Louise Allen - Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 1

‘Us? A dinner party? At the Dower House?’

‘Kat, I have to tell you, you sound every bit as bird-witted as Cousin Fanny. Yes, us, a dinner party. Just for the household here.’

‘When? Why?’ If she was still sounding bird-witted she could not help it.

‘Three days after the ball, I thought. And why? Because I have a desire to entertain in my own home.’

‘Would it not be better after I have gone? I can hardly act the hostess …’

‘Why not? Or do you think I should ask Cousin Fanny to take that role?’ He hesitated. ‘Please, Kat, it would give me so much pleasure.’

Nick had never asked her for anything in that way before and it made her feel guilty. She had put him in a position where his homecoming was overshadowed by his sham marriage; surely the least she could do was to agree to a dinner party where all the guests were known to her.

‘Yes, of course, if you would like it. We had better stop talking apart, and I must rescue poor Mr Rossington, who appears to be receiving an account of the set of church kneelers Lady Fanny is producing.’

‘No harm in that,’ Nick said heartlessly. ‘He is, after all, supposed to excel in Christian charity. Ouch!’ he added indignantly as his wife gave him a sharp jab in the ribs with a forefinger and went to the chaplain’s assistance.

As she joined the discussion on the minute details of the kneelers, Katherine looked back and caught his eye. ‘I am sorry,’ she mouthed.

‘I forgive you,’ he mouthed back with such a gentle smile that her heart contracted sharply. Constant contact with him was such a torment, such a deliciously anguished reminder of just how much she liked her husband, how much she loved him, how much she was coming to desire him. She tried to work out how many days were left before the month was up, before he would permit her to begin the annulment process, and realised she had lost track of time. This would not do, she must pull herself together, stop playing at being Lady Seaton and make her plans before her feelings for Nick seduced her into abandoning all principle.

‘And all edged with laurel leaves in gold, how lovely,’ she said serenely to Lady Fanny. ‘You must tell me how you chart your patterns.’ And in the meantime there was no excuse for not behaving as a lady should.

Two days after Lady Fanny’s arrival, Madame LeBlanc and her entourage arrived at the Dower House. Katherine peered around the edge of the screen in her bedroom as Jenny undid her morning dress and helped her out of it. Madame herself carried nothing. Behind her two girls struggled with a vast box from which a foam of tissue paper emerged and behind them came the senior seamstress with a basket of threads, pincushions and extra lengths of silk.

‘This is exciting,’ Jenny whispered, peeping round the screen.

‘I know, I cannot wait to see it. Can you pass me my wrapper, please?’

Katherine emerged, fumbling for the ties of her wrapper, but too eager to see the new gown to wait and tie them properly. ‘Madame, good morning. You seem to have made excellent progress.’

‘I believe so Miss Cunningham. I expect there to be few changes necessary, in which case, if a room can be made available, my girls can finish the gown here today.’

‘But of course.’ Katherine turned to the box as layers of tissue were removed, revealing the pale primrose silk. Pale silk and an intricate pattern of crystal beading across a bodice with a twisted neckline and no sleeves. ‘This is the wrong gown! Madame, this is not the gown I chose.’

‘No, Miss Cunningham, but his lordship countermanded the decision …’

‘We will see about that.’ Wrapper flying, Katherine stalked over to the connecting door that led to Nick’s dressing room. She had never tried it to see if it were locked, considering that to check on such a thing showed little confidence in him. Now it jerked open under her hand.

The dressing room was deserted, but the door into his bedchamber stood ajar. Furious, Katherine palmed it open and swept into the room. ‘Nicholas! Will you kindly tell me what is the meaning of—?’ and found herself confronting her husband in his shirt and apparently little else and a pair of dark-clad men, one clutching a pair of satin knee breeches, the other with his mouth full of pins.

Nick stared, enchanted and aroused at the sight of Kat, colour high, storming into his bedchamber in her stockinged feet, unfastened wrapper flying, bosom heaving above a very fetching set of stays.

The tailors whipped round and beat a hasty retreat. ‘We will wait outside, my lord,’ one mumbled dangerously through the pins. Nick ignored him, scarcely registering the sound of the door closing behind them.

‘Kat, darling …’ All he wanted to do was sweep her up, toss her on to the bed and make ruthless love to her until her anger turned to gasps of passion.

‘Don’t you darling me, you deceitful man! Why did you tell Madame LeBlanc to make the other gown? I did not agree to it, I cannot afford it and I do not want it!’

‘Now that last is a fib and you know it, Kat. You did want it, you were just too proud to let me buy it for you.’

She responded with a hiss of fury. God, but she was lovely! He had never seen her lose her temper, and suspected it was a rare event. Rare or not, it was powerfully erotic, and would have been even were she fully clothed. He was thankful for the voluminous cut of his shirt, which hid just what an effect she was having on him.

‘So why did you buy it when you knew it would upset me?’ she demanded, hands fisted on her hips.

‘To give me the pleasure of seeing you wear it.’ That effectively took the wind out of her sails, he noted. ‘So it is a gift I make to myself—all I ask is that you enjoy it for the night.’

‘Oh.’ Katherine watched him, obviously undecided how she now felt. ‘It would give you pleasure if I wear it?’ She seemed suspicious, claws retracted, but not sheathed.

‘Everything you wear gives me pleasure, Kat,’ he murmured, taking a step forward. ‘This, for example, is a very fetching ensemble.’ He let one finger trace the swell of her breasts, pushed up by the stays Jenny had laced tight in anticipation of the ball gown.

Her skin was like hot satin under his caress. For a long moment she was still, only her tumultuous breathing moving his hand as it rested on her. Nick was not conscious of breathing, of anything but the feel of her, the scent of her rising hot and heady with her anger. Anger that was turning into something else as he held her eyes.

Then she blinked, as though waking from a trance and looked down. ‘My … look what I am wearing!’

‘I am.’ His voice felt as husky as it had in the days following the hanging.

‘And you …’ She backed away, the hot colour of temper replaced by a vivid blush. ‘You … ‘

‘If you will burst in on a gentleman when he is trying on his breeches,’ Nick said, knowing his reasonable tone was enough to provoke her into another stimulating outburst, ‘you must expect him to have removed his old pair first.’ He managed, with an effort, to look faintly shocked. ‘I do trust Cousin Fanny does not take it into her head to come over and exercise her role as chaperon.’

‘Oh, you are impossible!’ Kat stamped her foot. All he wanted was to take her in his arms, kiss that temper off her face, replace it with yielding, pulsing passion. Dare he risk it, or was it too soon? Kat took the decision out of his hands. ‘Men!’ she said with withering scorn. ‘You are all the same.’ And marched back through the dressing room door.

‘Phew.’ Nick let out a deep breath and walked to the window, which he threw wide. A little fresh air and some calming thoughts about porridge, or the Hearth Tax or Cousin Fanny’s church kneelers were necessary before he let the tailors back in. He leaned out and looked towards the windows of Katherine’s suite. At least, hopefully, she was now too flustered to do anything but accept the ball gown of his choosing.