The Scoundrel's Secret Siren (8 page)

Suddenly, his voice was not at all cold, but full of the heated passion she remembered
from their night-time encounter. Lorelei felt her breath catch at the burning way his eyes held hers. Despite herself, she accepted his elbow in the middle of Almack’s, a known bastion of propriety, and allowed him to lead her to a secluded window alcove, where the cool fresh air coming from the courtyard outside did nothing to clear her suddenly spinning head.

She knew she ought to have refused, to have stayed as far away from the man
as she could without making herself glaringly obvious to all of polite Society. And yet, she found she was helpless to resist.

Lorelei was somewhat bewildered – this was not a situation she was used to and she did not know how to behave.

“I refuse to consider
that
a rescue – I might have walked here myself,” she said primly, though just a hint of flirtation had slipped into her voice quite of its own volition. “And you need not be so beastly about Mr Farthingdon – he was kind enough to say we looked refulgent together.”

The
ubiquitous snuff box appeared again, and an eyebrow lifted imperiously at her. Lorelei suddenly found the studied carelessness of the gesture mildly irritating.

“Refulgent? How fustian of h
im, but then I am not surprised. He is always tiresome – his verses are known throughout Society to be utterly atrocious, if you will credit it.” He chuckled low in his chest and she was suddenly aware of how close to her he was.

She allo
wed herself a moment inhale his scent: it was spicy and masculine, and entirely unlike the cloying French perfume favoured by George Farthingdon. Somehow, it felt familiar and oddly right to be so near him.

“
And I don’t disagree with you on your first point either – you might very well have walked here by yourself,” he acknowledged. “We both know you to be a very intrepid young woman, Miss Lindon.
Lorelei
.”

Her name came out as a low whisper that made her shiver. It was a stolen liberty – they were not so well acquainted (at least not in any way that could be acknowledged, she reminded herself) and
she had never allowed him the use of her given name.

“
In all civility, I would like the pendant back,” she whispered, removing her mask. The disguise made her feel silly at such a moment.

“Would you, Lorelei? But I am not at all certain I wish to give it back. I have such…
delicious memories of its acquisition.” His hand reached up, scandalously touching a slender shoulder as he drew even nearer.

As do I,
she thought, before catching herself, scolding herself mentally for being so fast, and glaring at him instead. She had half a mind to push him away, but the thought of touching his chest sent a thrill through her and she knew she was better off keeping her hands to herself.

“It is a great disadvantage to me, sir,” Lorelei said angrily, “that I
was brought up a lady, else I would not waste a moment telling you exactly my opinion of your game.”

Winbourne had the gall to look affronted. “
Game, madam? That is most unjust. Why, it is I who have been led astray by a waif I met on a road at night. But in the light it seems that you are not all a waif.”

His eyes trailed over her figure with obvious enjoyment.
Lorelei was scandalised: she did not know this sensual creature she always became in his presence – a veritable wanton!

“Lorelei,” he said her name again, as if savouring a fine chocolate, letting it melt on his tongue. “A siren, isn’t it? From the classics.
Then I was right, that fortuitous night on the road. How unexpectedly accurate:
my siren
. I wonder, will you lure me to my doom as your sisters have done so many hapless, besotted men before me?”

His voice had dropped to a whisper that did all sorts of maddening things to her nerves.
Before Lorelei could reply, or even think, his lips came down on hers: hot, pliant and demanding. Forgotten, her mask slipped out of her hand and fell to the floor.

Hidden in their little alcove,
in a world of their own, Lorelei felt his hands grasp her waist and yank her towards him with a swift confidence that turned her knees to water. She felt his touch through her gown, circling her waist as though appropriating her with a single touch. Lorelei was lost in the kiss, clutching the lapels of his coat for dear life as sinful sensation swirled through her trembling body. She was no longer completely in control of her actions.

All the unspoken things came crashing down around them, expressed not in words but in searing touch and desperate kisses:
the memory of that night, that kiss in a world not quite real, the breathless moments that thickened the air whenever their eyes met.

She might have stood there forever, flush against him, encircled by his arms and ravished by his mouth.
She might have yielded completely, surrendered her very soul.

“Winbourne, is that you over there?” an amused masculine voice exclaimed.
“For shame!”

With a gasp, Lorelei broke the embrace.
As a full understanding of the impropriety of their situation washed over her, sweeping away the last vestiges of passion, she buried her flaming face in her gloved hands, shielded from the curious eyes of the other gentleman by Winbourne’s powerful build.

Unlike the delightful Miss Lindon, Alastair was not embarrassed in the least. Still shielding her from view, he turned to face the other gentleman with an impassive look
in his eyes and a note of long-suffering annoyance in his voice. “Good evening, Orby. Of what possible assistance could I be to you?”

The other gentleman chuckled.
“I had every intention of seeing whether you fancied a game of cards with Vernon Huxley, but I can see you are much better occupied. Well, don’t go throwing your back out – I shan’t tell, though I’d watch out in case one of our esteemed hostesses should happen upon you. There’ll be no getting out of that one, my good fellow, even for you. But I’ll leave you alone now, excuse me. Good evening, miss.”

Lorelei squeaked from where she was hidden behind the earl.

In a moment, they were alone again. Lorelei could not meet the dark, unreadable eyes of the Earl of Winbourne. She was completely mortified. Her face felt on fire in a most indelicate way. Her lips still tingled tenderly from his ardent kisses. She lifted a tremulous hand to her mouth as she finally dared to stare up at him.

“You need not worry, Miss Lindon. Orby is not the sort to indulge in gossip, and he had not seen you
r face.” His voice was as impassive as his face.

“I think,” she began in an uneven voice, “that you must think me a very infamous sort
of female, Lord Winbourne. However, despite what my current behaviour may suggest, I am not usually so lacking in delicacy. I am sorry that I should have brought you so close to social mortification – I would not be the cause of your expulsion from Society, nor burden you with my reputation. Excuse me, I had much better re-join Lady Hurst.”

Without waiting for his reply, Lorelei was gone
from the alcove, grateful that Nell’s clever skills in securing her coiffure saved her the mortification of mussed hair.

Winbourne stared after her, astonished. He had never encountered a woman who
so potently combined innocence and wantonness. He had certainly never met one who apologised for compromising
his
honour. He admired her departing figure until it was out of sight, then his gaze fell down to the golden mask on the floor. Scooping it up off the floor, he followed the lady in his brisk, powerful stride.

“Miss Lindon!”

She froze in place despite herself as Winbourne caught up with her. He was still masked. Her eyes sought out his. The ghost of his kiss hung between them.

“You forgot your mask.” He e
xtended the object to her, and she quickly accepted it, her head full of confusion at the way his eyes scanned her face. “It is certainly more original than losing one’s fan. I am told the chance of inadvertently dropping or forgetting a fan is greater if the fan is modest and its owner is not.”

Then, w
ith a bow, he was gone and she was left to dance, make polite conversation, and then be led into supper by a gracious young viscount, all the while doing her best not to seek out that familiar figure in the crowd, nor to remember how powerful his shoulders had felt under her fingers.

Alastair’s
own eyes followed her with the sort of languid carelessness which none could possibly mistake for affection, or anything more than a distant acquaintance.

It was a very long
night for them both.

The following afternoon presented further complications for Lorelei, this time in the form of a fitting for her presentation gown. She stood in the fitting room of the finest
modiste
in England, surrounded by a flurry of women pinning, fluttering and desperately searching for trim.

“It is a great shame we cannot send for a gown from Paris, as my mama
did with my own gown, but there simply isn’t time, my dear!” Lady Hurst told Lorelei regretfully.

“You are much too kind. Why, I am certain that a London gown will be a creation of unparalleled loveliness.” She had not reckoned on the heavy fabric or the panniers, which had been perfectly common in Lady Hurst’s day, but which Lorelei herself had never worn.

“It is such a cumbersome, old-fashioned thing!” Con giggled when Lady Hurst briefly left the room with the army of dressmakers to examine some silks. “Like digging through mama’s old trunks down in Ledley. However will you walk in it?”

Lorelei tried taking a step, and the dress swayed around her alarmingly, making her look quite ridiculous. She joined Constance in her giggles, quite unable to maintain proper composure. “Oh, Con, I just don’t know. I shall have to practice, I expect – it is not unlike when
Papa was teaching me to drive that curricle.”

“I hope they won’t make you wear some frightful, dusty, old wig – else you may end up looking a cake in front of the queen and the princess!”

Lorelei heartily agreed with her sister, but Lady Hurst, coming back with the chosen bolt of gold silk, said nothing of wigs and dismissed the practical concerns of walking by explaining that she would master the art in no time at all, if only she dedicated herself to it. As she thought of the hours that lay ahead, walking around Lady Hurst’s townhouse in the unwieldy gown, the young lady wondered if she wanted to be presented after all, and if she wouldn’t prefer instead to retire demurely to Bath or some such quiet place, and end her days a tolerably well-off eccentric spinster.

Later, Constance talked them into visiting the British Museum, where there was an exhibition of pretty vases from Ancient Greece
, and they had a pleasant, if quiet, afternoon of wandering around the exhibits.

Lorelei really did very much enjoy the company of her younger sister. She worried sometimes that if she were to marry some dull fellow with a love of the country, she would find herself buried alive in some far-away country seat for half the year and never see Constance grow into the marvellous young lady she would become. And how cruel for Constance to lose her older sister, having already lost a mother.

With that in mind, she was somewhat reluctant to begin preparations for her visit to Gilmont, though Lady Hurst had promised her sister endless amusements to help keep her mind off Lorelei’s absence.

Quite unexpectedly, as though it had purposely snuck up on her amidst all the activ
ities that filled one’s day in town, Lorelei’s presentation day came at last. She had spent many hours practising moving around in her heavy gown, which had arrived a week prior, and she was very nervous as they set out for the queen’s drawing room. She did not think she could bear it if she were to trip in front of the queen, the princess and the other ladies.

Lorelei was not the only lady to be presented that day: she recognised the Dawlish sisters, Lisa and Camille
, who were sponsored by their mother, Lady Riverham. Camille looked about ready to faint and Lisa wore a look of determination. The queen spoke to them a moment and kissed their cheeks before moving on to the next lady.

Later, Lorelei could not remember what the queen had said to her when it was her turn – something polite and gracious, followed by an enquiry after Lord Ledley, to which Lorelei had replied in her most genteel tones. The princess had inclined her head with an amiable smile and added well-wishes for Lorelei’s Season.

Lady Hurst had stood as her sponsor
, and after they returned to their carriage, she generously praised Lorelei on her fine conduct. Lorelei was filled with a warm glow at having earned the lady’s approval. She would have been mortified if she had in any way embarrassed her benefactress. Lorelei briefly wondered what her own mother would have thought of her presentation, but Lady Hurst had filled the maternal role so well over the years that Lorelei did not much dwell on this wistful thought.

She was certainly glad to have the elaborate gown off as soon as she returned home and even allowed Con to try it on so long as she were careful, causing much merriment for both sisters.

*

On the evening before she set out for Gilmont, Lorelei
was restless and fidgety. Lady Hurst saw her obvious discontent and Constance, who was always very aware of her sister’s moods, pleaded to be told what was bothering her. Lorelei’s usually calm temperament was suddenly replaced by a mild distress, and she was quite unable to properly attend to her sister’s conversation.

Lorelei
was mortified to find that she was being so neglectful of her younger sister and apologised profusely for her inattention, placing the blame at the door of her weariness. It was not untrue: having taken such an active part in the entertainments of the Season, she often felt worn out in the evenings.

In truth
, she was alarmed over something quite different. Lorelei suddenly found herself fretting over the possibility that Winbourne may just be in attendance at Lady Gilmont’s party after all. There was no reason to suppose that he would: he had explicitly stated himself that he would not attend! And yet, a sense of nagging dread hung over her all the same. She was very tempted to plead exhaustion and remain in London.

She couldn’t decide if it was his presence she feared, or her own reaction to his
proximity. She couldn’t deny that she had a habit of throwing caution to the wind whenever he was near: she had never before known such heady passions as he could awaken with just a touch. How could she weather a whole week in his company, without doing something completely unconscionable?

The fact that she could not explain her distress to her benefactress and sister only made it that much more acute.
After watching her shifting restlessly on the settle for a good half-hour, Lady Hurst sent her up to bed with a warm posset. Certainly there had been enough excitement in the past few days to overwhelm even the hardiest of ladies, she declared with well-meaning concern. A rest away from the city would be just the thing, especially in such select company as the Lord and Lady Gilmont and their distinguished guests.

Lorelei spent her whole journey down to Gilmont alternately fretting over seeing Winbourne again in such close quarters, and restless with excitement at the thought.
What would he say when he saw her? Would he mention any of the things that had passed between them? Would he be there at all? She refused to work herself into a state over the man and did her best to admire the pastoral scenery outside her window instead, while Nell dosed on the seat opposite. Yet, despite her very best efforts, Lorelei’s traitorous mind kept coming back to the handsome earl.

Catching
sight of the house at last, Lorelei was temporarily distracted. She and Nell could not help but be utterly charmed. It was an old property exactly of the sort that would have had secret smugglers’ coves, if only it had had the good fortune to be situated by the sea. There were many walks and paths to explore and the house itself, newly redecorated by its young mistress, was all things modern, cosy and comfortable.

This was surely a good omen. Lorelei
pictured herself taking pleasant strolls through the beautiful gardens, reading by the charming pond and forgetting all about the
bal masque
. She hoped that exploring the house, on top of the many diverting activities planned by their hostess, would prove to be an excellent distraction from the tiresome earl, who had become a constant presence on the edges of her thoughts.

Even
the mere memory of his kiss left her breathless. She had to remind herself that the heroic Lord Winbourne of her golden imaginings was gone, to be replaced by the cold, fashionable creature known to the rest of Society. Was it a sign that there was a streak of iniquity in her own character that she felt drawn to him regardless?

She did
not know where she stood with the man and this made her extremely agitated. Oh, she had seen his icy demeanour slip when he had kissed her, but she had also seen the ease with which it had slid back into place when his friend Orby had stumbled across them.

One thing was certain: Winbourne was far too in control of his passions for them to be genuine – Lorelei had read enough to know that people in love had trouble controlling their passions. Lord Winbourne was most certainly not in love with her. It was as though there was a side to him which he cut off and hid from view – some secret to which no one in the world was privy.

Lorelei longed, inexplicably, to learn that secret, to discover the hidden depths of this man who was the pinkest of the pink and the darling of the
ton
. This was a very dangerous line of thought for her to pursue…

It was obvious: any continued association would be ruinous for them both. It would not do for the
ton
to believe that Lord Winbourne was attempting the seduction of the daughter of the popular Baron Ledley. And she could not bear to shame Lady Hurst and ruin herself. It was all so very complicated – and the Season had barely begun! No, she would have to keep well clear of him.

*

The moment he set eyes on the delightful Miss Lindon at Gilmont House, Winbourne knew that the perplexing creature was avoiding him. It was a very diverting situation, and certainly a novel one. He was used to unmarried ladies and their determined mamas following him in droves, hoping to somehow secure his regard and name. He had never before been
ignored
. He found, most unexpectedly, that it rather changed the rules of the game he had thought to play.

He was at the library window when Miss Lindon’s carriage arrived at his sister’s country residence. She emerged from the chaise-and-four looking surprisingly fresh, if a little sleepy. The lady was accompanied by her maid, who proceeded to attend to the transportation of the luggage. With a little smile, the meaning of which he did not bother contemplating, Winbourne descended to the parlour to join Lord and Lady Gilmont in welcoming Miss Lindon.

Lorelei was aware of him the moment he entered the room, as though she could somehow sense his arrival even with her back turned to the door, Winbourne noted with pleasure. She turned around with obvious reluctance and her expressive eyes widened momentarily when she saw the earl.

“I did not
think you would be here too,” she said artlessly, before she could catch herself.

“Nor I. But I found all other business a poor substitute for the company on offer,”
the earl replied, teasing her.

To her credit, Lorelei contrived to
keep her composure, though it was no easy task, he could tell by the slight tightening of her mouth. She dropped him a cordial curtsey, made no sign of having the least understanding of his implication, and proceeded to greet Julia. Winbourne noted that the two appeared to have become fast friends. Miss Lindon’s conversation with his niece was easy and bubbled with merriment.

Winbourne accepted a glass of sherry from Lord Gilmont, while his eyes followed the young woman around the room, watching as she was introduced to the
rest of the company. The earl did not miss the fact that her conversation with all the other guests was far more gracious than the brief greetings she had exchanged with him.

It was the subtle but unmistakable care with which Miss Lindon kept her distance from him that truly revealed all he needed to know. He knew that
, had she no regard for him, she would simply have carried on as though nothing had occurred between them.

The perplexing woman continued to go out of her way to avoid meeting him when out walking in the gardens or reading in the sunny parlour
. On the second day of her visit, he saw the way Miss Lindon threw herself behind a shrubbery when he rounded the garden path down which she had been strolling. For a moment, she looked like a golden fairy creature in the sunlight, the white muslin of her gown giving her an unearthly glow. She put him in mind of the muses poets were so fond of immortalising in their verses.

Winbourne was nothing if not amused. It was a game of cat and mouse, and he had always excelled at this kind of sport. He carelessly dropped teasing little references
to their previous encounters all through dinner, which she chose to ignore and which no one else understood.

He was impressed to learn that, despite her astonishing innocence, Miss Lindon
was a most gifted actress. Only the slight narrowing of her eyes and tightening of her delicate hands over her silverware betrayed her agitation.

*

The company which she met at Gilmont House was indeed very well chosen, Lorelei thought, and, for the most part, she found their manners to be exceptionally pleasing.

Apart from herself and Julia, there was the Hon Mr Bartholomew Taylor, who had expectations of being a viscount after his uncle passed away. Lorelei found
him to be a cheerful, humorous man, who was an utter Corinthian and had much to say on sporting matters of every kind.