Living London Page 8

  "Until?" Why had she accepted his invitation when she was so adamantly convinced he was only after her fortune?

  "We met, quite by accident, at a card party last night and actually had a civil conversation." She spoke if she still didn't quite believe it. "He was quite the gentleman and didn't once try to seduce me or attack me with his rakish charm. It completely shocked me, so much I couldn't find any reason to not accept his invitation to allow him to escort me to the ball." Her words came out slower and slower till the last ones seemed to be dragged out of her.

  "He asked about you, you know," I added, remembering our waltzing conversation.

  "What?" She gasped. "What did he say? What did you say?" She leaned forward to the front of her chair.

  "I asked him why he'd asked me to dance when he was watching you the whole time we were dancing."

  "He was?" she asked, unbelieving.

  "He was. It was quite obvious." I nodded my head, affirming my words.

  "What did he say?"

  "He tried to turn on the charm and get me to simper and forget his lack of attention. I called him on it, and he said that you would have turned him down, even if it meant forgoing the rest of the dances for the evening. He actually looked hurt as he spoke the words. I don't know him very well, so it could all be an act, but based on what I said next, I think he might be authentic in his affections."

  "What happened next?" Amelia whispered, frozen in her attentive position.

  "I don't remember the exact words, but it was something about him being braver."

  Her eyes widened in shock. "You told Lord Heath to be braver?"

  "Yes. And he asked you to dance, if you remember."

  "I don't believe it."

  "What part?"

  "All of it."

  "It's the truth, Amelia," I offered gently.

  "That's what I'm afraid of," she said softly.

  ****

  As I entered the Langton's ball, I searched furiously for Amelia. I found her grinning behind her gloved hand at something Lord Rake had said. With a smirk, I walked over to where she stood. I was her wingman tonight, her moral support, and I wasn't about to shirk my duty.

  "Good evening, Miss Westin." Lord Rake spoke in his honeyed tones. I hoped Amelia was on her guard. His voice alone could melt the North Pole. With a polite nod he turned his attention back to Amelia. He wasn't playing the arrogant cad, but more of the devoted gentleman. His manners were perfectly respectable, and he didn't give off the bad boy vibe nearly as strongly. If I were a betting woman, I'd say he even dressed for the occasion, with lighter and more muted colors.

  The night promised to be entertaining as I watched Amelia genuinely smile in Lord Rake's direction. Yes, interesting indeed.

  Feeling like the third wheel, I extracted myself from Amelia, who seemed to be doing well. In fact she had hardly taken her eyes off of Lord Rake long enough to say a quick hello. The smile she gave me as I walked away alleviated any guilt I would have tried to carry with me. No, I wasn't abandoning her. I was giving some space. As the evening progressed, I continued to check in with Amelia, but she was content to speak with Lord Heath. So I danced with a new gentleman each set, but never with the one person I hoped would ask me. My gaze kept straying to the entrance. I wondered if he perhaps hadn't been invited or had decided not to come to this particular party.

  "Miss Westin?" said an elderly voice from behind me. Turning, I saw an overfed gentleman with clothes that looked uncomfortably tight.

  "Yes?" I answered, dubious. Oh, please do not ask me to dance. It was clear he wasn't of the grandfather variety, more of the dirty old man variety. I took an involuntary step back.

  "May I have the honor of this dance?"

  No, go ask someone your own age or at least within twenty years of it. "Of course, Lord..?" I trailed off, waiting for him to supply his name.

  "Lord Haymore, at your service." He bowed, but his eyes lowered and leered over my body. Shivering with disgust, I tried to control my gag reflex. Eww, nasty. Not happening, you dirty old man.

  He led me onto the dance floor and, to my utter misery; the strains of a waltz began to play. This is not happening. His breath reeked of sour alcohol, and he definitely didn't have a dental plan. Desperate to keep the proper distance between our bodies, I fought as he constantly tried to pull me in closer. When I spoke he glanced up at me, but otherwise he blatantly stared at my breasts.

  "I knew your grandfather, you know," he stated proudly.

  "Is that so?" I asked, trying to inhale as little as possible as his breath continued to poison my limited air supply. Meaning you're old enough to be him? I wanted to interject, reminding him of our vast age difference. I could never be a gold digger. Good thing I was wealthy.

  "Yes, I'd love to speak with you about him. Wanted our families united." His eyes dipped lower again, and he tried to drag me closer into his body. Straining against his unwanted advances, I stepped on his toe, hard.

  "Oh, please forgive me. I seem to be so clumsy tonight." I spoke harshly, hoping he'd take my hint.

  "Perhaps you simply need a breath of fresh air? I'll escort you outside in the gardens after our waltz. It will be sure to—" He paused as he leaned down to smell me. "—alleviate any tension, and relax you." His eyes darkened as he pressed me in closer.

  I wanted to slap him. How was it possible that I was being sexually assaulted in the middle of a crowded room? My skin crawled — I couldn't disguise my horror at what was taking place. I sent a heavenward prayer for the dance to end, or for Lord Haymore to drop dead. Preferably the latter.

  Once the dance was finished and he'd escorted me back to the edge of the ballroom, I excused myself as quickly as possible. No way I was giving him any opportunity to "relax" me in the garden. Saying I needed to speak with a friend, I disappeared. The thick, humid air in the room suffocated my senses, and I needed to escape. There were so many people and so many different types of cologne, perfumes, and sweaty bodies that I wanted to just get a breath of fresh air… no matter how small it had to be. Just as long as Lord Haymore didn't follow me.

  After regarding the exits, I followed a hallway I assumed led to a powder room of some sort. Once free of the crush of people, I closed my eyes and paused to lean against the wall. "What I wouldn't give for a good rain shower right now." I spoke to myself, feeling the sweat trickle down my back. My skin continued to crawl from the dirty old man's touch. Ahh, the good ol' days of running through the sprinklers in summer. And antibacterial soap. And mace. What I wouldn't give for a can of mace.

  "We'll, it is England you know," came a teasing reply. My eyes flew open to see a very amused Lord Ashby leaning against the opposite wall.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked a little too bluntly. My heart was still pounding — for a moment I had thought Lord Haymore had found me.

  "Don't worry, I won't compromise you. No one will know I met you here. Although the thought is tempting." His eyes were full of wicked intent, but not the kind I feared. The kind I anticipated.

  "Oh! It's not that, I just…" Telling him I'd thought he was Haymore would surely insult him, so I thought I'd simplify. "You startled me." Confusion dawned as I absorbed his words. "Wait, how would this be compromising? We simply met in a hallway."

  The question sounded naive, but I couldn't stop the words from tumbling out. Of course this was a compromising position! All my books centered on debutantes finding themselves compromised by the rake in a darkened hallway. All it took was one person to spread the word, and we'd be as good as married. But the thought wasn't frightening at all. I could easily wake up next to Lord Ashby.

  "Well, yes, we're not chaperoned," he explained.

  A quick observation told me just how secluded we were. "I just didn't want you to think that I'd force your hand or take advantage of the situation."

  "Force my hand in what? In marriage?" I asked, cursing my stupidity as the words slipped from my mouth.

  "Yes."

  "But
, why?" Again, my mouth needed a filter.

  His eyes widened before settling on an entertained expression. "Because, well, you're known for your fortune." The wicked intent had left his eyes, washed out by the reminder. His ears were a touch pink, and he looked so playfully attractive with the shy look. Humility in a guy was overwhelming in it’s allure.

  "And?" I waited for him to continue.

  "You're a Westin, and therefore… How to put this delicately?" he mused to himself. "Well, exceedingly wealthy, if I may be so bold to say, and someone in my position could take advantage of our rendezvous."

  So now our compromising situation was a rendezvous. I liked the sound of that better, but I saw where he was going, so thought I'd help him out. "You could take advantage of my position because I'm wealthy, and you're…well, not," I offered.

  "When you put it so delicately it sounds not nearly as humbling. Thank you." He spoke sarcastically as he ran his hand through his already tousled hair, clearly exasperated with the whole conversation.

  I couldn't help but smile a bit at his frustration. Poor guy. But I had to admit the whole conversation was more than a little diverting. In fact, it was the best I'd had all night. Here I had men more than willing to drag me into a compromising situation in order to gain access to my name and money, yet the one man I wouldn't mind finding myself in a compromising situation with had too much integrity to do anything about it. Well, things could certainly be worse, but they could also be better.

  Glancing around, I made sure that we were completely alone. Lord Ashby was still berating himself for something or another, so I decided I'd brighten his mood a little… at least I hoped it would brighten his mood. I knew it certainly would make my night. I reached forward and placed one finger to his lips to silence him, then pulled him by his coat sleeve into the tiny alcove next to us.

  He paused for a moment, glanced around, and followed my lead. "Miss Westin, do not tempt me." He glanced at my lips as he spoke, and his expression turned hungry, making my stomach clench.

  "Lord Ashby? May I please call you by your first name?" I knew it simply wasn't done, but I also knew given my background that he wouldn't take offense. He'd be shocked for sure, but wouldn't take offense. It was getting tiresome always having to say Lord Ashby, which seemed so old-fashioned, when Morgan was what I thought of when I pictured his face.

  "Of course if…" He paused, seeming unsure of himself for a split second. His hesitation changed in an instant to bold confidence that took me by surprise. "May I, in turn use your given name as as well?" I nodded, a grin tugging at my lips.

  He sobered slightly, furrowing his brow. “Only when we’re speaking alone. It could damage your reputation.” His eyes were sincere.

  "Or your own," I added, watching him, waiting for his reaction. Gone was the surprised expression I had been accustomed to finding on his face whenever I spoke honestly or out of character for a lady. "You hardly seem shocked by any of this," I added after a moment of scrutinizing his features, feeling oddly disappointed by his lack of response.

  "I'm growing accustomed." He spoke through a grin.

  I played along. "Really? Somehow I feel insulted."

  "We both know you're not," he answered, his one eyebrow rising in disbelief.

  But I rather liked how I kept him on his toes. His reactions were so very amusing. A smile crossed my lips as I thought of a way I could easily wipe the smug grin off his beautiful face. "Morgan?" I asked, whispering his name so he had to bend in slightly to hear me. It worked like a charm, and I wondered why I hadn't thought of it before.

  "Yes, Jocelyn?" His words were spoken softly, with a husky quality I found attractive. Bending farther forward, I placed the lightest of kisses on his lower lip, lingering only for a moment, afraid if I stayed longer I'd be discovered by someone. And as thrilling as the danger was, I didn't want to trap him.

  I leaned back to await his reaction, but I didn't make it far. "Oh, no you don't," he said hoarsely as he wrapped a strong arm around my waist and pulled me deeper into the shadows. "You have no idea how long I've waited to do this."

  Soft lips molded against mine, teasing them and temping them to open to his desire. Warm hands moved up my back, bracing it and pulling me closer and flush with his body. The lines of his coat pressed into my dress and the scent of cloves and honey surrounded my senses. He kissed me like I was water and he was a nomad in the Sahara. While the fierceness of his lips was overwhelming, his touch was gentle. I pressed against him, allowing him to deepen the kiss further. I released a breath.

  His body tensed, and I felt the hard lines of his shoulders bunch under my caressing hands. He broke the kiss abruptly, breathing heavily. I watched him, studying his features and the clenching of his strong jaw. His eyes appeared black in the shadows, reflecting a small amount of candlelight. He reached up, tracing the outline of my face. His fingers left a warm trail I knew I'd feel hours later, and I closed my eyes in response, memorizing the feeling of his arms around me, feeling his chest brush mine as he caught his breath. I didn't want to go back to the ball, ever. I wanted to say right here.

  It's not like I'd never been kissed before — if you count kissing Bobby Thornton in the sixth grade behind the gym on a dare. Or the one date I'd had just before Nanna died, when the guy had actually licked my face. Reading about the kisses in the romances that Nanna and I loved so much had built up this idea in my mind. I didn't think anything would come close, and I was afraid I'd be proven correct someday. But I was wrong, deliciously wrong. All the famous rakes I'd read about had nothing on Morgan Ansley's kiss.

  "You far more enticing than I imagined…addictive.” His voice tickled my ear as he whispered into it, nuzzling my hair with the end of his nose.

  "Am I now?" I asked, leaning back to see his face more clearly. He held me still with one hand was around my waist while the other cupped my cheek.

  Chuckling, he leaned forward. And his lips met mine again, speaking in a language that hadn't changed throughout time.

  ****

  Trying to keep the grin off of my face, I slipped back into the ballroom, hoping no one had missed me. I had a good ten minutes till Morgan would come into the ballroom, so I tried to find Amelia and Lord Rake.

  "You should really be more careful you know." The voice only barely registered before a hand swung me around and began to dance with me.

  I gasped, realizing I was no longer walking but waltzing. "Reg?"

  "Who else?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

  "I have no idea what you're talking about." I was a terrible liar, but I tried hard to maintain eye contact without looking away guiltily.

  "Liar," he accused, waiting for me to crack.

  I couldn't stop a small smile from lifting the corner of my mouth. I may not have known Reg for long, but I knew he'd keep my secret if I were to tell him. But I wouldn't speak of it, at least not unless he tortured it out of me. Which probably would not take much effort at all.

  "I see that grin. Don't you dare try to hide it from me. You might as well tell me before I start to guess."

  "Guess at what?" I replied innocently. I need to learn a poker face.

  He tilted his head and began to scan the room. "Lord Heath?"

  "What? No! He's with Amelia!" I protested, wondering why he'd accuse me of a secret tryst with the man.

  "Ah ha! So you admit that there was someone." A smug grin stretched across his face and narrowed his brown eyes.

  "I never said anything, just simply was offended that you would think I'd do that to Amelia."

  "Hmm… Lord Haymore?" he asked with a barely contained chuckle.

  I spoke through clenched teeth. "Do not ever mention his name to me again, ever." Just thinking of him made me want to take a bath.

  "Oh? And why not?"

  "Because if you do, I'll find the greenest debutante and tell her you hold a secret crush for her, and I'll make sure her mother overhears."

  "You wouldn't dare! I don't believe you."
Reg didn't seem as convinced as his words. "But I'll refrain from mentioning the lecher around you if it bothers you so much."

  "It does."

  "Ah." His face lit up with a devilish grin, contrasting fiercely with his decidedly outlandish attire.

  "'Ah' what?" I asked, annoyed and slightly concerned with the look.

  "It seems that Lord Ashby has reentered the ballroom."

  "Oh? Is that so? I fail to see why you'd be so interested."

  "Oh, well, it seems that he is smiling."

  "And? Is that so strange?" Surely he couldn't piece everything together.

  "No, it is not. But he's not simply smiling, love. He's strutting like a peacock and grinning like a fool. Astoundingly enough, wearing the same expression you tried to hide when you walked into this very room not more than ten minutes ago… the perfect distance in trying to avert talk when one has had a secret rendezvous." His eyes watched mine, waiting for me to give away my secret. How did he do that? If he were that observant, surely others noticed as well.

  "No, no one else noticed, I made sure of it. Why do you think I pulled you into a dance, a waltz no less? You're secret's safe with me. I'm just thrilled the ol' boy finally made a move. He's been watching you. Almost wondered if I were going to have to step in and do something." He muttered the last part. "Here we go." He bowed and walked me over to a content Amelia, who watched me with bright eyes.

  "Reg, nice to see you."

  "Always a pleasure, Amelia." He bowed and left us alone.

  "So?" I asked with wide eyes and a knowing smile.

  "He's been the perfect gentleman." She spoke with a grin, seemingly astonished.

  "You know, they always say that rakes make the best husbands," I whispered. Didn't they always say that in the books?

  Amelia rolled her eyes. "No, rakes do not make the best husbands. Reformed rakes do," she added, blushing slightly. Gone was the ice princess, and I sincerely hoped that Lord Rake knew what he was doing. If he hurt her, I'd — well, what did one do as revenge in the Regency era? I'd have to ask Libby or Mrs. Trimbleton later.