by Olivia Drake
Mama would be furious to learn she had gone visiting without her approval, and so Lindsey had sworn Kasi to secrecy. Admitting the truth would lead to awkward questions—such as why Lindsey had sought out the Earl of Mansfield’s ward in the first place.
The thought of him stirred disquiet in the pit of Lindsey’s belly. She hadn’t seen him all evening, which was just as well. The less she encountered him, the better. He represented to her all the prideful arrogance of the nobility.
The steps brought her face-to-face with Wrayford again. He had artfully styled sandy hair, pale blue eyes, and fair skin flushed from the exertion of the dance. The yellow coat he wore only made his complexion appear washed-out, as did the elaborate white cravat, which had more flounces than a peacock had feathers.
The previous year, Wrayford had courted Portia. Lindsey had thought her sister was exaggerating about his habit of ogling a lady’s bosom. She had since discovered her mistake. Every time his avid gaze dipped to her blue muslin bodice, it made her skin crawl, as it did now.
“I vow, Miss Crompton, you are the very essence of beauty. The glow of candlelight surrounds you like a halo.”
She forced a stiff smile. “Thank you.”
Lud, what else was she to say to such a ridiculous statement? If the fool thought to win her over with puffed-up compliments and lascivious stares, he would soon find out the futility of his effort.
Placing her gloved hand in his, Lindsey turned in a stately circle around him in accordance with the dance. The throng of gentlemen and ladies in the ballroom held a number of familiar faces, although many of these aristocrats were still strangers to her. Papa’s vast wealth may have purchased her entry into their elite circle, but it couldn’t buy their approval. Most of the guests here believed that lineage trumped all other qualifications.
Not that Lindsey cared what they thought. If she could placate her parents by enduring this one season, then there might be a chance of winning her freedom. How lovely it would be to face a future of her own making, without a husband to dictate her every move. She could escape from this gilded cage of parties and shopping. She could fulfill her dream of setting up a small private detective agency, where she could solve mysteries for a genteel clientele—
She stumbled slightly, blinking at the spot where she had just seen him. Was that Mansfield’s black hair and tall form? Or was she woolgathering? With the squeeze of people shifting this way and that, she couldn’t be certain. But the mere thought of running into him made her feel flushed and agitated.
At least it had had one good effect: she was now wide awake.
The dance steps were drawing to a close. Lord Wrayford bowed deeply from the waist, revealing that he had carefully combed his hair to hide the bald patch at the back of his head.
Preoccupied, Lindsey curtsied by rote and spoke without thinking: “Do you know if Lord Mansfield is present tonight?”
“Mansfield? Why do you ask?”
“I—I had a question to ask of him. In regard to his ward.”
Wrayford cocked a sandy eyebrow in a calculating stare. “Now that you mention it, I did catch a glimpse of him a few moments ago while we were dancing. If you’ll take a turn around the room with me, I’ll show you precisely where he is.”
Grasping her elbow, he led her off the dance floor in the direction where she’d seen Mansfield. Lindsey tried to lag back, but Wrayford had a firm hold and she had to match his pace or risk creating a scene. The last thing she wanted was a face-to-face encounter with Mansfield.
Why, oh why, had she been so foolish as to bring up his name?
“This is hardly a convenient time to seek him out,” she said. “My mother will be looking for me.”
“Never mind that; we’re almost there.” Wrayford brought her to a halt by the massive arch of the doorway. He nodded toward one of the marble pillars set at intervals around the ballroom. “Look, there’s our quarry now.”
His back to her, Mansfield stood half-concealed by a screen of ferns. There was no mistaking his lofty dark-haired form. A chocolate brown coat emphasized the breadth of his shoulders as he bent down to speak to a lovely brunette in a turquoise gown cut scandalously low at the bosom. They seemed to be having an excellent time laughing together, the lady casting coquettish smiles from beneath her lashes. She boldly walked her fingertips up the lapel of his coat, and Mansfield caught her gloved hand, turning it over to kiss her palm.
The sight caused an unsettling twist inside Lindsey. It was disgust, of course, for who else but the earl would dare to flirt so outrageously out in public?
“Do you recognize his companion?” Wrayford murmured.
The tickle of his breath on her ear startled her into taking a backward step. Wrayford stood mere inches from her, so close she could see a few pockmarks on his skin. “No,” she said. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Her name is Lady Entwhistle, and she’s hardly the sort that innocent young ladies should know.”
Entwhistle. The name rang a faint bell, although Lindsey couldn’t recall where she’d heard it. “What do you mean?”
“She’s a widow who . . . how shall I say it? Who counts an inordinate number of gentlemen among her closest acquaintances.”
His implication shocked Lindsey. She couldn’t resist taking another peek at the couple. Still clasping Lady Entwhistle’s hand, Mansfield kept his full attention trained on his companion. Their aura of intimacy filled Lindsey with an instinctive dislike of the woman.
And even more so of Mansfield.
“If her reputation has suffered,” she asked Wrayford, “why has society not shunned her?”
“Her father was a marquess, and pedigree does allow for a certain leeway in conduct. Besides, she’s well versed in pressing the boundaries of discretion. Come along now; I believe you’ve seen quite enough.” Wrayford guided Lindsey back through the throng of people in the ballroom. “We are friends, are we not?” he asked, taking her hand and patting the back of it.
Still trying to recall where she’d heard of the woman, Lindsey had to cudgel her thoughts back to him. “Mmm.”
Her lackluster response failed to deter Wrayford. “As such,” he continued, “I feel compelled to warn you to keep your distance from the rogue. You can see the caliber of female that Mansfield prefers. He’s a gamester and a rake who would think nothing of tarnishing a young lady’s name.”
The assessment irritated her, coming as it did from a man who stared at bosoms. A man who wanted her rich dowry in order to pay off his own gaming debt to Mansfield. Though, of course, Wrayford didn’t know she was aware of his own foibles. “How are you privy to so much tittle-tattle about Mansfield? I thought he’d only just sold his commission in the cavalry. He wasn’t even here in London until a few months ago.”
Wrayford led her toward the front of the ballroom, where her mother sat and gossiped with a number of the other married ladies. “I have connections in the military. Wherever he was stationed, Mansfield was known as a ladies’ man among all the foreign nationals. He left a string of mistresses all over the Continent. You would do well to stay clear of him.”
“Thank you for enlightening me. I’ll take your advice under consideration.”
Her sarcasm sailed right over his styled sandy hair. Fervently he pressed his fingers to hers, his gaze flicking again to her breasts. “I’m always happy to serve you, Miss Crompton. I shall return you now, safe and sound, to the care of your dear mother.”
“Actually, I’m a bit parched,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “Why don’t I wait right here while you fetch me a lemonade?”
“Your wish is my command.”
Wrayford vanished into the crush of guests. The orchestra had set down their instruments for a much-needed respite. In the interlude, people were wandering over to the refreshment tables in the next room or gathering in clusters to chat.
Lindsey had no intention of standing in a corner like a wallflower. Nor did she want to r
eturn to her mother’s protective custody. Instead, Lindsey set forth on a solitary stroll along the perimeter of the ballroom, wending irresistibly back toward the pillar where she had seen Mansfield and Lady Entwhistle.
Her goal was not to interrupt their conversation. Rather, she wanted to spy on them in the hopes of jogging her memory. There was something nagging at the edge of her mind, something concerning Lady Entwhistle.
A brown-haired man ventured into her path. “M-Miss Crompton?” He bobbed his head, a hesitant smile on his freckled face. “I-I must b-beg a moment of y-your t-time.”
She swallowed a groan. Of all her suitors, he was the one who most elicited her pity for his painful shyness. His frayed cuffs and ill-fitting coat betrayed him as the purse-poor younger son of a baron. “Mr. Sykes. I trust you’re having an enjoyable time this evening.”
“Are-are-are you engaged for the next d-dance?” he stuttered, the words tumbling out in a mad rush.
Lindsey had partnered with him at another ball and still retained the painful memory of him stepping on her toes numerous times. “Hmm, I do believe—”
“Sorry, old chap, she’s already dancing with me.”
Mansfield appeared at her shoulder. Before she could do more than inhale a startled breath, he placed his hand at the small of her back and propelled her toward the row of glass doors that stood open to the darkness of the night.
The candlelit ballroom took on a jeweled brilliance. Lindsey was keenly aware of the hum of conversation all around her. His scent of spice was uniquely male compared to the floral perfumes worn by the ladies. The light pressure of his touch at the base of her spine seemed unbearably intimate. She knew it would be wise to pull away, yet the nudge of curiosity made her move forward in accordance with his direction.
A host of questions begged to be answered: How had he found her so quickly in this crowd? What could he want with her? And what had happened to Lady Entwhistle?
They reached the doors and proceeded outside onto a stone-flagged loggia with steps leading down into a garden. Lighted lanterns marked the pathways where a few couples strolled, arm in arm. Against the black velvet sky, the moon glowed silver behind a gauzy veil of clouds.
“I’ve been hoping to have a word with you in private, Miss Crompton.”
His deep voice sent a shiver over her skin. Or perhaps it was merely the coolness of the evening air after the heat of the ballroom. “Oh? For what purpose?”
“I’ll tell you in a moment.”
Like a man on a mission, he steered her down the steps and to a bench beneath a trellis, where interlaced vines formed a pool of deep shadow. She made the mistake of sitting down on the cold stone seat. Mansfield remained standing, instantly making her feel subordinate to him.
He braced his hand on the trellis and stared down at her, his expession hidden in the gloom. “Now,” he stated in an ominous tone. “I’d like the truth from you for once.”
She arranged her skirts in a show of nonchalance. “The truth?”
“Precisely.” He leaned closer, so that she could see the glitter of his eyes through the darkness. “Tell me the real reason you came to visit my ward yesterday.”
His voice was as chilly as the night breeze. Had Jocelyn revealed her questions about Nelda, the missing maidservant?
Cautiously Lindsey said, “I thought I’d made my purpose quite clear. There’s a connection between her family and mine. It was only polite to renew the acquaintance. Would you deny Jocelyn the hand of friendship?”
“Of course not. But she’s underage and her companions are subject to my approval.”
Lindsey took the remark as a jab at her commoner status. Irked, she went on the attack: “Then why is the poor girl sitting alone in that house, with only an elderly servant for company? Does she even have any friends?”
“Very few. She grew up overseas. And I brought her back from Europe less than two months ago.”
“Very few,” Lindsey mocked. “I’ll presume that to mean none. Do you ever take her on outings, to places where she can meet people her own age?”
“She’s frail and cannot be subject to excitement.”
“Bah. She might develop a bloom of healthy color in her cheeks if ever you took her on a drive to the park.”
He paced back and forth, his shoes crunching the gravel. “Who are you to pass judgment on my care? You know little of her medical condition. I would sooner trust the guidance of her doctor. And he has been adamant in his assertion that she’s to be protected from any type of stimulation.”
There was a thread of worry to his tone that made Lindsey soften her voice. Perhaps he did have a heart, after all. “And what is it he says? As the accident happened last autumn, her broken bones should be healed by now. Why has Jocelyn not resumed walking?”
“She suffers great pain whenever she attempts to put weight on her legs. And she’s prone to bouts of weeping afterward.”
The poor girl. “She seemed in excellent spirits to me.”
“You aren’t with her all the time,” he snapped. “A deep melancholy affects her on occasion. In truth, she was quite despondent today after yesterday’s upheaval in her routine. Which is why I must forbid you ever to return.”
His ultimatum was a hot prod to her pride. Lindsey shot up from the bench to confront his menacing shadow. “So you don’t approve of me, do you? You would sooner share the company of females like Lady Entwhistle.”
“What the devil does she have to do with anything?”
“I saw you with her tonight. If you cared a whit for Jocelyn, you would make the effort to behave as a gentleman. You wouldn’t consort with women of such dubious moral standards.” She brushed past him, then turned back. “And I’ll thank you not to curse in my presence.”
His fingers closed around her bare upper arm, preventing her from storming away in a righteous rage. As he leaned forward to stare closely at Lindsey, a shaft of moonlight lent hard contours to his features. “You’re jealous of my attention to Lady Entwhistle.”
Nothing he said could have startled—or infuriated—Lindsey more. It was the tone of his voice as much as the content of his words. He sounded confident . . . cocky . . . amused.
She jerked at his hold. “Why, you vainglorious fool—”
“You’re right; I must be a fool.”
On that cynical statement, he pulled her deep into the shadows of the arbor and brought his mouth down on hers. Lindsey was too stunned to offer more than a token resistance. His arms held her tightly, trapping her hands against his broad shoulders. His aroma and taste, his sheer maleness, engulfed her senses. All at once, her anger and antagonism transformed into a heat that burned at her core.
Without thinking, she closed her eyes and succumbed to the pleasure of his lips gliding over hers. The warmth of his muscled body clasped to hers was a delight unknown until this moment. She reveled in it, pressing herself closer to him, hardly understanding the need that induced her to utter small throaty sounds of desire. On some deep level, she was aghast at her own behavior, yet the temptation to enjoy the moment overwhelmed her.
“Sweet Lindsey,” he muttered, his breath hot against her skin. Then his tongue sought entry between her lips, exploring her mouth with a skill that had her melting in his arms. Nothing else mattered but to be held by him, to feel his hands stroking up and down her back. She ached for him to touch her more intimately, in ways no innocent young lady ought to contemplate. Unlike other girls her age, she knew a little of sexual matters from her time in India, where rules were more lax and where she often had eavesdropped on the raucous gossip of servants.
As abruptly as he’d grabbed hold of her, Mansfield lifted his head, his breathing harsh in the quiet night. She started to murmur a protest, but he placed his forefinger over her lips. There was a tension in his body, an alertness that penetrated her silken trance.
Voices emanated from somewhere nearby. The scuff of footsteps approached on a pathway.
A glimmer of sanity
returned to her mind. She stood very still within the circle of his arms. Lud, there was a party in progress a short distance away. What had she been thinking, to permit him such a passionate kiss when anyone might happen by and see them?
What had she been thinking to grant this man a kiss at all?
Awareness of her wanton behavior bought a hot blush to her face. She hadn’t been thinking, that’s what. At one expert brush of his lips, all sense had flown from her brain. Even now, she reveled in the warmth of his body against hers. It shook her to realize how easily he’d aroused her base instincts—instincts that had lain dormant until this moment.
No wonder Mansfield was renowned for his prowess at seduction.
The chattering couple walked past the little arbor without spying them standing in the gloom. Lindsey had been waiting for the couple’s voices to fade before wrenching herself from his arms. But Mansfield released her first. He stepped back, a tall black shadow in the gloom.
“You’ll want to return to the ballroom before you’re missed.”
His formal tone nonplussed her; he might have been dismissing a disobedient child. Was he so unaffected by their fervent embrace? She told herself to go, to put as much distance between them as possible. Yet the devil of pride prodded her into asking, “Is that all you have to say for yourself?”
He didn’t answer at once. Music from the ballroom drifted into the silence. The orchestra had begun playing again, and the dancers would be forming sets. She waited on pins and needles, wishing to her shame for some acknowledgment that he’d experienced the same all-encompassing thrill as she had.
“I’d advise you to make haste,” Mansfield murmured. “Lady Entwhistle is due to join me out here in a few moments.”
His cool words made her humiliation complete. He had subjected her to an ardent kiss merely to pass the time while he waited for his lightskirt.
Drawing back her arm, Lindsey slapped him.
She scored a direct hit despite the darkness. The force of the blow traveled up her arm. Her palm stung with satisfying pain.
