Shana Galen (7 page)

He didn’t know what the other men in the room were thinking, but he had the urge to strip the silk off her, to see for himself if that waist really was as small as he imagined, if those hips flared as he thought they would.

He reached up and loosened his cravat. Bloody hell. The room was stifling him.

“Damn,” he swore again, and Miss Seaton’s color went from wan to ashen. “Don’t faint,” he ordered the chit. She nodded, wobbling for a moment before seeming to regain her balance.

Alex let out an impatient sigh and turned his attention back to Lucia.

He had to conquer this attraction. He had no hope of ever touching her. He knew this with unequivocal certainty. So why was that insistent thorn in the back of his mind prodding him to question it? Why was that same thorn pricking him to acknowledge that nothing was impossible, that her reaction to him was sensual, that she wanted him, too?

He finished the last figure of the dance, bowed to Miss Seaton, and promenaded her—rather, held her upright—the appropriate distance around the room. All around him swarmed ladies and gentlemen of the
ton
’s lower rungs. He scowled at several of the less savory gentlemen. Lucia shouldn’t even be here. She belonged among the refinement of the duke’s ball.

Finally free of the skittish miss, he grabbed a glass of claret—couldn’t expect any gin in a place like this—downed it, and stepped onto the freedom of the terrace. The air was fresh and invigorating compared to the strangling heat of the milling crowds in the ballroom. Gripping the cold stone banister, he peered over the dark gardens. It was a starless night, as most in the city were, and the light from the brassy ballroom spilled onto the terrace, blending with the weak glow from several cheap, colorful Chinese lanterns. Taking a deep breath of the brisk air, Alex ran his hands roughly through his hair. He was just managing to sort his thoughts when he felt a warm hand caress his back.

Lucia.

He spun around, only to be faced with another lady altogether.

“Well, I can see I’m not who you’d hoped for,” she said, her voice low and breathy. “But I trust I’m an acceptable substitute.”

Alex scoured his brain for her name. Behind her, the open French doors of the ballroom cast her in stark light. She was plump, curvaceous, her hair an unnatural shade of blond. Her lips were full and pouty, and she wore rouge to enhance her features. Cheap. Easy. She was exactly what he needed right now.

Then why was his lip threatening to curl with distaste?

“I certainly hope you haven’t forgotten me because I haven’t forgotten you, Alex.” She purred his name, hands crawling to rest on his chest.

“Amelia.” Like a bad habit, the name tumbled effortlessly from his lips.

She huffed. “I must say, your manner used to be somewhat
warmer
.” She licked her lips.

“My mind was on something else.”

“Or
someone
else.” She pouted. “I saw the way you were looking at the Dashing chit tonight. You used to look at me that way, and I can assure you, you’ll get better results from me.” Her gloved hand snaked across his chest, inching downward toward the flat of his stomach. Her other hand toyed with the hair touching his collar, twirling it about her plump fingers.

Thoughts flooded his brain. She’d been his lover several years before. They got on well, but he’d broken it off after only a few encounters because—well—because that was what he did with women like Amelia. He’d had his share of mistresses, but he tired of them quickly and ended the affairs before the women came to expect too much.

Amelia was definitely the kind to expect too much. True to form, she pressed up against him, her actions bold even for the isolated terrace. Alex felt nothing for her. The once-hot fire of attraction had been replaced by the icy smoke of distaste. He opened his mouth to rebuff her when he heard a gasp.

Bloody hell.

“O
h!” The exclamation sounded tight and strangled. Cracking his eyelids open, Alex looked past Amelia to Lucia—her expression shocked and indignant. He closed his eyes again, unable to believe even he could have committed enough sins to warrant this much misery. Whatever mistakes he had made, he didn’t deserve the scene that was coming.

“Excuse me,” Lucia began, “I—I—” She broke off and turned to leave.

“Miss Dashing.” Alex cut her off, barely resisting the urge to grasp her arm. “May I introduce Mrs. Amelia—” He stopped, realizing his mistake too late. A woman of Lucia’s station did not associate with members of the demimonde, even the more reputable ones like Amelia Cox. Lucia’s jaw dropped, and her eyes widened.

“Mrs. Amelia Cox,” he finished weakly. Lucia stared at him almost a full ten seconds before recov
ering herself, turning to his former lover, and bowing very, very slightly.

Amelia was far more gracious in her curtsy, taking the opportunity to exclaim, “How fortunate! I was just asking Alex to introduce us.”

Alex winced at her familiar use of his name.

“I’m
so
pleased to make your acquaintance,” Amelia said, seeming to enjoy his discomfort. “I find that it’s always to one’s advantage to form new acquaintances, don’t you agree, Miss Dashing?”

Alex grimaced, Amelia’s gloating tone ramming his mistake home.

“Yes, of course,” Lucia replied, her voice stiff as her spine. “If you will excuse me.”

“No, Miss Dashing, pray excuse
me
.” Amelia put a hand on Lucia’s arm. Lucia stared at it pointedly. Amelia only smiled. “Don’t leave on my account. I was just going back inside.” Flashing him one last smile, she brushed past Lucia and disappeared through the French doors into the ballroom.

Alex took a breath, preparing for the coming storm. Lucia stood perfectly still, then, raising her chin a notch, she sliced him a withering glare.

“Good night, sir.”

Alex blinked. That was it?

She whirled on the heels of her white satin slippers, but before she’d taken two steps, he clasped her arm.

“Let go!” she hissed, trying to wrest her arm away.

Ignoring her struggles, he tugged her into the shadows at the end of the terrace. “That introduction was thoughtless,” he heard himself say, and she stopped fighting. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” But he did know. He’d been thinking that he had to do something—anything—to stop Lucia from leaving.

She stared at him, the surprise in her eyes at his
apology turning to frosty disdain. “Your romantic liaisons are certainly none of my affair, but in the future refrain from introducing me to your Cyprians!” She yanked her arm free.

“She’s not my mistress.”

Lucia snorted.

Alex clenched his jaw. “All right. We were lovers once. A long time ago.”

“It didn’t look like a long time ago.”

“Take my word for it.” With a glare, he dared her to doubt him. “Now tell me what you learned from Seaton.” He slid smoothly into the change of topic, hoping she’d follow suit. She gave him one last fulminating stare, then relaxed, leaning against the terrace banister. Casually, Alex propped a hip beside her. He was close enough that her arm touched his tailcoat, and he could almost smell the cinnamon and vanilla scent clinging to her.

“Nothing I didn’t already know,” she said, gazing at the twinkling gardens. “Seaton genuinely believes, as I do, that John left for a tour of Greece.”

“How do you know he believes that?”

She eyed him through lowered lids—a purely seductive gesture. Unintentional? He doubted it. Hell, she’d probably used it on Seaton.

“I told Seaton I was worried because I hadn’t heard from John in some time. He became concerned as well.”

Alex shrugged. “So?”

“So!” She threw him an impatient glance. “So, if Seaton knew John was in London, secluded with some trollop, he would have tried to ease my fears,” she explained slowly, her voice pedantic. “He’d tell me that I’d surely hear from John soon and not to worry my pretty little head.” She waved a hand. “Men can’t bear to see a woman in distress. If they
can reassure her, they always will.” She fluttered her eyelids, almost a mock of her earlier seductive gesture.

Alex raised a brow at her latest naïve observation.

“Seaton didn’t reassure me,” she said with a decisive nod. “He was concerned about John, too. In fact, he even offered to look into the matter.”

Alex started forward. “I hope you disabused him of that notion.”

“I told him that I’d call on him if I required further assistance.” She gave him another flirtatious glance. “Does that meet with your approval, Lord Selbourne?”

He leaned against the banister again. “Yes. Unfortunately, nothing you’ve said is of much use to me.”

“What do you mean?” She straightened, hands flying to her hips. “I just told you—”

“It means I’m no further in my investigation than before.”

“
We
are no further in
our
investigation than before.” She pointed a finger at him. “And you’re wrong. I’ve just ruled out the possibility that John is in London.”

“I’ll make that determination after I visit John’s tailors and the other shops he patronizes in the morning.”

“But that’s wasting precious time. John must have left for the Continent. As I see it, the only matter to be discussed is our next step.”

She
would
see it that way. At that moment Alex could have cheerfully reached out and strangled her. He settled for taking firm hold of her arms. Leaning close for emphasis, he said, “I am only going to say this one more time, so listen closely, Lucia. I do not want nor need your help in this matter.”

His glare met hers, but instead of cool disdain, he
felt a flush of heat radiate from her. Her breathing had shallowed, and he became aware of the softness of her breasts, pressed intimately against him. Her arms above her white satin gloves were warm, the skin itself coming alive in response to his touch. He caressed her arm lightly with his thumbs, liking the feel of her softness under his callused fingers.

He wanted her—more than he cared to admit. The realization hit him like the smack of heat from an inferno. She irritated and intrigued him all at once, and the mixture of emotions was confusing as hell. He knew one sure way to sort it out.

He moved his hands down her arms. It would take only the smallest movement to place his hands on her waist, then her hips, then…

He focused on her mouth, and she chose that moment to open it in reply. Alex placed one finger over her lips, and she gasped at his touch. In the weak light from the Oriental lanterns, her eyes shone wide and luminous.

And dark. They were dark with desire and promise. If he looked too long, he could drown in the deep waters of her eyes, incapable of breaking free to the surface.

Unable to stop himself, he stroked her sensitive lower lip with the pad of his thumb. He wanted to lose himself in her, if only for the moment. Her lips were rosy against the bronze skin of his hand, and he paused, absorbed by the contrast. She parted her lips then, and his thumb grazed her front teeth. He felt her tongue taste his skin tentatively, and he wondered who was seducing whom.

Their gazes locked again, and Alex felt her shiver as she closed her eyes. His thumb traced a path from her lips across the elegant bones of her jaw and cheek,
and he cupped her face in his palm, leaning close, wanting to feel the fullness of her lips under his.

“Lucia?”

She stiffened.

“Lucia?” Her name was just audible over the swells of the orchestra.

“Where has she got to?
Lucia!
”

Alex felt her jerk away, saw her eyes fly open in sudden recognition. He immediately released her, stepping back to put more distance between them.

“It’s Dandridge,” she whispered. “After what happened last night at the Pools’, he can’t find me with you.”

“He won’t.” Alex slid to the French doors, careful to stay in the shadows, and peered inside. “He’s coming this way. If you go inside now you can intercept him.” He made a gesture to hurry her, but she only stared, her eyes searching his face. She looked as if she would speak and then her tongue darted out, licking her bottom lip where he’d caressed her. Alex gripped the coarse brick of the building behind him to stop himself from taking her in his arms again. If she didn’t leave soon he was going to kiss her, and to hell with Dandridge.

Gritting his teeth, he forced out. “Go now before I change my mind and—”

Lucia ran to the door.

“Who was that woman, Lucia?” Reginald said. They were sitting in his carriage, and Reginald had his arms crossed petulantly over his belly.

“What woman, darling?” She tried to sound innocent, glad her face was partly hidden by the dimness of the carriage interior. “Miss Seaton?”

He frowned at her, his displeasure almost audible.
“No, Lucia. This…woman was
not
a lady. She spoke with you on our way out. And you
acknowledged
her.”

Lucia squeezed her eyes shut. She’d been hoping Reginald hadn’t seen that awful Amelia Cox speak to her as they took their leave of the Seatons. The smell of cheap perfume and the woman’s whispered words assaulted each one of Lucia’s senses, even now, a half mile away.

“When Alex tires of you, you must come to me, my dear. I know what he likes and how to please him,” the Cox woman had murmured. Lucia could still feel the woman’s hot, stale breath. She wiped at her neck.

Confronted by Amelia Cox, she’d felt like a child again, unsure what response to make. She’d been shocked and disgusted, and that had to account for her error, nodding and smiling to the woman. Lucia hadn’t even been thinking about what she was doing.

Now Reginald was looking at her, waiting for an answer, and Lucia knew he would never understand.

“I have no idea who she was, darling. She said something about my dress. Perhaps we have the same dressmaker?”

“Good God, I hope not!”

At any other time, Lucia would have smiled at her fiancé’s horror.

“Why on earth did you acknowledge her? This is precisely the reason I objected to attending this ball. You’re too inexperienced to see that a woman like that should be snubbed. You don’t want to form any type of connection with her sort.”

Lucia sighed. She was tired. Tired of rules and tired of Reginald. Was her whole life destined to be one long lecture? No wonder her father had pushed her to marry Dandridge. The two men had much in
common, namely an affinity for lecturing
her
. “I’m exceedingly sorry that I’m not as skilled as you in giving the cut direct,” she told Reginald.

Reginald either didn’t hear or chose to ignore the sarcasm in her voice. “Of course not, darling,” he soothed. “Your family has always protected you. But from now on you must be careful with whom you form connections.”

Lucia stared out the window as he rambled on. “An acquaintance, no matter how slight, with a woman like that can have disastrous effects on your reputation, which in turn reflects upon mine. Your father is in Parliament, so I needn’t remind you how important one’s reputation can be. There simply must be no gossip.”

She watched the passing carriages, rapidly losing patience. He was actually shaking his finger at her, and his voice boomed as though he were addressing the House of Lords. Disgusted, Lucia could tell he derived immense pleasure from hearing himself talk.

“I’m well aware of the ramifications of my behavior,” she interrupted, her tone chilly. “You don’t have to remind or lecture
me
about propriety.”

Dandridge pulled back, sinking into the squabs. She hadn’t intended to chastise him for his behavior of the night before, but he’d gone too far. She was tired of being treated like a child, lectured to, bullied, ordered about. She watched Reginald study the passing buildings through the windows of the carriage, a sullen look on his face. If he was waiting for her to apologize, he was going to be waiting a very,
very
long time.

Finally he spoke, his voice muted, and without looking at her. “If you acknowledged that woman out of revenge for my behavior last night—”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” Lucia gripped her seat
to keep from tearing her hair out. “How can you even believe such nonsense? Sometimes I think you hardly know me, Reginald. Don’t you ever tire of always saying the
right
things and talking only to the
right
people? Sometimes I think I’m going to scream from boredom and forced politeness.”

How wonderful it would be if she were free of all these societal strictures! She could go where she wanted, when she wanted—walk down St. James’s peering in the windows of all the gentlemen’s clubs, approach one of those notorious courtesans and ask her for all the gossip, dance with whomever she chose. How she longed to dance with the handsome dandy Lord Alfred Dewhurst or that charming rogue Sir Sebastian Middleton. They were the best dancers of the
ton
, but etiquette demanded she dance with the dull Marquis of Haverston or the clumsy Viscount Palmerston, who mashed her toes every time.

But Lucia’s musings didn’t last long. Having expressed aloud a feeling she hardly knew she felt, she darted her eyes to Reginald, judging his reaction. She expected him to be shocked, but when he spoke, he sounded thoughtful. “Yes, sometimes I do stray from convention, as you well remember.”

Lucia swallowed, thinking of his damp, cold hands gripping her neck in the Pools’ garden.

“I thought you might…appreciate my lapse, but apparently you don’t share my passions.”

She was at a loss. At that moment she could think of no response that would not seriously endanger their engagement. After a moment of silence, Reginald continued, “I understand, Lucia. I really do. You’ll grow to love me in time, and we’ll have a lifetime of opportunities to explore the passion I see in you. Perhaps I can give it another outlet?”

The thought actually made Lucia ill. Her stomach rolled as she recalled Reginald’s slobbery kisses and hot breath. Oh, God, this was a mistake! How could she marry him, share his bed night after night, let him touch her? She wanted to retch at the mere thought. He was saying something else, something about etiquette, but she didn’t hear. She could only watch his lips move and remember they were fat and droopy.