Regency 09 - Redemption Read online

  The duke pulled up before Brooks’s Gentleman’s Club. As Dare made to climb down, Denbigh said, “Remember those words, Darius Prestwich, every time you see Jenny. She deserves better.”

  Chapter Seven

  At first, the duke’s comments did not bother Dare. But as he contemplated them, he became more and more angry. So he had made one very stupid, careless mistake in his youth. Why must everyone hold it against him and make him feel as though he was not worth the dirt under their boots?

  Dare was in an unpredictable mood by the time he returned home later that evening. He walked in the door to be informed that he was expected to escort Bri and Aurora by himself as Miles had come down suddenly with a cold. He nearly swore but something hard inside him made him tell Bri he would, of course, be delighted to escort her and her friend.

  Bri actually shivered at the expression on his face when he said it.

  When he reached his room, Dare stood before his mirror and stared at his reflection. Perhaps he should cut his hair, he thought dispassionately. He had had enough derogatory comments about it and he was about fed up with them. But he liked his hair. Perhaps he would give it some more thought before he did anything so drastic.

  He spun away and marched across the room, entering his dressing room to change. Just as he shrugged out of his tight-fitting jacket and loose shirt, he heard a quiet scratching on his bedchamber door. With no thought for his half-naked state, he marched back across and threw the door open.

  “What?” he barked, the unpredictability in his mood making itself known. He was never rude to servants.

  Adam’s butler, West, gave Dare a blank look and said solemnly, “This was delivered for you earlier, sir. I was informed to deliver it to you personally.”

  He handed over a small square of paper with no outstanding markings anywhere on it to indicate from whom it may have come. The seal was plain wax and of a color anyone could have. There were no smells attached to it and nothing written on it.

  Dare took it with a curious look and asked, “Who delivered it?”

  “A young boy, sir,” replied the butler woodenly.

  Dare stared at it a second longer, then, recalling the butler’s presence, muttered, “Thank you, West,” and shut the door in the man’s face.

  He took the note over to the window and sat down at the table situated there. Cracking the seal, he opened it and started to read. An incredulous expression settled on his countenance when he’d finished. He looked up and stared straight ahead for a few moments, not quite sure what to do. His dark blue eyes flashed back down at the feminine handwriting.

  This was a coil, to be sure. Lady Genevieve could not have thought this through. What she was asking went against everything he believed and practiced as a gentleman.

  He was positive she had told no one of her letter or intent, even her sister. He was also sure she would not. He wondered what drove the girl. Was she actually attracted to him or was she just after the proverbial forbidden fruit? If her family was diligent enough to warn him away from her, he knew they would warn her about him. Perhaps they’d even gone so far as to…

  And why wouldn’t they? Dare gave himself a shake. Of course, that was what the important thing was that she wanted to speak to him about. Her family must have told her about Belinda Markwell.

  He stood up and stretched his arms far up over his head. He would have had to tell her at some point, he thought in resignation. He just hoped she’d listen.

  Two hours later Dare was bathed and fully dressed in dark jacket, tight silver breeches, silver waistcoat embroidered with gold thread, starched cravat tied just so with a black pearl stuck—in the usual haphazard fashion—through the folds, pristine white linen, and shiny black dancing shoes with silver buckles. He assessed his appearance critically in the long mirror and decided he would have to do. His hair was tied securely at his nape with a silver silk ribbon. He grinned suddenly, feeling an unusual tremor of excitement as he left the room.

  “Dare! It’s about time, you clunch,” admonished Bri with a mock glare as soon as he entered the drawing room. “Well, at least you are ready at last.” She grinned suddenly. “You look very well.”

  “As do you, Bri, as always,” he returned, his eyes glowing with appreciation at the seductive appearance that she made in her clinging sapphire silk. “Adam is a very lucky man.”

  She thanked him, hurrying them out the door.

  They were fashionably late for Lady Riesley’s ball. Her daughter, Mirabel, was making her comeout and no expense had been spared. It was one of the premier events of the Season.

  And Dare, with a thrum of excitement snaking through his veins, wished desperately that he were anywhere else.

  He entered with his party, unobtrusively scanning the crowded ballroom for Lady Genevieve Northwicke. He spotted her on the dance floor, waltzing with some nonentity of a man.

  An unaccountable stab of what felt suspiciously like jealousy speared him through the gut. It was all he could do to stay where he was and not go charging across the floor, intent on bodily harm.

  Firmly restraining the impulse, he smiled a greeting to their hostess, who still stood in the receiving line although it was quite past time for her to join her guests. Her daughter had long since made her way into the ballroom on her father’s arm, to open the dancing. He spotted the pretty young woman on the other side of the room, talking with great animation to the court of gentlemen surrounding her.

  He responded vaguely to some comment made by Lady Riesley, offering a charming smile. She looked a little startled, as if he’d done something completely unexpected. He glanced at his brother, whose mouth was set in grim lines.

  Presently, they made their way into the crowd, exchanging greetings here and there, flirting gently and spreading yet more gossip on Lady Derringer’s behalf.

  Dare did it all without thinking. His mind was wholly taken up with trying not to look at Lady Genevieve and striving not to feel that insane jealousy again. She could dance with whomever she liked. He had no right to say otherwise.

  Smiling pleasantly at a young lady he was sure he’d met but couldn’t remember, he moved off to the edge of the room. He needed a moment alone with Jenny. He had to ask her what her aim was in writing him such a request as she had.

  He stood where he knew she would end up when the dance ended. He ignored his brother, who had given him a puzzled look when Dare moved away from him. But then the appearance of Lady Guinevere snagged Miles’s attention and he had no more time to wonder about his twin’s actions.

  The waltz duly ended, the gentlemen bowing, ladies curtsying. Jenny smiled charmingly at her handsome partner, whispering something Dare would have given his right arm to hear. Then, surprisingly, they made their way in his direction.

  He straightened from his relaxed position from the column against which he leaned. He tried to gauge the mood of the lady but was stymied by the odd glint in her cornflower blue eyes.

  “Mr. Prestwich,” she said with a smile, her eyes lighting perceptibly.

  Her companion favored Dare with an expression of distinct hostility. Dare grinned irrepressibly, ignored the man, and turned back to Jenny.

  “Lady Genevieve, how enchanting you look this evening,” he murmured, taking her hand. He leaned forward to kiss her hand, pausing and meeting her eyes just before he deftly turned it, pressing his lips to her gloved palm.

  A delicious shiver snaked through her body and his smile grew decidedly wicked.

  The gentleman at her side glared awfully at Dare, protesting, “Lady Genevieve, I must warn you against this fellow. Did you but know—”

  “I know all I need to, my lord, and have had quite enough of warnings this eve.” She smiled up at him, her eyes daring him to argue with a lady. “Thank you for your escort. I have promised this dance to Mr. Prestwich and I assure you, I am quite safe in his…capable…hands.”

  Dare almost snorted. He wondered if his bloody lordship had caught the slight hesitati
on in her words. If she had even an inkling of the kinds of thoughts he was currently entertaining about her, she’d run for cover…he hoped.

  He allowed his gaze to wander over her generous curves again, pausing at the creamy expanse of bosom made visible by her low décolletage. The things he imagined doing to this particular young woman made his breath catch painfully in his throat.

  Pale pink muslin twisted and flared, briefly revealing the curve of her hip. It was all Dare could do to keep his hands to himself. He wanted to touch her, fill his senses with her, devour her.

  Damn. He had to get his thoughts under control.

  “Mr. Prestwich?”

  Dare started, making the mistake of meeting her gaze. Jenny’s widened at what he assumed was untrammeled lust coloring his eyes. He saw a flaring of something similar in hers, an expression that shocked him. He felt an uncomfortable tightening in his groin and swiftly reined in his unruly reflections lest someone notice and start unwelcome talk.

  And then Jenny giggled and Dare could hear the underlying hysteria. He realized she didn’t really understand even a modicum of what she was feeling.

  Oh, to be the man to teach her all about it. What an impossible dream, he mused in defeat.

  “Lady Genevieve, your pardon. I was…woolgathering.”

  “Show a little respect, man,” snapped the lord who, unaccountably, was still with them.

  Dare gave him a lazy look from beneath half-lowered eyelids. “Are you still here?”

  The man sputtered a moment in indignation. Jenny rescued the situation, placing a hand on the lord’s arm. Dare wanted very badly to rip the man’s arm off and take Jenny severely to task for daring to touch another man.

  “Lord Grissom, I realize you only worry over my welfare, but I assure you, Mr. Prestwich will do me no harm.” Her eyes met Dare’s briefly, questioningly.

  He smiled in as nonthreatening a manner as he could, considerably sure he resembled something quite feral. Lord Grissom bowed stiffly, firmly dismissed as he was by the lady present.

  Dare took Jenny’s hand, placing it on his arm. “Ah, my beautiful damsel, I finally have you all to myself.”

  Jenny laughed lightly, casting an amused look around the crowded ballroom. “Hardly, my dear sir. Would that you did.”

  He stared at her. Had she truly said what he thought he heard? When she smiled, he knew he had and, amazingly, he was flummoxed.

  “Have I finally managed to render you speechless, Darius Prestwich? I have to admit I am delighted.”

  He shook his head, trying for a semblance of reason, trying to ignore the sudden clamoring in his veins to take her somewhere, anywhere, and make her fully aware of what it was she so wantonly offered.

  “Did I really solicit this dance?” he asked instead.

  “Of course not. I was heartily sick of Grissom’s tiresome lectures on proper behavior. As if he has room to talk,” she grumbled. “The man has two mistresses that I know of whom he openly visits—they actually share a house—and I’m sure they are not the first.”

  Dare released a short bark of laughter. “Ah, but you miss the point, my dear girl. Gentlemen are allowed to have mistresses. Ladies are not allowed to even dally without severe consequences.”

  “How unfair is that?”

  Dare groaned. “Jenny, my girl, don’t wish for things that are better left unexplored. You are far too inquisitive for your own good.”

  She frowned up at him. “You begin to sound like Lord Grissom.”

  Grimacing, he began walking the edge of the room, keeping a careful eye out for her family, the male members especially. The last thing he wanted was a public scene.

  “I have no intention of sounding like the prosy Lord Grissom, I assure you,” he told her sincerely. “I just thought a word of caution necessary as you sounded quite like you actually wanted to be”—he searched for a word that was not terribly insulting—“fast.”

  “I don’t. Want to be labeled fast, I mean. I just wish men were held up to ridicule the same as women. It’s clearly unfair to condemn one for one’s action simply because she had the misfortune to be born female while praising a man for hopping from bed to bed with not a care in the world for his family at home.”

  Dare gave her a long considering look. “I must say I agree, Lady Genevieve, but to actually say what you just did in such a public setting is courting censure.”

  Jenny spared a surreptitious glance for the assembled guests, noting a few within hearing were giving her queer looks. She sent them a beatific smile and turned back to her companion.

  “It is no worry. Mrs. Garber is no gossip and Lord Woods only pretends he can hear. He is actually deaf as a post.”

  Dare chuckled. “Thankfully for your reputation, my dear.”

  “Yes.” She paused a moment. Dare wondered what was going on in that fertile brain of hers but was patently afraid to ask. “Do you mind very much if we sit this dance out?” she finally inquired, turning innocent cornflower eyes up to his.

  It was a second before he actually realized the orchestra had started the next dance. He smiled back at her, inclining his head ever so slightly and steering her in the direction of some empty chairs along the wall.

  “Oh, do you think we could go out on the terrace? It is a bit stuffy in here.”

  “Certainly,” he agreed, against his better judgment. He moved with her to the tall doors leading out into the rather chilly March night. He eyed her a bit skeptically. “Are you sure? There is a chill wind in the air.”

  Her answering smile should have warned him she was up to mischief. But part of him recalled that odd note she’d sent round earlier that night and he wanted to speak with her privately about it.

  He led her out, staying carefully within sight of anyone who happened to look in their direction.

  Jenny had other ideas, however.

  “Oh, what a beautiful fountain! Let’s take a closer look, shall we?” Holding out her hand for his arm, there was really nothing he could do but escort her halfway across the rather vast English garden to the misting fountain in the center.

  It was really nothing extraordinary that he could tell, but Jenny seemed quite taken with the thing. He imagined it was supposed to represent Aphrodite or some such mythical goddess but the weather and time had eroded it down to something closely resembling a dyspeptic squirrel holding a water jug.

  “Isn’t it lovely. So romantic.”

  Alarm bells went off in his head. Lady Genevieve Northwicke couldn’t possibly have dalliance in her inventive little mind…could she?

  His question was answered about a second later. Turning slightly, she stretched up and placed her lips firmly against his.

  Chapter Eight

  He wasn’t doing anything, she thought in sudden panic. Jenny didn’t know what to do. She’d never kissed a man before. She had assumed he’d take over.

  And then, suddenly, he groaned—or growled, she wasn’t exactly sure which—low in his throat and did exactly what she wanted…and then some.

  His arms came around her, crushing her body tightly against his hard muscular form. She caught her breath as feelings she’d never begun to imagine crashed through her, making her knees go weak and her stomach flutter alarmingly.

  One hand moved up to her neck, cradling her head as his mouth took greater possession. Jenny clung to him, positive she could no longer stand on her own.

  Dare coaxed her mouth open, drawing her very breath from her lungs. For a moment, she thought she would faint. Another moment passed and she thought she would expire if he didn’t touch her.

  The feelings she experienced were purely elemental, she told herself. They had nothing to do with the man that held her, kissed her. It had everything to do with the fact that Dare obviously knew what he was doing.

  As the one hand cradled her head, the other moved up from her waist, traveling slowly, over her bodice. When his hand gently brushed the underside of her breast, Jenny stopped thinking. All she did was
feel.

  Dare gasped into her mouth when her small hands traveled somewhere they really shouldn’t go. He tore his lips from hers, grabbed her hand, and stepped firmly away.

  Dear God, it was the most difficult thing he’d ever done. She stood there in the pale moonlight, lips swollen from his kisses, eyes shining with promise and a little bit of wounded pride. More than anything, he wanted to take up where they’d left off, exploring every bare inch of her with his tongue.

  A tremor wracked his body. If his thoughts continued in that particular vein, he’d do the unthinkable and take her right there on the ground, before the fountain—the ugliest, most unromantic fountain in existence.

  “Jenny,” he croaked. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Jenny, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

  She snorted. He stared at her in utter disbelief. She actually snorted. And it wasn’t even one of those ladylike snorts.

  “Please don’t pretend it was your fault like a proper gentleman”—she said the words like a curse—“should. I was the one who initiated the embrace and as such, take the responsibility for it.” She shrugged with apparent nonchalance.

  He cocked his head slightly, studying her intently. “Very well, if that is what you wish. However, it was not your actions that made me take greater liberties than was offered.”

  “How stuffy you sound,” she mused, smiling faintly. “I am astonished you failed to realize exactly what was being offered. Did you not receive my note?”

  He moved a step closer, suddenly needing to see her eyes better. “I did. Why did you send it?”

  “I would have thought that was plainly obvious.”

  His eyes widened. She couldn’t possibly be suggesting…

  Of course she could. She was Lady Genevieve Northwicke, insatiably curious, headstrong, willful Lady Genevieve Northwicke.

  His temper flared. “Are you out of your mind? You asked for an assignation to…dear God, woman, you are insane!”