A Reckless Encounter

by Rosemary Rogers

  Rising to her feet, she put a hand against the wall to brace herself as she smoothed her skirts and collected her wits. It was fashionable for females to swoon. Perhaps she would use that excuse, though she detested those who yielded to such feeble behavior.

  “Are you ill, Miss St. Clair?”

  Celia’s head jerked up. Northington stood before her, his dark visage a mask of polite concern. She considered briefly, then stifled the impulse to flee, and nodded.

  “I fear I felt a bit overwhelmed by all the noise. I’m accustomed to a more quiet life.”

  “So I understand. Lady Leverton informs me that you’re from Georgetown in the American capital.”

  “Yes. Yes, I lived there with my parents until their deaths.” She said it calmly, but inside, a volley of angry, baffling emotions seethed.

  How distressing to be reminded—and how dare he stand there staring down at her with that cool, confident smile on his handsome face, as if he knew how attractive he was, how intimidated he made her feel…how his voice seemed to reach down into her with the potent heat of fine brandy…

  “My father once lived in Georgetown,” he was saying, “but it was over ten years ago. He rarely speaks of his travels, but my mother tells me it’s a lovely region.”

  His father…his father…God, it’s his father who raped and murdered…

  “Yes,” she said when the silence stretched too long, aware of his narrowed stare, the cock of his black brow and his faintly sardonic smile. “Parts of it are certainly lovely, though much of it is giving way to new buildings and construction…If you will pardon me, my lord, I do feel a bit unsteady yet.”

  I have to escape him, she thought distractedly. Oh, why won’t he go away?

  But Northington moved swiftly to cup her elbow, his hand easily supporting her as she eased back to the bench cushions. His hand lingered, fingers strong and demanding upon her arm.

  “You didn’t seem the type to swoon, Miss St. Clair,” he said with a tilt of his dark brow.

  Perhaps swooning would have to remain the convenient excuse for her peculiar behavior, she thought with angry distraction. She took several deep breaths to clear her head, aware of him so close to her, his hand upon her arm, the heat from his body a raw force that threatened to suffocate her. He was unnerving. And he was the wrong man.

  Yet he was Lord Northington’s son…Perhaps not all was lost. Through the son, she might yet reach the father.

  Yes…

  A faint smile curved her lips as she tilted back her head to look up at Northington through her lashes.

  6

  Shadows draped the recess beneath the stairs, and light filtered through potted palms into the alcove to barely illuminate Celia St. Clair’s face. Wide-eyed, she stared up at Colter in the thin light. A delicate fineness of bone structure rescued her features from the ordinary and made them striking. High cheekbones, a full mouth with well-shaped lips, a hint of cleft in her chin, and wide-spaced gray—no, green eyes were made unusual by a trick of fate. Harvey was right. She was a prime article.

  She was also feigning a swoon and doing very badly at it.

  “I’ve seen better actresses in the pit at Covent Garden,” he said when she did not reply to his observation, and saw her eyes widen, absorbing dull light like a cheap mirror.

  “No doubt you have, my lord,” she said with a lift of perfectly arched eyebrows. “But what has that to do with me?”

  “Your swoon. You’re not faint.”

  A smile curved her mouth into a tempting bow, and she met his gaze boldly. “Not in the least bit.”

  Her voice was husky, low-pitched and slow, each word a rich drawl. He smiled.

  “Ah, then I am to understand that you wished to avoid my company.”

  “You’re very astute, my lord.”

  Little baggage! It was an unexpected response. He had anticipated the usual demur, the protests that she truly was of delicate constitution—or maybe even a shy confession that she had wished to speak with him alone—but not this frank surrender and even more blunt admission that she did not desire his company.

  His suspicions may be wrong; her acquaintance with James Carlisle could be as innocent as it had seemed.

  “Am I that heinous?” He moved to sit beside her on the bench. She did not move coyly away, but gazed at him with a steady stare. A pulse beat in the hollow of her throat, ivory skin gleaming softly in the pale light as she seemed to consider his question.

  “Having just made your acquaintance, I could hardly come to such a conclusion so rapidly. Did you follow me just to ask that question, my lord?”

  “No.” He observed her with growing amusement. “Your cousin sent me after you. A rather obvious ploy to extend our acquaintance.”

  “Then I trust you are now convinced I had nothing to do with that.”

  “Not entirely.” His eyes narrowed, noting that brown lashes lowered over a gleam in her eyes she couldn’t quite hide. For the first time that he could recall, he wasn’t certain of a woman’s motives. It was intriguing.

  He leaned closer, saw her involuntary recoil. “It could be a conspiracy between you to compromise me. You needn’t work so hard at it. I can be quite adaptable.”

  “That’s very enlightened of you, my lord, but I fear you overrate your charms.”

  She turned slightly, giving him an excellent view of the tops of her breasts above the edge of her bodice—a deliberate ploy that revealed an enticing shadow between them. Tempting. Provocative. And damned distracting.

  He dragged his attention slowly away when she said in husky, beguiling tones, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do not wish to court unnecessary gossip or nasty speculation as to our activities in a dark corner. Your reputation may thrive on such, but mine, I assure you, will not.”

  She rose from the bench and he rose with her, putting out his arm to delay her progress, stretching it in front of her so that she halted and turned to look up at him with a haughtily lifted brow.

  “You are impeding me, my lord.”

  “Only for a moment.” He resisted the sudden impulse to touch a single golden curl that draped over her bare shoulder; it drew his attention back to the pale gleaming breasts, rounded and perfect above her demure bodice.

  “If you are through ogling me, my lord, I wish to pass. Please move aside.”

  A slow smile curved his mouth. “But perhaps I’m not through ogling you, Miss St. Clair. I find the view most enticing.”

  “And I find you boorish. Step aside or I shall call for a footman to remove you from my path.”

  She meant it. There was determination in her eyes, a hot, fierce gleam that convinced him. He let his arm drop and she moved past him without a backward glance to glide gracefully across the hallway and toward the ballroom.

  Colter crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. Twice in the space of a few minutes, she had given him the cut direct. It was as irritating as it was intriguing.

  “I say, old man, looks as if the lady ain’t that interested. I’m shocked.” Harvey loomed out of the dim alcove shadows, grinning like an idiot. “My first opinion of her intelligence has just been proven.”

  “Devil take you, Harvey.” Colter watched as she moved across the hallway to enter the ballroom. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

  Harvey glanced after Miss St. Clair with a thoughtful expression. “Not at all,” he said with a shrug. “But the lady certainly is. If I were as plump in the pocket as you are, I’d have a go at her myself, but I need a wealthy wife instead of a beauty.”

  It would do no good to remind Harvey that he had only himself to blame for his lack of coin; gambling whittled away what fortune he had inherited from his mother, while his father, the Baron Leawood, habitually gambled away his own bank account. “You should make wise investments,” he said, “so you can afford her.”

  “What of your shipping investments?” Harvey asked, hazel eyes reflecting the dim glow of a wall sconce that barely lightened the alc
ove shadows. “Is it true that one of your ships went down with all hands and cargo aboard?”

  “It’s always possible. Nothing is known for certain yet.”

  “Rumor has it that you’re negotiating to purchase a fleet of steamships now that a vessel has successfully navigated the Atlantic. Deuced amazing thing, the powering of ships by steam instead of sail, but efficient enough, I suppose. These iron monsters are said to be safer, more reliable in storms without the weight of top masts and sails, but bloody strange looking.”

  Colter regarded him with a lifted brow. “Where did you hear that rumor?”

  Those negotiations were private, and still not yet completed. It was his own venture, since his father and the board were reluctant to take on any new, unproven mode of transport yet. A foolish failure to seize new opportunity in his opinion. How the hell did Harvey know of it?

  Startled, Harvey shrugged. “It’s just a vague rumor I heard at White’s—or maybe it was Brooks’s. Damned if I can remember who said it or when. Been meaning to ask you about it. Intriguing business, these new inventions, but risky at times.”

  “Any business venture is risky. Without risk, there’s little profit.”

  “And you’re a master at taking risks, old boy.” A faint smile curled his mouth. “A hero with a drawer full of commendations and medals. The risk of investing funds in precarious ventures does not compare.”

  “I never knew you to be so interested in my business affairs, Harvey.” It was said softly, but there was a steely warning beneath the comment that was obvious even to the baronet.

  Harvey shrugged.

  “Not so much interested as intrigued, on an idle basis. You know where my interests lie for the most part. I merely envy your ability to spin gold from straw.”

  Amused, Colter drawled, “It still takes effort on my part to do the spinning, Harvey. Think of something other than cards and drink and your fortunes will change quickly enough. Marry a wealthy widow.”

  “That’s easy enough for you to say, when all you have to do is crook your finger and females flock to you. It’d be simpler to understand if it was only your money, but from the sighs and moans of unrequited love I hear, you’ve something more to offer than mere coin.”

  “Yes. It’s called a title. Women may claim to want only love, but beneath the simpering sighs and fluttering hearts you’ll find a tenacious desire for control. They just cloak it in vows of passion and loyalty.”

  “Cynical bastard, aren’t you.”

  “I prefer to think of it as cautious.”

  “You would, of course, deny any involvement with the luscious Countess D’Argent, for instance? Or the ever so lovely Lady Montravers, neither of whom need another title when they have their husbands’ names and money?”

  Harvey laughed when Colter merely cocked a brow at him, then inclined his head toward the ballroom and said with a meaningful glance, “Here comes one of your former involvements now. It’s time for me to disappear.”

  A whiff of perfume caught Colter’s attention and diverted it to the lovely brunette crossing the foyer.

  “Northington, what a delight to see you again. It’s been far too long.”

  Lady Katherine, daughter of an earl, wife of the earl of Cresswood, glided toward him on an inexorable course, her scent and smile promising pleasant diversions.

  An insatiable lover, Katherine was still a beauty. It had been three years since they’d slept together. The parting had been amicable enough, with both moving on to other partners. Now she was wed to an earl, her goal at last attained.

  “Lady Cresswood,” he said politely, and bowed over the hand she held out to him as if they were the barest of acquaintances.

  She tapped him with her folded fan. “Rogue. Don’t pretend you scarcely know me. I’ve not forgotten former—pleasures—even if you seem to have done so.”

  “I never forget beautiful women or fast horses,” he said with a faint smile, and would have released her hand had she not gripped him tightly in her fingers.

  “Sir John,” she said without looking at Harvey. “How pleasant to see you again.”

  Harvey promptly took his cue. “And you, my lady. Pardon me, if you will, as I see some old friends beckoning me.”

  Katherine didn’t bother to acknowledge his departure, but kept her amber gaze on Colter.

  “It’s been far too long, you wicked scoundrel. Are you avoiding me?”

  “Not you, but I’ve no desire to meet your husband at dawn under the oaks in Hyde Park.”

  She laughed, a throaty sound, her husky voice a purr when she said softly, “Am I not worth risking your life?”

  “Decidedly. But no woman is worth prison.”

  Another playful tap of her fan on his arm, and she released his hand to run her fingers up his sleeve in a light caress. “My my, we do have our preferences straight. What makes you so certain you would kill my husband in a duel? You might—” she leaned close, her breath a warmth against his cheek “—only wound him.”

  “If I’m put to the trouble of meeting a man with weapons, my sweet, I do not leave him alive to try again.”

  “I always said you were a dangerous beast.” She drew back slightly. Excitement gleamed in those amber eyes, a golden glow that couldn’t hide the sheen of barely concealed lust. Many were their nights together when he’d left her bed with claw marks on his back, marks she’d made in the heat of passion until he’d sworn at her, jerked her hands over her head to take her roughly, as she liked him to do. Lady Katherine preferred her sexual encounters to be contests, and bloodletting was expected. He had learned quickly enough to treat her as a whore and not a lady. It heightened her passion.

  Now she leaned even closer, displaying the generous swells of her breasts. She’d rouged her nipples; they were clearly visible beneath the low bodice of her gown, an invitation and promise.

  “I’ve missed you,” she murmured, and he took her hand from his sleeve to bring it to his mouth, lips grazing her knuckles lightly at first, then with his teeth. She drew in a sharp, excited breath.

  “You’ve not had a dearth of admirers in your bed from what I hear, Katherine,” he said, and she pursed her lips in a pretense of pouting.

  “None as formidable as you, Colter. You’re the only man capable of earning my respect.”

  “You mean obedience. Give them a whip to stripe your lovely backside, and they’ll earn your respect quickly enough.”

  “Oh, that’s something to consider.”

  He smiled, a sardonic twist of his mouth. No doubt, Lady Katherine already owned silken whips and ropes and other toys to play the games she liked. She was a feral creature, with tiger eyes and a body made for pleasure, not for the demure social life a title and money required.

  “You’d do well as a bird of paradise,” he drawled. Instead of being insulted, she agreed.

  “I’ve thought of it. If I could manage it without anyone knowing my identity, I swear I’d enjoy it. I’d be the most sought after demimonde in all of England.”

  “I’ve no doubt of that, little cat. But behave yourself here. Eyes and ears are everywhere.”

  She’d slipped her hand between their bodies to run her fingers over his belly and lower, practiced strokes of her hand that summoned an instant erection.

  “Damn you,” he said calmly, and grasped her wrist in a steely grip. She only laughed, brows arching.

  “It’s dark in this corner, Colter. Let’s step back a bit. I’ll lift my skirts and you—”

  “Require much more time than we’d have here,” he cut in. He flicked the backs of his fingers against the soft curve of her cheek in a light rebuke. “Don’t tempt me. I’ve enough temptations.”

  “Yes, so I saw earlier.” Unperturbed by his refusal, quite confident in her own beauty and ability to arouse him, she tilted her head toward the ballroom. “That milk and water Colonial with no manners. Lady Leverton presents her as her protégé, but it’s doubtful she’ll be accepted. It will be most s
urprising if Lady Jersey grants her a voucher to Almack’s.”

  “I doubt Miss St. Clair will feel the lack. I’ve not noticed many men here asking Lady Jersey’s opinion.”

  “No? Perhaps you’re right.” Katherine glanced toward the ballroom again, her gaze narrowed and thoughtful. “Do you intend to pursue Miss St. Clair?”

  “Pursue is hardly the word I’d use, but I’ve never been one to turn down an invitation from a lovely lady. Do you have any objections?”

  “Several hundred, but all purely personal. Do give it a try. It should be amusing to observe. I predict she will be quite overcome by your attentions, but hardly swept away.”

  Again the folded fan tapped against his chest playfully. “I recognize her type, Colter. Ice runs in her veins instead of hot blood as in mine. You’ll grow weary of trying to thaw her out and seek warmer beds quite soon. My bed is always…very…warm.”

  The last was said huskily as she drew her hand from the slim column of her throat to toy with an ornate ruby-and-gold necklace circling her neck. Long fingers idly twisted the ruby pendant that dangled between her breasts, dragging it over plump swells to caress the rouged nipples so easily visible beneath her plunging bodice.

  “Ever subtle, aren’t you,” he observed, and her smile widened.

  “Subtlety is overrated, my lord Northington. Too bad I didn’t know your brother would die and you would be in line for the title. I might have waited for you.”

  “You wouldn’t like marriage to me,” he said bluntly. “I’d beat you every time you were unfaithful.”

  She shivered. “A delicious temptation.”

  “You’d tire of it soon enough.”

  “What you really mean is you would tire of it soon enough.”

  “You know me much better than I thought, Katherine.”

  “Yes, my handsome, dangerous cavalier, I certainly do. Go now, for I see that the little Colonial has presented you with a challenge you’re determined to meet. When you tire of the cold, I’ll be waiting.”

  Colter left the alcove and reentered the ballroom. He hadn’t bothered correcting Katherine. Let her think what she would. He had no intention of explaining his true reasons for being here. He just wished he knew what to think of Celia St. Clair.