Reckless in Pink

by Lynne Connolly

  While Malton performed the introductions, she watched him. He only looked away when his bow required it, and then glanced up and found her challenging gaze fixed on his. He flicked her a hard stare, before he recalled himself and allowed his lids to droop over his eyes in his usual society manner.

  Her eyes widened. “I did not meet you in town last year, Lord St. Just. I would have thought you very hard to miss.”

  She scanned his red coat, matching waistcoat, and spotless white breeches. Gold buckles adorned his shoes, with the tiniest of diamonds and rubies, and his sword hilt was encrusted with jewels and engraving. The fact that good Spanish steel was sheathed beneath may have passed her scrutiny.

  Showing no sign of insult, Dominic took her careful observation as a compliment. He flourished his hat, which he’d taken off when performing his bow. “You are too kind, Lady Claudia.”

  She made a sound in the back of her throat that could have been the start of a derisive snort. Except for that tiny sound, Dominic would never have known she was laughing at him from her gracious smile and nod. She’d was probably been taught from the cradle to hide her true emotions. “My lord, it would be difficult to miss such magnificence.”

  “The color is rather engrained in me, I fear.” He straightened up. He, too, could don a public mask. After all, what was his whole appearance but a mask? “I was until recently taking the King’s shilling.”

  Gratification swept through him in a warm tide when her eyes widened. He’d won an open, startled reaction from her, enough to make him want to see more. He wanted to get to know her better.

  She was the first woman to affect him in this way since he returned to England.

  “You were a soldier?”

  “If your brother had introduced us formally, he’d have mentioned that I am Major Viscount St. Just.” Ignoring Malton’s muttered apology, he concentrated on her. “I am home now because my two cousins sadly perished last year, leaving me the sole hope of my house.”

  “The only male heir,” she murmured. “Now you come to mention it, I do recall something about that. I beg your pardon, I should have paid more attention, and I am indeed sorry for your loss.”

  He hadn’t meant to make her feel guilty. “I barely knew my cousins, I regret to say. I had a lot to arrange when I came home, so I decided not to come to town last season. My parents remain in the country.”

  Leaving him to hunt down a bride, something he resented. He hadn’t meant to marry for years yet, and he was doing his best to deter them, but it was proving difficult. Society understood the value of the estate he stood to inherit and the necessity of marrying and begetting.

  Once he’d done that, he could consider returning to the life he loved, in the army.

  For the present, he had a delicious distraction. He could only consider her as such. Someone of her temperament would probably not agree to remain quietly in the country while he went back to war. He needed someone sweet, docile, and happy to rusticate. Not this handful of trouble. Even now her eyes danced with mischief.

  Now she’d softened a little toward him, he saw that more clearly. “Were you in one of those pretty regiments, the ones that dance attendance on court and curry favor with foreign dignitaries?” she asked. “You would be a credit to them.”

  He almost laughed, but contrived to keep a straight face. “No.” He would give her no guidance. Let her discover for herself. “Discussing the past can be tedious, can it not?” He gestured to the pretty display on the counter. “Have you made your decisions, or may I assist you in any way? My mother tells me I have an excellent eye for color.”

  The laughter disappeared, and her mouth flattened. Disappointment? Perhaps so. Perhaps he should not think of getting to know her at all. “Except for the green. I dislike it. It’s so predictable to put a red-haired woman in green, don’t you think?”

  He picked up the fabric, a delicate silk in a shade of green he privately labelled puke-colored. “It slips through the fingers nicely.”

  As her hair would, did she ever let him near it. The notion came to his mind unbidden, as did the notion of stroking her skin to discover if it was as satiny as it looked.

  A fine sheen smoothed over it when the sun came out from the clouds and streamed through the broad shop windows. It turned her hair into a ball of fire, and then the light went, disappeared behind its cover.

  The shock numbed him. He dropped the fabric and reached out, touched her arm between her elbow-ruffles and her wrist.

  She gasped and drew her arm back. Startled, wide eyes met his, but he said nothing. Just stared. That contact had changed everything for him, although if anyone had asked him what “everything” meant, he couldn’t have answered.

  “St. Just, are you feeling well?”

  Malton’s gentle query brought him back from wherever he’d gone.

  With a short laugh, he shook his head to clear it of the odd emotion he had difficulty describing, even to himself. Exhilaration and a sense of rightness, of things falling into place was the nearest he got to it. Like at the end of a long military campaign.

  “I’m sorry, a moment’s inattention. That is all.” He recalled the topic of conversation. “I think, madam, there are different shades of green. While I have no doubt you would appear charming in apple green or the green of beech leaves in springtime, this green is definitely to be avoided.”

  “Hmm.” She touched the spot he had lately been, letting the material slip through her fingers.

  Dominic braced himself against a threatened shudder. What if she touched him with such delicacy? A shiver racked him. He froze his features, fighting for control.

  “I believe you are right, sir,” she said softly. “This fabric is not for me.”

  She flipped the stuff back so it folded in on itself, revealing the ivory beneath. “Nor this one. Sallow skin and ivory do not make a good combination.”

  “Not sallow. Creamy,” he said. Her skin reminded him of nothing more than a bowl of cream fresh from the dairy, whipped for a special dish, ready to enrobe and enrich a dish of fresh strawberries. It would taste best taken from her skin.

  He took a hasty step back. This highborn lady was not one he should be dallying with. How could he let himself think such a dangerous notion?

  Rebuking himself for a fool, he picked up a piece of fabric at random. The shopkeeper had created a brilliant display by tossing rolls of expensive fabric across the counter, so it lay in gorgeous disarray. The piece in his hand had cherry-red stripes. He pushed it aside and found the only one on the display that he considered worthy of her. “A green like this one.” This was stiffer taffeta, a rich green that would flatter her, the color of mint leaves. It held a cool quality that would counter her fieriness.

  “Why you are right. I hadn’t considered this one.” The minx gently removed the taffeta from his grasp and cradled it against her cheek. “It is a little rough.”

  He suppressed a sigh of longing, when he considered how soft that cheek would be.

  She knew it, too. Her eyes flashed wickedly as she blatantly checked his response to her flirting.

  He rallied. “Certainly not to be worn next to the skin, for sure,” he agreed. “Though it would make a wonderful sacque. It would drape extraordinarily well.”

  To his relief, he rediscovered his society mask. The idea of her in that puke-green silk made him bilious. “I would love to make a gift of it to you, but I fear you would take such a personal token amiss.”

  One side of her mouth quirked up, and a dimple appeared. “Indeed I would not, sir. As you said, it would come nowhere near my skin.”

  The vixen handed the stuff to the avidly listening shopkeeper. “I’ll take this. Send it to my mantua-maker, if you please. Madame Cerisot. Send the bill to Viscount St. Just. I beg your pardon. Send the account to Major Viscount St. Just.”

  He smiled. She was not trapping him into any more flirtation. From now on, he would do his best to avoid her until he’d thoroughly analyzed th
e odd feelings she evoked in him. The stirrings of lust, certainly, but anyone looking at these two would consider that. No, the more tender, gentle emotion with which he was entirely unfamiliar. Except with his parents, and that was an entirely different case. No similarities at all.

  Chapter 2

  This early in the morning very few people of fashion ventured out into Hyde Park, so Claudia considered herself safe for half an hour to follow her inclinations. At the moment, that included riding properly, not the sedate walk allowed by society.

  The rough track extended before her like a challenge, and only one or two people were cantering along it. The morning mist, like steam from a kettle, drifted around the bare earth and the grass bordering it. Trees spread their sheltering boughs at a short distance. Behind her lay houses and civilization. In front, who knew?

  Claudia walked her horse, urged him to trot, and then to canter. The breeze drifted past, ruffling her hair, even though she’d taken care to pin it firmly to her head, and her hat on top of that.

  As she passed a man riding on a fine chestnut, she kicked her mount into a gallop and shrieked.

  Such delight, to let herself go for just a few minutes! Here in town she had to think every moment of every day, work out what she should do and why, and behave like a proper lady.

  Hooves thundered behind her in a pounding gallop. A race! Her heart quickened and she urged her horse faster, leaning over his neck to gain an extra spurt of speed.

  Her hat flew off, but apart from a shot of annoyance she ignored it. The breeze accelerated to a wind, and some of her hairpins went, too. She shouted with laughter, glanced to the side, and then back again.

  Grim determination delineated the features of the man galloping by her side. He returned her glance.

  After a moment, she recognized him. He looked nothing like the exquisite she’d met in the company of her brother at the draper’s.

  This man wore plain riding-dress and rode with the skill of someone born in the saddle. No polite society smile graced his grim features. The hooded eyes and lazy regard were nowhere in evidence. In that one glance his sharp, fierce glare had almost stunned her.

  Enough to make her lose her concentration for the second it took her horse to stumble. She had to stop.

  Regaining her seat, she pulled on the reins, shortening them as her mount slowed his pace.

  Lord St. Just did the unforgiveable. He rode close and tried to seize the reins. “What are you doing?” she demanded, snatching them out of the way.

  “Dismount,” he ordered. That was what it was—an order.

  Although she usually responded badly to commands, Claudia obeyed this one. If she did not, who could tell what he would do? She didn’t know him well enough to take the risk of defying him. If he told her brother what he’d just witnessed, Marcus could well make her early morning gallops impossible.

  Sighing in exaggerated annoyance, she drew her horse to a halt by a couple of large elm trees. Before she could slide out of the saddle, he was off his horse and had his hands around her waist. His firm grasp and the way he held her as if she weighed nothing sent exhilaration flying through her. He settled her gently on the ground.

  Then his annoyed expression brought her back to earth. “What were you thinking? I saw you and heard you cry for help.”

  Even his voice sounded sharper, harder. She preferred this no-nonsense viscount to the man of fashion she’d met yesterday. However, she couldn’t allow him to get away with a blatant untruth. “I was shouting with pleasure, not crying for help. Don’t you know the difference?”

  An expression she could only describe as wolfish made his eyes brighter, gleaming with feral promise. “Sometimes they sound remarkably similar.”

  Dragging her close, he brought his lips down on hers.

  When she gasped, he drove his tongue into her mouth. Was the man mad?

  Mad or not, he kissed extremely well. Abandoning her reputation and her reason, Claudia flung her arm around his neck and returned his embrace with all the enthusiasm she could muster. Almost better than a dawn gallop.

  He groaned, and the vibrations echoed deep in her throat. He liked this as much as she did. He slid his tongue around the interior of her mouth. She caressed it, the connection intimate enough to send a thrill right to the heart of her.

  When he tried to pull away, she tightened her hold on him. She wasn’t ready for this to stop.

  Unfortunately his strength was superior to hers, and on his second attempt he pulled away. But she didn’t let go.

  “Lady Claudia, you are a flirt.”

  She smiled wickedly. “Oh, I’d say this was a bit more than flirting, wouldn’t you?”

  Shaking his head slightly, he removed her hand from his neck. “A reaction to thinking you were in danger, that’s all. I thought your horse had gone out of control. It’s a large beast for a small woman.”

  She huffed her displeasure, but she didn’t move away. That would be to give ground to this man. “He might be a gelding, but Storm still prefers to be referred to as ‘he.’ I’ve known him since a foal. He’s as gentle as a kitten.”

  As if to prove her point, Storm nudged her in the back and sent her off balance. Laughing, she fell into Lord St. Just’s arms. “Truly, there was no need for you to be concerned.” He was much stronger than she’d imagined, his fashionable clothes serving to disguise his strength. Today he wore a comfortable country coat in dark green, with a brown waistcoat and breeches. Nothing like his scarlet finery of the day before.

  “And how exactly was I expected to know that?” He spoke incisively, each word snapped off, totally unlike his fashionable self’s lazy drawl.

  He had a point. He didn’t know her well enough to know her prowess on a horse. “You’ll know next time. If you don’t recognize me, you’ll know my horse.”

  “Society would condemn you for a hoyden if they saw you like this.” Amusement lurked at the back of his voice.

  So Lord St. Just lost his temper, but it was quick as a flash, because he wasn’t angry now. Unless kisses dissipated his anger. Perhaps, having been a soldier, he was used to controlling his moods. But for that moment, he’d been angry. And she’d loved it.

  He released her and bowed slightly. “I should leave you alone if I see you in distress again, is that it?”

  “Certainly.” She put up her chin, but inside she was glowing, the effects of the kiss still radiating within her. She wanted him to repeat his action, but she doubted he’d do it just because she asked him.

  This tedious season was growing far more interesting. A challenge would liven it up nicely. “I appreciate your concern, but there was no need. Except that—” She broke off, because the hint was better than saying aloud that she would claim another kiss if she could. He could infer what he wanted.

  She bobbed a curtsey, but due to her riding habit, it was not as elegant as it otherwise might be. “Thank you for rescuing me, sir. Now if you could help me back into the saddle, I promise to go home at a sedate pace.”

  “Madam, I live to serve.”

  His deep voice and the heat in his eyes promised more, but she would not claim it now. Like a good wine, men improved if they were made to wait. Being a member of a large family had taught her much, not least that pearl of wisdom.

  He threw her into the saddle with little seeming effort and then mounted his own steed. Lifting her leg over the pommel, she settled her left foot in the stirrup and took the reins, which he’d looped over the horse’s neck for her.

  “Storm and I thank you.”

  “Can he take a man’s saddle?” He wheeled his horse, ready to turn back.

  “He’s my horse so he’s been trained for a side saddle. I daresay it wouldn’t take much to retrain him. Not that it’s likely to happen.” She gave Storm a consoling pat and set off at the pace she’d promised, a sedate walk. She didn’t go above a trot all the way home. He kept by her side the whole way, despite the groom she’d left at the gate falling in behind t
hem as they left the park.

  His conversation was unremarkable but clever. As her attention drifted from one subject, he moved swiftly to another, keeping her amused until they reached the mews behind her house. After she assured him she could get down by herself on the mounting block, he touched her gloved hand and told her to behave herself and remember her promise.

  He left, his seat on his horse immaculate. Not at all like the man she’d met before. This man intrigued her.

  She climbed down and went in the house to change for breakfast.

  Some families ate breakfast in their rooms, privately and in silence. Others ate in formal splendor, fully dressed and receiving guests. The cacophony filtering down the hall as Claudia made her way to the breakfast-parlor of the Strenshall London house sounded reassuringly familiar. She plunged in without hesitation. She needed some distraction to help her forget this morning’s disturbing but exhilarating meeting with Lord St. Just.

  The sheer noise gave some people pause. Her cousin Julius, the grand Earl of Winterton, had visibly winced when he visited them last week. He had not been back for breakfast since.

  They ate at noon, making the meal a feast. Most, like Claudia, had been out or at least up and dressed for hours. Not her brother Valentinian.

  Val was dressed in a glorious red banyan embroidered with dragons breathing fire and sported the matching cap on his unwigged head. In defiance to his mother’s edict about keeping elbows off the table, Val had his firmly in place and his chin resting on his hand. Claudia sat next to him and deliberately knocked the offending joint away.

  Val’s chin nearly hit the white linen cloth. He pulled his head clear with a whisker to spare.

  Unrepentant, Claudia clapped her hands and shrieked with laughter, and she wasn’t the only one. Her twin, Livia, grinned, as did their sister, Drusilla. Val’s twin, Darius, positively howled.