My Runaway Heart

by Miriam Minger

  Lindsay blinked. Lord, what a ninny she must appear! Her face as warm as if she'd stood in front of a hot oven, she groped for something to say.

  "I-I, uh, yes, the punch—so kind of you, truly, but I'm afraid we're leaving, my aunt Winifred and I. And—and Matilda, of course, Aunt Winnie's maid, she came with us—and she's leaving, too . . ." Lindsay fell helplessly silent, incredulous that she was stammering such nonsense.

  "Aye, milord, 'tis true we're leaving, and Lady Penney bade that we wait right here while she gives her good-nights." Matilda's firm voice filled the awkward pause, Lindsay realizing that the feisty Scotswoman still held fast as a bulldog to her arm.

  "A pity. I noted during your headlong flight to the door, Miss Somerset, that your foot appears to have mended nicely—no limp, no injury apparent at all. Is that true?"

  The husky timbre of his voice making her shiver, Lindsay once more lost her tongue. But when his smile grew more amused, the speculative look in his eyes clearly daring her to deny she felt right as rain, she realized with a jolt that he was teasing her. Teasing her! He must know she had feigned her swoon, he had to—he was a spy, after all. Surely accomplished spies could recognize such things.

  A strange, giddy elation suddenly swept through Lindsay and she smiled up at him, believing she might have found a kindred soul. "Yes, amazingly it is true. Whatever afflicted me passed quite quickly."

  "A certain persistent young gentleman, perhaps?"

  Wondering if other guests had seen so easily through her ruse to fend off Lord Ambrose, Lindsay gave him a small nod.

  "So I suspected. But no matter; at least you're smiling again . . . a most entrancing smile. I can't allow you to leave without first asking the most beautiful woman in London for a dance."

  Lindsay scarcely heard Matilda's gasp for the wild thundering of her heart; he had obviously heard Lord Ambrose's gushing compliment, too. But the words this time hadn't sounded inappropriate at all, thrilling her to her toes. In the next instant she was being led to the dance floor, Matilda holding a glass of punch and gaping after them.

  Lindsay thought her heart might burst from her breast when he turned to face her, the chamber orchestra striking up a waltz as he took her in his arms. And suddenly she seemed aware of everything and nothing as the room began to spin around them in a dizzying blur more heady than any swoon.

  The strength of his arm at her waist, the powerful breadth of his shoulder beneath her trembling hand. Her gloved fingers seemed to burn in his strong warm ones, though she shivered as with cold. His burnished dark blond hair gleamed in the chandelier's brilliant light, the faintest gold stubble of a beard along his jaw. Was it soft, she wondered, or prickly? The altogether disconcerting scent of him, masculinity and the subtle warmth of bay rum.

  He was so tall, too, towering a full head above her, and athletically lean; his face, so dangerously handsome, wasn't pale at all like so many other gentlemen's but browned from the sun, showing clearly he spent time out of doors. And always there was the incredible blue of his eyes, so unusual a shade she had no idea how to name it. Name it . . . oh, Lord, here she was, waltzing with a man whose name she didn't even know while Matilda was probably alerting Aunt Winifred and perhaps the house guards as well!

  "I fear, sir . . ." Lindsay swallowed, the intensifying of his gaze upon her the moment she had spoken quite overwhelming. "I fear we haven't been properly introduced. You know my name, but I—"

  "Jared. Jared Giles, the Earl of Dovercourt."

  "Jared," she said softly, thinking it was the most wonderful of names. "I-I mean Lord Giles. After all, we've only met—"

  "Ah, but we share a secret, don't we? I've seen few women swoon as expertly and prettily as you. And that secret makes us co-conspirators who should clearly call each other by their given names. Would that suit you, Lindsay?"

  He spun her then and she couldn't answer, his low, intimate rendering of her name making her feel strangely light-headed, the crowded ballroom flying past her as if they danced on air. For she felt as if she were truly dancing on air, her silken slippers barely touching the floor, Jared held her so closely.

  Dear heavens, so closely that her breasts brushed his chest, the rough velvet of his black evening coat rubbing as if against her bare flesh and not the delicate satin of her gown. Stunned by such a wanton thought and how decadent they must appear to the assembled guests, she nonetheless did not try to pull away from him; in fact could not, as if captured by some enchanted spell.

  A spell she hoped would last and last forever. Lindsay suddenly felt certain deep in her heart that she had found the hero of her dreams. Her imagination as fired as her senses, she believed this man must know everything about London—everything about the world, for that matter. As a spy, no doubt well traveled, how could he not?

  "You smile so beguilingly, Lindsay. What are you thinking?"

  His teasing half whisper filling her with reckless abandon, she tilted her head and said very softly, "Only that I hope I will see you again."

  Heaven help her, she had said it, truly said it! Lindsay exulted to herself even as nervousness gripped her, Jared's eyes darkening to an unfathomable blue. Fearing she might have been too bold, too brazen, she made to apologize for her forwardness, but his arm drawing her possessively against him stopped her breath.

  "Oh, I fully intend that we'll be seeing much of each other," came his low reply, his gaze raking her face and then falling to her breasts. But his eyes didn't linger there, once more meeting hers. "Tomorrow afternoon, two o'clock. A ride in Hyde Park, with a chaperone, of course—"

  "Oh, no, Aunt Winnie would never allow it." The waltz nearly done, Lindsay rushed on breathlessly, sensing at last a chance for adventure. "I suspect she doesn't particularly like you. I'm not sure why, but I have another—"

  "My notorious reputation?"

  Reddening a bit, Lindsay nodded. "But I don't think you're at all as she described."

  "And how was that?"

  Lindsay sighed, their conversation not progressing at all as she would have liked, and there was so little time. "A blackguard and a rake and—"

  "A seducer of innocents."

  "No, no, I was going to say a spy." Seeing his expression suddenly harden, Lindsay felt an undeniable tension in his embrace. "I'm sorry. I'm sure that's not something you wish to hear spoken of so freely, but I think it's wonderful! How noble to serve your country in such heroic fashion—how thrilling it must be for you!"

  "If I were a spy, I'm sure it would have its moments," came the dry response. Lindsay took heart that she actually saw a glimmer of amusement returning to his eyes, although his face remained oddly grim. Hoping she might further cheer him, she kept her voice light and engaging.

  "Well, I'd love to hear about your adventures—and I hope you still want to see me again no matter the dreadful things my aunt said about you. But it can't be during the day; that won't do at all. Evening would be better—yes, half-past midnight would be perfect. We're always home by eleven. Aunt Winnie doesn't like staying out too late, and that would allow plenty of time for everyone to retire. Then I could meet you outside my aunt's town house at Sixteen Piccadilly."

  "Meet me alone?"

  "Of course, it's the only way. Oh, dear, I know it's very presumptuous of me to even ask—" It was the most outrageous thing she'd said since she'd been in London, but . . .

  "Half-past midnight will be fine."

  Lindsay met his eyes, exhilaration filling her. "Truly? Tomorrow night?"

  His only answer was a brusque nod as the final strains of the waltz surged around them. Lindsay wondered if she might have broached every rule of etiquette, because he stepped so stiffly away from her when the dance was done. But he still held her hand, and her hopes soared that she hadn't made an utter fool of herself when he lifted her gloved fingers to his lips and gentle kissed them. Yet his gaze was anything but gentle, burning into hers even as Lindsay heard an unmistakable voice cut through the rising din of conversatio
n.

  "Oh, dear, oh, dear, whatever am I to tell Olympia if she hears news of this night? She'll never forgive me, I'm certain of it! Never!"

  Lindsay grimaced, imagining the carriage ride home. She turned to flee to her aunt's side, then glanced back to bid Jared good night. But he had already disappeared into the throng filling the dance floor, nowhere to be seen, leaving Lindsay to wonder if she had only imagined the last incredible moments that had been the most exciting of her life.

  ***

  "Will you 'ave another drink, luv?"

  Jared narrowly eyed the tavern keeper's wife, the woman's huge, pendulous breasts close to spilling out of her too-tight bodice as she leaned over the table. A plump white hand slid suggestively along his arm. Sooty eyelashes lowered over dark, sultry eyes. The tavern keeper himself having gone upstairs to bed some time ago, his wife clearly meant to make Jared's stay at their establishment as comfortable as possible.

  And perhaps he might have accepted her lusty offer, indeed had fleetingly considered taking her right here on the table as he had last night, all the other guests gone to bed, too, but he had no stomach for the woman's generous proportions this evening. Shrugging off her hand, he swallowed the last of his wine and rose, barely giving her a glance as he walked to the stairs.

  "Wot, you mean I stayed up all this time for nothin' to show for me trouble?"

  Jared turned to see the woman's face flushed with outrage in the dying firelight. Digging into his pocket, he found a coin and flipped it onto a nearby table. She fell upon the silver crown like a vulture, her expression ingratiating as she tucked the coin deep into her bodice.

  "That was sweet of you, luv, but I would have liked another tumble, if you want the truth of it. I'd risk splinters in me bum at any hour for the likes o' you."

  Smiling grimly, Jared offered a slight bow and turned back to the stairs, but she made it there before him, her ample rump switching from side to side as she made one last obvious attempt to entice him. But he was already thinking again of another woman's figure, a younger woman with such delectable hourglass curves that waltzing with her tonight had been the worst sort of torture.

  A torture, by God, that would end tomorrow night, his burning thoughts of seduction having kept him up even later than usual, the first pale rays of dawn sneaking glimpses through the Boar's Head tavern's closed shutters. With a low groan he pushed open the door to his room and kicked it shut behind him, not caring about the noise or whom he might awaken.

  He made short work of his evening clothes, tossing them onto a threadbare stuffed chair before dropping naked onto his bed. No matter that this room was the best offered by the tavern; the air was chill, the mattress lumpy, the blankets scratchy and thin, but he had slept in worse in his day. And the place suited him more than any elegant Mayfair town house he could have rented for the Season where busybody neighbors and fellow members of the ton might watch his every move.

  Suited, too, his notorious reputation, Jared thought with a humorless laugh, throwing an arm over his eyes. What better place for a rake such as he other than some latest conquest's boudoir? He could imagine the furtive talk about his choice of lodging when he could easily afford the finest of London's accommodations, and that suited him as well. Such speculation kept idle, frivolous minds and tongues well occupied and thankfully diverted from more serious matters so a man could go about his work.

  Another low, grim laugh broke the silence. Jared closed his eyes and allowed the beauteous Miss Lindsay Somerset to once more overwhelm his thoughts. She had been on his mind already, he hadn't been able to think of much else since first setting eyes upon her at the Oglethorpes' ball, so it came as no surprise to him that focusing upon her could so completely and quickly enflame his senses.

  He wanted her.

  And he would have the minx tomorrow night, perhaps even inside the carriage if she teased him as mercilessly as she had done tonight. Her beguiling smiles, her willingness to allow him to hold her so closely in his arms, her brazen suggestion that he meet her alone, that feigned swoon which had clued him at once that Lindsay Somerset was a shrewd young woman who knew how to manipulate and entice men.

  He had met her kind before, his association in the past with several comely chits fresh from the countryside having earned him the reputation of a seducer of innocents. But those young women, not a blushing virgin among them, had proved themselves from the first to be not so pure and innocent and had welcomed his advances as skillfully as married ladies of the ton offered him their sexual favors.

  A fat purse and paid coach back to the country had soothed conniving mothers and cuckolded papas, the cunning wantons quite happy to settle down with a local squire or baronet once their fortunes were either enriched or assured. But that hadn't improved his reputation, not that he gave a damn. And seducing Lindsay Somerset wouldn't make matters any worse, and would certainly ease his present discomfort . . .

  Jared groaned to himself, almost wishing he had accepted the tavern keeper's wife's lusty invitation. With great difficulty he forced away tantalizing thoughts of Lindsay's breasts pressed against him, breasts so creamy and full and perfectly rounded he could already feel their ripe weight in his hands.

  In mute agony, he forced away a heart-stopping vision of her straddling him in the carriage, her slim white thighs gripping his hips, his fingers slipping into the wet heat of her body while her silky blond hair drifted over them like silver gossamer and her beautiful sky-blue eyes begged him to take her.

  With a low curse he threw himself onto his side and yanked a blanket over his shoulder, Lindsay Somerset's soft red mouth yielding utterly to his, her whimpers and breathless pants of sweet release echoing in his ears even as he prayed somehow to get some sleep.

  Chapter 4

  "Lord, another ten minutes to go. Could this night possibly drag on any slower?"

  Lindsay's frustrated whisper was answered by the low, rhythmic ticking of the mantel clock, which only made her pace her bedchamber with mounting impatience.

  She had been ready since half-past eleven, the town house gradually falling still as a tomb, Aunt Winifred tucked into bed with her nightly cup of hot chocolate, Matilda and the other servants retired to their attic rooms. Truly, she had begun to wonder if that blessed hurdle might even be breached!

  Somehow she had endured an endless card party at the Whimseys' home, elderly neighbors of Aunt Winifred's, Lindsay feeling through countless hands of whist as if her excitement might very well kill her, and now she truly felt as if she were about to burst. At last an adventure! But where was Jared? Oh, dear, had he forgotten?

  Lindsay stopped abruptly at a window overlooking the broad avenue and swept aside ivory lace curtains to take another peek, but still no coach had slowed at the Piccadilly address.

  The dull clip-clop of horses' hooves had drawn her to the window a dozen times, and each time her disappointment had been almost painful, making her wonder again if meeting Jared Giles, the Earl of Dovercourt, had been nothing but a dream. But Aunt Winifred's frantic lecture all the way home had been quite real, as well as her pronouncement in a stricken voice that there would be no more balls for several days, the smelling salts passed more than once under the poor woman's nose.

  "Please, please, don't be a dream," Lindsay said fervently to herself, her breath fogging the windowpane. A soft drizzle tapped at the glass, wispy strands of mist creeping over the gaslit thoroughfare. She turned back to the clock. Almost half-past midnight . . .

  No longer able to contain herself, Lindsay drew the hood of her cloak over her hair as she quietly left her room, pausing only to close the door behind her before she flew down the hall. Her slippers barely made a sound upon the thick Oriental runner, but she knew the staircase would be a different story. Nearly each step creaked, so she fled down them as quickly as she could, her heart pounding for fear she might awaken one of the servants.

  Aunt Winifred, fortunately, slept as soundly as the dead, as did her docile Welsh cor
gis, Ignatius and Primrose; Lindsay almost imagined she could hear their buzzing snores following after her. But Matilda was known to be a light sleeper—she had to be with such a mistress—yet Lindsay couldn't worry about the Scotswoman now. She raced across the vaulted center hall, nearly slipping on the polished pink marble floor, which only made her heart beat faster.

  Made her smile, too, Lindsay once more swept with nervous excitement. Her last obstacle the imposing double front doors, she nearly laughed with relief once she stepped outside into the chilly night air, but her smile faded when she saw that no carriage and snorting horses awaited her at the street. Shrouded from head to foot in her black cloak, she hesitated, not sure whether to venture out closer to the road or resign herself unhappily to bed.

  "I was beginning to think perhaps you had reconsidered our rendezvous."

  Lindsay spun around as a tall shape materialized from the shadows, her heart settling into her throat when she recognized Jared in the hazy golden halo emanating from the lamplight in the street. "No, no, I didn't see the carriage . . ." She fell silent, gaping as a glossy black coach drawn by four magnificent matched bays eased into motion from where it had been waiting several houses away, only to stop at the head of Aunt Winifred's walk, the burly coachman jumping down from the driver's box to open the door.

  "Come."

  Lindsay didn't tarry when Jared took her by the elbow and hastened her to the coach, his one simple word making her feel as wondrously elated as she had last night when she had waltzed in his arms. He hadn't forgotten after all! She scarcely set a foot upon the steps when she felt his strong hands encircle her waist to lift her inside, her face growing warm with pleasure that he would be so gentlemanly. A few low words were spoken to the coachman and then Jared joined her, settling into the empty space beside her as the carriage jolted into motion.

  "I thought we might drive around the city."

  "Oh, yes, that would be lovely!" Lindsay knew she was grinning like an utter fool, but she couldn't help herself. An adventure at last! With a man who must know London inside and out, a true hero of the realm! Her imagination whirling as fast as the spokes of the carriage wheels, she paid little heed when Jared pulled a soft plaid blanket from the opposite seat and draped it over their legs.