Taffeta & Hotspur

He did as he was ordered but attempted to delay and argued, “Take whatever belongings I have … but not this packet.” He held it to his heart hoping he was not being too dramatic.

The tall toby rider grabbed it from him and put it in his saddle’s satchel.

“But for your country’s sake … leave me the packet,” pleaded Sir Miles. There was just enough information in the packet to make it look authentic and to trap the villains at a later date.

“Country, is it?” asked the smallest of the highwaymen. He turned to the man in charge and said, “Whot is this? We don’t need to be taking…”

“Shut your stupid mouth and get on your horse,” growled the man in charge in a voice that once more made Frome hear something familiar in it.

A few moments later, he watched them ride off into the darkness and answered his driver’s harangue of questions simply, “No we will not set up a call for the Watch. Let’s head for Lord Sidmouth’s establishment immediately.”

Chapter Nine

Two

days later

Tarrant sat up in bed and held his head against the morning’s light. Damnation, but what had he done to himself last evening? After the Rathborn ball, he had sworn to himself he would steer clear of Lady Taffeta. However, he wasn’t able to stop himself, and off he went last evening to yet another ball where she was bound to be attending. All he knew was he had a physical need to see her, a heart wrenching desire to touch her, and bloody hell … there she was right before his very eyes and what the bloody hell was she doing? Flirting outrageously with Bruton—that’s what he found, and it drove him to the brink of madness.

The pair had made a great show of liking one another. They laughed and teased, and she batted her thick lashes at Bruton, and he didn’t know who he wanted to rant at more. Hell and brimstone, why hadn’t her brother, her uncle, her aunt… Why hadn’t any of them stopped her from her audacious display?

Bruton had actually taken her on the floor to waltz three times! Even he would not do such a thing. Everyone had remarked upon it. He had watched them from his corner, and his ominous mood had brought him to the brink of losing control. When he noticed his friend Fenmore leaning into Miss Frome, he stormed to their side, if nothing more than to discover what the little Taffeta’s game was.

“What is she doing, Catherine?” Fenmore frowned as he watched Lady Taffeta making eyes at Bruton.

“Do not worry about my Taffy. She knows full well what she is doing. There is only one person who will get hurt in her little show, and it won’t be her.”

“Really?” Tarrant remarked as he overheard this. “And why is that?”

Catherine Frome blushed and quietly answered, “Because she knows what she is doing. Always does.”

“Not this time…” Fenmore retorted. “She will have all the gossip mongers chattering about her if she doesn’t bring it down a notch.

“No, I don’t think so. She is sister to the Duke of Grantham and wealthy enough to gain her a great deal of leeway.” Tarrant answered. “But what is her game?”

“Oh… I am hungry, James…?” Catherine said obviously trying to change the subject.

He jumped to offer his arm. “Shall I take you to the dining room, then?”

She smiled sweetly at him. “I would be so very grateful.”

James Fenmore turned to Tarrant. “Do you join us?”

Tarrant laughed. “No, I wouldn’t dream of it.” It was obvious his friend had received his coup de gras, and that the lady returned his ‘feelings’. He was happy for him but miserable for himself. He couldn’t come to grips with what he was feeling for Lady Taffeta—didn’t want to face it, and damn well didn’t like seeing her with Bruton for many reasons, but one reason headed the list. Down right possessive jealousy! Him—jealous? He had thought he would never feel that way about a woman ever again.

The feel of Taffeta’s sweet lips pressed against his as he parted them, jarred his mind, and the memory was vivid. He could almost taste her once more as his tongue had lapped against hers. Certes, what a perfect, delicious, promise of passion she was! What a contradiction of everything he believed was so. What a desirable, quixotic beauty. What wonderful laughing eyes.

She had his head spinning, seemingly attracted to him one moment and then flirting with Bruton the next. Just what was she doing? He had left the soiree early and had gone to a favorite tavern where he had met some of his cronies and drank more than he usually did. Now he had an aching head, and if he admitted it to himself, a heart that did not feel much better.

The next thing he knew, he was on the street hailing a hackney and directing it to Lady Marble’s townhouse where he was sure to find Taffy at home at such an early hour.

He was met by Jarvis at the door, but was told Lady Marble had gone off for the entire day with friends. He frowned and then asked, “Perhaps Lady Taffeta is at home?” He shouldn’t be calling on her when she was unchaperoned, but damn, the thought of getting her alone excited him!

As Jarvis began to lead him forward, he called him off, “I know the way and shall show myself in…” He ignored the mild objection Jarvis tried to stop him with and hurried to the morning room.

He opened the door and stood transfixed a moment as he contemplated Lady Taffeta’s profile in the sunlight. Ravishing! From the top of the blue confection of ribbons threaded through her yellow hair to the toe of her blue slipper, just peeping out under her gown.

She turned halfway, and he found her gray eyes filled with laughter as she held Valiant out to him and declared, “Here Valiant, your hero, here to see what progress you have made.” So saying she shoved the black and white puppy into his hands.