Taffeta & Hotspur

“It was nothing…” She looked up at him and discovered it took everything she had not to sink onto his chest and make him hold her tight. He was here; finally he was with her…

“Damn the man’s soul—it was something. Shall I run him through?” he asked and tipped her chin up, and as their eyes met, Taffeta knew that although he was trying to make her smile, he would defend her honor. She could see it in his face. He was ready and able to do battle.

“No … no … it was nothing…” she repeated. She couldn’t have a scene, and Tarrant looked as though he was ready to stomp over to Bruton and lay him low. Taffy’s heart pumped furiously, spelling out his name, his size, his magic touch, but he wasn’t letting go of the issue.

“It was something, obviously,” he answered on a frown.

“He said I was worthy to be his wife.” She seethed as she repeated the words. “He is a very bad man, and he thinks I am worthy his badness!”

Tarrant stared at her for a long moment before mirth exploded from his lips, and he began an uproarious laughter that turned heads. She watched as he finally got control, and realized how absurd she had sounded.

He took her chin, heedless of tongues ready to wag, his voice low and filled with pleasure. “Taffeta … you are a wonder. My complete wonder.” He put her hand through his arm and said, “Come, let us get some refreshments and take them into the garden…”

“Yes, and then, my lord, you may tell me where you have been,” she said with what she hoped was a flirtatious look.

“Did you miss me?” he asked, his eyes bright as he waited for her answer.

“I noticed you were not about,” she answered, giving him a little, only a little.

“I am glad of it, sunbeam. I… There are big guns about to go after the Luddites and squash them if they can, and the Rogues Three are wanted for treason and murder.”

Her eyes opened wide, “Treason and murder? But that is absurd.”

“Precisely and yet, as I said—big guns and squashing. I am looking into the matter, for whoever is behind the London three posing as the Nottingham Three … needs to be stopped. They are traitors.”

“Indeed … we can help.”

“You and yours had better stay well away from it. Leave it to me.”

She considered this for a moment. “Hmm, you may be right. I shan’t even say anything about it to Seth and Nigel.”

“Good girl,” pronounced Tarrant, smiling at her warmly.

“Why were you absent from the meeting about the death penalty for the Luddites?”

“It was a lost cause. Defeating it—just impossible now.”

Instead of taking her into the dining room, he had led her outdoors without stopping for refreshments, and she was vaguely aware he stopped their little stroll where they were well hidden by a row of evergreens. No one from the ballroom’s French doors would be able to see them, and she turned to say breathlessly, “You said you would feed me?”

“Did I?” His voice was low. “Will this do?”

She had heard the husky desire in his voice and the hard determination. She found herself wrapped in his strong embrace with his mouth covering hers, devouring … tasting … taking … infusing her with an undercurrent of festering need. Her longing met and matched his as his tongue lapped at hers and seemed to drink and taste with an unquenchable thirst.

Taffeta’s response was primal, as she pressed her yearning body into his, and suddenly it was like an internal explosion between them that drew and melded them together.

She clung to him, holding on, and wishing he would never let her go. She knew she wished he would take her away, take her completely, and make her his own. She returned the fervor of his embrace with a passion that swept away all logical thought.

He handled her deftly as his fingers explored her and turned her into an unabashed and wanton creature. Her heart reverberated with a riotous flurry of sensations, and she never wanted this time with him to end. He lifted up all the wildness in her and gave it release. She wanted him to take her and hide her away from the world, somewhere private where she could explore their mutual needs. She wanted to feel him, all of him.

He broke away and whispered, “Taffeta.”

When he said her name, it was like an enchanted melody that made her tippy toe up for another kiss.

He chucked her under the chin and said, “Beauty, you beauty—would that I could call in the debt now, right now… But, I had better get you back indoors before your brother calls me out.”

Slap, a splash of cold water. They were in the garden! Of course, he had to take her back, and yet she felt herself reel backward from the sudden rejection. He so easily could put her aside? He so easily could resist her? Was she so undesirable he could take his kiss and part from her while she was still floating in the wind?

She had expected words of love and devotion, of undying need and passion. What she got was totally unexpected. Cold, calculated logic. He was the rakehell Hotspur, and didn’t seem even mildly ready to take her to bed.