Some Like It Brazen by Alexandra Ivy (11)

Pacing the darkened folly, Bianca pressed her hands to her fluttering stomach.

Married.

The words whirled through her mind with near-terrifying persistence.

Dear God.

It was enough to send her into a full-blown panic.

Ridiculous, perhaps.

She had received any number of requests for her hand over the years. Some elegant, some passionate, and some downright desperate. She had even briefly been engaged to Stephen, if only in private.

So why had none of those gentlemen’s proposals made her heart lurch and her throat tighten to the point she could barely breathe?

Could it be that Edward’s proposal touched her more deeply than the others? That it truly mattered whether or not he loved her?

Oh . . . lord.

She suddenly felt as if she had been tossed in the midst of a stormy sea with no notion of which direction shore might be.

Sucking in a deep breath, she instinctively smoothed her rumpled gown before forcing herself to leave the folly. She would soon be missed, and the last thing she needed was her father charging about and creating a scene in search of her.

Unable to do anything about the flush still clinging to her cheeks or the frustrated ache that Edward always seemed to leave behind, Bianca stepped from the shadows and onto the graveled path.

Intent on keeping her skirts from the threatening rosebushes, she failed to notice the tall form that was leaning negligently against the marble fountain until it moved to stand directly in her path.

“Well, well, if it is not the Ice Princess.”

Jerking to a halt, she regarded the lean, almost pretty countenance of the gentleman she had once hoped to wed.

Oddly, the usual tingle of pleasure at the sight of him did not materialize. Her heart did not even miss a beat. Instead she found herself struggling to disguise a flare of impatience at his sudden appearance.

“Stephen.” She covertly glanced down to ensure that her bodice had been properly restored to order. “Whatever are you doing out here?”

Elegantly attired in one of the numerous blue coats he demanded be specially dyed to match the color of his eyes, Lord Aldron allowed his gaze to roam over her with familiar ease.

“Precisely the question I was about to pose to you.”

Bianca unfurled the fan that dangled about her waist. She possessed the most ridiculous urge to giggle at the thought of revealing she had been busily luring Lord Harrington to the secluded folly in the hopes he would have his way with her.

Not so long ago she had thought slipping out of her chambers to enjoy a naughty pantomime a dangerous lark.

“The ballroom is far too warm. I was in dire need of a breath of fresh air.”

“You should take more care,” he chided. “It is not safe for a beautiful young woman to be out here alone.”

She gave a lift of her brows. Since when did Stephen ever preach caution?

“I can hardly be in danger a few steps from a crowded ballroom.”

His lips curled in sudden disdain. “There are all sorts of disreputable chaps allowed into society these days. Some of whom should be back in the country mucking stalls.”

Damn. Bianca heaved a sigh. She should have been expecting this confrontation.

It was only to be expected that Stephen would wish to punish her a bit. She had, after all, allowed him to court her for months believing she would be his wife.

And now her name was being linked to another . . .

“I suppose you are referring to Lord Harrington?”

“Peasant.”

She bit her lip. “Stephen, I understand that you are angry and hurt, but you should not blame Lord Harrington. He had nothing to do with my father’s refusal for us to wed.”

He growled low in his throat. “It is disgusting, the manner in which he is sniffing about you as if he were a hound in heat. Someone needs to teach him a sharp lesson in how to treat his betters.”

Bianca stiffened as a flare of pure fury raced through her. Stephen was fortunate she still felt a measure of guilt at having wounded him. Otherwise, she most certainly would have slapped his handsome face.

“We are hardly his betters,” she pointed out stiffly. “He is an earl, after all.”

“He is not fit to polish our boots.”

She forced herself to count to ten. In English, French, and then Italian for good measure.

“You do not even know him, Stephen. He is a fine man.”

“A fine man?” An ugly expression hardened his features. “My God. I had heard the rumors that you were encouraging Harrington’s attentions, but I refused to believe them. You could not possibly be interested in that slow-witted dolt.”

She tilted her chin. She had no intention of discussing her relationship with Edward with anyone. Not until she decided what the devil she was going to do with the aggravating man.

“I simply do not wish for an innocent bystander to be harmed for my sins. If you must be angry with someone, it should be me.”

There was a short, tense silence. Then, without warning, his hands reached out to grasp her shoulders in a tight grip.

“Were you out here with him?”

“Stephen . . .”

His gaze raked over her flushed countenance and raven curls that had been dislodged during her delicious embrace with Edward.

“Did you allow him to kiss you?”

“Release me, Stephen.”

“What a fool I was.” His fingers tightened as he stepped far too close. “All those evenings we were alone together and I treated you as if you were a fragile child when you wished to be tumbled like a common tart.”

Her brows snapped together. This was not at all the Stephen she had thought she knew. This Stephen was not her charming, carefree companion or indulgent admirer. This Stephen she did not desire to whisk her away from the confines of her life as the daughter of the Duke of Lockharte.

This Stephen she wanted to punch in the nose.

“That is enough. Release me at once.”

“What is it, Bianca? Does the touch of a true gentleman offend you?” he sneered. “Do you prefer the groping of a country oaf?”

She struggled against his hold. “I prefer to be left alone.”

“No. I deserve something for being led about by the nose for months only to be discarded like a bit of rubbish.” His head began to lower with obvious intent. “You owe me, my sweet.”

“Halt or I will scream.”

His soft laugh held no humor. “I do not think so, my dear.”

His lips landed upon her mouth with bruising determination, and for a moment Bianca was so stunned that she stood frozen in his arms. She had devoted endless hours to dreaming of being held in Stephen’s arms. Of enjoying his kisses. Now she knew. Gads. She really did want to punch him in the nose.

Yanking her closer, Stephen attempted to thrust his tongue between her lips. She gave a violent shudder and wrenched herself from his grasp.

“That is enough,” she rasped, unconsciously lifting her hand to wipe his taste from her mouth. Edward had only to touch her for her senses to go up in flames. Obviously it was a talent only he possessed. Somehow the knowledge only deepened the guilt she felt at having encouraged Stephen’s pursuit. “I am sorry if you were hurt, Stephen, and I regret that I allowed you to believe we would wed. But it is in the past. I would hope we could still be friends.”

As if sensing the pity stirring in her heart, Stephen abruptly spun on his heel to glare at the shadowed garden.

“Return to your farmer and his vulgar fortune, Lady Bianca. The two of you are clearly perfect for one another.”

Bianca did not hesitate as she hurried up the path and onto the terrace.

She had so many tangled thoughts churning through her mind, she feared the top of her head might explode.

Stephen would have to be a worry for another day.

 

 

With a sense of relief, Edward at last escaped from the solemn cavern of the Parliament chamber and weaved his way through the clustered noblemen, many of whom regarded him with either outright hostility or wary approval.

None attempted to halt his passage, thank God.

The day had not been quite so nerve wrenching as his first Introduction. He grimaced as he recalled the rather ridiculous ordeal that had included offering his Letter of Patent and Writ of Summons, not to mention a great deal of bowing and scraping to the Cloth of Estate, to the Woolsack, and then down on his knees to have his Patent read aloud.

During every solemn moment he had expected to have someone call out he was a fraud. Even after he had taken his oath and signed the Test Roll, he had feared catastrophe.

Thankfully the roof had not collapsed, nor had lightning struck, which he took as a good sign.

Good enough to encourage his determination to bring forth what many considered his radical demand for change.

Today he had taken his first step, and he found himself not quite certain whether he should pat himself on the back for his courage or scurry back to Kent before he could be strung from the vaulted rafters.

Of course, first things first, he told himself wryly.

He would do nothing, not even be hung as a traitor, before he enjoyed a very large beefsteak and a glass of burgundy.

Stepping onto the busy street at last, he sucked in a deep breath of coal-tainted air and lifted a hand toward his waiting groom.

“Very passionate, old friend,” a sardonic voice drawled close to his ear. “You quite moved me to tears.”

With a smile, Edward turned to regard Biddles attired in a scarlet coat and pale yellow waistcoat. The combination was near blinding, and Edward’s smile widened. Only Biddles would dare to mingle with the most powerful gentlemen in the world dressed as a court jester.

“I was hoping for persuasion rather than passion, and it is your support I am depending upon,” he informed his friend. “You may save your tears for poor Anna.”

Biddles touched the end of his pointed nose with a handkerchief. “I fear that it may be more than mere persuasion that you have stirred in the hearts of many. I do believe Lord Jenkins was foaming at the mouth before you finished your eloquent demand that we all charge forward and rescue the downtrodden from the clutches of the evil feudal lords bent on their destruction.”

Edward shrugged. “Someone must speak out for those in need.”

“True, but you might wish to keep an eye out for a knife in the back.” Biddles gave a covert nod of his head to a clutch of elderly noblemen glaring at him as they stomped toward their carriages. Thank God looks could not kill. “There are many among the older aristocrats who firmly believe that they possess a divine right to grind the lower orders into the muck.”

Edward heaved a sigh. Did the old fools believe they could continue to repeat the mistakes from the past without consequence?

“It was precisely that attitude that led to the Revolution,” he growled with impatience. “Do you suppose those older aristocrats would enjoy having their heads planted on a guillotine?”

Biddles gave a wave of his handkerchief. “Those in power never share it willingly.”

“Providing education and the opportunity to earn a living is hardly handing the throne to the peasants.”

With a short laugh, his friend clapped him on his shoulder. “Egads, you really have been in the country too long.”

No doubt Biddles was right, but Edward felt no need to apologize for his humble beginnings.

Not to anyone.

“Will you join me for luncheon?”

The sly gentleman gave a small grimace. “A tempting offer. Unfortunately, Anna has developed the most peculiar craving for strawberries, not that common for a woman in her delicate condition, and I have been commanded to scour London for all that can be found.”

Edward chuckled in delight. “A grave task. I wish you well.”

“Laugh if you wish, old friend. Your day will come.”

His chest abruptly tightened as the image of delicate features and dark eyes rose to mind.

Hell’s teeth, it was painful just to think of Bianca.

“I hope so, Biddles, I most fervently hope so.”

The pale eyes narrowed in warning. “Edward—”

“Be on your way.” Edward sternly interrupted the undoubted lecture. “I am quite old enough to make my own mistakes.”

Biddles glanced over Edward’s shoulder, his expression suddenly shifting to one of sly amusement. “Obviously. Take care, my friend. It is not only decrepit Tories who wish to stick a knife in your back.”

With his mysterious warning delivered, Biddles turned to mince down the street, leaving Edward to watch his departure with a small smile.

Obviously impending fatherhood had plunged Biddles the short distance to utter madness.

“Lord Harrington?”

Swift, delicious shivers raced through Edward. This was the last place he expected to hear the soft female voice, and he struggled to control his instinctive reaction.

Willing his treacherous body to behave itself, Edward slowly turned. In a blink his attempts of restraint were shot to hell.

Attired in a pale rose gown and chip bonnet, Bianca should have appeared young and utterly innocent. Instead, the dark, tilted eyes and lush mouth gave the impression of a sultry vixen ripe for seduction.

The very air seemed to sizzle with heat.

“Lady Bianca.” He was forced to halt and clear his throat. “What brings you here?”

“My father mentioned that you would be speaking today.”

Edward stiffened. “You were in the gallery?”

“Yes. You were very . . .”

“Passionate? Radical? Unhinged?” he helpfully offered, thanking the heavens above he had not known she was near. No doubt he would have ended up babbling like an imbecile.

Well . . . even more of an imbecile.

“Eloquent,” she corrected firmly.

“You were not terrified that I am about to tumble the government of England?”

With a smile that warmed him to his very toes, she stepped close enough to lightly touch his arm.

“I would hope by now that you would realize that I share your desire to help others.”

He did, of course. Her beauty came as much from within as without.

“Yes.” Sensing the sudden hush that had descended around them, Edward covered her hand with his own. It was bad enough he had to be gawked at as if he possessed horns and a tail. He would not have Bianca endure the rude stares and whispers. “May I drive you home?”

She considered his offer a long moment before giving a faint nod of her head.

“If it will not be out of your way.”

His lips twitched. China would not be out of his way if this woman was involved.

“Not at all.”

She glanced toward his open carriage. “You have your groom with you?”

“He was quite insistent I could not appear without him,” Edward assured her. “Obviously, once a gentleman is landed with a title he loses all ability to control something so dangerous as a team of horses without assistance.”

A twinkle of amusement shimmered in the wickedly tempting black eyes.

“Then I shall send my maid on a few errands. If you will wait a moment?”

His hand lifted of its own accord to lightly stroke her cheek.

“I will wait,” he husked, unable to disguise the thread of longing in his voice. “I will wait as long as it might take. That I have promised you.”

“Edward . . .” A flustered heat touched her countenance, but thankfully she did not bolt as he half expected. “I shall return.”

Refusing to allow himself to stand on the walk and gape at her like he was a smitten looby, Edward slowly strolled toward his waiting carriage.

He desperately wanted to believe that her appearance this morning indicated her interest in him. After all, a morning spent listening to political debates was not the usual entertainment for young ladies.

Unfortunately, he was too pragmatic to leap to conclusions.

With a minimum of fuss, Bianca had sent her maid upon her way and Edward had lifted her onto the leather seat beside him. He left the reins to his groom, preferring to concentrate upon his companion rather than dazzling her with his skill with the ribbons.

Not that his cleverness was readily rewarded, he silently admitted. Bianca appeared far more intent on studying the coal-blackened buildings they rattled past than in paying him heed.

Hardly flattering.

“You are very quiet,” he at last broke the silence.

Her hands clenched in her lap before she slowly turned to regard him with a searching gaze.

“Why do you wish to wed me?”

Edward gave a choked cough. He hadn’t been prepared for that.

“I could name a dozen reasons. All of them perfectly sensible.” He reached out to grasp her hands in a tight grip. “But in truth there is only one reason that matters. I have fallen in love with you, muirnin.”

Her lashes fluttered, but her gaze remained steady. “How can you be certain you love me?”

“Well, it is either love or utter madness. Let us hope for love.”

“But what if you are mistaken?” she insisted. “What if you wed me and discover that I am not the wife you desire?”

Edward considered his words carefully. He did not comprehend this woman’s odd fear that she would somehow prove to be a disappointment to him. Surely most women in her position would be concerned with his suitability?

“Bianca, there will never be a day that I do not desire you at my side or a night I will not want you in my bed,” he said gently. “The only question is whether or not you can someday learn to love me as I love you.”

“I do care for you, Edward,” she murmured softly.

It was not quite the overwhelming declaration that Edward had been hoping for, but he was swift to disguise his disappointment behind a teasing grin.

He was nothing if not patient.

“And you are moved by eloquent speeches.”

Seemingly relieved by his light tone, a smile touched her lips. “Of course.”

He scooted close enough to feel the heat of her leg burn through his breeches. Mmmm . . .

“And you desire me to the point of insanity,” he husked.

Her eyes darkened with satisfying awareness. “There is that.”

His hands shifted to tug off his gloves and then her own. Then, trailing his fingers over her sensitive palms, he paused at the pulse beating wildly in her wrist.

She could hide everything but this. She desired him.

It was a beginning.

“What more could a woman possibly wish for?” he demanded.

Not about to be outdone, the daring minx leaned close enough for her breast to brush against his arm. Edward instantly forgot to breathe.

“I suppose you could compose lovely odes to the beauty of my eyes or slay a dragon or two,” she suggested.

Edward swallowed. Lost in the darkness of her eyes and feeling her pressed close to his side, he would happily have slain an entire herd of dragons.

“Only two?”

“It would be a beginning.”

His fingers drifted up the curve of her arms. “I can think of a far more enjoyable means of convincing you of my love.”

She deliberately lowered her gaze to his mouth. “Enjoyable for whom?”

All too easily the image of this woman spread beneath him, with her legs locked about his hips, rose to mind.

It was a fantasy that was becoming more difficult to ignore.

“For the both of us, I hope.”

He felt her small shiver as she regarded him with a sultry gaze. “You said we were not to . . . do this anymore.”

“I was a fool,” he growled, his hands tightening upon her arms. “My God, Bianca, tell me you will wed me and put me out of my misery.”

Her smile was wicked. “I believe I shall need a bit more of that convincing before I commit myself.”

His body hardened with a speed that made him groan. Hell’s teeth, the Marquis de Sade had nothing on this woman.

“You truly are determined to drive me batty.” He forced himself to take a calming breath. Whatever his body might demand, he could not take his future wife in an open carriage in the midst of London. “May I speak with your father?”

She abruptly stiffened, and a shaft of fear struck through Edward’s heart. Dammit all, she was not going to deny him now. Not when he was so close.

“Allow me to speak with him first,” she muttered, an odd expression upon her beautiful features. “I do not wish for any unpleasant surprises.”

“Surprises?”

She gave a sharp shake of her head. “It is nothing. I just believe it best if I speak with Father before you approach him.”

Edward did not question her more closely. What did he care? She had agreed to his proposal. Nothing else mattered.

Nothing at all.

“Very well.” Hoping he was not smiling like a demented fool, he lifted her fingers to his lips. “Do you attend the Dellington soiree this evening?”

She offered a small grimace. “I fear not. My mother has taken a chill, and Father has a political dinner that he cannot avoid. Without a chaperon I must remain at home.”

“A pity.”

“Yes.” There was a moment’s pause before that slow, take-no-prisoners smile returned to her lips. Edward knew he was in deep trouble before she spoke a word. “I shall have to keep myself occupied somehow. A difficult task. I detest needlework, and I was the despair of my pianoforte teacher.”

“Were you?” he husked.

“Utterly hopeless.” Her smile never wavered. “It seems there is nothing to be done but take a very long, very private stroll through the garden.”

Oh lord.