Hellfire and damnation. It was like sinking into warm molasses—silky-smooth and so damned sweet it twisted his anger into something more dangerous. Intoxicated, he plunged his tongue deeply inside her mouth, then again and again. With every thrust, she melted a little more until she was as soft as freshly churned butter in his arms.
It would drive any hot-blooded soldier crazy. What luscious lips she had, tender as a Virginia peach. And the honeysuckle smell of her was so like home that for a second he forgot she was English, forgot whose stepdaughter she was. He just wanted more. A lot more. He wanted to conquer her, consume her.
When she looped her arms about his neck, crushing her soft breasts against his chest, he took it for an invitation and let his hands roam…up her back, then down over her shapely hips, then up along her ribs until his thumbs brushed the undersides of her—
“We must stop this,” she drew back to murmur, her face flushed and her breath coming quickly. “Someone will soon notice that we’re both gone from the ballroom, and if anyone catches us here together, I’ll be called ‘fast’ or worse.”
His mind struggled to assimilate her words. Then he scowled. “That’s the price you pay for adventure, darlin’,” he rasped, fighting the powerful urge to throw her over his shoulder and carry her down into the bushes.
She didn’t seem to realize she skirted the near side of danger, for she cast him a cold glance. “You wouldn’t be so flippant if you knew the price they’d try to make you pay if we were caught together.”
“Flippant is a hell of a long way from what I feel just now.”
Though her expression warmed, she tried to leave his arms. But he wasn’t ready to release her. What she’d said had sunk in, and he wanted answers.
“Exactly what price do you think ‘they’ would try to make me pay?” he asked as he fought to rein in his reckless lust.
“Marriage, of course. A gentlemen isn’t supposed to kiss an unmarried lady unless he’s courting her. And you aren’t, are you?”
The words “hell, no,” rose to his lips, but he caught himself. He had let himself get carried away by her honeyed mouth, but he wasn’t there to annoy some slip of an Englishwoman. He was there for justice. Which he couldn’t get without dealing with her.
And how better to deal with her than to court her? Courtship was the perfect disguise for his purpose. If he played his cards right, she might even bring him home to meet her parents.
Lowering his gaze to her reddened lips, he said, “I could be.”
She blinked. “Could be what?”
“Courting you.”
It was perfectly safe. Kirkwood had already said the lady wasn’t interested in marrying, and she’d as much as admitted it herself. Besides, she wouldn’t want anything to do with him after he apprehended her stepmother and Theodore Frier—which he meant to do once he was sure he had the right woman.
She watched him uneasily. “You ‘could be’ courting me? After one kiss?”
He lifted his hand to cup her cheek, running his thumb over her sultry lower lip. “More than one kiss. And sometimes that’s all it takes.”
“Really?” Her voice was oddly brittle. “I thought you were here on business.”
“Business?” he said warily.
“The treaty with the Algerians.”
“Oh. Right.” It was at least partly true. His superiors had agreed that it would provide him with a suitable cover while he tracked down the Friers. “Doesn’t mean I can’t look for a wife while I’m going about my business.”
He thought he saw anger flash in her eyes, but then it was gone. He must have imagined it—why would she be angry? Females like her collected suitors like so many jewels. She wouldn’t care if one more hung around.
“So now you’re looking for a wife.” She slid her hands down to his waist, then froze as she felt his dagger. “What’s this?” She thrust her hand inside his sash, then pulled out the knife and held it up with an arch glance. “Do you always carry a dagger when you’re courting?”
“Do you always check your suitors for weapons?” he countered, snatching it from her and shoving it back in his sash.
She hesitated, then cast him a smile more in keeping with the flighty flirt she’d seemed earlier than the woman he’d just been kissing. “Of course not, you silly man. It was accidental.” She wagged her finger at him. “But this is exactly the problem with your courting me. You don’t know the rules.”
“What rules?” he clipped out, annoyed by her abrupt change in personality.
This time when she pushed him away, he let go.
“Of proper English society.” She flashed him a teasing smile. “In England, arming oneself for a ball is considered terribly rude, Major.”
“Lucas,” he said tightly, bothered by her silly propriety after those hot kisses. “Call me Lucas. It’s my Christian name.”
She lowered her lashes demurely. “We aren’t engaged yet, sir. And we aren’t likely to be if you continue to flout the rules of proper society.”
To hell with the rules of proper society. He just wanted the chance to find out what he needed to know.
Then again…
“You could teach me not to. Flout the rules, I mean.” Yes, that would work. He couldn’t continue his investigation if she wouldn’t see him because of his “rude” behavior. “You could give me society lessons.” Unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice, he added, “Make me worthy to be your suitor.”
An oddly calculating gleam appeared in her eyes. “That’s a brilliant idea.”
He sure hoped so. “Who can teach me better than you?” The one woman who might lead him to Dorothy Frier, and from there to Theodore Frier.
“Who indeed?” She fluttered her lashes at him. “Although I’m not sure it’s worth my effort, when plenty of other gentlemen court me who already know the rules of English society.”
He gritted his teeth. If she thought to make him beg for the “privilege” of courting her, she was in for a surprise. But he did have something she wanted. “Ah, but none of those other fellows can feed you the tales of adventure you crave.”
She stared at him. “You have a point.”
“I can even give you adventures of your own, if you want.”
Her gaze grew steely. “What sort of adventures? Your kisses?”
His blood ran high.That would certainly make up for his having to endure “society lessons.” “If that’s what you want, darlin’.”
Her expression turned coy. “We’ll see. If you prove yourself ‘worthy’ to be my suitor, then perhaps a few of those adventures might be in order.”
So the little tease meant to practice her wiles on him, did she? Fine, let her practice all she wants. “Then we have a bargain. You give me society lessons, and I give you adventures. Of whatever kind you want.”
She hesitated, then flashed him an arch smile. “Very well. Feel free to call on me at Papa’s town house. Lord Kirkwood can give you the direction.” She glanced back toward the glass doors. “Now I’d best go in before someone comes looking for me.”
When she walked off, he started to follow. She stopped short. “We can’t enter together or people will assume—”
“That we were out here doing something we shouldn’t?”
“Exactly.” She gazed back at him from beneath seductively lowered lashes. “And let this be your first lesson: no one ever lets on to other people that they’ve been doing something they shouldn’t.”
“In that case—” He brushed his hand down the back of her dress.
She leaped away with a blush. “What are you doing?”
“There’s dirt from the railing on your gown. And if you don’t want anybody knowing what we were doing…”
“Oh.” She dusted off her gown. “In future, you really should tell me what to do, not take it upon yourself.”
“All right. Next time I’ll let you touch your own backside.” Her shapely, fits-perfectly-in-a-man’s-hands backside.
A laugh bubbled out of her. “And you certainly shouldn’t say the word ‘backside’ in society.”
He bristled at the instruction. “You’d rather I said ‘ass’?”
She cast him a reproachful glance. “You’re not supposed to refer to any part of a person’s body at all.”
“So I can’t offer to give you a hand? Or take your arm? Or lend you an ear?”
“You know very well what I mean, you silly man.”
“Don’t be too sure. According to you English, I’m a savage.”
“Even savages can learn to behave.”
“If that’s what they want.”
She raised one eyebrow. “I thought you did.”
He forced a smile. “As long as you don’t try to turn me into one of your fancy milk-fed gentlemen.”
“Oh, I doubt there’s any danger of that,” she said, in a voice that could only be called sarcastic. But just as he wondered about that glimpse of another side to her, she gave him an inane little wave, and added, “I hope to see you sometime soon…Lucas. I can’t wait until our next adventure.”
Then she sashayed down the gallery with her hips swinging, leaving him to stare after her with blood afire. Oh, he’d give the little flirt an adventure all right. Just let him alone with her somewhere he could lay her down and—
He cursed under his breath.Don’t be a fool. This “courtship” was meant to elicit information, nothing more. Let her tease and bat her eyelashes. While she played at taming the American savage, he’d be interrogating her, not making love to her. Because no matter what, he meant to get answers.
* * *
As Amelia entered the ballroom, her inane smile turned into a scowl. Court her, indeed! The scoundrel meant to use a courtship to find out what he needed to know about Dolly. And probably even wangle an invitation to the estate.
Impossible though it seemed, Dolly was the focus of his investigation. He’d asked too many pointed questions, had tried to trip Amelia up too often.
Not to mention this scurrilous courtship. The cad would pretend to court a woman just to get what he wanted? How dare he?
Well, two could play that game. While he tried to kiss her into giving him information, she’d tease him into revealing why he was after Dolly. His foolish suspicions couldn’t possibly be based on anything substantial. And she’d prove it, even if she had to play the flirty flibbertigibbet until she batted her eyelashes off.
“Have you been outside all this time?” came a familiar female voice at her elbow.
She started, then faced her chaperone. “Yes. I needed to clear my head.”
Mrs. Harris looked more concerned than disapproving. “He didn’t bother you, did he?”
Her heart pounded. “Who?”
“Lord Pomeroy. I saw him go out after you, but before I could intervene, he was back inside. So I figured you’d dealt with him sufficiently on your own.”
“Oh.” She smiled in relief. “Actually, I hid. He never even saw me.”
Mrs. Harris let out a breath. “Thank heaven. I would have felt very remiss as a chaperone if he’d laid one hand on you. But I didn’t realize you’d stayed out there. Someone engaged me in conversation, and by the time it was done—” She broke off, her gaze fixing on something to the left of Amelia.
Amelia turned to see Lucas enter the ballroom just one door over from where she had come in. Oh no.
Catching their eyes on him, he nodded and went on, leaving Amelia to face Mrs. Harris. Even as her chaperone’s sharp blue gaze swung to her, she said hastily, “It’s not what you think.”
“You were with him? On the gallery, alone?”
“Yes, but we were only talking. He came out to make sure Lord Pomeroy didn’t bother me.”
“Did he, now?” She eyed Amelia closely. “Be careful, my dear. When a man of Major Winter’s age—”
“He’s no older than you,” she protested.
“That’s quite a bit older than you . Not to mention he’s merely a soldier, and you’re an heiress.”
“So he must be after my fortune, right?”
Mrs. Harris hesitated. “Possibly.”
Amelia tensed. Should she confess everything she’d discovered in the major’s room?
Probably not. Conscious of her duty to her charge, Mrs. Harris might try to pack her off to the country. Amelia didn’t want to alarm Dolly unnecessarily—or cause Papa to regard his wife with suspicion. Best that she keep this knowledge to herself until she knew more.
“I seriously doubt Major Winter is interested in my fortune,” Amelia said.
“Why not? We know little about him beyond his connection to Lord Kirkwood. We don’t know his family background or his income—”
“All of which would be good to know, wouldn’t it?” Yes, such knowledge might help her figure out why Lucas was after Dolly.
“You’re interested in him?” Mrs. Harris asked.
“You might say that.”
Mrs. Harris’s heavy sigh made her brazen red curls shake. “I’m not entirely surprised. He is the sort of man who would appeal to you.” Her voice grew brittle. “He’s of the right age to be worldly without being old. He wears a dashing uniform and lives a dashing life and is exactly what every young girl thinks she wants. Until she gets it.”
Amelia lifted an eyebrow. “Are we still talking about the major?”
Mrs. Harris blinked, then chuckled. “Forgive me, my dear. I do tend to let my own experience color my perceptions, don’t I?”
“Occasionally, yes,” Amelia said, with a smile.
Not that she blamed Mrs. Harris. A baron’s daughter, the woman had eloped in her youth with a reckless cavalry officer, who’d run through every pound of her inheritance within two years of their marriage. Fortunately, he’d possessed the good sense to die in a duel, leaving Mrs. Harris free to resume her life. But the widow had been understandably cautious about men ever since, both for herself and her charges.
Mrs. Harris stared across the room to where Lucas helped himself to some punch. “So you like the American major, do you?”
“I like his tales about fighting Barbary pirates. I like his exciting profession.” She liked his kisses, which were every bit as enthralling as those in the harem tales. Like the one where the corsair captured an English widow and kissed her so deeply and passionately that—
She groaned. Drat Lucas for using his corsair’s kisses against her. She mustn’t think about them. They were merely part of his strategy, the tactics of a scoundrel—nothing more. Easily forgotten.
Like a comet in the night sky was forgotten. Or an eclipse of the sun. Or the Thames freezing over when she was sixteen.
She scowled. Curse the man for not meaning his kisses. “Whether I like him will depend on what I can learn about him.” She fixed her gaze on Lucas’s strong, broad back and smiled grimly. “As a certain wise woman I know always says, ‘information is more valuable than gold.’”
“Nice to see that some of my instructions took root,” Mrs. Harris said.
“Don’t worry, they all did.” She tore her gaze from her adversary. “And I know just the person we should consult about Major Winter.”
“Cousin Michael?” Mrs. Harris said.
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of him, but yes, you should certainly write him. I was thinking of Lady Kirkwood. Who better to reveal his secrets than the man’s own relations?”
“If she’ll tell us,” Mrs. Harris pointed out.
Amelia smiled. “She wants an heiress for her son, doesn’t she? Valuable information can travel both ways.”
Mrs. Harris gave a reluctant chuckle. “You are more devious than I gave you credit for.”
“I learned from a master.” With an impish grin, Amelia squeezed her chaperone’s hand. “Come on. Let me watch you work.”
Though Mrs. Harris rolled her eyes, she went with Amelia to seek out Lady Kirkwood.
Fortunately, they found the Dowager Viscountess standing alone by the orchestra. As they approached, La
dy Kirkwood smiled cautiously. “Mrs. Harris. How good to see you.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Harris answered. “Amelia and I want to ask about your relation, Major Winter.”
“I’m not sure what I can tell you. Our families aren’t close.”
“A pity,” Amelia broke in. “My dear friend Sarah Linley said you’d be the perfect one to ask.”
Lady Kirkwood thawed considerably. “Ah yes, Miss Linley. A lovely girl.”
Mrs. Harris pressed the advantage. “And very admiring of your son, I hear.”
If anyone knew how the game was played, it was Lady Kirkwood. “He certainly admires her greatly as well.” She touched a hand to her silver hair. “I do hope you’ll tell her that I said as much.”
“Of course,” Amelia said smoothly. “She’ll be delighted to hear it.” Ecstatic, more like. “Now, about Major Winter—”
“Ah, yes. My cousin.” Lady Kirkwood leaned closer. “Distant cousin, I should say. His mother is descended from the fourth Viscount Kirkwood.”
“And what about his father?” Mrs. Harris asked.
“Why do you wish to know?” Lady Kirkwood countered.
“Major Winter has shown an interest in Lady Amelia.”
Amelia held her breath, praying that Lady Kirkwood didn’t know about the overtures her son had made to Amelia a year ago. Otherwise, their questions could be awkward.
Apparently she didn’t, for she smiled. “Has he? I confess I’m surprised. Not that Lady Amelia isn’t a lovely young woman, perfectly capable of attracting any young man, but…” She sighed. “Major Winter doesn’t really like the English. He’s rather vocal about it.”
“I suppose the war brought about this prejudice of his,” Mrs. Harris said.
Lady Kirkwood shook her head. “It’s more than that, though I don’t know the whole of it. My son David knows, but he won’t say. Something happened when Major Winter was in England right after the end of the war—”
“He’s been in England before?” Amelia broke in.
“Yes. I’m not sure why. I assume it had to do with the peace treaty. I do know David helped him with his passage to America.”
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