by Tonya Brooks
~~~~~
“This is getting interesting,” Tony grinned. Scarlett was the most devious female he'd ever met. The woman thought like a man, which in itself was a frightening concept, so there was no telling what type of havoc she was about to wreak.
Favoring him with a dark look, Devlin confessed, “She swore to me that she would be on her best behavior tonight if we dance with her friends. If we don't... God help us all.”
“We?” Dexter queried with a frown of his own. “I say. Do you mean us, old chap?”
“Tell me you didn't agree to that,” Stefan growled, quite obviously not pleased with being forced to dance with some simpering chit. Especially one that no one else would have.
“Oh, but he did,” Nicholas confirmed with pure devilment dancing in the midnight eyes and thought the whole scheme was hilarious.
When the four men stopped cursing, Blaise demanded, “How the hell did we get roped into this?”
“Guilt by association,” Devlin informed him. “Scarlett wants every rake that I know dancing with the wallflowers.”
“What the deuce for?” Tony asked and could not understand why she would want them to do such a thing. Hell, their reputations alone would probably send the little innocents into a swoon and their mothers into a panic.
“Scarlett thinks men are sheep,” Nicholas explained and didn't even try to hide his amusement. “The theory is that if the young bucks see us with the chits that they'll flock to them in droves.”
“More likely they'll think the lady's virtue is questionable if we're interested in them,” Stefan pointed out sarcastically.
“Oh, I say. That would be in bad form, what?” Dexter inserted with a worried look.
“Which is why we will behave like gentlemen,” Devlin said firmly and gave Blaise a hard look. “You can manage that for one dance, can't you?” That particular member of the family made no claim to being a gentleman and rarely even attempted to behave in a proper manner.
“You owe me for this one,” Blaise scowled and didn't even consider refusing. God forbid what Scarlett would do in retaliation if they didn't comply. The little hoyden could be vindictive as hell when crossed. The last time he'd made her mad, she'd poured salt in a case of his best whiskey to get even.
“I say. Dancing with a horse faced chit is asking a hell of a lot, old boy,” Dexter agreed.
“A deuced title hungry, husband hunting, horse faced chit, you mean,” Stefan growled.
“Bloody hell, it's just one dance,” Devlin growled in exasperation.
“Not likely,” Tony pointed out dryly. “It'll look like we're singling them out for attention unless we dance with several ladies.”
The round of curses singed the air blue again.
“It could be worse,” Nicholas offered in a conciliatory tone. “Dev promised Scarlett that he and I would dance with her at every ball she attends. Which means we have to attend them as well.”
Four men fixed Devlin with mutinous looks, silently daring him to do such a dastardly thing to them. They had come to Scarlett's come out ball to show the little minx their support, and stay in the dowager duchesses good graces, but attending these blasted affairs on a regular basis was asking too damn much.
“This is a onetime only deal,” Devlin assured them. When Nicholas headed to the door, he asked, “Where the deuce are you going?”
“To get it over with before Scarlett comes looking for us,” he grinned. That galvanized the rest of the men into action and they hastily followed. Not one of them wanted to be on the receiving end of Scarlett's volatile temper.
The crowd parted in their wake when the group of dangerous rakes entered the ballroom. While the feminine hearts began to flutter wildly, the men began to eye them warily, not at all comfortable with such a gathering of predators in their midst. Not only were they wealthy, titled lords, they were as wicked as they were handsome. Their lascivious exploits were as legendary among the ton as they were fascinating.
One elderly and very astute matron was heard to say, “They look rather like a pack of hungry wolves scenting prey.”
The rakes were pleasantly surprised when Scarlett introduced them to three very lovely young ladies who were identical triplets. Eager to discharge their duty and escape the ballroom, Devlin, Stefan and Blaise claimed the sisters and led them onto the floor for the next dance. The Halstead sisters handled the attention with aplomb and after just one dance with a rake, their dance cards immediately filled up as predicted.
~~~~~
When Nicholas, Tony and Dexter just stood there watching their friends in amusement, Scarlett's mischievous streak prompted her to ask, “Shouldn't the three of you have dance partners?” If she had to spend the evening being surrounded by men she neither knew, nor wanted to know, it only seemed fair that her brother and his friends suffered right along with her.
Dense as ever, Dexter queried in astonishment, “I say. You mean they have more sisters?”
Favoring him with an overly sweet smile that didn't fool even the dense viscount for an instant, she commanded, “Go find a lady who looks like she should be dancing.”
~~~~~
After a quick survey of the room, Tony strolled over to where Lady Taran Harrington was half hidden by a potted palm, grabbed her elbow and led her onto the floor as he muttered, “Don't argue, just dance with me.”
~~~~~
“I don't want to dance,” she hissed back and tried to pull free without being too obvious about it to the group of matrons who were avidly watching. Taran had no qualms about publicizing the fact that she detested the notorious rake who persisted in tormenting her with his devilish charm, but she didn’t want to become a spectacle either.
“Neither do I, but your cousin isn't giving me a choice,” he shot back. “Either you help me out or Scarlett will flay me alive.”
Stung that the wretched beast was being forced to dance with her, she taunted, “Don't tell me my sweet, innocent little cousin has managed to terrify a big, wicked rake like you, Drake,”
~~~~~
Tony snorted at that. Scarlett Ashbrook was about as sweet and innocent as a hungry lioness. “Your cousin is a menace,” he countered.
“She is not and stop glowering at me. You look like a disapproving husband,” Taran hissed and then flashed him a dazzling smile when her rather pointed barb hit home.
Tony had a genuine aversion to marriage, and she had known he would not appreciate the comparison. He didn't. He muttered a litany of curses under his breath before demanding, “Why the hell aren't you married?”
~~~~~
Taran barely held back a laugh. Drake had a habit of asking her that, and for some reason it seemed to irk him when she refused to give him a straight answer. But if she ever did admit the truth, she knew he'd run like hell. This time, however, she decided to turn the tables on him. “Why aren't you?”
Tony didn't even try to hide his amusement. “What woman would have me?”
“I can ask around if you'd like,” she offered sweetly. “Surely there must be at least one lady here with the brains of a gnat.”
~~~~~
God, this woman never failed to amuse him. She was as intelligent as she was beautiful, which was saying a lot, and for some unfathomable reason, he enjoyed arguing with her. Actually, he enjoyed everything about her, especially the chance to hold her in his arms.
Deciding that he'd rather see her smile than frown, he conceded with a devilish grin, “I surrender. Sheathe your claws before you draw blood, sweetheart.”
“In your case, I'm afraid they're not retractable,” she admitted without an ounce of remorse and smiled smugly. A wicked smile curved his lips and the golden eyes glowed hotly with desire. “Drake, stop looking at me like that.”
“I'm not glowering,” his velvet roughened voice practically purred as he looked her over in masculine appreciation.
It was no wonder the ton had dubbed her the Unattainable Incomparable. She was sheer perfection in every
flawless detail. Not for the first time, Tony wished Taran were anyone but a member of the Ashbrook family. If she weren't... oh, the deliciously wicked things he would do to her. Just the thought of it had his cock rock hard and ready.
“No, you're not, but now you look like some half-starved beast about to devour me,” she informed him bluntly.
Since he knew that nothing could ever come of it, Tony had teased her with outrageous flirtations for years. Much to his eternal regret, Taran was not a woman that he could take to his bed, but he did take perverse pleasure in tempting her and tormenting himself in the process. His smile grew even more wicked.
“Mmm. I'll bet you'd taste delicious, Taran.”
~~~~~
Taran knew that he would never willingly be leg shackled to any woman, and since she was not the type to have an affair, their verbal sparring matches were nothing more than a means to goad each other. This time, however, she was pleased to see the shocked look on his face when she gave him back a bit of his own nonsense.
Her smile was as naughty as his when she leaned slightly forward and taunted, “Bon apetite, my lord Rake.”
~~~~~
Nicholas looked around the room, spied Miranda Sheridan, Countess Winslow, seated with a group of matrons, and made a beeline to her. If ever a woman should be dancing, it was her. As far as he knew, Miranda hadn't danced in years.
He bowed before her, extended his hand and asked, “May I have this dance, Countess?”
She blinked up at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. “You know I don't dance, Nicholas,” came the soft reminder.
“I'm pulling rank, my dear,” was the smooth response as he took her hand and urged her to rise. “It's bad form to refuse a duke, ya know.”
~~~~~
Miranda didn't know what to do. The widow’s weeds she wore always discouraged men from asking her to dance as it was considered socially unacceptable to do so while in mourning.
“Oh, go with him, you silly chit,” Lady Pembroke commanded in her carrying voice. “If I were twenty years younger, I'd give my eye teeth to be in your place.”
Nicholas gave the matron a wicked grin and replied, “Were you twenty years younger, I'd fear for my virtue, my lady.”
“As well you should,” the lusty old harridan chortled merrily as he led the countess onto the dance floor while the members of the ton gaped at the pair in disbelief.
“Nicholas, what the hell are you doing?” Miranda hissed, more concerned about the attention they were receiving than insulting a duke. Nicholas was a member of the family after all.
“Staying in your cousins good graces,” he admitted with an unabashed grin. “Scarlett instructed me to find a lady who looked as if she should be dancing and dance with her.”
“So you decided to pick on me?” She complained.
“Better you than one of those ninny hammers who'd mistake my attention as a yen to share their company,” he admitted and then teased her with, “Besides, you definitely need the practice. You've stepped on my foot twice.”
“I did no such thing,” she denied indignantly and then realized the devil was teasing her. Giving up the protest, Miranda enjoyed being whirled about the room in the arms of an excellent dancer. “I do so love to dance,” she sighed wistfully.
“You should do it more often,” he suggested.
She shook her head, the sad crystal blue eyes glowing in the candlelight. “It wouldn't be seemly.”
“How long are you going to grieve, Randi?” He asked gently.
“Until it doesn't hurt anymore,” came the quiet response.
~~~~~
Dexter located a young lady sitting on the side of the room and after a proper introduction, asked her to dance. The ladies face lit up and she all but dragged him onto the dance floor. Once there, she proceeded to chatter away nonstop until his head was reeling and he couldn't get a word in edgewise.
Once the interminable dance was over, he gladly led the chit to her mother’s side and was then waylaid by that formidable matron for a quarter hour while she extolled the girl’s seemingly endless virtues. As soon as the woman paused to take a breath, he quickly excused himself and made a mad dash to the other side of the ballroom.
The group of jaded rakes proceeded to dance with a great many of the females present for the next half hour. Although they each detested the chore, none of them fared as badly as Dexter. The poor viscount invariably chose the worst possible partners each time and even had his arse pinched by one lusty old matron. Scarlett couldn't have been more pleased with the results of her machinations.
Chapter Nine
Devil's Keep, England, 1796
Charlton sat behind his desk watching the children, a bittersweet smile on his lips at their antics. The two boys reminded him so much of himself and Michael at their age. More brothers than friends, the pair were inseparable, just as their fathers had been. How he wished Michael were here to share this with him.
His lips quirked even more at the thought because he knew exactly how the conversation would go. Michael would make some joke about betrothing their children, now that Charlton had a daughter. Then Charlton would tease his old friend about behaving in such a respectable manner.
Michael would be appalled that he had done such a thing and they would share a good laugh. Charlton would have agreed to the betrothal though. What better way to unite the two families that had always been so close? But Michael wasn't here to make the suggestion, and as Nicholas's legal guardian, Charlton could not in good conscience betroth the boy to his own daughter.
It would smack of dishonorable behavior. That was something he would not do, even if he knew it was what his friend would have wanted. If only Michael were still alive. God, how he missed him. Raising Michael's son as if he were his own, helped as much as it hurt. He just wished there were more he could do for his widow.
Jacqueline was spending more time in Moldavia than in England, but she was finally beginning to adjust to the loss of her husband. She stayed busy acting as the official hostess for her brother, King Jean-Claude, but the sadness had never left her eyes.
Nicholas seemed to be thriving under Charlton's love and guidance and he and Devlin shared everything. Even a little sister it seemed.
~~~~~
The two fourteen-year-old boys were sprawled across the floor of the study, patiently stacking blocks for Scarlett to jump with her wooden horse. Her aim wasn't all that great yet, so she kept galloping the much loved toy into the barricade instead of over it. “Come on, minx. You can do it,” Devlin encouraged.
Scarlett chortled happily as she bumped the horse across the rug in a jerky gallop and once again sent it careening right into the blocks. When the boys groaned, she giggled merrily and chanted, “Horsey, horsey, horsey.”
Nicholas placed both hands around her tiny waist, swung her up and off of the floor as she squealed in excitement. Rolling onto his back, he placed the child astride his chest and commanded, “Say my name, kitten. Say Nick-o-las.”
“Nick-y,” she repeated with a cherubic grin, dropped the cherished horse and leaned forward to pat his cheeks with her chubby little hands. “Nicky, Nicky, Nicky.”
Devlin laughed and shook his head at his friends put upon expression. “Give it up, Nick. She adds a y to everything.”
“She doesn't call you Devy,” Nicholas complained with the devilish smile so like his fathers.
“Good God. She'd better not,” her brother warned, appalled at the very thought of being called something so undignified.
“Go up, Dev. Go up,” Scarlett demanded as she held her arms out to him.
“All right, minx,” he grinned, scooped her up and tossed her into the air while she laughed and squealed in delight.
At the tender age of two, Scarlett had already learned that her brothers were more fun to play with than all of her toys. Even her beloved horsey.
Chapter Ten
Langford House, London, England, 1812
When the orchestra mercifully took a short break, Scarlett took full advantage of the opportunity and escaped the ballroom with the Halstead sisters in tow. Instead of going to the crowded retiring room, she led them through the servant’s corridors to the morning room where they collapsed on the sofas and burst into excited chatter. The three sisters happily shared stories about their success with dance partners until a footman interrupted them to announce the dowager was looking for her granddaughter.
“Damnation,” Scarlett muttered as she rose and headed for the door. “I was hoping she wouldn't miss me.”
“Not likely,” Faith laughed as she and her sisters followed along. “It is your ball, you know.”
“Oh, gracious,” Charity said in dismay that they had kept the guest of honor secluded for almost a quarter hour. “I hadn't considered that.”
“Yes. It's considered bad form to hide out at one’s own ball,” Hope teased.
“Bother that,” Scarlett scowled as she stopped and glared at them as they filed past her. “If it's my bloody ball, why can't I do as I please?”
“Because half the gentlemen in Town are probably looking for you.”
“Half?” She complained. “I'd say all of them were here tonight.”
“You've made quite a splash.”
“Yes, you're undoubtedly the seasons original.”
“It's a pity you didn't come out last year. Priscilla would have been livid.” By this point the ladies had reached the servants' entrance to the ballroom and the first person they saw was their tormentor herself. “Speak of the devil,” Faith murmured.
“Well, well, well,” a high pitched feminine voice said in a tone that could only be described as snide. “If it isn't the three graces.”
“Priscilla,” Faith acknowledged in contempt.
The other woman flushed darkly at the slight and her catlike eyes narrowed. “That's Lady Priscilla to you,” she hissed smugly.
