by Olivia Drake
He lifted her gloved fingers to his lips, the action concealed from the crowd by the potted greenery. “Carissima,” he said huskily. “I hope you have not forgotten me.”
Dizziness swept Rory. Her mouth tasted as dry as dust. He was an illusion. He had to be. She blinked in the hope that he would vanish. Yet he stood in front of her, a flesh-and-blood phantom from her past.
Her lips formed his name. “Stefano?”
Chapter 16
Gentlemen are admired for their conquests, whilst young ladies are vilified for the slightest indiscretion.
—MISS CELLANY
“At last, fate has brought us together again,” Stefano said, his voice vibrating with passion. He glanced furtively past the ferns to the throng of guests in the ballroom. “But we dare not talk here. Meet me in the garden in five minutes. You must come, Aurora, I beg of you. I have much, much to tell you.”
Rory was left gawking as he slipped out from behind the urn and then strolled away in his jaunty manner. That confident style was what had drawn her to him in the beginning. She had been enthralled to be courted by a dashing Italian diplomat with a charming accent. Stefano had been the most wildly romantic man she’d ever met in her sheltered life.
At least until she’d learned the sordid truth about his marital status.
Hidden by the greenery, she sagged against the gilded woodwork of the wall. Her legs had all the substance of jelly. She drew in several deep breaths in an effort to restore her shattered senses.
Stefano! He was the last person in the world she’d ever thought to encounter again. She’d believed him to be gone from her life forever.
After ruining her, he had fled England in disgrace. The memory of that intimate encounter still made her sick with mortification. His whispered endearments, his smooth compliments, his alluring promises all had played on her naïve longing for love. She had fallen into his trap like a ripe plum, only to see him run like a cornered rat when confronted by her irate father.
How dare Stefano approach her here after the way he had bamboozled her! And he a married man with a wife back in Italy! A rising fury rioted inside her. Even someone with his overblown conceit couldn’t possibly believe she was still gullible enough to be sweet-talked by him.
Let him rot out there in the garden. She had no intention of listening to any more of his lies. Nor would she trot after him like a trained mare at the snap of his fingers.
Yet this was her chance, she realized. Her opportunity to voice all the rebukes that she’d never had the chance to say to him back then. She had never given him the scolding that he richly deserved. Most importantly, the scoundrel mustn’t be allowed to think that she had been pining for him all these years.
Rory stepped out from behind the grouping of ferns and started toward the row of glass doors at one end of the ballroom. She kept her head down, for she did not wish to catch anyone’s eye. Nor did she want Kitty or Aunt Bernice or anyone else to inquire where she was heading.
The doors stood open to allow the evening air to cool the overheated ballroom. The orchestra was playing another tune and many of the guests were turned toward the dance floor. It was a simple matter for Rory to slip outside and walk across the shadowy stone veranda.
Lanterns had been suspended from the trees to illuminate the pebbled walkways. The lush scent of roses drifted to her. A crescent moon beamed like a benevolent smile against the starry blackness of the night sky.
It was a scene made for romance.
Which was probably why Stefano had chosen the garden as their meeting place. He was a master of seduction. Where was the devil?
Rory stepped down from the veranda and marched through the garden. The pebbles dug into the soles of her dancing slippers. At least no other guests roamed the paths. The April evening was chilly for ladies in low-cut gowns.
Rory scarcely noticed the cold. She was too scorched by anger to require a shawl. Now that she’d survived the shock of seeing him, she was looking forward with relish to this confrontation.
“Psst.”
The hiss came from the gloom near the back wall of the garden. She headed in that direction. Stefano stood up from where he’d been lounging on a stone bench beneath the shadowy plumage of a flowering tree. Moonlight silvered his black form, as if he were a creature rising from the underworld.
“Carissima! I knew you would come to me. You cannot imagine how much I have missed you.”
He swooped forward as if to embrace her. She adroitly stepped aside and held up her hand to forestall him.
“Keep your distance,” she stated coldly. “You had no right to return here, let alone to approach me in a crowded ballroom.”
Stefano hung his head in an uncharacteristically humble pose. “You are angry with me, Aurora. I cannot fault you for that. But you must understand how irresistible you are. Such beauty! Such passion!”
She ignored his tirade. “How are you back in England, anyway? My father worked for the Admiralty. He used his government contacts to ensure that you would never be allowed to return.”
“I am assistant to the most excellent ambassador. I begged him to take pity on me. He yanked cords—how do you say? Pulled strings.”
“He could not have pulled strings with society. So how is it that you’re even at this party? No one told me that you were here.” If Kitty had known of his presence in London, she would have said something. If not her, then someone here at the ball would have gleefully informed Rory. But there had been no inkling whatsoever from the gossips.
“I confess I was not invited. But it is not so difficult to find a way inside when one is determined. You see, I had to find you, carissima, from the moment I arrived in England a fortnight ago.”
“Then you should have learned quickly that I’d been banished.”
“I heard, but I could not give up.” He clapped his hand over his heart in a dramatic pose. “For many days, I have searched everywhere for you.”
She frowned at him through the shadows. It made no sense for him to keep looking once he knew she wasn’t in London. Even she herself hadn’t known until yesterday that she would be rejoining society. “Everywhere?”
“Yes, even in the house of your father. I pretended to be part of a group of guests who were entering a party there. No one questioned me.”
“Wait. You sneaked into my stepmother’s house? During Celeste’s betrothal ball? And no one recognized you?”
“It was necessary to elude that nosy butler, of course. As to the guests, I talked to no one, only watched and listened. I changed my ways and pretended to be very shy. People do not notice a timid man.”
Stefano was the least shy man she’d ever met. He was boisterous with his compliments, effusive with his lies, lavish with his kisses. So maybe behaving in a radically different manner, along with the passage of time, could explain why he had escaped detection.
Yet she couldn’t shake the notion that he wasn’t telling her the whole truth. “So you have been skulking around society parties these past two weeks. If you were truly eager to find me, it would have made more sense for you to go to Norfolk, where I was living until a few days ago.”
“I could not leave London because of my duties to the ambassador. And I had faith that we would meet eventually.” He took a step toward her. “You have haunted my dreams for many years, carissima. I tried to forget you, but it is no use. You are a fire in my blood. I had to come back. I could not help myself.”
“Nor could you help yourself, I suppose, when you attempted to seduce a naïve girl.”
He must have heard the chilly censure in her voice. “I beg your forgiveness most humbly. But we are both older and wiser now. I did not have the chance to finish what we started that night. We will have more passionate lovemaking this time.”
He reached out to caress her cheek. Infuriated, Rory smacked his hand away. “Disgraceful cad! How can you think for even one moment that I’ll fall for your mischief again? You have a wife back in Italy!”
“Please, that is what I must tell you. I am sad to say … Paola died of a fever. For two years now, I have been alone.” His shoulders drooping, Stefano sank down on the stone bench and hung his head. “It was a punishment for my sins. I did not deserve her, and I do not deserve you.”
Looking down at his dark head and his abject pose of misery, Rory couldn’t stop a smidgen of compassion from creeping into her heart. His regret, at least, bore the semblance of authenticity. Yet she had a sneaking suspicion she had not been the only woman he’d romanced.
His wife had probably died of a broken heart.
She sat down beside him, keeping a proper distance between them. “I’m sorry, Stefano. It can’t be easy to lose your spouse. But that doesn’t change the fact that you were cheating on her and deceiving me, as well.”
“I am truly sorry. Yet it does change things between us. Now I am free to court you in the way that you deserve.” His dark eyes gleamed in the moonlight. “Carissima, give me another chance. Let me show you heaven in my arms. Let me love you again.”
In a sudden rush, he closed the gap between them. His arms clasped her close to his chest. His mouth fastened to hers, the tip of his tongue probing the seam of her lips. Startled, Rory kept her teeth clenched. It happened so fast that she couldn’t move, anyway. His spicy scent and persuasive kiss overwhelmed her with memories. In her mind, she became a vulnerable girl again, desperate to win his heart, aching for someone to love her. He had made her feel beautiful and cherished …
His nimble hand slid downward over her gown and tugged at the hem of her skirt. His fingers stroked her stocking-clad ankle, then tracked upward over her calf. The invasive sensation jerked her out of the brief stupor.
Rory pulled away. Her palm met his cheek with a loud crack, and the slap sent him reeling backward on the bench. The sting of the blow radiated up her arm, but the trifling discomfort felt very satisfying.
He uttered a squawk of pain. A string of unintelligible foreign words spewed from him. She could only presume they were curses.
“Have you gone mad?” she snapped. “I told you, I want nothing to do with you anymore.”
“I have frightened you, carissima. It is only because I love you so very much. I will be gentler this time. Please do not deny me.”
He leaned closer. She tensed her muscles in preparation to strike him again if he dared to touch her. “Keep your hands to yourself,” she hissed. “If you don’t, I swear I’ll—”
The sound of running footsteps distracted her. She looked toward the house to see the dark figure of a man barreling down the path straight at them.
* * *
Lucas should have been listening to Alice.
Instead, his attention was focused on the door to the garden where Rory had just vanished. Clad in a soft, shimmery bronze gown that enhanced her shapely charms, she had been walking with her head tilted downward. As if she didn’t wish to attract notice.
What the devil was she doing?
“Would you like that, Lucas?”
He glanced down to see Alice’s big blue eyes gazing coyly up at him through the fan of her lashes. He was standing with her by the punch bowl while she sipped from the cup that he’d just fetched for her. Taking refreshment had given him an excuse to delay his duty to escort her to his mother. But he had completely lost the gist of what Alice was saying.
“Pardon?” he inquired.
“Why, I was asking you to come to dinner tomorrow evening with my parents. It would make me very happy if you would accept.”
“Dinner.” Why had Rory gone outside? Had someone insulted her?
“Papa mentioned it in the carriage on the way here.” Alice dipped her chin in a modest pose. “He hasn’t seen you in days. He’s hoping for a chance to speak with you.”
Lucas’s gaze sharpened as he honed in on the unspoken message. She was hinting that her father wanted to know Lucas’s intentions. This dinner was a ploy to force his hand.
Force? Hell, he needed this betrothal.
But just not now, while he and Rory were trying to find those letters before the blackmailer decided to smear them all over the tittle-tattle newspapers. “I’m afraid I have a prior engagement. Perhaps next week.”
Alice pushed out her lower lip in a pout. “You’ve been terribly busy these past few days, Lucas. I’ve scarcely seen you at all.”
“You may blame it on my duties at Parliament,” he hedged. “Listen, the orchestra is striking up another tune. It wouldn’t be proper for us to dance again just yet, but I’m sure my brother will be happy to escort you.”
Before she could object, he took her cup and set it down, then steered her toward Henry, who had his head together with his friend Perry. They looked deep in conversation, and Lucas presumed they were debating one of their favorite topics—which horses to bet on at Newmarket or who was the prettiest debutante.
He tapped his brother on the shoulder. Henry turned, an unexpected flash of irritation on his face. Perry frowned at the interruption, too, his green eyes serious beneath a thatch of sandy hair. He had a scattering of freckles that made him appear more boyish than his twenty years.
“I’ve a lady who needs a partner,” Lucas said to his brother. “I’m hoping you’ll oblige.”
As Henry’s blue gaze fell on Alice, his annoyance vanished and his mouth eased into its usual rakish smile. That rascally expression made him look more like their father than Lucas cared to admit. “I’d be honored,” he said.
Lucas bowed over her dainty hand. “Until later, Miss Kipling.”
He turned on his heel and walked away, though not before noticing her wounded expression at his use of her formal name. Damn. He’d have to make amends for the slip at a future time. For now, though, he could think only of finding Rory.
There had been something decidedly peculiar about her departure from the ballroom. He sensed it in his gut. She either had been slighted by one of the guests, or she was up to something stealthy in regard to the blackmailer.
He was inclined to believe the latter. She wasn’t one to quail at a rude comment. Only look at the fearless way she’d faced down the hostile crowd when her name had been announced by the majordomo. Lucas had been close enough to spy the slight quiver of her body. In that moment, he’d glimpsed the inner scars that she kept hidden from the world. Scars from being ruined by a scoundrel, from her estrangement with her family, and from the long years of exile. That was why he had placed his hand on her back. He’d wanted her to know she wasn’t alone.
It had been a damn-fool risk to take. Anyone might have noticed him wearing his heart on his sleeve, including Alice. Yet he didn’t regret it. He had been vehemently opposed to Rory’s coming to this ball and opening herself to criticism. The guests had reacted to her with predictable scorn. Society considered itself the pinnacle of civilization, but it could be savage toward those who broke its strict rules.
He had remained near her and his mother for a time in order to indicate his approval of Rory. That was all he dared to do on her behalf.
At least this dangerous attraction he felt for her would end soon. Once they recovered the letters, Rory would return to Norfolk. She would leave his life forever. And if the prospect wrenched at his chest, well, he’d survive.
He had no other option. Duty required that he wed an heiress. His family would suffer penury otherwise.
He stepped outside and inhaled a lungful of chilly night air. From the shadows of the veranda, he scanned the garden. Lanterns lit the empty pathways. What the devil could she be doing out here? Had she come across a new clue? Was she meeting an informant—or worse, an actual suspect? He didn’t trust her not to go haring off on her own to investigate a dangerous criminal. She was far too reckless for her own good.
A movement in the gloom at the rear of the property snared his attention. The sharp sound of a slap broke the silence. Raised voices carried to him, one male, one female. Rory.
Lucas plunged down the path, gravel
spitting out from under his shoes. He spied the outline of two people seated in the darkness beneath a tree. The man was reaching for Rory, leaning closer to her, threatening her.
At his approach, they turned as one to peer at him. The shadows were too thick for him to discern their facial features.
Lucas seized her attacker by the scruff of his neck. He yanked the scoundrel to his feet, keeping an iron grip on the collar of his coat. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Rory sprang up from the bench. “Lucas!”
He turned his attention to her face, a pale oval in the darkness. “Are you all right? Did this bastard hurt you?”
“I’m perfectly fine. Now, do let him go!”
“Not until I find out what’s going on here.” He gave the man a hard shake. The weasel wasn’t even fighting back. “Who the devil are you?”
“You cannot treat me this way,” the man said in an aggrieved voice tinged by a foreign accent. “I am—”
“Keep quiet,” Rory spat. “Lucas, I demand that you release him at once.”
Her indignant tone caused a crack in the armor of his anger. Another possibility wormed into his mind. Had he completely misread the situation? Had this been a romantic assignation? Maybe she had met one of her old swains in the ballroom.
The notion made him see red. He wanted to pound her would-be lover into a pile of dust. But he had no right to do so. None whatsoever. Rory didn’t belong to him. She never would.
He forced himself to loosen his fingers. The instant he did so, the man ducked under Lucas’s arm and dashed away into the shadows. His feet chewed up the loose gravel. Running was the act of a guilty coward, and Lucas took a reflexive step after him, already regretting releasing him.
Rory leaped in front of Lucas to block his path. “Let him flee! It’s what he does best. Maybe this time, he’ll stay away from me.”
