"Now, Robert, I'm going to have your opinion, if you please. Which form would you first think a match? Come on, quickly, lad. The six? Or the seven?"

"Um...er..." the apprentice glanced at Lydia's foot and quickly looked away. "The seven?"

"Ha! Thought you had half a chance of being right, did you? As if I'd make it that easy for you. The five, Robert. I'd wager your supper on that." He shifted his hand so that now he was cupping Lydia's heel and she had managed to all but wrap her hands around her leg, pulling her skirts close in an attempt at modesty.

"The Number Five, sir," Robert said, handing the man a wooden form of a foot-rather well carved, actually. Dear G.o.d, the man had actually carved a set of toes onto the form. Was that dedication, or a fetish?

The boot maker positioned the form alongside Lydia's foot. The two matched in length. "Do I have an eye, Robert? Yes, I do. You've a pretty foot, miss, I'll say it again. Cla.s.sic."

Tanner restrained himself from kicking the fellow off his stool, but it was a near-run thing.

Fortunately, Mr. Sly didn't seem to trust his apprentice enough to have him bring the correct boots from the shelves. "You may put your foot down now, miss," he told Lydia, and then hauled himself to his feet and hustled to the shelves lining the right wall.

"Enthusiastic, isn't he?" she said, smoothing her skirts as she neatly hid her stockinged foot beneath the hem.

"This may have been a bad idea on my part," Tanner said quietly. "Would you rather we left?"

"I'd say yes, except that I do want to go tramping your Malvern Hills...and the boots really are quite lovely. Imagine, Tanner, the man has found a way to measure feet beforehand and make shoes to fit them. How many sizes are there to feet, do you think?"

"An even dozen, miss," Robert whispered, one eye on his master. "Mr. Sly, he worked it all out. Five is not all so common. Most of the ladies fall in the higher numbers. We tell them the higher numbers are better, but they're really just bigger. When I open m'own shop, I think I'll use names of flowers or some such, and no numbers."

"Yes, I can see the point of that," Lydia said, winking up at Tanner. "Dear lady, you are a day lily, how exemplary." Then her smile faded as Mr. Sly returned carrying a pair of boots, ready to take up his seat in front of her once more. She all but slammed her hands down on her skirts.

But Mr. Sly wasn't going to get the chance to touch her again. "I'll a.s.sist the lady," Tanner said, neatly s.n.a.t.c.hing the boots from the man's hands and sitting himself down on the low stool. Interestingly, that put his head at knee-height with Lydia. In this position, unless he was careful in lifting her leg, there was a high likelihood of seeing parts of her he shouldn't see. No wonder Mr. Sly seemed such a jolly sort.

"Tanner, you don't have to-"

"If milady would kindly raise her foot?" Tanner said, wondering what fool would think stringing laces top to bottom rather than bottom to top would be anything but a b.l.o.o.d.y nuisance. No wonder if took females so long to dress.

She slowly lifted her leg and Tanner moved the stool forward, gently taking hold of her ankle and resting her heel on his thigh as he continued to labor over loosening the laces.

"Here, now, you're doing it all wrong," Mr. Sly said, reaching for the boot, but Tanner neatly avoided his hand.

"We know you're busy with your bride boots, Sly. Robert here will a.s.sist us. You may go."

"I may go, is it? And who do you'd think you'd be, telling me what to do in m'own shop?"

"He's the Duke of Malvern, Mr. Sly," Lydia told him sweetly. "I'm certain that when His Grace tells all of his acquaintance of your magnificent shop you will need hire several more able apprentices like Robert."

"That took him off," Robert all but crowed when the bootmaker bowed several times before hurrying back behind his curtain. "A real slyboots he is, if you take my meaning, Your Grace. He would have dropped the boot and bent down low to fetch it, all the while trying to see where he shouldn't ought see, my apologies to your lady. Does it all the time, with the pretty ones. A good Quaker, I am, only apprenticed here because m'father got himself lost in debt. I hold no truck with Mr. Sly's slyboots ways."

"Yes, thank you, Robert," Tanner said, watching as Lydia blushed. "You can get back to your duties. I have all in hand here."

And, to prove his words, he slid his hand further beneath Lydia's skirts and cupped her calf in order to hold her steady as he prepared to slide the boot over her toes.

"Tanner?"

"Forgive me," he said, his fingers feeling on fire as he felt the silk of her stocking, the sleek firmness of her calf. His imagination was beginning to run rampant. "But it's me or Mr. Slyboots."

"Nicole would say that I should be happy to have men at my feet," Lydia said, her voice rather breathless. "But I don't think she ever envisioned anything like this. Shall I push?"

It took Tanner a moment to understand what she meant. "Uh, no, I can manage it. It's these d.a.m.ned upside-down laces."

"Oh, but only think, Tanner. How could I bear to not have Mr. Sly's cunning little bows visible beneath the hem of my gown? Here, let me help."

She pointed her toes-she did have a wonderfully high arch; an eminently kissable arch. Nearly as kissable as her slim ankle, the curve of her calf that he could feel, longed to see.

He should let Robert take over. The boy could be no more than fifteen, and a Quaker into the bargain. Quakers probably didn't harbor licentious thoughts. Or if they did, they didn't act on them.

Tightening his grip on Lydia's calf, Tanner managed to slide the boot up and over her foot, and then rested her heel on his thigh once more, her knee bent as he used both hands to pull the boot fully up and on.

He controlled his breathing with some effort, or else Lydia might think he was breathless from exertion, rather than the truth, which was that he was manfully struggling to divorce himself from the knowledge that one feigned slip of a hand would have that hand at knee-height. Inches above that would be Lydia's garter, and then beyond that...beyond that lay madness.

With the boot fully on, Lydia leaned forward to see how it looked on her foot. Which put her head a scant foot from Tanner's. Tanner, who still had both hands a good five inches beneath her skirts, and with his gaze now exactly at bosom level.

He'd never been in danger of forgetting that Lydia had b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Then again, he'd never remembered her gowns revealing so much of them. When they were married, he'd insist on serving as her ladies' maid whenever she wished to wear boots. He wouldn't mind having her wear these particular boots, as a matter of fact, and the devil with her clothing entirely.

The thought of those fine leather heels digging into his bare back had him shifting rather uncomfortably on the stool. Her heel slipped as he moved and he instinctively grabbed at her leg, his hands sliding upward on the sleek silk stockings. The sole of her boot was now mere inches from his crotch, his betraying bulge.

"Oh..." Lydia said, looking down at her skirts as if she could see his hands beneath the sprigged muslin and petticoats. And then she looked at him, and he couldn't glance away, pretend what had just happened hadn't happened.

She was looking at him strangely. But not in panic. Not in loathing. He saw an unspoken question in her eyes. And he didn't know the answer.

But he hoped he did.

"You feel like nothing else in the world," Tanner heard himself saying quietly. He shifted his right hand higher, until his fingertips encountered her lace-edged garter. With her knee bent, he knew that her thighs had to be slightly parted. Her soft inner thigh was only a whisper away. He thought he might explode.

Lydia wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, an act born of nervousness, he was sure, but no less powerful for all of that.

They were only a few steps off Regent Street, with a slyboots no more than twenty feet away and a young Quaker soon to be corrupted unless Tanner got a grip on himself.

"Forgive me," he said, withdrawing his hands and allowing her to lower her leg. "I shouldn't have..."

"No, no, it was my fault. My foot slipped. I...I think the boot fits very well," she told him as he floundered to apologize without saying what he was apologizing for, which would have only made things worse.

They were both very quiet on the way back to Grosvenor Square. Two people with so much on their minds, and so little that could be said. But a step had been taken. They both knew it.

Only, where would that step lead?

CHAPTER NINE.

"TANNER BOUGHT YOU a pair of boots? What an odd gift," Charlotte said as she settled herself into a chair in Lydia's bedchamber. "And they were already made, and fit your foot? Let me see."

Lydia reluctantly cut the string on the package with her embroidery scissors and pulled out the boots. It was silly, but she had wanted to...to be alone with the boots. Relive those moments in Regent Street. Read less into what had happened. Or more. "They're for tramping the Malvern Hills. He's going to show me the entire world from the top of one of them."

"Oh, he is, is he?" Charlotte said, very nearly crooned. "Imagine that." She took hold of one of the boots and turned it about in her hand. "How strange. The laces are threaded upside-down."

And that's how Lydia felt. Upside-down. But she didn't say that, not even to Charlotte, who would probably understand. Instead, she told her all about Mr. Sly and his shop, prattling on nervously until she decided she sounded like Jasmine Harburton yet again, upon which she snapped her mouth shut.

Charlotte handed back the boot. "No, Sarah, not that one," she said as the maid began folding Lydia's grey morning gown, one she had worn these past three years, not for its style, but for its comfort. "I think we've seen enough of that gown."

"But it's one of my favorites," Lydia protested.

"Yes, I'm sure it is, and it will be fine for the country. If you wish to do some gardening, or decide on a visit to the hen house."

Sarah had placed the gown in the large trunk heading straight to Ashurst Hall and now Lydia plucked it out again, replacing it in her traveling trunk. "It will be perfect, then, for tramping across hilltops."

Charlotte motioned for Sarah to take it out once more. "Not even for that. Is there no romance in your soul, my dear? The man wishes to take you up in the hills near his home, show you his world. Alone, just the two of you. He's even surprised me by attempting to dress you for the part, which I find, if not exactly romantic, at least very thoughtful of him. Do you honestly suppose he's simply dying to show you all the flora and fauna? I know you've rarely been out of the country, Lydia, but n.o.body is that sheltered."

Sarah giggled.

"No," Charlotte went on, casting the maid a quelling look, "that gown will not do for Malvern, not for any moment of your time there. After all, it would appear that Tanner is not your only suitor. What if one of the gentlemen were to propose marriage to you and you were wearing that tired old gown? Think how embarra.s.sed you'd be."

Lydia, who was once again in the process of stubbornly removing the gown from the larger trunk, whirled on her sister-in-law. "n.o.body is going to propose marriage to me. It's a simple country house party until Tanner's cheek heals and the baron is less of a sensation."

"Are you certain of that?"

"Of course I'm certain of that," Lydia said, ignoring the rather disconcerting acceleration of her heartbeat. "If anything, Tanner will be proposing to Jasmine."

"Really?" Charlotte said, raising one eyebrow. "Then what do you think would explain Tanner's request to speak privately with Rafe in his study once you had returned from your excursion to the shops?"

"He did what?" The gown dropped from Lydia's suddenly nerveless fingertips. Sarah quickly s.n.a.t.c.hed it up, rolled it into a ball, and kicked it out of sight beneath the bed skirts.

"Why, sweetheart, you've gone rather pale," Charlotte commented, showing a side of herself Lydia had never seen before, and wasn't sure she liked very much, thank you. "You didn't know Tanner asked to speak with Rafe? Very much the way, as it happens, the baron asked to speak privately with him a few hours ago. Rafe has been very busy today. You, I believe, will have the same problem at some point in the next week. Being very busy, I mean."

Sarah giggled, belatedly slapped a hand to her mouth, and scurried out of the bedchamber.

Lydia walked over to her dressing table and sat down, which was better than the alternative: falling down. "Justin is only teasing. He as good as said so. Speaking to Rafe was only a part of the joke. Not a very funny one, I admit."

Charlotte shook her head, sighing. "Is it so impossible, sweetheart, for you to think of yourself as attractive, in both your mind and your appearance? The sort of woman a man would see, be instantly captivated by, so much so that he feels the need to pave the way through Rafe's blessing before very seriously courting you while you're at Malvern?"

"Justin doesn't like women."

"Really? And yet I have it on rather high authority that he likes women very much. And very often, too, at least from the way Rafe explained the thing to me. Are you saying he prefers-"

"I am not!" Lydia exclaimed, feeling her cheeks go hot. "I meant he likes women...but he doesn't like women. Oh, I don't know what I'm saying. No, that's not true. I'm saying that Justin was only teasing me. He thinks he's amusing."

"And he isn't?"

Lydia wanted this conversation over. At least the part about the baron; she might wish to hear more about Tanner's visit with Rafe. "He's very amusing. The problem is..." she hesitated, thought for a moment, and then said, "the problem is that he knows it. I think he enjoys himself very much, sometimes at the expense of others. So perhaps I was wrong. He doesn't just not like women. He doesn't like many men, either. Most of all himself."

Charlotte looked at her with curiosity evident in her eyes. "I can see you've given the baron a lot of thought. Are you planning to rescue him from himself by any chance? It would be so like you, unfortunately."

Lydia was surprised by this statement. "Are you calling me meddlesome?"

"Good Lord, no. I'm saying that you enjoy rescuing people from their own folly. You've spent a majority of your life rescuing Nicole from her mad starts and follies. There are times I have pictured you as a sort of broom, chasing behind people and sweeping up after them. Your sister is grown now, wiser now. And besides, she's no longer your concern. Lucas is delighted with her, mad starts and all. Don't you think it's time you put down that broom and thought more about your own life? Perhaps even consider a few mad starts and adventures of your own?"

Lydia glanced toward the boots. "I wouldn't know how."

Charlotte got to her feet and walked over to kiss Lydia's cheek. "We all know how, sweetheart. We were born knowing. It's only necessary to take off the locks and bars of what we think we're supposed to be and let it all out. After all, we're women, and eminently smarter than men-although we're also smart enough to keep that our little secret. Sometimes, honorable as gentlemen feel themselves required to be, it takes a...a bit of a nudge from the woman who knows what's best for him. And for her, of course."

"Are you saying-?"

"Me? A woman soon to be a mother?" Charlotte put up her hands in mock horror, and then smiled with all the mischief of a young girl. "I'm not saying anything at all. But think about what I didn't say, Lydia. Think about letting go, just a little." She patted her sister-in-law's cheek. "It may be time for the real Lydia, the Lydia who has been so safe and circ.u.mspect enough for her twin and herself combined to come out and play."

Once Charlotte had gone, Lydia took up the boots and walked over to the window with them clutched to her bosom. She looked out over Grosvenor Square, and could almost see Lucas Paine's traveling coach driving out of the Square, Nicole waving to her from the window, blowing kisses; full of life, eager for another adventure, this time with the man she loved.

"How does it feel?" she asked the empty Square below her. "What is it like to just feel? To simply let go and allow events to take you where you have never been, to a place where it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks or says, but only how you feel?"

You feel like nothing else in the world.

Tanner's touch, and her reaction to it, had felt like nothing else in the world. The shop had faded, all of the world had disappeared in those moments as she looked into his eyes, as his fingers seared her skin through the silk of her stocking. She'd gone warm all over, a melting sensation coursing through her entire body, so that she'd wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and simply feel.

Was that it? Was that what she was missing in her so-circ.u.mspect life? A man's touch? Not the dream, as her brief time with the captain had been, all longing looks and silent sighs. The captain had been her childhood love, her comfortable harbor so that she could continue to believe herself safe, secure.

She felt much less than secure when she looked at Tanner, when he looked at her. She felt off-balance, unsure, and yet terribly excited. She couldn't envision their future, if it would be happy or sad. There were no guarantees; she'd learned that much when Fitz had died.

For nearly a year she'd hidden in her coc.o.o.n, berating herself for not confessing her love for the captain while he was still with her, while at the same time half blaming him for her devastating grief. To love again could mean pain, heartbreak, loss. But to simply not try? Was that living?

You feel like nothing else in the world.

Her carefully constructed coc.o.o.n was no longer comfortable; it had become not her refuge, but her prison. And Tanner was not the captain. He wasn't safe. He affected her as the captain had never done.

Was that so wrong? It didn't feel wrong...

CHAPTER TEN.

"HEIGH-HO, AND AWAY, old friend," Baron Wilde crowed as he guided his mount beside Tanner's as the traveling coach with the Malvern crest picked out in gold gilt on the side doors moved through the morning fog and out of Grosvenor Square. "Oh, and look at that scowl, would you? Did you think to take up the two fair ladies and sneak out of town without me?"

"I knew you'd be along at some point, rather like a bad penny that keeps showing up again and again," Tanner told him facetiously. "Or did you expect me to send someone to fetch you from the arms of whatever opera dancer took your fancy last evening? You're still in your evening clothes, and looking somewhat the worse for wear for a man who prides himself on his appearance as you do. Long night?"

"Interesting night," Justin said, rubbing at the morning stubble that darkened his cheeks. "Brummell's finally managed to do his flit, by the way, flown to Calais, the sanctuary of all the best English debtors. n.o.body knows yet, but since you and I are leaving town, it's safe to tell you."