Lynd regarded her a moment, his expression unperturbed. Thus she was startled when suddenly he burst, "What in the name of the devil's backside are you doing?"
She flinched but recovered quickly. "I have no idea what you mean."
"Oh, yes you do." He glowered at her. "You still love that scapegrace, don't you?"
He was hovering over her, suddenly so big, dark and menacing she was tempted to step backward but held her ground. "He's not a scapegrace."
"You're avoiding the issue. Damme
." Lynd rolled his eyes upward in frustration. "I am completely dumbfounded that you, married to one of the finest men on earth, would deign to spend so much as a passing thought upon that selfish, conceited—"
"You have already called him a scapegrace," she hotly interrupted. "Isn't that enough? I thought he was your friend."
"Friend, yes, but that doesn't mean..." Lynd bit his lip in irritation. "My friendship with Richard has nothing to do with the fact he should be dragged through the horse pond for jilting you."
"You let me worry about that," she retorted, not attempting to conceal her anger. "Can't you see you're wrong about Lord Dashwood? He did
not
jilt me. I am not sure why he failed to ask Papa for my hand, but he must have had his reasons."
"I shall sum up all his reasons for you in one short word— Greed! Are you so blinded by love you cannot see?"
"All I can see is that Lord Dashwood is noble, honorable, and pure-hearted in every way, whereas you, sir, are a cad."
He stared at her in amazement. "I'm the cad?"
"Yes, because you are saying such beastly things."
Lynd started to answer, stopped himself, and threw up his hands. "What are we doing?" he asked softly, "I am only trying to tell you that I worry you'll—"
"I'll what?" she asked sharply, "that I'll forget my marriage vows and run off with Lord Dashwood?"
"If you want the truth, yes."
"That won't happen. If you knew me well enough, you would know I'd never do a thing so dishonorable. I shall always hold to my marriage vows, but that doesn't keep me from—" she looked around the entry way, making sure they were alone "—loving Lord Dashwood until the day I die."
"Ha!" retorted Lynd, all softness gone from his voice again. "And what happens when Richard comes visiting, which he will, you know, sooner or later. How will you resist, some night after your old, crippled husband retires, and there he is, your golden lover, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, eager to take you to his bed?"
"He is too honorable ever to do such a thing."
"Spare me. I know Richard, and I know what he'll try. And you will go, I know you will."
"I will not," she retorted through gritted teeth, fighting to keep her voice down.
"Oh, yes you will." Lord Lynd settled back on his heels, crossed his arms, and regarded her with total disgust. "Imagine, the Hero of Seedaseer cuckolded by a selfish, head-in-the-clouds, dim-witted female who's stupid enough to love a rake not worthy of her little finger."
Flora stared at him a moment, so angry she had trouble untangling her words. "Lord Dinsmore will never be a cuckold. Even if he were, why should he care? We don't have that kind of a marriage."
"What do you mean?" Lynd inquired, puzzled, his voice suddenly softer.
"We are friends, that's all."
"Friends," he scoffed. "That's ridiculous. Are you saying you two are not—?"
"We most certainly are not."
"You won't be having children?" He looked amazed.
She answered in a scathing voice, "I may be young, sir, and inexperienced, but I am aware what causes babies, so no, I won't be having any. I repeat, Lord Dinsmore and I are just good friends and intend to stay that way."
"The coach is ready, sir," called a stable boy who had just poked his head through the front door.
Flora swiveled quickly, turning her back to her host. "I cannot tell you how wrong you are," she called over her shoulder as she hastened toward the door. She knew her voice was shaking but she didn't care. "I shall never break my marriage vows, despite what you say."
After a minute or so, Lord Lynd followed her outside. He seemed to have collected himself because his voice was calm as he inquired, "So what now? Are you game for another lesson in four-in-hand, or would you rather sulk?"
Quit now? Never
. "Of course I want another lesson."
“Wait, I’ll help you up.”
“I shall climb up myself," Flora proclaimed, still so angry she hadn't a care whether or not she fell flat on her face. She placed her foot on the axle, catching Lynd watching from the portico out of the corner of her eye. She extended her left foot to the first tiny step above, making no effort to keep her skirt down.
Let him look
. She stepped higher with her right foot, totally ignoring her sliding skirt.
Let him get his eyes full
. By now, a most shocking amount of leg was showing, but she would die before she'd reach to cover it.
You are a wicked, wicked girl
, came her mother's voice from afar.
Yes I am
, she agreed with great satisfaction as she slid to the seat and finally, with a great show of modesty, tugged her skirt down. From beneath lowered lashes, she ventured a glance at Lord Lynd. He still stood on the steps, his face that of the perfect host, friendly but unfathomable. “Well are you coming?” she inquired. Silently he climbed up and took his place beside her.
She took up the ribbons and drove home at a respectable pace, neither exchanging a word. At the portico of Pemberly Manor, she climbed down, in a much more decorous manner than she’d climbed up, and tilted her head back to say good-bye. Remembering her husband’s invitation, she sweetly called, “Good-bye, sir, and I almost forgot. Lord Dinsmore wants you and Lady Beasley to come to dinner next Saturday.”
“My sister is busy, but I am happy to accept. It’s informal, I trust.”
A look passed between them. Although his face showed no emotion, something flared in his eyes for an instant deep within. She knew what it was.
Desire.
Lynd wanted her. She was positive he did because women simply knew those things. She could always tell when a man was attracted to her, an easy task when they fawned and gave her fancy compliments, but in Lord Lynd's case...
Despite his harsh words in the entryway, despite his hardly ever paying her a compliment, she knew, from the look in his eyes alone, he had a special feeling for her.
Suddenly she was ashamed. Even if Lord Lynd did lust after her, honor alone would keep him from ever expressing his feelings. So what had she just done? Acted like a jade, that’s what. Taunting, teasing him with a flash of bare flesh, with no other reason than spite and wanting to hurt him for the rotten things he'd said.
She regretted, too, the look she'd given him, a look that had proclaimed, Feast your eyes. I know you desire me, but I don't want you, and I'm angry enough to give you a peek at what you, sir, will never have.
No matter that she had taken her revenge in one of the few ways a woman could. Her parading herself in front of him was a mean, childish thing to do. Immoral, too, considering she was now a married woman.
But guilty though she felt, she could not help remembering what fun she'd had this afternoon. Driving four-in-hand was every bit as exciting as she thought it would be. She could hardly wait for her next lesson with Lord Lynd, wrong-headed as he was, as her instructor.
But despite her euphoria over four-in-hand, Lynd's words kept coming back to her.
He should be dragged through the horse pond for jilting you
. Oh, never! Lynd simply did not understand.
How are you going to resist some night after your old, crippled husband retires...
How dare Lord Lynd say such a thing. So totally untrue, so totally, totally...
She is about to ascend the staircase when she feels the warm touch of Richard's hand on her arm. "Lord Dinsmore has gone up to bed."
"I'm going, too."
"Stay
." His fingers stroke her arm, causing little tingles. "God, I've missed you."
"Richard, you must not."
"But I must. Oh, Flora, I love you. I shall never forgive myself for losing you. One kiss, that's all I ask, then I shall go away."
Before she can stop him, his arms are around her and he crushes her to his strong, lean body. His mouth hungrily covers hers and suddenly she's aflame, the pit of her stomach in a wild swirl. She returns his kiss, eagerly, passionately. Finally he breaks away and looks down at her with his big, blue pleading eyes. "Come to my room, my darling. Father need never know. How could it be wrong when we love each other so much?"
"I..."
She caught herself. Good grief, what was she thinking? Was there no end to her wickedness? She thought again of how shabbily she'd treated Lord Lynd. When she found the opportunity, she would apologize for her less-than-ladylike behavior. She would even show a modicum of regret for her heated words, despite the fact that she was right, and he, not seeing Richard for the truly wonderful man he was, was completely wrong.
* * * *
When Sidney arrived home, he turned the coach over to his coachman, headed inside, straight to his study, which he entered and slammed the door, servants be damned.
God's blood, what a scene. He fell into his desk chair and dropped his head in his hands. Bad enough, he'd lost his temper. He, who always prided himself on his never-failing, temperate demeanor. He never allowed anything to upset him—remained calm and reasonable at all times. Except today. The very thought of that hare-brained girl still carrying the torch for Richard had so shocked him, he'd become...no other way to put it, temporarily deranged.
Such shocking disloyalty. She didn't deserve such a fine man as Lord Dinsmore. She wasn't fit to kiss his feet.
No, not true. Smothering a groan, Sidney threw himself back in his chair and regarded the ceiling. With whom should he be honest, if not himself? So he had to admit the truth: that it was not her disloyalty to Dinsmore that upset him, it was the shocking, irrefutable fact that despite his hitherto unquestioned loyalty to the great Hero of Seedapore, he, the honorable Lord Lynd, had fallen hopelessly in love with Lord Dinsmore's wife.
He had known before today that he liked her—very much, in fact. But it wasn't until this afternoon, when she come flying up the driveway atop the coach, bonnet bouncing on her back, its ribbons streaming, shining hair flying in the breeze, cheeks glowing with excitement, dainty hands firmly gripping the reins, that he realized how much he wanted her.
Sidney groaned and covered his eyes. No. He must not even think it. His father raised him to be a gentleman, and so he would be, always remaining true to his code of honor. He might not like it, of course, but he must not even dream of lusting after his neighbor's wife, especially when that neighbor was one of the finest, most courageous men he had ever known.
So he must live with his love for Lady Flora tightly bound up within himself, never to be spoken of, or hinted at in any way. What rotten fortune she was his neighbor. Time and again, their paths would cross. Each time, seeing her would be a powerful temptation he must resist.
Perhaps in time...surely his passion would fade.
Not now, though. He didn't even want to think about the counterfeit performance he'd be obliged to give when he dined at Pemberly Manor. He would play his part as the old family friend, but it would be difficult. He knew because even after all his stern admonitions to himself, deep inside there was a part of him that looked forward to seeing the tantalizing Lady Flora once again, and for all the wrong reasons.
Chapter 12
The following Saturday, when Flora greeted Lord Lynd in the drawing room, she could not help but note how handsome he looked in his dark wool cutaway coat, fairly tight breeches and perfectly tied cravat—much fancier than what he usually wore.
Since Lord Dinsmore had not yet come down to dinner, Flora knew this was the perfect opportunity for her to apologize; yet, given Lynd's friendly but faintly remote demeanor, she hesitated. Only for a moment, though. Obviously, he was thinking of their last, less than cordial, meeting. Part of it had been her fault and she really must set things straight. Now might be the only chance she'd have all evening.
She cleared her throat. Her heart beat a little faster as she regarded Lynd, sitting casually across, and began, "About our last discussion."
“Discussion?” Lord Lynd dryly repeated, "I believe you mean argument."
"All right, argument." He was not being very nice. "I wanted to say—"
"Don't. The whole unfortunate incident is best forgotten."
"No it's not." She decided to forge ahead, despite his unpleasantness. "I was rude. I said things I shouldn't have."
"So you're apologizing?"
"Well, yes." Couldn't he at least smile? She hated the detached expression in his eyes.
"You're forgiven," he said, the soul of politeness. "I accept your apology." He paused, as if reluctant to continue and finally managed, "I, too, was rude."