Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

C atching a cab to number 44 Wigmore St on Cavendish Square, Seb entered the warehouse like proportions of Clark and Debenem and was confronted by a sea of women. Bonnets and pelisses as far as the eye could see. And the cacophony of chatter made him blanch. He almost turned tail and fled but thinking of Miss Whittaker depending on him to return with suitable apparel for her to wear, stiffened his spine and he stepped up to the counter to attract the attention of an assistant.

An hour and half later, he emerged with a great many packages and hailed another cab to take him home. The experience had certainly been enlightening. He now knew precisely the items and sequence of their layers that made up a ladies' toilette. He was also well-informed on the most fashionable colours and adornments.

Having no idea of Miss Whittaker's taste, he was forced to rely on his own, which tended towards the simple. For this reason, he eschewed the more elaborate ensembles cover ed in flounces, ribbons and lace and selected a simple muslin gown in pale blue with forget-me-nots embroidered round the hem, the bodice and the sleeves. It was paired with a white Spencer, trimmed with a blue ribbon of the same hue as the gown, blue slippers, white stockings, chemise, corset and petticoats. A simple straw bonnet with a blue ribbon, a parasol of the same colours and finally a deep blue pelisse, to wear over the whole.

He found Miss Whittaker sketching the kittens and Ben, who had returned with another message from Mr Lovell.

At sight of him entering, Ben jumped up to help him with the packages and Miss Whittaker looked up from her sketching, her eyes going wide.

"Gosh did you buy half the shop?" she said, putting down her sketch pad and rising.

Seb shook his head. "No, but there are a lot of parts to a lady's toilette I've discovered. I think you'll find everything there that you need. Ben put them on the bed." Ben obeyed him, and he emerged from behind the screen again, empty-handed.

"We will leave you to dress, Miss Whittaker," he said with a bow and dragged Ben off to the local to get some supplies. He was running out of everything, what with young women and kittens to feed.

By the time they got back, Miss Whittaker was fully and respectable dressed. But he found that this didn't help his predicament, because she looked enchanting, and the fact that he more or less knew what was underneath, made it worse.

"This is lovely!" she said coming forward and flinging her arms round his neck. "Thank you so much, you have exquisite taste !" She kissed his cheek, and he almost dropped the basket of shopping clutched in his hands.

Flushing he said, "No no, the shop assistant suggested everything, I just agreed with her. Does it fit?" he rather thought it did, eyeing the line of her small bust in the pretty bodice and the way the skirt clung to her form, hinting at the slender waist and swell of her hips.

"Oh yes it fits very well for off the rack clothing, I am surprised at the quality."

He nodded turning aside to set down the basket and begin unloading its contents into the cupboard that served as his pantry. "Good. Ben I will pen a reply to Mr Lovell's missive, just give me a moment."

"Certainly Mr Rooke," said Ben looking up from playing with the kittens.

He dashed off a short reply and sent Ben on his way. Ben had informed him that he was to have the pleasure of Miss Whittaker's company for another day or possibly two, Mrs Tate was over the worst of her fever but still very weak, and Mr Lovell was not prepared to let her go back to the tavern yet.

What was he going to do with her for two days and God help him, how was he going to keep his hands off her?

He turned and came up short as she was standing just behind him. "What did you buy to eat?" she asked with a hopeful smile.

She was so young! He needed to remember that when he was thinking lascivious thoughts about her. He forced a smile and said, "Hungry again? You're as demanding as the kittens. "

She blushed. "Oh, I'm sorry-"

"Don't, I was only teasing, you can have anything to eat that you like. Let me see what I have to tempt you with."

Shite, bite your tongue man!

She followed him to the pantry. "Do you not have an oven for baking?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I don't know how to bake, so there would be no point. I eat out if I want a hot meal. Otherwise, I subsist on what I can bring in, bread and cold pie, that sort of thing."

He opened the pantry cupboard to show her what he had, and she began selecting items and laying them out on the table. "Are you hungry?" she asked.

"I'm always hungry," he said, fetching plates and a knife to cut the bread. "It takes quite a bit of fuel to keep this up," he said waving at his body.

She flashed a smile at him, and he detected a light pink flush in her cheeks. A wave of longing washed through him so strong he almost dropped the plates. This was more than an ache in his groin. His whole body ached to sweep her up in his arms and kiss her senseless, she was so damned lovely!

He swallowed a groan and put the plates down with hands that shook. He turned to the fireplace and picked up the kettle. "I'll just fill this up," he said hurriedly and bolted out the side door to the pump for water. The next two days were going to be heavenly torture. He looked down his front and the bulge in his breeches was obvious. He couldn't go back in there with that!

He breathed out through his nose and tried to think of things to wither his tumescent cock. After a few moments dwelling on some unpleasant tasks, he had undertaken for Mr Lovell last week, he had his body back under control, and he refilled the kettle and went back inside.

She had filled their plates with bread, cheese, olives, dates and a slice each of tongue pie. His was twice the size of hers. He set the kettle onto boil and fetching two goblets for porter, filled them.

Turning he surveyed the seating arrangements. He only had one armchair and an ottoman, placed to prop his feet on.

"You take the chair," he said.

She shook her head. "I will be perfectly comfortable on the ottoman, you take the chair, you're too big to squat on the ottoman."

His chivalrous instincts urged him to argue, but common sense prevailed. She was right, he was too big for the ottoman. She on the other hand was just right.

He took his usual seat, and she perched on the ottoman with her plate in her lap.

They ate in silence for a few moments while he searched desperately for a topic of conversation. Entertaining young ladies was not something he had much–any-experience of. He spied the sketchbook on the floor and said, "You're an artist, Miss Whittaker?"

"I like to draw," she temporised, popping a date into her mouth and making his cock twitch. Her full curved lips made him salivate.

He swallowed and cleared his throat. "May I see?"

"Of course," she blushed and sprang up to fetch the sketchbook passing it acro ss to him and resumed her seat.

He put his plate aside, took the book and began flipping through it. There were several portraits, the first was of an older woman sewing. The way the artist had caught the light on the woman's face illuminated her features with simple clean lines and gave the portrait a depth and life that was powerful and striking. "Who is this?" he asked holding up the page.

"Mama," she said with a smile.

"You're very good," he remarked flipping the page to the next one.

"You think so?" She flushed and smiled, clearly gratified by his praised. "My family always says so, but I fear it's their partiality."

He shook his head, contemplating the next portrait, of a man gazing into the distance. "No not partiality, you have talent Miss Whittaker."

She rose and came to his elbow. "That is papa," she said pointing one delicate finger. "My real father, not Mr Robinson. It was done from memory with the assistance of a portrait done before he died. My memories of him are a little hazy."

"How old were you?"

"Eight, when he died. I drew that last year." She nodded at the picture. "I wanted to capture who he was before I forgot completely." She swallowed. "We all miss him; he was a good man."

"I'm sorry, I know what it is like to lose a parent," he said capturing her hand and squeezing it. "I lost my mother when I was twelve and Hetty, my sister was eight."

She compressed her lips and nodded. "Genevra took it hardest, she was close st to papa, there is a big age gap between me and my sisters." He had turned the page and she said, "That is Mary, my eldest sister," she said pointing to a young woman reading a book in a window embrasure. "She is married to a pastor, and they live in Cheltenham with their two children."

"My father is a vicar," he remarked. "The Vicar of Pinner, a suburb of Harrow. He is my stepfather actually, but he always treated me as his son. He is a good man too."

"Ah, that is where you get it from," she said with a nod and a smile.

"Get what from?"

"Your kindness and gentleness."

He shook his head and spoke gruffly through the sudden lump in his throat, thinking of all the awful things he had done, just in the last month, let alone throughout his life. "I'm not kind or gentle."

She squatted by the arm of his chair and put her hands on his arm, fixing him with an earnest stare. "You are towards me."

A sweet smile curved her lips and a warmth in her big blue eyes went straight through his chest, making it suddenly impossible to breathe. "You rescued five kittens," she said softly, her small hands on his arm burning through the cloth of his coat.

He swallowed. "You don't know, little flower. I'm a brute, a beast. All men are, even the good ones, and I don't profess to be one of those."

She dropped to her knees and leaned up, her face bare inches from his, her hand stretched up to cup his stubbled cheek, he des perately needed a proper shave.

"You are to me," she whispered and kissed his cheek, it was a feather-light kiss, her lips soft and warm and the effect on his body was electric, sending a surge of heat outwards like a lightning bolt through his system.

He dropped the sketchbook from nerveless fingers and seized her face and kissed her full on her mouth before either of them comprehended that was what he was going to do.

Her lips were so soft and warm and sweet he groaned, and her instinctive response to his kiss undid the last of his self-control. His lips moved over hers in a devouring kiss, persuading hers to part and let his tongue invade her mouth. If he'd been thinking rationally, which he wasn't, he might have expected her to recoil from this assault, but instead she inflamed him further by responding with a tentative lick of her own.

A belated realisation of what he was doing, penetrated his lust crazed brain, and he broke the kiss, appalled at his lack of control.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice hoarse and gravelly.

She opened her eyes slowly a dazed expression in them, her lips plump and pink from his kisses. She blinked and said softly, "Sorry for what?"

"Kissing you, I shouldn't-"

"I kissed you first," she said flushing.

"A kiss to the cheek is not the same as-"

"I know, but I preferred yours," she said shyly, lowering her lashes and biting her lip in a way that made him groan .

"Has anyone ever kissed you before?"

"A few times," she admitted. "But nothing like that."

He closed his eyes, wishing his chair would swallow him up. He opened them and said gently, "my dear, do you know how old I am?"

She shook her head, "Does it matter?"

"I'm thirty-two."

"My stepfather was happy to marry me to Mr Neeps who is forty-five!" Her eyes flashed and her pretty mouth compressed into a thin line.

"Yes, that was appalling. If it's any comfort, I broke his nose."

She clapped her hands, her eyes dancing. "Did you? How famous I wish I had seen it! When did you do that?"

"The night before last when I was looking for you. I discovered he had chased you into a dark alley and left you to fend for yourself. I pulled him out of his bed and shook him like a rat."

She laughed. "Oh, I do wish I could have seen that! Thank you!"

He smiled despite himself at her reaction. "He said he wouldn't marry you now anyway, because your reputation was ruined."

"Well, that is a very good thing." she smiled. "I am glad I ran away after all. It seemed like a bad idea the other night, but now I am very glad I did it."

"I told him I would break his fingers if he breathed a word about your adventure. He promised he wouldn't, but I don't trust him. I'll be haunting him to make sure he keeps his mouth shut. "

She leaned forward, resting her bosom on the arm of his chair and seized his hand kissing it. "My guardian angel!"

He shook his head, embarrassed and inflamed by her touch all at once. It made his tone more brusk than it should have been. "I'm not! Please don't hero worship me!"

She pulled back, letting go of his hand, her cheeks flaming. "You think I'm a child, don't you?"

"I know you're a child! You are seventeen and in my care. I'm behaving very badly, and you're not helping!"

She scrambled to her feet and turned away. It was obvious to him that she was trying to stifle her tears. His heart ached. Rising he came up behind her and put his hands gently on her shoulders.