The music ended long before she was ready. “Would you like to look my dance card over to determine if there is someone else you can bilk out of a dance?”
Slowly he shook his head. “No, I suspect we’ve already set enough tongues to wagging.” Never taking his gaze from hers, he brought her hand to his lips, allowed the heat from his mouth to seep through the cloth. “Enjoy the remainder of your evening, Miss Hammersley.”
Watching him stride away, she wondered if there would ever come a time when she didn’t feel a small measure of pain when he left her behind.
He shouldn’t have come. He shouldn’t have danced with her. Yet, where she was concerned, he seemed unable to stop himself from doing the things he ought not.
A few minutes earlier, he’d seen Somerdale escort her into the gardens, and everything within him screamed that he should follow, that he should interfere, that he should ensure nothing untoward happened.
He’d made it to the edge of the terrace before rational thought returned. It was not his place to stop a gentleman from wooing her. He couldn’t be that selfish. So he moved to the distant shadows and listened as the breeze stirred the leaves, waited, like a forlorn pup that knew his mistress might never return to him. If she was smart, she wouldn’t. And if he knew anything at all about Gina, it was that she was smart.
“Hello, Lord Andrew.”
A voice that had once shimmered through him and brought pleasure now failed to stir even the slightest interest. Still, he knew it was dangerous not to face the Countess of Montley, and so he did. “Lady M.”
“You used to address me with such cherished endearments.”
“I cared for you then. I don’t now.”
“Oh, come. I’m certain there is still a part of you that stirs for me.”
Not even a quarter of an inch. Once he’d been mad for her. He’d thought it was love. Only now did he realize it hadn’t come close. What he’d felt for her had been a wild infatuation, but it would have eventually burned out. He might not have had the good fortune to realize it until after he’d wed her—if he’d had the chance to do so. But her own marriage had prevented that grave error in judgment from occurring. Strange how what had once pained him now filled him with overwhelming relief.
Stepping forward, she flattened her palm above his beating heart. It didn’t change its tempo. He would have given a stronger reaction if a fly had landed on him.
“I’ve missed you,” she said, her tone filled with innuendo and promises.
Had he missed her? In the beginning perhaps, but he hadn’t thought about her in intimate terms in years. Unlike Gina, whom he knew he would think about every day until he died. He would think of her smile and her laughter. He would remember her sitting on a bed with a harlot, grinning as she bested him at cards. He would think of her whenever he smelled violets, heard the shuffle of cards, tasted brandy, looked into green eyes.
“Do you recall how we used to meet at the Nightingale?” she asked, filling the silence that was stretching between them. “What fun we had. I was thinking perhaps it’s time we had a little reunion.”
She began to slide her hand lower; he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, stilling her actions. “I’m no longer interested in what you have to offer.”
She tilted up her chin. “Is it that silly little American heiress? I saw you waltzing with her, saw the way you looked at her … the way you once looked at me.”
“I never looked at you the way I look at her.” He didn’t say the words to hurt her, but rather because they were true, because Gina deserved to have them spoken aloud, was worthy of his making it clear that what he felt for her in no way resembled what he’d once felt for Lady M. When he gazed on Gina, he saw dreams, possibilities, adventures between the sheets and beyond them.
With Lady M, he’d only ever seen sex. He couldn’t recall a single conversation with her of any significance. With her it had always been just ribald talk, innuendo, and crudity. She’d inflamed his desires, but they were quickly doused.
With Gina, the passion always persisted, never dimmed. He suspected it never would.
“She possesses a fortune,” Lady M said. “You can’t possibly think she’ll settle for a spare when she could have a titled gentleman.”
No, she wouldn’t settle nor would he want her to. Her happiness was more important than his. He wanted her to have everything she’d ever hoped to hold. Willingly he would stand in the shadows and find contentment in watching the joy she would exhibit in realizing her dreams with someone other than him.
His silence must have unnerved Lady M because she jerked her wrist free of his hold and spit out, “You’re a fool, Andrew. You always were.”
No. Before he’d been an idiot. There was a difference. While he may have foolishly fallen for Gina, he couldn’t regret it when she made him more than he’d ever been.
Somerdale had claimed two dances in a row, but rather than taking her onto the dance floor for the first one, he’d invited her to take a stroll through the garden with him. She’d actually welcomed the opportunity to step out into the night and have the cooler air brushing over her skin.
Ever since her dance with Andrew, she’d been far too warm, constantly reliving much of the evening before. Every touch and caress. Every lap of his tongue. The feel of him covering her, the way his muscles knotted and bunched. His growls and groans. The smoldering heat in his eyes—
“… your uncle or Rexton?”
The tail end of Somerdale’s question intruded on her musings. “Pardon?”
He chuckled low, self-consciously. “How much did you not hear?”
“I fear quite a bit. My apologies. I was lost in the beauty of the gardens.” Even though they were ensconced in darkness.
“I was saying that I don’t think it should come as any surprise to you that I am quite taken with you and think we are well suited.”
Oh dear God. Surely this was not going where she suspected it might be.
“I wasn’t certain with whom I should speak regarding my intentions: your uncle or Rexton.”
Her uncle was family, blood. He resided in London, was terribly convenient. Rexton, her new brother-by-marriage, was still at Kingsbrook Park enjoying his new bride. Terribly inconvenient that. “Rexton, I should think since Tillie is the one who has always been more responsible for me than Uncle, who merely provided me with an escort to balls when Tillie was not welcomed.”
As he nodded, he didn’t appear too happy, which should have pleased her no end—to know he was anxious to move their relationship forward, to possibly ask for her hand in marriage. Instead she feared all her adventures, all the excitement, all the exhilaration would be stolen from her life. Her time with Andrew would come to an abrupt end.
She wanted one more night with him, one more spectacular night with enough naughtiness to last a lifetime. And she wasn’t above using blackmail to get it.
But when they returned to the ballroom, she couldn’t find Andrew. He wasn’t on the dance floor or at its edge. Neither was he in the card room, the smoking room, or the refreshments room. Apparently he’d left.
By the time the ball ended, it would be too late to seek him out tonight. But she was rather certain she knew how to go about seeing him on the morrow.
Chapter 11
The Nightingale tonight at 10.
—G
“What the bloody hell is this?” Andrew whispered harshly, waving the missive he’d received in the late afternoon at Gina. He’d arrived at his parents’ residence five minutes earlier, supposedly to enjoy dinner, when in fact he’d needed to confront her with what he was certain was a fairly mad scheme.
“Do you not read?” she asked innocently, standing in the center of the parlor while they waited to be joined by his parents. Did she have to look so incredibly enticing? Did she not have any rags to wear?
“Bloody hell, of course I read.” Bloody hell had been the litany rushing through his mind ever since he’d read her words. He’d m
ade a grave error in judgment allowing the other night to happen, because he couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop wanting another night with her, and then her bloody note had arrived.
“Then it should be fairly obvious.”
“You can’t go to the Nightingale Club. It’s unseemly. Besides if I didn’t ruin you before, I’m certainly not going to do it there.”
“I’m not asking you to. I simply want to see it.”
“No.”
“Hmm.” With incredible elegance, she glided over to the fireplace, stroked her finger over the mantel and his gut clenched with the reminder of how she’d stroked him. “I wonder what your brother is going to say when he learns you took me to a brothel.”
“He’s not going to learn because you swore to keep our outing a secret. I shall be terribly disappointed to learn you’re a lying tart.”
Another stroke of the marble. What the devil was wrong with him that he should find it so provocative? All morning he’d been reliving every touch she’d bestowed on him. The night they’d gone rowing he’d known her excuse of not wanting to return here drenched had been ridiculous, but he’d gladly accepted it as a viable reason not to rush her home because he’d not yet been willing to give up his time with her.
“Better a lying tart than a boring one.”
“Gina—”
She faced him, clasping her hands together. “I think he’s on the verge of asking your brother for my hand in marriage.”
Her words jumbled in his brain, made no sense. “What are you talking about?”
“Somerdale. When we were walking in the gardens last night, he asked to whom he should speak regarding his intentions toward me.”
There was a sudden roaring between his ears that made it difficult to think. “Do you want to marry him?”
“I like him well enough and I think we’re well suited.”
“He’s gambled away a good bit of his inheritance.”
She shrugged. “And mine will fill his coffers. It’s the reason gentlemen prefer heiresses, isn’t it?”
You are deserving of a man who would marry you if you were a pauper.
She took a step toward him. “I suspect things are going to move rather quickly once Tillie and Rexton return. I want one more night of adventure. Something wicked and scandalous.” Another step forward. Tilting back her head, she met and held his gaze.
“I want one more night with you doing something I shouldn’t, something I can look back on with fond memories, that will make me smile. A night when I wasn’t dull … before I settle into a life of porridge every morning.”
As he sat in the parlor of the Nightingale Club, he called himself every sort of fool. He’d given in to her desires and brought her here when no good could come of it.
They’d arrived in a hansom. Beneath her cloak, Gina had been clutching a domino mask, which led him to believe she’d have come here without him if he hadn’t reluctantly agreed to bring her—if she’d been able to find the locale. Knowing her as he did, he was fairly certain she’d have sniffed it out one way or another. Better to come here under his protection than alone. Or so he’d argued with himself.
He hadn’t visited the infamous residence since he’d ended his affair with Lady M all those years back. While initially he’d had fond memories of the place, they’d been soured by the countess’s revelations regarding her marital status. It was still difficult to believe he’d been such an idiot. Thank God, he no longer thought with the lower half of his body.
Then what the deuce are you doing here now?
Gina was going to want to go up those stairs and into one of those bedchambers. She wasn’t going to be content to have a glance around the parlor, note the various flirtations, and identify which lords were about.
When they’d arrived, he’d escorted her to a back door where the ladies entered. Someone would assist her in disrobing and putting on silk that clung to the skin and flowed with her movements. Then she would be escorted here, and he would claim her so fast it would make the other gents dizzy. The mask would conceal her identity—
Only it didn’t. He realized that the moment she strolled over the threshold. How could any man watch the vision in pink gliding into the room and not recognize her? How could they see the shining blond hair draped over one shoulder and not envision it tucked up into an elaborate coiffure at a ball? How could they not estimate her height, take in the luscious dips and swells outlined by silk and not know they were looking at Gina Hammersley?
This had been a terrible, awful idea. He didn’t recall shoving himself out of the chair but suddenly he was standing in front of her. The mask covered three quarters of her face, leaving only her mouth and chin visible, but how could any man who had danced with her not spend his time memorizing the perfect bow shape of her upper lip, not envisioned himself nibbling on the full lower lip? How could they not recognize the dark pink that begged a man to taste them?
How could any man look into her eyes and not know that no other woman in England had eyes so green, so fetching, so tempting?
He was in trouble because there was nothing he wanted more than to take her up those stairs and possess her completely, to claim her as his own, to make those eyes darken with desire, to make those lips part in wonder, to hear her sighs and moans ringing in his ears.
She smiled, and he was lost. His resolve to honor her, to not take from her what could never be returned, cracked and buckled under the weight of how desperately he wanted her.
“Lord Andrew Mabry, you despicable blackguard! I knew it was you!”
It took Andrew a moment to break free of the spell she’d placed over him. Looking past her, he saw the Earl of Montley standing there. Good Lord, he was wielding a pistol. The room had gone completely quiet and still.
“Montley—”
“Come here, you unfaithful wench,” the man barked, and Andrew realized the earl thought Gina was his wife.
Stepping in front of Gina, Andrew tried to push her even farther back, not at all happy with the resistance she was emitting. “She’s not your wife, man.”
“Don’t be absurd. Do you think I don’t recognize my own countess?”
“Apparently you don’t.”
“Come here, wife, or I shall shoot off his cock!”
Gina stepped forward. Andrew wrapped his fingers around her arm. She flung him off. “My lord, I am not your wife.”
“You deceitful liar!” He aimed the pistol at Andrew, low, very low, cocked it—
Then Gina did the very worst thing she could have done.
She flung off her mask.
Lord Montley stared agape.
It was all the evidence she required that the man was flummoxed. Darting forward—
“Gina!” Andrew snaked his arm around her waist and drew her back just as she snatched the gun from the earl’s grasp.
“I’m fine,” she told him as she put the hammer back into place and expertly removed the bullets. She did wish he hadn’t used her name, although based on the open mouths, wide eyes, and the whispers of “Miss Hammersley?” from the onlookers, her identity was no longer a secret.
She was aware of blurred movement as Andrew lunged past her. The sound of bone cracking rent the air. Montley hit the floor.
Andrew had struck him. It was unconscionable, the satisfaction that whipped through her.
Legs akimbo, Andrew stood over the fallen lord. “I’ve not been with your wife in years. With your theatrics, you have caused an innocent woman to put her reputation at risk, you toad.”
“My wife is here somewhere. I know she is. I followed her. I will find her.”
“She’s not worth it while the woman you threatened is worth everything.” He turned to face Gina, gave her a sardonic grin. “Enough adventure for you?”
“What happened tonight will be all over London by morning, the key players identified by name, your reputation ruined. No one will believe you were there out of mere curiosity.”
As th
e hansom traveled through the streets at a rapid clip, she heard defeat in Andrew’s voice. “I suppose we should have made use of a room then. If my reputation is to be tarnished, we should have taken advantage of it.”
“Gina, this isn’t funny. We can’t make light of it. It isn’t going to go away.”
She knew that. “Lady Montley, was she that woman from all those years ago? The one you loved? The one you didn’t know was married?”
“Gina—”
“Was she?”
“Yes. It appears she’s up to her old tricks. I suppose she’s never been faithful to him.”
She couldn’t care less about the woman’s promiscuity. What bothered her was that the earl had thought Gina was his wife. She couldn’t recall ever meeting the woman. A sick, roiling feeling kept her stomach churning, doubts kept her mind reeling. “Do I remind you of her?” Is that the reason you’ve given me attention, taken me to your bed?
“Good God, no. Why would you think that?” He sounded truly horrified.
“Montley mistook me for his wife.”
“The man is out of his mind with jealousy and rage. He wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“Is her hair blond?”
He sighed. “Yes, but not as fair as yours.”
The room had been dimly lit so obviously the earl had not been able to detect the slight difference. “We must be of the same height and body shape.”
“Gina.” He twisted around until he was facing her more squarely, or as squarely as possible when they sat beside each other in the cramped conveyance. “She’s taller than you. She hasn’t your delicate bone structure.”
He cradled her face. “Her eyes …” His head tilted slightly. “They don’t sparkle the way yours do.” He stroked his thumb over her mouth. “I can’t remember how she tasted or how she felt in my arms.”
His scoff, low and self-deprecating, echoed around them. “Once I thought I would never forget anything about her. Now I can hardly remember anything at all. But I do know that I would never mistake another woman—not even your twin should you have one—for you.”
His words were spoken with such sincerity that she nearly wept. “We’re going to be in a great deal of trouble, aren’t we?”
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