by Cara Elliott
“Not that I’ve had much practice in announcing an engagement,” he said wryly.
She quickened her steps to match his. “I’m sure next time around, you will be even smoother.”
Lucas kept a smile on his face. “Lud, I hope there won’t be a next time.”
Her gaze remained intent. “You will have to set up your nursery at some point and beget an heir.”
“I’m not about to cock up my toes anytime soon,” he replied. He spun her in a circle. “Am I?”
“That is not funny, Hadley.” However, her lips did quirk. “How can you joke at a time like this?” she added under her breath.
“These are precisely the sort of moments when humor is called for.” Lucas acknowledged a call of congratulations with a broad grin. “Life is full of little absurdities. You cannot take them so seriously, Lady Sheffield, or they will crush you.”
She was silent for several steps. “You think me too serious, and I think you too serendipitous… I wonder if there is any middle ground?”
Lucas pivoted on the polished parquet. “I wouldn’t know. My path in life seems to veer from highs to lows, with nothing in between.”
Ciara’s expression took on a strange pinch.
“Come, sweetheart, you are not allowed to look pensive, remember? Trust me, this will all work in your favor. Society loves nothing so much as a roguish rake reformed by love.”
She forced a smile.
“That’s better. Let us enjoy the moment. This is an evening for merriment and celebration.” But as he turned to escort Ciara from the dance floor, he saw several members of the Sheffield family, circled like grim vultures near the colonnaded archway.
If looks could kill…
Angling his shoulders to shield her from their stares, Lucas countered their scowls with a cool nod.
They said nothing as he passed by, but he felt a prickling at the back of his neck, like daggers dancing against his flesh. He sensed that he hadn’t heard the last of them.
At breakfast the next morning, Ciara decided not to look at the newspaper. Alessandra was coming for luncheon, and no doubt her friend would give her a detailed report of the news in the gossip columns—discreetly editing out the nastier comments.
To his credit, Lord Hadley had been surprisingly sensitive in arranging the events of the previous evening. She watched a tendril of steam float up from her teacup, recalling every nuanced sensation of his body as they danced—the warmth of his hand on the small of her back, the strong, solid feel of his thighs brushing her skirts, the sure-footed grace of his rhythm. The sensuous sound of his laughter, the silky stretch of his smile. She swallowed a tiny sigh. Indeed, he had taken it upon himself to bear the brunt of the ton’s reactions, deflecting both the well-meaning wishes and inquisitive comments with a mixture of humor and charm.
It was rather nice to let someone else step in and solve a problem—she certainly had enough of them to share. But such musings were unrealistic, she chided herself. She could not depend on it happening again. Despite his well-muscled shoulders, Lord Hadley could not be expected to bear her burdens for much longer.
Forcing her thoughts away from the earl, Ciara put aside her cup. With that in mind, she had better get back to work on Henry’s manuscript. The code was proving perversely difficult to decipher, but she had a few new ideas to try.
The hours passed quickly, and before she knew it, McCabe knocked to announce that her guests had arrived. Hurrying down to the entrance hall, she found Peregrine already there and proudly displaying his newfound knowledge of cricket.
“See, Isa—you hold the ball like so!” he exclaimed, showing the grip that Lord Hadley had taught him.
“Perry, why don’t you take Isabella to the garden for a more detailed demonstration,” suggested Ciara.
“So, the deed is done?” asked Alessandra, once the children had raced off.
“Yes.”
Her friend untied the strings of her bonnet and set it on the side table. “And?”
“You have probably read all the grisly details,” said Ciara.
“Actually, it sounded rather romantic.”
Her breath caught in her throat for an instant as she once again recalled the glittering candlelight, the lilting music, the feel of the earl’s body moving in perfect rhythm with hers.
“How can you say such a thing!” she exclaimed, trying to quell the flutter of longing in her chest.
“Lord Hadley is a sinfully attractive man, cara,” replied her friend. “You would have to have ice water in your veins not to have enjoyed the moment just a little.”
“‘Sinful’ is the key word.” Ciara busied herself rearranging the objects on the side table, unwilling to meet her friend’s gaze. “At midnight, the man was waltzing with me. An hour later, he was likely dancing beneath the sheets with one of his fancy ladybirds.”
“You aren’t sleeping with him, then?”
“Alessandra!”
“Just asking, cara.” Her friend took her arm. “Come, I shall stop my teasing, as it seems to be upsetting you.”
“I’m not upset. I’m merely…”
Confused? Conflicted? Ciara left the sentence unfinished.
Alessandra waited for a moment and then carefully changed the subject. “Tell me, how is your work coming on the baronet’s manuscript?”
“I am glad you asked,” she replied. “I’m having a devilishly difficult time with a section of the code and could use your advice.”
“My skills in ancient cryptography patterns are a little rusty, but I shall be happy to take a look.”
“I will fetch my notes and meet you in the morning room.” With the French doors open to the garden, they would be able to keep an eye on the children at play. “Today, the sporting session should pass without any serious bodily injury.”
“Yes, Peregrine seems to have acquired an expertise in cricket since the last game,” remarked Alessandra. “Don’t tell me you managed to decipher that manual on pitching techniques.” She waved her bejeweled hands. “Good heavens, to me it was more puzzling than ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics!”
“No,” admitted Ciara. “It was Lord Hadley who gave him a few pointers.”
“Hadley? With Perry? How did that come about?”
“It’s not important.” For some reason, she had not told the ‘Sinners’ about her side wager with Lord Hadley. Not even Alessandra. Feeling a little foolish, she added, “Please, let us forget about the earl, if you don’t mind.”
That, however, proved easier said than done.
They had no sooner spread out the notes on the table and settled into their chairs when a knock at the door drew a muttered oath from Ciara.
“Blast, I wonder what that could be?” Sighing, she added an apology to her friend. “McCabe usually knows better than to disturb us when we are working.”
The butler cracked the door in answer to the call to come in. “Forgive me, madam, but you have a caller.”
“Inform whoever it is that I am not receiving visitors,” she muttered.
“I did so, madam,” replied McCabe with a sniff.
“But he—”
“He refused to take no for an answer.” Lucas shouldered his way around her baleful butler, his arms laden with several odd-shaped parcels.
“S-sir,” stammered Ciara, rising so quickly that a sheaf of notes slid from her lap.
“Forgive the intrusion, Lady Sheffield. I did not realize you were already entertaining,” he said, smoothly shifting the packages to retrieve the fallen papers. Eyeing Alessandra through the spill of his sable hair, the earl turned the gesture into an artful bow. “Might I have the honor of being introduced to your lovely friend?”
Lud, nothing seemed to throw the earl off balance. He probably contrived to look graceful even when falling naked into a fountain.
Aware of her own skittering pulse, she tried to control the quaver of her voice. “But it’s far too early for morning calls.”
“Ah,
but a fiancé should be allowed a few small liberties, should he not?” replied Lucas with a charming smile.
“No—” began Ciara.
“Why, yes,” countered Alessandra. “Of course.” Her friend rose gracefully and extended a hand. “You need no introduction, Lord Hadley.”
“Alas, it seems that my reputation precedes me,” he murmured, his lips brushing her rings.
“Allow me to introduce Marchesa della Giamatti,” said Ciara, feeling a little flustered. “She is privy to our business arrangement, sir,” she added softly. “So there is no need for false flatteries.”
Arching a brow, Alessandra waggled a subtle reproach.
However, the unexpected sight of Hadley’s smiling face was having an unnerving effect on her. “As you can see, sir, we are rather busy with a session of serious scholarship. So if you don’t mind…”
“I did not intend to interrupt your work, Lady Sheffield. I just stopped to leave off these packages.”
“What are they?” she asked suspiciously.
Lucas slowly peeled the wrapping paper from the top item. “First of all, these are for you.”
A rush of air slipped from her lips on regarding the bouquet of flowers. Instead of the usual formal arrangement of roses or tulips, the individual blooms were a mixture of sizes and shapes, their subtle palette of pale blues and delicate lavenders set off by curling green fronds of lacy ferns. The effect was striking—the natural forms seemed so gloriously alive.
“Bellissimo,” murmured Alessandra.
“Y-yes, they are quite beautiful,” intoned Ciara, feeling her heart give a lurch as he passed them over.
“The other parcel is for Peregrine.” Lucas glanced at the two children tossing the ball back and forth. “I take it the young lady is the errant marksman who hit him square between the eyes.”
“My daughter, Isabella,” explained Alessandra. “As for her aim, it is improving.” After a fraction of a pause, she added, “That is to say, there have been no near-fatalities this morning.”
“Miss Isabella looks to have excellent form. I daresay with a few more pointers—and the correct equipment—both she and Peregrine will pose no imminent peril to each other.” Untying the twine, Lucas parted the paper to reveal several varnished cricket bats and a half-dozen new balls. “Silliman’s finest,” he said. “I took the liberty of selecting the proper models for children. With your permission, Lady Sheffield…” His brow winged up in question.
Ciara gave a tiny nod.
“Excellent.” Lucas moved to the door. “I shall leave you ladies to your work, while I indulge in a little play.” He had the audacity to wink. “As you can imagine, we dissolute rakes are not up to any intellectual efforts this early in the day.”
A whoop of delight from Peregrine greeted the earl as he sauntered outside. The new sporting gear elicited even more excitement, and after a brief interlude of eager inspection, both children were pleading for him to join in the game.
“Hmmm. This is becoming more interesting by the moment.” Her friend watched Hadley remove his coat and roll up his shirtsleeves. “I have a feeling there is more to this affair than meets the eye.”
“Let us focus on the manuscript,” said Ciara quickly. “Its secrets are far more important than my private life.”
Alessandra took the bouquet and inhaled deeply. “Cara, far be it for me to lecture, but I have learned from experience that life’s mysteries cannot always be solved with reason. Sometimes they unravel themselves in the most unpredictable ways.”
“Your advice is always welcome, Alessa.” She crooked a wry grimace. “Even when you are speaking in riddles.”
Her friend rang for a vase and then returned to the table. “Now, where were we?”
Ciara settled down to work, but despite her own words, she found it impossible to concentrate. The peals of light-hearted laughter were distracting. As were the occasional glimpses of Hadley romping with the children. Peregrine looked so carefree, swinging his new bat under the earl’s tutelage, and Isabella was not left out of the play. The sight of the broad-shouldered rake showing the little girl how to hold the ball forced her to swallow a smile.
The summons for luncheon was a welcome interruption. Ciara called the children in from their game. Hadley followed, looking boyishly disheveled with his cravat loosened and his hair ruffled by the breeze.
“Will you join us for some refreshment, Lord Hadley?” asked Alessandra.
“Thank you, Lady Giamatti. But I fear that I have already trespassed on Lady Sheffield’s hospitality too long.”
“On the contrary, sir,” said Ciara, managing a show of outward composure. “We would of course welcome your company.”
“Would you?” murmured Lucas, so that only she could hear. Dusting his trousers, which had several large grass stains on the knees, he added in a louder voice, “Unfortunately, I’ve a previous engagement to meet some friends at Manton’s shooting gallery.”
“Well, then let us not keep you,” she answered quickly.
Lucas seemed amused by her wish to hurry him out the door. “I shall run—but will return this evening. I trust you have not forgotten that we are scheduled to attend a recital at the Society of Sacred Music.”
“Good heavens, you really are a saint,” murmured Alessandra. “Their programs are exceeding boring.”
“So I have heard. However, the patroness is a very influential lady in Society, and her support will be of great help to Lady Sheffield if her late husband’s family continues its campaign to steal away her son.”
“A saint, indeed, to endure several tedious hours of ancient hymns, for Ciara’s sake.”
Lucas flashed an angelic grin. “No, just a poor sinner doing penance for all my previous evil deeds.”
Mention of Peregrine’s peril sent a shiver down her spine, but Ciara did her best to cover her fear. “I trust you will be on your best behavior tonight. That is, after all, part of our deal.”
“Of course.” Before she could draw away, he pressed a kiss to her hand. “Doing business with you is a pleasure, Lady Sheffield. Just be sure to keep up your end of the bargain.”
Chapter Thirteen
Feeling virtuous?” asked Lucas as the carriage set off into the swirling midnight mist.
“Feeling tired,” replied Ciara, leaning back against the seat and stifling a yawn. “You may be used to staying up until the wee hours of dawn night after night, but I am not.” She gave a feline stretch of her legs. “You were right—the music was exceeding boring, but at least we did not have to dance. Another waltz and I fear my toes might have fallen off.”
The flickering lamp cast a halo of light around her head. Against the midnight-dark shadows, the finespun curls falling around her shoulders gleamed like burnished gold.
“Sore, are they?” he murmured, watching the flickering flame play over her lowered lashes.
“Mmmm, a steaming soak in scented water would feel like heaven.”
The tip of her evening slipper was resting against his shoe. On impulse, he reached down and took hold of her foot.
“Hadley!” Her eyes flew open.
“Relax, sweetheart.” Lucas untied the ribbon and eased off the smooth satin.
“But—”
He began massaging her toes. “We could, of course, stop at the Berkeley Square fountain, but I assure you that the water is quite frigid against bare skin.” Teasing his thumb across her arch, he said, “Perhaps this will serve as an acceptable alternative.”
Ciara tried to wiggle free. “It’s not acceptable,” she mumbled. “It’s… inappropriate.”
“Ah, but who will know except us?” Keeping a firm hold, he deepened the pressure of his strokes. “How does this feel?”
“Divine,” she said after a moment of hesitation. “Though I shouldn’t admit it.”
In the swirl of light and shadow, her expression looked achingly vulnerable. “Why not? There’s no sin in allowing yourself to indulge in a little naughtiness
once in a while.”
“That’s hardly a surprising sentiment, coming from you.” She tried to sound firm, but a tiny smile played at the corners of her mouth. “You are, after all, an expert in sin.”
Lucas fingered the delicate texture of her stocking. “A connoisseur,” he agreed with a soft laugh.
Her hips twitched against the soft leather as she tried to jerk free.
“Stay still, Ciara,” he said. “Why not just”—he tickled the ball of her foot—“let yourself lie back and enjoy a little pleasure.”
“That would be wanton,” she whispered.
“And wicked,” he replied. “But haven’t you ever wanted to be a little wicked?”
No. Yes! No.
Ciara couldn’t find her voice to reply.
“I, on the other hand, have no compunction about indulging in wickedness.”
Rip.
The sound of tearing silk jolted her upright. “Hadley!” she gasped as he peeled her now-ruined stocking down to her ankle. The touch of night air against her now-bare skin was shockingly intimate.
But not half so intimate as the flick of his tongue against her toes.
“Oh, that is… depraved,” she protested. But her wiggling proved too weak to break free his hold.
“Mmmm, yes.” He nibbled at her flesh. “But I am a rakehell scoundrel, remember?”
How could she possibly forget?
“And a rakehell scoundrel is wont to kiss a lady in all sorts of shocking places.”
Oh, Lud—was he really suckling her big toe? The wet warmth of his mouth sent a surge of heat through every nook and crevasse of her body. The sensation somehow dissolved every last bit of rational thought, for she heard herself blurt out, “Like the Grotto of Venus?”
As Lucas lifted his head, the fire-gold lantern flame danced along his smile. “Why, Lady Sheffield, have you been reading more erotic books?”
“N-no,” she exclaimed with a guilty start.
“No?” He arched a brow. “I doubt you discovered that term in one of your scholarly textbooks.”
“If you must know, I—I overheard some ladies discussing your sexual prowess in the park,” she confessed.
