She turned her back on the crowd and coaxed Cassandra into a conversation about Lady Tessa’s new gown. It was the latest fashion from Paris, the neckline indecently low, but the rich, vibrant emerald silk hugged her curves and sparkled in the candlelight. Neither of them could decide whether they liked it, let alone if they’d be bold enough to wear such a gown.
A servant had just offered them another glass of champagne when Cassandra nudged her arm.
“Oh, I say. Isn’t that your stepmother in conversation with Lord Labourd? They look very cozy. Do they know each other?”
Isobel swung round to where Cassandra’s fan was pointing. The bones of her corset dug into her as she gasped at the sight of Victoria being very familiar with Lord Labourd. Her stepmother’s hand was resting on Lord Labourd’s chest, and he was studying Victoria, as Isobel imagined a shark would study its next meal.
Her stepmother, Lady Victoria Northumberland, was an enigma. There was nothing Isobel could pinpoint that set her on edge. In fact, since her father’s death eighteen months ago, Victoria had been anything other than the mean stepmother. Perhaps it was the fact she had not seemed particularly sad, or indeed surprised, when her father died. Given that he’d died in a suspicious fire, that fact unsettled Isobel.
There was a disturbing coldness about Victoria. She always appeared to be full of gaiety, but her eyes lacked warmth, and she was impossible to read. Isobel always looked for an ulterior motive whenever Victoria did anything.
She managed to stutter, “I—I didn’t think they’d been formally introduced.”
“Perhaps their relationship is more informal.” Cassandra raised one of her beautifully shaped eyebrows. “She is a widow, and I would not blame her for seeking amusements with a man like Lord Labourd. I don’t mean to be rude, but your father was rather old.”
The idea of Victoria and Lord Labourd being lovers made Isobel want to walk over there and scratch Victoria’s eyes out. She had to force her fists to uncurl at her sides. Though she hated to admit it, if Lord Labourd was likely to have an affair with anyone, it would be a merry widow. A young virgin debutante would make him run fast and far.
Just when she thought the night couldn’t get any worse, the pair turned and looked her way. Victoria was gesturing with her hand and laughing. It was obvious they were discussing her, and Isobel wished the ballroom floor would suddenly splinter beneath her feet and she’d disappear in a cloud of dust.
Instead, she watched, spellbound, caught in Lord Labourd’s hypnotic gaze, as Victoria’s hand ran down his chest, lower, lower…Isobel gasped, watching her stepmother’s fingers brush his groin. Then Victoria moved away from him, leaving him staring straight at Isobel with an intensity that made it seem as if she was some puzzle for him to solve.
She tried to catch her breath and move, because…
“Goodness. He’s coming this way. He’s coming for you.”
Isobel both feared and hoped Cassandra’s words were true. As Lord Labourd prowled closer, all she could think was Don’t faint. Dear God, don’t let me faint.
—
Lord Labourd had known someone was watching him as he danced with Evangeline. There was nothing unusual in that. Women wanted him for his looks, and men wanted him for his money. He’d used his sixth sense and ascertained that his voyeurs were none other than Lady Isobel—and her stepmother, Victoria.
He was sure the villainess who’d been hunting him and his friends was Victoria. He just had to prove it.
Victoria had taunted him this evening, their conversation full of double entendres. She’d snidely played devil’s advocate regarding Isobel, almost as if she wanted him to investigate her stepdaughter.
Both of them were engaged in the dance of intrigue. What he didn’t know was whether young, virginal-looking Isobel was involved. He hoped to hell she was, because on the dance floor he could feel her eyes upon him as if they were her fingers. And he’d liked it.
If he could seduce her, he might learn the answers he sought. Best of all, he might gain the evidence he needed to stop Victoria before she hurt any more of the people he loved.
From across the room Arend peered through his lowered eyelids at Isobel. She stood next to another of this year’s pretty debutantes, deep in conversation, trying to pretend she wasn’t watching him. Even now she was still staring at him as if fascinated.
It annoyed him to admit she was a beauty. He’d been trying to ignore the throbbing awareness she caused within his loins whenever he saw her. With her delicate, fine-boned face, flawless ivory skin, and womanly curves, she only had to smile to arouse him. Her blue gown flattered her slender, shapely figure, and he tried not to focus on her firm, high breasts, raising his gaze to her face instead.
She wore her rich dark hair pinned up in an elaborate style, pearls woven into the soft curls. He wondered what the thick tresses would feel like against his naked skin. The thought jarred him out of his sensual haze. She could be the enemy.
She looked so young and innocent, but he knew how deceptive a woman’s looks could be.
A beautiful woman had killed his friend, and almost killed him, all for greed. He’d thought she’d loved him, but she’d loved another, a man who almost took everything from him.
The woman had made a mistake. She’d shown her true colors too soon. He’d have quite happily married her, and his diamond mines would have been hers anyway. He was thankful he hadn’t. He probably would have been knifed to death in his sleep.
And now, again, he was dealing with another evil bitch. What he wanted to know was, who was aiding Victoria? How did she know their every move?
Ever since he’d accompanied Lady Isobel home after the carriage accident that almost cost Marisa her life, he’d had his suspicions. Why had Isobel been kidnapped too? She had nothing to do with the Libertine Scholars and the enemy vendetta they faced. Was Isobel a spy? Had she been placed in that carriage so they would discount her involvement, and then Isobel could freely feed Victoria information?
His feet moved slowly toward his target, his eyes never leaving her face. When she finally locked gazes with him, the impact made him feel an instantaneous heat—an unwanted physical response, one he thought he’d taught himself to ruthlessly control. He refused to be hostage to a beautiful woman’s charms.
To his satisfaction he wasn’t the only one affected. She had stiffened at his approach, looking wary and unsettled, the flush upon her face revealing that all her feminine instincts were on keen alert. He watched her shiver, and damn it to hell he felt a response. He could feel himself hardening, all his male instincts roaring to vibrant life.
As he reached her side he heard her quick, indrawn breath. Oh, yes, she’d be ripe for the plucking. She was already under his spell, and he’d not even turned on the charm.
To seduce her would be easy, enjoyable, and bloody dangerous.
For the first time in a very long time, his body was wound tighter than a drum for a woman he should not want with such ferocity.
“Good evening, Lady Isobel.”
She glanced round, as if looking for someone, anyone, to save her from the big bad wolf, before finally saying, “Good evening, my lord.”
Was he mistaken, or had she stepped closer to her friend? Her low, husky voice sent a further charge of heat along his nerve endings.
She pretended to be calm. “May I present my friend Lady Cassandra?”
He took Cassandra’s hand in his and in his most seductive French accent said, “Enchanté, mademoiselle.”
Lady Cassandra stood, blinking, staring at him.
He turned back to Isobel. “May I have the pleasure of this dance, Lady Isobel?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Did my stepmother put you up to this?”
Time to dazzle. He gave her one of his most seductive smiles and took her gloved hand, running his thumb over her palm. “No. I spied you from across the room and did not wish to miss the chance to dance with the most beautiful woman in here.”
To his surprise, her prickly demeanor did not melt.
“I’m sorry, but my dance card is full.”
She was lying. He knew that, and she knew he knew that, or else her partner would be here asking for his turn on the floor.
Annoyance flickered. She’d expect him to do the polite thing and bow out. Well, she had a lot to learn about him, and she might as well start learning now.
He looked round. “It would appear your partner has been detained,” he said, and held out his arm. If she wished not to cause a scene, she could do little but take it.
To his dismay, she bested him. She smiled sweetly and said, “I’m sorry, Lord Labourd, but I’m sure you’ll understand that I cannot accept your kind invitation. My feet are sore—new slippers, I’m afraid. However,” she said, turning to her friend, “I’m sure Lady Cassandra will be my savior and partner you instead. Since you seem so keen to dance.”
The defiance in her gaze, in her stance, was a challenge incarnate. She might have won this battle, but she would not win this war. Too many people’s lives depended on his success—lives of people he cared about. And since he had no family left, he would claw through the devil’s own flames to protect his friends.
This would be a most challenging seduction, he thought. A jolt of pure desire sizzled through Arend at the prospect of pitting his wits against hers.
He took a step toward her, so their bodies were touching. He felt her tremble. It annoyed him at how just this slight touch aroused him so swiftly.
Isobel pushed Cassandra forward, causing him to step back. Her friend was too thunderstruck to object. And that was how he found himself escorting the wrong debutante onto the dance floor.
Arend bit the inside of his cheek to stop a curse from issuing forth.
He would unearth Isobel’s secrets, but more crucially, he would find the evidence they needed to stop Victoria—or he’d die trying.
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A Taste of Seduction Page 26