Something In Red (Fancytales Regency Romance Series) (2 page)

“I await your leisure, my lord,” she said, her tone one of disinterested boredom, but Damien heard the faint catch in her voice.

“The truth is, you
do
feel threatened, Red. Yet, it is not
me
who causes your sense of anxiety. Rather, it is yourself.”

Her scornful laugh was intended to cut him off, Damien knew, but he continued. “Will you admit it? Your eyes widen in wonder, your pulse races with excitement, your fingers itch to push back the wayward lock of hair you see lying temptingly against my temple and perhaps you also yearn to plunge those dainty digits further... to explore.

“Doing so, however, would put your delectable little body into much too close proximity to mine, and you fear being subjected to such overwhelming temptation may prove far too much for your own maidenly curiosity to resist. Already, your lovely breasts rapidly rise and fall beneath the dangerously low cut of your bodice and all you have done is wonder how it would feel did my palms caress you there as you secretly yearn for me to do.”

Her gaze caught and held his own and Damien relaxed back against the seat once more. He nodded, as certain of his assessment as truth as he was his own name. “Aye, Red. I can read, too, and you, my dear, are quite an open book. You've no fear of my possible intent to compromise you because you are much more threatened by your own secret fear that I will not.”

Chapter Three

Embarrassed by his all too accurate assessment, Rhiad fought the urge to fan her heated cheeks. She wanted to tell him he was mistaken, but dishonesty did not come easily to her. Still, it went against her sense of fair play to allow him to sit in smug confidence across the way while she squirmed opposite him in secret shame.

“My, what astute powers of observation you have, my lord.” Sarcasm lacing her every syllable, she continued, “You neglected to mention, however, your own reactions to your discovery of my forbidden desire.”

His eyes narrowed. He shifted in the seat, and Rhiad suppressed her urge to grin. Had he expected an impassioned denial to fall from her quivering lips? Well, well. Perhaps there was something to be salvaged of tonight's debacle after all! Rhiad arched a brow beneath the mask, though she had forgotten he would not be able to see it and therefore not feel the full weight of its intended effect.

“Perhaps you should consider the increased pounding of your own heart, my lord Wolfe. Or the way you, too, are attempting to carefully modulate your somewhat labored breathing, lest I turn skittish and attempt to bolt from a moving carriage, and thus lay the responsibility for my death at your door.”

Rhiad carefully rearranged the loose folds of her cloak, unleashing the full effect of the daring dress beneath it to his penetrating gaze, and then teased, “Do your hands yearn to test the softness of my bosom, my lord? Or mayhap you wonder if the cherry colored bloom upon my lips will taste tart or sweet beneath your own?”

The quick flare of his eyes told her she had surprised him. Rhiad chuckled low. “The game of rake is much played within the ton, my lord, and I have been paired against some of the finest London has to offer.”

“That you managed to escape unscathed, Red, is only testament to the fact none of those rakes were me,” he informed her, but Rhiad only smiled.

“Will you gobble me up like a dainty morsel, Lord Wolfe?” she teased, quite enjoying having turned his game back upon him. “Or shall I dare be the one first to bite?”

“While I must admit the tasting might well be sweet, I fear I must refuse. For now,” he finished, a rueful smile twisting his lips while a subtle warning lay clearly evident in his last words.

Rhiad arched a brow in question, and he tilted his head toward the carriage door. “Our destination, my lady. It seems we have arrived.”

Relief washed through her and she hastily jerked the folds of her cape closed before attempting to rush from the carriage the moment it drew to a halt before her grandmother's door.

Lord Wolfe reached the carriage door before her. His arm blocking her escape, he taunted, “Tsk, tsk, my dear. What will your grandmother's guests think should you manage to fling yourself headfirst from this conveyance and onto the ground before them? Some might dare to surmise you were attempting to flee from your escort this evening, my lady, and your lovely gown would be ruined.”

She turned, pinning him with her most haughty glare. “
You
would have
me
ruined instead. Such is your intent, after all, is it not? So what matter if I fly from your clutches to the safe bosom of my grandmother while you carry out your dastardly plan? One glimpse of the two of us exiting this carriage and the deed will be well and truly accomplished, though in truth, we've done nothing more than talk.”

Tears pricked her eyelids, but she fought them back. Now was no time to show weakness.

“
Your
intent, I presume, is to thwart me, yes? How shall you manage such a feat if you leave now?” He reached for the curtains concealing them from public view and a flick of his glove-encased wrist revealed a line of carriages before them as well as a number of costumed guests milling along the cobblestone walk edging her grandmother's front courtyard.

His dark brow rose mockingly, and Rhiad groaned. She tugged at his arm. “Let me pass, Lord Wolfe.”

He shook his head in refusal, and Rhiad dropped onto the cushioned seat, head back, eyes closed.

“You've nothing to gain from my ruination,” she pointed out. “There have been too many before me, my lord. The debauching of one more innocent will bolster your reputation not a whit.”

“Perhaps not.” He shrugged, nonchalant. “But then...”

He sat back against the squabs once again, head tilted at a studious angle, the barest hint of a question in his gaze. “What say you to a reprieve of sorts, little Red?”

Now he wanted her to
bargain
with him? Rhiad wanted to slap the studied look off his face. She wanted to rap her delicate, glove-encased knuckles upon the ceiling of the carriage and have the driver continue their journey until dawn, so their time together inside the carriage might never end.

She wanted to know if his embrace were as warm as the hint of sultry passion in his gaze, but more than anything, Rhiad wished her grandmother hadn't forced her to attend tonight's masquerade ball. If she had not, Rhiad realized, she would never have found herself sitting across from this frustrating, delightfully intriguing but completely out of her league heartless rogue who taunted and tempted her with naught more than his presence.

“A reprieve?”

He nodded. “Aye. Rather than exit the carriage here in front of the house, as your grandmother's invited guests must do, perhaps we could have the driver go 'round to the back instead?”

Rhiad considered his proposal. If she fled the carriage here, her grandmother's guests would certainly notice and wonder at her reaction, even if Lord Wolfe remained inside. But if they did not join the gathering crowd of carriages in the lane and drove round to the stables instead...
was
it possible to escape the curious stares of her grandmother's guests and certain ruination after all?

She peered at him, considering. What, now, was his game? “Why the sudden change of plan, my lord, for I know you have no heart.”

“Of course,” he said, his tone mocking. Then, without waiting for her capitulation, he thumped his knuckles against the roof of the carriage and called out instructions to the driver before continuing his explanation. “I've only just recalled the story, Red. To remain true, as you so kindly pointed out before, I must first take care of your grandmother.”

Chapter Four

After what seemed like hours, an upstairs maid had finally reported that Red had been received and dutifully tucked into her family's private wing and was even now safely ensconced in a bedroom which he believed the earl and countess kept prepared for her occasional visits here in the country.

Certain Rhiad had made it safely inside without mishap, Damien quietly made his way across the Earl of Ashwood's back lawn, where he then stole through a matched pair of stained glass doors from the terrace into the Countess's private sitting room.

Carefully, he closed the doors behind him, but the barely audible click must have been enough to alert the countess to his presence because she turned immediately to find him lounging against the frame.

“My grand-daughter is safe?”

The lady's solemnly intoned question hung in the semi-silence of the room, as much a demand for positive affirmation as a sincere query. Her eyes held concern, even if her voice did not.

Not if she continues to play bold with the less than honorable members of theton
, Damien thought. But he said, “For the moment.”

Lady Althea Hoode rose, bent to retrieve a small pouch from a drawer at the front of her writing desk, and then, taking the gold and ivory feathered fan from her escritoire with her, she confronted him boldly. “What of Lord Woodhurst?”

“The young lord will, at the very least, be detained this evening, my lady.” He bowed before her, and then rose, a slight grin turning up the corners of his mouth.

“Pressing matters to attend, you understand,” Damien explained. In fact, the over-eager swain now sported a blackened eye and a split and bleeding lip, not to mention a pair or more of sorely bruised, if not broken, ribs.

Stupid fellow. Boasting of one's intention to compromise the grand-daughter of an earl was not the brightest of ideas, but to further explain how one intended to do so was the sheer height of lunacy. Yet that was exactly what Burley Woodhurst had done.

He had even gone so far as to have it written in the betting books at his gentleman's club. A pity one of his young comrades had taken the tale to a lady-love who had spoken with the countess, and she had, in turn, come to Damien for assistance.

The boy planned to do exactly as Damien himself had done – overtake her carriage as she made her way to the masquerade ball at her grandmother's estate in the country.

How surprised he had been when, after successfully halting the carriage, he found himself facing Damien and his driver over a brace of pistols.

The chiming of the clock upon the mantle proclaimed the hour. The countess adjusted her ivory feathered mask in preparation for joining the growing crowd of guests below.

Apparently satisfied with its arrangement, Althea took up her fringed, cream silk shawl, passed the pouch she had retrieved earlier to Damien, and crossed the room where she opened the door leading into the hallway. “You have my undying gratitude, Lord Wolfe.”

Hefting the pouch in his hand for a moment, Damien watched in silence while, pulling the cream colored shawl across her shoulders, the countess fussed with the loose ends for a bit before a frown settled across her brow. He followed her to the door, surreptitiously depositing the pouch on a corner of the escritoire as he passed.

They were standing in the dimly lit corridor outside the sitting room when she said, “I must have forgotten the pin.”

“Pin?” Damien asked.

Waving away his question, the countess ordered him to “wait here,” and then stepped past him back into the room.

He waited, but when, after several minutes, she still had not re-appeared, Damien's impatience got the better of him. Leaning close, he rapped his knuckles three times in quick succession against the closed door. “Countess?”

“What
are
you doing outside my grandmother's room?”

Lady Rhiad's muted whisper hissed into his ear. Damien turned and put his fingers against his lips, signaling to her for silence. Another knock, and then he said, “Countess Ashwood? Lady Althea, I am coming in.”

Silence.

Damien's muscles bunched in preparation for forcible entry into the room, and then tensed all the more when Rhiad's small hand caught at his shoulder.

“You cannot mean to break down her door! Good heavens, my lord, I had thought you but teased me earlier in reference to the story, but I cannot allow you to harm my grandmother.” She put herself between him and the door. “Go
away
, Lord Wolfe.”

“Of all the preposterous, idiotic assumptions.” Damien's eyes narrowed and he peered at her for the space of a heartbeat. Did she really think he meant the countess harm?

In one move, he caught her by the shoulders and set her out of the way. One quick spin, and she was facing the staircase. “Go play, Red. Hie yourself off downstairs and smile and dance and flirt with the fellows like a good spoiled little princess while I find out what has detained your grandmother.”

He swatted her bottom for good measure, ignoring her quickly indrawn breath at the impropriety of his action, and returned to the task at hand. His shoulder met the door with more than a little force, and it slammed inward. He caught it before it could crash against the opposite wall, his keen gaze taking in the room in one swift pass.

Everything was exactly as it had been when he'd stepped through the door a few moments ago – including the countesses absence. Nothing moved, nothing out of place, nothing open that had not been opened or closed that had not been closed.

The pouch of coin she had given him for services rendered still sat where he had left it on the corner of her escritoire. Damien palmed it, slid open a drawer, and dropped it inside.

The doors to the terrace were closed, but he thought he saw a shadow, a flash of material...

“What have you done? Where is my grandmother?”

Chapter Five

Voices in the corridor outside alerted Rhiad to the imminent possibility of compromise. If she should be caught here by a guest, alone in her grandmother's chambers with Lord Wolfe, the outcome would be tragic.

Without giving the matter much thought, she hurriedly closed the door, locked it, and then fumbled with a moment of uncertainty. What if the voice she had heard had been her grandmother? Her hand reached for the key...only to collide with Lord Wolfe's. Again, he cautioned her to silence before he pulled her toward the doors to the terrace.