morning. May I introduce my cousin, Miss Ravenhurst? Elinor, Lord Dereham.’ They shook hands. ‘Will you join us?’ He is here, he is smiling, he has forgiven me…
Elinor’s eyebrows rose as Ashe took the third seat at their small round table and clicked his fingers for the waiter. Her lips narrowed. ‘Do you know, my lord, I am convinced that I have seen you before today, several times. In fact, I could have sworn you were following us.’
Bel tried to kick her under the table, missed and made contact with Ashe’s ankle. It was a very small table. ‘Oh, yes,’ Ashe admitted, wincing. ‘I followed you into Hyde Park. Amazing how easy it is to bump into acquaintances, even at this time of year.’ He smiled. ‘I would have stopped to chat, but you were talking to Mr Layne and I did not want to interrupt.’
‘How fortunate you were able to find us here then,’ Elinor observed severely, obviously not believing a word of it. Bel shook her head at her slightly. This was not the time for her cousin to take her pretend role as chaperon so seriously.
‘Was it not?’ Ashe beamed at her as the waiter produced a pot of coffee for him. ‘I could have sent a note, of course, but I wanted to make sure that the problem Lady Felsham is having with the plumbing is now corrected. I could send my own man round if it is not.’ Elinor was looking baffled. ‘Lady Felsham bought her house from me,’ he explained. ‘I feel responsible for the problem she is having with it.’
‘Oh. I see.’ Elinor took a sip of chocolate and subsided, obviously disappointed that this was neither a Gothic horror story nor a case of over-amorous pursuit for her to foil.
‘Or I could have called later, but I am going to be visiting old Mr Horace this evening. Do you know him?’
‘Old Mr Horace?’ Did he mean what he appeared to mean? Bel opened her mouth, shut it rapidly and tried to get her tumbling thoughts into some sort of order. ‘The, um…northern gentleman? The one with the snowy white hair and the problem with his teeth?’ Ashe nodded. ‘And you are going to visit him again?’ Another nod. ‘That is very kind of you, Lord Dereham. I had understood that your previous experiences with the old gentleman were not encouraging.’
‘He is somewhat eccentric,’ Ashe agreed. ‘And a very poor conversationalist. But I derive a great deal of, um…satisfaction from the relationship. And hope to obtain more.’
Now she must be blushing. How could he be so brazen? But it seemed that she was forgiven for falling asleep: she just hoped that he would not be disappointed tonight. She was very certain that she would not be.
‘Virtue,’ Elinor pronounced piously, ‘is its own reward.’ She looked somewhat taken aback when both of her companions collapsed into peels of laughter.
Bel sat in front of her dressing table mirror, brushing her hair. It shone in the candle light, picking up the auburn highlights that all the Ravenhursts had in their hair, even if they were not redheads like Elinor and their cousin Theophilus.
She was quite pleased with her appearance tonight, she concluded dispassionately, studying her reflection. That was a good thing, considering that she had spent the whole evening fretting over it. The good night’s sleep and the fresh air that morning had restored her colour and the smudges had gone from under her eyes. Around her on the stool pooled the silken folds of a new aquamarine nightgown with ribbon ties on the shoulders and at the bosom and not a great deal of substance to its layers of skirt. As for the bodice, Bel was careful not to breathe too deeply. Ashe, she was hopeful, would like it.
She twiddled the earrings in her ears and then removed them, her fingers hesitating over her jewel box before lifting a long, thin, gold chain. She fastened it, observing the way it slithered down into the valley between her breasts. Was she trying too hard? What would he expect? She bit her lip in indecision, then touched a tiny dab of jasmine scent where the chain vanished into shadowed curves.
There. Enough. When she found out what pleased Ashe, then she could be more daring. The thought of what that voyage of discovery might entail sent a shiver up and down her spine as the landing clock chimed the three-quarter hour. Soon he would be here.
The minutes dragged as she sat waiting, elegantly disposed in the armchair, her volume of Byron open and unread in her lap. When the scratch on the door came she was so tense that the book fell to the carpet as she jerked upright and she was scrabbling on the floor behind the bed for it when the door opened and she heard Ashe come in.
‘Hello, Horace old chap. Where has Bel gone?’
‘Here.’ She popped up from the other side of the bed, painfully aware that her hard-won pose of seductive sophistication was completely ruined. ‘I dropped my book.’
‘Not playing hide and seek, then?’ Ashe smiled. ‘A pity—I can think of some entertaining forfeits.’
Bel felt hopelessly gauche. Ashe seemed to regard this lovemaking thing, which she had always assumed was a rather serious business, as a game, as fun. ‘I am sorry about last night,’ she said, eager to get that over with. ‘I was so nervous I could not sleep the night before and then when you were so gentle and soothing I could not help myself drifting off. You must have been so angry with me. It is very kind of you to come back.’
‘Don’t apologise, Bel,’ Ashe said shortly, something very like the anger she feared flickering in his eyes. ‘Don’t you dare. Do you think I would expect you to make love when you were tired and apprehensive? I am not your husband, I do not expect anything as my due. We give each other only what we are able to, what we want to. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ Bel lied, unable to believe it. Men made demands in bed, women obeyed them, that was the way things were. The only difference was that some men made those demands more nicely than others and would take the trouble to ensure the woman enjoyed the experience.
He smiled, the warmth chasing away the spark of anger. ‘Tell me what you would like? Shall we read poetry together?’
‘I would like you to kiss me,’ she said, boldness masking the fact she could not stand the tension of waiting any longer. He was probably teasing about the poetry in any case.
‘Very well, my lady. I feel a trifle overdressed.’ Ashe had come in pantaloons and long-tailed coat, not in the formality of knee breeches. As she watched, he heeled off his shoes and shed coat and waistcoat on to a chair, then turned and held out his arms.
Bel walked into them, sliding her palms up his chest, feeling the heat under the fine cotton, catching her breath as they passed over his nipples, hardening under her touch. As she looked up, his lids lowered in sensual pleasure and his arms came round her.
The caress of Ashe’s mouth was as gentle as it had been the first time he had kissed her, but this time it was surprisingly undemanding. Gradually Bel began to feel impatient with the respectful slide of closed lips over hers. She wanted his heat again, the taste of him, the hard thrust of his tongue, the indecent way he had sucked her lip between his.
Greatly daring, she parted her lips and ran her own tongue along the join of his, feeling them curve into a smile before he opened to her. Hazily Bel was aware that he had lured her into taking the initiative, but she was too engrossed in exploration now to feel resentful at his tactics.
She let her tongue slide languorously over his, then answered a sudden thrust with one of her own, duelling, teasing and being teased while the taste and the scent and the feel of him swept over her, until she felt she was melting into his body.
Ashe lowered his hands until they cupped her buttocks and pulled her up against him so she could feel the hard ridge of his erection against the curve of her stomach. It was a blatantly sexual display of desire and the intensity of the response it provoked in her was outrageous. She wanted him, now, desperately.
Heat seemed to pool low inside her, and she wriggled against him, seeking