by Anna Bradley
A gentle breeze wafted over them, lifting the loose locks of hair away from her neck. The cool draught blew under Julian’s coat, but it did nothing to cool the heat of his skin.
She gave a low, throaty laugh. “I, lure you? Yes, I suppose it would be more convenient for you to believe so. No need for an attack of conscience, in that case.”
“Ah, my lady.” Julian caught a lock of her dark hair between his fingers. “What makes you think I have a conscience?”
That surprised a genuine laugh out of her. “No conscience, Mr. West? My, such refreshing honesty. I confess I’ve never heard the like of it before, not from any gentleman, but especially not from one intent on a solitary stroll in a dark garden with an innocent young lady. I believe you do have a conscience, after all.”
Julian felt the first frisson of regret shoot down his spine, but he ignored it. She was lovely and intriguing, but it was too late to change his mind. Cam would be halfway across the ballroom by now.
“I have no fear of my conscience, Lady Charlotte, for I’ve done nothing I need reproach myself for.”
His tone, his casual smile, the self-deprecating lift of one shoulder—all perfect. He waited, his breath held.
Her thick, dark eyelashes brushed against her cheekbones as she let her eyes fall shut. When she opened them again, she looked straight at him. “No. You’ve no need to reproach yourself. Yet.”
* * *
Charlotte waited for her words to sink in, for understanding to cross his smooth, handsome face, for his lips to part in anticipation. Then she brushed past him, stepped off the edge of the terrace, and strolled into the dark garden beyond.
She didn’t look back to see if he followed her. He would. They always did.
Such pretty lips he had—full, with just the slightest hint of a pout, almost like a woman’s, though there wasn’t anything else the least bit feminine about him. It wasn’t his lips that decided her, though. She did want to taste them, but his honesty was more seductive even than his handsome face. So sudden and unexpected. More than one gentleman had tried to tempt her into an indiscretion, but she couldn’t recall any who’d admitted to it before. How refreshing, not to be treated as if she were a complete fool.
Of course, the pretty lips didn’t hurt.
A few kisses, nothing more, then she’d send him on his way and return to the ballroom before the next dance began. Eleanor wouldn’t have to know. She wouldn’t be gone long enough to be missed.
Charlotte skirted around the edge of a tree at the far end of the garden. The light from the terrace didn’t reach this far, and the low-lying branches would shield them from any curious eyes that might chance to glance their way.
She felt more than heard him come up behind her. “Just as I thought. It’s you who have lured me.”
She gave him her profile, but didn’t turn around. “Lure is such a wicked word. Are you here against your will, Mr. West?”
He gave a soft, amused laugh. “Oh, no. Quite the contrary, as I think you know.”
His lips were right at her ear—she felt his breath stir the tendrils of hair at her temple, felt the heat of his body against her back. He’d take her shoulders in his hands now, turn her to face him, and kiss her.
Charlotte waited, trembling, but he didn’t touch her. She could hear him behind her, his breath working in and out of his chest, ragged. He was close, so close, his lips nearly touching her neck, and yet he hesitated for so long every inch of her body drew taut, waiting for his touch. Longing for it. She imagined she felt it every moment, and yet it didn’t come. He simply stood behind her, a starving man with a feast spread before him, unsure where to begin, but savoring the moment before the first taste touches his lips.
Charlotte moaned aloud when it came at last, so light, his fingers in the loose waves of hair at her nape, brushing them aside to clear a path for his lips, open and soft against the tender skin of her neck.
Dear God. Her eyes slid closed.
“Never tasted anything so sweet.” His whisper was hoarse, stunned.
He fumbled with the buttons at the back of her gown, his fingers shaking as he slipped them loose, one by one, then spread the silk open to bare her shoulders. He teased his hot, wet mouth over her flesh, and Charlotte caught her lower lip between her teeth to keep from whimpering.
Just a few more innocent kisses. That was all, and then she’d return to the ballroom, find Eleanor . . .
He spread the fabric wider to nip at her shoulder blades, then knelt to touch his tongue to the arch of her back before trailing the damp heat of his mouth up her spine until he stood upright behind her again. “Lean back against me. Yes. Like that.” He wrapped his other arm around her waist and splayed a hand low across her belly.
She hadn’t known it could feel this way, hadn’t realized—
“It’s all right, sweetheart.” His mouth brushed her ear. “Wrap your arms around me.”
No. No, she couldn’t let herself touch him . . .
But her arms rose, and her fingers slid into the soft waves of hair at the back of his neck. He pressed his mouth to the inside of her arm, and a soft puff of warm breath touched her damp skin. A ragged groan rose from his chest at her touch, and she felt it everywhere, deep in the darkest recesses of her body.
His mouth found her neck, and she felt his lips curl upward against her skin.
He’s smiling.
Charlotte let her head fall back against his shoulder, and knew she was lost.
Chapter Two
Blast it. Dash it. Confound it, and d—
Eleanor caught herself before any truly wicked curses could escape. There was no need to be unladylike, even if it was only in her head.
No need yet.
Charlotte couldn’t have gotten far. Eleanor had seen her just there not even a minute ago, on the other side of the ballroom. She made her way toward the terrace doors, doing her best not to look hurried or anxious, but before long her feet fell into the same frantic rhythm as her heart. A few ladies called out greetings as she flew past, a few gentleman bowed, but Eleanor merely nodded at them.
She came to a breathless halt on the other side of the ballroom.
Blast it. Dash it. Confound it. She may as well have saved herself the effort. Charlotte had disappeared, and it didn’t take a fortune-teller to see the only place she could have gone was into the dark garden beyond the terrace.
Eleanor scanned the ballroom, but Charlotte’s dance partner, Julian West had also disappeared, no doubt into the garden, panting after Charlotte.
Very well, then. The situation now called for curses, and why should the ladies be denied the truly wicked ones?
Damn it, devil take it, and bloody hell.
This was all Lord Tidmarsh’s fault. If he hadn’t tried to tease her into a third dance, she’d have had her eye back on Charlotte before her sister finished dancing with the Marquess of Hadley.
Lord Tidmarsh, Julian West—why did it seem whenever trouble was afoot, some gentleman or other was always at the root of it?
Either some gentleman, or Charlotte, devil take her. What in the name of heaven had come over her this season? She disappeared into dark gardens with dubious gentlemen as often as Eleanor rejected offers of marriage.
If Charlotte must have a stroll through the garden, why couldn’t she have taken Hadley? But no, nothing would do for Charlotte but a stroll with Julian West, a rake of the first order, and worse, a handsome and charming one. Charlotte thought herself sophisticated, but she hadn’t any idea the sort of tricks such a man might pull from his sleeve.
Or his breeches, for that matter.
Eleanor might be a little fuzzy on the details regarding a gentleman’s breeches, but she knew enough to know a young lady didn’t disappear into a garden with a man like Julian West if she didn’t care to see him pull out something he oughtn’t.
She and Charlotte had become quite the notorious pair this season, and the ton hadn’t failed to take notice of it. Elean
or’s dismissal of Lord Tidmarsh wouldn’t help her cause, but Charlotte in particular couldn’t afford any more questionable behavior.
Julian West was questionable, even if he kept his breeches fastened.
Damnation. There was no help for it. She’d have to go after Charlotte. Again.
Eleanor stepped out onto the terrace and took a quick measure of the situation. A few couples wandered about, but she didn’t overhear any eager whispers, and none of the ladies had fallen into a shocked swoon. Charlotte had wandered off into the garden with Mr. West, but no one seemed to have taken notice of it yet. If Ellie could just find them, she could drag Charlotte back inside before anyone did notice.
All might still be well.
She hurried across the terrace, but froze before she could step into the garden. She spun around, one foot hovering over the damp grass, the hair on her neck prickling with awareness, certain she’d find curious eyes following her every move.
Nonsense. No one had even noticed her. What was it they said about suspicion haunting a guilty mind? But, dash it, why should she be haunted? She’d done nothing wrong. Charlotte was the guilty one—Charlotte, and that blasted Julian West.
She entered the garden and melted into the gloomy shadows. Between Lord Tidmarsh’s unwelcome declarations and Charlotte’s disappearance, Eleanor had had quite enough of this ball, and she wouldn’t attend another without reinforcements. She couldn’t be expected to fend off suitors and guard Charlotte’s virtue at the same time, especially when Charlotte herself was so determined to discard it.
Goodness, it was dark. Far too dark for any proper young lady. Eleanor picked her way along, pieces of wet grass clinging to her hems. She peered over a low shrub and darted around a tree or two, expecting any moment to see a guilty couple spring apart, but the garden appeared to be deserted. Not even a giggle or a breathless sigh interrupted the silence.
Where in the world was Charlotte? How would she ever find her sister in this gloom without an obliging sigh or giggle to guide her?
Unless . . . Eleanor paused for a moment, listening. Was that a soft shuffle behind her? It sounded like the tread of booted feet on damp grass, but the moment she stopped, the sound ceased. She turned to look behind her, but all she could see were dense pools of darkness.
Oh, for God’s sake. She’d be better off returning to the ballroom. Perhaps Charlotte had come to her senses and returned by now, as well? Yes, yes, of course she had. Charlotte had grown rather reckless over the past few weeks, but even she knew better than to vanish in the middle of a ball with all the ton gawking at her behind their fans.
Eleanor took one determined step back in the direction of the ballroom, but stopped again before she could take a second one. When had Charlotte ever let knowing better stop her from doing precisely as she wished?
Damn it, devil take it, and bloody—slam!
She stumbled backward, stunned. What in the world did the Foster’s mean by planting a tree in the middle of a garden path? For pity’s sake, she might have knocked herself unconscious—
“I beg your pardon.” Two enormous hands came down on her shoulders to steady her. “Are you injured?”
Eleanor gaped at the row of buttons in front of her. A tree with an embroidered silk waistcoat? No, no. That couldn’t be right. Perhaps she was injured, after all. Had she concussed herself?
She shook her head to clear the dizziness. A silk waistcoat . . . trees didn’t wear silk waistcoats, but gentlemen did. Gentlemen like Julian West. But if he was here, where was Charlotte? Had she come to her senses and returned to the ballroom, or had Julian West hidden her in the garden somewhere?
“What have you done with my sister, you scoundrel?”
There was a surprised silence, then a low laugh. “Have you misplaced her, Lady Eleanor? That’s unfortunate, but perhaps we’ll find her in the shrubbery.”
Eleanor squinted into the darkness, her belly fluttering with sudden nerves. She recognized that voice, and it wasn’t Julian West’s.
It was his cousin, Camden West.
Damnation. Of all the gentlemen a lady might stumble upon in a dark garden, Camden West would be her last choice.
They’d been introduced at a ball at the start of the season, shortly after he returned to London from a prolonged stay in India. Once they’d met, his gaze seemed to follow her everywhere, fixed on her with an intensity that made her whole body quiver with . . .
Anticipation?
At first, perhaps. Until she realized she was quivering for the wrong reasons.
When he looked at her with that glittering green gaze, it wasn’t admiration she saw in his eyes, but something else. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it was a bit sinister, as if he was contemplating how quickly he could devour her, then spit her bones into a pile at his feet.
He was as handsome as sin, but that look in his eyes . . .
In the end, she’d discouraged his attentions. If he’d been disappointed by her curt rejection, he’d still behaved like a gentleman. She’d caught him watching her a few times since then, but he hadn’t spoken another word to her.
Until now. “I’m no scoundrel—at least, not in this instance—but I’ll grant you a dark garden can hide a multitude of sins.”
“Sins and sinners both, Mr. West. If you’re not a scoundrel, then why should you be skulking about a dark garden?”
“Ah, but I might ask you the same question, my lady. Perhaps you’re the scoundrel.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps I am. It can’t be safe for you to linger in a dark garden with me then, can it? You should return to the ballroom while you still have the chance.”
He chuckled, and moved a step closer. “You’re eager to be rid of me. I wonder why?”
Because you’re too tall, for one.
Eleanor craned her neck back another notch to see his tight jaw and strong chin above the folds of his cravat, a pair of unsmiling lips above the chin. She folded her arms over her chest, irritated with him. How dare he loom over her in such a rude manner? It was unfair, somehow, that he should tower over everyone else.
Before she could succumb to a dizzying fit of vertigo, he spoke again. “Did something in particular tempt you out into the garden tonight? A liaison, perhaps?”
“Oh, dear. Have you wandered outside hoping for a scandal?” She gave an exaggerated sigh. “I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you, unless taking the fresh air is a sin.”
“If it’s only fresh air you want, then why leave the terrace?” He shook his head, his hard green eyes narrowed on her face. “No, I don’t think that’s why you’re out here, Lady Eleanor.”
His bow was proper and his address correct, but his voice was cold and detached. Eleanor swallowed against the dread rising in her throat. Camden West had followed her out here, and now he was looking at her as if she were a garden slug he’d like to crush under his boot heel.
“You may think what you like, Mr. West, but it hardly matters, does it? It’s not proper for me to be alone in a dark garden with you, so I’ll take my leave.” She dipped into a shallow curtsy. “Enjoy your solitude, sir.” She turned and began to walk back toward the terrace, but she had to force herself to take slow, measured steps when everything about this situation urged her to run.
She didn’t get far.
“If your sister were as concerned with propriety as you are, neither of us need be out here at all.”
Eleanor froze, then turned slowly around, her back rigid. Oh, no.
His teeth flashed white in the darkness, and when he spoke again, his voice was an amused drawl. “Don’t tell me you’ll return to the ballroom before you’ve found her?”
She fixed him with the same bland expression she used on gentlemen who proposed marriage to her. “What do you know about my sister, Mr. West?”
He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter one way or another to him. “I know she disappeared into the garden fifteen minutes ago. I assume you’ve come out to find her and return
her to the ballroom before she’s missed, and her reputation is ruined.”
Eleanor fought to keep her face blank as panic and fury surged in her breast. This awful man, with his cold voice and perfect cravat—he knew everything, and now she found herself in a damnable predicament. She hated to return to the ballroom without Charlotte, but what was to stop Mr. West from following her through the garden? It was bad enough he knew about the indiscretion, but it would be much worse if he saw it with his own eyes.
She gave him a thin smile. “So you’ve wandered off into the garden tonight to retrieve your cousin before he’s missed, and his reputation is ruined. Oh, but wait, how foolish of me. His reputation as a wicked rake can only be enhanced by a dalliance in a dark garden with an innocent young lady, can’t it? It’s only my sister who need worry about discovery.”
If he heard the suppressed fury in her voice, he took no notice of it. The bland expression on his face never altered. “Yes, that’s generally how it works, but I’d just as soon find my cousin all the same. Shall we search together?”
Eleanor restrained an unladylike snort. She had no intention of joining forces with him in this, or anything else. No, the best she could do now was try to make sure Camden West couldn’t provide the gossips with an eyewitness account of her sister’s indiscretion. “They’ll be back in the ballroom by now, so if you’ll just be kind enough to escort me—”
The moon moved from behind a cloud at that moment, and there, not twenty paces away, under an enormous tree with wide-reaching branches, a flutter of violet silk caught the light.
Eleanor tried to school the sudden knowledge from her expression, but Camden West was cleverer than she’d hoped, damn him, for he turned at once to follow her gaze. The silk skirts fluttered obligingly for him, billowing in the breeze.
“Ah. I believe we’ve found the sinners.”
Eleanor didn’t answer, but gathered her skirts in her hands, and without another word shot past him at a run. If she could reach Charlotte before he did, she had a chance to at least minimize the damage. She caught a glimpse of his dumbfounded expression as she scurried past, aware his slack-jawed astonishment was the only pleasure she’d get from this evening.