The Scandalous Flirt

by Olivia Drake

  Mrs. Edgerton.

  Kitty’s friend wore a daring gown of grape-colored satin that accentuated her curves and enhanced the creamy paleness of her skin. Her chestnut hair had been arranged in loose curls to give her a slightly disheveled look, as if she’d just arisen from bed. The woman hung on to Lucas’s arm, pressing her voluptuous bosom to his chest.

  Rory clenched her fists as resentment spread like poison through her. Though the widow had to be more than five years older than him, Lucas appeared to enjoy her carnal attentions. He aimed that devastatingly attractive smile at her as she reached up to stroke his face, one of her fingertips tracing his lips. Instead of pushing her away, he took hold of her hand and kissed her knuckles while gazing deeply into her eyes.

  What a rat, Rory fumed. She had been wrong to believe him upright and principled. Drop him into the right situation and he became a scoundrel like so many other men. He’d even warned her of that tonight.

  You don’t comprehend the darkness that lurks inside of men.

  She had scoffed at him. Even though he’d bestowed on her the most thrilling kiss of her life, she wouldn’t have categorized him as the sort to carry on with loose women. In her heart, Rory had wanted to believe that he was like her papa, faithful and steadfast, guided by a strong moral code. But Lucas had left her at Tinsley’s ball so that he could come here and flirt with a racy widow.

  No wonder he hadn’t wanted Rory to accompany him. He’d intended to join in the nasty fun. How she longed to give him a piece of her mind!

  Just then, a pair of male hands clamped onto her waist from behind. A voice roughened by years of dissipation sent a blast of sour brandy breath in her ear. “Hello, my pretty. Were you waiting for me?”

  Rory twisted out of his grasp to find herself facing an older man with the florid complexion of a drunkard. In contrast to his shiny bald skull, he had a large ginger moustache to compensate for the lack of hair atop his head.

  Her senses sprang to alertness. Lord Henry’s description fit this man perfectly. “Are you by chance Colonel Hugo Flanders?”

  “At your service.” He waggled his bristly eyebrows. “I presume that my less-than-sterling reputation precedes me. And you are?”

  “You may call me Jewel.”

  “Jewel. A pretty name for a pretty piece.”

  The leer he aimed at her bosom made Rory feel soiled. She would relish slapping his face almost as much as she had Stefano’s. Flanders was precisely the sort of villain who might steal a packet of personal letters and hold them for ransom. Yet that was mere supposition. She needed proof.

  “I’ve heard so much about you, Colonel,” she said in a breathy tone. “In particular, your appreciation of the fairer sex.”

  “Righto. And I’d love nothing better than to add a lovely Jewel to my list of conquests.”

  When he reached for her, she stepped adroitly out of his path. “I would venture to guess that your current mistress wouldn’t be happy to learn you’re flirting with another woman.”

  “Never mind Mabel. She needn’t know about our little fling. Let’s go upstairs, eh? Newcombe won’t mind if we borrow one of his bedchambers.”

  Again, he lunged, and again she feinted to escape him. “Tell me, do you keep Mabel in a fine feathered nest? Because I shall require it for myself should I agree to this fling.”

  His avid brown eyes gleamed. “I’ll toss her out tomorrow if you like. Now come here, little girl, and give papa a kiss.”

  This time, he caught her by the shoulders and his strong fingers bit into her flesh, drawing her relentlessly toward him. She averted her head so that his moustache tickled her cheek instead of her lips. “There’ll be none of that just yet,” she said, trying not to shudder. “First I must inspect this love nest and see if it’s suitable. Where is it located?”

  “It’s a cozy brick house in Covent Garden.”

  “What is the address?”

  “Corner of Shelton and Neil. Now, it’s time you gave me a taste of what I’m buying.”

  One of his hands scrabbled over her gown, cupping her breasts while he attempted to wiggle his stubby finger inside her tight bodice. With his other arm, he circled the back of her waist and fondled her bottom. Rory squirmed against his grip, but it was like fighting an octopus. She was about to bring the heel of her slipper down hard onto his instep when he was abruptly lifted away from her.

  She blinked in mingled surprise and wariness. Lucas stood glaring at the two of them.

  Actually, he was glaring mostly at her.

  Chapter 18

  A noble rakehell takes his pleasure at will and absolves himself of all accountability.

  —MISS CELLANY

  “You’re poaching my woman,” Lucas said, his eyes flashing steel as he released Flanders. “I’ve a good mind to strangle you.”

  The colonel flapped his lips and blustered, “Your woman? Jewel was begging to be my mistress!”

  Lucas’s gaze flicked to Rory. His stern expression held nothing of the passionate man who’d kissed her senseless. “Begging, was she? It’s a little game she likes to play to make me jealous. Isn’t that so, Jewel?”

  Rory decided it would be practical to cut her losses. Especially since she had succeeded in mining a vital nugget of information from Flanders. Pushing out her lower lip, she affected a shamefaced look. “I admit it was merely a silly ruse. Pray forgive me, Colonel. It was wrong of me to toy with you.”

  He smoothed his bushy ginger moustache while uttering a loud harrumph. “Best keep a tight rein on her, Dashell, if you intend to bring her back here. That is, if you’ve finally decided to fill your father’s shoes at our little gatherings.”

  Casting one last covetous look at Rory, he sauntered away, disappearing into the drawing room to join the other revelers. She was relieved to see the back of him. That made the third time this evening that a man had attempted to kiss her. Thank heavens only Lucas had been successful.

  He caught her by the arm and marched her down the dimly lit corridor toward the rear of the house. She had to scurry to keep up with his long strides. When they reached a private spot out of earshot of the party, he pressed her up against the wall and thrust his face close to hers.

  Anger lowered his dark eyebrows and tightened his jaw. “I told you to stay at Tinsley’s ball with my mother. What the devil are you doing here?”

  She refused to quail at his growled question. Or to dwell on how handsome he looked in his formal black coat and white cravat. “Why, I have to preserve my reputation as a scandalous flirt, of course.”

  “This is no time for flippancy.”

  “All right, then. Like you, I’m investigating Newcombe. Running into Colonel Flanders was merely a bonus. And a very profitable one at that.”

  “Profitable. That’s an interesting choice of words considering you were about to sell yourself to that old lecher.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I wasn’t intending to go through with it. I was merely angling for the name of his current mistress. I intend to pay a call on her tomorrow.”

  “The devil you will! What possible purpose could that serve?”

  “It occurred to me that if Flanders is the blackmailer, he may very well have given Kitty’s diamond necklace to his mistress. If she has it, then we’ll know he’s our culprit.”

  Lucas stared at her. His lips were taut, his gaze steely. But when he spoke, a portion of the fury had left his voice. She fancied there was even a hint of admiration in his eyes. “I hadn’t considered that,” he said. “But you might have told me earlier. I could have found out the information myself.”

  “Told you when? You gave me no warning that you intended to come here tonight. You sprang it on me and then walked away.” She folded her arms under her bosom and tilted up her chin at a mutinous angle. “And why should I cooperate, anyway? We’re supposed to be partners, but you haven’t exactly been forthcoming with me.”

  “You know perfectly well why I couldn’t bring you here. This
party is no place for a lady.”

  “Oh? Mrs. Edgerton is present. And you were flirting outrageously with her. In fact, that was the most disgusting display I’ve ever seen!”

  His mouth quirked into a hint of that attractive smile. Reaching out, he ran a fingertip down her cheek. “Are you jealous, Jewel?”

  The air suddenly felt charged with energy. The seductive murmur of his voice stirred excitement in her, as did his light caress on her face. A filament of fire raced downward from her breasts to her innermost depths, making every inch of her prickle with heat.

  Not that she would admit it to him.

  “I’m irked, that’s what. You’re supposed to be helping me find those letters, not trifling with wicked women at a party.”

  His cocky grin deepened. He braced his hands on the wall, one on either side of Rory, trapping her in place without quite touching her. “You didn’t seem to mind when it was you I was trifling with.”

  He stood close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body. Weakness eddied through her, making it difficult to maintain a defiant expression. She tucked her hands behind her waist to keep from sliding them inside his coat. “I thought we’d agreed that kiss was a mistake and best forgotten. Anyway, I’m more concerned that your flirtation with Mrs. Edgerton will hurt Miss Kipling. She’s too young and innocent to know about the darkness in men.”

  That softening of humor vanished. He dropped his arms to his sides. “Leave Miss Kipling out of this. And it would behoove you to consider that my interest in Mrs. Edgerton might have a legitimate purpose.”

  “Yes, it proves you’re a tomcat like most men.”

  His scowl returned. “It proves nothing of the sort. As it happens, I was employing the same technique as you did.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Lucas glanced up and down the passageway, then walked across it to open a door. He peered inside before closing it again. “I befriended Mrs. Edgerton in order to discover if she had a motive for stealing the letters. And I have to agree, there’s something fishy about the woman.”

  “Fishy. Yes, she was fishing, all right. Trying to reel in the nearest available man to warm her bed.”

  “Actually, she already has a lover.”

  “How do you know that? Did you ask her to be your mistress?”

  “I hinted at it. All in the interest of the investigation, of course.”

  Rory dogged his heels as he proceeded to another door. She seethed at the notion of him playing up to that hussy. “Who is he?”

  “She rather coyly refused to divulge his name. But he’s supposed to join her here tonight.”

  Rory watched as he looked into another room off the passage. “It couldn’t be Flanders—could it? He was just arriving when he accosted me. But he told me he keeps his mistress in a love nest near Covent Garden.”

  “I can’t imagine it’s Mrs. Edgerton, then. Unless he’s disloyal to her.”

  Rory had thought herself rather worldly. But she cringed nonetheless. “Do you mean to say that reprobate keeps more than one mistress at a time?”

  He cast an amused glance at her. “It’s possible. I was hoping to tie Mrs. Edgerton either to him or Newcombe since both men attended your sister’s ball when the letters disappeared. Before I could get an answer out of her, though, I spotted you out in the corridor, flaunting your breasts at the colonel.”

  “I was not flaunting my—” Rory broke off, flustered by the turn of conversation, even though Lucas wasn’t even looking at her anymore. He had poked his head into another room. “What are you doing, anyway?”

  “Come.” He grabbed a candle from a table in the corridor. Then he disappeared through the doorway without waiting to see if she followed.

  Her heart thudded. Perhaps Lucas was seeking a private place where they could be alone. Maybe he meant to kiss her again, to clasp her to that strong body and arouse her passions. It was dangerous to crave his embrace when he intended to marry another woman, yet an irrepressible longing sent her darting after him.

  She found herself in a small study with bookshelves and an untidy desk strewn with papers and bric-a-brac. The embers from a fire glowed orange on the grate. Instead of taking her into his arms, Lucas sat down in the desk chair and opened the center drawer.

  “Close that door,” he said. “Then you can help me hunt for the letters.”

  Her bubble of yearning burst. Staving off disappointment, Rory pushed the white-painted panel shut and then wandered around Newcombe’s study with its hunting scenes on the walls and the two overstuffed chairs by the hearth. So much for romance. She felt foolish for not having guessed his purpose and annoyed with herself for letting her imagination run wild. How was it that he could distract her so much she had forgotten the real reason why she’d come to Newcombe’s house?

  To find those letters. To earn that reward money.

  Nothing else mattered.

  Not to be outdone by him, she picked up a candle and lit the wick from his, then crouched down in front of a rosewood credenza. When she opened a cabinet door, a clutch of miscellany came tumbling out. There was a magnifying glass, several snuffboxes, a collection of folded maps. None of it held any interest for her. Upon opening another door, however, she discovered a mishmash of letters. She began a methodical search through the old correspondence, making sure none were the billets-doux written to Kitty Paxton by old Lord Dashell.

  “Your father’s name was William, was it not?”

  Lucas glanced up inquiringly from the drawer he was examining. “Yes. Did you find something?”

  “A number of letters, but they seem to be mostly from Newcombe’s estate manager. There are quite a few dun notices, too.”

  He grimaced without replying. She remembered seeing a pile of such notices when she’d searched Lucas’s study a few nights ago. Something about his financial situation puzzled her. Now that she knew him better, she could see that he wasn’t overly extravagant. He also struck her as too intelligent and careful a man to sink his entire inheritance into risky investments.

  She sat back on her heels and watched him poke through the contents of a drawer. “Your father used to attend these parties, didn’t he?”

  Lucas grunted in reply. Though he clearly didn’t wish to talk, she needed to get a certain matter settled in her mind.

  “I don’t mean to pry—” she began.

  “Then don’t.”

  “Yet I find myself curious. He must have been quite the avid gambler. Flanders even seemed to expect you to fill your father’s shoes.”

  “Flanders is a drunkard,” Lucas said, slamming a drawer shut. “Don’t heed a word he says.”

  “He was a friend of your father’s. That would suggest they shared the same vices—women and gambling and the like.”

  “My father is gone. It can serve no purpose to rehash his sins.”

  “I only wanted to clarify something. According to Kitty, Lady Milford said you’d squandered your inheritance on bad investments. But that isn’t true, is it? It was your father who misspent the family fortune. It wasn’t you at all. He gambled it away. And you inherited all of his debts.”

  He yanked open another drawer. “You’re wasting time with all this babble. Just look for those letters.”

  The fact that he didn’t deny it spoke volumes. His dire financial straits were not his fault. Rory felt better knowing that, yet sad for him, too. His father’s reckless behavior had affected his whole family. It had crippled Lady Dashell, prevented Lord Henry from following his heart, and saddled Lucas with the duty to marry an heiress in order to stave off his creditors.

  She poked through the credenza, finding little else of interest. All the while she felt disturbed by what a bad role model old Lord Dashell had been. She remembered him as a drunkard who’d liked to pinch the ladies. But he’d been so much worse. He had fit right in with the depraved throng in the drawing room here.

  “I have to commend you,” she said.

  “Par
don?”

  “Your father set a very poor example, but you turned out rather well in spite of it. Were you never tempted to gamble? Or to engage in other vices?”

  Her nosy questions made Lucas feel like a caged bear being poked with a stick. The quill he’d just picked up broke in his fingers, and he dropped the pieces back into the drawer. He never discussed his sire with anyone. It was best to keep those memories locked in the vault of the past. But he couldn’t think when Rory was gazing at him with those expressive brown eyes.

  She was sitting on her heels on the floor in a puddle of bronze silk skirts. Tendrils of inky hair curled around her face and neck. The candle on the credenza cast a flickering golden light over her delicate features and bow-shaped mouth. He now knew just how velvety soft those lips were. And how very much he craved to enjoy them again.

  “Of course I was tempted,” he said. “My father made certain of that.”

  “You mean he tried to corrupt you?”

  Damn, he had not meant to admit that. But the words had slithered out of a dark place deep inside of him. Maybe if he told her, she’d cease badgering him. “On my sixteenth birthday, he took me to a brothel. And he hired three whores to service me all night.”

  Her eyes grew larger. “Three! But … why so many?”

  “He wanted me to learn the joys of sampling multiple women. So that I would never settle for just one. He found monogamy quite dull, you see.”

  “Oh, Lucas. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I reveled in every moment of it. I learned quite a lot that night.”

  He had been as randy as any teenaged boy who had never been kissed by a girl, let alone bedded by a trio of skilled hussies. The hours had passed in a frenzy of enticement and ecstasy, soft flesh and hot kisses, decadence and debauchery. Even now the memory held a dark allure that tested the bounds of his self-control.