by Cheryl Holt
After having convinced Libby to participate, Penny had been nervously touting the recital all day, anxious to be sure there were no empty seats, but she hadn’t needed to publicize Libby’s involvement. People were agog over her, and even those who’d seen her monologues in the past were excited to see her again.
He was Charles’s neighbor, and they’d always been friendly. He would never deliberately provoke a conflict with him, would never insult his daughter by misbehaving with another woman—right under Charles’s roof. Especially with one who was so inappropriate to his station in life.
Libby was the female a man picked to be his glamorous mistress. She was the one selected to waltz about on a fellow’s arm when he was attending a decadent soiree. She wasn’t the sort to be flaunted at a respectable venue, so what was he thinking?
His infatuation was almost scary in its intensity, and his inability to leave her alone was disgusting.
She’d vanished all day, and he’d been so afraid she might have fled Roland—even though she’d sworn she wouldn’t—that he’d actually crept into her bedchamber and had checked that her clothes were still there.
He was dangerously curious about where she’d been for so many hours, and he’d tortured himself, speculating as to whether she might have spent the afternoon with someone else.
He truly did not know how he could continue on in such an agitated state. His possessive attitude was so out of character that he couldn’t figure out what was occurring. He had to calm down before he completely disgraced himself.
The candles were blown out, the room growing dark except for a circle of light in the middle of the stage. Libby stepped into it, and she was attired like an orphaned waif in a thin white shift, her feet bare, her glorious hair curling around her shoulders.
She looked nothing like the seductive siren who was driving him insane. Instead, she looked like a young child who was lost, and her skill at repurposing herself attested to her prowess as an actress.
When he’d watched her at the theater in London, she’d told a tale about sleeping under the stars, snuggled like puppies with the other two girls who’d been marooned with her. This time, she told about being on a deserted beach, searching for an adult who would tell her how to carry on, but she was stranded and on her own.
She sang a bit and danced a bit, and in the shadows, it appeared that her cousin, Simon Falcon, was accompanying her on the harpsichord. They were an excellent team that held spectators rapt.
She interspersed the musical numbers with a running description of her woebegone plight. It was all terribly melodramatic, and he should have been bored silly, but she was so mesmerizing that it was impossible not to be swept up in her narrative.
She wound to the end, and there was a moment of delicious silence where no one moved, then wild clapping echoed out. The crowd jumped to its feet, and shouts of bravo! bounced off the ceiling.
She took many gracious bows, then dashed away. A door behind the stage opened and closed so, evidently, she’d tiptoed out rather than stay and mingle. Her admirers didn’t seem to mind. They were chattering animatedly, discussing every aspect of the recital as if they’d just witnessed a Shakespearean drama.
How did she do it? Why was she so tantalizing? The shipwreck had happened twenty year earlier, but people never wearied of her retelling of the event. He ought to have been happy that she’d turned the tragedy into a career that supported her in quite a grand style, but he was pathetically jealous to have so many men avidly ogling her.
The servants were lighting the candles, and he hurried out before he could be waylaid and required to gush over her. He wondered where she was and decided she’d have hastened up to her bedchamber to change her clothes. He wandered down several halls until he arrived at a rear staircase. He hesitated forever, debating his choices, then he mumbled, “Why not?”
Why not debase himself yet again? Why not compound his ludicrous condition with more inexplicable acts?
He climbed to her suite, and when he reached it, he didn’t bother knocking. He simply spun the knob and slipped inside. The sitting room was empty, the bedroom too, but he could hear her talking to Fish in the dressing room.
It dawned on him that he was behaving exactly like the dandies at the theater who swarmed around the prettiest actresses and opera dancers. He’d always derided those idiots, aggravated over how they’d been driven to such levels of stupidity. Now he knew. It merely took a vixen like Libby Carstairs to goad a man to recklessness.
What might he do for her? If she was shrewd enough to solicit boons, he might proffer any gift if it would garner him extended time in her exotic presence.
He didn’t try for stealth, but simply marched forward. As he approached, she asked, “Simon, is that you?”
“It’s not Simon,” he replied as he appeared in the doorway.
For once, she was dressed, so he didn’t catch her in her petticoat. Her hair was pinned up in a haphazard way that should have looked messy, but it only added to her allure. She was wearing the bright red gown he liked, her corset laced tight, so she was displaying plenty of bosom.
She was fabulous, a siren to tempt men to their doom. How could he be expected to resist her?
She sighed with resignation, and Fish glowered like a fussy nanny.
“Miss Carstairs doesn’t receive callers after a performance,” Fish scolded, “and you, Lord Barrett, are presuming on her good nature. You have to head downstairs. Immediately.”
“I don’t believe Miss Carstairs would like me to depart.”
He stared at Libby, his hot regard enveloping her like a cloud. She was as enticed as he was, and she tsked with annoyance.
“It’s all right, Fish,” she said. “He can stay.”
“You’re courting trouble,” Fish warned, and she scowled. “Both of you are courting trouble. What if Lord Roland discovers you were in here, Lord Barrett? You might be safe if you were dallying in your own home, but his servants have no duty to keep this kind of secret for you.”
“Don’t worry,” he told her. “No one saw me sneak in.”
Fish scoffed. “Spoken like a true cad.”
“Don’t nag, Fish,” Libby said. “We’re not children. Lord Barrett and I know what we’re doing.”
Fish chuckled, but nastily. “I’ll be sure to jot that down in my journal: Lord Barrett and Libby know what they’re doing.” She gestured over Libby’s person. “Are you ready to go down? Do you need anything else from me?”
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t dawdle with him. I refuse to have Lady Penny badgering me as to your whereabouts.”
“We won’t dawdle,” Libby said, but Luke had no comment.
He glared at Fish to inform her that she should leave. She stomped out, muttering, “Don’t come crying to me if you’re caught together. I will not defend either of you.”
Luke listened until the door shut behind her, then he fell on Libby like a feral animal. It seemed as if they’d been parted for decades.
His hands were in her hair, his tongue in her mouth. He couldn’t get close enough to her, couldn’t hold her tightly enough, so he pushed her against the wall and lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist so he could lean in and crush his loins to hers.
They scratched and bit, wrestled and groaned and grappled for purchase. It was debauched and wild, and he’d never experienced a similar episode with any woman.
He yanked her away from the wall and carried her into the bedroom. He dropped her onto the bed and tumbled down after her so she was stretched out beneath him. The entire time, he hadn’t stopped kissing her. He couldn’t stop.
He had no idea how long they continued, but gradually, they ran out of steam, the embrace cooling to something that was tender and sweet.
“I think you missed me today,” she murmured when they finally came up for air.
> “I feel as if I haven’t seen you in years.”
“I will confess to feeling the same.”
“Where were you? I searched for you all afternoon.”
“I went for a ride.”
A dozen jealous images flew through his mind as he pictured every handsome man at the party.
“With who?” His tone was sullen and morose. “You’d best hurry and tell me you were alone.”
“I was with my cousin, Simon.”
“You were gone for hours,” he petulantly said.
“You’re irked that I was, so you’re frowning and pouting. Why? Were you envisioning me enjoying a torrid tryst with someone other than you?”
“If I was pondering an incident that ridiculous, I would never admit it.”
She smirked. “You are deranged. Have I mentioned that you are?”
“Yes, I believe you might have.”
“If I had remained in the manor, I couldn’t have fraternized with you.”
“We could have tarried in the same rooms,” he ludicrously said. “I could have glanced at you whenever I was in the mood.”
“We’re not destined to socialize in Lord Roland’s parlors. We could never conceal our infatuation.”
He blew out a heavy breath and slid off her. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. She was snuggled next to him, and she fit against him perfectly, as if she’d been created for that specific purpose and no other.
“I visited Barrett,” she said after a bit.
“You did? Why?”
“Simon and I were sightseeing in the neighborhood. We passed the gate, and once I realized where we were, we snuck down the lane to gape at your house.”
“I wish I’d been there. I’d have loved to welcome you inside.”
“It’s beautiful. I’m incredibly envious that you own such a place.”
“I guess it’s beautiful—if you’re partial to rundown, decrepit mansions.”
“You’re lucky to have it. Don’t be snotty about it or you’ll annoy me.”
“All right. I won’t be snotty. I shall fib and state that it’s a grand residence.”
“That’s better.” She snorted with amusement.
“Your scolding is giving me a headache.”
“I have that effect on men.”
“No, you don’t. You turn them into blithering idiots. I’ve watched you. It’s absolutely diabolical how effortlessly you charm them.”
“Have I charmed you? Are you wrapped around my little finger?”
“Maybe.”
“How about your fiancée? Are you wrapped around her little finger too?”
“First off, I haven’t decided whether I’m marrying Penny or not.”
“Liar. You’ll proceed with her. I have no doubt at all.”
She was probably correct, but he wouldn’t debate the issue. “And second, I’m not discussing Penny with you. Not while we’re nestled together on your bed. We have so few chances to dally. Don’t waste them by irritating me.”
“Your fit of pique reminds me that I’m mad to have loafed up here with you. Penny will be looking for me. I’m surprised she hasn’t already blustered in to check on me.”
Just as Libby voiced the remark, the door from the hall opened, and they blanched with alarm. When Fish had stormed out, Luke had forgotten to lock the door after her. Why hadn’t he? His only excuse was that Libby completely overwhelmed him.
He was a navy commander who barked orders and had them instantly obeyed. He was so used to being in charge that he frequently felt like a god who could control his destiny. Would it all crash down? Would his foolishness destroy his friendship with the Pendleton family? Was Libby Carstairs worth that type of upheaval?
He wasn’t sure yet, but he was beginning to suspect he’d pay any price to have her.
“Libby, where are you hiding?” her cousin, Simon Falcon, called from the sitting room.
There was no opportunity to jump off the bed or pretend they hadn’t been misbehaving, and for a brief moment, Luke couldn’t deduce if he was relieved or not to have it be Mr. Falcon rather than someone else. But was his arrival preplanned? Would he express umbrage and demand Luke fork over damages for Libby’s ruination?
Falcon appeared in the doorway, and if he was astonished to observe Libby stretched out on the mattress with Luke, he gave no sign. His lack of a reaction definitely made Luke wonder about what sort of life she’d led. He was convinced she wasn’t nearly as innocent as she liked to claim.
“There you are,” Falcon said to Libby. “You delivered a stellar performance, and people are dying to chat with you. Lord Roland is especially delighted. Fish sent me to drag you downstairs.” Then he focused his caustic gaze on Luke. “And Lord Barrett, I won’t say I’m shocked to stumble on you, but for pity’s sake, if you intend to trifle with my cousin—and right under your fiancée’s nose too—you really ought to spin the key in the lock before you start in.”
Libby was nonchalant about being discovered. She slid off the bed and glared at Falcon. “Why are you pestering me, Simon?”
“I told you. Fish sent me to fetch you. I figure she knew what I’d find. I’m glad you’re still dressed. Otherwise, I might have been struck blind.”
“Go down without me,” she said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Apparently, that’s what you insisted to Fish when you chased her off. I’m not as gullible as she is, and I have to inject some sanity into this situation or it will become totally untenable. What if Lady Penny had been with me? What then?”
Luke slid off the bed too, and he ignored Falcon and spoke to Libby. “Let’s take a ride in the morning.”
“You and I are not socializing,” she responded. “How often must I explain this to you?”
“We can leave the manor at different times. We can meet out on the road.”
“No!” she firmly stated.
Falcon tsked with aggravation. “Will you come with me, Lord Barrett? I’ll escort you down to the gentlemen’s card room.”
“You should listen to Simon,” she said to Luke. “We’ve been up here much too long. I’ll follow in a bit.”
“You’d better,” Falcon said. “I’m tired of having to justify your absences.”
“Yes, Simon, yes,” she complained. “I heard you, and I’ll be right down.”
“Don’t you dare avoid me tomorrow,” Luke said to her. “Don’t make me spend all day searching again.”
Falcon raised a brow. “You spent the day searching for her? My, my, but you and I need to have a long, frank talk.”
“No, you don’t,” Libby said to Falcon. “I won’t have the two of you palavering over me like a pair of fishwives at the market.”
She clasped Luke’s hand and squeezed tight, silently telling him goodbye. They sighed, sounding like adolescent sweethearts who couldn’t bear to part.
Falcon scoffed. “If you lunatics grow anymore infatuated, syrup will be dripping from the walls.”
He stepped in and physically separated them. He pushed Libby toward the dressing room. She winked at Luke and sauntered off. He watched her go, his attention riveted on how her hips swished under the fabric of her skirt.
Falcon smirked. “You are in deep trouble, Lord Barrett.”
“I know,” he could only reply.
“We should tarry in a quiet spot and have a brandy. We have to wipe that besotted look off your face before anyone sees it.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not, and I can guarantee your obsession will just get worse. This kind of attraction has bubbled up with her on a thousand occasions in the past, but it never leads anywhere. We have to nip it in the bud or you’ll simply wind up angry and disappointed.”
“I don’t want to do any nipping.”
�
��I have to persuade you then, and I shall demand you listen to me.”
Falcon was a sly character. He had Luke out the door and down the hall before Luke realized they’d left Libby’s bedchamber.
They headed down the stairs, and when they would have turned toward the party, they walked in the other direction, ultimately shutting themselves in a deserted parlor where there was a fully-stocked liquor tray. Falcon poured them both a tall brandy, and they clinked the rims together.
“To Libby,” Falcon said, “and to you for being smart enough to capture her notice.”
“I wouldn’t call it smart. I’d call it deranged.”
“I’m serious. Men constantly fall in love with her, but she never reciprocates their interest.”
“Why not?”
Falcon shrugged. “She thinks they’re fools, cheats, and wastrels.”
“She’s generally correct.”
“Which type are you?”
“I’m not a wastrel, but with how I’ve been ensnared, I suppose I’m a fool.”
“And you’re a cheat too, aren’t you?”
Luke scowled. “Why would you assume that?”
“You’re here to propose to Lady Penny, but I just caught you rolling around on a mattress with my cousin. That seems a tad duplicitous to me.”
Luke’s cheeks flushed with chagrin. “As I’ve explained to Libby, over and over again, I’m not engaged yet. I’m a bachelor who is capable of choosing my companions and how I carry on with them.”
“Would you like to keep Libby for your very own?”
Luke had just taken a swallow of his liquor, and it went down wrong. He coughed and pounded a fist on his chest. He’d never had such a blunt question posed, and Falcon was so young. It was disconcerting to have him mention such a salacious topic.
“Meaning what?” Luke asked. “I’m not about to marry her—if that’s what you’re hoping. I don’t care if you stumbled on us in a compromising situation. Matrimony is not in the cards, so don’t presume you can coerce me into that conclusion.”
