Taken by the Wicked Rake (2 page)

“And here is Alexander, now.” Lady Keddinton smiled with such pride at the approach of her son that he might as well have been Lord Wellington in full dress uniform. But all Verity saw was a young man graced with deficiencies in height and colouring, whose grey Veryan eyes seemed watery and cold in his pale face.

“Verity.” He bowed to her and reached for her hand before she could offer it. His own was soft and damp.

“Alexander.” Why could she not stop smiling, even when cool indifference was needed? Mother’s obsessive insistence that she be graceful and charming in all situations was no aid in putting off this most persistent of young men.

“Are you free for the next dance?”

She glanced at the musicians, who were running through the first notes of a quadrille. Saying yes now would allow her to beg off later, should the dance master call for a waltz, or some other dance that required prolonged physical contact with her partner. She smiled again. “Of course, Alexander.” She allowed him to keep her hand as he led her to the floor, hoping that he did not equate simple courtesy with a desire on her part for increased intimacy.

They formed up with three other couples to be gin the intricate steps of the dance. And immediately, her pulse quickened and her fears of a sensible future with Alexander dissolved. She was looking across the square into the eyes of the most fascinating man she’d ever seen. The eyes in question were large and dark, liquid and bottomless, fringed with long black lashes, and set in an olive-skinned face. The man’s nose was straight, and his full lips curved in the faintest of smiles as he looked across at her, returning her admiration.

She walked around him, following the dance. It gave her an opportunity to admire the cut of his coat. He was almost too well dressed, his clothes narrowly missing foppishness, just as his face on another man might have been feminine. The darkness of his skin made his cravat and shirt seem blindingly white, and his deep blue coat was as soft and dark as the night.

There was a glint of silver at his wrist, when he reached for her hand, as though his shirt cuff concealed some bit of jewellery. What an unusual thing it was, to see a man ornamented in such a way. If she had truly seen a bracelet, there must be some story attached to it. Looking at the man, she was sure that the tale would be both exciting and romantic, and that she would very much enjoy hearing it.

The touch of his hand was warm and dry, and full of interesting roughness. She wondered just what he had been doing to cause those imperfections. Riding? Duelling? Or was he adept at some art or science that she knew nothing of? In any case, he was gentle to her, and the friction of skin against skin was delicate and exciting.

She returned with reluctance to her own partner, and he caught her hand again in his disappointingly moist grip.

So went the dance, with a series of brief and inviting touches from the gentleman opposite her that made poor Alexander suffer by comparison.

Through it all, the dark stranger smiled at her. There was no mistaking his interest. He was looking at her with curiosity and a bit of sympathy, as though he wondered how she came to be matched with the man beside her. And was she mistaking it, or was there longing there, as well? If she read the truth on his face, he wished he had been partnering her instead of the woman at his side. That woman was receiving only polite attention from him, much to her obvious chagrin.

Verity smiled back at him, wishing she had a fan to hide her blush and covertly signal her interest. If Lady Keddinton would allow an introduction, she was sure that he would turn out to be a horrible rake. He looked like just the sort of man that Diana would have singled out as the worst in the room.

And the hint of a sparkle in his eyes told her that he could see how he was affecting her. For all her previous and undesired poise, she could find no way to disguise her reaction to the stranger.

Verity felt another pang of loneliness. She needed the guidance of Diana and Honoria. Either of them would have prevented her from doing what she longed to do right now. Diana would have cautioned her against it. And Honoria would have very likely done it in her stead. But as Verity looked at the dark man, she felt the undeniable tug of curiosity. She wanted to talk to him.

When the dance ended, she asked Alexander to return her to Aunt Felicity, and go to fetch a lemonade. Once he was out of earshot, she asked Lady Keddinton, “Who is that man, standing there, by the musicians?” She held her breath, taken by the sudden fear that he was an uninvited guest. Suppose he was the stranger she had been warned about, and his interest in her sprung from a desire to do her harm?

Lady Keddinton, who was many years married and far too sensible to do such a thing, blushed like a school-girl. “That is Lord Salterton. He is…” She paused for a moment, as though trying to remember how she had come to invite someone more interesting than Alexander to Verity’s party. “A friend of my husband’s, I believe.” She glanced around, seeking Uncle Robert’s agreement, but he was deep in conversation on the other side of the room. She returned her attention to the man they had been discussing. “He is recently returned to London, having travelled in the Orient.” She gave the smallest sigh. “A most fascinating gentleman.”

Verity’s fears subsided. He could have no part in the family’s recent troubles, if he had been in the Orient when they happened. She gave a small, envious sigh. If she asked, would he share stories of his adventures? After looking into his eyes, she was sure that he had seen things that were wonderful, horrible and far more exciting than anything found in her limited experience. “It must be very educational to be so widely travelled. May I…” Verity paused, trying not to appear too eager. “…May I be introduced to him? Or would that be too forward?”

Her hostess hesitated, as though trying to find a logical reason to separate the guest of honour from one of the guests brought to honour her.

But the gentleman in question settled the matter for them. He was making his way across the room towards them, moving with a dancer’s grace as though he was walking in time to the music. He bowed slightly to his hostess, and favoured her with a smile that made the old lady’s face turn an even more shocking shade of pink. “Lady Keddinton, such a lovely evening. It is good to be warmly welcomed, after such a long time away from England.”

His voice was low and smooth, and as captivating as his person. He spoke precisely and with a faint unidentifiable accent, as though English was his second language and not his first. Verity drank in each word. She studied the man as minutely as courtesy would allow, fearing that she would not get another chance. Once Aunt Felicity noticed her interest, she would be sure to send Lord Salterton away. And then Verity would never know if the small scar upon the lobe of his ear was because it had been pierced to hold a ring.

Now he was turning to look at Verity again. She dropped her eyes quickly so that he would not catch her staring. “And I must say the company is charming, as well. I beg you, do me the honour of presenting me to your friend, for I have few acquaintances here and wish that were not the case.”

He wished to meet her? Now it took all her control to maintain the thin veneer of polite interest that hid her true desires from Aunt Felicity. It would be a bitter disappointment if her instant attraction to the gentleman prevented his invitation to future gatherings.

Lady Keddinton’s smile turned frosty. She could not very well cut the man, when he was being so perfectly civil. “Lady Verity Carlow, may I present Lord Stephen Salterton.”

When the turn came for her to speak, her poise failed her and Verity stammered as though she were just out of the school room.

And Lord Salterton was polite enough to pretend he did not notice the fact. He said, “Would you do me the honour of another dance, Lady Verity?”

She thought again of her brother’s warning, and felt quite ridiculous for it. It was not even a waltz, and she was in a public place with a man that her hostess knew well enough to introduce. Dancing with Lord Salterton hardly fell under the class of associating with strangers. It would be no more forward than dancing with Alexander had been, and considerably more pleasant. “Certainly, sir.”

He offered her his arm, and led her out onto the floor. It was amazing that something so simple could be so affecting. She had walked thus with him in the quadrille. But not as his partner. Now it was as if he had claimed her for his own. As they moved through the form of the dance, she was barely aware of the others in the room with her, only the man at her side. Perhaps it was because he did not speak. In a less skilled dancer, she would have suspected that he required full attention for counting the steps. But this man seemed to be focusing solely upon her, watching her as she moved, gazing into her eyes as they met and turned. And he sighed ever so slightly, each time they parted. Was he too shy to speak? She did not think so. There had been nothing in his gaze to indicate the fact, as she had watched him.

But his reticence made her want to draw nearer.

“It is a lovely evening, is it not?” She spoke to fill the silence between them, and felt incredibly gauche for it. Could she not have come up with something more interesting to say to a man that had been every where? Although what about her could possibly entertain a man so worldly, she had no–

“Yes. Delightful.” He looked straight at her as he said it, so she was sure that the comment was intended as a compliment to her and had nothing at all to do with the dance.

“Thank you.” And that had been a remarkably stupid response. If he’d meant anything other than what she assumed, it would have made no sense at all.

His lips twitched a little. He knew exactly what she’d thought, and her answer amused him. “You’re most welcome.”

Welcome to do what? His response had proved her perceptions were correct. And now, though he appeared to answer her in kind, he had included an invitation to something, she was sure. He wanted something from her. Or wanted her to want something from him. Or he meant something else entirely that she did not understand.

Oh, how she wished Diana was here to explain. Although it was probably best that she was not. Diana would have glared from across the room, dismissed him with a snap of her fan, and packed Verity off to home before either of them could manage another cryptic exchange.

He gave another smile and an exasperated sigh, as if to say, ‘You are not particularly skilled at flirtation, so I shall be forced to help you.’

And then, he said aloud, “It is a lovely night. But it is most oppressive in the ballroom. Perhaps a turn around the garden would be pleasant.” He spoke the words with such deliberate slowness, that she was sure he meant…

Where I mean to kiss you senseless, as soon as we are out of sight of the house.

“No,” she said, suddenly and firmly. “I do not think that would be wise at all. I do not like gardens.” Which was not only untrue, but another exceptionally odd statement.

“You do not like gardens?” He smiled again, as though her at tempted set down were but another joke. “Perhaps it is because you have not seen them in the moon light.”

Or with the right company.

That was what he meant. She was sure of it. For all his good looks and attractively chosen words, he was the sort of man who expected a tryst in the garden after a single dance, and he was vain enough to assume she would throw off the strictures of Society for an opportunity to be alone with him.

“On the contrary. I am not so foolish as to think that what appeals to me in moon light will have the same charm when the sun rises. Now, if you will excuse me.” And she walked away and left him on the dance floor.

She hurried to the ladies’ retiring room, one hand to her face, feeling the growing warmth of her cheeks. She’d made a cake of herself in front of everyone by walking away from the most desirable man in the room, in the middle of a set.

Which was not to say she desired him, of course. Or that she secretly wished to go out in the garden and see if her suspicions about him were correct. Because, if conversation had turned immediately to horticulture, she would not have been able to contain her disappointment.

No. No. No. She was not to go off with strangers. And even if he was a friend, she did not wish a compromising situation in the garden with him. She was not even sure she wished to marry at all. Men were a bother, and it would be just as easy to go through life alone than to adjust one’s habits to suit.

Of course, it was doubtful that what he was offering had anything to do with marriage. Merely the most pleasant type of dalliance. One might go out into the garden with one such as Lord Stephen Salterton, and come back a changed woman. And no one need be the wiser.

She put a hand to her temple, as though she could push the thoughts back out of her head. With a few words and half a dance, the man had put ideas there that she could have gone a lifetime without thinking. It was a very good thing that she had not gone outside with him, for it would have been the first step on the road to ruin.

She glanced around herself, relieved to see that she was alone in the room. It was early in the evening, and there was little need for the other female guests to be hiding away with fatigue, either real or pretended. She would take a few moments to compose herself, and then return to the party. Another turn around the dance floor with Alexander would chill any romantic notions in her head. And she would never again speak to the upsetting Lord Salterton.

But just to be on the safe side, she would stay away from the garden doors.

She glanced in the mirror, straightening hair that did not need straightening, and smoothing skirts that were already in place. If one took sufficient care with one’s appearance – and did not get over heated by a few simple dances – it was hardly necessary to fuss further. It was not as if a brief conversation with a man was as strenuous as a tussle in the bushes.

And now, she was thinking of tussling, and bushes and gardens. And Lord Stephen Salterton. And her cheeks were growing pink again.