The Rogue (10 page)

"I
live here," she interjected. "I am Lord Maywell's niece."

Ethan
closed his eyes in complete surrender. "Of course you are."
This was going to make his bloody blasted "mission" even
more difficult. Ethan found himself very near laughter. "You are
a lady, an heiress, the daughter of a marquis, the niece of Lord
Maywell—and I've seen your knickers."

Lady
Jane Pennington folded her arms. "I fan to see what you find so
amusing, Mr. Damont."

Ethan
laughed out loud. "Of course you don't!" He swept her a
deep, mocking bow. "Back into the house with you, Lady Jane, or
I'll tell every man in there what color your garters are!"

"Oh!"

She
had the pure gall to be affronted. The lying schemer. She drew up to
her full height—which was rather nicely tall, in fact, for she
nearly reached his chin. Ethan had ever preferred tall women—and
stalked away from him, shutting the terrace doors behind her with a
decided slam.

Ethan
let his head hang and rubbed one hand over his face. His fingers left
a damp trail on his cheek.

Her
single tear. Lady Jane Pennington, who had nothing to weep over as
far as he could see, had left a single, hot teardrop in his hand.

Ethan
touched his dampened cheek with curious fingers and wondered what he
had said that would bring a woman like that to tears.

Ethan
expected supper to be excruciating. These things usually were. Now,
with the addition of the "matter of Lady Jane Pennington"
to make him feel the breath of aristocratic retribution on the back
of his neck, it looked to be a nightmare from hell.

Ethan's
usual manner of passing the time at boring events was flirtation, but
that would be impossible at the Maywell table. With the Maywell Mob
making up nearly the entire list of attending ladies, there would be
no safe targets for his charm.

Flirting
with a young Society girl would mark him as unsafe—ending his
parasitic career with one fell blow of the hammer. So far he was
tolerated, even encouraged, because he'd never crossed that line. Oh,
he'd had some playful encounters with married women, and a few
memorable widows, but he knew what he was—and he knew what he
wasn't.

So
the Society daughters he treated with cool politeness, careful not to
allow the slightest hint of attraction even to the most stunning of
them. They weren't for the likes of him. They weren't even supposed
to be breathing the same air.

When
he was ushered into the main salon of Maywell House, Ethan saw that
his fears were realized. The only ladies present were the five
daughters of Lord Maywell and their cousin, Lady Jane Pennington.

After
leaving the terrace, he'd returned to the smoking room and listened
more carefully to the discussions floating about him. His impression
was that Lady Jane Pennington was an heiress trolling for a duke at
the least, for she'd given short shrift to any lesser fellows.

The
young blokes about town had dubbed her Lady Pain for her manner of
delivering her refusals. When anyone met with her guardian, Lord
Maywell, to plead for her hand, Lady Jane had immediately shot back a
scathing refusal letter to each. Ethan didn't blame her for seeking a
higher match, but such cruelty could not be excused.

The
most he could hope for this evening was to be seated next to Lady
Maywell, who was far too sensible to flirt and might even offer some
interesting conversation.

Instead,
he found himself between the youngest—and possibly the
silliest—daughter, Serena, and Lady Pain herself.

Of
course. He sighed deeply, hiding it beneath the act of sitting down.
It was going to be a very long evening.

Lady
Jane looked very much the proper heiress now. Ethan was quite
sensitive to the secret code enacted in the nuances of dress and
manner. Here in the full light, it was obvious that Lady Jane's gown
was finer even than Lady Maywell's in cut and fabric.

He
must be slipping, to ever perceive her as a lowly governess.

The
first course of soup was served. To his left, Miss Serena Maywell
promptly tipped her spoon onto her bodice. Ethan suspected it was
because she'd been staring at him and not her soup, but he'd been
careful to not quite meet her eye.

He
continued to act as if the spreading stain on her gown were
invisible, along with her tiny humiliated sniffles. He would have
liked to charm her out of her upset, but she was so young that she'd
surely take his attentions wrong.

Damn,
the girl couldn't be but sixteen! She ought to be dreaming in her
schoolroom, sneaking peeks through the banister at what the adults
were up to! What were her parents thinking to throw her out onto the
Marriage Mart at her age?

On
the other side of him, Lady Jane cast fretful glances past him—or
rather,
through
him—at Serena, but there was little she could do from where she
sat. Finally Ethan, unable to bear the small hiccups now accompanying
the sniffles to his left, turned helplessly to Lady Jane.

"Is
there nothing you can do?" he asked in a low voice.

Lady
Jane shook her head without looking at him. "I fear not,"
she murmured. "She cannot leave the table and I dare not call
further attention to her now. We can only pray that no one else
notices."

She
was kind to her cousin, at least. Perhaps her spleen was saved for
encroaching gamblers and overly ambitious suitors only. Still rather
ill done of her, but not entirely nasty. Ethan tilted his head
slightly toward her once more. "Then I fear I must make sure no
one else notices."

Ethan
leaned forward to speak to the table at large. "Have you all
heard the latest about the Prince Regent? There's a driver who knows
a footman who knows a chambermaid who swears she heard a donkey bray
from the royal bedchamber—"

Jane
sat back and watched Mr. Ethan Damont capture the attention of the
entire party with one skillfully ribald tale after another. He was
shocking, outrageous, and entirely entertaining without ever going
over the line of innuendo and rumor. If she hadn't known his purpose,
she would have thought him presumptuous and flashy— just the
sort of fellow she could not bear.

But
as she watched him engage everyone there, distracting them enough so
that Serena was able to dab secretly at her gown with a damp dinner
napkin—
rescuing
Serena like a knight charging in on a white horse of gossip, for
pity's sake!—Jane found that she could bear him very well
indeed.

He
was angry with her, however, that much she was sure of. His manner
was nothing like his teasing behavior before.

She
could leave it at that, if she liked. He'd proved tonight that he
would not willingly allow a lady to be embarrassed. It was possible
that she could simply trust his nobler instincts…

No.
It was no good. She'd never been one to bear suspense well. She had
to know if he could be trusted with the truth. She would pin him down
directly after supper.

«
^
»

Once
the ladies had left the dining room, Ethan made his escape into the
hall, past a footman who stood guard against interruption, and around
the corner. If he could just make it out of this madhouse, he would
go back to the Liar's Club and tell Lord Overbearing that he could
take his little spy ring and—

"Mr.
Damont, I wish to speak to you."

Ethan
nearly jumped out of his skin when the girl popped up from nowhere.
"Good God, my lady!" He clapped a hand over his heart, not
actually pretending. "Have pity, if you please!" He blinked
at her, then dropped his charm like a hot rock. "Oh, it's you,"
he said dismissively.

Lady
Jane drew herself up. "I do not see why you are so testy yet. I
had a perfectly reasonable explanation for my actions. I needed to
ascertain whether or not you could be trusted."

Ethan
regarded her hotly. "And the verdict?"

Jane
clasped both hands before her. "I found you charming and kind.
Pity that I turned out to be so very wrong."

"Hmph."
Ethan could not help feeling gratified that she had liked him. He had
liked her as well, until—

"What
do you mean, you were so very wrong?"

Jane
fought back a smile. She'd certainly managed to get his attention.
"Oh, very well. I suppose I wasn't so much wrong as I was…
misled."

"Misled!"

She
spread both hands against his outrage. "Truce! I shall admit it,
I was not wrong." She dropped her hands and gave him a slight
smile. "Why is that you take no affront when someone accuses you
of cheating at cards, yet you took great offense when I said you were
not charming?"

Ethan
folded his arms defensively. "Well, I… I put a great deal
of effort into being charming…"

Jane
tilted her head. "And less into resisting the impulse to cheat?"

"What?
No, I mean— Damn it, you are twisting my words about!"

Jane
nodded. "I am. I don't know why. You seem to bring out the devil
in me."

Ethan
laughed out loud, a swift bark of surprise. "You and the devil
have not the slightest acquaintance, I'm sure."

"Why
not? Did you not earlier accuse me of lying?"

"That
wasn't lying. That was a mere sin of omission." He grinned at
her and she couldn't help but smile back.

Then
Lady Jane folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. "Why didn't you
talk to me during dinner? It was very rude of you to ignore me."

Ethan
couldn't answer that one, since he hadn't ignored her at all. He'd
been exquisitely aware of her every movement, her every
breath—especially the way said breaths caused her bodice to
tighten over her succulent breasts.

He
abruptly wished he could smack himself on the head. How could he be
so entranced by the mere act of inhaling and exhaling? It was only
breathing, for pity's sake! Yet somehow when she did it, he was
captivated.

Jane
took a deep breath, then halted when Mr. Damont let out a heartfelt
moan. "What is it? Are you ill?"

"Yes,"
he said faintly. "I am evidently a very sick man."

She
leaned closer and peered into his face. His eyes widened in something
that might almost be called fear, then shut tightly.

"Only
breathing, only breathing…" he seemed to be muttering
over and over. He backed away, still blind. Jane grabbed his arm
before he could collide with a marble-topped hall table that
contained a fine Chinese vase she was fairly sure was older than
England itself. She gave Mr. Damont a sturdy yank to pull him back
from danger.

He
stumbled, coming up against her, chest to breast. Jane froze in
surprise at first, then forced herself to stand still. For some
reason, she found herself quite desperate to get Mr. Damont to truly
look
at her, the way he had outside. Perhaps being entirely without
propriety would get his attention.

He
was holding himself quite immobile as well. Then slowly, with an air
of quiet purpose, he inhaled deeply. The act brought his hard chest
more firmly against her. With a mixture of shame and exhilaration,
Jane felt her nipples harden within her bodice. Could he feel it?

His
gaze, which had shot off to one side when they impacted, slid slowly
back down to where their bodies met. Dizzy with her own lack of
breath, Jane inhaled as well.

Ethan's
mind went entirely blank when he saw her creamy breasts swell against
his chest. Then the blood rushed from his brain completely,
apparently needed by other portions of his anatomy as he felt the
jewel points of her nipples boring through his waistcoat. One would
have thought the layers of fine silk and linen would have fended her
arousal off, but no. The fact was undeniable.

Lady
Jane Pennington possessed a burning desire for him, Ethan Damont.

Bloody
hell. With a graceless nod and an unintelligible mumble, Ethan ran
for the card room where the other gentlemen waited.