Louise Allen - Regency Scoundrels And Scandals

Children, widows, animals, the elderly, she wrote, biting the end of her quill. Education? Employ…

The door opened. Bel swung round on her chair and stared. ‘Ashe?’

‘You were expecting someone else, Bel, my sweet?’ He strolled in and dropped his hat and gloves on a chair. Tonight he was elegant in evening dress. ‘Lord, my great-aunt’s parties are a bore, bless her. I love the old darling, but her entourage of geriatric swains is quite another matter. I have just sat through at least six elderly gentlemen telling me how Wellington should have deployed his troops at Waterloo and one who was confused enough to think he had been at Quatre Bras personally.’

‘I was not expecting you,’ Bel said, her pen dropping unheeded and spattering ink spots across her list.

‘Why not?’ Ashe shed his jacket and waistcoat and began to deconstruct his elaborate neckcloth. ‘You sent me a reply to my note.’ He walked towards her, the ends in his hands, then stopped, frowning. ‘Aren’t you well, sweetheart? Do you have a headache? I’ll go, of course.’

‘No, I do not have a headache and I am quite well. Don’t sweetheart me.’ Bel stood up and saw his expression change as he took in the exceedingly chaste nightgown and the sharp tone of her voice. ‘And I replied to your note before I saw you with Lady Pamela. If I had had any notion that you were involved with someone else, I would never have embarked on this…liaison.’

He looked as tempting as sin itself standing there, those gorgeous blue eyes fixed intently on her, the thick gilt of his hair slightly tousled, the neck of his shirt open just enough to give her a glimpse of the skin beneath. And that was precisely what Ashe was: sin. Highly experienced, completely unprincipled sin.

‘Lady Pamela? You think I am in some way committed to Lady Pamela Darlington?’

‘Yes, Lady Pamela. Is there anyone else I have missed? So far she is the only one I have seen hanging on your arm, exchanging little smiles with you, generally behaving as though she has proprietorial rights over you and getting doting looks in return. And as Lady Pamela is a well-bred, single young lady and the leading light of this year’s Marriage Mart, there is but one conclusion to be drawn from such behaviour.’

‘You are jealous.’ Ashe said it with a hint of a smile. She glared and the smile vanished. ‘But that’s ridiculous Bel.’

Bel took two rapid steps forward and jabbed him in the chest with one sharp finger. Ashe swayed backwards a trifle, but did not retreat. ‘Yes, I am jealous, and do not tell me I have no right to be because I know that perfectly well. But don’t you dare tell me I am being ridiculous either; you told me you had no commitments and I would not have dreamed of…of…’ she waved a hand towards the bed ‘…that if I had known.’

‘Ah.’ Bel narrowed her eyes at him. He did not look the slightest bit chastened, not the remotest bit guilty. ‘I have known Lady Pamela since she was six. She is a minx and as much of a hussy as a well-bred girl can be and, despite her father’s adamant refusal to consider the suit, she is head over heels in love with a very good friend of mine.’

‘That makes it worse!’

‘Head over heels,’ Ashe persisted, removing himself to the relative safety of the fireside. ‘And set on persuading me to invite both him and her to a house party.’

‘Which house party?’

‘The one she expects me to host for the sole purpose of allowing her and George to moon about in the shrubbery out of sight of her chaperon.’

‘If that is the case, why was she spreading herself all over you like butter?’ Bel demanded, provoking a grin from Ashe at her language.

‘Because she is one of the prettiest girls in London, used to being the acknowledged star in any firmament and, when she comes face to face with another lovely woman, her instincts are to lay claim to any male in the vicinity between the ages of sixteen and seventy. I happened to be handy.’

‘Oh.’ Bel swallowed, clenching her hands. Lovely woman? Her? ‘I have made a fool of myself, haven’t I?’

‘A bit.’ He smiled affectionately. ‘I suppose I helped. But, given the basilisk eye of your Aunt Ravenhurst, I thought it best to play up to Pamela and to treat you with polite indifference.’ Bel bit her lip and focused her gaze on the point where his shirt opened over golden skin. ‘Were you truly jealous? That is very flattering.’

‘Flattering? It was horrible. Jealousy was a thoroughly reprehensible reaction in the first place, and I know I have absolutely no right to feel it. I felt mean and miserable.’ Bel sifted through her emotions, then added honestly, ‘But it hurt, and I do not like you telling me I am being ridiculous.’

‘I am sorry.’ Ashe stepped over Horace and gathered her in against his chest. Bel gave a little sigh and clung to as much of him as she could get her arms around. ‘I forget you are very new to these intrigues. It is not in your nature to dissemble, but we cannot afford to look at each other and have our closeness show, you know that.’

‘I know.’ Bel nodded, rubbing her cheek against the warmth of his shirt front. ‘It is all right now.’ She had dissembled for all the years of her marriage, feigning interest and obedience. But that was a very different thing to hiding desire and the intimate knowledge of another person.

‘I am not sure that it is all right,’ Ashe said gravely, running his hands up and down her back. ‘What on earth are you wearing, Bel? I thought I had strayed into a nunnery.’

‘I did not think you would be coming and this is the most boringly respectable nightgown I have. I didn’t want to think about you, you see.’

He gave a snort of laughter and stepped back to study her. Then he frowned. ‘We have a problem. You want to make love, I imagine, but I am very much afraid that garment has killed my passion quite dead, which was obviously the intention of the designer. There is only one thing for it, unless you wish me to leave or to spend the night reading poetry with you.’

‘What?’ Bel enquired, heat pooling inside her. Ashe was teasing her, of course. No man wearing thin skintight knit breeches could pretend he was not aroused when he was.

‘You will just have to seduce me.’ He looked rueful.

‘Seduce you?’ Bel heard her voice squeak. Me? How?

‘Yes, seduce me. On the bearskin rug, I think. The novelty will, perhaps, arouse my jaded appetites.’ Ashe leaned negligently against the bedpost and waited for her reaction.

Jaded appetites, indeed! This was a game. Bel suppressed her immediate reaction, which was to blush and stammer that she did not know how. He probably expected her to do that, but she would not. The sight of him, elegant and hard and all of him—every inch—hers, made her blood sing and her breath come short. She wanted him desperately, she wanted to learn more about lovemaking, she wanted to please him, and herself.

‘Very well, but you must promise to do as I say,’ she ordered boldly. She waited for his nod, noticing with interest the effect her agreement had on him. The pulse under the sharp line of his jaw was very visible, the skin at the base of his throat was flushed and his pupils had begun to dilate, turning the deep sea blue a darker, stormier purple.

Very deliberately Bel undid the top two buttons on her nightgown, but that was all. Then she folded her arms, knowing the action pushed up her breasts, and stood there, considering. If Ashe thought she was going to drape herself all over him like a cat begging for caresses, he was mistaken. ‘Take off your shirt.’

He pulled it over his head, giving her a view of the muscles of his back rippling as he bent right over, then stretched upright, magnificently unselfconscious. Bel stood looking, studying the way his muscles strapped over his ribs, the way his chest hair changed texture as it narrowed down towards his navel. She saw his nipples harden under the caress of her gaze. Power. Such power.