Season for Surrender (6 page)

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Authors: Theresa Romain

BOOK: Season for Surrender
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Xavier checked to make sure that Mrs. Tindall still dozed, then caught Jane's arm as she veered toward Lockwood. “Don't even think about it.”
Jane shook off his hand. “About being caught?” She rolled her eyes. “Give me a little credit, please, Xavier. I can imagine nothing nastier than being groped by Lockwood.”
“Curse you, Tindall,” called Lockwood. “I heard that. My ears aren't covered.” He lurched in her direction, hands outstretched.
“Nor are mine,” she replied. “So don't be rude to ladies.” She kicked him in the shin and flounced off to a safe distance.
“Thankless game,” Lockwood muttered as he blundered by, smacking against Xavier's shoulder. “I don't want you, Coz, damn it. Send me toward a woman.”
Louisa stood poised a few feet away, watching them with narrowed eyes.
Try it
, her expression said.
I dare you
.
Xavier's skin prickled.
No
. Not this time. He turned his cousin in the opposite direction.
“You're facing the fireplace,” he said low in Lockwood's ear. “Walk straight ahead and you'll find Mrs. Protheroe. I think she'd like to be caught.”
Lockwood nodded and began stumbling forward again. One step, two, with Mrs. Protheroe's shrieks of pretended terror tugging him along.
And then Lockwood spun on his heel and lunged hugely, collapsing against Louisa.
“I've caught someone,” he crowed. “Let me guess who it is.”
Louisa went stiff as a column as Lockwood draped himself over her shoulder and breathed deeply of the curve of her neck. “Definitely a woman, unless Pellington's changed his scent yet again.”
“I say, dash it,” that young dandy called from several feet away.
“Not Pellington, then.” Lockwood's head began to slide down, until his face was pillowed at the boundary between naked skin and bodice. “Hmm. I'm sure I can get a
feel
for this.”
Louisa caught Xavier's eye, and he took a half-step toward her, ready to yank his cousin bodily from her. She only shook her head. With an admirable efficiency of movement, she plucked a U-shaped pin from her hair and jabbed it into the flesh under Lockwood's jaw.
He yelped and sprang away from her at once, yanking off the blindfold. “Damnation, woman, what do you mean by stabbing me?”
“You're alive,” she said in a tone so sugary it could have sweetened a dozen cups of tea. “What a relief. You had sunk so much of your weight onto me, I was afraid you'd perished of an apoplexy.”
“He's sure to have one now,” said Mrs. Protheroe. “Look how you've creased his neckcloth.” The blond woman laughed, throaty and long, her prominent teeth framing the sound.
The marquess was still breathing hard, rubbing at the puncture. “I must claim my kiss now. Miss Oliver, you wouldn't want to be a poor sport, would you?”
“Of course not.” Looking almost bored, she turned her face up to his and allowed the marquess to plant a kiss on her lips.
A kiss that was surely far too wet, and far too long. Xavier held his breath. This had slipped beyond the boundaries of a game; there was something distasteful in the scene.
At last Lockwood broke away, grinning. Louisa gave him a tight-lipped smile and turned away, her shoulders unnaturally square.
So she hadn't liked the kiss. For some unaccountable reason, this gratified Xavier.
Except that her dislike had been Lockwood's whole intention. Which did
not
gratify Xavier.
La signora
descended from a perch atop a little rococo table, inevitable cigarillo in hand. She looked Lockwood up and down. “
Cazzo
,” she declared, and blew a cloud of whitish smoke in his face.
Lockwood did not speak Italian, but Xavier did. Well enough to realize that his cousin had been called a cock.
Judging from Louisa's bright eyes, her mouth that curved into a secret smile, his Dante reader knew it, too. When she caught Xavier's eye, her smile widened, and one hand came up to cover it with graceful fingertips.
Wait, wait
.
She was not
his
Dante reader. And there was nothing so special about possessing five fingers, or using them to brush at a smile that was both wicked and sweet.
Wait
again
. He was doing that fanciful thing, where he thought in poetry and looked in verse. And he'd stared at her too long, letting the rest of the guests roil and tease as he studied this slender, stately alabaster Diana who jabbed men with hairpins and knew what a
cazzo
was.
Outside of his suddenly muddled head, the game continued with much taunting. Lockwood joined in the merriment, showing his hairpin wound and laughing as loudly as Mrs. Protheroe. He twirled the limp red scarf that had served as his blindfold, batting the lusty widow on her splendid bosom as she squealed.
“Louisa, you must be the next blind man,” called Jane.
“Haven't we had enough of this game?” Xavier said hurriedly. “We've already experienced a casualty. Perhaps
la signora
would sing for us instead?”
“If we're going to do something as flat as listen to music,” huffed Lady Irving, “I might as well summon Sylvia Alleyneham back to the drawing room, and a vicar or two.”
Xavier donned his customary bland disdain. “You are being deliberately shocking, my lady. Surely vicars would faint as soon as they stepped inside my house.”
Louisa plucked the red scarf from Lockwood's hand. “What would make them faint, my lord? The elegance of your home's décor, or the savoriness of the food? I've encountered nothing to shock the respectable.”
She began to wrap the scarf around her head, her arms flexing and her breasts rising as the scarlet band covered her eyes, the top of her straight nose, a span of her forehead.
If only she would cover her mouth as well.
“Nonsense,” laughed Mrs. Protheroe after a silent moment. “Everyone knows Lord Xavier is too, too scandalous.”
“You're right, ma'am,” Louisa said. “I must have forgotten.”
“You are right, too, Miss Oliver,” Xavier replied, feeling the headache clutch at his temples again. “As I'm hosting the respectable, I don't wish to shock them.” He stretched his mouth into his wicked-rogue smile and added, “
Too
much.”
Mrs. Protheroe giggled, as she was intended, and the moment passed.
For most people. But Louisa had tossed out a few seeds of doubt, seeds that grew in Xavier's mind. What did she think of him?
She didn't seem to put much store in his reputation as a rake; not anymore. Their moment of honesty in the library had won him a fresh assessment.
Now she stood straight and still, her slim body vibrating with coiled energy. She wanted something, and he didn't think it was safety.
So be it. He'd prove to her that she didn't have his measure.
But he would have hers, and soon. He could already imagine his hands spanning her waist, pulling her close to his body.
You're not who they think, Xavier, and I know it
.
Louisa felt a twinge at having almost said as much to a roomful of people. Twenty-one years of attention to etiquette had sunk deep into her bones, and she owed her host more politeness than she'd shown him.
Yet what evidence was there of his scarlet reputation? It seemed to sustain itself without the food of misbehavior or the drink of scandal. He teased as though it were true, completely taken for granted.
But Louisa didn't take anything for granted.
Her eyes were swaddled in scarlet silk. She ought to take the chance to cast off restraint. A woman blinded could not be held responsible for what she touched, what she grasped for.
She raised her voice, loud and clear, and spread her hands wide. “You had all better scatter, or I shall find you out.”
A chaos of rustling, whispers, raps of boots against furniture legs, muffled curses and giggles ensued.
In all the movement, Louisa sensed that someone directly to her right stood very still. “Someone stays by me? Why don't you move away? I told you I'd find you out.”
“I don't think you will.” It was Xavier. Her body recognized his voice, her belly clenching warm and eager. The pleasure of the game.
She shot a hand out, a desperate grab in his direction.
“Valiant, my dear lady,” he said, his low voice drawling over the syllables like syrup over ice. “But you aren't. Even.
Close
.”
This last word was a whisper in her ear, tickling loose strands of hair against her skin. A hand trailed up her bare upper arm. It felt like a claiming, and Louisa shivered. Too late, she remembered to clutch for it, but Xavier had pulled away again.
“Even a maiden swift as you cannot capture me,” he said, the sound of his voice growing fainter. He was moving away from her, then.
She would not give him the satisfaction of a pursuit. Instead, she turned in the opposite direction and placed one foot in front of the other. “Come out, my friends. It's lonely in this scarf, and I need a companion.”
“Behave yourself, my girl,” said the unmistakable voice of Lady Irving.
“As though I could do anything but,” Louisa called back over renewed rustlings and laughter. “You can all see me, though I cannot see you. I couldn't possibly misbehave in such a situation. I should be questioning
your
behavior.”
“Impertinent,” said Lady Irving. In her aunt's parlance, Louisa knew, this was akin to
well said
.
Meanwhile she was still blindfolded, and she was starting to feel ill at ease. Being unable to see her way left her too vulnerable.
She raised her chin and took two more steps forward, recalling the position of the furniture. She was probably about to bump into a chair—yes, there it was. Her hands gripped smooth wood, her nails finding nubby tapestry. All she needed to do was find someone,
anyone
, to pass off this blindfold to.
Jane would do, if Louisa could find her new friend. She shoved her way past the chair, then past a settee that came from nowhere and pressed against her shins for an endless length. Finally, she reached the end of it, stretched out her hand and touched sleek wallpaper.
“I hope no one's hiding on the window seat,” she called, “because I shall surely catch you.”
Jane was still sitting there, as Louisa had hoped. The younger woman was all too eager to grab her friend's hand, yank off the blindfold, and crow for her own turn at the center of the game. Once Louisa gave her a quick peck on the cheek, another round of blind-man's buff began amid a chorus of laughter and jeers.
While the tumult of shifting furniture and bodies was at its height, Louisa slipped around the edge of the room. Checking to make sure no one was watching her, she escaped through the doorway.
To be honest, this retreat wasn't a brave move. Boldness sat oddly upon her, though, like a mask that had been formed for someone else's face. She wanted to take it off for a while and be herself again.
She strolled down the corridor, trailing her hand over the rich wood paneling and painted plasterwork of the walls.
Long observation from the sides of ballrooms, from chairs in the corners of drawing rooms, had taught Louisa to notice small details of expression and tone. To pick apart the artifice of politeness. And so she knew that Xavier had shown her something real today—real regret, real flashes of humor. And tonight, real annoyance.
It annoyed him when she noticed things. That was very, very interesting.
The skin of her arm prickled, still remembering the touch of his presumptuous hand. She wanted more of his touch, his speech, his time. She wanted more truth from him, until she could solve the puzzle of who he truly was.

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