The Discerning Gentleman's Guide

Chapter Five

A woman is like a delicate flower. It is your duty to protect her...

‘Miss Mansfield?’

With no other option available to her, Amelia stopped dead and gave him a weak smile. It would have been innocent-looking if her face had not been frozen solid by the wind. ‘Oh, hello.’

Stupid, stupid girl! She had promised Lovett faithfully that she would be back at Aveley House by four o’clock. Of course, then, she had only intended to help out at the soup kitchen. But Seven Dials had been positively buzzing with political rumour and outrage. Clearly, the plight of the poor had worsened in her absence.

When she had found out that there was going to be a clandestine meeting of factory workers in Ludgate, to discuss the dangers of working with the new machines, she had thought that she would be able to attend, hail a hackney and be back in plenty of time. Unfortunately, the awful crush of people travelling had forced her to walk. Now she was horrifically late and completely chilled to the bone. She had been certain that the butler was going to kill her; now, it seemed, he would have no need. She was already doomed.

‘What are you doing here, all alone?’ he snapped, peering down at her from atop his horse. The animal’s hot breath formed puffy clouds in the frigid air and Amelia was sorely tempted to huddle beneath the beast’s nostrils in the hope that it might warm her a bit. ‘The London streets are dangerous for a woman alone once it gets dark!’

‘I l-l-lost track of t-t-time.’ Now her teeth were chattering as well. How splendid.

‘You are cold,’ he said, stating the obvious, and then he looked up and down the street as if he was searching for something. After a few seconds his face hardened and he glared at her imperiously. ‘There are no cabs.’

‘I am aware of that fact. H-h-hence I am walking home.’

‘My aunt will never forgive me if you catch a chill.’

‘Never mind, I am made of stern stuff. If I walk briskly, then I will soon warm up.’ Amelia began to walk, keen to be away from him and having to explain where she had been.

‘You cannot walk home alone.’

His horse was trotting alongside her at a snail’s pace and appeared to be quite irritated about it. It glared at her accusingly as throngs of people began to swarm around them. ‘I shall be quite all right, I assure you. B-B-Berkeley Square is less than a m-m-mile away.’

‘Then I shall walk alongside you.’ To her horror he made to slide off his horse. Amelia held up her hand to stop him.

‘Really, there is no need. Your poor horse is already becoming agitated in this crowd. Take him home; I will not be far behind.’

It took her a moment to realise that one of his gloved hands was outstretched. Surely His Royal Highness, the Duke of Pomposity, was not suggesting that she should ride on the horse with him? Just the two of them? On one saddle? In the middle of Piccadilly? Her disbelief must have been evident in her expression.

‘Come on,’ he said impatiently. ‘This is hardly the moment for you to become all missish. You are the one who decided it was perfectly acceptable to be out here alone. In the dark. Unchaperoned. If I stick to the back alleys, nobody will see us and we will be home in half the time. Besides, I can hardly leave you to fend for yourself, and I have no desire to walk when I have a perfectly good horse.’

Words truly failed her. She would never have expected him to show such kindness to a lowly being like her. For a moment she considered how improper it would be for her to sit on the same horse as a man, then quickly decided that she did not care. Amelia was too cold to refuse him. If he was prepared to risk the impropriety, so was she.

She grabbed his hand and found herself hoisted from the ground in one smooth motion, as if her weight was of no consequence, before she was deposited across the saddle and, by default, his lap. At a loss as to what else to do and feeling quite precarious, Amelia was forced to slide one hand about his waist just to balance herself while he guided the horse around the many pedestrians. Within minutes, they had left Piccadilly and entered a dark alleyway, away from the jammed main thoroughfare.

Wordlessly, he adjusted his position on the saddle to give her more room, then arranged his arms so that they still held the reins but formed a safe cage around her. Another thoughtful gesture for her comfort, she noticed begrudgingly. He felt so warm and so solid it was difficult not to want to snuggle against him. Instead, Amelia tried to make polite conversation, in the hope that it might somehow serve to warm her or make her feel less awkward.

‘Thank you. It is very kind. I was not looking forward to walking the last mile home. It has got cold quickly, hasn’t it?’

‘It’s winter and it’s dark. What else did you expect?’ He sounded peeved again. Or perhaps that was just his natural tone of voice. Either way, there was no answer to his clipped question, so she huddled into her shawl and decided to remain mute.

After several uncomfortable minutes he spoke again. ‘You are still shivering.’

‘It will stop.’

‘What possessed you to come out without a proper winter coat? My aunt will kill me if I let you freeze to death.’ One of his hands let go of the reins and reached around to undo the buttons on his greatcoat. Then, to her complete shock and mortification, he pulled her backwards so that she was closer to his big, solid body and wrapped the ends of his coat around her protectively. Amelia was instantly, and gratefully, surrounded in his warmth. Instinctively, she turned her chilled body towards his chest and burrowed nearer to the heat, then regretted it instantly when he stiffened.

‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered as she pulled away. ‘I forgot myself. I am just so very cold.’

She heard his breath come out in a ragged sigh. ‘It’s all right. Warm yourself. Nobody can see.’

He pulled her back under the heavy folds of his coat again and held her close with one arm. Beneath her fingers she felt the muscles on his flat abdomen tense briefly before he forced them to relax, although she was certain she heard his heart quicken. Or perhaps that was just her own heart she could hear? Her pulse had certainly stepped up since he had pulled her closer. But he made no further attempt at conversation.

Silently, he wound his way skilfully through the quiet streets, clearly intent on ignoring Amelia completely. It was difficult not to enjoy the feeling of being held so close to him. Not only did the position ward off the biting cold, but he felt good under her palms. This was not the body of a pampered aristocrat. It was firm and strong. There was muscle beneath the fine clothes that she had not expected to be there. He also smelled deliciously of something male and spicy; the subtle aroma seemed to come directly from beneath his fitted waistcoat and shirt, teasing her nose and making her forget all of the reasons why she disliked him.

‘Why were you in Piccadilly?’

His curt voice rumbled against her ear and broke the sensory spell that had apparently bewitched her. She knew where she stood when he was being pompous; it made him easier to deal with, so the lie came smoothly.

‘It has been such a long time since I have been back in London, I went on a long walk to see what has changed. I lost track of time.’

He was silent for a moment, then she felt his chest rise and fall on a deep sigh. ‘Whilst you are a guest in my house, Miss Mansfield, I must insist that you do not go out alone again. You have my express permission to take a footman with you whenever or wherever you go. These streets can be dangerous for a woman alone.’

The delivery might have been a bit brusque, but the sentiment was sweet. ‘Thank you. I shall do that going forward.’ No, she wouldn’t. A footman would tell him where she had been.

Another awkward silence prevailed.

‘How was your speech?’

‘Irritatingly postponed for another week. Apparently, Parliament needed to have a tantrum today, so all important business has had to be delayed. Again.’

His tone, for once, sounded conversational. If he could be friendly, Amelia supposed she could too—in the spirit of their enforced truce.

‘A tantrum? That is an interesting turn of phrase.’

He sighed again and the last remnants of his tension seemed to disappear. ‘From time to time, or, to be more precise, at least once a week at the moment, the members of both houses feel the need to noisily vent all of their frustrations with the world. When they do, it descends into chaos because so many throw their hat into the ring to shout their opinions loudly.’

‘You sound as if you disapprove.’

‘I heartily disapprove. It is a waste of everyone’s time. Such exchanges never achieve anything. However, it is exactly that sort of nonsense that the newspapers report, so many members play to the gallery in order to get the publicity. That defeats the object of Parliament, in my opinion. It should be a place for educated debate, compromise and purpose—not a circus. It makes it impossible to get anything meaningful done.’

‘What got their dander up today?’

‘The King’s spending habits, or, more specifically, the cost of his extravagant folly in Brighton.’

The papers were filled with outrageous claims about Prinny’s Pavilion, detailing the vast cost entailed in building each part and questioning the need for it in the first place. Yet here was one of his cabinet calling it a folly. ‘Do you disapprove of that too?’

‘The country is drowning in war debts and international trade has virtually collapsed, therefore I can find no justifiable reason why His Royal Highness needs another building for his pleasure.’

His words shocked her. Had he really just criticised the monarch?

‘I can see that I have rendered you speechless, Miss Mansfield.’ He sounded quite pleased with himself at the feat. She peeked up at him from the cocoon of his coat and saw that he was almost smiling.

‘I must confess I am surprised. You are part of his government.’

‘I am part of Lord Liverpool’s government and, as such, our first and foremost duty is to serve the nation—not the monarch. We had a civil war about it a few hundred years ago now, you might recall. I believe we executed the King as a result.’

That was definitely sarcasm, something else about him that surprised her, but a language that Amelia was happily fluent in. ‘But do you serve the nation, sir? Many accuse Parliament of merely feathering its own nest and those of the wealthy gentlemen you represent.’

‘Firstly, I sit in the House of Lords, Miss Mansfield, so nobody has elected me. The only master I loyally serve is my own conscience. I do what I believe is best for the nation, so that England might prosper and its subjects will be happy.’

‘However, as a member of the aristocracy, your personal sympathies will be influenced by the plight of your peers because you have no understanding of any other sort of life. You have never experienced poverty or degradation, for example, so I doubt you have as much sympathy for the plight of those less fortunate as you do for your own people.’

‘My own people? I believe that I serve the people of Britain, madam—those are my people. And it might surprise you to learn that I have eyes and ears, Miss Mansfield. I do see what goes on around me and I am not immune to the poverty and degradation I believe that you are alluding to. My proposal for income tax, for example, which you took particular offence to last night, is a direct response to the plight of the poor.’

As his tone was conciliatory rather than combative, Amelia decided to give him the benefit of the doubt before she ripped his silly proposals to pieces again. ‘How so?’

‘The main problem of taxation in this country is that it is so piecemeal and indirect. Successive governments have taxed everything from windows to sugar and you are quite right; those taxes have had an awful effect on the poor. What I am proposing is a complete overhaul of the entire system. Unfair and indirect taxes would be scrapped and the manner of collecting them, which has been so abused by corrupt officials, would also change. Taxation would be centralised, collected by salaried government tax inspectors and based solely on an individual’s personal wealth. Those who have more should pay significantly more.’

When he put it like that it sounded reasonable, but she was not prepared to let him know that just yet. ‘Is that what your postponed speech was about?’

‘No. That is about the declining state of public health, another cause that the Commons prefer to ignore. I want Parliament to invest some money to clean up the slums.’

‘Does their foul stench offend your aristocratic nose?’

‘Actually, madam, the unnecessarily high death rate offends my aristocratic sensibilities. If the streets were cleaned, and the unfortunate residents were not forced to live in such squalor, I believe that fewer of them would tragically die so young.’

Amelia was shamed by her own uncharitable assumptions. ‘Then I am sorry for what I said about your aristocratic nose.’

A deep chuckle reverberated through him and then her, sending little tingles to the furthest corners of her body in a very pleasant way, and she found herself unconsciously leaning a little closer to him before she stopped herself. Amelia could not remember ever feeling quite so comfortable in such close proximity to another person, let alone a male person—a titled male person with big strong arms. Had she ever been so intimately held by a man? If she had, it clearly had not had such an intoxicating effect on her, else she would have remembered it. Yet it felt strangely comforting and strangely right.

They rode in silence while he manoeuvred the horse around a crowd into a completely deserted street beyond. Frozen mist had begun to fall, giving the alleyway an eerie, otherworldly air that made everything else apart from them seem fuzzy. Even the noisy hustle and bustle of the rest of the city was muted. It felt as if it were suddenly just the two of them. All alone.

‘I did not know that you were familiar with our capital. How long has it been since you were last here?’ His soft, deep voice encouraged her to draw closer still, perhaps because they were in such close proximity that he barely had to speak above a whisper.

‘Just over a year ago now. I grew up here.’ Amelia winced at her candour. She probably should not have told him that. Lady Worsted had been quite specific in her insistence that Amelia should not make things awkward by mentioning her past to anyone. It made his next question inevitable.

‘Where?’

Two streets away from you, in a grand house with servants. ‘From the age of twelve I lived in Cheapside with my mother.’ They had, for a very short while, while her father plotted and schemed to get his marriage to her mother annulled.

‘Does she still live there?’

‘She died a few years ago.’

‘Ah—I am sorry to hear that. I know how painful it is to lose a parent. My father died when I was fifteen. I still miss his guidance.’ That was a surprising admission from a man who was so stiff and reserved. He had feelings, then? She had wondered. ‘So that is why you became a companion? You were alone in the world?’

How did one explain her odd situation? Technically, no. I still have a father, although he is determined to forget that he has a daughter, especially now that the law says that he hasn’t. The lie he had offered her was easier than the truth. The truth was so awful it made her angry just to think about it and Amelia had long ago promised herself that she would not give Viscount Venomous the satisfaction of rousing her emotions. ‘Yes. I went to work for your aunt. She has been very good to me.’

Another intimate chuckle rumbled behind his ribcage, which played havoc with her pulse. ‘Aunt Augusta is a wonderful woman—although she can be a bit of a challenge. I think she has frightened off at least six companions since she was widowed. There has been a new one every few months. Apparently, you have proved yourself to be most resilient to have weathered almost a year. How have you managed it?’

Amelia found herself relaxing again as this topic was easier to talk about. The rhythmic motion of the horse’s trot, the warmth seeping back into her bones and the gentle timbre of his soothing, deep voice was becoming hypnotic. So hypnotic that at some point she had rested the full weight of her back against his chest so that his body could form a protective heated cocoon about her. It might be a tad improper, but it felt far too good to move just yet. ‘Lady Worsted finds me amusing. She says that I am a breath of fresh air.’

‘You are certainly nothing like any of her previous companions. They were all very straitlaced and sensible—which is probably why Aunt Augusta frightened them off. Much as I adore her, she can be difficult, outspoken, and has a tendency to be naughty whenever she gets the chance. I never quite know what she is going to do or say next.’

‘I think that is why we get on so well. I also have a tendency to be a bit unpredictable. I act first and think about it later. I am not particularly straitlaced and sometimes I am not very sensible either.’

‘Hence you were out alone, in the dark, without a chaperon. I am sure if my aunt heard about this she would be angry that you had put yourself at risk.’ There was no irritation in his voice this time; it had been replaced by a gentler chastisement that was designed to appeal to her conscience rather than a direct order.

‘I will try not to do it again,’ she said, hoping he would believe her. She had another meeting to attend tomorrow with the factory workers, if she could get away, and they were always desperately short-handed at the soup kitchen.

‘That is not the answer I was hoping for. I want to hear the words I will not do it again.’

‘Now you are splitting hairs. That is exactly what I just said.’

He laughed at her cheekiness. ‘I am a politician, Miss Mansfield. I know full well the power of words. The way something is phrased tells me a great deal about a person’s intent. Just now, for example, you specifically used the words I will try. There is a vast chasm of difference in the meaning of try and will; therefore that leads me to believe that you have no intention of listening to me at all on the matter.’

‘Perhaps...’

‘Another response that confirms your lack of commitment. Now I see why you and Aunt Augusta get along so well.’

His easy sarcasm made her giggle. ‘Are you suggesting that I am...how did you put it? Difficult, outspoken and naughty?’

Yes, he was and he quite liked those traits, bizarrely. Perhaps because she was a lady’s companion who’d grown up in Cheapside and was, therefore, completely off-limits. ‘You are certainly unconventional, Miss Mansfield; I will give you that.’

She was also playing havoc with his nerve endings, cuddled against his chest, compliant for once and nestled in his lap; those nerve endings were getting lustful ideas again. The temperature might be close to freezing, the fog creating glistening ice crystals on the brickwork they passed, but Bennett was hot.

Very hot.

All over.

‘I shall take that as a compliment. I would hate to be considered conventional.’

Her body trembled slightly with her laughter and it made him wonder if she would tremble with passion too. It had been a reckless and ill-considered decision to put her on his horse whilst he still sat on it. As a gentleman, Bennett probably should have offered the horse to her and walked home. He certainly should not have dragged her against him and shared his coat with her. What he had originally intended as an act of polite chivalry was now almost torture. Whatever had possessed him to do so when such things were simply not done, he could not fathom, aside from the fact that he had felt the most overwhelming urge to protect her. Leaving her alone with his horse had been as unacceptable as ignoring her and letting her walk.

Of course, then she had been shivering with such violence that it had caused him genuine concern. Now that she was all soft, friendly and warm from the heat of his body, he knew he would be doomed to thinking about how well her rounded bottom fitted between his thighs and how her hair smelled of spring flowers for the rest of the evening—and probably most of the night too. Each time she spoke, her soft breath warmed his chest through his clothing and he wished that there were not quite so many layers of fabric between her lips and his bare skin. Or so many layers between his bare skin and hers.

He definitely needed a wife!

Bennett had never been so grateful to see Berkeley Square as he was when he rounded the corner. Even the mist cleared beneath the glow of the streetlights.

‘I should probably walk the rest of the way,’ she said, straightening and making them both suddenly self-conscious of their brief impropriety. ‘I don’t want to cause you a scandal.’

‘Indeed,’ he said, more stiffly than he intended. Whatever spell they had been under was now broken. The familiar awkwardness swamped him until he could not think of anything else to say, so he steadied her with his arm as she lowered herself to the ground. Her body was trim and small beneath his hand. But rounded and soft and achingly womanly in all of the right places. Bennett wanted to run his big, clumsy hands all over her.

‘I shall see you at dinner, Your Grace.’

And the way she said that made him want to kiss her smart, impertinent mouth.