Lady Fiasco: A Humorous Traditional Regency Romance (My Notorious Aunt Book 1)

The next morning Fiona sat with her aunt at the breakfast table. Of course it wasn’t really morning, the clock in the hallway chimed twelve times, marking the hour as noon. Nevertheless, they sat breakfasting together in companionable silence until the butler presented Honore with a silver salver stacked high with mail.

“Oh, bother, what a pile.” Honore didn’t actually seem annoyed as she eagerly slit open the first missive. She was used to hostesses vying for her company at their evenings “at home.” A rout was sure to be a crushing success if word got around that the notorious Lady Alameda might attend.

Honore pulled out the first invitation. Extending her arm, she held the card up, squinted, and adjusted the distance until she could read it clearly. Grunting, she flipped the petition onto the table, ripped open the next card, read it, and tossed it aside. Her brows pinched together and she frowned at Fiona.

“What is it, Aunt? Is something amiss?”

Honore’s forehead unpinched and her gaze floated up toward the ceiling. “Do you know, Fiona, I can see the ceiling with perfect clarity, but if I hold a letter closer than the end of my arm I can scarce make out the words.”

“How troubling that must be. Would you like me to read your morning correspondence to you?”

“Heavens no! I’m not as aged as that.”

“Of course not. I merely thought it might be more convenient—”

“Convenient? Convenient is being able to read the darned things m’self. It is my correspondence, after all.”

She tore open another invitation, read it, and flicked it aside. She grabbed a handful of letters from the silver tray, turned them over, and perused the seals until she found one that interested her. Running her finger over the large blue wax seal, she broke open the invitation, perused it, smiled sardonically, and let the card fall out of her hand.

“How perfectly extraordinary,” she said, contemplating Fiona with a frown.

Fiona stuck a forkful of kippers into her mouth. She wasn’t going to ask.

“It would seem, m’dear, you are no longer riding on my coattails.”

Fiona wondered what she had done now. Obviously, her aunt was upset with her. The fish in her mouth suddenly tasted crusty, dry, and difficult to swallow. When she was finally able to clear her throat, she ventured, “I don’t grasp your meaning?”

Honore pulled her breakfast plate back in place and primly lifted her fork. “No? You don’t understand?” She stabbed an orange and twirled it on the end of her fork. “Well then, let me explain. Society has crowned you her latest attraction. Judging from this stack of cards,” —with her left hand she flicked the envelopes sitting on the tray—“every hostess in town is hoping you will attend her next ball. Can you guess why, m’dear?”

Fiona shook her head and carefully set her fork on her plate, no longer hungry.

“I should think the answer is obvious. Come now, whatever other failings you might have, you’re not stupid. Can you not guess?”

Fiona took a deep breath. “I should think if I am invited anywhere it is simply because I am connected to you. I cannot possibly fathom any other reason.”

That answer seemed to mollify Honore slightly. Her tone became less sarcastic. “I thought the same thing until last night. Now, it seems you are the one in demand. Without a doubt, they are all hoping you will come and create one of your famous incidents at their party.”

“No. That can’t be.” Fiona’s eyes opened wide. “You must be mistaken, Aunt. No one could wish a disaster on their own friends and family.”

Honore snorted. “How little you know, my dear. Consider Lady Sefton’s ball last night, do you recall the most interesting thing that happened? You need not answer, because everybody knows it was when Marcus got himself thumped to the floor. It makes no difference that Wesmont did the thumping, Marcus was dancing with you. Coupled with the news of your mishap with Prinny, society appears to have concluded that you are the harbinger of interesting scenes.”

Fiona clasped her hands together in her lap and gritted her teeth. It was nonsense, just more of her aunt’s insanity. It must be.

Honore sliced open her orange. “Consider this, Fiona. If you go to Louise Haversburg’s rout and a catastrophe occurs, Louise can be confident that her gathering will be talked about for weeks.”

Fiona frowned at her aunt. “This is ridiculous. I cannot believe anyone would be so callous as to want something to go wrong. Aside from the distress to one of their guests, what if someone is harmed, or worse yet, killed?”

Honore sucked the orange slice on her fork. She licked the juice off her lips. “That doesn’t appear to have troubled anyone in the least. See here”—she gestured to the large invitation with the blue seal—“the Countess Lieven is most insistent that you appear at her ball. The deuced thing is more than a month away.” She lifted the gilt card and considered it for a moment. “Now that I think about it, Fiona dear, she must have written this card out the moment she returned home from Lady Sefton’s.”

Honore thumbed through the pile on the silver tray. “They all must have done so. How perfectly odd. Didn’t they think it could wait until morning?”

“They may as well have gone to bed and saved their ink and paper.” Fiona lifted her chin. “I shan’t go! I refuse to be fodder for society’s perverse amusement.”

“Stuff and nonsense. Why not?” Honore scoffed at her. “Miss Phoebe Ritwater is invited everywhere simply because she is beautiful, is she not? Yes. It’s certainly not for her conversation. The moment the chit opens her mouth she becomes a dead bore, a lisping dead bore at that. But she gets invited everywhere because she is a lovely ornament for guests to gawk at, not unlike a walking flower arrangement.”

Fiona shook her head at her aunt’s wild ramblings. “I thought it was because she was well connected.”

“Heavens no, child. Do you know how many well-connected gels sit home with less than a handful of invitations for the entire Season?”

Honore picked up a small brass bell and jangled it. Her butler appeared. “Send a footman to collect Monsieur Renellé. I want him here without delay. Tell him I am not pleased with the hair color he has inflicted upon me. I look older than the Queen Mother herself. Silver, indeed. Does he think I am blind? It’s gray. I want something youthful. Youthful, I tell you, more in keeping with my age.”

The butler’s mouth quivered almost imperceptibly, but his voice remained steady. “Very good, my lady.”

Honore brushed the rest of her post out of the way with a disgusted snort, and spread open the newspaper. Fiona ate the remainder of her breakfast in silence.

That afternoon, Maria Haversburg came to call and sat fidgeting on Lady Alameda’s sofa. Her mama rapped her smartly on the leg. “Sit still,” she said under her breath. Lady Haversburg looked anxiously at the mantel clock. “Lady Alameda must be unavoidably detained. Perhaps, we ought to take our leave.”

Fiona earnestly shook her head. “Oh no, I’m certain my aunt will appear at any moment. You know how unhappy she’ll be if she misses your visit.” She extended a plate of Mattie’s shortbread. “More biscuits, Lady Haversburg?”

“Well, just one more. They are tasty. I often remark, Honore is most fortunate in her Scottish cook.”

Lady Haversburg plucked a large biscuit from the plate. Maria looked hopefully at the plate, but her mother pushed it away from her daughter, shaking her finger from side to side. She sputtered crumbs, as she said, “Maria has had quite enough, thank you.”

Fiona smiled sympathetically at her friend and looked up at the clock as it pinged four times for the hour.

“Miss Hawthorn, were you not engaged to go driving with Lord Wesmont this afternoon?” Maria said, and the odor of musk and fetid teeth wafted toward Fiona.

“I’m not certain.” She smiled and shrugged as if it were of little or no consequence.

“But I distinctly heard him say he would call for you at four o’clock.”

“Did he? Lord Wesmont jests so often, one never knows if he is sincere or simply bamming.” Fiona bit the corner of her lip, hoping her lie was not evident.

“Odd,” said Maria. “Lord Wesmont seemed such a serious gentleman. I wouldn’t have thought he was jesting.”

“I daresay, Maria is right.” Her mama fanned at the air to dispel her daughter’s dental aroma. “Did you see the beastly scowl he wore all night? Enough to give anyone the impression he is naught but an ill-tempered scapegrace.”

The butler stood in the open doorway and cleared his throat. “Lord Wesmont.” The butler bowed, presenting the guest in the doorway.

Maria gasped. The ill-tempered lord stood before them, dressed in a perfect-fitting blue cutaway and buff form-fitting unmentionables.

“Although, one could do worse,” muttered Lady Haversburg, nudging her daughter up, completely unabashed about the disparaging comment she had just made.

Lord Wesmont’s thick eyebrows were not set in his famous furrowed scowl. His eyes were shuttered halfway in an unreadable expression. Although, Fiona wondered if the corners of his mouth weren’t twitching ever so slightly.

She rose, struggling to control her breath and pulse. “Lord Wesmont, such a surprise.”

He took her hand and spoke softly enough that only she could hear. “So you thought I was merely jesting?”

She ignored his dig and introduced him to Lady Haversburg and her daughter. He bowed politely over each lady’s hand. When he bowed over Maria’s hand, he did not recoil from the blast of fetid air that surely must have assaulted him when the girl smiled. It pleased Fiona that he took pains to be kind. He remained composed and gracious even when Maria spoke to him and revealed more of her unfortunate teeth.

Honore burst into the room startling everyone.

Fiona’s mouth dropped open. Her aunt’s hair was yellow, not ordinary blonde, but the color of a great yellow cheese, almost orange. Shocking, as that was, her vivid new coiffure was eclipsed by her scandalous gown. Although artfully designed, the neckline exposed far more than it concealed. The only thing covering Honore’s bosom was a diaphanous layer of mint green muslin leaves emerging from a line of dark green silk which extended from floor to midriff, curving around the sides of each breast and up over her shoulders. The muslin bodice was cut in the shape of leaves waving and fluttered like wispy feathers over Honore’s nakedness.

Lady Haversburg stood to greet her hostess. Maria dropped back down onto the sofa, too astonished by Honore’s apparel to stand until her Lady Haversburg’s foot connected with her daughter’s ankle, and the poor girl sprang to her feet.

Honore bustled forward, clasped Lady Haversburg’s shoulders, kissed her cheeks, and lisped as if she were an infant. “Louise, what a delightful surprise. I had no notion you were waiting for me.” She turned on her niece. “For shame, Fiona, you should have informed me that I had guests.”

Fiona blinked. Hadn’t she sent word several times that her ladyship had company? Yes, and Lady Haversburg had seen her do it.

“Ah! And here is our naughty Lord Wesmont.” Honore wagged her finger and lisped coyly, moving toward him with mincing steps. She stopped directly beneath his gaze and lifted her hand up to him. “How good of you to call.”

Fiona flushed livid pink as Tyrell bent over her aunt’s hand. Surely, from that position he had a full view of Honore’s bosoms.

Fiona’s cheeks flushed with scorching heat. She spoke with a sharp authoritative tone that she hardly recognized as her own. “It is cool today, Aunt. I’ll fetch your shawl, so that you do not catch a chill.”

“Nonsense.” Honore continued to stand flirtatiously close to Tyrell. “It’s a very warm day. Is it not, my lord?”

“Quite warm.” He answered evenly.

Honore threw back her head and laughed.

Lady Haversburg reached out as if she intended to clamp her hands over her daughter’s ears, but then caught herself just in time. She cleared her throat. “Honore, dearest, I had hoped to stay and solicit your opinions about Maria’s upcoming ball. But, oh heavens! Just look at the time. We’ve been here upwards of an hour, most unseemly of us. How time passes. We have so many calls to make. Must take our leave. I daresay you know how it is.”

“I daresay,” Honore said, waving them away while still smiling seductively at Tyrell.

“Come Maria.” Lady Haversburg yanked her daughter by the arm and whisked her out of the room. Fiona tried to accompany them to the drawing room door, but they were too quick for her. As they bustled down the stairs Fiona overheard Lady Haversburg mumbling and Maria innocently ask, “Did you say something, Mama?”

“Nothing. Nothing, at all. Oh, do come along Maria.”

Fiona folded her arms sternly across her chest. Her aunt was out of control and someone needed to do something.

Honore pointed to a parcel under Wesmont’s arm, and clapped her hands together. “What’s this? Have you brought us a present?”

“Of sorts.” He glanced at Fiona who remained standing by the door.

“Delightful!” Honore pressed a finger against her cheek. “Let me guess. It must be a book.”

“No, Lady Alameda, not a book.”

She arched her eyebrow at him. “How mysterious. Whatever can it be? Surely it’s not chocolates wrapped in plain brown paper.”

“Nothing so amiable.”

“No?” she said. “Then, I cannot guess. You mustn’t keep teasing me like this. I am quite overcome with curiosity.” Her hand fluttered seductively to her breast and then rested on his arm. “Come Wesmont, I insist you indulge me.”

Fiona wanted to indulge Honore by throwing a blanket over her ladyship’s nakedness and tossing her down the stairs headfirst. Fortunately, she contained her murderous desires and glared at Tyrell as he led her lascivious aunt to a chair.

“Unfortunately, my gift is not calculated to please. My lady, you may want to be seated first.”

Honore dropped unceremoniously into the chair. The petals on her bodice fluttered, revealing her dark nipples and covering them up again as the fabric settled back into place. “Very well.” She patted her hands against her lap. “Give it to me. I am prepared to be displeased.”

He handed her the package. Honore pulled off the string and folded back the brown paper to reveal a stack of cartoons. She lifted the first one from the pile, muttering under her breath as she struggled to bring it into focus.

“Aha! It is a lampoon drawn by that fellow Cruikshank! What a wit he is.” She sounded delighted.

Tyrell frowned at her. “Yes, I suppose he is. Look closer, my lady. Observe the identity of the characters.”

She squinted into focus a drawing of herself kicking Lord Maverly in the eye for trying to peek under her skirt. There was a hilarious rendition of Marcus catching Fiona, and Prince George flipping through the air like a pinwheel. Honore’s mouth quivered. She sputtered, snorted, and then broke out in loud high-pitched laughter. She guffawed so violently, tears ran down her cheeks. Her laughter escalated until it became a howl echoing through the house.

Mattie bolted into the room. Her apron was covered with bloodstains and flour, and she waved a butcher knife in front of her as if wielding a broad sword. Whipping her gaze around the room, she squinted suspiciously at Honore, who was doubled over in the chair, laughing hysterically, tears running from her eyes, and stamping her slippered feet against the floor.

Mattie charged forward, her red hair flying about her like a madwoman. She stopped in front of Lord Wesmont and shook the knife in his face. “Hie ye rascal! What ha’ ye done to m’ babby?”

Lord Wesmont lifted both hands, surrendering to the Scottish demon. “Nothing, madam, I assure you. Lady Alameda, please call off your she-bear.”

“Yes. Yes. Oh, Mattie do come away from Lord Wesmont.”

Honore sputtered and giggled as she waved away her protector. Wiping at the tears running down her cheeks she said, “Only just look at this.” Laughing again, she handed a cartoon to her bristling nanny/cook.

Mattie glared suspiciously at each occupant of the room before she accepted the paper. Then she bent her head and studied the cartoon. “Och! What’s this then? This ‘ere is disgusting, that’s what this is. Ye cannot stand for it, me girl. Ye must have whoever drew this filth horsewhipped.”

Honore’s lips pinched into a thin line and she snatched the cartoon out of Mattie’s hands. “Nonsense! It’s merely a bit of fun.”

Lord Alameda strolled into the drawing room wearing little more than a dressing gown and breeches. Lord Wesmont stiffened as the rogue stopped next to Fiona, took her by the elbows, and kissed her cheek proprietarily. “Good morning, cousin dearest.” He glanced casually around the room. “What’s all the commotion?”

Fiona answered him curtly. “Good afternoon, Marcus. I haven’t a clue what the commotion is about. Lord Wesmont appears to be entertaining my half-naked aunt with a bawdy lampoon. And she—well, observe the lady for yourself.” Fiona waved her hand in disgust at her wayward guardian.

Honore grinned up at Tyrell. “My dear, Lord Wesmont, not only did you fail to displease me, you have entertained me famously. A most diverting etching. Marcus, you simply must see it. You are in it. There’s Fiona, and that’s me.” She pointed at the drawing.

With the barest acknowledgement of Lord Wesmont’s presence, Marcus went to Honore’s side and took the print. He pulled a quizzing glass from his pocket and surveyed the caricature.

He chuckled and dropped his eyeglass. “Delightful. Might I have one?”

“No.” Tyrell pulled it out of Marcus’s hands.

Honore chuckled again. “Oh, but it is vastly amusing, Lord Wesmont. Wherever did you find it?”

“Displayed in the window at Laurie and Whittle’s on Fleet Street,” he answered sharply. “I doubt the rest of the ton will take it in as favorable a light as you do. It makes Miss Hawthorn into a figure of ridicule, and casts dispersion on both of your virtues. As a precaution, I purchased all of the remaining cartoons. Mr. Whittle promised to break the plate. We may hope that a scandal is averted, but at least, a dozen of the caricatures were purchased prior to my arrival at his shop.”

“You bought the rest of them? To protect our virtue? How very stuffy you are. The ton won’t care. On the contrary, half of ‘em were there when it happened.” Honore pointed over her shoulder at Fiona. “There stands the reigning attraction of the beau monde. This lampoon would only have increased their interest.”

“I don’t follow your reasoning.”

“No, you don’t do you. How very tiresome. I leave it to her to explain.”

“As you wish. I have come to take Miss Hawthorn driving in the Park, with your permission of course.”

Honore stood up and brushed out her skirt. The movement set the diaphanous petals to fluttering again. Exposing her nipples once more.

Mattie, who had been standing nearby, with arms folded across her chest like a disapproving general, gasped. She put her hands on her hips, her nostrils flared, and her eyes blazed like an enraged mother bull.

Honore sidled up to Tyrell, dragged her finger under his chin and cocked her head. “How do I know I can trust you with Fiona? I’ve heard some very alarming reports about you.”

“I assure you, my lady—”

“No.” She waved away his explanation and closed her eyes. “Don’t bother.” She rubbed her temple and flashed her eyes open again. “Just go! Go on, Wesmont. Take Fiona to the Park. I’m certain it will be a very proper, very dull drive.” She shooed him away.

Tyrell brusquely inclined his head, strode across the room to Fiona, and offered her his arm.

She wasn’t sure she should go anywhere with him. After he’d ogled her traitorous aunt like any common rake, how could he expect her to accompany him on a drive?

Fiona was composing a proper set down for Lord Wesmont, when Mattie ordered Honore to cover herself up. She removed her apron and thrust it at Honore. “Here, use this.”

Honore lifted her chin in defiance. “Take that smelly thing away. I’ll wear anything I like.”

Mattie started huffing and puffing like a bull about to charge. It looked as if they might come to blows any minute.

Fiona suddenly decided she could lecture Lord Wesmont later. For the nonce, it would be prudent to accept Tyrell’s offer and flee the drawing room. Without speaking, she placed her hand on his arm and gestured toward the door.

Before they could escape, Honore called to Tyrell in a shrill voice, “Lord Wesmont! I’m giving an informal little soirée Thursday evening. Do come. I believe it will be an education for you.” Her laughter rang high and false in the charged air of the room.

Tyrell and Fiona hurried to leave. Mattie exploded behind them, “By all the saints, me girl, why’re ye wearing a tart’s dress? It barely covers ye.” There was a loud ripping sound. “Oh, begging yer pardon m’lady! I guess it won’t even do that no more.” Mattie’s voice rang out triumphantly.

Fiona and Tyrell retreated down the stairs, with Marcus’s sardonic laugh chasing them, and Honore screaming, “Get out of here Marcus! Out!”

“Aye, you heard her ladyship,” echoed Mattie. “Now, pet, put m’ apron around ye. We’ll take ye up an’ put something decent on ye. What hae’ ye done to yer hair? It looks like a great yellow peach—”

“You can’t treat me like this, Mattie! Give me that knife! I’ve a good mind to run you through, you interfering old busybody! I’m a grown woman. I’ll wear what I like!”

Honore shouted so loudly that Fiona shuddered involuntarily. She and Tyrell quickened their pace, but didn’t go fast enough to miss hearing Mattie’s booming response. “Not while I live under the same roof, ye won’t!”

“You would do well to remember precisely whose roof—”

By the time they reached the foyer Fiona and Tyrell were almost at a dead run. The butler opened the door for them and calmly handed Tyrell his hat as they rushed out. Tyrell boosted Fiona onto the seat of his curricle, grabbed the reins from his tiger and whipped his horses away from the curb.

A moment passed before he had his horses and his self-composure restored to order. He glanced over at Fiona. She looked sideways at him and they broke out laughing.

Tyrell shook his head as if to clear his mind. “I feel as if I have just narrowly escaped from bedlam.”

She smiled apologetically. “Yes, I fear, my aunt is not very predictable.”

“You’ve vastly understated the matter. The woman is a lunatic.”

Fiona nodded, “Yet, at other times, she is understanding and almost motherly.”

“Motherly?” Tyrell sputtered. “I can hardly believe that.”

“It’s true. Sometimes, she is quite affectionate. Did you know she completely redecorated a bedroom in anticipation of my arrival? It’s true. And what’s more, she even guessed correctly what my favorite colors might be.”

“Astonishing.”

Fiona heard the sarcasm in his voice. “You don’t believe me. I can’t blame you. She can be rational and loving one minute, and then turn quite dangerous and irrational the next. I fear you’ve not witnessed the more noble side of her character. Today was certainly not a good example.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it. Still, her radical shifts in conduct cannot be safe. Didn’t I just hear her threatening to run her cook through with a butcher knife? Your aunt is hardly a fit chaperone for a young lady. I cannot be pleased about you staying in her household.”

Fiona crossed her arms and exhaled loudly. “It seems, my lord, that you are never pleased with me. In fact, I show remarkable skill in disappointing you.”

“You misunderstand—”

“No, I don’t think I do.”

The steady clip-clop of his horses on the cobbled street punctuating her exasperated little huffs. “You are in no position to be concerned about my welfare. After all, I cannot be in any greater danger with my aunt than I was with you at the lake.”

Tyrell’s jaw tightened. “I’ve already apologized for that, Fiona. Believe me, I thoroughly regret my behavior that afternoon.”

Fiona grabbed the curricle seat and squeezed the leather until she could compose herself. She faced Tyrell, and words flew out of her mouth. “Exactly which behavior do you regret, my lord? Pretending to drown and frightening me out of my mind? Do you regret kissing me? Or is it the humiliation you heaped on me afterwards?” Immediately, she lamented her outburst. She peeked over her shoulder at the young tiger standing behind them.

Tyrell looked over at her. “You needn’t worry about my tiger. He’s deaf as a doornail. Aren’t you, Kip?”

“Right you are, guv, been deaf since the day I was born.” The young lad riding on the back of the curricle winked at her. Fiona smiled uneasily.

Tyrell shifted the reins to his left hand, and with his right reached over and covered Fiona’s fingers. “Fiona, I’m sorry, I said those things to you. Truthfully, the entire episode baffles me. I cannot comprehend why I acted like such a scoundrel. I have no excuse for my actions, and I only hope that someday you will forgive me.”

He dropped his guard and looked at her with all the tenderness he felt. Specks of sunshine glimmered in her eyes, and her cheeks blushed an endearing pink. She seemed to test the depths of his earnestness without saying a word. He answered with a half smile.

She is doing it again, he thought. Pulling me toward her as if by magic. Unbidden, he pulled her fingers into his palm, caressing them. His eyes traced a path across her velvet cheek to her lips and then down her ivory neck.

Confusing man, Fiona thought, blushing under the intensity of his gaze. You are no more predictable than my aunt. But, please, don’t take your hand away. I like how your fingers play with mine. Your very touch makes me feel as if I’ve stepped for a moment into heaven.

Just then, a young blade driving a high-perch phaeton skidded around the corner, out of control, headed straight toward them. Tyrell jerked his hand away from Fiona and pulled the reins. He swerved his team out of the way with only inches to spare.

Kip whistled. “Nice work that, guv.”

“Yes, well, perhaps we ought to take a turn about the park, away from jackanapes who shouldn’t be allowed to hold a whip.”

Tyrell’s brows drew together in a silent brood, under which he cast sidelong glances at the woman seated next to him. Why did his traitorous body respond so quickly to this female? He fixed his eyes straight ahead and concentrated on controlling his cattle, controlling them perfectly. After taking one turn about the park, he headed back in the direction of Alison Hall.

“My lord,” said Fiona, “you are wearing your famous scowl.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Ah yes. The beastly scowl that makes me appear to be—how did Lady Haversburg phrase it—an ill-tempered scapegrace.”

“I don’t believe you’re a scapegrace.”

“No? Well, that’s a comfort.” He chuckled. “You may as well know the truth, Fiona. Lady Haversburg is right. I am ill-tempered.”

“I am well aware of your temper, my lord.”

“Are you, indeed?” He frowned and fell silent for a moment. “Unfortunately, I must prove my dour reputation. Fiona, you must not continue living with Lady Alameda. Not only is she a woman of questionable character, but sharing the same roof with Lord Alameda is… well, it’s reckless in the extreme. Dangerous.”

“What can have you against Marcus?” She noticed his brows pinched even tighter and something inside her registered a triumph.

“The man can’t be trusted, that’s what. You shouldn’t be anywhere near that reprobate.”

“But, Marcus has been everything that is kind to me. He is affectionate and generous with his time. Without his attentions, I fear I would sit against the wall at every event.”

A grumble came from deep within Tyrell’s throat. “I see you use his given name.”

“Of course.” She smiled and lifted her chin. “He is my cousin.”

“Cousin or not,” he growled. “You ought not to be staying under the same roof with him. He’s a known rakehell, a complete wastrel, a womanizing scapegrace, and a scoundrel!”

“Really, Lord Wesmont.” She feigned offense, but the muscles in her cheek quivered with mirth. She found his hostility toward Marcus extraordinarily amusing.

Tyrell was too busy fuming and managing his team to notice. “I tell you, he cannot be trusted. You say he is affectionate. Ha! It’s his affectionate nature that troubles me. Exactly how affectionate is he?”

It was Fiona’s turn to glare at him. “You mustn’t trouble yourself on my account, my lord. As I told you before, my welfare is none of your concern.”

“It most certainly is my concern. You are”—he stopped—“you are… I am a friend of your father’s. Yes, that’s it. As your neighbor, I would be derelict in my duty if I didn’t concern myself with your welfare.”

“Oh fustian! You think I’m a little fool who can’t manage her own affairs. I am not nearly as green as everyone thinks.”

Tyrell arched one brow and cast his eyes knowingly over her. “Are you not green? I seem to remember having very little difficulty trapping you into a compromising situation. Or don’t you remember?”

“That is unfair, Lord Wesmont. That was a completely different situation. Besides you tricked me.”

“Yes, but that is precisely my point. It was easy to trick you. And if memory serves, you are rather susceptible to kissing. I don’t recall much resistance from you, quite the contrary—”

“Stop!” she ordered, knowing her face had turned blazing red.

She bit her lip in an attempt to steady her voice. “My lord, you have passed over unfairness and gone straight into cruelty. Do you really think I would have allowed anyone but you to kiss me like that? I’m well aware of how foolish it was. How can I forget? Especially when you remind me of it at every turn. I realize I was gullible. But that day…” Tears trickled out freely from her eyes. “That day was unlike any other.”

Tyrell’s chest tightened and part of his stubborn heart ripped open. He shifted the leather and tried to grab her hand, but she pulled it away.

He sighed heavily. “I’ve done it again, haven’t I? I’ve said everything precisely the wrong way?”

She nodded, wiping at her eyes.

He adjusted the reins, set his team to a well-controlled walk, and grabbed her waist, tugging her toward him. “Listen to me, Fiona. I don’t mean to be unkind. I don’t understand what happened to me that day. You were so beautiful in the water and sunshine, so earnest and sweet. I lost my head. I acted on my impulses and took advantage of you. Perhaps that’s why I worry that Alameda, who is most assuredly a shameless animal, might take similar liberties.”

He patted her tenderly. “Do you understand?”

She looked up at him, her dark eyes swimming with softness and a tentative trust that melted him to the core and made him start to burn with want. Her mouth was just a heartbeat away.

Gad, he thought, I’ve got to stop this nonsense! He snatched his arm away from her and snapped the traces to make the team pick up speed.

Fiona looked down and twisted the finger of her glove. “If I left Alison Hall, where would you have me go? Back to Timtree Corners? They are only too glad to be shot of me. Truthfully, I am happier living with my aunt than I was at home. She may be eccentric, but she doesn’t accuse me of being forever underfoot. She doesn’t think I’m cursed. Marcus may be a rascal, but he is securely under her thumb. Nothing goes on at Alison Hall without her approval. So you see, whether I am painfully green or not, Aunt Honore keeps me safe enough.”

 “I see,” he said, and meant precisely the opposite. She was flat wrong, but what could he do about it?

They pulled up in front of her aunt’s town house. Tyrell handed the leads to Kip and jumped out of the curricle. He helped Fiona down, but did not linger holding her. He set her on the ground and stepped away without giving his treacherous body a chance to respond to her exotic smell, or the curve of her waist under his hands, or the small dimple on her left cheek that came and went with each smile. He stepped back so he could effectively ignore all of those things.

Fiona wondered if he had developed an aversion to her. Whatever the case, she had endured enough of Lord Wesmont’s fickle nature. She’d had enough of him being lover-like one minute and distant the next. She wanted nothing more than to deliver a swift kick to his shin. Instead, she stamped her slipper on the sidewalk, winced briefly at the pain it caused and proceeded up the stairs.

The front door opened. The butler waited in a mute vigil. Lord Wesmont tipped his hat to Fiona’s retreating figure and said formally, “I shall see you Thursday evening at your aunt’s soirée.”

“As you please.” Without turning around Fiona bobbed a less-than-gracious curtsy and continued to march up the stairs, her backside flouncing delectably from side to side.

Tyrell set his hat back firmly on his head and muttered as he climbed into his curricle. “Damnable girl.”

Kip’s mouth spread in a knowing grin. “Quite right, guv, a very damnable girl.”

Lord Wesmont snarled, “Thought you were deaf, Kip.”

Kip pulled on his forelock. “Yes m’lord, Deaf as yesterday’s pudding.”

“Well, see to it you stay that way.”