“A year ago, I stepped on your toes during a dance.” He laughed. “I begged my elder sisters to teach me so that I wouldn’t humiliate myself again. Will you allow me to make amends by dancing with me?”
“I would be delighted to partner with you.” Osgood was not classically handsome, but he’d acquired a bit of polish in the year past, and she found his self-deprecating sense of humor charming. She was gratified to see Sally and Lord Caruthers following them to the dance floor.
Beaufort and Georgette joined the dancers. With his blond hair and dark brows, Beaufort had the sort of heart-stopping face that made women take a second and third look. He winked at Georgette from across the line. She blew him a kiss. He laughed and clutched his chest. Amy suspected Beaufort would win her friend’s heart before the Season ended.
Their sweet flirtation made Amy wonder why Georgette had expressed hesitancy about Beaufort previously. Perhaps Georgette had overcome her doubts. Then an odd thought occurred to Amy. Georgette’s father kept telling his daughter that she need not rush into marriage. At the same time, however, Lady Boswood continually pressed her daughter to wed. Georgette never openly argued with her mother, but now Amy wondered if Georgette was silently rebelling against her. If so, Amy doubted Georgette was even aware of her behavior. It was clear to Amy that Lord and Lady Boswood were confusing their daughter with opposite opinions. Amy meant to speak to Georgette about it when they were alone tonight, because she hoped to help her friend sort out her feelings.
The musicians struck up the lively tune of a country dance, and Amy focused all her attention on the steps. She felt exhilarated, because she wasn’t sitting on the sidelines watching. She was dancing with Mr. Osgood, who was a wonderful partner. Granted, she’d danced a few times with elderly gentlemen at country assemblies, but only once before had she danced at a London ball, and ironically that had been with Mr. Osgood. She let all of her inhibitions float away and enjoyed herself.
When they met in the middle and turned forward, she smiled at Mr. Osgood. “Your sisters taught you well. You are quite accomplished.”
“Thank you. I’ll have to tell my sisters that you approved of my dancing,” he said.
“Do you still write poetry?” she asked.
He laughed. “My sisters read my poems and told me to give it up. What was the word they used to describe it? Ah, now I remember—horrid.”
She laughed. “Did they really?”
“Oh, yes,” he said as they turned in a circle. “My real object in writing poetry involved a fantasy. I envisioned myself brooding by a column and all the ladies falling madly in love with me.”
Amy laughed. He’d obviously acquired more than a little polish in his manners, which made him rather charming.
When the set finally ended, she was out of breath and laughing at one of Mr. Osgood’s jokes. Georgette and Lord Beaufort followed them to the refreshment table for punch. Amy felt exultant. In a mere fortnight, she’d made great strides toward shedding her wallflower reputation.
After Mr. Osgood excused himself, Amy found herself suddenly apart from the others. Beaufort had led Georgette off, and Sally was nowhere in sight. Amy refilled her cup. As she surveyed the ballroom, her gaze landed on the one person she’d despised for years: the cruelest lady in the ton, Elizabeth, now Lady Edgemont.
Amy involuntarily stiffened. A horrible memory gripped her. Two years ago, Elizabeth had walked past the wallflower row with her flock of friends. Amy had looked at her lap to avoid making eye contact with those mean girls. She would never forget Elizabeth’s words. Oh, look at the poor ugly duckling. Do you suppose she will ever be a swan?
Their cruel laughter had stung Amy like a dagger to her heart.
Elizabeth’s husband walked over to her and leaned down to speak. With a sullen expression, she shrugged one shoulder. Lord Edgemont spoke again, and this time he looked exasperated. Elizabeth shook her head. When he walked off, she regarded his retreating back with a venomous expression.
Shock rained over Amy. All these years, Amy had imagined that Elizabeth had managed to get everything she’d ever wanted in life. When Elizabeth had become engaged to Lord Edgemont last year, Amy’s eyes had welled with tears. The injustice had seared her. She’d imagined Elizabeth leading an idyllic life as Lady Edgemont. Now she realized that the woman she’d thought of as her nemesis had not found happiness in her marriage.
Amy wondered why she didn’t feel triumphant. She ought to take heart that justice had finally prevailed, but she took no satisfaction in knowing that Elizabeth had not made a fairy-tale marriage. Elizabeth had said and done horrible things to Amy and her friends. Under the circumstances, Amy could not understand her reaction to what she’d witnessed. She ought to gloat. She ought to feel that Elizabeth had gotten exactly what she deserved. She ought to want Elizabeth to be miserable. But she didn’t, even though she had every reason to hate Elizabeth.
Then she realized that only shallow and cruel people derived pleasure from the misery of others. She didn’t need to avenge herself. Elizabeth was her own worst enemy. She would never know happiness, because she was unfeeling and mean-spirited.
Amy refused to dwell on Elizabeth any longer. She set her empty cup aside and decided to look for friends. Tonight, she would test her fortitude by joining a group. If she got a cold reception, she would simply excuse herself and move on.
Determined to break free of the worst of the crowd, she lifted her skirts and headed away from the refreshment table. She grew a bit frustrated due to the dense crowd. When she halted and craned her head, someone grasped her elbow. With a gasp, Amy looked up into the devil’s dark, laughing eyes.
“Did I surprise you?” he said.
He’d spoken in a rumbling tone of voice, one he probably used to seduce his paramours. “Are you in the habit of grabbing women?” she asked.
The devil chuckled. “Only you.”
She scoffed. Before she knew what was what, he’d tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and held it fast as he walked away.
She could feel the hard muscle in his upper arm even through his wool sleeve, and for some reason, that made her uneasy. “Let me go.”
He looked amused. “You wound me. I long for your company.”
“That is your misfortune,” she said. “All I long for is your absence.”
He guffawed, drawing attention from several scowling matrons.
“Hush,” she said. “People are staring.”
“Let them.” His gaze traveled down the length of her body, making her feel as if he were mentally peeling the layers of clothing away. “I like your gown,” he said. “It shimmers in the candlelight.”
A giddy feeling bubbled up inside her. Many ladies had expressed enthusiasm for her designs, but his simple statement about the shimmery overskirt touched her in a different way. He’d not flattered her. He’d admired the gown she’d designed, and she was too proud of her talent to resist his admiration.
He regarded her with an amused expression. “I thought you would rebuke me for intercepting you.”
She’d foolishly let his compliment go to her head. A devil like him would use flattery to get what he wanted. “Why did you?” she asked. Why would a sinfully handsome man like you pursue a plain lady like me?
“Can’t you guess?” he said.
“No, and I’m not in the mood for riddles.”
He tipped his head as if he meant to confide something, and a faint, spicy scent drifted to her. “You are so suspicious,” he said.
“I have good reason.” She noticed his lashes were thick and lush. He met her gaze and she fancied she saw intention in his expression. She looked away, uncomfortable with his too warm regard. For her own good, she must withdraw from his escort at once. “It has been interesting, but I must meet my friends,” she said. “Now if you will excuse me.”
“Not yet,” he said.
“Mr. Darcett, I—”
“Ah, we’ve arrived at last,” he said.
He’d sufficien
tly distracted her so that she’d not realized he meant to take her to the dance floor. Her lips parted as she stared at him. “You did not even ask.”
“I assumed you like to dance.”
She glared at him. “You are outrageous.”
He turned toward her, and his breath whispered over her cheek. “Admit it. You find me utterly irresistible.”
“You are a cad, a bounder, a—”
The musicians struck up the opening bars of a country dance, cutting off her words. He stood across from her and looked as if he were trying to hold back laughter. She ought to walk away, but others would take notice. He’d acted in a high-handed manner, but only a fool would create a scene.
The music started. He bowed. She curtsied. Then he stepped forward and she met him. He grinned when they passed each other as they changed sides. She decided to ignore the flirtatious way he looked at her and focused on the steps, moving one position down the line. All the years she’d sat on the wallflower row, she’d committed the dances to memory. However, it was one thing to observe and quite another to dance. She’d acquitted herself well with Mr. Osgood, but then that gentleman did not disturb her the way the devil did.
They joined hands with another couple, turning and turning until the music changed. She crossed to the other side, facing Mr. Darcett again. Not long after, she met him in the center, and they turned forward. This time, they walked side by side to the top of the line. His hand rested on her upper back, and the firm pressure made her feel as if he’d branded her. He locked his gaze with hers, and Amy’s breath hitched in her throat. This time there was no amusement in his eyes, only intensity and something forbidden.
They parted and met again, clasping hands, all the while turning, turning, turning. The entire time, he never took his arresting gaze off her. She felt her resistance melting, and she suddenly wished he would say or do something ridiculous, because his dark eyes were tugging at her like a swift current.
Mercifully, the movements required they change sides and move one place down the line again. She tried to keep a serene countenance, but she could not avoid looking at him. He winked, and somehow she felt more at ease with his teasing. He liked to provoke her, but she was familiar with his antics.
Once more they met in the middle and clasped hands as they turned together. She looked past his cheek, desperate to avoid direct eye contact with him, though she wasn’t sure why. Then he spoke near her ear. “Look at me,” he said, his voice low and a little rough.
Her heart beat faster when she met his dark gaze. He held her captive with his eyes. She was faintly aware of the cheery melody and of his chest rising and falling. The sensible part of her shouted to break free of this dizzying hold he had over her, but she could not do it.
She told herself it would be madness to fall under his wicked spell. She told herself it was only a dance. She told herself she was in no danger from him. She told herself that even a devil like him must observe the proprieties.
They parted again, but her relief was temporary as she met him in the middle. They turned toward the bottom of the line. Once again, his hand rested on her upper back. She glanced at him from the corners of her eyes only to find him watching her with a sultry expression. When they parted to opposite sides of the line, she breathed a sigh of relief.
The orchestra played the final notes with a flourish. She curtsied and meant to escape, but he offered his escort, and there were too many others watching to refuse him. He looked into her eyes again as he led her away, and she averted her face, realizing he was an expert at ensnaring women with his gaze.
“I would ask if you would like punch, but I fear you might decide to get even and pour it on me,” he said.
She turned to find him grinning at her. “I suppose it is past time I forgive you.”
“Hallelujah,” he said.
She laughed. As he led her through the ballroom, she was aware of others watching their progress. She knew that merely being seen with him might cause a stir, but she would escape him soon enough.
When he handed her a cup of punch, she gave him an assessing look. “I am a little tempted to spill it on you.”
He gave her a thousand-candle smile. “I have much to atone for, I see. Well, Miss Hardwick, how may I redeem myself—short of allowing you to douse me?”
“You might regret asking. After all, you would be obligated to do my bidding,” she said.
“What would you oblige me to do?”
“Since you are known as the devil, I think the worst punishment would be to require you to mend your wicked ways,” she said.
He edged closer to her. “I might require your assistance. All of my lessons were learned at the School of Hades—according to the scandal sheets.”
“Then you must do one good deed each day to make up for all the bad ones.” She glanced at him from the corners of her eyes. “How many bad ones are there?”
“This week?” he asked.
She nodded.
He leaned forward. “Two.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you telling the truth?”
“Absolutely… not.”
She laughed and drank her punch. When she finished, he set the cup aside. “Would you care to sit in one of the adjoining drawing rooms?”
She hesitated.
He leaned his head down. “It’s noisy and crowded here.”
She had misgivings, but since others would be about, she saw no harm. “Perhaps for a short while.” He offered his arm again, and she clasped his sleeve. Amy realized that her acquiescence had nothing to do with polite refusals and everything to do with his abundant charm.
He meant to seduce her for her fifty thousand pounds.
Long before he’d arrived at the ball, he’d planned every move, every word. He’d mastered the art of seduction, but he’d known his typical methods would meet with resistance. She wasn’t the sort of woman who would fall prey to praise of her beauty. Miss Hardwick was not beautiful. The word that fit her was unique.
He’d not even struggled to figure out how he might draw her into his web. The night she’d worn that dramatic gown with the green ribbons and silk roses, he’d instinctively known that she intended to become the most fashionable lady in the ton. Tonight, he’d seen her green eyes light up like the ballroom chandeliers when he’d told her that he liked her shimmery gown. He’d known then that he’d hooked her.
Every moment was calculated to chip away at her defenses. He’d honed his skills for years and had always gotten exactly what he wanted from women. But he’d never tried to lure an innocent before, and, more than once, he’d felt a twinge of guilt. He’d hardened his stony heart, because his only other alternative meant confessing to his brother, and he’d spend years working off the debt that his brother would have to pay. And Will knew if that happened, he would never leave the shores of England again.
During the dance, he’d drawn her in with his eyes. He let his own desire kindle, so that it would reflect on his face. Will had sensed her capitulation, and then the orchestra had played the last notes.
He’d known he couldn’t let her go, so he’d reverted to charming her. Now he had her in the palm of his hand. He led her through one crowded drawing room and into another that was equally full of people.
Others watched them with raised brows, but he kept walking. He escorted her into another smaller room where the fire burned low. Three elderly gentlemen eyed them.
“Come, we’re obviously disturbing them,” he said, leading her out into a dark corridor.
“I think we had better return to the ballroom,” she said.
He sighed. “We’ll have to shout over the noise. I just wanted to find a place where we could talk.”
“Balls aren’t the best place for conversation,” she said.
He walked over to a door and opened it. “Ah, a pianoforte. It’s a music room. We can talk in there.”
“It’s dark in there,” she said.
“By Jove, you’re right.”
/>
He heard her sharp intake of breath.
“Mr. Darcett, if you think I am foolish enough to follow you into that room, you are sadly mistaken.”
He tugged her hand. “No one will know. It’s not as if we haven’t been alone before.”
“You purposely lured me here,” she said in a shocked tone.
“I didn’t know this room existed.” It was the truth, but he’d figured he could find an abandoned room. Then he would use his considerable skills to melt her resistance. He’d go just far enough that she would feel guilty and ashamed. Then he would offer to marry her, because he’d dishonored her. She might refuse him, but he’d persuade her that it was the right thing to do. He didn’t see any other way around it, because he didn’t have weeks to court her.
She pulled her hand back. “I may have been foolish enough to fall for your false charm,” she said, “but believe me, it won’t happen again.”
He tried to think of a way to salvage the situation and decided an apology was his only option. “Forgive me. I overstepped the bounds. I will return you to the ballroom now.”
“No. Do not ever, ever come near me again,” she said, her voice trembling a little. She lifted her skirts, whirled round, and hurried to the landing.
A sour sensation wrenched his chest. He watched her until she disappeared. Then he leaned back against the wall. “Fuck,” he muttered.
He’d done a lot of bad things in his life. Over the years, he’d seduced many willing women and left them after his lust cooled. He’d told himself they had agreed and knew it wouldn’t last. Each time, he’d walked away with nary a care in the world and forgotten them.
But he’d never sunk lower than he had tonight.
Once she’d gained the next landing, Amy made her way into the ladies’ retiring room. She was grateful to find it mostly empty.
After claiming an empty chair, Amy took a deep breath to calm her nerves. She knew his reputation, and still she’d fallen for his false charm. Oh, but he was quite accomplished at enticing a woman. How many before her had fallen for his deceitful ploys? She scoffed, knowing that countless women had probably willingly allowed him indecent liberties.
How to Ravish a Rake Page 7
