Shameless (8 page)

He smiled in the darkness. He was going to enjoy himself after all. “I suggest we not worry about what people imagine concerning our relationship. They’ll think what they want. We need to discover who among them are involved in the current incarnation of the Heavenly Host, if the absurd worries you’ve brought to me have any validity, and if so, where and when they’re meeting next.”

“Don’t we need to discover if your brother is truly part of them? Or do you believe me on that one?”

“If the organization is as you’ve described then I have no doubt that my brother is involved. He’s…he’s troubled. The Afghan war was very difficult for him,
and he was grievously wounded. It’s taking a long time for him to pull himself together, and I’m certain anything nihilistic would appeal to him. Apart from that, he’s been quite secretive recently, and I’ve had reason to worry.” He was telling her more than he wished to, and he wondered why. She had a calm demeanor that was oddly soothing. Soothing, when he wasn’t consumed by lust.

Which he could ignore, he reminded himself. He’d come to London to assuage that lust, and so far he’d had very little success. It was only natural he would look at Melisande Carstairs and her magnificent breasts and think wicked thoughts.

Though to be truthful, he’d had those same thoughts when she’d been decently covered and looking like a nun.

“I’ll tackle Lord Elsmere. You approach his wife,” he said.

She frowned. “And when did we decide you were in charge of this investigation?”

“When you asked for my help. This is my world, Lady Carstairs, the world you’ve walked away from. I know it, and its inhabitants, quite well, and you’d be a fool not to listen to me. And you’re many things but not, I think, a fool.”

She glowered at him, then her expression smoothed out. She didn’t want to let him know how much he annoyed her, a mistake on her part, he thought. The more she withstood the more determined he was to ruffle her.

“No, I’m not a fool,” she said. And she wasn’t.
Except, he hoped, where he was concerned. He was finding her more and more tempting, and he wasn’t in the mood to fight it too strenuously.

The coach had drawn to a stop, and one of his footmen had already jumped down, and the sound of the steps being dropped was like a death knell, he thought with lazy amusement. He was being fanciful, but he couldn’t rid himself of the notion that this was the point of no return.

Abandon hope, all ye who enter here,
Dante’s welcome to hell read.
Do what thou wilt,
read the entrance to Rabelais’s fictional Abbey of Theleme.

The door opened, and he looked up at the Elsmere town house, then back at the woman with him. And he wondered which greeting was more accurate.

“B
enedick, old man!” Harry Merton
would
have to be the first person they ran into, Benedick thought with resignation. Melisande had her back turned as she was handing her shawl to the maidservant when Harry came in the vestibule, a broad grin on his slightly foolish face. “Just the fellow I was wanting to see, don’t you know. I’ve found just the right piece of crumpet for you—a girl with the most amazing flexibility. You wouldn’t believe what she could do with her…”

“Good evening, Harry,” Benedick said hastily, though he wasn’t quite sure why.

Harry blinked. A gentleman never showed his liquor, and it was only the slight owlishness of his eyes that gave any hint that Harry had already been drinking steadily. “Good evening,” he managed to reply. “Any luck with Charity? Now there’s a field I might like to plow, assuming I could pry those legs apart…”

Melisande turned, her vivid blue eyes sparkling with something dangerous, and Harry blinked again, clearly embarrassed. “Beg your pardon, old man,” he mumbled. “I didn’t realize there was a lady present. Been an ass. Excuse me.” He sketched an unsteady bow. “Your servant, ma’am.”

Melisande Carstairs surveyed his old friend for a long moment, and he half expected her to attack. Instead she managed a seraphic smile and held out one gloved hand, which Harry bowed over, kissing the back of it a little clumsily.

“May I make my old friend Harry Merton known to you?” Benedick asked formally. “As he said, he’s an ass, but a good-hearted one. Harry, I believe you might know Lady Carstairs.”

“Of course,” Harry said automatically, starting to rise when Benedick’s words sank in, and he stumbled, a horrified expression on his face. “I mean, I know of…that is…” He finally managed to pull himself together, but it was a Herculean effort. “I knew your husband, Lady Carstairs. Sir Thomas was a good man.”

“Not really,” she said, and her frankness did little to calm Harry’s amour propre.

Benedick decided to deliver the coup de grâce. He pulled Melisande’s arm through his, drawing her close to his side in a proprietary gesture. “You’ll excuse us, won’t you, Harry? Melisande is famished and I promised I would feed her.” He could feel her sudden start, and he simply pulled her closer, smiling down at her with only a touch of malice. She really
was the most delicious creature. “Shall we go join the others, my sweet?”

Oh, she didn’t like that, he thought with satisfaction. And there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn’t pull away; she could only let him draw her up the wide marble stairs, feel his body heat leaching into hers, his hand on hers as he led her across the crowded floor of Lady Elsmere’s formal salon. It was a Pyrrhic victory—the feel of her against his body was playing havoc with his own hard-won sense of self-control. He was as unsettled as he was hoping to make her, and he wanted to curse, but he simply smiled down at her, noting the confused, slightly nervous expression in her eyes.

“Don’t look so anxious.” His voice was barely audible. “I’m not going to throw you down on the floor and molest you.”

“I didn’t think you were,” she said, managing to sound both dignified and vulnerable at the same time. “You would never be so clumsy as to have to use force.”

He smiled at her. “You’re learning, my love.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“I’m afraid I must. I have a reputation to uphold, and if people suspect I have another reason for bringing you here we’ll be scuttled before we even leave land.”

“I get seasick.”

“I’m a very experienced sailor. Put yourself in my hands and I promise you a smooth sail.” He let his fingers stroke the back of her hand, so gently
that she probably didn’t notice it, any more than she understood his double entendres. But he’d underestimated her.

“Save it for when people can hear us.”

“I’m getting in practice,” he said, his upper arm pressing against the side of her breast. It was most disturbing—the longer he was in her company the more aroused he became. Right now even the thought of Violet Highstreet couldn’t distract him. For some reason the thought of Charity Carstairs kept distracting him.

He should have done something to assuage the state of arousal that burned inside his body, but the uncomfortable truth was that right now he wasn’t interested in any of the demimondaines available to him. There were no new and nubile widows and wives among the ton eager for a bit of sport, at least, none that tempted him. His determined debauch had been a sad failure so far, and it was all Melisande Carstairs’s fault. Every time he thought to lose himself in some Cyprian’s ripe flesh the thought of her determined blue eyes distracted him, and he ended up feeling vaguely empty and unsatisfied.

He glanced down at her. A dark, wicked thought had come to mind, and try as he might to dismiss it, it remained stubborn. Lord and Lady Elsmere were at one end of the large room, greeting their guests, and as he waited for the butler to announce them he leaned down and whispered in Melisande’s ear, “I’m afraid I might have to seduce you, my precious,” he whispered, feeling her sudden start.

But a moment later they were announced and all eyes were upon them as the cream of the ton looked up and wondered what in the world Charity Carstairs, the saint of King Street, was doing with one of the wicked Rohans.

Lady Elsmere was an ancient, heavily painted dowager with a taste for young men, and she greeted them with her usual assessing gaze. “Good God, Rohan. What are you doing robbing a nunnery?”

He put his face close to Melisande’s, pressing his forehead against hers in a manner that looked romantic to an outsider but had the felicitous effect of keeping her stormy gaze downcast. “Hardly a nunnery, Lady Elsmere,” he whispered in a low, sensual voice.

Again that start of reaction through Melisande’s body. Really, she was too easy. If he wanted he could waltz her into a different room and have her skirts over her head with no effort at all. Which was a totally lovely idea, his heartbeat informed him. He planted a light kiss on Melisande’s nose and drew back, assured she was flustered enough not to let anyone see her usually direct gaze.

“We’re delighted you could join us tonight, my dear,” Lady Elsmere was saying. “I see Rohan has managed to persuade you to reenter society. You must be careful of him—he could persuade a saint to bed down with Satan. Or has that, perhaps, already happened?”

“I haven’t…” she began, but Benedick gave her arm a slight, hard pinch, and she let out a little
squeak. She glared at him swiftly from beneath her eyelids and then smiled at Lady Elsmere. “That is, I haven’t decided as to just how social I wish to be, but tonight Lord Rohan wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“No, I imagine he wouldn’t,” Lady Elsmere said with a bray of laughter. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Lady Carstairs. He’s a very dangerous man.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lady Elsmere,” Rohan said coolly, “I’m a woolly lamb.”

Again that noisy laugh. “Come sit by me later, my dear, and I’ll tell you all about him. In the meantime, why don’t you two dance? That will at least keep his hands decently occupied.”

He pulled her away, keeping a tight grip on her. “Did you have to pinch me so hard?” she demanded in an angry whisper.

“You looked as if you were about to start in on a lecture about the rights of women or something equally tedious. You’re supposed to be here as my lover.”

“As your friend,” she corrected.

“And why would my ‘friend’ join a party of notorious hellions for the evening? Curiosity?”

“Perhaps. Maybe I wanted to make converts to my cause.”

“Then you chose the wrong group.”

Music was coming from one of the adjoining rooms, and he began to steer her in that direction “You’ll dance with me,” he said. “Lady Elsmere’s orders.”

“What a charming request. No, I won’t!”

He sighed. “If every step is going to be a battle we won’t discover what the Heavenly Host is planning until next Christmas,” he said in an undertone. “May I have the honor of this dance?”

He could see her hesitate, and she would have liked to say no. But he didn’t make the mistake of underestimating her intelligence—she knew perfectly well that if she didn’t make an effort they’d get nowhere.

“It’s a waltz,” she said in a wary voice.

“Exactly,” he said. And before she could say no he pulled her into his arms and whirled her into the next room and onto the dance floor.

She stumbled at first, as if she weren’t used to dancing, and he slowed his pace, letting her grow accustomed to the sound of the music, the feel of his hands on her, the closeness of their bodies. She was as stiff as a board, awkward, and he tried to quiet his impatience. He danced well, particularly for such a tall man, and he usually tried to avoid clumsy partners.

“Relax,” he said in her ear, her curls tickling his nose.

“I can’t relax, I’m trying to dance.”

“You’re failing.” He spun her, just a bit, in an effort to throw her off guard. She was trying too hard, and the only way they were going to get through the dance without his reputation in shreds would be to startle her into relaxing. “It’s like sex, my darling,” he murmured in her ear. “Just stop fighting and let me lead.”

M
elisande stopped abruptly, astonished and outraged, and he almost knocked into her. And then before she realized what he was doing he’d pulled her back into the dance, and she was so disturbed that she didn’t stop to worry about following him, about her steps, about anything, as he moved her across the dance floor. “I beg your pardon,” she said, her magnificent blue eyes glaring up at him.

“Fighting so soon, Rohan?” Harry Merton said with a grin as he waltzed by with a scantily dressed young lady in his arms.

Melisande immediately controlled her reaction. She didn’t like Harry Merton, she didn’t like Lady Elsmere and right now she positively detested Benedick Rohan. He hadn’t meant a word of it, of course, he just wanted to throw her off balance, and he’d succeeded. If she had any choice at all, she would have kicked him in the shins and walked out of the party without a backward glance. But the
memory of Aileen’s scarred face was enough to stop her. Who was she to complain about putting up with the manners of social ninnies when there were lives at stake?

“Lady Carstairs has a passionate nature,” Rohan said calmly as they circled around Merton. “She enjoys fighting.”

“Enjoys making up even more, I’ll warrant,” Merton said with a loose grin. “You’re a lucky man, Rohan.”

“Indeed,” he said, glancing down at her, and she stared up, momentarily disconcerted. His eyes were a dark, dark green, not black after all, and his dark eyelashes ringed them, framing them. It was no wonder he was reputed to be such a rake, she thought dizzily. Who could resist someone who could look at you with such vivid stillness, drawing you into their gaze? She could feel herself falling, falling…

And then the music stopped, and he was no longer holding her. His hand dropped from her waist and for a moment she felt dizzy, almost bereft. “You can dance after all,” he said in a low voice. “As long as you’re too angry to think about what you’re doing.”

“I wasn’t angry,” she said in a deliberately sweet voice. “Merely astonished at your good taste.”

He laughed at that, and several people turned to observe them. “You really are delicious, Lady Carstairs. Perhaps I’ll decide to seduce you in earnest, not just to shock you into dancing well.”

She did it before she even stopped to think, stomping on his foot beneath the curtain of her skirts, hard.
He jumped back with a muffled curse, and she froze, unable to help herself, shocked at herself, wondering how he was going to retaliate.

But to her astonishment he laughed again, the sound rich and full. “You’ll pay for that,” he said softly, his amusement too evident for her to be worried.

She made a dismissive noise, moving away from him. Lady Elsmere was ensconced on a gilt settee on the edge of the room, and her duty was clear. She moved across the floor, ignoring Harry Merton as he tried to gain her attention, reaching her hostess’s side a moment later and taking the seat beside her, fanning herself vigorously with one hand. “I’m exhausted,” she said in faint tones. “Lord Rohan is such an energetic dancer I wonder he doesn’t trample everyone in his way.”

She made certain her voice carried to her companion, but Rohan simply gave her a seraphic smile, that promise of revenge still clear in his dark eyes.

“I hope he’s as energetic when he’s off his feet,” Lady Elsmere said with a smirk. “I do like a man with stamina.”

“Quite exhausting.” Melisande refused to think about Lady Elsmere’s meaning. “Indeed, there are occasions when I wish it were possible to…er…share the brunt of his attentions.”

Lady Elsmere raised her skimpy gray eyebrows. “Really, my dear? I had the impression you were a devoted crusader, part saint, part nun. And instead
you exhibit this totally unexpected degenerate streak. I find it unexpectedly delightful.”

Melisande had been worried at the start of this speech, but by the end she was reassured. She glanced across the room. Rohan was deep in conversation with Lord Elsmere and two other men she couldn’t identify, and he must have felt her eyes on him. He raised his head and met her gaze for an infinitesimal moment, then turned back to concentrate on his quarry.

At least, she hoped he was his quarry and not his partner in crime. It was always possible that Rohan had simply been humoring her when she’d asked for his assistance. After all, if he were a member of the organization himself, wouldn’t he be likely to try to distract her from her mission? What better way than to pretend to help her.

She turned back to Lady Elsmere. “My personal interests have nothing to do with my social conscience, Lady Elsmere. And I must say Lord Rohan has introduced a whole new world of experience into my life, one I find immensely pleasurable.” Holy God, but the words burned in her throat, and she wished she could wash away the taste of them. On top of everything else she had rapidly come to the conclusion that he was right, and posing as lovers was the only possible choice given their circumstances. No one would believe she was simply his friend, particularly given the way he’d manhandled her. But he’d had reason—if he hadn’t kept his hands on her, she might have bolted. Or Harry Merton
might have demonstrated his interest in “plowing her field” or whatever that revolting man had said.

In truth, Merton was an attractive man in his early thirties, with bright eyes and clear skin and a sunny smile. He had also appeared to be on the edge of inebriation, but for some reason Melisande wasn’t quite sure if she believed it. There was a sharpness to his gaze, above the foolish smile, that suggested there was more to Harry Merton than the fop he appeared to be.

Lady Elsmere’s chuckle was…there was no other word for it…lascivious. “I envy you, my child. I’d love a chance to taste Lord Rohan’s energy.”

She couldn’t push, tempted though she was. The Heavenly Host was the epitome of a secret organization—there was no way they’d invite her in, given her reputation, until they were really sure of her. Besides, the idea of Lady Elsmere touching Rohan was revolting. The thought of any woman touching Rohan filled her with a sharp stab of anger that was totally inexplicable. She had always prided herself on her equable frame of mind, but somehow Benedick Rohan had a genius for upsetting her.

She wasn’t going to examine that too closely. She returned the old woman’s smile. “For now he’s all mine.”

“Indeed, I am, my heart.” A voice came from behind her, and she felt the heat flood her face. His hands slid down over her bare shoulders, and in a few more inches he would have been cupping her breasts.

She let out a squeak and jumped up, half-afraid he wouldn’t let her go. But he continued with his cool, slightly teasing smile, and she wondered if she could get away with slamming her elbow into his ribs. His feet had certainly survived her previous attempt.

Her urge toward violence shocked her again, and she took a deep breath, determined to regain her equilibrium. But then he moved beside her, sliding his arm around her waist in a shockingly intimate gesture, and his hand was dangerously close to the underside of her breast. She tried to disguise her sudden intake of breath as he leaned down and breathed in her ear with a gesture that would have looked more like a nuzzle than the warning it was. “Remember we are lovers, Charity. At least try to act the part, or I’ll be forced to give them more graphic evidence.”

She moved her foot, but he sidestepped her quite neatly this time. “Come along, my pet. Lord Elsmere wants to dance with you. I warned him that it would be a challenge, but he’s more than willing to undertake it. Just make certain his hands stay above your waist, not below it. And don’t let him dance you off into a corner.”

“But I don’t want…”

“Lord Elsmere! Lady Carstairs was just telling me how much she’d adore a dance. But be gentle with her—she hasn’t had much chance to practice.”

He really was the most annoying man, she thought, giving him a tight smile as the wizened old man took her into his arms. She should have had
the gaggle help her with her dancing. If this absurd partnership lasted for more than this night she’d have to practice. Which didn’t mean she wouldn’t still attempt to stomp on his feet given half the chance. Any violence she could deliver on his person was earned well in advance.

She danced perfectly well with the old man, who did have a tendency to let his hands roam southward. She kept him busy talking, but he said little that could be helpful, apart from extolling the beauty of the Kent countryside and a place called Kersley Hall. After Lord Elsmere she danced with a hearty gentleman name Robert Johnson, a quadrille with Harry Merton, and by the time she finished with another waltz she was feeling quite comfortable. She’d never had much of an opportunity to dance when she was younger—her hand had not been sought during her season and Sir Thomas had been too frail to attend dances. But she’d had the requisite lessons, and by the time supper was announced her nervousness had vanished and she was quite enjoying herself.

Lord Elsmere claimed the right to take her into supper, and she went happily enough until Rohan brushed by her with the whispered admonition to watch her intake of cakes. She glared at him, but he’d already turned away, bending his attention toward the scantily clad young lady who’d been dancing with Harry Merton. Which didn’t please Melisande particularly. The girl looked as if she didn’t have a brain in her head, her dress was falling off her ample curves and she had a laugh almost as annoying as
Lady Elsmere’s raucous one. It was enough to make a woman need that extra serving of cake.

It took a number, because she needed to make certain that Rohan caught her eating them, and he was barely paying her any attention. By the time he noticed even she had had more than her fill, and she put down her fork, resisting the impulse to stick out her tongue at him.

“You and Rohan should join us some weekend,” Lord Elsmere said, dropping his hand onto her knee in a friendly gesture. She wanted to squirm away from him, but she forced herself to sit still. If she seemed prudish they would hardly be likely to invite her to an orgy. “A few friends of ours get together and…”

“My dear, I’m certain Lady Carstairs has better things to do than waste her time with our harmless little gatherings,” Lady Elsmere broke in with a laugh in her arch tones, and Lord Elsmere withdrew his hand and grumbled something inaudible. “You know how young people are nowadays. They have their own friends, their own house parties. I can hardly believe they would want to tarry with our stodgy crowd.” She put her hand on Melisande’s arm, drawing her away. “Come and sit with me, dear. I know my husband, and his supper conversation is always dismal. You and I can share a comfortable coze and you can tell me more about Viscount Rohan’s prowess.”

Melisande threw a glance in Rohan’s direction. He was talking with the bluff man, no longer paying
attention to the sultry young woman who was busy displaying her décolletage to the old roué on her other side, but he caught her gaze as she was forcibly borne away, and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

By the time the music started again Melisande was almost desperate to get away from Lady Elsmere, who seemed determined to drone on and on about the most stultifying of topics, not the off-color tales she’d been hoping for. She looked up with un-feigned pleasure when Rohan appeared before her, jumping up before he even requested a dance, and a moment later they were back on the dance floor once more.

“I need to talk to you,” she said in a whisper. If Rohan could manage to corner Lord Elsmere before they left they might leave with an invitation to their gathering, where the old lady could have a taste of Rohan’s…energy. It would serve him right. He could pleasure the old hag while Melisande could find a way to stop them.

“Later,” he murmured under his breath, swirling her gracefully around the room. “You’ve just gotten to the point where I don’t have to manhandle you to move you.”

“Now,”
she shot back. “There’s a room over there. Dance me into it.” Curtains draped the doorway on the far side of the room, and the door stood ajar, the other side dark and beckoning.

He glanced at it, then back at her, and an odd expression danced in his dark green eyes. “That’s probably not a good idea…are you certain?”

“Absolutely,” she said, starting to lose patience with him.

“As you wish, my lady.” And a moment later he twirled her into the room, and the door closed behind them, locking them into the darkness.