdle down on the ground. ‘I…I…'

Brett lifted one eyebrow and his lips twisted upwards in a sardonic smile. ‘I believe you will be going to the ball after all, Miss Diana, but a solid attempt all the same.'

O
f all the idiotic things she had done in her life, yesterday's wager with Brett Farnham was one of the worst. She should have known that the course would not be easy. She should have yielded to caution. She'd made her rules for a purpose, not to be bent or disregarded. But it was done and she would abide by the terms of the wager. The next time, she would turn a deaf ear to his blandishments.

Luckily she still had the very modest ball gown from two years ago when Simon had forced her to go the Grand Allies rout at the Assembly Rooms in Newcastle. Rose had reluctantly agreed to alter it slightly, grumbling that either the blue-green or the deep rose pink would have been a better choice. After insisting on the brown, Diana retired to the summer house and painted furiously.

‘I thought I might discover you here,' Brett's low voice slid over her skin. ‘I am pleased to see that you took my advice and your feet are solidly on the ground.'

‘The garlands are nearly completed.'

‘Hopefully they give the effect you want.'

‘Not entirely,' Diana admitted. ‘There is something missing.'

‘A perfectionist. Is this the only summer house that you have painted?'

‘I painted the Bolts' summer house four summers ago when the Dowager was still alive.' Diana kept her gaze on the flowers. ‘She insisted that no one else would do.'

‘You did those murals?' His eyes widened. ‘Now I am impressed. Sir Norman showed me them the other day when I picked up my winnings.'

‘Thank you.' Diana bowed her head as warmth infused her body. ‘In the end, I was very pleased with them, but the Dowager was a hard task master—always changing her mind.'

‘Of course, you have completely ruined my strata gem for getting you out into the garden during the ball.'

Diana looked up at him and saw a small smile tugging at his lips. ‘I never go into gardens during balls.'

‘A wise policy, but you will go to the ball and you will dance with me.'

‘I have not danced for years.' Diana gave a strangled laugh. ‘Some of the newer dances were nearly beyond me. All the twists and turns. It was a nightmare at the Grand Allies ball. I was so nervous that I would be asked to dance, but thank fully only Simon bothered and that was only out of duty, so I excused him.'

‘Your steps might be slightly rusty but you have natural rhythm. I can see it in the way you move, the way you walk.'

‘Thank you.' Diana took a quick glance up at him. The sunlight from the door gave him a halo, darkening his face, but high lighting his broad shoulders and well-formed legs. What would it be like to be in his arms? She quickly dropped her gaze and studied her hands. A paint blotch
marred the right one. Something real and solid to cling on to. He was being kind.

‘I do mean it. I seem to recall you dancing beautifully in London.'

‘You will find me a poor partner unless it is the Roger de Coverley at the end. The last time I took lessons was five years ago and I am certain the figures will have changed.'

‘I have a plan to deal with your lack of knowledge.'

‘You do?' Diana started to re arrange the brushes in the water pot—smallest on the left, largest to the right. Everything correct and in its place. Simply because she had abandoned her caps did not mean she had abandoned her reason or her rules.

‘I shall teach you to waltz. You and I are going to dance a waltz together at the ball.'

‘A waltz?' Diana swallowed hard and concentrated very hard on the middle brush, the one she had used for the red of the final rose. ‘I have no idea how to waltz.'

‘I suspected that. It is why I am here.' He held out his hands. ‘I plan to educate you on the finer points of the waltz.'

‘You must be joking. I won't waltz.'

‘But you agreed, Miss Diana. You agreed to dance with me at the ball.' His voice was smooth, but there was a steely determination. ‘Unless you want me to choose another forfeit, a forfeit more suited to a wager between a man and a woman. You were the one who lost the wager. It is up to me to name the terms.'

‘You wouldn't dare.'

‘Try me.'

Diana backed away, looking about her. ‘But where are you going to teach me to dance?'

‘Here will prove adequate for my purposes.' He held out
his hands. ‘My expertise is at your disposal. You do not want to look foolish in front of the Honourable Miranda and the Ladywell gentry, do you?'

Diana put her hand to her throat. ‘With you? Alone? In the summer house? There will not be space for more than a few steps.'

‘A few steps will be all you need.' He quickly moved the table out of the centre of the room before placing his coat, hat, gloves and cane on it. ‘There, you see—lots of space.'

‘There must be a thousand reasons why I should refuse. It is a highly improper suggestion.' Diana squared her shoulders and took a deep breath of air. Tried to think something else besides how Brett looked clad only in his shirt sleeves. ‘I would be dancing unchaperoned.'

‘And one reason to do it.' Brett's voice became the merest whisper.

‘What is that reason?'

‘The very best.' He paused. His bare hand touched her shoulder. A shiver went down her back at its warmth. ‘Because you want to. Because you desire it.'

‘I think it is probably the worst reason.' She backed away.

‘It will be perfectly acceptable. Have I done anything untoward? Behaved improperly?' He inclined his head. ‘Come with me, take a risk.'

Diana kept her hand firmly at her side, concentrated on filling her lungs with air and then releasing it. The action appeared to steady the muzzy feeling in her head. ‘I fail to see when I would need to know how to dance the waltz. It is a point less exercise.'

‘The dance is all the rage on the Continent.'

‘Napoleon is all the rage there as well,' she returned
quickly, ignoring the tingling that ran through her body. ‘Does this mean we shall have him here as well?'

His face sobered. ‘He will lose. His reign will come to an end—sooner or later. But I speak of dancing, not politics—an infinitely preferable subject when conversing with ladies. You will not get around me that easily. To the matter at hand—your waltzing lesson.'

‘Sometimes, dancing and politics appear to be the same thing.'

He laughed, a rich deep laugh that circled around her and lapped at her senses. ‘
Touché,
Diana Clare, I know why I like you. You always argue your corner and counsel the sensible action. You are…unexpected.'

‘And this is a bad thing?' Diana tilted her head, trying to assess his mood. He seemed intent on teasing, rather than seducing. She breathed slightly easier.

‘When taken to extremes, but I think there is hope for you yet.'

‘I shall take it as a compliment.'

‘Will you take your lesson like a well-brought-up lady?' He leant towards her and lowered his voice. ‘Or do you wish to display your ignorance in front of Miss Bolt and her mother? I over heard Miss Bolt proclaiming that there would be a waltz at the ball. She seeks to prove a point, I believe.'

Diana pressed her lips together. The scheme sounded like one of Miranda Bolt's. And no doubt she and her cronies would be the only women on the floor who could actually dance it correctly. She could hear the giggles and the small pitying sighs. He was right. It would be fun to wipe the smirks off their faces.

‘I have trusted you this far. I will trust that you waltz like a gentleman.'

Brett looked down at the pale oval of Diana's face and
willed her to stay. It was not deception. He would not do anything that she did not want to, but she
would
waltz with him at the ball and he was determined that she would not make a fool out of herself. Then he would take her out into the garden. And when the kiss happened, it would seem to come from her. He would simply give her the opportunity. And there would be nothing Simon Clare could do about it, except give him the land. A perfect, fool-proof plan.

‘Shall I demonstrate the steps first?' he asked, moving away from her and her teasing scent—a hint of vanilla, lavender and something else. It lingered in his mind and he found himself thinking about it at odd times, wondering about her and what she was doing.

‘It is probably best. How long can learning to waltz take? A few basic steps. Once around the summer house?'

She moved away from him, crossed her arms and watched him with a sceptical expression. It would be easy to capture her and to tilt her face towards his and make it change. He took a step forward, stopped and regained control.

‘Oh, it will take several turns. I think the tea can wait until we are finished. You don't want the servants gossiping.'

‘I suppose you are right.'

Brett heard the slight tremor in her voice. Silently, he cursed Finch and all those who had harmed her with careless actions or words. He could see flashes of the woman behind the mask she wore.

‘Solid preparation is always the foundation of a good campaign.'

‘Ah, yes, a campaign, I can see that.' Diana clasped her hands in front of her, lacing the fingers together. In another moment, she would find an excuse and flee. The moment would be lost for ever. Brett was certain of that. He willed
her to stay. To trust him and her instincts. His plan required her to dance the waltz beautifully.

‘I generally get my way in the end,' he said softly, watching the way a curl of hair kissed her cheek.

‘Your way?' She put her hand to her throat and took a step back wards as her eyes darted about the small room. ‘Are you certain of that?'

‘Which is why I am going to teach you to waltz. Now pay attention.' Brett picked up a chair, held it in front of him. ‘Pretend you are this chair. Keep your eyes on my feet. You will be following my foot steps in reverse. It is terribly bad manners to step on your partner's toes.'

He quickly executed a few steps. A burst of laughter came from behind him. He stopped. Frowned. ‘What is wrong with my dancing?'

‘You look…ridiculous. Waltzing with a chair.'

‘Then dance with me.' He placed the chair down and turned to face his quarry. ‘It is easier if I have a woman in my arms.'

Brett waited as her tongue flicked over her lips turning them a deep red. He held his body still. Suddenly, like the sun breaking out from the clouds, her face trans formed and she held out her hands. Brett released his breath.

‘You have convinced me. What do I do?'

He stepped closer, allowed her perfume to envelope him, savoured it. Then he forced his mind to attend to business. ‘Place one hand on my shoulder.'

‘Like this?' She raised her hand and grabbed. ‘Do I have it right?'

‘Lightly. A caress. Not a death grip.'

She gave a nervous laugh and loosened her grip. ‘I am not used to such things. Perhaps we should forget it. There must another dance, an easier dance, you could teach me. What else is fashionable in London?'

He placed his hand on her waist, lightly. Held her there. ‘No, I want to teach you to waltz. I came here today for that purpose. Now allow me to help you.'

She trembled slightly at his touch, but did not move away. He concentrated hard as his fingers itched to draw her close and to feel the way her soft curves met his body. Suddenly he longed to undo the tiny buttons that held up her dress and to reveal more of her creamy flesh, but he pushed the thought aside, wondering where it had come from. And why it seemed to block out any other thought.

‘You only have yourself to blame if I step on your toes.' She smiled up at him.

‘You won't.' He allowed his hand to increase the pressure. He started to hum slowly. ‘It is one, two, three and turn. Listen to the tune.'

He began to hum a waltz. She stood rigid in his arms, head cocked to one side.

‘Very pretty, but I doubt that Lady Bolt will allow such scandalous behaviour in her ballroom.'

‘The Honourable Miranda has her dear papa wrapped around her little finger. It will happen. Now stop trying to find excuses and start moving your feet.'

He forced his feet to move, stepping care fully, keeping the proper distance, resisting the temptation to pull her closer and to breathe in her scent. Hesitantly she followed his steps, but rapidly grew in confidence. He moved faster, feeling her limbs move in time with his.

‘I keep thinking I will stumble or fall. Are you sure it is the right tune?' She looked up at him with a tiny frown between her brows. ‘We seem to be moving awfully quickly.'

‘I know what I am doing.' He took a step and changed direction. Her skirt swirled out, grazing his shins. She gave a breath less laugh and he spun them around the narrow
confines of the summer house again. ‘Follow my lead. You are doing well. We shall make you an expert at the waltz in no time, and then no dance shall hold any fears. All will say what an up-to-the-minute miss you are.'

Her foot steps slowed and he cursed his wayward tongue. She started to pull away, but Brett tightened his hold on her waist.

‘I doubt I shall ever be able to dance this in front of others. I have no idea what folly possessed me to agree.'

‘Relax your shoulders. It is not folly to learn new things.' Brett smoothly turned her again, her skirts billowing out again. He wanted to keep on dancing with her, around and around.

‘Sometimes, it is. I learnt the hard way. I know what I am doing now. The lesson should end.'

‘Stay.' He kept hold of her hand. ‘Please. You are nearly perfect. Once more around the room. I wish to be certain.'

Her foot steps faltered, slowed. He sucked in his breath. His body felt as if wave after wave of molten heat had hit it. His control began to slip as her lips were inches from his…

‘Please,' she breathed.

Brett took it for an entreaty and gave into his desire. He lowered his lips to hers, sliding across their lush softness. He pressed his hand against her back, drew her closer, drank from her lips. A moment suspended in time and space, having no beginning or end, just the sweet temptation of her mouth. His tongue traced the outline of her lips and then the tiny parting, a gentle persuasion.