A Little Bit Wild

by Victoria Dahl

  Her eyes traveled up and up until she met his dark gaze.

  "Miss York," he rumbled.

  "Mr. Bertrand."

  "Are you enjoying the dancing?"

  "I am. And you, sir?"

  "Well, Miss York, I would en joy this evening more if you would grant me the honor of a dance."

  "I... pardon?" The dazzling width of his shoulders must've turned her head. "A dance?"

  "Yes, a dance. With your beloved. Surely that can't be too much to ask?"

  "Of course not. No."

  "May I claim the first waltz then?"

  Could he dance? She felt ungenerous when she thought of her toes, but more than anything, she was concerned for her poor heart, which beat a mad rhythm at the prospect of his hands touching her.

  The first waltz. When would that be? A few moments from now? An hour? Marissa stared up at him, caught by his eyes. Finally, Jude offered that crooked half smile, and she realized that she'd missed it, missed that feeling of a secret joke that only they shared.

  A throat cleared beside her. Marissa blinked and spun to face a gentleman who was offering a sheepish bow. "Pardon the interruption, but I believe this is my dance?"

  "Oh, Mr. Jessup, of course." She took his arm with only a glance back toward Jude as she left, and did not let herself notice the delicate feel of the man's bones beneath her hand.

  Jude Bertrand might be a friend, but he was not the type of man she intended to marry. Strong bones were nothing to recommend a husband. Nothing at all.

  "You watch her," a soft voice said from behind him. Jude turned to see Patience Wellingsly smiling softly. She'd decamped a week ago, but she'd only-moved to a cousin's estate a few miles away, so he wasn't surprised to see her.

  "Pardon?" he asked.

  "Your fiancée. You watch her. As if there were no one else in the room."

  He inclined his head.

  "I wish someone would look at me that way," she sighed.

  "Come now, Mrs. Wcllingsly. You're beautiful. Lovely. Don't tell me that men haven't looked at you that way."

  "Not the right ones."

  She looked so lonely in that moment, so lost, that Jude sighed and offered his arm to lead her to a pair of chairs against the wall.

  "If you'll allow me to speak plainly . .. ?"

  She looked surprised. "Of course."

  "You've no business entertaining Aidan York if you want a man who'll cherish you. You're clever enough to realize that."

  He watched her eyes slide toward Aidan. The man leaned against a wide column, looking bored and faintly disgusted.

  "I know," she whispered. "It's only that I'm lonely. I've been lonely a long time." When she looked back to him, her face softened to tender sorrow. "Can't you understand that, Mr. Bertrand?" Her hand touched his, and she tried to hold it, but Jude eased his away.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

  Jude saw the circles under her eves and the paleness of her skin, and he wasn't as angry as he might've been. "If you want a man to look at you that way, you want love, Patience, not the comfort of someone in your bed."

  "Of course." Her elegant neck bowed.

  "Tell me you're not in love with Aidan."

  "No. Not him."

  The hair at his nape prickled in warning. "You're not saying—"

  "Do you love her?"' she interrupted. "Miss York? She seems very young."

  "She's an exceptional woman, and she'll be my wife. And that is all I intend to say to you about her."

  "I understand. I apologize. Truly, I do. You're a good man."

  He stood when she rose, and she walked calmly away, despite the tears swimming in her eyes. Christ. Did she believe herself in love with him? It seemed impossible. Yes, she'd pursued him in London, but he'd never even spent a moment alone with her.

  Still troubled by the miserable solitude in her eyes, Jude watched her make her way across the room to the door beyond. From a distance she looked as cool and regal as ever. Up close she'd never looked so sad.

  He knew that most of the ton wouldn't believe a woman as beautiful as Patience Wcllingsly could be lonely. But Jude wasn't fooled. His mother's profession was made up almost entirely of incomparable beauties who had never truly been loved.

  In fact, in a different time, with a different family, Marissa could easily have been on of those women, betrayed by her own lovely wildness.

  The song that Filled the room began to draw to a close, and Jude glanced toward the dancers to find that Marissa was leaving the floor on the arm of yet one more adorable pup.

  She smiled up at the boy, both her hands wrapped around one of his arms. But when she looked in Jude's direction, her smile became a vicious glare.

  Marissa was angry, and there was only one reason for that. She'd seen him talking with Patience.

  Good. If he had to watch her dance and flirt with a thousand young gentlemen, she could face the truth that he was hardly undesirable himself.

  Over the past weeks, he hadn't felt jealous. Not when she danced, not even when she stared at men's legs as if they were ham hocks laid out for her feasting. He hadn't felt jealous, because he'd known that, given time, he could turn Marissa's head in ways she wouldn't expect. He'd meant to tease her to the point of madness, draw out her natural lusts until she thought of no one but him. He'd meant to show her that looking at pretty boys was good fun, but the serious business of lovemaking was best left to men.

  But now ... now he was out of time. He'd rushed his seduction. Marissa had dismissed him. And he had no idea how to proceed.

  Hell and damnation. He was stuck with dancing.

  He watched Marissa stroll stiff-necked through the crowd of fashionable folk and knew he had no choice on the dancing. Any interaction would now be on her terms, not his. And he refused to give up on whatever small chance he might have of turning this false betrothal into a genuine marriage.

  Marissa approached her brother and stole the glass of brandy from his hand. Her eyes cut toward Jude before sliding away.

  Oh, yes. She was angry, and that cheered Jude immensely, but not so much that he forgot his mission. When he spotted her best friend hurrying by, he stepped into her path and offered a bow. "Miss Samuel."

  "Oh! Mr. Bertrand!"

  Her lashes fluttered nervously, and she blushed as she did each time he spoke to her. Miss Samuel was shy and soft-spoken, and he was beginning to understand Marissa's worry that she would not find a husband. She was pretty enough, but between her brazen cousin and the vivacious Miss York, Miss Samuel faded into the woodwork.

  "Might I trouble you for a dance later?"

  She stammered out an answer that seemed to be a yes, and Jude stepped out of her way to give her the chance to escape. Then he approached Marissa.

  "I believe the waltz is next," he murmured. She stiffened and said nothing, and Aidan offered him a taunting smile.

  "Lover's quarrel?"

  "I'm not sure. Have I offended you, mon coeur?”

  "Of course not," she snapped. "I'm only thirsty. Would you play the gallant and find me a glass of lemonade?"

  "I assume 'lemonade' is code for wine?"

  She was still drawing in an outraged breath when he retreated to find her a glass of wine. He found a lemonade too, just in case she'd been honest about that. But when he returned to her, she look the wine and left him with the warm and watery lemonade. She said nothing, and Aidan watched them both as if he were waiting for a play to begin.

  Jude offered a quick glare, warning his friend to stay out of it, but he was Marissa's brother, after all, and he couldn't be dissuaded.

  "So, have we picked a wedding date yet?" He smiled at the two sets of eyes burning a hole through him. "Everyone is aflutter about the match. I think we might charge for entrance to the nuptials, if we wanted. People are curious."

  Marissa casually turned to look behind her, and she saw the same thing that Jude did. If the watching eyes were any indication, people really were c
urious. Marissa look the warning and smiled widely, but her words belied the grin. "Do you think they'd enjoy it if I boxed your ears?"

  Aidan tweaked one of the curls that cascaded from the crown of her head and murmured something about what a fine lady she'd grown into.

  Marissa maintained her smile even as she finished her wine. Quite an amazing feat. Jude was still pondering that skill when she popped the glass into Aidan's hand and turned toward Jude. "Shall we do this?"

  He'd been so focused on her that he hadn't heard the strings singing out the announcement of the waltz. "Without a doubt," he said, with a little bow before he thrust the lemonade at Aidan and offered Marissa his arm. She kept her pace slow as they walked toward the dancing. He'd noticed that she tended to become deliberately proper when under stress.

  "What has you so upset?" he asked softly.

  "I am not upset. Not at all."

  "I got the distinct impression that you were glaring at me earlier."

  "Nonsense."

  "Marissa—"

  "If you want that woman," she began in a forceful whisper, "I can't fault you. She's beautiful. But I would ask that yon at least wait until our betrothal has been broken!"

  "I assume you're speaking of Mrs. Wellingsly?"

  "You know exactly whom I speak of." They were nearing the couples poised to dance, and Marissa pulled him to an even slower stroll. "You two were cuddled together in the corner as if you were—"

  "We were hardly cuddling. And I can't imagine what it matters to you, regardless."

  "People will talk!"

  "All, so you'd like me to be discreet in my affairs, while you openly flirt with every adolescent boy who dances a jig past your line of vision?"

  "I've done no such thing!"

  Her voice rang in his ears, and she blinked in shock before daring a glance around them. Everyone within a twenty-foot radius was staring. Even the conductor cleared his voice before he rushed the orchestra into the first notes of the waltz. Marissa and Jude stood at the edge of the dancers, facing each other. Her eyes got wider with each second.

  Finally, Jude simply took her hand and placed it on his shoulder. It would only be more of a scene if she stormed off. She seemed to realize this as well and clasped his hand when he offered. They both wore gloves, and Marissa's back was protected from his touch by the shell of her corset. Not to mention the fact that they were both angry. But somehow all these prohibitions only heightened the sensations of holding her.

  Her breath came too fast due to anger, and the rise of her breasts strained against her bodice. Her cheeks and lips seemed rubbed with rouge, they were so red, and her eyes glinted passion. Marissa York looked aroused, and Jude wanted to growl his lust right into the pretty shell of her ear. He hadn't been able to see her clearly in the gazebo, but this is how he would picture her now, furious and demanding and Hushed. . . .

  "Patience Wellingsly isn't my lover and she never will be."

  "She looks at you like you're a candied treat." Her eyes swept down to his chest for a bare second. "Which is entirely ridiculous at your size."

  Jude considered offering a quip about being a mouthful, but reminded himself that wicked as she was, she was not one of his mother's friends.

  "I would not dishonor you that way, Marissa. I asked you to pretend we were truly betrothed, and I'll keep my side of the bargain at least."

  Her face lost a bit of its stiffness as he spun her in a circle, just managing to avoid another couple. It was a slow waltz, thankfully, as he could not concentrate on their surroundings.

  "What does that mean?" she asked.

  "It means that I seem to have assumed the role of stranger in the past week."

  She watched a spot over his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

  "I volunteered to be used for your purposes. I understood what that meant. But I was foolish enough to think we'd become friends."

  Now she looked at him. "I... we did. You're very kind. And funny. But you make me feel ..."

  His heart burned at what she might say. "What?"

  "You make me feel..."

  His blood seemed to strain toward her.

  "... ashamed."

  The gravity she'd exerted over him was abruptly cut off, and everything inside him dropped into the pit of his stomach. "Ashamed."

  "Only because I don't know how to treat you. I don't know what you are to me. Are we friends?"

  He didn't answer. He couldn't.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered again.

  "I see. Well, if I inspire shame, I suppose I should do the gentlemanly thing and end my stay with your family."

  "Jude, don't. It's my fault. I'm only being overwrought, as you've said of me. We are friends. Or I hoped we were. And... and I've missed our conversations."

  He didn't know whether to accept her words.

  "I've made a mess of everything this past month," Marissa said.

  "You have."

  Her shoulders dropped, and in her defeat her lower lip stuck out in a seductive pout. She looked at him with shiny green eyes that widened with a deep breath. And Jude knew that if they did marry, he was going to be in very big trouble. He couldn't resist this.

  "Will you forgive me, Jude?"

  The softness of his name put a hitch in his breath. He concentrated on the waltzing for a moment, as if he were really considering his answer. Finally he offered a smile. "I suppose I will. I'd be more sure of it if you'd stop by my chambers tonight and ask me again."

  "Oh, hush!" she scolded as her pout turned into a reluctant smile.

  "On my honor, I won't tell a soul. We'll only talk."

  For a moment, a certain tilt to her chin made it seem as if she'd consider it, but then she shook her head with a laugh. "You're an awful influence on me, Mr. Bertrand."

  "I do what I can."

  "If you really wished to talk, perhaps we might share a bite of supper later? Mrs. Framersham always lays out some lovely choices."

  "I'd be honored, Miss York. Truly."

  By the time he escorted her from the dance floor, Marissa was laughing and teasing that he was a passable dancer after all, and Jude's plans were back in full force.

  He was going to marry Marissa York, and she had no idea at all, poor thing.

  Chapter 14

  "He was a lovely dancer!" Beth said for the third time that morning. "I could hardly believe it."

  Marissa nodded, though she couldn't honestly remember much of his dancing. Mostly she remembered the wide wall of his chest and the strength of his arms as he held her. They'd danced, she knew that. And there must have been other people dancing as well, but they hadn't been visible past his shoulders.

  "Really," Beth continued, "he was quite charming. By the end of the dance, I'd forgotten how intimidating he is."

  "Yes. He's really very civilized."

  Beth gasped. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I admit I was shocked when your brother announced—"

  "No, it's fine. I thought the same things when I met him, I admit."

  "But now I can understand your affection, and I'm so relieved that I see it now. He's very clever, and his eyes are quite lovely."

  His eyes. Yes, they were lovely enough, despite their forbidding darkness. She glanced out the window to the small group of men waiting on their horses. Jude stood out. He was taller. His shoulders wider. His jaw cut from steel, while the other men seemed molded of clay.

  He looked toward the house as if he sensed her gaze. Marissa's body thrilled at the thought, and she shifted on her chair. He'd asked her to come to his room last night. He'd been teasing, but still. . . she could have. If she'd dared. He wouldn't have turned her away.

  Marissa finished the last bite of eggs, and her eyes drifted toward the window again. Edward finally approached the group, only he wasn't on his mount. He stalked across the lawn like an animal.

  "Miss York." The footman spoke quietly at her side. "The baron has requested your presence in his study. He asks that you come as soon as
possible."

  She met Beth's startled eyes, and Marissa's chest swelled with dread. "Of course," she murmured. As she laid her serviette carefully on the table, movement in the window caught her eye again. Aidan and Jude had dismounted and now followed Edward back toward the house. Her pulse leapt into racing panic, and she could hardly feel her legs as she pushed to her feet.

  Possible horrors spun through her head. She dismissed the idea that her mother could have fallen ill. That hadn't been worry on Edward's face, or even grief. It had been fury.

  So what could it be? It had to be her and her awful behavior. Had Peter White called their bluff and spread tales about her?

  "Marissa?" Beth breathed.

  Marissa forced a smile. "I'm sure it's nothing."

  "I'll ask my mother to hold the carriage for a few—"

  "Nonsense. Your mother is beginning to look tired. She should get home. Please don't delay your departure for me. Anyway, I'll see you in a few days at the next fete."

  Beth gave her a long hug, and then Marissa made herself walk slowly through the entry hall and into the corridor that led to Edward's study. A brief swell of male voices rumbled over her, then ended abruptly with the sound of a door slamming. She turned the corner and faced the last few yards between her and the awful unknown. For a moment, her legs were too heavy to move. Her feet stuck to the carpet, holding her in place.

  Something terrible had happened, and it was her fault.

  This time she would not pout, whatever the solution might be. Marriage. A trip to the Continent. The nunnery. Marissa forced herself to take one step and then another, and she even managed to turn the knob before her courage gave out again. Every head in the room turned toward her. Her mother, her brothers, her cousin, and Jude. Five sets of eyes waiting for her to close the door. Again.

  "It's as we feared," Edward said.

  She slipped inside and shut the door as softly as she could.

  "He's done it."

  "Who?" she breathed.

  "Peter White." His hand whipped up, waving a piece of paper. "He's sent his threat."

  "Marriage? He still wants marriage?"

  Edward's hand tightened on the note. "No. What he wants is five-thousand pounds."