Deliciously Hazardous (Regency Four Book 4) Page 2

  “May I point out that you are hardly an outcast, Hebe. Until now, you were engaged in a rather spirited conversation with Barney.”

  “Perhaps he was being polite to me.” Her beautiful moss green eyes connected with his.

  “Perhaps he was, but I don’t think you should doubt his intentions. I am making an effort to be polite to you as well.”

  “An effort? How kind.”

  “I would appreciate you making the same effort.” He kept his voice low.

  “I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises.”

  He noted a pink tinge of agitation on the base her throat. “In that case, I will make it my business not to be in your vicinity too often,” he said, glancing across the table, hoping no one could hear this conversation. “But since I’m your dinner partner…” He drew a steadying breath. “Did you enjoy your tour of Winsome’s garden?” he said with forced courtesy.

  She gave him a quick glance. “I did, indeed. The tour couldn’t have been better. I can’t say the same about afterwards.”

  He scrutinized her. “Should I assume you are referring to this conversation with me?”

  “I can’t say you have featured in my thoughts for a single moment. I am more worried about my appearance.”

  “After all these years, are you now expecting a compliment from me?” He curled his mouth with cynicism.

  “From you, never. But look at me. Tell me what is missing in my presentation.”

  “Even you must know you are a good-looking woman.” Provocatively elegant, Hebe’s body had always been as alluring as her face, and no man needed that fact emphasized by her.

  “Yes, I have two eyes and a nose and most of my other features are in place, but I’m bare.”

  As a man naturally would when a woman mentioned being bare, his glance dropped to her cleavage. “So I see.”

  “Are you telling me that you think women look better without jewelry? That could be so, but women themselves like a little adornment.”

  “Perhaps you have enough going on in the above-the-waist area that your lack of jewelry is not noticeable.”

  “I’m not sure if that is offensive or complimentary. I think you may have paid me a compliment, or if not, you confused me into thinking you did.” She shook her head as if trying to shake out her thoughts. “My maid lost the keys to my jewelry case. Now, all I have to wear for the duration of this week is my betrothal ring.”

  “I’m sure one of the footmen will be able to find a spare key, somewhere.”

  “It’s a very special lock with some sort of double arrangement. My husband believed in security. He worked so hard to make his money that he saw no point in giving it away to anyone dishonest enough to steal.”

  “He sounds like a very special fellow.” His neck muscles ached. The last person he wanted to hear about was her sainted dead husband.

  “He was a good man who worked hard.”

  “No doubt.” He passed her the dish of buttered crabs, knowing that her husband only had her because of the money in his bank. At the age of twenty-four, Rydale would have given his soul to possess Hebe. Even now, glancing at her, he wondered how much soul he had to spare.

  “I can’t imagine what was in Winsome’s head when she seated us together.” She turned slightly away from him.

  The breath eased out his chest. “Old acquaintances should never be forgot?”

  “In our case, perhaps we need to forget and start anew.” Her gaze shifted to her plate.

  He glanced across the table at Della Thornton, who was staring at him with a knowing smile on her face. He hoped she didn’t presume he was trying to form a connection with Hebe. Since Hebe planned to start anew, the last thing he wanted was to be known as a discarded suitor. He shrugged. “I started anew eight years ago.”

  Hebe stared into his eyes as if seeing him for the first time, before she turned to Barney and began a light conversation.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Hebe had enjoyed her first day with the Langsdenes’ friends. However, the evening meal hadn’t gone well for her. Not only did Rydale point out that he had forgotten her long since, she missed the bolstering that jewelry added to an insecure woman’s confidence. Had she been wearing her diamonds, she would have been a little more assured, but she was aware of being out of society for many years and not up with the latest gossip. Her husband’s associates had discussed trade and money, two subjects important to her late husband and his friends, highly respected middle-class merchants, but banned by the upper ten thousand. She’d had to keep up her guard tonight, a little afraid she might encroach on a prohibited subject.

  However, she enjoyed the evening of gossip interspersed with card games, and finally returned to her bedroom, an area that had been redecorated by Winsome. The walls had been freshly papered in a flower design. A pink satin spread had been turned back, and the pan-warmer lay across the enormous bed. Her maid, Flora, plain, plump, and placid, who had been with her since before her marriage, took Hebe’s shawl as she entered the bedroom.

  “I tried opening your jewel case with a hairpin, my lady, but the lock still won’t budge. I can’t imagine why the lock should play up at this time, my lady, when you need to be on show.”

  “It is certainly inconvenient. One of the guests suggested I should ask a footman to help. We’ll leave that until the morning, Flora. Just help me undress and then you may leave.”

  The next morning she was awoken with a cup of coffee, and a slice of bread and butter. Flora said breakfast would be served at eleven. Hebe washed and, after Flora dressed her, she decided to explore the grounds. When she was younger, her mother’s friendship with Barney Gordon’s mother led to her being invited to many country houses during her season. She had not visited this grand estate. At that time, the last earl had recently died, and the next, John, was still finding his feet. She enjoyed Winsome’s garden, proud of her friend for designing a complicated parterre. Winsome had always been artistic.

  Hebe had enjoyed more physical pursuits during her childhood. When she wasn’t riding, or in the stables, she worried about the price of straw or how to pay the blacksmith. The lack of ready money had been explained to her at an early age. She had never missed a meal, but she also couldn’t have new clothes unless her old clothes could no longer be refurbished. None of her friends suspected this, for her mother maintained her pride.

  Her father did his best to make money but every new notion led to more losses. When Hebe made her debut, she wore gowns that had been remade from old-fashioned gowns of her mother’s, or styled with bits and bobs from relatives. Her great aunt had given her a pearl necklace, but she had no other jewelry back then, her mother’s having been sold off years before. And again, she made sure no one suspected this either.

  Although she no longer needed to practice economies, she was thrifty, and used her largesse to help the people in the poorer districts. Naturally, she couldn’t alleviate poverty alone, but she did her very best to help. At this stage, she had no one to inherit all her money, which was why finding her next husband was important. Her choice had settled on Rydale, who had been quite clear that he was no longer interested. Regardless of her preference, she would have to change her plan.

  She wanted a child, if not a few, and she wasn’t growing any younger. Now, she could now afford a husband with a title. Any children she might have should not need to settle for less than she had. After this weekend, she would be invited to more functions and able to meet other prospects.

  She made sure she arrived at breakfast on time and she made sure she sat among the eligible bachelors. Lord Hartley, on her left, was a little younger than she, but not at all hard on the eye, as well as being entertaining. The other, who sat across from her was the Honorable James Grant, her age, but possessed of a fortune himself. Rydale, on her right had scrubbed himself off her list of possibles. He glanced at her and nodded, his expression bland.

  “Do we have any entertainments planned for today?” she asked her hos
tess, Winsome, who sat diagonally across from her at the half-empty breakfast table.

  “I thought those who wanted to, could ride to the lake.” Winsome accepted a slice of ham from the platter proffered by a handsome young footman. “The area is sheltered and grassy. We could set out blankets for a picnic lunch.”

  “I haven’t been to a picnic for years.”

  “We used to have so many when we were younger, didn’t we? Della and Rose have decided that we must have one now that the weather is suitable. Miss Smith, will you ride, or do you want a seat in the carriage with Miss Leigh?”

  “I didn’t bring a horse with me.” The pretty young debutante glanced at Lord Hartley.

  Lord Hartley smiled at her. “If you ladies plan to ride in a carriage. I shall have to ride escort.”

  “That’s very considerate of you, Julian.” Winsome smiled at the fledgling lord, who was clearly smitten with the young lady. “To offer to protect a load of old married women.”

  Rydale’s eyes half hooded. “His sacrifice is duly noted,” he said, blandly. “Did you manage to open your jewelry case, Lady Hebe?”

  “No. I have yet to speak to a footman about it.”

  He swiveled around and lifted a finger. The footman hurried over. “Yes, my lord?”

  “Lady Hebe has a need of your services, Max.”

  The footman glanced at her, and nodded.

  “If you would come to my bedroom in half an hour, I have a job for you.” She used a purring tone, hoping to annoy Rydale with the sort of entendre he expected from her. In many country houses, young footmen were available to entertain lonely female guests.

  “Yes, my lady.” The footman went back to his place by the door.

  “Thank you.” She turned slowly to Rydale. “He is perfect for the job I have in mind. He looks so very strong.” She batted her eyelashes.

  His mouth formed a grim line before he bit into a slice of sirloin.

  Discussions ensued about the trip, which, because of the late breakfast, would move the evening meal back. Hebe went upstairs to change into her riding habit. As she glanced her tall hat, the footman knocked at her door. Flora let him into the room, explaining about the lost keys.

  He tried brute force on the case, but the lock wouldn’t budge. Wiping the cuff of his jacket across his damp forehead, he said, “Let me find some sort of implement, my lady. I will be back.” He returned with a chisel but without splitting the delicately carved wood, he couldn’t prize open the lock.

  By now anxious to leave for the picnic, Hebe glanced in the mirror trying to find the smartest angle on her head to place her riding hat. “Thank you for trying, Max,” she said to his reflection in the mirror. “Surely someone will have keys that might fit. Give me a little time to find out, before we do irreparable damage.” She gathered up her kid gloves and walked down to the morning room where the others were beginning to assemble.

  Miss Smith smiled at her. “You really mean to ride?”

  “I will enjoy the exercise. Living in the city makes riding a rare event for me.”

  Lord Hartley turned to her. “I presume that elegant bay mare waiting at the front of the house is yours.”

  “Yes. She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

  “If you were not a lady, I would challenge you to a race. I would like to see how my gelding goes against her.”

  “I can’t possibly pit myself against you, my lord. Not in public, at any rate.” Because Rydale was present, she offered a flashy smile.

  Rydale frowned at her. “You wouldn’t stand a chance. Hartley is a top-notch horseman. As I recall, unless you are sure to win, you don’t compete.”

  “Steady on, Rydale.” Lord Hartley pushed between them. “If you wouldn’t say that to me, you shouldn’t say that to a lady.”

  Rydale placed his hat firmly on his head, and strode through the front door.

  Shrugging at Lord Hartley, Hebe followed. “We’re old acquaintances. Words have never been minced between us.”

  She couldn’t remember their first disagreement but she wasn’t the sort of woman to accept being pushed without pushing back—a nip here and there, and an occasional bite, but words had been the only stimulant in a relationship that could never go anywhere.

  Last night, she had enjoyed herself by playing up to his poor opinion of her. If she asked herself why, she would have to admit that she was a very superficial woman. His narrow-hipped, muscular elegance called to her in the worst way. The very worst. Every glance at him had always caused her body to ache in unseemly places. If the only way she could get his attention was to act like a doxy, a doxy she would be.

  She wanted him, regardless, and she wanted a family.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Rydale glanced up again at the sky. The puffy white clouds that had hovered earlier in the day had begun to gather into a tight huddle. The wind had changed from a flurry into a cool breeze. He turned back from the paddock fence where he had been inspecting the lush green pastures, and walked across to the picnic blankets. The party had enjoyed cakes and pastries, and the ladies had separated into various gossip groups, which gave him another opportunity to keep away from Lady Hebe.

  “Perhaps we should start back,” he said to Langsdene, who rose to his feet. The horses had shuffled into a group, and milled around restlessly. “I think the weather is about to change.”

  Langsdene nodded. “Winsome, my dearest one, perhaps you would like to collect the ladies so that we can return home before the rain begins?”

  The countess turned to him and nodded. “I’ll get the baskets packed and we should be on our way within the half hour. I don’t think rain looks at all close. What do you think, Hebe?”

  “It’s better to be safe than sorry.” The charmer picked up her neat riding hat, which she had likely removed to flaunt her burnished curls to every interested male eye, and tilted her head to examine the sky. “I hope my horse doesn’t mind being dragged away from her new friends.”

  Hartley, sitting beside her, grinned. “She appears to be on good terms with my chestnut.”

  “She has a flirtatious nature.”

  “Like her rider,” Rydale said before Hartley could, but using a sardonic tone.

  Her eyebrows slowly lifted. “If horses were like their riders, your horse would refuse every fence.”

  Rydale hadn’t expected the seductive purr of her repartee. The situation now became interesting. Most widows on the prowl for second husbands made certain of being on their best behavior in company. In private, they made sure of being on their worst, fortunately. Knowing he wasn’t on Lady Hebe’s list as a prospective husband, and never had been, today he had enjoyed the pleasant conversation of Barney’s sister, Corrine, and demure Miss Primrose Smith, who was the prettiest, if most inarticulate female he had met. He’d barely had more than four-word sentences from her in a year. She had become a challenge he had recently decided to resist. Only a rich man could afford the shy creature, and only a patient one would continue to try to draw her out. Aside from that, he was not well enough fixed for her family.

  In Lady Hebe’s defense, even though she had always been a brat, she could hold a man’s attention. Her only other plus pertained to her deliberately alluring appearance. Perhaps this was why he had kept his distance this morning. She had stayed with her old friends, and nowhere near him. Her low laughter had turned his head now and again, but he hadn’t attempted to join her group like young Hartley, who appeared to have shifted his attention from Miss Smith to the sultry widow.

  The carriage was carefully packed, most of the ladies being well versed in that talent. Winsome and her friends Rose Temple and Della Thornton, were experts, all accustomed to catering for crowds, one because she was the wife of an earl, another because she had been socially inclined since birth and had married the eminent politician, Sir Ian Temple, and the last because she was a natural born entertainer. The gentlemen, plus Lady Hebe, would ride behind the carriage. Fortunately, the grooms had put up the
hood of the landau. Even if rain fell, the ladies would be well protected.

  A soft rumble echoed in the distance. “We left in time, I would hope.” Rydale glanced across to Langsdene, who nodded.

  The clouds began to scud across the sky, bringing gusts of wind. In the distance, a rumble of thunder echoed. The coach driver stirred up the horses, taking them into a controlled canter. The house would be reached within a mile and likely everyone would avoid a wetting.

  Suddenly, lightning lit up the sky. He heard Lady Hebe gasp, ‘oh, no’ before her horse bucked. She clung on but her hat slipped sideways, held only by the ribbons.

  He reached out to grab her reins but her horse shied away, and spun around. Her crop dropped and bounced. The others turned to stare as her horse sheered off in the other direction. His heart stepping up a beat, he yelled as he turned his horse, “I’m the closest. I’ll go after her.” He didn’t wait to see if anyone heard.

  Her horse rounded a bend and he lost sight of her for a moment or two. At this stage, while her horse was panicking, Rydale had no chance of reaching her. He could only hope she could get her mount under control before she was tossed off. He tightened the grip of his legs, and his horse moved into a smooth gallop, neck stretched forward, hooves pounding. Ahead, Lady Hebe’s mare decided to swivel sideways and soar over a hedge rather than follow the road. The horse made a gallant effort but her hooves tipped the top twigs, unbalancing the rider. The hedge broke Lady Hebe’s fall, but she slithered to the ground in a limp heap. Unmoving, she lay crumpled on the verge.

  Rydale’s blood froze. Jerking his horse to a halt, he swung off, and raced toward her, seeing no sign of life. His cheeks cold, he sank to his knees in the mud. The world stood still as he clutched her hands, his gaze resting on her pale face. He waited, praying to see a sign of life. Then, her eyelids flickered.

  His relief tore a breath from his throat. “Don’t move.” He placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. “Give me time to see where you are injured.”