Midnight Temptations With a Forbidden Lord (2 page)

“Allow me to present myself.” They were still paired and turning arm in arm in their own private circle. “Tristan Bradley, the Marquess of Castleigh.” He dipped his head with his introduction.

She gave him a slow smile, knowing her dimples were showing and hating that she couldn’t better school her features in his presence. “I know precisely who you are, my lord.”

They stopped on the outskirts of their circle as they waited their turn to join in the dance again.

“Does my reputation precede me even among the young misses moving in society for the first time?”

“I doubt there is anyone in the room who doesn’t know of you.” She inched close enough to him for her shoulder to press against his chest. He was very firm and didn’t seem to mind their proximity. However, she thought it odd that no one had noticed her dancing with the marquess.

“I’m always happy to be singled out.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so bold as to dance with you?”

His hand stroked the length of her arm as their positions changed. “I couldn’t agree with that. I suggest you dance the night away to your heart’s content.”

He had both her hands so she ducked her head again. “My name is Charlotte Lindsey. My father is the Earl of Ponsley.”

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Charlotte.” With a gentle squeeze of her hand he continued to lead her through the dance.

When she partnered with him again on the other side of the circle, he placed his hand firmly over the small of her back in what could not be mistaken as simple positioning for their dance. This time she knew it was not her imagination; she felt the warmth of his hand through every layer of silk and linen and even through the boning in her corset. His fingers ran the length of the buttons that disappeared under the bow tied at the base of her back, and she felt herself sway a little closer to him. She was
not
the swooning type, but the very idea of this man carrying her away stole all the breath from her lungs.

She had a moment of clarity when she recalled the reason she was dancing with the marquess, and put a few inches between them. She simply wanted him to regard her favorably so she could ask for his assistance in her ruin. And if she was to accomplish that, she must remain in control of her errant thoughts. She would not be swayed from her goal, despite being unsettled so easily by this particular man.

Perhaps she should look over the other names on her list again? She rejected the idea just as quickly as it had come to her. No one else would do now. And why was that?

“Now that introductions are out of the way, may I request a favor?” she asked, feeling brave and bold again.

“I aim only to please you.” As they turned, he reached up quickly and pushed one of her wayward curls back from her forehead.

Each touch made her falter. He was a step ahead of her in the game they played, and it was supposed to be the other way around.

“I don’t think anyone is as shocked as they should be that you stole a dance from me not three minutes into your arrival.” She pouted her bottom lip in a show of disappointment. “Will you take another dance with me?”

He laughed; the sound was deep, reverberating through the length of her body. Admittedly, her knees weakened for the briefest of moments, but her resolve to succeed in her goal made her back stiffen and her arms grow rigid.

“So your only desire is for our names to be printed side by side in the gossip sheets?” He hitched her closer so that she was nearly pressed against the solid warmth of his body. They might not be touching, but his heat surrounded her like a much-needed blanket on a cold winter’s night. When she took in a deep breath, her chest surged against his unintentionally. This time it was he who seemed shocked by her boldness, for his hand briefly tightened around hers.

“Well, not necessarily with
you.
” She winked at him and spread her fingers over his shoulder, feeling the latent strength and muscle beneath. “I suppose
any
of your friends would do for what I have in mind.”

She glanced over toward the outskirts of the dance floor at one of his friends who was conversing with her cousin.

She missed a step and the marquess had to right her direction. How could her cousin possibly know that man? Genny looked irritated and a flush colored her cheeks as she spoke to the marquess’s friend. If there was one thing Charlotte knew well it was that Genny never did something so simple as converse; she lectured, and all the while the man standing with her merely smiled.

The marquess’s hand tightened around hers again, drawing her attention away from her cousin. “You’re far too young to understand the game you’re playing.”

His smile slipped for a moment and the intensity in his eyes felt dangerous and had her breath stilling in her lungs as she studied him.

“I wouldn’t call this a game.”

A game implied unmitigated amusement. This was more like a mission, or better yet a goal and a desire so deep she couldn’t imagine not accomplishing her ruin by the time the summer season ended.

“Then why did you seem so insistent that we dance?”

“I’m merely experiencing all that life has to offer.” Though she wasn’t so sure about that sentiment, courting the marquess was not about self-indulgence—all right, that wasn’t quite true, either, because she was sure the marquess would be far more amusing and a lot more fun to spend time with than Mr. Warren.

“You’re young. What makes you rush life along when it happens regardless?”

“Am I a mere child in your eyes?” She suddenly felt gauche.

Perhaps this task wouldn’t be as easy as she had originally thought. Maybe he wasn’t interested in debutantes, but women more experienced with intimacy? Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t remember a single debutante being tied to his name.

“Definitely
not
a child.” There was an assurance in his words that settled her flagging nerves. “But I am curious to know what secrets you harbor, my lady.”

“If we ladies weren’t mysterious, men might grow bored with us.”

“That’s simply not possible.”

The marquess turned her suddenly, his leg going between hers as they neared the edge of the dance floor and approached her cousin. The position was intimate and telling, but his direction baffling. If he wanted to act daring and shock her with bold behavior, why not whisk her out of the room altogether?

She tightened her hold on his hand and pressed the front of her body against his before they parted on another turn. She would not give him the opportunity to think her inexperienced. She must be brazen, and she could not waver in the path she’d decided on for even a moment. The simple truth was: the Marquess of Castleigh would play his part. And she’d find a way to endear him before she could change her mind and before he could think better of his actions.

She needed to act quickly because she had only two choices and each would lead her down very different paths. She could face ruination with the marquess or marry a man she loathed.

Chapter 2

Is there a man more wicked than the Marquess of C
^____
? There’s not a scandal that goes by during the season without
his
name mentioned as the cause. His lordship has a tendency to find trouble wherever he goes but always manages to avoid condemnation for his acts. Perhaps it is his charm and fine form that so easily trick society into seeing an angel where the devil really stands.
—The Mayfair Chronicles,
May 1846 Since when did a debutante seek him out two months into the season? There was trickery at play here, and Tristan didn’t like to be made a fool. He hated to admit it, but Lady Charlotte’s boldness did far more than simply unsettle him.

It might be better to cut his losses, find his friends, leave this debutante party far behind him, and pretend he’d never introduced himself to the formidable young lady in his arms. But if he did that, she’d seek out another, and that was unacceptable to him even though he didn’t quite know what game she played.

Tristan looked over the crush of guests in search of the friends he’d arrived with. Leo stood conversing with a plainly attired woman on the other side of the dance floor. Tristan did not recognize her. His friend Jezebel, who also happened to be the woman responsible for his attendance at the duchess’s ball tonight, was nowhere in sight. She was probably in the gaming room gambling away the last bit of her pin money, with Hayden not far behind trying to preserve what little of Jez’s reputation remained intact.

They’d come with one purpose in mind: to win the favor of the Ponsley chit and stop her marriage to Mr. Warren. Warren was in line to obtain Jez’s fortune now that her husband was dead, and Jez assured them that the successor to the Fallon title was no kinder than her late husband had been—a cruel man and an abuser of women and those less fortunate.

Revenge was fine and dandy, but Tristan had a very personal reason to involve himself in Jez’s charade. It just so happened that he had a vendetta against Warren, one that was older than the Fallon fortune feud.

This was his opportunity for retribution.

Yet, since Lady Charlotte had approached him, the business at hand seemed suddenly … unfavorable. Especially since the young lady had sought him out the moment he’d entered the ballroom. So what was her game? He was torn about what decision was the right one to make. Stay and find out her next move or leave well enough alone and forget the whole Warren business? The latter was unlikely to happen, so he needed to figure out what he was going to do with the chit on his arm whether she unsettled him or not.

When the next dance started, he didn’t stop twirling her around the floor to seek out her family, as most gentlemen would inevitably do. Though many might argue whether he was a gentleman. He was known among the ladies as the biggest player society had produced of late, and rightly so since he filled that particular role with relish, liking that he could sample new fare as he pleased.

Focused on Lady Charlotte, he took in her youthful appearance. Having had plenty of experience with the fairer sex, he guessed her to be less than twenty and far too knowledgeable about the male sex for someone of her age.

Her complexion was fair, and he detected a hint of maquillage dusted over her cheekbones. Her eyes shone the darkest blue of the Adriatic Sea, and were highlighted by bountiful dark lashes and finely shaped brows in her oval-shaped face. Tight ringlets fell on either side of her temples, the color a rich chestnut with a strong hint of red that suggested she spent a great deal of time outdoors. Her complexion was nicely set off against the emerald gown that swept off her shoulders front and back. Her wealth was displayed in the extravagant necklace about her throat; the acorn-sized emerald fell enticingly between her breasts.

She was taller than most ladies of his acquaintance and slender in form. A pretty woman to be sure, and if handsome looks were enough to attract him to someone, he’d steal her out of the ballroom right this instant.

Rubbing along with someone required a deeper, nonaesthetic connection, no matter how enjoyable rubbing along might be. Besides, a successful seduction took time and he was a very patient man. And by all accounts, it appeared that Lady Charlotte wanted and expected to be seduced by him. And while he preferred women to be direct, her boldness almost worried him.

“Your cousin looks positively irate,” he mused aloud.

Lady Charlotte’s relation stood on the edge of the dance floor, staring at Leo with her hands clenched at her sides. She was of average height, wore her dark hair in a simple bun, and dressed like the matrons in the room who were thirty years her senior, a pristine image of virtue.

“She’s also my chaperone.” Charlotte looked over his shoulder to better see them. “Is she conversing with Lord Barrington?”

“You know us so well,” he said drolly. It shouldn’t surprise him that she knew of Leo since she had already singled Tristan out in a room half filled with men far more eligible and less likely to cause a scandal.

He didn’t miss the spark of mischief that lit her eyes when she focused on his face again. “Everyone knows him, my lord.”

While women often threw themselves in his direction for an enjoyable affair—and he had no qualms about that—debutantes either shied away from him, or were cloistered by overprotective mamas. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the reversal in their roles, but he felt she should be better shielded from men like him, hence his reason for not leaving her side; he’d not leave her open for the advances of another rogue.

While he might have promised Jez that he would sway Lady Charlotte away from an alliance with Mr. Warren, he questioned the chit’s odd willingness to throw so much caution to the wind. True, she was only making his task easier, but it made him pause for the first time in his life and question his role in this. It was oddly disconcerting to be held accountable for his own actions.

Twirling her about in the next set—a couple’s dance instead of a group dance—he rested his hand just above the bow at the base of her back and held her firmly against his body. He told himself the daring position was to test her courage in whatever game she played and not to draw her attention away from Barrington.

Where was his calm equilibrium when he needed it most? One thing he was certain of: Lady Charlotte would never look upon Leo as though he could be her salvation; in fact, he’d ensure she never again spared his friend another thought. He’d found her first and had no intention of relinquishing her to any other gentleman in the room.