To Love a Wicked Scoundrel

by Anabelle Bryant

  He shifted his attention to the older woman. ‘I don’t give a damn about the ton’s opinion. Although I would never do anything a woman did not invite me to do. You ask me to blindly accept your advice but offer me no reason except protection of virtue. It will take more than that to deter my interest. I am not seeking to debauch the lady, I seek to know her better.’

  ‘I question if you know the difference between the two. And what of your reputation? You care little how you would mar her entrance into society with the fanfare that accompanies your every action? It would be downright scandalous for her to be attached to your history of discarded conquests. Your powers of persuasion are legendary. Be truthful, what use could you possibly have for the girl?’

  Constantine rankled at the dowager’s assumption he would misuse Isabelle, as if he was incapable of lasting affection were he to choose to engage his interests. His relationships were none of her concern, past or present. ‘I consider you a dear friend, Giddy, regardless of your opinions. I have listened to your comments and ask you not to interfere in something that does not involve you.’

  ‘But it does.’ Giddy gave a delicate snort, all earlier conviviality gone. ‘I have grander plans for Lady Rossmore. I have four grand nieces to see matched and settled. As much as I’d like to believe I can accomplish the task, the truth remains I will not live for ever. Their father, my nephew-in-law, Lord Castling, is in need of a wife. My sister left this earth too early and he remains closeted up in the country, weakened by despair. He needs someone to pull him from his melancholy. Isabelle is joy and light. She has a practical sense that would serve Castling well, unlike the frivolous birds that surround us.’ She swung her cane in a slight movement indicating the ladies closest to where they stood.

  Con did not trust himself to speak. Every muscle in his body tensed with Giddy’s outrageous suggestion. Castling was double Isabelle’s age, possibly older. He pitied a man brought to his knees by emotion. Emotion was not to be displayed. He learned that lesson at a very young age.

  At his silence, Giddy continued. ‘With little complaint I have assumed the responsibility for my nieces. But the youngest is twelve and she needs a mother, not a grand aunt. It is many years before she is of a marriageable age. I have no concerns for the two eldest as they are ready to make their debut, but the younger two … I do not know if I will last that long.’

  Giddy thumped her cane, but he did not turn, his eyes were glued to Isabelle as she coasted across the ballroom floor with another nondescript gentleman. Beneath, he worked to simmer his temper.

  ‘I find your interest more than a bit self-serving. A breath ago, you accused me of the same. Lord Castling is an old man and has never been right since your dear niece’s death. You suggest the lady deserves such a future? What if Lady Rossmore desires a family of her own? You accuse me of being ill-matched. I perceive Lord Castling as the same. At least I am wrong in all the right ways.’ He attempted a tolerant smile but his lips rebelled.

  Giddy released a disgruntled sound. ‘I present a realistic perspective. Castling’s age does not signify and some might consider Isabelle a spinster. With her father deceased, she might welcome the guidance and protection of a mature man.’ Her voice dropped to a low tone. ‘And if she does wish for a child of her own, I have no doubt my nephew can accomplish the task. He is not unbecoming.’

  Constantine gritted his teeth to halt a sharp retort. His eyes swept the room and assessed the guests standing near. ‘There are plenty of suitable prospects if you feel compelled to find your nephew a new wife.’ Not one man in this room is deserving of Isabelle. Myself included.

  He’d viewed the lecherous leers shot in Isabelle’s direction as she danced with one gentleman after another. It was as if they detected her naïveté and it sharpened their interest. Perhaps she did need a protector, but it was from the very same men seeking her attention. The latter thought solidified his resolve. He might not be the ideal, but he wanted her. That much he knew for certain. The fact that she was as innocent as a debutante was an unwelcomed inconvenience but damn it if he didn’t want her anyway.

  ‘Come now, be reasonable, I have my mind set. You, on the other hand, are behaving like a child determined to have the one thing he was told he cannot.’ The dowager did nothing to conceal her sharp tone. ‘I am sure Lady Meredith would agree to the advantageous match. I will introduce them. It can come to no harm. Then we will allow the young lady to make her own decision.’

  Constantine dismissed the irritating discussion and excused himself with nothing more than a quick nod. The orchestra strained a few final notes and he made long strides in Isabelle’s direction, but he’d hardly crossed the room before another guest claimed her for a dance. He watched her take the floor, his impatience rumbling within him.

  For a woman who asserted she spent a simple life rusticating in the countryside, she graced the ballroom with lovely elegance. Every part of her seemed an invitation to his senses: to taste, to feel, to learn the fragrance of her skin. She wore the slightest of smiles, her rosebud lips curled at the corners, as she delighted in the dance.

  When she shifted her gaze, her glittering eyes met his and held and an unfamiliar feeling filled his chest. Good Lord, he starved for a taste of her. Just one kiss, one caress of her soft creamy skin, and he would stop. It wasn’t as thought he intended to bed her. She was exactly as Giddy claimed – an innocent. However there were many pleasures two people could share without altering the state of one’s virginity. He smiled as the possibilities flooded his brain. Society’s standards may label her an innocent, but he knew with certainty that Isabelle was nothing less than pure passion underneath that façade. The dichotomy of the combination left him enthralled and more determined than ever.

  He watched as she took another turn around the floor, his eyes locked to her every movement. He pictured her unclothed, all ivory skin and pink perfection, a siren in his bed, her hair, ribbons of ruby and garnet, spread recklessly against his white silk sheets, her delicious body arched in passion. Every part of him jolted to awareness and he abruptly shook the image away. Lust. Unbridled lust. That was the cause. Although his heart, as much as his groin, ached at the vision he’d conjured.

  Unfortunately the dimwitted buffoon leading her through the dance trod upon her toes and her grimace of discomfort broke through the magic of his fantasies. He should remove the oaf for no other reason than to save Isabelle’s satin slippers. He reached the pair just as the gentleman released her hand and deposited her near the refreshment table.

  ‘Such a delight to share your pleasant company, Lady Rossmore. Thank you for the dance.’

  Lord Something-or-Other bowed over her glove and placed a kiss. Con remained behind the lady, his mask of tolerance solely visible to the well-meaning buffoon. As soon as the gentleman dissolved into the crowd, he leaned forward and whispered into Isabelle’s ear. It was a struggle not to catch her dainty lobe between his teeth.

  ‘I should call him out for his affront.’ He inflected just the right mixture of indignation and charm into his words and she gave a little start at his murmur. The lightest scent of rosewater assailed his senses.

  ‘I am sure he did not mean to step upon my toes so often.’ She turned and offered him the sweetest smile.

  ‘Not that affront.’

  ‘Then whatsoever do you mean?’ She looked beguiled … and utterly adorable.

  ‘He called you pleasant; an insult to your beauty and wit.’ He trailed his eyes after the man before returning his gaze to Isabelle’s face. ‘It does provide an insight into the man’s bland personality though. Pleasant is such an ordinary word, and you, my sweet, are anything but ordinary.’

  He could not read her expression, although she appeared nonplussed.

  ‘Let me have your card.’ He extended his hand towards her wrist, expecting her immediate compliance.

  ‘My card is full. You arrived too late.’ Amusement played around her lips. ‘Again.’

  A misc
hievous twinkle lit her eyes, ignited by their flirtatious banter. ‘The fault lies with Brooks and I will discipline him appropriately.’ Somehow he knew the comment would please her. ‘You might have saved me a dance. Now cross out someone else’s name or cry off when he comes to partner you.’

  ‘Absolutely not. I could never do that.’ Unabashed indignity laced her whisper. ‘Cry off and claim I am unwell, and then accompany you onto the dance floor?’

  Her eyes flared incredulously and Constantine found another genuine smile. Her little rules amused him.

  ‘Indeed, quite scandalous. I see your point.’ He touched the tip of her nose with his finger. ‘Cry off and then meet me in the garden.’

  This time the lady’s smile was hesitant at best, but she forced a look of congeniality as Meredith approached.

  ‘Lord Highborough, good evening. You look exceptionally dashing tonight.’

  ‘As do you, Lady Rossmore.’ He pressed a quick kiss to her extended glove. ‘Even lovelier than yesterday or when I experienced the thrill of meeting you both at Lord Rochester’s ball.’

  He did not realise his blunder, too entranced was he in examining myriad colours reflected in Isabelle’s hair, but when he dragged his eyes to her face, he understood he’d said something terribly wrong. She paled and the spark of laughter that lit her eyes seconds before had evaporated.

  ‘Oh, but only you and I met that evening.’ Meredith made the smooth rejoinder, although her expression looked strained. He watched as she turned towards her stepdaughter, who appeared paler still. ‘Is that not correct? You told me you were not introduced to Lord Highborough that evening.’

  ‘We met accidentally, actually. It did not bear mentioning.’

  Isabelle’s lips quivered when she answered and Con regretted the careless slip. With a vow of his heart, he would make it up to her somehow.

  ***

  Isabelle escaped an awkward confrontation with Meredith when Lord Bertram approached for the next set. Now as she followed the steps of the quadrille, she kept her eyes glued to her partner’s and concentrated on every syllable he uttered. It was of no use. While she attempted to squelch the panic of what Meredith surmised from their earlier conversation, her mind spun faster than the dance.

  She knew Constantine meant no harm, nonetheless his casual blunder created a difficult situation, and she had trusted him not to betray her confidence. Surely if he didn’t play so often at the world, he would realise the seriousness of the situation. No, that was not fair. She believed with inherit honesty that Constantine possessed great emotion. To place blame where it did not belong served no true purpose.

  The set ended, as did any attempt to reclaim her repose, and when Lord Bertram escorted her to the edge of the dance floor near the French doors, like a coward she made her escape onto the garden path. An occasional torch lent an ethereal glow and candlelit lanterns hung scattered in the upper branches of the distant trees.

  She advanced a short way along the slates before Constantine stepped from the shadows and clasped her hand in a tight grip.

  ‘Good girl. Now come this way.’

  ‘I have little choice.’ She doubted he heard her grumbled objection. Meanwhile her heart beat a frantic tattoo as she allowed herself to be led deeper into Lady Stanton’s extravagant gardens by a man who believed she met him by request.

  They wandered through a few turns, past ivy covered trestles and an elaborate fountain, then further down the path until Isabelle could not contain her curiosity a minute longer. ‘Are you sure we are going the right way?’

  He paused mid-step and glanced over his shoulder. A sheepish grin curled the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Oh.’ Her curt reply spurred him back into motion and she glanced down to where he held her, desperate to keep pace as they proceeded deeper into the garden landscape. Her hand looked small and delicate within his strong grasp and a sense of belonging, of possessive intimacy, swept through her heart and drummed her pulse with a delicious beat.

  He slowed his steps and while she caught her breath, Isabelle saw they stood in a secluded clearing, encircled by honeysuckle, delphiniums and an abundance of roses. The fragrance smelled heavenly and she sighed in appreciation.

  ‘You are breathtaking.’ Con released her hand and gazed into her eyes. His voice, barely a whisper, spoke straight to her heart and riverlets of pleasure flowed through every part of her. Earlier in the evening she’d viewed the cream of the haute ton and wondered how she ever thought to compete with their appeal. Now, with his words, she was most especially complimented. It was significant to be wanted by anyone, never mind a man who kept London in his pocket. The man before her knew what he wanted, who he wanted. And now, he’d chosen her. The realisation intensified and she absorbed the euphoric feeling.

  Before she could object, he removed her hair comb and slipped it into his waistcoat pocket. Then he stepped behind her and threaded his fingers through the lengths, his voice a soft murmur. ‘You are a vision of beauty.’ He moved in front of her and placed a fingertip under her chin, looking daringly statuesque against the dimly lit backdrop of flora. ‘Kiss me, Isabelle.’

  She pursed her lips, desire at war with the better sense that reminded her he surely visited these gardens often. ‘Do you always achieve what you want through use of your charm?’

  She watched him in the reflected lantern light. His eyes, better suited for the bedroom than the ballroom, sparkled with seductive promise while the husky longing in his voice seduced her, her resolve too weak not to do something foolish.

  ‘Absolutely not.’ He offered her a cheeky grin. ‘But we are here in the inviting privacy of Lady Stanton’s gardens so why waste this opportunity. Milady, will you dance with me?’

  Isabelle, ever pragmatic, knew she ventured down a dangerous path and the inevitable confrontation once she rejoined Meredith would not be pleasant. However the rare and precious feeling of being held in Constantine’s arms caused any objection to evaporate into the cool night air. And true, she wanted to feel his mouth take hers more than she’d ever admit. Just one kiss, she promised herself, one small adventure.

  She paused to remove her gloves and placed them on the edge of a marble planter, her intent to touch his sable silk hair in command of her attention.

  ‘That’s better.’ His strong hands traced over her arms and brought her into proper frame. ‘I am still offended you did not save me a waltz.’

  ‘You are not,’ she quipped, the notion inconceivable.

  He led her through the steps as smoothly as he’d removed her hair comb and coaxed her to fall into the graceful rhythm. She did so with an open heart. It was as though someone had torn a page from her innermost fantasies: to be waltzing with a breathtakingly handsome earl under a sky filled with stars in a secluded garden, the fragrance of flowers in the air. And by walking into her dream, she was more alive than ever before.

  The faintest note of the orchestra could be heard. They circled the slate-covered clearing and with each turn the dance became more mesmerising, more intimate, as it wound them in its spell. Somehow their bodies grew closer, an inhale’s width apart, and an unexplained pull drew them nearer until barely a whisper of air existed between the rustle of silk against velvet.

  Isabelle grew acutely aware of every nuance concerning Constantine: the strong angle of his jaw, the reflected glimmer of moonlight in his hair, the shortened rise of his broad chest, as if he too, sensed the incredible magic that built between them as they continued to circle in silence, their bodies matched in perfect unison.

  She was dizzy from the dance, heady from the feelings in her heart that swirled within her in a whirlwind of euphoric sensations.

  She needed to speak, employ conversation, because she hoped small talk would help her regain her mental footing. But her mind was crowded with so many wondrous sensations, she simply spoke the truth. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Say anything you like.’

  He looked at her, his gaze
shadowed by dark lashes, and she worried he’d think her attempt at conversation inept. ‘I suspect by your standards, anything I might say would be considered boring.’

  His eyes narrowed, as if he thought her insane. ‘You are definitely not boring.’ He leaned closer, his words hot against her cheek. ‘At least not to me.’

  He held her hand in a firm grasp and she shivered as the pad of his thumb stroked the inside of her wrist to feather her pulse in the gentlest caress, the soothing effect at odds with the erratic beat of her heart. It must be the exertion of the dance.

  They rounded a turn and he slowed beside a wrought-iron bench.

  ‘Lady Stanton thinks of everything.’ His voice was liquid temptation in the night air.

  Their eyes fell to the blanketed bench nestled inside a secluded rose arbour. Several paper lanterns cast flickering light across the low seat. She could not restrain a nervous laugh. ‘It would be foolish for me to believe you surprised.’

  He smiled and his eyes held a glint of mischief. ‘I pride myself on ingenuity.’

  Their bodies became much closer and his trousers brushed against the skirt of her gown. The caress of the fabric against her bare skin aroused a spiral of heat in the deepest part of her that radiated to each of her nerve endings, the effect leaving her unbearably sensitive and exquisitely in tune to all of her senses.

  He smelled divine. His shaving soap, a mixture of spice and sin, and the temptation of his warmth, inches from her body, made her breathing hitch, a decidedly unfortunate matter as every breath brought her breasts higher, the shortened corset proving useless.

  No doubt Constantine noticed as well. Heat flooded her face and she shot him a look to measure each flash of emotion. He moved closer, the brush of his trousers against her thighs decidedly harder and an unfamiliar pride flooded her heart at the extent of his ardour.

  His heated gaze met hers with unconcealed desire and when a seductive smile played at his mouth, her cheeks flushed deeper.