“Ye may make amends to me by dancing with me,” he drawled, his tone scandalous though his face did not display a bit of improper insinuation. Maybe she’d imagined it? Or maybe he was simply a well-practiced rogue. Either way, she most definitely could not dance with the man.
She barely resisted the urge to grasp her shorter leg. No one could tell, of course, not since her grandfather had commissioned a special shoe for her. She no longer limped, but she had, terribly so, for the longest time, and she’d never learned to dance because of it. “I do not care for dancing,” she lied, hearing the catch of emotion in her voice, blast it all. He did not look at all surprised by her announcement, as many men often did. Instead, well, it seemed to her that he looked as if he’d expected such a pronouncement.
“A stroll on the terrace, then?” he suggested, a most definite challenging look in his eyes. Oh, but he was most indeed a rogue and a clever one! Had he been watching her this night to know she had refused many requests to dance?
“I daresay no as it’s cold outside,” she replied, finding a sudden vast enjoyment in thwarting him at his own game, though if she were honest with herself, there was a sliver of disappointment as well. She was only human after all, and he was Lord Adonis. She bit her lip hard on the need to chuckle.
“My apologies,” he replied, his amusement evident in his tone, “I did not take ye for the sort of lass to shy away from the cold. Ye appear hale and hearty to me.”
With that casually thrown challenge, he’d struck at her innermost secret desire and what she had always striven for—to seem as capable as everyone with two perfectly matched good legs. Did he know? No, he could not possibly. Yet, she did sense he’d been testing her. She could not resist accepting, though she absolutely knew she should resist. He was dangerous in a most seductive sort of way.
“I’ll take a short stroll with you,” she said, his brief look of triumph confirming her assessment.
He had been challenging her, but why? To seduce her? For simply the sport of seeing if she might accede? Surely not because she had honestly piqued his interest. This man was a wolf, barely even disguised, and she was the morsel he wanted to gobble up. She wondered briefly how he had lost his fortune. Perhaps he had inherited an already penniless title? She wished she knew. Either way, she was going to show him that even wolves were not undefeatable.
Four
When Simon stepped onto the near empty terrace after Anne, cool air swept over him, evoking a grin. The scent of lilac trailed after her in an enticing swirl. He noted she gave a little shiver, and he had to restrain the urge to laugh. He was a Scot, and as such, this cold that the English likely burrowed under mounds of blankets and layers upon layers of clothing to escape was merely a bit of chill in the air to him. These English would die if hit by a Scottish winter wind. In Scotland, the air was so bitterly frigid at this time of year that it made one’s teeth and bones ache.
He could take a naked swim in this paltry frost and never even get a chill. Not so for Anne. Already, her shivering increased under his fingertips that rested against the small of her back. A perfectly curved spot, he could not help but note. Her fine silk dress could not be providing much warmth, and the stubborn lass had rejected his suggestion that she have the servant fetch her mantle. Her pride would be her downfall, except it happened to provide a well-needed reason, if he planned correctly, for her to come see him tomorrow.
He almost chuckled when he thought about her cheeky reply to his suggestion that she get her mantle. She’d said the cold did not bother a hale and hearty English lady, such as herself. He detected a strange accent in her speech that made him suspect she’d not been raised entirely in England and also made him curious about her. Too curious. This was a purposeful seduction for revenge, not a courtship.
She was, he had to admit, not exactly as he had assumed she’d be after watching her from across the ballroom. He’d thought she’d be haughty and acerbic, perhaps even coldly aloof—rare beauties who were aware of it so often were—yet she seemed almost vulnerable and bumbling, as if easily embarrassed and fearful that she had somehow hurt him with her words. Odd, indeed, given her self-professed campaign to destroy Rutledge.
He guided her toward the far end of the terrace to a corner lit only by one flickering torch. It was well away from the other couple so he could speak to Anne in private. He came to a stop, and she immediately stepped away and turned, leaving a respectable distance between them. He took one brief second to allow the wave of shock that her beauty, illuminated by the moonlight above, caused him. It would not serve to become entranced by a woman merely because she was stunning. Anne was almost certainly cut from the same cloth as her grandfather, and Simon would, therefore, be seducing her as intended.
He could see gooseflesh had risen on her chest, and her lips were pressed firmly together, likely to keep her teeth from chattering. He resisted the urge to offer her his topcoat. He suspected she would need to be unbearably cold before she would take it anyway, and he could not afford a misstep with his topcoat. It was key to seeing her again. “Tell me, Anne—”
“Miss Adair,” she corrected, though a conflicted look passed over her face.
“In private, I will call ye Anne,” he said, purposely holding her gaze.
She narrowed her eyes. “What makes you believe the occasion will ever arise again that we shall be in private together?”
“Instinct,” he replied.
“I daresay your instincts need some sharpening,” she replied archly.
The lady before him now, this feline with her claws out, was more akin to the woman he’d expected to encounter.
“Perhaps,” he said easily enough. He’d learned long ago when building his timber empire that one of the surest and quickest ways to best your competition was to set them off their guard.
Act in precisely the opposite way they would expect, given the situation.
She blinked, the only hint of his surprising her, but it was enough to bolster him. She set her hands to her hips and cocked her head. “I do not have the patience or time for games, Your Grace.”
“Simon,” he insisted, knowing full well she’d likely rebut him.
“Your Grace will do,” she said, each word punctuated.
“Not for me,” he replied. “In private, I insist ye call me Simon. However, I will abide by foolish English rules at all other times, as I’d never wish to do anything to draw yer reputation into question.”
She surprised him by chuckling. “Come,” she said, “let us dispense with your weaving of deceits, shall we?”
He wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but he was utterly intrigued, though not enough to admit the full truth to her. Yet it struck him now that admitting part of it might help him glean much-needed information about her character so he’d know how to proceed.
“Let’s,” he agreed. “Ye begin first with the truth.”
“Me?” She frowned. “I’m hiding no truth from you! I don’t even know you!”
He’d talked himself into a corner. Quite the surprise. He was usually very adept with these sorts of verbal games, but he supposed his natural attraction to a beauty like Anne had made him stumble. He could not very well mention Rutledge or that his friend was the reason Simon had first noticed her, as he could not afford to bring her attention back to Rutledge when he was supposed to be drawing it away from the man. “Ye lied when ye said ye did not care for dancing,” he drawled, recalling the catch of emotion in her voice from earlier.
Her mouth parted, and a perfect ring of white puffed out from her lips. He had the sudden urge to cover her delectable pink lips with his own. Clearly, he’d been without a woman’s touch for entirely too long.
“I—” A frown appeared between her brows, and she immediately pressed her middle finger to it, as if deep in thought. He had the notion that it was a habit she did not even realize she had. This was a most private glimpse into Anne, and one that, for some inexplicable reason, his gut told him to
store. “I, well…” Her hand moved to her leg, which she grazed her fingers over before drawing her hand up to cross her arms over her abdomen. “I did lie,” she said in a suffocated whisper.
Triumph flared within his chest. At least she had the good grace to be embarrassed by her lying. He leaned against the balcony and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why?” he demanded harshly, watching her flinch but refusing to feel guilt. This woman was a self-admitted liar, and she was actively spreading falsehoods to ruin Rutledge. She should feel the heat of her sins.
“Why did you wish for an introduction to me?” she countered.
“Because ye’re beautiful,” he replied, the statement a truth, though not the one she sought.
“Come now,” she said, her voice chiding. “I thought we were revealing truths.”
Surprise tied his tongue for a moment. The lady either truly had no notion of her loveliness or she was quite an adroit deceiver. “We are,” he agreed, scooting toward her. She immediately retreated, backing directly into the wall she’d clearly forgotten was behind her.
“Oh,” she murmured.
Aye. Oh… She had nowhere to retreat to, and he found he was enjoying caging her in far too much for a man who was supposed to be seducing only for revenge. He glanced behind him, ensuring the other couple had departed before he straightened, one hand on the stone of the balcony and his other palm flat against the wall on her other side. Anne was very nicely captured in his embrace, yet he was not touching her. Not yet.
He looked down at her and leaned close, until only a hairsbreadth separated them. “Ye were supposed to go first, if I recall.”
When she let out a breath she must have been holding, the warmth of it caressed his face and caused a jolt of desire to shoot through him. “I never learned to dance,” she blurted, her cheeks already nicely pinked from the cold now turning scarlet.
His first reaction was shock, then wariness. Clearly, she was still lying, but why? “I’ll admit, I don’t know much about English society, but is it not customary for debutantes to be taught to dance? Even required?”
She nodded. “It is, but I did not grow up in England.”
“Where were ye raised?”
“America,” she replied. “New York to be exact.”
“When and how did ye come to be in London?” he prodded, knowing each fact he learned of her would aid his plan.
“Almost two years ago. My mother died quite suddenly, and my sister and I—” She stopped. “Let us just say we petitioned my grandfather for aid, and he came straightaway and whisked us to London.”
Simon could well imagine her grandfather taking control of their lives and packing them up swiftly to bring them to London. The old devil probably relished the thought of two more pieces to maneuver on his chessboard, though it did seem Anne was skilled at the game of chess, or rather social maneuvering. “I find it hard to believe the Duke of Rowan did not insist his own granddaughter learn to dance for the marriage mart,” he said, watching her. He was sure she was withholding some vital piece of information.
“He did not,” she said, her words halting.
“Tsk, tsk,” he admonished. “I thought we had agreed upon the truth.”
“We had. I mean, we have. I am telling you the truth, though I honestly cannot even fathom why I’m speaking with you. You, Your Grace, are a rake. I can tell it without even knowing you!”
It was true, though he was quite out of practice. He’d been so busy with his company the past year that he’d scarcely had time to think of any women other than the sisters he supported. And honestly, even before that, he’d tired of having to sever ties with women who claimed they wanted nothing from him when they agreed to a mutual seduction, and then upon discovering his wealth, always decided they loved him and wanted marriage.
Lady Mary had taught him well just how manipulative women could be—his sisters excluded, of course. If she’d been the only woman to show him her manipulative nature, he may have thought it a personal characteristic, and not one most women had, but woman after woman had endeavored to trap him into marriage once he’d started to amass his fortune.
He shoved the memories of his past to the far recesses of his mind. “I assure ye,” he said, holding Anne’s gaze, “my intentions toward ye are honorable.” And they were. At least until she proved they should not be, and she was on the verge of doing so by continuing to lie.
She gave him an incredulous look. “Do you mean to stand here and tell me that you did not know of my fortune and that it was not my status as an heiress that sent you to ask Sophia to introduce you to me?”
“I knew of yer fortune because someone mentioned it, but yer wealth had no part in why I sought an introduction. I assure ye, Anne, I don’t need yer dowry. I’ve plenty of coin of my own from my timber company alone, without utilizing what my grandfather left me. I sought an introduction to ye for ye and ye alone.” That was the truth in a convoluted manner. “Now, tell me, why ye are refusing to dance tonight? Is this a little game ye like to play with men?”
“I do not play any games with men, Your Grace,” she said, fire flashing in her eyes. “I will give you a truth, as you purport to have given me one, and I keep my word, but heed this: they will be the very last words you get from me. I was not required to learn to dance by my grandfather because I am lame!”
Simon could not have been more surprised by her explanation than if she had told him she was born a man. And it was his shock that kept him immobile long enough for her to dip under his arm and start to march past him in sure, strong, perfectly normal steps. Anger surged within him. She obviously had not considered that if she were going to claim to be lame, then she needed to at least feign a limp. He did not need to dig further. The woman enjoyed rebutting men she deemed unworthy of her lofty, beautiful person, and she did not bat an eyelash at ruining a man without being certain she knew the truth of what had happened. So, he would not hesitate to use her. He swung around and grabbed her arm, releasing her immediately when she whipped her gaze to his hand clutching her. He could not let his outrage and lust for revenge dictate how he proceeded. “I’m sorry. My instincts to keep you near me overcame me,” he apologized.
He suddenly had an idea of how he could see Anne repeatedly and not have to worry about her grandfather knowing of it. He would use her own lie to his benefit. “I’m an excellent dancer,” he said. It was true. His mother had forced him and his sisters to learn because she’d been so sure that one day his grandfather would forgive his father for marrying her and that the man would want to meet his grandchildren, and then they’d be part of Society. A hard knot lodged in his chest, thinking upon his mother.
“I could teach ye,” he said.
Slowly, Anne turned her head toward him, a smirk on her face. “And what would you want in exchange for teaching me to dance and for keeping my secret?”
“A kiss,” he replied, giving her the reply she would expect from a rake.
“I knew you were a rogue,” she pronounced. Her lips drew together in a satisfied smirk that truly did make him want to kiss her.
“I admitted as much,” he said, irritated at his very real desire for her.
“I would be the worst sort of fool to willingly visit a self-admitted rogue in the privacy of his own home. Not to mention it’s highly improper.”
Which went perfectly with his plan to bring her to the edge of scandal. Still, he sensed she was leaning toward denying him, and if he was to have any chance of seducing her, he had to be around her. “Ye could bring a chaperone,” he offered, hoping that Anne would wish to keep this private outing a secret.
“No.” She shook her head, then gave a little shiver and wrapped her arms tightly about her waist.
Slowly, he stripped off his topcoat, initiating his plan to see Anne once more. He held it out to her. “May I?”
She looked at his topcoat as if it were laced with poison, but when the wind blew a hearty gust, she said, “All right.” She quickly turn
ed and held her hair off her neck. He settled his coat on her shoulders, his hand grazing the silken skin of her back. His body tightened in response, desire flaring even as he pulled his hand away.
When she faced him once more, she gazed at him with an almost hostile look. Perhaps the lovely Anne simply detested men?
“You know very well,” she said, her words clipped, “that if I brought a chaperone, she’d have questions. And as teaching me to dance in the privacy of your home is quite improper, I could not tell anyone what I was doing. You are hoping that my wish to learn to dance will overcome my good sense, as any savvy rogue would.”
“Mull the idea over tonight,” he suggested. “I’ll stay in residence from noon until two tomorrow, hoping to see ye.”
“Your day will be wasted if you wait for me,” she said in an obviously false sweet tone.
“Waiting for ye will be my pleasure,” he replied, uneasy that there seemed to be a part of it that was true. He was seducing her now, but it was more pleasurable than simply revenge. He enjoyed her quick banter.
“Tell me, Simon,” she said, an edge to her voice. “I saw you standing with a man, Lord Rutledge. Did you meet him tonight, or do you call him a friend?”
She’d been waiting to ask him, he realized with surprise. “I’ve known Rutledge for many years,” he said, curious as to her intent in bringing this up now. “And I call him friend.”
She made a derisive noise, her lips twisting into a smirk. “I daresay I’m not surprised. Rogues often move about in packs like wolves.”
“Rutledge is no rogue,” Simon growled, losing his temper and his tongue.
She arched her eyebrows. “That is not what I’ve been told,” she said, her tone barbed.
He took a moment to rein in his ire. He knew better than to let emotions rule him, and it was unlike him to do so. “Perhaps what ye have been told is incorrect.”
“Or perhaps Lord Rutledge failed to tell you what he did to my friend!” She sounded incensed, as if she truly believed Rutledge had ravaged her friend.
My Daring Duchess Page 4
