Home > Lady Reckless(3)

Lady Reckless(3)
Author: Scarlett Scott

She pulled her elbow from the earl’s grasp. Reluctantly, of course, because she did so enjoy his touch, and she could not deny it. But he was acting the elder brother to her now. Pretending he knew better of her future than she could possibly comprehend.

As if a man such as he—an earl who had possessed endless independence from the moment of his birth—could possibly understand.

“I will steer myself in the course I choose,” she informed him coolly. “In the course that is the best for me. Lord Hamish is not my future. I would sooner throw myself from a roof.”

“Your melodrama is tiresome, my lady.” He offered her his arm. “Come. I will see you safely escorted home.”

Of all the men her stupid heart could have chosen to love. Why this one? He was maddening.

Helena ignored his arm, her frustration and desperation superseding all other feelings. “I will see myself home, Lord Huntingdon.”

He frowned. “Of course you will not. Shelbourne would have my hide if I allowed anything ill to befall you.”

The mention of her brother had Helena’s back stiffening. It was like a dagger’s sharpened edge, the reminder that Huntingdon was only here out of a misplaced sense of duty to his friend. Not because he cared about Helena. He had Lady Beatrice.

“If Shelbourne cared about me, he would stand up to my father and insist he cease pressuring me into an unwanted marriage,” she countered.

Instead, her brother had attempted to dissuade Father before ultimately siding with him, telling her she must honor their father’s wishes. Her objections she wanted a love match had met with disapproval. Love, he had told her cuttingly, had nothing to do with one’s happiness or one’s future.

“Shelbourne is right in encouraging you to do your duty,” Huntingdon said then.

Duty.

A hated word, especially in connection to Lord Hamish.

But Helena was tired of arguing. Now that Huntingdon had spoiled her chances of ruination, she needed to ponder her next move.

She bent to retrieve her fallen hat, then placed it upon her head, rearranging her veil. “I have no wish to continue quarreling with you, my lord. I must go home before my absence is noted.”

It was imperative that her father not discover what she had been about. She could not take the risk he would hasten her marriage to Lord Hamish if he feared she would jeopardize the nuptials. She needed all the time she could get to arrange for a scandal.

“Lady Helena,” he said, a warning in his voice.

She ignored him and swept past. “Good day, my lord.”

Out the door she went.

She had arrived by hired hack, and she would leave the same way. Just let him try to stop her.

 

 

Chapter Two

 

 

For a woman to truly possess her freedom, she must be allowed the rights she deserves.

—From Lady’s Suffrage Society Times


The stubborn chit refused to listen to reason.

Huntingdon had no choice but to follow her. He could not, in good conscience, allow her to disappear into some hired hack. Lord knew how she had arrived. He slammed out of Lord Algernon’s dingy rooms and followed a swirl of silken skirts. Fortunately, he was long-limbed. He reached her on the street. By a stroke of fortune, she was near his own waiting carriage.

His efficient groom saw him and opened the carriage door.

Huntingdon struck with haste, sliding an arm around Lady Helena’s waist and hauling her to the carriage. She put up a fight, as expected.

“What in heaven’s name do you think you are doing?” she demanded, attempting to wrest herself from his grasp to no avail. “Huntingdon, I insist you release me.”

She could insist all she liked, but the cursed woman had caused him enough trouble today. He was not about to allow her to make more.

“I am seeing you home safely, my lady, and that is that,” he told her calmly, even as he stuffed her and all her flounces into his carriage.

“Cease manhandling me, you ogre,” she charged. “This is abduction!”

His groom’s expression remained carefully blank, as if it were an everyday occurrence for Huntingdon to shove a squawking female into his personal conveyance. Thankfully, such instances were rare. This was the first time he had ever had cause to rescue Shelbourne’s sister from the gaping maws of ruination.

But he had a grim feeling it would not be the last.

“Change of plans,” he said calmly. “My companion will need to be discreetly delivered to Curzon Street.”

Huntingdon joined his unwilling occupant, climbing into the carriage and halting her from attempting further escape by seizing her waist once more and settling her upon the leather bench. Her hat was again knocked from her head as the carriage door closed. The warmth of her curves seemed to burn his hands even through her silk, and he wished he did not take note of the charming flush staining her elegant cheekbones as a result of her exertions.

Lady Helena was beautiful and wild and everything he dared not covet. He well understood her father’s desire to see her properly married.

“Cease struggling, my lady,” he told her, nettled by the huskiness of his voice.

He should stop touching her. And he would, just as soon as the carriage went into motion and he could be assured she would not tear open the door and throw herself into the streets.

By God, he did not feel any boning at all. Was she not wearing a corset? If he slid his hands higher, would he be able to… No. He must not think that.

“You are an overbearing oaf,” she accused, still sounding as outraged as a hive of bees which had just been overturned.

Her scent was invading his senses again. He breathed through his mouth to keep from inhaling bergamot and fresh lemons and her. “I will happily play the overbearing oaf to your shrew.”

He was irritated with himself as much as with Lady Helena.

The carriage lurched into motion, and he released her as if she were made of flame, settling on the bench opposite her with a surge of relief. What the devil was coming over him? He had seen, spoken with, danced with lovely women before. Why was this troublesome one driving him to distraction?

He called Lady Beatrice’s brunette beauty to mind and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I was going to take a hack,” Lady Helena huffed.

She was gorgeous in her dudgeon.

He wanted to kiss the pout from her lips. This was why he kept his polite distance from her as often as possible. Why he had never once danced with her at a ball. Why he had not touched her before today. Mayhap that was where the problem lay.

He had felt the supple softness of her breasts pressed against his chest. That ought to have been his first inclination she had not donned proper undergarments. He wondered if she was even wearing drawers beneath that gown of hers.

Self-loathing buffeted him like the gales of a storm.

“I am seeing you safely home,” he snapped. “It is my—”

“If you say duty, I shall stomp on your foot,” she interrupted, quite rudely.

He knew Lady Helena was a hoyden from the stories carried to him by her brother. If he had required more proof, he need look no further. She was laying all bare to him on a silver salver.

Now that was a thought, Lady Helena bare…

No, Gabe. Stop that.

“Obligation,” he said simply, reminding them both of what he had been about to say. “As is extracting from you the promise that you will refrain from doing something so foolish again.”

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