Wildfire Kiss (Sir Edward 1)
She stalled him a moment and said hesitatingly, “Until later then, Papa …?”
Otto added quickly, “Don’t worry, my lord. I will take care of our darling Babs.”
“How you will manage that is beyond me, for I tell you frankly I have never been able to handle that particular chore!” her father pronounced with a smile, both rueful and affectionate.
“Oh, Papa!” the lady objected.
“Go on then, go on.” He waved them off and then stood away from them as they left him to his own thoughts.
Two
LADY BABS’ PAPA was certainly concerned and with good reason. If the haute ton ever caught wind that one of their own had betrayed their foibles, it would ruin her. He couldn’t have that; the truth was that he thought the sun rose when she did. She was his precious, and he was at a loss to know how to protect her from her own wildness.
If she were found out—would they forgive her escapade as just that? No, he knew better. They would see it as a betrayal. How else could they see it? The book poked fun at them.
His only child, his treasure. She filled his home with laughter, and that had not been an easy task after his beloved wife had died. He had wanted to take a gun to his head and put himself out of his misery … but Babs showed him how they could live and honor her memory. Now, now he had to find a way to protect her.
This was all his fault. If he had not fallen into debt, she would not have been pushed to write and sell the miserable piece of scribbling. His fault. She was but a perfect being, always kind-hearted …
They would oust her from Almack’s and whisper about her when she passed. She would receive the worst of cold treatments. He could not allow it. He would not allow it. He would say, if need be, that he wrote the book!
Lady Caroline Lamb had written a novel, and she had been all but banished from the London scene. She had been belittled, shamed, and gossiped about by those who had once fought to be in her company. Caroline had not left defeated, though, because she was, after all, who she was … but he didn’t want the ton to whisper about his good girl. Quite a different matter!
Certes! If ever he was caught in a muddle, it was now. She was his brilliant, daring, brave little puss, full of impulse. She was rough-and-tumble to a fault, but she was his, and in the end he would think of something. He must.
He went to his writing desk and sat. With a long and somewhat worn sigh, he took up a quill and started his letter. So, just as she had predicted, he was again applying to her for assistance. Lady Jane was a formidable figure whose presence in his household would most certainly cut up his peace, but there was no other way.
Even in the wilds of Romney Marsh her power wield
ed itself with the beau monde. She would come.
Theirs were very different natures. She took after their father and he after their mother, but their common bond was their great love for their name and his Babs. He sighed heavily; if Babs only knew what sacrifices he always made for her—perhaps she would be more circumspect!
***
Indeed, had Babs known to what drastic measures her father was moved to implement, she would have been astonished. This in spite of the fact that she watched Count Otto purchase a copy of her novel from a stack of neatly and prominently displayed copies laid out on a nearby table.
Who would know a mere slip of a girl had written it—who would suspect? No one, she told herself confidently.
She did, however, experience a ripple of excitement as she watched Otto flip through the pages.
“Aha!” said Otto. “This is a read!” He shoved the book into her hands. “You will skim through it while we take the drive to the fairgrounds and tell me what you think.”
She rapped his arm playfully. “Aha, is it, beastly man? Always putting me to work. You read it for yourself.” She pushed the book back at him.
“Ah, Lady Barbara.” It was a distinctive male drawl, and although the address of the man was decidedly languid, there was a certain masculinity that caught and held the interest.
Babs’ dark eyes opened wide, and the woman in her responded. She gave the gentleman a soft smile as she put out her gloved hand in genuine pleasure. Sir Edward Danton bent over her fingers but easily, deftly found the uncovered wrist and allowed his lips to linger audaciously there. His hazel eyes bright with something she could not name met her own, and she felt an intake of breath. He was so excitingly bold!
A tremble skidded through her body. That was not like her. She had some experience handling the London rakes, and her style was simple but effective. She would return their flirtation, but she did so while keeping on the move. She never gave an answer that could come back to haunt her and always kept it at a lively and shallow banter.
Most of the libertines she encountered took her responses in the light nature they were intended. She was after all ‘aristocracy’, and the general rule was not to dally too deeply with their own set—it could get a man married, and that would never do for a rake about town.
Sir Edward, however, was different. For one thing, he did not have the reputation of being a libertine. He was not even counted amongst those in the petticoat line. Sir Edward was, in fact, something of a dandy.
His chestnut curls were lightly pomaded and framed his lean, attractive face. His brows were finely shaped over his light hazel eyes. His lips were thin, his dress exquisite. His conversation witty, fluent, and interesting.
No invitation list was complete without his name. He was considered the best of good ton, and his wealth and lineage made him a prize on the marriage mart. He broke the hearts of many mothers, for up until recently he had never displayed an interest in the misses presented during the season.