Page 12 of Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman

‘Yes, Mama intended that we go to town early to begin acquiring a wardrobe, as she insisted nothing country-made would do. Oh, the evenings we spent, poring over fashion plates while Mama and Grandmama described the wonders of Bond Street and Piccadilly! Modistes, cloth-drapers, bonnet-makers, cobblers offering slippers soft as a glove, gloves in every colour of the rainbow.’ Shaking her head, she said, ‘Now you will be thinking me the most frivolous individual!’

‘Fashion, frivolous?’ he replied with a grin. ‘Indeed not, Miss Neville. ’Tis practically the stuff of life in London. There’s great artistry in the making of apparel that shows both the beauty of the material and the wearer to best advantage. It’s said Beau Brummell went through an entire stack of neckcloths before getting his cravat tied to perfection and had a standing order for champagne, just to add to his valet’s secret formula for blacking his boots.’

‘I am so looking forward to it all. And to renewing my relationship with Lady Parnell, Mama’s best friend, with whom we were to stay that first year and who will be my sponsor now.’

Surprise tinged with dismay banished Greville’s amusement. Lady Parnell, one of the doyennes of society, was said to have more influence than all the patronesses of Almack’s combined.

No need to fear that Miss Neville would fall victim to the petty cruelty of jealous schemers. No one who had any aspirations to society would be foolish enough to openly criticise the ward of so socially powerful a personage.

‘If Lady Parnell is to introduce you, your success is assured.’

‘Are you acquainted with her? She’s my godmother, as well as Mama’s best friend.’

‘I’ve not had that honour.’ Greville did not feel it necessary to add that this was hardly surprising, since the females whose company he’d normally sought while in the metropolis had been about as opposite as one could get from the virginal blossoms of society and the Grand Dames who sheltered them. ‘I did know her nephew at Cambridge.’

Of all the matrons in the city, it would have to be Lady Parnell, he thought with rueful chagrin. If he were still clinging to any foolish thought of attempting a friendship, the identity of Miss Neville’s sponsor ought to sound its death knell.

Not only was the lady wealthy, influential and needle-witted—and thus liable to allow only the wealthiest and most eligible gentleman to associate with her ward—she also had a keen awareness of everything that went on in London. He couldn’t rule out the possibility she might even know about some of the questionable activities in which he’d participated with her nephew.

Time to stop indulging in—and tantalising himself with— Miss Neville’s company before he grew too fond of it. What better way than to remind them both of his present position?

Halting with her in front of the French doors leading back into the house, Greville said, ‘A most enjoyable stroll, Miss Neville, but now I must let you return to your duties. By the by, do you think I might find someone who could string a hammock in my bedchamber? I do miss some aspects of being at sea.’

There it was again, that flash of alarm, followed by irritation when she realised he was playing with her. ‘I can certainly enquire,’ she said frigidly, clearly not appreciating his teasing at her expense. ‘Thank you for your escort, sir—and I will count upon your word as a gentleman in dealing with my cousin. Good day.’

She turned to stomp off, her posture as stiffly upright as a ship flying downwind under full sail. He chuckled, thinking it would only serve him right if he returned to his chamber this evening to find his bed removed and a hammock swinging gently from the overhead.

‘My pleasure, Miss Neville,’ he called after her.

How he wished she might be, he thought wistfully, watching the sway of her trim posterior as she walked through the doorway into the house. He could vividly imagine luring her to his chamber, burying his face in the scent of her golden hair while he pulled the strands free of their pins, loosing the ties of her bodice…

He could obliterate the pain of the past and uncertainty of the future with simple, all-consuming lust.

But that was the old Greville’s favourite way of avoiding what he didn’t wish to face. He was going to have to find a new way of handling difficulties.

Still, he thought with a sigh as he relinquished the tantalising image of Miss Neville in his bedchamber, despite knowing that he would doubtless end up a much better man for making the change, there were parts of being the old Greville he really, really hated to give up.

Becoming respectable, he acknowledged as he walked into the house and headed for the stairs, surreptitiously adjusting his suddenly restricting trouser flap, was turning out to be a deal more difficult than he could have imagined.

Chapter Five

Later that evening, Amanda left the kitchen and took the back stairs up to the first floor. Though she’d previously gone over the week’s menus with Mrs Pepys, she’d felt driven to check one more time on tonight’s dinner, pressed by an inexplicable compulsion to make doubly sure that their guest, if he in fact joined them this evening, would find nothing amiss.

It was ridiculous, the glow Mr Anders had ignited in her with his compliments about her management of Ashton Grove. Why should his approval matter? He was simply, as he seemed to take delight in reminding her, a lowly sailor.

She sighed. He was also, however, unmistakably a gentleman, by birth, speech and, teasing aside, usually behaviour. What was she to make of him…and the unprecedented, powerful attraction that had flooded her on the terrace this morning? For a moment, even knowing her destiny lay elsewhere, she’d nearly succumbed to a desire to kiss him!

And whatever had possessed her, burbling out all her thoughts, hopes and plans like a toddler visiting an indulgent grandmama? Her unusual loquaciousness merely underlined how starved she was for a sympathetic soul with whom to share all those details, from important to trivial, she used to confide to her mama.

Mr Anders certainly was not that…though he had been an attentive and sympathetic listener. A nearly instantaneous rapport seemed to spring up between them, so easy and natural that she’d not felt a moment’s qualm about speaking to him like a close friend of long standing, rather than a near-stranger she’d just met. A rapport he’d felt, too, she was certain, as he’d certainly felt that flash of…something, heat and need and desire…that ignited between them once they were alone.

Before he’d put her back in her place. Strange, though he was the social inferior, she was the one who felt dismissed. The abrupt termination of their seductively intimate interlude had left her feeling…bereft.

Very well, she needed a friend and confidant. Soon she would have Lady Parnell. In the interim, since she wished neither to be the butt of his little jokes nor to subject herself to the disturbing allure of his company, best that she just avoid him.

With that conclusion, she turned down the hallway and walked towards the salon. On physician’s orders, Papa took a glass of sherry there each evening before leading her in to dinner. Although if Mr Anders did join them, she suddenly realised, it would be her duty as hostess to go in on his arm.

So much for avoiding the man, she thought. At the image of his hand covering hers, another of those little shivers she seemed unable to either prevent or suppress trembled through her.

Trying to shake off the feeling, she turned her mind to the problem of Althea. After her too-intimate chat with Mr Anders on the terrace, she’d put him firmly out of mind, which perhaps hadn’t been wise. Though she’d not seen him the rest of the day, she hadn’t seen her cousin either. Had Althea managed to run their guest to ground after her ride?

Unsettled as their guest’s teasing had made her, for some inexplicable reason she felt that Mr Anders would do Althea no harm. None the less, since he was a gentleman entirely unrelated to them and a stranger to the neighbours, she probably should have checked on them. To keep loose tongues from wagging, in the servants’ hall if nowhere else, she must ensure that they were chaperoned during any walks and drives they took together.

Where the girl’s reputation was concerned, it wouldn’t do to trust any man, especially one as undeniably charming as Mr Anders.

She sighed. By the end of their walk, before he’d set her at a distance with that absurdity about hammocks, she’d been almost as won over by Mr Anders as her cousin. His sincere-sounding compliments, combined with the devilishly appealing trait he had of seeming to focus his entire attention on what one said, made him very hard to resist.

Adding to that, the handsomeness of his person—for a moment, she allowed the image of that tall, upright figure, the handsome face and arresting green eyes to play through her mind again—made him a vastly attractive gentleman.

Given how tempted she, who knew how indiscreet it might be, was to befriend the man, it was likely to be even more difficult than she’d initially anticipated to pry Althea away from him.

Perhaps, after dinner tonight, she’d have an opportunity to mention her concerns to Papa, much as she hated to burden him with any further cares. Althea had clearly found Amanda’s presence during her excursion with Mr Anders an unnecessary interference. Papa was both the one ultimately responsible for Althea’s well-being and the only one who might be able to point out the need for prudence without inciting a scathing response.

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