Confessions of a Little Black Gown (10 page)

But not to Tally it didn’t. For there was nothing ordinary about Mr. Ryder. Nothing in the least.

He’d kissed her last night and left her rattled right down to her silk stockings. What sort of vicar kissed innocent young ladies in the garden at night?

And kissed them with such skill…

Her toes curled up at the very thought of his lips on hers. Her lashes fluttered shut and Tally spent a dreamy moment reliving every second of it.

How his lips had covered hers, hard and firm, demanding. The heady sweep of his tongue teasing hers. His tempestuous conquest bringing her body to life.

Even this morning, she could feel her thighs clench, her heart beating a little faster as she recalled how he’d touched her, explored her. The touch of a rake, of a man used to claiming what he wanted.

And never would she forget the sound of her hairpins falling away, as if he’d set her free, awakened
her…to something beautiful and dangerously tempting.

Dangerous…

“Tally!” Pippin was whispering. “Whatever are you thinking?”

Her lashes fluttered open, and she found Pippin staring at her. No, gaping at her.

Oh, dear goodness! She was woolgathering over Mr. Ryder. And not the vicarly one. The one she had every reason to tremble over.

“Pippin, I do believe we should go to town this afternoon,” she said in a voice loud enough for the whole room to hear. “Isn’t Aunt Minty out of red wool for those stockings she is knitting?”

Pippin stared at her as if she had gone mad.

So Tally continued on, “I think it is high time our dear aunt took some air, don’t you? A ride into the village might be just the thing for her.”

Her cousin shook her head. “No, that won’t do. I don’t think she is ready for such a venture.”

“Perhaps you could have one of the footmen bring her down into the gardens,” Lady Charles suggested. “She might improve with some sunshine and fresh air.”

Pippin and Tally both forced smiles on their lips. “Yes, ma’am,” they murmured politely, before turning and shooting each other furious looks.

It is time
, Tally would have said aloud if there hadn’t been an audience around them.

Not yet
, Pippin’s eyes pleaded.
It is too soon.

“I think Aunt Minty is well enough for a jaunt to the village,” Tally said. “A short ride this afternoon will go a long way toward improving her spirits.”

“The village? This afternoon?” Felicity exclaimed from the doorway, having poked her head in after having most likely bedeviled the housekeeper with her poxy lists. “How can you suggest such a thing, Tally? Most of the party is arriving this afternoon. You can’t possibly run off on some foolish errand just to please yourself. Haven’t you a care for how it would appear if you and Pippin were gone?”

It is because of this demmed party of yours that we must get out of here
, she wanted to say to her sister, but she dared not.

“Besides,” Felicity continued, having paused only long enough to take a deep, aggrieved breath, “we no longer have to run our own errands. It is un-seemly. If you have need of something, one of the maids can go along with John Coachman when he takes the tailor back to Tunbridge Wells, and she can fetch whatever you need.”

“’Tis only some wool for Aunt Minty,” Tally said before clenching her teeth together.

“Wool? Is that all? Good heavens, I am sure Mrs. Gates has some to spare,” she said. “Now come along and let us find Mr. Ryder and lay out our plans for the day. We have so little time before Miss DeFisser arrives.”

With that, Felicity turned on one heel and left, and Tally cast one last glance at Pippin, who grinned back as she too made her escape upstairs with her breakfast, having slipped by Felicity’s machinations.

Or so she thought.

“Pippin!” Felicity called after her.

Their cousin froze on the stairs, and then turned slowly. “Yes?”

“Please don’t come downstairs to fetch Aunt Minty’s breakfast for her. Send a servant to do it from now on. You have your reputation to consider.”

“But I prefer—”

“Pippin! Did you not listen to what I just said to Tally? We are no longer fending for ourselves on Brook Street.” Felicity drew closer and lowered her voice. “We are ladies now, with a position in Society. Send a maid down for your trays, or I will post one in your room to see that you don’t stir as much as a single finger.”

“Yes, Felicity,” Pippin acquiesced, not daring a glance at Tally.

For Tally would have shot the look that said it all.

Whether you like it or not, Pippin, it is time.

The parklands surrounding Hollindrake House were a thick tangle of ancient pines and oaks, enclosing the ducal lands and cutting it off from those who would invade upon his privacy. Inside was another matter.

Over the centuries, the various dukes had gone through spates of gardening and inspiration, including the previous duke, who had been an over-bearing, arrogant tyrant in his old age, but in his youth had come home from his grand tour having fallen in love with an ancient Roman ruin, and commissioned one built on his estate.

Very carefully and at great expense, a collection of marble columns and rough stones were laid out to appear as if they had tumbled over more than a thousand years earlier. Even the grasses and weeds were allowed to grow up around them, so that
anyone who happened on the place had the sense of wandering into some hidden glen of antiquity.

Hollindrake had suggested it might be an excellent spot for Larken to meet Temple, for it was well out of sight of the house and off the usual tamed paths that the guests might stroll along on a morning walk. And so Larken beat a hasty course there to make his report, gladly slipping free of the duchess’s grasp.

Still, that Pymm had sent Temple—of all people—to take his reports (watch over him was more likely) burned in his gut.

Least of which was, how was he going to explain last night?

He shook his head and took a deep breath of the cool, woodsy air, and hoped it would nip away the heat that still burned in his veins. He’d spent a good part of the night, when not pacing his floor, chiding himself over
her
.

Miss Langley.

Kicking himself for kissing the chit. And worse, when he’d finally been able to find some respite in the wee hours of the morning after a fruitless search of the duke’s house, it was only to find her wandering through the mists of his nightmares like a tempting beacon—her long blond hair unbound and falling in great waves down her back.

And her lips…parted just so and teasing him to come taste their intoxicating allure once again.

Larken took another deep breath. What had he been thinking last night—kissing her? That was just it. He hadn’t been. One minute he’d been minding his own business, spying as he’d been trained to do,
and the next he was rolling around in the grass with the delectable little minx in his arms.

Tasting her. Exploring her curves. Rashly, impulsively. Without any thought as to the consequences. Without the least bit of concern that she was a lady and most likely an innocent.

Without any thought, whatsoever. Just a bolt of passion and desire that had driven him beyond control.

It was as if she had seen inside his very soul, seen that part of him that longed for…oh, hell, he didn’t know. Longed for something. No matter the cost. Even if it meant his mission.

He raked his hand through his hair and then regretted the motion entirely, for his hand came back reeking of the pomade he’d put there. When he looked up, he found that he’d gotten to the faux ruin, and Temple was there waiting, his horse nowhere in sight.

“Lawks!” he exclaimed, as Larken entered the circle of fallen stones. “Whatever is that stench?”

Larken grinned. “My new pomade. Do you like it?” He held out his hand.

“I do not!” Temple told him, his roman nose wrinkled in dismay. “What are you trying to do, discover Dashwell by having the entire house fumigated?”

He laughed, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his fingers with it. “An excellent suggestion. Do you suppose it will keep that meddlesome duchess and her sister at bay? Keep her from finding me a bride?” Larken took a rigid stance, arms crossed over his chest, and looked
Temple directly in the eye. “You didn’t tell me the most Reverend Milo Ryder was coming to this house party to be matched.”

Now it was Temple’s turn to laugh. “Did I forget to mention that?”

Larken’s gaze rolled upward. “Yes, quite.”

“How utterly irresponsible of me,” Temple said, trying to sound the sincere repentant, but the twinkle in his eyes told another story.

“You rotten bastard,” Larken said, wagging a finger at him. “I should have you hung in Dashwell’s place.”

“Tsk-tsk. Now that would be hardly sporting. ’Sides, seems to me you’ve grown quite soft from being at home these six months past, if you can’t outwit the Duchess of Hollindrake’s little schemes.” Temple paused. “Without resorting to such a wretched pomade, that is.”

“Little schemes!” Larken went back to his agitated pacing. “That woman would have had Napoleon routed in a fortnight.”

“Pity the prime minister didn’t think of that.”

Larken groaned. “And that sister of hers. Oh, now there’s a miss who is nothing but trouble.”

“Oh, so now you agree with me that she’s more than just a bit of a prattle, do you?”

Grudgingly, Larken nodded. “Last night she came down in a dress that was like something you’d expect one of them to wear.”

“One of whom?”

“One of
them
,” Larken repeated. When Temple continued to stare at him, he expanded on his slim theory by saying, “One of the Black Lilies.”

“Thalia Langley? A French spy?” Temple laughed again. “That pomade is clouding your wits. She’s naught but a willful chit who’s in over her head. Why I’ve known her since she was just a child. Still is, in many ways.”

Now whose vision was clouded?

Miss Langley a child? Hardly, Larken would have liked to point out. More the sort of woman who could tangle a man up like the most experienced courtesan.

Yet given the almost paternal look on Temple’s face as he spoke of the troublesome bit of muslin, Larken thought better of correcting his friend’s estimation of the minx by relating his encounter with her…

How she arched upward, her body coming alive beneath him, her fingers going from their tight grip on his lapels to fanning over his chest, one of them twining into his shirt right over his pounding heart, where something else was awakening inside him…

Larken took a steadying breath and paced a bit. No, if he told Temple that he’d compromised Miss Langley, albeit in the line of duty—at least that was how he preferred to look at last night’s entanglement—he’d end up having to explain to his hostess how it was he’d gotten both his eyes blackened while out on his innocent morning walk.

But he couldn’t keep everything from Temple, for they were supposed to be working together to discover Dashwell’s whereabouts. At least those were Pymm’s outward orders.

“Were you anywhere near the house last night?” he asked, not only because it had occurred to him in the wee hours of the morning that it might have
been Temple, not Dashwell, lurking about in the maze.

“No, not at all.”

“Thank God,” Larken muttered.

“What was that?” Temple asked.

“Nothing,” Larken hurried to say. “Well, not entirely. There was someone else watching the house. I thought it might have been—”

“No, it wasn’t me.” Temple tilted his head slightly and studied him. “How is it that you didn’t catch them?”

“Well, I…” Larken couldn’t quite tell the truth—that he’d been slightly, no utterly, preoccupied with Miss Langley at the time. So instead, he dissembled a bit. “I tripped on my way out of the hedge.”

“You tripped?” Temple laughed. “Daresay that won’t go in the report.” He paused for a moment. “What did you trip over?”

Oh, yes, Temple would have to ask that. Always one for the details, Temple. Well, there was no way to hedge it over completely.

“Miss Langley,” he admitted. “I tripped over Miss Langley.”

Temple started to chuckle and then abruptly laughed. “Tally? What was she doing out in the garden with you?”

“Following me,” he told him. “On order of the duchess. Like I said before, Her Grace is determined to see me—well, not me, but this Ryder chap—matched.” Larken wagged his finger again. “That fellow owes me, for I am saving him from a most determined female.”

Temple rubbed his chin. “Felicity can be a bit obstinate when she sets her mind to something. This could become a problem.”

It already is
, Larken resisted telling him, thinking not of the duchess but her sister. Her irresistible, entirely breathtaking sister…

“After you untangled yourself from Miss Langley, did you manage to search the house?” Temple asked.