A Question of Impropriety (11 page)

His arms went around her waist, pulled her closer, felt the melting warmth of her. He adjusted her body to his and his lips moved against hers—asked rather than demanded.

There was an innocence about her kiss as if she did not fully understand the passion that could exist between a man and a woman, the passion that threatened to over whelm him. Brett couldn't resist deepening the kiss, flicking his tongue against hers, teasing her. She gave a little moan in the back of her throat and then she stiffened, pulling away. With his last ounce of self-control, Brett allowed her to go. Forced his body to take a step back wards and his ragged breathing to slow. It was harder to do than he imagined, but necessary. He would not force her.

The lesson was over.

This was not the time, nor the place. When she came to him, he wanted to be able to take his time and savour every inch of her. She would come to him, he was certain of that. It was only a matter of time.

‘I believe that is enough for now.'

‘For now?' Her fingers explored her mouth and her sea-green eyes were dilated, wide and alluring, surrounded by dark spiky lashes. He gazed up at the ceiling, trying to concentrate.

His hand reached out and lifted a curl from her shoulder, tucking it back into place. ‘A lesson in waltzing was all I promised. One new thing a day.'

‘I think you ought to go.'

‘I believe that would be a good idea.'

Every particle of him longed to pull her back and kiss her, make her beg him to stay, but it would cause more problems than it would solve. She was far too tempting a morsel for something rushed. And they had been lucky. It was only a matter of time before her maid came searching or one of the servants found a reason to visit the summer house. No, the situation was far from ideal. Right now, right now, he needed to think, to clear his head.

He ran his thumb over her lips. ‘So beautiful, so beautiful.'

Brett turned on his heel and strode out of the house and away from temptation.

 

Diana sat, regarding the toast and tea on the break fast table with a distinctly jaundiced eye. This morning, she had taken pains, dressed in her best blue riding habit and had gone for a gallop, fully expecting to see Brett as she reached the top of the hill. Nothing. It bothered her that she had succumbed, that she had eagerly anticipated seeing him. Bother Brett Farnham and his flirtation!

‘Mind where you put that.' Diana moved Simon's plans away from her coffee cup.

‘The answer is in here, Diana. A bit more steam, a bit more pressure, and the engine will go.'

‘But will the boiler be strong enough?' she asked, turning her mind forcibly away from Brett and his lips. ‘I heard one blew recently at Wylam.'

‘You know nothing about engines, Diana. Don't even start.' Simon snatched up the drawings, knocking over his tea cup. He gave a low curse and then apologised.

Diana spied several letters as well as Simon's copy of the
Newcastle Courant,
half-buried under his massed papers, pens and ink. ‘You should have said something.'

‘I am very busy with the engine.'

Diana reached for the letters. She had recognised Robert's childish scrawl, but frowned at the bold masculine hand of the second letter. With impatient fingers she broke the seal. Her heart dropped further. ‘Lord Coltonby has had to depart for a few days. He hopes to be back soon, but makes no guar an tees.'

‘Why would Coltonby be writing to you?' Simon's green gaze narrowed.

‘He and I have become friends, after a fashion. I told you that we both like driving.' Diana opened Robert's letter. ‘Robert has written from Dr Allen's. He is doing Tacitus and Cicero this term. Hates them both.'

‘I refuse to be distracted with Robert's news. Did Coltonby say why he was departing or where he was going?'

‘Is it important, Simon?' Diana regarded her brother and willed the sudden hollow feeling inside her to go. ‘He has left the neighbourhood.'

‘It means that I have the measure of the man. Lord Coltonby will be no threat to us. He is much the same as Biddlestone.' Simon bent his head and made a few more notations on the plans. ‘And it was far easier than I dared hoped it would be. If you will excuse me, sister, I have work to do.'

‘But don't you want to read Robert's letter?' Diana held the missive out. ‘He has mentioned Henry again, the lad who gave him so much trouble last term.'

A pained look crossed Simon's face. ‘Later, when I have time to answer it. Or, better yet, you answer it. You know what he wants to hear. I am no good at such things.'

Diana stared after her brother. A great feeling of hopeless ness swept over her. There had to be something she could do to help Simon and Robert, but the one person she felt instinctively would give her some advice had gone away. It bothered her that within a few short days she should come to value his opinion. She tapped the letter against her mouth, pondering.

She had to go to the ball, even if Brett was not there. She was tired of hiding in the house. Tired of wearing browns. Tired of running from life.

‘I have changed my mind about the brown silk, Rose,' she said when the maid came in answer to the bell.

‘Yes, miss?'

‘You were right after all. It is only fit for the rag-and-bone man.'

‘You are not going to the ball?'

‘Do you remember the gown that I was going to wear to Vauxhall Gardens, but decided against? The deep rose silk?'

‘Yes, miss, it complimented the colouring in your cheeks.'

‘It came home with me, didn't it?'

‘Yes, miss. It is in the attic.' Rose's eyes widened and she clapped her hands. ‘You want to wear that.'

‘It is a bit out of fashion, I know, but I think it will suffice.'

‘It could be altered…' The maid screwed her face up. ‘I mean, the ball is less than a week away, miss, but it could be done.'

‘Do it, Rose.' Diana caught Rose's hand. ‘Do it for me. I am through being over looked and disregarded.'

 

The white waist coat he wore for Almack's or the patterned one he wore for other balls? Brett checked his appearance for the fourth time. The white one. He wanted every thing to be perfection. Diana Clare would keep her part of the bargain and dance with him. To waltz in anything but his best would not do.

Over the past few days as he had travelled to the various stock markets in Northumberland conducting business, Brett had found it difficult to banish Diana from his mind. The temptation to taste her lips again nearly over powered him and his mind had wandered. In Rothbury, he had ended up missing the one horse that he had wished to acquire. Not a fatal error, but disturbing nevertheless. Normally distance made him forget, but it had only in creased his longing. Her eyes and her mouth had invaded his dreams.

Brett fumbled with his neck cloth, swearing at his own in competence. He then took up another piece of starched linen and began to do the intricate folds. Concentrated. This time, the neck cloth fell into its accustomed shape. All was right with the world.

Tonight he would put the final pieces of his scheme into place, and he would strike. It would be the end of it. A pang of something went through him. Regret? Sorrow? Brett did not stop to analyse. He had enjoyed Diana Clare's company. That was all. Her wit and her refreshing conversation. He frowned. The neck cloth was slightly skewed to the right and looked as if he was still at Eton. His hands went to straighten it. Spoilt it. He tore it off and began again.

‘The neck cloths appear not to be holding their shape this evening, sir, as well as they normally do. Shall I ask for more starch next time?'

‘They are fine as they are.' Brett ignored the growing pile on the ground. Seven at the last count. ‘I was…at tempting a new fold.'

‘And, my lord, if you do not mind me saying, a woman is not worth fretting over. Fickle, they are. Changeable.'

‘I have never fretted over a woman, Vrionis.' Brett lifted his chin, and completed the last precise folds. He stepped back, slipped on the black tail coat. ‘Ever. Remember that.'

‘I know that, sir. I was just saying, like…in case you had forgotten it. The air up here in Northumberland.' His valet brushed a speck of dirt from the coat. ‘Only the other day, I caught myself looking at a piece of skirt, wondering, like, what it would be to have little ones with her. Nearly frightened me out of my breeches. I have given the woman in question a wide berth since then. A very wide berth.'

‘The air has nothing to do with it. I know what I want.
I know why I am going to this ball.' Brett closed his eyes. His first glimpse of Miss Clare at Vauxhall Gardens all those years ago rose before him. A vision in white, her eyes spark ling as she looked around her with great eagerness. Her laughter as the fire works had sparkled overhead. A woman in love with life. Innocent but with promise. He shook his head, willed the image to be gone. ‘I am only going tonight to ensure Miss Clare carries out the terms of our wager. She failed to negotiate the last set of hurdles. I will not have her going back on her word.'

‘As you say, sir, you never fret about a woman.'

E
veryone who was anyone in the Tyne Valley and Newcastle—from the Grand Allies who owned the coal mines and ran the north of England to the various serving officers and their wives—appeared to be at the Bolts' that evening. From joining the queue of carriages to reaching the Bolts' door had taken the Clares' carriage a half-hour, a journey that normally took but a few moments.

Diana adjusted the neckline of the deep rose ballgown. Thankfully her figure remained unaltered from London and Rose had been able to work miracles with her needle and thread.

Lady Bolt's mouth visibly tightened when she and Simon greeted her. However, as Diana took her customary place at the side of the dance floor, she knew that it would take more than an elegant dress to make her the belle of the ball. The men's eyes slid over her and she became in visible as time after time she saw the bright gold en ness of the Honourable Miranda being led out on to the dance floor. It was foolish to even hope that Brett might be attracted to her. He had merely sought her out as a distraction from the boredom
of being buried in the country. Simon had been correct. She had been foolish even to hope and even more foolish to allow that kiss to happen.

Obviously he had removed himself in order to allow the situation time to resolve. Sensible but ultimately disappointing.

Diana forced her mind to concentrate on exchanging plea san tries with various neighbours. Hopefully, after tonight's disappointment, he would stop invading her dreams, filling her with an intense longing, a longing so great that when she woke, her lips ached and her body burnt. It was an affliction, but one from which she would recover in time.

Diana clenched her hand and redoubled her efforts to listen intently to Mrs Sarsfield's explanation of how she had managed to cure her grandchildren's fever with little more than a cold compress. Mrs Sarsfield's cap with its many ribbons positively quivered as she related each detail with increasing animation. Diana felt her eyelids begin to slide shut and struggled to contain her yawn. It would be hours before Simon would want to leave.

A shadow fell across her face and her nerves instantly became awake. Without even looking, she knew who approached. Even Mrs Sarsfield fell silent and her withered cheeks pinkened.

‘Miss Clare, how delightful to see you again.' The purr of Brett's voice flowed over her. ‘I had wondered if you would be here.'

Diana turned her head. She had forgotten how devastating he looked in evening clothes. His broad shoulders neatly filled out the black tail coat, his pristine white neck-cloth was tied to perfection and his black breeches clung to his thighs.

She remembered when Algernon had once pointed Brett
out at the masquerade they had attended the evening after they had become engaged. He had been surrounded by a bevy of beauties, but had lifted a glass of something in her direction and she had looked away, cheeks glowing with heat, desperately confused by her reaction. The same sort of nervous anticipation filled her now. Only this time, she knew it for what it was—desire—and knew what it was like to be held in his arms.

‘Lord Coltonby.' She kept her voice cool, but tightened her grip on her fan and forced her gaze upwards to where the many crystals of Lady Bolt's imported chandelier twinkled. When she felt she had regained her sense, she looked directly into his ever-changing grey eyes and discovered that she had forgotten the multitude of colours therein. She swallowed hard and strove for a normal voice. ‘I see you have returned from your journey? Did you discover every thing you desired?'

‘Most things, but I hurried back for the dance. The evening festivities have been on my mind constantly.'

‘Constantly?' She ignored the sudden fluttering of the butterflies in her stomach.

‘I even let several farmers believe they had got the better of me in order to be here.'

‘Hopefully, that does not mean you made any mistakes in purchasing your horses.' Diana at tempted to keep her voice light, to remember that this conversation was purely for show, but she wanted to believe that he had returned to see her. ‘I would hate to think that, in your haste, you had mistaken the horses' form.'

‘My eye for line and form remains undiminished, even when attempts are made to disguise them.' His eyes travelled slowly down her face and came to rest on her neckline. ‘Definitely undiminished.'

Diana forgot to breathe as she resisted the urge to pull
her lace higher up. She should never have let Rose alter the bodice this low. Her only hope was that he would think the pink of her cheeks was down to the warmth of the room.

‘Are you two acquainted?' Mrs Sarsfield enquired, raising her quizzing glass. ‘I am not sure I have had the pleasure…'

‘Lord Coltonby,' Diana said quickly in an under tone. ‘He has recently acquired the Park.'

‘Oh, I have heard about him. And you. Old friends, Miss Ortner said. And I said that there was more to it than that, but my daughter-in-law refused to believe it.' Mrs Sarsfield gave a distinct nod and smacked her lips together as if she had chanced upon a particularly juicy piece of gossip. ‘Wait until I tell her I have actually met the man in question.'

‘But Mrs Sarsfield…' Diana began.

‘The introductions, if you please, Miss
Diana,
' Brett commanded.

Diana swiftly made the introductions as Mrs Sarsfield beamed and her ribbons quivered. The elderly woman gave a little titter as Brett bent over her hand, treating Mrs Sarsfield as if she was the most important per son age in the room. Two bright spots appeared on her cheeks.

‘I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Clare in London many years ago and made it a point to renew our friendship when I moved up here,' Brett said smoothly as Mrs Sarsfield's effusive greeting died away.

‘My daughter-in-law dismissed my notion out of hand as fanciful. She swore that you two could not possibly have met. And that…well…never you mind.' Mrs Sarsfield stood up. ‘If you will excuse me, I am going to enjoy this.'

Without giving Diana a chance to protest, Mrs Sarsfield hurried away, moving more quickly than Diana had thought possible in a woman of her stature, pausing only to hurriedly whisper to another group of elderly ladies.

‘I believe you have made a stir,' Diana commented. ‘One smile from you and she melted.'

Brett merely lifted one eyebrow. ‘It is you have made the stir in that dress. All I hear is the men asking them selves who the vision in deep rose is and how can they beg an introduction. I came over to stake my claim before there was an insurmountable queue.'

‘And pray, when will this queue develop?' Diana gestured at the empty space in front of her. ‘I have yet to see any sign.'

‘After we dance.' He held out his arm. ‘Shall we? One small cotillion?'

Diana let out a little breath. So it would not be a waltz after all. It was probably safer this way, but she had wanted to feel his arms about her again, however briefly. She refused to let idle compliments turn her head. She was the sensible Diana Clare. The débutante who lived for parties and who had hoped to make a splash in the
ton
had vanished long ago. Her dreams had turned into a nightmare and it was only her rules that now kept her safe.

‘I might step on your feet.'

‘No one will be watching my feet. All eyes will be on my partner.'

‘I had not realised that you had returned,' she said. In another moment, she would follow Mrs Sarsfield's example and melt under his gaze. ‘I had wondered if your business would keep you out of town.'

‘My note said I would appear. Trust me when I say that I keep my promises.'

‘I would have under stood.' Her hands curled tighter around her fan, waiting for the signal that they should go out on the dance floor. ‘I would have under stood if you'd thought better of our rash arrangement. It seems foolish
now that I think about it. This dance will certainly fulfil the terms of our wager.'

Brett's jaw tightened and he slowly looked her up and down. ‘You only think you understand, Miss Diana, but I wonder if you actually do.'

‘Like you, I keep my promises, but I am glad that I came.' Diana dropped her voice. ‘Miranda Bolt gave me black-daggered looks as I entered, but she soon cheered when it became apparent that I was in my customary place, speaking with Mrs Sarsfield.'

‘There is to be a change to your customary place.'

‘You need not worry about that.' Diana made a little gesture with her fan. ‘Simon will look after me once he has finished speaking with Mr Hedley and some of the other Grand Allies. They are discussing the merits of engines.'

‘I promised you a dance. I have come to claim it.' He held out his gloved hand, beckoned to her as the orchestra struck the first notes. ‘A waltz. I did guess correctly after all.'

‘Mrs Sarsfield considers the waltz to be immoral,' Diana said quickly to banish the thoughts of Brett's hand on her shoulder and their bodies moving in time together. ‘She predicts it will never be accepted by society. Her daughters-in-law all agree. She has been most vocal on the subject.'

‘And I predict that it will be danced at Almack's in the very near future. Its popularity is growing on the Continent.' His fingers curled around hers, pulled her towards the dance floor. ‘The time for speaking has ended. Now you can show me how you practised in my absence.'

‘I know the theory from our lesson.'

‘But as in life, the practice is very different. Relax and let the music be your guide. I shall go wherever you wish. Even out into the moon light, if that is your fancy.'

‘I believe I shall decline at present.' Diana drew a deep
breath. This was flirtation for the benefit of others. She had to remain calm and offhand, no matter how much the feeling of warmth was enveloping her.

‘When the opportune moment arises, you must try it.' His hand tightened on her waist, burnt against the silk. ‘I believe you will find the experience quite rewarding.'

A warm shiver went down her spine. Ruthlessly, Diana sup pressed it. She was never going to dance with Brett in the moon light.

‘Shall we concentrate on this dance, rather than speculate on others?' Diana nodded towards the dance floor where several couples, led by Miranda Bolt and a red-coated officer, were assembling. At the sight of Diana, Miss Bolt's face took on a petulant expression. ‘Miss Bolt does not appear at all pleased with the turn of events.'

‘Wait until she sees how you dance.' The corners of his mouth twitched. Diana swallowed hard and at tempted to remember the intricate steps as she placed her hand on his shoulder. Her whole being was aware of him.

She managed to get through the first few steps without treading on Brett's toes. Gradually her feet appeared to remember the steps he had taught her and she grew in confidence. His hand seemed to burn a brand on her waist and his fingers gently held hers. Their limbs moved together in time to the music.

‘Your mastery surprises me, Miss Diana,' Brett said as they slowly circled the room. ‘I fear your days warming a chair will have ended with this dance. Already I see several soldiers lining up to usurp my place. You will have to be careful to keep your feet on the ground.'

‘Not all of my life was spent as a wall flower, Lord Coltonby.' Diana kept her chin up. ‘I know the perils of giving credence to compliments.'

‘We agreed—Brett.'

‘But Lord Coltonby feels safer,' Diana returned, and concentrated on a point over his left shoulder rather than the intent expression in his eyes.

‘Does he?' Brett expertly spun her around so she was once again forced to look him in the face. An unholy light danced in his eyes. ‘Would you care to wager on this, Miss Clare?'

Before Diana could think of a suitably crushing reply, the music stopped. Diana breathed deeply and smiled. Before she could escape from the floor, a queue of officers had formed, all begging for the favour of a dance. Diana found she had little option but to accept. And all the joy and pleasure she had once had in music and ballrooms came back to her. Once or twice as she circled the ballroom floor, she was certain Brett's eyes were on her, but each time that she looked, he appeared deep in conversation with someone else.

 

‘Ah, Lord Coltonby, you are here. My sister thought you had departed from the district.' Simon Clare blocked Brett's view of the dance floor. ‘But I knew you would not miss this dance.'

‘Clare, it is good to see you again.' Brett kept his eyes on Diana, who was dancing yet another cotillion, laughing up into the face of some red-coated soldier for a moment longer than was strictly necessary. A surge of white-hot anger coursed through him. ‘The ball is very pleasant.'

‘Quite a change from the fare you are used to in London, I would imagine.'

‘A welcome change.'

‘As you may have heard, I have been working on a travelling engine. It is showing real promise. But it is an investment that I cannot miss.' Simon Clare pulled a tightly folded sheaf of papers from the inside pocket of his coat.
‘I have some papers here, if you wish to glance at them. A number of the others have expressed an interest. Of course, Sir Norman pro claims that his will go better, but I fear he is mistaken. It will never run.'

‘In the middle of a ball? Are you mad, man?' Brett swung around to face Diana's brother. The man would never change. Business, always business. ‘You may send the papers over in the morning.'

‘If that is what you wish…if you think you cannot make sense of them tonight.' Clare returned the papers to his pocket. ‘I naturally bow to your wishes.'

Brett regarded him through narrowed eyes. Exactly what was his game? Was he simply inept at social conversation or was there something more sinister? He would give Clare the benefit of the doubt. ‘My head is perfectly clear.'

Clare's cheeks flushed slightly. ‘Sir Cuthbert always encouraged me to bring the papers to any function we might be attending. It saved time. He preferred the hurdy-gurdy of the dance for pushing the pen.'