Page 51 of A Taste of Miss Honey

“Very nice,” she offered, as though this were a great concession.

He moved towards her.

A little startled by the look on his face, Izzy wondered if she’d gone too far. “Now, Mr Midwinter, remember we are in a public place and—”

She gave a little shriek as he tugged her behind the phaeton, out of view of Ray, who was still waiting with the horses. Before she could protest or even think, he had hauled her into his arms and kissed her. And oh… he truly was a danger to womankind. His mouth was hot, his tongue parrying with hers in a battle for domination, a battle he won easily, subduing her as her body surrendered and her brain, useless article that it was, followed suit without a murmur of protest. She felt as substantial as softened candlewax, ready to mould to whichever shape pleased him best.

He let her go as suddenly as he’d grabbed her and, to her mortification, she swayed, forced to cling to him to regain some semblance of self-control. His eyes were bright, lit with a fire that burned with satisfaction.

“My kisses are nice, are they, Miss Honeywell?”

Izzy cleared her throat, putting up her chin. “Well, with a little more practice, I might upgrade you to… rather good.”

He gave a sudden bark of laughter, the sound so unexpected that she stared at him in wonder, a little thrill of pleasure uncoiling inside her at having amused him.

“Wretch. Come along, my lovely bedlamite. I’d better take you home before my worst instincts get the better of me.”

Izzy’s heart stuttered as he held out his hand to her, his smile warm and disarmingly free of the walls he put up to keep her at a distance. She took it, allowing him to lead her around to the side of the carriage and help her up. Whatever this man really was—smuggler, gentleman, hero—Izzy was determined to know everything about him and to help him save himself from the dangers surrounding him.

Whether he liked it or not.

Cavendish House, London, 24th March 1816

Izzy was saved from the interrogation to which her sister so obviously wished to subject her, for she had to change and ready herself for the procession of morning callers who had already begun arriving. Rather to her astonishment, Izzy discovered her bedroom filled with bouquets of hot-house flowers from the many gentlemen she had been introduced to and danced with at Carlton House.

“Heavens!” she said, staring about the room as Janet hurried towards her, tugging at her bonnet ribbons before Izzy could do it herself. She batted the girl’s hands away. “I can do it, I’m not entirely useless. I’ve dressed myself this long, you know.”

“Yes, miss, but Lady Beaumarsh said to hurry, as the gentlemen are waiting for you.”

Though she could not deny she was rather flattered by the attention, and not a little grateful to avoid Clementine’s too astute line of questioning, she could only feel annoyance at having to make polite conversation. She wanted to be by herself, to relive every moment of the past hours in Ben’s company and figure out how she could best help him, because there was no way on earth she was going to let him stop her from helping him. And, naturally, to remember every moment of those magnificent kisses.

But that would have to wait. For now, she allowed Janet to ready her for the morning callers awaiting her in the lovely primrose yellow gown the maid had chosen earlier. It was a beautiful dress in soft cambric with a full skirt, embroidered with tiny silk primrose flowers, and a flounced hem. A chemise style bodice with long, loose sleeves and a high neckline, edged with a double frill, gave it a suitably fresh and pretty look for a young woman just out.

Unused to having to make such a fuss about her appearance, Izzy fidgeted as Janet tidied her hair, disarranged by the carriage ride with Ben.

“There, miss. That didn’t take so long, did it? And you look like a spring day, even if it is raining outside.”

Izzy laughed at this description, finding herself delighted with the results even if it had taken an age to achieve. “I shall become horribly vain if you keep this up,” she told Janet, who only tsked but looked rather pleased with herself.

Izzy hurried down the stairs to the front parlour and joined Clementine, who was entertaining a parcel of fashionable young men, some accompanied by sisters or female relations.

An hour later, she was feeling a little overwhelmed by the constant parade of people who arrived upon their doorstep. Most of them were rather dull, but Mr Kimble and Mr Pultney, two very fashionable young men who arrived together, amused her with their good-natured chatter and seemed to genuinely enjoy conversing instead of trying their utmost to flirt with her. Sadly, they were in the minority, and she began to long for the door knocker to be silent so she could catch her breath. As a new batch of guests sauntered in, she groaned inwardly.

“At least they can only stay half an hour,” she whispered to Clementine.

Clemmie’s lips twitched but she sent Izzy a warning look. That half hour seemed to extend for an interminable time, however, with Izzy doing her best to keep up with all the politely fatuous chit-chat such calls seemed to require, until yet another guest arrived.

“Lord Alveston for Miss Honeywell,” the butler announced, as the man himself strode into the room.

Izzy’s heart skipped in her chest with mingled alarm and anticipation as she realised she had been given a wonderful opportunity to get closer to the man. Though Ben had warned her off, she could hardly throw the fellow out for no good reason. That would only make him suspicious.

Izzy stared at him as he smiled at her. He looked every inch the gentleman, well-dressed and polite, paying calls upon a young lady. But this man was responsible for having the Revenue hunt Boreas through the woods like a wild animal, he was responsible for the bullet that had almost killed him. Rage bubbled up inside her, scalding her with the desire to unleash her anger, but she tamped it down. He would pay for what he’d done, and for his wickedness in betraying his country for money, but she would need to keep her wits about her to achieve that.

From her first meeting with the fellow, it had been clear that he thought highly of himself. No doubt he would consider it his due for a young lady to fall head over ears in love with him and hang on his every word. He carried a delicate posy of narcissi, prettily arranged with yellow and green silk ribbons. Though lovely, the gift made Izzy smile as she remembered a book her sister Bea had loved, about folklore and the meaning of flowers. Narcissi could mean respect, or chivalric regard, no doubt what the man had intended. However, they also stood for vanity and self-love, which seemed rather more accurate to Izzy. He executed a polite bow, offering her the posy with a charming smile.

“Miss Honeywell, I chose these flowers because they reminded me of you, so lovely and delicate they are. Now I see I chose better than I realised, for it appears the goddess of spring has descended from the heavens, come to walk among us poor mortal folk.”

Izzy took the flowers, rather mortified by the overblown sentiment, as the other gentlemen looked on with varying degrees of irritation. Still, she did not doubt her blush of embarrassment would be interpreted in a different light by Lord Alveston, who looked about the room and selected an empty chair. Smiling benignly at the young fellow who sat closest to Izzy, he slid the chair in the space between them and sat down.