“Truly?” Her lips slid into that mysterious half grin, and the need to see the rest of her face burned in him. “So the entire time I saw you searching the crowd, you were looking for me?” Her accent was unusual—English upper class mixed with a tinge of French.
“Aye, for you,” he said. “You were watching me from your vantage?”
“Raptly,” she said, again straightforward, again surprising him.
The idea of her noticing him gave him an odd sense of gratification. “You’re no’ from London, are you?” When she shook her head, he asked, “Why are you here?”
“Do you want the truth or an answer fit for a masquerade?”
“Truth.”
“I’ve come to England to search for a rich husband,” she said.
“No’ unusual,” he replied. “At least you have the ballocks to admit it.”
“I have a proposal waiting in the wings at home,” she said, then frowned. “Though I had hoped not to fall back on that one.”
“How is your hunt going?”
“Not as well as I’d wished,” she said. “A few discountable proposals.”
“Discountable? Why?”
“Whenever I ask them to qualify themselves, they back off.”
“Is that so?” he asked, and when she nodded solemnly, he felt a completely unfamiliar tug at his lips. “And how would a man qualify himself to you?”
“By giving me a token that would actually be dear to him, like an expensive ring or a pair of matched bays, or something along those lines.”
“You’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“I think of nothing else,” she said so softly that he scarcely heard her. Then she added, “I did almost secure one. A truly good man.” Her blond brows drew together as she clearly mused about him. “There might still be the slimmest hope with that one.”
For the first time in his life and at the age of thirty-three, Ethan felt the unmistakable heat of jealousy.
What the bloody hell is wrong with me? “Then should you no’ be working tonight on securing him?” he asked, his voice colder.
She blinked up at him. “Oh. Well, the man I mentioned went out for the evening. I’m his sister’s houseguest, so I’m accompanying her tonight.”
That generation of Weylands had only one male—Quin. Ethan ground his teeth. Quin had always been a favorite with the ladies.
She sighed. “Ça ne fait rien. It doesn’t matter.” Her voice was growing a bit slurred.
“No, it does no’.” The hell she’d be securing Quin. Ethan would have to see her around London continually as their paths crossed—and if tonight was any indication, he’d have to continually cuckold Quin. “Forget him. He’s no’ here and I am.”
She gazed up at him and tilted her head. “Take off your mask.”
“That defeats the purpose of a masquerade, does it no’?” If he removed it, she would stop looking up at him with a growing curiosity glinting in her eyes, and instead, stare in horror. “I can enjoy you just as well with our masks on.”
“And what makes you think I’d allow you to ‘enjoy’ me?” A flirtatious note had eased into her voice, so subtly he might have missed it. Not coquettish—but amused, intrigued.
She was playing, enjoying herself, but she had no idea what she toyed with. “I’ve a sense for these things.” He brushed the backs of his fingers below the sapphire silk of her mask, down her cheek, and she allowed it. “Tonight you’re aching for a man.”
At that, she glanced away. “You might be right, Scot,” she said casually, then faced him once more. Her voice a purr, she asked, “But are you the man I await…where I ache?”
He felt on the verge of grinning. Ach, he liked this excitement. This bandying. He liked that she flirted with him, even knowing she didn’t plan to go further. Why hadn’t a man like himself been attending masquerades every bloody week?
“I am that man.” He took her by her tiny waist and lifted her onto the table along the wall.
“Scot, put me down!” she cried, but he could tell she was excited, well past intrigued now. “Why did you do that?”
“I want to be face-to-face with you when I kiss you for the first time.”
Finally, his words drew a small gasp from her lips. “Are you always so arrogant?”
“Aye, always.” He wedged his hips between her legs.
“You need to let me down,” she said, even as she hesitantly ran her fingertip over his arm—as if she’d struggled not to but hadn’t been able to help herself. “I’ve no time or use for handsome rakes with smooth words.”
His lips did curl then, pulling on the tight skin of his face, forcing him to recall that he didn’t smile—and that he was no longer handsome. “How do you know what I look like? This mask covers most of my face.”
“You have a powerful body and a seductive smile. Gorgeous eyes,” she said in a breathy voice that made his shaft throb. “You said you’ve a sense for certain things—well, I appreciate handsome men. An aficionada, if you will. There’s a reason I spied you out tonight.”
“Is that so?” When she nodded, he said, “Tell me your name.”
“That defeats the purpose of a masquerade, does it not?” she answered, repeating his words. She placed her gloved hand on his chest and let it rest there, as if she couldn’t decide if she should push him away or clutch his shirt and draw him to her. He caught her hand, rucking the glove up to bare her wrist, then placed a kiss on her satiny skin there.
She shivered, tugging her hand back until he released it. “Look at you, Scot. You’re a practiced seducer, if I’ve ever seen one.”
“Practiced?” For the last decade, his flirtations hadn’t been practiced—they’d been nonexistent. And before that, he’d never needed to seduce.
Impulse had made him kiss her hand.
So where did the sodding impulse come from?
“Yes, practiced. That kiss to the wrist is a perfect communication. The brush of your lips demonstrates that you’d be gentle and sensual in bed. The firm hold on my hand as you placed it indicates that you’d be masterful at the same time.”
Gentle? He thought back. Had he ever been gentle? Right now, he recognized he had no desire to be so with her. He wanted to grind his hips against her, rubbing his erection at the juncture of her thighs to proudly show her how fierce his reaction was.
“I’ve met a lot of your kind,” she said. “Know that I’m invulnerable.”
“I take that as a challenge, aingeal. I’m going to be inside you tonight, and I’ll remind you of your words when I have your legs wrapped round my waist.”
“Oh, Scot, that won’t happen.” She shook her head, and a few glossy curls tumbled free, bouncing over her shoulder.
“You’re obviously no innocent.” Which puzzled him, since he knew she was upper class. She must indeed be a jaded thrill seeker like Jane Weyland and her crowd. “Why no’ spend a night with me?”
“You don’t think I’m untouched? Why?”
“You looked like you could have yawned at the scene we found in here. No’ many innocents would be unfazed by the sight of a prostitute giving a man a below job.”
“Well, whether I am or not is incidental. The fact remains that I’m here to find a husband—not a lover. And I’ve no time for dalliances.”
“Make time. If you’re in London to find a husband, seems like you might no’ be so disdainful to an unmarried man like myself.” He didn’t have time for this. Tomorrow he would leave town to hunt Grey, and for the first time, the call of a kill like that wasn’t as strong as the call of a woman.
She laughed then, a seductively sultry laugh that made him yearn to kiss her. “You are so unreachable, you’re not even a remote candidate.”
He tensed. “Based on what little you know of me?”
All humor gone, she said, “I know enough to suspect that you would use me and never look back. And I’m not condemning, just stating a fact.” Her guileless blue eyes were suddenly inscrutable.
“I think we have a lot in common, you and I.”
Four
“In common? Then you’re achin’ for us to tup, too.”
Maddy grinned then. She simply couldn’t help it. “And just like that, you disarm me.” There was something about his rough—markedly rough—around-the-edges demeanor that appealed to her. Who was she fooling? Everything about him appealed to her, from his rumbling brogue to his muscular body to his peculiar fixation on her.
“I want to do more than disarm you.”
Her smile faded. The Scot wasn’t giving up, and she regretted leading him on. She was behaving foolishly, like a normal girl of twenty-one might, when she didn’t have that luxury. Ever-practical Maddy felt herself closing down, the barbs sharpening, the walls going up. “My friends have probably begun to look for me by now. I need to get back to them.”
His brows drew together. “You’re truly…leaving?” He sounded baffled, as if he had no idea what to do with this.
“And you’re truly not used to being turned down?”
“I’m no’ used to being in a position to be.”
“You never pursue women?” she said in a doubtful tone.
“Never.”
“So I was the lucky first?” Normally she would roll her eyes at comments like these and take them for what they were—verbal attempts to get into her skirts. But there was something about the way he said them, as if they were significant to him, as if they were not only truths but new and unwelcome ones.
And as if he blamed her for them.
“Aye.” He exhaled. “You are the first.”
“It’s a shame that on your first sally you’re going to fail.”
His dark eyes narrowed. “And you call me arrogant? What makes you think you can dismiss me?”
“Because you are the one who sought me out.”
“And I dinna do it in vain.” He placed his hands against the wall on either side of her head, then leaned in as if to kiss her. “I’m taking you from here tonight.”
Though she was dying to know what his lips felt like, she pushed against his chest, striving to ignore how rigid and big the muscles there were. “Not a chance of that, Scot. There’s no chance in hell I’ll leave with you…”She trailed off as he drew in closer. He’s going to kiss me right now! Her breaths shallowed, and her eyelids nearly fluttered closed in pleasure at his clean scent and the heat emanating from his body.
She licked her bottom lip, and he noticed, giving her a wicked grin just as he was about to reach her. She couldn’t stifle a soft whimper—
Whistles rent the air.
She froze. “Are those police whistles?” she whispered, her lips inches from his.
“Aye,” he murmured. “I’d wager you’d like to leave with me now.”
The entire building quaked as the crowd began to flee. She felt the vibrations through the table under her bottom, and the fog of desire cleared in a rush. Self-preservation, Maddy!
“Must go now!” Ducking out from under him, she hopped down, then dragged the chair from the door. Just as she was about to dash off, he grabbed her skirt and yanked. “Let me free!” she demanded over her shoulder.
“Can you no’ hear the chaos outside? You doona stand a chance of getting past the police, but you’ll likely be trampled.”
She turned to him. “But my friends are out there!”
“They’ll be safe. Two acquaintances of mine came here tonight and already had their sights on the women you were with. They’ll see them home.”
“But—”
“Both of those men are capable—and a thousand times more honorable than I am.” He met her eyes. “Worry only for yourself, lass.”
Nibbling her bottom lip, she said, “Earlier, I saw a back way out.” Wary by nature and out of habit, she always traced an escape route from any building she entered. When she and the others had first arrived, Maddy had surveyed a back hall where she’d seen a couple donning jackets before entering it. They hadn’t returned. “Could you help me get out?”
“I seem to recall that you’d never leave with me.” He leaned back against the wall and drew a knee up, still holding her skirt. “‘No’a chance in hell, ’to be exact.” He smirked, then immediately stopped, as if even a cold smile was unwelcome. She’d seen people do that when they had missing teeth, but his were white and straight and perfect. Perfect like everything else about him. Except for his arrogance.
“Then release me.”
“I’ll see you clear of this place…for the kiss I almost stole.”
She had an insistent need to kiss him and, of course, her well-developed sense of preservation—these were not at cross-purposes, yet now was not the time. With a long-suffering sigh, she said, “If I must. But only after you get me to safety.”
He showed no alarm about what was happening outside. “A kiss now, or more later. What would one kiss hurt?”
“What would it help?” she countered, but he remained unmoved. “Oh, fine.” She crossed to him, then reached her hands up to his neck. Tugging him down, she briefly pressed her lips to the corner of his.
When he stood fully once more, he said, “Ah, aingeal, that was sweet, no doubt of it. But it was no’ quite what I had in mind.” He cupped his palm over her nape. “I’m demanding a deep kiss. Until you’re panting.”
“Panting?” she murmured, gazing up at him. “Truly?” How…titillating.
With his other hand, he cradled her face and brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. “It’ll be easier just tae show you—”
More whistles shrilled. Screams grew louder outside.
“But they’ll be back here soon—there’s no time!”
He shrugged. “Then prepare yourself for more, later.”
“Be specific, sir! What’s more?”
He drew his head back as if he’d never expected her to agree. “I want to take you.”
“Impossible.”
“Then kiss you”—he grazed the backs of his fingers over the tips of her breasts—“here.”
With a gasp at the surprise shock of pleasure, she jerked back, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. “No, emphatically no.” She wondered if he’d imagined pressing his lips against her there, and her face grew flushed. “Haven’t you heard the old adage: At least attempt your own escape from the police before you allow a strange Scotsman to kiss your breasts?”
He either coughed or laughed into his fist, then frowned at her as if she were an unknown breed of animal. “You’re a daft lass, do you ken that?”
“And you ask too much from this daft lass.” When she opened the door to step out—and was almost trampled—he reeled her back in, slamming the door.
“A wee lady like you does no’ stand a chance out there.”
“I’m not wee.” She was five foot three!
“Stubborn, too. But I canna let you run to your death.”
I can always renege. “Very well, I agree to your terms. Now can you please get me to safety?”
“Too late. The terms have changed.” When she held her tongue, he said, “You’ll let me touch you where I wish, and you’ll touch me as well.”
“You’re ruthless to take advantage of me this way!”
“You have no idea,” he said in a deliberate tone, his eyes dark with warning. “What do you think will happen if you go to jail this eve? I’m the lesser of two evils—take advantage of that, for it is no’ often the case.”
If she were jailed, Quin would have to come bail her out. The humiliation! “Yes, yes! I agree,” she said, planning to run from the Scot as soon as he freed her from this place.
“Good. Now doona let go of my hand.” His hand was warm and swallowed hers when he took it, and they both glanced down. When he caught her gaze again, he said, “As I said—wee. But I’m thinkin’ I like it.”
She didn’t have time to point out that everything was wee compared to him, because he opened the door. “Stay behind me,” he commanded, having to raise his voice over the d
in of the crowd.
“Can you get to that hall?” She pointed out that back hall she’d seen, which was now pouring fleeing patrons.
“Aye, but there’s no exit. That’s why they’re running from that direction.”
“Just go that way! Please, I can find a way out of anything!”
He faced her, narrowing his eyes, but finally started forward into the chaos. He stiff-armed anyone who got in his way, and she easily trailed along in his wake. A less powerful man wouldn’t have made any headway, much less defeated the flow to reach the hall, but he did. Then he barreled his big body through that crush as well, until he found an empty corridor.
“Yes!” she cried. “Go down there!”
He turned into it, and at the end, they came upon a door to the outside.
Bearing an oversize, ominous padlock.
He raised his brows at her, and she shrugged helplessly. She turned back, trying to determine another escape. They were trapped back here, perfectly snared—
A crash sounded behind her. She whirled around to find the Scot kicking forward, connecting the bottom of his boot to the door just beneath the lock. Splinters arced into the air. Another kick and the door flew open, making her gasp.
He was magnificent! And Maddy had seen her share of magnificent men. When she strode forward to exit, he grabbed her elbow. “No’ yet, aingeal. Behind me, then.”
She nodded breathlessly, staring up at him, not bothering to hide her admiration.
He glowered, pulling at his collar. “Stop lookin’ at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m something I’m no’.”
“I don’t understand—”
Two policemen leapt in front of them, and the Scot tossed her out of the way. He elbowed one officer and punched the other, leaving the first stumbling to his backside with a busted nose and the other laid out cold.
When the Scot grabbed her hand and pulled her after him once more, she said, “You just hit policemen!”
He grated, “They got in my way.”
Kresley Cole - [MacCarrick Brothers 03] Page 4
