Taffeta & Hotspur

She grimaced at the young woman looking back at her and shook the hair brush at her. “You are behaving like a schoolgirl, an infatuated schoolgirl. You will end by getting your heart broken by a rogue of a man—”

Her conversation with herself, however, was interrupted when she heard her brother call out, “Taffy! Taffy!”

“Up here, Seth,” she answered and went toward her door, but her brother was already there, flinging her door open wide and storming her bedroom, with Nigel right beside him.

He immediately spied the sleeping puppy and exclaimed, “So it is true!” He walked over and surveyed the wretched babe deep in slumber. “I hope Tarrant beat the hell out of the blackguard who hurt this poor thing—why … its ribs are nearly out of its skin. I never… You did very well to bring him home, Taffy—proud of you.”

She went to her brother, sank into his arms, a thing she hadn’t done for many years and then surprised them, herself included, by bursting into tears.

“There, there … he’ll do now,” Seth patted her back and attempted to soothe her. “Couldn’t h ave anyone better to look after him. There, there.”

Nigel cleared his throat, “Indeed, and we will help you with his training. He’ll be right as rain and before you know it, taking walks in Hyde Park with you. What did you name him?”

“Valiant.” She sniffed.

Nigel and Seth chuckled in unison, “So he is, Valiant indeed,” remarked Nigel, bending to pet the exhausted puppy. “He’ll do … a few weeks time, aye… He’ll do…” He seemed to be talking to himself as well as to her.

She led them to the settee and indicated with a wave of her hand she wanted them to sit, which they did, and then she demanded, “Now, tell me everything … what of Cath and Lord Fenmore?”

“Fenmore … Cath?” Her brother frowned, and then his face cleared, “Damn if you don’t have something there. The man couldn’t keep his eyes from her. Noted it a few times but didn’t think anything of it at the time, because he talked about you and how astonishingly in control you were in your efforts to save the mongrel and how you wanted to call it George.” This made her brother burst out laughing, but she stared him down, and then Nigel cleared his throat.

“I noted it as well,” said Nigel. “Noticed it immediately, and what’s more, I think she likes him as well. For when he wasn’t looking at her, she was looking at him.”

“Oh, excellent, I so hoped it would take…”

“Did you? Did you see it in one of your visions?” her brother inquired lightly.

She frowned. “Not getting any visions lately…” She didn’t add she only got visions of herself in Tarrant’s arms. She shook her h

ead. “I don’t know what is wrong, but haven’t had any visions since that night we held up the Hotspur.”

“Scared out of you!” Her brother snorted.

Nigel, ever serious, said, “You might have a point there, Seth.”

“Well, did you two see Cathy home?”

“Aye, that we did, and all is well,” said her brother.

Tarrant running away from her skipped into her head, and she thought, Not so very well for me, no—not so very well at all.

Chapter Six

Nattily attired in his caped black greatcoat, his tie superbly fashioned in the mathematical style, his superfine waisted and tailed coat of blue fitting his so very perfect body, his breeches of buff cream tightly molded over his muscular thighs, and his Hessian boots gleaming in their blackness, the Hotspur, Tarrant, took the ribbons of his high perch phaeton, ordered his tiger at his back, and tooled his high stepping dapple greys through the hum of London’s morning traffic.

He told himself he hadn’t dressed to impress Lady Taffeta, that this was his usual style when he took out his high perched phaeton, but he knew in his heart it was a lie.

When he had regarded himself in the long looking glass, he had wondered absently if she would like the way he looked. He caught the question in his head and immediately berated himself. What the devil are you doing? She was a chit—lass … a virgin, and all he could think about was getting her into his bed and driving himself into her in every imaginable position he had ever fantasized about. He was a cad.

She was a child, playing at games she knew nothing about. She was an imp of a woman. He shouldn’t be thinking about her. He should visit Melody Conners and relieve himself of his raging and demanding constant need.

These thoughts were driving him mad, and then there stood Mrs. Melody Conners at the curbing flagging him down. Should I stop? He had no choice. She was stepping into the street. He pulled up his greys and smiled.

“Tarrant…” she said in a soft alluring voice. “I missed you last evening … wherever did you vanish off to?”

“Something unexpected kept me from you, Melody,” he said in a low flirtatious voice and was aware of a sudden impatience to be off. What the hell was wrong with him?

“How very vexing, but I trust you may find your way to me this afternoon, for a private bit of … relaxation?”