Master of Seduction

by Kinley MacGregor

  “Why yes, young pup,” he said, cloaking his voice in an authentic accent. Bulgarian was one of about fifteen languages Jack spoke fluently. “Is there any other save moi?”

  “Very well, Count, I shall leave you momentarily to find your bedmate.”

  Jack’s gaze narrowed speculatively.

  Morgan turned his head to see an attractive redhead quickly fanning herself next to a group of matrons. Her vivid hair color stood out among all the white and pastel colored wigs the rest of the crowd wore, and that marked her independence even more clearly than her choice of fanning. “I wouldn’t have thought her your type.”

  Jack tipped his glass back and drained it. “Since when do you know my type?” His voice was scarce more than a growl meant to intimidate.

  But Morgan knew. In spite of Jack’s words and angry tone, Jack had never taken a virgin, nor would he do so tonight. He might dance with the girl, even pass a few words with her. But in the end, he would go off with a hungry widow.

  Jack, for all his caution, was a devout creature of habit.

  “Happy hunting,” Morgan said to him as he spotted the Patriot spy he’d come to the party to meet. “I’ll see you back at my ship in the morning.”

  Jack inclined his head in a subtle nod, his gaze still riveted by the woman before him as he placed his empty glass on the tray of a passing servant.

  Her dress was a pale yellow silk, opened in front to show a quilted yellow panel. The low square neckline showed off the top of creamy breasts he could well imagine taking in his hand.

  And her long, graceful neck….

  Jack had always been partial to a woman’s throat, to the feel of her heartbeat teasing his lips as her heart raced in response to his expert touch. In his opinion, it was one of the most erotic places on a female body.

  There was only one part he liked to taste more.

  She darted rather quickly out of her current group and crossed the room to stand with two couples. Her harried movements reminded him of a dove being pursued by some beast as it tried to find a safe place to rest.

  He smiled.

  Morgan had been right, she wasn’t his usual type. He liked his women tall, thin, and breathtaking.

  Though attractive, she wasn’t the classical beauty who normally turned men’s heads, and if he didn’t miss his guess, her pale skin was splashed with freckles her white powder couldn’t hide.

  But there was something striking about this woman. She had hair as dark and rich as mahogany with golden streaks laced through. She possessed an aura of warmth and happiness that seemed to glow from within her.

  Watching her, he felt like a wilted flower that had just received a ray of sunshine after a long, cold winter. It was a strange feeling. One he’d never before known.

  And he found himself wondering about the color of her eyes….

  Lorelei had spent the last twenty minutes avoiding her next promised dance with Justin. He would have the rest of their lives to stomp her toes. But if she were to carry out his ruse on the morrow, she would need both her feet intact.

  Seeing him rise on the tips of his toes to scan the crowd for her, she ducked and moved to stand with Amanda’s mother, Lady Whitney, who was talking to the dowager Mrs. Darcy.

  “My dear?” Lady Whitney asked Lorelei, her face pinched with worry as she gave her a regal perusal. “Are you all right?”

  “I feel a little faint,” Lorelei offered as an excuse for her odd behavior.

  Mrs. Darcy touched her lightly on the arm. “I know exactly what you mean, Lori. I regret that I had my maid lace my stays so tightly tonight. Been near fainting myself.”

  With an imperial flick of her hand, Lady Whitney motioned for Amanda to join them.

  Once Amanda was there, Lady Whitney turned to Lorelei. “Can you have your father arrange an introduction for Amanda to meet Count Hapsburg?”

  “Count who?” Lorelei and Amanda asked simultaneously.

  “Count Arnaulf Hapsburg,” Mrs. Darcy said with a childish giggle. She put her gloved hand up to shield her mouth as she spoke in a loud whisper. “Why girls, don’t tell me you haven’t seen him?”

  “I don’t remember a Count Arnaulf Hapsburg being on the guest list,” Lorelei said, wondering who the stranger was.

  “Well, someone must have brought him,” Mrs. Darcy said excitedly. “I heard he’s descended from the royal family!”

  Lady Whitney lifted her chin and looked down her hook nose to Mrs. Darcy. “I have no doubt. You can see his good breeding. ’Twould be obvious to anyone that he is royal.”

  Lorelei and Amanda exchanged frowns.

  Then there was a flurry of feminine voices near them, some of them quite silly and high-pitched.

  “Count Hapsburg is coming this way!” someone said. “Pass me my smelling salts.”

  “He’s going to ask someone to dance,” another woman said.

  “Please, let it be me,” the first woman begged.

  Lorelei strained to see this mysterious count, but she was too short to see over the high wigs of the older women. In fact, she couldn’t even tell from which direction he was supposed to be coming.

  “He’s after my Amanda,” Lady Whitney said, her voice filled with glee. “Pinch your cheeks, dear, and for heaven’s sake, straighten up.”

  As Lorelei searched the crowd for the newcomer, she caught Justin’s eye. He raised his eyebrows in relief, smiled, and headed straight for her.

  Oh, bother, he was after her now. Her toes twitched in memory of those polished black boots crushing them.

  “Excuse me, please,” she said to her group as she sought to find another safe corner of the room.

  Lorelei was still looking back over her shoulder, to where Justin was making strides through the crowd, when she suddenly ran into a wall.

  Only it wasn’t a wall, she realized as she placed her hand upon it to steady herself.

  It was a broad, rock-hard chest.

  Her sight focused on the elegant, black silk, double-breasted cutaway beneath her hand. She slowly trailed her gaze up the embroidered cream waistcoat to his stand-fall collar, the stark white, lace-edged stock, and then to his…

  Oh my.

  Eyes of pewter stared down out of a face she’d never before seen in reality. It was the face of some perfect, ancient statue. His features sharp and angular, there was something predatorial in his gaze. Something that reminded her of a hawk watching a hare it wanted desperately to devour.

  He gave her a smile that turned her legs to jelly.

  “Forgive me, mademoiselle,” he said in a deep, stunning timbre, his voice rich with a foreign accent.

  Lorelei wanted to respond, but for the first time in her life, words failed her.

  “I trust you’re unharmed?” he asked.

  She returned his beguiling smile, her throat finally loosening enough for her to speak. “I’m fine, thank you. I only hope I didn’t offend you too much with my clumsiness.”

  He gave a low, rich laugh that made her insides flutter. “Please, feel free to run into my arms anytime you feel the urge.”

  “There you are, Lori,” Justin said, coming up to stand beside her. His gaze raked the stranger with malice and it was only then she realized her hand hadn’t left the man’s chest.

  Lorelei jerked her hand away with a very undignified gasp.

  “I don’t believe I know you, sir,” Justin said with ice in his voice as he forced himself between her and the man.

  “Count,” the man corrected in a voice every bit as arctic. “Count Arnaulf Hapsburg.”

  Arnaulf turned his gaze to Lorelei and she grew warm inside at his heated perusal. “And you, mademoiselle?”

  She sensed the anger and jealousy in Justin, but too much a gentleman to show anything save proper manners, he answered for her. “Allow me to present my…”—he paused for emphasis—”fiancée, Miss Lorelei Dupree.”

  Nervously, Lorelei extended her hand to the count and gave a proper curtsy.

 
His warm hand covered hers. Long, tapered, and well-manicured, his fingers were obviously those of a gentleman, and yet she felt rough calluses on his palm that belied the noble title.

  He bowed low before her upraised hand. His warm breath tickled her flesh, sending chills all the way up her arm. And when his lips touched the back of her hand, he gave an impudent nip with his teeth.

  Startled, she felt her blood race through her veins and straight to a foreign part of her body that thrummed in sudden need.

  “’Tis the greatest pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle,” he said in that voice that wavered somewhere between thunder and warm honey.

  When he neglected to release her hand immediately, Justin clicked his heels together and made a curt bow to draw the count’s attention. “I am Lieutenant Justin Wallingford.”

  Immediately, the count dropped her hand. His features grew still and masked, and some heated emotion sparked within the count’s eyes. It was raw and primeval, and if Lorelei didn’t know better, she’d swear it was hatred.

  “So, you’re the youngest son of Gabriel Wallingford.”

  “You know my father?” Justin asked, stiffening his spine with pride.

  The count’s smile was cold, formal. “Why, yes, yes I do. He’s an old family friend.”

  There was definitely something hidden in those words. Lorelei was certain of it.

  The count continued to scan the crowd. “Is he by chance here this evening?”

  Justin shook his head. “He’s not due back into port for another week.”

  Disappointment flashed across the count’s features an instant before he hid the emotion. “Pity.”

  The count turned to face Lorelei. “I see the dancers are getting ready for the next set. Might I have the pleasure of your company, Miss Dupree?”

  “Lorelei doesn’t like to dance,” Justin inserted before she could even part her lips to respond.

  The count ignored him and gave her a bold, assessing look. “Mademoiselle?”

  “I would love to,” Lorelei said before she thought better of it.

  By the look on Justin’s face, she could tell it was the wrong answer. So be it. She could handle him well enough. He would forgive her on the morrow. He always did.

  She took the count’s proffered arm and he led her to the floor. As soon as they took their places, the music started.

  Surrounded by his strong arms, Lorelei felt jittery and nervous, like a young girl facing her first dance at her debutante ball. The count’s appealing scent of sandalwood and ash filled her head.

  With every precise, perfect step he took, she could feel the raw power of him. He was like a caged lion just waiting for the chance to pounce as he swept her around the floor.

  Against the dandies and pale faces of the crowd, his tanned, handsome face stood out. But it was more than that. There was definitely something dangerous about this man, as if he were hiding something from her.

  She could feel it deep within her soul.

  Was he a Patriot spy, or perhaps a double agent working for England? He could even be one of the blockade runners that had been flooding into Charleston since the British had overtaken the port city and sealed it off.

  “Have you been in the Colonies long?” she asked.

  “I’ve never been anywhere long.”

  “Not even Bulgaria?”

  “Lately,” he added with a disarming smile. “I haven’t been anywhere long lately.”

  Again, she sensed he was hiding something from her and she was determined to find out what. “Might I be so bold as to ask who invited you to the party?”

  His eyes danced with humor. “I don’t want to talk about me, mademoiselle. Tell me about you.”

  “Me?” she asked with a frown.

  “Yes, tell me how an enchanting creature such as yourself became engaged to a pasty-faced Englishman.”

  Anger flared and she sputtered for a moment. “Justin is not pasty-faced.”

  He looked to where Justin stood to the side of the floor, watching them like a cat protecting its kitten. “He is no match for you, milovidnost.”

  “I don’t understand that last word.”

  “It’s Bulgarian, and you are avoiding my point.”

  Regaining her lost composure, she looked up at him from under her lashes. Lorelei was a master when it came to the art of flirtation and she knew the ploy he was using. It was one she’d confronted numerous times—disparage the competition. How many times had a man belittled the object of her affection while holding himself up as the very model of her perfect mate?

  Taking the upper hand, she decided to spoil his advantage. “And just what sort of man would you suggest for me?” she asked coyly. “Yourself, perhaps?”

  His arms tensed around her and his eyes turned dull. “Forgive me, mademoiselle. I have overstepped my bounds.” He broke off their dance and left her standing in the middle of the ballroom looking after his departing form.

  Lorelei frowned. He wasn’t supposed to do that. She had assumed he would pass words with her, not leave her standing in the middle of her party like some discarded kerchief.

  Of all the bizarre men….

  Justin approached her and led her from the floor. “Is anything amiss?”

  Lorelei shook her head as she glanced back to where the count had vanished. How could she possibly explain to Justin this strange feeling inside her?

  Dare she tell him that for one mere instant, she had actually been attracted to another man?

  2

  The following night, the noisy tavern was filled with smoke and more unwashed bodies than Lorelei had ever smelled in her entire life. For the last two hours, she’d been avoiding hairy hands and thwarting rude advances as she listened to the seamen’s conversations for any tell-tale word of Jack Rhys.

  It was sort of eerie, really, when she thought about it. One of these men could be the pirate who was rumored to have killed more men than the pox that had ravaged Charleston the year before.

  Why, he could be that short man in his fifties at the bar who kept looking at her, or the young man sitting alone by the fire as he nestled up with a tankard of ale. Perhaps he was the solitary man in the corner who kept checking the door every time it opened….

  What would such a man look like? Would he be tall or short? Dark-haired or fair?

  Surely such brutality would show on his face.

  Wouldn’t it?

  Lorelei approached the table where her latest four customers sat. She set their tankards down before them. “Will that be all for you?” she asked, affecting the gruff tone of a tavern maid. “Or can I bring you some food?”

  One man narrowed his gaze on her rump. “I’ll be having me some of this fine dish right here!”

  With a newly practiced sidestep, Lorelei avoided the swipe the man directed at her backside.

  “Come now, ducky,” she said with a note of warning in her voice. “This dish’ll be giving you a bad case of indigestion, not to mention the scalding burn I’ll deliver your cheek if you handle me wrong.”

  Laughter broke out among the other three men at the table.

  “Better watch out, Danny,” one of his companions, an older man of about sixty, said. “She looks as though she could do it, too!”

  Lorelei balanced her tray up on her shoulder. “And if not me, rest assured my lover behind the bar over there will have all your heads.”

  In unison, they turned to see Karl, the tavern’s owner, as he hefted a huge barrel of rum over one shoulder and placed it up on the rack above his head. Though only half an inch taller than Lorelei, he was built as stout as an oak and everyone who frequented the Boar’s Head was familiar with Karl Harringer’s nasty temper.

  “You and that ugly bugger?” the youngest man at the table sneered. “I don’t believe you.”

  Lorelei tucked her tray beneath her arm. “Hey, Karl,” she shouted to where he could hear her over the din of noisy conversations. “Who’s your love?”

  Karl’s
bear-like face cracked into a semblance of a smile. “Only you, my sweet Lori, only you.”

  Smirking, she looked back at the four men whose faces were now pale. “You still be wanting to sample some of me fare?” she asked the seaman.

  He hid his answer in his tankard.

  Satisfied she had thwarted his advances, Lorelei made a round of her tables.

  As she neared the back of the tavern, she caught Justin’s furious glare. He had shed his British Regular’s uniform in favor of a homespun jacket and plain buckskin breeches. Even so, he still held an imperious look to him that marked him as the youngest son of Lord Wallingford. Well, that and the way he sat ramrod stiff, as opposed to slumped over his mug like the rest of the tavern’s occupants.

  He’d also forgone shaving this morning. He’d told her it was to make him look rough so that he would fit in with the seamen who frequented the tavern. In her opinion, it made him look silly.

  But then not half as silly as his posturing, which had him constantly propping his hand on his hip before he remembered his role and dropped his hand back to his side.

  Justin narrowed his gaze as she approached him and she could sense he wanted to strangle her. She was an outrageous and outspoken flirt. He’d always known that, and it had aggravated him since the day he’d finally taken notice of her.

  In truth, she took great pleasure in tormenting him. All her life, she’d pushed the boundaries of tolerance just to see what she could get away with.

  Justin claimed it was her father’s fault. Her father had always been far too indulgent of his only child, far too liberal with her education, and far too tolerant of her mischievousness.

  “You’re looking a little pale, ducky,” she said saucily as she neared him. “Be needing another tankard of ale?”

  His face dire, he declined. “Any word of Black Jack?” he asked.

  She shook her head and dropped her accent as she pretended to wipe up a spill on his table. “There are a couple of pirates in here, but so far none are Jack Rhys.”

  He glanced to his men, who were sitting at the table with him. The two of them had strict orders to see Lorelei to safety the instant Black Jack Rhys showed up.