The Wedding Trap (16 page)

Eliza tipped her head to one side and studied the scene from a different angle.
Stars and garters, isn’t that uncomfortable?
Apparently not, based on the expression of intense rapture on the woman’s face.

The thin wool of Eliza’s afternoon gown grew suddenly hot and faintly itchy against her skin; another, unknown kind of heat—one that disturbed her on many levels—pooling low between her legs.

She turned a page, found another illustration.

This one was even more amazing and more alarming, the woman lying on her side with one leg raised, the man kneeling in between her splayed limbs, his genitals fully exposed as he prepared to…

She tried to swallow, finding her mouth strangely dry. She knew men were anatomically quite different from women—she had seen Greek and Roman sculpture, after all—but those artists had never sculpted men like this one.

This one was
large.
Huge, actually. His male member big and long as a ripe summer squash.

Jiminy, she wondered, how did a man walk around with something like that between his legs? For that matter, how did he fit the thing into his breeches? Wouldn’t someone notice with it sticking out that way?

That’s when she deduced the part must grow, and grow a lot! Soft and small when tucked inside a man’s breeches. Long and hard when…Eliza’s cheeks ignited as if they were on fire, her whole body burning with a combination of heat and shock.

Suddenly she heard a voice in the hallway and a low murmured reply. Violet, speaking to one of the servants.
Oh, goodness, what if Violet comes in here and catches me?

Pulse skittering as fast as a rabbit racing from a hound, Eliza closed the book, returned it to its hiding place and slammed shut the escritoire drawer.

At least she
tried
to shut the drawer, the deuced thing catching at the midway point. She tugged and shoved and pushed, doing everything she could to get the drawer to slide closed. The entire piece of furniture quaked when the drawer finally shot home with a loud
bang,
the inkwell rattling, its top jumping free to roll across the desk.

The heavy brass cap landed with a
thud
on the carpet. She bent and scooped it into her hand, managing to yank out the delicate French rosewood desk chair and plop down onto its seat only seconds before Violet strolled into the room.

“There you are,” Violet greeted. “Robert said he thought he had seen you come in here. Are you working on your correspondence?”

Correspondence? What correspondence?
Eliza thought wildly, realizing how thoroughly the naughty little green book had wiped her memory clean, eradicating all thoughts of the letter she had come into the drawing room to compose.

In as casual a manner as she could evoke, she shifted around on her seat. “Hmm, yes, though I h-haven’t gotten much done yet.”

She hoped Violet didn’t come near enough to notice that she hadn’t gotten
anything
done yet.

“Georgianna ate her fill then dozed straight off,” Violet continued as she moved farther into the room. “And the boys actually settled down without a fuss. I guess all that play with their favorite aunt must have worn them out.” She sent Eliza a warm smile. “So I thought I would join you in here while you work on your letter. Go ahead and don’t mind me. I brought a book, so I shall be perfectly content over here in my chair near the window.”

At Violet’s mention of books, one of the bawdy images from
Albanino’s Postures
quick-flashed into her mind. Fresh blood sluiced into her cheeks, replenishing the heat and color in her skin.

Violet’s pale brows crinkled. “Are you all right? You look flushed.”

“I’m fine. Just a tad warm. The…seasons are changing and this dress…I ought to have worn one of my lighter gowns.”

“Maybe you are coming down with something. Here, let me see.”

Eliza sprang to her feet, but before she could elude her friend, Violet was already setting outstretched fingers upon Eliza’s skin to check for fever. “Your cheeks are warm but your forehead feels cool enough. Even so, perhaps I ought to have Agnes make you an herbal tea. With the start of the Season so near, it would be dreadful if you came down ill.”

“I am not coming down ill and I don’t need an herbal tea. But my thanks, all the same.”

“Well, if you are sure—”

“I am well, truly. You needn’t be such a mother.”

Violet shot her a startled look, then laughed self-deprecatingly. “If I am behaving like a mother, it is only because I
am
a mother. You’ll see how it feels when it happens to you.”

“
If
it happens to me,” Eliza said on a wistful note.

“Of course it will happen to you.” Violet slipped an arm around her shoulders and gave a quick, comforting squeeze. “I realize your past Seasons have been disappointing—goodness, my past Seasons were disappointing—but this one will be different. You are doing splendidly at your lessons and your progress with Kit is everything I had hoped and more. Even Lady Cloverly…” Violet paused, pursing her lips and rolling her eyes in mockery of the woman, “remarked upon your talent at the pianoforte.”

Eliza burst out laughing at Violet’s imitation of Christabel Morgan’s haughty ways.

“If you can win a nod of approval from her, you can win over anyone.”

Eliza exchanged a warm, conspiratorial grin with Violet, remembering exactly why it was they were such good friends. For a brief second she considered telling Violet about the book in the drawer. It stood to reason she didn’t have to admit she had looked inside, only that she had found it. But the moment she opened her mouth, Violet would know. Better, she decided, to say nothing. Some things were quite simply best left unsaid, even among friends.

“There’s that flush again,” Violet remarked. “Are you quite certain you are well? Agnes won’t mind making her special tea. You know how she loves to fuss.”

Eliza wanted to refuse, but maybe a cup of tea might not be such a bad idea, after all. She was still a bit overset. “Yes, all right.”

With a satisfied nod, Violet crossed to call for her maid.

It was only then that Eliza noticed the ink stopper still clutched inside her palm, faintly sticky with perspiration. Giving it a surreptitious polish on her sleeve, she placed it back atop the inkwell.

“It is early yet, not quite three, so we shouldn’t encounter too many people,” Kit said two afternoons later as he and Eliza walked their horses along Hyde Park’s Rotten Row. “The throngs don’t descend for another hour and a half at least, so you should have no cause to feel overwhelmed.”

“Speak for yourself,” she murmured under her breath.

“I heard that,” he said, a laugh in his voice. “You will do fine, Eliza. Just remember to stop when you see someone with whom you ought to speak, say a few polite phrases, make an inquiry or two, then ride on. No need to devote more than five minutes to any one individual or group.”

Good, she mused, since at the moment she did not know if she could recall more than five minutes’ worth of conversational topics despite all Kit’s lessons.

She would much rather have come riding this morning as usual, but last night Kit had announced his plan for them to take an afternoon ride in order to “test out” her new skills. If they arrived early, he explained, she would have far fewer people to face. That way she could get a taste of the park experience without enduring the Fashionable Hour at its zenith.

Still, there were plenty of people already gathered—carriages and riders and couples, many strolling together arm in arm as they traversed the grounds.

Not that this was her first outing to Hyde Park during the Fashionable Hour. In years past, she had come on occasion with her aunt. But their few outings had been in her aunt’s hired carriage. Silent and respectful, she had sat uncomplaining while Aunt Doris paused to talk with her own friends, middle-aged women and men of an older generation who exchanged nods and a brief greeting with Eliza before turning away to talk to her aunt until it was time to move on.

So today’s excursion would indeed be a kind of first. Her first without her aunt and the carriage and her first since her weeks of study with Kit. Now she had only to prove herself.

If she could.

Her muscles tightened at the thought, her mount, Andromeda, shifting restlessly beneath her, sensing Eliza’s unease. She wished she were riding her usual horse, Cassiopeia, but the sweet little mare had come down with colic a couple days ago. The head groom had dosed her round the clock until the crisis passed. Although she was now on the mend, she needed to remain in her stall for a few more days.

So Kit had chosen another horse for Eliza to ride, a smooth-gaited chestnut mare with a temperate nature. A younger horse, Andromeda tended to be slightly more playful, but with Eliza’s improved riding skills she wasn’t having any difficulty controlling her, especially since she and Kit were constrained to move at a pace no faster than an easy walk.

“Here comes Lady Shipple, Lady Eelsworth and Lord Turtlesford, and no sniggering at any of their names,” Kit murmured low. “Although truth be told, Turtlesford has always reminded me a little of a garden tortoise. It’s those protruding eyes of his.”

“You are outrageous!” Eliza exclaimed on a laugh, as she and Kit drew their horses to a stop.

“Ah, Turtlesford. Ladies. How do you do this afternoon?” Kit declared, flashing a broad smile. “You are, of course, acquainted with Miss Hammond.”

From inside an open-air carriage, the group turned their collective sights upon Eliza. Three pairs of eyes narrowed in momentary puzzlement as if trying to place her among their peers then abruptly widened in astonished recognition.

“Miss Hammond, well, of course, what a pleasure,” Lady Shipple said, recovering first. “I did not realize you were in Town.”

Until a few seconds ago, you probably didn’t remember I existed,
Eliza thought.

“Yes,” Eliza said. “I have been residing with the Duke and Duchess of Raeburn this winter and spring.”

“Ah, yes, since your aunt passed on to her reward.” Lady Eelsworth inclined her dark head, a few touches of gray showing along the edges of her temples. “Very sad, always difficult to lose a relation, but such is the nature of things.” She paused, sweeping an arched look over Eliza. “I must say you are looking remarkably well, better than I have ever seen you. Your aunt’s death obviously agrees.”

The woman smiled slyly.

For a long moment, Eliza simply stared.
What a rude witch.
The old Eliza would have stayed silent and lowered her eyes, wishing the whole incident away. But the new Eliza decided a reply was most decidedly in order.

Eliza met the other woman’s gaze. “It is not her death that agrees but rather her money, is that not what you mean to say?”

This time it was Lady Eelsworth who stared. “Well, I—”

“It was very good of my aunt to leave me her fortune,” Eliza continued. “And you are correct, my lady, her money has made my life far more comfortable. It bought me this riding habit. What do you think of the color and cut?”

Lady Eelsworth had the grace to flush. “I think it a most becoming gown.”

“Most becoming indeed,” Lord Turtlesford stated with cheerful enthusiasm. “I’d say it was money well spent.”

Eliza turned her head and smiled. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Why, I hardly recognized you at first, you’ve turned so dashing. If this is the result, then I say spend and spend some more.”

Eliza laughed. “And so I shall, my lord. So I shall.”

The five of them chatted for another minute or two before saying their farewells. She and Kit each urged their horses forward.

“I was about to step in to protect you from that nasty cat but I see I had no need.” Kit tossed her a grin. “I’ve rarely witnessed a nicer set-down. You’ll be giving me lessons soon.”

She shook her head. “Oh, I don’t think so. I’m still trembling from the encounter. I can’t believe I said that to her.”

“Neither can she. Word will soon get round that you have come out of your shell and are no longer to be meddled with or ignored. I predict a far different Season for you, my little wren, than any you have known before.” He looked ahead of them on the path. “Ah, here comes a new group. Be kind and promise not to hurt them too badly.”

But there were no verbal mishaps or confrontations with that group or the next one or the one after that. To her profound amazement, Eliza handled herself with gracious aplomb at each encounter, incrementally gaining confidence and poise in both her responses and her behavior. It seemed that all of her hours of drilling with Kit, all his tips and tricks and techniques had become so firmly lodged in her brain that they rolled off her tongue the way drops of rain fell from the sky during a storm.

She was quivering with astonished delight by the time Kit decided they should turn toward home.

“Lady Dolby was very kind,” she said as they walked their horses toward the entrance gates. “She said she would send around cards for her party next week.”

“Hmm, so I heard. You shall likely receive a great many invitations soon, far too many to accept.”

“I shall leave it up to you and Violet to decide which entertainments to attend. I—”

A loud shout came from behind them. Turning her head, she saw curricle bearing down, racing far too fast for the park lanes as people hurried to get out of its way. Andromeda shied and danced to the side, letting out a whinny of fear.

Eliza held steady and fought to direct the mare out of harm’s way. She caught a glimpse of the driver, seeing his vivid yellow-and-green-striped coat and the shock of coal black hair on his youthful head, his face appearing scarcely older than that of a child. Then she didn’t have time to see more, as he drew abreast of her, flicking his long coach whip with an audible
crack.

But the whip missed its mark, its vicious tip connecting with Andromeda’s hindquarters. The mare released a cry of pain and reared, slashing her front hooves through the air and tossing her head so fractiously that she jerked the reins out of Eliza’s hands.