How to Beguile a Beauty (20 page)

With Nicole for a sister, and Helen Daughtry as her mother, Lydia had to know…the mechanics of the thing. But her fingers didn't falter, even as the last button slid from its moorings and she touched a hand to his bare chest.

Branding him hers forever.

She wanted him. She at least wanted something. She'd been hovering around the edges of life for all of her years. He knew it, she had said as much. Even her love for Fitz had not broken her free from whatever safe cocoon she'd felt she'd needed.

But now she was here, and he was here, and she'd chosen him to make her feel alive. The world wouldn't dare to tear them apart now…

He tugged his shirttails free of his fawn trousers, grateful that Justin's insistence on dressing for supper had forced him into evening shoes rather than high-top boots. He stepped out of them now, and then dismissed the thought as unimportant.

Because he was undoing the long thin ribbons on
Lydia's dressing gown now, kissing each bare shoulder as he gently eased the material aside until the gown lay puddled at her feet.

She was looking at him, not blinking, her breasts rising and falling as her breaths quickened, went shallow.

“I said I'd never hurt you,” he told her, pulling her close, cupping her rounded buttocks as he introduced her to his arousal. “But that's not possible, Lydia. Not this one time. You know that, don't you?”

“I know that,” she said, her palms against his chest, her blue eyes clear, untroubled by any notion that she was making a mistake. “Maman explained it to us. She was very explicit.”

Tanner suppressed a wince. Helen Daughtry had the morals of a cat; the entire
ton
knew about her appetites. “Then you…know.”

“I know what she said. But Nicole promised me it's nothing like anything Maman said.”

A small smile tugged at Tanner's mouth. “Oh she did, did she. And what did your sister say?”

“Just that. It's nothing like anything our mother told us. And then she smiled, rather the way you're doing now, as a matter of fact. Tanner, must we talk? If you've changed your mind I certainly under—”

His answer was to pick her up and deposit her in the center of the turned-down bed, then follow her down. He pulled the covers up and over them, even though he longed to not just touch her, possess her, but to see her. But that might frighten her.

He was careful to kiss her without attempting
anything more intimate until he could tell by her reaction that her body was telling her it needed more, that there had to be more.

Only then did he place his hand on the curve of her hip, drawing her slightly onto her side, in closer contact with his own body. When he cupped her breast she made a small mewling sound deep in her throat. He could feel her nipple harden against his hand.

The bud, still covered by her nightrail, was irresistible to him and he closed finger and thumb around it, lightly tugging on it as he began to plunder her mouth. He ran his tongue over the roof of her mouth, lightly nipped at her bottom lip before drawing her tongue into his own mouth, his body tensing as she began her own tentative exploration.

When he could bear no more, he reached down, took a fistful of cloth, and began tugging up her nightrail, whispering nonsense words of encouragement as she lifted her hips, making it easier for him.

The feel of her silken skin, her sweet, untutored reaction to his touch, was like a benediction to him, and an impossible to ignore invitation.

Somehow he managed to rid himself of shirt and trousers and hose, all while never moving more than a whisper from Lydia, every moment not spent touching her an agony to him.

Fingers spread, he settled his hand on her flat belly, leaving it there for long moments as he kissed her mouth, her eyelids, her throat. She slid one arm up and over his shoulder, turning more toward him, her body
moving restlessly. If he needed, she also needed. She was telling him so with her body.

He pressed her onto her back once more, and dared a new intimacy.

The skin between her thighs was like warm silk. She tensed at first, and again he was careful to go slow, even as his own body was crying out to cover her, possess her.

“It's all right, sweetheart,” he whispered as he slid one leg over hers, wrapping his lower leg around her calf, letting her feel him, urging her legs apart. “Let me touch you. The rest will be easier if you let me touch you.” He found the center of her, her sweet heat, and stroked her until he felt her hips lifting with each stroke, seeking his touch. “Yes, that's it. It's good, isn't it? So very good. Let it happen, sweetheart. Just let it happen.”

“But what…I…”

Hovering over her, looking down into her face, watching her eyelids flutter closed as she tipped back her head, Tanner at last understood why he'd been born. He'd been put on this earth to love this woman. Protect her, comfort her. Laugh with her, cry with her. Love her…always love her.

Lydia's eyelids flew open and she looked up at him in sudden surprise. Her hips lifted one more time, then stilled. He covered her mouth with his as he felt the small convulsions of her body, the glory of feeling she hadn't known existed until that moment.

And then, before he could tell himself that he should hold her now, calm her, and then leave her, he levered
himself over her completely and sank into her. He felt the resistance, but it was quickly gone and he was deep inside her, his heart beating so fast he wouldn't have been surprised if it burst in his chest.

“It's all right, it's all right,” he told her as she raised both arms around him, digging her fingertips into his bare back. “Let me love you.”

She kissed his chest, his throat, his face, as if she needed the feel of him, the taste of him. Her passion became his passion. He moved slowly at first, still worried for her, but when she began to move in rhythm with him it was impossible to resist her sweet temptation.

Bracing his hands on either side of her head, he raised himself up as he thrust into her again and again, faster and faster, until she gave a small cry that seemed to trigger his own release.

He collapsed against her, spent, his breathing ragged, his heart still racing at a gallop.

He'd thought himself experienced. As Justin would have termed it, a man of the world. But making love to—no,
with
—Lydia was something totally out of his experience. He'd never cared so much, never wanted so much, never needed to hold a woman afterwards as he did now. Just to be with her, just to feel her head resting against his shoulder, just to listen to her even breathing as she slept…wondering if her dreams were of him. Praying that they were…

L
YDIA WAS COMFORTABLY
sore when she woke, and alone. The room was still dark, the fire almost dead in the grate. She wondered what time it was, and if she'd somehow sensed Tanner leaving, and that had wakened her.

Turning on her side, she hugged the pillow that carried his scent close to her, burying her nose in its softness.

And then she giggled.

Charlotte had told her to give him a little nudge.

Sometimes, honorable as gentlemen feel themselves required to be, it takes a…a bit of a nudge from the woman who knows what's best for him. And for her, of course.

Lydia supposed she'd done more than that. She'd all but begged Tanner to kiss her, to carry her to bed.

Think about letting go, just a little.

Only a little? “Oh, Charlotte, you couldn't know what it is to soar above the clouds, if you could say something like that. Or maybe you did…”

Lydia turned onto her back and stared up at the
ceiling, feeling rather stupid. She saw it now, how they had all conspired to shake her out of her doldrums. The lowered necklines. Rafe's quick agreement to a week at Malvern. Charlotte's
little nudge.
Why, they'd all but given her permission, set the table for her, and told her to enjoy her meal.

Because they'd all known what she had been fighting against for so long; her feelings for Tanner. And, obviously, they all approved.

How could they have known of his feelings for her? How could they have been so certain?

Her eyes went wide. “He told them. It's the only way.”

She could recite from Molière, quote full verses from a dozen poets or more. She knew a smattering of Greek, could conjugate verbs in nearly flawless French. She could name every capital of every country in Europe. She could recite the history of the English monarchy throughout all of its twisted pathways by rote.

But she didn't know when a man was in love with her?

With her beloved captain, it had been different. She had been different. Young, knowing nothing of what it truly meant to love a man, what it felt like to need to be always near him, constantly long to touch him. To want everything he could give her, everything she could offer him in return…with no hesitation, no hint of shame.

Her love for Fitz had been a quiet love, a simple love.
Fitz had been long winter afternoons spent before a roaring fire at Ashurst Hall, reading Shakespeare together, listening to tales of his boyhood in Dublin, feeling important to someone. She hadn't been ready for more, and Fitz had somehow known that. He'd been her first step toward womanhood.

Tanner was the smile that warmed her all over. The voice she could listen to for hours. The distinctive footfalls on the tiles in the foyer that always set her heart racing. The face that lived in her dreams.

She'd hated him so much when he'd come to tell them about Fitz. She'd feared him more when his face began taking Fitz's place in her dreams. She hadn't been ready for him last year and had avoided him on his infrequent visits to Ashurst Hall. She hadn't been ready for the way he made her feel.

But never could she forget him.

Now she knew why.

The captain was her past, a very important part of her past. He was her beginning.

Tanner was her everything. Her today, and all of her tomorrows.

Lydia used a corner of the sheeting to wipe at her damp eyes and hugged the pillow close once more. Life wasn't easy, being able to feel could be a blessing or a curse…but she was ready for it, all of it. With Tanner, she was even eager for every moment.

Time had this way of moving on, and with its sure passage, the bad faded, and a person could once more open herself, open her heart, to what was good. There
was more than one chance in life, and only a fool wouldn't see that, and take that chance. As Tanner had said, they owed that to those who couldn't move forward with them.

She snuggled beneath the sheets, looking toward the window dotted with raindrops that must have fallen earlier, hoping for dawn so that she could see Tanner again. There might be some awkwardness at first, having just been so intimate with each other, but her eagerness to see him immediately banished that worry from her mind. If she could just sleep again, the time would pass more quickly…

She closed her eyes, and then opened them again nearly as quickly, alert to a noise from somewhere behind her. But only the wall was behind her, the one between her chamber and Jasmine's.

What was that sound? Is that why she'd awakened in the first place?

Pushing down the covers, Lydia climbed out of her bed and put her ear to the wall. And heard it again. The sound of weeping.

“Oh, for goodness' sake,” Lydia grumbled, knowing that she couldn't ignore that sound, much as she wished she could. Using the tinderbox on the table beside her bed, she lit her single candle and quickly looked about to locate her dressing gown. There was no clock in the chamber, but she could nearly make out clouds in the sky, so it must be close to dawn.

Had Jasmine been crying all night? Was she even now sobbing in her sleep? And for what? She'd behaved
irrationally at supper, childishly. Lydia, as was the case for most even-tempered people, had little sympathy for the girl's histrionics…but that didn't mean she could go back to bed and pretend she hadn't heard her.

Picking up her candle, she quietly let herself out of her chamber after peering up and down the hallway, hoping it wasn't late enough for the maids to be stirring. Assured she wouldn't be discovered, she padded on bare feet to Jasmine's door and knocked.

“Jasmine? Jasmine, it's Lydia. Please, may I come in?”

“No! No, go away!”

Lydia rolled her eyes. Really, she may not be much for intrigue and stealth herself, but Jasmine's lack outstripped hers by a good measure. “The whole inn will be standing out here with me if you don't lower your voice. Now let me in or I'll find someone to summon Tanner.”

She counted to ten under her breath and was just about to knock once more when the door opened a few inches and she slipped inside. A quick glance to her left told her that Jasmine's bed was placed directly on the wall that separated the two rooms.

If she had heard Jasmine, had Jasmine heard her? And Tanner? That could prove embarrassing.

Once her eyes had become accustomed to the dimness, Lydia went about the small chamber, using her candle to light several others, before she turned to look at Jasmine.

The girl was clad in a rather fetching dressing gown embroidered with yellow rosebuds. Her dark hair hung
loosely past her shoulders, framing her small, almost elfin face. She really was beautiful…until she opened her mouth and let her tongue run on wheels, that is.

“What's that on your cheek?” Lydia asked after a moment, lifting her candle and walking toward the girl. “No, don't turn away from me. Your left cheek looks…bruised.”

Jasmine pressed a hand against her tear-wet cheek. “It's…it's all my own fault. I behaved so badly last night at supper. I don't know what came over me, I really don't, Lydia. I suppose I was hungry. Papa says I'm never nasty except when I need to be fed. But then I left the supper room without so much as a bite.”

“I believe that's called cutting off one's nose to spite one's face,” Lydia pointed out quietly. “But I thought Tanner was going to have a tray sent up to your room.”

Jasmine nodded furiously. “Oh, he did, he did. But I simply couldn't eat by then, having told myself I deserved to be miserable. Papa would have been infuriated if he could have seen me. He says to be careful to always make a good impression on Tanner. I sent away the tray without taking so much as a bite.”

“A nose and one ear,” Lydia muttered, shaking her head. “But what does that have to do with that bruise on your cheek?”

At last Jasmine lowered her hand, and Lydia got a good look at her cheek. The skin wasn't broken in any way. Her cheek was red, swollen. And there was something else. Evidence of a slight abrasion along the right side of her chin.

Very like the one Lydia had needed to cover with rice powder before going down to supper.

A day earlier, and Lydia wouldn't have known what she was seeing. But a day earlier had been a lifetime ago in experience. Now, she knew, and her first thought went to schoolmaster Bruce Beattie. Was he here? Had he ridden from Malvern because she'd somehow sent a message to him, and he couldn't bear to wait until tomorrow to see her? Had Jasmine slipped out of the inn to see him? But, no, she couldn't ask those questions. She'd have to explain too much in order to ask those questions.

Jasmine crossed to the small dressing table set in front of the single window and sat down, inspecting her reflection in the fly-spotted mirror.

“Oh, dear, I really did it, didn't I? You don't suppose I broke anything, do you?” She touched two fingers to her cheek, wincing, before wiping away her tears with the hem of her dressing gown.

“I can't be the judge of that if you don't tell me what happened.”

Jasmine turned her back on the mirror, her bottom lip trembling. “It does hurt, Lydia. That's why I was crying. I'm so sorry I disturbed you. Inn walls are so thin, aren't they? Do you know gentlemen often sleep six or more to a room in places like this? I can't imagine how anyone could—”

“Jasmine,” Lydia interrupted without a trace of regret, “you can prattle on all you like, but I will continue to ask my question, and sooner or later you will answer me. Me, or Tanner. It's your choice.”

“Why? Is it important in some way that everyone know how foolish I was? I didn't know you could be so cruel.”

“Neither did I, but I seem to be discovering that there are limits to my patience. You are fast approaching one of those limits.”

Jasmine sighed, her slim shoulders rising and falling half in petulance, half in resignation. “Oh, very well, since you're going to be that way. It's all so stupid. Mildred offered to sleep in here with me, and I should have agreed, but I didn't. So I didn't know where she was in this place, and I was
so
hungry. So…so I went searching for her.”

“Like that? In your dressing gown?” That Jasmine possessed a healthy appetite did not come as any shock. There was, after all, that business with the sugared buns in the not so distant past. But she'd actually go traipsing about the inn in the dead of night to feed it? That was unsettling.

“The servant stairs are just outside my door, across the hallway. It wasn't as if anyone would
see
me, Lydia. I'm not such a dunce. The stairs lead up to the attics and straight down to the kitchens.”

Lydia rubbed at the back of her neck as she perched herself on the side of the bed, suddenly feeling very much older than Tanner's cousin. “And which way did you go?”

“Well,
up
, of course,” Jasmine said, her tone implying that this was a question silly in the extreme. “I know nothing of kitchens. How could I? So I held my
candle high and tiptoed carefully up the stairs, calling out Mildred's name. But she never answered me, and I belatedly considered the possibility that the male servants of the inn patrons might be sleeping in the attics, as well. Tanner's man, and the baron's, and possibly even more. That gave me pause, I must admit to you, so I turned on the landing to make good my escape. But I forgot to be careful. I tripped on the hem of my gown—Mildred will hear about that, I tell you, as I've warned her that this hem is too long—and very nearly came to grief before I could catch myself. But not before I'd landed very heavily against the wall, and hit my cheek. I don't think it's broken. It can't be broken, can it?”

“How badly does it hurt?”

“Not so much anymore,” Jasmine admitted. “But I was very frightened for those few moments I believed I might plunge to my death. I'll have nightmares for months and months of tumbling down dark stairs.”

Lydia remained unmoved by the girl's tears, but offered, “I sincerely hope not. And what about your chin?”

“My chin?” Jasmine tentatively touched the center of her chin.

“No, not there. On the right side of your face. Far away from the bruise on your cheek where you collided with the wall, I would think. Did you perhaps
bounce?
”

When Jasmine turned on the low bench, to inspect her chin in the mirror, Lydia bent down and picked up one of the girl's slippers, abandoned on the carpet. She turned it over, touched its soft kid sole, and felt
dampness. Quickly, she dropped the slipper beside its mate, her only conclusion the obvious one.

Jasmine had been outside.

She was leaning close to the mirror now, touching one finger to her chin. “Is this what you were referring to, Lydia? My goodness, I can't imagine what happened. Unless it is these terribly rough sheets. When I was crying, you understand, and trying to hide my sobs by screwing my face into the pillow. I have such tender skin, you understand. Ah, to be like the baron, and be able to afford to travel with my own linens. But that is neither here nor there, is it?”

She pushed back the bench and stood up, turning to smile at Lydia. “I'm feeling much better now, although very stupid for having wakened you. Please, go back to bed. I promise to be quiet now. Unless the hungry growling of my empty stomach can be heard through walls?”

Lydia got to her feet, barely able to look at the girl. She wanted to be on the other side of that door, as far from Jasmine as possible. But with her hand on the latch, she gave in to temptation. “Yes, you never got as far as the kitchens, did you? A pity there are none of Tanner's cook's sugared buns left anywhere. Well, good night, for whatever is left of it.”

Jasmine's gaze slid quickly toward her reticule before she straightened her shoulders and looked at Lydia once more.

Had the fairly vacant eyes now narrowed with…what? Cunning? A pretty girl, her face didn't wear that
particular expression very well. “Yes,” she said, and then sighed. “Lydia, may I ask you something?”