Desperate Measures (A Regency Short Story)

look as besotted as I do. And don't look now, but Tennison is actually paying attention. Our ploy has worked. His eyes are all for you, my girl." He muttered something else under his breath but she couldn't be sure what it was.

  He pressed his hand against the back of her waist and pulled her a fraction closer.

  Lydia supposed she ought to glance over at Lord Tennison now and then, just to maintain the charade, but she only had eyes for one man, and she was dancing with him. The sheer bliss of the waltz ended too soon, and as it was the supper dance it was a short set. Geoffrey kept his hand lightly on her back as he led her into the supper room.

  He guided her to a small table meant for two, and surreptitiously winked when Lord Tennison and Mrs. Wadsworth took an adjacent table. Geoffrey placed her with her back to the other couple, then leaned down and said, "He shot an interested glance in your direction. He is most definitely intrigued. Let's see if we can keep it that way." He grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing footman. "I shall go fill a couple of plates from the buffet. Don't you dare let another chap take my seat." He grinned and walked away toward the tables set out like groaning boards.

  She realized she was starving, as she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She'd been nervous all day, but now she was surprisingly calm, despite the rather startling turn of events. How strange to think that she had come tonight hoping to make him jealous and perhaps to see her in a different light, and instead …

  But wait a moment. That was still her ultimate objective, was it not? To make him see her as a woman, a desirable woman worthy of a man's attention. It was possible that all the playacting had forced him to see her differently. Was that enough?

  When this scheme had been hatched, it was because men were supposedly susceptible to jealousy. It had come about on a dreary, rainy day too wet to do anything out of doors. Daniel and his friend Philip Hartwell had been sprawled upon the drawing room sofas, bored to tears and itching to be out and about. With nothing else to do, they had deigned to spend time in her company – a novelty as she was five years younger than Daniel, the little sister only occasionally tolerated. They had been talking of the Erskine ball and who they might dance with or whether they should simply haunt the card room. Philip had asked Lydia about her friend Daphne Hughes and if she would be attending. She was quite sure he had a tendre for Daphne, though he would never admit to it. He asked Lydia who she was hoping to dance with, and soon both he and Daniel were teasing her about several gentlemen. The gloomy day had affected her mood and she told them, rather snappily, that she did not care tuppence for any of those men, that the only man she cared about didn’t know she was alive.

  That confession had set them off. They begged his name but she refused to tell and soon wished she'd kept her mouth shut. Eventually, they both dropped their teasing, especially Daniel who seemed genuinely concerned that his sister's heart was in danger of being broken. The two young men commiserated over ways she might attract the unnamed gentleman, but it had all seemed horribly embarrassing and she had more or less ignored their advice.

  Until, that is, they had struck upon the notion of making the man jealous. That had seemed a more logical approach, especially as they cited several romances where jealousy had turned the tide. As the Erskine ball approached, she'd become less sanguine about the plan they'd concocted, but the idea of jealousy as a means of encouragement still held a ring of truth for her. Upon consideration, Lydia decided the original plan ought not be completely discarded just yet.

  She looked up to see Lord Tennison returning to the adjacent table with a plate of food. He was tall and lean, and quite fit for a man of his age, which must be at least thirty-five. He was dark-haired and dark-eyed, his face chiseled into sharp planes and angles. His eyes were heavy-lidded and his lips were more often than not curled into a seductive leer. Lord Tennison was considered a dangerous man, with an unsavory reputation and no honor where women were concerned. Yet, he was an infamous rake with many high-born conquests, so clearly a good number of ladies were drawn to him. He was still handsome, in a world-weary sort of way, but he held no appeal for Lydia. His dark, swarthy looks were the antithesis of Geoffrey's golden beauty. She had, however, named him, and so she might as well make use of him.

  She caught his eye and smiled. He paused, arched an eyebrow, then returned her smile. "Miss Bettridge. You are looking remarkably pretty this evening."

  His gaze flickered momentarily down to her bosom, which seemed to generate inordinate interest tonight. She hadn't minded Geoffrey admiring her figure, or even the other gentlemen she'd danced with, but Lord Tennison's open appraisal made her decidedly uncomfortable. She was tempted to reach down and tug up the bodice, but decided that the rather daring neckline served her purpose. When Tennison's eyes once again met hers, she broadened her smile, leaned ever so slightly forward, giving him a better view, and batted her eyelashes. Once. Twice. But no more. She hoped to appear provocative, not silly. "Thank you, my lord. It is kind of you to say so."

  He regarded her more closely, with a sort of melting warmth, and all at once she could understand how so many women had fallen under his spell. With nothing more than the look in his eye, he made her feel as though he'd touched her in a shockingly intimate manner, and while other more sophisticated women might welcome such a look, Lydia did not like it at all. To maintain her pretense, though, she dropped her gaze demurely and batted her eyelashes once more.

  "Kindness had nothing to do with it," he said in a lazy drawl. "I merely spoke the truth. See here, is someone getting you a plate? Or would you allow me the honor of doing so?"

  "Someone has already done so, Tennison."

  She hadn't seen Geoffrey approach, but the timing could not have been more perfect. His furious expression was an encouraging sign. Lydia put on her very best smile and turned to Lord Tennison. "Thank you so much for asking, my lord. Perhaps some other time?"

  "I look forward to it," he said, glancing at Geoffrey with a gleam of mockery in his eye before returning to Mrs. Wadsworth.

  Geoffrey put a plate of food in front of Lydia and took his seat. His scowl was one of the sweetest things she'd ever seen. He really was jealous. At least, that is what she hoped. Maybe he was just angry, and feeling protective of Daniel's sister.

  "Dammit, Lydia, you truly are determined to have that scoundrel woo you?"

  "I have said so, have I not? And I must say, Mr. Danforth, that peevish look on your face does not signal that you are wooing me, which, you may recall, is the plan."

  He gave a resigned shrug. "Right you are. I must not forget my role."

  "It must be working, don't you think? Did you see the way he looked at me?"

  "Hmph. How could I not? Ah, but you should see the way Eugenia Wadsworth is looking at you. Do you feel her daggers in your back?"

  Lydia laughed. "Is she jealous, do you think? Of me?" It boosted her confidence to think that the beautiful, fashionable widow would see her as competition.

  "Apparently," he muttered, "jealousy is the name of the game tonight,"

  Better and better, she thought. It was all going according to plan. The revised plan, anyway.

  "Well, I really do not care about Mrs. Wadsworth," she said, and fluttered her fingers in a dismissive gesture. "It is Lord Tennison who concerns me. We are to make him jealous, in case you have forgotten."

  Geoffrey tore his gaze from the other couple and returned his attention to Lydia with a smile so beguiling it poured over her like warm honey. Thank heaven she was seated.

  "I have not forgotten. Let us resume our performance. Can I tempt you with something to eat?"

  She noticed, for the first time, the plate in front of her. Besides the sliced ham, lobster patty, and pickled mango, there was a small pile of the tiniest red strawberries. "Oh, strawberries!" She popped one in her mouth and it was like richest of sweetmeats. She closed her eyes and savored it. She was very much a
fraid she'd actually moaned with pleasure. When she opened her eyes, Geoffrey was studying her intently with an expression she could not immediately identify. Could it be … hunger? The air in her lungs suddenly felt thin, starving her of breath. She held another strawberry in her fingers, but could not seem to lift it to her mouth.

  "I remembered about the strawberries," he said, his eyes locked with hers.

  "Hmm?"

  "That picnic at your aunt's home in Richmond. You almost became sick from eating too many wild strawberries. You fell back on the blanket and said there was no better way to die."

  Her heart gave a little skitter in her chest. "You … you remembered that?"

  "Of course. You looked so charmingly …sated."

  He took her hand and lifted the berry to her mouth. When she took it, her lips touched his bare fingers, for he had removed his gloves for supper, and the brief taste of his skin overwhelmed even the strawberry. He watched intently as she ate it and then licked her lips to capture every hint of flavor left behind. She watched him watch her, and all at once, with their gazes locked, she sensed a new connection between them, something deeper and full of understanding, through eyes and lips and fingers, and the sweet scent of ripe strawberries enveloping them. It felt so right. And very real, at