Talk of the Ton (Free Fellows League 5)

“Oh no, my lord!” she exclaimed, smiling. “You have undoubtedly noted that my father is not in my company this afternoon! It would be imprudent of me.”

“Now you’re being coy, and well you know it,” he said cheerfully. “You are a widow, madam, not a debutante, and I am a respected lord. We are two adults, free to walk on to the church and chat about the good works of the Lord.” With that, he put his hand to her arm, urging her forward.

She went along with him, her body brushing against his in the crush. “That’s rather tidy and convenient, isn’t it, using the church to walk about? And here I had been given to understand that you prefer finding places far from the curious eyes of the ton for your seductions.”

Startled, he glanced at her and instantly noticed the smile playing at the corner of her lips. “Meaning?” he asked.

“Meaning, sir, that there are those who say you are often seen with less than reputable women in the less than reputable corners of London.”

Darien was accustomed to the rumors that floated around about him, but nevertheless lifted a brow of shock for Mrs. Becket’s sake. “My good Mrs. Becket! Do you believe me to be less than honorable in my intentions?”

She laughed gaily. “How could I possibly believe you to be anything but?”

“Touché, madam,” he said with a grin. “And I suppose your conscience is quite clear, is it? What with all the calls being paid to you by a certain rakish gentleman.”

“A rakish gentleman?” she asked thoughtfully. “You mean one in addition to you?” she asked, and laughed, pleased with her jest.

Darien laughed, too. “I was in fact referring to Lord Connery.”

“Lord Connery!” she cried in surprise, and came to a halt, turning to fully face him. With laughter in her eyes, she peered up at him. “Are you implying that I would allow another man to scandalize me?”

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Becket, but I do not scandalize you. I merely adore you,” he said, and took her gloved hand in his, bowed over it, and brought it to his lips.

“Well then, you have my leave,” she said softly as he kissed the back of her hand. “Adore at will.”

He chuckled low, turned her hand over, and pressed his lips to the smooth skin of her wrist, just above the frilly trim of her glove. He heard her slight intake of breath and smiled as she carefully withdrew her hand.

“Then what of Connery?” he asked. “Do you intend to break his heart as you will surely break mine?”

“How odd that you should mention Lord Connery. He did call on me, just this morning, and quite unexpectedly. Frankly, it has been so long since I’ve seen his lordship in church that I wasn’t entirely certain of his identity.”

Darien laughed.

“I’m quite serious, truly I am! I asked if I might have known him from Shropshire. He explained that he had met me at church and I recalled, after his lengthy explanation, that I did indeed make his acquaintance before my husband died. I suppose his lordship left in a bit of ill humor, as he had hoped my recall would be perfectly clear.”

Darien laughed at the image of Connery, his dishonor able hopes quite dashed. “Then you won’t deny it,” he said jovially.

With a roll of her eyes, she tossed her head pertly. “I will not deny the man has called, but I cannot decipher why he should. And you, sir,” she said, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “Do you deny that you have escorted disreputable women about?”

“Ah, that old rumor.”

“Persistent one, is it?” she asked laughingly as they turned down a side street that led to the back of St. Johns Church. “May I assume it is true? That you would declare your undying esteem of one woman, while escorting another one about town at night?”

“Escort her? No,” he said shaking his head. “Visit her bed? Well now, that is another matter entirely.”

The suggestion colored Mrs. Becket’s cheeks, but she looked at him with a bold little smirk.

“What is it then, Mrs. Becket? Have I offended you? Have you not, in truth, wondered, if only a little, if I had indeed done so?” he asked pleasantly. “If I am not a man, and therefore, in search of certain pleasures?”

She opened the wrought-iron gate that surrounded the cemetery, banging him in the hip in her haste to do so. “You presume too much, sir. I am not in the habit of wondering about parishioners in the least,” she said and strode through the gate.

Darien easily kept stride with her. “But I am not just any parishioner,” he pressed nonchalantly. “I am a man who has made it clear that he esteems you. And I should think a woman of your youthful years, having enjoyed the fruits of a marriage bed, then having lost them, might wonder about it from time to time.”

“Mmm,” she said pertly. “It would seem as if you have an inordinate amount of time to sit about speculating on any number of things.” She paused at the first tombstone and took one of the flowers from his expensive bouquet and laid it at the head of the grave, and did the same at the next.

“I suppose I do,” he agreed, calmly watching her dismantle the flowers he had given her. “For I have also imagined, if only a little, what it might be like were I to visit your bed.”

Mrs. Becket almost tripped over a crooked grave marker. Darien laughed, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her around a neighboring obelisk that rose over some ancient ancestral grave, and lightly pushed her against it, holding her there with his body, his hands on her waist, his legs braced around her skirts. She tilted her head back with a challenge in her eye.