by Gill, Tamara
Suzanna supposed her awkwardness in the ton could be due to the fact their aunt had grown up the daughter of a farmer and had never ventured into society. Not until Suzanna’s father had made the sound investment in mining did the family start to move in different circles than those to which they were accustomed.
She looked at her Aunt Agnes and a lump formed in her throat. Her aunt also sat alone, preferring to speak little lest she say something that would cause strife for her charge. Love for the woman surged through Suzanna, and she promised herself this season would be different.
The humiliating memory of the Coots ball, when she’d walked from the retiring room with her gown askew, and showing enough ankle to make her red hair pale in comparison to her complexion, made her inwardly cringe.
What a horror last year’s season was, certainly one to forget, and never to repeat. Surely after many months of learning to be a lady of the highest calibre she could manage to dance with someone other than her brother, and make her aunt happy.
“Good evening, Miss March.”
Anyone, but him.
Suzanna swallowed a sip of champagne and watched Lord Danning bow, his dark gaze smiling up at her before he straightened. Her own narrowed.
“Evening, Lord Danning.” And I’m not at all in favour of speaking to you, you obnoxious rake, so please go away!
“I hope you are well this eve, Miss March, and enjoying the ball?”
Suzanna barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes in disinterest at his contrived conversation. “I was enjoying it very well, my lord.” Until a minute or so ago.
Lord Danning’s lips twitched as if he understood her meaning. “I heard you travelled abroad over the past year?”
Suzanna pulled at the hem of her glove and met his lordship’s gaze. “Yes, to Paris.”
“You are much changed since I saw you last,” Lord Danning said, handing her a glass of champagne and taking her empty one without hesitation.
“I suppose you mean I’m no longer dressed like a disaster and my hair actually meets current fashion requirements.”
He coughed. “I beg your pardon. Have I said something wrong, Miss March?”
Suzanna glanced at his immaculate attire with loathing. Damn the man to look perfect in every way. With very little effort, he always seemed able to appear pristine and relaxed. Yet Suzanna had to hire a French maid and take endless classes on deportment just so she could appear half respectable in society. She gritted her teeth at the vexing thought.
“I’m sorry, my lord, but I cannot understand why you are here talking to me. All you wished to say was more than adequately said last season, if I recall.”
The colour drained from Lord Danning’s face, leaving him a pasty shade of white. “Forgive me, Miss March. I was merely being polite. This is my ball, if you recall, and I do try to keep up with my duties as the host.”
Suzanna smiled with no warmth behind the gesture. “Oh, I’m sure you were, my lord, but where your manners are concerned I care not.”
“You’re angry with me.” Lord Danning paused, his gaze speculative. “Why?”
“Why!” Suzanna shook her head at his question. Obviously, she was so unremarkable that their conversation in this very ballroom last year had been forgotten. “Perhaps you should seek out those who desire your company. I am not one of them.”
He steered her behind a potted palm and hid her from the watchful eyes of the ton. Suzanna strove to calm her beating heart as the man she had longed for, wanted to kiss just once only months before, stared down at her with an emotion she could not place.
“You have changed not only your looks, Miss March. You seem to have procured a hatred for me while in Paris along with an uncommonly rude mouth.”
Suzanna shut her gaping, rude mouth with a snap. “Rude, my lord? It is not I who is being rude. A gentleman who indicates he finds a woman’s inner strength of character repulsive is the one being rude. Why don’t you just admit you do not care for a woman who does not swoon at your feet, pining for a proposal of marriage?”
“I may have stated your mouth was uncommonly rude, but I did not say I found it repulsive, Miss March. If you would care to accompany me out to the terrace, I could show you just how non-repulsive I find your person.”
Suzanna’s feet, with a will of their own, stepped toward the terrace doors. Had she not wanted to have such a tryst with him last season? To kiss Lord Danning would be a dream come true. Heat stole up her neck at the resounding chuckle behind her before footfalls followed close on her heels.
The cool night air was a welcome balm when she stepped free of the ballroom crush. Strong fingers clasped her upper arm and pulled her toward a darkened stretch of the terrace.
An inner voice screamed at her to break free from his grasp and flee. Run as fast as she could from this bounder. But she would not. She would show the high and mighty Lord Danning what he had turned down and walked away from without a second thought. Tonight, it would be her opportunity to do the walking away. Excitement thrummed through her like a drug at the thought of her revenge, shallow as it was.
“You are very beautiful tonight,” he said, coaxing her to sit on a stone seat hidden within an ivy-clad alcove.
“I do not need your praise, my lord. If you’re going to kiss me, it would be wise to do so now before I return to the ballroom.” Suzanna stiffened her spine and met his smiling gaze. He wouldn’t be laughing for long.
“Last season, when I first saw you, ribbons and frills flying about you, I could not take my eyes from you.”
Suzanna smiled and ran her hands up the lapels of his coat and noted the darkening of his eyes. “Because of the fright I made?”
“No,” he said, his attention fastened on her lips before slipping lower and admiring her person. “Because I saw the woman beneath all that decoration and knew I wanted her.”
Suzanna clamped her jaw and raised his chin with one finger to bring his eyes back level to hers. “Why is it I find such words false, Lord Danning? Your actions and words last season spoke otherwise,” she said in an accusing tone.
He shushed her and shifted her finger from his chin to his lips. Heat stole into her belly as his sinful lips kissed the tip of her finger, and her argument was lost to flame. Never had she experienced such a thing with a man, and as dreadfully wicked such a thought was, Suzanna couldn’t help but wish for more of the same.
“They are the truth, whether you choose to believe them or not.”
“Perhaps, my lord,” she said, as she reclaimed her hand from his. “It is because you termed me from trade last season and not someone you wished to associate with, even as a friend.”
How the memory of his hateful words hurt still. She beat back the urge to run, to get as far from this rogue as she could. To go to a place he could never hurt her with his lofty airs and opinions.
Never would she allow anyone to belittle her as he had, no matter their rank. Anger over the memory spiked her lust, and revenge simmered to a boil within her.
Lord Danning would pay.
Without hesitation, his lordship skimmed his lips against her throat, eliciting a sigh from Suzanna. Butterflies took flight in her belly, and her toes curled in her silk slippers.
“I do not recall mentioning your father’s business dealings, Miss March. Are you certain I spoke so reprehensibly to you?”
“Yes,” she said on a sigh, before clearing her throat. “Yes,” she repeated, more strongly. “You did. And if they were not your exact words, it was what you implied.”
“What am I implying now?”
Suzanna swallowed a moan and took her bottom lip between her teeth when his tongue slid up her neck, and he gently nibbled on her earlobe. Oh dear, she should stop him now before they went any further. Her fingers curled about his lapels, pulling him closer. Lavender soap permeated the air along with a smell that was wholly Lord Danning, intoxicating and all male.
“You have the most exquisite skin, Miss March,” he s
aid, shifting closer and turning her toward him.
Suzanna’s mouth dried when his hand clasped her hip, the silk of her gown no impediment to his ardent touch. His grasp slid downward to span her thigh where he lifted her leg slightly to sit higher against his own. It left her feeling open and vulnerable, and wholly excited.
Damn him.
“I want to kiss every inch of your skin.”
A flush of heat rose under her gown with the thought. “I hope you are not planning to do such a thing here, my lord.”
“No,” he said, chuckling. “But perhaps we may find another secluded alcove where you will grant me such favours.”
Suzanna shook her head. “I do not think so, my lord.”
“Just a kiss then?” he asked, pulling back and staring at her. His gaze glistened with challenge in the dim light.
Suzanna chuckled. The laughing, teasing man before her reminded her of the Lord Danning she thought she knew and proclaimed a friend last season. Feelings she squashed rose within her, and so, too, a pang of sadness; that although she would welcome his kiss, wished it in fact, she was not as fond of Lord Danning as one ought to be at such a moment. She could not quell her need to teach the high stickler a lesson he’d never forget in manners and in how to treat a lady.
“Just a kiss,” she said.
It was far from just a kiss.
When his lips touched hers, Suzanna lost all memory of his slight, the harsh words spoken between them and her revenge. Gone was the lady who spent hours on deportment. In her place sat a woman who wanted the touch of a man. And not just any man, but Lord Danning.
The one man she no longer even liked.
Chapter Four
Royce clasped Suzanna’s jaw and let his fingers slide into her hair. She was so altered since last year—lusciously thick strands of golden-red curls, now expertly coiffured to accentuate the greenest, brightest eyes he’d ever seen. He had noticed her immediately at her coming out ball. Fresh from the country, the woman had been awkward and unsure of herself, with no idea of her beauty. But her beauty was no longer hidden. Innocent longing, unlike any he’d ever known stared up at him and left him breathless.
His lips touched hers, and he was lost.
Royce allowed himself to be swept away into the firestorm of desire burning through his body. Never had soft lips and a tentative tongue excited him as much as it did now. He pulled her hard against him, and immediately, the intoxicating scent of jasmine enthralled him. Her ardent response to his kiss urged him to take the intimate interlude to a more satisfying conclusion, but the gentleman within him urged caution.
After his mistreatment of her last season, Suzanna deserved more than a rough tumble in the vine. For all her untutored yet delicious kiss, she was untouched. Royce didn’t yet know if she was a candidate for his future wife, but what he did understand was to gain her with such underhanded scandalous means would not be favourable to an agreeable or pleasurable future. And after his first, enthralling taste of her lips, he decided if they were to have a future together it would be a pleasurable one, not one founded on regret and shame.
He tilted her chin and deepened the kiss, leaving no doubt as to the effect she had on him. The touch of her fingers, delightful and tentative, made him burn. He throbbed, wanted to lift her skirts and have her up against the ivy-covered trellis. Have her moan his name against his ear as her hot core clamped around him, draining him of his own release.
Royce pulled away, shocked at his own reactions and dishonourable thoughts about the woman. She stared up at him with glassy, lust-fogged eyes that gleamed in the dappled moonlight. “You should return to the ball before you’re missed,” he said.
Her pink tongue slipped out onto her bottom lip as if to tease him completely senseless. Stifling a growl, Royce stood and lifted her to her slippered feet, then set about removing the telling evidence she had been thoroughly kissed and manhandled by a rogue.
With gentle precision, he positioned a misplaced curl back within the bonds of a pin, the soft curl tempting him to bury his hands in her silken locks. She would look exquisite with her golden-red hair cascading about her shoulders. Or better yet, against his pillows, all mussed from his lovemaking.
She slapped his hand away and stepped back. “I am perfectly able to right my dress and appearance, my lord.”
“Of course, Miss March,” he said unable to hide the smile in his voice.
“I suppose a gentleman of your reputation thinks of such trysts as normal and commonplace, certainly something to laugh about.”
“On the contrary, Miss March, and if I have offended you, please accept my most humble apologies.” Royce bit back a smile. She was a delightful minx to behold, feathers ruffled and indignant. A twinge pricked in his chest and he frowned.
“Good evening, Lord Danning,” she said and curtsied.
Royce clasped her fingers before she could stalk away and didn’t miss the slight tremble that thrummed against his palm. “Good evening, Miss March.” The urge to kiss her again nearly overrode his control, but the defiant gleam in her eye told him she’d not take well to more kisses from him this eve, even upon her hand.
Still, plenty of other eves in the season.
Royce watched her walk toward the terrace doors, her skirts billowing about long, striding legs, leaving him in the shadows with desires that ran as hot as the Arabian desert during the midday sun. Miss March had always been delectable. Now, she was desirable.
***
Later that night, Royce watched Suzanna waltz gracefully with Lord Moyle and a simmering anger he thought never to feel started to burn in his gut. Grudgingly, he acknowledged the nuance for what it was. Jealousy.
“May I grant you my heartfelt condolences, Lord Danning?”
Royce beat back the urge to snarl at Suzanna’s brother. “What do you mean, March?” he asked, taking a swig of his brandy and welcoming the distraction of the burn from his growing temper. How dare this bastard speak to him after the trouble he’d caused with his own fool of a sibling.
“As I understand it, you will soon be married.” March smirked and looked out over the gathered throng of guests.
Royce frowned. “So the banns have been read? Comical. I hadn’t thought I’d asked a woman to be my bride.” He clenched his jaw at the resounding chuckle, which grated on his already frayed nerves.
“Well of course you will, my lord. A ruined viscount must marry, and soon. I should imagine you have your sights set on someone…wealthy?”
Equal to his own height, Royce glared into March’s eyes, one burning question fogging his mind: how had the bastard found out his situation was so desperate? “Not unlike yourself, a grandson of a farmer trying to marry an earl’s daughter. Do not think yourself so much different, March. At least I have no need to climb the social ladder, only to keep what is rightfully mine from birth.” Royce inwardly cringed as Suzanna’s words stabbed at his conscience. Perhaps he was too high in the instep.
March paused. “Touché. And you may do whatever you wish as long as the woman you seek is not my sister.”
With a will of their own, Royce’s gaze sought out the beautiful Miss March. She shone like the brightest candle flame in a room full of superbly gowned women. A rare light and one to be treasured.
Suzanna laughed at something Lord Moyle said, and a pang of regret pierced Royce’s chest. She had once looked at him in such a way, with easy joviality before his hasty, hurtful words had sent her from London and travel abroad. And all because of his brother, and this arse standing next to him who couldn’t control their gambling. Yet they could not entirely be blamed for the family woes. Royce, as head of the family, had not been as careful as one should.
Yet not all was lost. Suzanna had kissed him, after all; perhaps there was hope for them still. He turned his attention back to Henry March. “Would such a decision not be up to Miss March? She is of age, is she not?”
The deadly gleam that entered March’s eyes gave Royce an odd sen
se of pleasure. Annoying the bastard calmed the raging beast inside him that wanted to beat the cocky gentleman to a pulp.
“Seek her out for her fortune, and there will be hell to pay, Danning. Your treatment of her last year was uncalled for and nearly ruined her in the eyes of society. I would see her married to a man she loves and to one who will love her in return. Do I make myself clear?”
Royce chuckled. “And if I love her, will my suit then be welcome?”
“An easy gesture, to profess love to a rich lady when you are broke. You made it obvious she was not acceptable last season. Need I remind you my father established business in textile trading and finance? He worked his way to the wealth and position we hold in society. Or has her fortune blinded you to our common heritage?”
Royce looked away from Suzanna and inhaled a calming breath. “I have not forgotten. But I believe you have also overlooked the fact your sister had a tendre for me, one I wish restored. Keep an eye on her, March; my rakish wiles may see her wedded and bedded before the month is out.” He smirked.
“Watch your mouth lest you find yourself wed and dead,” March said, with a pointed stare before storming away.
Royce watched March go, and sighed. How he regretted his words to Suzanna all those months ago. Hated to see her esteem for him wither and die with every hurtful word he’d uttered. His temper, having been spiked by his wayward brother, had been unfairly released on an innocent woman—one who would take much persuasion to believe he meant no harm by his words. It was probably for the best if he left her alone. Just then Suzanna laughed—a warm, wondrous sound—that sent fire coursing toward his groin. Impossible.
Royce looked away and caught sight of his friend, Lord Renn. The Earl waved and strode over.
“Danning, my good man, how have you been? It seems an age since I saw you last.”
He scoffed. “If I recall the last time I saw you, Renn, you were disappearing from a ballroom with the married hostess. Who by the way,” he said, nodding toward a group of ladies, “is looking in your direction.”