Shortly thereafter, he’d been tapped by the previous Falcon—a man with secrets swimming behind his eyes like fish schooling in the sea, who spoke so seldom he had little need to lie.
Stanton took the life offered him with profound gratitude and the understanding that the Royal Four were a better lot than most. So far, he’d not been disappointed in the other three.
They were not friends. They were . . . well, perhaps soldiers under fire shared a similar bond, but in its way it was as satisfying as any Stanton had ever experienced. His distance did not alarm them. His eerie skill was found valuable, not invasive. He could turn his misfit nature to the service of England herself.
At least, he could until Lady Alicia.
What should he do about Alicia? He couldn’t invest much faith in her story, yet here he was. With her history of inconstancy, how long could he truly trust that she would continue her current honesty?
Was she merely indulging in honesty because she need not bother to lie? When a moment of true conflict arose, which way would Alicia turn?
It was not his practice to use subterfuge, since his talent did not require him to use guile to discover the truth. This woman, however, had confounded him on every turn. When he looked at her, he saw only her—not her secrets, not her lies, not the dark underbelly of her soul.
Her glances lingered on him now. He stretched slightly in the chair, extending his legs and crossing his booted ankles. Her eyes were drawn to his flat stomach and below. Her cheeks pinkened and she looked away, suddenly finding great fascination in the arrangement of the brushes on the vanity table.
Her interest in him seemed real enough. It occurred to Stanton that he might have some advantage there, for he well knew that a woman was never closer to true honesty than when her deepest sexual nature was revealed.
A dangerous game and not one he was willing to stoop to.
Yet.
That evening, as he took her arm to escort her into dinner, Lord Wyndham bent close to her ear.
“Now, I should prepare you for the worst. These sort of affairs are almost always—”
Alicia walked away from his warning, gazing about her with open enjoyment. This was a glittering world she’d never seen. This was no carefully orchestrated mingling of the sexes such as the assemblies at Almack’s.
This was a world of music and dancing and passion—a place where the strict and heavy rules of her upbringing were scoffed at and mocked.
Women lounged in the arms of lovers on luxurious couches, drinking spirits and indulging in sweetmeats and kisses. Men smoked and shouted terrible language that made her laugh with the freedom of it all.
Not at all the world she’d been accustomed to—not the environment of propriety and respectability she’d been raised in and rebelling against since her earliest memory.
How delightful.
No longer restricted by her father’s heavy hand, or oppressed by her previous poverty, Alicia now felt as light as a bird. She closed her eyes and listened to the laughter and the music, letting the weight of years fall from her shoulders. She could fly up through this magnificent ballroom right now.
She opened her eyes to see Stanton gazing at the scene around them with distaste. She grinned. “Isn’t this wonderful?”
He looked askance at her. “Wonderful? No, unless it is that I am wondering how soon we can leave.”
“Oh, don’t be such a bear.” She wrapped her hand over his arm and tugged him farther into the room. “We’re supposed to look as though we want to be here, remember?”
“You seem to be having enough fun for both of us.” He flicked his dark gaze about the room. “I think I shall play the part of the man so smitten by your charms that I indulge you in ways ordinarily distasteful to me.”
She pressed her bosom to his arm and batted her eyes at him. “Oh, Wyndham,” she cooed loudly. “You say the sweetest things!”
Several people turned their heads at her shrill declaration. She could see the speculation in their eyes.
“Kiss me,” she hissed at Wyndham.
He gazed down at her with something akin to horror. “I will not! Everyone is looking!”
Idiot. “Then grope my bottom or some such thing, quickly. If you want to establish your torrid addiction to my charms, now is your moment!”
He hesitated, his gaze faltering slightly. Good lord, was the mighty Wyndham shy?
Then he raised his gaze to hers, focusing on her so intently that for a moment Alicia felt the furor fade and the crowd disappear. Oh, my. She swallowed, hard.
“I am not the sort to grope bottoms,” he said softly. Then he slowly raised one hand to her face and let his fingers trace through the tiny curls at her temple. Alicia felt his touch all the way to her toes. She closed her eyes to feel it better still.
“Is that enough?” he murmured.
She gave her head a tiny, mute shake. Then she felt him trail his knuckles gently down her cheek. She opened her eyes to see that his gaze had turned inexplicably black as he looked down at her with intensity.
“How about now?” he asked, with his warm fingers still hovering at her jaw.
She was trembling, aching—and all from the merest caress. Good God. If Wyndham ever truly cut loose with a woman, she would be fortunate to come out alive!
Fortunate, fortunate woman.
She cleared her throat, for he’d asked a question. “I think it would be more convincing if you went a bit farther.” She arched her neck.
One corner of his lips tilted. He kept his gaze locked to hers as his fingers trailed down her throat to linger at her collarbone. “There?”
She was forced to let stillness and silence answer for her, since she was trembling too much to trust her voice.
“More then?”
If she didn’t know better, she might have thought Wyndham was teasing her.
Then again, Wyndham wasn’t really the teasing sort, was he?
She felt his touch heat a trail downward to the revealed fullness of the top of her breast. His gaze fell to where his hand lingered. “My apologies, Lady Alicia,” he whispered. “It seems I’m taking liberties.”
Lower. Go lower. Now. Alicia swallowed. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re speaking of, Lord Wyndham.”
“I see. Well then, not to worry.” He lifted his hand and dropped it to his side once more. “No harm done.”
No harm done, unless one counted the jellied condition of her knees and the throbbing condition of her—well, suffice to say that harm had been done. Garrett was right. She ought to take this man into that obscenely large bed and make him never want to leave it.
If she could. She talked a brave game, but truly, what did she know? She’d given in to passion only once and frankly there’d been no opportunity to question her partner as to her performance.
Wanting . . . that was an entirely different matter than having, wasn’t it? What would she do with Wyndham if she had him?
Marry him and bear him lots of strapping sons.
Oh, dear. Best not think on such fruitless things. She was here for a reason—two reasons, actually. To earn her reward by finding the traitor lord and to cause her family the maximum embarrassment possible.
It was good to have goals. It kept one’s feet firmly on the ground. Handy that.
Especially when one threatened to float away on impossible dreams.
10
Cross’s opening dinner was a lavish, fashionable feast in the manner of the desert nomads, cleverly served buffet style to maximize the intermingling—in more ways than one—of his guests. Lush, ornate platters of venison, gamecocks, and suckling pigs ringed the hall like a fantastical barnyard. In the center, an array of luxurious couches and sofas and piles of pillows supported various acts of overindulgence, a few of which actually involved eating the food.
It was a very pretty picture. It was only too bad Stanton couldn’t enjoy it.
He was beginning to feel an emotion he’d not encountered
since his hotheaded youth. He was furious.
Lady Alicia Lawrence was cutting a swath of chaos and dismay through the fascinated crowd. All eyes followed her—the female ones with assessing curiosity and a good amount of jealousy, the male ones with a predatory appreciation that bode no good for what remained of Lady Alicia’s dubious virtue.
Then those eyes flicked toward him—him!—with envy and approbation and flickers of calculation. He could almost hear their thoughts.
Will he tire of her soon?
What would it take to attach such a woman as a mistress?
The man loitering next to Stanton was giving him just such a considering look. Stanton folded his arms. “Don’t strain yourself. She’d ruin you.”
The fellow blinked. Then his gaze slid helplessly back to Alicia. “It might be worth it.”
Stanton scowled. Moron. “Then let me make myself clear. If she didn’t, I would.”
The man held up a fending hand and grinned. “I’m innocent, I vow.”
Stanton turned away. The fury within him seethed and roiled. He fought the deep desire to lay out every man in the room who couldn’t take his eyes from Lady Alicia.
He didn’t dare contemplate what he wanted to do with Lady Alicia herself. The thought of taking her over his knee crossed his mind, leading him into dangerous territory occupied by lingering thoughts of a soft womanly bottom bare to his touch . . .
He jerked his mind back to simple seething fury.
Just look at her. Even now she stood in a circle of admiring men who jostled for the center of her attention, flirting madly with each without regard to looks or status or even girth! If she didn’t watch it, there would be a dozen duels before sunrise!
Stanton found himself at her side with no memory of crossing the room. He slid a possessive hand about her elbow. “My lady, I believe these gentlemen have their own ladies to attend to.”
He sent a pointed glare about the circle. Most of them had enough sense to disappear, although the man Stanton had spoken to earlier lingered a moment longer.
“I have no lady,” the man told Alicia, with a heavy sigh. “Not a single, solitary one. No place to be, no one to talk to.”
Alicia bent toward the bloke. Stanton had to give the man points for not letting his gaze drop.
“Lord Farrington, if you wanted, you could have any woman in this room.”
Lord Farrington smiled slowly at her. Stanton felt his other hand form a fist.
“Any woman? Now there’s a happy thought.”
Stanton pulled Alicia back upright. “Then go think it elsewhere, Farrington. My lady is quite unavailable.”
Farrington glanced at Stanton. “It’s your own fault, Wyndham. None of us ever thought you’d play the rooster so. You’ve piqued our curiosity.”
Alicia turned to Stanton. “Rooster?”
Stanton continued to glare at the interloper. “Good evening, Farrington. Enjoy the party. Over there.”
Farrington’s grin widened. Cocksure bastard.
“I shall be seeing you, my lady,” he said with a bow over Alicia’s hand.
She curtsied deeply, and this time neither man could resist a glance down. God help them all.
Farrington left, looking a bit bemused. Stanton didn’t blame him. “That gown is going into the fireplace the moment you return to our chamber.”
Alicia patted his hand. “That’s fine. Garrett ordered variations on it in several colors. All billed to you, of course. None as demure as this one, unfortunately—”
Stanton grabbed Alicia’s hand and pulled her into an alcove where they were partially concealed by a potted palm.
“Why, Wyndham,” she said with a laughing gasp. “I didn’t know you cared.”
He pulled her closer for better concealment and glared down at her teasing smile. “You cannot arrange assignations while under my protection!”
She lifted a brow, still smiling. “What is the difficulty? Don’t worry. I won’t tell them you aren’t capable.”
His eyes narrowed. “My ‘capabilities’ are not as questionable as your judgment. Lord Farrington is not known for his ability to hold on to a guinea, or a decent hand of cards. His fortunes depend on the prospect of inheriting from his uncle, who is one of the healthiest men in England. He’ll be old and gray before he can afford you, if ever!”
She blinked at him. “You’ve clearly put a lot of thought into this.”
Stanton had to repress a growl. “I don’t. It’s simply that you’re making a cake of yourself.”
She smiled with satisfaction. “Oh, yes. A fondant cake with candied roses on top.”
Stanton couldn’t bear the image that exploded in his mind. Creamy icing, silky pink petals . . .
“But why?” God, was that his voice? He almost sounded as though he were begging!
Even Alicia seemed startled at his tone. She studied him for a long moment. “You like me, too?” She frowned. “Really, Lord Wyndham. I never thought you’d fall for such obvious gambits.”
She leaned closer. It was torture designed by the devil himself. “If it helps, I shall let you in on a bit of secret,” she whispered. “It’s all corset and stuffing.”
Stanton closed his eyes. What a relief. Not the devil then. Simply more of Lady Alicia unleashed. “All of it?”
She lifted a corner of her lips. “Well . . . some of it.”
Stanton gritted his teeth. That didn’t help, not at all. Now he’d be up all night wondering what was real and what wasn’t.
“You have yet to explain why. If we find our man, you’ll never want for anything. Why fish for a protector?”
She tilted her head. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
His control shivered. He was never going to survive this madwoman. “What?”
“I’ll tell you why I’m doing this if you tell me why you’re doing this.”
“That is not your concern.”
“Well, then, I’ll be the bigger man and tell you part of my reason.” She leaned closer.
Corset and stuffing. Corset and stuffing. As false as she was.
“I’m not fishing. I’m making sure I speak to every single man.”
The worst of it was, she made sense. Putting herself on display like a fat lamb before the butcher shop would indeed give her plausible reason to speak to many men. A high-priced mistress would most assuredly want to scout her potential protector list, after all. No one would ever suspect she was on a mission, searching for a certain voice. It was a good plan, perhaps even brilliant.
Damn it.
The worst of it was, he didn’t know why he was angry and that only made him angrier. He ought to be above this territorial behavior—especially over a territory he didn’t want!
Right. You don’t want her. That’s why you’re sporting a rod the size of St. Paul’s spire.
He wanted, it was that simple. It had been a long time for him and this place reeked of sin and sex and willing, wet, soft places . . .
Oh, wait. That was Lady Alicia, pressed next to him in the tight space. She was aroused.
By you or by Farrington, or any of the other ten men she’s flirted with this evening?
“Of course, Lord Farrington is a very handsome man. Still, handsome is as handsome does,” Lady Alicia said wistfully. “Al—someone else seemed fine and noble and perfect to me once. Now I find him as ugly as a toad. Uglier, for it is not the toad’s fault.”
She tilted her head back to glare at him. “So the fact that you are divinely handsome shouldn’t even enter into my opinion of you.”
He was staring at her with open surprise on his face. She laughed. “Oh, Wyndham, don’t tell me that you don’t know you are a veritable god among men. You’ve the entire combination of classical male beauty in your pocket and I’m not in the mood to hear false modesty at the moment.” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Your behavior, on the other hand—”
“I do not suffer fools,” he said with his usual gr
imness.
She rolled her eyes. “Pity the world, then, because next to you, most men are fools!” She shook a scolding finger at him. “Being superior does not mean that you should act superior. In fact, it means that you should be even more aware of the limitations of others, and more forgiving of them, for they have not your advantages.”
“There isn’t a man in there who does not possess the same advantages as I.”
She folded her arms. “All at once? Is there another man in that ballroom who is as wealthy as a king and highly intelligent and of very nearly royal lineage and would put Adonis to shame?”
He scowled. “There is the Prince Regent.”
She flapped a hand, dismissing his suggestion. “As much as I respect my ruler, I gather that he has destroyed his looks with his indulgences. And while he might yet win out on pleasant personality, rumor has it that he loses points on character.”
Stanton nearly strangled on the concept that his mercurial, childish tempered ruler might have a more pleasant personality than himself—but took secret pleasure in the fact that Lady Alicia found him attractive.
Too much secret pleasure, in fact.
All the better reason to keep this conversation on philosophical ground. “So I am to forgive my fellow man for his inadequacies—most of which are self-inflicted, I might add—and be tolerant of bad judgment, laziness, and poor ethics?”
She nodded briskly. “Absolutely.”
“Must I also forgive gambling, drunkenness, and lime-green waistcoats?”
Her lips twitched. “Perhaps on a case-by-case basis.”
“Am I also to overlook bad hygiene, a tendency toward spittle-spraying, and the passing of wind?”
She had to press her lips thin to suppress her laughter, but her shaking shoulders betrayed her. She nodded again. “Mm-hmm.”
He folded his arms, mocking her stern stance. “Very well, it is agreed. But I draw the line at the scratching of personal parts. Offenders must die.”
“I cannot argue there.” She stuck out her hand. “Done.”
Her hand felt very small in his larger one, yet he felt he could barely contain her there. She was like a bird in his grasp, difficult to hold securely without harm.
Celeste Bradley - [Royal Four 04] Page 9
