Chapter 7

Chapter

Seven

W hat the hell had he just done! Beckett touched his lips, his body vibrating from the kiss he had just shared.

But Lady Genevieve?

No, it could not have been her. He could not have been kissing that termagant—his best friend's sister.

Dear God, Martin would have his head on a pike if he learned what had occurred this evening.

He took a calming breath and watched as Lady Genevieve and Matilda left the ball, Genevieve's hips swaying suggestively as she made her way through the throng of guests. He had never presumed that it was Genevieve in his arms. The scent of jasmine that seduced his senses should have been his first hint, but so lost in her charms, he had not put two and two together.

He'd never held Genevieve before tonight and had not the slightest inkling that the seductive minx in his arms was anyone but a stranger.

It could not have been Genevieve.

Oh dear Lord, what was he going to do? And more importantly, how the hell was he going to tell Martin of his actions tonight? To do so could spell the end of their friendship, which he was loath to lose. Martin had always been there for him after his parents had died in a carriage during his childhood. The Duke and Duchess Curzon had opened their home to him each Christmas and school holidays. When he was not at Eton or later Cambridge, there wasn't a time when he wasn't part of the Curzon family dynamic.

They would be disappointed if they found out he had returned their kindness by molesting their innocent daughter.

A woman who was still a debutante in truth. A woman who was a maid, unattached, and unmarried. The image of him holding her against the wall, feeling her body press against his. The masque ball had allowed the guests to wear gowns of their choosing, and this evening, Genevieve had worn a far too revealing one.

Gone were the large, billowing skirts, tight bodices, and small sleeves, and in their place stood a gown that involved very little material or imagination as to what lay beneath.

He ran a hand through his hair, at a loss how to fix his faux pas. She had been a goddess, and one he had been unable to resist.

He swallowed the bile in his throat. Had anyone seen him act without decorum? Did they know who she was the entire time he'd kissed her?

Beckett looked around, and although no one was watching him, he could not help but feel they all knew what he had done.

Wanting away out, he strode from the room, luckily catching a hackney cab as he stepped out of the town house. However, he would not go home. He needed to speak to Genevieve if he could catch her in time.

The carriage started through Mayfair, and the sight of Lady Genevieve and her friends stumbling out of the carriage laughing and heading toward Lady Charlotte's brother's lodging rooms had him call his vehicle to a stop.

He watched them, dumbfounded, as they entered the building, certainly not heading toward their respective homes.

What the hell were these women up to with their unruly behavior?

He jumped down, threw the driver a coin, and went after the three of them, catching them at the lodging door.

"What the hell are you three about? Are you trying to ruin yourselves and your families?"

All three let out a little squeal. Lady Charlotte and Matilda rushed into the room, but Genevieve stood her ground and faced him. He expected no less.

"Lord Tyndall, a pleasure as always." She attempted to enter the rooms, but he closed the door, halting her departure.

"Lady Genevieve, a word, if you please."

She raised her brow and watched him with a confidence he couldn't believe she possessed after her actions this evening. The woman had no shame.

But then, there was no shame in a stolen kiss or two unless that kiss was with him.

"Lady Genevieve, do you have a response to what occurred at the Fraser masque just now? Are you going to continue to ignore what we just did?" he asked, unable to hide the astonishment in his voice. The woman was maddening and becoming more so with every minute he spent with her.

"Nothing occurred worth noting. We kissed. Refrain from getting yourself so worked up, my lord. I'm not asking you to marry me, now am I?"

He shut his mouth with a snap. Had she dismissed him without a by your leave, without an ounce of regret or shame?

He had never been dismissed and wasn't entirely sure he liked the feeling. He ignored the warning voice in his head that maybe it was because Genevieve had dismissed him so quickly that he disliked it so.

"You cannot be going out as you are and kissing random gentlemen at masque balls. What if I had pushed for more?"

"I knew who you were and, therefore, knew you would not force more upon me. Not if I didn't wish it." She patted his arm condescendingly. "You were nothing more than a person I knew and trusted, even if we're not the closest of friends, whom I could practice upon. I'm now aware of the kissing mechanics, and thank you for the tutelage."

"What does that mean?" he asked, pulling her to a stop when she went to enter the lodging.

"It means I can now kiss the man I wish to and know what I'm doing."

"And what man is that?" Beckett's words came out harsher, more desperate than he would like, and he collected himself. "You cannot kiss anyone else. I forbid it. You cannot kiss any man unless that man is your husband."

Genevieve crossed her arms and raised her brows. She looked so lofty and disapproving, but she should not. It was himself who ought to be so. "I intend for the man I kiss to turn into my husband, so there will be little harm to come of it. But do not forbid me again, my lord. You're forgetting your place."

"I'm an earl, a friend of your family. My place is protecting you."

"You're not my keeper. Stay out of my way."

He closed the space between them, determined to chastise her and threaten her with exposure if she did not do as he said. Yet the moment he stepped near, her sweet scent teased his senses. Her face tipped toward his, and her lips parted in expectation.

His mind pivoted to their kiss earlier in the night, catapulting back to how much he had enjoyed it.

Damn her and her pretty face.

"Genevieve," he whispered, unable to think of anything else to say. In the darkened corridor of the lodging house, she looked like a tempting fallen angel with her dark hair, temptation personified to torture him for eternity.

"You do not wish to do this, Tyndall. You will regret kissing me again if that is what you mean to do."

Her words pulled him out of his strange trance, and as if a bucket of cold water had been tossed over his head, he stepped back, securing her reputation and his senses. "I fear you have left me with no choice. I will have to inform your father of your nightly pursuits."

She chuckled, not the expected response, and he ground his teeth. The woman was beyond help.

"If you should utter one word, I shall tell Papa that you kissed me, clutched at my bottom, and left me in fear of my reputation. I will demand that you marry me to save my blushes in society. So if you do not wish to find yourself at the altar, Lord Tyndall, be a good boy and keep our secret. Because you know what I say is true. The secret is not just mine to keep. Not now that you've included yourself in my evening." She paused, grinning. "I do not think you wish to marry me unless you're harboring some deep, hidden feelings you're ignoring."

Was the chit taunting him? Damn her to Hades, had she always been such a nightmare?

Yet she was right. He could not say a word unless he was wholly truthful and offered for her hand. Their kiss had been a fiery passion that had swept his feet from under him. Why had he clutched at her? Why had he been drawn to her in the first place and kissed her as he had?

"Very well, I shall keep our secret, but who is the man you wish to marry? I should hope it is not Mr. Venzellons. He's far from suitable, as I have pointed out before."

"Ah, well, that is my decision and concern. And do not fret, for Papa will ensure I make a good match, and that is all I'll say on the matter." Genevieve reached for the doorknob to leave him.

Beckett watched, ensured she entered safely inside the lodgings and left. He swore and mumbled to himself the many ways he would strangle Genevieve and stop her scandalous endeavors. Yet he did not know how to do the latter. She had always been headstrong and resolved, but he'd never known how much.

Not until tonight. Now, he was only too aware.