Wildfire Kiss (Sir Edward 1)

One

LADY BARBARA CURLED a long, thick tress of black hair around her slender finger and bit her full lower lip. A tear formed in one dark eye, but she held it back. She wouldn’t cry. Not one tear would she shed. He had reason to be angry, but she was not going to allow him to make her cry. She had done nothing wrong, whatever the world might think.

She stood against his tirade and allowed him to finish.

“And it is no use standing there looking for all the world like an innocent kitten, for we know that you are not! Don’t we?”

“I have never claimed to be innocent, and I am certainly not a kitten,” she answered, knowing in advance this would fuel his irritation.

It did.

He spluttered incoherently before he finally shouted, “No, by …” He managed to stop the curse that sprang to his tongue; what followed, she knew, had been greatly tempered with admirable control. “Certes! You think yourself a tigress, don’t you? You think you are ready to take on the jungle out there all alone?” He didn’t wait for her to answer the question as he rattled on, wagging a finger at her, “Well, by God, you are not a tigress, and the jungle out there will slaughter you!” He turned his back on her as he made an obvious attempt to regain control of himself.

Lady Babs watched him silently, believing more of the same was on its way.

She was correct.

He turned back to her, and said in a low, hard voice, “That you could have gone behind my back, without my knowledge, against my expressed wishes—”

“Papa,” she cut in on a plea. “I used a pseudonym. No one will ever find out the true identity of the author. I have Mr. Murry’s word on it.”

“Ha! What do you know of Murry? Who is to say he won’t reveal your name for a price?”

“He won’t. Besides, Byron publishes through him, and Byron said he is to be trusted.”

She watched her father as he struggled with his temper once more, and she fancied she saw spittle at his thin lips. “Byron? I don’t trust Byron! And that is another thing. I won’t have you in Byron’s pocket. The man is a libertine. Why, it is rumored that he and his sister—” He stopped himself, obviously realizing he shouldn’t speak of such things with her. Barbara chewed at her bottom lip to keep herself from smiling.

“You will stay away from Byron!” her father finally commanded.

“Papa, Lord Byron has always stood a friend to me.” Lady Babs felt her cheeks get hot in spite of the fact that she knew her father had a point. “I won’t gossip about him, and I won’t give up the friendship. The subject here is my novel and how well my secret may be kept.”

“Your friend? Well, let me tell you, young miss, Byron was responsible for bringing Lady Caroline low … ruined her …” Lord Waverly persisted and leveled a dark frown at her.

“I think Lady Caroline brought herself low. He did not ask her to make a cake of herself all over town.” Barbara sighed heavily, and then added, “Papa … we need the money, and Mr. Murry was kind enough to advance me for my book …”

“And you are not supposed to worry about such matters! I would have found the blunt in the end …” His answer was sharp, and his ruddy cheeks took on even more color.

“Of course, Papa,” his daughter answered dutifully. The truth was that her father had turned to gambling after her mother had passed on three years ago, and they were nearly wiped out of funds. “My book will probably sell only enough to make up the advance … and will soon be forgotten. The name I chose, Felix Gumble, is unknown and will be forgotten. ’Tis nothing to fuss about, and the advance will stave off the—”

“You should not be the one to have to manage our financial matters …” Her father sat heavily in the winged chair at his elbow.

Their housekeeper, Maudly, appeared at the library door after having opened it a fraction and said quietly, “Count Otto Stauffenberg is here to see Lady Barbara.”

Waverly was an old name, but theirs was an impoverished estate, and Babs knew that her father’s hope was to marry her off to a wealthy peer. The count was a favored swain, and though Babs had him ever by her side, her father often complained that it was time she brought matters to a point. She couldn’t though—oh, she loved having Otto about but only as a dear friend.

Her father leveled a ‘look’ at her and said in a hushed tone, “We will discuss all of this later.” To Maudly he said, “Show the count in at once, and thank you, Maudly.”

Babs looked up and smiled. The German count was tall, and built along husky lines. His years numbered some two and thirty; his hair was auburn and lightly laced with gray. His lips were ever curved with merriment and his light brown eyes sparkled with fun. He was a dashing figure, though not precisely handsome. His accent was only slight, as he had lived in England nearly all his life.

He had suffered through an early marriage that had left him widowed and quite rich. He had made a show of choosing to be at Lady Babs’ side, for in addition to the fact that they enjoyed one another immensely, they gave each other cover on the marriage mart.

“There you are,” he said brightly, the smile already growing wider across his round face. “If you don’t hurry, we will be late, you know.” He turned and bent a respectful head towards her father. “With your permission, of course, my lord?”

Barbara laughed out loud. “You say that as though ’tis my fault, and how could it be when I have been here waiting for you, sir?”

“Barbara!” objected her father, and then with his hand extended, he said, “Count … how nice, yes, of course, you have my permission.”

“Excellent.” The count smiled broadly and then turned his attention to her. “Now go and get your spencer while I chat with your father.”

She bobbed him a curtsy and hurried off. What she would do without the count, she did not know. His constant attentions had raised her father’s hopes in his direction and had allowed her some peace at home and abroad. So many assumed she and the count would make a match of it, and it gave her a measure of peace because she was not interested in any of her would-be suitors.

It was a problem. She was already one and twenty, and her father was outraged that she had turned down every suitor to date. Otto was a dear friend, and thus far he seemed pleased to keep it that way. Their friendship served them both. He announced himself her devoted servant but made no push in that direction in private, and she was well pleased with the silent arrangement. She believed he was still in love with his late wife.

Re-entering the library, she slowed and noted with concern that while Otto chatted happily, her father was red-faced and seemed to be seriously annoyed.

“That’s right,” Otto said. “They say it has sold five thousand copies already. Everyone is talking about it. I want to pick a copy up on the way to the fairgrounds today. They say—” He saw that Barbara had arrived and cut himself off. “I say, Barbara, have you heard about it?”

“Heard? About what, Otto?” She held her breath, for she was certain she knew what he was talking about. Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she waited for his reply.

“The new book, Passion’s Seed,” he returned in a tone of excited expectancy.

“Nooo …” she answered hesitantly. Faith! What was she going to do? This was beyond her hopes for her book. It was a fearsome thing and, yet, so very satisfying. She couldn’t tell anyone, but it would be natural for her to show an interest. “What about it?” She purposely glanced away from her father.

“I am told that the author—whom no one seems to know—knows everything about the haute ton. Everything we have done for the last three, maybe two seasons. She describes all our antics in fine comical style, and while it is most amusing to most, Lady Hester tells me she has certainly ruffled any number of feathers!”

“Really?”

“Yes, in fact, Lady Hester said she was convulsed with giggles when the author obviously described Lord Butterworth and dubbed him Lord Butterball.”

“Yes, but is it not fiction?” Babs asked, hoping to appear innocent.

“Oh, as to that, the names have been changed … but fiction? Hester says, ‘not’.” He laughed and shook his head. “Come on then, we’ll pick up a copy on our way.”

Babs chewed her bottom lip. This was not what she had thought would happen. She had written her book for the growing middle class—not for the haute ton who would recognize themselves! She had never dreamt that any of the aristocracy would pick up a book by an unknown and then make it famous overnight.

She took up her straw bonnet and tied the blue ribbon under her chin. Otto smiled and said, “Fetching … you have superb taste.”

She laughed and slipped into her blue spencer. She gave her black curls a twirl around her ears as she glanced into the sidewall mirror.

Otto stopped, ran a critical eye over her, and set her bonnet perfectly before he turned and bid her father good day as he offered Babs his arm.