She retrieved the book from a nearby table. “I thought you had already decided we were attending the Rutland’s musical.”
“Since Elliott has returned, I think a ball would be a better choice.” She tapped her upper lip, a sign she was pondering the options. “I believe the Charrington ball will be our best choice. Balls are always more delightful with Elliott there.”
Sophia hid her sigh. The last thing she wanted to do was attend a ball and watch as the earl seduced women. If that was what a rogue did at a ball. Yet she couldn’t ignore the flash of heat that filled her at the idea of those jade green eyes watching her as a charming smile tilted his lips.
Berating herself, she opened the book, but wondered what the night would bring. Her best option was to steer clear of the earl and hope he forgot his wish to dismiss her.
Elliott scanned the crush at the Charrington’s that evening, searching for one of his contacts. He intended to pay a visit to Prime Minister Gladwell on the morrow, but if he had the opportunity to share some of the information he’d discovered on his trip now, he’d sleep easier.
“What a lovely surprise,” a feminine voice purred in his ear.
Elliott turned to find Lady Hamilton at his side, a widow he’d enjoyed a dalliance with several years ago. Born in Prussia with a large family who still lived there, along with several Russian uncles, the lady was well connected. Internationally connected. She knew more than most of the intelligence community combined. Though beautiful, there was something sly in her demeanor he didn’t care for.
Rather than the grimace he was feeling, he greeted her with a smile, taking her gloved hand to raise it to his lips. “You are more alluring with each year that passes, my lady.”
She gave a sultry chuckle then bit her lower lip as her gaze roved over him. He wondered if she was picturing him naked. The woman had an insatiable appetite. “How was Paris?”
He raised a brow as he released her hand. “How did you know I was in Paris?” He kept his smile in place even as his senses went on high alert.
Her eyes widened ever so slightly. “I believe the countess mentioned it.”
He’d be willing to wager his grandmother had said no such thing. The idea of Lady Hamilton speaking with her was laughable. It looked as if he’d be pursuing the lady with the hope of finding out all she was willing to share.
Girding himself for the task ahead, he widened his smile as he offered her his elbow. “Perhaps you’d care to dance?”
“I would love to.” The heat in her gaze warned him of her interest.
As he glanced past her, he caught sight of hazel eyes watching him from the side of the ballroom.
Miss Markham.
She stood near his grandmother who visited with several friends. He could almost see the woman’s internal struggle, torn between disapproval and curiosity as she studied him.
Which side would win? What would it be like to watch her eyes light with passion?
Part of him was tempted to find out.
But for the moment, he needed to keep his focus on Lady Hamilton to see if he could coax any secrets from her. After dancing and planning a rendezvous for later in the evening, he visited with a few acquaintances before making his way toward his grandmother.
“Aberland.” Lord Baskwell greeted him as Elliott passed by. “Haven’t seen you in an age.”
Elliott shook the lord’s hand. “Good to see you.” Yet he realized almost immediately it wasn’t.
He and Baskwell had attended university together, but from that point forward, their lives had taken different paths, with Elliott beginning his work for the Intelligence Office. Baskwell had become a true rogue, while Elliott only pretended.
Overindulging in drink and other excesses had taken their toll on Baskwell. His skin was ruddy, his nose already showing signs of the veins that marked those who drank heavily. Though the hour was early, the man’s words slurred and he swayed alarmingly.
Was this who Elliott would become if he gave up his work and became a lord of leisure like Baskwell? Would he continue the role of scoundrel if no other purpose filled him?
The question of who he truly was without either of his identities worried Elliott.
Continuing through the crowd, Elliott reached his grandmother, greeting her as he always did, with a kiss on both cheeks, sending her friends into giggles. He always marveled at how their behavior wasn’t so different from debutantes in many respects. Or perhaps they simply made less of an effort to hide their amusement.
“You look wonderful as always,” he told her as he admired her deep violet gown. Though he knew she missed his grandfather terribly since his death five years ago, he was pleased she no longer wore the dreary colors of mourning. She was much too vibrant of a person for that.
“Why, thank you.” Her smile lightened his heart and made him realize again how much he’d missed her.
Her attention shifted to her side. Elliott turned to find Miss Markham. Her gaze tangled with his for a moment before she dipped into a graceful curtsy. “Good evening, my lord.”
“Are you enjoying the ball?” he asked out of politeness.
“Very much. Thank you.” She eased back, as though attempting to fade into the background.
If his grandmother refused to dismiss the woman, perhaps he could chase her away by making her uncomfortable. That shouldn’t be too difficult as she’d already revealed her disapproval of him. He smiled at the thought of how quickly he could convince her to leave.
“Will you give me the pleasure of dancing with you?” he asked, all too aware of the twittering of the ladies surrounding his grandmother. He knew it was unusual for an earl to ask a paid companion to dance, but that was his purpose—shock.
His grandmother nodded in approval. “Do go dance with Elliott, my dear. Standing beside me all evening must bore you to tears.”
“Not at all. I’m happy to enjoy your company and listen to the music.”
“I insist,” Elliott intervened. “Grandmother is in fine companionship at the moment.” He offered his elbow.
A lovely shade of pink rose in Miss Markham’s cheeks, her eyes glittering in the candlelight as she placed her gloved hand on his elbow. “Thank you.”
He glanced over her gown as they walked, admiring the simplicity of the pale blue silk with its narrow ruffles. The rounded neckline revealed more of her alabaster skin. The dress was flat along her stomach, the fabric drawn into a small bustle at the back, emphasizing her delicate curves. The gown was modest, especially when compared to Lady Hamilton’s. But sometimes it was more about what was hidden than what was revealed.
He should know as he’d spent the past few years seeking hidden information. He frowned at the odd thread of his thoughts this evening. Obviously, he was more tired than he realized.
As they reached the dance floor, the strains of a waltz began. He turned to face her, placing a hand on her waist and taking her hand in his. Was that a tremble he detected?
He searched for other signs of nerves, his gaze catching on the rapid pulse beating at the base of her neck. Why did he long to touch that delicate spot?
“You’re enjoying the ball thus far?” The twinge of guilt he felt at her obvious nervousness surprised him. Wasn’t that exactly the reaction he was hoping for?
“It is very nice.” Her voice revealed nothing, her expression calm and demure. It was her eyes that gave her away—something glittered in their depths.
As he led them around the dance floor and she glided with him through the movements, the crowd fell away.
Her dark curls were drawn into an artful chignon that bounced lightly as they whirled along. He had the urge to release her so he might touch a strand to see if it was as soft as it looked. Her dark brow arched, as though wondering at his thoughts.
He gave his roguish smile, hoping to suggest he was thinking things he shouldn’t be thinking in polite company.
But she either wasn’t affected by his attempt or didn’t believe he�
��d do so with her.
It bothered him that he couldn’t tell which it was.
“Have you always lived in London?” he asked, when their movements permitted conversation.
“No.”
He waited but when she offered nothing more, he continued, “In the country then?”
“Yes.”
Usually he was more successful in convincing people to talk, especially ladies. He searched his mind for a question that wouldn’t allow a simple yes or no answer.
“There’s no need for all this,” she informed him.
“All this what?”
“Conversation. I am aware you would like me gone and you’re aware I’m remaining for the time being.” Her eyes held his. “I believe that puts us at an impasse.”
He frowned, uncertain how to respond. Used to conversing in terms that often meant something entirely different, her honest approach caught him off guard. It was disconcerting.
“Shall we agree to disagree for the sake of your grandmother?” she asked.
“You have nothing to worry over from my viewpoint.”
Her eyes narrowed as they circled in time with the music. “Why don’t I believe you?”
“Are you accusing me of lying?” He added a touch of steel to his tone, not appreciating that she read him so easily when he had outwitted many people in multiple countries.
“Of course not, my lord.” That hint of rose returned to her cheeks, deepening the hue of her eyes.
Once again, her demeanor masked her thoughts. Damn, but the woman could have a position with the Intelligence Office.
No matter. Her behavior didn’t change his goal of encouraging her to quit. She was upsetting the careful balance of his life by intruding on his haven.
She had to go, despite the surprising attraction he felt toward her. Obviously, he needed to increase his efforts to make her uncomfortable.
As an idea took hold, he glanced at his grandmother to be certain she wasn’t in need of either of them. His plan ought to have her gone by morning.
The music swelled as he eased her toward the garden door, looking forward to his new adversary’s reaction far more than he should.
Chapter Three
Sophia could count on one hand the times she’d danced at a ball. Each one paled in comparison to this. The breathless feeling she was experiencing couldn’t be solely blamed on the waltz, which meant it was because of the man who held her.
She did her best to hide her agitation, though feared she was failing abysmally. Elliott—rather, the earl—had thoroughly rattled her. Why was it she felt as if they were playing chess, where each move might well be her last?
He was everything her aunt had warned her about—a womanizer who frequented gaming hells and brothels, stayed out all hours of the night, and drank far too much.
But in this moment, he was handsome and charming. Already her understanding of how her mother might have felt about her father had shifted considerably.
Her thoughts came tumbling to a halt as the earl drew her through the open garden door, still moving in time to the music. The large terrace allowed them to take several more turns before he slowed their steps.
“I thought a breath of fresh air was in order.”
She searched his expression, trying to determine what he was about. Being alone with any man was a mistake, let alone one with his reputation.
“So warm in there, even with the garden doors open, don’t you think?” He tucked her gloved hand under his elbow and moved toward the shadows.
Her pulse quickened as she pondered the proper course of action to take. This was outside her realm of experience. Did she excuse herself and return inside?
As she opened her mouth to do just that, Elliott looked up. She couldn’t help but follow his gaze, wondering what he could possibly be looking at.
“Only a few stars are visible. Nothing like the stars you see from the deck of a ship at sea.”
Her imagination took hold at his words. “What is it like?”
He turned to look at her, the dim torchlight surrounding the terrace casting shadows over his features. “The stars or the ship?”
“Both. All of it.” Her experiences were so limited she couldn’t picture either.
“You must know of the stars, having lived in the country.” His deep voice was quiet, sending a tiny shiver down her back as though he’d run a finger along her spine. Thank goodness his gaze returned to the night sky. She didn’t want him to know what he did to her.
“The stars are beautiful in the country,” she agreed. “So many more than in London. It’s one of the things I miss about living there. But surely you can see even more at sea.”
“I suppose that’s true, as they are visible from horizon to horizon on a ship in fair weather. It’s quiet as well. And peaceful. Only the occasional creak of the boat and a splash of ocean as some sea creature passes by.” He turned to look at her again. “Somehow when it’s quiet, you can better appreciate the sight. Does that make sense?”
She nodded, something inside her loosening at his words, as though her soul understood him in that moment. She held his gaze, wanting more of the feeling. Despite being surrounded by others, she had been very lonely since her mother’s death.
Elliott seemed to sense her wish, for he continued, “It is much easier to believe all is well with the world when a blanket of peace descends upon you.”
She nodded again, imagining the sensation. “Like the first snow. When those perfect flakes fall and all is quiet and renewed.”
He smiled—the first genuine smile he’d given her—and caused her heart to spin. “Yes. Exactly like that.”
“What else have you seen on your travels?”
A shadow crossed his face, telling her not all he’d seen had been pleasant. Then he caught himself and glanced at her. “The good things?”
“Yes. The good things.” She already knew of bad things—death and broken dreams, heartache and sorrow. And loneliness. Those she’d either experienced firsthand or received endless lectures and warnings about. In this moment, she only wanted to hear of the good things.
He looked back at the night sky as though seeking inspiration. And his memories. “Paris is delightful. The coffee there is thick and rich, the aromatic smell adding to the taste. The Arc de Triomphe stands tall, but creates chaos with the traffic.” He shook his head. “Luckily the shelling by the Prussians during the Siege of Paris didn’t destroy it.”
Sophia couldn’t help but study him, surprised he mentioned the war. “That ended only a few months ago.”
“In January. Did you know they transported mail by balloons for a time?”
“Truly?” She tried to picture it.
“Balloons and pigeons.”
“Isn’t that clever?”
“They’re building a tram in Madrid. It will be pulled by mules and is supposed to open next month.”
“You’ve travelled to so many places. Where else brings you that feeling of peace?”
He paused for a long moment as though to give her question serious consideration. “La Almudena, Madrid’s Catholic Church next to the palace. Ardgroom Stone Circle in County Cork, Ireland, although it has an eerie quality as well. One feels restless spirits there.”
All those places sounded mysterious and wonderful to her. Reading about such sights wasn’t the same as seeing them.
“What of you?”
His question took her by surprise. The way he watched her suggested he truly wanted to know, that he wasn’t merely being polite. “I haven’t ventured anywhere except between my previous home and London.”
He frowned. “Surely you’ve seen the ocean?”
She shook her head. Her aunt hadn’t approved of such frivolous travel with no purpose. Nor had there been the funds to do so.
Elliott turned to face her, so close she could feel the warmth of his body, feel his breath on her cheek. Awareness curled through her, catching her by surprise.
His gaz
e held hers, and she couldn’t have looked away if she’d tried. “If the opportunity presents itself, you must go. Somewhere you can stand upon the beach and watch the surf pound the shore. The power of the ocean is invigorating. You will find peace there as well.”
In her mind’s eye, she saw only the gentle lap of the waves of a pond against the bank. Envy tugged at her.
Though she knew she was lucky to have a roof over her head and plenty of food, she longed for so much more. That feeling frightened her. How many times had her aunt reminded her to be grateful for what she had? She had no desire to live with unfulfilled wishes like her mother. No—that hadn’t been living. Merely existing.
Nor did she want to live her life dissatisfied, like her aunt. That wasn’t truly living either.
Elliott reached out to run a finger along her cheek. “You would love it.”
As though he’d cast a spell, she stared at him, feeling as if he could see into her thoughts, deep down to her most hidden desires.
Then he edged closer, his gaze dropping to her lips. She froze, unable to believe that what she thought he was going to do was actually correct.
But it was.
He took her lips with his, slow and gentle just as his words had been. Yet neither of those qualities matched what she felt. As though he’d struck a match, something within her burst into flame, heating her deep inside.
His lips were firm and sure, his head moving as though to coax a response from her.
With a moan, she drew nearer, wanting more of this. How was it possible to feel so much? To want so much? When his tongue ran along the crease of her lips, she startled, parting her lips in surprise. Then his tongue swept into her mouth and all thought stopped.
This...this was magic.
His arms wrapped around her. Her body tingled. Everywhere.
Emboldened by the feelings coursing through her, she returned the kiss with equal vigor. Her gloved hand reached up to touch his cheek.
Then the voice of Aunt Margaret sounded in her ear, admonishing her for her reckless behavior, telling her she was no different than her mother. Wickedness loves company. How often had Aunt Margaret repeated that and many other proverbs?
Her Majesty’s Scoundrels Page 40