“Really, Cousin Fanny, I don’t think I—” Thea began, but Fanny brushed away her objections with a blithe wave of her hand.

“What difference are a few minutes with or without a chaperone? I’m sure I could trust an honourable man like Mr Grayling with my life as well as your reputation, Thea.” Fanny chuckled as Thea dubiously dismounted in response to Fanny’s imperative indication; then she leaned across to address Mr Grayling in a collaborative manner.

“I hope you have no objection, initiating my cousin in the art of conversing with a gentleman. I’m sure she’ll be quite tongue-tied but,” she dropped her eyes and affected great sorrow, “Thea’s time is limited and I am fond of her.” She smiled a meaningful, colluding smile. “As I think she is fond of you, Mr Grayling. You are just the kind of gentleman to whom I would entrust darling Thea—” She broke off as she was aware of Thea taking a step closer and looking enquiringly at them. “Carry on, Thea. Mr Grayling will join you in a moment, so that you both may enjoy the view from the top of the hill. I shall be back in twenty minutes. No need to look at me like I’ve cast you into the lion’s den.”

“Cousin Fanny!” Thea gasped in embarrassment, putting her hands to her face as she glanced from Fanny to Mr Grayling.

Fanny was glad the gentleman shared her amusement at Thea’s reaction. He really was charmed by the girl’s charm and innocence, she thought.

Resuming her conversation as Thea began to trail obediently towards the fallen log, she indicated her cousin with a nod of her head. “You understand that under normal circumstances I would never consider leaving Thea unchaperoned.”

Mr Grayling nodded, his expression suitably grave. “Rest assured, Lady Fenton, you have no cause to fear that I shall say or do anything that might remotely tax Miss Brightwell, or that may be cause for scandal.”

Fanny raised her eyes heavenward. Perhaps he wasn’t as understanding as she’d assumed. It seemed she really must spell it out. “But that is exactly what you must do, Mr Grayling. I am charging you with the task of introducing Thea to the pleasures that she will all too soon be denied when her sweet young life is cruelly cut short just months from now.” She sent him a meaningful look, hoping he really did have the intelligence to follow what she was implying.

Dawning gratification crossed his face, quickly followed by alarm. “But what if she—”

“Unexpectedly…expire? There is no danger now, I assure you, Mr Grayling. Her doctor says that while she is well and robust, she must enjoy every amusement she can. He recommends gentle stimulation and mild exertion. When she starts to decline in another four months or so, why, then we must take every care with her.”

She was about to say more, only Thea, who was already a few feet across the grassy turf, turned. Fanny saluted her and curtailed her advice with a smile. “Can I leave my cousin’s…education in pleasure…to you, Mr Grayling? As long as there are no whispers surrounding the pair of you, I shall be only too pleased to think that you’ve so kindly stepped in to shoulder the burden of caring for Thea in a way only a gentleman for whom I can tell she has feelings could do.”

With his thoughts in turmoil, Sylvester led his horse towards Thea, who was stroking the nose of her docile mare as it cropped the sweet grass on the hilltop. Lady Fenton’s parting words had been a licence for anything, it seemed, but the lust that had coursed through him a few moments ago was tempered now with a curious mixture of emotions he couldn’t quite identify. He certainly must not let the girl down by feeling pity. Didn’t she deserve to feel what her cousin believed she ought before she went to her grave: pleasure and passion? Delivering upon that was what he’d been charged with.

“What a beautiful morning it is, Miss Brightwell,” he murmured. For the first time in his life he wasn’t sure how to approach a lady. Their very aloneness was highly irregular, and she’d know it. Sylvester, by contrast, was used to secret assignations and, on occasion, fast and furious lovemaking with highly experienced women who had looked to him to deliver a mutually satisfying experience. Bored married women and voracious widows had been his usual fare until now.

A shy—dying—virgin with a reputation to be protected was entirely out of his league.

Gad, but she was lovely, he thought as he approached, raising her head to regard him with a look of unsettling intensity. He was unexpectedly assailed by a wave of tenderness coupled with a charge of feeling to his groin.

“I’m sorry you’ve been saddled with me while Cousin Fanny takes her exercise.” Her voice was lilting and musical and he noticed the slightest upturn to her lips, suggesting humour as she added, “Fanny is very impulsive and she does like to seize the moment when she can.”

Sylvester lay his handkerchief over the fallen log. “Are you so unlike?” he asked, offering his hand so he could help her to sit.

“As Aunt Minerva’s companion—and unlike Cousin Fanny—I have few moments to seize.”

And so little time left in which to seize them, Sylvester thought with a pang as he sat next to her, careful that his thigh did not rest against hers—yet.

“Your aunt is…somewhat exacting, I’m led to believe. But let’s not talk about that. Let’s talk about you.”

“Me?”

It was almost a squeal of surprise. Amused, he touched her cheek, very briefly, then carefully clasped his hands in his lap as he gazed into her eyes. The flare of response in their blue depths was gratifying and he was just congratulating himself on how well he was conducting this gentle prelude to the greater intimacy with which he’d been charged, when she said abruptly, “I am totally dependent on my aunt, Mr Grayling. My father left me penniless some years ago. That’s really all there is to know about me.”

He took her hand. “Should I be shocked by your candour or full of admiration for your honesty?” Admittedly, he was surprised by her revelation, which for the moment hindered what he had in mind, but perhaps needed to be dealt with. “You are a very lovely young woman.” He hesitated. “And I should like to know you better, having observed you from,” he smiled as he added with emphasis, “across the Assembly Rooms.”

Rising, he drew her to her feet. “Come, let us walk the path that skirts the cliff face. Do you see your cousin over there?”

He pointed to a speck in the distance, which he assumed was Fanny galloping hell for leather over the downs. Lord, but Lady Fenton, as she had become, had inspired the lustful fantasies of half of London. He well recalled the whispers and innuendo that had swirled around her regarding her suitability as a wife. Some of the more scandalous suggested she’d had a raging affair with Viscount Fenton before they were married, and that he’d even proposed to set her up as his mistress. But then Earl Quamby had made her an honest offer, which soon had Fenton begging her on his knees to pledge her troth to him. The whole world knew that part, followed by the shock of the season when Miss Fanny Brightwell did indeed succumb to Lord Fenton’s avowals of love and in fact broke off her betrothal to Lord Quamby to wed the man who’d stolen her heart. Jaws had barely been put back into place when the younger Miss Antoinette wed Lord Quamby not one week later, producing for him a son and heir after supposedly nine months and five minutes—though it was whispered the babe was vastly overcooked.

Miss Thea was a meek lamb to her cousins’ fire and daring, which was fine by Sylvester, as he had no interest in a jezebel who’d lead him a merry dance before conferring her favours upon him. While the girl’s tragic plight both touched his heart and made it thrill with forbidden opportunities—well, forbidden under any other circumstance—normally he was not drawn to the weak and helpless. But perhaps he was of a more altruistic and philanthropic nature than he’d supposed. He’d be rendering her the greatest service if he could wean her ever so gently into a world of forbidden pleasures before her time on earth was at an end. It’s what Lady Fenton explicitly wished of him, and what he was relishing—even more now that he realised he’d have to be more creative about his wooing—.

Miss Brightwell shaded her eyes. “She is a very long way away,” she said doubtfully.

“Then let us take a shortcut through the woods to cut

her off at the pass.” Sylvester placed her hand in the crook of his arm, patting it firmly to keep it there, and increased his pace until they were well camouflaged by the wooded terrain.

Aware of her increased breathing, he glanced down at her. “Would you like to stop a moment, Miss Brightwell? The exertion is perhaps not good for you.”

Tags: Beverley Oakley Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net