His Wicked Charm

by Candace Camp

  Sabrina gazed up at her groom with such love that it almost made Lilah’s chest hurt. Lilah tried to imagine what it must be like to feel so much for another person that one’s face simply shone with it. Lilah had some difficulty with the notion. She herself did not lack for suitors, many of them quite eligible men, but she had never felt even a tingle of such feeling.

  Alex clearly was just as much in love as Sabrina. Lilah had watched him earlier as Sabrina came down the aisle, his face alight with love. She had glanced at Con then, wondering what he felt on this occasion. It must be strange to lose one’s twin to marriage. Irritating as Con was, Lilah had felt a little pang of sympathy for him.

  But then Con had flashed that cocky grin at her and winked. In the middle of a wedding. It was typical of the man. She didn’t know why she bothered to feel sympathy for him. Constantine Moreland never took anything seriously. Well, almost never—Lilah had seen his face two months ago when Alex was kidnapped, and Con’s face then had been downright frightening.

  When the stately first waltz ended, other couples joined the newlyweds on the dance floor. Lilah glanced around, certain she would see Con among the dancers. She wondered who he would choose as his partner. He had never seemed to favor any particular girl with his attentions. He had even danced with her one time.

  Though he would never do so again, no doubt. Lilah blushed at that memory. Con thought her prudish for the way she had reacted when he asked her to walk in the garden with him after their dance. Lilah knew now that she had been impulsive and silly; she had only recently come out, and her greenness had showed. Not that she had been wrong—a man didn’t ask a young girl to walk in the garden at a party unless his intentions were less than virtuous. But she had learned since then how to turn aside such a man without resorting to anything so overwrought as a slap.

  Lilah scowled down at her glove, needlessly fussing with the button. Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of Alex’s cousins making his way toward her. Albert had apparently taken a liking to Lilah; he had dogged her footsteps all day. She’d managed to slip away each time, but she had the gloomy suspicion she wouldn’t be able to dodge him this time. She could hardly be impolite to one of the Moreland family, but, having danced with Cousin Albert at the engagement party, Lilah knew that taking to the floor with him would not only be a dreadful bore but also a very real danger to her toes.

  Hoping he had not realized she’d spotted him, Lilah started to turn away. Just at that moment, a man behind her said, “Miss Holcutt. Would you care to dance?”

  “Con!” She whirled. “Oh, thank God.”

  His green eyes twinkled. “What an unexpectedly enthusiastic response. I daresay you must have seen Cousin Albert setting his course.”

  “Yes.” There was no need to pretend politeness where Con was concerned.

  She took his arm and Con whisked her away to the dance floor, pulling her to him and seamlessly joining the other dancers. Lilah had forgotten what it was like to dance with Con—so quick and light, his hand firm on her waist, holding her a trifle closer than was appropriate. It was easy to match his steps, to follow the guide of his hand. He was an expert dancer, and one had only to let go and trust him.

  She could not keep from smiling up at him. It was better not to encourage Con—he was already too full of himself—and she was always careful not to do anything that would draw attention, but right now she was enjoying herself too much to care.

  When the music ended, Lilah was flushed and breathless, surging with energy. She would have liked to dance again, but of course, that would never do; even Con would know better than that. Whipping open her delicate ivory-and-lace fan, she tried to cool her overheated face. Con led her toward the open windows, snagging two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handing her one.

  Lilah rarely drank wine of any sort, but she was too thirsty not to take a great gulp of it. It fizzed in her mouth, tingling and cool, yet with its own delicious sting as well, and she drank the rest of it. Con’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Careful. I can’t have you getting foxed on me.” He plucked the empty glass from her hand and set it aside.

  “I won’t. It’s just so hot in here.”

  Con glanced toward the French doors, standing open to the terrace, then back to her. “Dare I suggest we step outside? I assure you I won’t try to lure you into the garden this time.”

  Lilah cast him a speaking glance and took his arm, turning toward the open doors. “One can only wonder why you did so the first time, considering that you think I’m such a prig.”

  He chuckled and took a sip from his glass. “I am, as you have pointed out, entirely too impulsive.”

  “That’s no answer.” But Lilah was feeling too companionable at the moment to pursue the subject. Her customary annoyance with Con had vanished with the waltz.

  They strolled the length of the terrace, now and then passing another couple doing the same. Lilah lifted her flushed face to the cool night air. She began to hum the waltz beneath her breath, wishing she could dance along the terrace. She smiled to herself at the idea of causing such a commotion. Con’s jaw would drop. She had to press her lips together tightly to hold back a giggle.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t have gulped down that glass of champagne. It wasn’t like her. Or perhaps it had been the dance, whirling around the room in Con Moreland’s arms. That, too, had been unlike her. Mostly likely it was because she was with Con; there was something about him that encouraged misbehavior.

  He said inappropriate things that made her laugh. His smile, his wink, that twinkle in his eye just before he did or said something outrageous, enticed one to go along with him. If he had been a woman, people would have termed him a temptress. She wasn’t sure what one called such a man. Dangerous came to mind.

  She glanced up at Con, so close beside her she could feel the warmth of his body. As if sensing her gaze, he turned his head. With only the mellow light streaming from the windows of the ballroom behind them, Con’s face was half-shadowed, his eyes dark. But the dimness could not hide how handsome he was—the firm chin and square jaw, the way his mouth curved up slightly, as if he was about to break into a grin.

  It was odd how much he looked like his twin, yet she had never felt a twinge of attraction to Alex. When she first met Con’s brother, she had realized almost immediately that he was not Con. There had been no spark running along her nerves, no tightening of her stomach. Alex was easy to talk to; with Con, Lilah always felt as if she needed to be on her guard.

  If she wasn’t careful, she might stumble. And Lilah was a person who liked her feet firmly planted on the ground. It was disconcerting to have this uncertainty. It was even more alarming that it also excited her. Surely that was not how it ought to be.

  They reached the end of the walkway and turned to look out over the garden below. Delicate paper lanterns lit the garden paths, but up here on the terrace, they were deep in shadow. Con set his glass on the wide stone balustrade and leaned casually against a column, his eyes on Lilah rather than the view.

  Lilah’s pulse picked up. It was dim and secluded here, the occasional sound of a voice a distant background. She remembered the other time she had stood on a terrace with Con, almost breathless with a volatile combination of excitement, anxiety and a guilty certainty that her aunt would not approve.

  “Tell me, truly,” Lilah said impulsively, “that night... Why did you ask me to dance, much less stroll in the garden with you? I understand your doing so tonight—I’m your new sister-in-law’s friend, and you must be polite. But why did you ask me to dance back then?”

  “Have you looked in a mirror?” Con countered.

  “You were swept away by my beauty?” Lilah cocked a skeptical eyebrow. “There were dozens of pretty young girls there, and I would wager I am not the sort you normally dance with. Much less take out on the terrace with ulterior motives.”


  “My motives weren’t ulterior. I thought they were quite straightforward.”

  Lilah was reminded why she found him irritating. She turned away, fixing her eyes on the flowers and shrubs below. “Was it—did you do it because I was newly out? Because you thought I would be so naive I wouldn’t realize I was risking my reputation?”

  “No!” Con’s voice was filled with affront and astonishment. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t ask you to dance because I thought I could trick you into anything. Do you really think that badly of me?”

  Lilah relaxed, surprised at how relieved she was by his indignant response. “No. Well, perhaps I did wonder a bit. Afterward.” When he never approached her again.

  “I asked you to dance because I wanted to waltz with you. I asked you out on the terrace to spend more time with you without the noise of the party. And I asked you to take a stroll through the garden because...very well, I did hope I might get a chance to kiss you. But I didn’t want to kiss you because you were the low-hanging fruit on a tree.”

  “Or to add another girl to your collection?”

  “My collection!” Con goggled at her. “What the devil do you take me for? I don’t have a collection. I’m not some rogue out seducing young ladies. Good Lord, Lilah, but you are a suspicious woman.”

  “It’s not absurd to suspect that,” she retorted. “You find me rigid, prim and proper.”

  “You forgot judgmental.”

  “Oh, yes, sorry—and judgmental.” She crossed her arms, glaring at him. “So why would you want to dance with such a woman?”

  “If you must know, it was because you were wearing lilac stockings.”

  “What?” Lilah stared at him.

  He shrugged and turned away, now the one to keep his eyes on the view. “You asked.”

  “But why... How...”

  “It’s nice to know I can render you speechless.”

  “That’s absurd. How could you know what color stockings I had on? I don’t even remember what color they were.”

  “Clearly the sight of them made more of an impression on me than it did on you.” Con glanced back at her. “I was standing at the foot of the stairs when you came in. You were so terribly prim and proper, all in maidenly white, modestly covered to your neck, your face blankly polite, your hair braided and curled into a knot like a governess, your chaperone glued to your side. I thought, there’s a beauty, but she looks an utter bore.”

  “How kind of you,” Lilah said drily.

  “Then you climbed the stairs, lifting your skirt to keep from stepping on it, and I saw your ankles. You were wearing bright lilac stockings. And I thought, there’s more to her than meets the eye.” He paused, considering. “Besides, you have lovely ankles.”

  Lilah gaped at him, then began to laugh. His reasoning was so strange, so very Con-like—flattering, insulting and preposterous all at once—that she couldn’t work up either affront or anger, only a baffled amusement.

  “You should do that more often,” Con told her.

  “What?”

  “Laugh. You look beautiful.”

  “Oh.” She hoped the darkness concealed her blush. Otherwise, Con would doubtless tease her about it every time they met.

  Except, of course, she would not see him now that the wedding was over. Constantine Moreland didn’t frequent the sort of parties Lilah attended with her aunt. He preferred more exciting entertainment. Even when they did attend the same function, Con did his best to avoid her. Her life now would return to its usual pattern. Lilah sighed as she thought of the weeks ahead, paying calls and receiving visitors in her aunt’s parlor.

  “What is it?” Con asked. When she glanced at him questioningly, he explained, “You sighed just now. Is something wrong?”

  “What? Oh. I didn’t realize I had.” Her cheeks, already pink, flamed. “I was, um, just thinking that things would settle back to normal now that the wedding is done.”

  “Yes, it will likely be more boring.”

  “I didn’t mean that,” she protested. “I meant, it will be quieter. Calmer. But that’s a good thing. One can rest and relax and, um...”

  “Embroider handkerchiefs?” Con suggested, raising an eyebrow.

  She glowered. “I’m sure there will be nothing so mundane for you. You’ll be off chasing ghosts or seeking the meaning of Stonehenge.”

  “Hopefully I’ll find an adventure or two to pass the time.” He grinned down at her. “Here, now, don’t look so grim.” He smoothed his finger over the lines of her frown, then moved to her cheek, lightly skimming a strand of hair that had escaped its pins.

  Self-consciously Lilah moved to pin the stray curl back in place, but Con reached out to stop her. “No, don’t. It’s lovely like that.”

  “Like what... A mess?” She forced a bit of tartness into her voice to combat the sudden heat his touch stirred in her.

  “I doubt that anything about you is ever a mess.” Con stroked his thumb lazily along her cheekbone. His smile was still there, but different now, no longer amused but warm and inviting. There was a look in his eyes very like the one she’d seen in Alex when he gazed at Sabrina. Dark and a little hazy.

  Lilah’s breath caught in her throat, and her thoughts went tumbling madly. She definitely should not have drunk that glass of champagne. Con leaned in. Lilah tilted her face up.

  Masculine laughter burst from the ballroom as three men stepped out onto the terrace, chatting among themselves. Lilah froze. What was she doing? Con had been about to kiss her. And she had been about to let him. Worse yet, she had been about to kiss him back. “I—I’m sorry—I shouldn’t—goodbye.”

  Lilah slipped around him and hurried back into the ballroom.

  CHAPTER THREE

  LILAH WAS BORED. She had spent the morning in the drawing room with her aunt, answering correspondence. There was little of that, as her father, to whom she had once written faithfully, had passed on two years ago, and it had been many years since she’d exchanged letters with his sister, Vesta. Sabrina, with whom she had maintained the longest, largest correspondence, was away on her honeymoon.

  She missed Sabrina. Her friend had lived in London for only a couple of months, but for that time it had been as if they were together in Miss Angerman’s Academy for Young Ladies again. Sabrina was not the only one she missed. In the process of preparing for Sabrina’s wedding, Lilah had become friends with the Morelands, as well. All the Morelands had returned for the wedding, along with their spouses and broods of children. It made for an occasionally chaotic environment, but one that was always entertaining and congenial.

  There had been any number of lively conversations with the duchess, ranging over a host of topics, and though Lilah and the very forward-thinking Duchess of Broughton had disagreed from time to time, their discussions were invigorating and even enlightening. Megan told entertaining stories about her years of reporting and traveling the world with her husband, Theo Moreland. Kyria, vibrant and warm, was almost impossible not to like—as were the duke and his diminutive uncle Bellard, a veritable treasure trove of knowledge once one got him started.

  Thisbe, Theo’s twin, was a scientist who spent much of her time in her laboratory working on things Lilah neither understood nor, really, cared to understand. But Thisbe was also possessed of a dry wit and an easy, outgoing nature much like her twin’s, and Anna, Reed Moreland’s wife, was a quiet spot of serenity amid the noisy bustle of activity at Broughton House.

  Lilah had especially come to like Olivia, the youngest of the Moreland daughters. Olivia, though she shared with Constantine an odd interest in the occult, was as devoted a reader as Lilah, and once they discovered their mutual interest in books of mystery and danger, they had spent many a pleasant afternoon chatting.

  The days since the wedding had seemed quite empty. Lilah hadn’t any reason to visit Broughton House. Without h
er friend Sabrina there, it seemed a bit presumptuous to make a social call at the house of a duke, at least until they had called on her. Lilah would hate to be thought a social climber.

  Worse...what if Con were at home? What if he thought Lilah was there in the hopes of seeing him? Given the way she had behaved the other night—it made her blush even to think of it—he would be justified in assuming she was setting her cap for him. Nothing could be further from the truth of course. Lilah would never pursue any man, much less someone like Con. He would be the last person she would want to marry—not that he would ever ask someone like her.

  Con probably thought it was funny that such a prim and proper woman as Lilah had acted so unlike herself. He knew she had been about to kiss him. No doubt he would tease her about it. He would laugh, that rich, warm laughter that made one want to join him, his lips curving up and his eyes lighting with mischief. It was most unfair that his teasing made him even more attractive.

  That was the root of the whole problem with Constantine Moreland—he was so utterly appealing. Lilah liked the straight black slashes of his eyebrows—the way they lifted when he was amused or drew together fiercely when he frowned. She had more than once felt a strange desire to reach out and smooth a finger along one of them. His eyes were such a sharp green, darkened by that thick row of black lashes. Those cheekbones, that jaw, that chin. That mouth. Thank goodness she had always had firm control of herself and had kept such thoughts hidden.

  But then she had destroyed all her efforts by going out onto the terrace with him. Standing there in that dark secluded corner with him, a situation so intimate, so warm, so ripe for seduction. Turning her face up for his kiss. If only she hadn’t drunk that champagne. If only he hadn’t asked her to dance.

  No. She must not call at Broughton House, even if she could come up with a good reason to do so. She should settle back into her normal life. It might take a bit of time, but she would become accustomed to it. Being around the Morelands had been exciting. Entertaining. But that wasn’t how Lilah lived. She was not flamboyant; she didn’t crave adventure and excitement; she wasn’t driven by wild uncontrollable passion. All she had ever wanted was a quiet, pleasant, rational life. The sort of life she had.