Julia London (78 page)

Lady Paddington, adjusting her fat little ringlets, exclaimed loudly when she saw Mrs. Clark. “Wait here,” Alex said low, his voice carrying a hint of warning. With a pointed look, he swiftly proceeded to escort Lady Paddington to a corner where Mrs. Clark and another elderly woman stood. By
God
, he was a scoundrel! She lifted her chin and angrily jerked at the frog of her cloak. She yanked it from her shoulders and shoved it at an approaching footman, pausing to apologize for almost punching him in the chest before leveling a heated gaze on the wretch as she smoothed the skirt of her blue-green satin gown.

Oblivious to the crush of people hurrying to their seats, she glared at him as he conversed with Lady Paddington’s friends. She suddenly realized that Lady Paddington was walking away with Mrs. Clark. Where in the hell was her chaperone going? Did he honestly think she would sit alone with him? The man was too arrogant by half! She impatiently shifted her weight onto one hip, waiting for him to come and explain himself. He turned toward her as Lady Paddington disappeared into the corridor, and smiling, gestured mildly for her to join him. The lout was going to make her walk across the grand foyer to Aim! He was not only arrogant, but also crass, and
dammit
, so bloody handsome!

Furious, Lauren marched across the expanse of the grand foyer. Alex extended his hand as she reached him. She glanced at his hand, then settled a scathing glare on him, punching her fists on her hips. “You, sir, are a … a
reprobated
!”

He lowered his hand and bowed. “And you, madam, are a vision.” Lifting his other hand, he offered her an elegant gardenia corsage.

Where had
that
come from? Shrugging, Lauren folded
her arms across her middle and glanced away, swallowing hard against the feeling that simple gardenia gave her. It was difficult to make eye contact with him; his gaze was so penetrating, she felt completely raw. Even now she could
feel
his eyes on every inch of her. She wondered if he was comparing her to Lady Marlaine. Self-conscious, her gaze slipped to the marble floor and the tips of her blue green slippers. His silent perusal seemed to go on for an eternity until she thought she would scream. Finally unable to bear it another moment, she jerked her head up. “Well? Do I pass your inspection?” she snapped. Naturally, his lopsided grin made her knees weak.

“More than you know,” he replied, and motioned toward the gardenia he held.

She rolled her eyes. “See here,” she blurted impatiently as she took the blasted flower. “That little
wager
between you and Paul should be disqualified on the grounds that the
object
of the wager was not a willing participant!” She succeeded in piercing her flesh with the corsage’s pin. Grimacing, she added, “There should be a
law
against such stupid, stupid bets!”

Obviously enjoying her efforts to pin the corsage, he merely lifted a brow. She managed to secure it, and angrily folded her arms across her middle. “Happy? Honestly, I don’t care if you are!” she rushed on before he could answer. “If you even
remotely
resembled a gentleman, you would not force me to come here tonight like … like some
booty.
Please, concede that my brother’s debt to you is satisfied and allow me to return home!”

“I am afraid that is not possible,” he said pleasantly, his green eyes sparkling with unconcealed mirth.

“And why not?” she demanded, tossing an uneasy glance behind her.

“Because you are hardly in a congenial mood to hear anything I might say. No, I rather think we shall wait until you are quite disposed to converse with me like a lady.”

Lauren stilled at the insult.
“Swine!”
she gasped.

“Oh, now that’s terribly original.” He grinned at her.

Speechless, she dropped her fists to her sides. “I have never,
never in my life
, met a more arrogant, outrageous,
rude
man!” she choked out.

He cheerfully inclined his head in concession of that assessment. “And I have never met a more intractable woman in all of mine. Shall we?” He offered his arm as if were the most natural thing to do.

“And just where is Lady Paddington?” she demanded, refusing to take his proffered arm.

“She would like to sit with Mrs. Clark for a bit. She’ll join us later.” Lauren glared hatefully at his arm, unmoving. With a devilish grin, he shook his head. “Lauren. You know very well to leave now is not practical. Your brother wagered your presence tonight and lost. It was a legitimate wager, and a gentleman always honors his debts. If you persist in this temper tantrum, you will cause quite a lot of unwelcome attention—not only tonight, but also when I demand satisfaction for Hill’s debt. So let me ask you again. Shall we?”

Oh, dear
God
, she wanted to claw that self-satisfied smirk from his face. “
Fool!
” she muttered.

“I beg your pardon, was that a yes?” he asked, clearly amused. With a glower that would have sent most men running, she slapped her hand down—hard—on his forearm. Grinning in that omniscient way of his, he escorted her up the great staircase, chuckling at her efforts to keep as much distance as possible between them by stretching her arm out as far as she could without toppling over.

At the end of a long, carpeted corridor, a footman stepped ahead of them and opened a carved door onto a richly appointed box. There were four velvet chairs, a small occasional table with two crystal flutes and some chocolates, and a bottle of champagne chilling in a stand. His hand landed on the small of her back. He guided her into a chair at the polished brass railing, taking her hand in his to seat
her. She hated him for touching her and sending an unwanted jolt up her spine. He seemed to know it; with a graceful flip of his coattails, he seated himself next to her and grinned unabashedly.

“Where is Lady Paddington?” she asked, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

“Just there,” he said, nodding to his left. “Don’t fret so. She can see you at all times, so you are quite safe.” Lauren glanced uneasily across the crowded house. Lady Paddington and Mrs. Clark waved their fans; Lauren smiled and lifted a gloved hand in return.
Foolish, foolish wager!
She glanced at the ornately decorated ceiling, at the orchestra, even her corsage—
anywhere
but him. They were in one of the largest boxes in the house, directly across from a gentleman she recognized as the Duke of Wellington. To her great surprise, he inclined his head in her direction, and she smiled brightly before she realized he was nodding to the brute who accompanied her. Embarrassed, she surreptitiously glanced around. Other patrons were watching them closely, too. Despite her deep flush, she tried to maintain an expressionless facade.

When Alex touched her hand, she almost jumped out of her skin. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye as he leaned toward her with quiet smile. “I think,” he said charmingly, “they are admiring your beautiful gown.”

An inadvertent chuckle escaped her. He was a clever man, she would give him that, but in some respects, he was as thick as the fog outside. She wore a very plain, unadorned gown. “They are most decidedly not admiring my gown.”

“Why not? I think it is beautiful.”

She turned slightly to see if he trifled with her, but he looked genuinely sincere, and against her will, it pleased her enormously. She unconsciously opened the fan she had borrowed from Abbey and waved it in her face. “It is functional,” she muttered.

He chuckled. “Functional, is it? Well, I do believe it is
the loveliest gown I have ever had the opportunity to admire on a woman.”

Good God, was he mad? A bit in his cups? He had to be one or the other, because each time Lauren had seen Lady Marlaine, that beautiful creature had been dressed in the finest
haute couture
, which included a variety of pastels and frills. Lady Marlaine most decidedly did
not
dress in dark colors with little adornment. “You should not leave your quizzing glass at home, your grace, if you cannot see better than that.”

Alex smiled quietly as the curtain was drawn. “I wish you would call me Alex,” he murmured. But the first strains of music had been played, and Lauren did not respond, losing interest in him and everything else.

He barely heard the music at all, and had to keep reminding himself to breathe. The woman simply took his breath away. Dressed in a shimmering gown the color of peacock feathers, her skin glowed radiantly. Her bosom swelled enticingly above the low-cut bodice, and a single strand of dark chestnut hair that had escaped her simply elegant coif draped sensuously across her eye. And those eyes, dear God, those eyes that had haunted him the past week sparkled brilliantly.

She was completely enraptured with the performance. With her hands clasped tightly in her lap, she leaned forward, hanging on every note. He could not take his eyes from her classic profile, or the loose strand of hair that fell again each time she delicately brushed it from her face. He drank her in, practically paralyzed by the overwhelming desire to touch her, to caress her skin, to taste her lips.

The power of his emotion completely bewildered him.

It was the power of the music that helped to relax Lauren. As the curtain was pulled for intermission, she sighed contentedly and fell back against the velvet chair, her hand resting lightly on her throat.

“You seem to enjoy the music.”

She smiled in unspoken agreement, and risked looking at him. In the soft glow of the candlelight, he looked extremely virile. As he handed her a glass of champagne, the rich brown waves of his thick hair brushed his collar. His green eyes were soft and liquid, and his lips, pursed just slightly, reminded her of the explosive kiss they had shared. A shiver unexpectedly raced through her.

“My God, you are more beautiful than I imagined you would be.” His eyes casually flicked the length of her.

The compliment startled her; the flute wavered in her hand. “You should not say such things.”

He smiled. “Why not? I told you once before I believe beauty should be openly and honestly admired. Did you think I jested with you?”

“I did not believe you,” she admitted truthfully.

His green eyes danced dangerously. “Angel, if you believe nothing else, believe this. You are the most enchanting woman I have ever known.”

Oh God, she desperately wanted to believe it. Lauren realized she was trembling. She put down the champagne flute and clasped her hands tightly together in her lap. Alex did not say anything, but regarded her so tenderly that her pulse began to race. Slowly, he reached across the gap that separated them and carefully laid his hand upon hers. She swallowed a gasp at the gentle gesture and stared at his hand, his strong, broad hand, lying simply, easily, across her own. It was so
comforting
, so safe. She saw each dark hair, the way his long fingers tapered, the way the ruby cufflinks looked like drops of blood against the stark white of his shirt.

“I wanted you to come tonight, but not for the reasons you think,” he said softly. “I apologize for my methods, but I had to see you again.”

A flood of emotion began to course through her; she could not drag her eyes from his hand. “I thought we
agreed.” It was her voice, but she would have sworn someone else spoke.

He was silent for a long moment. “I am very sorry,” he finally uttered, “but I cannot honor whatever it is you think we agreed to.”

Lauren drew a steadying breath. “But you must. We agreed, nothing can come of it! Lady Marlaine—”

“No.” He cut her off. “Just tonight, let us not speak of anything else. Let us have just one night, Lauren, one night, only you and me … no one else.”

She was mad to even consider such a request, to let her guard down, even for a moment. Yet her heart was of a different opinion, and she lifted her gaze from his hand and looked at him. The earnestness in his expression amazed her; it was with a yearning she understood too well. He suddenly lifted her hand and kissed her gloved knuckles. “One night. You want it, too, I think, as badly as I do.”

Unable to answer him, she dragged her gaze to his hand again. She should deny it. She should demand he fetch Lady Paddington. Mother of God, could she allow herself this pleasure, this single moment in time? It seemed so
easy—
they were in a crowded opera house. Nothing could possibly happen! It was meaningless! It was
possible.
For only one night. He mistook her hesitation and slowly released her hand. Lauren impetuously grasped it and held it in her lap. “Just one night,” she whispered.

Alex moaned with relief and leaned closer, his forehead almost touching hers. “One
blessed
night, angel,” he whispered, his breath fanning her cheek. He brushed the strand of hair from her temple, leaving a trail of sparks to flow through her.

She gripped his hand tighter. “But … but we cannot sit here … we must converse. We must
talk,
” she said hesitantly. “Do you, ah, play an instrument?” she asked nervously.

He chuckled at her nervousness and fondly squeezed her
hand. “There were some singing lessons, but the instructor eventually convinced my mother she was throwing good money after bad. Three boys, and none of us had the temperament for the arts. We preferred hunting to singing, mud to paints.”

“You had an older brother,” she stated.

“Yes, Anthony. Died in a fall from his horse and broke his fool neck,” he said, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“It must have been terribly difficult to lose a brother and inherit such an important title all at once.”

Startled, Alex blinked. How on earth could she know that? “He was the duke,” he heard himself say. “I was the second son. It was an arrangement that suited us perfectly. There are times I find I have yet to adjust completely.”

He was still marveling at that unprecedented revelation when she asked, “What did you do?” He must have looked puzzled, because she quickly clarified, “When you were the second son, I mean.”

“Chased things,” he said with an enigmatic grin, caressing the inside of her slender wrist.