“I suppose she’s grown up to be one of these annoying creatures,” Colin said under his breath as he watched a group of twittering young ladies circle the ballroom in a cluster of silk and lace, as if an invisible thread linked them together. How could she not be?
“Well, there you are, finally. I’ve been searching everywhere for you.” The elegant, cultured voice teased softly from behind the Grecian urn.
Colin turned a bit cautiously, comforted by the feel of the knife tucked in his coat—a habit Uncle Gerald had instilled in him.
‘It takes too long sometimes to load a pistol. But a knife is always ready.’
“I can’t imagine why such an urn would be looking for me,” he said lightly, “especially since we haven’t received a proper introduction. I am acquainted with the palm, however, as we were introduced earlier this evening.”
A soft giggle, as light as soap bubbles floating up from a bath, emanated from the urn, or rather from the person behind it. The palm waved slightly, as if a gentle breeze blew through the fronds.
“I said, I’ve been looking for you.” The words were soft and suggestive, as if the speaker were bent on seduction.
The greenery parted, and Colin’s first thought was that he prayed the speaker was bent on seduction.
A young woman stepped blithely in front of the urn, one gloved hand pressed to her lips as if she were about to burst into laughter. Glossy black hair, the color of a raven’s wing, coiled about her head in an elaborate coiffure. Peridots winked at him from within the dark dresses, matching the gems that dangled from her delicate ears.
Colin’s heart stopped at the sight of her. So beautiful.
Her gown was the color of the Irish hills and decorated with dozens more peridots, twinkling about her lush form in such a fashion that she appeared to shimmer in the weak light of the wall sconces. Almond shaped eyes, the same color as her dress, watched him in expectation. She was the most gorgeous thing Colin had ever seen. Like a fairy come to steal him and take him to the Otherworld.
Lovely, lovely.
Lust slammed into him so fiercely that for a moment he didn’t breathe. How was it possible that this amazing creature was looking for him?
She moved closer, revealing a generous, but tasteful display of bosom. The top of her breasts gleamed pale and white in the candlelight, like fine alabaster.
Colin’s eyes immediately took in the expanse of honeyed flesh and the gentle swell of her hips. She seemed not to notice the effect she had on him. Her plump red lips held an impish smile.
“I beg your pardon?” His throat went dry. Something about this woman seemed vaguely familiar, as if he’d seen her somewhere before, perhaps walking along Bond Street as his hackney passed.
The scent of sweet honey and lavender surrounded him as she neared.
Cocking her head to the side, she dipped into a polite half curtsy. As she did so, an ebony curl slid over her silk clad shoulder to settle in the crevice between her breasts.
Colin couldn’t take his eyes off that curl. It seemed to beckon him, pleading with him to wrap the glossy strand around his finger. How would her hair look unbound, pouring over her shoulders, down to her-
“I’ve been sent to fetch you,” she lowered her voice to a husky whisper. “Viscount Lindley thought you would probably be hiding, and, as usual, he was quite right. I find it an annoying habit of his. Always being right. Just once, I would like him to be incorrect about something, or someone, though he rarely is.”
Colin nodded in agreement, his eyes never leaving the curl which beckoned him to come closer. He longed to press the curl to his lips.
Her head cocked to the side. “Although, if I could hide from all that fuss in the ballroom, I certainly would. The unnecessary flapping of fans,” she rolled her eyes as her slender gloved hands waved in the air, “the tedium of making pleasant, meaningless conversation just so someone you don’t even particularly care for will call on you the next day. I find it a terrible waste of time. I’d much rather read a book, wouldn’t you?”
A smile tugged at Colin’s lips. “Indeed. I adore books.”
“I’m ashamed to say that I spend most of my time during calls attempting to keep from yawning in the caller’s face. No one ever has anything interesting to say. Weather. Fripperies.” She shrugged, moving the mounds of her ample breasts. “Although, I do adore the dancing, truly. I mean the dancing at balls,” she giggled, “that sounded rather like I dance when gentlemen call on me. Do you dance, Mr. Hartley?”
She said his name in such an odd, familiar way, as if they’d known each other for years. There was something about the way she spoke, her words darting about like fish in a stream, that reminded him of something. Or someone.
“I do not.” God, he wanted to touch that curl, possibly place one finger into the delectable crevice where it lay.
She pursed her lips, drawing his attention. She had a rather sinful mouth, one that made him think all manner of wicked things. Her lips were the color of summer berries and would likely taste as sweet.
“Well, that’s rather unfortunate,” a soft smile crossed the luscious lips. “I was so hoping that you danced, for I do adore it. The way the music floats about you while you’re spinning around is delightful. I’m reminded of the ballet. Do you enjoy the ballet? Oh, don’t answer, I doubt that you do. Most gentlemen do not. I’m not certain many young ladies do either, for that matter, though I’ve often wondered how one dances on their toes.” The gown floated about her trim ankles as she turned back and forth for his benefit, pointing her toes at him in an imitation of a ballerina.
“Would I be able to make you reconsider? Not the ballet of course, but the dancing in general?”
A tightening in Colin’s breeches told him that yes, there was much she could do to make him reconsider. There was no doubt that this was the charming widow Nick told him of last night. Nick’s description did not do the woman justice. She was younger than Colin expected, though Nick did say she had been married to a much older man. It was not uncommon for a young girl to marry a lord many years her senior in order to gain a title.
He started at the feel of her fingers against the fabric of his coat, the action sending a wash of heat from his forearm down to the tips of his fingers. The boldness with which she approached him enticed him, for he didn’t care at all for the false shyness many women affected. Colin much preferred a woman who was direct. Confident.
“I could teach you the steps,” she leaned forward, the top of her bodice lightly glancing off his chest. “Don’t worry. They aren’t hard.”
Yes, but I am. She was so close that if he moved only an inch, he only need bend his head to press his lips against the scented flesh pushing out of her bodice.
“Come,” she said as the musicians started up again in the ballroom, the muted strains just reaching the darkened alcove. Taking his hand in hers, she entwined their fingers. “I will turn a bit.” Lavender and honey floated into his nostrils as she expertly spun about. “You barely have to do anything but stand there while I pirouette like a top. It’s really quite simple, though I wouldn’t like it if you stepped on my feet. Lord Bagley did that just the other night, unintentionally of course. He’s too nice to do something like that on purpose. But,” she came about so that their faces were only inches apart, “it still hurt quite a bit.”
She had the most amazing eyes, like grass after a summer storm and flecked with gold.
“I feared he’d broken my toe. That happened to someone I knew once. A broken toe. Not by dancing, but when a horse stepped on her foot.” She made a neat half turn and looked back at Colin, her brow crinkling in thought. “Now I don’t mean to say that Lord Bagley is a horse. He’s a rather delightful man. Truly.”
She spun the remainder of the way around, until they were facing again. A smile of satisfaction crossed her lips. “See how easy that was?”
Desire rolled through Colin, and his cock hardened almost painfully as his eyes traveled down h
er form. She was slender, but not with the reed slimness of so many of the ton’s beauties. Instead, she looked soft and plush, with welcoming curves that begged for his touch. He nearly salivated at the beauty he knew lay just beneath the silk and lace.
“I don’t think I have it down,” he murmured. “Would you show me again?”
Cheeks pinking like the buds of a rose she replied, “I suppose, but it’s really not that difficult. She took his hand again, stepped forward, and then suddenly stopped, her eyes widening.
“You don’t know who I am.” It wasn’t a question but a statement. A spurt of laughter escaped the plump lips. “This is rather unexpected. I just assumed—”
“Viscount Lindley sent you to find me, didn’t he?”
Her mouth begged for a kiss. And he was going to kiss her. In fact, he didn’t think he could stop if he wanted to.
She nodded her head, the curl bouncing across her lovely skin until it settled once again between the swell of her breasts. “Yes, of course, he did. He insisted I be the one to fetch you.”
Colin tightened his fingers around her waist, pulling the luxuriant body closer to him, until he could feel the warmth of her skin. He reached out to tug at that teasing curl, allowing his fingers to brush intimately against the tops of her breasts.
A delicate tremor went through her at his touch. “You’ll destroy my coiffure.” She took a halting breath, causing her breasts to surge deliciously against the confines of her gown. “Have a care.”
“Duly noted.” The sound of the ballroom faded away and all he could hear was the breathing of the woman before him and the rapid beat of his own heart. Candlelight played against her beautiful cheekbones and across her shoulders.
He reached out to run a fingertip against her lips, watching as her mouth parted with his touch.
“You aren’t,” she said haltingly, “wearing gloves.”
“Are you outraged at my lack of decorum?” He knew she wasn’t, else she’d be screaming by now.
“No. I – I just find it unusual.” Her tongue, tiny and pink, darted out between her lips.
“Jesus.” Gently he touched his lips to hers, brushing lightly against her mouth as an adorable squeak sounded from her.
“Dear God, you smell delicious.” He kissed the corner of her mouth as the fleeting thought that someone could chance upon them urged caution.
“As do you.” She fell against him then with a relieved sigh, crushing those gorgeous breasts against his chest. One gloved hand lingered over his shoulder as if she were considering whether to accept his kiss before her silk clad fingers sank into his shoulders.
Moving his mouth lightly over hers, he teased and toyed with her plump lips, before deepening the kiss. He felt the shift in her body, heralding her surrender to him. Slanting his mouth against hers he devoured her, as if he were a starving man at a feast. Flicking his tongue against her bottom lip, he heard her purr, like a small voluptuous kitten, against him.
Emboldened, his hand slid down the length of her back, feeling the soft, warm skin hidden safely beneath her gown. How he wanted to peel away the fabric that kept him from touching the scented flesh beneath. He wanted to taste her. Inhale her scent. Sink himself into her.
Nipping at her lower lip, he whispered roughly against her mouth, “You are magnificent.”
Her lips parted at his words.
She shivered slightly as his tongue moved through her parted lips, seeking hers. He felt her reticence at the intimacy, but she did not push him away; instead she shyly twined her tongue about his, and attempted to match his movements.
Colin groaned, wanting her. Lusting for her.
Her fingers ran up the back of his neck to the base of his skull, shifting through his hair. It was a delicious feeling.
He suckled her tongue while his hand moved up the front of her gown, lingering just below the curve of her breast. Leaving her lips, he ignored her protest to place his mouth against the satin of her neck.
Her pulse raced beneath his lips. Trailing a lingering kiss up the length of her neck, he paused to nuzzle against the lobe of her ear before drawing the bit of flesh between his teeth.
She struggled to pull him closer, clinging to him as if she were drowning. Her silk clad breasts slid across his chest, the tiny peridots decorating the bodice catching on the buttons of his coat.
Colin pushed her gently, but purposefully, against the wall, covering her smaller form with the hard length of his body. This was madness, for if it continued he would take her in this alcove, the Duke’s ball be damned. He’d forgotten everything, even his reason for being at the Dunbar ball. The only thing that existed was the feel of this woman in his arms. The absolute rightness of her.
She broke off the kiss, “Colin.”
The familiarity with which she used his given name surprised him even as the way she spoke, with a languid sensual sigh, sent another bolt of longing through him. His fingers moved to tickle the lace at the edge of her bodice, then stopped abruptly.
“Dear God.”
Lips swollen from his kiss, her lovely green eyes regarded him with desire and some emotion he didn’t recognize. Green eyes. The same as every other member of her family.
Her fingers ran down the side of his face until he caught her hand in his.
“Don’t be angry,” she murmured.
The last time he’d seen her, she’d been shoving a frog into a tart that the cook at Gray Covington was making for supper. He should have accepted her proposal of marriage years ago, but she’d been only eight at the time.
“Well,” Nick’s amused voice sounded behind him, “I see Miranda’s found you.”
2
London 1836
Colin Hartley, the eighth Earl of Kilmaire, climbed the steps until he stood before the enameled black door gracing the home of the Marquess of Cambourne. He didn’t wish to be there. His gloved hand hovered over the snarling lion that served as the knocker.
The bloody thing looked as if it would bite off a finger.
He’d only wished a bit of help from the Dowager, guidance of sorts, to help him find a wealthy heiress to wed. It would have been so much easier if her ladyship had simply sent a list of suitable young ladies to his rented residence which he could peruse at his leisure. Alone.
Unfortunately, the Dowager had other plans.
She had insisted, rather firmly in a note sent to him that morning, that he call on her at his earliest convenience. Meaning immediately.
One did not ignore the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne if one wished her assistance in making a match. One in which the bride was possessed of a large dowry and whose family would overlook the scandal that was attached to the Earl of Kilmaire like a fattened leech. A bride who didn’t mind the tragedy of the Kilmaire family, of which Colin was the sole remaining member.
Knocking twice in rapid succession, he lifted his chin to the rapidly darkening sky above him. Tiny drops of rain started to fall, peppering his cloak like gunshot.
“Bloody wonderful.” He couldn’t wait to greet the Dowager looking like a drowned rat. A more perfect day he could not have imagined.
He wouldn’t be here at all, if it weren’t for the crumbling heap of stone that was the home of the Earl of Kilmaire. The responsibility of the estate, as well as the title, fell squarely on his shoulders, at the death of his brother Thomas almost two years ago. Even though Colin gave not a fig for either. His business venture, if one could call it that, was no longer enough to support Runshaw Park according to his solicitor. Only a large infusion of money would set things to rights.
Ignored for years by Colin’s parents, Runshaw Park had been allowed to rot. Decay oozed between the bricks instead of mortar. The vast woods surrounding the house were rapidly reclaiming the land on which the structure sat because there was no groundskeeper. Last summer’s rainstorm battered the dilapidated roof, scattering the shingles and ruining a portion of the west wing. The gardens, once the envy of the neighboring estates, had
become so overgrown with weeds and tangled wisteria that one could no longer see the steps leading to Runshaw Park’s front door. A front door covered with peeling paint.
The tenants who farmed the land did so without modern tools and implements, their meager harvest barely enough to feed their own families. A new well needed to be dug. An illness had recently swept through the pigs decimating their numbers. The list continued to grow with no end in sight. Had the bloody place not been entailed, Colin would have sold it immediately. Not that there would have been any bidders on Runshaw Park. Not after what transpired there.
“Probably couldn’t give it away if I tried. Damn you Ian and Thomas.” He cursed his deceased brothers, both of whom had loved Runshaw Park far more than Colin himself did.
Rain fell harder, the dampness sliding underneath Colin’s cloak to send a chill up his spine.
He knocked again and shifted his booted feet.
It should have been one of his brothers, who needed to scour the ton for a wealthy heiress for Runshaw Park. Why must he sacrifice himself to keep that pile of shit whole? He took a deep breath feeling keenly the loss of his brothers, both of whom he’d held in great affection. The unfairness of both of them dying and leaving him to carry on alone was a lingering pain. Especially Thomas who forced a promise upon Colin from his deathbed.
A vision flashed before him, his brother pale and sweat-stained as he lay dying, begging Colin to do his duty to the family. The wasting sickness, the doctor called it. A horror of blood-soaked handkerchiefs and his brother coughing out his life into them.
Why hadn’t it been Colin? The least loved?
The irony of outliving his entire family was not lost on Colin. He’d never thought to inherit, never wished a moment for the title and was ill-prepared in assuming the earldom. The only satisfaction he gained, and it was very little, was that his parents were likely turning in their graves that Colin was now the earl.
MY WICKED EARL: The Wickeds Book 3 Page 3
