London's Most Elusive Earl Page 3

  And then their eyes met and that smile fell away.

  Chapter Three

  He wouldn’t stop looking at her. Caroline struggled to stay focused on the conversation, but the weight of the Earl of Lindsey’s stare was too challenging to ignore. Why did he watch her so? Hadn’t she experienced enough humiliation at his expense? And still, as she exchanged words with her mother and each reply left her lips, she was aware of his notice, as if the heat of his attention reached across the ballroom and stroked against her skin. An unbidden warmth crept up her neck. Somewhat nettled, she refused to allow him to disorient her further.

  She’d come to the Albertson’s event armed with an encyclopedia of information supplied by her cousins, with whom she took tea regularly. Their knowledge of the social register was invaluable. Her goal this evening was to determine a prospective husband, not draw unwanted attention from London’s most notorious scoundrel. It would prove daunting enough to find a gentleman willing to accept the limitations of her situation, but that was a consideration left to the future for now.

  She dared a fleeting glance from beneath her lashes and answered her mother’s query at the same time, although she wasn’t exactly sure which words came out of her mouth. Her attention was divided, and even though the Earl of Lindsey stood clear across the sizeable ballroom, he might have been beside her the way his eyes held hers.

  Here, unlike the dim interior of Lord Albertson’s study, she was able to observe his appearance more easily, and God help her that they didn’t stand in direct sunlight, the impact so unsettling. Her heart jolted into a wild tumult, as if to urge her to get on with the inspection.

  He stood taller than the men around him, his raven-black hair worn longer than the style, though every strand was in place, as if they dared not disobey their master. His eyes, if not hypnotic enough, appeared outlined for emphasis, which she realized belatedly was the effect of his long dark lashes. She wondered at the color of his irises but dashed away the thought just as quickly. The Earl of Lindsey’s personal characteristics were of no interest to her. Still, she noted his straight nose and angled jaw, the slightest shadow of new whiskers there as the hour grew late.

  He was engaged in conversation with another gentleman now, and she perused his physique with caution. His evening attire was impeccable. His tailor must have a devil of a time. Previously too mortified by the immoral scene she’d been forced to witness, she hadn’t realized how broad his shoulders were. The strong expanse of assertive masculinity narrowed down to a trim waist. He certainly hadn’t allowed himself to go soft in the gut like so many other lords in the ballroom. Even Lord Tiller had a rounder middle by comparison.

  Her exploration continued to his hands, one wrapped around a glass of brandy. The same hands he’d used to raise Lady Jenkin’s skirts. To lower her neckline. Caroline felt blood rush to her cheeks, her memory too quick to supply the images. While she didn’t wish to envision it, she couldn’t stop thinking of the way he’d kissed Lady Jenkin, the woman desperate for another caress. What must it feel like to be touched, tasted, and adored by a man as enigmatic as the Earl of Lindsey? A distinct warning rang in her ears. Men like Lord Lindsey were dangerous. His very presence exuded virility and other potent masculine traits that would only lead to no good. No doubt he held the ability to charm the world before teatime. She noted she wasn’t the only one with attention focused across the room. Women noticed him, many of them too occupied ogling Lord Lindsey to conceal their admiration.

  She brought her eyes back to the earl and found them locked with his attention. Caught in the act, she swallowed and jerked her head away.

  “Wouldn’t you agree, Dearest?” Lady Derby prodded.

  Caroline hadn’t the slightest idea where the discussion had led, lost in shameless examination of the rogue across the room. “Of course, Mother.”

  Agreement was always her chosen path when dealing with parental conversation.

  “Mind that you endeavor to show admiration for whatever the gentleman offers as conversation and express a mild curiosity in his interests when the subject is suitable. Two questions at the most as it pertains to the topic. Remember to align your habits with his.”

  Advisement of a romantic nature seemed excruciatingly awkward when offered by one’s mother, but if Lady Derby had any idea what her daughter had just witnessed, and with whom, she’d think twice about suggesting an alignment of habits. Not that anyone, her mother, father, or herself, would consider the Earl of Lindsey a potential suitor, never mind husband candidate. Caroline almost laughed outright at the ridiculous notion. Still, her mother continued as she was often apt to do.

  “Lord Fellmore is an avid ornithologist and cuts a dashing figure in his formal ensemble this evening. I will pursue an introduction.”

  Under her mother’s direction, Caroline located Lord Fellmore where he stood by the window. His eveningwear was dark blue, his waistcoat embellished with a swirling design of white embroidery. His neck had gone missing, seemingly ambushed by a frothy lace cravat. Had he a plume in his lapel he couldn’t look more like the birds he admired. He hadn’t asked her to dance and she experienced a brief flutter of relief. Lord Tiller was the one person with whom she’d wished to share a waltz, and he hadn’t shown an interest, unfortunately.

  “No, thank you, Mother. Don’t trouble yourself.” Caroline slid a glance over her shoulder on a curious impulse, nothing more. The Earl of Lindsey was gone and all the better for it. She didn’t need a distraction. Certainly not one with overwhelming virility and a piercing gaze that sent her pulse into a skitter. Lashes that long were wasted on a man. She quirked a grin borne solely of self-amusement. At least he hadn’t bestowed one of his infamous half-smiles upon her. She would have hated to wrinkle her skirts as she’d collapsed, overcome by his startling handsomeness. Stifling another urge to laugh, she spun to face her mother and nearly leapt straight out of her slippers.

  “Lady Derby, I am charmed.”

  The Earl of Lindsey pressed a kiss to the back of her mother’s hand while the Dowager Countess Grandville continued their introduction.

  “And this is Lady Caroline Nicholson, Lord and Lady Derby’s daughter, my lord.” The dowager gestured toward the earl. “May I present Lord Cromford, Earl of Lindsey.”

  Somewhat flabbergasted, Caroline watched, mute and otherwise caught off guard, as she methodically offered her gloved hand.

  “Ah, Lady Nicholson, it is my esteemed pleasure to meet you, although I can’t help but feel you look familiar.”

  “Lord and Lady Derby have only just relocated to London from Italy, Lindsey. Naturally, Lady Nicholson was with them,” the Dowager Countess interjected. “I suspect you are mistaken, unless you were running about Rome recently.”

  “Of course.” He released her hand and matched her eyes, though she no longer experienced the fleeting shock which preceded their introduction. “Such uncommon and remarkable beauty creates a lasting memory. It’s my error, I’m sure.”

  She should thank him for the compliment albeit she knew he toyed with her, his veiled reference to the scandalous scene in Lord Albertson’s study not unnoticed.

  And then he smiled, half-smiled actually, and her heart thudded in approval. She waited, and though her knees weakened the slightest, she maintained complete consciousness. Relief swept through her as the foolish suggestion came to mind.

  The first notes of an arrangement wafted through the air.

  “May I have the next dance of the evening, Lady Nicholson?”

  The arrogant gleam in his eyes dared her to refuse. The subtle press of her mother’s elbow against her arm insisted she accept. Clearly Mother had no idea of the earl’s reputation. Caroline silently thanked her attentiveness to teatime conversation and smiled at his invitation. She truly had no choice.

  * * * *

  Lindsey tucked Lady Nicholson’s hand into the crook of his elbow and
guided her to the marble tiles. He’d taken her by surprise, but he held no doubt she wouldn’t call him out on it in the same abashed and utterly charming manner she’d adopted in Albertson’s study. He would explain about that scene if he could. But honestly, his father’s demands had little to do with his desire to dance with the fetching debutante on his arm. He’d allow himself a measure of indulgence even though his complicated world produced a steady schedule of misery.

  True, there was that troublesome second condition of his father’s will, but Lindsey pushed it from his mind and gathered Lady Nicholson into position for the quadrille. There would be no heir begetting on the dance floor. The lively music began and so did they, at first in complete silence, as if the two of them were held in a strange and mesmerizing stalemate.

  He needn’t concentrate on the steps. He was accomplished as a dancer, as in most everything. While a neglectful childhood might break those with lesser will, it had instilled in Lindsey a thirst for perfection in every area of his life, if for no other reason than to prove his father’s poor opinion false. The late earl might have bemoaned Lindsey’s tailoring and expensive taste in horseflesh, but it was by the old man’s negligence that the discerning habits had formed.

  Now, as he fell in with the melody, he allowed his senses complete control. Lady Nicholson wore a light floral perfume. Something unfamiliar, possibly chosen in Italy for its exotic appeal. Was it orchids? He inhaled deeply, memorizing the fragrance as they glided through the first turn. His hand at her waist held firm, the slight curve beneath his palm enough to send a hum of desire so keen it insisted on his attention. He’d danced with dozens of women. Mayhap hundreds. Yet he’d never had such a definitive reaction to merely guiding one through the steps. The blood in his veins began to take notice too, in a rush to reach other more eager parts of his body.

  He entwined his arm with hers as the dance demanded and lifted their clasped hands higher. She was slim in the right places, generous in the areas men preferred most. Her flawless skin held a rosy glow that he’d like to believe he’d provoked but was probably a condition of their activity. She hadn’t looked up yet, seemingly focused on the ruby pinned through his cravat, though her chin angled at a taunting slant he found tempting. He’d like to take a bite of that chin. He clamped his teeth together to vanquish the absurd desire.

  They lowered their arms and his knuckles brushed against her waist in the process, likened to a caress although it left him curious and wanting, more than satisfied. They moved through the next steps with ease, her hands held tightly in his.

  She possessed an uncommon and striking beauty. Her hair, thick and glossy, invited his fingers to thread through the subtle waves and release the pins to fall free while he gathered the lengths in his fists. He shot his eyes above her head to some nondescript corner across the room, aware of a growing problem in his trousers, though he returned to admire her a breath later, as if he didn’t dare miss the opportunity, not when there were only so many notes of music contained in one song.

  She fit nicely in his grasp as they came together, and that realization caused a twist of lust to stir his pulse harder. Heat slid along his veins as his wicked imagination placed her in his bed dressed in nothing but gemstones, her hair spilled over his pillows, her eyes drowsy from their loveplay.

  Aware of his attention, she raised her chin an infinitesimal degree. Would she call him out now? Berate him for his underhanded tactics? He found himself grinning at the prospect, but as they advanced through the third turn she remained quiet, her lashes lowered.

  With that he became increasingly aware of her nearness, her presence and body heat. As if they danced alone. As if dozens of guests weren’t twirling past them, only inches apart, invading their private moment. Dancing, with the right person, a desirous and intriguing person, could be easily compared to lovemaking. The entangled limbs and exertion, the satisfying completion of each fluid movement. He inhaled again, rewarded with another breath of her fragrance. It was remarkable and delicate. It could only be orchids. How exotic. How erotic.

  How old could she be anyway? He was thirty and two, with far more years than she. He should have better control over his impulses after three decades. Damn it to hell, lust was a curse, not a pleasure.

  At last she looked upward and her gaze collided with his. For a breath, his heart stopped. Just for one beat. He missed a step and recovered without notice. Her eyes searched his, their crystal blue depths a mixture of bewilderment and curiosity. She blinked several times in a row. Could it be she perceived his physical reaction to her? That she too realized this was like no other dance before?

  Color bloomed on her cheeks and it affected him in a sensual manner. Which emotion instigated the reaction? Embarrassment? Anger? Forbidden thoughts? His attention settled on her mouth and its bow-shaped curve, the top lip peaked and full over the plump bottom vee, tempting him to nibble and suck, to draw that lower lip into his mouth and taste her from the inside out. Her lips curved with a hesitant smile, as if she knew the path of his thoughts. But then he could be mistaken. For all the women he took to bed, he knew little of gentler considerations and intended to keep it that way.

  * * * *

  Caroline dared a glance upward and gasped. The Earl of Lindsey studied her and she knew not what to make of it. They moved through the dance in perfect time—or at least she believed they did. She was unsure what her feet were doing down below her skirts, all logic distracted by the effort to calm her pulse. His smile held the power to steal her thoughts.

  She’d danced before. Her family attended several social events in Italy, but this unlikely encounter troubled her. It stripped away her usual confident demeanor and left her with a fluttering stomach and absent vocabulary. She had no idea why, unless having witnessed the earl’s conquest earlier provoked her awkward discomfit now.

  Somehow that didn’t ring true.

  Awareness sparked between them, not just in a superficial notice, but something deeper, as if their very souls spoke to each other. A heady rush of desire reminded she hardly knew the potent man who held her, and yet that fact proved all the more invigorating, as if there remained endless layers to discover. The world around them faded into insignificance and each breath, turn, and touch provided tinder for her curiosity.

  The steps in the dance forced them to drop hands. She took a deep inhale, as if free from his spell for the time being. No matter. How long could a song last anyway? In the absence of pleasant conversation, it seemed an interminable span of time.

  Still, she was far too intelligent to stare at his neck through the remainder of the dance. Albeit she could pass considerable time staring at him. The shadow of his Adam’s apple showed above his startingly white cravat; the crisp neckcloth held in place by a blood-red ruby.

  “My lord.”

  His eyes sparkled, the obsidian depths full of myriad wicked secrets. His dark lashes lowered. Whenever he glanced downward, candlelight dusted the tips and lent him the appearance of being otherworldly. Curse her damnable imagination.

  “Yes, my lady.”

  A hint of cinnamon accompanied his reply. How easily one could be fooled into thinking otherwise, that here stood a respected gentleman who possessed honor and fine reputation. Oh, his handsomeness distracted while his clever smile drew one in.

  “Why did you ask me to dance?” They turned in a circle and his fingers tightened around hers in what she could only guess was a purpose to guide her, nothing more.

  “Why not?”

  “I would think you’d already had your fill of my company after we conversed in Lord Albertson’s study.”

  “Is that what we did?” That charming half-smile made a brief appearance, bringing with it a reminder of exactly where his hands had traveled on Lady Jenkin’s person. “You didn’t stay long enough to accept my apology.”

  “I didn’t realize one was forthcoming.”

 
“My point exactly.”

  The music swelled and then subsided gracefully, the dance near its end. She suddenly wished for more time, for no other reason than to tell the Earl of Lindsey every reason why he was insufferable. Her temper simmered just below the surface, but she refused to allow the man the satisfaction of knowing he’d goaded her to anger.

  “You look fetching when you berate me mentally.” His deep voice brimmed with amusement.

  How was it he read her thoughts and divined her emotions? His reputation was well earned.

  Incorrigible scoundrel.

  Insufferable libertine.

  Rogue.

  Rakehell.

  “Fetching indeed.”

  Chapter Four

  The following night brought with it a diversion that heightened Lindsey’s determination by its very nature of appalling necessity. While, much to his surprise, verbally sparring with Lady Caroline during their dance had proven enjoyable, this evening he faced an arranged task with an absence of enthusiasm, his pursuit of future freedom the sole motivation to see it through.

  Accepting the situation for what it was, he tossed a coin to the driver and stepped down from the hired hack. A melancholy swirl of fog wrapped around his boots even though the hour was well past eleven. He wore a black greatcoat and beaver hat pulled low over his brow though he saw no one about in this corner of Mayfair. Lady Jenkin waited in the brick-faced town house across the cobbles. His bootheels on the pavement lent a hollow echo to the silence.

  Much like the lady herself, the message had been direct with the set hour he should arrive. She assured the staff would be abed, the back door unlatched, and her body his to claim once he climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. Lindsey appreciated her effort, the arrangement convenient. She’d worked quickly since the ball last evening.

  No more than a shadow in the darkness, he moved alongside the house and slipped through the French doors precisely as planned. He paused, but nothing more than the faint tick of the clock on the mantel could be heard inside. He crossed the thick-piled carpet and eased into the hall, immediately on alert as an elongated shadow crossed his path. A footman who hadn’t retired, or perhaps sought a midnight snack, approached in the darkness. Lindsey receded into the opposite corner beside an ornamental urn filled with peacock feathers. There was no easy escape, but he wouldn’t allow the servant to interrupt his evening’s plans. At the last moment Lindsey stepped from the wall with isolated intent.