Countess So Shameless (Scandal in London)

by Liana Lefey

Despite his delight at her daring, Alessandro knew better than to give in to the rash invitation. He clasped her wrist and halted her hand’s naughty descent, feeling it tremble in his grasp. She might play the wanton, but she was no light skirt, not really. He could tell the difference.

  “I think it best to ease into our arrangement slowly,” he murmured, thinking of her reputation. He kissed the wayward fingers, watching her quiver in response. It sent another pulse to his already aching groin. This was going to be a long night. “Your hair has become disheveled.” He reached out to deftly smooth an errant curl back into place, and then focused his attention on her gown. “Turn,” he commanded, taking her by the shoulder and gently spinning her about.

  The midnight silk had become hopelessly rumpled in the back where she had sat upon it. He twitched the wrinkles out as best he could, wetting his fingers to dampen the worst of them here and there. The air would dry it quickly, hopefully allowing the creases to fall out of the material.

  “Presentable,” he proclaimed, looking her up and down with a critical eye. “No one would ever think you’d been shamelessly kissing me on a rooftop,” he teased. In truth, no one who saw her would think anything but that she’d been well kissed. Probably more than kissed.

  Her swollen lips now twitched with mirth. “I’m glad you find my appearance acceptable, Your Grace, but I’m afraid you look as if the very devil has been raking his pitchfork through your hair.” When she was done taming his wayward locks, she again leaned in to kiss him on the mouth.

  Alessandro fought to keep his hands at his sides as she smoothed her hands along the planes of his face, feeling the texture of his skin. He allowed her to explore his mouth at her leisure in a sweet kiss that left him longing for more.

  “Thank you,” Mélisande whispered.

  When she pulled away, his pulse whirred in his ears. He knew she wasn’t thanking him for fixing her gown.

  “I never like to disappoint a lady,” he said, making an effort to sound cavalier. Instead, the words came out in a shaken, gravelly rasp, completely ruining the effect.

  Smiling, she turned away. “Come.”

  Alessandro took a deep, rather unsteady breath and followed. This was going to be extremely challenging. You know this game; you are a master of it, he told himself.

  She led him to another stair cut into the wall opposite from where they had originally emerged. Before they entered, she paused. “I realize you and I know next to nothing of one another, really. I should like it very much if we could truly become friends.”

  “I am most happy to hear you say it,” he agreed, smiling gently as she moved forward once more. “I look forward to knowing all aspects of you, not merely the physical.” Indeed, he realized he wanted far more of her than just her delicious body in his bed.

  Again Mélisande paused. “When we reenter, we must act as though we have been in conversation for some time. Do you happen to play chess?”

  “I have played since I was a small child. Stamma tells me I have potential.” He chuckled, amused at the sudden change in the direction of the conversation.

  “Excellent! That will make it easy, then. Everyone knows I’m mad for chess.” She grinned. “We’ll simply act as if we’ve been engaged in a private match. No one would dare question me on my whereabouts, at least not directly.”

  After several minutes of navigating steep stairs and narrow, twisting tunnels, Alessandro heard the muffled murmuring of people.

  Mélisande stopped, holding out a hand to prevent him bumping into her. When the coast was clear, she stepped forth, pushing aside a heavy tapestry concealing the opening. They emerged just behind a statue nestled in an alcove off the main hall.

  How appropriate, Alessandro thought, patting Venus’s beautifully sculpted backside with fondness.

  Mélisande turned to him, eyes twinkling. He held out his arm, and together they sauntered out of the alcove and into the hall.

  “Have you met Philidor?” she asked, quietly starting the conversation.

  Intense dislike filled Alessandro. “Indeed,” he grumbled. “He visited my father not long after he won his match against Stamma. All he did was talk of his victory and himself.”

  Few noticed their arrival, and those who did simply noted with raised brows that the couple had been visiting the goddess of love.

  “I see you have as little fondness for the man as I,” Mélisande murmured, smirking as they blended back into the crush. “He is a narcissistic ass. An excellent strategist when it comes to chess, but a complete waste, otherwise.”

  “Not that I disagree in the least with your assessment, but how did you come to dislike him so?” He’d heard her issue the challenge earlier that evening and wondered at such ire.

  “You don’t know?”

  He shook his head. “I know only what I heard in the library while you were playing Stamma.”

  “He boasted of his win over Stamma, belittling his intelligence as well as mine, and then had the audacity to propose a match against me—with my virginity as the stakes. He insulted me in front of everyone, saying I might as well concede before even setting the board because the only games women were fit to play were those of the bedchamber. He was more than a little drunk, and his behavior was completely, inexcusably barbaric.”

  It sounded exactly like something Philidor might say. The man’s opinion of the female sex in general was primitive, at best. Alessandro had to work hard to keep from laughing aloud, for any male who thought of this woman as a mindless bauble was due to have his perspective mightily adjusted; it was only a matter of time.

  “And you slapped him?”

  “So that my hand ached terribly for several hours afterward,” she confirmed with bloodthirsty good cheer.

  “An appropriate response,” he responded. “I wish I’d been there to see it. And I certainly hope I shan’t be the recipient of such treatment for my forward behavior,” he added softly, stroking the back of her hand where it rested on his arm.

  She remained silent, but her lips curled at one corner. Immediately upon entering the upper gallery of the ballroom, she stopped and turned to him. “I must speak with my friends. I’m afraid some of them can be a bit overprotective,” she told him. “Naturally, they’ll be concerned, but I shall see to it no one calls you out.”

  “Your thoughtful consideration is much appreciated, as I wish neither myself nor any of your friends to come to harm,” he responded, reaching up to stroke a featherlight finger along the line of her jaw.

  Her lashes lowered. When Alessandro lifted her chin to capture her gaze once more, the naked desire in her jewellike eyes struck him like a physical blow. He felt it in every fiber of his being, as though he were a great bell that had just been rung.

  But in a blink, the moment was gone.

  Turning, Mélisande descended the stair, drawing many a second glance from those she passed. It wasn’t just her unusual attire that drew their eyes. She’d been awakened and it sang out in the languid movements of her body, a silent summons, as she meandered her way through the crowd.

  Alessandro’s hands fairly itched as he watched her. There was much to accomplish before he could indulge the impulse. Among other things, he must rent his own residence and move out of Luddy’s house. Finding a place this late in the Season would be a real challenge, even outside the fashionable district, which was why he’d agreed to stay in London as Luddy’s guest in the first place, but succeed he would.

  He also needed to clear the way for their affaire to proceed unhindered by her associations. That, he could begin working on immediately. It was time to set the pieces in motion.

  SMOKE AND MIRRORS

  AFTER OBSERVING THE lay of the land, Alessandro worked his way through the crush to the other side of the gallery where one Lady Angelica Mallowby held court. Surrounded by a crowd of besotted gentlemen, the golden-haired debutante flirted with consummate skill, hiding her becomingly shy smile behind her fan while encouraging her admirers with her
eyes.

  But he knew her heart wasn’t in it. Those cerulean eyes kept straying, searching for something. And Alessandro knew what—or rather who, that something was. It was time to use that knowledge to divest the lovely Mélisande of one of her guardians. If Stanton was happily occupied with Lady Angelica, he would be unlikely to interfere in anyone else’s affairs.

  Sweeping a gallant bow before the young lady, he gave her his most brilliant smile. “I had to see for myself if the rumors were true.”

  Angelica’s eyes widened, but before she could utter so much as a single syllable, her redheaded companion—Lydia, he remembered—cut in. “And you are?” she asked with hauteur.

  He stared at her until she blushed. The flood of color was most unbecoming for someone of her complexion. Turning his attention back to Angelica, he softened. “Alessandro Orsini, Duke of Gravina, Emissary of the Roman Curia and Prince of the Holy Roman Empire by order of Charles VI, at your service. I simply had to see for myself,” he repeated.

  Curiosity won out over good sense. “Of what do you speak, Your Grace?” Angelica asked.

  “Why, that one of heaven’s own angels had deigned to visit the earth. I was, of course, skeptical of the tale when I heard it, but I now believe it to be quite true. I shall have to inform my superiors.” Such worn flattery from a man nearly twice her age ought to make her laugh. Such was his intent, for it was hard to maintain one’s defenses when one was amused.

  Sure enough, Angelica’s lips twitched, her cheeks growing rosy as she fought off an answering smile. But Lydia bent and hissed at her ear again, causing her to start and cast her gaze earthward again.

  His eyes narrowed. The copper-haired wench was a problem. Obviously, she was Angelica’s most trusted counsel, and he could foresee no means of getting around her. He would have to influence her via one of her other friends.

  A pair of enormous lavender-blue eyes set in an elfin face caught his attention. A young lady of good family and meager funds, he immediately surmised, observing her modest gown with its concealing fichu.

  Perfect.

  “May I be so bold as to beg an introduction?” he asked softly, focusing solely on little Miss Lavender Eyes.

  The girl flushed, looking to Angelica with a helpless, somewhat horrified expression.

  “Oh, of—of course, Your Grace,” Angelica stammered, visibly flummoxed over the sudden shift in his attention. “This is my dear friend, Miss Olivia Doulton.”

  Alessandro suppressed a smile as he made an elegant leg before Miss Doulton, who extended a hand. Hovering just an instant longer than was considered proper, he gently brushed it with his lips.

  It was a calculated move. If he was right, and he almost always was when it came to women, she’d never been the recipient of such a bold flirtation.

  Indeed, her eyes flew wide at the intimate contact, her blush deepening.

  “Miss Doulton, I would be most honored if you would grant me the next dance. That is, of course, provided you are not already spoken for?” he asked with just the right amount of concern in his tone.

  Obviously terrified, yet inordinately pleased to suddenly find herself the center of attention, Miss Doulton nodded, rising to take the arm he offered. “I would be delighted, Your Grace.”

  As he led her past the stares of her dumbfounded friends to the grand staircase, he felt the tremor in her slight form as her heartbeat accelerated. He patted the hand on his arm. “Have no fear, Miss Doulton. I shan’t eat you up. I’m not really the big bad wolf.”

  A smile crept across her features. “I didn’t think you were, Your Grace,” she replied, then immediately blushed. “Why did you ask me to dance?”

  Such directness was unexpected from such a meek miss. “I was going to ask Lady Angelica,” he said, watching her eyes grow dull (it was the answer she’d expected, after all), “but her fiery-haired friend seemed bent on sabotaging my efforts,” he chuckled. “And now I fear I shall never be able to deliver Stanton’s message. I’m afraid he will be most disappointed.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to be referring to Mr. Reginald Stanton?”

  He managed a look of mild surprise. “Why, yes, the very same. Are you acquainted?”

  “We’ve been introduced,” she answered. “If you’ve a message from Mr. Stanton for Lady Angelica, I should be delighted to convey it.”

  He hesitated, pausing their descent. “I would, but he wished me to tell her directly. It is a matter of utmost secrecy.” He lowered his voice. “He would prefer that his interest remain a private matter, you understand.”

  “I promise to tell only Angelica,” she vowed. “I shall wait until we are utterly alone to speak with her.”

  He gave the appearance of teetering on the brink of an agonizing decision. “I suppose that would suffice, but if he finds out I told anyone other than Lady Angelica, he will be wroth.”

  Miss Doulton’s mouth formed an adorable O and she shook her head a little, denying even the possibility.

  “Then you are willing to help me?”

  She nodded, and just like that, he had his secret weapon. He resumed their progress down the stair. Leaning close, he whispered, “Reggie—that is, Mr. Stanton—holds Lady Angelica in high esteem. The very highest. Being only a viscount’s son, he knows he’s beneath her,” he continued, letting just a little righteous indignation enter his voice, as though upset by the unfairness of it all. “But he simply cannot put aside his tender feelings for her. She has possessed his mind, heart, and soul, and he would do anything to obtain her favor.”

  He paused a moment before delivering the coup de grâce. “Reggie has vowed that if he should somehow win her heart and hand, he will spend every waking moment of the rest of his life ensuring her complete happiness. His affection is unwavering, his intentions most noble and honorable, I assure you.”

  Her eyes glistened with sudden emotion, and he visualized the jaws of the trap closing around his prey. The tale of Mr. Stanton’s unrequited love was the stuff of romantic dreams and passionate ballads, sure to make any young lady’s heart ache.

  “Your Grace,” she said, her quiet voice all aquiver, “I shall be delighted to convey your message to my friend on Mr. Stanton’s behalf.”

  Reginald Stanton III was as good as bagged! He observed his companion as she struggled for composure. She was a sweet little thing and not at all unpleasant to look at. It was a shame she was cast into shadow by Lady Angelica, really.

  It was an ill he could easily remedy.

  “You know, Miss Olivia, Lady Angelica may shine brightly, but you have your own beauty,” he said quietly, taking the opportunity to use her given name. “Tell me, why do you hide it so?”

  Her bottom lip began to tremble, and her eyes filled. “A candle cannot outshine the sun. It’s not her fault she is so beautiful,” she said sadly. “I have neither the face nor the form to attract such notice, or the means to buy it. Mama says I shall be fortunate indeed to attain any gentleman’s regard, and that I must be grateful to Angelica for allowing me to be her companion. She hopes that one of her admirers will look to me as a second choice.”

  Alessandro reached out and raised her chin with a gentle finger, smoothing away a tear that had traced a path down her cheek.

  “Allow me to help you,” he said kindly. “I can, you know.”

  She blushed and again began to tremble.

  “I can make them see you for what you really are: a beautiful young woman with much to offer,” he tempted. “You would be surprised at how little effort it would take to open their eyes. I know what fascinates my own sex,” he persisted in a teasing tone. “You believe your beauty pales beside Lady Angelica’s, but I tell you: you are lovely and possess all you need to attract any gentleman’s interest.”

  She stilled, a mouse hypnotized by a serpent’s gaze. Her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before she finally found her voice. “W-why would you wish to help me?”

  “Because you are helping my friend find happine
ss.” He meant it; with her assistance, Stanton would be one less thing to worry about during his pursuit of Mélisande. And helping this little girl would be practically effortless. It would be his good deed for the day.

  Miss Doulton worked up her courage at last. “How?”

  It was that easy. “Take out the fichu,” he commanded, stepping in front of her to shield her from view. When she remained frozen in disbelief, he reached out and quick as lightning plucked the offending cloth from her bodice.

  A gasp burst forth from Miss Doulton and her hands flew up to cover her exposed décolletage.

  A décolletage that Alessandro now noted was not quite as unfortunate as he’d originally thought. He frowned as he looked her up and down. He could do nothing about the unfashionable cut of her gown, but...“Bite your lips,” he whispered.

  She gaped at him.

  “Bite them, or I shall have to make them look kissed,” he added, raising a suggestive brow. The threat caused immediate, saucer-eyed compliance, more from anxiety than obedience, he suspected. He nodded with satisfaction as her lips took on a fullness that was sure to arouse male interest.

  “Now, we dance.” Before she could protest, he propelled her through the crush. His partner proved to be quite graceful on the ballroom floor, even if he had to abbreviate his steps a bit to accommodate her shorter stride.

  If her eyes were a little fevered and her cheeks a little flushed, Alessandro knew it was all to the good. Nothing was as enticing to a man as an impassioned woman, and this petite little pixie was fast showing all the signs of becoming quite stirred.

  With practiced charm, he maintained eye contact with her the entire time. He knew he was encouraging an infatuation, but it didn’t matter. She’d soon be swamped by fascinated men and forget all about him. It was his way of repaying her for helping to remove an obstacle between himself and Mélisande.

  THE ART OF WAR

  MÉLISANDE SMILED BRIGHTLY as she approached the cluster of gentlemen. David did not smile back. In fact, he didn’t even acknowledge her presence at all.