To Love a Wicked Lord (17 page)

She tried to be flippant, to be worldly, to reassure him. “I can't claim that either,” she said. “I'm here now because I wanted to share the evening. Don't you like to discuss your exploits with a friend? And I find myself fitting into your arms far too
often because…because you are very alluring.”

Now he smiled.

She lifted her chin. “But I'm not after you, my lord. Not for a husband. I'm single, but no ingénue. I know I'm almost old enough to be a chaperone. My grandmother proposed a Season in London for me when we return, but the patronesses at Almack's would laugh if I were presented wearing a pure white gown, as ingénues have to do.”

He took in a breath. His eyes grew darker, and he narrowed them as he gazed steadily at her. She turned to leave but he held her wrist, and suddenly pulled her into his arms and answered her with a kiss.

It was what she'd wanted all night long. She refused to admit it, but only clung to him, opened her lips and gladly answered his kiss with all her heart. There was an urgency in their embrace, as though the both had yearned much too long for it. Then he took a breath and looked down at her with a tight smile. He started to speak but instead bent his head, gathered her closer, and kissed her again. She knew by the evidence of his need pressing against her that it wouldn't be enough for him—or for her.

“Oh, this gown,” he finally murmured into her ear after trailing kisses along her neck. “And its
ridiculous neckline. Ah,” he breathed as he eased the fragile material down and cupped one of her breasts in his hand. “Tempting me all night.”

He kissed her breast and then covered it, the cresting peak rising in the palm of his hand. He put his lips on the other breast, as with her eyes shut to lock out the world, she clung to him. His other hand slowly, softly stroked up her leg to her thigh. She felt the new growth of his night beard rub against her tender skin as he saluted each breast with his lips again, and reveled in the feeling of it because it proved he was real and human and desired her.

He was the one who suddenly pulled back. He quickly drew her neckline back up again.

“Damnation!” he said, running a hand through his hair. “We can't go on like this, stealing kisses and fumbled embraces like a pair of truant adolescents. Come with me now, Pippa. We can't keep pushing toward the edge without falling in. But not here. I want you naked against my own skin. I want privacy in which to explore you. Come to bed with me, my dear Pippa. Let me love you properly.”

She was still dazed by the sudden interruption of the most wonderfully sensual pleasure she'd ever felt. She couldn't think of what to reply.

“I can't go to your room,” he said in frustration. “But it's nighttime, and all of Paris is on the move and will be until morning. Come to my rooms with me. It's not far and is a decent place,” he added quickly when he saw her eyes widen. “There's an experienced concierge whose discretion is absolute. No one will know, except for we two, and I promise neither of us will ever forget.”

She stared at him, one hand on her heart.

“I can have you back here before dawn. Blast!” he said. “This is awkward. But how am I to make love to you as we both deserve when at any moment one of the old parties that were just here may totter back looking for their spectacles?”

“To your room with you? Now?” she asked in a faltering voice, playing for time because she honestly didn't know what her answer would be, although she knew very well what it should be.

I
will admit that it might seem awkward to you,” Maxwell said, as Pippa sat wide-eyed after his proposition. “An assignation isn't as exhilarating as an impetuous moment. I realize that you may be loath to just fly off with me now to rush to my bed. It's gauche, to say the least. But at least we can take a stroll in the soft spring night, can't we?”

Pippa hesitated. That sounded lovely. But as she gazed at his face she realized that in the mood she was in, walking close to him in the darkness on this soft spring evening might mean she wouldn't be home until dawn.

“I see,” she said slowly. “Could it be that an eventual stroll to your rooms is what you're thinking?”

He smiled. “Clever Pippa. What would be the harm in that?”

She shook her head. “You really ought to write a book for rakes: How to turn an awkward moment
into an impromptu moment of passion.”

His expression changed. He stood, suddenly rigid, and looked down at her. “Do you think I'm a rake, Pippa?”

She thought about it. “Are you?”

“I've never thought so,” he said, his gaze direct, his eyes dark and serious. “I've had affairs of the heart and some were, I admit, of the moment, but I've never preyed on the innocent or ignorant or lied about my expectations. I think that frees me from the taint of ‘rake' don't you?”

“I suppose it does,” she said. “We don't get many rakes in the countryside, to tell the truth, so I spoke without thinking. I apologize. I didn't know you'd think it an insult.”

“Then for your future reference,” he said, “a rake is a fellow who lies and cheats in order to take what he wants from women, body and soul, without caring about them. And while any man may behave badly now and then, a rake does it repeatedly, and revels in his prowess. Although my suggestion of a stroll did have ulterior motives, I've never misled you, Pippa, have I? And every advance I've made has been acceptable to you, hasn't it? You're a grown woman, I trust in your ability to make your own decisions. I just wanted to make it easier for you.”

“A very rakish thing to say,” she said.

He laughed, and sat down again.

But she was thinking, and when she spoke, her tone was serious. “So I see that you didn't believe me,” she said. “You think I made love to Noel?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps not Noel, but dearling, be reasonable. You kiss too well to be a stranger at it. And you yourself said you're not an ingénue. I wouldn't want you if you were. You're a fiercely independent lady in spite of your claim to be in the thrall of your grandparents. I know few females who would hare off around the world in pursuit of a vanished suitor, for whatever reason. And you obviously enjoy my company as much as I do yours. So where's the harm?”

She sighed. He was right. But she wasn't ready. To make love to him would be to finally change her way of life. He'd said he wasn't interested in marriage. He'd never said he loved her. But he enthralled her. She'd be going home within the month and doubted she'd meet any eligible gentlemen, enthralling or not, again.

She'd been thrilled with Noel's courtship, although it had lacked passion, because it had been so new to her. Few of the gentlemen who came to visit her grandfather were young or unwed, and if they were their passion for research far outweighed
their interest in any mere female. The older ones might show lechery by a pinch or a wink. But none of it had ever been serious. No one, not even Noel, had ever engaged her mind and her senses as Maxwell had.

She knew now that her grandmother would certainly need her company for many years to come, so she'd probably not have a chance at true freedom until she herself was old. And although she wasn't an ingénue, she wasn't really old, not yet. Some nights she ached with longing. It was time to find out exactly what she was longing for. She wanted to experience lovemaking…No, she told herself, she yearned to actually make love with this man, only him, even if only once, or with great good luck, twice. And as for the repercussions if it were found out? She had no reputation to lose, after all. It was about time she did something to deserve it.

She was about to say yes and go to her room to fetch a shawl. He must have seen it in her eyes, and he smiled. She returned his smile, but then saw his gaze shift to the doorway. She turned her head.

Her maid stood there, looking terrified.

“What is it, Annie?” Pippa asked at once.

“It's her ladyship,” Annie said, curtseying,
glancing from her mistress to Maxwell. “She woke up and cast up her accounts, and now she's moaning and groaning something awful. Her maid says as to how it's only that she drunk too much. But maybe you should get a physician for her?”

“At once,” Maxwell said, striding toward the door. “If the concierge doesn't have one close by, I'll find another.” He looked back at Pippa. “I'm sure we can help her,” he said. “And don't fret. I'll return soon.”

 

“Too much to drink, too much excitement, my lady,” the physician told Lady Carstairs in his native French an hour later. “I've powders to make your head feel better and a dose to help your poor entrails. But you must stay in bed for a few days. And when you rise you must be careful of what you eat and drink. You may feel young as a spring lamb. Paris does that to everyone,” he added with a touch of pride. “But, my lady, you are not; although you are certainly handsome you are no longer a girl. You must take care of yourself as befits a woman of your years.”

Lady Carstairs spoke French, of course. Any educated English lady did. But she pretended she didn't. She looked away and turned her nose up.
Maxwell escorted the physician to the door, as the fellow left, shaking his head at her folly.

“I don't want to stay in bed,” she said to Pippa as soon as they'd gone. But it was a weak protest. She was wan and puffy-eyed, her usually gloriously fluffy hair turned to dampened stringy coils. Pippa realized, with a pang, how sparse her grandmother's hair really was under her usual cloud of curls. But the lady didn't seem to care. She was obviously not well.

“We'll see,” said Pippa. “He said you should be better soon. So it's up to you now, Grandmamma. Rest, take your medicine, and drink soup instead of sherry, and you'll be right as rain in no time.”

“But I'll miss the Comte Bouchard's soiree tomorrow night,” the lady wailed. “And you know I wanted to go to my old friends Lord and Lady Ashworth's musicale the next night.”

“They'll understand and everyone will think it's very clever of you to dole out your presence,” Pippa said, patting her hand. “You're enormously popular now. Your brief absence from the scene will only make you more in demand.”

The lady looked up at that. She nodded. “Clever, Pippa. You've your grandfather's wits. All right. But leave now. I think I will sleep. Those powders are better than three bottles of the finest red.”

Maxwell was standing in the hallway as Pippa left her grandmother's room.

“It's as well I didn't go for that stroll,” Pippa told him in a soft voice. “I'd never forgive myself if I were gone when she needed me.”

“I think she'll always need you in future,” he said soberly. “But not always in the same way. Perhaps when she's healthy and happy and occupied at some party with her friends, you'll have a chance at your own life.”

He drew her into the shadows by the stair and took her in his arms. “Time isn't of the essence for her, or you and I,” he whispered as he dropped a light kiss on her forehead. “Paris is full of lovely evenings.”

But after Pippa said goodnight to him she couldn't stop thinking about how many lovely available females there were for him on such evenings.

Her grandmother couldn't stop thinking of how many parties she'd been invited to attend. They both had the time to dwell on it because it rained for the next two days and nights. They were showers that drew a soft gray veil over the springtime streets, pretty to see, but not to stroll in. And certainly not fit for a recently recovered invalid to travel through.

It was difficult to know who was unhappier, fretful, and disappointed at being housebound, the lady or her granddaughter.

There were no visitors except for Maxwell, Lord Montrose. Lady Carstairs was new to the city, and new to her old friends as well. And the older they were the less they wished to encounter a contagion, or so she claimed. She was said to be ill, so she was left alone. But Maxwell arrived each day and brought flowers and news of the world to them. Then, with a shrug and a smile, he said good-bye to Pippa and her grandmother, leaving them to another day of aimlessly watching the sky.

And then the sun came out again.

The concierge brought more cards and letters to both Lady Carstairs and her granddaughter. Although she was well now, Lady Carstairs enjoyed lying abed in the morning. The shutters were open, sunlight streamed in, and finally, a floral scent wafted through the room on soft warm breezes. Pippa, in her dressing gown, sat on a chair at Lady Carstairs's bedside. Her grandmother read some of the invitations aloud. She cackled happily over them, and made a special fuss over one inviting her to a party this very afternoon, given by one of her oldest friends.

Pippa read her invitations with little interest
until she saw one card. Her hand shook when she picked it up and read it.

Pippa wanted to laugh aloud. She'd go with him if it was still raining and she had to take a rowboat.

“Well, may you laugh, this is excellent,” her grandmother said, sitting up. “We've been invited to a impromptu garden party at the castle of my old friend Sir Malden and his wife. It's a real castle, I hear. They got it for a song years ago when the owners had to flee France, or had their heads removed. It doesn't matter. I hear it's a grand place. They say they heard I was feeling better, and they add that they hope I will attend because if I do, I will be the guest of honor. It's not because of friendship, I'll wager. No doubt they'll all want to hear
about my adventure with Napoleon himself.”

But Pippa didn't want to hear it again, and not just because it was a lie. “Grandmamma,” she said, “that's lovely for you. But Lord Montrose has invited me to a picnic in the park with him this afternoon. I should love to go and get some fresh air.”

“Is that all you want to get?” the lady snapped as she rang for her maid to help her out of her high bed.

“It will all be perfectly proper,” Pippa said, trying to keep the pleading out of her voice. “My Annie will be with me. Come, Grandmamma, since when have you been such a high stickler for propriety? And even if you were, surely a lady and a gentleman at a picnic in the sunshine won't be noted much by any one, especially here in Paris. Nor should it be.”

Her grandmother looked doubtful. Pippa didn't know if the lady believed her own fiction now or not. But it was worth trying to test it. She thought a moment and added, “As for your garden party, you don't need me. Rather the reverse, I should think. If you go by yourself you're the only one who can tell them about that glorious night. If I were there and you were otherwise occupied, some eager guests might ask me about the ball and the incident with Napoleon instead.”

If her grandmother really realized she'd been twisting the truth to make herself the heroine of the tale, it might do the trick. Pippa fell still and held her breath.

Her grandmother's cheeks turned pink. “Oh, very well,” she grumbled, avoiding Pippa's eyes. “You are the one who will be missing the fun. But go, if you must. I will see you at dinner—unless I am begged to stay, or invited elsewhere. I intend to conquer Paris.” She laughed.

Pippa couldn't stop smiling as she left the room. Then she raced to her own and hurried to wash and dress. She felt freer than she had in days, and not just because it wasn't raining. She would spend the afternoon with Maxwell. And she didn't have to worry about her rash promise to bed with him, not yet. It was a bright spring day. She'd let the evening take care of itself when it came.

She knew exactly what to wear. She put on a gown to match the day: It had a modest neckline and long sleeves, and was yellow with pink roses at the high waist and hem. Her slippers were each adorned with an embroidered rose. A patterned Madras shawl in rose colors added bright accents when she flung it over her shoulders. A new light straw chapeau would protect her nose from the sunlight. Even so, she wished she were home so
she could wear her hair simply tied back at the nape of her neck, so that if it got too warm, she could shake it free.

But this was Paris, and so she let Annie coil it and curl it, and then pin it high on her head so that she looked more like a sophisticated lady than a milkmaid.

She was ready. So was her grandmother. They waited in the hotel's salon and eyed each other.

“You'll do,” her grandmother said with a note of satisfaction.

“And you'll do more; you'll devastate them,” Pippa said in truth. Her grandmother looked very well, if a trifle too spectacular for daylight. She wore a low-cut scarlet gown with a dazzling necklace of rubies and diamonds, and her earlobes, fingers, and wrists were heavy with sparkling red-and-gold jewelry. She herself actually seemed to glow.

When her coach was announced, Lady Carstairs rose from her chair and went to the door. “Enjoy yourself,” she told Pippa. “I know I surely shall.”

But when she had left, Pippa began to wonder about her appointment as she waited for Maxwell to come collect her.

She'd never gone out with a gentleman alone, in London or in Paris. She paced the hotel's front salon. She supposed he'd supply their luncheon,
since it was his invitation. But what if he simply drove her to his hotel?