She looked as though she was considering the benefits of spitting at him. Finally she rose in a rush that had her skirts rustling and her breasts very nearly skimming along his nose before he leaped back. “I thank you for the kindness.” Although she didn’t sound at all grateful. Rather she sounded quite put out with him. He didn’t know why he took satisfaction in that. Perhaps her anger would dampen his lust toward her, as he’d seldom had to deal with a woman’s fury and wasn’t particularly keen on dealing with it now.
Only once they were settled, and he was behind her, he realized her wrath served to dampen nothing at all. He couldn’t even admit to being put off by it. Instead he marveled at the fire and suspected she brought the same ardor to her bed.
He stared at the length of her neck, imagined trailing his mouth over every inch of exposed skin, lapping along her nape, past her shoulders. Unfastening her gown until he could reach the dimples above her backside. Did she have dimples? He rather suspected she did. The thought caused him to grow so hard that he very nearly groaned.
Suddenly the curtains were flung aside and footsteps sounded as his brother rushed in, then staggered to a stop. Rexton came to his feet, hoping the ladies didn’t turn around. His hopes were dashed, but it appeared they were taken with the intruder rather than noticing the bulge evident in his trousers.
“You’re using your box,” Andrew said in a tone one might use to greet someone who had risen from the dead.
Rexton had spoken true. He wasn’t fond of the theater but most ladies were so it behooved a gentleman to have a box handy for when a lady might need a bit of wooing. His brother often made use of it, usually accompanied by a bit of silk, but this evening he was alone. “Yes, it is my box after all.”
But Andrew seemed not to have heard him. His attention had shifted to the ladies. “My, my, looks as though you’re planning to have double the fun later tonight.”
“Watch your tongue, Andrew. These are ladies.”
“My apologies. I just didn’t realize—”
Before his brother could complete a thought that might reveal he wasn’t truly in the hunt for a wife, Rexton said, “Lady Landsdowne, Miss Hammersley, allow me to introduce my younger brother, Lord Andrew Mabry.”
Andrew took the countess’s hand, bent gallantly over it, and pressed a kiss to its back. “Your beauty exceeds expectations. It is a pleasure.”
When Lady Landsdowne smiled tightly at Andrew, Rexton fought the urge to shove his brother over the balcony.
“A pleasure, my lord.”
Moving past her, he gave the same attention to Gina. “I’m honored.”
“As am I, my lord.”
“You are the sort about whom poems are written.”
Rexton rolled his eyes, while at the same time seeing Lady Landsdowne’s lips twitch with amusement at his brother’s atrocious flirting skills. He wondered why she found fault with his own wooing talents, why she was so suspicious of them—perhaps because she could see right through him, knew he had no real interest in her sister whereas his brother’s attention was merely harmless flattery.
The lights began to dim, the curtains were drawing aside, and only then did Andrew release his hold of Gina’s hand. He looked at Rexton. “Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all.” But he forced his brother to glide past him to the seat behind Gina because Rexton had no plans to give up his view of Lady Landsdowne.
“The notorious heiress,” Andrew whispered. “What the devil are you doing with her?”
Rexton was beginning to hate that moniker. He had yet to see the countess exhibit any sort of notorious behavior, not that he wouldn’t like to. But what he had in mind involved them both naked and rolling around on satin sheets, limbs tangled, his mouth doing wicked things between her thighs while hers was doing equally tawdry things between his. “I’m with Miss Hammersley. The countess is merely serving as chaperone.”
“The girl doesn’t seem your usual fare.”
He did little more than offer a withering glare. Their voices might be low but he suspected Lady Landsdowne had exceptional hearing. Gina was obviously enthralled by the play. He doubted she could repeat a single sentence that had been uttered.
With a shrug, Andrew gazed forward, giving up on his inquisition. Rexton leaned toward him. “As you’re alone, I assume you’re involved with an actress.”
“Not certain I’d call her an actress, but she is quite skilled at standing on the stage.” As the spare, Andrew had never been as discreet with his affairs as Rexton was. Someday Rexton would be forced to take a wife in order to provide an heir. Andrew claimed he would remain a bachelor until he drew his last breath.
Rexton looked the performers over. He knew his brother’s tastes leaned toward the buxom. “The blonde?”
“The red.”
Whose breasts were very nearly spilling out of the bodice of her costume. His brother did enjoy flamboyant attention-seeking women. He wondered if Lady Landsdowne had once fit into that category. But since her divorce she’d very much lived the life of a recluse, avoiding Society. Although that didn’t mean she avoided the scandalous parts of London. Perhaps she flourished there.
Suddenly he found himself curious regarding exactly how she did spend her time. Had she a lover? She was young and obviously had needs her husband had failed to meet. Was she still involved with the butler?
He certainly hadn’t detected any heated glances, stray touches, or lingering about in each other’s company. The butler was either extremely disciplined or their affair had ended long ago. He’d wager on the latter as he was extremely disciplined and he had yet to remove his gaze from the slope of her enticing neck and the tantalizing spot where it curved into her shoulder. It was unsettling, how badly he wished to place his mouth there.
In the future, he would not taunt her into serving as chaperone. Otherwise he was likely to go mad with wanting.
Tillie tried to focus on the play, but she was incredibly aware of Rexton sitting behind her. Why the devil hadn’t he taken the chair behind Gina? Or better yet, beside her. Then Tillie could observe him rather than being the one observed. And she was fairly certain she was being observed. Her nerve endings tingled as though he was scraping the edge of his perfectly aligned white teeth along them.
How was it that a man so fair could create such dark images? She could so clearly envision herself with him at the back of the box, lost in the shadows, his mouth trailing along the column of her throat, skimming lower until he dipped his tongue into the narrow valley between her breasts. Her nipples puckered tightly as though he’d closed his mouth around them.
Whatever was wrong with her? She was supposed to be an observer.
It was his blasted fragrance that had circled her in the coach. He smelled of rich earth and leather and whisky. His scent was purely masculine, and she suspected all him. No perfumes, no colognes, no civility. When he’d spoken in the unlit coach, his deep voice sent shivers through her, and she’d imagined him whispering naughty things in her ear as he rode her hard and fast. Oh, dear God, he was courting her sister. All these thoughts were inappropriate. It would be so much easier to send them all to perdition if he hadn’t offered her his arm.
She’d seen the compassion and kindness in his eyes. He’d recognized how difficult it was for her to be surrounded by all the censure, and he’d lent her his strength. He should have been mortified to have to endure her notorious presence at his side. Instead, he’d plowed through the crowd with seeming pride and pleasure, quelling any hostile reactions with an icy glare that would have sent a shiver scurrying down her spine if it weren’t for the fact it was being delivered on her behalf.
Or perhaps it was on Gina’s behalf. He certainly had no reason to strive to protect Tillie. On further thought, his reaction had to be an attempt to spare Gina any embarrassment. He had to care for her sister a little; otherwise he wouldn’t be spending time in her company. She may have misjudged him and his motives, his ability to love. She felt
a strong urge to apologize for doubting him—and yet something still niggled at her.
He was certainly kind enough to Gina, had patience with her, spoke with her, and yet something about his actions didn’t ring true. In spite of his hints this morning that he would strive to escape the bonds of a chaperone, he wasn’t drawn to Gina. Perhaps Tillie’s presence accomplished what she’d hoped and kept him tethered to gentlemanly behavior. But she doubted it. The man exuded too much sexuality to be easily bound by convention. She suspected after returning them home, he’d end the night in the arms of some beautiful woman. She didn’t particularly like the jealously that shot through her with that thought. These were the sort of musings Gina should be entertaining, the reactions that rightly belonged to her sister. Not to Tillie.
If Gina were thinking about the marquess at all, Tillie would be surprised. Her sister appeared to be completely absorbed in the play. Not once did she glance over her shoulder to give her escort a teasing grin. When Downie had been courting her, Tillie had been barely able to go a minute without looking at him. She’d been so concerned about Rexton’s interest being genuine perhaps she should have questioned if Gina favored more than his good looks and title.
Maybe she was judging harshly. Perhaps the play was enthralling, and she’d simply failed to be captivated by it because she was far too aware of the man sitting behind her. She heard the rasp of his clothing when he shifted in his chair, fought not to realize it would sound similar when it was being removed. It was as though a thread had been woven through her and was being pulled tighter and tighter. At any moment it was going to snap. What made it worse was the realization that a caress would loosen it. A long slow stroke that traveled from the nape of her neck to her ankle. Leisurely down. Even more leisurely up.
She’d always thought Downie had killed any semblance of desire that resided within her. How awful at that moment to find it sparking back to life, more powerful and zealously than she’d ever experienced it before. She truly thought she might go mad, considered excusing herself to take a brisk walk outside in the cool evening air—but she was the chaperone and couldn’t abandon her sister when two gentlemen sat in the box.
Although what sort of mischief could they get into when others could see them? It wasn’t as though they were encased in total darkness. She leaned toward Gina. “I need a bit of air.”
Her sister turned her attention from the stage. “Are you feeling unwell?”
“Simply a bit too warm.”
“Shall I go with you?”
“No, I won’t be long.”
With a nod, Gina returned her focus to the performance. Tillie rose, feeling a bit self-conscious when both gentlemen did as well.
Rexton took a step toward her. “Is something amiss?”
“I need a moment. Do behave while I’m gone.” No doubt, he’d think she was going in search of the ladies’ necessary room. But when she stepped into the dimly lit hallway, she merely leaned against the wall, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. Why did he have to unsettle her so? Why did all these inappropriate and lascivious thoughts have to scurry through her mind like naughty children intent on mischief?
His interest resided with Gina. That Tillie was remarkably aware of him was beyond the pale. That her nerve endings tingled without him touching her, that her skin grew warm as though he’d placed his lips in the curve of her shoulder, that her lungs fought for air, while her stomach quivered—
“Mathilda.”
Her eyes flew open at the deep voice, and she found herself staring at one of Downie’s contemporaries whose age resided somewhere on the other side of thirty. A couple of inches taller than she, he was slender, not bad looking. “Lord Wickham, it’s Lady Landsdowne to you.”
He gave her a laconic smile. “Come now. A woman with your past can hardly stand on formality.”
“The courts granted me the use of the title. I shall have it used.”
Slowly, he raked his gaze over her. “The divorce did not diminish your beauty.”
She had no idea what one had to do with the other. “I should return to the box.”
She made to move past him and he blocked her path. “Surely you cannot fault an old friend for wanting to spend a few minutes in your company.”
Friends did not abandon during a time of need. Not that she’d ever held him in such regard. He’d danced with her on occasion, flirted with her before she’d married. But they’d never taken a turn about the garden or conversed on anything of consequence. “I’d be hard pressed to identify us as friends. Acquaintances perhaps.”
“I’d like for us to be more.” Coming nearer, he placed his forearm on the wall, his gaze locking onto hers. Her heart spiked but she refused to be intimidated or run. Although she did wish she’d brought her pistol.
“I don’t see that happening.” She was rather pleased that she sounded so calm when her body was tensing with each passing breath. “Please move away.”
He stayed where he was. “You have no reputation to protect, and I am in want of a mistress.”
“I’m not certain your wife would appreciate that.”
“She’ll never know.”
“The wife always knows. Now step aside.”
“You don’t really want that.” The smile he gave her indicated he thought himself irresistible. He lifted his ungloved hand, moved it toward her cheek—
“Touch her and I’ll break your fingers one by one.”
Wickham jerked as though he were a marionette whose strings had been yanked. It was strange how the breath seemed to whoosh into her lungs—whether it was because Wickham was no longer hovering near or because Rexton stood there like an avenging angel.
Rexton was rather disappointed Wickham had heeded his warning. Breaking fingers and then tossing the lord over the balcony had a certain appeal. He wasn’t accustomed to harboring such uncivilized thoughts but when he’d stepped into the hallway and seen the man looming over Tillie, Rexton had experienced an irrational urge to do harm—swiftly and with malice. He’d been standing there long enough to hear the cad’s proposal and her rebuffing of it. He wondered if she’d have accepted if the gent weren’t married. Based upon her pale features, he didn’t think so.
“This doesn’t concern you, Rexton,” Wickham had the audacity to spout.
“Afraid it does, old chap. Lady Landsdowne is with me this evening.”
Wickham narrowed his eyes. “Rumor is you’re courting the sister.”
“Miss Hammersley would never forgive me if I allowed anything untoward to happen where Lady Landsdowne is concerned. I heard her ask you politely to leave off. If you’re wise, you’ll return to your box . . . and your wife.”
“Or you’ll break my fingers?”
He grinned slowly, confidently. “With enthusiasm.”
“There’s still the street in you.”
“Insult my mother and I’ll break your jaw.”
Wickham spun on his heel, marched down the hallway, and disappeared into his box. Rexton heard Lady Landsdowne’s breath come out on a rush as though she’d been holding it.
“Would you really have broken his fingers?” she asked, her brow pleated, her gaze on his.
“I don’t make threats idly.”
She bobbed her head. “Thank you for that then.”
She made a move toward the entrance to his box. Curling his hand over her shoulder, he wished he wasn’t wearing gloves, wished he could feel the silkiness of her flesh against the roughness of his palm. “You should take a moment to gather yourself.”
Her chin that reminded him of the bottom half of a heart came up a notch. “I am gathered.” Her chin dipped a fraction. “But a bit unsettled. Still, I don’t think I should leave Gina alone with your brother.”
“He’s not going to take advantage of a woman in whom I’ve shown interest.” He knew that to the depths of his soul.
With a slight nod, she walked over to the railing and gazed down into the fairly empty lobby. He eased up be
side her, not as near to her as he’d like. He couldn’t feel the warmth of her body, but her lavender and orchid fragrance still wafted around him, teased his nostrils.
“What made you step into the hallway?” she asked quietly.
I was worried. For her to leave her sister unattended, he’d sensed something was amiss, but it probably wouldn’t do to let her know she occupied his thoughts far more than Miss Hammersley did. “I just needed a bit of air. Do gentlemen often accost you?”
“It was hardly an accosting. But men—and ladies for that matter—do tend to make assumptions regarding my character based on my past actions.” She gave him a pointed look. “Don’t you?”
He had, but she was unraveling the tapestry he’d woven regarding the sort of woman she was. She was capable of great love, showered her sister with it. He found himself envying anyone to whom she might give her heart. “It cost you dearly to accompany us tonight.”
“You’re referring to the flagrant hatred cast my way when we walked in. I’m immune to it.”
Only she wasn’t. But still she’d held her head high, her shoulders back. “Gina seems unaware of the difficulties you face when you venture out in public.”
“She believes in goodness, that people aren’t deliberately cruel. I prefer she maintain that optimistic outlook.”
“Were you like her before you married?”
She looked away, glanced down. “I don’t know if I ever was quite that hopeful.”
He wondered if he’d been in search of a wife years ago, if he’d met her, courted her, if her life might be different now. He had a strong urge to guard her against the unkindness of others, even though she wasn’t his to protect or care about.
She spun around. “We should go back in now, before Gina begins to worry.”
An Affair with a Notorious Heiress Page 7