His initial reaction was that whoever her guardians were had dressed her outrageously, yet when he studied the dress he found nothing outrageous about it. It was cut no lower than any other young woman’s gown, and the color was certainly not questionable. In fact, on its own merits, the gown was perfectly decorous. It was the woman in it who gave the dress its scandal.
The dance ended, for which Jocelyn was both thankful and regretful. He’d have to wait a decent interval before he asked for a waltz but he was loath to let her go. “How about some of that company you promised me?” He took her arm, not waiting for an answer. “I am told the Martin-Burke garden has been specially decorated for the evening.” A walk was precisely what he needed. He’d rather take one with her than to walk alone and risk being pounced upon by a rabid matchmaking mama. He would be thirty-one next month and London’s mamas had decided it was high time he marry. So had his father. His father the earl had informed him he’d had eleven years to sow his wild oats on the town.
It wasn’t that he was opposed to marriage. He did plan to marry at some unspecified point in the future, just not the near future. There was the league to consider at the moment. D’Arcy’s departure this summer had left the league exposed and Jocelyn would not abandon Channing Deveril, founder of the league, in his hour of need. After the new year, when the scandal surrounding the rumored existence of the league settled, perhaps then, he’d contemplate a wife. Right now, he was far more interested in contemplating the woman beside him.
The air outside was crisp, a beautiful late-autumn night and probably one of the last. One never knew what the weather gods would do in November. In celebration, the Martin-Burkes had fitted the garden with little fires placed at intervals where guests could stroll and stop to warm themselves from the evening chill. Jocelyn rather liked the idea, but it seemed others were skeptical. The garden was sparsely populated tonight.
“I think fall is my favorite time of year.” She looked up into the night sky, the firelight skimming her profile, her throat exposed. He had the sudden urge to want to kiss that long column. “The air is sharp, not sweet and heavy like it is in the summer, or soft in the spring, or biting like the winter. There’s possibility in the sharpness.” She took a deep breath that lifted her breasts, although she seemed unaware of it. Then she laughed. “It’s all nonsense, of course, the air isn’t a round of cheese.”
“No more than the moon, and look how often we’ve made that comparison.” Jocelyn laughed with her, liking her wit. He hadn’t enjoyed himself like this in ages. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been with a woman who hadn’t hired him, who didn’t know who he was, and he was quite sure this one didn’t know. They were simply being themselves and it felt wonderful, a pleasant deviation from the tedium his life had become.
Her fingers clenched softly on his arm where they lay, a gesture that seemed out of character for this bold creature. “I have a confession. I wasn’t looking forward to coming tonight. I don’t know anyone in town and I was worried, but you’ve made it better than I thought.”
I could make it better still. Good Lord, desire was riding him hard tonight for a change. Usually, it was the other way around. He rode it. He kept true rampant desire on a very tight rein. On his behalf, though, she had caught him unawares. He hadn’t time to steel himself against such a reaction and, in truth, the sensation was not a distasteful one. Rather, it was something of a novelty, which was as good of an explanation as any for this curious feeling.
“Then I’m glad we met.” The strains of a waltz were beginning in the ballroom and the garden emptied as people went to claim partners and spaces, leaving them alone with the fire pits. Jocelyn let the conversation between them lag, allowing an almost awkward silence to fill the space between them before he asked, “Is there anyone waiting for you?” There should be and they should be starting to worry over her absence. She wasn’t here alone, was she? If he hadn’t found the possibility so consistent with her behavior, he’d have found it suspicious.
“No.” She paused and corrected herself. “What I mean is that my chaperone came down with a headache and has left me with friends this evening. I won’t be missed, not quite yet.”
Very errant friends, Jocelyn thought, to let her wander off toward card rooms and then to cajole a strange man into a dance and wander off with him to the gardens afterward. It did make him wonder if there were any friends at all, and that made him wonder a host of other things about his mystery woman. Surely she understood what she risked when she’d gone down that dark corridor in the first place.
He tested his hypothesis. “If I am not keeping you, perhaps you would dance with me?”
“Here?”
He was rewarded with a moment’s disbelief flitting across her smooth features. She’d been so sure of everything else tonight, but not this. This walked the line of real scandal and his mystery woman knew it. All else between them had been decent enough to pass critical censure. This would not. This was intent. One might wander down a dark hall by happenstance, but one did not dance in gardens by accident.
“Yes, here. There’s far more room than inside.” He turned her into position, his hand at her back as she tentatively raised her hand to his shoulder. Her hesitation was delightful. For all her boldness, his mystery woman was human, after all.
He moved them into the dance, aware of the warmth of her skin beneath her gown where his hand met her back. She was not unaffected either by this sudden chemistry that had sprung up between them. He leaned close to her ear, wanting any reason to drink in the scent of her one more time, “You should have said no.”
She cocked her head to look up at him, a smile on her lips. “I know.” Jocelyn’s arousal went rigid. He knew just how he’d kiss that mouth. Heaven help him, she danced divinely.
* * *
Oh, Lord, he danced divinely, and that was where any heavenly metaphor ended. Like recognized like and she knew a sinner when she saw one. Jocelyn Eisley was no saint. He hadn’t even asked her name and here he was waltzing her around the garden, holding her closer than propriety allowed and she was loving it! Even after all the promises she’d made to herself about avoiding scandal and avoiding the charms of men. Here she was literally embracing both. Her promises hadn’t lasted the night.
What did that mean about her? Was she really irrevocably unconventional as the Dorset gossips maintained, or was Eisley a master at easing a woman down the path of seduction? Perhaps both? Although she feared the former, after all, she’d been the one to go looking for him.
Eisley’s hand was firm at her back, a reminder of his strength and competence. She had no doubt he was competent at many things. Her body concurred, thrilling to the intimate touch of his hand, to the sweep of her skirts against his legs, the occasional brush of his hips against hers as they turned. He was the devil’s own git with those handsome looks and teasing wit. He could melt even the staunchest of hearts. She’d have to harden hers considerably. But not yet.
Cassandra could almost reason there was no harm in enjoying a dance before she got down to the business of planning her next move. Tonight, she’d made contact. It was essential she use this opening to secure a second meeting.
The beautiful music faded to a halt, the silence making Cass acutely aware of his hands lingering at her waist, his thumbs at her hips pressing lightly, intimately, through the fabric of her gown, of the sparkle in his green eyes, a somewhat predatory gleam. She imagined a tiger’s eyes looked just like that before moving in for the kill.
His eyes dropped briefly to her lips. Cass’s breath came sharp and rapid. She saw it all at once: This was to be a seduction. Eisley’s equivalent to the kill. That flick of his eyes was the only notice she had of his intentions. Then his mouth was on hers with a gentle insistence. She gave invitation, her lips parting for him, his tongue tangling with hers in a slow, languid dance of their own.
She raised her arms about his neck, her hands finding their way into the thick depths of his hair, her actions perhaps encouraged by the actions of his. His hands, so firmly anchored at her waist, drew her against the manly core of him, making clear to her his desire—a most impressive desire. The implication was transparent: he wanted her and he thought he could have her, in a garden, at a ball. Oh, Lord, how he’d brought out the wanton in her with so little effort.
Shock and shame rocketed through her in equal parts. Maybe all the Dorset gossips were right, that she couldn’t help it. Maybe some people were born to sin. Her own record in that regard would certainly affirm it. Her uncle would flay her alive for this if word of it reached him. With a shove, Cass pushed away from the hard-muscled planes of his chest, a hand flying to her mouth in horrified realization. London was meant to be her redemption. With that one thought in mind, she turned on her slippered heel and fled, all thoughts of a second meeting fleeing with her.
Chapter Three
“Wait!” Jocelyn barked, trying to keep his voice from attaining a full-scale yell. “I don’t even know...” your name. The words faded in his throat as his flame-haired mystery woman disappeared into the ballroom and the protection of the crowd.
Admittedly, his tone was not conducive to staying, but his ego was hard pressed to accept what had just happened. He had kissed a woman whose name he didn’t know and she had fled, horrified, as if his kisses had been some horrendous assault on her mouth, which he happened to know they weren’t. He was a very proficient kisser. Even if past experience didn’t confirm it, her body’s response had. She had been eager for that kiss, eager for more than the kiss. Shockingly enough, so had he.
He’d been eager for the newness of it all, the spontaneity. These days, that was a rare commodity. The kiss had been unplanned and she, whoever she was, had no idea just how significant that was. He always knew a woman’s name, always knew he was going to kiss her and everything else that would follow. That’s how the league worked. It had been years since a woman had surprised him in bed or out.
In the last year especially, he’d begun to believe he’d simply reached the limit of possibilities. Perhaps sex wasn’t an infinite playground of versatility as he once had thought. Perhaps he had indeed come to the very ends of those worlds, a conqueror of all things sensual. Tonight proved otherwise. There was at least one adventure that lay unclaimed. And that adventure had just escaped. If it was going to continue, he was going to have to go after it.
Jocelyn strode into the ballroom, secure in the knowledge that such a beauty would be easy to find. Her hair alone would stand out. If she was still there. Lucifer’s balls, had his kiss caused her to flee the entire venue? How would he ever find her again short of trawling every London entertainment—a prospect he did not relish. It would be a needle-in-a-haystack sort of hunt, if it came to that.
“She’s gone, whoever it is you’re looking for.” A low voice spoke at his shoulder and Jocelyn gave a little jump. His thoughts had been so occupied by his search he hadn’t been aware of the other men’s approach. Amery DeHart, another member of the league, stood on one side of him, Channing Deveril, on the other.
“What is it? What are the two of you doing here?” Jocelyn schooled his features into their usual neutrality, trying to give off no impression of impatience. He’d made an art of the ability to appear unbothered, as if everything rolled off him like water off the proverbial duck. Still, their timing was impeccably rotten. He needed to be searching for his redhead. But he couldn’t ignore the league. There was nothing facile about the presence of Channing and Amery at the same social event together. The league made it a practice to avoid being seen together whenever possible in order to make it less likely people would associate them as more than acquaintances.
“We have a problem. Lord Burroughs has upped the ante in his little vendetta against Nick and thus against us.” Amery took a swallow of his champagne, his eyes never leaving the ballroom floor, constantly scanning, constantly watching. Such dedication to detail, to noticing every nuance about everybody was what Amery did best. It’s what had made him a much-sought-after lover amongst the ton, almost on par with Jocelyn himself. Amery was young but given time, Amery would likely surpass them all.
Channing entered the conversation, his voice low and rapid. “I received word earlier this evening that Burroughs has invited his niece to town in the hopes of using her as bait to draw out the league.”
“Then let’s not be drawn out. Surely if she sends a request to the agency we will simply not be able to fulfill it.” It would be easy enough to figure out any use of a false name as well. The league vetted all their clients before accepting a contract. There, Jocelyn thought. Problem solved.
Channing wasn’t convinced. He shook his head. “I do not think she’ll approach us in that way. Unfortunately, Burroughs guesses too much. He will attempt to use our friendships with Nick to unmask the agency. I suspect he will have his niece come at us through more conventional means.” A wry smile creased Channing’s lips. “It would give us too much power over him if we held a letter from his niece asking for our services. We could use that letter to wicked purpose if we chose to.”
Amery continued to scan the ballroom. “She’s supposed to be here tonight. Her name is Cassandra Burroughs.”
Jocelyn followed Amery’s gaze, although the name meant nothing to him. He searched out the crowd for a glimpse of deep red hair.
Channing continued to fill him in. “We have a description, too. Red hair, blue eyes, slightly taller than average, a real stunner.” Jocelyn felt his stomach start to churn at the familiarity of the description, but surely it was mere coincidence.
“There!” Amery exclaimed, all three sets of eyes locking simultaneously on the striking woman at the entrance to the ballroom.
“That’s her, all right.” Channing’s tone was a grim echo of Jocelyn’s own sentiment. His initial relief over knowing she hadn’t left the ball was overshadowed by a quick piecing together of reality. His mystery woman was Cassandra Burroughs, niece of the league’s current nemesis whose mission was to uncover their secrets and see them exposed.
Jocelyn swore under his breath. Damn it all to perdition. The most exciting woman he’d ever met had used him. Something he’d thought not possible.
Chapter Four
Jocelyn was not fast enough to cover up his surprise. Amery pounced on his reaction. “She was with you!” Amery said with mild, disapproving shock. He exchanged a worried glance with Channing. “Burroughs moved faster than we thought if his niece has already hunted down Eisley.”
“What makes you think she was with me?” Jocelyn challenged. Sometimes Amery was far too perceptive.
Amery downed the rest of his champagne and deposited the glass on the tray of a passing footman. “Simple deduction, Eisley. You both entered through the same door. You were outside together.”
“Is it true, Jocelyn? Were you with her?” Channing pressed.
A stone settled in Jocelyn’s stomach, the magic of the evening severely curtailed. But magic was all illusion anyway, wasn’t it? Just a trick, a sleight of hand to delude the beholder. Oh, he’d been deluded all right. He’d believed the spontaneity of her kiss, of her bold vivacity.
“Yes, I was with her.” But he’d be damned if he’d offer any details.
“She’s a pretty piece. It’s hard to believe she’s related to old Burroughs,” Amery said slyly. “What happened in the garden?”
Channing groaned. “Tell me you didn’t seduce her? The last thing we need is—”
“I didn’t seduce her,” Jocelyn interrupted with a protest. “It was just a kiss.” Only it had felt like much more than a kiss at the time.
“Just a kiss?” Amery grinned. “You’re a fast one, Eisley. You didn’t even know her name and you had her out in the garden for a kiss on a five-
minute acquaintance. It serves Burroughs right for trying to uncover us.” He elbowed Jocelyn good-naturedly. “Well done, sir, well done.”
But Jocelyn didn’t see the humor in it. “It was probably too fast for her. I can’t say she left the garden happier than when she entered it.” Why he was defending her, he couldn’t explain. She’d attempted to dupe him, to use him, and here he was trying to protect her.
“Even better,” Amery all but crowed. “This could work for us, Deveril. I think Jocelyn pursues her, and scares her off with his brash, randy ways without telling her anything about the league. It will be sweet revenge on Burroughs and his cronies for all of their hullabaloo.”
Channing nodded in agreement and Jocelyn felt his last refuge crumbling. Good grief. He couldn’t fight them both, and he knew how worried Channing was about the league being exposed. It had never come this close before. “Will you do it, Jocelyn?” Channing eyed him, perhaps sensing in his uncanny way, that his friend was torn over the proposition.
“Yes, I’ll do it, although if she’s innocent, I want her protected. If she’s a pawn, I don’t want her dragged into any scandal on her uncle’s behalf.”
Amery laughed. “Innocent? With a body like that? Her uncle wouldn’t have invited her up from the country if he thought she’d fail to entice.” He slapped Jocelyn on the back. “Get a grip, man.”
Jocelyn supposed he did sound ridiculous. He’d experienced firsthand her forthright passion, her boldness. She was no retiring miss and yet there had been those brief moments of hesitation and that look of horror when she’d fled that suggested there was more to her than boldness and brass.
“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Jocelyn raised an eyebrow at Amery’s tone.
A Most Indecent Gentleman Page 2