by Mary Martin
The earl quickly shook his head. "No—there is nothing."
It was then several guests arrived and their conservation terminated. Starlin forced a smile, yet her mind was racing furiously. She was remembering the look on her grandfather's face as she'd posed that very important question regarding her parents' reported demise. Never before had she seen the earl look so distraught and unsure. She wished there had been time to hear his reply, and decided to delve into the matter further at a more opportune time.
At last, the receiving line dwindled, and with it, Lord Winfield's hope of sparking Starlin's interest in one of the young men. He sighed tiredly. Somewhere, there had to be a man who would measure up to Starlin's high ideals, for the very thought of coercing her into marriage left a bad taste in his mouth. Yet, he felt it was imperative to find a suitable husband for his granddaughter soon. He was aware that when Starlin became of age she would no longer be under his guardianship. She would also acquire half interest in the Cambridge salvaging firm. The earl did not want her to return to Key West. Therefore, he had vowed to see her married before she turned twenty-one.
As he shook the hand of their last guest, he found himself unknowingly regarding the lad's face with intensity. A gesture that prompted Starlin to whisper in a discreet, yet amused, voice, "I say, sir. It would do to soften the look in your eyes. The last young chap to shake my hand was doing well to suppress a tremble."
The earl favored her with a rueful smile. "I did not realize. Perhaps that has been the problem all along, hmmm, Granddaughter?"
She regarded him with dubious eyes. "In what way do you mean that, sir?"
"Simply, with me constantly at your side the lads are kept a distance. I see how they watch your every move. It's time to choose one, my dear."
"I have no interest in any of them." Starlin smiled softly at him. "We have a fine life together, Grandfather. It is enough for me."
The earl sighed inwardly as he escorted her toward the dance floor. Quite suddenly, he removed her arm from within his and offered her to an eager young hopeful who had been hovering near. "She's all yours, young man. Dance the night away."
"Grandfather, really!" Starlin exclaimed in shocked disbelief.
The earl ignored her pleading look and took a position on the sidelines. He watched as her eager escort twirled her slim figure about the dance floor. Inwardly, he was saddened at the thought of Starlin marrying and leaving Eaton Hall. It would be lonely without her vivacious presence. He did enjoy her fussing over him. Unlike his colleagues at his offices who complained frequently to him that she meddled more of late in his affairs of finance, which he knew should be of no concern to a woman. She needed a strong husband to direct her. Her outspokeness was ruining her reputation. Ice Princess—that's what some of the young bachelors were whispering behind her back. He wondered if Starlin was aware of the nickname, and the thought saddened him.
"Is there not one man in all of England to ease my mind, and sweep a delightful, but very willful young lady off of her feet?" he wondered, his intent gaze never leaving Starlin's face.
Rayne Morgan, The Fourth Marquess of Sontavon, whose companion, Lady Susan Ellendale, had received an invitation to the soiree, sat within the confines of his plush coach contemplating the evening ahead. Due to an unavoidable, and very satisfying, delay between Lady Ellendale's satin sheets, they were late arriving at the ball. He never attended London's pompous affairs, but he knew that this particular one could be of great importance to him. Therefore, when Lady Ellendale had pouted because her husband was away, and said she desperately wished to attend, Rayne had been only too happy to offer his services as her escort.
Susan had cooed over his gentlemanly chivalry until he'd had a difficult time keeping a straight face. Women like her were such complete fools. In the two months that they'd been carrying on their liaison, she'd never once really gotten to know the true side of Rayne Morgan. Not that he would allow her to. He always remained coolly unemotional with his women. It was a hard, fast rule he swore by.
Chivalrous, he thought with an inward, contemptible laugh. Lucifer's twisted tail! If he'd allowed her to know him at all, and that was a big if, she'd have readily assessed the fact that he never did anything for anyone unless he stood to benefit by it himself.
He paused in his thoughts to glance down at the sleeping woman snuggled in the crook of his arm before withdrawing a long dark cheroot from within his waistcoat and placing it between his lips. He lit it, savoring its rich smoothness before leaning his head back on the cushions to think.
His mind drifted back to another woman: his mother April, who had unknowingly taught him a valuable lesson about trusting a woman, any woman. A glimmer of sadness flickered in his brooding gaze.
Even now, after so many years, the memory of her perfidy against her family still haunted him. He wondered to this day how she could have cuckolded his father and had an affair with that lying bastard, who all along had only been after one thing. A valuable clue to a priceless treasure.
Unhappy in her arranged marriage to the ailing lord, Silas Morgan, a man twice her age, young April had been easy prey for the dashing adventurer. And later, when Silas Morgan had learned of the affair and confronted April, her lover had fled, leaving April to her husband's wrath and her children's sorrow. Rayne recalled how she'd pleaded her innocence before his father, swearing that she'd not forsaken their marriage vows. She'd remained true to Silas, she'd sobbed. What others thought did not matter.
But when it soon became known that she'd given him a prized possession, Silas Morgan had shaken the castle walls with his wrath. Their peaceful life at Castle Sontavon was over. Several months later Silas Morgan died in his sleep, from grief, many said. Never, Rayne swore once again, would he entrust his heart to anyone. The price was just too damned high.
He reconfirmed what bloody good fortune it had been to have met the restless Susan Ellendale at the hunt club last month. She had taken to him immediately, and he had whiled away many hours of pleasure in her bed since then. He must have exhausted her, for she hadn't stirred once since they had left her estate.
He glanced down at her out of the corner of his eye, wondered how much longer he'd find her entertaining? Granted, she wasn't hard to look upon and was an appealing wench. However ... he stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. Women of title tended to bore him so. No matter how good they were in bed, sooner or later he always grew restless.
One tawny brow lifted rakishly. Although, recalling what Lady Ellendale had told him about the Lady Starlin, perhaps it was remotely possible that there was one tempting morsel yet unsampled that would prove far less ordinary and much more satisfying than his usual choices. His interest had been aroused while listening to Susan relate tidbits of Lady Starlin's outspokeness, and her dim views regarding matrimony. Then, to his shock, her last name had been mentioned. Cambridge. A name he wasn't likely to ever forget.
Morgan considered the challenge ahead of him and felt a reckless mood stirring deep inside him that could not be denied. Even now his eyes gleamed as he rolled the black cylinder between agile fingers and stretched out long legs in the narrow space before him. He doubted, if he should so desire, that he would have any trouble in taming the lovely Starlin. He was confident that he knew her kind only too well. Without exception, they were all spoiled and pampered, with little will to do anything but bat eyelashes and prattle endlessly.
From all accounts, the Lady Starlin was just as indulged as her peers, yet there were certain undeniable distinctions.
"Ice Princess," he murmured beneath his breath. "That is what they call you, beauty. Fair, or unjust?"
Lady Ellendale lifted heavy-lidded eyes to search his face. "Mmmm ... pet names ... darling?" She stretched like a contented cat who'd been heavily dosed with cream.
He gazed down at her indifferently, his eyes inscrutable, before kissing her lightly on the nose. "Nothing that suits you, you can be certain of that."
"Dar
ling Rayne, I know what will," she cooed, one slim hand slipping within his dark coat to roam at will over his thickly muscled chest. "I'm afraid you tend to bring out the worst in me."
He favored her with an indulgent grin, exerting a slight pressure over her hand to stay its movement. "At the risk of sounding crass, dear lady, might I remind you that you love every minute of it."
A provocative smile curved her parted lips as she brushed them teasingly across his. "I love something else even more," she whispered suggestively. *
"How well I know that," he drawled, his hands lightly caressing the ivory flesh of her bare shoulders before he crushed her against him with a rough forcefulness that he knew excited her.
"Oh . . . lover," she gasped, then sighed when his hands moved to cup the fullness of her breasts.
He squeezed firmly his long fingers biting through the thin material. He laughed softly at her sighs and squirming motions. With total control he teased and delighted her, torturing sweetly the aroused nipples until she was writhing in passion. Toying at last with the hem of her gown, he slowly brushed seeking fingers up her silk-clad thigh and urged her slim legs apart. Boldly he stroked the heated flesh of her inner thigh, pushed offending garments aside to tantalize her most inviting place. His lips moved enticingly over hers, his tongue filling her mouth with warm, wet delight until she groaned her defeat.
"Don't toy with me, darling," she whispered against his lips. "We have time." She arched her hips invitingly.
With a cool smile he abruptly set her from him. "We're almost there, Susan," he said, "I don't really think this the proper time or place, do you?"
Disappointed and hurt, Susan arranged her skirts and smoothed the material with shaking fingers. She glanced over at him, observed tearfully the indifferent expression now on his face. He could be so cold when
he chose to. She was well aware of his reputation as a
rake, for there were no end of stories circulating about
him. '
It was stated he lived a jaded life, and loved every minute of it. Lord of a vast estate since his father's demise, he resided at his seaside castle, rarely coming to London. Although he discouraged visitors, and never invited guests, it was rumored to be a magnificent place. Surrounded by the sea on every side save one, and that moors, it was impenetrable except for a single road that wound through the bogs. The land had been in his family for years. Lady Susan was aware of that, and of the dark secrets that surrounded the Morgans.
She had heard that in Rayne's early youth, he had been quite a decent chap. He had even been captain of the guard in His Majesty's army and was highly regarded by the king. Then, something had happened, an incident so serious that he had been stripped of his rank and had fallen from the king's favor. All talk of the incident had been quickly hushed. But rumor had it that Rayne had gotten into a duel with a fellow officer over the other man's degrading remarks regarding April Morgan. The man had been badly wounded, yet recovered. But that had been the end of Rayne Morgan's career.
Susan quivered imagining her lover's hand wielding his gleaming sword, defending his family honor with his life if need be. He was magnificent. She sighed, vowing that she'd never let another woman take him from her. For even though she was already married, she refused to consider his belonging to anyone else. He was by far the most exciting lover that Susan Ellendale had ever known.
She watched him stare out of the window as they approached the Winfield mansion. She swore she saw a glitter of unveiled excitement in his eyes. She thought he had never looked more handsome. With a practiced eye she studied the savage beauty of the man. His dark bronze hair gleamed in the lamplight; short "cropped, wavy, and sunstreaked, he resembled some pagan god sent to earth just to lead astray unsuspecting females. The deep green of his velvet jacket appeared the exact shade as his eyes, and she felt her heart beat faster when he turned to stare into her own.
"Milord . .." she stammered. "We don't have to stay long, you know. We shall just put in an appearance and then we can go off alone . . . just the two of us." She smiled, hoping he did not notice the way in which her lips were tiembling.
"Don't be silly, Susan," he returned, his expression guarded. "You've been looking forward to this for weeks. We may as well enjoy ourselves to the fullest."
"Very well, darling," she conceded reluctantly. "I suppose I will just have to wait until later . .. when we can be all alone in my big bed."
Rayne flicked his cigar out of the window before drawling indifferently, "I never said anything about going back to your place, Susan, did I?"
"Well. .. no, not exactly, but after the wonderful time we had earlier .. . I just assumed."
"Never assume anything where I am concerned, milady," he responded in a callous tone.
Head swirling, Lady Ellendale heard the majordomo announce their arrival. She swallowed over the lump in her throat and observed tight-lipped as Rayne Morgan swung through the open coach door, his sun-brown face and rigid jaw set hard and unyielding. Whatever was going through that fascinating mind of his he had chosen not to share with her. The perfect gentleman when he chose, he offered her his arm. She placed her gloved hand upon the hard muscles encased in velvet, and stepped out to stand beside him. It was then she thought for certain that she heard him murmur almost cynically, "What bloody good fortune that the hunt should bring me here."
Yet, before she could inquire of his meaning, he had swept her into the foyer beneath glittering crystal chandeliers, and the earl was there to greet them.
The ballroom was filled to capacity. Starlin now stood alone in the foyer receiving the last of the guests. She had noticed that her grandfather was tiring and had urged him to join his friends in the billiard room. The majordomo announced a late-arriving couple. Starlin sighed. Smiling politely, she offered her hand to the tall, elegantly dressed man without glancing up at him. His deep voice dazzled her senses and her gaze flew upward to meet his eyes.
"Lady Cambridge, it is a pleasure," Rayne Morgan said smoothly.
"Likewise ... I'm sure," Starlin relied faintly. "I am glad you were able to attend."
"I can assure you, I would not have missed it," Morgan responded.
"We've both been looking forward to attending," Lady Ellendale added, glaring at Rayne. She had not failed to notice the spark of interest in his eyes as his gaze had met Starlin's. He never looked at her that way. Anxious to draw his attention elsewhere, Susan fluttered her fan and placed a hand on Rayne's arm. "I would like to dance, darling. You will excuse us, won't you Lady Cambridge?"
"Of course," Starlin replied, trying hard not to stare at Rayne Morgan.
There was something strangely familiar about Rayne Morgan. She was certain this was not the first time that she'd been stared down by those remarkable eyes. Her mind struggled with his image. He was truly a magnificent male animal—all hard muscle and unsettling strength, with a reckless, devil-be-damned air about him that awakened a sense of daring within her soul. Starlin knew that this man was her equal in every way. It was those mocking eyes that jarred her memory.
"Scorpio." The name was spoken softly and without hint of malice.
"I'm sorry?" he returned with a puzzled expression.
Starlin stared at him. "A slip of the tongue. For a moment I thought you were someone else."
He nodded politely, then turned to Lady Ellendale. "You wished to dance, milady?"
"Oh, Lady Starlin, I say, but you are a magnificent dancer. You float like a feather in my arms." Starlin's youthful partner enthused passionately as he whirled her about the dance floor to the lilting strains of a waltz.
"I must say, Lord Courtland, you certainly are the one with the compliments this evening. You flatter me."
"I mean every word."
"I really wish you wouldn't go on so, milord," she returned with a frown.
"Oh, Lady Starlin, if you only knew how much I admire you. You are truly the lady of my dreams."
"Sir, you go too far," Star
lin replied, her tone stern. "This is neither the time nor place . . ."
"But, I must say this while I have you all to myself," he cut in.
"Might we just dance?" Starlin found her eyes searching the room for sight of Morgan.
"I just wish you would consent to marry me," he persisted hopefully. "I know all of the other chaps wish the same thing. However, I know that I am the one who could make you truly happy."
Starlin made note of those around them vacating the floor, and whispered in Courtland's ear, "Sir, the music has ended .. . shouldn't we stop shuffling about?'.
The young lord turned a deep crimson. "I... I did not realize. Forgive me, it appears I lose all sense of reason in your presence."
"No apology necessary," Starlin replied with a tolerant smile. She was relieved when he guided her off the floor.
However, once on the sidelines, Courtland showed no interest in leaving her side and hovered possessively near.
"You are such a rare gem that I know if I part from you for even a moment, some other bloke will surely claim you."
"I'm certain that is true," a male voice agreed, and there came the sound of subdued chuckling.
Starlin and young Courtland looked up in surprise. Lord Courtland was displeased at the intrusion, and even more so when he saw that it was Starlin's chum Paula Allenton and her escort, Terrence Thorpe.
"You have had her to yourself enough this evening, luv," Paula teased, her bright blue eyes dancing merrily as they met Courtland's. "Why don't you and Sir Thorpe fetch us some refreshment before the fireworks begin. Starlin and I will go on over to the stands and secure chairs for all of us." She cast a meaningful glance in Starlin's direction. "You know we girls have to gossip a bit without you men hovering about."
"Yes, please, Buckwald," Starlin added in a plaintive tone. "I am ever so thirsty after so much dancing."
Buckwald Courtland could do nothing but comply gracefully with the women's wishes. "Very well," he agreed reluctantly before his lips took on a calculating smile. "Perhaps it will provide me an opportunity to speak with your grandfather, milady. He has put me off long enough." His golden eyes met hers with a hungry light and his voice firmed. "I do intend to have your hand."