Free Taffeta & Hotspur by Claudy Conn

“Cath… Cathy, what is it?”
    “ Naught.” Her friend’s voice
was shaky at best.
    Taffy watched the marquis with
interest. He was certainly elegantly dressed. His dark green
superfine had been molded to his lean form. His pale cream breeches
looked as though they had been painted onto his long legs. His
boots sported gold tassels at their heart shaped tops. His face
conveyed an expression of boredom, and dissipation, of fast, hard
living, but even so he was a handsome buck much in his heyday—or so
it seemed to her.
    Catherine’s hand strayed into hers,
and Taffy felt her friend tremble. Faith, she was going to get to
the bottom of this. What was it about Bruton that so worried Cath?
Tension seemed to infiltrate the atmosphere and hang like a heavy
dark cloud. Obviously Bruton was not liked by the company who
surrounded her.
    Taffy got to her feet and walked over
to her brother, she knew instinctively Bruton would follow, and she
wanted to stop him from looking toward Catherine, for she acted
like he was frightening her to death.
    He did in fact follow Taffy as she
came to stand beside her brother and she said, “Seth, what news in
Parliament of Wellington, and what is your guess as to his future
plans?” There, she thought, that should get the men
talking.
    “ Devil is in it so no one
can hazard a guess,” her brother answered with a frown.
    “ Not so,” corrected the
marquis falling, as Taffy suspected, into the conversation.
“Everyone has been guessing, but no one knows how far off his guess
may be.”
    She could see he thought himself very
clever. She also noted Tarrant was watching her with interest. It
appeared to her the rogue players in the room each had their
agenda. Well, well … what is Tarrant doing now? He had risen from
the sofa, leaving Catherine to his friend, Fenmore, and was
unobtrusively making his way toward her. She felt a trickle of
anticipation. She felt a shiver shoot straight up her spine. She
felt drawn to him as he stalked panther-like toward her as though
claiming possession of his prey. Oddly enough, she wanted him
centered on her, even if he presently thought of her as prey. She
knew she wasn’t … and she knew what she wanted.
    Tarrant spoke to her brother, and she
realized at once, the two had developed a friendship of sorts. How
very strange, she thought.
    “ I think you are in the
right of it, Seth.” To Taffy, he bent his head and whispered in her
ear, “That was neatly contrived.”
    She gave him a brilliant smile. He was
so knowing—so up on every thing. It was most irritating.
    What then, had he had noticed her
friend was uncomfortable in Bruton’s company? Had he watched to see
how she would handle the situation? Something inside of her lit
with pride. He had approved, but something else berated her. Why
should I care if he approved or not?
    The men went on to discuss Wellington
and Napoleon, and she quietly returned to her friend, sat with her,
and pated her hand. “What we need, Cath … is some private time,”
she whispered and was pleased to see her friend nod and give her
fingers a light squeeze.
    Some moments later, Tarrant bent over
her hand and said, “Tomorrow then, sunbeam—a ride with me and my
matched grays?” His voice cajoled, but it wasn’t necessary. She was
more than willing to ride in a high perched phaeton for she had
never done so before. She was also aware, all too aware, of the
disappointment she felt when she realized he was
leaving.
    “ Well as to that, I could
never pass up a chance to ride with you in your phaeton, now could
I? I am told that to be seen in your company must add considerably
to my consequence.”
    “ Used, abused, and cut down
in my prime by a snip of a girl!” he pronounced and chuckled
heartily. He reached and tweaked her nose. His friend, Fenmore,
nodded to him and said he would meet him at the club later, and
returned his attention to Miss Frome.
    Bruton descended on Taffy who decided
to keep his attention