London Ladies (The Complete Series)

by Eaton, Jillian

  He felt her fingers digging into his scalp, holding him against her. When he took her other nipple between his teeth she cried out his name, the hem of her skirt tangling between her legs as she writhed in helpless desire.

  Knowing if he went any further he would lose any and all semblance of control Miles forced himself to stop. He and Dianna untangled themselves and retreated to opposite ends of the carriage. For a time the only sound that filled the air was their ragged breaths and the whisper of silk as Dianna hastily pulled her gown back into place. After a moment he glanced at her sideways out of the corner of his eye and saw she was hunched forward, hands braced on either side of her thighs.

  “I should go,” she said without looking at him.

  As the enormity of what he’d just done settled like dead weight on his shoulders, Miles could only watch as Dianna tapped a knuckle against the window, indicating to the driver she was ready to depart. He opened the door at once, standing to the side while she gathered her skirts and, bending low to avoid striking her head on the roof of the carriage, stepped out onto the street.

  She took a step forward and then paused, her entire body tensing before she turned and looked up at him. Her cheeks were pale in comparison to her red lips, and there was a scratch of whisker burn on the side of her neck. Seeing the tiny mark filled Miles with a disgusted sense of rage; not at her but himself. He’d acted like a bloody brute, forcing her into a kiss she’d neither asked for nor wanted. It did not matter that she had ended up enjoying their stolen moment of passion every bit as much as he. He’d done the one thing no man ever should, the one thing he’d promised never to do, and the shame of it burned the back of his neck like a hot brand.

  “I - I want you to know this does not change anything,” she said quietly. “You… you do know that, don’t you?”

  All Miles knew was that if she still hated him, she now had a good reason. “Aye,” he said flatly before he turned his back to stare out the opposite window. He heard the hard click of the door as it closed and felt the carriage sway as the driver climbed back up to his seat and reclaimed the reins.

  But what he did not see - what he could not see - was Dianna standing on the edge of the street as the carriage pulled away, her mouth curved in a frown of misery and her eyes filled with secret longing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Harper, never a patient woman under the best of circumstances, waited precisely thirty-one minutes before she went off across the ballroom in search of her brother. She knew the time down the second because she’d been pestering the very devil out of an elderly man who had the misfortune of falling asleep within her general vicinity. Having spied a pocket watch peeking out of the pocket of his waistcoat, she’d asked for the time every minute or so until he’d finally given up and shoved his watch at her.

  “No wonder no one will dance with you,” he’d said, his eyes narrowing into watery slits of brown as he’d glared up at her from his chair. “A more annoying little chit I’ve never come across in all my eighty years.”

  “And you,” Harper had retorted, “are a miserable old man who should have gone home two hours ago. But thank you very much for the watch! I shall have it returned tomorrow.”

  Biting back a smile - as curmudgeonly as he’d been, the old man had been her only company since the other wallflowers departed some time ago - she’d flounced away, cutting across the very middle of the ballroom in search of Miles. By her second circuit around the room her smile was wavering. By her third it had vanished altogether, replaced by a scowl that was at odds with her softly styled hair and flowing ball gown.

  If Miles had left her here she was going to kill him.

  “I say, are you lost my lady? My lady? Can you hear me?”

  It took a few moments before Harper realized the young gentleman with tousled hair the color of wheat and eyes several shades lighter than brandy was speaking to her. Stopping short of a door that led out onto one of the mansion’s many terraces, she huffed out an impatient sigh and spun to face him, the toe of her right slipper already tapping out a quick impatient rhythm on the marble floor.

  “I am not deaf, if that is what you are implying,” she said.

  “Ah, just inexplicably rude then.” He grinned when she gaped, revealing surprisingly white teeth and dimple high on his right cheek. “Doyle Flynn, at your service. Might I ask your name, beautiful lady?”

  Harper crossed her arms. “You can ask. It doesn’t mean I will tell you.”

  “Who are you looking for?” He crossed his arms to match and rocked back on the heels of his black leather boots. “I’ve been watching you run about like a hound sniffing after a bone for the past twenty minutes.”

  “How boring for you.”

  Throwing back his head, Doyle laughed loudly enough to earn a few inquisitive stares. Hating the feeling of being watched, Harper took a tiny backwards step towards the door, then another. “Running away?” he asked, his damn grin unwavering. “Funny, I didn’t have you pegged for a coward.”

  Had Harper been a hound, the hair on the back of her neck would have instantly bristled at Doyle’s accusation. “What do you want?”

  A suggestive gleam entered Doyle’s brandy colored eyes. He made a show of looking left and then right before leaning towards her and saying in an exaggerated whisper, “What are you offering?”

  The urge to slap the smug look right off his face was a strong one, but Harper held herself in check. There was already more than enough gossip involving the Radnor name swirling about. The last thing she wanted to do was add more fuel to the flame. “You are a cad and a rake and I want absolutely nothing to do with you.” A lady of higher moral caliber would have no doubt turned an icy shoulder and left it at that, but if there was one thing Harper had never been accused of being it was a lady of high moral caliber. “Now bugger off!”

  Unfortunately, her crude order did not have the desired effect.

  “Marry me,” Doyle said, his grin abruptly fading in an expression of such burning intensity Harper felt an answering twinge somewhere deep inside a secret, hidden part of herself she’d not yet explored. For once she couldn’t think of a single biting retort and, not wanting to stand in place staring up at Doyle like one of the fat witted ninnies she and the other wallflowers had spent most of the ball mocking, she did what any dignified young woman in her situation would do… she picked up her skirts and fled out the door and onto the terrace.

  Shaped like a half moon, the terrace wrapped around the east side of the house and was edged with a wrought iron fence. Potted plants had been set at every other post with benches in between, almost all of them occupied as guests sought a respite in the cool night air. Steps led down and away from the terrace, but not knowing where they went and not wanting to stray too far from the ballroom in case Miles was looking for her as she was for him, Harper walked briskly to the furthest corner and wedged herself between a towering fern with leafy green boughs and the smooth brick wall.

  It wasn’t a very good hiding spot - not that she was hiding - and so Harper was not surprised (only annoyed) when Doyle appeared, his tall, muscular frame silhouetted in a spill of light before he spied her lurking in the corner and joined her in the shadows.

  “There you are,” he said cheerfully, acting as though she’d stepped away to fetch them both a cup of watered down lemonade instead of blatantly running away from him. Eyes sparkling with amusement, he leaned up against the wall and rubbed his chin. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’ to my proposal, then?”

  “Of course it is a no!” Harper cried incredulously. “Who in their right mind would say yes?”

  “Quite a few women, I imagine.”

  “Then why not go bother one of them and leave me alone?”

  “Because I find you absolutely fascinating.” Despite his casual manner and easy going grin, Harper suspected Doyle was not as harmless as he seemed and her suspicions were confirmed when he leaned in towards her to whisper huskily, “And I always pursue wha
t fascinates me.”

  She jerked back, startled not by his words, but by her reaction to them. All of her life she’d always found the men in the books she read infinitely more attractive and interesting than the ones she met in person. Except for Doyle Flynn. He was different, and despite the warning bells ringing in her ears she found herself intrigued.

  “Do you often propose to women you have only just met?” she asked, lifting a brow.

  “No,” he said, and before she could decide if he was lying through his teeth he added, “I decided long ago I would only ever ask one woman to marry me, and that one woman would become my wife.”

  Most men would have sounded ridiculous making such a claim, but the easy confidence in his tone made every word Doyle spoke ring true. He honestly believed what he was saying, Harper realized with a start, no matter how ludicrous it sounded. She wondered if he was a bit off in the head, and felt a stirring of pity. “I am sure you will meet her one day,” she said kindly.

  Doyle cocked his head to the side. “Meet who?”

  “The woman you are meant to marry.”

  “Betsy,” he began, and when he saw Harper’s expression he grinned and said, “You haven’t given me your name which, to be quite honest, is a bit rude on your part, but who am I to judge? I must call you something, however, and you have the look of a Betsy about you. Plain. A bit simple. Sweet, without being too intelligent.”

  “Sweet without being too intelligent?” Harper repeated in outrage. Her hands curled into fists and she actually took a step in Doyle’s direction before she drew a deep breath and calmed herself. The man was obviously trying to get a reaction out of her which she refused (mostly on principle and a little bit because it would cause a scene) to give him. “My name,” she said through gritted teeth, “is not Betsy.”

  “It isn’t?” Doyle said, all wide-eyed innocence. “How shocking. What is it then?”

  “None of your bloody business!”

  The curse, spoken a tad too loudly, earned Harper a disapproving glare from an older woman standing a few yards away and a grin from Doyle. “Careful,” he warned, wagging a finger at her, “you do not want to upset that one. Rumor has it she is going to be a new patroness at Almack’s.”

  Almack’s Assembly Rooms, governed by seven Lady Patronesses from the most influential families in all of England, hosted an exclusive ball every Wednesday night. Only the best of the best received invitations, and once you were off the list… well… no amount of begging or bribery would get you back on. Harper personally did not give a fig whether she was disinvited or not, but she knew it would disappoint her brother if he discovered his sister’s debut season had come to a crashing halt before it ever truly began.

  “How do you know that?” she demanded as she cast a surreptitious glance at the woman in question. She’d moved across the terrace and was now standing with a small group of similarly aged women, all of whom were dressed to perfection with nary a hair out of place. They could all be lady patronesses.... or they could just be exceptionally well dressed ladies. Who was she to decide? More than that, who was Doyle to decide? Although, all things considered, he would most likely know better than she given that this was her first ball and aside from her fellow wallflowers she’d not yet met anyone else.

  Except for Doyle.

  “I will tell you… if you take a walk with me. Just a short one,” he said when her eyes narrowed. “One turn around the gardens. A small price to pay for a bit of knowledge. A bargain, really.”

  “I would rather take a walk with a pig.”

  “Sweet and charming.” Doyle pressed a mocking hand to his chest. “Be still my heart.”

  “What do you want?” she asked in exasperation.

  “I believe we have been over this already. I want you to marry me.”

  “That is absurd,” she scoffed. “I am not going to marry you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I do not even know you!” And this, she added silently, is officially the oddest conversation I have ever had in my entire life. Stretching up on her toes, she attempted to look over Doyle’s shoulder in search of Miles but saw nothing save a growing swarm of unfamiliar faces crowding the terrace as more and more people, their red faces covered in sheens of perspiration, stepped outside. “I need to go,” she said, but when she attempted to step around Doyle he blocked her path, his tall, muscular body proving to be a formidable obstacle.

  “Go where?”

  “That is-”

  “None of my business. You keep saying that.”

  “Because it is true! Oh,” she exclaimed in frustration when she attempted to dart to the other side and he blocked her yet again. “You are the most infuriating man I have ever had the displeasure of meeting!”

  “Thank you,” he said, dimple flashing as he grinned.

  Stepping back until she bumped into the wrought iron fence, Harper sucked on the inside of her cheek as she quickly reconsidered how to get out of her current predicament. For whatever the reason, Doyle seemed insistent on bothering her. Perhaps if she gave him what he wanted he would finally grow bored and leave her free to continue her search for Miles. It wasn’t a good plan, but at the moment it seemed to be the only one she had.

  “Very well,” she conceded reluctantly. “I will go on a walk with you. But” - she held up a finger - “this does not mean I have any interest in marrying you and we will walk inside, not out in the gardens. I am a bit cold and do not want to catch a chill.”

  The lie tumbled easily off her tongue without a flicker of guilt. In truth, Harper had never felt hotter which was why, if she had to remain in Doyle’s company, she thought it wiser to do so under the watchful eyes of the remaining guests. The man may have been an ass, but he was a handsome ass and though she would never admit it - especially to him - Harper wasn’t as immune to his charms as she would have liked to be.

  His smile turning a bit wicked, Doyle extended one arm in a gallant flourish. “Inside we go, then.”

  Together they walked back into the ballroom, jostling past the steady stream of people fighting their way out. Inside the music still played, but the number of couples swirling about had diminished by more than half.

  “Dance with me,” Doyle said quietly.

  Harper turned her head, a rebuttal already forming on her lips, but when she met Doyle’s gaze the strangest thing happened. The music dimmed. The people surrounding them faded. Time itself seemed to slow until there was only him and there was only her standing alone in a vast ballroom with their eyes locked together. “Yes,” she heard herself say faintly. “I will dance with you.”

  He held her closer than he should have; one hand splaying across the small of her back while the other lingered at the nape of her long neck, fingers toying with the dark tendrils that had slipped loose from their coiffure. Their gazes continued to hold, and as Harper felt herself being drawn deeper and deeper into the depths of his brandy colored eyes she couldn’t help but wonder how they were moving so gracefully in time with the music when the only thing she could hear was the uneven stutter of her breaths and the pounding of her own heartbeat.

  “Beautiful,” Doyle murmured huskily, dipping his head so she felt the word like a silky caress across her flesh. “If I were not holding you in my arms I would think you a fairy queen, stunning as the sun and substantial as air.”

  The hand on her back began to trail scandalously low, following the delicate bumps of her spine. She tensed, looking up at him in bewildered confusion as she felt a foreign heat beginning to unfurl inside of her, the source of it centered between her thighs.

  “What… what are you doing?” she gasped.

  “Touching you.” His mouth skimmed along the curve of her ear and she shivered when she felt the damp slide of his tongue against her lobe. “Tasting you.”

  The temptation to melt into him, to let him do to her whatever his heart desired, was all but overwhelming. Inexperienced in passion, Harper could not identify the swirl o
f wicked sensations that made her want to press herself against Doyle. She knew only that she wanted more, and was teetering dangerously on the brink of begging. More, she wanted to cry. Give me more.

  As though he could read her wanton thoughts, Doyle’s mouth curved into an arrogant smile. “Did you like that?” At her hesitant, bashful nod he whispered, “Tell me your name and I will do it again.”

  It was the wrong thing to say.

  Had he dumped a bucket of ice water on her head Doyle could not have freed Harper from the lust filled haze she’d succumbed to any faster than those ten words did. A shock of awareness jolted through her, and with a hiss of disgust she jerked out of his arms. “My brother warned me about men like you,” she spat.

  Seemingly unperturbed, Doyle folded his arms across his chest and sank back onto his heels. “Did he now?” he drawled, one corner of his mouth settling into a smirk. “I cannot say he was wrong to do so. Too bad you didn’t listen.”

  “You are a cad,” Harper fumed. “A black hearted, soulless cad!” And she was a fool to have let her head be turned by a handsome face and charming smile.

  Eyes gleaming with wicked suggestion, Doyle leaned towards her. “You didn’t seem to think so a moment ago.”

  “Oh! You… You…”

  “Black hearted soulless cad? You said that already.”

  Harper’s entire body vibrated with anger. “Get away from me.”

  Doyle opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he’d been about to say died on his lips as he looked over Harper’s shoulder and his entire countenance darkened. “We will have to continue this another time, princess.” And without another word he brushed past her and strode purposefully away without so much as a backwards glance.

  Well, Harper thought silently, how do you like that?