Lady in Red

by Karen Hawkins

  Without further thought, he stepped forward and slid an arm about her waist.

  “Lord Treymount!” She gasped, but didn’t move away.

  “You are wearing the ring. Perhaps I can’t help myself.”

  She didn’t move, but he could see her breath was now coming harder, her breasts rising and falling rapidly. “Unhand me or I shall be forced to protect myself.”

  “Then do so.” Somehow, he knew better than to move too quickly. He bent slowly and placed a kiss on her temple, her skin silky smooth below his lips.

  She shivered, her lashes dropping to the crests of her cheeks. “Stop that now.”

  “Make me.” His lips traveled down her cheek to her chin, where he placed a gentle kiss before nipping at the corner of her mouth. She gasped, shivered, and put a hand on his chest.

  But she did not push him away. Marcus noted it vaguely, his body and mind completely engaged on the woman before him. He nipped at her bottom lip, catching it between his and then gently moving into a sweet, sensual kiss.

  It seemed to last forever, that first meeting of their bodies. A surge of pure power flowed through him. He had yet to place a hand on her. Only his mouth. Yet his lips were wreaking their own havoc. “Honoria…” His kiss slid from the corner of her mouth to the tender spot at the corner of her jaw. “You aren’t making me quit.”

  Honoria didn’t want to. God help her, but what she wanted to do was pull him closer. She wanted to wrap her arms about him and pull his mouth to hers, to lose herself in the feel of his warmth about her.

  Somehow, the thought became action. Suddenly, she was pulling him closer, wrapping her arms about him and folding beneath his kiss. It was madness and magic, sweetness and sin. It was everything a kiss should be but so rarely is.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she had planned to thwart him. But she could not seem to remember her reason. After all, one kiss was not going to move the ring off her finger. All one kiss would do was make her very, very aware of the man who tortured her with such an exquisite glimpse of passion that her entire body swayed toward him.

  He caught her firmly and melded her to him, the kiss deepening, lengthening. Each moment sent her senses tumbling further away from logic, further away from thought, further into the hot, wet depths of passion.

  Just as she thought she would explode into flames, he lifted his head, yanking it up as if he’d had to force himself to do so. Blessedly cool air began to cleanse her muddled senses. Heaven help her, but her entire body trembled, her hands clutched about his lapels. At sometime during their embrace he had lifted her, and her feet now dangled off the ground. “Y-You may put me down.”

  His gaze traveled over her face, lingering on her lips. “And if I don’t wish to?”

  She took a steadying breath, her heart still thudding against her collarbone. He was smiling down at her, though it wasn’t a gentle sort of smile. Rather, it was a superior, Treymountlike smile. “Please.” The word was wrested from her, more because she couldn’t think enough to make an entire sentence. Not without first putting some space between them.

  He paused. Then, with a reluctance that was not lost on her, he slid her down, allowing her feet to rest back on the ground, though he did not loosen his hold. “I thought you said you could deal with bounders and cads.” He lifted a hand to trace a lazy path from her cheek to the corner of her mouth. “Despite your fierce exterior, you are an innocent, and any man with a modicum of sense can sense that. That was my point to you last night about Radmere, though you would not listen.”

  Her back stiffened. “I—I may have suffered a lapse just now, but I assure you that is not a normal reaction for me.”

  He lifted his brows, amusement clearly etched on his handsome face. “Consider this a lesson then, in dealing with a real man.”

  “I do not need your ‘lessons,’ my lord. I can take care of myself.”

  “You seem to think your only danger is in rebuffing unwanted advances. At least admit that you are in no way prepared for someone who knows the way of seduction.”

  “Like you?”

  “Like any man who might see you and thus desire you,” Marcus said. He shouldn’t have kissed her and he knew it. But he could not seem to resist the woman. She was an oddly wrapped package, all prim lace and proper clothing over a seductively enticing body and a nature as passionate as the most brazen courtesan. He knew this about her, knew it as if he’d known her for years. The contradiction made her intriguing, to say the least. He managed a faint smile. “Oh stop drawing those dagger glances at me. I should not have kissed you, but you must admit that you enjoyed it.”

  “I don’t have to admit anything.”

  He caught her to him once again, holding her tight against his chest, her feet dangling inches above the ground. “Deny you enjoyed our kiss. I dare you.”

  She met his gaze, her cheeks flushed with fury, her eyes sparkling in outrage…but she didn’t say a thing.

  After a moment, he grinned and released her once again. “This battle is mine.”

  “What battle? We were just talking, not engaging in a battle.”

  “Nonsense. It was a battle and you know it.”

  She plopped her hands on her hips and leaned forward until her nose almost touched his. “Not one…more…word.”

  Had she stopped there, he might have been tempted to crow a bit more about his conquest of her defenses. But to his chagrin, the faintest quiver touched her full lips, then fled. A laugh, quickly suppressed.

  He’d been the object of flirtation from many women, and he’d faced countless pointed overtures that encompassed everything from fluttered eyelashes to come-hither glances to roaming hands and more. He’d rebuffed them all. It was his job to pursue, not the other way ’round. But somehow, all of his innate defenses went awry with this one woman and her tendency to chuckle, or worse, to make him chuckle, at the most importune times.

  She turned away, saying in a muffled voice, “You shouldn’t have. And neither should I.”

  “I couldn’t help myself. There is something about you—” He blinked. Good God, what made him say that aloud?

  She turned to face him, her eyes wide. “You…you couldn’t help yourself?”

  Wonderful. The cat was definitely out of the bag. Oh well, what the hell. He might was well admit all now. “There is something about you that makes me want to taste you.”

  “Oh,” she said, rather breathlessly. She seemed to consider this a moment, for she swallowed, then said, “Well, it was a rather good kiss.”

  “Sweetheart, of all the kisses I’ve ever had, it was one of the best.”

  She stiffened. “One of the best?” Apparently outraged, she turned her back on him, scowling at the frieze before her.

  Marcus laughed softly. She was a strange mixture of pride and purpose, a conundrum of sexuality and innocence. And he was beginning to relish every delicious inch of her. He regarded her for a moment more, admiring the curve of her cheek in the moonlight, the way her gown curved over her breasts and hips. The shimmer of light in her hair and the glisten of that fascinating streak of white.

  Damn it, after all that, he wanted another kiss. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, turning so that her profile was outlined against the gray expanse of exhibits. “Of course, good as it was, that wasn’t a real kiss.”

  She sliced a glance at him, then looked away.

  He could tell she didn’t want to respond, and yet she wanted to. He waited.

  After a long moment she threw him a reproachful glance. “What is a real kiss?”

  “I’m not certain you’re ready to find out.”

  “Oh?”

  There was a lot of question in that “Oh.” Marcus hid a smile. “I stopped our little embrace before it could have become a real kiss. I wasn’t completely…immersed in it. I was trying to gauge your reaction and that spoiled it for me.”

  “I see. Yes. Well. Aside from that—” She waved a hand, her color hig
h. “What we should be discussing is your ring and not a silly kiss.”

  He reached out and lifted one of her sable curls, twining it about his finger. “If you are so determined to discuss business, then we shall. Miss Baker-Sneed, what compromises can you offer in this matter?”

  “None.”

  He let the thick curl sift through his fingers. “Come. Would you go down in price at all?”

  Her jaw tightened but she didn’t answer him. Finally, she said, “Six thousand, but not a pence less.”

  “That is still too high.”

  “Fine. If Radmere comes with an offer, I shall be forced to consider it.”

  Blast Radmere. “The ring was my mother’s.”

  “I know. I will not seek out Radmere; but that is all I will promise you.”

  Marcus raised his brows.

  She sighed, pressing her fingertips to her temple. “You do not understand my situation. You see, my father put all of his investments into a ship that was lost at sea.”

  “That was a poor choice.”

  Her eyes flashed green fire. “My father is a fine investor. Perhaps he should have been more circumspect and not placed so much upon one venture, but he will fix things. No one is better at finding antiquities than he. Anyway, we were counting on his funds to launch Cassandra and now they are gone.”

  Marcus eyed her curiously. “That is why you are so determined to get such a sum for the ring.”

  “It will be a year at least before Father can rebuild to a level of self-sufficiency. And then another year before he is in a position to afford something as expensive as a society launch.”

  “And your sister is ready to be launched now.”

  “She is almost nineteen now. In two years…” Honoria frowned. “It is unfair, but she will be thought quite on the shelf by then.”

  “Like you.”

  To his surprise, she nodded, not looking the least upset. She was very unaffected, his warlike Diana. “Why are you so determined to present your sister?”

  “Because it has always been her wish. Besides, where we lived before, there were not many suitable men about and I feared she’d end up married to a farmer or worse. She’s too fine for that.”

  “And you?”

  “Oh, marriage has no place in my life,” she answered, a faint quirk to her full lips. “I am much too fond of my own opinion for it to be otherwise.”

  Marcus found that he could appreciate that. He, himself, felt the same. Over the years, he’d grown used to having his own way. He wasn’t sure he could live otherwise.

  “I was presented, you know. But then, a few weeks into the season, my mother got ill. I was relieved to leave town, for I was awkward and bored and not at all accepted. But Cassandra likes that sort of thing and she is so beautiful that she will do well.”

  “So, rather than stand in a stuffy drawing room, you’d rather find yourself in the heat of an auction, pursuing an antiquity.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “Indeed! I cannot think of a better way to spend a day.”

  Neither could he. “I begin to see why you are so adamant about wanting your sister sponsored.”

  “And I understand why you want the ring returned.” She sighed. “My lord, let me be frank. I engage in professional auctions and I understand emotional value. Which is why seven thousand pounds is not that high of a price.”

  “You said six.”

  “That was before I realized that when you said we should both compromise, you meant that only I should compromise.”

  He laughed. “I feel as if you have already won.”

  “I have.” She gave a self-satisfied smile. “You just don’t wish to admit it.”

  Damn but when she looked like that, it made him want her all the more. “Miss Baker-Sneed, do not make me force this issue.”

  “And how would you do that? With another kiss?”

  Marcus wanted to yank her to him again, but he knew, if he did, that he would not be able to let her go.

  “Treymount?”

  The deep, slightly slurred masculine voice came from behind him. “I believe someone is calling for you,” Honoria said.

  “Treymount?” the voice came again, upraised and echoing slightly. The man had yet to enter the room, but was calling from outside, tromping noisily through the hall.

  Marcus glinted down at his prey. “Rescued by a drunk. The fates are watching out for you, my dear.”

  “Bloody hell, Treymount, I know you’re here!” The man yelled louder still, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. “I saw your carriage and talked to that fool you call a coachman!”

  Marcus finally recognized the voice. “It’s Melton. He was to meet me at my house at noon. What the hell does he think he’s doing, following me here and then yelling as if he’s in a tavern?”

  Honoria listened a moment. “He sounds angry.”

  “He has no love for me and would do anything to see me ruined.”

  Silence met this sentence. Marcus suddenly realized that if Honoria had raised her voice a moment ago, she could have drawn Lord Melton into the room. If someone found the two of them alone and engaged in a passionate embrace, she would be ruined and he would be responsible.

  She seemed to read his expression, for she said coolly, “I have no love of scandal either.” She stepped away from him and turned toward the doors. “We must leave. Lord Melton will be in here in a few moments and I, for one, have no wish to explain how we came to be alone.”

  He went with her into the next room. It was empty as well, but the wide archway into the adjacent room made it acceptable. Small groups of people could be seen walking from exhibit to exhibit.

  “There are my sisters.”

  Marcus glanced in the direction she nodded. He could see a small group of women, three of them obviously school age, while one was older, and quite beautiful, at that. They were talking excitedly, their voices muted by the distance.

  Lord Melton’s voice sounded again, but farther off. Honoria looked around. “It sounds as if he has taken a wrong turn.”

  “It is but one of many,” Marcus murmured.

  “Yes, well, I should rejoin my sisters. I am sorry we were unable to reach an agreement. Fortunately, you still have several more days to mull things through.”

  She was a composed one, he had to give her that. Sighing a little, he nodded. “I shall think of something.”

  “I hope you shall. Good day, Lord Treymount.” With a regal nod of her head, she turned and walked away, going to join the knot of women by a statue.

  Marcus wanted to stay and watch her, see if some sign of their embrace lingered on her cheeks and in her eyes. But the thought of standing here, watching a woman like a lovesick pup—it was too much. Good God, what was wrong with him?

  Frowning, he pushed himself from the column he’d been leaning against and left, making his way to his waiting carriage. Let Lord Melton come to his house, as he’d promised. Marcus could not leave the museum quick enough.

  Chapter 10

  No, really. I am certain Miss Hereford will look this way any time now…She is simply flirting by not paying me any attention…I’m certain of it…I think.

  Lord Southland to his friend and acquaintance, Mr. Cabot-Hewes, while still not looking at the woman standing by the refreshment table at Carlton House

  Marcus glanced at Anthony. “Must you do that?”

  Anthony looked up from where he sat in a large chair by the fire in the library. “Do what?”

  “Hum. It is most annoying.”

  Anthony raised his brows, his habitually sleepy look disappearing for a moment. “I was not humming.”

  Mr. Donaldson, Marcus’s man of business, softly cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but you were indeed humming.”

  “Oh. I was, was I? What tune was it?”

  A thoughtful expression crossed Mr. Donaldson’s round face. “I believe it was a Hayden concerto, though I could not be certain.”

  Marcus scrawl
ed his name across the papers before him. “No one could be certain of the exact tune as you were horribly off key.”

  Anthony looked inquiringly at Mr. Donaldson, who became suspiciously busy opening his leather satchel. Anthony sighed. “I am never appreciated.”

  Marcus slanted him a glance. “It is Anna’s job to bolster your flagging sense of self-worth, not mine.”

  “Thank God for that. She is much better at ignoring my faults than you.” Anthony stretched his legs before him. He dwarfed the chair he occupied, as usual. Marcus made a note on a piece of foolscap to order a larger chair for his brother. Comical as it was to see Anthony crammed into the seat, it had to be uncomfortable. Marcus handed the note to Donaldson, who read it, glanced at Anthony, then nodded and tucked it away.

  The order for the larger chair would be placed before the day was out. Donaldson was worth his weight in gold, which was fortunate since that was almost what Marcus paid him.

  Anthony yawned. “I am famished. Have you concluded your business?”

  Mr. Donaldson adjusted his round spectacles and then placed a paper before Marcus. “Only one more issue. That of Lord Melton.”

  Marcus scanned the page, then glanced at the clock over the mantel and frowned. “We’ll have to wait another twenty minutes at least, if that jackanapes even shows.” He glanced at Anthony. “He is to sign over his lands today.”

  “All of them?” Anthony asked.

  “I left him his house and some little land. He owes over thirty thousand pounds.”

  Anthony whistled silently. “How did that come about?”

  “Gaming, mainly.”

  “I see.” Anthony considered this a moment. “How old is Melton?”

  “Twenty-three or -four, I believe. Old enough to know better than to throw good money after bad on a gaming table.”

  “Do you think—”

  “Anthony, how old were you when you took over the Elliot fortune?”