Some Like It Wicked (Hellion's Den) (8 page)

Her own patience came to an abrupt end. Her list was not ridiculous. Blast it all, she was attempting to be sensible. Not an easy task when he was standing there looking like a fallen angel and making her body shiver with unruly awareness.

“Unlike you, I am not in London to fribble away my days,” she retorted in sharp tones. “I have only a few weeks until the end of the Season. By then I intend to have a husband.”

His nose flared with annoyance. “And you think to pick one randomly off a list as if you were choosing a lottery ticket? It is absurd.”

Jane flinched at his harsh accusation. Did he think she would not have preferred a normal courtship? That she had not dreamed of a gentleman tumbling deeply into love with her and sweeping her off her feet?

Did he not think she was utterly embarrassed to know that she could never, ever attract a gentleman without dangling her fortune beneath his nose?

“What would you have me do?” she demanded. “Return to Surrey and wed a local farmer? Or perhaps you believe a merchant more suitable for a maiden who smells of the shop?”

His breath caught then, and slowly his expression softened. With a rueful smile he reached out to gently tuck a stray curl behind her ear.

“Of course I do not think such a thing.”

“Then . . .”

“Jane, I did not come here to argue,” he interrupted in low tones.

She regarded him warily. “Then why did you come?”

“I thought we should be seen together in the park. It will be expected.”

It would be expected, of course. The knowledge did not, however, soothe the prickly unease that made her feel raw and on edge.

What was it about this gentleman? One moment he had stirred her passions to a fever pitch and the next he had her snapping like a fishwife.

It was all utterly unlike her calm, sensible nature.

“Actually, I fear that . . .”

His hand shifted to gently cup her chin, and he was once again standing far too close for comfort.

“Jane, do not sulk. I apologize if I wounded you. Bring your damnable list and we will discuss your prospective husbands if you desire.”

She wisely stepped away from the enchanting feel of his fingers against her skin. She had already fallen for his role of practiced seducer once today.

Once was quite enough.

“Please do not patronize me, Mr. Caulfield.”

“I am not patronizing you. And I did apologize. Rather nicely, I thought,” he retorted with a boyish grin.

“And do not think to sway me with your charm.”

He did not appear at all put out by her warning. Indeed, a decidedly devilish amusement returned to the dark eyes as he studied her stubborn expression.

“No? Shall I beg?” He caught her hand before she could react and lifted it to press a delicate kiss in the center of her palm. “Please, my dear, will you accompany me for a turn in the park? I pledge to be upon my best behavior.”

Her heart flopped in her chest. Oh, he was good. He was very, very good.

“I . . . I do not believe your best behavior is anything to boast of,” she weakly chided.

“Do not be cruel, my dear,” he coaxed with that irresistible charm. “Let us enjoy the lovely day.”

Jane momentarily wavered. Say no, a warning voice whispered in the back of her mind. Hellion was dangerous enough when they were safely surrounded by society. To spend the day in the relative privacy of his carriage did not bode well for her already strained nerves.

Especially not after that kiss, which had left her breathless and nearly panting with need.

But even as the knowledge flared through her mind, she was dismissing it as the reaction of a coward.

She had known Hellion was a practiced rake when she hired him. And that their charade would involve a certain level of intimacy between the two of them. She had even logically acknowledged that she would be as vulnerable as any other foolish woman to his potent sensuality.

Nothing had changed.

She was still in want of a husband. And her only hope was allowing this gentleman to lure potential suitors to her side.

Sucking in a steadying breath, she gave an abrupt nod of her head. “I must change.”

Satisfaction flashed in the dark eyes as he brushed careless fingers over her cheek.

“Wear your new carriage gown. It brings out the blue in your eyes.”

 

 

Hellion was hard.

Hard and aching.

It was an uncommon sensation for London’s most notorious rake.

Tooling his matched grays through the crowded park, he shifted uncomfortably on the leather seat of his high-perch phaeton. At his side Jane remained blithely indifferent to his pain as she gazed in interest on the numerous gentlemen that bowed and smiled in her direction.

Bloody hell.

He had discovered at an early age to direct his burgeoning lust toward those women who were readily available. He could see nothing romantic in torturing himself with desire for an innocent, respectable woman who would deny him the pleasure he ached to fulfill. It was far better to have a ready relief for his passionate nature.

A wise strategy, he wryly conceded, except for the fact that he had not taken into account the managing, shrewish Miss Middleton.

It was, of course, absurd.

There was nothing particularly desirable about the small, gamine-faced chit. Quite the opposite, in fact. She was too skinny, her features were too plain, and her tongue sharp enough to flay a gentleman at a hundred paces.

She was not at all his style. Even if she hadn’t been an innocent.

But absurd or not, he had discovered almost from the very first a sharp, undeniable urge to bed this woman.

What was it? Against his will his gaze lingered upon the elfin countenance next to him.

Perhaps it was that vivid spirit that crackled about her. Or the hint of tender kindness in the soft curve of her lips. Certainly he had never noted such kindness in other women of his acquaintance. Or simply that warm, enticing scent of spring that enfolded him whenever she was near.

Or maybe it was the knowledge that she was the complete opposite of him. Where he was selfish she was generous, where he was passionate she was coolly driven, where he was confident she was oddly vulnerable.

Was it not said that opposites were irresistibly drawn to one another?

Whatever the cause it was making him damnably uncomfortable, he acknowledged grimly. And it was not helping to ponder the odd fascination that was shimmering through his body.

With an effort he squashed the urge to drive to some remote location and complete what he had started earlier. He had been a fool to kiss her. A fool to press her so close that he could still feel her soft form brushing his aching thighs. A fool to urge her to drive him mad by teasing him with that soft mouth.

Squaring his shoulders he attempted to conjure his usual negligent charm. It would never do to appear twisted into knots over a mere dab of a maiden.

“You see, my dear, is this not preferable to spending the afternoon in that stuffy library of yours?” he demanded in light tones.

She slowly turned to regard him with a lift of her brows. “My library is not at all stuffy. It is very lovely and remarkably spacious for a London town house. It was, in fact, the reason I chose that particular location.”

A flare of amusement raced through him at her staunch retort. Society was right for once. She was an Original.

“Is it so difficult to admit that it is a fine day for a drive?”

She gave a shrug. “I only came because you promised to help with my list.”

Hellion’s amusement died a swift death.

Damn it all, he did not desire to speak of her future husband. Not when his body still ached with need.

“Are you always so persistent?” he demanded.

She met his dark gaze squarely. “I have had need to be.”

He stilled. It was true. She had not only lost her parents at far too young an age but she had been burdened with the vast responsibility of her father’s business. Add to that the necessity of charging straight into the teeth of convention; she was bound to be obstinate.

That did not, however, ease his odd reluctance to discuss the vast crowd of unworthy fribbles who had been flocking about her the past week.

“Very well. Let us turn our attention to your prospective suitors. Who is first upon this list?”

With those brisk movements she pulled her list from the reticule that she had set upon the seat.

“The first is Mr. Steen,” she said brightly.

Hellion shuddered in revulsion at the thought of the pasty-faced twit. “Timid Thomas? Good heavens, no.”

Her brows pleated at his appalled tones. “Why do you call him that?”

“Because he is a weak-willed fool who is utterly terrified of his own mother.”

“Perhaps he is merely shy.”

He gave a dismissive snort as he angled his restless pair toward a less crowded area of the park.

“He fainted during the fireworks at Vauxhall and fled White’s screaming in terror when Lord Dunn jokingly claimed there was a rat beneath his chair. Believe me, if you were ridiculous enough to tie yourself to such a fool you would soon find yourself lodged in Newgate for throttling him.”

“Very well,” she grudgingly conceded. “What of Lord Breckmore?”

“A drunkard,” he swiftly condemned.

Her eyes widened in dismay. “You are certain?”

Hellion briefly hesitated. In truth he had seen the nobleman foxed on only a few occasions. Hardly enough to brand him as a raving drunk. Still, it was surely better to err on the side of caution? This woman would be at the mercy of her husband. She should be utterly confident he was respectable and beyond reproach.

“Yes,” he readily lied.

Her frown deepened as she glanced at her list. “Mr. DeVille?”

“A gambler,” he once again skirted near the truth. He had, after all, once seen the man in a disreputable gambling den. “He would soon have your fortune laid to waste.”

“Mr. Patrick?”

Hellion gave a choked cough. “No.”

“Why?”

“Let us just say that he possesses unsavory habits.”

“Unsavory?”

“Habits no young woman should be exposed to.”

“Oh.” The faintest hint of color touched her cheeks. “What of Mr. Tatham? He seemed quite pleasant.”

His hands tightened upon the reins. How the devil did Tat’s name get on her blasted list? The handsome reprobate was one of the worst rogues in London. Gads, he would have Jane in his bed before she could blink. Clearly he would have to have a word with the scoundrel. A word that would ensure the gentleman understood that his elegant countenance stood in risk of certain damage if he so much as laid a hand upon Miss Middleton.

Feeling her puzzled gaze upon his tight profile, Hellion forced himself to relax. He would deal with Tat. Soon.

“Oh, very pleasant,” he drawled.

“Then you approve of him?”

“Why would I not?” He offered her a wry smile. “But I thought you specifically claimed that you had no interest in a rake?”

“He is a rake?”

“Quite an accomplished rake.”

She heaved an annoyed sigh, her gaze narrowing in suspicion. “And I suppose there is something utterly wrong with Mr. Russell?”

Hellion shrugged. “He does not bathe with any frequency and it is rumored that he cheats at cards.”

There was a stiff pause before she abruptly flounced back in her seat, the list crumpled in her fingers.

“You, sir, are impossible.”

Well away from the rest of the traffic Hellion slowed the carriage to a mere crawl as he turned to regard the woman at his side.

“What?”

“I would think you would be anxious for me to discover a suitable husband. After all, the sooner I have a suitor the sooner you will be finished with this charade.”

“You would prefer that I lie and allow you to wed a gentleman entirely unsuitable?” he demanded, not giving himself the opportunity to consider her accusation.

Of course he was anxious to bring an end to their charade. He had far better things to do with his time than to attend dull
soirées
and dance attendance upon an innocent woman. Frivolous, delightful things that would certainly not leave him aching with unfulfilled need at the end of the day.

Still, he was not about to hand her over to the first bounder who paid her attention.

She deserved better than that.

“Of course not.” Her expression remained suspicious. “But . . .”

“Yes?” he prompted.

“I cannot believe all these gentlemen are unsuitable.”

Perhaps not unsuitable, he silently conceded, but certainly intolerable.

“I fear the search goes on,” he retorted with a smile.

Her gaze narrowed. “So it seems.”

“There is still ample time, my dear.” His gaze aimlessly strayed over her small countenance framed by a simple bonnet. He discovered himself lingering upon the darkly fringed eyes that shimmered with a brilliant intelligence, and then slowly slipping down to the tiny rosebud of a mouth. His determination abruptly hardened. No. He would not hand her over to any gentleman who could not appreciate her rare gifts. “You would not wish to choose hastily and spend the rest of your life regretting your decision. Eventually you will find a decent gentleman. Until then our flirtation will simply have to continue. Now tell me, what delightful pastime do we have in store for this evening?”

From the diary of Miss Jane Middleton, May 14th, 1814:

The supper room was swarming with guests.

Pausing at the door Jane grimaced, not at all anxious to do battle with the elegant throng. Not without stouter armor than her satin ball gown and slippers. More than once since arriving in London she had nearly been trampled when she braved such a mob.

She needn’t have worried, however. Not with Hellion at her side.

With an annoying lack of effort he blazed a path through the crowd, his long strides never slowing as he arrogantly expected those before him to melt aside. To add insult to injury he had only to lift one golden brow to have a table procured so that he could gently set her in a hastily retrieved padded seat.

A wry smile twisted her lips as he casually moved to gather a plate and fill it with the food from the long table. She could only imagine how wonderful it must be to feel such confidence within herself. To be able to sweep through a room with such utter assurance.

Then, noticing that her gaze was not the only one following the magnificent male form, Jane determinedly wrenched her attention to the hands folded neatly in her lap. She was not at this tedious ball to lust after Hellion, she sternly chided herself.

A pastime that was becoming all too frequent.

She was here to discover a husband. And despite Hellion’s blighting condemnation of her various suitors, that was precisely what she was going to do.

Ignoring the decided flare of unease that raced through her heart, Jane managed a composed smile as Hellion took his seat at her side and placed his bounty before her.

At first she was far too busy battling the ever-present awareness of his warm, male scent to take note of the food placed before her. Then with a hint of surprise she lifted her head to meet the shimmering black gaze.

“Champagne, oysters, asparagus, and strawberries? A rather odd combination.”

Ignoring all proper manners, Hellion leaned upon the table, his expression one of devilish amusement.

“The selection will not be lost upon those who are avidly keeping track of our flirtation.”

Grasping the champagne she lifted it to her lips. Anything to distract her from the tempting proximity of his mouth. A mouth that could wreak havoc in the staunchest spinster’s heart.

“Why would anyone possibly be interested in what food you chose for me?”

“Because they are all well-known aphrodisiacs.”

Jane promptly choked upon the expensive wine. “Sir, I have warned you that I will not be taken for a trollop.”

He chuckled softly, his finger reaching out to toy with a curl that brushed her temple.

“Sweet Jane. If you were indeed a trollop I would not be so desperate as to stuff you with aphrodisiacs.” His lips twisted in a rueful smile at her shocked expression. “Do not fear, society will merely presume that I grow desperate to have you, not that you are willing to share your favors. After all, it is not often that a notorious rake is led by his nose by an innocent maiden.”

Setting aside her champagne, Jane regarded him with a faint frown. Despite his light tone and teasing manner, she sensed an edge to his words.

“Does that trouble you?”

“To be led by the nose?”

“Of course not. We both know such an absurdity is impossible.” She steadily met his gaze, attempting to ignore the slender fingers that were now lightly brushing her cheek. Such a casual caress had no right to make her heart flutter and her stomach clench with a pleasurable excitement. “I meant does it trouble you to have society believe you are a fortune hunter?”

He gave an indifferent lift of his shoulder. “I rarely trouble myself with gossip.”

Jane grimaced. “It must be pleasant to remain so impervious.”

“Pleasant?” The dark eyes lost a measure of their warmth. “It was more a matter of necessity. When one is born into scandal there is little choice but to learn to turn a deaf ear to the rattles.”

“Born into scandal?” she quizzed in confusion.

“Do not tell me that no one has anxiously filled you in upon my sordid family connections?”

“I know that you are the nephew of an earl.”

“Ah yes, my stiff-rumped, utterly proper uncle.” There was a sardonic bite in his voice that startled Jane. “Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for me, my father was not nearly so prim. As the younger son he was always allowed to run wild. He gambled and whored and traveled the world. It was not, however, until he possessed the audacity to wed a French actress that he was actually banned from his family and society. We lived in blissful isolation until my parents were killed in a fire when I was just ten.”

Instinctively Jane reached out to touch his arm. “Oh Hellion, I am so sorry. To lose your parents is always difficult.”

“Yes.”

“And to lose both together at such a young age . . .” Her voice became husky with remembered pain. “Your loneliness must have been near unbearable.”

The handsome features hardened at her sympathy, visibly retreating behind a mask of aloof indifference. “It did not improve matters to be taken to my uncle, who never missed an opportunity to remind me that I was the offspring of a hedonistic, ill-bred mother and that I was destined to bring shame to the family’s honorable name.”

Her breath caught. Dear heavens, how he must have suffered. Not only to lose his parents at such a young age, but to be so heartlessly condemned by his own uncle. It was little wonder that he possessed such a notorious reputation, she sadly acknowledged. He simply lived up to the expectations that had been laid upon him when he was but a child.

“What a horrid man,” she breathed.

“Fairly horrid, yes.” His fingers abruptly dropped from her cheek as he grimly attempted to conceal the wounds that had clearly never healed. “Of course, I managed to endure his disdain with the knowledge that I would have the final revenge. I was, after all, his only male relative and destined to become the next Earl of Falsdale.”

That inner restlessness that she had noted during their first encounter shimmered about his taut form. Suddenly she realized that his inner anger was not entirely due to the abrupt loss of his inheritance. He had also lost his one genuine form of retribution toward the man who had treated him with such callous disdain.

“Ah.”

Watching the comprehension sweep over her expressive countenance, he gave a mocking dip of his head.

“Precisely. He quite successfully undercut me when he wed a young maiden half his age and capable of producing an heir. He not only stole my revenge, but managed to land me in a mountain of debt I had no hope of repaying.”

An unexpected tenderness filled her heart as she regarded the handsome countenance. A tenderness that was far more dangerous than the rampant lust that he always inspired.

She could not afford to care that this gentleman had been so deeply betrayed when he was a youth. Or that he possessed no one in the world who truly loved him. Or that he had lost the driving force of his existence.

Soon he would walk out of her life without once looking back.

She could not allow him to take her heart when he left.

“But now luckily you can repay them,” she said in determinedly light tones, rising to her feet. “And I must continue my search for a husband. Shall we return to the ballroom?”

 

 

Anna Halifax felt her heart racing in a peculiar fashion as she studied the narrow, unassuming house. There was nothing to indicate the tidy home was out of the ordinary. Like the other homes on the modest block it was a plain brick structure with no attempt at pretensions and a small, tidy garden in the back.

The only thing unusual was the fact that she had recently tracked Lord Bidwell from the elegant streets of Mayfair to this modest residence.

Frowning at the heavy shutters that prevented even the smallest glimpse within the house, Anna debated her options.

It had been pure impulse that had prompted her to follow the sly gentleman when he had covertly slipped from Lady Standwell’s ball. Of course he had been behaving suspiciously the entire evening, she had conceded. First he had relentlessly shadowed Jane as she struggled not to be overcome by her latest bevy of admirers, and then he had secluded Hellion for a long, private conversation in the corner of the room. Only moments later he had warily glanced about before disappearing toward the back of the large house.

Anna had been in swift pursuit.

She did not know what the devious gentleman was up to, but she did not doubt for a moment that it was no good.

And if it was somehow connected to her friend then she was determined to do whatever was necessary to put an end to his plot.

Of course, she had not bothered to consider what she would do once she managed to follow Lord Bidwell. It had been difficult enough to keep him in sight as he had darted down the darkened streets without alerting him to her presence.

It was only now that she realized she had no specific plan in mind.

Did she return to the ball and alert Jane that the gentleman had been lurking about her? Or did she steady her sudden bout of nerves and dare to discover precisely what Lord Bidwell was about?

The intelligent choice was of course to return to the ball. What did she know of sneaking about like a thief? Or spying upon a gentleman, no matter how suspicious he might be?

She was more likely to stumble straight into disaster than to discover Lord Bidwell’s dark secrets.

But the intelligent choice was far too staid and dull for Anna’s current mood. Had she not been determined to step out of her tedious routine, just as Jane had done?

Now that the opportunity had arrived she could not simply turn away in fear. Adventure beckoned, and if she did not accept it she would spend the rest of the night cursing her cowardice.

Squaring her shoulders Anna forced her damp, reluctant feet to move toward the narrow door. She would not think of the scandal if she were caught sneaking into a gentleman’s home. Or even the greater peril of walking into a secret meeting between Lord Bidwell and his shady acquaintances.

Instead she firmly concentrated on keeping her full ivory silk gown from tripping her upon her nose. A worthy task and one that kept her fully occupied as she quietly slipped into the house and carefully made her way down a short, dark hall.

She paused briefly as the hall ended at a closed door. This was it. This was the moment she would discover if she were indeed the daring, courageous woman of her dreams.

Allowing herself only one deep breath she reached out and pushed open the door.

At first she could see nothing in the darkness. She sensed a larger chamber ahead of her, but it was shrouded in heavy shadows.

She took one hesitant step forward, then another. Where the devil was Lord Bidwell? She was certain he had entered only moments ahead of her.

Then there was a faint scratch that echoed in the darkness, and without warning a candle flared to life. Anna froze in shock as she turned to discover Lord Bidwell standing beside a marble fireplace across the room.

“Ah, at last, my dear,” he drawled with a mocking grin. “I began to fear you would catch a chill standing in that damp garden. Perhaps a brandy will warm you.”

Anna felt her throat close in horror as the gentleman urbanely crossed what appeared to be a sitting room to pour a small shot of amber spirit. Without pausing he turned to walk to her side and pressed the crystal glass into her numb fingers.

“My lord . . . I . . .”

“First finish your brandy,” he interrupted her stumbled words, his lips twitching at her obvious distress. “A fine spirit, if I do say so myself. Smuggled, of course, but what is a poor gentleman to do?”

Desperately she gulped down the smoky spirit, allowing the fiery heat to spread through her chilled body. She had to think. She had to . . . to what?

Her famed wits had deserted her completely.

“This is quite a surprise,” she at last managed to choke out.

A sardonic brow arched. “A surprise?”

“Yes, I . . . I thought you had a home in Mayfair.”

“I do.”

“Oh.” She nervously glanced about the small room. It was furnished in a plain style with heavy mahogany furnishings and crimson wall coverings. There was nothing to indicate that it was a secret den of devious spies or even the lair of a desperate blackmailer. In truth it appeared rather disappointingly ordinary. “Then what is this place?”

He reached out to pluck the glass from her fingers, lingering far too close for comfort.