Lady Let.i.tia made an exaggerated point of looking around the room. "Oh, dear, the sherry is nearly gone. Perhaps you will join me, Sister, in locating one of the special bottles Father kept."

"Why can't Edgar-" Lady Viola began.

"Oh, no. He would never know which I meant, Sister. Though he could fetch it down for us once we've identified the correct bottle." Lady Let.i.tia waggled her thick white brows and threw a meaningful glance in Lord Argyll's direction.

"Oh! Of course you are right." Lady Viola turned to the viscount. "How could Edgar know which bottle you meant? Silly me."

One corner of the viscount's mouth lifted, but he nodded and rose as the ladies departed the room with Mr. Edgar. When the door closed behind the trio, Argyll turned to Jenny with a decidedly wicked gleam in his eye. "Alone at last, my bonnie la.s.s."

Well, that didn't take long, Jenny mused. Did he think he unnerved her? Well, he was sadly mistaken. She'd fended off more roguish footmen when she was a girl of ten and four. No, the challenge he offered her now would be pure sport. For she had the advantage. He thought her to be a proper lady, an innocent, something Jenny, for better or worse, was not. And besides, there was no chance in the world that the viscount would ever truly make an offer for her, so why not have a little fun?

Jenny batted her eyes. "Please temper your words, my lord, the ladies are bound to return in but a moment."

"A moment is all I need, la.s.s."

She knew that to maintain the ruse the ladies had concocted, she should faint, or at the very least wilt at the thought of his overt gesture. But then, her dress might come apart... and as she looked into his eyes, glinting with the sparks of pa.s.sion she longed to ignite, for some reason she didn't care about the ruse anymore.

Maybe it was the sherry that warmed her belly, maybe 'twas her below stairs upbringing. But something made her mind forget what was proper, and in the next instant, Jenny reached out and carefully slipped her arms around the viscount's neck. And pressed her moist lips to his.

She had half expected her brazenness to shock him, to repel him. But it seemed to do neither.

His arms eased around her waist, then one hand slid slowly up her back, coming to rest at the nape of her neck. He held her mouth close as he ran the tip of his tongue over the bow of her top lip, then down along the fullness of her lower lip. Then he slipped it inside her mouth, exploring the soft slickness inside, swirling his tongue with hers, until she shuddered and felt a seam beneath her bosom come open.

In an abrupt jerk, Jenny pulled back and quickly crossed her arms beneath her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, covertly pinching the seam closed with her thumb and index finger. "You-you... are not the gentleman you pretend to be, my lord."

He laughed deeply, wickedly then, a sound that sent goose b.u.mps over the whole of her body. "And ye are not the lady you pretend either."

Oh, dear. Had her impulsiveness destroyed the game so quickly? Her thoughts tangled in a nest of worry. "May I ask exactly what you mean by that, my lord?"

He chuckled at that. "Oh, dinna fret, dear one. I dinna doubt yer lineage. But there's a most unladylike pa.s.sion inside of ye just waitin' to be freed."

"You overstep, my lord." Jenny did her best to appear appalled, as she knew she should be.

"Ye may call me Callum," he told her in that low husky voice of his. "All me lovers do."

"Callum," Jenny whispered huskily, quite unintentionally.

"And what shall I call ye?"

And the word slipped out unbidden again. "Jenny."

My heavens, what am I saying? Jenny stared at him as if truly seeing him for the first time. And indeed she was. "I-I have no intention of becoming your-your lover."

"Dinna ye, Jenny? Yer kiss told me differently."

Still gripping the loose seam with her left hand, Jenny poked her right index finger outward and met his muscled chest, which she used as leverage to push away. "You are a rake of the first order."

"Aye, but I told ye as much when we met. And I believe ye know, for I admitted as much, that I never lie."

Just then, the door opened again and the Featherton ladies emerged from the pa.s.sageway.

"Here we are, and with the special sherry!" Lady Viola sang out.

Callum whirled around to face them. "I fear I must take my leave, fer I have some matters to attend to."

A dual sigh fell from the Featherton sisters' mouths.

"Shall we meet again, my lord?" Lady Viola asked sweetly. "We are taking the waters tomorrow noon, a little later than usual. Mayhap we will see you then?"

Callum's mouth lifted into a crooked smile. "Perhaps, my lady. Perhaps indeed."

And, as seemed to be his way, he departed abruptly with nary another word.

Good riddance, Jenny thought. She wasn't about to have her life ruined by a blue-blooded rogue-the way her mother's was. And the longer he remained in her presence, the more likely that became.

If only he wasn't so d.a.m.ned handsome.

Chapter Five.

Impossible! Gentlemen and ladies, all bathing... together? Jenny wondered if her mother knew about this. Or Mr. Edgar! Maybe if he was aware that the ton saw nothing wrong with bathing together, then he'd stop threatening the kitchen girls with the sack just for kissing the footmen.

Dressed in what Jenny took to be the appropriate bathing uniforms, baglike marigold frocks cord-cinched beneath their bosom, she and Meredith wheeled Lady Let.i.tia to the steps, helped her down into the steaming water, then eased into the blissfully warm water themselves.

Though the bathing gown she'd borrowed from Meredith was itchy upon her skin, the hot bath felt grand, especially on a day as bitingly cold as today. Though, Jenny had to admit, she felt a bit silly strolling chest deep in the Roman baths with a flat basket of medicinal herbs and flowers floating before her, anch.o.r.ed by a wide ribbon about her neck. And to polish the ridiculous look, she was still wearing her best bonnet atop her head. All the ladies were. And most of the gentlemen wore their beaver-skin top hats. The whole event was just a hair north of idiotic if you asked her.

And this "treatment" was supposed to cure what ails you? Bah! What folly. Someone was a having a grand joke on the ton and they were actually paying for the privilege.

Still, without fail, Lady Let.i.tia made her way to the baths several times a week-for her gout. In fact, it was the very reason they'd packed up the London house and come to Bath-for the supposed medicinal waters.

Eating a little less would make for a far better cure, Jenny decided. It couldn't help the mistress toting all that weight around.

The wake from a pa.s.sing couple nearly upset Jenny's floating tray, but she remembered her ladies' instructions and remained as serene and genteel as if she were standing in the Upper a.s.sembly Rooms-instead of chest deep in water that smelled like boiled eggs.

A warm hand pressed against her back, almost caressing her, and Jenny smiled expecting to see Meredith as she turned. But halfway around she saw the young miss now sitting at the water's edge, splashing her feet in the water and annoying everyone around her.

"I like the way yer wet gown hugs ye close, la.s.s. Makes it easier to imagine ye as the Good Lord made ye."

"You," Jenny snarled. She whirled around, causing a tight whirlpool to encircle her and raise her hem about her thighs. She shoved her gown back down into the murky depths.

"We did agree ye'd call me Callum," he whispered in her ear.

"Leave me. Please. The ladies are bound to see you."

"And I would think they'd be quite pleased. It canna be a secret to ye that they desire a love match between us."

"So they might, but you, my lord, have absolutely no intention of offering for me." She glared up at him. "I am not as naive as you would believe me to be. I know your true intentions, and they involve a bed, not a ring."

Callum grinned at that, but her accusation did nothing to urge forth the gentleman inside. Instead, one wide hand cupped Jenny's bottom. She gasped, unsure what to do, as he pressed her forward through the water, at such a rate that a wake spread out behind them, until they reached a wide column near the corner of the bath.

Then, the wicked viscount disappeared from sight. A horrible thought entered Jenny's mind, and she stared down deep into the water below. Then she thrashed her feet and kicked her legs below the water's surface. But he wasn't there.

With suspicion, her eyes lit upon the wide column and she slowly peered around it. Just on the other side, the sound of water dripping, as if from a wet shirtsleeve, told her she'd found him. Well, she wasn't going any closer. Now that she knew where he was, she'd just back away quietly.

She eased one foot behind her, and shifted her weight to it. Then a hand shot out and caught her wrist.

Startled, Jenny yelped as Callum dragged her up against the column, where they'd not be seen by anyone. At once he cupped his hand over her mouth, overturning the basket of flowers and breaking the ribbon as he did so.

Her eyes wide, Jenny panted against his hand. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s rose and fell against the rock-hard surface of his chest as he held her firmly against the stone column.

Then he smiled at her. Oh, it was a wicked smile that one might expect from Bath's own Don Juan, the great seducer of women.

Jenny steadied her breathing and when he finally removed his hand from her mouth, raised a mocking brow at him.

"What game is this, Argyll?"

He lifted his own brow at that. "No game at all. I quite enjoyed yer kiss last eve, and thought to have another."

"Did you?" An unexpected thrill raced across Jenny's skin, and to her horror, she felt her nipples harden against her coa.r.s.e wet frock. "Well, my lord, I shan't be gifting you with another."

"I wasna askin' fer a gift." He stared hard into her eyes and her breath grew deep and fast again.

His tongue ran over his lower lip, and he leaned in, tilting his head down to kiss her.

Ohhhh, my G.o.d... save the King. Jenny's thighs were suddenly aquiver and she felt her arms wrapping around him. Her fingers clutched at his soaked marigold shirt, then rode along his broad shoulders.

Beneath the water, she felt his hardness intimately pressing against her and without thinking, she raised her leg, wedging it in the crease behind his knee, as she nudged him more firmly against her.

He released her mouth then, and stared with surprise at her.

Mortification swept over Jenny, but there was no way she was going to give him the satisfaction of knowing this. So instead, she raised her chin and, with a cheeky flick of her brows, flashed him a triumphant smile.

"Why, Lady Genevieve, such a paradox ye are." Then he smiled back at her. "How verra intriguing."

Jenny shook a bit, but recovered her wits quickly. "I merely wanted to let you taste"-she leaned forward, and as she softly brushed his lips, heard him sigh-"what you will never have."

She forced a cool laugh then, slammed her hands against his chest, and shoved him backward and under the water. "Good day, my lord," she crooned saucily as she rounded the column and made her way back to Miss Meredith.

An hour later the ladies were dressed once more and strolling into the famed Pump Room to partake of the waters.

Jenny pressed the crown Lady Let.i.tia had handed her into the attendant's palm, then pa.s.sed a cup to both her employers and Miss Meredith before tilting her own to her lips.

She sniffed it first, smelling its salty essence, then took a small sip of the warm water that set in motion a deep involuntary gag. How vile!

She looked at the two old women, then at Meredith, who was pinching her nostrils shut in order to down the water.

How could the Featherton ladies drink this swill? It tasted like hot seawater. Thick, egg-smelling, hot seawater! Well, she wasn't about to have any more of it, and she didn't give a fig that it cost three pence for a tin cupful!

Plastering a demure smile upon her lips, Jenny strolled to the window and paused at the foot of a potted palm, which she secretly watered with the most expensive water in all of Bath.

As she turned, she had to marvel at the expansive room. Or rather at those inside. Ladies and gentlemen of substantial wealth and evident refinement mingled with one another while sipping the water. And not a one winced or cringed at the foul taste. Extraordinary.

But even more amazing were the fashions the women wore. For if Jenny was not mistaken, Lady Marshall was wearing something she herself had only just read about in the Mirror of Fashion-the English Witzchoura.

It appeared to be composed of superfine lilac and white cloth, and lined with what had to be the finest china silk. Its purpose was to shield the wearer from the inclemency of the weather, while preserving the gown worn under from being rumpled. Jenny marveled at Lady Marshall's modish appearance, for the Witzchoura formed a most elegant covering for days or even evening parties.

She'd barely had time to take in the utility of the Witzchoura when she noticed another woman wearing the most divine cornet cap of blond lace and scarlet silk velvet she'd ever seen.

Oh, why hadn't she thought to bring her scientific journal to make notes? 'Twas almost as if La Belle a.s.semblee had sprung to life in the Pump Room, and here she was without a means to record her observations.

And then she saw it and knew at once she must have it. A girl, scarcely older than Meredith, strolled past her in a gown of paisley gauze, trimmed with soft white fur and black cording all around it. The dress was of moderate length, revealing white satin shoes that perfectly matched the young lady's kid gloves. The sleeves were full and appeared to fall gracefully over her shoulders, displaying, in a tasteful way of course, the girl's bust and back. Jenny stared as long as propriety would allow, drinking in every tiny detail and trying her best to commit it to memory.

"'Twould look all the more lovely on ye, my dear," came a voice inside her head.

"I know..." she answered dreamily, only belatedly realizing that the voice was not inside her head at all-but coming from the wicked viscount who was now standing beside her!

Lifting her skirts an inch from the floor, she walked to one of the grand windows and peered out, hoping that if she ignored the Scot he would leave her alone. Maybe even retrain his eye on some other worthy quarry.

Despite her intention to pay him no heed, her heart thudded inside of her, and willing herself not to turn around became dreadfully difficult. But she couldn't allow herself to do it. That would only encourage him and show him her discomfort. So instead she stared ever forward.

There, outside a few feet from the window stood a little man, not much taller than Jenny's midthigh.

Well, he was certainly unique, wasn't he now?

She leaned her forehead upon the cold gla.s.s and studied him. His clothes were wrinkled, and stained, but free of any rips or tears. Gleaming in the thin light, a tiny top hat sat upon his overlarge head, which was shaped, oddly enough, like a balloon Jenny had once seen at an ascension in London's Hyde Park.

But probably the most remarkable thing about the little man was that he was practically barking at three members of the Quality, all of whom were sneering back at him.

Fascinated, Jenny watched as the three finely dressed individuals, two dandies with walking sticks and a woman wearing a rich scarlet turban, left the little man in the street and entered the Pump Room.

Something didn't feel right about them. As she heard the doors open, Jenny was compelled to turn around to look at the three. But when she did, Callum was standing right there before her wearing that c.o.c.ky, crooked grin of his.

Jenny grimaced, and bent to the side to look past him at the trio, who were now moving toward the pump.

Upon closer examination, the three individuals were not nearly as fashionable as Jenny had first believed. The woman's gown was considered quite modish-at least five years ago, Jenny noted-and the jewels that sparkled at her throat and wrist were clearly paste. But it was her shoes, or rather her walking boots, that gave Jenny pause. There was nothing fine about them at all. In fact, the scullery maids in the Featherton household wore finer leather goods.

Bypa.s.sing Callum, Jenny absently followed the odd trio through the Pump Room, watching them, studying them.

"Leavin' me for another, are ye, la.s.s?" came the Scotsman's low voice.

Jenny looked across at him and an idea entered her mind. She'd be far less conspicuous in her study of the newcomers were she on the arm of Lord Argyll. And so she flashed him her prettiest smile and settled her hand on the forearm of his coat sleeve-this time taking great care not to accidentally miss and brush his fur-covered sporran.