An Indiscreet Debutante Read online

  “Hush, you,” Lottie chided, but she didn’t seem particularly fashed. “He’s a visitor.”

  “Will he be at the event this quarter?”

  Her nose wrinkled on a cheeky grin. “He will, but not for the reasons you presume. On with you.” With a little wave of her hands, she dismissed them.

  “What event would that be?” Ian stepped alongside Lottie. Her profile was delicate.

  “We hold quarterly soirees where the women get the chance to meet certain subscribers. Men of good background and status who can enable them to move up in the world—through marriage only—should they like.”

  “And you believe I need to attend this?”

  “I do,” she said with a decisive nod. “If only because Patricia wouldn’t miss it for the world. She’s always been quite popular with the men. Finna says Patricia flirted with a certain gentleman at the last event. He might have even slipped her a few bobs. She’ll wish to continue, secure his interest and more funds.”

  The sewing room was the likes of which he hadn’t quite seen before. Sewing machines ringed the entire room, and in the center were wide tables with bolts of cloth of every color one could imagine—if all colors were dark.

  In the center stood a regal woman. Her pale pink dress stood out among the ocean of dark cloth, her hair piled at the back of her head in a shining blonde twist.

  “Lady Victoria, allow me to present Sir Ian. He has a sister.”

  “Bully for him,” said Lady Victoria with dry humor.

  Ian tipped a small bow. “I generally do appreciate my good luck in having her for a sister.”

  “Perhaps you have sense after all.” She set down the length of fabric she’d been holding and turned to Lottie. “How can I help you?”

  “It depends. How quickly could we launch Sir Ian’s sister?”

  Lady Victoria didn’t suffer any moment of confusion or distraction. She turned back to Ian with an inquiring look. “Is she comely?”

  “She’s generally considered attractive, yes.”

  Lottie reached out two fingers and touched the emerald-set cufflink at his wrist. She let her fingertips trace down to the sensitive base of his thumb. “And money? How much have we to work with?”

  He ignored the taking, grasping impulse that insisted the nearest bolt of cloth would be plenty cushioning to push Lottie back into. He had bigger concerns and a family relying on him to improve their station. He couldn’t afford distractions from wild girls. “If you can promise me effectiveness and my sister’s acceptance into society, money is no object.”

  Lottie’s smile turned into the glow of a thousand gaslights. “Exactly the words a girl loves to hear.”

  Chapter Eight

  Not three days later, Lottie stood on the step of a fine townhouse in the oh-so-proper Mayfair district as a carriage rolled up to the curb. Ian hopped out with a sure step. Lottie laced her fingers before her waist. He might be primarily a country gentleman, but that didn’t seem to impact the way he carried himself. He surveyed the entire street as if he owned it all. A man who knew who he wanted to be and how he wanted to live.

  Half the time, she felt as if she were putting on a mummery show. Doing her best to distract everyone else from seeing the actuality of her life.

  Like now. She smiled and pushed open the door behind her. “Sir Ian, welcome to your new home.”

  He doffed his top hat as he followed her in. That air of inspection clung to him. The money she’d so freely spent over the past couple days had come from tin mines, he’d said. She could believe it. He had ruthless intentions.

  She never would have expected it, but her nerves fluttered at the idea that maybe he wouldn’t be pleased with his investment. She looked around the entryway with her own inspecting aspect.

  It was large, but not ostentatious. She, Victoria and Sera had conferred at length about the houses available to rent. As the city house of a baron who’d fallen on financial difficulties, the establishment struck a balance between available funds and seeming too nouveau riche. The foyer floor was tiled with black-and-white marble and the walls covered with gold-and-cream wallpaper.

  To Lottie, the ebony stairs that curled down from the upper level were the loveliest touch. “What do you think? Will you be content here?”

  He looked back over his shoulder and lifted a single eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s the issue, is it?”

  “True. But as they say, anything worth doing is worth doing well.”

  She opened the doors to the front parlor, which was furnished. The decorations were overstuffed for her tastes, with tables and couches occupying most every inch of floor space. The floors themselves were layered with piled carpets worn soft by decades of foot traffic. Dark green wallpaper covered the top half of the walls, but she particularly liked the glowing shine of the wainscoted bottom half.

  Ian tossed himself down to a low chaise, one arm hooked over the curled back. His smile was cheeky. Daring. “I suppose it’ll do, as long as the other rooms are approximately this standard.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You are such the arbitrator. And what’s your home like in the country?”

  “Drafty as can be. A bit small, especially when the snow piles up and we’re all in on top of each other. The decorations are from generations upon generations each adding their own bits, so they’re a mess. The gardens meander for acres all willy-nilly.”

  Keen wistfulness wound under her breastbone. “Sounds lovely.”

  “It rather is.”

  “You’re an ass.”

  He grinned. His ankles were crossed and his legs extended to their full length, heels on a faded Tudor rose in the carpet. “You really think this plan will work?”

  “Did you increase the size of her dowry, as we suggested?”

  “Tripled it.” His eyes went dark, and lines carved around his mouth. “I don’t simply wish her to be married off to the first person who asks.”

  “You really mean that, don’t you?”

  Confusion wrinkled his brow. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Many wouldn’t.” She shook her head and wandered away toward the far door. One finger hooked over her shoulder, she gestured for him to follow.

  “Your family obviously would agree.”

  She let a laugh burble up in an attempt to cover up the sharp spike of pain and regret that overtook her. “This is the formal dining room,” she said, throwing open doors. “But why would you assume anyone in my crazy family would agree?”

  “I can’t imagine that you’ve had any less than a half dozen marriage offers. Yet here you are.” He pointed at the mahogany table in the center of the room. It could float a dozen cows across the Dover straights. “That is rather large for our purposes, isn’t it?”

  “Better too large and impressive than have anyone doubt your place in society. Good rule of thumb in most things.” She led him up the stairway to the first floor, her fingertips trailing over the balustrade’s cool wood. “Here I am, indeed. Alone and unmarried and exploring an empty house with a strange man.”

  “I might be a man, but I’m hardly strange. Is there a study or an office? I’ll still have work to do that can’t be ignored.”

  She nodded and pointed toward the west. “That way.”

  “Good.”

  She liked his satisfied smile entirely too much. Inside her chest was painful hope. Her heart fluttered. “I’m glad you’re pleased.”

  “I am.” He opened a door and found a bedroom. A white lace blanket covered a huge expanse of bed. There were likely other objects in the room, but Lottie suddenly couldn’t gather impressions of them.

  All she could think of was that bed. The wide, large bed with the gold-trimmed and tassled pillows at the head dominated the room.

  She imagined Ian stretched upon the full length.

  Her body bloomed and awoke. She knew this. Knew this feeling, and the strange fantasies that were doing their damnedest to strip his clothing in her fevered brain. Unfortunately,
never having seen a man in the flesh had her placing his handsome head on the white marble body of a statue. That wouldn’t do at all.

  Perhaps she ought to do her best to get him out of his clothes and see for herself.

  She tucked her smile away behind her hand and tried to turn away.

  “Why do you do that?” His voice was a rumble behind her.

  “Do what?”

  “Hide your real smiles and show off your false ones.”

  Well, that cured her of the smile problem, didn’t it? Her chest clenched on tight, hot fear. She didn’t turn around. Some conversations were easier to have with her back turned. “Let me ask you this: why wouldn’t you see your sister married off to the first man who happens to ask?”

  “Why, because I love her.” Confusion colored his tone, and she could imagine the cant of his eyebrows along with his eyes clouding. “I want the best for her.”

  That was explicitly what she’d both feared and hoped. Some women had people who looked out for them. Many didn’t, or her school wouldn’t exist. It seemed Etta was luckier than most. Her family, though angry, had hidden her less-than-acceptable marriage and kept her close to their bosom.

  Lottie...was forgotten more often than not. “You’re right. I’ve had marriage proposals.”

  “I’m unsurprised.”

  She turned around finally, because she couldn’t read the tone of his voice, and a scared and frightened part of her trembled whenever she didn’t know how to read a situation. The part that looked for the meanness that said Lottie was exactly as bad as they’d expected considering her mother.

  She didn’t find it. He seemed...curious. Like he was listening to her and no more. She hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted that. Needed that.

  He leaned against the wall, to the side of the door, with his arms crossed over his chest. Instead of impatience, he had all the time in the world.

  “Father never turned any of them down.”

  Obvious shock pushed him away from the wall and toward her. He walked like a man with a mission, but that wasn’t right, since he was headed toward her. “That can’t be.”

  “Perfectly true.” She curved her mouth into a smug smile and couldn’t help but reach out. Her fingers rested in the center of his chest. Between the plackets of his waistcoat was thin linen heated by his body. “He accepted every one. From penniless Lord Morgan to rich but elderly Viscount Rose. The good viscount has four sons who need a mother. Recently he’s developed a penchant for our country neighbor. He has a parcel of land that Father would like.”

  “If that’s true, how can you possibly be here?”

  “Here? In an empty bedroom, with you?”

  His cheeks hollowed on a moment of annoyance. “The bedroom part is secondary. You know what I’m asking.”

  “Secondary by your choice, I’d like to make sure you know.” When feeling reckless, Lottie certainly went all the way. She’d little left to lose now that her mouth was running away with her mind. “He doesn’t actually care if I marry any of them. So he accepts, and then I have to go convince them that they don’t truly want me for a wife.”

  “And how can you possibly convince them of that so easily?”

  Oh, but she did so love that measure of disbelief in his tone. As if he couldn’t imagine what would talk a man out of marrying her. “Usually? I let them meet my mother during one of her...more extreme phases.”

  Ian heard what she didn’t say. She looked up at him through the smoky screen of her thick lashes, begging him to hear her. He shouldn’t touch her. He knew that much. But her skin was pure magnetism.

  He gave in every time.

  They’d had proper teas and visits over the past few days, as they discussed arrangements and she found him this townhouse to rent.

  He looked forward to any hours in which he got to speak with Lottie. Her animated conversation lit his days and erased his worries as he got absolutely nowhere in finding Patricia.

  But most germane to the conversation was where they commonly had those teas—in her mother’s studio.

  “Your mother isn’t that bad,” he lied. A single lock of her hair slipped between his thumb and forefinger like a woman’s sweetest slickness.

  Her fingertips rested on his chest with gentle weight. “I do believe that’s one of the kindest deceptions I’ve ever encountered.” Her gaze flicked back up, this time heavy with heat and sparking green. “You deserve a reward.”

  Suddenly he was completely aware they stood in a bedroom. His chest clenched. His arms tensed and pulled against the impulse to enfold her and feel her lean, long body against his. Push her down on the bed that loomed to their side. All would be lost then.

  He cleared his throat, but he couldn’t make himself look away from her pink-tinged lips. “That can’t have put everyone off. Someone must be strong enough to withstand your mother. After all, she’d be better than some critical, meddling sort of mother-in-law.”

  She barked out a short laugh. Her eyes went wide with shock. “I’ve never thought of it that way.”

  He shrugged and kept his expression neutral, but really he loved putting that look on her face. Getting taken by surprise was something that likely didn’t happen often to Lottie. She seemed so very tired and world-weary beneath the affected happiness. “Your mother might keep life exciting, but she wouldn’t be choosing your bedroom’s decorations.”

  “You’d think.” She led the way out of the room. “It’s possible that I strongly implied Mother’s madness is often inherited by the women of our family.”

  “And is that true?”

  She paused in the doorway to another room, one hand at shoulder height on the doorjamb. In profile her smile suggested mystery. Her eyes glittered and smoldered at the same time. One of those strange female gifts. “It’s absolutely true. The odds are about one in two that I’ll be insane before I’m five and thirty at the latest. Or it could happen after my first child.”

  His feet jolted to a stop at the threshold. That hadn’t been the answer he expected in the least.

  The room was another bedroom, though grander. Along the wall was a cherry-wood wardrobe fronted with inlaid decoration. Billowy green curtains draped around the head of the half tester bed. The foot had carved posts to match the armoire.

  Lottie stood with an elbow looped loosely around the closest post and her hip leaning against the mattress. “No kind lie to say to that one?”

  “You seem perfectly sane to me.”

  “I do hope that wasn’t a lie.”

  “It wasn’t.” He shouldn’t go closer. Not with the way he couldn’t look away from her mouth. “You’re reckless. Maybe you’re a little wild and entirely too spoiled. But you’re perfectly sane.”

  She rocked back and forth, her hips sliding. Silk caught against the bed’s covers. “You know nothing of the sort.”

  “I absolutely do.” He cupped her face, the delicate bones firm under his thumbs. “I know that at this moment you would let me kiss you.”

  “And more.”

  “You shouldn’t say such things.”

  She nudged the tip of her tongue across the edge of her top lip. She looked up at him from under lashes weighted with promise, and it went straight to his cock. His entire body clenched.

  She slanted away from him, shifting so she leaned her bottom flat against the bed. “Why ever not?”

  “Because someone will eventually take you up on that offer.”

  One by one, she walked her fingertips up the center of his chest. “Don’t be intentionally slow.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. Their conversations took interesting, odd twists at times, but this had to be the top. “There are businessmen who’ve been ruined for saying similar things to me.”

  “I don’t issue invitations to just anyone.” A sharp flash of hurt darkened her eyes. “No matter what some believe.”

  “I never said you did.”

  She dug her fingertips under the narrow edge of his cravat and s
et about unknotting it. His blood stuttered, then rushed hot and hard through his veins. He couldn’t breathe. Maybe he shouldn’t breathe, because then he’d smell her soft scent.

  Her touch delved under his collar and across his neck. He sucked in a hissing breath. “Don’t do that.”

  “You still haven’t provided me a reason for restraint. I’m beginning to think one doesn’t exist.”

  Ian prided himself on being an average man. He had appetites for womanly attention within the normal realm of a gentleman of his stature, but he had periodically been called upon to restrain himself. His circle of acquaintances was small. There were his sister’s friends, the daughters of his mother’s friends and business acquaintances’ wives. Not the appropriate circle for rousing romps.

  Besides, he’d always selected his partners with care. Not from any level of persnicketiness, but because he couldn’t imagine spending a short time with a person if he couldn’t also imagine spending the rest of his life with them. If there wasn’t a spark of chance, he didn’t see wasting the effort.

  Damn his parents for raising a romantic.

  Because the woman under his hands was every bit of temptation he shouldn’t have. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to resist.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have to. Maybe he should take that which she offered.

  Her bottom lip plumped out in a soft pout. He traced that tender, damp flesh with a single fingertip. Her tongue darted out and wetted his flesh. His entire body shuddered as he growled. Growled, like some sort of rough animal with no greater sense than to take and rip and shred.

  The problem resided in the fact that he didn’t feel particularly normal around Lottie. No idle hunger that could be sated with an hour of mutual fun.

  He wanted to strip her boundaries, pull down her walls. See what she hid inside that gilded heart of hers. See if she was anything like he thought, pure of soul and more troubled than anything else.

  “I’m sure no woman has ever had this much trouble getting herself kissed.” She knew what she was doing. Teasing humor dripped from every word.

  “That’s part of the problem.” Her neck was delicate as he cupped one hand around her nape. “You’re expecting a kiss when that’s the least of what you’ll get.”