Some Like It Wicked (Hellion's Den)

by Ivy, Alexandra

  Carson scowled in a fierce manner. “I would drown you in it. Now, toddle off before I recall just how much I dislike you.”

  Biddles briefly considered the possibility of ferreting out further information before offering a reluctant bow. Experience had taught him that there was no more stubborn beast than a titled Englishman.

  “A pleasure as always, Carson.”

  “Do not feel the need to keep in touch, Bidwell,” his host growled.

  Straightening, Biddles flashed his most provoking smile. “Ah well, who can say what the future might hold, my lord? Until then.”

  With graceful silence Biddles slipped from the room and out the front door. Gathering his horse he set back toward his own house in Mayfair.

  It had not been his most productive afternoon. In fact, he had learned precisely nothing he did not already suspect.

  Still, he supposed that he had at least confirmed that he was upon the right track, which was something. He had chased enough shadows to possess a genuine dislike for false leads. And with a bit more probing he might very well discover precisely who would have been involved in purchasing uniforms.

  Brooding upon whom he might approach next, Biddles paid little heed to the traffic crowding the London streets, or even the passing houses. At least not until he realized that he had taken a wrong turn and had gone several blocks out of his way.

  With a frown he slowed his mount to glance about the small square he had just entered. What the devil was the matter with him? He could find his way through London with a blindfold on. Not to mention Paris, Rome, and even Brussels. How could he have become lost less than a mile from his own home?

  It was not until he noticed a narrow, shabbily dignified town house set behind high hedges that he suddenly became aware of his precise location.

  A chill inched down his spine.

  He knew that town house.

  He should. He had spent more than one dark night watching it from the hedge, although he had refused to ponder the reason why.

  And now it seemed even his subconscious was obsessed with the place.

  A far-from-comforting realization, considering that Miss Anna Halifax was currently residing behind the thick walls.

  “Blast you,” he muttered, tugging on the reins with far more force than necessary.

  He never mooned over well-bred young ladies. Never. They were a plague and a pestilence to confirmed bachelors.

  Even if they did possess lips as sweet as summer honey and curves that a man would sell his soul to possess . . .

  A shiver raced through his body. “Damn.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  From the diary of Miss Jane Middleton, May 21st, 1814:

  P.P.S. Diary,

  I believe that every woman should be allowed to make one ghastly, foolish, utterly glorious mistake once in her life.

  Oh, I do not mean tossing away an inheritance at the faro table. Or rushing off to Gretna Green with a blackguard who is destined to make her life a misery. Or shooting a bullet into a hellion’s arse, no matter how much he might deserve it.

  I speak of those brief moments of temptation that appear without warning and offer a dazzling opportunity to taste of a danger that so rarely enters a proper female’s dull existence.

  Drinking fine wine until your head spins in a pleasant haze.

  Buying a ridiculously expensive painting simply because you like the pretty colors.

  Eating an entire plate of apple tarts for breakfast.

  Or being seduced by a handsome, delectable rake . . .

  Hellion was decidedly . . . perturbed.

  Oh, not because he had just taken a young lady’s innocence, although he had never done so before. Or even the realization that the experience had been one of the most exquisitely pleasurable in his life.

  It was more the warm sensations that had filled his heart as he had thrust to his release.

  He was supposed to feel pleasure. And satisfaction. It was what every gentleman felt when he at last bedded a woman he desired.

  But the profound sense of peace that had settled about him was not at all familiar.

  How could holding a woman in his arms make him feel complete? As if a part of himself had been missing. A part that had been taken from him years ago.

  It was little wonder that he was startled enough by the unexpected sensation to lift himself from Jane’s delicious warmth to struggle into his breeches.

  A man needed to pace about when his entire world had just been turned upside down.

  Intent upon his own thoughts, Hellion took a moment before he realized that Jane was stirring upon the sofa.

  Damn. What was the matter with him?

  His only concern should be for this young woman who had just offered him her body, her trust, and her entire future. At a moment such as this Jane needed to be comforted. And more than that she needed to understand he would honor the gifts she had offered, not wonder what the devil he was doing pacing about like a lunatic.

  With a pang of annoyance at his decided lack of gentlemanly behavior he hurriedly dampened a cloth from the washstand and returned to the sofa.

  “No, do not move,” he murmured softly, pressing the cloth to the faint smear of blood upon her thighs. He knew he should say something. Anything. But for once his glib charm and ready wit did not seem at all appropriate.

  This was not a transitory mistress he would be rid of upon a whim. This was the woman he intended to make his wife. It seemed only fitting he should say something extraordinarily romantic. Something that she could hold dear to her heart for the rest of their lives together.

  While he was still struggling to conjure the perfect words Jane unexpectedly pushed his hands aside.

  “Please, Hellion, that is enough,” she husked, reaching with not-quite-steady hands to retrieve her shift and pull it over her head. Hellion watched her struggle with the ribbons, deciding that she appeared astonishingly adorable with her curls tumbled about her shoulders and her skin still flushed with passion. Adorable enough to make him consider removing the ridiculous shift and reminding himself of just how sweet she tasted. Smiling at the thought Hellion was unprepared when she cleared her throat and abruptly stabbed him with a wary gaze. “It grows late. We should be returning to London.”

  He rocked back on his heels. Well. That was certainly not what he had expected from a lady who had just cried out her fulfillment in his arms.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said . . .”

  “I bloody well heard what you said,” he growled, rising to his feet to glare down at her.

  She frowned at his rough tone. “What is the matter?”

  Hellion was not entirely certain.

  He had not expected Jane to swoon into his arms, or to proclaim a sudden, undying love. Not precisely, anyway.

  But he had expected something more than a bland request to be removed from their romantic interlude as if they had shared no more between them than a bit of trout and roast beef.

  Gads, such blithe indifference was more insulting than if she had slapped his face.

  “What do you suppose is the matter?” he demanded. A ridiculous question, of course. But at least it was a step above the outraged sputtering that had nearly flown from his lips.

  “If I knew I would not be asking.”

  “In case you have forgotten you just gave your innocence to me.”

  Her cheeks heated at his blunt words. “I am not likely to forget, Hellion.”

  “And yet, all you have to say is that it is growing late?”

  Jane sucked in a sharp breath as her brows drew together. “Forgive me, but as you have just pointed out I do not have a great deal of experience in these matters. What would you have me say?”

  Her calm logic only fueled the flames of his own unreasonable annoyance. Shoving his hands through his hair, he struggled to contain his uncommonly ruffled emotions.

  “It is traditional to at least make mention of the intimacy that has
just occurred. To immediately demand to be returned to your home rather tarnishes the romance of the moment.”

  A stubborn expression settled on her delicate features. “You knew from the beginning that I am a prosaic woman not at all inclined to romance.”

  “My dear, you have far surpassed mere prosaic.”

  Without warning her lashes lowered to hide her eyes and her hands clenched in her lap.

  “What do you want from me?”

  His heart gave a sudden twitch of dismay as he realized just how ridiculously he was behaving. Blast, he was making a muck of this. Decidedly odd, and more than a little frustrating, for a gentleman renowned for his skills in seduction.

  With a grimace he moved to kneel before her, taking her hands into his own.

  “Jane, I merely desire you to tell me what you feel,” he murmured softly. “Do you regret what occurred?”

  Her gaze remained firmly veiled as she gave a slow shake of her head. “No.”

  “Please, Jane, look at me.”

  With obvious reluctance she at last lifted her head to meet his searching gaze.

  “Hellion . . .”

  Hellion pressed a finger to her lips. “We have just been as close as two people can be; why are you now attempting to hide from me?”

  “I am not attempting to hide. It is only . . .” Her words trailed away as she caught her lower lip between her teeth.

  “Yes?”

  She gave a restless shrug. “I am not entirely comfortable discussing this.”

  “You are embarrassed?”

  “Is that so shocking?” she demanded in tart tones.

  A rush of intense relief flooded through Hellion, making him feel light-headed. So that was it. She was not horrified, nor convinced she had just made the greatest mistake of her life.

  She was embarrassed.

  Thank God.

  “No, of course not.” He lifted her hands to press them to his lips. “Forgive me, my love. I did not intend to be an insensitive brute. It is only that I am more than a bit unnerved and suddenly in need of reassurance.”

  She blinked at his sudden bout of honesty. “Whatever do you mean?”

  He pressed her fingers to his cheek. “I have never before been with a complete innocent. I need to know that I did not hurt you, or God forbid, give you a disgust for me.”

  A flush crept beneath her skin. “You know you did not.”

  “How am I to know?” he demanded in low tones. “One moment you were sweet and willing in my arms, and the next you were avoiding my gaze and appearing as if you wished to be anywhere but here with me.”

  “Yes, well, you appeared rather distracted yourself,” she accused.

  He smiled wryly, unable to deny her allegation. “No, not distracted. Panicked.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Hellion battled his instinctive desire to hide his emotions behind a flippant response.

  “Unlike you I cannot claim such innocence,” he admitted. “In truth, I would have claimed to know nearly all there is to know of the act of love. But as usual you managed to destroy my arrogant pretensions.”

  Her lips gave a grudging twitch of amusement. “A worthy goal even if I do not comprehend what you speak of.”

  He turned his head to lightly nip her finger. “I am supposed to be a well-versed rake, not an overeager school lad. I wished to ensure that you found pleasure, but the moment I touched you I was lost. That has never happened to me before.”

  As was only to be expected of his imminently practical Jane, she did not flutter or preen at his confession. Instead she regarded him with open suspicion.

  “I find that difficult to believe.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I am hardly the sort of female to inspire passion in a gentleman.”

  Hellion gave a slow shake of his head, his gaze sweeping over her slender curves barely concealed beneath the thin linen shift.

  It would no doubt be far preferable to prove his claim with deeds rather than words, but he sensed that at the moment it was best to keep his wits unclouded with passion. Goodness knew he had managed to make enough of a muddle as it was.

  “You are wrong, you know,” he said firmly.

  Her lips thinned. “Hellion, I know perfectly well . . .”

  “Will you please just listen for once?” he interrupted.

  The lips thinned even further. “Well?”

  “I am beginning to discover that there is a vast difference between lust and passion.” He held her gaze with the sheer force of his will. “A pretty countenance or well-endowed form might turn a gentleman’s thoughts to a pleasurable interlude, but it is a transitory lust that is easily forgotten.”

  “And passion?”

  He paused for a moment to consider his words. “It has nothing to do with the color of hair or the curve of an ankle. It is a deeper sense of need that makes a gentleman desire to be with a particular woman and no other will do.”

  He sensed more than felt her tense at his words. “And yet, it is just as transitory.”

  Less than an hour ago Hellion would have secretly agreed with her conclusion. Desire was desire. And like any craving it could be satisfied and then forgotten.

  Now he suspected that he had somehow miscalculated badly.

  He could not even conceive of his life without this woman at his side. The mere thought was enough to make his chest tighten and his heart feel oddly heavy.

  “Who is to say?” he demanded.

  “My father, for one.”

  Hellion gave a choked cough. “Your father spoke to you of passion?”

  Her chin tilted to a defensive angle. “My father spoke to me of many things.”

  “Obviously.” Hellion briefly considered the man who had treated his daughter like more of a son. He wondered if Mr. Middleton realized just how rare and unique his efforts had made Jane. “And what did he tell you?”

  Without warning she tugged her hands from his grasp, folding them in her lap like a prim governess. Hellion gritted his teeth as he battled not to reclaim his possessive hold.

  “He warned me that passion is much like any other force of nature, such as a thunderstorm or flood. It will sweep into a life without warning and cause great excitement, but when it inevitably moves on it leaves behind only destruction. He said that companionship and genuine respect for one another is the foundation of a steady relationship.”

  Hellion inwardly cursed. Had Mr. Middleton desired to condemn his poor daughter to a cold, passionless marriage?

  Surely she deserved better?

  “Rather melodramatic,” he cautiously murmured. If nothing else he had learned that Jane would never concede her beloved father had been mistaken. Not upon any matter. “Although it is hardly surprising. Most fathers do not wish to think of their daughters in regards to passion.”

  Jane offered a firm shake of her head. “No, it was not that. He sincerely believed that friendship and caring for one another’s happiness was far more important than . . .”

  Her words abruptly trailed away and Hellion gave a lift of his brows.

  “Yes?”

  She cleared her throat. “Physical pleasure.”

  His lips twitched at her obvious difficulty in even mentioning their passionate lovemaking.

  “And two people cannot possibly enjoy both physical pleasure and friendship?” he demanded.

  There was a long silence before she at last sucked in a deep breath.

  “I am not yet certain.”

  A stab of fear clenched at Hellion’s heart. Bloody hell. He had been so certain that if he managed to seduce her that all his troubles would be solved. He had taken her innocence; she should be desperate to ensure that they wed with all possible haste. That was the way with most women.

  Now he sensed that it might not be quite so simple.

  Whatever her feelings for him, Jane was clearly wary of placing her faith in him. A knowledge that he discovered sharply painful.

  “I wil
l make you certain,” he said fiercely. “You belong with me.”

  “Hellion . . .” With an abrupt motion she was on her feet and scrambling for her gown. “We must return to London.”

  His hand reached out to halt her fumbled movements, only to fall when he noted the grim set of her features.

  It was obvious that his well-practiced proposal would not be received with the delight he had imagined. In fact, he was not at all certain he desired to hear what she might have to say to a demand that they wed. As much as he cared for this delightful shrew, he knew that her tongue could flay at a hundred paces.

  Damn. Once again he had managed to win the skirmish while losing the battle.

  He would have to once again consider his strategies.

  And for that he needed the devious mind of Biddles.

  “Very well, my love. I shall return you to London.” He reached for his shirt, his own features hard with determination. “But do not for a moment believe that this is over.”

  Standing with Anna in the shadows of the ballroom, on this occasion seeking the darkness by choice rather than obligation, Jane watched as Hellion dazzled the eager young bucks that crowded about him.

  Even from a distance she could feel the magnetic pull of his glittering charm. And she was far from alone. It seemed that every gaze in the room lingered upon the golden-haired scoundrel. Some with longing, some with envy, and some with simple admiration at his undoubted allure.

  Hellion, of course, took little notice of the attention that fluttered about him. He was at perfect ease, like an actor upon the stage performing for his audience.

  Jane felt a pang as she watched him tilt back his head to laugh at some jest. Oh, not out of jealousy. Or even some childish need to have him to herself, although she could not deny that a part of her longed to whisk him from the room and have her way with him. It was the mere fact that he appeared so utterly comfortable.

  This was why she continued to waver, she acknowledged grimly.

  For three days she had fought back the urge to simply give in to her fierce desire and toss all sense aside. Why should she not wed Hellion, her heart had whispered? He was handsome, charming, and intelligent. He treated her with a genuine respect that was all too rare and made her feel as if she were a fascinating and beautiful woman. That did not even take into account the fact that he could make her melt with one wicked glance.