When her parents had been alive, the family had owned a residence in London, but Arthur had sold it, along with several other properties that were not entailed, during the first year after coming into the title. All that could be was now either mortgaged to the hilt or sold completely. Everything else was for appearance’s sake. The clothes on their backs. The carriages. The household staff brought with them from the Reynolds estate in Gloucestershire.
Bella chanced a glance at Lysander Faulkner. His superior height allowed her to see him all the way across the room. He was staring straight back at her with a narrowed and steely gaze.
She felt a cold shiver run down her spine at the ice visible in those blue eyes.
A shiver unlike the quiver of awareness she had felt upon first looking at Lysander Falkner. Observing his handsome features and breathing in the spicy aroma of his cologne had made her pulse beat faster than it had done for some time. If ever.
Arthur usually chose a less…attractive man for her to bestow her attentions upon. Someone more gullible. A man who would be flattered by the interest of Miss Isabella Reynolds, an acknowledged beauty.
Bella had harbored such high hopes and dreams when she entered Society five years ago, of having a handsome man fall in love with her, wishing to marry her, and the two of them living happily ever after. And she had received several offers of marriage over the years from gentlemen who had not been blackmailed into it. Offers Arthur had refused on her behalf without so much as consulting her. When she asked him why he had done so, his answer had been “Why choose one stallion when there is a field of them to choose from?”
Bella had not understood what he meant by that remark until Arthur made it clear there would be no marriage for her. Arthur wished to continue to gain from the effect of her beauty, from as many rich gentlemen and for as long as possible.
After so many years of that sickening subterfuge, Bella knew her chances of making any decent marriage were now very slim. It might not be public knowledge, but there had been so many of Arthur’s victims now that any gentleman who thought to offer for her would no doubt be discreetly taken aside by one of his friends and apprised of her past behavior with him.
“What is the marquis like?”
“Is he as charming as he appears?”
“What did he say to you?”
The bombardment of questions from her own friends distracted Bella from thoughts of her bleak and lonely future.
But whatever that future held for her, Arthur could not be allowed to cast a shadow over Esther’s life in the way he had hers. Bella would not allow it.
Lysander found himself slightly put out by Isabella Reynolds’s refusal to dance with him. Had she done so because of that disapproval he had sensed, or was it a deliberate ploy on her part, perhaps, to pique his interest further?
Lysander pulled himself up sharply. Since when had he become such a cynical bastard?
Since learning his father was the Duke of Landingham, and he was the heir to that title, came the immediate response.
Lysander had thought briefly of refusing the title and the fortune, but the tears in his mother’s eyes as she guessed his intention had instantly put an end to that idea. After years spent in the country as a widow, ostracized by Society after her affair with a married man, Angelique was now happily married to the man she had loved for over thirty years. She had also come back into Society. Lysander could not and would not spoil that long-awaited happiness for the mother he and Sebastian both adored.
“—like to call on us tomorrow afternoon?”
Lysander focused his attention back on Reynolds. What had the other man said? Something about calling upon his household tomorrow afternoon? When he would no doubt be expected to flatter and flirt with the delectable Isabella.
Caution—and that newly acquired cynicism—played a huge part in his reply. “I am afraid I am busy all day tomorrow.” Isabella might have shown a marked lack of interest in him, but her brother did not appear to feel the same way.
Leading him to wonder if Reynolds was on the lookout for a wealthy suitor for his sister, even if she was not. Miss Reynolds was possibly aged as much as one and twenty, almost past the ideal marriageable age as far as Society was concerned. Another couple of years and she would be considered to have been left on the shelf and labeled a spinster.
“Of course.” Reynolds gave a tight smile. “Another time, perhaps,” he added as he bowed before walking away.
Lysander dismissed the other man from his thoughts almost as soon as Reynolds disappeared into the crowd of other guests, seeking out his brother and his wife and seizing his chance to dance with Tia, and so furthering his longed-for departure.
“You are not enjoying yourself.” Tia stated with her usual bluntness.
He gave a wry smile. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “No lady has taken your fancy this evening?”
“Oh please,” Lysander muttered bleakly. “I am no longer surprised that Seb and his group of friends took so long to find a wife.”
Tia chuckled. “You seemed rather…taken with Bella earlier?”
“Bella?”
“Bella Reynolds.”
So the beautiful Miss Reynolds was called Bella by her friends, if not by her older brother. “Reynolds introduced us.” He shrugged.
“Hmm.”
His brows rose. “What do you mean by ‘hmm’?”
“What should I have meant?”
“Out with it.” Lysander was not fooled by her too innocent expression. “What are your reasons for not liking Reynolds?”
“I do not remember saying that… Oh, very well, you are right, I do not like him,” she admitted as Lysander eyed her mockingly. “There is something… You understand I have not been in Society much longer than you have?” She and Sebastian had met only four months ago and been married for three of them.
“And?”
“And Arthur Reynolds is too obsequious, too fawning, too—”
“I understand your meaning, Tia.” Lysander grinned. “Is that not how gentlemen are supposed to behave toward duchesses?”
“Now you are mocking me.”
“Never,” he assured her sincerely. He liked his sister-in-law far too much to ever want to hurt or upset her. “I must say, there is very little similarity between Arthur Reynolds and his sister.”
“One is beautiful and the other reminds you of a frog, perhaps?”
“A frog waiting to be kissed and so turned into a prince?”
“Doubtful.” Tia snorted. “Besides, who would want to kiss that man?” She gave a delicate shudder. “You should not allow the brother to put you off liking the sister, though. Bella is a dear.”
“I do believe you are turning into as much of a matchmaking mama as the other ladies in Society.”
“Perhaps because in six months’ time, I shall be a mama.”
“And a wonderful one you shall make too.”
“Flatterer!”
Lysander laughed fully for the first time this evening. “It is one of the benefits of being a brother-in-law, to be able to flirt with a beautiful woman with no fear of repercussions.”
“Except Sebastian’s displeasure.” She glanced across to where her husband was watching them like a hawk.
Lysander chuckled. “That is part of the fun.”
“Wicked man,” Tia admonished affectionately.
Instead of leaving as he had intended, after having returned Tia to her husband and their group of friends, Lysander found himself inexplicably seeking out Bella Reynolds. He eventually found her dancing with an elderly gentleman who seemed to be thoroughly enchanted with her conversation. Either that or, being several inches shorter than the lady, it was his view of those magnificent breasts that enchanted him!
Bella Reynolds’s beauty really was beyond any other he had ever seen, Lysander acknowledged. Her movements were graceful, and there was a warmth of kindness in her gaze as she spoke to her elderly dance pa
rtner.
A warmth which had not been in evidence when she spoke to Lysander.
Which Lysander found irked him considerably.
Chapter 2
“May I have this dance, Miss Reynolds?”
Bella was barely able to hold her dismay in check as she looked up into the face of Lysander Falkner.
It must be obvious to him, as she stood chatting with several of her married friends, that she was not currently engaged for the dance about to begin. To her further dismay, she realized the musical quartet were playing a waltz, that slightly risqué dance which allowed the partners to stand intimately close.
Had the marquis deliberately waited until a waltz was being played, for just that reason?
The mockery glinting in his eyes seemed to imply it was. Possibly as retribution for her having refused him earlier?
Whether it was or was not was of little consequence when it would not do for her to refuse the same gentleman twice in one evening. “Thank you, Lord Falkner.” Bella placed her gloved hand on his forearm so that he might lead her to where there was a space for the two of them on the dance floor.
Being tall herself, Bella often found herself eye to eye with her dance partner, and other times, as had been the case with the Earl of Sussex earlier this evening, with the gentleman’s face level with her breasts. That was not the case with the marquis. He was so tall, in fact, she had to tilt her head back in order to look him in the face as he placed his arm about her waist and grasped her hand in his, leaving her no choice but to place her other hand on one of those powerfully broad shoulders before he swept her into the dance.
“You dance very well, my lord,” she observed politely after a minute or so of silence as he guided her expertly about the room.
“Not what you were expecting of an illegitimate clod from the country?”
She tilted her head quizzically at the sharpness of his tone. “I have not heard anyone refer to you as such.” Although Arthur had come very close to calling him the latter earlier this evening.
Bella had no doubt her brother was wrong in his assumptions regarding Lord Falkner. There was a remote quality to the marquis, one which implied he had no intention of allowing anyone too close to him. But his manners were impeccable, as were his clothes and the fashionable style to that dark golden hair. No, this was no country bumpkin but a sophisticated gentleman, as might be expected of the brother of the Duke of Stowmont.
He also smelled divine. A combination of some spicy cologne and a male musk which she found equally as pleasant. Both invaded Bella’s senses as the two of them continued to dance closely together, causing a warmth inside her and an unacceptable yearning to be even closer.
She gave a cool smile to cover her inner confusion. “I very much doubt any son of the Duchess of Landingham could ever be a clod.”
His brows rose. “You have met my mother?”
“At a musical soiree yesterday evening.” Bella nodded. “She is both ravishingly beautiful and utterly charming.”
“She is,” he drawled. “What pursuits do you enjoy when you are not dancing, Miss Reynolds?”
Her brows rose in surprise. It had long been her experience that most gentlemen preferred to talk about their favorite subject: themselves. Few bothered to ask about her own likes or dislikes, let alone what her hobbies might be. Even fewer would be impressed with the truth, that she liked to take long walks in the country, to ride her mare, Giselle, or to read. Not just the latest romance, but also books on archeology and history. Her inquiring mind said she would go insane if she had to live all year round suffering the inanity of the three months they always spent at the London Season.
So instead of the truth, she gave the marquis the answer expected of her. “I enjoy my embroidery. Playing the piano. Paying visits to friends. Shopping.” She listed all the things she knew should be the activities of an accomplished and busy young lady.
“Ah.”
Her cheeks warmed at the bored dismissal she heard in the marquis’s tone. “And your own pursuits, my lord?” she returned waspishly.
“Oh, the usual.”
“Which is?”
“Hunting, shooting, fencing, boxing, gambling.”
Whoring.
The last was not added, for propriety’s sake, but Bella was only too aware it was another of the pursuits of her brother and most other Society gentleman. It was ridiculous of her to have expected or hoped that Lysander might behave any differently.
Lysander’s irritation returned at the disappointment he could clearly see in Bella’s eyes before it was quickly masked by a polite and vacuous smile. It made him feel as if he had been weighed, measured, and somehow found wanting. “Before attaining the title of marquis, I was my brother’s private secretary.” He instantly cursed himself for sounding somewhat defensive.
As it happened, he did hunt and shoot on the Falkner estate in Worcestershire, although he had not had a chance as yet to do so on his own estate in Warwickshire. He had also visited a boxing salon and taken up fencing since moving to London the previous year. Gambling he found to be an utter waste of his time and money. The sixth pursuit he had not mentioned, amusing himself with the ladies of the demimonde, was not something one discussed in a lady’s presence, let alone in direct conversation with her. Although, Lysander had been known to frequent several of those establishments with friends these past few months.
Lysander was becoming more and more annoyed by Bella Reynolds’s attitude towards him. If total indifference could be called an attitude. To be so readily dismissed by such a beautiful woman as this was extremely galling.
He found himself inwardly snorting at his own arrogance. Perhaps Sebastian was right in his assessment, and Lysander already had far too much of his brother’s disdain in regard to Society.
“And now you have come into your own title, you no longer need to work,” she answered him coolly.
His scowl deepened. “Running my household and managing my estate is work.”
“Indeed.”
Lysander’s frustration grew, and along with it his determination to receive something other than one of those cool responses from this woman.
Especially when his own response to her was far from cold.
As close as they were, he could breathe in all the perfumes that made up this woman. Lemon in her hair. Floral, possibly soap, on her body. A warm and womanly aroma that teased and tantalized his senses and caused his cock to swell.
He could feel the softness of her body where his hand was splayed against her spine. Could gaze down the bodice of her gown from his superior height and see the swell of her breasts more fully. Breasts that were tipped with tight nipples noticeably pressed against the material.
Tight?
Did that mean, despite other evidence to the contrary, Bella was as aroused by him as he was by her?
There was only one way to find out.
“It has become very warm in here,” he observed as the dance came to an end. Although he had a feeling the amount of heat he was suffering came from the rush of blood to his cock rather than any outside warmth. “Would you care to take a stroll in the gallery?” Without waiting for her to reply, he kept hold of her gloved hand so as to pull her along with him through the crowd to where the relative peace of the Masefields’ mirrored gallery beckoned.
“What are you doing?” Bella hissed once they had left the ballroom, having tried to free her hand from within the marquis’s and failed utterly, as his fingers merely tightened even more about her own. “My lord, this is most improper!” Although, she knew Arthur would be thrilled by this development.
Despite knowing how much it would anger her brother, Bella had tried to do the decent thing where Lysander was concerned, primarily by avoiding his company. An avoidance he was refusing to accept, first by asking her to dance again, and now by taking her away from the ball and into the Masefields’ gallery.
A gallery in which there was only one other couple, lying upon a chais
e and far too engrossed in fondling each other to notice or care they were no longer alone.
Bella finally managed to pull her hand free of Lysander’s and was able to walk in a direction away from the couple, after a single glance had shown the man baring the woman’s breasts before his mouth latched onto one of her exposed nipples.
“We cannot remain out here alone together, my lord,” she said stiffly as he joined her in three long strides.
Candles were lit in the half-dozen wall sconces along the gallery, those candles reflected back in the mirrors lining the opposite wall. It would have been a romantic setting if not for the presence of that other couple and the fact she and Lysander should not be out here together at all.
“But we are not alone,” Lysander reminded huskily.
“The Lawsons are a married couple.”
He glanced across at them. “Indeed?”
Bella nodded. “I believe they enjoy risqué displays of their desire for each other.” She avoided so much as glancing in the direction from which the other woman’s soft moans and groans were now embarrassingly audible.
Was it so pleasurable to have one’s nipples sucked into a man’s mouth?
Bella’s own nipples became hard and sensitive against the confines of the bodice of her gown at merely imagining such an intimacy.
The very air in the gallery suddenly seemed charged with… Bella was not sure what it was charged with. Only that her whole body, not just her nipples, seemed to be oversensitized. Almost as if her clothing had suddenly become too tight for comfort. She also felt exceedingly warm and damp between her thighs.
Her gaze became fixed on the sensuous curve of Lysander’s sculpted lips as she wondered if they would feel as soft as they appeared. Her heart leapt as she watched the sweep of his tongue across that parted softness, causing her to long, ache to feel them against her own—
She looked sharply up to meet Lysander’s gaze as she realized what he was doing. Deliberately? The wicked glint in his eyes seemed to say that it was so.
Her own mouth tightened. “I am returning to the ballroom— Let go of me,” she demanded as his fingers now curled about the top of her arm and pulled her toward him until their bodies were almost touching. Certainly close enough that she could feel the heat of that muscular body and breathe in his seductive combination of aromas. “I will not allow you to kiss me!”
Seduced by a Marquis (Regency Unlaced 8) Page 2