Wild Lavender Read online

  At first his father had shown understandable reluctance to let him go, but as Tom pointed out, if he were seen in a place enjoying himself, suspicion would be so much the less. Since they had been engaged in less than legal activity, his words had done the trick. And the Emperors would be there.

  Tom saw no harm in irritating them a little. After all, they had annoyed him more than somewhat ever since he could remember. An old personal grudge had turned into a political dispute and now had become a full-fledged feud, akin to the vendettas in Renaissance Italy. Probably not as deadly, though. Tom possessed no rings that contained secret compartments for poison. Tonight, especially, he needed to get away from the disaster that threatened his family. If they caught his father this time, that would be the end.

  He took his time walking up the red-carpeted marble stairs, pausing to speak briefly to people he knew and receiving smiles and nods in return. The stairs were not the best place to kiss hands, but he managed it with a widow he’d had his eye on for some time. Going to a bedroom in another house would be a bonus tonight.

  Then a lady in lavender piled into his side, almost knocking the wind out of him. Murmuring an apology to her, Tom quickened his pace, for something had appealed to him about the woman who had rushed past. All he’d seen of her was her white powdered hair and gown, but he caught the scent of violets and lavender, with a hint of something else he couldn’t identify and he wanted to know what exactly it was. And what had caused such agitation in the woman.

  At the top of the stairs, he caught sight of a flick of lavender silk as she turned into a room he was sure wasn’t open for the ball. He followed her. The night had just become interesting.

  Before she could close the door behind her, he caught the edge. Ignoring the sting of catching a door slammed with some force, he turned to face her.

  Her shoulders lifted as she sighed. “I would advise you to leave me alone—”

  His mind reeled. He knew her. How he did he had no idea, but here she was. “It’s you,” he said.

  She licked her dry lips. “Yes, it’s me.”

  She took the weight of the door from him. “Please,” she said. “Go.”

  As if there were any chance of that happening.

  He stepped into the room after her and closed the door softly. She stood with her back to him, facing the garden. Her knuckles were white where they gripped the back of the chair she was standing behind. Her shoulders were shaking, but as he waited, she lifted one hand and wiped it across her face, uttering a low curse.

  “I should perhaps tell you that you’re not alone,” he murmured. He folded his arms across his chest and allowed himself a wry grin.

  She gasped and whirled around to face him, her skirts rocking precariously. “I told you to leave. Who are you?”

  “I could ask you the same thing. I’d certainly remember seeing you before.”

  She was ravishing. Her sweet face was saved from pure sugar by the firm chin and the sparkle in her blue eyes. What light there was in this room came from the bright moonlight outside and the barely there glow from the banked-down fire. Enough for him to make out her features.

  She flicked her fan open and covered the lower half of her face, the spangles twinkling in the moonlight.

  He kicked away from the door. “Do you want me to go? Truthfully?”

  “I came in here because I was infuriated with someone and I did not wish to inflict my mood on anyone else.”

  The enticing sparkle in her eyes intrigued him. “But do not leave.”

  She shook her head, a curl bouncing on her shoulders. Finally, she took the fan away from her face.

  His sharp intake of breath sounded loud in this room. He stared at her, just drank her in. She was enchanting, every part of her, from her powdered head to her dainty feet. He hadn’t realized he was going to do it until he touched her cheek, ghosting the back of his forefinger along her silken skin.

  Her eyes widened but she didn’t move away, only lifted her chin and met his gaze with a direct one of her own. “Why did you do that?”

  “To make sure you’re real.”

  The pause was so complete a drop of water would have broken it. Her bosom lifted as she breathed. She pulsed with life, held it within her as a precious thing. The pearls around her neck glowed. He touched them lightly before he let his hand fall back against his side. “They say that pearls need wearing often, otherwise they’ll die.”

  A slow smile curled her soft mouth. He longed to taste it, to feel that vitality against him. “I heard that pearls signified tears.”

  “It depends who wears them.” He kept his voice low, not because he was afraid of someone coming in, but because he didn’t wish to break the bubble enclosing them.

  “That’s pretty.”

  He grinned. “It is, isn’t it? I’m not given to poetry. But looking at you, it comes to my lips effortlessly.”

  She flicked her gaze to his mouth and back to his eyes. “The pearls belonged to my grandmother. It seemed appropriate to wear them for my first ball.”

  “Your first?” He frowned. She did not look like girl fresh from the schoolroom.

  “My first for years. I haven’t visited London for a while.” She shrugged, her gown slipping delightfully on her shoulders. He would love to help it the rest of the way.

  She had none of the debilitating shyness of the very young, the bashfulness that would send him from the room. “I can only assume you were ill or abroad, because what other reason would a family have for keeping you away from me?” He’d meant to say “society.”

  “You’re assuming rather a lot.”

  “I am, aren’t I?” Unable to bear the distance between them any longer, he tilted her chin up with the tip of his finger and kissed her.

  How had he lived without the touch of her lips, existed without the sweetness of her breath? She stunned him, this stranger, overwhelmed him. Before he’d arrived here, his mind had been in turmoil. She gave him a cool center with her living heat.

  When he drew away, they were breathing heavier, despite keeping the kiss a mere brushing of mouths.

  She did not turn her back on him, or move away. When she opened her eyes, they were considerably darker, the blue rimming a dark center, one he wanted to know far more intimately. Nothing existed outside her, nothing worth worrying about.

  “What is this?”

  “Could it be love?” The words escaped him before could stop them. Tom always thought about what he was saying long before he uttered it, except for just now.

  The corner of her mouth quirked. “After a few sentences and a kiss? I hardly think so. Love at first sight is for the poets, not real life.”

  Could the tingles, the surge of pure need be lust? But that explanation did not ring true. Yes, he wanted her—who wouldn’t? But he wanted more. To talk to her, to be seen with her—so much more. “That this could be the beginning of love. Shall we agree on that?”

  “I could accept that.” The quirk turned into a smile and the sparkle in her eyes turned to a glow. “And we have not even been introduced.”

  “I’m Tom.”

  He loved the smile that came to her face. “Good evening, Tom. Just Tom?”

  He raised a shoulder in a half-shrug. “That is the part I prefer. It’s my second name, but my first name is too common for general use.”

  “George?”

  He repressed his shudder. “Charles.”

  “Ohhh.” The long drawn out syllable pursed her lips into the most adorable pout, one he would not even try to resist.

  This time he placed his hands on her waist. She wore the usual feminine armor of gown, stomacher, stays, and the rest, but under that, her body heat warmed him. He would love to peel those layers off her, piece by piece, like unpeeling the most delicious fruit. The underlying succulence would be well worth the effort.

  She met his lips with uncertainty, her mouth giving the merest telltale tremble before
she lifted herself and cupped his cheeks. She must have gone up on tiptoe. She was not a particularly small woman, indeed he considered her a little taller than average, but he was far too tall for comfort, towering above most crowds. The experience was not always a pleasant one, but right now he was glad he was big enough to enclose her, to fold her into his arms. Her overlarge hooped skirt pressed against him uncomfortably, but it was the collapsible kind, so he did not discommode her too much.

  He finished the kiss, glanced down at her sweet face, and then kissed her again. This time she curled her hand around his neck. Tom loved it. She stroked his nape gently, her nails grazing his skin, the difference in texture sending sharp tingles through him.

  When he licked her lips, she opened her mouth hesitantly, and he dived in, lost in her. The taste was almost more than he could bear. He cinched her closer, ignoring the uncomfortable cane hoop of her skirts pressing against his gut that barely skimmed the head of his erection. When he touched her tongue with his, gratitude shivered through him when she responded with one shy touch. She undid him completely with her response, untutored but eager.

  Nothing mattered now except this. Her taste, her scent, and the feel of her intoxicated him more than a case of brandy. Although she might have doubts, Tom had none. He would set about a formal courtship as soon as he could. Wildness and abandon seized him by the throat. In the first impulsive decision of his life, Tom decided he would have this woman for his own.

  Happiness raced along his veins along with the heady taste of arousal. He could kiss her all night, before he’d even think of getting her out of her clothes. Draw out the pleasure until neither of them could bear being dressed any longer. Kiss her and kiss her until she begged him for more. Or he begged her, it did not matter which.

  But he needed to know just one thing first. Separating their lips hurt more than it should have, but he did it, only to lose himself staring down at her and smiling. Her kiss-flushed lips, her cheekbones delicately edged with pink, and those bewitching eyes almost drew him back to her before he asked his question.

  “Tell me, sweet one. What is your name, so I may call on you tomorrow?”

  “Helena!”

  But the name did not come from her lips. It came from the direction of the door, uttered by a voice he knew well.

  A voice that meant trouble.

  Chapter 2

  As close to Tom as she was, Helena could not miss the change in his expression. The melting softness of his brown eyes changed to shock. He mouthed “Sorry,” against her lips and touched his forehead to hers.

  His mouth, so warm against hers a mere moment ago, tightened, and his lids lowered over his eyes. His expression was akin to Julius’s when he was displeased. Except that Julius’s eyes hardened into sapphire intensity, and this man’s eyes resembled mahogany that had been out in the rain for too long.

  He turned around, standing directly in front of her, hiding her from Julius. That would do no good. Julius would have recognized her gown. She touched Tom’s back, the soft velvet of his deep red coat silky-fine, nothing like the stubbled jaw she’d touched a moment before.

  So she was caught kissing a man in a room. At least only Julius had caught them, and he would not tell anyone or cause a scandal. She’d heard the door close, so Julius was letting nobody else in. Tom would explain now and declare his intention of courting her. He’d said as much. She peeped out from behind Tom. She was wrong. Her other brother, Augustus, was here, too.

  “Winterton.” Tom bowed slightly, allowing Helena more time to compose herself. He had not disturbed her clothes, except for her hoops which had undergone extreme pressure, but they seemed to have survived. When she moved to the side, they sprang back.

  She put up her chin, but before she could say anything, Tom continued.

  “I take it I have the honor of sharing a room with your sister?”

  Julius’s face was white with fury.

  “Do you intend to tell Mother?” She hadn’t meant her words to come out with that high-pitched edge, making her anxiety obvious to everyone. The duchess would not hesitate to sweep Helena off to the country, and then she wouldn’t see the outside of the estate until next Easter, and perhaps not even then.

  Julius flicked a glance to her, concern edging his gaze before he returned it, hard once more, to Tom. “Is this what your attempted seduction of my sister is about? Will you tell everyone, Alconbury?”

  Helena’s heart doubled its rate, until she could barely breathe. Alconbury? That meant Tom was the oldest son of the Duke of Northwich, the avowed enemy of her family. He could have planned this, maybe to seduce her. Except—what he said, what he did, how he behaved and most of all, the shock in his eyes when Julius had spoken her name.

  The Dankworths and the Vernons—indeed, all the family known as the Emperors of London because of the outlandish names bestowed on them by their parents—had been at loggerheads since the rising of 1715, the first time the Jacobites had made a bid for the throne. However, what had begun as a political dispute had turned personal. Why, she did not know, but the animosity simmering in this room was only partly to do with her.

  Until that moment Helena had remained oblivious to the potential trouble she could be in. Tom had swept her off her feet, almost literally, her response to him overwhelming.

  Tom glanced at her, his expression shuttered, and then away as if she were of no interest to him. “Why would I want to shackle myself to an Emperor? Or an Empress, in this case. You should take greater care of your womenfolk, Winterton. Who knows what I might have done?”

  Julius glared. “Name your seconds—”

  “Julius, no!” Augustus stepped between her brother and Tom, his powerful body forming an effective barrier. “Meeting him at dawn would ruin Helena’s reputation.”

  Tom’s mouth settled into a sneer. “You mean I have not done that already? How disappointing. If you gentlemen would care to leave, I can take care of that in a trice.” Anyone would think he was trying to provoke Julius.

  The animosity simmering in the room went way beyond personal dislike. What had she done? Blotting the memory of their kisses from her mind, Helena tried again. “I tore a ruffle, and this gentleman helped me to pin it. That is all.”

  Julius’s attention went from her to Tom and back. “Will you say that?”

  Tom spread his hands wide. “How can I contradict a lady? Especially one as lovely as Lady Helena?” He kissed the tips of his fingers and opened his hand in her direction. Hardly a gesture intended to mollify her brother.

  Disappointment arced through her, became a physical ache in her gut. So he knew her rank? Had he known who she was before he followed her into this room? Had he meant to trap her? Their families were at each other’s heads most of the time, their hatred a constant source of amusement to society. Was that the only reason he’d kissed her?

  “The lady tastes sweet. Another moment and I would have had her. Then what would you have done?” Tom sneered, his lip curling. “Made me marry her?”

  Julius closed his eyes. Helena was sorry to bring him more trouble, but really, this was nothing. A man had made a fool of her. What of that?

  So why didn’t he want to make the incident public? Julius would never have made him marry her, considering he was a Dankworth, leaving Helena to bear the disgrace.

  “I didn’t know—” she began, but she was interrupted when Julius slashed his hand down.

  “Do not speak,” Julius said, his voice throbbing with fury. “Augustus will take you into the ball.”

  Augustus shook his head. “And leave you alone with Alconbury?” He jerked his head, indicating Tom.

  She nearly missed Tom’s movement. Nothing showed in his face, but his hand left his side for a bare instant, opening toward her before he clenched his fist and returned it to his side. He was concerned for her. Nothing else would have made him reach for her. For all his apparent disdain, he did care.

  She had
rarely seen her brother so furious, so close to losing control. Augustus was right; if they left him in here with Tom, they would kill each other. So she glided forward in her best grand lady manner and laid her fingers on the smooth sleeve of Julius’s evening coat. “May a woman not have any amusement? Indeed, of course I knew him. I only intended to tease a little. After all, I must practice on someone, and who better than a nobody?”

  The sharp breath told her she had hit her mark, and to her relief, Julius’s expression eased a fraction. “Well said, my dear. Shall we leave the nobody to the gentle ministrations of our brother?”

  Augustus was angry, but unlike to do anything too rash. He might plant a facer on Tom, but he wouldn’t challenge him to meet at dawn.

  Somehow, the sweetest minutes of her life had turned into disaster. That nobody had touched anyone in anger made it even worse, because the promise was there, hanging over everyone. Including her.

  Julius pasted on his society smile as soon as he had her outside the room. “You will talk to nobody about this, but if anyone saw you, you may say we were with you all the time.”

  “I planned to do that.”

  Julius would never let her down by denying her. Truthfully she had not thought of anything beyond Tom and what they were doing. She would have continued doing it too, putting her reputation and her trust into his hands.

  She still would. If he could make her feel as he had before, she would throw her reputation to the wind because it had done nothing for her so far. She was twenty and making her first appearance in London society. How ridiculously pathetic was that?

  “He will not bother you again,” Julius said as they approached the double doors leading into the main room. “If he comes within a yard of you, I’ll kill him.”

  He’d done nothing she had not wanted him to. “Don’t concern yourself. I can take care of myself.” A notion occurred to her, one that her brother would understand. “I daresay he will try to come near me again, if only to provoke you. If he knows I am your weak spot, he will use it.”