Some Like It Wicked (Hellion's Den) (12 page)

Jane moaned in soft pleasure, a heat spreading through her body with startling swiftness.

“Our charade is over.”

“Good.” He nuzzled the frantic pulse at the base of her throat. “Now you know that I kiss you because it is what I desire, not because of our bargain.”

She clutched him even tighter. Why did her knees suddenly want to buckle? For that matter, why did her stomach quiver each time those maddening lips found a new source of interest?

“This is wrong,” she said more to herself than to Hellion.

His husky laugh sent a thrill sizzling down her spine. “Wrong? How can a mere kiss be wrong? I assure you that I intend to do a great deal more. Shall I tell you how I will soon suckle the sweetness of your breast? How my fingers will explore the satin smoothness of your thighs until you moan in pleasure?”

“No, Hellion. I am here to find a husband, not to . . .”

“Hush,” he commanded, and then, as if her words had abruptly snapped the tight leash of his control, he lifted his head and blindly sought her lips in a kiss of sheer hunger.

 

 

“Good gads, my lord, what possible interest could you have in a mere merchant?”

Biddles offered a charming smile. There was no hint that he had tediously whiled away hours in the library of Lady Vallance’s town house as he awaited the rotund gentleman with a nearly bald head and enormous beak of a nose to slip from the crowded ballroom. Or that he had deliberately used his intimate knowledge of the gentleman’s fondness for brandy to realize that it was as inevitable as a bee seeking nectar for him to search out this particular room. Or that he was about to use the ingenuous gentleman as a necessary pawn.

Now he casually poured them both a healthy measure of Lady Vallance’s brandy and crossed to hand it to his companion.

“I?” He offered a delicate shiver as he sipped of the fiery spirit. “Why none whatsoever. There are others, however, who have mentioned the fellow’s name upon occasion. I always like to keep track of such individuals in the fortunate event they may prove of some value.”

It took some time for his subtle hint to be fully grasped. Newton was not always the sharpest of fellows. Indeed, he could be as dull witted as a cheap spoon upon most occasions. Still, he was precisely the sort of gentleman Biddles was in current need of. Not only because he was personally involved in trade, but because he was one of the shabby genteel who clung so tenaciously to the fringes of society. He would do whatever possible to curry the favor of such an illustrious personage as Lord Bidwell.

“Value?” Newton offered a knowing wink. “Right. You mean you desire to sell the information?”

Biddles winced at the brash lack of delicacy, although his smile did not falter as he set aside his glass and carefully pulled a lace handkerchief from his cuff.

“Knowledge is like any other commodity. Unfortunately its worth is entirely dependent upon what another is willing to pay.”

“Ah. Of course. Yes, indeed.” He nervously licked his pudgy lips. “What is it you wish to know of Mr. Emerson?”

The problem was that Biddles did not know himself what information was needed. He had nothing more than the bill of sale from a Mr. Emerson & Sons that he had discovered in Jane Middleton’s desk. A bill of sale that was so vague and oddly written it had naturally captured his interest.

“I understand he is in the clothing trade,” he at last murmured. “A most lucrative industry.”

Newton wrinkled his brow. “I suppose he does well enough. He has a modest home in Cheapside and a large flock of children.”

“Only modest?”

“Yes, well, he is no Midas, if that is what you are asking.”

Biddles absently touched the handkerchief to the tip of his pointed nose. “Has he had any . . . difficulties?”

Newton appeared to stiffen in offense at the question. “Do you mean with the law, sir?”

“Or financial.”

There was a moment’s pause, as if the man struggled between his loyalty to a fellow merchant and his desire to please such a prominent member of society.

“There was a rumor a few years ago that he had been caught selling shoddy material for military uniforms,” he at last grudgingly confessed. “It was all a hum, of course. Sort of vile rumor that gets started by a jealous rival.”

Biddles pursed his lips. Well, well. It appeared that his suspicions were well founded after all. “You do not believe he would attempt such a rewarding arrangement?”

“No.” Newton offered his companion a gathering frown. “He and George Middleton were always on the up and up. As I said, it was all a hum.”

“Middleton.” Biddles experienced a pleasant flare of surprise that the gentleman’s name would be so easily brought into the conversation. “Now there is a merchant who has done well for himself. His daughter is in London enjoying the Season, I believe?”

“A fine girl, Miss Middleton. Her mother was the daughter of an earl, you know.”

“Indeed.” Biddles attempted to look properly impressed while determined to turn the conversation back to its original purpose. “Were Emerson and Middleton partners?”

Newton lifted a thick shoulder. “More competitors, although I believe they were always close friends.”

“I see.”

Clearly uneasy at discussing those he considered friends, the older man gave a gruff cough. “Is that all? I promised Cornett a few hands of piquet. Shouldn’t like to disappoint him.”

“Certainly not.” Biddles offered his most charming smile. “I thank you for your information. I shall not forget your assistance.”

A hint of relief lightened the round face. “Yes, well I always consider myself a gentleman who can be depended upon to offer what help I can. A good night to you, sir.”

With an awkward bow Newton set aside his glass and turned to hurry from the room. Biddles allowed him to flee without protest. For the moment he had enough to consider. Once he had sorted out his various thoughts and speculations he would determine what was to be done next.

For now he intended to leave the stifling boredom of the ball and seek out more pleasurable entertainments without further ado. No doubt Hellion was enjoying the delights of a willing woman. He would be damned if he would waste his entire night on procuring information for his friend.

It was time to seek a bit of fun.

As if on cue there was the faintest of noise just outside the open door. Biddles narrowed his gaze as he silently moved across the room and stood with his back to the wall. Then, using all the skills at his command, he slowly reached through the opening and grasped the intruder lurking in the hallway. There was a muffled squeak as he gave a sudden jerk to pull the eavesdropper into the room.

The familiar round face of Anna Halifax flushed with embarrassment as he offered a pleased smile.

“Well, well, what have we here?”

“My lord.” She swallowed heavily. “You nearly frightened me out of my wits.”

His brows lifted in mocking amusement. “Do you know, my dear, I was just hoping for a lovely female to relieve my boredom.” With a deliberate motion he shifted so that he could firmly shut the door and at the same moment slip a firm arm about her waist. All thoughts of fleeing for more bawdy entertainments were seared away. What could possibly be more enjoyable than teasing this enchanting creature who not only stirred his passions, but was also rare enough to intrigue his mind? “Tell me, sweet Anna, did you follow me in hopes of overhearing my very private conversation?”

“I . . .” Flustered and clearly embarrassed at having been caught in the act, Anna pressed her hands against his chest. “No. Certainly not.”

He smiled deeply into the wide, startled eyes. “Good. Then that can only mean you are here for one purpose.”

Her tiny tongue peeked out to wet her lips in a most seductive manner. “What purpose do you mean?”

Biddles gave a low growl as he pulled her delicious warmth ever closer. “Obviously you followed me in the hopes of snatching a few stolen kisses. A notion that I approve of wholeheartedly.” His breath caught in his throat as he watched a shimmer of heat enter her blue eyes. “Oh yes. Quite, quite wholeheartedly.”

From the diary of Miss Jane Middleton, May 17th, 1814:

Hellion did nothing to hide the burning desire that had plagued him for days. He could not if he wanted to. Hellfire, he was no saint. Night after night he had been tortured by the memory of Jane’s sweet lips and warm, creamy skin. He had precisely recalled the manner in which her slender curves molded to his body. And of course, the delicious way that she shuddered when he nibbled at the sensitive pulse at the base of her throat.

But perhaps more than anything he recalled the astonishing pleasure of her hesitant response to his caresses.

He was a gentleman accustomed to those females who were well versed in the arts of seduction. He had been made love to by practiced courtesans from the most exotic locations and those widows who knew all there was to know about enticing a jaded gentleman.

Who the devil would have suspected that it would be the uncertain, decidedly awkward touch of a pure innocent that would make him awake during the night, shaking with a burning need?

Breathing deeply of her sweet spring scent, Hellion cupped her soft backside and pressed her urgently to his aching arousal. Thank God he had already decided to wed this minx. Otherwise he might very well be on his way to Bedlam.

“Jane . . . my damnable shrew,” he muttered rather roughly. “Let us go somewhere more private.”

She shuddered as he suggestively rubbed against her. “What?”

He returned to his gentle assault upon her neck. “We can hardly continue this delicious encounter in the middle of the garden. While I do not care if someone were to stumble across us, I fear that you would not be nearly so indifferent.” His tongue reached out to taste of her satin skin. “Besides which, I can imagine a setting more pleasing to our needs.”

Ruefully he felt the slender, eager body stiffen at his bold words. It was not that he had actually expected her to readily allow herself to be tumbled into his bed. She was a woman who believed that affection and passion were one and the same. Nothing less would do. But while his mind might logically accept her maidenly withdrawal, his body rebelled with a shuddering protest. It only knew that it was destined for another long, unrewarding night of fevered dreams.

Pressing her hands flatly against his chest, Jane tilted back her head to regard him with a wary gaze. “Please let me go, Hellion.”

With a stern reminder that he would first have to win her heart to win her chastity, Hellion reluctantly loosened his grip. He did, however, maintain enough caution to keep his arms about her. He was not yet prepared to have her flee back to the safety of the house.

“But, my sweet, it is just becoming interesting,” he murmured softly. “Do you not think?”

She pressed her hands to his chest, her eyes wide and beautiful as they glittered with a delicious passion.

“No . . . I do not want this.”

“I could make you change your mind, you know.” His fingers lightly traced the curve of her spine, his gaze easily noting her responsive shudder. “This awareness that has grown between us possesses a power of its own.”

She searched his countenance that was strained with the effort to control his smoldering hunger.

“But you will not.”

He smiled wryly at her instinctive trust of his sense of chivalry. Odd, that. He had never considered himself particularly noble.

“No. I will not. Not until I am certain it is what you want . . .” Hellion shifted his hand to lightly stroke his fingers over the rapid beat of her heart. “Here.” A jolt of need clenched his stomach at the feel of her satin-soft skin, but with uncommon restraint he managed to halt from exploring any further. Being a proper gentleman was a damnable business, he abruptly decided. Remarkably akin to torture. “However many nights I might be left to pace the floor in frustration, I do not wish for regrets when you become mine.”

“I . . .” She visibly struggled to maintain control of her faltering will. “No. This is insanity. I will not be seduced. I will belong only to my husband.”

Warmth flared through his heart. A startling and peculiar warmth considering that he had never considered himself a prude. Far from it, in fact. He was a gentleman of society. He was intimately familiar with the decided lack of fidelity among noble marriages. Good God, it was nearly mandatory to indulge in a series of discrete liaisons if one desired to be fashionable.

Who the devil would ever have suspected that he would find such a deep sense of satisfaction at the sincere knowledge this woman would never play her husband false?

He smiled tenderly. “I am well aware that you hold your honor dear, Jane. That is one of the things that I most admire about you. Believe me, a gentleman does not readily commit his destiny to a woman who offers her favors to every rake and rogue who happens by.”

A tense silence descended at his revealing words. Hellion discovered himself watching with rueful amusement as her eyes slowly widened with a stunned wariness.

“Hellion?”

“Yes, my love?”

Her brows drew together. “Have you been drinking?”

He gave a sudden chuckle at her hesitant words. “Not as yet. However, I do fear that it shall come to that before the evening is done. I have discovered a profound dislike for frustrated desire. It not only makes my temperament uncertain, but it ensures a long, decidedly unpleasant night.”

The moonlight revealed the various emotions that flittered over her expressive countenance. Bewilderment, suspicion, and a growing unease at his unexpected behavior.

“What do you want from me, Hellion?” she at last demanded in low tones.

“What do I want?” He deliberately paused as his gaze ran a slow, thorough survey over her slender form. “I want you, of course. Your slender, delectable body. Your tart tongue and shrewd intelligence. Your peculiar habits and amazing skills. I want all of you.”

Without warning she was roughly wrenching herself from his light grasp and glaring at him with unexpected resentment.

“I suppose you are attempting to be amusing?”

Hellion lifted his brows. “I should be very much obliged if you would not discover me a figure of jest. No gentleman desires his beloved to consider him a buffoon.”

Jane wrapped her arms about her waist, stepping back as if knowing he would not hesitate to pull her back into his arms if the urge should take him.

“I . . . I wish you would not tease me so, Hellion. It is not at all kind.”

His smile faded as he slowly realized that he had unwittingly struck her most vulnerable wound. Despite her rare intelligence and independent spirit, she possessed an unrelenting lack of confidence in her ability to attract the attentions of a gentleman. A lack of confidence that had only been reinforced by the pathetic dandies she had encountered since arriving in London.

“For such a very clever woman you are being excessively dense, my lovely shrew,” he said with a gentle smile. “I think it should be obvious by now that I am not teasing. Indeed, I am attempting to woo you in the prescribed manner. Clearly with a ghastly lack of talent.”

Her frown only deepened. “That is absurd.”

Unable to help himself, Hellion reached out to touch a soft curl that lay against her temple. He was deeply thankful that Jane was not a shallow flirt. The sort who was well aware of her beauty and used it as a means of manipulating those about them. The mere thought was enough to make him shudder in horror. Still, he was beginning to suspect her refusal to accept the depth of her own delightful charm was bound to try his patience to the fullest.

“I must say you are rather brutal upon a gentleman’s pride, my sweet. I will admit to having little experience in the arts of courtship but surely I cannot be making such a hash of it?”

“This is absurd. Why would you court me? I have already given you the money I promised.”

Hellion was caught off guard by the fierce flare of anger that raced through him. “Do not do that.”

She blinked at his harsh tone. “I beg your pardon?”

He grasped her chin in firm fingers and sternly glared into her wide gaze. “I will readily accept any insults that you might decide to hurl in my direction. Most are no doubt well earned. I will not, however, allow you to insult yourself.”

“Sir . . .”

“No,” he ruthlessly overrode her instinctive protest. “I do not know what maggot you have gotten into your head to believe that your only allure is that of your fortune, but allow me to tell you that while many frivolous gentlemen might seek shallow beauty and brittle charm, there are a rare few of us with enough intelligence to prefer those maidens of genuine wit and steady temperament. We are also, surprisingly enough, wise enough to recognize genuine worth from amongst the dross.”

That aggravating disbelief refused to be shaken. If anything her wariness only deepened as she fiercely studied his somber expression.

“You are saying that you wish to court me?” she demanded in abrupt tones.

“That is the traditional means of acquiring a bride, I believe.”

“A . . . bride?”

“I desire to wed you. Is that so shocking?”

“Saints above, of course it is.”

“Why?”

She sucked in an unsteady breath. “Well to begin with, you have no desire to wed. I heard the words from your lips. You said that you had no intention of becoming
leg-shackled
to any female.”

Hellion swallowed a sigh. Damn it all. It was bad enough to have his rakish reputation hanging about his neck like a yoke without also having Jane acutely aware of his long-held distaste for marriage. His uphill battle to convince her of his sincerity became even more slippery.

“That was true enough until I encountered a stubborn, sharp-tongued, utterly desirable shrew,” he murmured in seductive tones. With considerable care he allowed his fingers to leave the stubborn chin to stroke over the softness of her cheek. “Now it does not seem nearly so unbearable. Indeed, the notion holds such temptation I can no longer resist.”

He thought that the blue eyes darkened with a hint of longing, but before he could take any hope from the brief glimpse into her heart, Jane was abruptly stepping from his light touch.

“No,” she breathed in a harsh tone.

“What?”

“I do not believe you.”

Hellion allowed a slow, wicked smile to curve his lips. About him the warm scent of roses and the enticing moonlight added the perfect atmosphere for romance. He took a step closer, his entire body humming with a smoldering excitement.

“Well, I am quite prepared to convince you of my sincerity, my sweet. In truth, I can think of little that will bring me more pleasure.”

Easily sensing his barely leashed passions she took another hasty step backward, nearly tumbling over a nearby rosebush.

“Hellion. Stop this at once.”

He smiled wryly. So much for a swift, painless seduction. Romance might be in the air, but Jane’s reaction appeared closer to panic than delight.

Planting his hands upon his hips he regarded her with a stern expression. Whatever her reluctance she would not be allowed to leave this garden believing he was anything but fully determined to win her hand.

“You are going to be my wife, you know,” he said in tones that revealed the depth of his conviction. “Oh, you might protest and attempt to deceive yourself that I am not the one gentleman in all of London that is perfectly suited to be your husband. After all, I am not a comfortable, easily swayed man. Nor will I settle for a relationship of mere friendship. I desire you too much for that. But in the end you will accept that I can bring you far greater happiness than any other.”

She paled at his blunt honesty. Almost as if she feared his stark declaration.

“I . . . I must return to the ballroom,” she at last muttered.

He instinctively opened his mouth to insist that she accept the truth of her inevitable future. She might be stubborn, but not even she could hope to resist his determination. But the air of restless tension that shimmered about her taut form held the impulsive words.