There's Something About Lady Mary (10 page)

“I swear it,” Alexandra told her solemnly.

“Then I must tell you that I had absolutely no intention of encouraging anyone’s advances when I returned to London two weeks ago. I felt—and I still do—that marriage would be the end of my career since it will be impossible for any man to accept a wife who does what I do.

“But then I met your brother, and I would be lying if I were to tell you that I am not drawn to him in a way that I never thought possible. I want to learn everything there is to know about him. I find myself eagerly awaiting his company, and when he’s near, I feel so jittery that I’ve no idea what to do with myself. If he desires to court me, I daresay I’d be unable to resist.”

Alexandra smiled as she wrapped her arms around Mary and gave her a tight squeeze. “I cannot tell you how happy that makes me. However, it does mean that you will have to tell him the truth about yourself, and, if I may give a suggestion, you should do so quickly, before he has the chance to feel deceived.”

“I know, I just—”

“I realize that you are worried about the way he will react, but you and I are friends now, and I want you to know that you have my full support. We shall work on Ryan together, and, who knows, perhaps the two of you can even find a way in which to collaborate. After all, you both share the same area of expertise.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Mary said, her eyes suddenly sparkling with enthusiasm. “Oh, do you really think that such a thing might be possible? That we might open a practice together? Oh, Alexandra, nothing would thrill me more; really, it wouldn’t.”

“I am glad to see that the two of you are getting along so wonderfully well,” a familiar voice sounded. It was Mr. Summersby who’d just returned and was now casually making his way toward them. “Have you decided on a design for your gown yet?”

“Oh, dear,” Mary muttered. “I completely forgot what we came here for.”

“How about this one?” Alexandra asked, pointing to the same one that she’d pointed at earlier.

“Oh, yes,” Mary said. “That really is quite elegant. A bit risqué at the neckline, perhaps, but I suppose that we can have that altered. Mr. Summersby, what do you think?”

“Well,” Mr. Summersby began hesitantly, “while I do think that this particular model will suit you remarkably well, I will give it my seal of approval only if you promise
not
to alter the neckline.”

“Good heavens!” Alexandra exclaimed with a wide smile, while her eyes twinkled with delight. “I never pegged you to be such a rogue. You have made poor Mary blush.”

“I do beg your pardon, Lady Steepleton. It was not my intention to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“There’s really no need to apologize,” Mary began, feeling the heat all the way to her earlobes. “I—”

“Why, Mr. Summersby,” a melodious voice interjected. “I never imagined finding you here.”

Ryan turned his head to find none other than Stephanie Maplewood gliding toward him with a brilliant smile pasted on her porcelain face. If a woman had ever looked as though she was cast from plaster, then it was truly she. He’d always considered her to be pretty, though in a somewhat unusual sort of way—the unusual part being that neither a single blemish nor the trace of a fine line marked her face. If they had, she might actually have looked human.

Upon seeing her now, his first instinct was to turn and run. After all, the woman had been chasing after him since her debut two years ago, though he couldn’t imagine what had her so obsessed; he’d repeatedly made it clear that whatever she hoped for would never be. However, he was a gentleman, and as such, he did what all well-bred gentlemen were raised to do. He slapped on his most charming smile and said, “Always a pleasure, Lady Stephanie.”

“I hope that I am not intruding,” she remarked. “But when I saw you, I simply had to come right over.”

“And we are so glad that you did,” Ryan said. “Have you perhaps met my sister, the Countess of Trenton, and her ladyship, the Marchioness of Steepleton?”

“How do you do, Lady Trenton. It is always such a pleasure to see you.”

“Yes, I am quite sure that it is, Lady Stephanie,” Alexandra remarked in a dry tone that did very little to hide her displeasure of the other woman’s sudden appearance. “It is unfortunate that we do not have more time to stop and chat, but we really are very busy, as you can see.”

“Then by all means, I shall not disturb you any longer.” Lady Stephanie turned to Ryan with a silky smile. “I do hope to see you again soon, Mr. Summersby—at the ball on Friday, perhaps?” And without as much as acknowledging Lady Steepleton’s existence even once, she strolled off.

“Did I offend her in any way?” Lady Steepleton asked Alexandra as soon as she was gone.

Alexandra rolled her eyes heavenward and waved her hand in dismissal. “I wouldn’t worry overly much about it if I were you. Stephanie Maplewood has been trying to sink her talons into my brother for years and will shun any woman he spends time with, unless she happens to be a blood relative. She is relentless in her pursuit of him.” She looked up at Ryan. “Promise me that I will not have to suffer with her as my sister-in-law

“You have my word on it,” he promised, as his eyes strayed to the marchioness.

“W
e’ll drop you off first, Alex,” Ryan said as they got back inside the carriage after placing Lady Steepleton’s order at the dressmaker’s. The woman they’d spoken to there, a Madame Bessette, had assured them that the gown would be ready on Friday morning, just in time for the Glendale ball.

Ryan spotted the look of mischief on his sister’s face and warned her with a frown. All he wanted was to have some time alone with Lady Steepleton so they could talk, but with the way things were, there was never a moment of privacy.

“As you wish,” Alexandra replied. She looked as if she might erupt with laughter. Ryan rolled his eyes. Well, at least she wasn’t enough of a stickler to stand in his way, for which he should probably count his lucky stars.

Lady Steepleton on the other hand, looked visibly shocked, her lips parting as if she were readying herself to protest. Ryan’s heart hammered as he watched her most expectantly, but when Alexandra said no more, the marchioness apparently decided not to force the subject and settled back against the seat instead. Ryan’s heart rate slowed. He knew he was risking her reputation, but it couldn’t be helped; they would simply have to be careful. Whatever it was that was happening between them had to be explored—he could ignore it no longer. And if at the end of their conversation it appeared as though their acquaintance with one another might progress, he vowed to tell her about his assignment. Better to be honest now than to deceive.

They arrived at Trenton House within fifteen minutes. Ryan watched as Alexandra gave her ladyship a quick embrace, gathered her skirts, and offered him her hand so he could help her alight. “Don’t do anything untoward,” Alexandra warned him as he led her up the front steps of her home. “It wouldn’t do to ruin her. As it is, you’re riding alone with her in a closed carriage.” Ryan opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “I’m not judging you or telling you what to do; the choice is yours. I’m merely advising you to use caution.”

“And this should come from you,” he said, grinning, and she responded with a smile.

Her eyes, however, were a touch more serious. “You’re not away in some foreign city where nobody knows you. This is Mayfair, Ryan. If you decide to ravish her, you’d best pick your locations wisely.”

He knew she was right, of course. “I’ve no idea of ravishing her in a carriage, Alex. I merely thought we might talk.”

Alexandra stared back at him with vast amounts of doubt in her eyes. “Talk?”

“As it happens, I enjoy our conversations immensely.”

Stepping inside her foyer, Alexandra squeezed his arm and lowered her voice to a whisper. “If that was all you meant to do, you’d hardly need to risk scandal by getting her alone.”

She had a point, and she was right, of course. Bidding her a pleasant afternoon, he strode back down the walkway and popped his head inside the carriage. “I know this is not quite proper,” he said, offering Lady Steepleton a means of escape, “but I was hoping for a little more time with you than it might take for us to drive up David Street. Would you mind terribly if we asked the driver to take us about for a while?”

Again she hesitated. He ought to take her directly home if he knew what was good for both of them, but the temptation of having her to himself was too great to resist, and so he had offered her the ultimate decision.

“No,” she finally said on a gush of air. “No, I don’t think I would mind it in the least.”

Ryan wasn’t about to give her the chance to change her mind. With a curt nod, he issued directions to the driver as quickly and concisely as possible, then climbed up inside and took his seat beside her ladyship. For the next five minutes, neither one of them said a word. Instead, they both stared straight ahead. Ryan was beginning to feel more and more like a naughty child who’d deliberately thwarted his parents’ wishes. Lady Steepleton shifted restlessly in her seat. He became instantly aware of her thigh brushing against his. Dear God, he really should have seated himself across from her. Whatever had he been thinking? She moved again, and it had the inexplicable effect of sending warm waves of heat scurrying through him to places he dared not even consider, for fear that other shameful thoughts might enter into his head. Too late.
Blast!

She made an attempt to turn in her seat, apparently hoping to face him more directly, but she eventually gave up and let out a deep sigh of what he could only presume to be frustration. Hell, he really ought to move to the opposite bench.

“Mr. Summersby,” Lady Steepleton suddenly said, turning only her head this time. She leaned back against the side of the carriage to avoid hitting him in the head with her bonnet. “There is something that I absolutely must tell you.”

“And there is something that I must tell you,” Ryan replied, his eyes locking onto hers. He forced a weak smile to hide his embarrassment at the subject that he was about to address. They were finally alone, and he’d already wasted precious time plucking up the courage. Well, he might as well say what needed saying and pray she wouldn’t gape at him with incomprehension afterward. “I. . .I don’t quite understand it, but I feel. . .” He let out a sigh, not knowing quite how to go about putting his feelings into words. “I feel this constant need to be with you. And whenever I am not with you, I cannot think of anything else but our next encounter. I understand that we have only just met and that this may sound rash, but I simply cannot seem to get you out of my mind. And then, whenever you grace me with that lovely smile of yours, or I hear you laugh. . .I just want to pull you into my arms and. . .”

He noticed her flustered expression. Oh blast; he’d shocked her. It hadn’t been his intention to do so; he’d merely hoped for her to understand the way he felt, had hoped she might reciprocate in some manner. But clearly. . .Oh hell, if only he’d kept his mouth shut and taken her home. He took a deep breath and raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Forgive me. This is not the sort of thing that a gentleman ought to tell a lady. I cannot imagine what I was thinking.”

“I wonder if you know,” she said quietly, so quietly that Ryan had to strain to hear her, “that, as unfathomable as I find it myself, I happen to feel precisely the same way.” She then allowed her hand to slide from her lap and onto the seat, where it came to rest right next to his, their two fingers brushing ever so gently against one another.

Heat rushed through him at the point of contact, and his heart leaped. He turned a steady gaze on her, knowing full well that he was flirting with disaster. But how could he resist in light of what she’d just revealed? “Do you mean that?” His voice was hushed, as his finger traced its way along hers.

She offered him an awkward little smile, refusing to meet his eyes as her cheeks turned crimson. “I do,” she told him in little more than a whisper.

Ryan drew a ragged breath. He could feel his blood pumping furiously through his veins and wondered if Lady Steepleton was in any way aware of his need. She couldn’t possibly be, a woman like her, so composed and demure. It hadn’t been his intention to force his desires on her in the carriage. All he’d essentially wanted to do was talk, but when she’d said that she felt the same way, it was almost as if all his primeval urges had suddenly been unleashed.

His eyes drifted over the swell of her breasts, so taut against her bodice from the strain of her anxious breathing that the faint outline of her nipples became clearly visible beneath the muslin. He immediately felt his groin tighten at the thought of what he wanted to do to her and consequently drew a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself. Lifting his hand carefully to her cheek so as not to startle her, he waited quietly for her to relax against him, the soft contours of her cheek pressed against his palm, while her eyes drifted shut and a blissful smile played upon her lips.

How curious it was that when he’d first seen her, she’d struck him as ordinary and plain. Yet looking at her now—her hair slightly tussled beneath her bonnet, her long black eyelashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks, and her full, crimson lips—he realized that she was anything but that
.
In fact, she was absolutely perfect in every way: a diamond of the first water, in his eyes.

“I have no desire to do anything that you might not wish for me to do,” he told her softly as he stroked his thumb against her cheek. “So I would like to ask for your permission first. May I kiss you?”

She caught her breath the moment he asked her, her gaze meeting his in one of puzzlement, as if she couldn’t quite fathom what he had just asked her, and it dawned on him, with a massive amount of regrettable sadness, that this remarkable woman did not think herself worthy. She hesitated, studying him as if to ascertain his reasons behind such a request, and for a long unbearable moment, he thought she might decline. But he held her gaze, and somehow, as if by some miracle, he watched as her misgivings subsided and were replaced by longing. On a quivering breath, she managed a small nod of approval.