Chapter 11 THE LADY LIES
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Oh, Mother, it was terrible, as if suddenly I was sixteen again! I behaved exactly the same as I did back at Land’s End." Rafe buried her face in her hands with a little groan.
Abbey studied her a long moment. “How do you really feel about this man?” she finally said.
Rafe glanced up at her helplessly. “I haven’t the faintest clue. All I know is that it seems he came last night deliberately to provoke me. And he said something about not taking a thing I was so eager to be rid of. Money. Now how could he know that?”
“It could be that he’s simply put two and two together. He is an educated man, albeit a rakehell. But Rafe, you really must figure out what you think about him. It is imperative, otherwise you’ll keep responding to his provocations.”
“I have thought it through and through. How could I possibly attracted to a man so blatantly no good for me?”
Abbey laughed. “Oh but those are the ones we seem to like the best. Your father was all the wrong things for me. I was sixteen, he was a married Duke. Yet I didn’t fight it, I gave in to it, all else be damned. The Marquis is not as your father was. Your father seduced me gently. The Marquis seems to revel in deliberately agitating you. I wonder why that is? Rafe, I’m going to have to meet this man, then maybe I can help you.”
“Oh no. I am avoiding him for the rest of my life,” Rafe vowed.
"You’re infatuated. Draw to the man. Move beyond it, or do something about it.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Rafe exclaimed.
“Sometimes we have to immerse ourselves in a thing to figure it out.”
“Aren’t you worried for me?”
"Not at the moment."
“Well you should be,” Rafe said indignantly.
“Oh, Rafe. That which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. The Marquis might break your heart but hearts recover. I worry about Terrence Bryce. He is the real problem. The Marquis, well, he is an interesting diversion,” Abbey said softly. Besides, she told herself silently, this seems to bear many of the same characteristics of falling in love when both parties are fighting it. Who knows what may come of it?
“Well, that interesting diversion accomplished nothing for me in the way of losing a fortune, but he did do much to humiliate me! Bryce is the one supposed to be humiliated, not me!” Rafe thrust the Morning Post at Abbey. “Read it,” she pointed to the circled clip.
The sum wagered recently by a Lady of high rank, (one who’s father has only recently passed away in the West Indies) was obscene. More scandalizing, however, was the near brawl that resulted during which the Lady and one Lussex Lord (who has not been seen in London for a considerable time) cast scathing remarks about one another’s carnal finesse, or lack thereof. More appalling still, the Lady didn’t honor her debt.
“Do you believe this? They’re saying I didn’t honor my debt, when the bloody man refused to accept it, and they all heard that! And the way they so cleverly make certain everyone knows who we are with out saying our names…oooh!”
“It’s the way of the ton, Rafe. Besides, perhaps a lack of honor is quite a discredit.”
“Not enough, and drat it all, when he’s involved I’d much rather it be him who was so disparaged.” Rafe grumbled.
“Strong feelings about a person can often become quite the opposite. Hatred, for example, is oft merely the turned cheek of unrequited love.”
Rafe drew herself up in her chair, “I’ll have you know, Mother, the only thing I feel for the Marquis is disgust, loathing, and unfortunately an absurd attraction that won't die. Yes, a bit of guilt, but he makes me so angry, I can quickly forget that.”
“I believe you,” Abbey lied.
Rafe brooded in silence for a while, flipping through the latest issue of the Belle Monde.
Abbey waited patiently knowing this conversation was by no means done. She was rewarded for her patience when Rafe finally tossed the fashion issue aside and said hesitantly, “What is it like between a man and a woman, Mother?”
Abbey beamed. “Splendid!”
“Oh please, a bit more than that! Do elaborate.”
“Well,” Abbey said slowly, “it is a thing I believe should involve little self-consciousness, and much desire, little restraint and much love. it can be a positively primeval thing, a mating of body and soul,” Abbey blushed at her own words, “and quite enjoyable as such. It can be a gentle, powerful, and soul-bonding thing. Oh, Rafe, it is many things. Tender, strong, overwhelming, giving, taking, sharing, loving. Personally, I don’t think one should think too much when one is in bed, rather turn off mind and give way to desire within the cherished bounds of love. I think it’s given far too much emphasis and far too little appreciation. Not that I don’t believe it is special, reserved for people who care for one another, it is very special indeed and should not be used lightly—“
"If your advice was a map I'd be lost without even leaving the townhouse. You’re lecturing and not telling me any of the facts."
“What facts would you like to know, Rafe?” Abbey asked primly.
“Well to start with, where does he put that thing?” Rafe asked quickly.
“Oh dear.” Abbey straightened her spectacles and sat up straighter. “We really must have a talk.”
“I want to know everything, Abbey. Most especially, how to be very good at it. Why is the Marquis considered so exceptional?”
Abbey frowned. This was an awkward discussion, but perhaps it shouldn’t be. Fathers told their sons, even arranged courtesans for them at a young age to educate them in the art of making love. Why shouldn’t a mother do the same? Instead, they were expected to abandon their delicate daughters with no understanding of the carnal passions, and was it any wonder women had such mixed feelings and fears about their wedding night? With a sudden shrug, she decided to tell all. Everything she’d ever learned from the Duke, each trick of pleasure, each position, form of caress, all. Involving mouths and tongues and bodies. Rafe listened with burning ears as she was told things she’d never even imagined. By the end of the conversation she was quite fascinated and, Abbey worried, a bit too eager to expand her horizons. Well, Abbey consoled herself, at least she’d done her part. For if she knew her daughter, one way or another, Rafe was going to end up involved with the notorious Marquis, better that she be prepared!
After Abbey had finished and left, off on a shopping excursion to purchase a few books she thought might be of assistance, Rafe prowled the house like a restless shade, pondering Abbey’s words. How much she had to learn! She had just decided to try a warm bath and a cup of tea to relax, when she heard the knocker tap-tap, and then the sound of the new butler, Timmons, offering the Salon to someone.
Drat it all! she cursed. Abbey wasn’t here so she would have to go see what the visitor wanted, she brooded, heeding Timmons call. She quickly donned a light afternoon gown of simple white muslin, tied her hair back with a ribbon, and slipped down stairs in her bare feet. If it was Bryce, he could be damned, she’d receive him in her bare feet!
As she entered the Jade Salon, she sensed the silent tail of Kyle and Burke, and relished the feeling of safety it gave her. Whereas she’d first found it somewhat annoying, she now found it quite reassuring.
A gentleman was standing by the tall, mullioned windows, glancing out at the street when she entered. He was quite stylsh, his long dark hair sleeked back into a short tail at the nape, clad in fawn-colored breeches, a white linen and oh no--no dratted jacket. It esd the Marquis! For a moment she hadn’t recognized him, so polished was he. She gasped as he turned, his face was smooth shaven, his rich, dark hair, so neat. He looked devastating. What was he doing here? She’d convinced herself that last night was a random and chance encounter. Chided herself for foolishly thinking he might have sought her out intentionally. Firmly counseled herself that she meant nothing to him. That he would never bother himself over her again. Yet now, here he was, in her Salon, and she didn’t even want to begin to discover why.
“Kyle, Burke, pay the man.” She snapped her fingers.
The Marquis smiled, his teeth white and even against his tan face. “That’s not what I came for, Ella, and you well know it.”
“That’s all you’ll be getting,” she gritted as she picked up the morning paper and threw it at him, striking him squarely in the chest. “Do you think this is funny? I don’t.”
The Marquis smiled. It gave her chills. He didn’t even glance at the paper. “Actually, my dear Ella, I laughed uproariously about it over breakfast.”
“You would. I don’t think it’s remotely amusing, and will thank you to immediately inform the bearers of such an absurd tale that I have honored my debt.”
“Oh, but you haven’t,” he said softly. Too softly. Softly, like a man who has long been accustomed to getting precisely what he wanted without ever raising his voice.
Rafe’s eyes flicked to her guards. She could have him thrown out. “I could have you thrown out."
“I’ll only come back again and again. So we may as well have this out,” he replied smoothly. “Eventually, the Loge brothers will tire of throwing me out and out of sheer boredom alone, will consent to hear my words.”
She rolled her eyes. “Speak,” she commanded frostily.
“Ruff,” he said.
Rafe clenched her jaw. “You are not funny. Get to the point and get out.”
He smile, and she wanted to hit him. “Sit with me." He dropped to the sofa and patted the brocade cushion next to him.
“On an icy day in Hell,” Rafe said stiffly, glancing momentarily at her bare toes peeking from beneath her dress, longing for shoes. Even her toes felt vulnerable! She scooted them back under her gown and stood, hands clasped, back rigid.
He arched a brow. In her bare feet, her hair loosely bound and that simple white frock she looked even more appealing than she had last night, if possible. And last night her presence had driven his blood to the boiling point. “There is the matter of the debt you owe me, Ella."
“Which I’m trying to pay, she interrupted quickly, determined to stay in control of the situation.
“One which has been two years in the collecting,” he finished.
“What?”
“You owe me, Ella.” His smile was as icy as his eyes. “I haven’t forgotten. You asked what you could do to make things better. Need I remind you further? Need I remind you of all the details of your little visit to Land’s End?”
Rafe’s eyes flared. How far would he go? “You told me to stay out of your sight and you might find it within yourself not to destroy me. I did. I stayed out of your way."
“Too bad, I've been unable to find it within myself.” He shrugged one powerful shoulder. “I looked and looked. It's no in there. Not one ounce of forgiveness. It would seem I still harbor a grudge. I am still aggrieved. Therefore—“
“Oh, God, you came to London for me, didn’t you?” she breathed.
“Don’t flatter yourself." His eyes narrowed, his mouth curled in a sneer. “I came to London to collect a debt long overdue. The fact that it is you who happens to owe me is mere coincidence.”
“I don’t owe you a thing," she hissed.
“You owe me for Trina. And if that is not debt enough, than allow me to tell you of your latest debt. I know what you’re up to, little Ella. I know your game. You may have the rest of London fooled, but I assure you, I know little Ella Bennington’s ways—“
“I am not little, damn you!” Rafe snapped. She arched her spine and stood up to her full height. "Little Ella this, little Ella that! Stop calling me little. If you’re going to be nasty and insult me, stretch your paltry vocabulary. Do omit the ‘little’ bit.”
He was on his feet and across the room, towering over her in one swift, fluid move. It made her furious. It made her feel…little.
“My, but you do have a temper, don’t you little Ella?” he mocked. “But let’s not digress. As I was saying, I know your game. And I’m not going to allow it.”
“Whatever do you mean?” she asked, holding her breath. He couldn’t know all of it. He was standing too close.
“I am referring to way you plan to force Bryce to break the betrothal.” He shook his dark head. “I’m not going to let you do it,” he said in that terrible, soft voice.
“Why?” she cried, before she could prevent herself. No use in lying, she thought. He did know her. Too well.
“Because I don’t feel like it. No better reason. No better reason than you had when you helped my ward elope.”
“But that was different! And besides, you don’t even know my reasons! You don’t know the half of it! There are extremely important reasons why I must do this,” she argued.
“I’m no more interested in you reasons than you were in mine. I had extremely important reasons, too. But that never occurred to you and now all I’m interested in is making myself feel better. And I’ve concluded the only way to accomplish that is thwarting you. Thwarting you appeals to me greatly. Making little Ella Bennington’s life miserable whispers seductively to me in ways you cannot imagine. As you once did mine.”
“I was young then! You aren’t. You know better. It was an honest mistake.”
“Trying to seduce me was an honest mistake?”
“I thought we were speaking of Trina."
“There is that,” he said. “But that came later, after you tried to seduce me.”
“I didn’t try to seduce you!” He was standing too close, drat the man! Had he moved? Or had she?
“Oh, Ella, really,” the Marquis purred. “One would think you’d be more honest with yourself by now. You were just like all the rest. Interested in playing with fire, but not brave enough to get burned. A chit of school girl who aspired to greatness, just like all her little friends—“
“Greatness? she hissed. “Such an over-inflated opinion you have of yourself. I did not try to seduce you! I was only paying you back.”
“I didn’t try to seduce you. Although in the library you practically flung yourself at me, I’m the one who very deliberately didn’t seduce you. And I might have, with no effort at all. My little Ella, you were begging me for it. But lie as you wish, I see through you. You wanted me then, and you want me still.” He grasped her waist through her gown, pulling her relentlessly against his hard length. “Shall we test it? Need I give you another lesson in how you respond to my kisses?”
“Kyle!” she exploded.
Kyle moved forward, placed a light hand on the Marquis arm, and levelly met his eyes.
The Marquis nodded, and removed his hands. “You owe me, Ella,” he said as he moved back a pace, respecting the guards silent concern. He could afford to. There was no way out for Lady Ella Bennington. “And I shall have my payment. I shall thwart all your attempts to ruin yourself. Unless, you find you prefer the logical alternative. I shall not leave you entirely without choice."
Throw him out, Rafe’s mind screamed. Now, before you listen. Seduce him indeed! Her jaw spasmed from clenching it so tightly. “What is this choice you speak of?" she ground out.
“In brief, either I make certain you fail to ruin yourself, thus forcing you to accept the betrothal--"
“You really think you could do that?” she interrupted with a sneer. “What power you think you have! Just how do you intend to keep me from losing a fortune?”
“Simple. I’ll have you banned from the clubs for failing to honor your debt to me. A dishonorable gambler is banned not only from the public hells, but even private wagers. You’ll soon find that you have no recourse for your intent to lose a fortune. That’s all it would take, my dear Ella. This article,” he waved the paper, “so conveniently printed this morning. Do remind me to thank my dear friend and editor of the Morning Post. But this article will keep you out of every hell unless, and until, I say you have honored your debt to me. And I won’t.”
Rafe’s eyes grew enormous as she realized what he had done to her.
“And as far as appearing the wanton,” he continued smoothly, “my dear friends whom you claim to have bedded, will all publicly decry you at my whim. You’ll have to find others to lie about. Oh, I assure you, Rafe, I am far more practiced in this game then you could ever hope to be.”
She stared a long moment. “Or?” she said finally.
“I find I’m of a mind to be generous. If, my little Ella, you truly wish to be ruined, I'll do it for you myself."
“Come again?” she said weakly.
"If anyone is to ruin you, it will be I and only I.”
She blinked. "Precisely what are you saying?"
"Really Ella, I know you’re not a twit. Do try to follow the conversation. Either I thwart your attempts at ruining yourself, thus forcing you into an arranged marriage you loathe. Or I get the pleasure of ruining you myself. I think the satisfaction of ruining you would appease me nicely. I would consider your complete cooperation fair payment for the impetuous manner in which you wrecked my life.”
“Piss off,” she said instantly.
“Come again?” he mocked.
“My Lady!” Kyle reproved.
“Well you said it!” Rafe shot at Kyle. She turned back the Marquis, fire in her eyes. “And bugger off, as well!”
“My Lady, it seems the gentleman might have you, so to speak, over a barrel. Have you considered that?” Burke offered.
Rafe whirled to face the brothers. “Whose side are you on? And who asked you to speak? You are the guardians of my body, I do not require your counsel!”
“It would seem that you do, my Lady,” Kyle said blandly. "It appears he has you at an impasse. And really, being that ruin is what you seek, why not allow the notorious Marquis to assist you on your road to ruin? Who better? Who more practiced? By the by, it is your side we’re on, Lady Bennington,” he added.
“Because he thinks I was trying to seduce him!”
“Were you?” Burke asked, his face impassive.
“Of course not!”
“Then what’s the problem?” Burke countered.
“Because he will enjoy it!” she fumed. “That’s what!” She spun on her heel again, this time to face the Marquis. “Besides, I owe you nothing!”
“Do you fell so little guilt over Trina?” he asked softly. “Did she mean so little to you? I clearly recall your tear-filled emerald eyes as you offered yourself to me, begging to be permitted to rectify the situation in any possible way,” he prodded mercilessly. “At that moment, I was almost convinced you weren’t like other women. That you had a conscience, that perhaps you had compassion. I can see I was mistaken. You are like all the others if you truly believe you owe me nothing. Beliefs aside, I shall still ruin you, one way or another, Ella. Whether it is by forcing you into an arranged marriage or not, I shall have my recompense.”
“Why?” She despised the plaintive note in her voice.
“Because I want to," he said coldly. "Because there's a place in my head where the ghost of you walks and I want the bloody thing put down. Because I will delight in your ruin. Because I'm a rake and we destroy things, remember?”
Rafe searched his face intently, looking for mercy, her whole body trembling. There was none. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to kiss him. She was on fire with that damned ambivalence again. “Out! Out now!” she ordered, face pale, hands fisted.
When the Marquis stood silently without moving, she whirled on the Loge brothers. “GET HIM OUT! That’s an order!”
The brothers moved toward the Marquis, “I’m afraid, Sir, the Lady insists you leave,” Kyle offered.
“The Lady doesn’t know what is good for her. Fortunately, she two very astute bodyguards. Perhaps you’ll be so good as to put a word in with Abbey Penroth for me?” he suggested, as he moved for the door.
“Don’t show him out! Throw him out! Forcibly!” Rafe yelled.
“He’s not resisting, my Lady,” Burke said, apologetically.
“Well throw him out anyway! Land him on his head! Break his bloody neck!” Rafe stormed past the trio. The Marquis’ hand shot out and locked around her arm. He swung her to face him, his glittering gaze raking her from head to toe. “Oh dear Ella, this is going to be a splendid time! How I will savor the undoing of your incomparable audacity. When, not if, you come to your senses and change your mind, I may be found at Eleven-Eleven, St. James.”
“He’s touching me,” Rafe gritted, “now throw him out. You have your reason.”
Kyle and Burke complied then, forcibly hefting him from his feet and dragging him out the door. And the bastard laughed the entire time!
_____
There was no question of gambling that night anyway, as it was Wednesday, and the weekly ball was on at Almack’s. The doors closed to guests by eleven o’clock, so a timely arrival was a must.
“I’m getting thrown out tonight,” Rafe informed Abbey loftily as the Bennington town coach neared their destination on King Street.
“Indeed?” Abbey arched a brow. “And how do you intend to do that? Unless, of course, the arch Patronesses have decided to consider bad debtors unacceptable. Last I saw, evenly Lord Lumley was in possession of a voucher, and he not only squirmed out of a heinous amount, but failed to duel at dawn. Of course, if he’d worn trousers,” Abbey said dryly, “rather than breeches, they might have turned him away. But you do know, he has this most intriguing cousin who had refused the Patroness Lieven’s bed. Now I hear tell he is her most attentive lover, and all at the bargain price of Lumley’s voucher!”
Rafe shook her head, “The ton really resort to such bribery, even the exchange of intimate favors merely for a voucher to Almack’s?”
“My dear, there have been those who’ve offered half their fortunes for the simple voucher which you were born into as the Duke’s daughter. All manner of sly methods have been employed. I think you don’t quite realize that Almack’s Assembly rooms are a thing all aspire to, yet few actually achieve. It is a rare distinction. And distinctly boring, stuffy, and over-rated,” Abbey added rolling her eyes. “But back to your plan to be forcibly ejected, what do you have in mind?”
“Recall last Wednesday I asked the Viscount de Baal to dance?”
“A most horrendous and unseemly gesture,” Abbey added dryly.
“It would have gotten mousy Lady Thraxgood thrown out,” Rafe grumbled. “This evening I plan to not only ask him to dance, but to kiss me as well, right in the midst of the floor.”
Abbey’s eyes widened. “They won’t be able to overlook that, Rafe. Why, it will be all over the papers tomorrow morning! Good heavens, we really shall get you close to ruin, one way or another. I’m certain he’ll be inclined to cooperate with the way you look. Besides, it will enhance his reputation, and he thinks nothing of a well-bred lady’s reputation.”
“Precisely,” Rafe gloated. “And I’m on my way to ruin.”
“Dear Rafe, simply the shocking way you are gowned will accomplish much. Last week you weren’t expected to be in mourning yet. But by now, the entire ton knows you should you should be. Your gown alone will result in a scandal.”
“I'm wearing black,” Rafe said impudently.
Abbey's brows furrowed as she scanned Rage from head to toe, taking careful note of her gown. Of shimmering bronze silk, it was so thin it might have been sent by two-penny post. A plunging, lace-scalloped bodice, scalloped dangerously low. So low, the rosy crests she’d bronzed lightly before leaving were wont to peek from behind the lace if she moved just so. Her ebon hair was piled high upon her head in a riotous tumble of curls, secured with several magnificent diamond combs. About her neck she had draped an ostentatious diamond broach which dangled invitingly between her breasts, further drawing one’s eyes to linger.
"Hair doesn’t count," Abbey said finally, "so I don’t even want to know where this elusive bit of black is.”
Rafe smiled, then sobered quickly at the expression on Abbey’s face. “This is difficult for you isn’t it? To watch your daughter ruin herself? Although we both know I must do it to escape the betrothal, it must still be hard to watch me act so shamelessly, to become a seeming wanton. To watch your daughter be disparaged, considered a scandal. You do know that I won’t actually do any of the things the ton shall say I’m doing?"
Abbey cocked her head as they were helped from the coach, “I know you won’t intend to,” she replied, with a wise and gentle smile.
Rafe’s reply was lost in the bellow of Mr. Willis announcing the Lady Bennington, and chaperon. Of Kyle and Burke, he made no mention, eyeing them with a hawk’s gaze to ascertain the ‘menials’ had donned the de rigueur knee breeches, white neck cloth and dress coat replete with long tails. Anything less would have resulted in their being turned away at the door. As the pair ascended into the sparse and rather ugly ballroom, many paused in mid-conversation to gape. As Rafe made her way through the crowd, she became aware more than once that conversations were buzzing to a halt as she approached.
Rafe and Abbey paused a moment beneath one of the six vaulted windows gracing the second floor, and the formidable Lady Drummond Burrell, the most brutal of the Lady Patronesses approached like an implacable barge, cutting a wide swath through the jostle of people.
Grasping Abbey’s arm, the Lady Burrell ordered stridently, “See to it your charge is completely over her grief! Any further misbehavior shall not be tolerated with the leniency previously extended. Vouchers can be rescinded!” she focused her glowering gaze on Rafe, “And you, still in mourning!” she gasped. “Did your father mean so little to you?”
Rafe arched a delicate brow and replied, “My father appreciated a lovely and well-dressed Lady. He wouldn’t wish me to bedeck myself in bombazine and smothering veils in the height of the season. Besides,” Rafe added, and only Abbey could read the mischievous glint in her emerald eyes, “I am wearing some black in honor of his cherished memory.”
Rafe moved closer to the conversation arrangement near the fire. Placing her gilt slipper on the ottoman, she pulled the hem of her gown above her knee, hiking up to mid thigh, tossing the full skirt of her bronze gown to the side and over her leg. To Lady Burrell’s horror, she posed like that, one foot on the floor, the other propped on the chair, her skirt flowing back from a smooth, shapely bare thigh. The position revealed a delicate black lace garter supporting her silk stockings, liberally embellished with exquisite crimson roses. “There’s a bit more black as well,” Rafe said, with an innocent expression. “Would you care to see it?”
Lady Burrell’s face could not have become whiter than the lead-powdered white it had already been painted. But the shriek emanating from her mouth was quite satisfactory to Rafe. As Lady Burrell whirled on her heel and sailed away, Rafe grinned devilishly at Abbey who was shaking her head and trying, unsuccessfully, not to smile. “Road to ruin, here I come,” Rafe said happily. “Terrence Bryce, chew on that one!”
It was not more than an hour later, that Rafe finally spied the Viscount de Baal.
He was renowned as a shameless flirt, and still he melted the women, from the freshest, green debutante to the most jaded dowager. He had a way of making a woman feel, beneath his gaze, she was the most beautiful woman who’d ever existed. Rafe smiled ironically as she pushed her way through the thick crowd. How many hearts had that one broken? Nearly as many as the Marquis, she was sure. Had she not met the Marquis first she might have thought that Nicholas de Baal was the most devilishly handsome man to live.
He was surrounded by a gaggle of green girls, and Rafe wondered for a moment how she was going to get through the melee, when he turned and looked directly at her. A smile lit his handsome face. He said something to his admirers, and quickly penetrated the crowd. Like the Marquis, the Viscount stood a good head taller than most others, and was readily visible as he made his way toward her. Unknown to Rafe, from behind her, Lady Burrell was approaching just as quickly, ever on guard for a reason to rescind her voucher.
The Viscount, of course, saw Lady Burrell’s rapid approach, and bowing over Rafe’s hand, said in a voice that carried clearly, “My Lady, how good of you to wait. I had begged this dance, and had nearly been unable to make it in time.” His even teeth flashing in a charming and apologetic smile.
Rafe gritted her teeth as he whirled her out upon the dance floor to the sprightly tune of a Scotch reel. Drat the man! Now why did he try to save her face? she wondered, then espied a bewildered looking Lady Burrell standing where they had been scant seconds ago. Rafe rolled her eyes, then veiled the look quickly with an adoring gaze. “Why, my Lord! How you honor me! Another dance with you? I fear I shall expire from the way it makes my heart flutter,” she said, waving her fan above her breasts, which exposed a gilded nipple behind the lace. She watched his eyes follow her movement, and noted the way his lips parted That sleepy look she’d glimpsed in the Marquis eyes filled his hot gaze, and Rafe was amused. Curious too, for his reaction caused nothing to stir in her own body, although the man was undeniably attractive.
The Viscount inhaled sharply, and dragged his gaze back to hers. “My Lady, I believe your charms have never been more delightfully displayed. Couple the view with those enchanting black garters I espied earlier, and it stirs my very…heart." He smiled, eyes glittering, mouth a breath from hers.
Rafe dazzled him with a smile. Oh, but it was going to be easy to collect her kiss! Each opportunity that presented itself, she managed to brush herself against him, if only for a moment, as they dance the giddy Scottish reel. When the music changed to that of a waltz, of course modified from the close hold to the less risky form, she pressed herself immediately into the forbidden intimate embrace. His eyes were definitely scorching her now, and she was stunned when he pulled back slightly. From what Abbey had told her, there was no question that the man wanted her. He was hard, ready…but not willing?
“Really, my Lord, is the true form of this dance too risky for you? I was told nothing was too risky for you!" She wet her lower lip provocatively.
The Viscount cocked his head and arched a golden brow. She saw tiny tense lines about his jaw, and he replied only, “There are those rare things I do not risk.”
Whatever did he mean by that? “But only last week, my Lord, we danced this dance scandalously close,” she teased, and pressed against him so closely that his thigh was suddenly between her legs. She felt him tense, so she leaned closer still, head upturned and mouth deliciously parted. When his head started to swoop, Rafe closed her eyes and without even realizing she was doing it, imagined the Marquis holding her. A long moment passed, and had Rafe kept her eyes open, she might not have been so stunned. At least her ego would have been assuaged by the terrible battle that raged all too plainly on the Viscount’s face.
“I do apologize, Lady Ella, but I’m afraid I cannot accept what you are so enticingly offering,” the Viscount gritted.
“What?” Her emerald eyes blazed open.
His face was tight with frustrated desire and banked fury. He wanted her. She knew he did! So why the frustration and anger?
“As I indicated previously, there are a few things I don’t risk," he said tightly. "The Marquis's wrath, for one. The bastard," he muttered.
“The Marquis?” Rafe snapped, all beguiling softness fleeing her face.
The Viscount shook his head, and brushed her cheek lightly with his hand. “The bloody devil has warned us all steer clear of you. More’s the pity because I would relish teaching you the art of making love. No, not relish, I fear I would carry you off to some castle across the border and keep you as my slave forevermore. Lady Bennington, you could drive a man to ruin, and I think you know that. If ever there was such a thing as a female rakehell, it would be you, my lovely dove. But sadly, your charms must remain unsampled, and so the ton shall be informed that your claims to the Lords of Lussex are just that. Worthless claims, as unsubstantiated as your wagers."
“I don’t need to be taught the art," she bristled. "I’ve already been taught it, and besides, I’ll just find someone else!”
The Viscount nodded sagely, a considering look in his eye. “I envy your teacher, and by the by, I told the Marquis you would just find someone else. He said he has taken appropriate measures that shall keep most if not all, the young bucks away from you.”
“Such as?” Her gaze was murderous.
“Such as issuing an all to clear challenge to a duel should any approach you. Half the ton has already heard about it since this morning. Didn’t you wonder why your dance card wasn’t booked?”
Rafe floundered a minute, “I thought it was because I was such a scandal!”
“Oh no. It is because the Marquis is renowned as one of the most deadly and effective swordsmen, and crack shots, of the day. Add to that his expert and unusual knowledge of Eastern arts and, whatever the choice of weapon, it would be the Marquis who remained standing. None will approach you. And I, my dear lady Ella, am only sorry he met you first.” He gazed down at her lovely face, so flushed with anger, her glittering emerald eyes, her honey-colored skin curving deliciously from the bronze silk, replete with those gilded nipples. “I would have taken you to paradise, Ella, and never brought you back,” he murmured huskily in her ear, as he released her hand. The dance had ended, and he smiled sadly as he allowed the next round of dancers to separate them.
Rafe stood a moment, feeling inexpressibly lost, when she gazed for an unknown reason to her left. Between the full swirling gowns of the waltzers, she saw him. Leaning insolently against a pillar, clad impeccably in high fashion. His arms were folded and his feet crossed at the ankles. It was such a relaxed position, such a pleased, smug stance. And he was smiling.
For an eternity, Rafe stared at him, oblivious to the dancers whirling about her. The music seemed to fade, and the room spun in slow motion.
There was nothing but her, and the Marquis, and that damned lazy, sensual, tempting, and hated smile. Sleepy eyes, hooded eyes, eyes that promised a world of secrets to the foolhardy initiate.
Slowly, lazily, Rafe forced herself to smile in return, and raised her left hand to make a sharp, waggling gesture with her fingers beneath her chin. She’d learned it as a child in Italy, and it was a fairly universal gesture. From the way he tensed, ever so slightly, she was certain he understood it.
She laughed as she turned away, wondering just how many women had ever told the Marquis de Galle to fuck off.
_____
“Still a member of Almack’s, I see,” Abbey noted wryly, on the ride home, which took place on scant moments later.
Rafe sighed. "Something happened today while you were gone shopping, which I didn’t tell you about. I had a visitor.” Rafe took a deep breath. “Mother, I think we have a problem."
