I'm at a bit of a loss what to tease you with this week. I have The Duke's Temptation up for preorder, But think you might e sick of reading teases from there for now, so instead, this is from an old no longer in publication, Regency series I'm thinking of revamping.
The series was called The Ladies of London, and this is Amanda's story...
(It needs updating I know but...)
"Why are we
doing this?" Charlie, Lord Lampson, asked his colleague plaintively as
they strode along the street arm in arm. "I'm so cold and shriveled, La
Bella Isabella and her whole troupe of dancing girls could be standing in front
of us, and I wouldn't be able to show my appreciation. In any way whatsoever.
Quite disconcerting, I must tell you."
Harry, the Duke of
Fairmont, just laughed. "Don't be such a goose," he advised. "We're
doing it for you. You want to go to see The Fair Isabella, before you agree to
the parson's noose, and I, as a true friend, am accompanying you."
Charlie snorted. "Just
because your Mama can't control you and make you wed, you don't need to be so
damn cheerful about my impending doom."
Harry didn't
answer.
"You're a
lucky dog," Charlie said. "A doting Mama, a considerable fortune, a very accommodating mistress; what more
does a man need?"
"What more,
indeed," Harry, who usually spent his days—to his friend's amazement—managing
his estates, amassing even more money via various schemes and businesses, and
bedding his current mistress, agreed with him amiably. "At some point, an
heir, perhaps? But for the moment, I have all I need. I have no interest in all
the young girls paraded under my nose every year by despairing and pushy
parents. I have better things to do with my time. Including accompanying you on
this outing."
"And visiting
your clubs, race meetings, Jackson's Saloon, and anything else that might take
your fancy," Charlie retorted, his lips twitching.
"As you say,"
Harry acknowledged. "And tonight's entertainment to see La Bella Isabella
and her Dancing Girls does take my fancy."
He was silent,
thinking of the probable delights of the evening ahead. Beside him, Charlie
sighed. Harry would bet his new hunter they thought alike.
New to London, the
troupe had taken the males of the Ton by storm. No one knew where they came
from or who they were. Only that they danced, in a most interesting manner. The rumors abounded. French, Italian, demimonde,
ladies of the Ton. But no one knew for sure. And, as no girl ever made contact
with any of the audience, all wore elaborate masks whilst they performed, and
no one standing outside the stage door ever caught a glimpse of anyone leaving,
the mystery and interest increased daily. Even more annoying was the fact they
only performed occasionally, and it was never disclosed more than a few hours
in advance when and where their performance would be. To pique interest even more,
admittance was by invitation only.
A commotion ahead
made Charlie stop grumbling and pull on Harry's arm. Harry had already seen the
carriage skewed across the road, its wheels embedded in the snow, and the
horses slipping and skidding on the ice. The young lady trying to calm the
horses was definitely not dressed for the arctic conditions. Indeed, as he made
his way to her side to help with the horses, Harry was sure he could see her
nipples peaking with the cold through her flimsy, muslin gown.
"I say, are you
all right?" Charlie openly ogled her body.
"Of course I
am," the lady answered impatiently. "As your colleague had realized,
it's my horses that are not. Pray, sir, either help or get into the carriage
and calm my companion before she shrieks the place down." Wails were
erupting from inside the carriage, growing louder which each passing second.
"Oh, Peggy, be
quiet," she said—rather loudly, Harry thought, and he feared the woman's
voice would upset the horses even more. Her next words quelled his qualms,
however. "You're spooking the horses. Close your mouth, use your smelling
salts, do anything, but stop that noise. Now!"
Harry was amused at
how she ordered everyone around. Charlie had obediently entered the carriage,
where the wailing was subsiding. The groom on the box was following her orders,
and he, himself, was patiently standing in the freezing cold, helping to calm
the prime-looking cattle. And he was discovering by the minute how little the
cold conditions were affecting his reactions to the fair lady. In fact, he grinned
to himself as he struggled to adjust his clothing to allow a small degree of
comfort; a certain part of his anatomy was mimicking the state of her nipples—standing to attention, though in his case, it was not due to the cold and it
was not his nipples...although they weren't exactly flaccid either.
Catch all the other #MidWeekTease posts here
Happy reading,
love Raven x
