When You Wish

by Alexandra Ivy

  Left on his own, Anthony allowed a smile to curve his lips.

  She was magnificent in her anger.

  A wild, impetuous, passionate creature.

  The challenge of capturing such a female was irresistible, he acknowledged. He slowly turned to follow in her wake.

  The hunt was on.

  Four

  Although he took care to maintain his role of the ennui-plagued gentleman, Mr. Carlfield could barely contain his glee at having a renowned favorite of the Prince beneath his roof. In an effort to make sure that his neighbors could properly appreciate his good fortune, invitations to dinner were hastily delivered to all the best houses.

  Knowing that the Broswell household would be included in the invitations, Rachel dressed with care.

  Her gown was a rose satin slip with a white lace overskirt. The hem was set with a deep flounce of lace with dark roses. The bodice was cut low to emphasize her lovely curves and the large ruby pendant lay upon her white skin like a flame of temptation. She pulled back her hair in a simple knot, with a few golden curls left to brush her temples.

  When at last satisfied she was appearing her best, Rachel made her way down to the formal salon and situated herself in a prominent position so that she could thoroughly enjoy the expression on Lady Broswell’s countenance when she noticed her presence.

  She was forced to wait nearly half an hour for the lady to appear, but she was not disappointed when the lofty woman swept into the room and abruptly froze in horror. The pale blue eyes narrowed and the condescending smile slipped from the thin lips. Her horror only deepened at the sight of the tall, lean gentleman attired in a pearl-gray coat and black pantaloons, who was negligently leaning against the mantel. Nearly breathing fire, she stormed across the carpet to openly confront Rachel.

  “You.” She spat out the word with a healthy dose of venom. “How dare you come to Surrey, you forward jade?”

  Rachel allowed a small, contented smile to touch her lips. “Good evening, Lady Broswell. A lovely party, is it not?”

  The calm greeting only deepened the fury in the pale eyes. “I asked you why you followed me.”

  “Follow you?” Rachel gave a tinkling laugh. “Do not be absurd. I am here at the invitation of Miss Carlfield. She is a very dear friend.”

  Lady Broswell clenched her hands into fists, clearly having forgotten the crowd of glittering guests who were spilling into the room.

  “Fah. I do not believe that for a moment.”

  “You are, of course, welcome to believe what you will.”

  “You are here to attempt to embarrass me,” she accused, her gaze shifting to where the Devilish Dandy sipped his brandy in a bored fashion. “You and that black-hearted scoundrel.”

  Rachel’s expression hardened at the shrill words. This woman was not fit to polish her father’s boots. She had turned her back on her own sister, she refused to acknowledge her nieces, she was attempting to bully a hapless gentleman into marriage with her daughter, and worst of all, she was hiding a crippled child in a dark, isolated house with a woman who was indifferent to her happiness. She was a heartless, selfish witch.

  “I suggest that you take care in how you refer to my father, Lady Broswell,” she warned in icy tones.

  Momentarily taken aback, the woman attempted to bluster Rachel into retreat.

  “I want you to leave.”

  “That is unfortunate since I have promised Miss Carlfield to stay for her engagement ball. Besides, Mr. Carlfield has taken a decided liking to my uncle Foxworth.”

  A dark flush stained the older woman’s countenance as she realized she had come to dinner in honor of a man who was in truth Solomon Cresswell.

  “I have no doubt his ridiculous fascination with Mr. Foxworth would come to an unpleasant end if he were to discover that he was no more than a common thief.”

  Rachel did not so much as flinch at the blatant threat. “But he will not discover any such thing.”

  “You can hardly be certain,” the woman hissed.

  “Oh yes, I can. Because if there is even the slightest hint that my father is anyone but Mr. Foxworth, then I will see to it that everyone in Surrey is aware of our close family connection, dear aunt.”

  A sharp, brittle silence fell as Lady Broswell struggled to contain her flaming temper. Rachel did not doubt that she longed to screech at her like a fishwife. It was only the knowledge that she would be the source of amusement among her neighbors that kept her tone lowered.

  “You would not dare.”

  “I will do so with pleasure.”

  The massive bosom heaved with frustration. “You will be sorry for this.”

  Rachel gave a slow shake of her head. “No, you are the one who will be sorry for the manner in which you have treated me.”

  Abruptly realizing the dangerous glint in Rachel’s eyes, Lady Broswell regarded her warily. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Rachel gave a faint shrug. “I have heard the unfortunate rumors that your daughters have once again failed to receive an offer during the Season.”

  The thin lips nearly disappeared as the thrust slid home. It was no secret that Lady Broswell had been sorely disappointed that neither of her daughters had managed to contract a brilliant match. Or even a respectable match. The fact that both misses were of high birth with large dowries only deepened the humiliation of their utter failure.

  Of course, she was not about to reveal her inner humiliation to Rachel. Instead she gave a loud sniff.

  “As is only proper, my daughters are excessively particular. They have no interest in gentlemen who would flock about the more vulgar members of society.”

  She left no doubt that Rachel was among those vulgar members.

  “Indeed.” Rachel deliberately widened her smile. “Then you are no longer attempting to bring Lord Newell up to scratch?”

  The woman stiffened in outrage. “Lord Newell is very devoted to Mary.”

  “No, he is devoted to his quarterly allowance which he fears will be brought to an end if you complain to his mother. It is well known that you and Lady Newell have attempted to bully him into marriage since he came of age.”

  “You know nothing of the matter, but how could you?” Lady Broswell grated, the plumes in her gray hair quivering in a ridiculous fashion. “Women of your stamp could have no notion of family duty.”

  The notion of having this woman lecture family duty to her sent a bolt of fury through Rachel. How dare she? Rachel would never turn her back on her sisters. Or treat a poor child as an unwanted mistake to be tossed aside.

  Still, she had promised herself that she would not be goaded into losing sight of her goal. It was imperative that she remain in command of the confrontation.

  “Perhaps not, but I do know when a lamb is being led to the slaughter,” she said with cool mockery. “You know, I almost pity Mary. It can not be pleasant to realize that her prospective bridegroom would rather have a tooth drawn than wed her.”

  Clearly indifferent to the thought of condemning her daughter to an empty marriage, Lady Broswell gave her a superior glare.

  “Mary accepts her responsibility. Unlike your mother.”

  The hazel eyes flared with an effort to maintain her temper. “My mother accepted that following her heart was more important than the dismal trappings of a loveless marriage. She enjoyed more happiness in her short life than you will ever know in your entire bitter existence.”

  A stunned silence followed her sharp words and before Lady Broswell could adequately recover, the tall form of Mr. Clarke appeared at Rachel’s side.

  A brief flicker of irritation at the interruption raced through Rachel until she lifted her head and met the deep brown eyes. In that moment, even her earlier pique at his accusation that she would use a helpless child to enact her revenge was forgotten. For all his strength and smoldering masculinity there was a tenderness in those eyes that made her heart quiver and her knees weak.

  “Miss Cresswell, I believ
e that Violet is searching for you,” he said in his soft tones.

  Knowing that she had at least lodged a prick of unease in Lady Broswell, Rachel gave a gracious nod of her head.

  “Thank you, Mr. Clarke.”

  “I will escort you to her.”

  Seeing Lady Broswell gnash her teeth at the eligible gentleman’s interest in her, Rachel readily placed a hand on his proffered arm. With her head held high she allowed herself to be led through the thickening crowd, barely paying heed to the numerous gentlemen attempting to capture her attention.

  It was not until she was neatly turned through a doorway that she abruptly glanced about to discover that Mr. Clarke had pulled her into the library and that he was even now firmly closing the door behind him.

  “Did Miss Carlfield wish to meet me here?” she asked in surprise.

  Smiling, he strolled to tower over her. “No, I merely thought that it was time to intervene. The sparkle in your lovely eyes had grown distinctly dangerous and Lady Broswell’s complexion was becoming the shade of an overripe plum.”

  Rachel shrugged her unconcern at the nasty encounter. “She was rather displeased to discover that I am a guest of Mr. Carlfield.”

  “That was fairly obvious,” he stated in dry tones.

  “She very desperately wished to command me to leave. Unfortunately for her I do not accept commands from anyone.”

  His head suddenly tilted back to emit a low chuckle. “You have no need to tell me, Miss Cresswell. You are shockingly perverse.”

  She met his gaze squarely. “Thank you.”

  “S—so, your games begin.”

  “Yes.” She slowly narrowed her gaze. “And you need not fear that I will use that poor girl in my evil plot.”

  The dark gaze moved over her delicate features. “I see that I am still not forgiven. My only defense was my concern for the child.”

  “You seem to have a very low opinion of me, Mr. Clarke.”

  “On the contrary, Miss Cresswell, my opinion of you increases every passing moment,” he returned in low, smoky tones. “You are quite fascinatingly unique.”

  Rachel sucked in a sharp breath, recalling the feel of his warm lips trailing over the sensitive skin of her neck. Heavens, she had nearly fallen to her knees at the heady pleasure that had flooded through her body. She had never experienced anything so shockingly delightful. Not even the most experienced rogues had managed to create the faintest flutter within her.

  The knowledge that this gentleman had managed to arouse her senses with such ease should no doubt have terrified her. It made her vulnerable in a manner she was uncertain how to battle. Instead she shivered with a delicious excitement. A little risk always added pleasure to her day.

  “Do you really think so?” she asked in coy tones.

  His lips twitched, almost as if he could read her very thoughts. “Yes. And perhaps a bit dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Tell me, my dear, are you always so swift to enact justice upon those you feel have wronged you?”

  Rachel abruptly lowered her eyes. She realized that to Mr. Clarke her behavior must appear outlandish. He could not know that the revenge she intended to enact was as much for her mother as for herself. That was something she could never confess.

  “The night of the opera was not the first occasion Lady Broswell has attempted to shame me from society,” she retorted with a lift of her hands. “She has devoted considerable energy to spreading nasty rumors and vicious lies. Do you feel I should simply ignore her insults?”

  A slender hand reached out to cup her chin and gently press her face upward to meet his dark, probing gaze. Rachel shivered as the heat of his fingers seared her skin.

  “Unfortunately Lady Broswell is not the only sharp-tongued shrew within society. I can not believe that others have not offered you insult.”

  She stiffened at his words. “Because I am the daughter of the Devilish Dandy?”

  The dark gaze swept over her with open admiration. “Because you are a vibrant, beautiful maiden who collects gentlemen with the ease most women collect jewels. It is bound to create jealousy. So why Lady Broswell?”

  Rachel suddenly realized that she would have to take care. This gentleman was no witless dandy. He would not be easy to fool.

  “She annoyed me.”

  “You did not travel to Surrey because you were annoyed,” he persisted.

  With a swift motion she pulled away from his touch, knowing she needed her wits fully about her.

  “I have told you the truth.”

  He studied her for a long, unnerving moment. “There is more to this than you are willing to reveal, but I s—shall not press you. In time you will confide in me.”

  Much to her surprise Rachel realized that she wished she could confide in this man. There was a strength and steadfastness about him that inspired her instinctive trust. But the secret was not hers alone. She was not in the position to reveal the truth.

  “You are very certain of your charms,” she teased in an effort to distract him.

  She perhaps succeeded too well as a fire smoldered to life in his dark eyes.

  “But of course. They are irresistible, you know.”

  “Are they?”

  “Oh yes,” he murmured, then with a slow, deliberate motion he lowered his head and pressed his lips to her bare shoulder.

  Rachel gasped, feeling as if she had been branded. He did not grasp her or attempt to hold her in any manner. It would have been a simple matter to step from his caress. But she did not move. Indeed, she was quite certain she could not have twitched a muscle.

  His lips tasted, stroked, and nibbled her shoulder, sending violent shudders through her body. Her lashes fluttered downward as she became lost in the utter pleasure sizzling through her.

  She did not know what it was about this gentleman that set her senses on fire. And at the moment she did not care. She only wanted to close her eyes and drown in her stirring passions.

  His lips trailed a blazing path over the delicate line of her collarbone, lingering on the fluttering pulse at the base of her throat. He gave a low growl of satisfaction at her obvious response to his touch.

  “I am developing a deep, lingering appreciation for the scent of roses,” he muttered against her throat.

  Her hands lifted to grasp the lapels of his black jacket. It was that or melt to her knees.

  “Mr. Clarke, you should not be doing this.”

  He chuckled, boldly nipping her skin with the edge of his teeth.

  “Do you wish me to halt?”

  Rachel was incapable of playing her role as the coy flirt. “No.”

  “Neither do I.” The lips stroked upward and Rachel parted her mouth in anticipation of his long-awaited kiss. But the kiss never arrived and reluctantly lifting her lashes, she discovered he had pulled back to regard her flushed countenance with tense restraint.

  “I think it would be best if we return to the others.”

  Rachel longed to protest. She did not want to bring an end to the sweet passion he had stirred to life. But belatedly realizing that the midst of a large party was hardly the setting for such activities, no matter how entrancing, brought her sharply to her senses.

  “Yes.”

  He smiled gently into her darkened eyes. Before he could speak, however, the door to the library was thrust open and a tall gentleman with gray-streaked hair pulled to the nape of his neck stepped into the room.

  Rachel discretely shifted away from Mr. Clarke as she met her father’s speculative gaze.

  “Rachel,” the Devilish Dandy murmured. “I wondered where you had disappeared to.”

  “We were just returning.”

  The green gaze briefly shifted toward the silent Mr. Clarke before he moved forward to offer Rachel his arm.

  “Perhaps it would be best if I escort you back to the salon. I should not wish unpleasant speculation to arise from your appearance together.”

  She hesitated only a mom
ent before placing her hand on his arm. She did not dare glance at Mr. Clarke, knowing that she was certain to reveal precisely what had been occurring before her father’s arrival.

  In silence the Devilish Dandy led her back into the crowded room, firmly steering her toward a distant corner before coming to a halt and regarding her in a stern manner.

  “You appear to be on very friendly terms with Mr. Clarke,” he accused in smooth tones.

  Rachel could not halt the smile that curved her lips. “He is a unique gentleman.”

  “Most women in England appear to think so,” her father agreed dryly.

  She gave an impatient click of her tongue. “I do not mean his fortune. Many gentlemen are wealthy. He is a mystery.”

  “He is also intelligent, eccentric, and indifferent to the usual rules of society.” The green eyes narrowed. “Not at all the sort to be a dutiful sycophant.”

  “No,” she agreed, not nearly so disturbed by the knowledge as she should have been.

  A short silence fell before her father smiled in a wry manner. “You will have a care, will you not, my dear?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have learned over the years that there are rare individuals who will not be deceived, manipulated, nor seduced. They can not be controlled, which is always dangerous.”

  She did not need her father’s warning to know that Mr. Clarke was dangerous. She sensed his danger in every glance and every touch.

  “I shall keep your warning in mind.”

  “See that you do, or you might find yourself the one on the leash.”

  Rachel widened her eyes in outrage. “Never.”

  “We shall see.”

  Any protest Rachel might have desired to utter at the absurd warning was halted as their host came bearing down upon them with a thin, dour-faced gentleman with graying brown hair.

  “Mr. Foxworth, there you are,” Mr. Carlfield cried in a hearty voice. “I wished to introduce you to Mr. Wingrove. Mr. Wingrove, this is Mr. Foxworth, a close acquaintance of the Prince.”

  Rachel stiffened in shock. This dried-up gentleman was engaged to Violet? Gads, he was old enough to be her father. And there was a sour, unpleasant cast to his hatchet features. Surely her dear friend could not have willingly chosen such a repulsive suitor?