To Love a Wicked Scoundrel Page 4

  He made long strides to the sideboard, a curse on his lips, and dropped his gloves on a nearby chair. So enmeshed was he in his frustration, he might never have noticed he was not alone, but a sudden intake of breath and the delicate scent of perfume assailed him and heightened his awareness. He replaced the brandy decanter and turned in the direction of the fireplace, unable to stop the slow, satisfied smile that curled his mouth. His temper dissipated completely and another more urgent emotion jolted to life.

  Before him, looking just a little surprised, stood the enchanting goddess he had noticed in the ballroom earlier. The unmistakable beauty with whom he intended to dance. When he tried to match eyes with her across the dance floor, she glanced over her shoulder, as if she believed he viewed someone else. The unexpected action struck him as so utterly charming it fueled his curiosity as to her identity further, but then the unforgiving crowd interrupted and prevented him from finding her.

  Now she stood half a room’s length away, a shimmering vision in soft green silk and delicate lace. Her hair, captured in a neat chignon, left a few wayward tendrils to dangle enticingly near her ear and neck. Candlelight caught in each delicate curl and reflected the colours of sunsets, rose petals, and passion. Vibrantly intrigued, he resisted the urge to reach forward and undo the lacy netting containing the fiery tresses. How long did her hair flow and what other shades of red would he find in the silky waves were he to act on impulse?

  He continued his assessment with a nonchalant sweep of the eyes.

  Her dress fit exquisitely, sheathing her in silky elegance without the flounces and ruffles so many women affected to enhance their figure. This gown hugged in all the right places, and he anxiously considered the women beneath the layers, underneath the lace and silk, the tapes and ribbons. She released a hitch of breath and he became distracted by the sheer chemisette covering her lush bodice. Her face was perfection. He could imagine how lovely the rest of her body would be.

  ‘What are you doing here? Have I interrupted a theft in Lord Rochester’s study?’ He had no doubt the beguiling beauty standing before him stole hearts as a preoccupation. ‘Or are you here awaiting a prearranged lover’s tryst?’ That too, posed a definite possibility.

  She startled for less than a heartbeat before she smoothly replied, ‘Nothing as interesting or exciting as you suggest, I assure you.’ Then after a short pause she continued. ‘Of course, I could ask you the very same question.’

  Caught off-guard by her belated challenge, Con smiled and strode further into the room. Her voice, melodic with a warm pitch, affected him in an almost sensual way and he had no way to explain the uncommon reaction. He stepped closer still, determined to ascertain the colour of her eyes. ‘I am after a late-night brandy.’ At least that was his original plan. He met her gaze, as silky as a lover’s caress.

  She let out a little sound that indicated she thought his answer complete rubbish. ‘You might have requested one from a passing footman in the ballroom.’

  He scoffed at her suggestion. If the servants proved as unreliable as earlier, he’d have been left unsatisfied once again. Clearly, the fates intended otherwise. ‘I meant to waltz with you this evening.’

  The lady pursed her lips as if she contemplated how to respond. Then vivid eyes matched his, twinkling with a touch of restrained amusement and viewing him as if he might be dimwitted.

  ‘Then you needed to write your name on a line.’ She raised her delicate wrist and the dance card stilled against her ivory skin.

  ‘I know.’ He grinned, acknowledging the foolishness of his response. Her inquisitive gaze met his and held. Then one narrow brow arched as if she awaited the rest of his explanation. ‘Things did not work out how I wanted them to.’

  Her lips dared a brief smile. ‘I take it you are accustomed to getting everything you want.’

  ‘Yes.’ He chuckled. Females usually vied for his attention and simpered in his company. The feisty verbal quips of the lovely stranger before him awakened an immediate temptation to discover more. ‘Would you have accepted had I asked?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ she replied without hesitation.

  ‘Then I suppose there is no cause for me to request a servant reset the clock to midnight.’ He mused under his breath.

  He surmised she wished to soften her answer because she smiled slightly and made a quick rejoinder. ‘A charming idea, one that likely brings about your desired result, although I could not accept because we have not had a proper introduction.’

  Con needed no other invitation. Taking a long stride forward, he watched with chagrin as the lady took a quick step back. She appeared no debutante or young miss at her first come out, and her immediate retreat sparked his growing interest.

  ‘Come a little closer.’ He extended his hand towards her. ‘I do not bite.’ His voice dropped to a low tone as he continued. ‘At least not here in Lord Rochester’s study.’

  Her eyes flared and he held back a smile. She was lovely and intriguing. Very intriguing. Her chin notched higher and she boldly did step forward although her hands fluttered at her sides and belied her show of bravado.

  ‘I have not seen you at any assembly of the ton.’ Her eyes were grey, a beautiful shade, stormy and secretive, and right now reflecting hints of gold from the nearby candle flames.

  ‘We are newly arrived to the city, a few days past.’ Her answer, a throaty whisper, revealed she wasn’t quite sure if she wanted to answer him at all.

  He captured one glossy curl between his thumb and forefinger and released it slowly, allowing the silky strands to slide across his fingertips. ‘Your hair is magnificent.’

  Her ivory skin warmed with a charming tinge of embarrassment and she looked very fetching in the throes of her unease. As ludicrous as it seemed, she appeared unaccustomed to compliments. Still, such a serene loveliness embodied her it was unlikely she did not draw great attention.

  ‘Perhaps we should share our dance right now?’ He voiced the words before he considered them.

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  As before, her succinct reply urged him to smile. ‘Do you always deal in absolutes?’ He watched her rosebud mouth open and close as if about to answer with the same retort and then realise the error of her ways. If an absolute existed, it was more so that this temptress was absolutely enchanting.

  ***

  Isabelle knew without a doubt she stood face to face with the legendary Lord Highborough, as no other man imaginable could carry himself with such smooth confidence and exacting control. And she had fallen under his spell as quickly as her breath caught when he entered the room and offered her his devastating smile. Foolish, foolish notion, to be so taken by a man’s appearance. Still, no matter how she berated herself, her heart beat triple time whenever he glanced in her direction.

  Rakes were supposed to be dark, brooding men with raven locks and a cutting profile to match their wicked reputation. The man before her appeared more the fallen angel. His thick, barely brown hair laced through with golden threads and fell well past his collar to lend him an easy, affable charm. His crystal blue eyes invited her to become entranced and likely not realise a seduction was in play. And his words, dangerously clever and filled with tempting innuendo, caused her mind to race with the same rapid tempo as her pulse.

  He reached forward and brushed his fingertips against the side of her jaw with the lightest caress. The pad of his thumb grazed the corner of her mouth and all sensible thought evaporated rendering her unable to object to his boldness. Instead she stood as beguiled as any fool she had previously mocked in the gossip pages.

  He tipped her chin up so their eyes matched and his gaze, soft as cashmere, held her spellbound. In a last desperate effort, she blinked hard and attempted to recover her composure.

  ‘I should not be in here with you.’ She stepped backward and caused him to drop his hand. ‘I should not be in here at all.’

  ‘So you are a rule follower? I thought when I found you here and not in th
e ballroom you had escaped for the same reason as I.’

  The seductive tremor in his voice whispered over her skin and she looked at him directly, catching the silver blue light that sparkled in his eyes. He did not expound on the comment and she remained too determined to extricate herself from the present predicament to give it further consideration. Forcing a cleansing breath, she tried not to look at his mouth. Doing so caused a strange quivering of sorts in all her nether regions.

  ‘You say that as if following rules is a terrible thing. Order is necessary in life.’ Yes, discussing a practical topic ought to do the trick in leading her thoughts far away from his tempting lips, never mind the experience of his kiss. Isabelle focused on her new mission. ‘Not everyone can live a scandalous lifestyle and be admired while doing so.’

  Isabelle expected him to remark on her impertinence. Instead his eyes glittered with a hint of humour and his lips twisted in a half smile. She might not have noticed, except she had yet to convince herself to look away from his mouth.

  ‘What is your name? I cannot wait any longer.’

  He leaned forward, just a little bit closer, and Isabelle smelled his shaving soap and some other unidentifiable scent. An undercurrent of virility radiated from him, nevertheless she experienced no fear. How odd. Her prudent, mannerly lifestyle always followed the safest path and this fair-haired devil presented danger in every form. That in itself proved perplexing. Then an unfamiliar yearning curled within her and caused her thoughts to tumble one over the other.

  ‘Isabelle.’ While she knew it went against all propriety to offer him her Christian name, he’d just danced with her stepmother and would recognise their shared surname. How had the evening become so complicated? She had no experience of the game Lord Highborough played and she’d rather keep it that way. Her heart thrummed a chaotic beat and it was a wonder she managed to remain upright. Each time he looked at her with his smile full of sin, her knees grew weaker still.

  ‘Isabelle.’ He said her name as if he savoured it and she shivered from the effect. ‘It suits you, although you know you just broke another rule.’

  He smiled again and Isabelle had a keen awareness of the moment. He stood before her and watched her as if he could peer straight into her soul. Against all reprimand, her traitorous body grew wondrously warm under his scrutiny.

  ‘So tell me, beautiful Isabelle, why is it as such an ambivalent rule follower, I find you far removed from the ballroom and enticing me with your first name, as beguiling as it may be?’

  She couldn’t very well tell him she wanted to smell the tulips, yet the more she forced herself to focus, the more she couldn’t hold a thought. Good heavens, the man proved distracting. She scrambled for a suitable reply.

  ‘I will keep your secret if you will keep mine. In that manner, neither one of us need reveal the true reason we escaped the crush.’ She took a small step and regained a shred of confidence with her ability to string words into an intelligent sentence. ‘I really must return. I am certain the dinner bell has rung.’ Maybe it would be that easy. He would step aside and allow her to pass. Surely Meredith searched for her.

  But he did not move, not even a hair’s breadth. Instead his gaze slid down her length. Slowly.

  ‘And end our intriguing little interlude? We have yet to make our agreement official and seal it with a kiss?’

  His improper suggestion was scandalous to say the least. How else could she explain her riot of emotions? Yet the fact he wooed every female with his fancy words and polished appearance afforded her the opportunity to find reason with expedience. She knew better than to take even one step onto such a dangerous path, no matter the temptation of kissing Constantine Highborough’s sensual mouth. Adventure, indeed.

  Resorting to a feminine ploy far below her level of intelligence, Isabelle wriggled her wrist until her dance card fluttered to the floor at their feet. The embossed paper landed near his right boot. Then taking full advantage of the situation as he bent to retrieve the fallen card, she skirted around his prone form and out through the double doors. Isabelle thought she heard rich laughter, in tune to the thunderous beat of her heart, but she could not be sure.

  Chapter Five

  True to Isabelle’s prediction, Meredith described her midnight waltz in every minuscule detail during the carriage ride home. The few minutes spent within Lord Handsome’s embrace secured her determination to seek his affection and become his newest paramour.

  Meredith continued to discuss the experience in a dreamlike tone at the breakfast table the following morning. Isabelle neglected sharing any mention of her brief interlude in the library. She was grateful she escaped the room without having to reveal her last name and held no desire to interfere with her stepmother’s plotting. The new day brought with it rational thinking and a sensible solution was easily found. From now on, she would steer clear of the devil with his hypnotic blue eyes and long golden hair. No matter how she itched to gather the lengths together where it overrode his collar.

  Good heavens, she was behaving like a ninny. She forced the vivid images from her mind and helped Lily make her plate from the sideboard server, aware a change of topic was in order for no other reason than that the child had joined them.

  ‘I have a wonderful idea.’ Isabelle confirmed her sister had everything she needed for the meal before she filled her own plate and brought it to the table. ‘After I return from the flower mart this morning, let us plan to spend the afternoon in the square. You may take your hoop or we can walk the paths and look for interesting items to add to your jars.’

  Lily’s favourite pastime stemmed from adding items to her vast collections. Isabelle was anxious to give the best part of the afternoon to her sister having spent so much time out of house the day before. ‘I am sure we will discover a rare feather or pretty pebble.’

  The child clapped her hands and excitement lit her eyes. ‘That is a grand idea. I will be ready as soon as you return. I do hope we will find a lost button. I always wonder about the person who wore it before it fell off.’

  Isabelle recalled the black glass button on Lord Highborough’s cuff when he reached forward to touch her hair the night before. She’d had the fleeting thought Lily would adore the sleek glass fastener, but had lost the idea once her gaze settled on the earl’s entrancing mouth.

  Even in the light of a new day, the remembrance of his perfectly formed lips continued to haunt her. And his suggestion that they kiss. It was downright inappropriate. She ascertained its scandalous nature served as the reason she could not chase the persisting proposition from her mind.

  ‘What time are you going to Covent Garden?’ Meredith took a sip of tea with distracted attention. Would her stepmother hear her answer this time? She had mentioned her plans twice already.

  ‘After seeing the tulips last evening, I am anxious to explore the variety of flora available. On the rare occasion Father brought me to London, he always said a trip to Covent Garden was a waste of time. I’ve always wanted to go.’ A knowing smile teased her lips. The Rochester tulips had proved the perfect excuse for her absence from the ballroom upon Meredith’s inquiry of her whereabouts. She turned to Lily who looked quite adorable, her huge bites of currant toast having left smudges of sticky red jam on her cheeks.

  ‘Would you like me to bring you anything special from the flower market? Something we could keep upstairs in your bedchamber and will not cause your mother to sneeze?’

  Lily giggled and leaned forward as Isabelle cleaned her sister’s face with a linen napkin. ‘You decide. I love surprises.’ Then she paused and cast her eyes downward in a compelling pose. ‘Although I do want a dormouse more than anything in the world.’

  Meredith interjected, her tone adamant. ‘We are not getting a pet mouse. Most people work hard to keep mice out of their homes. I have told you as much before.’ She dismissed her daughter’s request and continued. ‘It will be terribly crowded at Covent Garden. Are you sure you wish to go?’

&
nbsp; Isabelle stood and placed her napkin on the table, anxious to be on her way. ‘Yes, the market will be busy but I do not mind. Janie knows the area, as well as many other servants who shop there each week. She promised to show me the best merchants.’

  ‘Hurry back. I cannot wait to walk with you in the square.’ Lily’s appeal to return with haste was lost in another bite of toast, her cheeks again smudged rosy.

  Isabelle moved to the front door and pulled on her gloves as Janie joined her. It would prove refreshing to take the quiet coach ride to Covent Garden. She missed the peacefulness of her flowers at Rossmore House and although the city promised a whirlwind of pleasant distractions, she enjoyed working her hands through the soil and nurturing the tiny seeds she’d planted until they reached full bloom. Gardening afforded her the opportunity to reflect upon life without the ubiquitous noises that filled the city streets on any given day. They’d resided in London for less than a week but already she grew restless. How would she ever keep herself sensibly occupied throughout the length of the season?

  It took less than an hour for the coach to bring them to the famous shopping square and Meredith’s prediction of the crowds proved true. Janie kept her word and manoeuvered them through the market with ease. They headed towards the last stop of the day, a small vendor located at the far end of a narrow lane. The shopkeeper did not look busy even though the flower arrangements in the storefront display burst forth vibrant and abundant, the finest shown thus far.

  Isabelle chose daisies, perfect for Lily’s bedchamber, and then spotted the loveliest bundle of red dahlias. Dahlias were her favourite flower and rather uncommon in England. The bouquet sat alone in a cobalt glass vase as if it awaited her attention. She walked to the table and reached to gather the flowers, but in a blur of red, the dahlias were scooped up from behind as a man dressed in servant’s attire reached over her shoulder in a brisk movement and collected the bouquet. Isabelle objected and Janie rushed to her side at once.