An Affair Most Wicked (7 page)

“Is that him?” Sophia asked. “The man who just came in?”

Without taking her eyes off him, Clara nodded.

“My goodness,” Sophia said. “No wonder you couldn’t forget him. He’s incredible.”

Clara managed to find her voice, and smiled. “So it’s not just me.”

“I should say not. Pardon my vulgar tongue, but
Lord Almighty
.”

The two of them watched him saunter around the room looking composed and at ease, his golden hair falling about his shoulders in wavy disarray. Clad in the usual formal wear—black jacket, white waistcoat and white necktie—he raised his glass to a gentleman on the other side of the room, who raised his glass in return before continuing his conversation with a lady.

“Do you know who he is?” Clara asked. “Have you ever seen him before?”

“Never. I only attended a few Cakras Balls with James over the winter, and I don’t recall seeing this man, though James and I weren’t exactly here to socialize with other people.”

“What about during the Season last year?”

“I never saw him at any of the parties or balls I attended, though perhaps he had shorter hair then and that’s why I don’t recognize him.” Sophia studied him further, then tilted her head to the side. “He certainly wouldn’t have attended society balls looking like that.”

Clara wondered why he kept his hair so unconventionally long. “Perhaps he’s married. If he doesn’t feel the need to keep up a respectable appearance and frequent the Marriage Mart…” She took a deep breath. “What’s wrong with me? My stomach is rolling!”

“It’s called lust, Clara, and you’re infected with it.” Still watching the gentleman, Sophia shook her head as if she couldn’t believe anyone could be such an extraordinary feast for the eyes. “But I can see why. Let’s walk this way so you can have a chance to collect yourself before you speak to him.”

Speak to him
. At the mere mention of it, Clara’s stomach careened again.

They strolled casually around the ballroom in the other direction, so they wouldn’t meet him face-to-face as he circled toward them. Clara struggled to resist the urge to turn around and look at him again. She didn’t want to be caught staring like an imbecile while her heart was doing back flips.

“What will I say? I can’t ask him his name. That would be against the rules. How will I find out anything?”

Sophia discreetly glanced over her shoulder. “You’ll have to be creative. Do you think he’ll recognize you in that wig?”

“I don’t know, but surely when I speak he’ll recognize my voice and accent. Do you think he made the connection and figured out who I was after the article in the paper?”

They continued to wander around the room. “Hard to say.”

Clara’s insides continued to whirl until she almost felt dizzy. “That’s it, I can’t take it anymore. The anticipation is killing me. Let’s get this over with.”

They both turned. Now, they were walking straight toward him. Tall and broad-shouldered, he towered over everyone in his path.

“I hope you’re ready,” Sophia said.

Clara found herself again caught in the sticky web of his unparalleled good looks and his debilitating sexual allure.

“Heaven help me, I could never be ready for a man like him.”

It was the perfume that gave her away as she brushed by his elbow, in a ridiculous dark wig, no less. She smelled of strawberries again.

A brief glance at her mouth confirmed it. Indeed, it was the American.

Seger inhaled deeply, then frowned. He stopped and turned around to look at her from behind after she’d passed by.

Contrary to common sense, his body reacted to the familiar fragrance. He’d never smelled a perfume quite like it before, only on her, and it brought back all kinds of full-bodied recollections about touching her and tasting her in the dark. Kissing that lush, open mouth. Caressing the soft, supple skin just below her earlobe. Then having it all cut short.

He felt the immediate stir of a lingering, unfulfilled arousal, but knew better than to let it take hold. He shifted the direction of his thoughts.

She was with a friend tonight instead of the older woman from the week before. No, not a friend. Seger’s brows drew together as he noticed the wig on the other woman as well. She was probably Miss Wilson’s sister, the Duchess of Wentworth.

At that precise instant, the heiress turned around and glanced over her shoulder. Their gazes met and locked, and recognition occurred. She stared at him for a few heated heartbeats, then quickly, almost as if in a panic, she faced front again.

Seger shook his head. What was she doing back here? It was a well known fact that American heiresses were bombarding London in a mad dash for husbands with titles. Why would she come here to look for one, and risk her reputation? Did she not realize that skirting a scandal last time had been a complete miracle? Did she not know how to quit while she was ahead? The duchess should have known better.

Or perhaps that’s why she was here in the first place. To stir up a scandal and force someone’s hand.

Well, it wouldn’t be his. He had spent the past eight years learning how to guard himself against that kind of thing.

Unfortunately for her, however, it probably wouldn’t force anyone else’s hand either. Most of the gentlemen here were not in possession of a great deal of honor when it came to young ladies and scandals. They would simply watch from the shadows as she danced in her noose. Besides that, most of them were already married.

Just then, in his peripheral vision, Seger noticed an older gentleman making his way toward Miss Wilson. It was not surprising. Even in that horrid wig, she was gorgeous. It was only a matter of time before every other gentleman in the place would want to experience her delights, for she was a rare contradiction. She had the look of a professional beauty, yet with innocence. And those lips were enough to bring any man to his knees.

The man bowed before Miss Wilson, and held out his ungloved hand.

Seger tensed as he watched.

Miss Wilson smiled, but politely refused the gentleman, who nodded courteously and backed away. Seger exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. She was lucky that time, but how long would that luck hold out?

Seger downed the rest of his champagne in a single gulp and set the glass on a table. He hadn’t come here tonight to play hero, but he supposed it couldn’t be helped. He would dance with her once and do what he could to talk some sense into her. Then he could at least say he tried.

He approached the ladies and made a bow. “Good evening.”

“Good evening,” they both said simultaneously.

He offered his hand to the heiress. “Shall we?”

Clara’s whole body stiffened as she gazed up at her dream lover in a shock-induced stupor. She hadn’t expected him to approach her after he’d been the one to march her back to Mrs. Gunther the first time they’d met. She was surprised he hadn’t turned and run in the opposite direction when he’d recognized her a few minutes ago.

But who was she to refuse such a gift? All that mattered was that he was here, and she was going to dance with him.

She placed her gloved hand in his. He led her onto the floor and stepped into a slow waltz.

They danced for a moment or two before he finally spoke. “Clara, isn’t it?”

Stifling her surprise and struggling to gather her wits, she cleared her throat. “You’ve been reading the papers.”

She couldn’t believe how calm she’d managed to sound on the outside when she was squealing like a schoolgirl on the inside.

“I have, along with everyone else. You’re quite a sensation.”

She raised her chin. “I assure you, it was not my aim to attract so much attention, and I was quite surprised by all of it. The London press is very aggressive.”

He inclined his head. “Indeed it is. Which makes me wonder why you took such a huge risk coming back here tonight. I thought I’d made myself clear the last time, and warned you about the dangers of a place like this for a woman like you. Did you not understand my meaning?”

“I did.”

“Then why have you returned, may I ask?”

Clara rummaged around her muddled brain for an answer, when she didn’t want to be
giving
answers, especially to difficult questions like these. She wanted to be the one asking the questions.

Maybe she could turn things around. “It seems, sir, that you know all about me, yet I know nothing of you. That’s hardly fair, is it?”

She barely recognized the bravado in her voice, the deep, almost seductive timbre. She had no idea where it was coming from. She wasn’t exactly experienced with this sort of thing.

Perhaps it was something in the air. The whole room reeked of pure, unhampered sexuality.

“There are rules here,” he replied. “Identities are to be kept secret.”

“But you broke the rule when you revealed that you knew my name.”

The corner of his mouth turned up in a wicked grin. “You’re not going to report me, are you?”

She returned the smile with an equal dose of charm. “Good gracious, no. Not unless you want me to.”

He chuckled. “I think not. Only because it would put you in the spotlight more so than me, and I don’t think that’s a wise place for you to be at the moment. Not among these people. They have no mercy when it comes to the violation of their rules.”

Clara tilted her face upward, remembering how gloriously indulgent it had felt to be kissed by those beautiful lips. “I must thank you, then,” she said sweetly, “for being my champion a second time and warning me away from danger.”

“Not that it did any good the first time. All you did was leap back into the fire. Strange, you don’t strike me as the type of woman who enjoys things hot and hazardous.”

“No? How
do
I strike you?”

“As the type who doesn’t usually take risks. You seem fresh and free of sin. To tell you the truth, you stick out like a sore thumb.”

Clara pursed her lips. “I’m not sure if I’ve just been insulted or paid a compliment.”

“It was, for all intents and purposes, a compliment.”

They continued to dance around the room, and Clara considered all that he had said and realized she still knew absolutely nothing about him. Sophia had told her to be creative. How the blazes was she supposed to do that?

“Obviously,” she said, “you don’t attend many balls other than these ones, or you would not find me so fresh. I’m no different from most other young ladies my age.”

“I beg to differ.”

Still no new information. What would it take?

“Shameless compliments,” she said. “Are you always so blatantly charming to the ladies?”

He didn’t reply. The waltz came to an end, and her mystery man looked up. “Blast it, I had intended to talk sense into you, and all we’ve been doing is flirting with each other. Stay for one more.”

He was certainly direct. It was refreshing.

Another waltz began and she could not even think about refusing. “But wait,” she said, stepping back. “If I am to stay for your lecture, I would have you tell me something about yourself first.”

“Is this a negotiation?”

“I believe so.”

He wet his full lips. “All right, then. What would you like to know?”

She considered it for a few seconds. “If you won’t tell me your name, tell me why neither my sister nor I have never encountered you out in society.”

“Because I prefer to avoid the Marriage Mart. Come, let’s dance.”

She finally stepped into his arms and let him whisk her across the floor. “Because you’re already married?”

“No.”

“You’re not married, then? You’ve never been?”

He shook his head and Clara’s heart rejoiced, but there was still so much more she wanted to know.

“Why won’t you tell me your name?” she asked.

“Because that’s not what we do here.”

“I don’t care. I’ll probably never come to one of these things again, and I would at least like to know the name of the gentleman I danced with this evening. You’re not a criminal, are you? A fugitive from justice?”

“No.”

“A spy for the British government?”

He laughed. “No, I’m afraid not.”

“Then why must you be so secretive? It’s not as if I couldn’t find out who you were if I asked enough people. You must be the only man in London with hair down to your shoulders.”

He said nothing for a few minutes while they continued to dance, then finally, when the waltz was nearly at an end, he said, “It’s Seger.”

Clara felt the color rush to her cheeks. “Seger?”

“Yes.”

The music stopped, and they stepped apart. Clara gazed at his face, wishing she could see what he looked like without the mask. Wishing she could reach up and touch that strong chiseled jaw and those perfect, masculine lips.

“Now, since you didn’t allow me to lecture you, it’s your turn to do something for me,” he said.

“All right.”

“Leave, and don’t come to one of these balls again.”

His blunt request hurt, even though she knew he was only thinking of her well-being. Further contemplation made her feel flattered that her well-being even mattered to him.

Clara knew she should do as he asked, but wished it did not have to be so. There was still so much about him she didn’t know, and how would she ever find out if he never ventured into society? How would she survive another week of longing, because this feeling—unwise though it may be—was not going away. Not the way things stood now, when all she wanted was an ambrosial repeat of last week’s escapade under the stairs.

In the end she agreed because he was right, but she wasn’t happy. She held out her hand. “Thank you, Seger. I enjoyed myself.”

Eyes never leaving hers, he kissed it. “As did I.”

At the touch of his lips, a shiver of delight coursed through her. She began to walk away, but he stopped her. “Wait.”

She turned.

“Why
did
you come here tonight?”

Clara stared at his green eyes beneath the mask. Her heart began to pound. “Haven’t you guessed?”

He merely stared at her, waiting for her reply.

“I came here because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” With that, she walked away.