Banished to Brighton by Sydney Jane Baily

Chapter Six

Screaming, Glynnispitched forward. First her knees and then her gloved palms hit the pavement. With her feathered aigrette falling over her face, she wasn’t even able to catch a glimpse of the culprit.

Shocked and mortified, she remained on all fours a moment, hoping her gown wasn’t torn. And before she could climb to her feet, she heard footsteps running to her. Once again, hands were upon her. She let out another shriek.

“’Tis I, Hargrove,” came his voice, and she relaxed, letting him draw her to standing, and then she leaned against his firm, safe figure.

“Are you injured?” he asked.

Glynnis kept her eyes closed a moment, catching her breath, feeling his warmth, and taking her own measure. Her heart beat fast from the shock of being shoved, and perhaps also from suddenly being in his arms. Then she opened her eyes and pushed away from him, knowing her knees might be bruised, but that was the worst of it. Glancing down, her dress was dirty but not in need of repair.

“Yes, I believe I am unharmed. Thank you for your assistance.” She spoke the words lightly, as if he’d merely retrieved a package or book from the pavement and not her.

When their gazes caught, however, she saw concern. Moreover, angry words spilled from his mouth.

“A cutpurse!” he fumed. “Probably came from London, knowing townsfolk are off their guard when in Brighton.”

She looked at the reticule ribbon still around her wrist and held it up for his inspection.

“Fortunately, there was nothing of value in my purse.”

“Nothing?”

“Merely a handkerchief,” she assured him. “I carried the reticule because I thought it was ... pretty.” Embarrassed at how her voice caught on the last word, Glynnis realized she needed to get to her room and maybe shed a few tears, for the incident had shaken her despite the mild outcome.

Then someone nearby coughed, and she looked past Hargrove to see the woman from the party.

“You will catch your death,” she uttered without thinking, but the gossamer gown left nothing to the imagination. And by the pert breasts with pearled tips, Glynnis would say the woman was feeling chilled despite the warm climate.

Hargrove looked at the Cyprian, too — for Glynnis knew what she was.

“Where do you live?” he asked the rouged doxy.

Glynnis started to draw away. This was no longer her business, and he had more important things to do than deal with her.

“Wait,” Hargrove commanded her. “I will see you home.”

Only because she felt a little dazed, Glynnis did as he said and waited.

The courtesan sighed, realizing she’d lost her customer.

“I’m lodging right there.” And she pointed to a private residence a few doors down from Mrs. Fitzherbert’s.

“A group of us ladies,” the courtesan emphasized the word, “have rented the entire house. You’ll know where to find me next time, right, love?” she added, then boldly strode forward and ran a hand down his cheek before sending Glynnis a scathing glare. Within moments, the woman had disappeared indoors.

They stared after her in silence. It was his lordship’s turn to be mortified, and she felt the awkward pain of having witnessed this brazen encounter regarding the commerce of sexual relations. She supposed it was an everyday occurrence for a rake, but one not usually witnessed by a genteel member of society. And Glynnis liked to think she was that and more, especially in comparison to such a desperate creature who would sell her body on a nightly basis.

Hargrove cleared his throat. “Well.” And then without looking her in the eyes, he took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm.

“You really don’t have to—”

“Yes,” he interrupted. “I really do. What happened to Cumberry? I saw the fool playing a gentleman and, as I thought, escorting you home.”

“He had other plans when he realized I could not provide his next pension.”

She felt him startle under her glove at her quip.

“You’re feeling better,” he remarked, “if you can jest, but he was the wrong man to choose.”

“You misunderstand,” she said. “I was walking home alone, and he chose me.”

“Even worse!” Hargrove bit out. “First of all, it is absolutely absurd that you are lodging in a hotel entirely alone without a companion or a brother or a chaperone. You’ve practically marked yourself as a woman of ill-repute.”

“I have not,” she protested hotly, thinking of the creature who’d just left them, joining the other wanton jades in their seaside house of scandal. Moreover, Glynnis was prepared with her lies. “My companion fell ill, and my brother is occupied in London, but a chaperone is on her way.”

“Coming with your fiancé, I suppose,” Hargrove sounding like he was annoyed again.

“Yes, precisely. I couldn’t ask a stranger, and my family is all the way up in Llandeilo.”

He shook his head. “Absurd!” he proclaimed again.

While he was in such a tweague, Glynnis decided to press her advantage, as she didn’t want a repeat of tonight’s frightening occurrence.

“In the meantime, you will have to do. You may escort me to any and every event, and then I shall seem perfectly respectable. Precisely as I am,” she hurriedly added.

“People will think we are a couple,” he groused.

“Nonsense, I have a fiancé.” She sighed. “Such a lovely word, don’t you think? It rolls off the tongue, very prettily.”

***

DROPPING HER ARM ASif it were burning his, James stalked four yards away along the boulevard, took a deep breath, and then returned to the wily Miss Talbot.

“Very well. It seems I have no choice. We both heard what Prinny said. If I cock up this duty, he will send me somewhere even worse.”

She laughed, but fell silent when she realized he wasn’t in the least bit jolly. Then she asked, “Where do you think that might be?”

“John O’Groats most likely.” James considered the single-building outpost at the top of Scotland, practically falling into the cold North Sea.

“You’re grimacing,” she told him.

His dark blue eyes stared into hers. “You had best behave while under my supervision, or I vow—”

“What?” Miss Talbot asked, looking genuinely interested, her brown eyes sparkling. “Tell me. What will you do?” And the chick-a-biddy grabbed hold of his arm again so they could continue along the promenade.

The deuce!There was nothing he could do except keep her safe until her fiancé arrived. They turned right when they reached the sea, and he could see the sign for the Old Ship.

“If you’re naughty, I’ll do what any chaperone would do. I’ll lock you in your room.”

He felt her falter slightly beside him, but she rallied her good humor.

“If you’re locked in my room with me, Hargrove, that will be acceptable.”

She was baiting him, for it took less than a second to imagine them naked together upon her bed, her mouth puffy and red from his kisses, her thighs falling open, her body ready for him as he pushed inside her.

“Did you just groan?” she asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” But they both knew he had. The urge to tup her had hit him the instant he’d seen her at Apsley House in London and hadn’t waned even a little, despite how she’d hoped Lady Sullivan and a gaggle of gossipy geese would force his hand.

Only by the sheer luck of his Irish grandmother and by the grace of God had he walked away without being bound to the chit. In fact, he could thank the fact he’d parted on good terms with his ex-lover, Lady Sullivan, for the kindness of her discretion.

“I’m sorry you had to say goodnight to your lady-friend,” Miss Talbot said, bringing his thoughts back to the Cyprian he’d intended to enjoy in the privacy of his home for the last few hours before daybreak.

He nodded, having nothing to say to that. It was beyond the pale for Miss Talbot even to bring it up. Moreover, as soon as he’d heard Miss Talbot scream and seen her sprawled upon the pavement, all thoughts of another woman fled. Now, when reminded of the light-heeled wench, James wished Miss Talbot hadn’t seen them together.

While in the midst of the festive atmosphere at the Pavilion, he hadn’t given a fig if the other guests saw him chatting up the pretty whore. For some reason, it now seemed sordid. Paying a woman for her services — be it to do his laundry, cook his food, or provide sexual congress — was as natural as breathing for men of his class. And doing so in London surrounded by the like-minded gave him no pause at all.

But here, with Miss Talbot and her big brown eyes, he wondered if it wasn’t a rather sad thing at his age nearing thirty when he ought to be leaving off his Corinthian ways. Instead of a whore, he ought to be enjoying the company of a wife and focusing on begetting a few brats to carry on the family name.

“Here we are,” she said. “I hope it’s not too far out of your way.”

He didn’t tell her how close his own accommodations were. If they’d taken a left instead of a right and gone a mere few houses down, they could have easily gone to his lodging. He couldn’t deny he wanted to do precisely that with Miss Talbot because the attraction between them was undeniable. But she was engaged, and he wouldn’t ruin her for a night’s pleasure when willing doxies were easily had.

Even a rake had a conscience!

Instead, he accompanied her all the way inside the lobby, nodding to the night manager. As far as hotels went, it was on the respectable side, not like some of the coaching inns where one might be forced to share a room or a bed if one didn’t have the blunt to pay for the luxury of privacy. There was none of that nonsense here. And as a viscount’s daughter, he knew Miss Talbot made up in coin what she lacked in sense.

“Are you going to escort me all the way to my room?” she asked, teasing him again. “What if there are robbers in the hallway upstairs or who’ve already gained access to my room? Maybe you should come check under my bed.”

She was outrageous, but James was sorely tempted to claim a goodnight kiss outside her door.

“What!” exclaimed the manager loudly, breaking the spell that they were the only two people in the world. “There are no robbers, miss. And the owner wouldn’t like anyone saying such a thing.”

“There you have it,” James said, knowing he should take his leave quickly. But he was standing too close and drinking in the sight of her, from her twinkling eyes framed by dark lashes to the upper swell of her breasts on display above the ruby bodice of her gown. Despite the opaque fabric, she was far more enticing than the obvious and vulgar Cyprian. If the concierge hadn’t been staring at them...

Still, nothing would have happened, he reminded himself. She had a fiancé!

Clearing his throat, giving the man a look to mind his business, James took her hand and bowed over it.

“I bid you good evening, Miss Talbot.”

But she grimaced, pulled her hand from his, and began to peel off her glove.

The small intimate gesture made his loins tighten. What on earth!

“I fear my palms and my knees took the brunt of the assault,” she explained before holding out her bare hand for him to see.

The fleshy part at the base of her thumb was red and scraped since her thin evening gloves had given scant protection. He had the insane urge to raise her hand to his lips and kiss the area that looked painful.

Instead, he quipped, “I ask you not to raise your skirts and show me your knees, although I’m sure they pain you as well.”

She responded with a serene smile. “I will behave with all due decorum and keep my abraded knees to myself. And tomorrow, or rather later today, I shall obtain some witch hazel.”

They stared at one another a long moment, and again James felt the overwhelming impulse to kiss her, not her hand either, but her full, exquisite lips. She knew it, too, for her nostrils flared, and her gaze went to his mouth, which suddenly felt dry as Brighton sand.

Why, if he were as raffish as people believed, he would accompany her upstairs after all, strip off her other glove and the rest of her clothing as well. But he wasn’t. He didn’t destroy nice young ladies for sport, especially not newly engaged ones, no matter how appealing.

“Will you come,” she began, and his cock stiffened, “to fetch me for the picnic tomorrow? Since you’ve agreed to become my escort, I mean.”

Had he agreed?Yes, he supposed he had. This was going to be torture he decided right then and there. On the other hand, it was a rather enjoyable torment — to be tempted by a beautiful woman.

“Yes, I will collect you mid-afternoon.”

She nodded and turned away, but paused with a foot upon the first tread of the staircase.

“Be careful on your way home, Lord Hargrove. Brighton seems to be as dangerous as London.”