His Lordship's True Lady (True Gentlemen #4)(40)
She burrowed closer, gripping the lapel of Hessian’s riding jacket with one hand. “What are you going on about?”
“The Lakes show to best advantage in winter, when the nights never end.”
A riding habit had voluminous skirts that buttoned and stitched together in a complicated arrangement. The intention was to accommodate both modesty and freedom of movement, which features allowed Miss Ferguson to insinuate a leg between Hessian’s thighs.
He accepted that invitation and gloried in the feel of her—as enthusiastic as she was feminine—snuggled against him.
“Is this all you want from me, Miss Ferguson? Passionate kisses on a spring morning? I’m overjoyed to comply, but I also hope for more.”
“I hope you will one day call me Lily,” she said.
“Lily.” Holding her was delightful and improper, abundantly satisfying and inadequate. “You will call me Hessian. My maternal antecedents hailed from that corner of Germany. Worth calls me Hess.”
A silly little detail, but one a wife should know about her husband.
She nuzzled his cravat—he’d worn blonde lace for her this morning. “I don’t want to let you go, Hessian.”
That sentiment was quite mutual. “Might I hope that longing is metaphorical rather than merely a statement of present intent? For on my part, the same sentiment could be said to be both.”
She stepped back. “And you say I should be a barrister. We haven’t much time, sir. I’d ask for a translation of that last flight of verbosity.”
She asked for his heart or, at the least, for a display of courage. “I have come to London to seek a countess. I hope my search is over.”
Lily—he was to call her Lily—fluffed the crushed folds of his cravat. “When you make up your mind, be sure to drop me a note. I will rejoice at the lady’s good fortune.”
Hessian hadn’t spoken with her uncle yet, hadn’t asked permission to pay his addresses, hadn’t given Worth a chance to learn what was afoot with Leggett.
“Will the lady do me a similar courtesy when she’s made up her mind?” he asked.
A drop of condensation landed on Lily’s shoulder. Hessian brushed it away, then ran his thumb over the curve of her jaw.
“I am not young, my lord. I will be eight-and-twenty in less than a month, and my uncle’s wishes regarding my future must be considered.”
The conversation was not going as Hessian had planned, but then, he hadn’t planned much more than hasty grappling beneath the maples. Lily was owed much more, and fortunately for Hessian, courtships also unfolded in certain predictable stages.
“In the very near future, I will make a private appointment with your uncle. Will that suit?”
Her smile was troubled—perhaps by impatience or self-consciousness. Hessian was certainly impatient. He was not a blushing youth, and whatever Walter Leggett’s demands regarding Lily’s settlements, Leggett could hardly dismiss an earl of means and sterling reputation.
But then Hessian recalled Lily’s words about her uncle’s attitude regarding fortune hunters.
“He won’t run me off, Lily. My situation is sound and improving steadily. Worth has aided me in taking the earldom’s finances in hand, and Grampion prospers well beyond the ambitions my father had for it.”
Hoofbeats clip-clopped on the path.
Lily seized him in a brief, torrid kiss, and stepped back. “Don’t let me keep you from your appointments, my lord. I’ve enjoyed this outing exceedingly, but you’re right. The sun appears reluctant to grace us with his presence today.” She affixed herself to Hessian’s arm and tugged him back in the direction of the horses. “We’d best be getting home before the morning turns rainy.”
“Sensible, as always,” Hessian said as the groom reappeared, the mare and gelding toddling along behind him. “I do so value your forthright nature, Miss Ferguson. You say what’s on your mind and have no use for polite dissembling.”
Hessian tightened Ham’s girth one hole, while Lily stroked the beast’s nose and ears. Ham lowered his head and whuffled like a shameless beggar.
Hessian glowered at the witless beast. “Have some dignity, horse.”
Lily kissed Ham’s nose. “I like a fellow who’s able to set aside his pretensions from time to time and enjoy a stolen kiss, but far be it from me to tell a belted earl how to conduct himself.”
“You’ll lead my horse astray with such talk,” Hessian retorted. “Let’s get you back into the saddle before the poor fellow attempts public indiscretions.”
The groom was busy checking his own girth while remaining in the saddle. That undertaking required focus, so Hessian boosted Lily onto her horse and took meticulous care to arrange her skirts over her boots.
Hammurabi waited at Hessian’s shoulder—right at his shoulder—as if longing for more kisses just as his owner was.
“My damned horse is smitten.”
Lily took up her reins and arranged her whip. “Perhaps the condition is contagious, for I adore a day that starts amid the fresh air and good company to be found on a morning hack.”
Hessian stroked her mare’s shoulder. “As do I. Perhaps we might share the same pleasure on Saturday, weather permitting?”
Lily gazed down at him. “With you, I’d ride in the rain, my lord. I’d ride anywhere, at any hour.” She urged her mare forward, and Hammurabi nudged Hessian’s backside.