“What does the Mansion have planned for this evening?” he asked.
The baron thought for a moment and then he said, “I do believe it’s a ladies’ choice ball.”
Jacob chuckled. “Only in Brighton could we manage to pull off something that would be considered terribly scandalous in London society! That’s why I love this town.”
Malcolm rather thought the same. “In that case, gentlemen, we should look our best if we wish to win our fair maiden’s hearts.”
The gentlemen across from him shared a wicked glance. “It isn’t Lady Beth’s heart that we want.”
Chapter Five
Mercy took a deep breath as she descended the stairs into the now familiar ballroom of the Mansion. While she’d been too nervous before to appreciate the large painted ceiling of Greek goddesses perched on Mount Olympus and the pearl inlaid, mosaic marble flooring, now her breath caught upon glancing about the opulent setting. Of course, the orchestra and the crystal chandeliers were just as she remembered them, although the massive size of the latter was still quite impressive.
She smoothed her hands down her dress.
“You look enchanting, Mercy,” Beth said. “Auntie couldn’t have chosen a more perfect gown for you.”
When the box had arrived from the local seamstress shop from Lady Franson, Mercy and Beth had opened it together and gave a collective gasp. It was a deep blue satin gown with a delicate, floral lace overlay.
But that wasn’t all.
Lady Franson had sent along her own gift — a diamond brooch with a single pearl dangling from the center. She’d also written a note;
Thank you for keeping my precious Beth company. May this adventure be only the first of many in your lives. This brooch is on loan, as it belongs to Rebecca, but I knew it would complement the dress and the new sparkle I’ve witnessed in your eyes of late. Make sure you choose the man responsible for this awakening for the waltz — and whatever else your heart demands.
“Oh, it’s perfect!” Beth had gushed.
Now, as Mercy touched the special item, settled in the middle of her bodice, she couldn’t help but think that Lady Franson was right.
With her hair styled in a simple chignon, and anticipation fluttering in her heart she was ready to find Freddie.
Beth stood on tiptoe and surveyed the room. “I don’t see them yet. Shall we take a turn about the room and see what other prey we might find?”
Mercy laughed, for Beth made it seem as though they were on a hunt, rather than a reverse ball where the women had all the control.
As they moved about the perimeter, several eager gentlemen stopped them, hoping to gain their favor. While Mercy and Beth penned their names into several dance cards, she refrained from taking the space of the waltz, waiting for the moment when Freddie would arrive and she could give him that honor.
Suddenly, Mercy felt a soft breeze along the back of her neck, like a light breath. She shivered, and then glanced toward the stairs. She froze when she saw Freddie enter with Lord Devon and Lord Crawford on either side of him. They walked into the ballroom with all the confidence of a trio of rogues, but while they were all dashing in their formal attire, she only had eyes for Freddie.
He was wearing black and white with a gold waistcoat, his dark hair combed almost carelessly to the side, giving him a decidedly rakish demeanor. She didn’t move forward, waiting instead for him to see her.
Mercy saw his gaze flit about the room until he finally locked eyes with her. A thrill of excitement shot through her, for the upward tilt of his lips promised so many delicious delights.
He headed toward her, while his companions trailed behind. He stopped before her and offered a perfectly executed bow, one that a member of the aristocracy couldn’t have performed any better.
“My dear, Faith.”
Perhaps she was only imagining it, but it seemed as if his voice was deeper, more husky.
“Freddie,” she returned almost breathlessly.
“Dare I hope that you have reserved a dance for me?”
She could easily get lost in that dark gaze. She blinked and forced the words to her tongue. “I was saving the waltz for you.”
His expression told her that he was pleased and as she penciled her name, her heart was thudding the entire time. She could feel his intense gaze upon her, and standing so close to him she could feel the heat radiating off him in waves. She yearned to throw her arms about his neck and kiss him until they were both insensible, but since Devon and Crawford were clamoring for her attention, he quickly scratched her name on their cards, making them the last of the gentlemen to fill out her evening.
As the orchestra struck up a quadrille, she knew she had to find her partner, but she was reluctant to leave Freddie so soon. He must have read her hesitation for her grasped her hand and kissed the back of her knuckles. “Our time will arrive soon enough.”
She rather hoped there was an underlying meaning to his words, for she’d been dreaming of this moment all day. After last night, she knew that she wanted to experience everything that he had to offer.
Dance after dance, and gentleman after gentleman, Mercy found it difficult to concentrate on what her current partner was saying for she was dreadfully distracted. She kept searching the sea of faces around her — looking for the only one that mattered. Each time she wasn’t disappointed, for he was there, standing along the edges of the room, his heated gaze telling her what words could not.
Finally, when it was time for their waltz, Mercy had to force herself not to rush to his side. She held out her hand to him, which he accepted graciously.
As they took their places on the floor, he bent down and teased, “You are still going to let me lead, aren’t you?”
“Naturally,” she returned just as coyly. “In all things.”
His nostrils flared, but he said nothing as he pulled her close against him. She closed her eyes momentarily, for his firm body fit against her curves perfectly, while the scent of sandalwood and pine surrounded her, filling her head with visions of him lying her down on a forest bed and making love to her where they could look up at the stars.
She bit her lip to keep it from trembling with the raw need she felt for this man. Her stomach quivered with the desire to make that fantasy a reality.
Mercy lifted her gaze to his. Her voice shook when she spoke. “Take me away from here. Somewhere we can be alone.”
His grip tightened slightly, although he looked at her solemnly. “Are you sure? I don’t want to—”
“Now. Please.” She wasn’t sure how else she could make him see that this was what she wanted — that he was everything she wanted.
He said nothing more, just grasped her hand and led her away from the other couples. Mercy realized that she would miss her dances with the earl and baron, but considering the way they’d been engaging solely with her friend that evening, she had no doubt Beth would happily take her place.
As she was led up a set of stairs and down a hallway, she looked rather curiously at her escort. “You seem to know your way around rather well.”
“I’ve spent a lot of time here,” he rasped in return.
Mercy wasn’t sure if she liked the sound of that, but she pushed that aside as he opened a door and led her inside. She glanced around at the elegant, white interior and wondered whose bedchamber they might be invading, but when she heard the decided click of a lock, any further rational thought fled.
He walked up behind her and put his arms around her waist, drawing her against his chest. “Is this what you want?” he whispered in her ear, his breath fanning her exposed collarbone.
“Yes.” She leaned her head back against his shoulder, giving him access to her neck, which he suckled on rather eagerly.
The flames that had been burning all day now burst into a raging inferno, setting her midsection on fire. She turned in his arms and pressed herself fully against him. “Make me yours,” she whispered, and then she kissed him.
***
Malcolm wasn’t sure if he was in heaven or hell, but he would take either one as long as he could singe this memory into his brain for the rest of his days.
He kissed her with all the passion that was rushing through his limbs, turning his blood boiling and his cock to harden to the point of pain.
Their mouths fused together as one, hands roaming at will, and when they finally parted, their breaths were heavy and panting. He tore off his jacket while she went to work untying his cravat and unbuttoning his waistcoat. When his shirt was finally pulled free from his trousers, she dared to rub her hand along his thick length. He hissed and threw his head back, enjoying the moment, but then he turned her away from him.
“You’re rather overdressed.” He went to work undoing the buttons of her gown until it fell to the floor at her feet in a forgotten puddle of material. Next, were her stays and chemise, until she was standing in front of him in nothing but her stockings and slippers. He had to fight to not spill his seed at the sight of that enticing, rounded bottom, and reached around to cup her exposed breasts. He pinched the erect nipples and then slid his hand down her taut belly until he disappeared between the curls at the apex of her thighs. He teased and tormented her, whispering torrid things in her ear until she was moaning incoherently.
Finally, she shuddered around his fingers, her breasts quivering with her release. Malcolm clenched his jaw and knew that he couldn’t wait much longer. He lifted her into his arms and walked over to the bed and laid her down. Her eyes were beautiful, the color a captivating, mossy green mixed with a deep, mahogany brown.
He divested himself of the rest of his clothes and then got into position above her. He was sweating, his arms shaking as he poised at her entrance, but he looked into her face, waiting for that last bit of reassurance that this is what she wanted.
When she lifted her hips and the tip of his manhood slipped inside, he took that as her acquiescence and pushed through the barrier of her maidenhead, until he was settled fully inside of her. Her eyes were glazed with a mixture of pleasure and pain, but when he began to move, it quickly dissolved into the former until she was clutching his back and closing her eyes in surrender.
“Don’t stop,” she pleaded. “Please.” She arched her back and Malcolm bit the tip of her breast gently, but hard enough that she would feel his mark through her desire.
It didn’t take long before she was convulsing around his cock and he was lost to anything else. He thrust over and over again to make sure she was sated, and then he allowed her body to consume him. He groaned and withdrew at the last minute, pouring himself onto the coverlet beside them.
He fell to the bed, his arms unwilling to hold his weight any longer. His chest rose and fell with his efforts, but he recovered quickly enough and rolled onto his side to reach out and touch her cheek. Her hair had fallen from its pins, but he didn’t think that she cared. He certainly didn’t, for with the color high on her cheeks and the dreamy smile on her face, he knew he’d made this night one to remember.
For both of them.
Malcolm started to reach out and pull her into the circle of his arms, but she was already moving away from him.
“Faith?”
She stiffened slightly when he said her name, but kept her back to him as she began to gather her clothes. “We should… return to the ball.” She donned her chemise and held her stays in place as she glanced over her shoulder, but without quite meeting his gaze. “Do you mind lacing me up?”
Malcolm’s chest seized at her suddenly cool demeanor, but he slowly got to his feet and donned his trousers before he padded over to her on bare feet and silently began to act as her ladies’ maid. He clenched his jaw as she put on her dress and he started to button the back. He had the sinking sensation that she was already starting to regret their time together when he had thought it was quite… perfect.
Once she was fully dressed, she walked over to the dressing table and started to repair her coiffure. Malcolm slipped on his clothes, so that by the time she was finished they were both properly attired.
“It would be best if we returned separately,” she murmured, still unable to meet his gaze fully.
He couldn’t withhold a snort. “This isn’t a London event, Miss Albright. The Mansion is known for its daring, bold liaisons, although it retains all those secrets.”
“That may be,” she said primly. “But a woman can’t take such risks without certain consequences.”
She headed for the door and Malcolm shoved a hand through his hair. Unlike her, he wasn’t quite as calm and collected as she appeared to be. “So that’s just it? You walk out the door and pretend that nothing of significance even happened in this room?”
With her hand on the doorknob she finally turned and met his gaze. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
He took a step toward her, but when she blinked in apparent alarm, he stopped. “So are we to act as nothing more than casual acquaintances now?”
Her expression was steady. “Tell me, Freddie,” she returned quietly. “Can there be anything more?”
Malcolm set his hands on his hips and stared at the floor. Yes! He wanted to shout, and yet, he couldn’t force that single syllable to erupt from his throat, as much as he might want it to. Not only that, but the fact she’d just spoken his valet’s name should have been enough of a warning that this little tryst was over before it had even began.
“Of course, you’re right,” he said evenly. He went so far as to offer a proper bow. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Miss Albright.”
She hesitated, as if she wanted to say more, but she turned on her heel and quit the room.
Rather than returning to the ballroom a short time later, Malcolm decided that he’d had enough fun for one evening. It was time to return home where he could drink himself into oblivion, but even then, he doubted that the bottom of a bottle would be enough to erase the sweet taste of Miss Albright from his memory.
He clenched his fists as he stalked down the stairs of the Mansion and burst out into the mild evening.
For years he’d turned away from getting too close to anyone, for he knew his path was already set with the final wishes of his father. His mother had been tolerant of his peccadilloes until recently when she’d begun to harp at him about doing his duty. It was the pressure of impending marriage to a stranger combined with the constant duties of his title as an only son to produce an eventual heir that had driven him to Brighton. If only he’d been given a bit more time to acclimate himself to the idea of marrying Lady Mercy Granville, then perhaps he wouldn’t have sent his valet to act in his place in London, forcing him to embark on one last defiant act of freedom — where he would meet the most enchanting woman he’d ever known, but who would forever be denied to him.
Even if he were able to marry a lady of his choosing, society would likely never accept a plain ladies’ companion as a viscountess. His mother would likely have a fit of the vapors if it were even suggested.
Thus, he was trapped.
And like any caged animal given a taste of freedom, he had gone on the prowl.
But now he began to wonder if his decision would cost him more than he’d bargained for.
Chapter Six
Tears stung Mercy’s eyes as she stumbled blindly down the stairs. She knew she couldn’t possibly return to the ball in such a state, so she hastily took her leave. She thought of leaving a message for Beth, but decided her friend would assume that she’d chosen to retire early. Besides, she was likely too enamored of Lord Devon and Lord Crawford to pay her any mind.
Mercy rushed through the front door of the terrace house, ignoring the slightly surprised look of the butler as she streaked past him and tore up the stairs to the sanctity of her room. She waited impatiently for Beth’s maid to assist her out of her clothes, and then dismissed the girl with a wave of her hand.
Wearing her dressing gown and robe, she walked over to the terrace railing and drew in several bracing b
reaths.
She happened to glance down and notice a shadowed figure striding purposefully through the dark and she shrank back when she guessed his identity. However, she couldn’t seem to look away as he walked under her balcony and continued on past his own quarters next door.
Mercy didn’t want to know where Freddie was going. She told herself she also didn’t care, but that would have been a blatant lie. She knew she’d upset him, perhaps even hurt him with her detachment after sharing such a… wondrous evening together, but she had to distance herself if she hoped to keep her sanity intact.
The moment he’d called her Faith, everything crumbled around her. Guilt swarmed her like a hive of bees, for he’d just made love to a woman and he didn’t even know her real name.
She leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, equal parts mortified and miserable. It was so much worse that he had been kind and attentive and passionate, everything she might have ever wanted from a lover. In essence, he had been… perfect, but that was what had frightened her so, had made her bolt like a deer in the face of a hunter’s rifle.
Knowing now what transpired behind closed doors in a bedchamber, how could she possibly marry Viscount Westbrook and do the same… intimate things with him?
She covered her face with her hands and groaned. Her purpose in coming to Brighton had been to act carefree, to have an enjoyable time with Beth without the strictures of society pressing her down — one last hurrah as a single woman. With Lady Franson as their chaperone it was supposed to be the perfect opportunity to flirt and laugh with members of the opposite sex while holding on to her anonymity.
It was never supposed to go this far.
Then again, she hadn’t expected to meet anyone like Freddie. Not only was he handsome and attentive, he was charming, and a rather wonderful conversationalist…
She winced. Dear Lord, I’m making him into a dreadful bore.
Nonetheless, it was the truth. He was everything that she could have ever wanted, a friend, and a generous lover.
In Love With a Charming Brunette Page 5
