Kissing Miss Penrose came to mind. Holding her nape firm as he sank into those delectable lips, fingers searching for skin beneath that grey she wore, feeling her heart thud.
Lord Rainham had declared seduction would not be required, just a few charming lines. What Rainham hadn’t known was that the complex Miss Penrose wasn’t some giggly chit to fall for a bit of flattery but a courageous and stubborn woman.
And they never fell for mere charming lines and a handsome face.
∞∞∞
Despite the amusing scene of Mr Miggens being chased to the stables, by not only Petrok the peacock but also a battalion of seagulls from above, Tamsyn glared at the gardens, arms crossed.
She would not be falling for Lord Winterbourne’s charming lines and handsome face.
Even if most of Helston had.
Turning, she surveyed the drawing room, the busiest it had been since her brother Ruan had visited three months ago. All the ladies of the district would be found at Penrose Manor when the heir was in town.
Rainbows of colour filled her home, everyone bedecked in their finest attire. Mrs Pearce’s jonquil-yellow gown even appeared suspiciously dampened, although one could always blame the heat.
A few ladies peered expectantly at the door as footsteps sounded, thrusting forth their bosoms and licking lips to a glossy sheen, but the appearance of Benjamin caused chests to slump once more, lips only partly appeased by a further tray of scones and tea.
“I hear,” Mrs Tripconey stated, nibbling a Cornish fairing, “that the marquess once seduced an Italian opera singer in between arias.”
Tamsyn rolled her eyes. If the marquess seduced half the women they talked of, he wouldn’t have time to sleep. Although, perhaps he didn’t. Sleep, that was.
Breathing deeply, she reminded herself she didn’t care.
“No, no,” repudiated Lady Cooch, wafting a fan against the sultry air. “It was a duke’s wife, I heard. In between acts at the Theatre Royal.”
“He doesn’t dally with married women,” Lowdy cut in, and everyone turned to stare. She chewed her lip, cheeks rosy. “I… I’ve heard he is quite deliberate in not engaging with married women or young debutantes.”
Lady Cooch, whose husband was well and truly breathing, huffed, and Mrs Tripconey, whose husband was well and truly buried, grinned, fluffing her hair.
Tamsyn could hazard a guess as to where Lowdy had received that insight.
A tapping of cane echoed from the hall and all eyes swivelled to the door. Lady Bawden dragged a bodice ribbon loose and Miss Roskruge pinched her cheeks, inducing a typhoid-fevered appearance.
The door creaked. “Good morning, ladies.”
A choral sigh compelled her father’s rapid retreat but not before he’d snaffled three quince tarts with a grin.
“Sooo,” ventured Mrs Tripconey, eyes flitting to the door, “where is Lord Winterbourne today?”
“Making house calls in town, I believe,” answered Tamsyn. “Visiting the mayor and all the local neighbo–”
“Well, it’s been ever so pleasant, my dear,” gushed Mrs Tripconey, abruptly rising from the blue-striped settee, “but I do have to speak with my housekeeper about the state of the linens.”
Open-mouthed, Tamsyn stared as the entire assemblage of ladies who’d graced her drawing room made a grand exodus, and she thanked the heavens that no servants wandered the hall as surely they’d be trampled to death by the stampede of silk slippers.
Half-emptied cups of tea sat crooked in their saucers, a chair listed, and a broken biscuit lay on the floor – Papa’s hounds caused less mess at feeding time.
“Well…” Tamsyn murmured as she picked a lonesome brown glove from the sofa. “They’re probably right. Doubtless he’s visiting all the women who have been pressing their cards into his pockets. He could be gone a sennight.”
Lowdy harrumphed, straightening the cushions. “Mr Miggens says he’s not like that.”
A wry smile curved Tamsyn’s lip. “But his reputation precedes him.”
“Oh, he’s a rake alright,” said Lowdy, snapping shut a half-furled cockade fan which had been abandoned in haste, “but he likes to do the chasing and tends to…tarry with only one woman at a time. Doesn’t play games.”
“And how long does he ‘tarry’ with them?”
