"If he isn’t, he’s a fool."
In the moonlight Rowena seemed almost to shimmer, her fair hair and skin touched with silver. His eyes raked over her once and then came to rest on her lips with a considering gaze. Rowena shivered. Although he hadn’t touched her, his gaze was shockingly intimate.
"Then you will understand if I return to the ballroom." Rowena turned to go, but found her arm once again caught in Alaric’s firm grip. His ungloved hands were warm, the palms slightly rough. The feeling against her bare skin was unexpectedly exciting.
"Running away?" he asked.
Rowena returned his challenging gaze. "There is nothing to run from, my lord. I have had enough fresh air and wish to dance again."
Alaric released her arm and leaned back against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. Rowena could see the tiny ripple of his muscles moving under the fine cloth of his coat and realized that this was no lazy gentleman of fashion she was facing.
"Wouldn’t you rather talk to me?" he asked, his eyes still lingering on her mouth, then sliding down over her slender figure.
"I’m sure we have very little to discuss," snapped Rowena.
"On the contrary, I think we could find a great many things we have in common if we only tried." Alaric leaned toward her. "It could be quite enlightening."
"Your reputation precedes you, I’m afraid," said Rowena. "You, Lord Brayleigh, are a collector of fine art objects and beautiful women. I am neither, nor do I wish to be collected. That leaves us with very little to share."
"On the contrary, you are both a lovely woman and an exceptional work of art," murmured Alaric. He stepped forward until he was only inches from Rowena and allowed his hands to drift down to capture her wrists. She stood still, scarcely breathing, aware that she should pull herself away from him, but snared by the gleam in his emerald eyes. He paused for a moment, his lips only inches from hers, as she wondered frantically what he would do next.
"Rowena, dear. I’m so glad I’ve found you. Mrs. Sheridan is asking after you." The gentle voice was agitated, and Rowena turned quickly to see her aunt hovering just inside the ballroom and peering out the door, her alarm evident.
"Aunt Louisa, where did you spring from?" asked Rowena, hastily disengaging herself from Alaric. "Are you acquainted with Lord Brayleigh?"
"I have met Lady Belmont on many occasions," said Alaric promptly. He took Lady Belmont's hand and bowed politely over it, shooting her a wicked smile.
Lady Belmont snatched her hand back as thought it had been burned, and seemed to flutter for a moment, her eyes looking everywhere except at Alaric. "Yes indeed," she gasped. "We have met before. Charmed to see you again, Brayleigh. If you will excuse us, Rowena is wanted elsewhere."
A bored look masked Alaric's face. "Ah yes, Mrs. Sheridan awaits," he said. "What a pity. I hope I’ll meet you again soon, Lady Rowena."
"I am sure you will, if you attend many parties. I’m out a great deal these days." Rowena noted out of the corner of her eye that Lady Belmont made a hasty gesture and then subsided with an audible sigh.
Alaric grinned at Lady Belmont and then turned to Rowena. "I am not in the habit of attending many social functions, but perhaps I will change my ways. I look forward to our next encounter."
He bowed low as Lady Belmont, smiling nervously, led Rowena away. She waited only until they were a few feet distant from him, before seizing Rowena's arm and shaking her slightly.
"Whatever were you thinking of to dance with Brayleigh?" she demanded. "And then going outside with him! Everyone will be talking."
Rowena gave her aunt a blank look. "He asked me to dance in front of numerous people, and then nearly dragged me onto the floor. I could hardly refuse him without creating a scene. And why should I?"
"Oh, I do wish he had not come tonight." Lady Belmont clasped her hands together. In her agitation she resembled nothing so much as a bird, fluttering about and attempting to protect her nest from predators. "Everyone said he was certain to be out of town for the rest of the Season due to the Mannering scandal. I hope he doesn't mean to pursue you. It would be so distressing, and so like him to try to cause difficulties." Lady Belmont clutched her fan tightly and took a deep breath. "You must not dance with him again, Rowena."
"What nonsense is this, Aunt Louisa?" asked Rowena. "I’m aware that Brayleigh’s reputation is not unsullied, but I hardly think he could do anything to me in the middle of the Willoughby’s ballroom. He is invited to all the best houses and I have never heard of him kidnapping anybody."
"This is not a laughing matter. He is dangerous," whispered Lady Belmont. "That is enough for you to know."
Rowena laughed at that, and Alaric, watching from a distance, drew in his breath at the sight. She was transformed from a beautiful woman to a magnificent one, warm and generous. He felt his body tighten with unbidden desire.
"Aunt, that is hardly enough for me," said Rowena. "When was I ever so docile? I’m not a child to be ordered about. You must give me a good reason to stay away from Lord Brayleigh, or I won’t heed you."
Lady Belmont hesitated. "Not here and now, Rowena. There will be enough talk as it is. If someone should overhear us.... I will tell you tomorrow. In the meantime, please stay away from Lord Brayleigh, for my sake."
Rowena shrugged. "Very well. But I hope this reason of yours will be worth the wait. I grow more intrigued by the moment."
Alaric lounged against a marble pillar, openly watching from across the room, as Rowena joined the dance with a new partner, a rather callow looking youth, whose tailor Alaric wrote off as only marginally competent. Charles shouldered his way through the crowd to his cousin’s side and stood next to him, also watching the swirling dancers.
"Alaric, you are a devil," he said feelingly. "I don’t know how many people have stopped me in the last five minutes to ask about your intentions toward Lady Rowena."
"Can I help it if Society is so starved for titillation that it must interest itself in my actions? I merely asked a charming young lady to dance." Alaric bent innocent eyes on his cousin.
"No, that’s coming at it a bit too strong. I know you’re up to some mischief. You don’t do anything without reason, and no one can remember the last time you danced with an unmarried woman. What are you up to?"
"Why must I be up to something?" asked Alaric plaintively.
Charles frowned. "Because you always have an ulterior motive. And when Alaric Montfort dances with Malcolm Arlingby’s sister, people are going to ask questions. They say you’re planning on ruining the girl, just to show the Arlingbys you can have anything at all that you want."
"It is a trial to be so sorely misunderstood," said Alaric. "I had thought better of you, Charles."
"Dash it, Alaric, she’s a nice girl," protested Charles. "It won’t do for you to try to entangle her in your schemes. What do you mean by this?"
"You are far too inquisitive, Charles. I mean nothing at all." Alaric brushed an invisible piece of dust from his sleeve. "I find that this subject grows tedious. Shall we repair to Watier’s for the remainder of the evening?"
"Alaric, you can't simply come to this ball, dance with one girl, and then leave to play Macau at Watier’s. People will talk."
"I can do anything I please, and people talk anyway, no matter how I behave," observed Alaric wearily. "There’s nothing I can do to stop them. Nor has Lady Rowena’s reputation suffered any damage; indeed, people will be positively agog to meet the young lady who caught my eye. I’m known as something of a connoisseur of feminine beauty, after all."
Charles shrugged with ill grace. "If you care no more for your good name than that, I suppose I will accompany you."
"Thank you, Charles. You comfort me."
Chapter 3
At Watier’s the company was fashionable, and the play was deep; Brayleigh was comfortable there, as nearly all of its members were also the subject of gossip. Cards, however, seemed to hold little charm for Brayleigh that evening, even though
he won a considerable sum.
After a few hours of doing his best to prevent Charles Monfort from losing money that he would inevitably require Brayleigh to repay, Alaric turned to Charles saying "I’m up five hundred guineas tonight, and you have lost almost nothing. The urge to tempt fate further has left me."
"Are you so mean as to deny me the chance to win as well, cousin?" Charles inquired.
"Indeed I am, I have other sport to pursue," Alaric responded.
"I suppose the charming Lily awaits you," Charles murmured.
"I pay her to, so I certainly hope she is waiting. Now, I have a mind to try collecting a woman, and won’t be responsible for any losses you incur after I go, so I suggest you depart with me. We can walk together as far as Half Moon Street."
Not half an hour later Alaric rapped at the door of the elegant house he had purchased for Lily Magdalene in Half Moon Street. It was answered by his mistress, who wore a diaphanous cloud of silk and tulle that passed as a negligee. She took his cape, hat, gloves and cane, abandoning them on a charming demi-lune table, and embraced him enthusiastically.
Alaric submitted, and then gently disentangled himself. "Carefully my dear, you are about to drive my diamond pin straight into my chest," he murmured straightening his carefully folded cravat, and the offending article of adornment.
"I am sorry Brayleigh, but I am delighted to see you. Charlais has prepared a charming supper, and I am truly famished, as I danced tonight," she laughed.
"By all means then, let us dine," he replied, "That way I will be assured that your appetite for me is strong."
He bowed to her, and they passed into the drawing room where Lily had a small table set for two in front of a cheerful fire. Alaric seated her and then himself, and looked around the room. His eye stopped on a charming bronze of a nude woman holding a towel at her breast, and another over her hips.
"Ah, the bronze that Giambologna cast of his Venus Cesarini," he noted thoughtfully. "Lily, ring the bell and tell them to have a tub in your bedroom after dinner," he ordered with a smile full of promise. "You are about to be my first attempt to ‘collect’ a woman."
Lily rose and tugged the bell pull. "Experience tells me that, with your involvement, it will be a very satisfying first attempt," she purred.
Sometime later, after Lily and Alaric had dispatched Charlais’ elegant dinner, finishing with delicate strawberries from Brayleigh’s succession houses, they mounted the stairs to the bedroom, Alaric cradling the bronze in his arms. A gleaming copper tub graced the center of the room, candlelight winked off the sage green and cream draperies, and a heap of towels sat waiting on a little table. Brayleigh placed the bronze on it and adjusted the statue so he had a clear view.
"Charming," Brayleigh drawled. "Lily darling, allow me to divest you of that gown." Lily turned to him and he deftly loosened the string at the front to allow the frothy tulle collar to fall from her voluptuous breasts. He pushed the robe down her arms, to reveal her lush figure, and soon she stood naked before him. Alaric lifted her heavy breasts to his lips, and gently licked and nibbled at her nipples. A low sigh escaped her.
"Not yet," he said. "Now, step into the tub and make yourself comfortable."
He steadied her elbow as Lily stepped over the high edge of the copper tub, and slipped into the warm, rose scented water. He took a cloth from the side, carefully dipped it in the water, and lathered it with the fine milled lavender soap resting by the tub. He smoothed it over Lily’s shoulders and she murmured her pleasure.
"I did a great deal of dancing tonight, my lord. This is very soothing."
"It won’t be all soothing, my dear," responded Brayleigh.
"I hope not," Lily giggled.
Brayleigh finished washing Lily, to her considerable enjoyment, and then drew her out of the tub and held two towels out to her.
"Now my dear, let us see if we can make a work of art of you. You see the Cesarini Venus there next to the towels? Let us see if you can become her."
Lily’s lips made an "o" of surprise, but she glanced over the statue with her dancer’s eye and drew one towel from him, draping it over her bare hips. Brayleigh crushed the second into a pouf then passed it to her, and she pressed it against one full breast, lifting up to him then coyly leaned against the stool.
"Will this do, my lord?" she inquired.
"Very well indeed, my dear," replied Brayleigh. "But you must recall that like a statue, you must be still."
Lily raised her eyebrows and smiled, but remained silent.
"Silence is very good too," remarked Alaric. He reached out and touched her breast, rubbing his fingertips over it gently, and watched as the nipple puckered.
"Didn’t I tell you not to move?" he teased.
Lily remained silent, and he bent down to draw the nipple into his mouth, as his hand slipped down her ribs and over her sensitive belly to her hips, and then grasped her behind. He squeezed slowly as he suckled, and Lily drew in a sharp breath. She trembled a bit in his arms, and Alaric drew his hand back to her thighs and let his fingers drift upward under the concealing towel to brush the damp curls that nestled between her legs. A little gasp came from Lily.
"Silence," he reminded her, shifting his lips to the other breast. The bunched up towel tickled his nose a bit, and he abandoned the nipple after bringing it to a peak as proud and tight as its twin. He dropped to his knees, lifting the towel as Lily remained still and silent. He touched the moist curls beneath, then deftly parted the tender lips that pouted behind the towel and stroked her gently. Lily quivered.
"You must be still and silent as a statue," Alaric reminded her. Lily glared down at him, and Alaric smirked. "A work of art isn’t supposed to look daggers at its owner either, darling," her murmured.
He inserted one finger in her moist channel, then two, stroking her slowly. "You are very wet from something besides the bath, dear Lily," he remarked.
He removed his fingers, then parted her again and put his mouth to her creamy slit, sliding a talented tongue across her, as she shivered. He smelled the lavender of the soap, and a woman’s desire, and blew gently on her. Lily quivered again, and gasped deeply, struggling to remain immobile as the waves of pleasure washed over her. Then as he pressed his lips to the bud at the center of her pleasure and swept his tongue back and forth over it, she cried out, and as her orgasm overtook her, and, falling out of her pose, came to her knees on the floor.
"I’m a failure as a work of art, I fear, my lord," she laughed up at him. Then she spread her legs and touched where he had just lavished his attention on her. "You are a work of art yourself, my lord. Won’t you disrobe, and join me?"
Brayleigh removed his clothes slowly, letting her admire his fine figure as he did so, and then dropped to the soft carpet. He pushed into her slickness, and drove into her until he heard her cry out again with pleasure before he allowed himself release.
"You make a delightful statue, my dear, particularly since you can be enjoyed with much more than the eyes," he said. He lifted her from the floor, and propelled her to the bed, tucking her in neatly and kissing her lightly. He then began to put on his clothes.
Lily patted the bed next to her and smiled lasciviously. "You will not stay the night, Brayleigh? I would be pleased to entertain you further."
"Thank you, but no, Lily. Even a work of art needs her rest." Brayleigh smiled faintly as he finished dressing, pausing at the mirror to make sure his cravat was arranged just so. Reaching for his coat, he slipped silently out of the bedroom.
Chapter 4
"Aunt Louisa, you must come to the point," said Lady Rowena firmly. "You scolded me for dancing with Brayleigh last night and ordered me not to do so again. I believe you should at least tell me why."
Louisa Belmont stirred nervously and peered at her niece over the rim of her teacup. She was a thin lady of rather indeterminate age who wore a look of perpetual worry on her face. This look had not eased any since she had taken charge of Rowena, whom she found t
o be sweet and loving, but regrettably headstrong.
"I told you, he is not a suitable partner for a young lady such as yourself," she answered, as firmly as she could.
"Nonsense." Rowena buttered a piece of toast and then looked up, a martial glint in her eyes. "I haven’t encountered Brayleigh before, but I know that his family is ancient and his wealth is staggering. He is invited to all the best houses. There is no reason why I shouldn’t be polite to him."
Louisa's hand shook as she placed her teacup back on its saucer. "It simply won't do. Brayleigh is a man about town. He shows no interest in marriageable young women. If you are seen with him it will cause unpleasant talk, and as for his dancing with no one else last night--well, the sort of speculation that will give rise to would be most disagreeable."
"I thought it was rather an honor to have him show such partiality," countered Rowena. "I had the distinct impression that many ladies present were jealous."
"That is as may be, but you would hardly want to draw such undesirable attention to yourself. You are here to find a respectable husband, not entangle yourself with a disreputable rake." Louisa looked down the long, highly polished table at her husband, who was attending to his breakfast with deep concentration. "Jonathan, do tell her that she must mind me."
Lord Belmont looked up from his eggs and fixed Rowena with a watery blue eye. "Listen to your aunt, Rowena," he muttered.
Rowena laughed. "I’ll listen if you’ll give me some sort of reasonable explanation, Aunt Louisa. Indeed, I don’t mean to be disobliging, but I sense a mystery here. Lady Jersey approached me last night and made a number of comments about Brayleigh that left me totally at sea."
Lady Belmont gasped and clasped her hands in front of her thin bosom. "What did she say? Goodness, we are ruined. I told you that man would stop at nothing, didn't I, Jonathan?"
Rowena blinked at this response. "I knew there was more going on than you had told me. Whatever is it about Brayleigh that so alarms you?"
"What did Lady Jersey say?" repeated Lady Belmont anxiously.
A Collector's Item: Rowena's After Dark Regency Romance (The Arlingbys Book 1) Page 2
