by Cara Elliott
“I—I cannot believe the countess’s kindness to a total stranger—a stranger with a sordid reputation,” mused Ciara as they made their way through the crowd. In her experience, the ladies of the ton could be even more ruthless than the gentlemen. Too often their satin smiles and velvet voices cloaked a killer instinct worthy of Attila the Hun. “Perhaps she has me confused with someone else?”
“Alison owes me a small favor or two, the details of which I won’t go into,” said Lucas. “And besides, she’s led a rather interesting life herself and thinks that rigid respectability is vastly overrated.”
So far, so good. She breathed a sigh of relief at having made it through the receiving line without suffering a direct cut. However, the respite didn’t last more than a step.
“The musicians are striking up a waltz.” Turning smoothly, Lucas took up a position on the polished parquet.
“Lord Hadley, must we—” she began.
“Yes. We must.” His gloved hand pressed lightly against the small of her back. “This will be an exercise in futility if we don’t appear to be enjoying ourselves.”
“But—”
“Don’t look so apprehensive. I won’t tread on your toes.”
Ciara pressed her eyes shut for an instant. “It’s not my toes I am worried about, sir,” she said in a low voice. “You forget that I have been out of Society for some time. I don’t know the steps of this new dance.”
Lucas drew her a touch closer. “Just follow my lead.”
To her surprise, it proved rather simple to do. The earl had an easy, elegant grace, and after the first few spins Ciara relaxed into his rhythm, matching his moves without conscious thought.
“You see, it’s not so hard to unlace your corset,” he murmured.
Ciara was acutely aware of his overpowering closeness—his hand holding hers, his palm pressed to the small of her back, radiating heat through the layers of soft glove leather and silk. Already her skin felt a little singed.
“When you allow yourself a little freedom, your movements have a lovely, liquid flow to them,” he went on.
The heat flooded to her face. “Why is it that you always make sexual innuendos, sir?”
“Why is it that references to your beautiful body always bother you?” he countered.
“I—I’m not beautiful,” she stammered.
“Then why is every man in the room staring at you?” said Lucas with a spinning twirl that set her skirts to flaring.
Ciara slanted a peek around. Oh, Lud—people were watching them. She drew in a gulp of air.
“You see? Their eyes are drawn to you, like moths to a flame,” said Lucas.
“Fire is dangerous,” she whispered.
“Ah, but danger adds to the allure.” His eyes glittered in the brilliant light of the chandeliers. “As I well know.”
Another glance showed that men were not the only ones watching them dance. For an instant she felt a little giddy. Why, the belles of Town were envious of her. Here she was, the Wicked Widow of Pont Street, dancing with the most desirable rake in London.
“Your cheeks are a very luscious shade of pink,” murmured Lucas. “It’s the same shade as… another hot spot of the feminine form.” He looked at her through his dark lashes. “Can you guess which one?”
Resisting the urge to fan her face, she asked, “Do you flirt so outrageously with every lady of your acquaintance?”
The corners of his mouth curled up. “But of course. The point of a party is to have a little fun.”
Ciara sighed. “Life seems to be one unending party for you.”
Before he could answer, one of the ladies whirled close with a lilting laugh. “La, Hadley, I hear there is a new ballet opening—it is called The Fountain of Youth, and I’m sure you won’t want to miss it.”
Her partner guffawed.
“Does it never bother you to be the butt of gossip?” she asked, once the figures of the dance drew them away from the others.
“Why should it?” replied Lucas after a slight hesitation.
Though the question was likely rhetorical, Ciara considered it seriously for several measures of the music before finally replying, “I don’t know… it’s just that if I were you, I would begin to wonder whether people were laughing at me, rather than with me.”
“We all must be comfortable in our own skin,” he replied lightly. “My hide is obviously a good deal thicker than yours, for you see, I don’t really give a damn about what people say or think.” Lucas stepped through an intricate twirl without missing a beat. “Why do you?”
“I don’t have the luxury of thumbing my nose at Society. This may come as something of a shock to you, Lord Hadley, but there are two sets of rules in the Polite World. Ladies are held to a far more rigid standard. One misstep can mean ruin.”
Looking around, she suddenly realized that she was a part of the spinning whirl of sights and sounds—blazing colors, winking lights, trilling laughter, clinking crystal. All the things she had run from in the past.
Tonight there was no escape—and strangely enough, that didn’t seem as terrible as she had feared. Not with the earl’s hard, muscled body providing a comforting measure of support. Swept along in the circle of his arms, she didn’t feel quite so vulnerable or alone.
As the last notes of the violins died away, Lucas led her to a secluded spot by the potted palm trees. “Would you care for some champagne punch?”
“Yes, thank you.” Ciara had forgotten that dancing could work up quite a thirst.
“I won’t be long.” Before she could protest being left by herself, Lucas hurried off.
Repressing a shiver, Ciara forced her gaze up from the parquet floor. No matter how awkward she felt inside, she must not appear intimidated by her surroundings. Predators pounced on any show of weakness.
Through the crowd, she saw Lucas pause to exchange a few words with a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman whose chiseled profile and military bearing made him a rather formidable figure. The stranger turned and eyed her for a moment before nodding gravely to Lucas.
To her surprise, he suddenly excused himself from his companions and started in her direction. His expression was austere, aloof—some might even consider it arrogant. As his piercing green gaze honed in on her little oasis amid the palm fronds, she willed herself not to flinch.
As he came closer, Ciara realized who he was.
The Marquess of Haddan.
A highly decorated war hero, the marquess was also a Fellow of the Royal Scientific Society. He was held in awe by most of Society, and according to the newspapers, he did not suffer fools gladly—
Her musings were interrupted by his baritone voice. “I beg your pardon, Lady Sheffield. Might I ask if you are free for this set?”
Seeing as her dance card was conspicuously empty, save for Hadley’s name by the two waltzes, Ciara wondered for a moment whether he was mocking her. The leafy shadows made his expression hard to read, but in her experience, titled gentlemen sometimes took perverse delight in playing cruel games.
“I shall endeavor to beat off my many admirers with a stick to make room, sir,” she replied softly.
His rumbled chuckle was surprisingly pleasant. “I have saved you the trouble. It seems my approach has scared them away. Rather like a magnet whose force has been reversed.”
Ciara gave a tentative smile.
“Your expertise in science is quite impressive, Lady Sheffield,” he went on. “I’ve read several of your essays and would enjoy discussing them, if you would care to dance.”
“I… I would be honored, sir.”
Once again, she found herself spinning across the polished parquet in the arms of a handsome gentleman. The conversation was so interesting that she forgot to be nervous, and somehow her steps stayed in harmony with the trilling violins. To her surprise, Ciara was almost sorry when the music came to an end.
“Thank you,” she began.
But rather than return her to the shadows of the po
tted palms, Haddan angled his steps for one of the brightly lit refreshment tables. “I shall hand you off to my friend Woodbridge, if you don’t mind.”
Ciara nearly tripped over her own feet. Known for his charm and wit, Devlin Woodbridge was the darling of London Society. She couldn’t think of why he would risk exposing himself to censure by standing up with her.
“Oh, please, Lord Woodbridge need not trouble himself.” She drew a deep breath, wondering where Lucas had run off to. Wretched man—how dare he abandon her to the mercy of strangers.
“No trouble at all.” Haddan stepped back with a small bow. “Ah, here he comes now. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Lady Sheffield.”
Clever.
Smiling, Lucas congratulated himself on enlisting the help of his old friends in reintroducing Ciara to Polite Society. They could always be counted on to come through in a pinch. Haddan was respected, and even a little feared, while Woodbridge’s sunny charm assured that he was well liked by most everyone who mattered. A show of favor from such powerful personages would go a long way in influencing the ton.
Yes, let Haddan and Woodbridge do his work, thought Lucas with an inward grin. Leaving him free to saunter off for a stroll in the garden with the buxom Baroness Blenheim. The lady had indicated an interest in a dalliance…
And yet, as he slanted a sidelong look at the spinning couples, Lucas felt his smugness slip a notch. Ciara and Haddan were moving through the last figures of the dance with an élan that stopped him short. His friend’s natural reserve must have melted a good deal since his recent marriage—the marquess had never been one to engage in superficial flirtation, yet he seemed to be enjoying Ciara’s company.
Bloody hell. There was no need for Nicholas to smile quite so frequently.
Gritting his teeth, Lucas snatched a glass of champagne from a passing footman and began to stalk around the perimeter of the dance floor. The ladies greeted him with smiles and sly winks. By the time he was halfway down the room, he had collected several whispered invitations for a late-night assignation. And from the gentlemen came good-natured gibes and guffaws. Three cheers for Mad, Bad Had-ley, who kept them all so deucedly amused.
Lady Sheffield was all wrong. He was a great favorite, not a great fool.
And yet the sparkling wine suddenly tasted a bit flat on his tongue. He switched to claret, and then to brandy.
All to no effect. Perhaps the close proximity of the scholarly scientist was having a strange chemical effect on him.
Was her presence more potent than drink?
He would have to test out that theory during their first private lesson.
For now, though, Lucas let his gaze drift back to Ciara. As she glided through a series of intricate steps, he couldn’t help but admire her lithe grace, her cool composure. He had been close enough to sense she was quaking inside, yet she had the fortitude to face her fears with an outward show of dignity and determination.
Brave girl, he applauded.
He saw he wasn’t the only one watching her. All around, speculative gazes gleamed, bright as the blazing chandeliers. Fortune hunters were drawn to a rich widow, no matter how notorious, like moths to a candle flame. His brows pinched together, and he felt a flicker of fire inside his chest. Let any grasping bastard come too close and the fellow would find his fingers roasted over the coals.
“The minx may be a murderess, but I’d die happy swiving such a shapely strumpet.” Lord Dunning, a casual acquaintance, sidled up to his shoulder. “She has a fine arse, eh?”
Lucas swallowed a savage oath, along with a mouthful of his wine.
“You must fancy a poke, yourself,” Dunning chortled. “Can’t be after her fortune. Your coffers are bloody well full.”
Repressing the urge to shove the other man’s teeth down his gullet, Lucas set down his drink and flexed a fist. “My interest in Lady Sheffield is not a subject I intend to discuss with you. Code of honor and all that.”
“Er, right.” Dunning stepped away, looking both puzzled and peeved. “No need to get your hackles up, Hadley. Just making a little joke.”
“Do so out of my hearing,” he said softly.
The other man shot him a sour look and moved on.
It was all part of their plan, Lucas told himself. Word would spread like wildfire that Mad, Bad Had-ley had fallen under the spell of the Wicked Witch of Pont Street. The drawing rooms would soon be abuzz with speculation on what his next outrageous action would be.
Well, they were all in for a big surprise.
Chapter Nine
Ciara was still feeling a little off balance as Lord Woodbridge exchanged places with Lord Haddan.
“I confess, sir, I am a bit overwhelmed by your kind attentions.” She was well aware that dancing with two such exalted gentlemen would go a long way to smoothing her acceptance in Polite Society. “I cannot… that is, I am quite grateful—”
Woodbridge silenced her stammering with a brilliant smile. “The pleasure is all mine. It is not often that Lucas needs help with a lady. So I am happy to oblige. And you may be assured that I shall tease him unmercifully about it for some time to come.”
“That makes me feel marginally better,” said Ciara. “Have you and Lord Haddan known Hadley for a long time?”
“Lud, yes. Since we were pups at Eton, cutting our teeth on boyish escapades. From there, the three of us went on to Oxford together. In fact, it was Hadley’s idea for a prank that got us all the boot.”
Ciara was curious. “Which was?”
“Don’t ask about the details. Suffice it to say it involved a cat, a courtesan, and the rector of Merton College.”
Her lips twitched. “Oh, dear.”
“It was more like ‘Oh, hell.’” Woodbridge’s eyes twinkled with unholy amusement. “Haddan and I joined the army, where, I am ashamed to admit, we continued to act like devils. Our unit was called the Rakehell Regiment, though we are thoroughly reformed now, thanks to our new brides.”
That sounded like an interesting story, but her first concern was her errant escort. “Hadley did not join the army, too?” It seemed odd that he would not choose to follow his friends.
“No, Lucas was extremely sorry to cry off, but he did not want to go abroad and leave his guardian alone,” explained Woodbridge. “Sir Henry was already beginning to suffer some serious physical ailments.”
Ciara bit her lip. That the earl—an unrepentantly reckless young rascal—had been unselfish enough to think of his uncle at that age came as yet another surprise. The more she learned of Lucas, the more she found herself confused. He was a contradiction.
A conundrum.
She was usually very good at working out puzzles, but so far, the earl was a real enigma. On the surface, he seemed a man of shallow pleasures. But perhaps he had more substance.
“That seems rather out of character for Hadley,” she mused.
“Ah, beneath the devil-may-care antics, Lucas is not quite such a fribble as he appears,” replied Woodbridge. “He’s a good and generous friend, loyal to a fault, though he takes care to hide it. I think he’s just never had anything to challenge the better side of his nature.”
“I see.” The steps of the dance separated them for a moment. “Actually, I don’t. I…” She let her words trail off.
He flashed an encouraging smile. “Yes?”
Something about his sunny manner made her abandon her usual reticence. “In my experience, gentlemen of title are vain, selfish, and manipulative,” she blurted out. “Yet you and Lord Haddan have gone out of your way to be kind.”
“Perhaps you have been moving in the wrong circles, Lady Sheffield,” said Woodbridge softly.
Ciara was grateful that the music ended, for she was suddenly feeling a little light-headed. The evening was certainly taking an entirely different turn than she had expected.
“Thank you for a most delightful dance.” Woodbridge bowed gracefully over her hand. “Here comes Lucas, so I shall hand you back to your escort. Wi
th great pleasure, I might add. It’s about time that he gets serious about leaving the follies of his youth behind him.”
“You are mistaken, sir, if you think that there is anything serious between us. As his closest friend, you must have been informed that our arrangement is purely business,” said Ciara softly. “A bartering of services, if you will. Hadley has no intention of swearing off his old way of life.”
“Yes, he did make mention of the circumstances,” murmured Woodbridge. “However, if I may offer a parting word of advice, a rake is usually the last one to admit when he is ready to reform.”
The profusion of flowers was drooping in sleepy splendor, and the candles were burning low, their flames dancing slowly to the last notes of a quadrille. From the card room came the faint chime of the clock.
“Lud, it’s late.” Ciara stifled a yawn. “I can’t remember the last time I was up at such an ungodly hour.” Some of the guests were beginning to take their leave, while others lingered by the French doors, watching the play of moonlight over the terraced garden.
“On the contrary, the night is young.” Lucas couldn’t resist a little teasing. “It’s only a little past one, and the darkness before dawn hides a multitude of sins. Would you care for a stroll outside to admire the heavenly stars?” He waggled a brow. “And other celestial bodies.”
Her mouth thinned and then slowly curled up at the corners. “It’s a pity our wager concerns a course in ornithology. If we were studying astronomy, you would have a head start.”
Was it the champagne that had the lady letting down her guard enough to banter with him? Spying a half-empty bottle amid the arrangement of peonies, he quickly refilled her glass. “In some subjects, I’m a very quick study.”
“Save your efforts for the laboratory,” said Ciara, trying to draw back her hand. “I will expect you to master the basics before conceding you a victory.”
“Don’t worry, I have the stamina of a stallion.” The wine bubbled up, light winking off the explosion of effervescence.
“I was referring to mental efforts, Lord Hadley,” she said dryly.