A Lady's Guide to Kiss A Rake: Misadventures of the heart

by Wilde, Tanya

  I am a lady of the night, she repeated in her head over and over until calm settled over her.

  “Would I make such a terrible husband?” he murmured over her head, his eyes examining the crowd.

  “My aversion is not to you, but marriage itself.”

  “Does that surly brother of yours share your view?”

  “On the contrary, it gives him heart palpitations.”

  That seemed to amuse him. “He would not force you?”

  Jo’s sigh was one of dramatic fashion. “He may yet, but I like to believe that he knows me well enough that forcing marriage upon me would only result in his utter embarrassment.”

  “Indeed?”

  “We all have our secrets.”

  “Perhaps I will coax some of those secrets from of you,” he drawled with a lazy smile, giving Jo the impression of a cat eyeing the cream.

  “I do not part so easily with mine.”

  They reached the French doors as those words left her lips and Jo hid her nervousness behind an arched brow.

  A mocking smile stretched across his face, daring her to refuse his obvious offer to take a stroll in the garden. With a small smile she stepped onto the terrace, his hand on the small of her back as he led her into the gardens for her very first kiss.

  From a distance, Damien set course directly across the ballroom, following the most beautiful and infuriating woman known to man. Or just to him.

  She currently hung on the arm of Craven and Damien had to tamp down the urge to yank her away from the devil. When he first spied Craven approaching Lady Josephine and Miss Middleton, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him. What the hell was wrong with the chit? Craven would never approach a lady without provocation. He also refrained from consorting with proper ladies. Which meant Lady Josephine was up to no good. Again.

  He made a mental note to apologize to the other Middleton chit, who he left without even a by your leave, when he spotted Lady Josephine dancing her way to the French doors with Craven.

  Once at the doors, he hesitated only long enough to take note if anyone witnessed his pursuit. Someone apparently had. Another Middleton sister appeared by his side, or was it the same one he had left moments ago?

  “My lord, what a pleasant surprise.”

  Not the same one, then. Damien stared at her unmoving. Surprise? She had practically leaped in his way, distracting him from his task.

  Distracting.

  Of course.

  In a ploy to intimidate the small waif-like creature he narrowed his eyes coldly. “You would not be trying to prevent me from withdrawing outside, would you, little girl?”

  Her eyes widened to saucers. “Why ever would I do that, my lord?”

  He took a menacing step forward, but noted she held firm. “I don’t take well to being made a fool.”

  Damien did not wait for her reply but stepped out onto the terrace, brushing her aside. As he proceeded down the steps, he barely noticed the flickering light of the lanterns across certain parts of the garden, meant to give one the impression of magical woods. He was not in a magical mood.

  Instinct led him down the garden path and around the giant Medusa garden statue. He had brought countless women to many gardens for a bit of dallying, so he had no doubt he would find her. Yet, for a moment, he thought his instinct proved wrong. Then upon hearing faint, hardly discernable voices, he knew it had not and picked up his pace.

  Perhaps, he bitterly considered, it would serve the chit right to find herself married off to a bastard like Craven. But the mere thought made him want to kill someone.

  Just then, he turned another corner and saw Lady Josephine, standing with her back toward him. The pair stood too close for his comfort, discussing something in low, whispering voices, oblivious to his approach.

  Without warning and to Damien’s horror, Lady Josephine lifted herself up on to her toes as Craven leaned forward, almost pressing up against her. They were going to kiss.

  Over his dead body!

  “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Damien drawled, not able to stop the edge from entering his voice.

  He watched with satisfaction as the little lady whirled to face him, shock clearly etched into her fine features. Craven, on the other hand, only lifted a mocking brow, as if the bastard had expected his arrival.

  The object of his frustration straightened. “Lucien and I were enjoying a breath of fresh air. Were you following us?”

  Lucien, was it? He did not miss her fingers grip her gown.

  “I suggest you not try my patience any further tonight,” Damien said to Lady Josephine before he settled his gaze on Craven. “I recommend you leave.”

  The rotter actually had the gall to chuckle and take Josephine’s hand in his, lifting it to his lips. “Until tomorrow, Lady Jo.”

  His whisper had been loud enough for Damien to overhear before he disappeared into the darkness. The man obviously possessed a death wish.

  Those green cat eyes locked with his.

  “What the devil are you up to?” Damien growled. “Have you no care for your reputation? Is that it? Men like Craven devour little virgins like you for breakfast.”

  “One may say the same about you.”

  Damien shoved his arm her way. “Come,” he gritted. “I shall see you safely inside where you will stay out of bloody trouble.”

  She shot him a look that expressed deviance.

  “Take it,” he snapped.

  Something in his gaze must have convinced her for she seized his arm, almost stumbling to keep pace with his longer strides. Damien did not slow, but instead more or less dragged her back up the garden path, stopping only when they were well within view of the ballroom.

  “While I suppose I should thank you, I find myself resenting your interference,” she remarked once they stopped.

  “Why are you trying to seduce Craven?”

  “Why did you follow me?” she shot back.

  “I am not the concern here, you are.”

  “Good heavens St. Aldwyn, it was just a little flirtation,” she said, her tone mocking. “I daresay there is nothing wrong with that.”

  “There is when it’s Craven you are consorting with.”

  A loud snort was her answer. “Why are you stalking me?”

  “I am not stalking you,” Damien snapped. “I happened to notice your departure and prevented your ruination. Not that your lackeys did not try to stop me. They failed horrendously.”

  Was it his imagination or was that satisfaction that shone in her gaze? It was gone before he could blink.

  “Whether or not I am ruined is none of your concern, so you can stop following me about.”

  Damien’s eyes narrowed on her, no detail too small to hide from his gaze. From the slight crease in her brow to her stiff posture, his eyes took it all in. She seemed to enjoy tormenting him.

  “You are right, of course. You are not my duty,” he returned. “But if you do feel the need to seduce someone, you might as well seduce me.”

  He had shocked her with his words. Those luscious lips parted ever so slightly and her cat eyes widened only faintly before a mischievous smile tugged at her mouth.

  “An intriguing offer, my lord, but as you can see, I have set my sights on someone else.”

  “So set them on me.”

  “No.”

  Instinct warned there was more to this than she let on, but jealousy threatened to lay waste to any good intentions. He tamped it down. “Do you know what Craven is, Lady Josephine?” he finally asked.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake,” she snapped, defiance once again flashing in her green eyes. “The man’s a notorious rake, I am well aware. But on the other hand, so are you—and yet here I stand, perfectly safe.”

  “If that is what you believe,” his voice quiet and low, “you are sorely mistaken. Craven is not just a notorious rake. He’ll take what he desires and toss you to the wolves. And for your information, you have never been safe with me,” his warm
breath caressed her cheek as he took a step closer, “you will never be safe with me.”

  Jo stared up into the handsome face of St. Aldwyn, her feeble knees weakening at his admission. Hell’s bells, what this man could do to her without so much as a touch was nothing short of alarming. Summoning every bit of self-control she possessed, she willed her face devoid of expression.

  “You do not scare me.”

  “Liar, but rest assured I’ve no intention of kissing you, at least not yet.” As if his words weren’t infuriating enough, the rogue had the audacity to wink.

  “I have no interest in kissing you,” Jo replied flatly.

  His gaze bore into hers for several more unnerving seconds. Then his eyes narrowed to slits. “You are up to something.”

  In spite of her surprise, she mentally patted herself on the shoulder for remaining unaffected by those heated eyes. He may be able to unnerve her with his raw masculinity, but she would not let him get the better of her.

  “I’m not sure I follow, my lord.”

  “You all have that gleam in your eyes. Trouble, it is.”

  “You are mistaken.”

  “I can also tell a lie when I hear one.” His dark eyes seemed to burrow right into her soul. “What mischief are you plotting?”

  Jo had to remind herself that he could not possibly know about their wager. “I’m sure I do not know what you mean.”

  His expression remained inscrutable and Jo cursed her lack of ability to read him as easily as he apparently read her. He leaned closer. Mere inches separated them now.

  “As a gentleman, it is my duty to see that you are not taken advantage of by the likes of Craven.”

  “You are a lord, not a gentleman. And even if I were up to something, it would only stand to reason you are in no position to allow or refuse me anything.”

  “No?” His gaze flicked to her lips. “Yet, everything you do interests me. And I wish to know why you chose him, Josephine.”

  Tiny prickles of awareness coated her skin at the use of her name. It sounded intimate and wicked rolling from his tongue and Jo could not deny that Craven did not have quite the same effect on her as St. Aldwyn. But she could hardly tell him of the wager for he would never let it go.

  “If you must know, there is a certain air of danger surrounding Craven that I find most appealing.”

  “Am I not dangerous enough?”

  Jo thought it wise to remain silent.

  Savage eyes stared back at her. “I wonder what your dear ignorant brother would say of your latest attempt at trouble.”

  “I suppose he may be grateful that the honorable Marquis of St. Aldwyn took it upon himself to inform him of my latest escapade. It will certainly raise my estimation of your air of danger if you tell my brother.”

  “Be careful, Lady Josephine. I will only tolerate so much from you.”

  “You seem to forget, my lord, you are in no position to tolerate anything from me. Please remember that the next time you consider meddling in my affairs,” Jo snapped, parting on him a murderous glare before she stomped back to the ballroom. The nerve of that man! Why she fancied herself attracted to him in the first place was beyond her understanding. He was insufferable and she would not let him get in the way of her winning this wager.

  Chapter 5

  The following night, the unfortunate marriage of Lady Constance to the merchant Mr. Cartwright was the whisper on everyone’s lips. Damien noted this as he straightened his coat and strolled into the ballroom of Lord and Lady Wycombe. Almost every woman in attendance stole glances at him, tittering behind their fans, no doubt gossiping the latest gossip. His lip curled in disgust. He hated gossip. The only reason he attended this blasted affair instead of drinking himself into oblivion was the same reason that had haunted his sleep last night.

  She was up to something—and what better way to pass the time than get to the bottom of it? In fact, he deemed it his gentlemanly duty to put a stop to whatever she had planned with Craven. Ladies did not go about gallivanting in the gardens and venturing off into the darkness, kissing depraved rakes. Well, not Lady Josephine, and not without him.

  “Your expression is distressingly dour,” a voice drawled. Westfield came up beside him, his gaze never leaving the crowd.

  “She’s up to something,” Damien muttered, watching Josephine mooning over Craven.

  “Who?”

  “Not just who, all of them! Look at them, huddled in the corner conspiring.”

  “Who is conspiring?” Westfield asked again.

  “Lady Josephine and her band of conspirators,” Damien muttered, motioning to the ladies in question.

  Westfield raised a thick blond brow. “When are they not conspiring? Besides, why do you care what marry minded misses are up to?”

  Damien glared at his friend.

  Westfield was right of course. What had started as a fairly innocent observation had developed into a full blown obsession. An obsession with one woman. One woman. That had been all it took. Damn it all.

  “If I recall correctly, this all started with your mad scheme to see your sister wed. I wanted no part it,” Damien pointed out.

  “Evelyn has married and yet, here you are.”

  “That woman has put a spell on me. Why else would I be obsessed with her?”

  “Why else indeed.”

  Damien rolled his eyes. If Westfield’s mind was a maze of crackers, where exactly did that leave him?

  He drew in a deep breath while searching the room for Lady Josephine, who had disappeared from the group. He leaned against the wall behind him. The drawing room grew more populated with each passing minute, which made it easy for her to disappear into the crowd.

  Clearly, he had gone mad.

  Ah, his gaze found her amidst the throng. A startling vision, swathed in scarlet silk, the swell of her breast gleamed in the candle light. He could not manage to remove his gaze from her as she drifted to the center of the room, drawing the attention of every damn man in her vicinity. He shook his head; to be sure she was actually there.

  Then his heart nearly ceased to beat as he watched her saunter up to Craven, whisper something in his ear and walk away toward the open doors leading to the gardens. A minute later Craven followed.

  Damien gaped in astonishment. “Is she bloody mad?”

  Westfield, who had followed his gaze, whistled. “Craven, heh? I say we kill him and be done with it.”

  Damien turned his furious gaze to Westfield. “Love to, but he has not done anything wrong.”

  “I suppose we shall have to settle for maiming then.”

  The idea held some definite merit. Had she learned nothing from the previous evening? His gaze flickered to the crowd, certain the exchange had been noticed, but oddly enough, no one seemed to have seen it, much less noted their departure. What in the blazes was wrong with these people? All their attention was riveted on—he turned his head to the current commotion—Miss Middleton? The chit waved her arms wildly about in the direction of Warton, Lady Josephine’s brother. Had she just jumped up and down?

  Realization struck, hard and fast. The Middletons were aiding Lady Josephine in her path to ruination.

  Damien pushed away from the wall and set a course directly across the ballroom, leaving Westfield behind. He ignored anyone who attempted to gain his attention, following Josephine and the soon-to-be dead man, all the while keeping his gaze trained on Craven’s back.

  At the doors, he hesitated only long enough to see if a Middleton would appear, before slipping through once again. He did not need an audience for the crime he was about to commit.

  Josephine followed Craven deeper into the gardens, elated that tonight she would finally receive her long-awaited first kiss. Craven had been sending heated glances her way all night and the thrill of being the object of his desire felt exhilarating.

  He led her around a curve and suddenly there were no more lanterns, the gardens plunged into darkness. She barely had time to recognize her
surroundings before she was pushed up against a wall, steel arms around her waist.

  Oh my.

  His gaze bore into her only for a second before it dropped to linger on her lips, only to settle on her exposed skin. A rush of excitement shot up her body. No man has ever looked at her with such desire. Well, perhaps St. Aldwyn, but he did not count. She preferred to be a lady of the night than a mouse being stalked by a predator.

  “What. Do. You. Want. From me?” His voice came out harsh, causing little tremors to run down her spine.

  “A kiss,” she whispered in a voice that belonged to the temptress she pretended to be. To demonstrate, she flicked her tongue over lower lip.

  “Is that all you want from me, Lady Jo?”

  “Yes.”

  Lucien’s smile turned predatory as he said, “We shall see,” before his lips came crushing down on hers. The action was so unexpected Jo gasped at the touch of his mouth closing on hers. He took advantage of her surprise and let his tongue caress her parted lips. Hesitant at first, Jo mimicked his action with her tongue, causing him to deepen the kiss with a growl.

  Suddenly the kiss stopped and Jo nearly groaned in protest before the sound of flesh pounding flesh brought her out of her reverie. Her first thought was that her brother had found them, but upon opening her eyes she realized it was none other than the Marquis of St. Aldwyn. And he was in a killing rage.

  His fist pounded in to Craven.

  Jo watched in horror as the two men rolled around on the ground, fists flying and curses ringing in her ears.

  “Stop it! Both of you!” Jo demanded after her initial shock wore off.

  “Stay out of this Lady Jo,” Craven said, as his fist connected with a solid blow to St. Aldwyn’s jaw.

  “Yes, stay out of this Lady Jo,” St. Aldwyn mocked as he double punched Craven in the ribs.

  Jo threw her hands in the air. “This is ridiculous!” she shouted as she stalked away. She would rather not be anywhere near Damien when they finally finished brawling.

  “Come back here, Josephine!”