To Love a Libertine

by LeFey, Liana

  …

  From her corner of the gallery, Eden regarded her hopeful devotees with carefully masked disdain. Mice, all of them. Not a real man amongst the lot—unless one counted Lord Abingdon, which she didn’t. She repressed a shudder. Almost old enough to be her grandfather, Abingdon was out of the question. If only he would realize it and leave her be.

  Reformed rakes make the best husbands her married friends had all said. Such was her belief, too. After all, her own dear Papa had been one before Mama tamed him.

  Snapping open her fan, Eden fluttered it to hide a smile that twitched with the strain of overuse. The newly married Lord Creighton, who was now openly admiring her décolletage, was reputed to have numerous unwed friends of that ilk, but where were they?

  A flash of peacock blue embroidered with gold caught her eye, and her heart beat a little faster. She knew of only one man who wore such clothes.

  George’s great toe, he’s here! Lord, but he’s a handsome devil. In his early thirties, Lord Tavistoke’s russet hair was yet untouched by frost. With every year that passed, he grew more handsome. His face had matured beyond the boyish handsomeness she’d fantasized about since she was in pinafores, transforming into something far more devastating.

  Now there’s a man… Pity he’s interested only in married women.

  A sharp elbow in her ribs jolted her back to the present. With a reproachful look, her friend Genevieve admonished her to pay mind as Lord Ellsworth declared his love for her in the form of some very badly written prose.

  Again.

  Smiling, Eden demurred with as much grace as was possible with her teeth clenched. Ellsworth was the worst of the mice. Weak-chinned and soft about the middle, he was as milquetoast as they came. He had kind eyes, but there was no fire in them. There ought to be fire in a man’s eyes when he declared “passionate” love for a woman. She doubted whether he’d ever been passionate about anything besides a Sunday roast.

  “Lord save us,” hissed Genevieve, clutching at her arm. “It’s The Terror of the Ton—he’s coming this way!”

  On her other side, Adelaide gasped, “And he’s looking right at you!”

  Heart in her throat, Eden watched Tavistoke approach, his long stride eating up the floor.

  She’d seen a lion once. Even caged, the beast had been magnificent. The raw power of the animal, the unsuppressed rage and hunger in its amber gaze as their eyes had met through the iron bars had imprinted upon her memory. She shivered.

  Every instinct had screamed at her to run as the great cat had paced the length of the enclosure, never taking its eyes off her. And yet she had stood there, mesmerized by a creature that viewed her as nothing more than a tender morsel to be devoured. The same sensations ran riot inside her now. The only difference was that the look in Tavistoke’s dark eyes as he smiled at her made her want to be his prey.

  Her legs trembled, and her knees felt watery, prompting her to send up a quick prayer of thanks that she was sitting down. Every rumor she’d heard, every warning, jostled for recall. Outrageous affaires, reckless duels, drunken debauchery and wild bets—and of course his fondness for beautiful women. Married women.

  With the exception of Lady Montgomery…

  The woman had thrown him over the year prior to Eden’s coming out, and to her delight no one had snapped him up yet. If an unwed female could capture his heart once, it could be done again. Looking at him now, she marveled that any woman would choose another over him. Lord Montgomery must be one hell of a lover.

  Quashing her rising excitement, she tore her gaze off Tavistoke’s face—and noticed Viscount Wells at his side. Her nose pinched with distaste, and she had to make an effort to relax her features into passivity. She ignored the two men and instead whispered to Adelaide until they were standing right in front of her.

  “Miss Lowther, I am your servant,” Wells addressed her, bowing.

  Eden turned to stare at the man with wide eyes. He was one of five whose proposals she had declined last year. “Why, Lord Wells! What a pleasant surprise. I did not think to see you here this Season. I thought you and Lady Wells were to visit the Continent.”

  His beefy face turned deep red. “Lady Wells dislikes traveling and preferred to remain in London.”

  Resisting the urge to scoff, she maintained her sweetest smile. The truth of the matter was that Lady Wells had refused to board ship at the last moment, revealing a previously unmentioned terror of the sea. Rumor had it she’d proven fearful of her marriage bed, too. It was whispered that after their wedding night she hadn’t allowed her husband near her again for a month. Eden pitied the woman. She suspected Wells was as crude and repulsive in the bedchamber as he was outside it.

  “What a shame,” she simpered. “She would have come back in the latest French designs and been the envy of us all.”

  “Yes, well…” Wells cleared his throat and gestured to the man beside him. “Miss Lowther, may I present Lord Tavistoke.”

  Tavistoke’s dark eyes twinkled as he swept an elegant bow. “Your most humble and obliging servant. Do call me Percy—I insist.” He leaned a little closer and dropped his voice to an intimate whisper. “I despise formality between friends.”

  Careful to keep her face neutral, she answered, “Are we friends, my lord?”

  “I certainly hope to make it so, Miss Lowther.”

  The warmth in his appraisal was enough to make any woman swoon. Beside her, Adelaide let out an audible sigh. Though Eden refrained from doing the same, her pulse nevertheless jumped.

  Here was no dull, ordinary Englishman! She’d be willing to bet bad poetry—or indeed poetry of any kind—had never once crossed his lips while wooing a woman. Exactly how he did court his lovers was something no one in her acquaintance would admit to knowing. If the way he regarded her was any indication of his intent, she was about to solve the mystery firsthand.

  A thrill of exhilaration ran through her, only to be snuffed out by suspicion. Tavistoke was not known for seeking introductions to unwed ladies. She looked to Wells, marking the smug gleam in his porcine eyes. He’d set Tavistoke on her as one sets a hound on a fox.

  Had she been out of sight she’d have clapped her hands in triumph. If this was his revenge for her refusal of him, she ought to write him a letter of thanks! Her chief desire had just been delivered into her eager hands. She encouraged Tavistoke with her eyes. Ask me to dance…please, please…

  “Miss Lowther, may I request the honor of this dance?”

  Eden smiled her most beguiling smile and slipped her fingers into his warm, dry, very large palm. A tiny shock raced from the point of contact, streaking up her arm and down into her belly. It was distracting, but not at all unpleasant.

  She could hardly believe it. Here she was, Eden Lowther, actually touching the renowned debaucher of femininity that was Lord Tavistoke! Until now she’d been forced to observe him only from afar. Lord above, he’s tall. Though she was not considered short, she wore heeled shoes to enhance her height. The man still towered over her.

  As they walked, he talked. “I pity the poor man whose dance I just purloined.”

  “I’m sure he’ll manage to console himself,” she said with a laugh. “Gentlemen always do.”

  “Rather a cynical remark for one so young, don’t you think?”

  “Not at all. I may be young, but I am not entirely ignorant of the world. Gentlemen who pursue me with violent declarations of devotion are often quick to seek solace elsewhere when discouraged.”

  “Ah, I see. Tell me, does such discouragement come only after a gentleman has bent his knee?”

  His bluntness stole her tongue for a moment. “If you are referring to my refusal of Wells’s offer last Season, know that I made every attempt to dissuade him from developing an ardent attachment.”

  “You will forgive me for observing that your method of dissuasion seems somewhat flawed.”

  This was not going at all the way she wanted. “Wells made a public declaration witho
ut bothering to first determine whether I returned his…sentiment.” If it could be called that! “His error of haste was no fault of mine.”

  His smile was brittle. “Perhaps you ought to be clearer when communicating your feelings to your admirers, thus preventing confusion.”

  The tips of her ears grew hot. Cork it, Eden! Do not let him goad you into making a scene. It’s what Wells wants! “Unlike gentlemen, ladies are not afforded the luxury of being direct with or even simply ignoring someone whose attentions we find undesirable. As a lady, I am commanded by etiquette to be sweet and polite in all events, regardless of my likes or dislikes.”

  “And what of attention that is desired?” His dark gaze raked over her, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

  That’s better. A bit of innuendo to set the stage for a seduction was just what she expected of a man like him. She cast him a saucy glance. “As long as the gentleman pleases me, I shall encourage him.”

  “And when he no longer pleases you, you’ll drop him cold? Is that it?”

  It was as if someone had poured ice water down her back. What was the matter with him? He was supposed to be smooth and charismatic, not sour and sarcastic!

  She looked him squarely in the eye, dropping all pretense. “Don’t let Wells fool you into thinking his heart was in any way wounded by my refusal. The only thing to suffer injury during our brief and unpleasant association was his overweening pride. Because I had refused several offers from men of less lofty rank than his own, he incorrectly assumed a title was what I sought.” Wroth beyond caring, she advanced a step on him. “I would not have cared if the man was a bloody prince,” she hissed. “I still would have refused him.”

  The arrogant sneer disappeared from Tavistoke’s face, but he still didn’t back down. “If I may be so bold as to inquire, why did you refuse him and the others?”

  He wanted a direct answer? Fine. She would be direct. “Your friend Wells was—is—a pig and a brute. As for the others, quite simply, they were not what I wanted.”

  “What quality do you seek, then, that seems to have been absent from not one, but five men?”

  Something in his eyes encouraged—no, antagonized—her to answer honestly. In for a ha’penny… “I want a husband who looks upon me as his equal, who appreciates the fact I’m capable of comprehending more than gowns and frippery. One who won’t belittle me or treat me like a mindless fool. I want someone experienced enough in the ways of the world to know the difference between love and—” She’d been about to say lust. “Between love and attraction.”

  “Lord Abingdon ought to suit you perfectly, then.”

  Her mouth fell open in horror. “Lord Abingdon?”

  “Yes,” answered Tavistoke with an indulgent smile. “I saw him dancing attendance on you earlier. I know him quite well and can vouch for his appreciation of intellect as well as his vast experience in the, ah, ways of the world, as I believe you put it.”

  Heat suffused her face as he looked her up and down once more, and she knew she must be the color of a fresh beet.

  But Tavistoke wasn’t finished yet. “Given the way he was looking at you, I expect he’ll come to scratch quite soon. Many women have tried to bag him and failed. You are to be commended. I’m sure you will both be very happy.”

  She bit back an indignant gasp. The nerve of the man! Her response was coated with honeyed sweetness. “While you do him a good turn in listing his admirable qualities, I’m afraid your felicitations are premature. I’ve no designs on Lord Abingdon. Nor do I harbor any intent to accept an offer from him, should one indeed be forthcoming.”

  “Why ever not?” he asked, his face a mockery of dismay. “You said you care not about titles, but he’s an earl, owns a good portion of England, and I can assure you he’s still virile enough to give you children.” He leaned close, dropping his voice to a loud whisper. “In fact, evidence of his virility exists all throughout England, if you know where to look. And yet he’s conveniently old enough to widow you at a tender age. A reasonable compromise, many would agree. Again, I commend you on your triumph.”

  As he no doubt expected after making such a horrid speech, Eden bristled. Wells had put him up to this. She was certain of it. Staring at him with open dislike, she answered his challenge. “I would not agree. Your crude manner smacks of bitterness.” She thrust her verbal blade right where she knew it would count the most. “It is no wonder to me now that Lady Montgomery chose to marry another.” His face remained perfectly still, but she knew she’d hit a nerve. Time to end it. “The only mystery that remains unsolved is how you earned a reputation for charm. I cannot imagine any woman desiring you after being the recipient of such a speech.”

  It was a lie. Even now, wroth with him as she was, the blood whistled in her ears and her skin tingled. She’d intended to give him her back and stalk away, head high, but found herself unable to move. The heat in her flesh rose another degree as he came closer. Again she was reminded of the lion in the cage, except the door had been opened, and now the lion was out.

  His dark gaze held her prisoner. “Many women would jump at the chance to make an advantageous alliance with a man like Abingdon. Or indeed, with a man like me.”

  Gathering her courage, she drew herself up to her full height and glared back at him for all she was worth. “Perhaps I’m not seeking an advantageous alliance,” she snapped. “I don’t care if the man I marry has a pound to his name. I’ve enough money of my own to live comfortably into my dotage without having to prostitute myself to Lord Abingdon or any other man.”

  Chapter Two

  He’d gone too far. He didn’t care. For some reason the girl positively made his hackles, among other things, rise. Baiting her was delicious. “Whether for money or social gain, every female seeks an advantageous match. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool.”

  “Then a fool is what I seek,” she threw back. “Allow me to clarify. I’ve no intention of selling myself to the highest bidder for such paltry reasons as you have submitted. I would rather decline to marry at all than settle for less than my heart’s desire.”

  Unrepentant, he grinned. “Every woman has her price, whether she calls it her heart’s desire or something else.”

  “So does every man.” She eyed him with open contempt. “What is yours, my lord? Name it, and I shall name mine. Then we shall see which of us is the greater whore.”

  The verbal slap stung no less for all it had been delivered in a soft voice, and it drew him up short. Why in heaven’s name was he intentionally vexing a beautiful woman? Especially one he’d set out to seduce? He ought to be dancing with her, sweeping her off her feet and wooing her with soft words. Instead they were arguing like a pair of fishmongers.

  It was time to eat a little crow. “Madam, I must humbly beg your pardon. My current disposition is not what it ought to be, and I’m afraid you’ve borne the brunt of my bad mood. I’ve been an ass.”

  “Indeed you have.” Her sapphire eyes were hard as adamant. “If you will excuse me, I shall take my leave.”

  He caught hold of her hand before she could turn. “But we have not yet danced.” Her fingers shook a little. Was it anger that made them shake or something else?

  “I’m afraid I’ve lost the inclination to dance. Besides, this one is nearly finished, and I’m already obligated for the next. Good evening, Lord Tavistoke.” She tried to pull away.

  “Wait. Please, allow me to explain—”

  Refusing to meet his eyes, she tugged again. “You need not attempt to justify yourself.”

  “I beg to differ. I am…” He swallowed past the tightness in his throat and, still holding her hand, moved closer. “I thought I was fit to return to Society. I was, apparently, wrong. I’ve been unconscionably rude.”

  She softened at once and stopped pulling. “I have also been sharp-tongued. I am perhaps overly sensitive when it comes to the subject of my previous suitors.”

  “I can see why. I imagine a lot of people have ma
de false assumptions about you.”

  “I wasn’t intentionally cruel, you know,” she said at last. “I tried very hard to be kind to those who were sincere—or at least those who thought themselves sincere. Is it so awful of me to accept nothing less than what I truly want?”

  He had encountered some cleverly crafted traps in his day, and this both felt and smelt like one. Anger returned with astonishing swiftness, and he turned her loose. “I think it cruel to let a man feel he has a chance of winning a woman’s heart when in reality none exists. If you don’t think you can love a man, Miss Lowther, I adjure you to eschew all pretenses and let him know it in plain terms before he asks for your hand. To do otherwise is to show a lack of human compassion, a most unattractive failing in any person, but especially so in a woman.”

  Her eyes widened. “I—I suppose you might be right.” She looked down, but not before he saw the glimmer of tears. “I did not consider the cost of my silence. For that, I am truly regretful.”

  Bloody hell. He was not in the business of making young ladies weep unless it was from sheer overabundance of pleasure. I’ve certainly given her none of that. The only thing he’d given her was the rough side of his tongue. He’d all but skewered her for no better reason than to appease his own malcontent.

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he took another bite of crow. “Miss Lowther, I must again ask your forgiveness. I’m the one in error, not you.” He let out a shaky laugh. “I find myself apologizing to you with alarming frequency. Please allow me to make amends. Though I displace yet another name on your card, I beg this dance.” Holding out his hand, he waited.

  After a long, agonizing moment, she took it.

  Again, the contact resulted in an insistent tug at his vitals. Moving opposite her to wait for the dance to begin, he looked at the woman he’d managed to so thoroughly alienate. She was a lovely thing with well-defined features that were pleasingly delicate—save for her lips. Hers was a brandy mouth, lush and full, promising both sweetness and sin. “I hope your thwarted partner does not challenge me.”