Nearly snarling in his seething frustration Hellion prowled the edges of the Marlow’s dance floor, his forbidding expression keeping even the most determined encroacher at bay.
And then, across the room, he caught sight of the familiar dark curls and ghastly ball gown.
At last.
He stilled as his instincts came into full alert. A predator who had just spotted his prey.
She stood alone for the moment, but he did not allow himself to give into impulse and pounce at once. He had learned his lesson during his last heated confrontation with the minx. Instead he forced himself to regard her rigid expression and the manner in which she clutched the ivory fan.
It was obvious that she was not her usual calm self. There was an air of nervous tension in her slender form and a wariness in her sharp glances about the room.
He would have to approach with care, he grudgingly acknowledged. One wrong word and she might bolt into the night.
Not an easy task when all he desired was to bundle her into his arms and ensure that she never dare to hide from him again.
Taking a moment to compose his features into something other than a snarl, Hellion sucked in a deep breath and slowly made his way toward the distant shadows.
Thankfully Jane appeared distracted by the passing dancers and she did not sense his approach until he had managed to step directly before her.
“Ah, Jane,” he murmured, drinking in the vivid features and soft lips that had haunted his dreams for too long. “How very elusive you have been, my dear.”
She blinked in surprise at his sudden appearance, before her countenance stiffened and her chin was tilting in a manner that warned of impending danger.
“Mr. Caulfield.”
He arched a golden brow. “I believe we have agreed that you will call me Hellion.”
“No,” she denied in steady tones. “You made the decision that I was to call you Hellion and then you expected me to concede to your demands.”
His gaze swiftly narrowed. So much for his determination to approach her with care, he acknowledged dryly. She was clearly determined to provoke him.
“Very well, Jane.” He firmly took her arm and steered her deeper into the shadows. “You are clearly stewing for an argument. Let us be done with it.”
“You are quite mistaken. I have nothing I wish to say to you.”
Hellion frowned with a growing wariness. He had never seen this woman so rigid, so determined to hide her emotions from him. He found her measured control far more unnerving than any amount of anger.
“That should prove rather awkward considering that we are suppose to be in the midst of a glorious flirtation,” he retorted in measured tones.
There was a short silence before she sucked in a deep breath. “No longer.”
“And what precisely is that supposed to mean?”
She backed away from the narrowed black gaze, halting only when she came up against the wall.
“This afternoon I requested a bank draft for five thousand pounds to be delivered to your home on the morrow.”
Hellion was momentarily stunned. Five thousands pounds . . . his for the taking. It seemed incredible.
No more creditors hounding him whenever he was at home. No more fear that all of society would learn of his embarrassing situation. No more worries that he might be forced to swallow his pride and turn to his uncle for charity.
And all he had to do was turn and walk away from this woman, and the dull duty attached to her, forever.
He should be delighted.
Instead he was battling a surge of fury.
Did she believe that he could be so easily dismissed? That he could be turned off as if he were a mere servant that was interested only in her money?
Placing his hand upon the wall next to her ear, he glared into the small countenance.
“Is that so?”
“Yes.” She swallowed heavily, managing to keep her brittle composure in place. “We have accomplished what we set out to do. I now have ample suitors to choose from. There is no longer any need to continue our charade.”
His nose flared at her ridiculous explanation. “This has nothing to do with those pathetic suitors of yours. We both know that none of them are worthy to become your husband, even if you are too stubborn to admit it. You want to end this charade because I kissed you and you kissed me back.”
She fought a losing battle with a fiery blush that stained her cheeks. “Of course not. As I said, there is no longer any need . . .”
“I was mistaken in you, Miss Middleton,” he growled.
“Pardon me?”
“I thought you were a maiden of courage. One of the rare few who could face whatever you encountered with your chin held high.” His lips thinned. “Now I discover you are, in truth, no more than a coward.”
The blue eyes flashed with a dangerous fire, but with sheer will she managed to keep her temper under firm rein. Which was a damn sight more than he could do.
“You are entitled to your opinion, of course.”
“Tell me, my dear,” he drawled. “What do you fear? That I might seduce you or that you are uncertain of your will to halt me?”
“Neither,” she hissed in low tones.
“You have no talent for telling untruths. You are terrified of what has sparked between us.”
“Your arrogance never fails to astonish me, Mr. Caulfield.”
Indifferent to the vast crowd that swept past the shadowed alcove, Hellion audaciously lifted his hand to trail his fingers along the curve of her neck. Like any proper rake, he had already discovered where she was the most sensitive.
“Because I know when a woman desires my kisses?”
“My only desire is to find a proper husband.”
He slowly smiled as he felt her pulse flutter beneath the slow, seductive sweep of his thumb. Ah yes, that was the spot.
“Liar.”
She pressed herself against the wall, her tongue peeking out in a revealing motion. “This is absurd. You have the money I promised. Our bargain is at an end.”
Hellion narrowed his gaze. Oh no. This bargain was far from over. Did she truly believe that he would allow her to blithely hand herself over to some buffoon who only desired her fortune? That he would watch her vibrant innocence tarnished by a thick-witted, heavy-handed poppycock? Perhaps even witness her spirited nature being ground into the dull obedience that most husbands expected from their wives?
He would be damned before he would meekly allow such a crime.
What she needed was a husband who could truly appreciate her unique qualities. A gentleman who would treat her with respect and admiration. A man who would fulfill that passionate nature until those gamine features were drenched in sated satisfaction.
A gentleman . . . like himself.
The thought came like a lightning bolt, and shocked him with the same intensity.
Him? Married? To this ill-tempered shrew of a woman who treated him more like a lowly flunky than a superior gentleman of society?
The mere notion should have sent him bolting out the nearest door and locking himself in his chambers until the obvious madness had passed. He did not want to marry. He did not want to bind his life irrevocably to a wife who would demand an intimacy he was incapable of offering. Certainly he did not want to wed a chit who did not even possess the good sense to tumble into love with him.
So why then was a slow, self-satisfied smile curving his lips?
CHAPTER EIGHT
From the diary of Miss Jane Middleton, May 17th, 1814:
P.S. Diary,
Men.
Was there ever a more incomprehensible creature?
They possess all the power and freedom in the world. They are offered the finest in education and given positions that could alter the world. They are allowed to become artists, poets, and explorers. Their paths are unimpeded by a thousand tedious boundaries and yet, for all their glorious opportunities, they readily prefer the gaming hells to Pa
rliament. They haunt brothels rather than the wonders of the vast world and more highly respect a man of sport than a man of intellect.
Most unsettling of all, of course, is their thoroughly bewildering behavior toward women. How is it possible for a man to be seductively charming one moment, and the next an arrogant bully? How could he appear almost sensible in one breath and in the next rave like a lunatic?
How could he pretend to be a friend and then without warning become an enemy?
Traitors.
Turncoats. Defectors. Lousy, rotten . . . men.
Standing in the shadows that she had thought she had put behind her for the Season, Jane glared about the crowded dance floor with a jaundiced frown.
How had she fallen from grace so swiftly? It had been less than a week since she had given Hellion his conge. Only five short days since he had silently turned and abandoned her at the elegant ball. She had suspected that society could be fickle, but this was ridiculous.
What had happened to all those anxious suitors who had claimed such an undying affection? The ones who had sworn they would expire if she did not save them at least one waltz? The ones who had promised the world if only she would offer them a smile?
Suddenly they could barely seem to recall her name. And certainly they had no interest in attempting to claim her attention. She had returned to being plain, ill-favored Jane Middleton. A wallflower. An unfortunate plague to society.
She angrily flipped open her ivory fan. The devil take the lot of them, she seethed.
“Ah Jane, how perfect. I see that you were as fortunate as myself to be politely steered to this dismal corner,” Anna muttered as she abruptly appeared at Jane’s side, already yanking at the fashionable plunge of her neckline. She seemed to think her full bosom a source of embarrassment no matter how often Jane proclaimed her envy. “Did Lady Vallace assure you that this was absolutely the perfect location to view the festivities, and of course, so conveniently out of the crush?”
Jane frowned in a sour fashion, not desiring to recall how efficiently she had been thrust into the shadows.
“I will give you ample warning that my mood is decidedly foul, Anna.”
A wry smile touched the round countenance. “I had already hazarded as much from the intriguing shade of puce that is currently staining your cheeks.”
In spite of herself, Jane felt her lips twitch. “Surely not puce?”
“Mauve? Crimson?” Anna tilted her head to one side. “Prinny pink?”
“Prinny pink?” Jane rolled her eyes heavenward. “That is not even a color.”
“But of course it is. Our beloved prince has declared it so.”
“Ridiculous.” Jane returned her jaundiced glance to the laughing crowd that blithely swept past. “’Tis no wonder I find London such a bore. It is filled with empty-headed buffoons.”
There was a brief silence before Anna stepped close enough to avoid being overheard.
“Are you ever going to confess what occurred between you and Hellion?”
The ivory fan abruptly cracked in half. With a hiss of annoyance Jane turned to toss the remains into a particularly ugly potted palm.
Blast it all. What was the matter with her? It was not as if she missed Hellion. Or, heaven forbid, that she longed to hear the honey rasp of his voice. Or watch those black eyes flash with wickedness.
She was far too practical for such nonsense.
She was merely disgusted at the fickleness of men, she grimly assured herself. The sharp pang in her heart had nothing to do with Hellion. Nothing at all.
“Nothing occurred,” she staunchly retorted. “I simply felt that the time was proper and brought an end to our charade.”
Anna regarded her with bland disbelief. “No.”
“What?”
“You said that your . . . arrangement with Hellion was purely a business proposition.”
“It was.”
“That is impossible.”
Jane gave a snort of exasperation. There were moments when her dear friend could use a good shake.
“What the devil are you attempting to say?”
“I know you, Jane.” Anna planted her hands upon her waist. “You would never, ever make such a complete hash of a business deal.”
A choked laugh was torn from her lips. Good Lord. It was true. If she fumbled as badly with all her business propositions she would be a pauper by now.
“I fear I miscalculated,” she retorted with a grimace. In more ways than one. “I did not realize that gentlemen were such cads. Why any female of sense would chose to bind herself to such weak-spirited, unpredictable creatures is beyond my comprehension.”
“No doubt because we are fools,” Anna retorted dryly.
“True.”
Anna’s eyes abruptly widened as she glanced over Jane’s shoulder. “Oh no.”
“What is it?”
“The dim-witted duet.”
Jane felt her heart sink as she reluctantly turned to view Miss Fairfax and the inevitable Miss Tully making a determined path in her direction. Even from a distance she could detect the smug malice that shimmered in the air about them.
“No doubt they intend to crow at my return to the corner. They have been seething with envy since Hellion first began his flirtation.”
Anna muttered a curse worthy of a sailor. “Someday I am going to plant the pair of them a facer.”
Jane smiled grimly, thoroughly enjoying the image of the maidens sporting bloody noses and blackened eyes. She even felt her hands curl into fists. Oh yes, someday.
“If only it were possible,” she muttered.
Without warning her friend stepped beside her to lay a hand upon her arm. “Well, I may not be allowed to take a poke at their condescending noses, but I can at least distract them while you make your escape.”
Jane blinked in surprise. “That is not necessary. I do not fear them.”
“I know,” Anna said with wry emphasis. “And in your current temper I hardly think a confrontation with those horrid wenches is wise. I should hate to see you lodged in Newgate for murder, no matter how justified.”
She opened her mouth to argue only to snap it shut as she realized the sense in her friend’s words of warning. Frustration, annoyance, and something that might have been a pang of regret boiled within her. She was ripe for a low-brow, ugly brawl.
Not, perhaps, the best means of luring a potential suitor.
“Mayhap I should heed your warning,” she ruefully agreed with one last glare toward the menacing duo. “I shall be in the garden.”
“I will come and retrieve you when I have rid the corner of such unwelcome vermin.”
With a nod Jane sank deeper in the shadows and edged her way toward the nearby French doors. At least she need have no fear of her hasty flight being blocked by endless calls of friends, or gentlemen anxious to claim her for a dance, she acknowledged with dark amusement. Being a wallflower meant that she could move through the crowd without once ever being noticed. To be brutally honest, she could strip naked and play the cello without being noticed.
At least now that Hellion had lost all interest in her.
A bud of misery threatened to bloom in her heart, but with her usual sensible nature, Jane squashed it with a firm determination. Pity was a useless emotion. And not at all productive to her plans.
Besides which, she would dance the waltz through the netherworld before she would allow the fribbles of society to realize they possessed the ability to wound her.
With that brave thought in the forefront of her mind, Jane slipped through the door and stepped into the soothing darkness of the garden.
Or at least what passed for a garden.
She wrinkled her nose as she moved down the narrow paths that were edged by a handful of pitiful roses and small fountains that determinedly sprayed a thin stream of water. Nothing at all like her own pleasure grounds in Surrey, she regretfully acknowledged. Her mother had taken great pride in creating the elegant sweep o
f terraced flowers, winding pathways, and Grecian statues that framed the large manor house. There had even been an impish folly that had been her private sanctuary when she had been but a child. It had not been created to impress others, or even to attempt to disguise the stench of the shop that clung to her father. Her mother quite simply adored beauty and devoted herself to achieving a perfect setting for her family.
And that, of course, was what she truly missed, she thought with a sigh. The lingering love that her parents had bestowed upon her that filled her home and gardens.
With aimless movements she drifted deeper into the garden, heading toward the dainty grotto that would offer a few moments of blessed quiet.
It was, in truth, a rare evening in London. For once the sky was clear of the ever-threatening rain clouds and even the fog was held at bay. She breathed in deeply as she came to a halt and glanced up at the star-studded sky.
“‘All days are nights ’til I see thee, and nights bright days when dreams do show thee me . . . ’”
The dark, rich voice drifted softly through the air, bringing Jane’s heart to a shuddering, painful halt. With a faint hiss of shock she glanced over her shoulder to discover Hellion negligently strolling down the lane.
“Hellion.”
Appearing very much the fallen angel in his black attire, with his hair shimmering like priceless silver in the moonlight, he ruthlessly stalked forward. Jane tensed as he neared, her nerves tingling with that horrid awareness. She might even have fled into the darkness if he had not easily sensed her flare of panic and, with the speed of a swooping hawk, managed to gather her into his arms.
“No, do not run away, Jane,” he commanded in low, urgent tones. “I must speak with you.”
Firmly trapped, she gritted her teeth. Every instinct made her long to surrender at his touch, to breathe deeply of his warm, male scent, to press ever closer to the potent strength of his body. Instead she held herself stiffly and willed herself to ignore the fuzzy excitement that fluttered in the pit of her stomach.
“I did not realize you were here,” she muttered in a strained voice.
Some Like It Wicked (Hellion's Den) Page 12
