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How could his mother be so lax in her chaperonage? Or perhaps the problem wasn't that his mother was lax, perhaps it was just that she couldn't anticipate Cynthia. After all, she'd never had to watch over a young lady before, particularly as difficult a one as Cynthia was turning out to be.
On one hand, Wesley couldn't entirely blame the men of Bath. With the Season going on in London, Cynthia must be the most enticing young miss in the entire area. And she didn't at all dress or behave like a proper young lady. She was temptation incarnate, with those firm curves and that pouting mouth. Hell, what he wouldn't do to have her use his mouth on him.
Wesley groaned as he realized that thoughts of his ward had given him yet another impressive cockstand; an occurrence that happened far too often for his peace of mind. He absolutely needed to find a willing woman, perhaps tonight at the Assembly after he looked over the field of possible husbands for Cynthia. Strangely, he didn't particularly enjoy the idea of another man sampling her charms first... but it's not as if he was going to marry her, so if he wanted her then he would have to wait. While she certainly was a funny little thing and he enjoyed her intelligence and personality as much as her sensuality and attractive exterior, when he did finally marry it was going to be to a woman who enjoyed the same proclivities as he did.
Although... perhaps she did? The thought inserted itself into his mind as if it had been hovering there all along, just waiting for the right time to make an appearance. She certainly hadn't reacted to the spanking the way he'd expected. Just a bare hour later she'd behaved as if nothing had happened. Not at all what he'd anticipated.
A short rap on the door broke through his thoughts and he sat back up straight in his chair, scowling down at the bulge in his trousers before he looked back up.
"Come in."
"Actually, I was hoping you would come out," his mother said as she opened the door wide. "You've been shut up in here all morning."
"Ah. If I had realized you were back I would have come out already. Where's Cynthia? I need to speak with her."
His mother blinked at him. "She's at the shops, she said you gave her permission to go."
Now it was Wesley's turn to stare back at his mother, completely flummoxed. "I thought she meant to go with you."
"I wasn't feeling up to a trip out."
"Then who did she go with?" He could feel his temper rising and reminded himself that he shouldn't become angry with his mother; somehow he was quite sure that she didn't have half the idea of what Cynthia got up to. If she did, she would have probably had vapors on a daily basis.
"Her maid, of course."
Which would cover the bounds of propriety, but Wesley was absolutely certain that Cynthia would easily run right over any maid. His temper snapped.
"Dammit Mother, she's not allowed to leave the house unless accompanied by you or me or... or... Lord or Lady Hyde. Otherwise, the damned chit's confined!"
"Wesley!"
Ignoring his mother's outraged gasp at his language and intemperate tone, Wesley stalked right past her and out into the hall. He felt a bit bad about snapping at her, but really! After all the complaints that she'd sent him over
Cynthia's behavior and she didn't keep a closer eye on her? Intellectually he understood that propriety was met since she'd taken her maid, and that his mother wouldn't look beyond that - she would trust that the usual measures would suffice. But Cynthia wasn't a usual young women.
No, she was a brazen hoyden, a sensual temptation, and soon she was going to be a very sorry young woman with a very red bottom. And to make his temper even worse, his damn cock twitched again at the thought.
******
It hadn't taken very long for Cynthia to realize which shops the maids found interesting and which they didn't. She picked up some ribbons first thing, lingering there long enough over the colors that she was sure even the maid was losing interest, before moving on to search out a new bonnet, new gloves, and see the new fabrics at the modiste's. Only after that did she finally make her way to the bookstore, where there was a very convenient bench outside. By now they'd been about for several hours, and she knew the maid would have no interest in going into a bookstore.
Which was good because Cynthia didn't want her there.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Worthing," she said as she swanned into the shop after giving her maid permission to sit on the bench and enjoy watching the people who were passing on the street.
"Good afternoon, Miss Bryant," the shop owner said with a little leer. She gave him a dazzling smile in return. As a much older man with a portly belly, he didn't seem to need more than a smile or two and a flash of her ankles and calves on occasion to keep him satisfied. And in return, he let her have free run of his shop.
Cynthia wasn't interested in most books, it was true; she certainly wasn't a bluestocking. Romances interested her only so much, and only on rainy days when she couldn't go outside anyway. Anything that required her to sit for any length of time - other than playing the pianoforte - wasn't high on her list of enjoyable activities.
But Mr. Worthing had a collection of quite interesting books on a high shelf in the very back of his store. She didn't think he realized that she knew they were there, as she'd found them completely by accident and had hurriedly pretended to be engrossed in something else when she'd heard him approaching. Since then she'd come back on several occasions, hoping to get another glimpse at the interesting pictures that she'd barely seen. Maybe even read some of the passages. So far she hadn't been able to, as there were usually other people in the store, but she never lost hope.
"Miss Bryant," she heard someone say as she passed by one of the rows of books. Turning back, she peeked her head around the corner and saw Mr. Brandon, second son of the Duke of Manning, one of the men who liked to flirt with her and steal a kiss. Not husband material; the Countess had told her he was only in Bath because he was outrunning creditors as his father had declined to bail him out yet again, but he was very handsome and also a very good kisser.
"Mr. Brandon," she said, smiling back and raising her hand for him to kiss.
Today, however, he looked somehow less than normal. Smaller, less interesting, less attractive. It took her a moment before she realized it was because she was comparing him to the Earl. Who was not only taller and broader of shoulder, but also had much more of a presence about him. Perhaps because he was an established Earl, rather than a second son, even a second son of a Duke.
"I had no idea, when I stepped out this morning, that I might be so fortunate as to come across you. You look..." His eyes swept over her dress, which was one of her more modest pieces. "Enchanting." Putting his finger on her shoulder, he trailed it down along her neckline, causing Cynthia to catch her breath. Even if he wasn't as intriguing as the Earl, the sensation made her skin tingle. "Teasing my senses by covering what I long to see... to touch..."
