Some Like It Wicked (Hellion's Den) (4 page)

Anna had clearly become noddy, Jane decided as she regarded her friend in shock.

“Absurd. I am merely a woman desperate enough to attempt any foolishness. And I am still far from certain that he will agree to my request.”

There was a faint stir across the room and Anna turned her head to regard the two gentlemen entering from the balcony.

“Ah, here comes the devil now. And Lord Bidwell.”

Jane refused to allow her unruly gaze to cling to Hellion’s elegant form. It was bad enough society presumed she had all but accosted the man. She would not also add insult to injury by gaping at him like a looby.

Instead she studied the slender man at his side.

“An odd gentleman,” she murmured, noting the brilliant pink coat and burgundy pantaloons.

“Undoubtedly,” Anna agreed in a distracted tone.

Returning her attention to the woman at her side, Jane was startled by the arrested fascination upon her countenance.

“What is it?” she demanded.

“What?”

“You are regarding Lord Bidwell in quite a queer manner.”

Anna’s gaze never wavered from the pointed, rather intriguing countenance. “Do you know, I suspect that Lord Bidwell is not quite the fribble that he would have others believe.”

“Why do you say that?”

“More than once I have noted him hovering behind plants and furniture.”

“Hovering?” Jane demanded with a lift of her brows.

“Well, he usually is pretending to adjust the buckle upon his shoe or even to have fallen asleep in a corner, but I am quite certain he was attempting to overhear the conversations of those close to him.”

It seemed absurd.

Why would a lord of the realm behave in such a disreputable manner? (Jane conveniently forgot her own recent role as blatant eavesdropper.) Surely Anna must be mistaken.

Then she abruptly stiffened, a sense of dread clutching her stomach.

“Good heavens,” she breathed.

With obvious reluctance Anna turned to regard her with a questioning gaze. “What is it?”

“Lord Bidwell was standing with Mr. Caulfield when I approached him. I was so nervous I paid him little heed.”

“He manages very well to fade into obscurity when he wishes.”

“Yes.” Jane pressed her hands to her stomach. “And now he returns to the ballroom with Mr. Caulfield.”

It took only a moment for Anna to follow her fearful reasoning. “You believe he might have been listening to your conversation?”

“It is possible.” Jane gritted her teeth as she considered the horrid implications. “Blast it all. What if he tattles of my ridiculous scheme? I shall be utterly ruined.”

Anna gave a slow shake of her head, her brow furrowed. “I think it far more likely that he will attempt to blackmail you. He is notoriously without a feather to fly with.”

Jane gave a choked cough, not at all enamored at the notion of being held a virtual hostage by the nasty little rogue.

“Thank you, Anna, that is most reassuring.”

As if realizing her words had hardly been a comfort, Anna abruptly reached out to pat Jane’s arm in a comforting motion.

“Do not fear, Jane. I shall deal with Lord Bidwell.”

“Really? And how will you accomplish such a feat?”

Anna took a moment to consider her various options before a slow, decidedly smug smile curved her lips.

“Clearly we shall have to be more clever than he is.”

“Pardon me?”

“Do not concern yourself, Jane. I shall devise some scheme of keeping that inquisitive nose out of your business.” Anna’s sweet features abruptly hardened with resolution. Her eyes, however, shimmered with a strange glow. “I have always longed to pit my wits against another. This will be the perfect opportunity.”

Jane was quite certain that she had never seen her friend quite so animated before.

“I think you must be deranged.”

Anna gave a rueful chuckle. “No, just so wretchedly bored that I would willingly roll dice with the devil to relieve my tedium.”

Against her will Jane’s gaze turned to regard the golden-haired, black-eyed Hellion.

A shiver raced over her skin.

A premonition?

Or simple feminine lust?

Impossible to say.

“I believe that dicing with the devil is precisely what we are about to do.”

 

 

Several hours later Hellion left the smoky card room and came to a sudden halt.

Across the thinning crowd he could see the slender form of Miss Middleton sitting in neglected isolation. There was nothing in her serene composure to indicate she was in anyway miserable, not unless one studied the manner in which she tightly grasped her fan. Hellion, however, possessed the oddest sensation—he could physically feel her smoldering frustration.

A frustration that only deepened as a group of dandies swept past her seated form, never even noting her presence.

Hell’s teeth. On how many occasions had he passed her by with the same blithe arrogance? Perhaps two or three dozen occasions? His lips thinned as his heart was struck by a pang of guilt.

What was the matter with him?

He never took note of eligible maidens.

Oh, to be sure he occasionally asked one to dance or escorted her down to supper. He knew his duty to his hostess. But never could one claim he had sought her hand more than once, nor that he had made any indication he desired more than a passing acquaintance.

Still, he could not utterly deny a sense of discomfort at the sight of Miss Middleton forlornly watching the dancers glide across the floor.

Bloody hell. She was obviously worth a dozen of the giggling, prancing chits upon the dance floor. And to a gentleman who appreciated genuine warmth to shallow beauty, far more desirable.

His brooding gaze swept over the delicate profile, lingering upon the satin mouth before lowering to more closely survey the slender form. She would not do for a man who enjoyed the more lush curves, but his practiced imagination could easily judge just how perfectly the delicate breasts would fit into his hands.

“Ah, Hellion, I hope lady luck has been kind with you this evening?” Biddles drawled, appearing at his side with that unnerving silence.

Hellion swiftly smoothed his features, not about to reveal his uncharacteristic interest in an innocent chit.

“She was fickle as ever,” he retorted. In truth he had won more than he had lost, but the difference would not have fed a mouse.

“A true lady,” Biddles retorted with a faint smile.

Hellion shrugged. “I thought you had escaped to the comfort of your mistress.”

A lacy handkerchief appeared in the thin fingers as Biddles dabbed at his nose. “A charming notion. Unfortunately I had to offer Barbette her
conge
.”

“Indeed?”

“It was inevitable, I fear. She had decided to end her liaison with the French ambassador, you see.”

“Gads, surely that is good news?”

“Good?” Biddles regarded him with chiding astonishment. Rather as if he were a dim-witted child. “What possible use can she be without providing the delectable means of knowing when the ambassador is properly occupied so that I can read his correspondence in peace?”

Hellion was shocked in spite of himself. “Good Lord, she tells you when she is to have a tryst with the man so that you can slip into his house and read his private papers?”

Biddles gave a bland smile. “It has been a most profitable arrangement.”

Hellion could only admire his audacity. “Well, I suppose it is a pity that it has come to an end, but surely the woman possessed other attractions?”

“The usual.” Biddles gave a negligent shrug. “I very much fear that I have reached the advanced age where I desire more than a body paid to be willing.”

An echo of restless dissatisfaction threatened to race through Hellion. Dissatisfaction he was swift to smother.

No, damn it all. He enjoyed his beautiful courtesans. What gentleman of sense would not? They were beautiful, well trained in the arts of seduction, and best of all wise enough not to badger a gentleman when he was in need of peace.

If perhaps he discovered himself biting his tongue at their shallow chatter, or wishing that he could discover one mistress that he desired to share more with than a swift coupling, it was simply a reflection of his current troubles.

It had nothing at all to do with loneliness. Or the sense that he was constantly searching for something just beyond his reach.

“If you say,” he forced himself to mutter in what he hoped were careless tones.

Perhaps not careless enough, as Biddles regarded him in a knowing manner. “You will discover soon enough.”

Hellion narrowed his gaze in a silent warning. This was not a subject he was willing to discuss. “That I very much doubt, my good friend. So, you had no other delights to tempt you on this fine evening?”

The twinkle returned to the pale eyes. “Actually I had several, but I was rather rudely coerced into discovering information on Miss Middleton, if you will recall.”

Hellion gave a startled lift of his brows. Not even he had expected such quick results. “You cannot have succeeded so swiftly?”

“Surely you did not doubt my skills?”

“Skills? You must be a sorcerer to have conjured information with such speed.”

Biddles offered him an elaborate bow, his lace handkerchief fluttering in his fingers. “My talents are boundless, my good sir.”

“They must be. What did you discover?”

“To begin with, I have firmly ensured that Miss Middleton is indeed a considerable heiress.”

Hellion was not unduly surprised. A claim of fortune was all too easy to disprove. The fact his own straightened circumstances were not yet common knowledge was simply because no one had made the effort to discover the truth.

He winced at the horrid thought.

“How considerable?” he demanded.

“Rumors claim one hundred thousand pounds.”

His heart nearly stopped. “Good Lord.”

“There is also a tidy estate in Surrey that is unencumbered.”

“An heiress, indeed,” Hellion breathed.

It was a fortune far greater than even the one he had expected as the Earl of Falsdale. Far greater. It seemed impossible to believe that some young buck had not yet swept her off her feet. Could they all be so shallow?

Biddles gently cleared his throat, bringing an end to Hellion’s brief distraction.

“As far as scandals I can discover none. To be honest, few others have paid enough heed to her arrival to spread any gossip.”

“A typical wallflower,” he said dryly.

“Yes.”

“Have you encountered any of her friends?”

Biddles gave a regretful shake of his head. “She appears to have only one, a Miss Halifax, and she disappeared before I could approach her.”

“A pity.”

“I shall speak with her before the week is out.”

Hellion folded his arms over his chest as he turned his head to regard the solitary female form in the corner.

“Then all that remains is her dark secret,” he murmured.

“I do not perform miracles, Hellion,” Biddles protested. “Such information will take time to acquire.”

“Not too much time,” Hellion retorted in low tones.

“Then you are going to accept her proposition?”

A tingle that might have been anticipation raced through his body. He was uncertain when he had made his decision. Or even precisely why he was about to agree to the audacious proposal. All that he did know was that he could not turn his back upon Miss Middleton’s plight.

A rather worrisome realization.

“How could I possibly refuse?” he muttered, his gaze remaining firmly fixed upon the woman who had managed to do what no other had ever done before.

Capture his jaded interest.

From the diary of Miss Jane Middleton, April 25th, 1814:

The note arrived shortly after breakfast.

After devoting three days to convincing herself that it was decidedly best that Hellion had chosen to forget her proposition as the ravings of a lunatic, Jane discovered her heart halting in shock.

The note promised nothing more than that he would call upon her at three o’clock. Jane, however, was certain that he would not have chosen to actually seek her out unless he was considering her wild scheme.

It was a knowledge that sent her heart galloping and her palms perspiring.

She should send a message informing him that she had changed her mind. She should at the very least send the excuse that she was ill and unable to see him. That would give her the opportunity to ascertain she was not suffering some horrid brain fever that was causing her to act the buffoon.

But on each occasion she determined to put the gentleman off, she discovered herself wavering.

What did it matter that her decision to offer the daring proposition had been more an impulsive urge than a well-calculated scheme? Or that it had been utterly unlike her to take such a risk without considering all the numerous implications?

Did she have any option?

There was no avoiding the unpleasant truth she was failing miserably at her attempt to discover a suitable husband. Did it make more sense to devote the remainder of the season in dark corners, hoping some gentleman tripped over her feet or became so desperate he would force himself to take a wife he neither admired nor respected?

The thought sent icy shivers through her body.

She had made a promise. One that she could not abandon.

Sucking in a deep breath she allowed the memory of her father’s broken frame as he was carried to the house form in her mind. He had been barely clinging to life, and yet his thoughts had been solely upon her. Grasping her hand he had choked out his fear at leaving her on her own. Tugging her close, he had whispered in her ear.

“My sweet child, for all my success and achievements, my greatest happiness has always come from having a wife who was my true partner and a daughter whom I love with all my heart. I have taught you all the skills to command your inheritance, but not to gain contentment. Fortune is meaningless. A family is the true treasure. Please, Jane, promise me that you will seek a husband who can be your companion. A man to share your laughter and tears. A man who can give you the children you deserve. I cannot bear to think of you alone. I cannot bear it . . .”

What could she have done but accept the pledge? She would have promised anything to ease his desperate fear.

Now she could only hope that there was one gentleman in all of London who could offer her at least a measure of friendship.

Seeking to ease her tangled nerves, Jane closeted herself in her large library. There was nothing more soothing than a few hours devoted to the vast investments she controlled.

What could be better than watching the progress of a once-abandoned coal mine as it was transformed into a profitable success? Or pouring over the information she was gathering upon a posting inn she was considering having built?

It was fascinating, exciting, and her one true passion in life. Let other maidens worry over the cut of their gown or the number of gentlemen who paid them respect. She would always prefer the blood-tingling pleasure of pitting her wits against fickle profit.

She was still busily scratching out a list of questions she intended to hand over to her business partner, Mr. Samuels, when the door to the study was pushed open.

Presuming that it was a servant to warn her Mr. Caulfield had arrived, or even her distant cousin, Mrs. Shelling, whom she had brought to London as her companion, Jane did not bother to glance up for a long moment.

It was only when a rash of prickles raced over her skin and the faintest hint of male cologne tantalized her nose that she abruptly lifted her head to discover Hellion leaning negligently against the doorjamb.

The quill dropped from her fingers as she rose awkwardly to her feet.

She had depended upon a few moments to compose herself after he had been announced, although she was not quite certain how she intended to accomplish such a feat.

Perhaps several large shots of brandy.

Or barricading herself in her chambers.

Now, however, she could do no more than force a stiff smile to her face and hope she did not appear as ruffled and ill at ease as she felt.

“Mr. Caulfield.”

Thrusting himself away from the door he offered her a slight bow. “Good day, Miss Middleton. I trust you received my note?”

“Yes, yes of course. I commanded Reeves to have you shown to the front parlor.”

His lips twitched as he strolled toward the large desk. “Ah, you must be referring to the starchy butler who greeted me at the door. In his defense he did attempt to lead me to the parlor, but I assured him that you would prefer that I join you here.”

Attired in a charcoal coat and breeches and white waistcoat he appeared dangerously appealing. The early afternoon sunlight slanted through the window to shimmer in his golden hair and crisply outlined the elegant perfection of his features. And those eyes . . . they smoldered with a wicked temptation that could have made a saint swoon.

Her heart momentarily faltered. This was madness. What did she know of such worldly gentlemen? What did she know of any gentlemen?

A sudden impression of a hare blatantly toying with a smiling fox rose to her mind only to be swiftly banished.

No. She was no hare. And she had no need for intimate knowledge of gentlemen. This was a business arrangement. Nothing more. And she knew all there was to know about business.

“I see.”

He halted beside the desk, then audaciously perched his elegant form upon the corner. A decidedly worrisome smile curved his lips.

“I realize it is rather unconventional to meet you without a proper chaperone but I presumed that you would prefer our conversation to be conducted in privacy. There is bound to be a measure of. . . intimacy in our discussion.”

His charm was a potent, nearly tangible force. Tangible enough to send a warm flutter of awareness sweeping through her stomach.

Jane briefly wondered if it was so well rehearsed that he used it without thought or if there was a deliberate reason for his effort. Whichever it was she would be a fool to ever underestimate its power.

“You need not have concerned yourself with Sophia,” she retorted in brisk tones. “She is quite incapable of hearing a word unless it is shouted directly in her ear.”

“Ah.” He lifted his shoulder in a careless fashion. “Still there is always the risk that we would be interrupted by one of your callers. I prefer to have you to myself.”

She barely choked back a wry laugh. The only caller she had received since her arrival in London was Anna, and she had specifically warned the young woman that she would be occupied with Hellion on this afternoon. There was a greater opportunity that the French would invade than that her door knocker would be availed upon.

“A most unlikely occurrence, but I suppose we can be as comfortable here as anywhere. Would you care for refreshments?”

“No, I thank you.” He watched as she gingerly perched upon the edge of her leather chair, then, with a deliberate care, he glanced about the library. His brows rose slightly at the distinct masculine atmosphere of the leather furnishings and shelves that were filled from ceiling to floor with research books. The small tables upon the Oriental carpet were nearly hidden beneath the numerous newspapers and quarterly magazines that she scoured daily. On the window seat she had a pile of architectural drawings for her newest posting inn scheme. All in all it was a room that was well used and not at all for fashionable pursuits. “A handsome room, but an unlikely place to find a young woman on such a lovely afternoon.”

Jane met the curious gaze squarely. She had determined when coming to London that she would not hide or apologize for her peculiar habits.

“I spend every day in this room,” she stated in firm tones.

The dark gaze returned to her rather defensive countenance. “Every day?”

“My father left me a number of investments upon his death. It takes a great deal of effort to oversee them.”

There was a momentary pause as he continued to study her with a piercing intensity. “You are in control of your father’s inheritance?”

She smiled wryly at his barely hidden astonishment. At least he had not tumbled off the desk or recoiled in horror. After all, a woman who claimed a head for business was a decided oddity. Rather like a dancing bear.

“Of course I am. I assure you my father properly trained me to take over his position, although neither of us could have predicted I would need his training at such a young age.”

“It is hardly the usual occupation of most young ladies,” he murmured.

“So I have been told.” She could not halt the faint tartness in her tone. “It is yet another reason I am considered a wallflower.”

Rather surprisingly the expression upon the handsome features was more pensive than outraged. As if he found her occupation a mere curiosity.

“And yet you continue your work rather than handing it over to your man of business?”

She gave a startled blink at his abrupt question. It was not at all what she had expected. “I would never trust another with my fortune. Besides, I find such work a pleasure, not a burden. I far prefer an afternoon with my accounts than purchasing yet another gown I do not need.”

“Strange, indeed.”

Her lips abruptly thinned. He was not nearly so charming as she had thought. “I trust you did not come here simply to insult me?”

“Forgive me. I did not mean to be insulting. It is simply that I am far more accustomed to those who prefer to idle their days upon pleasure.”

“Those such as you?” she demanded sharply.

He abruptly froze, as if she had unwittingly scored a hit. His lips twisted as he gave a mocking nod of his head.

“Such as me.”

Feeling a ridiculous prick of guilt at having seemingly touched a wound, she squared her shoulders. This was business. It was time she began regarding it as such.

“Perhaps we should turn our attention to the reason for your visit?”

“By all means.” That heart-melting smile returned, although with an effort. “As you no doubt have surmised, I have decided to accept your proposition.”

It was precisely what she had surmised. And what she had prepared herself for the entire day. So why was her breath abruptly caught in her throat and her heart flopping like a fish out of water?

“I see.”

His eyes narrowed at her faint words. “Unless you have changed your mind?”

“No, no. Of course not.”

“Good.”

So this was it. She regarded him with a bemused gaze, unable to decide if she were thrilled or horrified by the realization that her scandalous proposition was being accepted.

Perhaps she was both.

“Yes, well I suppose you will desire your money. Would you prefer a bank draft taken to your home? Or I could have it delivered to your man of business if . . .”

“We can discuss such details later,” he interrupted without warning, a faint hint of displeasure revealing his reluctance to consider the fact that he was taking money from a woman. Jane tucked the information in the back of her methodical mind. She would have to take care not to injure his male pride.

“Of course,” she smoothly agreed.

His gaze slowly roamed over her countenance. “First I wish to discuss our upcoming charade. It is important that we both understand what to expect of one another. I suppose you wish to begin our flirtation at once?”

“I . . . yes.” She busied her less-than-steady hands by searching for the piece of parchment she had been scribbling upon earlier. This was business, she silently reminded herself. Just business. And a good thing it was, a voice in the depths of her mind mocked back. She could not survive a real flirtation. Not with this dangerous man. “The sooner the better. In fact, I have already made a list.”

“I beg your pardon? Did you say a list?”

“I fear it is a habit of mine. It is a very good means of keeping things tidy in my mind.”

“I see.” He made no effort to reach for the paper in her hands. Instead that wicked black gaze remained firmly upon her face. “And what is upon this list?”

“I have noted down the various invitations that I have received. As you might have suspected, my father’s connection to the shop keeps me from being among the more exclusive entertainments, but there are still several to choose from. This way you will know where you may find me any given night.”