With one movement, she ducked her shoulder out from under his hand and stepped away, taking three short steps to the sofa. “Isn’t your fiancée waiting for you?” she asked teasingly.
Stuart shrugged, not at all upset by the progress she was leading him on. “We are not formally betrothed.”
She studied him, an odd little smile playing around her lips. “You’ll break her heart.”
He stopped, took a deep breath. “Not by design.”
“Ah.” She nodded sagely, and sank down on the sofa in a flowing motion, reclining against the side and casting one arm above her head to toy with the dark curls. “But you don’t love her. Is it only desire that drives you into her arms, then?”
It was desire hammering away at his gut right now, screaming inside his head to spread himself on top of her and accept the invitation in her eyes. “No, not at all.”
She crossed her legs with a flick of one ankle that belled out her skirt for a moment. That foot continued to swing, drawing his attention to her legs. Legs explicitly outlined by thin silk. Was this woman wearing any undergarments at all? Stuart lowered himself to the sofa beside her. “What did you intend, when you spoke to me a moment ago?”
Her smile was arch. “To meet you.”
Better and better. He braced one hand beside her head, and when his face was merely an inch from hers, whispered, “Let us become acquainted, then.”
“Oh, I am already acquainted with you,” she purred. He tried to capture her lips, but got her cheek instead. “You have already proved yourself everything I thought you to be.”
He laughed against her hair, nuzzling her ear. “And the night is only beginning.” He brushed the loose curl back over her shoulder, letting his fingers linger on the slope of her shoulder, tracing the neckline of her gown. She stopped his hand there.
“And are the things you’ve heard about me true, Stuart?”
He paused. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly under his hand, but the teasing note was gone from her voice. “I do not know who you are,” he said in a cooler tone. “And I begin to wonder what you’ve heard of me.”
“You do not know my name, and yet I think you would make love to me if I released your hand. Am I right?” He said nothing, and she moved, rubbing her hip against his erection. “Your silence speaks louder than words.”
“Who are you?” he demanded, rolling completely on top of her. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second, then became hard and opaque again. She didn’t move, and even though the feel of her body under his sharpened the desire coursing through him, he ignored it in a belated burst of suspicion. Who was this woman, and why was she here in the library, waiting to lead him on like this? “What exactly do you believe you know about me?”
“Why, Stuart,” she said softly, “I’ve heard as much about you as you’ve heard about me. Do you want to make love to me? Would you be curious to learn my name after? Or would you go back to the party in search of still another woman to seduce?”
“If anyone seduced, you did,” he growled. “What game are you playing?”
“I told you.” She smiled again, sly and triumphant. “I was curious about you. I came to the library to think, before meeting you. Because we were destined to meet this evening, you know; Susan told you so herself.”
He stared at her, unmoving. Her smile widened.
“I am Charlotte Griffolino,” she whispered. “Spiteful, withered, stone-hearted old witch. As well as Susan Tratter’s guardian.”
He released her hands. “You can’t be. Her aunt is old.”
She lifted one shoulder. “In Susan’s eyes, I am, having celebrated my thirtieth birthday this spring.” Stuart said nothing; she was only two years younger than he was. A terrible fury knotted in his chest. Susan had deceived him about her aunt—frightful old crone, indeed—and her aunt had deceived him about her true identity. And now he had lost all chance of Susan Tratter—and her fortune. He sprang to his feet.
“You must be quite pleased with yourself.”
“In what way? To have learned beyond a shadow of a doubt that my niece has fallen prey to an adventurer? That the man who nearly ruined two other young heiresses in London nearly ruined my own brother’s daughter, while she was in my care? No, I am far from pleased.”
“You deceived me!” He thrust his finger in her face.
She lifted one eyebrow. “Mr. Drake, I never said anything to encourage you.”
Stuart shook with the force of his anger. She damned well had led him on, knowing exactly who he was when she invited him to make an advance, deliberately entrapping him. “You knew who I was!”
She laughed at him. “And I told you so, didn’t I?” In a flash, he caught her arm. He wanted to shake her and punish her, and he still wanted to make love to her. He settled for the shake, but ended up dragging her against him.
Her eyes searched his, superior and disdainful. “Stooping to forcing yourself upon a woman?”
He released her in a heartbeat. “I have never forced myself on a woman. You invited me.”
Her eyebrow arched mockingly. “Did I? The way Miss Eliza Pennyworth invited you to take her driving from London to Dover? The way Miss Anne Hale invited you to molest her in her own grandmother’s garden?”
Stuart swore. “You know nothing about what happened to either of those two young ladies. I never ruined them.”
“No, not at all. Tales of their disgrace reached the wilds of Kent purely by chance.”
Stuart seethed.The gossips had seized hold of two incidents that were only unfortunate in their timing—mere days apart—and convicted Stuart of worse sins than he had ever committed. That gossip in turn had sent his father into a fury, and led to his banishment. But this woman made it sound as though he deliberately debauched innocent maidens for sport. “I have nothing more to say to you.” He turned toward the door.
“I am very glad to hear it,” she said behind him. “Do show some trace of decency and leave without speaking to Susan again.”
Stuart stopped, one hand on the doorknob. He should do it, turn the knob and leave without a word to anyone, especially Susan. But he had never been able to leave without the last word, had never had the discipline to keep his mouth shut when all reason dictated it was best, particularly when his temper was raised. There was nothing to be gained by taunting this woman ... and yet ... “She pleaded with me to run off with her.”
There was a rustle behind him, a shrug, no doubt. “You won’t agree.” Damn, but he hated that faintly patronizing tone, from his father and now from her. Especially from her, especially now.
Still holding the knob, he turned slowly. In the dim firelight, she looked warm and golden, just the slightest bit rumpled, as if recently from a lover’s embrace. Thwarted lust mixed with anger in a dangerous combination. “You’re very sure of yourself.”
She tilted her head, studying him thoughtfully. “Yes. Or rather, I am very sure of men like you.”
“Oh?” Stuart hated few things more than being taken lightly, dismissed out of hand and relegated to some category beginning with “men like you.”
“Why is that?” he asked.
She smiled, her full mouth pulled down in scorn. “Because you haven’t the slightest interest in Susan, even though you’ve seduced her into thinking she loves you. It’s all about her money, and if you run away with her, you’ll not have a single shilling. I can and will assure it.”
“You would deny your own niece the comforts she’s accustomed to, just to spite me? How loving, Aunt Charlotte.”
She shrugged at his sarcasm. “What would you have me do, admit to soft-heartedness when it will give you license to do as you wish? Do you think me simple? Don’t ever mistake me that way again, sir; my heart is as cold and as unmoving as marble. The day you take Susan for your wife, I’ll invest her every pound in long-term ventures in places you’ll never track down if you spend the rest of your days looking.”
“It is her inheritance,” he remin
ded her.
She collected her shawl from the floor and draped it lightly over one shoulder, catching the other end around her elbow. “Left in my care, by her father. George would agree wholeheartedly with my decision. He abhorred fortune hunters as the lowest creatures on earth. They care nothing for stealing a young girl’s hopes and dreams, crushing her heart and leaving her reputation in tatters. Her life means nothing to them. It’s all a grand illusion, and when it ends they are in possession of a fortune they did nothing to earn and a wife they cannot abide.”
Stuart closed his fists. “You judge me quite harshly. Is your niece allowed no say in the matter of her own heart?”
“If her heart has chosen you, it’s made a grave mistake, one she’ll thank me some day for preventing.” She picked up a fan from a nearby table and flicked it open, waving it once before closing it with a snap. “You were on your way, I believe.”
He let out his breath in a gust. She was right; he should be on his way. He had only come tonight to meet and woo Susan’s aunt, which was obviously out of the question now. The bitterness of how close he had come to his goal struck him then, and Stuart cursed himself for letting a woman cloud his mind. Whatever doubts he might have had about marrying Susan, she was by far the nicest, most suitable girl he had met so far.
“Yes, I am,” he said at last. “But don’t think our paths won’t cross again.”
Straightening her shawl, she barely glanced at him. “I hardly care whether they do or not, Mr. Drake.”
“But I do,” he murmured. “Very keenly.”
Charlotte ignored his last veiled threat. The door closed behind him, and she calmly finished untangling her shawl.
“That was not a nice trick to play on him,” said a voice from the shadows.
Charlotte shrugged. “It was no more than he deserved. A man of honor wouldn’t have rushed to the assumptions he did.”
“Cara, only a man with no blood in his veins would not have made his assumption.”
Charlotte fussed some more with her shawl, ignoring Lucia’s dry comment. It was not Lucia’s niece hovering on the brink of calamity, and therefore it was not Lucia’s place to criticize Charlotte’s actions. “Nevertheless, it only confirms my suspicions about him. He doesn’t care a fig for Susan or her feelings if he would make love to another woman the moment her back is turned.”
A thin plume of smoke wafted through the drapes that screened the terrace doors. “I do not think it was a good idea. That one will not take well to being fooled.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to smoke, Lucia,” she replied testily. “It’s not good for your voice. I must see to Susan. Shall you come with me?”
“No, I think not.” She blew more smoke. Charlotte waved one hand in protest, starting toward the door. “He is not as you told me he would be,” Lucia said just as Charlotte put her hand on the knob. “I hope you do not underestimate him.”
Charlotte paused. Stuart Drake was more dashing than she had expected, it was true; there was a feeling of pent-up energy and recklessness that made his charming smile and manner all the more tantalizing. What really lay beneath the gentlemanly veneer? It was a veneer, Charlotte was sure. She had known more devils in angels’ garb than she could count, and Stuart Drake’s halo radiated falseness. The way he had rolled on top of her, simultaneously exciting and alarming ... Some women—and some girls—might find that attractive, but Charlotte knew better.
“No, he is just like every other man,” she said, only adding very quietly, almost to herself, “fortunately.”
She walked down the hall to the large drawing room where the rest of the guests were, summoning a gracious smile for her hostess. Lady Kildair beamed in reply; Charlotte knew it was craven delight at getting someone as scandalous as Charlotte and someone as rich as Susan in her drawing room. Those qualities tended to bring out the eligible gentlemen, something Lady Kildair would sell her left arm to do with three unmarried daughters of her own in the house.
Charlotte paused in the doorway, searching openly for Susan and covertly for Mr. Drake. She found him first; odd, since he was almost completely behind another gentlemen. He looked younger than she had first thought, but undeniably handsome, with dark hair and eyes and a tall, athletic body that even now sent a strange shiver up her spine. Because the man would have assaulted you on a library sofa, she reminded herself, just as he glanced over his companion’s shoulder and met her gaze.
She didn’t move, just stood there, without a smile or a sniff or a melodramatic toss of her head. No sign that she feared him, just that she saw him. His gaze was dark, displeased but not defiant. Neither looked away, until the air between them seemed to sizzle with the ferocity of feeling on both ends.
“Aunt Charlotte?” She turned away immediately. Susan was beside her, plucking at the fringe of her shawl.
“Yes, dear?” She smiled at her niece. “Are you enjoying the ball? I went out to get a breath of air.”
“Yes, I noticed you were gone.” Susan looked a touch guilty, as she should, having sneaked off to meet a scoundrel. “Did Lucia leave?”
Charlotte laughed. “No, heavens, she’s trying to assassinate Lady Kildair’s garden with those cigarettes.”
Susan wrinkled her nose. “They are quite vile.” A giggle burst out of her, and she stifled it with a nervous glance. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”
“Well, the truth often is.” Charlotte tucked her hand around Susan’s arm. “Come, shall we have some champagne?”
“Really? May I?” Her niece brightened. “Papa never let me have champagne except on very special occasions.”
Charlotte felt tonight qualified as such. “Let’s treat ourselves, shall we?” Susan nodded eagerly, and they headed for the refreshments.
Charlotte, fond aunt that she was, thought Susan quite pretty. She had hair the color of ripe wheat, without any of the curl that plagued Charlotte’s own hair, and clear blue eyes. But Charlotte was also objective enough to realize that Susan wasn’t, and probably never would be, considered beautiful, at least by the world in general. Still, she was determined to see Susan wed to someone who cared for her happiness, as well as for his own.
It wasn’t until they were sipping their champagne, watching the floor clear for dancing, that Susan brought up the topic Charlotte knew had been on her mind all evening. She knew not only from the bits of conversation she had overheard earlier, but from all the clumsy intimations Susan had made over the last few days about a wonderful gentleman she’d met, and wouldn’t Charlotte be so happy for her when she married? In many ways Susan was still a stranger to her, but in this she had been completely transparent.
“Aunt Charlotte, you always said I could speak to you about anything,” Susan began, her voice a little higher pitched than usual. “There—there is something I would like to tell you.”
“Of course, dear, what is it?” Charlotte saw him approaching from the corner of her eye. Oh dear, he wouldn’t go quietly. Susan gulped some more champagne, her eyes flitting toward him on every other word.
“I’m not a child anymore,” she said in a rush. “I am almost eighteen, old enough to know my own heart, and I have met the man I intend to marry.”
“Ah.”
Susan looked momentarily surprised by her meek reply. “Please don’t stand in my way. I love him and I want to marry him. Papa wanted me to be happy, and Mr. Drake will make me happy.”
“Susan, I don’t think this is the proper time or place,” said Charlotte gently. Why couldn’t the wretched man simply leave? Susan would be hurt, but at least it would spare them all a public scene. A confrontation in Lady Kildair’s ballroom would only humiliate Susan as well as break her heart.
“Please meet him, Aunt Charlotte.” Susan faced her with wide, intent eyes, her spine straight and her hands clenched. “Please listen to his suit.”
Charlotte hid her sinking heart behind a serene face. “If you wish, dear.” And then he was before her again, just a
s tall, just as devastating, just as wicked as before. Charlotte looked up, somewhat unsettled by the realization that he seemed even bigger and darker here than in the library. She had thought it all a trick of the light.
“May I present Mr. Stuart Drake,” Susan was saying. “Mr. Drake, my aunt, the Contessa de Griffolino.”
“Good evening.” Charlotte inclined her head, and he bowed.
“Drake, I’ve told my aunt of how much we’ve come to care for each other,” said Susan, becoming more nervous. “And that we wish to marry.”
The man smiled at her, so warmly Charlotte could almost believe he meant it. “Indeed, you’ve stolen my best line.”
Susan giggled, looking very, very young and vulnerable next to him. Charlotte’s resolve firmed; over her dead body would this scoundrel marry her innocent niece. She adopted the cool, remote smile any Italian would recognize as a rebuff, wanting to tear a strip off his hide after all, scandal be damned.
“Perhaps you would honor me with a dance,” Mr. Drake said, holding out his hand. “That I might argue my fitness for the honor of your niece’s hand.”
Charlotte looked at his hand, then at his face. The charming smile was still in place, but it didn’t reach his eyes. She wasn’t sure she wanted to put herself in his grasp again. Susan waited by his side, hands clasped in supplication. “Perhaps you would prefer to call,” Charlotte said. “We will be at home tomorrow.”
Susan caught her breath and turned anxiously to Mr. Drake, but his eyes never wavered from Charlotte’s.
“No, I would prefer to dance. In truth, I cannot wait until tomorrow. I would have my answer as soon as possible.”
“Please, Aunt Charlotte?”
Charlotte hated him even more for the hope in Susan’s voice. You have already had your answer, she promised him silently. Giving in, she handed her glass to Susan. “If you wish. Susan, will you wait for me?”
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