In My Wildest Fantasies (7 page)

She turned to face him and her gaze traveled about the room, just as his had a moment ago, as if she were looking specifically for someone. Then her eyes found his. He wished again that she were not wearing a mask because he would dearly love to see her whole face. Not that he had any doubts about her beauty. Her lips were full, her skin creamy white, her nose tiny and straight. And that hair--Lord that hair. It was her crowning glory. What he wouldn't give to comb his fingers through it and see it splayed out on a pillow.

She reached up and fiddled with an earring, never taking her eyes off him as she did so, and he felt another stirring, this time in his groin when she confidently wet her lips with her tongue.

He liked confident women. Women who were capable and could handle themselves in any situation.

"Devon?" his mother said, and he realized he had not been listening. "Were you sorry to leave America?" She was repeating a question the duchess had asked.

Devon politely answered, then gazed at Lady Letitia, who smiled at him again.

He wondered if she might have a fiery spark like Helen of Troy, then sought to discover it for himself. "Will you do me the honor, Lady Letitia?"

"I would be delighted," she replied as she took his proffered hand.

He led her onto the floor for a country dance, and she engaged him in polite conversation throughout the steps, offering one-or-two-word answers to his questions. She then asked a question of her own concerning the weather, which was now a subject thoroughly exhausted. He replied courteously, however, reminding himself that this was the nature of casual discourse, and in that regard she was displaying her perfect manners.

There was not much to think about while he danced and spoke to her, so he found himself glancing away every so often in the direction of the red-haired woman who made no secret of the fact that she was watching him as well.

He could not count the number of times their eyes met across the crowded floor, nor could he deny the pleasure he gleaned from it. And he was all for pleasure tonight, looking for a diversion from all his responsibilities.

The dance came to an end, and he escorted Lady Letitia back to her mother. His own mother was now with Charlotte on the other side of the room, so he excused himself and immediately set off in their direction.

He reached them and lowered his voice. "Do either of you know that woman with the red hair? See there, she is speaking to Sir Charles."

His sister and mother both looked in the direction he implied.

"Do you mean Helen of Troy?" Charlotte asked. "Why, that is the Earl of Creighton's daughter, Lady Rebecca. She is here with her aunt, Lady Saxby. We were all surprised she attended this evening. It's the first time she has accepted one of our many invitations, which we've been sending to her father for years. Though I cannot, for the life of me, remember why."

Devon listened to all of this with astonishment and remembrance, for his ravishing Helen of Troy was none other than Lady Rebecca Newland, the young girl from that very intriguing night on the old coach road years ago. He recalled it well. She and her father had been stranded, and he'd pulled her out of a bog.

She had been dressed in black that day and had seemed older and more experienced than her years. He remembered lifting her down from his horse. Ah, yes...He would never forget that soft, lush bosom sliding down his chest.

He would also never forget how frustrated he had been to learn she was too young to touch, because there had been something about her eyes and the sumptuous sound of her voice that aroused him. He remembered the exact way her lips had puckered when she spoke, and the way she looked at him with a very obvious sexual curiosity.

And here she was, standing across a ballroom. A woman now. A confident, coquettish woman with enough sexual charisma to stop a train. How old would she be? Twenty-one? Why was she not yet someone's wife? Were the men of England blind? Perhaps she was too much for them. The thought made him smile.

"Is her father here?" he asked.

"No, just her aunt," Charlotte replied. "Evidently, her father is somewhere in India."

"Which is very surprising," his mother added, "considering the earl's reputation. He's been described as a bit of a hermit. I once heard he chases visitors off his property with a pack of dogs, but I'm sure that is overblown gossip. Look at his daughter. She is lovely, is she not? How could she blossom so beautifully under such depressing circumstances?"

"I met her father, once," Devon told them. "They were stranded on the road near here, and I offered assistance. The earl possessed a serious nature, to be sure, but he was nevertheless gracious and invited me to his home, so you are right, Mother, that must be gossip."

He was completely aware that he'd been watching Lady Rebecca the entire time he was conversing with Charlotte and his mother, and saw no reason to put off the inevitable. "I would like a proper introduction," he said, though it seemed silly after how intimate they had been so long ago. But she might not remember him, and a ballroom had its rules. "If you would be so kind, Mother."

"Certainly," she replied, starting off in that direction. "She is indeed a prestigious young lady, Devon. Despite her father's odd reputation, his title is very old, and it descends in the female line, which will make her a peeress in her own right one day, for she is an only child."

"How nice for her," he replied.

His mother sighed with frustration. "What did you think of Lady Letitia, then? Your father was adamant that you meet her this evening."

"A lovely girl as well."

"She made her debut last Season, and has an exquisite singing voice. She is Swinburne's eldest daughter, and has already turned down two marriage proposals. Mind you, these came from gentlemen who were quite beneath her, from what I understand, but you, Devon...Oh, your father would be overjoyed if..."

Devon leaned close to his mother's ear. "Let us not put the cart before the horse. Despite Father's demands, I am not ready to be matched up with a bride just yet. I only arrived at Pembroke this morning. Let me at least catch my breath and get my bearings."

"My apologies, Devon."

She led him around the edges of the ballroom until they reached Lady Rebecca and her aunt, then made the appropriate introductions. "Allow me to present Lady Saxby, and her niece, Lady Rebecca Newland, whose father is the Earl of Creighton. Ladies, my son, Lord Hawthorne."

Now that he was closer, he could see the rich green color of her eyes behind the sparkling mask, and remembered again how striking he had thought them to be that night years ago in the forest.

"It is an honor, Lady Saxby." He bowed to her, then turned to Helen of Troy. "But Lady Rebecca, we have met before, years ago. Do you recall?"

Those moist, cherry-red lips puckered into an alluring smile. "Of course I recall, Lord Hawthorne. My father and I were stranded in the woods not far from here, and you offered your assistance. How could I forget?"

Everyone in the room seemed to disappear for a moment, while he and Lady Rebecca gazed openly at one another, as if there were no secrets or pretenses between them. There was a spark of attraction, potent and exhilarating. It had been pulsing between them since their eyes had met across the room earlier that evening, and neither was about to deny it.

God, he loved how direct and forthcoming she was. He wasn't in the mood to dance around the obvious. He had desired pleasure and excitement tonight, and, by God, here it was without pointless preamble.

His mother stammered slightly. "Was...Was your journey...I beg your pardon, Lady Saxby, was it a difficult trip from Gloucester, with the recent rains?"

He regretted that his mother was uncomfortable with his blatant flirtation right under her nose, but there it was. The evening had hit a high note, to be sure, and thank God for that.

Lady Saxby described the condition of the roads while he and the lovely Lady Rebecca continued to openly observe each other. What was going through her mind right now? He would dearly love to know. What a wonderful flirt she was.

And twenty-one. Thank God for the passing of time.

At last the right moment presented itself. There was a break in his mother's conversation with Lady Saxby, and he was able to request a spot on her niece's card. As it happened, she was free for the next one, a Strauss waltz, which began right away.

He held out a gloved hand, and Lady Rebecca's eyes glimmered enticingly as she took hold.

Chapter 6

Rebecca had been right about how she would feel upon seeing Lord Hawthorne again after all these years. Her entire body was pulsing with excitement and desire, for he was even more handsome and compelling tonight than he had been upon their first meeting in the woods four years ago.

And there was something different about him. Perhaps it was the way he looked at her. Though she had almost no experience with men, her instincts told her it was because she was no longer a seventeen-year-old girl. She was a woman now. A woman whose senses were blazing with untested desire. Could he see it? Sense it? Recognize it?

Lydie's lover in the woods had always known what she'd wanted. He'd been instinctive that way. Lydie had said so.

The notion that Lord Hawthorne was instinctive in a similar way excited Rebecca beyond any imagining.

They reached the center of the room, and he slid his arm around her corseted waist, never taking his eyes off hers. Her blood coursed even faster through her veins from the thrill of his touch, which she had longed to feel on her body on so many dark, lonely nights alone. Was it possible to die from the painful restraint of passion? She almost felt faint.

Then he spoke. "My sister, Charlotte, mentioned this is the first time you have accepted one of our many invitations. I'm glad you chose a time when I would be here to pay my respects."

He held her firmly but moved with grace around the floor, and she had no trouble keeping pace with him as he turned her about the room. "I dare say, Lord Hawthorne, it is the first time, and I am quite overwhelmed by the grandeur of the evening. I apologize for our absence over the years, but I am sure you have heard that my father enjoys his privacy. He is a quiet man and we do not engage in many society gatherings."

That was putting it mildly. But Lord help her. She had not intended to sound so provincial. Surely Lord Hawthorne preferred a more sophisticated woman, a woman who could match his knowledge and worldliness. She had seen him dancing with a duke's daughter earlier.

"But your father is out of the country?"

"Yes, and I confess, my aunt has been waiting for this opportunity to steal me away."

"Remind me to thank her, because you have brightened my evening, Lady Rebecca. I only just arrived back at Pembroke this morning, and to be honest, after the day I've had, I would have been just as content to go straight to bed an hour ago. I'm glad I did not."

"I am glad, too. I am also flattered that you remember meeting my father and me all those years ago. As for myself, I never forgot it, the way you came to our rescue. It was a very...exciting evening for me. I don't know what we would have done if you hadn't come along."

"It was my pleasure, truly."

"But you were on your way somewhere at a very swift pace. I hope we did not make you late for an appointment."

"I assure you it was not important. Even if it had been, any concern over my poor punctuality would have been overshadowed by the unexpected adventure, and the very pleasant trip we took to the bog, you and I."

Despite the tension she felt--because so much of her future happiness depended on this single, vital dance--she somehow managed to laugh. "Pleasant?"

He leaned closer--so close, she could feel the heat of his moist breath in her ear. "I greatly enjoyed the perfect curve of your elbow that night."

A delicious shudder of surprise danced through her. She had come here to secretly entice him, but suddenly he seemed to be the one enticing her. Could it be, that after all she had been through lately, the fates were finally smiling down on her?

"You're the only man in the world," she confessed, "who has ever touched my elbow."

God help her, she felt as if she had just bared her soul to him. Perhaps it was too much. Her aunt had told her to be elusive.

But then he chuckled, as if he found her reply very witty, when it had not been a joke.

He spoke close to her ear again. "I wonder if one of these days I might be fortunate enough to touch it again."

She wanted to say, "Yesterday wouldn't be soon enough," but thankfully, she had more sense than that, and managed to simply smile daringly at him as he guided her around the outer edges of the dance floor, keeping perfect time with the music.

"Pardon my ignorance," he said, "but are you and your aunt staying here at the palace tonight? If so, I hope you have found your accommodations satisfactory."

"No, Lord Hawthorne, we are not staying at the palace." Did she detect a hint of disappointment in his eyes? She hoped so. "We only decided to come at the very last minute, so we are staying in the village."

"The Pembroke Inn?"

"Yes."

His voice, soft and low, filled her with quivering anticipation. "How unfortunate for me that I won't see you at breakfast in the morning. I believe the sight of you over coffee would be a most promising start to my day."