Lessons From a Scarlet Lady (6 page)
Those slim fingers trembled, and when they reached the bottom, she dropped her hand with unflattering alacrity.
Well, he was no saint, but he never despoiled innocent young ladies, so she was perfectly safe in his company. He bit back the urge to say so, unaccountably irritated. From one extreme to the other, he thought sardonically: first Maria’s brazen pursuit and now this trembling little ingénue dodging an ardent suitor and running into him instead.
Shadowed paths snaked in several different directions, box hedges and towering rhododendrons as borders, the early fall evening carrying just a hint of crispness. In light of how his companion seemed to feel about his presence, Robert said coolly, “Perhaps you’d rather walk alone.”
That finally brought her head up and she looked at him fully, her eyes wide. “No—no,” she stammered. “Not at all.”
He relaxed, and then stifled a laugh at his reaction as they began to stroll down the path to the right. Why the hell it mattered what some young—albeit pretty—chit thought of his morals—or lack thereof—was beyond his comprehension. Gossip never bothered him. The opinions of his family and a few close friends were all that counted. He didn’t consider himself above scandal or below it—he just didn’t consider it at all. Half of what was said about him wasn’t true, and the part that was true was no one’s business but his own. But if it kept London’s elite populace entertained, there was little he could do about it. From the tender age of seventeen, when he’d captured the attention of one of the stage’s most famous actresses and she’d made a very public, very risqué comment about his sexual prowess, it seemed like he’d been doomed to notoriety. In those days, he was still young enough to be mortified that his private life was fodder for the gossip mill, not to mention chagrined that his mother would learn about his torrid affair, but it had all worn off in time. At least Elise’s comment had been complimentary; nor had he had any complaints since then. Indeed, his popularity with society’s reigning belles was very convenient for a man who thoroughly enjoyed women.
Convenient with the exception of small incidents like this evening. Maria Hampton’s presumption that he would betray a friend in exchange for a casual tumble annoyed him.
“I just got the impression you might not like my company,” he said mildly.
“I’m sorry.”
At her timid apology, Robert realized he was frowning. He looked into the lady’s upturned face and noted she had bright spots of color in both cheeks, visible even in the wash of moonlight. Consciously shaking off the image of the clinging Lady Hampton, he smiled. “Sorry for what?”
“I . . . don’t know, actually,” she responded, her blush intensifying.
Whoever she was, she was very attractive, he decided. Not beautiful like Brianna, with her lustrous golden hair and perfect heart-shaped face, but quite striking.
Rebecca Marston. The name came back with sudden clarity. She was one of the Incomparables of last year who had declined to marry, and—for those inclined to court with marriage in mind, which he wasn’t—the challenge of this season. Her wealthy father was one of the most influential men in British politics, and there were rumors of the possibility of an appointment as Prime Minister in his future.
The man despised him. Robert knew it full well. That he was innocent of the perceived crime didn’t really help the matter much, since Sir Benedict had made it scathingly clear that he believed the worst.
Perhaps he and Miss Marston shouldn’t spend time alone in darkened gardens together. Robert opened his mouth to excuse himself, when a voice called out from the terrace, confirming his identification. “Miss Marston?”
Rebecca clutched his arm with unmistakable urgency. “Help me hide.”
His brows shot up. “Hide?”
“Please.” She glanced around, a clear look of panic on her lovely face. “I can’t take another moment of Lord Watts this evening or I fear I will splinter into little tiny pieces.”
Robert knew the man and sympathized, recalling her hurry to leave the ballroom. Never one to deny a lady a timely rescue, he glanced around, spotted a smaller path diverting off through the hedge and pointed. “That way.”
She responded with alacrity, dashing in front of him, and though it would probably have been more prudent to let her elude the exceedingly dull viscount on her own, Robert followed in amusement. The path led around a small pond filled with fish and lilies but came to a dead end in a tiny niche cut into the hedge. Here a bronze statue of Pan, flute and all, was flanked by two small benches. On a warm summer day it was probably a pleasant place to sit.
Right now, it was shadowed and private.
Miss Marston halted and turned, peering past him. She said in a whisper, “Do you think he saw me?”
Saw
us
, a practical voice in Robert’s head corrected. Together in a dark place alone.
us
, a practical voice in Robert’s head corrected. Together in a dark place alone.
Just what the devil was he doing?
“Miss Marston?” The call got a little bolder. And unfortunately, closer. “Rebecca?”
Damnation, it was really too dark for Watts to have identified them clearly, but he must have caught hint of enough movement to see what path they chose.
Robert put his finger to his lips and took her arm, drawing her back into the shadows. He eased her so her back was against the hedge and braced a hand on the sturdy bushes on either side of her slender shoulders, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, “Play along and I’ll get rid of him. Whatever you do, don’t speak and keep your face hidden.”
She nodded, her eyes huge and glimmering.
Robert was quite a bit taller and definitely broader, and with the uncertain lighting, he was fairly certain no one would be able to distinguish her features. Sure enough, he could hear footsteps coming their way and he knew it was just as important for
him
to get rid of Rebecca Marston’s importunate suitor as it was for her to evade His Lordship. Why the devil had Robert followed her? His unfathomable impulse would have some alarming consequences if they were caught together alone in this sheltered alcove.
him
to get rid of Rebecca Marston’s importunate suitor as it was for her to evade His Lordship. Why the devil had Robert followed her? His unfathomable impulse would have some alarming consequences if they were caught together alone in this sheltered alcove.
He lowered his head and his mouth just brushed her cheek. Not her lips, though he touched the soft, tempting corner of her mouth and could feel the sweet exhale of her breath. It was an imitation kiss, not the real thing.
Has she had the real thing?
No, not a thought appropriate to the moment.
“Put your hand on my shoulder,” he urged.
She did so, the light weight of her fingers settling hesitantly on his jacket.
As predicted, Rebecca’s hapless suitor stumbled into the little garden vignette, and Robert sensed it took Watts a moment to spot the “lovers” in their false embrace.
Well, Robert thought, this was where his reputation actually could do him some good. No one would think he had an innocent young woman backed up to a hedge for a leisurely dalliance. His lovers were always experienced, sophisticated ladies, uninterested in a permanent entanglement. Rebecca Marston didn’t fit that description at all, so Watts was unlikely to guess she was the woman in his arms.
He lifted his head, turned just enough so Watts could recognize his features and said in a clear, concise tone, “I would appreciate it if you would bugger off, my lord.”
“Oh . . . er . . . quite. My apologies, Northfield. Looking for someone . . . you know. I’ll . . . well, just move along then.” The man sounded both apologetic and embarrassed. “Sorry. Didn’t expect to find you here. Looking for someone else.”
Robert turned back without answering, ostensibly to resume kissing the young woman whose soft body was pressed just close enough to his chest that he could feel the warm resilience of her breasts through her gown and smell the haunting fragrance of what he registered with an expertise born of much experience to be jasmine.
His very favorite.
She had exquisitely soft skin, he thought as he nuzzled her jaw and listened to that buffoon, Watts, retreat down the path.
To his chagrin, he began to harden, his body reacting to her closeness and that tantalizing scent.
The voice of reason reappeared, thanks to God.
Of course she has lovely skin, a supple body, shining hair that gleams in the moonlight. After all, she is . . . what? Nineteen? Twenty at the most? Marriageable? Oh yes. And if her father noticed her departure from the ballroom and decided to follow . . .
Of course she has lovely skin, a supple body, shining hair that gleams in the moonlight. After all, she is . . . what? Nineteen? Twenty at the most? Marriageable? Oh yes. And if her father noticed her departure from the ballroom and decided to follow . . .
Considering how Sir Benedict felt about him, they might be facing each other with pistols at dawn.
Abruptly Robert straightened and stepped back. “You might want to wait here for a few minutes. I was thinking of leaving the party anyway, and will probably just retreat out the back gate.”
Rebecca Marston nodded, staring up at him, her lips just slightly parted. “Thank you. That was . . . inventive.”
Her mouth glistened invitingly. And though her gown was demure, it still managed to showcase a figure that was fashioned by nature to make a male take notice. Unlike some of the men of his acquaintance, Robert didn’t prefer petite women. Though still too short to look him in the eye, Rebecca was taller than average, and those breasts—well, he had a connoisseur’s eye, and naked, he guessed they would be nothing short of spectacular. No wonder Watts was bumbling around the gardens in search of her. She was a delectable young lady.
He might be just as foolish as Watts, standing with her there in the dark—the two of them alone, no less—and fantasizing about touching her tempting person, his growing erection proof of the lascivious direction of his thoughts.
Her undoubtedly untried, innocent person.
It was time to make a quick exit.
Robert essayed a flashing, careless smile. “My pleasure entirely.” Though bells of alarm raised a racket in his head, he couldn’t help but say, “If you ever need assistance in escaping more unwanted suitors, feel free to call on me.”
Then he swung on his heel and wisely walked away.
Chapter Three
The element of surprise is always useful. Keep in mind that men like variety. If you can provide it, then they needn’t look elsewhere for diversion.
From the chapter titled: “Understanding Your Quarry”
“D
o you mind,” Lea asked with one brow lifted askance, “telling me just what you were thinking?”
o you mind,” Lea asked with one brow lifted askance, “telling me just what you were thinking?”
It was a lovely fall day, the sky cloudless, the air warm, and they were seated in her sister’s small garden. One of the children ran in a circle in the grass, dropped down delightedly with a piercing but joyful shriek, and then rolled over without regard to the possibility of stains on her lacy dress. Brianna watched her niece’s antics, trying to hide her smile. “Can you be more specific?”
Her sister gave her a quelling glance. Lea was five years older, also blond and slender. They might look alike, but Lea had always been a little on the prim side. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. It is all over the society papers—how you wore a gown designed by that French modiste and had everyone whispering at the opera the other evening. By all accounts, it was either the height of fashion or the most provocative attire worn in public in quite some time.”
Duchess or not, all at once Brianna felt like the child she used to be, censured by her older sibling. “It was daring,” she admitted, “but I had a very good reason for deciding to wear it. It isn’t like there weren’t other women in attendance with necklines just as low.”
“I hope you realize you are one of the most envied women in society.” Lea stood up, walked over to lift her daughter gently to her feet and wipe the grass blades from her hem before urging her to resume play with the other two children. Lea returned to the bench in the warm sunshine and sank down in a graceful swirl of skirts. “You can’t do something outrageous and assume no one will comment. You are the Duchess of Rolthven.”
“I was only trying to get Colton’s attention, not everyone else’s.”
“What on earth are you talking about? It seems to me you have his attention. He is your husband.”
“I certainly did catch his notice that evening.” Brianna recalled the carriage ride with an inner smile.
“Whatever do you mean?”
Brianna shrugged, hoping it looked like casual dismissal. In truth, her feelings on the subject were anything but casual. “Is it wrong of me to want more from my marriage?”
“I thought you were over the moon with happiness to be marrying Colton, and that you are rather unfashionably in love with your husband.” Lea’s smooth brow furrowed in a small frown.
That was all true.
It was the problem, really. Had she just wanted to marry a powerful duke, she might have been satisfied with the stature, money, and influence her position now gave her. But Brianna would have married Colton—as Lea had her Henry—if he’d been ordinary in every way.
“I do love Colton—that isn’t the issue. Well, it is, I suppose.” Brianna idly adjusted her silk skirts with one hand, her gaze focused on the playing children. “I think he is pleased he married me. I know he is attracted to me, and that he even finds my company enjoyable, though we don’t see each other nearly often enough in my opinion. But does he love me? Of that, I am not so sure. In our society it is perfectly acceptable for him
not
to love me, for that matter. It is not, however, acceptable to me. Were my own feelings not engaged, I am sure I would be content. But I wish to be more than content. I want to be happy. More than that, I want
Colton
to be happy.”
not
to love me, for that matter. It is not, however, acceptable to me. Were my own feelings not engaged, I am sure I would be content. But I wish to be more than content. I want to be happy. More than that, I want
Colton
to be happy.”
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