holding the cat. Verity began to follow him. He wanted to look up to make sure she was safe, but did not dare. Very few ladies had adopted the modern fashion of wearing drawers and he did not want to embarrass Miss Bascombe. He finally swung nimbly down to the ground and put the cat on the grass. Verity had reached the lower branches. He held out his arms. “Jump, Miss Bascombe!”
Verity leaped down into his arms, and he held her very tightly against him. Soft breasts met hard chest; soft curls tickled his nose. Emotion, sweet, sharp, and intense, stabbed through his body. Then he felt her body shaking and set her a little awayfrom him. “You are safe now,” he said softly. “There is nothing to fear.”
But Verity felt she had everything to fear. The violent, wanton yearning of her body startled and alarmed her. She put out a trembling hand to his shoulder and steadied herself for a moment. He covered her hand with his own, looking down at her with tenderness and a certain amount of surprise.
All very satisfactory, thought Lady Wythe.
Very!
Chapter Six
Charlotte was in a fever of worry and impatience. Four-thirty had come and gone. It was now a quarter to five. Tears filled her large blue eyes and poured down her cheeks. There was a curse on the house. She would sell it.
A rumbling of carriage wheels sent her running to the window again. There was the duke in a racing curricle with his liveried tiger at the back. There beside him was a sooty and battered-looking Verity with the parrot on her shoulder.
Charlotte ran out onto the front step. The duke assisted Verity down from the carriage. Charlotte noticed that he, too, had stains of soot on the cambric of his shirt, and bits of twigs were sticking onto his coat.
“What happened, Your Grace?” she cried. “An accident?”
“No, no, Charlotte,” said Verity wretchedly. “It was all my fault. Peter was stranded high in a tree in the park. I went to rescue him and became stuck. His Grace very kindly rescued me and the cat.”
Charlotte closed her eyes. She wondered if it was possible to die from sheer rage.
“Mrs. Manners,” she heard the duke say, his voice warm with concern, “let me assist you into the house. Do not be so upset. Miss Bascombe is quite safe.”
He put his hand under her elbow, and despite her bad temper, Charlotte was quick to use the opportunity to lean against him.
The duke was touched by Charlotte’s evident distress, which he put down to worry over Miss Bascombe.
When they were all seated in the Yellow Saloon, the duke said, “As you can see from my dirt, I am not a fit escort for you, Mrs. Manners.”
Charlotte rallied bravely. “Stay and take wine with me, Your Grace. We may have our drive on another day.”
The greyhound walked past. Charlotte remembered she was supposed to dote on her pets. She held out her hand. The little greyhound shrank away, then ran to Verity and lay down at her feet.
The duke accepted a glass of wine from Pomfret. He could not help noticing that as the butler went to offer Verity a glass, Charlotte caught his eye and gave an infinitesimal shake of her head.
“Miss Bascombe was extremely brave,” said the duke, deliberately tactless. “I can think of no other lady in London who would have attempted to climb that tree.”
Charlotte shook an admonitory finger at Verity and said in silvery tones, “You are a sad romp. Only look at the ruin of your gown. Pray go immediately and lie down, Miss Bascombe.”
Verity stood, and the duke rose as well. She curtsied and said in a low voice, “I am deeply indebted to you, Your Grace.”
“It was an honor to be of service to you, Miss Bascombe.”
Verity left the room. The duke noticed that the parrot, dog, and cat went with her.
“Your pets seem much attached to Miss Bascombe,” he said when the door had closed behind Verity.
“Yes,” said Charlotte. “Poor Miss Bascombe is so awkward and ill at ease with humans that it is as well she has a
Verity leaped down into his arms, and he held her very tightly against him. Soft breasts met hard chest; soft curls tickled his nose. Emotion, sweet, sharp, and intense, stabbed through his body. Then he felt her body shaking and set her a little awayfrom him. “You are safe now,” he said softly. “There is nothing to fear.”
But Verity felt she had everything to fear. The violent, wanton yearning of her body startled and alarmed her. She put out a trembling hand to his shoulder and steadied herself for a moment. He covered her hand with his own, looking down at her with tenderness and a certain amount of surprise.
All very satisfactory, thought Lady Wythe.
Very!
Chapter Six
Charlotte was in a fever of worry and impatience. Four-thirty had come and gone. It was now a quarter to five. Tears filled her large blue eyes and poured down her cheeks. There was a curse on the house. She would sell it.
A rumbling of carriage wheels sent her running to the window again. There was the duke in a racing curricle with his liveried tiger at the back. There beside him was a sooty and battered-looking Verity with the parrot on her shoulder.
Charlotte ran out onto the front step. The duke assisted Verity down from the carriage. Charlotte noticed that he, too, had stains of soot on the cambric of his shirt, and bits of twigs were sticking onto his coat.
“What happened, Your Grace?” she cried. “An accident?”
“No, no, Charlotte,” said Verity wretchedly. “It was all my fault. Peter was stranded high in a tree in the park. I went to rescue him and became stuck. His Grace very kindly rescued me and the cat.”
Charlotte closed her eyes. She wondered if it was possible to die from sheer rage.
“Mrs. Manners,” she heard the duke say, his voice warm with concern, “let me assist you into the house. Do not be so upset. Miss Bascombe is quite safe.”
He put his hand under her elbow, and despite her bad temper, Charlotte was quick to use the opportunity to lean against him.
The duke was touched by Charlotte’s evident distress, which he put down to worry over Miss Bascombe.
When they were all seated in the Yellow Saloon, the duke said, “As you can see from my dirt, I am not a fit escort for you, Mrs. Manners.”
Charlotte rallied bravely. “Stay and take wine with me, Your Grace. We may have our drive on another day.”
The greyhound walked past. Charlotte remembered she was supposed to dote on her pets. She held out her hand. The little greyhound shrank away, then ran to Verity and lay down at her feet.
The duke accepted a glass of wine from Pomfret. He could not help noticing that as the butler went to offer Verity a glass, Charlotte caught his eye and gave an infinitesimal shake of her head.
“Miss Bascombe was extremely brave,” said the duke, deliberately tactless. “I can think of no other lady in London who would have attempted to climb that tree.”
Charlotte shook an admonitory finger at Verity and said in silvery tones, “You are a sad romp. Only look at the ruin of your gown. Pray go immediately and lie down, Miss Bascombe.”
Verity stood, and the duke rose as well. She curtsied and said in a low voice, “I am deeply indebted to you, Your Grace.”
“It was an honor to be of service to you, Miss Bascombe.”
Verity left the room. The duke noticed that the parrot, dog, and cat went with her.
“Your pets seem much attached to Miss Bascombe,” he said when the door had closed behind Verity.
“Yes,” said Charlotte. “Poor Miss Bascombe is so awkward and ill at ease with humans that it is as well she has a
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