by Candace Camp
“I would wager that you would like to forget this moment if I tell my brother about it!” she snapped, and tried to jerk away from him.
His fingers dug into her arms, keeping her from leaving. He grinned, the loving mask dropping from his face as easily as it had come. “Your brother?” he asked derisively. “You intend to tell the duke that you have been dallying with a man on the terrace? Go ahead. Tell him. I imagine he will insist on an engagement immediately.”
“You are a fool if you think that,” Callie shot back. “I have not been dallying with you, and when I tell him what has happened, you will be lucky if he does not hand your head to you.”
“Really?” His eyes brightened with a dangerous light. “And will he be so ready to dismiss me with your reputation compromised beyond repair?”
He jerked her to him and bent to kiss her.
“Oh!” Callie let out a low cry of anger and frustration, and brought her hands up, pushing at him as she twisted and squirmed, turning her face away from him. She kicked out, landing a shot square on his shin.
Waters cursed as he struggled to control her, dragging her across the terrace to pin her against the wall. Callie felt the rough stone through the thin material of her dress, and she dug her fingers into the man’s shirt, gripping whatever flesh she could and twisting. He let out a gratifying yelp.
Then, in the next instant, he was jerked away from her, suddenly gasping for air, as a large hand wrapped around his throat and squeezed, pulling him back against the broad chest of the Cavalier.
“What?” the Cavalier asked in a dangerously soft voice, tightening his grasp. Waters’ eyes bulged as he flailed ineffectually backward. “Nothing to say? No brave words when it’s someone other than a woman you are attacking?”
“No, pray, do not choke him,” Callie said a little shakily, moving away from the wall.
“Are you sure?” Her rescuer looked over at her. “I think the world would not miss this one.”
“Lady Odelia might object to a dead man on her terrace at her birthday ball,” Callie responded dryly.
He grinned, and his hold on the other man loosened. “All right. If you wish it, I shall let him go.”
Waters sucked in a gulp of air. “You’ll be sorry,” he began.
The Cavalier’s hand tightened on his throat again, cutting off his words. “I am already sorry,” he said flatly.
He let go of Waters’ throat and grasped him by the shoulders, whipping him around and shoving him back against the railing. Digging his hand into the neck of Waters’ shirt, he bent him backward.
“Perhaps you are not familiar enough with Lady Pencully’s house to know that there is a twenty-foot drop from here to the garden below, but I am. I would consider that, if I were you, before I decided to threaten either me or this young lady again. Lady Pencully would dislike having someone take a nasty fall from her terrace on the night of her birthday ball. However, I assure you that she would quickly get over it, and no one would question an inebriated guest tumbling over the railing to the stone walkway below. And there would be no one to dispute my version of the events, since you, alas, would be dead. Have I made myself clear?”
Waters, his eyes huge in the darkness, nodded mutely.
“Good. Then we understand each other.” The Cavalier stepped back a little, allowing Waters to stand again, but he did not release him just yet. Looking the other man straight in the eye, the Cavalier went on. “If ever I hear a word about this incident or the slightest whisper of a scandalous rumor concerning this young lady, I will know where it came from. And I will come deal with you. So I would suggest that you keep your lips tightly sealed. In fact, I think it would be a good idea if you left London immediately. A long stay in the country would definitely be in your best interests. Am I clear?”
Waters nodded quickly, not daring to look at the man or at Callie.
“All right, then. Now go.”
The Cavalier let him go and stepped back, and Waters scurried off, never glancing behind him. Callie’s rescuer turned back to her.
“Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
Callie nodded and shivered, realizing suddenly how very cold she was. “Yes, I am fine. Thank you. I—” Her breath caught raggedly.
“Here. You are cold.” He untied the cape that hung behind him and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“Thank you.” She clutched it to her and looked up at him.
Her eyes were luminous in the faint light, swimming with unshed tears. He sucked in a quick breath.
“You are beautiful. ’Tis no wonder that a cad such as he would try to take advantage of you. You should not let that sort inveigle you outside.”
“I know. I was foolish.” Callie gave him a watery little smile. “I am not so naive as to step outside with a man I hardly know. I was—I was just trying to evade my grandmother, and I acted on impulse.”
“Evade your grandmother?” he asked, his eyes lighting mischievously. “Is she a wicked grandmother?”
“No, just a matchmaking one.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “I understand. Almost as bad as a matchmaking mother.”
Callie smiled. “I am very lucky you came along when you did. I am forever in your debt. Thank you for coming to my rescue.” She held out her hand solemnly to shake his.
He took her hand, his long fingers wrapping warmly around hers, and he raised it to his lips, pressing them softly against the back of her hand. “I am pleased that I was able to help you. But it was not luck. I saw him lead you out the door, and I did not like the look of him.”
“You were watching me?” Callie asked, warmed a little by the thought that he had looked for her just as she had looked for him.
“I had started across the room to ask you for another dance,” he told her. “But then the music stopped, and I realized that it was time for supper. Then he whisked you away.”
“Still, it was good of you to come after us.”
“Any man would have done the same.”
“No,” she demurred with a smile. “Not all.” She glanced down at their joined hands. “You still have my hand, sir.”
“Yes, I know. Do you wish me to give it back?” His voice deepened sensually.
Callie looked up, and her insides quivered at the look in his eyes. “I—no, not really.”
“Good, for neither do I.” Softly his thumb stroked the back of her hand, and though it was only a small movement, Callie felt its effect all through her.
“And now that I have sent that blackguard packing…I think it must be worth a small favor, don’t you?”
“What favor?” Callie asked a little breathlessly. He seemed very near her; she could feel the heat of his body, smell the faint scent of masculine cologne. Her heart hammered in her chest, but it was not from fear as it had been moments earlier. It was anticipation that welled up in her now.
“Your name, my lady.”
“Calandra,” she answered softly.
“Calandra,” he repeated softly, lingering over the syllables. “’Tis a magical name.”
“Not so magical,” she said. “And those who are close to me call me Callie.”
“Callie.” He lifted his other hand and slid his thumb along her jawline. “It suits you.”
“But now we are unequal, for I do not know your name.”
“Bromwell. Those who are close to me call me Brom.”
“Brom,” she breathed. Her flesh tingled where his thumb touched it, sending delicious tendrils of sensation spiraling through her.
“It sounds much lovelier on your lips.” He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, and warmth blossomed deep in Callie’s abdomen. His eyes followed the movement of his thumb, and the light in them sparked higher, his own lips softening.
He leaned closer, and Callie was certain that he intended to kiss her. But she did not hesitate or pull away. Instead, boldly, she stretched up to meet him.
His lips closed on hers, and heat seemed to explode within her.
She trembled, every nerve in her body suddenly alive and attuned to the slow, delicious movement of his mouth on hers. She had never felt anything like this before. Though one or two men had dared to steal a kiss from her, none of those kisses had felt like this—so soft and hot, her lips so sensitive to the velvet pressure of his. And none of those men had ever moved his mouth against her, opening her lips to his questing tongue, startling her and sending a wave of intense pleasure through her.
She made a low noise of surprise and eagerness, and her hands slid up instinctively around his neck, holding on to him as his arms wrapped fiercely around her, squeezing her against his long, hard body. The elegant plume of his hat brushed against her cheek, and that touch, too, aroused the sensitive nerves of her skin. He made a noise of hunger and frustration, reaching up to jerk the hat from his head and toss it aside as his lips pressed harder against hers.
Callie’s fingers dug into the rich material of his doublet. She felt as if she were falling, tumbling into some wild maelstrom of hunger and desire, and she was all at once eager and frightened and more vibratingly alive than she had ever been before. She could feel his body surge with heat through the material of his clothes, enveloping her with his warmth.
Suddenly he lifted his head, sucking in a deep breath and staring down at her. Reaching down, he took her half mask between his fingers and pushed it up, revealing her face.
“You are so beautiful,” he breathed. Then he reached up and took off his own mask, holding it dangling in his hand.
Callie gazed up at him, realizing with some surprise that his face was even more arresting without the dramatic mask. Sharp, high cheekbones balanced the strong jaw, and the straight dark slashes of his brows accented his wide gray eyes. It was the face of an angel, she thought with a poeticism uncommon to her—not an angel of harps and fluffy clouds, but the fierce sort, standing guard at the gates of heaven with a fiery sword.
“So are you,” she answered him candidly, then blushed at the naive candor of her words.
Something flared in his eyes, and he let out a shaky little chuckle. “My dear Calandra…it is much too dangerous for you to be out here alone with me.”
“Do you think I cannot trust you?” she asked, the tone of her voice making clear her own belief.
“I think ’tis dangerous to trust any man when you look as you look…and feel as you feel.” His voice turned husky on his last words, and he ran his palm down her arm slowly, reluctantly, and pulled his hand away, taking a step backward. “We should go inside.”
He returned her mask, and Callie took it. She hated to turn away from him, away from this moment and the new feelings that were surging through her. Yet at the same time, his urging her to do so only strengthened what she felt for him. She smiled at him.
“Perhaps you would like the rest of my name.”
“’Twould make it easier,” he admitted, grinning. “But, believe me, I will find you anyway.”
“Then you should come to—” Callie broke off, turning, as her brother’s voice sounded from the terrace behind them.
“Callie? Calandra!”
She whirled and looked back up the long terrace. The duke stood just outside the door, looking around. He started forward, scowling, once again calling her name.
“The devil take it!” Callie said under her breath, and her companion’s brows shot up at the unladylike curse.
He smothered a laugh. “Not whom you wanted to see?”
“My brother,” Callie said. “He is sure to fuss. Ah, well, there is no use in waiting. We might as well get it over with.” She started forward with the confidence of one who had never received anything stronger than a scolding.
Her companion shrugged and strode after her, catching up to Callie as she called out, “Here! It is all right, Sinclair. Pray do not bellow.”
Rochford hurried toward them, his face relaxing in relief. “What the devil are you doing out here? Are you all right?”
Beside Callie, as they came forward into the light, she heard her companion suck in a sharp breath and stop dead still. She half turned toward him questioningly, then glanced back at her brother, realizing that he, too, had come to a sudden halt.
Rochford stared at the man standing beside Callie, a black scowl drawing up his features. “You!” he snarled at the Cavalier. “Get away from my sister!”
CHAPTER THREE
CALLIE GAPED at her brother, amazed at his uncustomary rudeness. “Sinclair!” She went forward, reaching out a hand to her brother in a calming gesture. “Please, no. You misunderstand the situation.”
“I understand it perfectly well,” Rochford retorted, his eyes never leaving the other man’s face.
“No, you do not,” Callie retorted sharply. “This man did nothing to harm me. He helped me.”
She turned back to her companion, who was gazing at the duke with an expression as stony as Rochford’s. Suppressing a sigh at such masculine behavior, Callie said, “Sir, allow me to introduce you to my brother, the Duke of Rochford.”
“Yes,” the Cavalier said coldly. “I know the duke.”
“Oh.” Callie looked from one man to the other, realizing that some other, stronger, undercurrent of feeling lay here, something unrelated to her being on the terrace with a man.
“Lord Bromwell,” Sinclair responded, his manner, if possible, even stiffer than before. Without looking at Callie, he said, “Calandra, go inside.”
“No,” Callie answered. “Sinclair, be reasonable. Let me explain.”
“Callie!” Sinclair’s voice lashed out, sharp as a whip. “You heard me. Go back inside.”
Callie flushed, stung by his peremptory tone. He had spoken to her as if she were a child being sent off to bed.
“Sinclair!” she shot back. “Don’t speak to me that—”
He swung to face her. “I told you—go back inside. Now.”
Callie drew a breath, hurt and anger piercing her with equal sharpness. She started to protest, to take her brother to task for treating her this way, but she realized even as the thought came to her that she simply could not create a scene at Aunt Odelia’s party. Someone might step out of the door at any moment; there could even be someone in the garden now, listening. She had no desire to be caught in a blazing argument with her brother. She was embarrassed enough as it was, having been taken to task in front of this man, whom she barely knew.
Her eyes flashed, but she swallowed her words. She gave a short nod to Lord Bromwell, then whirled and stalked past her brother without a word.
The duke stood, watching the other man in silence, until Calandra had disappeared inside the ballroom. Then he said in a quiet voice as hard as iron, “Leave my sister alone.”
Bromwell looked amused as he crossed his arms and considered the man before him. “How deliciously ironic…to hear the Duke of Rochford so concerned over the honor of a young woman. But, then, I suppose, it is different when the young woman is the duke’s sister, is it not?”
With a sardonic look at Rochford, he started to walk around him, but the duke reached out and caught his arm. Bromwell went still, his gray eyes icing over. He looked down at the other man’s hand on his arm, then up at the duke’s face.
“Have a care, Rochford,” he said softly. “I am not the boy I was fifteen years ago.”
“Indeed?” Rochford asked, letting his hand fall to his side. “You were a fool then, but you’re ten times a fool now if you think I will allow you to harm my sister in any way.”
“I believe Lady Calandra is a woman grown, Rochford. And you are the fool if you think that you can keep her heart from going where it chooses.”
An unholy fire lit the duke’s dark eyes. “Damn it, Bromwell. I am telling you—stay away from my sister.”
Lord Bromwell gazed back at him, his expression unyielding, then turned without a word and walked away.
CALLIE WAS FURIOUS. She could not remember when she had been so angry with her brother—indeed, so angry with anyone—as she wa
s now. How dare he speak to her as if he were her father? And in front of another person! A stranger!
Her throat was tight, and tears pricked at her eyelids. But she refused to cry. She would not let him see, would not let anyone see, how Sinclair’s words had affected her.
She walked through the ballroom, looking neither left nor right, not even sure what she intended to do, only walking as fast as she could away from what had happened on the terrace. Through the red haze of her anger, she noticed that the ballroom was virtually empty and that the musicians were absent from their positions on the small stage at one end of the room.
Supper. The guests were all at the casual midnight buffet in the small ballroom across the hall. Callie started toward it, remembering at the last second that she still wore Lord Bromwell’s Cavalier cloak around her shoulders. She reached up and untied it, hastily folding it into a compact pad of material as she entered the small ballroom and looked around.
She saw her grandmother at last, sitting at a small table with Aunt Odelia and another elderly woman, their plates of delicacies still on the table before them. Lady Odelia, of course, was holding forth. The duchess listened politely, spine as straight as ever, not touching the back of her chair, and her eyes blank with boredom.
Callie walked over to the table, and her grandmother turned, seeing her. “Calandra! There you are. Where have you been? I could not find you anywhere. I sent Rochford to look for you.”
“Yes, he found me,” Callie answered shortly. She glanced at the other two women with the duchess. “Grandmother, I would like to leave now, if you don’t mind.”
“Why, of course.” The duchess looked, frankly, relieved, and immediately started to rise. “Are you all right?”
“I—I have a headache, I’m afraid.” Callie turned to her great-aunt, forcing a smile. “I am sorry, Aunt Odelia. It is a wonderful party, but I am not, I’m afraid, feeling at all the thing.”
“Well, of course. All the excitement, no doubt,” the old lady responded, a trifle smugly. She turned toward her companion, giving a decided nod that caused her orange wig to slip a bit. “Girls these days just don’t have the stamina we did, I find.” She swung her attention back to Callie. “Run along, then, child.”
