Regency Collection 2013 Part 1. Louise Allen
Bree agreed shakily, ruining the effect by experimentally nipping the tendon beneath his right ear. Max rolled her over until she was lying full length on the chaise, his weight on her. Cautiously Bree moved her legs so he was cradled between her thighs. In this position his arousal was unmistakable, rousing an equally fierce reaction in her. ‘Oh!’ Her lips lifted to him of their own accord. ‘This is more comfortable than the drag.’
‘A bed would be more comfortable still.’ The front of her bodice was fastened by a number of tiny mother-of-pearl buttons. Max seemed intent on opening them with his teeth while his hands were wreaking havoc with her hair. ‘We should not,’ he repeated, his voice muffled by the fabric of her chemise.
Bree tried to think thoughts of self-control while writhing under the impact of his tongue—hot, wet—through the thin fabric. ‘Yes.’ His mouth closed round her left nipple. ‘Aah! I mean no, I agree, we should not.’
Silence and a complete lack of movement. Bree raised her head enough to squint down. Max had his chin propped in her cleavage and was regarding her quizzically.
She prodded him. ‘Stop it, you make me want to giggle, looking at me like that.’
He snorted and rolled off her to stand by the chaise and offer her a hand to sit up. ‘That was not my intention, Miss Mallory. I fear you are sadly lacking in romance.’
‘I fear I am sadly amiss in leading you on,’ she confessed, buttoning up her bodice with fingers that shook slightly. The lawn of her chemise clung damp to breasts that seemed strangely heavy. ‘I should not be alone with you without a chaperon.’
‘I will sit over here and behave myself while you do something about your hair.’ He steepled his fingertips and watched her over them. ‘What is that Herrick said? “A sweet disorder in the dress kindles in clothes a wantonness … I see a wild civility do more bewitch me than when art is too precise in every part.”’
‘That is so romantic. I hadn’t heard it before.’ Enchanted, Bree turned from the overmantel mirror where she was re-braiding her hair. ‘Do you enjoy poetry?’
‘I only started reading it when I met you.’
‘Oh. Oh, Max, that’s the loveliest thing anyone has ever said to me.’ Bree knelt down beside his chair, her hands on his knees. ‘Max, I cannot regard what just happened. We are both emotional, both upset.’ She sat back on her heels as his hand wandered round to stroke the back of her neck. ‘Stop it, Max! If you start that, goodness knows where it will end.’
‘I know where I would like it to end. Bree, we need to talk again. What I discovered in Winchester changes everything.’
He saw the cloud come over her expression, cursed her scruples, cursed himself for not knowing whether to go slowly with her or press her to agree to marry him.
‘Not now. Max, I am too confused by all of this, too worried about Uncle to give you an answer, at least not an answer that I have thought seriously about. Will you give me until this wretched business with Latymer is over?’
He made himself smile and saw the relief in her eyes. ‘Then you must be off home, because you are far too much temptation here. I’ll ring for the chaise to take you back.’
‘Thank you. And thank you for not pressing me about something which I know you feel, honourably, you should pursue.’
I love you, that is all and it is everything. He almost said it, then caught himself. To press a declaration of love on a woman who was anxious, tired and uncertain was asking for the answer he least wanted.
‘I really should go and write to Uncle, tell him not to worry,’ Bree added. ‘You will let me know as soon as there is any news, won’t you?’
‘It’s likely to be at three in the morning,’ Max said, pulling the bell cord to summon Bignell. ‘Wouldn’t you rather wait until a civilised hour?’
‘No.’ Bree tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as he escorted her to the door. ‘I want to know as soon as possible so I can drink to his disgrace.’
It took three days before Max, Ryder and Lansdowne could set up their trap. Max spent each evening in the Nonesuch Club card room, enduring a certain amount of sly chaffing. Somehow a rumour was spreading that he was enamoured of a lady. No one was so rash as to allude to it directly.
‘I have not seen Miss Mallory recently,’ Lord Huntington remarked with a casual air, pausing by Max’s table to cast a knowing eye over the fall of the cards.
‘Miss Mallory is visiting relatives I believe,’ Max responded quellingly. Bree had agreed to stay at home and not risk running into Latymer. ‘Her brother said something to that effect when I was talking to him about another outing for the Whips with the stagecoach.’
On the third evening, when he was beginning to wonder if he had overestimated Latymer’s arrogance, Nevill appeared at his table. ‘I say, Dysart, I need to speak to you urgently.’
Max finished his hand and followed his cousin into the book room. ‘What is it?’
‘That bounder Latymer has just strolled in, bold as brass. He should be thrown out.’
‘Not by us.’ Max took him by the shoulder. ‘We cannot make a scene without bringing a lady’s name into it. Treat him with the indifference he deserves.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ Nevill scowled. ‘It goes against the grain tolerating the swine, but, as you say, we cannot risk compromising a lady.’ He marched out, looking noble. Max tugged the bell pull, then scribbled a note while he waited for a footman.
‘Take this to Lord Lansdowne’s house with all speed. It is essential it reaches his lordship personally.’
He sauntered back into the card room to choose his ground. His former place had been taken; he found another with a group just arrived and settled down to play.
Latymer came in, paused in the doorway and scanned the room. Max, watching him in a convenient mirror, saw there was heightened colour in his cheeks and that he looked about him with a nervous intensity. But no one paid him any attention beyond a nod when he caught someone’s eye, so he came right in, found a chair at a solitary table and signalled the waiter for a drink.
Max bided his time, glancing occasionally at the clock. As it struck twelve Lansdowne entered, Ryder at his side. They paused close by Latymer’s table. Max could just hear his friend’s voice. ‘If you would like a drink, just tell them to put it to my account. I’m sorry to abandon you the moment we get here, but I’ve some rather urgent business—I’ll be back within the hour. Do you care to play? I could introduce you …’
‘No, I thank you.’ There was a slight hesitancy in Ryder’s voice that had Max suppressing a smile. ‘I’m not a great card player. I enjoy it, of course, but I don’t play in clubs, just socially. I’m sure I’d be a complete bore as a partner for anyone here.’
He settled at a table close to Latymer and began to look around with a kind of shy curiosity that made Max wonder if the man had ever been on the stage. Was Latymer going to take the bait?
Ryder shifted in his seat, caught Latymer’s eye and said, ‘This seems a very pleasant club. I am staying with Lord Lansdowne for a few days and he was kind enough to bring me as his guest.’ He appeared to feel he had said too much without an introduction, and subsided awkwardly.
Max could not hear Latymer’s response, but within five minutes the two men were sitting at the same table and Latymer was offering the cards to Ryder to cut.
By the time Lansdowne came back there was a small pile of money in front of each man. The viscount took up position, leaning negligently against the wall just behind Latymer, his eyes on the play of cards as though patiently waiting for his guest to finish.
Nevill stopped by Max’s table and he caught the young man’s arm. ‘Go and talk quietly to Lansdowne. Watch the fall of