Regency Pleasures: A Model Débutante. Louise AllenЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘Cousin Nicholas.’
‘That was hardly cousinly!’ She could not look at him.
‘Cousins may kiss. And adopted ones certainly may. I am sorry to have discomforted you, Cousin Talitha; it was just that you appeared to be quite blind to the effect you are undoubtedly going to have on a large proportion of the men who meet you. It is best that you are on your guard before some rake takes advantage of that enchanting modesty of yours. I thought a demonstration would be advisable.’
‘Demonstration!’ Now she did look at him, incredulity showing in both voice and expression.
‘But of course. You are quite safe with me. I will go and leave you to rest as Aunt Kate advised. Good day, Cousin Talitha.’
Safe? Safe? She would be safer in a locked room with Jack Hemsley! At least she knew exactly what her reaction to any advance from him would be—a slapped face and a briskly raised knee would be a good start. But with Nicholas Stangate she also knew exactly what she wanted to happen, and she knew too he was the last man in London with whom it was safe to let her guard down. And to think that only a few days ago she had decided it would be satisfying to provoke a response from him that was neither controlled nor temperate!
Now it seemed she had fallen neatly into her own trap. He appeared capable of reining back his passion as it suited him. She was the one left palpitating with confused, humiliating desire.
Tallie was not left to brood on Nick Stangate for long. The next day Kate Parry finally announced herself satisfied with her preparation of her protégée for the start of the Season, but with one omission.
‘Your hair, Tallie,’ she announced, making her jump and almost drop the portfolio of properties Nick had left behind. Infuriatingly they all looked highly promising, both for the school and for the lodgings. Tallie had too much good sense not to use what had been laid out for her so efficiently, however she felt about the source of the information.
‘My hair, Aunt Kate?’ Tallie set down the portfolio and eyed Lady Parry cautiously.
‘Yes, dear. Everything else is perfect. Your clothes and accessories are just as they should be, you have proved a quick study with your dancing lessons and I could not believe how rapidly you have soaked up all I had to tell you about Society and how to go on. That just leaves your hair.’
‘But, ma’am, I like it like this. It is suitable.’
‘It is certainly suitable for a hired companion. It is not at all suitable for a fashionable young lady. And definitely not for one who is going to make her come-out at the Duchess of Hastings’s ball tomorrow night. Now, Mr Jordan is coming this afternoon to cut it for you.’
‘Oh. I am very sorry, Aunt Kate, but I have arranged to take this portfolio of properties to Upper Wimpole Street and discuss them with Zenna. I had not realised you had other plans.’
‘Why not send a note round and ask her to come here? She might enjoy watching Mr Jordan at work.’
‘Will he not object to an audience?’
‘Tallie, he is going to be here as your employee; besides, he is bound to want to make a good impression on you by being as obliging as possible.’
‘To me? But why?’
‘Dearest, I keep trying to impress upon you that as the possessor of a fortune you are a very eligible partie. You are sure to take and it will do him good if you recommend him to other ladies.’
Tallie found this hard to believe, almost as hard as she found it to believe Nick telling her she would find herself the target of numerous amorous advances. But she could not bring herself to refuse whatever her kind friend wished her to do, so she obediently scribbled a note for Zenna and dispatched it with a footman.
To her surprise Zenna was not at all adverse to watching her having her hair styled, even tossing aside the portfolio of houses with a careless, ‘I will look at it this evening.’
So Tallie submitted to the scissors so expertly wielded by Mr Jordan. She was prepared to dislike him, for she had never come across anyone quite so affected as the stick-thin coiffeur. She was convinced that he was wearing maquillage and his hands had certainly been manicured into an almost feminine softness.
However, from the moment he set those delicate hands on her hair he stopped mincing and became impressively professional. After an hour of brushing, pinning, snipping, curling and further snipping, he stepped back and gestured to the other ladies to admire the results. The response he got would have gratified the heart of even the most exacting artist.
‘There,’ said Lady Parry triumphantly. ‘Now you are ready for your first ball.’
Nick Stangate accepted a glass of brandy from his cousin and leaned back in the chair by the fireside. ‘Stop fidgeting at that neckcloth,’ he advised as William peered in the mirror for the third time and prodded at the gold pin securing the crisp folds of palest lavender linen.
William came and took the chair opposite. ‘How much longer can they be?’ he enquired impatiently. Occasionally he squired his mother to dances, but he had never known her to take so long getting ready that the horses had to be sent back to the mews.
‘As long as it takes for Aunt Kate to make her arrival at exactly the right moment,’ Nick said lazily, swirling the amber liquid round and admiring the way the light hit it. ‘She will wait until all the people she wants to impress are there and before it becomes too much of a squeeze.’
‘But why?’ William grumbled. ‘She usually likes to get there early, all the better for a good gossip.’
‘I think we are about to find out.’ Nick got to his feet, forcing himself to do so slowly. He sauntered out into the hall with William at his heels and waited at the foot of the stairs, his head tilted so he could see the full sweep of polished mahogany treads.
His ears had caught the sound of bedroom doors shutting. He did not have long to wait. Faintly the sound of Lady Kate urging someone to go on in front of her reached the men in the hall, then a vision appeared.
Nick thought he had been prepared for what he would see. But he was not prepared for this. A tall slender figure in a dress of silver spider gauze over white crepe appeared to be floating down the stairs, one white-gloved hand resting lightly on the rail.
Huge green eyes, serious with the effort of maintaining both poise and a sweep of fragile skirts; full red lips slightly parted with nervousness and, crowning it all, a crown of gilt curls falling from a severely upswept mass of hair. As she got closer he realised that her face was pale and the soft tendrils of hair that had been teased loose around her temples were quivering slightly.
Tallie looked exquisite, terrified and, for the first time since he had known her, achingly vulnerable. There was no sign of the fierce independence, the anger when he crossed her, the aloof calm behind which she could so disconcertingly vanish along with her secrets.
Nick felt his entire body tighten, harden, racked with desire and that desire warred with a fierce protectiveness. He wanted to seize her in his arms, carry her to the nearest bed—or the floor, or the sofa—or take her here and now in the hallway. And he wanted to stop any man, himself included, who so much as laid a finger on her.
For once in his life Lord Arndale found words beyond him and it was his inexperienced cousin who knew exactly the right thing to say.
‘Tallie, you look absolutely gorgeous. May I have a waltz?’
Nick felt more than saw Tallie’s gaze sweep over him and past him to William. He saw her anxious face break into a soft smile of relief at the frank admiration and then she was past him in a soft cloud of silk gauze and jasmine perfume before he could find his own voice.
‘Thank you, William. I would love that; here, please, can you write it on my card?’ Nick watched as his cousin lifted the little folded card with its minute pencil that dangled from her wrist and carefully inscribed his name. He was aware