Chapter 6
A wise man would have jumped out of bed the next day, drawing a firm line under that distressing defloration and allowing both parties reassurance that nothing about their partnership had changed.
Dick Stone was not a wise man.
He woke to find his hand tenderly cradling Tabby between the thighs. When he tried to withdraw, it turned to stroking her stomach and then plucking at her pretty little nipples.
“I could have filled these last night,” he rasped into her ear.
Thankfully, Tabby wasn’t wise either, and scooted her arse back until it rested on his hips, all the while rocking against him and his stiff cock. It took all of his control to resist the desire to slip his bare shaft into her cunt, the path once again slick and hot and tempting.
When he pulled away and pushed Tabby into the bed, she held out her arms to him. And being an addlepated lover, he set to sucking her titties afore they even broke their fast.
Thus, he felt uncomfortably aroused when they stopped by a square facing the townhouse owned by Major Thomas Camville.
“If you place your hand on my thigh, my cock is liable to punch through my breeches,” he hissed so passing ladies and gentlemen wouldn’t hear him.
“Maybe if you’d balanced your humors before getting dressed…” she said, casting him a smirk below her raised eyebrow.
The minx. She was punishing him for not fucking her this morning after several rounds of mutual nipple sucking.
His excuse for not seating himself deep inside and riding her until they both exploded in bliss had been that she must be sore from losing her virginity.
At that, she’d directed his fingers to her slippery entrance and asked if it seemed like sore was her primary feeling right now.
He’d flicked her nub a few times and left her dripping but ultimately unsatisfied, as was he this altogether too-bright morning. Every morning was too bright with a stiff cock in the smalls.
“Is that Mrs. Camville there with the lapdog?” asked Tabby, nodding discreetly to a lady exiting a carriage.
Tabby was back in Edward’s clothes, and he felt tempted to drag her into a hedge so he might yank those breeches down and—
“The lady,” she repeated, with a knowing look on her face. She pinched his thigh and smiled when he grimaced at her punishment. He should take her behind a tree and—
“The lady with the dog,” she said in a low voice, her pinch moving closer to his rather full sack.
Edward forced himself to focus on the carriage and its former occupants. There was a lady of middle age wearing a beautiful yellow dress and stylish bonnet, carrying a King Charles Spaniel.
An older lady in a dress of the same color, who appeared to be directing their shopping packages into the house, accompanied her.
“I remember her!” he cried, miraculously recalling something from those wine-soaked days in Portugal.
“Mrs. Camville?” asked Tabby, suddenly looking put out.
“No, her mother! I forget her name, Missus… something middling. Her husband was a draper, and she married her daughter off well, despite Camville’s lack of title.”
“Did you like Mrs. Camville?” asked Tabby, her voice altogether too controlled for the question to mean nothing.
Edward turned to her and took her little chin in hand. “Are you jealous, Tabby cat?”
“No,” she huffed.
“Are you dissembling?” he asked, their noses dangerously close together.
“No!”
“Perhaps I should kiss you and scramble your brains, then ask you again.”
“Dick Stone doesn’t kiss,” she replied, a curious note in her voice. “Everyone says so.”
“Then you’ve escaped plunging us into scandal based on a technicality,” said Edward, shooting his cuffs and moving away from her. From the danger posed by her pretty lips.
He walked down the sidewalk and waited for her to follow.
“Don’t you need to, I don’t know, look at the lady further?” asked Tabby.
“No, can’t be her,” he said.
“Why’s that?”
“Never fucked her. Her mother was always in the way. That’s why I recognized her immediately, dratted harridan.”
Tabby looked back and then hurried to catch up with him.
They had an appointment to keep.
***
At the premises of the Buckskin Breechess, Edward enjoyed the comforts of a well-upholstered chair while drinking brandy between sips from Tabby’s silver water flask. She’d gotten him started on the habit, and now he couldn’t stop, curse her.
His lips curved, thinking of the many ways he’d like to curse her in their bed.
“Never thought I’d see you looking so smug,” said Lord Banastre Lascelles. In one arm, he cradled a baby-shaped bundle. In the other hand, he held his own brandy.
“New addition to the family?” asked Edward, leaning over to see.
“Molly gave me a girl two months ago,” said Bonnie, his eyes soft as he regarded the infant.
“And where is young master William?” asked Edward, always interested in the lad conceived right around the time he’d been called in as a stud — but born with the same golden locks Bonnie had sported as a youth.
“Got our petty tyrant down for a nap,” said Bonnie, collapsing in the chair. “Take this one for a moment so I can close my eyes. Her mother would never forgive me if I dropped her and dented her nose.”
Edward rose and gingerly took possession of the little bundle, sleeping placidly despite the transfer. She did rather have a sweet nose, he thought as he nursed the brandy and awaited his summons.
“Say, you wouldn’t know anything about my treason case, would you?” asked Edward, suddenly recalling that Lord Banastre was an eminently well-connected gentleman both by virtue of birth and the fact that he hung about his wife’s tailoring shop every day — when he wasn’t occupied with the children.
“The time you met someone bearing a resemblance to a Bonaparte in Portugal? That what you’re referring to?” Bonnie asked, his eyes still closed.
”Is that what they say?” asked Edward, nearly jumping from his chair.
“Careful now, Bonnie will wake, and then there’ll be hell to pay.”
“You named your daughter…after yourself?” Edward asked, regarding the infant.
“Bonnie Augusta. Molly did it, said I was a good boy who deserves nice things.”
“I’m sure she did,” said Edward, his eyes cast to the heavens.
“You’re telling me you didn’t meet with one of Napoleon’s many relatives?” asked Bonnie. Edward was busy studying the baby, but he could hear the smile in Bonnie’s voice.
“Who is saying that, anyway?”
“Oh, gossip? We men rather like our little tales, don’t we? And it all starts up again when the old guard of the Shiny Tenth prepares for a reunion. New clothes needed for a house party, you know, so they’re in the shop talking daily.”
“I wouldn’t know,” said Edward, firmly on the outs after his ignominious end that would have seen him in a noose or before a firing squad had his father not stepped in.
“I would, unfortunately,” said Bonnie, sighing and shifting in his chair, still trying to find the best position for a nap. “My third eldest brother hosts.”
“Your brother…” said Edward, the wheels in his head turning. “The thing is, I need to get my horse back.”
***
By the time Lady Banastre, formerly known as Molly Trenchard and forever called the Buckskin Breechess, fetched Edward from the lounge, he and Bonnie had hatched a whole plot involving invitations for him and Tabby, an alternate identity for her, and ideas for how to wear the new pantaloons.
That Bonnie had done all of this without opening his eyes was both remarkable and expected.
With the world’s problems sorted, Lord Bonnie had finally collapsed into his nap, so Edward carried baby Bonnie into the hallway leading to the dressing and fitting rooms.
“You’ve a woman in the shop, Lady Banastre,” said Lord Peter Sidwin, a stuffed shirt if there ever was one. He directed his quizzing glass at a dressing room. “A dashed pretty woman.”
“The shop abounds with females these days, Lord Peter,” she said, somewhat exasperated. She took the infant from Edward’s arms and handed her to Lord Peter, who stood rooted to the spot.
Then he looked down in dismay. “Oh, a baby.”
“She’s inside,” said Molly to Edward, nodding to the open doorway. She paused. “And she’s delicate.”
“She is a little thing, isn’t she?” asked Edward, thinking of how small Tabby was in his clothes. His lids felt heavy recalling the braces running over her breasts, the—
“No, I mean,” said Molly, considering. “She has feelings after seeing herself all trussed up like a lady. Be gentle with her.”
Edward snorted and walked into the room. When hadn’t he been gentle with his friend? Some would say they’d landed in this mess because he was too gentle with her! As she said herself, she’d seen plenty, growing up on the streets. A little lace wouldn’t upset Tobias…
And then he saw her.
Tabby sat before a mirror, her hands in her lap.
Molly must have gotten a wig on her, a good one this time, and her hairstyle ended in the sort of fat curl over her shoulder that he longed to tug.
Around her neck was a thin ribbon, a saucy little thing girls without jewels wore to let a man know they’d be the most tasty piece with the tightest little throat—
“Edward?” she asked, turning on her seat when she spotted him in the mirror.
He walked to where she sat and gave in to temptation. His finger slid under the ribbon easily. And then they were connected.
“Do you like it?” she asked, her voice wavering.
“I do,” he said gravely, drawing her nearer to his chest by the ribbon. All the while, she kept her eyes trained on his face.
“It’s just that…”
Edward leaned down and looped an arm around her waist as if he meant to waltz. Tabby followed him up from the seat and let him lead her about the small room.
“It’s just that it’s all rather a lot of money,” she said, her head tilting down again. “Kitting me out. We have to think of Tencendor and what he’s going to eat when we get him back.”
Edward guided her through steps she had never been taught while tucking Tabby’s head against his chest, below his chin.