"But it's not relevant," she protested weakly. "And it wouldn't be fair for you to be vexed with them. It was my responsibility."
"Oh, I'm aware of that," he said, flicking the pointy hipbones with the tip of his tongue. "Your responsiblity, lass, and your consequences. Nevertheless, I wish to know."
A flat palm slipped sideways between her thighs and she shivered again. What did he mean by consequences? But her mind wouldn't hold the thought as her thighs squeezed on his hand. In an almost distant voice she told him who had been with her.
"I see." A hot tongue stroke seared her belly. "And which of your cavaliers provided you with that indecent costume?"
"I won't tell you that," she said with as much conviction as she could muster. "It can't matter to you." She gasped, biting her lip hard as his fingers moved inside her and his thumb teased the supreme throbbing sensitivity of her sex.
"I suppose it doesn't," he said equably. "You may keep that secret, then."
Something wasn't right. Even through her swiftly mounting passion, Chloe knew it. It was in his voice, so calm and level, even while he was doing the most wonderful things to her, even as he must feel the liquid arousal of her body.
And then as the spiral of delight tightened, Hugo withdrew his hands from her body. "It's time you were in bed," he said matter-of-factly. "After racketing around Billingsgate at such an ungodly hour, you need your sleep." He pushed her away from him as he rose to his feet.
Chloe just stood and stared at him, her eyes wide with dismay.
Hugo scooped her easily into his arms and without further ado carried her back to her room. Chloe was speechless with shock, struggling to make sense of what was happening.
He set her on her feet inside her room and said cheerfully, "Good night, Chloe. I'll leave you to contemplate the consequences of behaving like a wanton hoyden."
He was laughing at her, she realized, as fury rushed into the void created by unfulfilled desire. "You… you… how could you do that to mei" She flew at him, her fists pummeling his chest, her bare feet kicking against his iron-hard calves.
Hugo caught her hands and clipped them behind her back, holding her wrists with one hand. With his other, he cupped her chin and turned up her furious face. Deliberately, he lowered his head and kissed her, pressing her against his body. He kissed her until the fight left her and she was as soft and pliable as putty. Then he raised his head and released his hold on her wrists.
"Good night, Chloe," he repeated as calmly as before.
Her eyes were dazed, her skin flushed, her lips swollen. She shook her head in bewilderment, unable to recapture her earlier fury, recognizing dimly that Hugo had utterly routed her, winning an engagement she'd intended as her own triumph. How could she ever have imagined she was a match for him? He'd exacted a fiendish penalty for her provocative adventure, leaving her miserably uncomfortable and utterly mortified. How could he possibly have remained so cool and unmoved while reducing her to quivering, desperately wanting jelly?
The door closed behind him and she heard his soft laugh. Picking up a slipper, she threw it at the paneling in impotent frustration, before thumping into bed and pulling the covers over her head.
Chapter 23
Hugo behaved the following morning as if the night's confrontation had never taken place. He greeted his ward cheerfully when she appeared somewhat heavy-eyed in the breakfast parlor, and asked her if she'd like to ride with him in Richmond Park.
Chloe regarded him warily, on the watch for some sign of gloating, but his smile was warm, his eyes calm, his posture relaxed as he leaned back in his chair, one booted leg crossed over the other, the Gazette open on his lap.
"I have other plans," she said, turning to the chafing dishes on the sideboard.
"May I be a party to them?" Hugo folded back the newspaper, skimming the contents of the page.
"Is that a question or an order?" She turned back to the table and put down her laden plate as she sat down.
Hugo cast an amused glance at her plate. Chagrin and annoyance hadn't affected her appetite, it seemed. "I would like to know," he said neutrally.
"Well, I haven't decided yet. I'll be sure to inform you when I do." She took a forkful of bacon and carried it to her mouth, not caring that she sounded petulant at best, uncivil at worst. She had passed the most wretchedly uncomfortable night of her life and had no intention of making peace without some statement of protest.
"I'd be glad if you would," he said with careful courtesy, refusing to rise to the challenge. "Where's your duenna this morning?"
"Breakfasting in bed on tea and toast… although I think there's a platter of sirloin in case she should recover her appetite later. She feels a touch of gout and thinks it's because the air's damp." Despite herself, the old mischief appeared in her previously frosty eyes and her voice caught on a bubble of laughter. "Do you think she can be a… a… oh, what do you call it? A valetudinarian, that's it?"
"I think it's quite likely," Hugo said with a solemnity belied by the laughter in his own eyes. He pushed back his chair and rose. "Are you sure you won't ride with me, lass?" He came around to her chair and lightly tipped her chin. "Since your plans don't appear to be written in stone." He flicked a toast crumb from the corner of her mouth with a fingertip, and smiled.
It was a smile to melt the most obdurate desire to punish. Her lip trembled in response and she tried to hang on to her justifiable grievance, but it was feathers on the wind. "I don't know whether I like you enough to ride with you," she said in a last-ditch attempt, but her eyes spoke other words.
Hugo laughed. "Cry peace, Chloe. You were in the wrong and you know it. I won't ask you to admit it, but I'll happily put it behind us if you will."
Not even with the best will in the world could she do anything else. Apart from the fact that she couldn't bear to be at odds with him, a peevish withdrawal from him would surely make him only too glad to see the back of her.
She reached up and clasped his wrist, her eyes darkening. "We could ride… but then again, we could ride."
"In broad daylight'" he mocked, trying to disguise the turbulent resurgence of the desire he'd fought so successfully to keep in check last night.
"It wouldn't be the first time."
"No, but this is London, not Lancashire, it's Mount Street with a house full of servants, not Denholm Manor and Samuel."
It was impossible. Chloe sighed and accepted reality. "Then it'll have to be Petrarch and Richmond."
They spent the morning in perfect amity and that night, when Chloe came to his bed, Hugo made love to her with a fierce need that met and matched her own and restored their equilibrium, obscuring the memories of his punishing self-control. It was a night Chloe remembered for many weeks afterward as the last occasion when they made love without constraint.
Denis DeLacy seemed to be everywhere. His voice was always to be heard in the house on Mount Street, and wherever Chloe was, Denis was in attendance.
Hugo couldn't decide what to make of the burgeoning relationship. Chloe seemed impervious first to his hints and then to his outright declaration that she was singling out DeLacy and that if she wasn't to set tongues wagging, she should be a little less particular in her attentions. She had ignored his instructions, maintaining that Denis DeLacy would make a very good husband: rich enough, very well connected, amusing, easygoing, intelligent, and probably could be persuaded to accept the kind of equal partnership she had in mind. However, when her guardian pressed her to say whether she really wanted to marry Denis, she always managed to evade the issue.