Page 7 of The Wrath of the Wallflower (Revenge of the Wallflowers)

Alice sank into the sensation of Sinjin’s soft, insistent lips pressed to hers. The chill from the night air fled as if chased by hounds. She slid her arms around him and drew him against her body. No fireplace or stove had ever warmed her the way he did. Shock, astonishment, and a fiery curiosity sped through her. He clasped her face between his hands and tilted her head to deepen their kiss. He flicked the tip of his tongue along the seam of her mouth, which tickled. When laughter escaped in a little burst, he swept his tongue inside and caressed her tongue with his.

She gasped but immediately set to exploring his mouth and matching the sensuous undulating of his tongue with her own. Her breath caught, and her chest rose and fell against his, brushing her sensitive breasts against the surprising hardness of his muscled body. She’d never really thought of Sinjin as being solid and strong. He’d swept her into his arms and carried her to the carriage without breaking stride, without a change in his breathing.

He slid his hands down the sides of her neck and across her shoulders beneath her cloak. When he reached the sides of her breasts he stopped as if waiting for something. She shifted from her seat until she was practically sprawled on top of him and he lay half across the forward-facing bench. Sinjin cupped her breasts and stroked his thumbs across her silk-covered nipples. The friction of the fabric on her most sensitive flesh sent a shaft of shivery heat down her body to settle in an aching pulse between her legs.

“Sinjin,” she moaned softly as she sifted her fingers through his hair. He stilled and gasped as he lifted his mouth from hers and glanced down to where his hands held her breasts. Slowly he sat up and moved her back onto her side of the seat. As an afterthought, if his startled expression was any indication, he snatched her hands back and rested them on his thighs. His action drew her eyes to his fitted silk evening breeches where a distinct bulge appeared.

“Alice, I—” He scrubbed his hands over his face, a sign she recognized from the long years of their friendship. Friendship. In this moment she felt something very different for Sinjin Perriton, very different. She pressed her fingers to his lips.

“Hush. Don’t you dare apologize. That was the most wonderful kiss I’ve ever had.”

His eyes flashed. “How many kisses have you had?”

Was he jealous? Sinjin? How…incredibly singular.

“Ravenwood kissed me a few times,” she replied in her most innocent tone.

“Well.” He huffed as he sat back in his seat. “You shot him, so I suspect his kisses were not the best.” He glanced at her, one eyebrow raised.

She laughed. “Nothing compared to yours, you have my word.”

“Hmmm.” He continued to gaze at her. In the dim light she could not see exactly what shade of blue his eyes were. She’d learned early in their friendship to tell his mood by the color of his eyes, an incongruous, changeable blue with his rich brown hair. “Alice, we need to talk about…this.”

“This?” She felt her stomach drop suddenly. The idea of actually voicing her change in feelings for him terrified her. She wasn’t ready. She certainly didn’t want to know what his feelings were. Not now.

“This kiss. The way we feel about each other.” He’d grown so serious, like he was when he explained one of his experiments. She didn’t want to be an experiment. Did she?

“I’d much rather discuss our next adventure.” She kept her tone light and flippant. “We have plenty of time to discuss the other. You devised three ideas to humiliate my tormenters. The first two have worked a treat. What about the third one?”

“The third what?” He looked so young and dear when he was confused.

“Plan, Sinjin. You dictated three plans of attack for Stanton, Earden, and Weatherly. I know because I recorded them in your journal. We have used the first two. Now we need to decide when to put the third plan into play.”

“Alice.” He took her hand between his and turned to face her. “It is enough. What we have done so far is enough. I doubt they will show their faces in good company for the rest of the Season. The prints in windows and the story in the news sheets alone will keep them hiding behind closed doors for weeks. You’ve done it. You’ve taken your revenge. Even got a bit on Millicent Rutherford in the bargain. She is likely packing to flee to Hampshire as we speak.” He patted her hand and raised up to knock on the roof of the carriage.

“Berkeley Square, John, if you please.”

“Yes, Mister Perriton,” the coachman called from the coachman’s bench. In a few minutes the carriage turned onto Park Lane in the direction of the Duke of Chelmsford’s Berkeley Square home.

He had made up his mind, of that Alice was certain. His open, level gaze and the way he sat back, resting against the luxurious squabs of his brother’s carriage, meant she would have to figure out a way around him. “I suppose you are correct,” she said with an exaggerated sigh. “I have had my revenge and it was quite the feat if I do say so myself.” She sat back and covered his hand with hers.

He chuckled. “As I said, I would not want to be on the wrong side of you and Miss Olivia Jones. I do not think I shall ever remove the memory from my mind’s eye, of Weatherly, bare-arsed and covered in shite lying at the feet of Lady Jersey.”

“Nor I to be sure. We have had quite the evening, have we not?” She turned her head to meet his gaze. He was staring at her in such a way she forgot to breathe.

“Yes,” he said. “We have. Alice, I must tell you—” The carriage rocked to a halt and tilted slightly as the coachman climbed down to open the door.

“Here we are, Lady Alice,” John Coachman said as he offered her his hand to help her descend from the carriage.

“Thank you, John.” She fairly leapt from the conveyance to the pavement in front of her Uncle Percy’s townhouse. Sinjin opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “Good evening, Mister Perriton, and thank you for a most entertaining night.” She winked and hurried to the already open door where Uncle Percy’s butler waited. As badly as she wanted to look back at Sinjin she did not. Her heart ached at his last bewildered expression.

Just one more, she told herself as she climbed the stairs to her chambers. One more act of revenge, and then she would be brave enough to dare to tell Sinjin her feelings for him had begun to change. His friendship was the most important of her life, and she dared not risk losing that friendship should he not feel the same way she suspected she was feeling. She’d sort everything out tomorrow.

“Well,” Nell said once Alice had entered her chambers and closed the door behind her. “Tell me everything. Tell me what happened while I was hiding up here, pretending I was gone to chaperone you at Almack’s.”

Alice tossed her reticule onto her bed and dropped into her chair before the fire. “It was so delicious I don’t know where to begin.” And she was determined the next punishment she rained down on those three gentlemen would be more spectacular still, no matter what Sinjin said.

Alice and Sinjin had taken a few days’ rest from the mad whirl that was the London Season. She had many reasons for the respite. After a good night’s sleep, she was even more confused by her passionate interlude with him. She made every effort to sort her feelings and had failed miserably. Once the Season ended, she’d fully intended to take the money Uncle Percy had promised and set up her own household, perhaps in Bath or Brighton.

In spite of her memorable revenges on Stanton, Earden, and Weatherly, London held no allure for her. Too many bad memories and too many people who continued to snub her or insult her behind her back. Her father was still the Outcast Earl, moldering away on his Surrey estate likely never to venture into good society ever again. He’d driven her mother to suicide and had tried to blackmail Sinjin’s sister, now married to Alice’s Uncle Daedalus, into marrying him. The scandal had died somewhat, but not the desire of certain people to continue to remind Alice at every opportunity.

The fact Viscount Ravenwood deserved to be shot for his crimes against women mattered very little to Society. He was a favored son, related to many of the highest-ranking families in the peerage. His exile to the Continent did not sit well with them. And Alice had been the frumpy, spotty daughter of a man who saw her as a commodity to be sold, with little value otherwise. Much of her life had changed since she’d been taken in by her uncle, the powerful Duke of Chelmsford, and his intimidating wife, Captain El Goodrum. However, her past remained like a cloud floating in and out of the sky—sometimes nearly invisible and sometimes dark and foreboding.

The most pressing reason she had eschewed the past few nights’ entertainments and Sinjin’s escort was to clear her head about two vital subjects. What did the change in her feelings for him mean for her plans for the future? And what would her decision be in regard to her final act of revenge? As the first subject made her head spin, her heart ache, and everything she’d ever thought about her life and her friendship with Sinjin run together like watercolors in the rain, she’d devoted her few days away from him to consider his admonishment to let her first two acts of revenge suffice.

To that end, she’d arranged to meet Olivia Jones at Gunter’s for ices and conversation. She had come to trust Dickie Jones’s sister as the voice of blunt, honest, and forthright reason. In many ways they were viewed the same by society, outcasts and a bit too bold for mere women. Her uncle’s barouche rocked to a halt before Gunter’s. She could have walked to the tea shop at the other end of Berkeley Square, but Uncle Percy had insisted she and Nell travel in the carriage.

“What flavor ice would you like, John?” she asked the coachman as she stepped down to the pavement. A gust of wind scattered leaves at her feet. She tugged her deep blue velvet pelisse more tightly around her. The garment was new, exquisitely made in la style militaire , a gift from her Aunt Eleanor. The air was surprisingly crisp and clean London at nearly midday.

“Oh, Lady Alice, you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll pull the carriage beneath the trees and wait for you.” The barouche was driven by one of the younger coachmen her uncle employed. He was of a similar age to Nell, no more than twenty, and Alice had noticed her maid’s surreptitious glances his way.

“Nell prefers to have her ice outdoors. I will send the waiter out to you and you are to order whatever you please. I insist.” Alice waved at Nell who gave her a hard questioning look but remained seated in the carriage as the young coachman maneuvered it into a position beneath the trees across the street from Gunter’s.

She stepped into the luxurious confines of Gunter’s and paused to savor the tempting aromas of the various ices, cakes, and other delicacies on offer. Every aspect of the venerated tea shop spoke to the wealth and class of the clientele Gunter’s served. From the rich fabrics and mahogany of the furnishings to the crystal chandeliers and fine china, anyone who entered could be in no doubt as to the quality of the food on offer and of the company one might be in when consuming said food.

All of which made the task of seeking out Olivia very simple indeed. She sat at one of the dainty tables for two in her simple day dress and plain, flat straw bonnet with the cheeky smile of someone who knew precisely what everyone seated around her thought of her presence. Not that she gave a single damn. Alice rushed over to embrace her and kiss her cheek.

“Thank you so much for coming, Olivia. It is so good to see you.” Alice and her friend exchanged a look and tried not to laugh. A tall elegantly dressed waiter appeared at once.

“Good day, Lady Alice,” he said. “What can I fetch for you and your friend?”

“Good day, Wallace. I see you have already brought tea. Have you been taking care of Miss Jones?”

“He has. I didn’t want to order until you arrived.” Olivia smiled at the waiter, and he blushed. “Perhaps a cup for Lady Alice? I should like a lemon ice, please.”

“Yes, most definitely a cup for some tea and a neige de pistachio for me. And could you have two glace de épine-vinette sent out to my uncle’s carriage?”

“At once, Lady Alice.” He bowed to Alice and to Olivia as well and hurried away, his face still a bright red. A burst of feminine laughter and the mention of her name drew Alice’s attention to a table across the tea room. Millicent Rutherford, Ophelia Hart-Smythe, and Margaret Villiers were holding court, with several other young ladies Alice didn’t recognize and a few overdressed tulips of the ton she did, unfortunately. Younger sons from so-called good families who made it a practice to stay in the sphere of heiresses like Millicent, Ophelia, and Margaret.

“Ignore them,” Olivia said as Wallace arrived with a fresh pot of tea and a delicate china cup and saucer for Alice. He poured their tea and presented their ices in fine crystal glasses along with a plate of lemon pastries.

“The pastries are the newest addition to our offerings,” Wallace explained. “Mister Gunter sent them over with his compliments.”

“They look delightful,” Alice said. “Do thank him for me.”

“I took the liberty of sending some out to your carriage as well.”

“You, Wallace, are a treasure. I hope Mister Gunter appreciates you.” Wallace bowed and made his way back behind one of the glass cases that displayed the various sweets the shop had on offer.

“There is something different about you,” Olivia mused, head cocked to one side as she tasted a spoonful of her ice. “You look…happy.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Alice leaned across the table. “Perhaps having taken revenge on those miscreants not once, but twice, accounts for my mood.” She ate a large spoonful of ice and waggled her eyebrows. Olivia laughed and snorted.

“Dickie told me what happened in great detail. How I wish I had been there to see it! Though the prints in Ackermann’s window do wonders for my imagination.” She bit into one of the pastries the waiter had brought and closed her eyes in reverent enjoyment.

“Aren’t the prints wonderful? Sinjin sent me the latest ones this morning.”

“He fancies you, you know.” Olivia eyed her speculatively

“He does not. Don’t be silly.” Alice set to finishing off her ice. “We have simply been friends for a very long time. I am certain he sees me as a sister.”

“I’ve never seen a brother look at a sister the way he looks at you,” Olivia observed. “And I don’t know many men like him who would come up with the tricks he came up with to put those three guttersnipes in their place.”

“Men like him?” Alice suddenly wondered how Sinjin might be seen by another woman. She’d never really thought of him as anything but her friend, a presence in her life for as long as she could remember. Were there any other men like Sinjin? Somehow, she didn’t think so.

“Quiet. Private. No need for the good opinion of others. But when they love a woman there isn’t anything they won’t do for her.” Olivia waved her dainty silver spoon at Alice. “He’s a deep one is your Sinjin. Men underestimate him at their peril, and ladies take him for granted at their loss. Best catch that one up, Alice. He’s one of the good ones. Not to mention all of that pent up passion will make him a right pleasure in the bedchamber.”

“Olivia!” Alice clapped her hand over her mouth too late. They both laughed quietly at the hush that fell over the tea room. “Speaking of revenge,” she said when Gunter’s customers went back to their own business.

“Were we?”

Alice glanced about to make certain on one was listening. “Sinjin had three superior plans to punish those guttersnipes . He had me write out three formulas or experiments in his journal.”

“And?” Olivia stared at her for a moment. “You want to try the third one? Alice, that is quite the gamble. What does Sinjin say?”

“He wants to persuade me that enough is enough.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know. They’ve gone to ground. I don’t think they’ve left London for the Season, but they haven’t been to any of the important events this week.”

“How do you know?”

Alice rolled her eyes. “How do you think?”

“My brother is a menace.”

“Only if you land on his bad side,” Alice said with a grin. “If I can get Sinjin’s journal, will you look at his idea and see if it is something we can do?” Even as she asked the question something in her screamed No! and she knew she stood on a precipice that might land her in a terrible, awful, lonely place.

Olivia studied her face, and Alice forced herself not to look away. Perhaps this was why she’d invited her to have tea with her today. She wanted someone to talk her out of this mad plan. She wanted someone to save her from the rage and hurt that yet simmered in her heart every time someone whispered or turned away from her.

“Lady Alice,” an all too familiar voice simpered. “Out and about without your hired escort?” Millicent Rutherford smiled as her two toadies in bonnets of the latest mode tittered behind her like the complete magpies they were.

“Hired escort, Millicent? My maid is in my carriage. Where is yours?” The hair on the back of Alice’s neck stood up. Olivia looked ready to draw someone’s cork though she stayed seated, her serviette in her lap.

“Not your maid, dear. Mister Perriton, the hermit of Perriton Grange. We all know he never ventures into company, so I assumed your uncle was paying him to squire you about Town.” Alice clenched her fist under the table. Her blood began to boil.

“An excellent choice for the task,” Margaret added. “Those strong, silent types are so biddable and do tend to keep the fortune hunters away.”

“Perhaps you should ask to borrow him, Margaret,” Ophelia suggested. “Your dowry is far more substantial than the rest of ours.”

“No, thank you.” Margaret turned up her nose. “I value my reputation too highly to spend time in the company of an untitled hermit with no fortune, no prospects, and no conversation to speak of no matter how good his family.” She stepped closer to Alice. “They say he is a bit of a dullard, you know, or perhaps a bit mad?”

“You disgusting cow,” Alice said in a low, cold tone she hardly recognized. She rose slowly, both hands clenched into tight fists.

“Alice, don’t.” Olivia warned.

“I suppose we should be glad you don’t have a pistol with you,” Millicent said, her lips creased into a sickening smile. She picked up Alice’s cup of tea. “Drink this, dear. It will calm your nerves. Oops!” She pretended to stumble and poured the tea down the front of Alice’s beautiful new pelisse.

“That’s done it,” Olivia muttered. She jumped up and grasped Millicent’s elbow. “Miss Rutherford,” she said in a loud voice. “I was able to remove the brown stains from the front of your pretty white gown, however the yellow stains at the back will take more time. Piss stains are dead difficult to remove.”

Millicent’s outraged scream echoed throughout the tea shop as the entire room had gone deadly silent. Olivia rounded the table and looped her arm through Alice’s. She led her to the door of the shop and out onto the pavement. Wallace was just coming from fetching the tray and empty dishes from Uncle Percy’s barouche. Alice fumbled in her reticule and drew out a guinea.

“This is for you W-wallace,” she said and drew in a steadying breath. “Will you put the rest on His Grace’s account?”

“Of course, Lady Alice. Are you well?”

“She’s fine, Wallace. Thank you.” Olivia practically dragged Alice to the carriage and climbed inside with her.

“What happened?” Nell gasped and searched her own large bag to draw out a handkerchief. She blotted at the stain that had soaked into Alice’s pelisse. “Home, John.” The coachman set the horses in motion at once.

Alice sat there, numb without a coherent thought in her head. She’d gone after Stanton, Earden, and Weatherly and nothing had changed. She was still the butt of jokes. She still allowed others to hurt her and bring her nearly to tears. She thought of Sinjin and his quiet strength and ability not to give a fig what people thought of him.

“Get the journal,” Olivia said as she leaned across the carriage and grasped Alice’s hand. “I have an idea.”