At first she could see nothing in the darkness. She sensed a larger chamber ahead of her, but it was shrouded in heavy shadows.
She took one hesitant step forward, then another. Where the devil was Lord Bidwell? She was certain he had entered only moments ahead of her.
Then there was a faint scratch that echoed in the darkness, and without warning a candle flared to life. Anna froze in shock as she turned to discover Lord Bidwell standing beside a marble fireplace across the room.
“Ah, at last, my dear,” he drawled with a mocking grin. “I began to fear you would catch a chill standing in that damp garden. Perhaps a brandy will warm you.”
Anna felt her throat close in horror as the gentleman urbanely crossed what appeared to be a sitting room to pour a small shot of amber spirit. Without pausing he turned to walk to her side and pressed the crystal glass into her numb fingers.
“My lord . . . I . . .”
“First finish your brandy,” he interrupted her stumbled words, his lips twitching at her obvious distress. “A fine spirit, if I do say so myself. Smuggled, of course, but what is a poor gentleman to do?”
Desperately she gulped down the smoky spirit, allowing the fiery heat to spread through her chilled body. She had to think. She had to . . . to what?
Her famed wits had deserted her completely.
“This is quite a surprise,” she at last managed to choke out.
A sardonic brow arched. “A surprise?”
“Yes, I . . . I thought you had a home in Mayfair.”
“I do.”
“Oh.” She nervously glanced about the small room. It was furnished in a plain style with heavy mahogany furnishings and crimson wall coverings. There was nothing to indicate that it was a secret den of devious spies or even the lair of a desperate blackmailer. In truth it appeared rather disappointingly ordinary. “Then what is this place?”
He reached out to pluck the glass from her fingers, lingering far too close for comfort.
“Oh come, my naughty minx, do not pretend that you did not know,” he purred in silky tones. “This is my love nest.”
Her eyes widened in startled shock. Well, that was one explanation she had not considered.
“Love nest?”
Setting the glass upon a nearby table, Lord Bidwell lifted a hand to lightly toy with a curl that rested against her cheek.
“It is where I enjoy the company of lovely women, as you very well know. Why else would you have so eagerly followed me?”
Anna stiffened in disbelief. Not only at the knowledge that the aggravating man had known all along that she was following him, but at his outrageous arrogance in believing she was interested in a tawdry flirtation.
Did he think her so desperate that she must sink to trailing after gentlemen like a lost puppy?
Her soft features abruptly hardened. “You are mistaken, my lord. I was not following you.”
He appeared oddly fascinated by the curl he had currently wrapped about his finger.
“No?”
“No, I . . .” She hesitated, not at all ready to confess the truth of her reasons for being at the house. “I had become lost in the fog and I must have taken a wrong turn.”
His soft chuckle filled the shadowed room. “You must have taken several wrong turns to have ended up in this particular neighborhood.”
“As you say.”
He gave a gentle tug on the curl, sending the oddest sensation inching down her spine.
“And what were you doing in my garden?”
“I told you, I was lost.”
Astonishingly he stepped even closer. Close enough to send a rash of prickles over her skin.
“Possible, I suppose, but hardly likely,” he murmured softly. “Shall I tell you what I believe occurred?”
She regarded him warily. “Do I have a choice?”
“I believe that you were at last overcome by the passion that fills your innocent soul.” The pale eyes glittered with potent danger. “A passion that even now rages within you.”
Anna’s heart jolted. Where was the frivolous buffoon? The harmless dandy of fashion? This determined seducer was entirely unexpected. And rather alarmingly exciting.
“You must be daft,” she forced herself to breathe.
His finger shifted to outline the sensitive shell of her ear.
“There was no need to be so coy, my dear. You had only to whisper in my ear for me to oblige your needs. I am always anxious to please a lady. Especially a beautiful, enticing young lady.”
Beautiful? Enticing? Surely he could not be speaking of her? Anna gave a bemused shake of her head. She should be frightened. Or at least furious. He was deliberately attempting to confuse her.
Unfortunately his efforts were proving all too successful.
“Sir.”
“Yes?” he murmured, audaciously leaning down to place his lips against the bare curve of her neck.
Anna was jolted onto the tips of her toes. Oh my. Who would have known such a simple caress could do such naughty things to a woman’s body? Sharp, poignant heat flared through her, making the oddest places warm.
Placing her hands against his chest she strained backward. “Sir . . . you must halt.”
That long nose twitched, as if he were a predator on the hunt. Anna very much feared that she was the prey.
“But I have just begun.”
“No.”
He regarded her for a long moment before an unexpectedly tender smile curved his lips.
“Perhaps you are right. Such matters should not be rushed.” Before Anna could guess his intentions he had wrapped a solicitous arm about her shoulders and began ruthlessly steering her toward a small table hidden in the shadows. “First we will enjoy dinner and a particularly delightful champagne before continuing our fascinating game. I do hope you are fond of roasted pheasant?”
Already flustered by the intimate caresses, Anna regarded the elegant table already laden with platters of food in bafflement.
Her normally quick wits seemed sluggish and not at all capable of keeping up with the dizzying gentleman at her side.
“Oh.”
“What is it?”
Her eyes continued to survey the table, passing over the delicate pheasants, the buttered mushrooms, the potatoes, and the fluffy soufflé. At last she pinpointed the source of her unease.
“There are two plates,” she accused.
“Of course.”
“But . . .” She reluctantly turned to regard his devious smile, the hair upon her neck stirring in alarm. “Who were you expecting?”
His smile widened. “Why, I was expecting you, my dear.”
To all observers Hellion appeared his nonchalant, utterly elegant self. With a feigned expression of insufferable boredom he leaned against the wall of the ballroom, his powerful form shown to advantage in the black formal attire.
He had, of course, sought out Jane the moment he had arrived. He had even strained the bounds of propriety by demanding a waltz and then the supper dance, so that he would have claim to lead her to the lavish buffet.
Now, however, he realized that he dared not impose himself on her further. His reputation as a rake might be all well and good for actresses and courtesans, but it was deucedly inconvenient when it came to proper maidens. The vile, shrill-tongued matrons would soon have Jane’s reputation in shreds if he appeared interested in more than a mild flirtation.
And so he was stuck to the wall, his temper smoldering as he watched a swarm of ridiculous swains press their attention upon her.
His temper was not improved by the realization that the annoying minx was actually encouraging the adoring puppies.
Bloody hell, she was allowing Lord Stillwell to stand far too close, while Mr. Thomas was waving her fan before her smiling countenance. Even worse, that devil Tat had arrogantly ignored his dark warning and was currently dazzling the poor woman with his indecent charm.
Hellion discovered his teeth grinding in frustration.
/>
It was not that he did not respect her desire to discover a suitable husband, he told himself. It was what all maidens desired when they traveled to London for the Season.
Nor did he entirely blame her for finding delight in having a string of admirers after her dismal weeks spent as a wallflower. There had to be a certain satisfaction in besting the Ton at its own game.
But. . .
But what?
But you desire her, an aggravating voice whispered in the back of his mind. And you cannot bear to consider the notion that some other gentleman might steal that innocence before you can do so.
His brooding gaze lingered on the gamine countenance currently flushed with excitement.
He supposed that he should be ashamed of himself. Whatever his faults he had never deliberately seduced a virgin. In truth, he had always condemned those men who enjoyed debauching innocents before tossing them aside.
But shame was not what was currently clenching his muscles and twisting his stomach.
Instead it was a fierce, possessive need to stalk across the room and toss Miss Middleton over his shoulder.
Gads, what a devilish coil.
“Hellion. I would have a word with you.”
The sharp, petulant tones sent a chill of distaste through Hellion. With slow, deliberate reluctance he turned to confront his only surviving relative.
For a brief moment he considered giving the short, pudgy gentleman the cut direct. He did not enjoy the company of Lord Falsdale under the best of circumstances. Now he only wished to damn him to the netherworld so that he could return his attention to the aggravating minx across the crowded room.
Unfortunately his uncle was as tenacious as he was dull witted, and Hellion knew that he would not be dislodged until he had vented his latest complaint. It was the only reason he ever sought him out.
Folding his arms across his chest, Hellion regarded the unwelcome intruder with a mocking smile.
“Falsdale, what an unexpected honor,” he drawled. “I presumed that it would take a French invasion to lure you from the bed of your child bride. But then I suppose at your age you must have a care not to overexert yourself.”
The portly countenance became tinged with an interesting shade of purple as the nobleman battled to maintain his brittle dignity.
“Do not be clever with me, Hellion. I do not find it in the least amusing.”
Hellion shrugged. “Hardly surprising. You find nothing amusing.”
“Well certainly not the latest scandal you have brought to our family,” he snapped.
A golden brow arched in a manner designed to annoy the elder gentleman. “Scandal?”
Falsdale clenched his hands into tight fists. “Do not pretend you do not know of what I speak.”
“I haven’t the least notion. Nor, I must confess, the least interest.”
“Of course not,” Falsdale sneered, the purple becoming more pronounced. “What do you care if your family is shrouded in ugly gossip? You positively delight in bringing shame upon us all. I suppose it is only to be expected. Your father possessed the same blithe arrogance.”
With an effort Hellion contained his surge of anger. His father had paid dearly for his scandal. As had Hellion. He was not about to give the self-conceited twit the pleasure of knowing that his words had struck a raw nerve.
“You are either very brave or very stupid, Falsdale,” he murmured with a deadly calm. “Shall I hazard a guess as to which it is?”
Not entirely suicidal, the earl briefly faltered. He might bluster and threaten, but both gentlemen understood he was no true match for Hellion. It was a knowledge that only fueled the older gentleman’s resentment.
He swallowed heavily. “Do you deny that you have linked your name to that of Miss Middleton?” he at last managed to accuse.
Hellion smiled coldly. Of course. He should have expected this encounter. His uncle was an insufferable snob.
“Why should I deny it? I find the woman fascinating.”
The heavy features tightened with repugnance. “Have you no shame?”
“And what precisely is shameful in enjoying the companionship of a lovely, proper maiden?” he demanded in even tones. “I would have thought you would be rejoicing. You have, after all, devoted enough of your time to condemning my choice in courtesans.”
Falsdale gave a loud sniff. “All of society knows that your interest is in nothing more than her fortune.”
Despite his best intentions, Hellion discovered his body stiffening in building fury. “I have discovered that only fools listen to the endless gossip that runs rampant through London. And only the most gullible fools actually believe such nonsense.”
“You claim a genuine regard for a wench who is without beauty and possesses the blood of a merchant?”
“She is also intelligent, courageous, and utterly without artifice,” he said between his teeth.
“She is common.”
Hellion’s dark gaze slowly narrowed with a lethal threat. This pretentious, tiny-minded dolt was not worthy of speaking the name of Miss Middleton. He would personally deliver him to the devil before he would allow him to treat her with disrespect.
“Have a care, Uncle,” he said in tones that warned retribution.
Falsdale blinked at the prickling danger that suddenly filled the air. “What?”
“No one is allowed to condemn Miss Middleton in my presence. Especially not you.”
“Fah.” The earl shifted with obvious unease. “Do not pretend a fondness for the chit.”
“There is no pretense,” he corrected. “Not only do I greatly admire Miss Middleton, but I am honored to be considered her friend.”
“Impossible. Why, the chit is a fright. What other interest could you possibly have but her fortune?”
Hellion knew that it would only take one hit to that weak chin to send his uncle sprawling onto the floor. It would not even have to be a particularly hard hit. He had even judged the distance when he realized that it would accomplish nothing more than an ugly scene.
There were better means of besting his irritating relative.
The mocking smile slowly returned.
“And you would, of course, know all there is to know of fortune hunters, would you not, dear Uncle?”
The round face became wary. “What the devil are you inferring?”
Hellion flicked his dark gaze dismissively over the earl’s portly body. “What do you suppose a female half your age found the most charming about you, Uncle? Your paunchy form or dull wit?”
The thrust slid home easily and the older man quivered in offended rage. He clearly did not like to be reminded that he had been foolish enough to tie himself to a rank fortune hunter.
“One day you will go too far, Hellion,” he gritted.
A sardonic smile curved his lips. “And then?”
“And then I shall deal with you once and for all,” the earl blustered in vague warning.
Hellion would have laughed at the ridiculous notion of Lord Falsdale presuming that he could best him upon any level, but a movement near the door abruptly caught his attention.
Sharply turning he watched in disbelief as Jane boldly left the room on the arm of Mr. Barnett.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered.
“What is it?” his uncle demanded in petulant tones.
Fed up with the blustering idiot, Hellion grasped the man’s arm and drew him close enough so that he could not fail to realize his gathering annoyance.
“Return to your child bride, Uncle, and do not presume to interfere in my affairs again,” he snarled softly. “On the next occasion I will not be so forgiving.”
The purple faded to be replaced by a pasty white. “Dammit, Hellion . . .”
Whatever he was about to say was abruptly broken off as Hellion shoved him to the side and ruthlessly pushed his way through the thick throng.
What the devil was the matter with the woman? He seethed in disbelief.
Surely she re
alized it was not done to be alone with a gentleman? Not even if the gentleman in question was a rather stodgy, serious scholar.
For God’s sake, what man would not take advantage of a moment of privacy? Which of them would not hope to taste of her innocence?
His gut was burning with an odd fear as he burst out of the ballroom and hurried down the hall. The two had disappeared but he never halted as he thrust open door after door to inspect the rooms within. He had reached the very end of the hall when he at last burst into a large library to discover Jane standing in the center of the chamber.
That burning became a flame of searing anger as he watched Mr. Barnett carefully fold the maiden in his arms and drop his head for a kiss.
Blinded by his flood of outrage, Hellion did not even realize he was moving until he had the young gentleman firmly by the throat and had soundly punched him in the nose. With a squawk of dismay Mr. Barnett flopped to the floor, his hand rising to cover his bludgeoned snout.
“Hellion, for God’s sakes,” Jane gasped in startled tones. “Halt this at once.”
Hellion did not even bother to turn, his black gaze locked upon the scoundrel who dared to lay his hands upon this woman.
His woman.
“Return to the ballroom,” he gritted.
Mr. Barnett awkwardly scrambled to his feet, still holding his wounded nose.
“Now see here. You cannot . . .”
“Return to the ballroom or be prepared to meet me at dawn.”
The younger gentleman swayed in horror, nearly returning to the carpet as fear spread across his pale features.
“There is no need for violence,” he sputtered, regarding Hellion’s grim countenance with dismay.
“I fear I am a rather violent sort of chap.”
“Really, Hellion,” Jane protested from behind.
His gaze did not waver from the pasty countenance. “The next occasion you attempt to lure Miss Middleton alone I will lodge a bullet in your arse. Do you understand?”
“I . . . yes, yes. Quite.” Backing toward the door, the gentleman performed a wary bow. “Miss Middleton.”
He disappeared with gratifying haste, and Hellion slowly turned to ensure that Jane had not swooned or keeled over from her horrid tribulation. She was bound to be distressed by the entire ordeal.
Some Like It Wicked (Hellion's Den) Page 10
