This wasn’t how he did things. Females came to him, he just sat back and waited, but this female was so very interesting and so very mad at him. He couldn’t help but tell her some home truths.
She flashed her eyes at him, most likely analysing his last speech. In that moment, he knew it was this one he wanted. The feisty one. The one whose fingernails just itched to gouge out his eyes. Arabella. The one who was, even as he bore down on her, making a stand against him. Her courage only made her more enticing to him. He felt the lust singing in his veins, only it was a different kind of song from the usual. The tune was sweeter, stronger, and definitely more alluring. Like a siren’s song, it only made him want her all the more. And wasn’t that the bittersweet irony of it all?
She, no doubt, thought she had seen the last of him after Marchmain’s ball last night, but it would be wishful thinking on her part. His little debutante would learn a valuable lesson, thanks to him, about the way society worked, the ruthlessness of the ton and the tricks they played. She would thank him, eventually, for showing her how the game was won.
‘Robert!’ Quinn’s voice penetrated his thoughts like an unwanted gnat.
He turned his head, taking in Isabelle’s pale face. He looked then to Quinn who was frowning fit to start a thunderstorm as he came forward.
‘Enough is enough.’ Quinn put a hand on his shoulder.
It was then he realised he’d backed Miss Arabella Fleming up against the back of a sofa. He almost laughed. Instead, he said, ‘But my dear Shacklesbury, I have not finished my tea.’
He may have been talking to Quinn but he looked directly, piercingly into Arabella’s eyes. For a moment, there had been no one else in the world except her. She was not unaffected by him. Her dilating pupils as she fought for breath told him everything. In turn he felt... something, but couldn’t say what it was other than it was uncomfortable. He didn’t like it and yet... he wanted more. More of her.
She closed her eyes, a soft flutter of eyelashes on pale cheeks. She was no doubt praying there would be some sort of divine intervention from above. Like he might be struck by lightning and fried to a crisp on her Persian rug. He found himself amused by the scenario, for he had wished himself to Hades many times.
He breathed in her ear. A mere whisper. ‘You will thaw to me, my Arabella.’
Her eyes flew open. Huge and incredulous. He allowed her to straighten up and waited until she had her land legs again. Laughing at her expression, he chucked her under the chin.
She swatted his hand away and glared at him. ‘I will never thaw to you, my lord. I heard it was going to be an extra cold winter!’
He raised a brow. ‘Really? I predict nothing but a little frost.’ So, she thought to play the game, despite his warning? He wondered briefly at the wisdom of taking on her challenge. The last virgin he’d had anything to do with had proved to nearly be the end of him. It had been the end of Faulkner.
She stood her ground. ‘You’ll be disappointed then, for there is definitely going to be ice. Very, very thick ice.’
‘We shall see, Miss Fleming, we shall see,’ he whispered low.
Oh, but he was older and wiser now. He collected hearts; not offered his up on a plate. It was a lesson well learned. He was master of the game, impervious to the low tactics of women.
He always won.
He turned to Shacklesbury, who was glaring at him like a schoolmaster. ‘Shall we go? I fancy lunch at Brooks today.’
Shelton grabbed his hat, tapped it on his head, gave a bow, and walked casually from the room.
Shacklesbury blushed his embarrassment, nearly tugged his waistcoat down to his knees and followed Shelton, issuing apologies the whole way.
Arabella sank to the ground and stared at the door.
Isabelle ran to give her comfort. ‘Oh, sister, are you all right?’
Was she all right? She had a feeling nothing would ever seem all right again. Lord Shelton had turned everything upside down and she had let him. She was in shock, that was all, she told herself; not believing it for a second. When he had whispered in her ear, her whole body had shivered and heated up at the same time. How was it even possible for her body to do that? She could not explain the sensations, only knew they could not be safe. He was nothing but a wicked, sinful rogue out to collect her heart!
‘I … he …’ She looked up at her sister, completely confused by what had just happened. ‘What are we to do? Look at all these flowers.’
Isabelle put her hand to Arabella’s brow in concern. ‘Nothing at all. That is what we are going to do with them. I for one am most unhappy at what has happened. Although Lord Shacklesbury was rather nice and had lovely eyes.’ She smiled for a moment before a frown formed. ‘But he must be as dense as a cabbage to be Lord shifty Shelton’s friend.’ Isabelle helped her Arabella to stand up.
‘You must never leave me alone with Lord Shelton, Izzy, or I shall have no virtue left by next Tuesday. We must make Mother come with us everywhere, too, not just a maid.’ Arabella poured a cup of tea and paced the room. Where was Mother?
‘Do you really think that would work? He didn’t seem to worry that both Shacklesbury and I were in the room. Why would it bother him if Mother was here?’ Isabelle asked.
‘That is not very comforting, dear. I would hope Mother would call the house down around his ears.’ She turned a censorious look on Isabelle. ‘Which is what you should have done, by the way.’
Izzy looked at the floor. ‘I’m sorry. I should have, I know, but I was waiting for you to slap him silly. Why didn’t you?’
She closed her eyes for a moment but all she could see was Shelton’s face, smiling down at her. ‘I have no idea, but you’re right, I should have slapped him silly.’ She began to pace around the room. ‘I need a plan. I will ignore him. Stay out of his way. If he comes anywhere near me I shall cut him off and walk away. If he tries to touch me I shall punch him in the nose.’ Arabella smiled, warming to the idea of doing bodily harm to the Collector of Hearts.
‘Perhaps you could just kick him very hard in the shin instead, dearest. I don’t think punching a man in the face, even if it is Shelton, is an accepted practice in most ballrooms,’ Isabelle suggested. Arabella nodded.
There, she had it, a plan of sorts to protect her against any more encounters with the Collector of Hearts.
Having established a more stable heartbeat and clearing of the senses, she soon thought of another way to keep the wolf at bay. Many of the flowers filling the room had calling cards attached. She would respond to those gentlemen, make it clear just because the Collector of Hearts thought himself the only man who could enjoy their company didn’t mean it was necessarily so.
Just then their mother glided into the room, she stopped short when she saw only her daughters in the room. ‘Whatever have you two done?’
***
Outside in the carriage, Quinn seethed with barely concealed anger beside him, an unusual state for his congenial friend. Robert knew he thought he had acted without tact, and certainly without flair, with regard to the two innocent young ladies they had just left dumbfounded and suffering from shock in their own parlour. But it had all been part of his plan. The little chit thought she could challenge him and not pay the consequence?
‘Do you fancy a game of billiards after lunch?’
Quinn turned to him, eyes blazing. ‘No, I do not and—’
‘Darts?’
‘No! I am—’
‘Faro?’
‘Robert!’
‘What?’ he said with a laugh, folding his arms over his chest in imitation of Quinn.
‘That was very badly done, even by your standards.’
‘Oh, for pity’s sake. She was asking for it. Practically begged.’
Quinn choked. ‘The girls are straight out of the country. They don’t understand the ways of the ton.’
‘Exactly.’ Robert rolled his eyes at him.
‘There has to be something more to your behaviour t
han just alleviating your boredom.’
‘You think I went through all that because I was bored? Oh, Quinn, my friend, have you not eyes in your head? Surely you saw them. They’re twins. Twins, Quinn. As in two, the same, identical. Aren’t you the least curious to know if they are the same in every respect?’
‘No!’
‘Liar!’
‘They are beautiful young ladies, I grant you. I understand your interest but I think you may have shocked them, Robert. They’re just young girls.’
‘I did not shock them. Well, not much anyway. I’m just playing with them in any case. I doubt they’ll be plagued by nightmares. Wanton dreams perhaps …’
Quinn glared at him. ‘I’m going home. I don’t wish to be in your company at the moment.’
‘I haven’t done anything wrong so I don’t why you are so angry at me.’ Robert regarded him for a moment. ‘I have not harmed a hair on their pretty little heads. I have not so much as touched them in any way inappropriate. You heard what Miss Arabella said to me. She wants to play the game.’
‘She’s too inexperienced to know what she is doing.’
‘Then I will be teaching her a valuable lesson, won’t I?’
‘Don’t do it. Don’t ruin her.’
He shot Quinn a shocked expression. Perhaps he had overstepped and, really, he had no intention of taking either girl to bed. Part of him was disappointed that his friend didn’t know this. Shacklesbury knew his views on virgins. ‘Who said anything about ruining her?’
He shook his head. ‘But …’
‘I’m not stupid enough to truly dally with a virgin. That would just invite the ton to a wedding and I’m not going to church anytime soon.’
‘I just don’t understand you sometimes. Why are you so impulsive and reckless? Why do you give no forethought to anything beyond your own pleasures? Why won’t you listen to me?’
‘Because then, my friend, I would never have any fun at all.’
‘Am I really as dull as all that?’
‘You are my dearest friend. If you do not lecture me, who will?’
‘I don’t always lecture, do I?’
Robert sighed. ‘I’m not saying I don’t deserve them. I’m not sure what happened this morning with Miss Fleming, and it probably was bad form to carry it so far, but I assure you I never get caught in my own game. You know that.’
Quinn huffed.
Had he finally gotten through to him? ‘Are you sure you don’t want to have lunch with me? I’ll even pay.’
‘No. Thank you. I’ve things to attend to in my study.’
‘My point about not having any fun is, therefore, made,’ he said with a smile. ‘I’m off to Manton’s then. Have fun with your figures.’ He banged on the roof of the carriage. ‘I need to get rid of some excess energy anyway. Shooting holes in targets ought to help.’ His eyebrows bobbed up and down.
The hint of a smile played at the sides of Quinn’s lips and Robert knew he had won his friend over to his side... for now.
The driver stopped and he jumped out, giving a mocking salute to Shacklesbury before waving the carriage on.
Chapter 4
Exceedingly dull. That is what Arabella thought of the gentlemen who returned to her parlour. Still, her point was made. A week had passed and the wolf that was Lord Shelton had been successfully kept from her door.
It had been a lovely week, of small soirees and luncheons the likes of which she knew the Collector of Hearts would not think of attending. She had glimpsed him on numerous occasions while out and about on Old Bond Street and around Piccadilly, but had always been able to elude him by ducking into shops and crossing streets beside carts and carriages.
Tonight, however, they were going to the opera at the Theatre Royal. For this evening, Isabelle wore a soft frosted-silk gown in green with an emerald wrap, which was caught up on the left-hand side by small clustered flowers made of pearl.
Arabella wore a pale-blue satin gown overlaid with a delicate silver-embroidered lace that sparkled under the lights and ended with a silver tasselled hem; a silver ribbon under her breasts accentuated the low-cut design.
The opera house blazed with a thousand candles. Brightly coloured bodies moved like a swarm inside the vestibule. Isabelle held tightly to Arabella’s hand as they followed their mother into the throng. Champagne flowed along with gossip, dresses were admired and jewels envied, but eventually it was time to take their seats. Lady Franklin led them all up to the eastern stairs and to her box.
‘Arabella, you and Isabelle should sit at the front. All the better for the gentlemen to admire your lovely gowns, don’t you know.’ Their mother’s close friend ushered the girls to their seats. ‘Your mother and I will sit behind you where it is not so bright.’
‘Thank you, Lady Franklin. We are very pleased you thought of us,’ Arabella said.
‘Think nothing of it, my dear. With my own daughter travelling on the continent, I enjoy sharing my box with my friends and their daughters.’
Arabella took her seat next to Isabelle. Tremors of excitement ran through her body.
Their father was supposed to meet them here. They did not expect to see him and accepted his absence for what it was. He had found something far more important to him than to be with them—cards.
The lights dimmed and the curtain rose. Arabella looked through her opera glasses, taking in the brightly lit stage. The scarlet curtains were pulled back, revealing the set-up of a town square. The players strolled about the square until a pair began to sing. It was magical and surprising. A delight unlike anything she had ever known came over her like a wave. Her eyes strained to see every little detail of the set and movement of the singers. Notes never heard before filled her ears. This was so much more than the short arias sung by travelling performers at the local assembly hall back home. When she looked at Isabelle, she knew she felt the same rapture Arabella was feeling.
Arabella felt like she was part of the story, one of the villagers watching the goings-on as they played out on the stage.
There was a short break while the scene was changed and Arabella used this time to survey the boxes. She quickly spotted other people she knew, including one gentleman in particular.
He was looking straight back at her. She almost dropped her glasses over the edge of the box. Isabelle gave her a concerned look.
‘He’s here,’ Arabella whispered.
‘Who?’ Isabelle whispered back.
‘Shelton.’ Arabella looked again. ‘And he’s looking right over here!’
‘Is Lord Shacklesbury with him?’ Isabelle took up her opera glasses and began searching the boxes herself.
‘Yes, of course. Where would he go without his appendage?’ Arabella asked.
Isabelle gasped. ‘He is not an appendage. What a horrible thing for you to say.’
‘Surely you don’t care what I call him, do you?’ She may have asked the question but she already knew the answer, which was confirmed when Isabelle turned towards her, eyes filled with dismay.
‘I’m sorry, that was unkind.’ Arabella put down her glasses and took her sister’s hands in hers. It was unkind and not the sort of thing she would normally even think of, let alone say. London was having a negative effect on her and she’d only been here a few weeks.
She and her sister used to find it so easy to communicate without words when they were younger. But their lives had been so simple then. Before London and all its rules, before the importance of what gown to wear and where to be seen in it had taken over their lives. And before Arabella’s head had become filled with thoughts of a man who definitely shouldn’t be in there. Thoughts that refused to go away, no matter how hard she had tried to get rid of them.
Isabelle’s smile was apologetic. ‘I thought him very nice, not at all like his friend. He has the nicest, kindest hazel eyes. More green than brown. And he has lovely hair, brown but slightly sun-kissed. Did you notice his hair?’
Arabella could not hide her
dismay. It wasn’t that she disliked Lord Shacklesbury, but that she disliked his friend and the two were always together, like a pair of mismatched gloves. ‘No, I can’t say I paid that much attention to him, or his hair. My eyes were diverted in another direction, you may remember.’
‘Yes, well I suppose it would be impossible for you to notice anyone else when Lord Shelton is around. He is terribly handsome, for all his faults.’
‘Will you two girls stop whispering?’ their mother hissed from behind them. They all fell silent and watched the stage.
Arabella couldn’t help looking up to that box and she suspected neither could Isabelle. Quinn looked quietly handsome and understated whereas Robert was impeccably dressed and devastatingly roguish. When he smiled at her, her heart stumbled.
***
Robert almost missed seeing them. He’d been looking for two matching gowns. Even though the maid he had interrogated earlier this morning had said they had intended to dispense with their usual dress code, he hadn’t been sure they would go through with it; that it may have been a ruse. The fact they had was something to wonder about, but only for a moment. He had other plans to put into place, other more intricate details swirling in his mind to let himself ponder on the whimsy of the Fleming ladies’ fashion and frippery. Except for the undeniable fact that Lady Tremaine’s daughters were both doubly delectable tonight. However, he only had eyes for Arabella.
How easily he could tell which one she was now after following her about. It was the way she lifted her chin. That look she gave him—half anger, half interest. He perplexed her. Good. This was exactly what he wanted; to keep her guessing.
Still, this had been one of the most frustrating weeks of his life. Not only had he been refused entrance to their parlour, which if he were totally honest, was not wholly unexpected. But it stung that other more … repulsive men of his ilk had been greeted with open arms. These so-called gentlemen hid their deviousness behind facades of impeccable manners and courtly subterfuge. He may be a rogue but at least he never hid his agenda. He had been telling Arabella the truth last week in her parlour, though it looked like she had decided to ignore his not so subtle advice. Perhaps he needed to be more direct on the subject. Why he felt the need to protect her from men like himself he wasn’t sure.
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