Seducing the Rake (Mad, Bad and Dangerous Heroes) (22 page)

Morland’s face was an icy mask, but he said nothing. He deserved that much, he supposed. Indeed he deserved far
worse.
He had nearly swept up her skirts and taken her blindly in the middle of the Duchess of Cranford’s bloody conservatory!

What was
wrong
with him?

Morland restored her dress to order, then turned Chessy around. When she tried to pull away, his fingers locked on her shoulder. “My deepest apologies, Miss Cameron. What I did was entirely inexcusable. I cannot imagine what or why—”

For the first time his steely veneer wavered. He raked his fingers through his long hair. “I-I don’t know what possessed me. Truly, Cricket. I never meant to—”

But she stared at him with frigid hauteur. “No apologies are necessary or expected, I assure you. Now if you will kindly move out of my way, I would like to leave.”

Morland frowned at her. Legs apart, hands on her shoulders, he continued to block her exit.

Chessy glared back.

Abruptly Morland’s hand closed over her upper arm. She stiffened instinctively, and her muscles bunched. Morland felt the movement clearly. He also felt her strength and preparedness. It was hardly the sort of thing one expected to encounter in an English lady.

His eyes narrowed. He caught her wrist and turned her palm up for his scrutiny. Chessy tried to pull away, trembling.

The skin was ridged at the outer edge of her palm. There were dozens of fine scars along the base of her thumb.

“I don’t believe it! Never tell me that your father actually let you—”

White-faced, Chessy jerked away from him. “Let me what? Toughen my fingers packing and unpacking artifact crates? Scrubbing the deck of that Chinese junk we called home? I’m afraid he
did
, my lord. I’m sorry it offends your nobility.”

She pulled her hands from his suddenly slack grip and squared her shoulders. “And now good night, your lordship. No, make that
good-bye.”

~ ~ ~

Morland felt as if he had just been kicked.

It couldn’t be!
Chessy, a trained warrior?

A pulse hammered at his brow. He could see that she was in no mood to discuss anything logically right now, and a
ton
ball was no place for a scene, unless one wanted every tongue in London wagging about it.

“Are you going to move or not, lout?”

 “Very well. But first—” Without waiting for her answer, he bent forward and anchored the drooping gardenia more securely in the midnight sweep of her hair, while she stood rigid, unbreathing.

Then Morland stepped back, his face shuttered. “There. You are, as always, perfection itself. I suggest, however, that you allow me to precede you by several minutes. The London tabbies thrive on gossip, and this would make prodigious fare.”

He offered her a bow. “The lapsed time might help to rid you of that lovely but quite unmistakable flush that stains your cheeks, your neck, and your exquisite—”

His sapphire gaze dropped to the creamy expanse of her chest.
“Other
places,” he finished softly. “I bid you good night, Miss Cameron. But most certainly
not
good-bye.”

And then he was gone.

~ ~ ~

Standing beneath an elegant arrangement of silk gauze and roses, Viscount Ravenhurst watched his old friend stride through the Duchess of Cranford’s crowded ballroom.

Few others would have seen the tension in Morland’s shoulders, but Ravenhurst had known his friend too long to be fooled.

“He’s upset about something, isn’t he?” The viscount’s wife was also following Lord Morland’s progress.

Ravenhurst smiled inwardly. Nothing escaped Tess’s keen eye.

He patted her hand. “I believe so, my love. He’s been tense as a drawn bow all evening.” He stared thoughtfully at Morland’s retreating back, then turned back to the conservatory where a slender figure in violet damask had appeared. Her hair shimmered like polished lacquer beneath the chandeliers.

Ravenhurst gave a soundless whistle. So
this
was the Macao-bred beauty that the Duchess of Cranford had told him about.

The woman stood motionless. Feeling herself unobserved, she gave a furtive twitch to her skirts and a tug at her bodice.

One hand checked the gardenia in her hair.

Ravenhurst’s lips curved in a faint smile.
Ho! Blows the wind from that quarter, Morland, my boy?

“Whoever is that
fascinating
creature who just emerged from the conservatory? Dane, isn’t that where Tony—”

Ravenhurst caught his wife’s fingers and gave them a warning squeeze as a pair of keen-eyed dowagers moved past. Tess offered the women a careful smile, then instantly turned back to her husband. “But who—”

“Let’s walk, shall we, my heart? The conservatory, perhaps.” Ravenhurst smiled down at his wife. “We will be unobserved there.” He studied the stiff back of the woman in violet who was now threading through the crowd. “Yes, the night has turned out to be quite fascinating, wouldn’t you agree, my love?”

~ ~ ~

Halfway through the crowded salon, the Earl of Morland was cornered by the Duke of Wellington, who was surrounded by a host of admiring females. Seeing Morland, the duke made a cursory bow to the group. “My deepest apologies, ladies. Business calls, I’m afraid.”

Morland was maneuvered toward a curtained alcove that gave onto an isolated corridor.

“Waterloo was nothing next to this crush. It always pays to know the terrain, Morland. Remember that. Never enter an engagement without surveying all avenues of escape in advance.” The duke brushed aside the curtain and stalked to a shadowed window. “We can speak privately here.”

But even there, Morland found he could not relax. All he could think of was how Chessy had felt in his arms, how she had shivered when he kissed her. And how hard it had been to leave her.

By heaven, I’m losing my mind.

His jaw tensed as he fought to forget the warmth of her skin, the husky little cries she’d made as he’d freed her breasts and…

“Are you feeling quite the thing, Morland?”

He realized the duke was addressing him. “Sorry. It’s too much of this unrelenting
peace
, Your Grace. Routs one night and balls the next. If this keeps up, I’ll have to buy back my commission just to find a little rest.”

The Duke of Wellington frowned. This answer did not fool him for a moment. He, too, had noticed the woman in violet damask who had emerged from the conservatory only moments after the earl.

But that was pleasure, and this was business. He sat forward, lowering his voice. “Amherst says the situation in China appears to be even worse than we’d thought. Graft is rampant, secret societies plot against the Manchu court, and the emperor is cut off from any awareness of the rest of the world. He believes what his officials tell him, that China is still invincible. That it is still the center of the universe. But unrest grows. We will have to work as swiftly as possible. So tell me what sort of progress you’ve made with that damned book.”

Morland steepled his fingers and began to speak, his voice low.

In their concentration neither man noticed that Louisa Landringham had slipped into the shadows just beyond the doorway.

An hour later Chessy Cameron stood beside the Duchess of Cranfort, smiling at a young officer in a scarlet regimental uniform. Soon she was surrounded by four, then six, then eight more adoring swains. Her light laughter floated in the air as she was besieged with offers to dance, to accept proffered cups of ratafia.

Across the room the Earl of Morland saw every gesture, heard every lilting laugh. Each one was like a saber to his heart. Suddenly he could stand no more. His face a hard mask, he stalked through the glittering crowd, oblivious to man and woman alike.

Chessy’s soft laughter followed him all the way to the door.

~ ~ ~

 “…Lovely party.”

“…wonderful crush, my dear.”

“…always manage to outdo yourself.”

The Duchess of Cranford smiled and moved among her guests, catching snippets of conversation, offering a word here, a compliment there, making deft introductions with the part of her mind that always knew who was best suited for whom.

But it was all a facade.

Her real attention was locked on the graceful beauty surrounded by a throng of suitors, whose numbers swelled every moment.

And of course she watched the grim-faced earl who tried to look utterly uninterested.

Ah, to be young again, the duchess thought wistfully. To feel the reckless joy, the first rush of passion…

And the pain. There was always that, too. She fought down a wave of loneliness, remembering a spring night of her own forty years before, when the air had been thick with the scent of roses…

“…share a box … dinner at ten…”

Absently she smiled at old friends, not quite hearing the words.

No need to hear. She had heard them all before.

Now all her attention was on Miss Cameron, who had just removed the gardenia from her hair and surrendered it with a laugh to a swain who waited on bent knee before her. The man refused to rise until she’d offered him a token of her regard.

The duchess heard a faint crack and looked across to see Tony Morland snap a fragile and rather ugly porcelain figurine between his long fingers. He didn’t even register what he had done. And his expression was nothing short of murderous.

The duchess sighed.

Ah, to be five and twenty and in love again.

As she watched Morland stalk from the room her eyes began to twinkle and a secret smile played over her lips.

~ ~ ~

At least one other person had noticed the earl’s abrupt departure, and she had taken her own leave soon after.

Now Louisa Landringham’s beautiful face was set in a petulant glare as she smoothed her skirts. She had been ignored quite unforgivably tonight!
She,
who was the reigning beauty of three seasons, who had broken hearts by the score since her elderly and very gouty husband had done her the great courtesy of expiring in his sleep after a hard day of hunting—and an even harder night of exertion in her bed.

All of which left Louisa a free woman.

She had used her skills discreetly and imaginatively. They had bought her many things, from satins to mold her creamy skin to rarest perfumes from India and China.

Then had come the reckless weeks of blindness, of raw drugging lust, during which she’d found a different partner for her passion every night. Sometimes more than one at a time, in fact.

Yes, all that had amused her very well. For a while, at least. But she wanted more.

She wanted what she had
always
wanted, and that was Tony Morland, the only peer who had ever openly scorned her advances. The man who had publicly humiliated her.

Her eyes narrowed to glittering slits as she slipped her mask more securely about her face and bent forward in the shadows of her luxurious traveling coach.

The man before her was young, muscular, and superbly ready. She ran her jeweled fingers along his naked chest and down to his thighs, which tensed at her touch.

It would have amused her more to have the great Wellington, of course. He would have been a pleasant diversion while she pursued her revenge against Morland. But the Great Man had been preoccupied and oblivious to her lures tonight.

A wave of fury swept her.

But no matter. There were other men, and there were many different kinds of pleasure. They would suffice until she had Morland where she wanted him, crushed and ruined.

She gave a low, breathy laugh. “You like that.” It wasn’t a question. The hard muscle that throbbed against her clever fingers was answer enough.