Wickeds Scandal (The Wickeds) (3 page)

Lord
Reynolds gently disengaged Lady Fellowes legs and took a step back from the
couch.  He watched the redhead with amusement.  “Caro, go back to the
ballroom.  Even though this has been a vastly amusing
discussion
.”

Lady
Fellowes giggled.  Her gloved fingers wiggled at him, curling and begging
him to come closer.  “Have you lost your sense of adventure, Lord
Reynolds?”  She plucked at his trousers.

“No, but I
have better sense than to tumble you in my host’s library during a ball.” 
Besides, didn’t you ask Danvers to escort you tonight?”

Lady
Fellowes frowned a bit.  She put her hand between Lord Reynolds legs as if
she were massaging something.  

Oh Good
Lord!  Intrigued, Alexandra continued to watch.  Lady Fellowes was
touching his… She covered her mouth as a small squeak emerged.  She knew
exactly what Lady Fellowes was touching.  

Lord
Reynolds pushed the grasping hand away from his pants and chuckled
softly.  “Go back to the ball, Caro, before you are missed.” 

Lord
Reynolds stepped away from Lady Fellowes’s grasping fingers and faced the
curtain.  His beautiful features looked thoughtful and a bit melancholy.

Alexandra’s
heart gave a small, odd lurch.  Something about his countenance made her
want to comfort him.  Ridiculous as that sounded. 

“Darling?”

Lord
Reynolds walked over to the fireplace and poured himself a glass of Lord
Dobson’s brandy.  “You should not have followed me, Caro.  An
association with me would likely end any future match with Danvers.”

Lady
Fellowes smiled. “I don’t give a fig for what Danvers thinks.  He’s
only
a baron.  You are a Marquess.  A gorgeous, lovely Marquess.”

“Why how
very mercenary of you, Caro.  And you hardly out of mourning for your
dear
husband.  No doubt, you would mourn me just as fiercely.  You do make
a lovely widow.  Black becomes you.  I suppose you were hoping
someone would see us?”

The sarcasm
of his words sliced across the room into the empty air, hanging above Lady
Fellowes like swords.  

The redhead
frowned.   She flounced about the couch pretending to straighten her
clothing with an aggrieved air.  A calculating look came over her lovely
face.

“Lord
Danvers is quite taken with me.”

 “I’m
sure he is.  Don’t let me keep you.” Lord Reynolds waved his hand at the
door.

Lady
Fellowes did not care for his reply.  The redhead postured, thrust out her
chest and gave him a petulant look.

Lord
Reynolds ignored her.

She flipped
her head and allowed a bright red curl to dangle down her shoulder in a
fetching manner.  “Fine.  But should you come looking for me later
you shall have to fight Danvers for my attention.”

“I stand
duly informed, Lady Fellowes.”  Lord Reynolds downed the brandy.

Lady
Fellowes glared fiercely and waited for Lord Reynolds to say more.  At his
silence, she stood in a huff and flounced to the door in a swirl of black
silks.  The library walls shook as she slammed the door. 

Lord
Reynolds shrugged and moved closer to the fireplace.  His brow furrowed in
contemplation as he reached into his pocket to produce a cheroot.  A brief
flare of light lit the beautiful planes of his face. He touched the flame to
the end of the cheroot with a sensuous flick of his wrist and took several deep
drags.   

Alexandra
scratched her nose, careful not to disturb the curtain.  The dust really
was deplorable.  She watched Lord Reynolds with her left eye.  
His hair glimmered like a bolt of black silk, the strands curling just a bit on
the ends.  The man really must consult another tailor, possibly one who
knew how to fit a gentleman. She could see the muscles of his thighs outlined
by his breeches.   

The smell of
tobacco reached her nostrils making them twitch.  Terrified of sneezing,
she scratched her nose and prayed he would leave.  Lord Reynolds blew
smoke rings into the air as if he had all the time in the world.  How long
had she been gone?  Her uncle would bring the house down around her ears
if he discovered her missing. 
Damnation!  Why doesn’t the blasted
man adjourn to the conservatory?  I’m sure there’s a tasty countess or two
waiting for him there.

The dark
head swiveled in her direction as if hearing her thoughts. 

Alexandra’s
heart hammered in her chest.  Carefully, she stepped deeper into the folds
of the heavy gold damask.  Her nose twitched again. 
Damn dusty
curtains! 
She heard him approach her hiding place, the steps
leisurely, as if he were merely taking a stroll in the park.  The smell of
the cheroot mingled with the cinnamon hanging in the air.  Her hands began
to sweat inside her gloves.  Dust tickled the back of her throat.

 The
footsteps stopped.  What was he doing?  She took a shallow breath,
beginning to feel slightly claustrophobic behind the curtain.  Could one
suffocate in a curtain?  She closed her eyes.  A dust mote danced on
her nose.  If she gave a fig for Lady Dobson, she would tell her the
deplorable state of her maid’s housekeeping.

Suddenly a
hand shot through the heavy fabric, reaching towards Alexandra and startling
her so that the edge of her slipper caught on the bottom of the curtain. 
She tripped and grabbed at the material, inadvertently twisting it around
herself as she tried to flee. The material pulled free from the rod as she
tipped forward.  Swaddled in the folds of the heavy curtains she landed at
Lord Reynolds’ feet like a tiny gold damask wrapped mummy.  Lord Reynolds
cursed and dropped his cheroot.  

Which is how
the curtain caught on fire. 

Good
Lord!
  Sutton
Reynolds watched as his cheroot burned a hole in the writhing curtain.  A
small feminine chin came to rest on the toe of his boots.   As jaded
as he was, even Sutton could appreciate the irony of yet another woman
literally falling at his feet.

He bent to
swat at the ember that rapidly burned through the curtain.  The bundle at
his feet made a muffled sound of protest.  The bundle deserved his
abuse.  She
had
been spying on him.   He hoped it wasn’t
Lady Halston’s daughter, Eunice.  The girl had been stalking him for weeks
now.  He had last seen Eunice leaping at him from topiary at the Earl of
Trent’s a fortnight ago. 

“Ow!”

Yes, he
definitely swatted her too hard.  The pleasingly plump bottom below his
palm was likely stinging from his ministrations.  Couldn’t be Eunice,
then.  Eunice was much taller and so thin she looked as if she would
snap.   Lord Reynolds smacked the plump bottom again.

The bundle
stiffened in indignation.

An eye
peered at him through a gap in the fabric.  The bundle twitched,
struggling to roll over and free itself.  After several minutes of twisting
and turning like an earthworm, he heard a feminine sigh of frustration.

“Excuse me,”
the bundle addressed him, “I realize we have not been properly introduced, but
would you mind unwrapping me?”

“How
incredibly provocative that sounds.”  The bundle stiffened and gave a
small snort of disgust.

Sutton
grabbed the end of the curtain and gently unrolled.  A profusion of
chestnut curls spilled out, accompanied by an over abundance of bosom and
snapping gray eyes.  The girl struggled ungracefully into a sitting
position.  One dark curl fell over her brow.  She pursed her lips and
blew a puff of air to dislodge the curl.  The spiral moved, and then
snapped back over her eye. 

He held out
a hand and pulled her up to face him.  Petite and curvy, she barely reached
the middle of his chest.  The oval of her face was pale, her skin a
delicate porcelain, her features altogether ordinary.   Except that
they were surrounded by a magnificent, dark brown mass of curling
tendrils.   She didn’t look frightened in the least, just irritated,
and apparently with him.  He found her demeanor quite interesting.

“Eavesdropping
is a dreadful occupation.  Do you see where it gets you?  Nearly
roasted to death like a tiny partridge.”  His gaze ran over the ringlets
threatening to escape what remained of her coiffure.  He absolutely
adored
curls.  One might even call it a fetish.  Sutton toyed with
running his fingers through the twisting mass when a better idea occurred to
him.  “I had a devil of a time making sure the fire was out.  Perhaps
I should just check again.”  He leaned to examine her posterior.

She jumped
out of his reach, the tendrils of her hair swaying across the ivory tops of her
breasts.  He tried not to stare.  Her breasts were magnificent. 
Between the breasts and the hair, his interest definitely piqued.  The
tightness in his breeches proved it.

“Are you all
right?” he asked politely.  She stared at him.  Most women
did
when they first met him.  Sutton knew of his effect on women.  The
female sex tended to look at him as if he were some sort of dessert. 
Although, this girl looked hostile.  Perhaps she didn’t have a sweet
tooth.

Shooting him
a look of reproach, she rubbed her abused bottom.

It was only
her quickened breathing that gave away her distress.  Each breath tightened
the silk fabric of her bodice against the ivory globes of her breasts.  He
hoped she would inhale deeply enough so that one of those magnificent mountains
would pop out.  Or at least a nipple.  His left hand twitched with
the urge to cup one of those perfect breasts in his hand.  The thought
made it difficult to remember that he needed to chastise her soundly for spying
on him. 

“I wasn’t,”
she sputtered.  Her brow wrinkled in consternation.  Another curl
sprang free. 

Sutton
watched in fascination as the curl unwound, spiraling down her shoulder to lie
in the valley between her breasts.  “Wasn’t what?”  He forgot what
they were discussing.  Her lips were plump, like tiny pillows. 
Sutton forced his look from her lips back to her face and assumed a bland
expression.

“I wasn’t
eavesdropping,” she began to explain hastily.  “I was looking for the
Ladies Necessary Room.  The pins….in my hair…you see they were falling
out.  My hair is quite unruly and the pins…”  She spread her hands in
front of her.  “I got lost and then I saw the light and thought perhaps it
was the Ladies Necessary Room.  But it wasn’t.  I saw books and
I….”  Two spots of red appeared on her cheeks. 

A flair of
annoyance washed through him at her words.  Why didn’t she have the good
sense to shut up?  Women had been lying in wait for him since he was
fifteen.  The situation had only gotten worse since his return from Macao
when his grandmother announced “open season” on his bachelorhood. 
Granted, wrapping oneself up in a curtain and being caught on fire was a bit
drastic, but he knew many women who would do far more to snatch a title. 
Disappointment filled him.  Just another dull virgin of the ton, out
husband hunting. Albeit one with magnificent hair and an overabundance of
bosom. 

“The
books?  Do you mean to tell me you traipsed in here purely to look at
books?  In Lord Dobson’s library?  During a ball?” A dark brow
lifted.  “What an interesting excuse.” 

The girl
gulped in disbelief.  Loudly.   Small, gloved hands clenched
tightly at her sides as if she were strangling something in her fists. 
The gunmetal gray eyes narrowed.

His already
foul mood worsened. He wanted only a moment’s peace from the muttering gossips
that graced the ballroom.  He detested these affairs.  Then Caro appeared
begging to be seduced.  He should have ended things with her weeks
ago.   Could this girl be in league with Caro?  Caro did so want
to be a Marchioness.  Or possibly this girl wanted to be a Marchioness.

The nostrils
of her nose flared.  The bodice stretched but held.

 “Are
you here at Lady Fellowes’s behest or are you a mercenary yourself? 
Perhaps you thought to jump out after she left?”  He waved his hand,
dismissing her.  “Go back to the ball.  You have been found
out.  I hate to dash whatever you hoped to achieve, but neither you nor
Lady Fellowes are Marchioness material.  Keep that in mind should you
decide to call ruin.  I would hate to kill an outraged father or brother
for such ridiculous behavior.” 

A squeak of
outrage popped out of her luscious mouth.  He had an urge to nibble on
that plump lower lip.

 
Another thought occurred to him.  “Maybe I who disturbed
your
assignation?  Were you meeting a lover?”  A bit of contempt bled into
his words.  He could not help it.  The women of the
ton
tended
to either be twittering virgins or bed hopping matrons.  “Please take a
word of advice.  You really need to work on your excuses.  
Bluestockings are a rarity at these gatherings.  No one will ever listen
to such nonsense as ‘I was looking at the books’.”          The
girl’s face reddened.  She gritted her teeth and gave him a look full of
daggers.

Sutton’s
breeches twitched.  The proper thing to do would be to allow her to run
back to the ball having sustained only minor emotional distress during her encounter
with Satan Reynolds.  But her reaction to him was so atypical.  For
some odd reason he was enjoying himself.  A rarity.