Lady Bess

Bess giggled and went to her nanny, whom she had found waiting for her at Searington when they returned from the carnival. She put an affectionate arm around her and said, “That’s it, Maddy, do tell them to grow up, for they are behaving like—”

“Ho there.” Fleet interrupted her and would have continued had Donna not interjected at this point.

“Potatoes and vinegar!”

“Potatoes and vinegar?” Bess turned a startled face towards her friend.

“Byron’s diet—read it somewhere,” Donna explained.

“Never say so!” exclaimed her husband in shocked accents. “Upon my soul.” He shook his head and said, “Well, I won’t eat nothing but potatoes and vinegar. Dashed lame thing to do.”

Bess and Donna laughed out loud, and Bess said, “Robby, don’t listen to Fleet. There isn’t an ounce of fat on you. Tell Mr. Beanstalk that you are all muscle.”

“Well, as to that, if I have to sit around tonight watching a bunch of old biddies play at whist, my muscles just might turn to fat,” Robby said dolefully.

“Whist?” Bess said with horror. “Oh, no, I won’t play whist either.” She turned to his lordship, who had been sitting with her nanny during this time, speaking to the older woman in asides. “My lord,” she said doubtfully, “is that what we were invited over to do? Play whist? I think I shall develop a quinsy and go to my bed.”

“Nonsensical lass,” said the earl with a chuckle. “Mary Russell said she was getting up a party for her houseguest. She did say there would be card tables set up for those who wished to play but that she was also going to have music in her ballroom.”

“Dancing, Bess!”

Fleetwood said, taking up her black velvet cloak and draping it over her shoulders. “Will you dance with this beanstalk, then?”

She laughed. “Of course I will.”

“Don’t want to dance,” Robby said flatly.

His wife slipped a hand in his and said, “Oh, Robby, don’t you? Not even with me?”

He surveyed her face and relented. “Aye then, with you, always with you, but not with any of the dowagers and ninnies they are bound to throw my way. You know they always do.”

Everyone laughed at this, and Bess turned to watch the earl don his black top hat over his head of thick blonde hair. She watched him, large and muscular as he reached for his cloak. She went into a world where she was alone with him, and he was bending to …

“What are you doing, Bess? Daydreaming?” Fleet nudged her back to reality.

She saw her friend look between her and the earl, who now had his back to them. She eyed him ruefully. Very little got by Fleet. She couldn’t stop the dratted heat from filling her cheeks and knew she was blushing when he said, “Just so. Quite out of your range, my dear.”

She sighed. “I suppose he is.”

* * *

The earl could scarcely look away from Bess when she came into the parlor. Her black hair piled on top of her beautifully shaped head caught his attention, and then his gaze traveled over her provocative body in the ivory silk of her form-fitted gown.

The sarsnet material of her gown was trimmed with embroidered roses that made a collection of color over the bodice where her breasts swelled and kept his eyes transfixed! He had to look away. He had to, he told himself and tried transferring his glance over her lace trimmed puff sleeves. However, there he discovered her lovely bare arms and knew where his imagination was taking him. Trouble—he was in trouble..

She is quite out of yer range, he told himself.

The sooner her father came and fetched her away the safer it would be for him and for her. He was finding it nearly impossible to keep from touching her. He wanted to whisper in her ear, Coom lass, let me, och, let me taste ye …

Physical discomfort accompanied his thoughts of her, and he thought of her all the bloody time! In fact, he felt his shaft throbbing in his breeches at that very moment. Damn his soul but he wanted her. He couldn’t think of bedding any other to satisfy the raging need that burned in his blood. She was everything he wanted, and why was she always laughing with that puppy Fleetwood?

Wide awake he was, yet it seemed like he was dreaming all the time, all the damn time.

She stood in some flimsy thing in her room, and he was there, bending her to his body, to his needs, and satisfying hers. Hell! He was in hell.

Could he visit her in her room on some excuse later this night? Could he kiss her luscious lips, pull off her pretty gown and suckle at her breasts?

Would she want him?