The Wedding Challenge (17 page)

Another man had stopped to lean into their box and talk, and before long, Callie saw to her horror that Lady Daphne and Miss Swanson had invited the strangers to join them. Callie pushed her chair back as far as she could against the side wall and away from the others, and contemplated what she ought to do.

She had given up all hope that Irene and Gideon were going to appear, and she was growing doubtful about Brom. The evening had developed into a veritable romp, and she was keenly aware that she should not be there. The problem was that she did not know how she was to get away. The thought of making her way alone through the throng outside the box made her shudder. This was not the sort of place where a woman alone was safe from crude remarks and lascivious glances—and, she suspected, far worse.

However, she hardly knew any of the men in her party. She was not at all certain, given the way they had been acting, that any of them could be trusted to protect her from the advances of another man—or, indeed, trusted at all. Even if she could rely on them, she was not sure that any of them were sober enough to help her, anyway.

Callie set down her glass on the table beside her and rubbed her forehead. Her own thoughts were a little muzzy, and she wondered how much she had drunk of the strong punch. One glass—no, two, for she rather thought that whenever she set a half-empty glass down, it was soon replaced by a full one. Lady Daphne had been assiduous in making sure that everyone stayed well-refreshed.

Even as Callie thought this, a waiter was at her side, filling up her glass again. She shook her head at him, but he seemed not to notice, simply topped off her glass and moved away. Callie sighed and tried to clear her thoughts. She was going to have to stop sipping at her drink, no matter how nervous she felt. She was going to need a clearer head to deal with the situation.

“What, all by yourself?” a male voice slurred, and one of the two strangers whom Daphne had let into their box sat down heavily in the chair closest to Callie’s. “Can’t have that, pretty young thing like you.”

He smiled at her in what he doubtless thought was a charming way.

“I am perfectly content by myself,” Callie told him in a frosty tone.

For some reason he seemed to find her remark amusing, for he chuckled. “My, my, bit high in the instep, aren’t you?” He reached for the glass she had set down earlier and offered it to her. “Can’t have fun like that, can you? Here, have a nip. It’ll set you up right.”

“No, thank you.”

He shrugged and drained the glass himself. Then he leaned closer, peering into her face. “Whassa matter? Don’ you want some fun?”

Callie recoiled. His breath stank of alcohol, and his eyes were bloodshot. “No,” she told him firmly. “Now, please, move somewhere else.”

She was not normally rude, but it was clear that no polite rejoinder would have any effect on him. He regarded her for a moment, his eyes narrowing, and for an appalled moment she thought he was going to say something vicious. But then he shrugged and hauled himself to his feet, reeling away toward the others.

Callie saw with dismay that while she had been occupied with the man, several of their party had left their box. Neither Miss Swanson nor Miss Turner was there, and the two dandies were gone, as well. She turned to look out across the promenade and was a little relieved to see that the four young people had decided to dance; they would come back soon. As she watched, they were swallowed up by the crowd of dancers.

She looked around at the occupants of the box. Mr. Swanson, it seemed, had reached his limit, for he was sitting slumped over one of the tables, eyes closed, snoring heavily. Mr. Tilford picked up a cup, filled it with punch, then toddled out the rear door, apparently seeking more lively companions.

Callie glanced at Lady Swithington. She was sitting between the two men whom she had invited into the booth, talking and laughing and flirting with them over her fan, now and then folding it to lay a light, teasing tap upon one or the other of them.

One of them took her hand and raised it to his lips, lingering far longer than was acceptable, but Daphne made no move to take her hand away. She simply laughed throatily and leaned closer to whisper something in the man’s ear.

“Lady Swithington,” Callie said urgently. “I—I must leave. I am sure that Francesca will be worried about me.”

It took Daphne a moment to focus on Callie. “But, my dear, it is still early yet. You cannot mean to leave so soon.”

“I—Lord and Lady Radbourne have not come, and I—I fear I should not be here. If you could send for your carriage…” She was not sure how she would safely reach the carriage, but she felt that she must leave, and soon, before the situation grew even worse.

Lady Daphne laughed, waving her hand airily. “Now, now, you can’t leave yet. Why, Brom has not even arrived. You must not let Lord and Lady Radbourne spoil your fun.”

“I am—I do not think that Lord Bromwell is coming,” Callie replied, trying to keep her voice even. “It is quite late.”

Lady Daphne rose, saying with a laugh, “The evening has scarcely begun. You cannot go yet. Come.” She held out a hand toward Callie. “Come with us. We are going to dance. Poor Willoughby needs a partner, don’t you, Mr. Willoughby?”

The man in question peered at Callie, then shook his head. “No, she won’t go. Too Friday-faced.”

“Lady Swithington…” Callie began again. “I truly do not wish to dance.”

“You see?” the drunken man said, nodding sagely. “Told you.”

“I wish to leave,” Callie went on. “And I imagine that Miss Swanson and Miss Turner should go, as well. They are in that crowd, completely unchaperoned.”

“Well, of course, of course, if that is what you wish,” Daphne replied magnanimously. “Just as soon as Brom comes. Though I doubt that Miss Turner and Miss Swanson will welcome your dragging them away, as well,” she added with a chuckle. “Now, if you are sure that you won’t come dance with us…”

She turned away, looping her hands through both men’s arms and flashing a dazzling smile at them. “Come, gentlemen. I am eager to dance.”

The man who was not Willoughby chuckled and murmured, “Eager for much else, as well, I trust.”

Lady Swithington laughed, seemingly not in the least offended by his suggestive words, and said, “We shall see, won’t we?”

“Lady Swithington!” Callie cried out, appalled, as the group made their way toward the door.

Daphne appeared not to hear her as she swept out of the box, closing the door behind them. Callie stood there, staring after her in astonishment. Slowly, she turned, taking in the scene. She was alone except for Mr. Swanson, passed out in his chair. Indeed, she had never felt quite so alone. She looked out at the increasingly boisterous scene in front of her. Lady Daphne and her two swains had disappeared into the crowd, nor could she spot any of the others who had come with her tonight.

Callie frowned and sat back down in her chair to think. What was she to do? She wanted very much to simply run through the crowd to the entrance and there jump into a hansom cab to take her home. However, she could not help but be concerned about Miss Swanson and Miss Turner, who had clearly had more of the arrack punch than was good for them—and were rather foolish to begin with, if one was being truthful. The men who were with them were hardly people on whom one could rely. She should have done something more to stop them, she thought. And it seemed irresponsible to simply leave them here.

“Well, what are you doing all alone, pretty one?”

Callie jumped, startled, and turned to see a middle-aged man leaning on the open ledge of the box. She rose, her heart pounding, and her hands clenching into fists at her side.

“Please go away. My brother will return soon,” she improvised, her mind roaming over the possibilities the box offered in the way of weapons. One of the empty bottles would be best, she thought, and she started to edge toward the table where Mr. Swanson sat, his head on his arms.

“Brother, is it?” His smile conveyed his disbelief. “He should have more sense than to leave a lovely like yourself all alone. Perhaps I should come in and keep you company ’til he gets back.”

“No. You should not.” Callie reached the table, and her hand curled tightly around the neck of the bottle.

The man laughed. “Oh, ho. ’Tis a dust-up you’re after?” He placed his hands upon the ledge, as though he would climb over it into the box.

Callie heaved the bottle at him and was surprised to see that it hit him, although on his chest, rather than his face, where she had aimed. The man stopped, looking at her in surprise.

“Here,” he said resentfully. “No call to do that.” He straightened his jacket and shot her a disgruntled look, then turned and staggered off.

Callie let out a sigh of relief and moved farther away from the front of the box. She looked around and found another bottle to use in case she needed a weapon again. She straightened and turned to find another man looking into the box.

A startled shriek escaped her, and she raised her bottle.

“Callie? Is that you?” the man said and, putting his hand on the ledge, lightly vaulted into the box. “What the devil are you doing here by yourself?”

“Brom!” The bottle dropped from her hand, and with a little sob, Callie ran to throw herself into his arms.

B
ROMWELL WRAPPED HIS ARMS
around her tightly. “Callie, what happened? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Brom…” She clung tightly to him. “Nothing happened. There’s nothing wrong, really.”

And, strangely enough, she thought, it was true. Now that Bromwell was here, everything was all right. She no longer felt anxious or afraid, not with his hard chest against her head, his heart beating in steady rhythm beneath her ear.

“Where is everyone?” he asked. “Why the devil are you here by yourself?”

“I’m not,” Callie said lightly, releasing her hold on him a trifle reluctantly and taking a step back. With a wry smile, she gestured toward Mr. Swanson’s slumped form.

The earl turned to look at him, his frown deepening. “Bloody hell! Is the man incapacitated?”

Callie nodded. “I think everyone had too much of the punch, frankly. I feel a bit fuzzy-headed myself.”

“But where is my sister? Where are Lord and Lady Radbourne and the others? Why did they go off and leave you here alone?”

“I don’t know why Irene and Gideon are not here. They never arrived. And everyone else has gone to dance.” She gestured vaguely toward the promenade area. “I was beginning to think that you were not going to come, either.”

“Of course I was coming. Daphne said…” He stopped, his frown deepening. “How long have you been here?”

“I’m not sure. It seems like forever.”

“Obviously long enough for Mr. Swanson to be in his cups,” Bromwell added dryly.

“Yes. We were here well before ten, for Miss Swanson was very eager to arrive before the orchestra began its second performance.”

Bromwell gazed out at the promenade area for a long moment, then let out a sigh and said, “I cannot imagine what possessed my sister to leave you here with only Mr. Swanson. Was he like this when she left?”

Callie nodded and gave a wry smile. “He was not much protection.”

“I should think not.” He grimaced. “I apologize for not arriving sooner. I must have mistaken the time Daphne said. It will be a wonder now if Lady Haughston allows me to darken your door again.”

“It might be best if Lady Haughston did not know exactly what transpired here tonight,” Callie said. “She will only worry. And I am sure there is no likelihood of it happening again.”

Because she would never again make the mistake of accepting one of Lady Swithington’s invitations, Callie added silently.

Bromwell nodded, seeming a trifle distracted. “Well…I shall discuss this later with Daphne. Right now I think it would be best if I saw you home.”

“Yes. I would appreciate that,” Callie agreed. She hesitated. “Although Miss Swanson and Miss Turner are still here. We should make sure that they are all right.”

“Surely they are not alone, as well.”

“No, they went to dance with Mr. Pacewell and Mr. Sackville.”

“Pacewell and Sackville. Good Gad, those two peacocks?” Bromwell rolled his eyes. “They are fools, but the ladies are unlikely to come to any harm with them. The important thing is to see you home, and after that I will return and find the others.”

Callie smiled. “Thank you.”

He allowed a smile finally and his hand came up to cup her cheek. “I am deeply sorry, Callie, that you have been subjected to this debacle.”

“It was not so bad,” she lied. Indeed, looking up into his eyes, she found the memory of her earlier anxiety fading rapidly.

“It is good of you to say so, but I know full well that this evening was not the kind of situation that you are accustomed to. I shall speak with my sister about it.”

“I do not wish to cause any hard feelings between you and Lady Swithington.”

“Do not worry.” He smiled again. “We shall not disown one another. But I fear that Daphne has been too long out of Society. She does not, perhaps, recall, how restrictive the rules are governing the behavior of a young unmarried lady. Nor is she accustomed to the sort of strong punch they serve here. She clearly was not thinking. Now, pull up the hood of your domino and we shall brave the mad throng outside.”

Matching his deeds to his words, he reached out and took the edges of her hood in his hands, gently pulling it up over her black curls. His hands lingered for a moment on the material as he gazed down into her face. Then, as if coming to himself, his hands dropped away and he turned, politely offering Callie his arm.

She laid her hand on his arm, and they left through the back door, walking around to the wide promenade in front of their ornately decorated box.

They paused, and Callie gazed around at the scene. Now that her anxiety was gone, she was able to enjoy the way the gardens looked, and she wished that Bromwell had been there the entire evening. Then she could have enjoyed everything without worrying. She turned toward him entreatingly.

“Could we not just walk around a bit before we go? I have seen very little of the gardens.”

He looked torn. “It is not the thing, your being without a chaperone.”

“But I am not in any danger,” Callie protested. “You are with me.”

“There are those who would say that
I
am the danger.”

She smiled. “But we both know that you are not.”

Only minutes before, she remembered, she had wondered painfully if Bromwell would have acted in the same manner as all the others. But as soon as he had arrived, she had known that it had been foolish to even consider such a possibility. She was not exactly sure what had happened here tonight, or why. Lady Swithington’s actions had been exceedingly odd—more than she was going to admit to the woman’s brother—and Callie could not escape the suspicion that the way events had unfolded had been somehow calculated by Lady Daphne, though she could not understand her reasons for it.

But whatever Lady Daphne had done, whether by accident or design, Callie was positive that Lord Bromwell had had nothing to do with it. She was also sure that had he been there throughout the whole evening, he would not have permitted things to get out of hand. The astonishment, even anger, on his face had told her everything she needed to know.

He smiled back at her, his expression softening. “All right. We shall walk around a bit. It is time for the fireworks, and it would be too bad to miss that.”

Callie agreed, and they set off along the promenade. Bromwell left the main path, choosing one of the walkways branching off through the trees. Lanterns hung along the paths, illuminating them with a soft glow, and were scattered throughout the trees beyond, twinkling like little stars through the branches. Now and then they came upon a “ruin,” artistically lighted, or a sparkling fountain.

There was a pop, and they stopped and looked up to see the first of the fireworks splash across the sky. The fireworks continued, a dazzling display of colors. They strolled on, stopping now and then to admire a particularly glorious burst of light.

As they walked, the paths grew narrower and more empty of people, until they were by themselves. In the distance, Callie heard a female giggle, followed by the sound of running feet. After that, they were left alone in silence.

They reached a stone bench, set beside a small pond, and they sat down to watch the spectacular end of the fireworks. Then, finally, the display was done, leaving only silence and the acrid scent of gunpowder lingering in the air.

“It was lovely,” Callie told Bromwell. “Thank you for staying.”

“I am only sorry that the remainder of your evening was spoiled,” he replied, smiling at her.

She shook her head. “It does not matter.”

He reached out and stroked his forefinger down her cheek. “You are so beautiful. I wish…”

“You wish what?” Callie asked when he did not continue.

Bromwell shook his head. “I’m not sure. Only that things were different.”

Callie frowned a little. “What things? What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Do not listen to me. I fear I am in a mood tonight.” He stood up, going over to the edge of the pond.

Callie rose and followed him, reaching out to take his hand in both of hers. “What sort of mood? Can I help in any way?”

“Would that you could.” He turned and looked down at her, his eyes roaming over her face hungrily. “I have been thinking of you ever since our ride to Richmond Park. Indeed, ever since I first saw you. Sometimes I think you have bewitched me.” His voice was hoarse, the words seemingly pulled from him.

Heat spread through Callie, and she thought that he must feel it in her hands.

“I did not mean to,” she told him, her voice a trifle shaky.

“I know. That is part of your allure. You are unstudied, natural, yet you pull a man toward you with only a look.”

“I have never noticed that I was so irresistible,” she remarked, struggling to retain a light tone.

“Then perhaps it is only I who feels your power.” He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it. His lips were like velvet on her skin, sending a shiver through her. “In truth, I would be glad for that.”

He turned her hand over and laid a kiss in her palm. Unconsciously, Callie’s hand curled into a fist, as if enclosing his kiss there. She was very aware of the blood pulsing through her veins. She could feel it pounding from her heart and thundering through her.

She wanted his arms around her again. She wanted to taste his mouth, to be enveloped by the warmth and scent of him, to feel his hard body pressing into hers as it had the other day at the park. She had not known temptation with any other man, but with this one, she felt consumed by it.

He lifted his head and looked at her.

In the next instant Callie was in his arms and their lips were melded together. Fire flashed to life inside them, fierce and demanding. He crushed her to him, his mouth digging into hers, and Callie wrapped her arms around him, wanting only to be closer and ever closer. He groaned, and she could feel the tremor that ran through his hard body. His lips left her mouth and trailed across her cheek to her ear, nibbling at the sensitive lobe and teasing it with his teeth.

He murmured her name, his voice thick with desire, as he kissed her ear, her face, her throat. Her skin flamed to life wherever his lips touched, and she trembled, full of inchoate yearnings.

With some last vestige of reason, he broke their embrace and pulled her off the path and deep into the shadows. Callie went with him easily, driven by the hammering pulse deep in her loins. They kissed again and again, and his hands slipped beneath her domino, roaming over her body. She could feel the heat of his skin even through her dress, and when his hand slid up onto the rise of her breasts above her dress, his touch was searing. He caressed the soft orbs, his fingers sliding between her skin and her clothes, and Callie wished fiercely that she could feel his hands all over her body in the same way.

He spread the sides of her domino apart and laid his lips against the soft, quivering flesh of her breasts. Callie sucked in a quick breath of surprised pleasure, and she dug her fingers into his coat, holding on as though anchoring herself in the world that was now spinning around her. Her own body was a stranger to her—her loins throbbing, and a hot damp ache growing between her legs, so pleasurable that it was almost painful. She wanted to be with him, to know him in some deep primitive way. She realized that, shockingly, she longed to wrap her legs around him and press herself against him in the most intimate manner.

Bromwell’s hands went down her back and curved over her buttocks, his finger digging into the soft mounds of flesh and pushing her against the hard ridge of his desire. Callie trembled, her breath rasping in her throat, aware that she was teetering somehow on the brink of a precipice, eager and uncertain and just a little frightened all at once.

He made a low, frustrated noise and broke from her. “Sweet Lord, Callie…”

Wrapping her domino tightly around her, he pulled her to him and tightened his arms around her, leaning his forehead against her hair. She could hear his breath rasping harshly in his throat; she was enveloped in his heat. They stood for a long moment, their pulses gradually slowing.

“If we continue this,” Bromwell said at last, “I shall forget all honor entirely.” He pressed his lips into her hair. “I must take you home.”

He was right, she knew, and yet Callie did not want to leave. She wanted this moment to go on forever. She wanted to race onward to the finish that her body so ardently desired.

It occurred to her that she had been standing outside, hidden only by the shadows, kissing Bromwell in a way that anyone would label as far bolder than any of the behavior of the other women in the supper box tonight. It was hypocritical of her, she supposed, to have been so shocked at Lady Daphne’s public display with her swain, yet fling herself into passionate kisses with Daphne’s brother.

She had acted in a most immoral way, she was sure. Yet she could not bring herself to regret it. Indeed, at the moment the only regret she felt was that she could not continue to kiss him.

Callie opened her eyes and leaned her head back, looking up into Bromwell’s face. His lips were slightly reddened and sensually relaxed, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded. Just the sight of his face, so clearly stamped with desire, stirred her.

There was a difference, she thought, between her and Lady Daphne. Daphne had been playing fast and loose with a man she barely knew; Callie suspected that almost any man who had passed by would have served. But Callie could not imagine feeling like this with any other man in the world. It was Lord Bromwell, and he alone, who sparked this passion in her.