Samantha Kane (2 page)

ladies and gentlemen standing nearby rushed over to help her

unsteady aunt. “Oh, I’ve torn your hem, Vanessa,” Aunt Grace

said sadly. “I’m so sorry.”

Vanessa wanted to applaud her masterful performance. Instead

she smiled warmly. “I’m fine, Aunt Grace. As long as you are al

right?”

Her aunt was glancing around the floor. “I’m fine, dear. I just

can’t fathom what I must have tripped on,” she mused. By now

there were at least ten people searching the floor in vain for the

offending article. “Run along and get your hem fixed, Vanessa,”

offending article. “Run along and get your hem fixed, Vanessa,”

Aunt Grace begged. “I shal be wel cared for, I’m sure.” A

chorus of assurances came from her aunt’s rescuers as Mrs.

Crusher pressed a glass of lemonade into her aunt’s hand and

she was led to a chair.

Vanessa didn’t answer. Instead she slipped out without anyone

noticing.

She had almost reached the relative seclusion of the retiring room

when a smal noise to her right made Vanessa stop. It had

sounded a little like distress, but not quite. Was it a man or

woman? Again, Vanessa wasn’t sure. It might have been a cat,

even.

The noise came again and Vanessa turned her head slowly until

she gazed into the dark shadows of a smal halway, partialy

hidden by a chest of some sort. She couldn’t immediately discern

what was happening. There appeared to be a couple, or perhaps

more? They were hiding in the shadows, and a gentleman was

holding a woman up. The dark material of his coat sleeve stood

out in stark relief against the lady’s pale dress. Vanessa took a

step toward them, stil silent. The man raised his head from the

woman’s shoulder and his eyes met Vanessa’s.

Her heart stuttered and then beat erraticaly. His eyes were

black, one speck of light burning in each, mesmerizing her. She

black, one speck of light burning in each, mesmerizing her. She

was frozen in place by the heat and intensity of his stare.

The moment was broken when the woman in his arms squirmed

and sighed. The sound was the one that had caught Vanessa’s

attention. Breaking eye contact with Vanessa, the man bent over

the woman’s shoulder, one hand cupping the back of her head to

hold her steady. Then he licked her neck.

Vanessa’s breath caught in her throat. It was an assignation.

She’d stumbled upon lovers, it seemed. Embarrassment burned

in her cheeks. Only the man was aware of her. Vanessa was

uncharacteristicaly flustered. Should she turn and hurry on to the

retiring room, probably alerting the woman to her presence? Or

should she quietly back out the way she’d come? That seemed

somehow like a retreat, a surrender to the chalenge she’d seen

gleaming in the gentleman’s dark eyes.

When a second man stepped out of the shadows and took the

woman’s hand from the first man’s shoulder, Vanessa gaped like

a green girl. He, too, was watching Vanessa as he kissed the

woman’s hand. His hair gleamed in the faint light from the

halway sconce; it was obviously golden, though light or dark she

couldn’t tel. He was taler than his companion. The woman

giggled and it was then Vanessa recognized who it was. Miss

Dorsett. Not a woman then, but a girl too young to understand

the trouble that had found her. With a sigh, Vanessa realized it

was up to her to rescue the foolish chit.

was up to her to rescue the foolish chit.

Before she could make her presence known the blond gentleman

spoke quietly. “We must return you to the drawing room before

you are missed, Melinda.” His voice was a deep whisper, a mere

rumble that carried across the hal to Vanessa, and she shivered.

The dark-haired man smiled at her as if he’d seen the teltale sign

of her discomfort and it amused him.

“Oh pooh,” Melinda said, sounding like a spoiled child. “I was

told you two were dangerous, a threat to my virtue. A few kisses

and a pinch or two and you’re sending me off? That hardly

signifies. I shal have to tel everyone your reputations are much

exaggerated.” Vanessa could picture her pouting, though she

faced away from Vanessa.

The dark-haired man laughed quietly. “So now you know our

secret. We are truly saints in disguise.” He untangled her arms

from around his neck. “Go now. We shal folow after so no one

suspects your virtue was threatened.”

“Wel, it wasn’t,” Miss Dorsett declared testily. “I was hoping

for some fun with you two this season before I must settle into a

staid marriage with someone appropriate. God knows I can’t

encourage you as suitors, but I thought at least you could satisfy

me in private. I begin to think I shal have to find a different lover to do so.” She patted her hair. “Don’t ask me to dance again.

Mama had a fit when I agreed earlier. You are not marriage

material, after al.”

material, after al.”

Miss Dorsett turned toward the drawing room and Vanessa

swalowed a gasp and stepped back quickly, pressing against the

wal behind her as if she could blend into the garish oriental print

on the paper there. Even though Miss Dorsett faced the opposite

end of the halway from where Vanessa stood, she feared the girl

would detect her presence. She needn’t have worried. It was

apparent the young lady was quite put out and too self-interested

to notice her surroundings.

“I shal send for you if I want you,” Miss Dorsett said

dismissively. “Until then, stay away. I won’t have you two ruining

my chances at a briliant match. Mama says I am the catch of the

season.”

The dark-haired gentleman bowed over her hand as if in

agreement, keeping her attention focused on him while the taler

one moved to stand between Vanessa and Miss Dorsett as if to

help her hide from the girl. “Of course,” he said in reply. Vanessa

recognized the amused disdain in his voice. It was quite

confusing as to who had been using whom in their little

assignation, for there was clearly no love lost between the three.

Without a word or look in Vanessa’s direction the two men

ushered Miss Dorsett between them down the halway, leaving

Vanessa feeling like an eavesdropping fool as she hurried to the

retiring room.

retiring room.

Once they were out of sight of the blonde beauty, Nick watched

as Oliver grabbed Miss Dorsett’s hand, slowing her retreat to

the drawing room. “Melinda, my dear, a question, if you wil.”

Miss Dorsett turned to Oliver, her look smug and self-satisfied.

Nick almost laughed at her misconception. Oliver had never

been interested in her at al. Nick had been randy, and Miss

Dorsett obviously wiling. Though she had preferred Oliver’s

blond good looks, it had been Nick playing at seduction while a

bored Oliver looked on. But someone else had clearly caught

Oliver’s attention.

“There was a blonde woman, tal and rather cool, talking with

your aunt earlier. Who is she?” Oliver asked. He placed a tender

kiss upon Miss Dorsett’s palm, as if the question was merely

meant to delay her and not the only reason Oliver hadn’t walked

in the opposite direction when they parted ways.

“A cool blonde?” she asked with a frown. Then she laughed, and

there was a wicked gleam in her eye. “You must mean Lady

Vanessa Carlton-Smythe.” The way she said the name clearly

indicated she did not care for the quiet, blonde beauty.

When Nick heard the name his heart sank. Even he had heard of

the Carlton-Smythes. Lady Vanessa, the daughter of an Earl,

the Carlton-Smythes. Lady Vanessa, the daughter of an Earl,

was as out of reach as the moon to felows like him, no matter

what Nick had seen in her eyes as she’d watched him. His

sinking heart turned to an acute pain in his stomach as he

recognized the look on Oliver’s face. Oliver wanted a new toy,

and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Don’t bother,” Miss Dorsett said dismissively. “She won’t grant

you an audience. The high and mighty Lady Vanessa is too good

for the likes of you. She thinks she’s too good for the likes of

just about everyone.” Her look turned spiteful. “But I’d like to

see you try. Wouldn’t that set everyone’s tongues wagging?”

She laughed. “Lady Vanessa, unwed at twenty-two, reduced to

accepting you two as suitors. How rich!”

Nick didn’t care for her tone. Actualy, he didn’t care for her at

al. When she kept her mouth shut she was only tolerable. When

she spoke she became completely intolerable. With a sigh he

realized he wouldn’t have wanted to go any further with her than

he had, even if they hadn’t been interrupted. He’d lost interest in

her almost immediately. That had been happening more and

more lately to both him and Oliver. It was the reason they’d

come back from the continent after almost three years abroad.

Nick was beginning to think there wasn’t a woman alive who

could hold their interest for more than an hour.

“Yes, how rich,” Oliver agreed in a pleasant tone. “Now, off to

the drawing room with you.” He dismissed her lightly with a little

tap on the bottom, as if she were a naughty child. With a huff,

Miss Dorsett turned and stalked out of view.

“I hope you don’t come to regret that rather cavalier dismissal,”

Nick observed, leaning his shoulder against the wal.

“What could you have been thinking to choose that one out of al

the women here tonight?” Oliver asked, exasperated. “A ready

quim is one thing, of course, but I know for a fact you are not

that desperate. I distinctly remember sharing a rather nice fuck

just the other night.”

Nick shrugged with one shoulder. “I wanted to fuck tonight. I

wasn’t aware there were limitations on that particular pastime.”

“There aren’t.” Oliver leaned his back flat against the opposite

wal and crossed his arms while he regarded Nick. “But you

aren’t one to indiscriminately fuck when the urge strikes. Care to

tel me why tonight was different?”

“It wasn’t.” Nick looked away, toward the drawing room. “I

was very discriminating. I determined that this party was a

crashing bore and the only thing that could save the evening was

a nice, clandestine fuck. With my best friend, of course,” he

added, bowing slightly in Oliver’s direction. “And I chose the

most wiling, and likely, candidate in the vicinity.”

Oliver bowed back. “I thank you for the thought. But next time,

Oliver bowed back. “I thank you for the thought. But next time,

let me choose the candidate.”

“Oh no,” Nick said, standing up straight. He pointed at Oliver

and glared. “I choose young ladies with loose morals and absent

chaperones. You choose wide-eyed, innocent, wel-bred young

ladies who get us shot.”

“I got shot. Not you. And you have never been disappointed in

any of my choices.”

“I was greatly disappointed in Mathilde, since she got you shot.”

Oliver sighed. He sounded so long-suffering that Nick had to grit

his teeth against his annoyance. “Before I was shot, you were not

disappointed,” he pointed out, irritatingly patient. “And I readily

admit she was an il-conceived choice, but how was I to know

her ancient husband was such a good shot? Spaniards aren’t

known for their accuracy, after al.”

“But they are wel-known for their passionate tempers,” Nick

ground out. He shook his head. “I knew that too, and should

have said no.”

Oliver grinned conspiratorialy. “She was worth it, no?”

“No.” Nick’s reply was flat but adamant. “And neither is this

one.” He pleaded, his hands outstretched. “Please, Oliver, not

again. There are plenty of merry widows who would gladly share

our bed. Please leave this Lady Vanessa alone.”

“She looked so…isolated,” Oliver mused. “As if she lived

separate from the world.” He looked at Nick then, and Nick

was frozen by the desolation in Oliver’s face. “I know that

feeling. She’s very lonely.”

And that was that, wasn’t it? If Oliver wanted Lady Vanessa,

then Nick would help him get her. For both of them.

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“May I have this dance?”

Vanessa turned to the unfamiliar voice, relief warring with

trepidation. Trepidation won out when she saw it was the tal,

blond gentleman whose ilicit interlude she’d interrupted not long

ago.

“We have not been introduced, sir,” she staled politely. She was

franticaly trying to find her wayward aunt without appearing the

least perturbed. From the knowing look on the gentleman’s face

she’d failed miserably.

“Mr. Oliver Gabriel, at your service,” he replied with a smal

bow.

There was nothing untoward in his speech or manner, and yet

Vanessa felt as if her defenses were being assailed. How she

hated being unsure in these situations, her hands tied by polite

manners and societal mores.

manners and societal mores.

She sketched a slight curtsey. “How do you do?” she murmured.

“And you are?” he asked, amusement written in his devastatingly