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

Early the next morning, Tyrell stood in Countess Alameda’s foyer, tapping the white marble floor with the toe of his black boot. He glanced with irritation at the hall clock ticking away the minutes. Where was she? He uncrossed his arms, straightened his shoulders, and schooled his glowering expression into one that was slightly less ogre-like. He had no wish for Fiona to think of him as the ill-tempered sourpuss Lady Haversburg had described.

Not three more minutes passed before his dark brows pinched together again. Tyrell’s black polished boots clicked against the white marble as he paced. The hall clock ticked on with deafening loudness. He thwacked his riding crop against his leg. Where the devil was she?

A splash of green caught his attention as it moved past one of the white Grecian urns on the marble balustrade upstairs. Tyrell caught his breath. She was here. Without any conscious effort, his scowl changed to an expression of delight. The swishing of Fiona’s green riding habit and the sound of her boots pattering down the stairs filled the austere foyer with pleasantness.

“Lord Wesmont, please forgive me for making you wait. Aunt Honore didn’t tell me what hour you were coming. We were out very late last evening, at Lady Castlereigh’s card party and I’m afraid I overslept.”

“I can hardly call you to task for oversleeping if you didn’t know at what hour to rise.” He inclined his head in a bow and smiled at her.

She laughed. “You are right.” Linking her arm in his and catching up her train in the other hand, she said, “Did you bring Kip to act as groom? I asked Aunt Honore if I might borrow one of hers, but she refused. She said she doesn’t tax her grooms with such nonsense, and that I am perfectly safe with you.” Fiona added with equal lightheartedness, “Of course, my aunt doesn’t know you as well as I do, does she?”

He felt a thud in his stomach. Her words, true though they might be, struck him hard. He lapsed into his trademark scowl, and decided to give her a dose of her own medicine. “I brought Kip, but, not to act as your groom. I brought him to hold my cattle while I waited for you. I didn’t bring a mount for him. But if you’re that afraid of me, we might let Kip ride behind you on your horse.”

“You know full well that would be ludicrous.”

“Yes, and since it is ludicrous, let us dismiss the subject altogether.”

“As you wish.” It pleased him to see her feathers were now just as ruffled as his.

Kip whistled softly at the surly set of his master’s face and Miss Hawthorn’s stubborn expression. Tyrell set Fiona up in the saddle of a roan mare with white socks. The mare danced to the side and snorted.

Kip handed Fiona a riding crop, which she looped over her wrist. “She’s a mite fresh, miss. But she’ll settle down if you show ‘er who’s master.”

Tyrell swung up onto Perseus and trotted off down the street. Fiona cast an angry look at his backside as she tried to control her excitable mount. He posted to the end of the street without so much as a backward glance. Fiona exhaled loudly and dug her heel into the roan’s side. Her mount lurched forward and sprang past Tyrell.

When she was able to rein the horse back in, Fiona laughed at herself. What a barmy thing to do riding such a feisty mare, she thought. I would have looked like a great idiot tearing through London on a runaway horse.

Tyrell cantered up beside her. “Can you handle her? I thought for a moment she was bolting with you.”

“My fault entirely.” Fiona assured him. “I was angry with you and I must’ve kicked her a trifle too hard.”

Tyrell cocked an eyebrow at her and smirked. “Angry at me, eh?”

He could be so dratted appealing when he smiled, even if it was to mock her. Fiona’s heart beat a little faster. “Yes, my lord. It seems we are forever at odds with one another. Perhaps we might start anew today.” She shifted the reins and extended her other hand to him. “Friends?”

But her mare skittered sideways and Fiona struggled to maintain her seat.

Tyrell touched the brim of his hat in a salute. “Friends,” he said.

“Good,” She beamed back at him.

The warmth of her smile sent an electric charge through Tyrell. It caught him off guard. He took a deep breath, stiffened his spine, and trotted alongside her mare. He grabbed the harness of the recalcitrant animal and brought it under control.

She looked up at him catching her lip apprehensively. “I must confess a dark secret to you, my lord.” Her horse lurched sideways and nearly unseated her. She clutched the pommel and shook her head. “I’m accustomed to riding astride at home. It is a shameful practice, I know. But the worst part is, I appear to be a rather inept horsewoman riding sidesaddle. See how I must fight to hold her in check.”

“Not your fault. She’s been standing in the stable too long. She wants her head. I should’ve guessed you race about the countryside riding like a boy.” He smiled. “Can you manage her till we get to Hyde Park? No one will be there this time of morning. I think it will be safe for us to have a gallop there.”

“Oh , that would be marvelous.” Enthusiasm sparkled in her eyes like waves splashing against the shore. Lady Alameda was right. Tyrell had the urge to pull Fiona off her horse and kiss her senseless right here in the street. Instead, he concentrated on finding the shortest route to Hyde Park.

The park, he postulated, would be deserted this early. If he made love to her on the grass, hidden in the trees, no one would be there to stop them. After all, Lady Alameda had given him permission. He ached to do it. But in his heart, he knew he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. His conscience wouldn’t let him ruin Fiona. Why did he even speculate about such a thing? He was a heartless cad, that’s why. He’d known her since she was a baby. She was an innocent.

Or was she?

Of course, she was.

Yet, how could she be, living at Alison Hall with her depraved aunt and that cur Alameda? He glanced back at her and caught her staring at him. Her cheeks turned pink and she looked away.

Tyrell frowned. She aroused such overwhelming passions in him. Could a true innocent do that? She seemed to possess some mystical skill or womanly art that made him incoherent with desire. Perhaps, while he was away fighting Napoleon, she’d exchanged her innocence for pleasure.

A blaze of enlightenment awakened him to the obvious. It must be true. He nodded, agreeing with his own conclusions. She was far too adept at seducing him to be an innocent. That would explain Honore’s willingness to offer him Fiona’s virtue without a second thought. There was no virtue left. In that case, why should he not take advantage of her offer? He ached for Fiona and he would have her. Damn the consequences!

He lied to himself all the way to Hyde Park. Perseus trotted eagerly through the gate while Tyrell continued to weave a glorious tapestry of convenient self-deception.

Why should he not make her his mistress? Her family knows she’s no longer an innocent, and that’s why they didn’t invite her to their ball. They wouldn’t want a tainted daughter spoiling Emeline’s come-out. Which explains why she doesn’t even know they’re in town. They don’t want her. Well, I want her. I’ll set her up as my mistress. When we’ve grown tired of one another, I’ll pay her off with a handsome diamond bracelet, or emeralds, or anything else she wants. That’s how it’s done.

He grinned, excessively pleased with himself, and patted Perseus’s neck. An ideal situation. No responsibilities. No obligations. No expectations. I’d be a simpleton to pass up the opportunity. The woman drives me mad with want, so why not satisfy myself? It might take a year, or two, or perhaps three, but what does that matter?

A niggling voice in the back of his head begged a question.

Suppose she gets with child? My child? Tyrell sucked in his breath. The image of Fiona naked, her belly swollen with his child, increased the unbearable pressure in his groin.

Perseus snorted and reared slightly, urging his master to a faster pace as Fiona’s roan shot past him.

Tyrell shook his head. The fog of his irreverent imaginings lifted. Fiona galloped violently across the field in front of him, her horse wildly out of control. The mare swerved left then right, kicked up her hind legs, and tore across the turf as if jackals were after her. Fiona held her seat, but only just. When the mare bucked again and threw her head down, it was all over. Fiona catapulted out of the saddle.

Tyrell spurred Perseus into a gallop. He saw Fiona’s body bounce like an India rubber ball and tumble to a stop. She lay unmoving on the grass. Tyrell heard a deafening shriek. Was it hers? No. It had bellowed from his throat.

He felt trapped in a thick soup, unable to gallop fast enough. It seemed an eternity before he reached her fallen body. He leapt down and knelt beside her.

Her hat was gone. Her hair fluttered about her face, blowing like the autumn leaves. Her eyes were closed. Mud flecked her pale cheeks. Silent and still, she lay. Too still.

A low keening moan came from unbidden his throat. He lifted her shoulders onto his lap and bent over her, smoothing her hair, rocking back and forth. His mind returned to the battlefield. The bloodied faces of his soldiers flashed before his eyes, young men dying, his men. He held Fiona, and shook his head.

“No!” he cried. It was a command. It was a plea. “Not her!”

“Not her.” He rocked and clasped her to his chest. “Fiona! Fiona, wake up!” He ordered. He begged. “God, listen to me—not her. Don’t let her die. You can’t let her die—I love her.”

The truth didn’t startle Tyrell. He supposed he’d known it all along. “God forgive me. I’ve been a fool. I’ve always loved her. Always. Just bring her back to me.” He hugged her to him.

His lamentation was so deep, he didn’t hear Fiona stirring until she choked, “You’re hurting me.”

He squinted at her, unbelieving, uncertain if she was a ghost, or if he was the luckiest man alive. He crumpled into tears and he clutched her against his chest again.

“Stop. My arm…” she moaned.

Tyrell came to his senses. He looked down and saw for the first time that her arm was lying across her lap, twisted awkwardly. From the elbow down it appeared to be screwed on backward. He brought it into focus through his watery eyes. “It’s broken. Don’t move. I’ll get you to a doctor as hastily as I can.”

He unwound his cravat from his neck and yanked off the long white cloth. “We can bind your arm to your body so it won’t move about. Can you sit up a little?”

“I think so.” She leaned up, but the movement cost her considerable pain. He didn’t miss her lips clamped tight, or her involuntary flinches as he wound the cloth across her shoulder and anchored her arm to her chest. “How is that?”

“Better.” She nodded, but he was unconvinced.

“Fiona, listen to me. Lifting you onto Perseus’s back—there’s bound to be pain. I’m sorry for it, but there’s no other way. I’ve got to get you to a doctor.”

She nodded. When Tyrell hefted her onto his horse, she shuddered and turned white. Afraid she would faint, he rushed to climb up behind her.

“There’s a surgery near here,” she said, pain warping her voice. “Dr. Meredith.”

Tyrell clicked his tongue and urged Perseus into a gentle walk. With one arm he held Fiona firmly against his chest. Grimly, he followed her directions, until they found a two-story town house. He tied Perseus to a link and carefully lifted Fiona down. She looked alarmingly pale. He held her shoulders as they walked to the door.

“What about my mount?” she asked.

“Ran off. Doesn’t matter. If I ever see the blasted beast again I’ll put a bullet in her ignorant head.” He banged the knocker.

“You needn’t be cross with her. It was my fault. I don’t ride well in a lady’s saddle. Leave me here with Dr. Meredith and go search for your horse.”

“Don’t spout nonsense.”

“But—” The color washed out of her face and her eyes opened wide. “Oh dear—” Fiona slid like a corpse down his side into a dead faint. He caught her, scooping her up into his arms.

The door opened. Dr. Meredith stood without a coat, his sleeves rolled up, squinting at Tyrell holding Fiona in his arms. “Is that Miss Hawthornham? What happened?”

Tyrell glared at the doctor as if the fellow had biscuits for brains. “Hawthorn. It’s Miss Hawthorn. She’s had a riding accident. Don’t just stand there, man. Help me get her into your surgery.”

When Fiona awoke, the sleeve of her riding dress had been sliced open up to the shoulder, and the two men were standing beside her, arguing.

“I tell you, it’s not broken. It’s dislocated.”

“How can you be certain?” Tyrell demanded.

“Gad, man. I’m a doctor. I’m supposed to be able to tell. I felt the bones. They’re all intact. The radius has slipped out of the elbow joint. To put it plainly, her forearm is upside down.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“If you will get out of my way, I intend to move the arm into position and snap it back in place.”

“There must be another way.” Tyrell slapped his hand against his leg. “That’s going to hurt her something awful.”

“Of course it will hurt. But while we stand here arguing, the muscles and ligaments are stretching, tearing and getting weaker. Her recovery pain is increasing with every minute you delay me.”

Tyrell exhaled through gritted teeth. “You’re certain there’s no other way? Something less painful?”

“If there was, I would’ve already done it. Now, you must move and allow me to set her arm.”

Tyrell sighed, sounding like misery itself, and stepped aside. “Very well.”

Dr. Meredith smiled sympathetically at Fiona. “Ah, you’re awake. So you heard?”

She nodded.

“Then we’ll begin.” When he grasped her arm and yanked it into place, Fiona sank back into the gray oblivion from which she had just emerged.