Shana Galen

by When Dashing Met Danger

  “No need.” Alex crossed his arms. “I’m not dancing.”

  She frowned, for the first time taking him seriously. “But you must! You’re the highest-ranking gentleman here. Think how poor Miss Seaton will feel if you refuse to dance with her. And—” She nodded frantically in the direction of the ballroom behind him. “Here comes Seaton now—with his sister.”

  Alex turned to follow her wild gesturing, looking past Miss Seaton to survey the room. Damn if he, an earl, wasn’t the highest-ranking peer in attendance and expected to begin the ball. He could refuse, but that would hardly endear him to Seaton and he might yet need to question the man about Dashing. Frowning, he leveled a look at their host—headed directly for him, terrified little sister in tow.

  “Don’t scowl,” Lucia whispered. “You’ll frighten her.”

  He turned his scowl on her, but her attention was focused on the advancing brother and sister.

  “And don’t talk with Miss Seaton too much,” she said through her smile, “or you’ll destroy her reputation.”

  “Won’t I ruin it anyway?” he asked, moving out of the alcove.

  “No. You’ll merely create some interest in the girl.” She gave him an assessing look. “She’s as likely as not to thank you for it.”

  Alex lifted an eyebrow. The Seaton chit looked as though she were preparing to meet an executioner rather than a dance partner.

  Lucia moved forward to greet the siblings, placing her hand on Alex’s arm as she did so. “Meet me on the terrace after the second dance.” Before he could even reply, she curtsied. “Mr. Seaton. Miss Seaton. How good to see you again. Lord Selbourne, may I introduce my brother’s dear friend Mr. William Seaton?”

  Grudgingly, Alex stepped forward.

  The country dance was half over before Alex thought to glance down the row of couples and check on Lucia’s progress with Seaton. It wasn’t that his own partner had captured his attention—the mousy seventeen-year-old hadn’t uttered a single audible syllable. From the look on her face, Alex surmised she was in a state of mortal terror, probably imagining he would offer her a carte blanche any moment.

  Alex had spent most of the grueling dance attempting, without success, to pinpoint exactly where life had gone wrong. He figured he had plenty of sins to atone for but couldn’t remember any egregious enough to warrant this hell of the ballroom and this terrified girl, barely out of the schoolroom, on his arm. The sin must have been serious, though, because he was already paying for another of his transgressions by having to deal with his defiant sister-in-law. And Alex was becoming increasingly convinced that, in the case of Lucia, the punishment did not fit the crime.

  Damn, what he wouldn’t give to return to France and his work. His thoughts flashed back to the seedy tavern in Calais and his meeting with Pitt. Bonaparte’s plan was ludicrous—impossible. He’d never pull it off.

  But if he did…

  Alex prayed whomever Wentworth had sent in his place knew what he was doing. Right now England needed the Foreign Office’s best men.

  And what was he doing for England? Wallowing about London, eating and drinking too much, forced into the company of men and women he detested, and chasing after spoiled sons of peers. Thinking of Old Boney, Alex cursed aloud, startling Miss Seaton a shade paler.

  He gave her a terse smile, then a genuine one as memories of the sweet redhead he’d bedded in a seedy Calais tavern just before he’d sailed for England came to mind. While his ship was being outfitted, he spent the better part of his wait sampling her charms. From the redhead, his thoughts wandered to Hampshire and the buxom barmaid at the Horse and Plow—she had certainly kept him diverted.

  But since Ethan’s request for help with Dashing and Alex’s arrival in London, there’d been no one. He’d been too long without a woman. That must be the reason for the intense desire he felt whenever Lucia Dashing was near.

  He glanced at Lucia again, calculating when the dance forms would dictate that she and Seaton move near him. When they did, he had to restrain himself from reaching out, grabbing her partner, and knocking the man’s teeth out. The look in Seaton’s eye was far from brotherly, and Lucia was actually flirting with him. The devil take him if she wasn’t smiling coyly and tossing her curls. Gritting his teeth, Alex added her propensity for flirtation to the list of items he planned to address with her when they met on the terrace.

  Her gown was at the top of the list. He couldn’t conceive how the revealing dress had escaped his notice before. It was cut far too low, and Alex didn’t give a damn that it was modest when compared to the gowns other ladies of the ton flaunted. This was Lucia, not some other woman.

  He liked that the dress, Grecian in style, was simple and unadorned. But it also bared the swell of her lovely white breasts to every male eye present, and the thin, shimmery white silk pooled around her in an erotic swirl as she executed the movements of the dance.

  He didn’t know what the other men in the room were thinking, but he had the urge to strip the silk off her, to see for himself if that waist really was as small as he imagined, if those hips flared as he thought they would.

  He reached up and loosened his cravat. Bloody hell. The room was stifling him.

  “Damn,” he swore again, and Miss Seaton’s color went from wan to ashen. “Don’t faint,” he ordered the chit. She nodded, wobbling for a moment before seeming to regain her balance.

  Alex let out an impatient sigh and turned his attention back to Lucia.

  He had to conquer this attraction. He had no hope of ever touching her. He knew this with unequivocal certainty. So why was that insistent thorn in the back of his mind prodding him to question it? Why was that same thorn pricking him to acknowledge that nothing was impossible, that her reaction to him was sensual, that she wanted him, too?

  He finished the last figure of the dance, bowed to Miss Seaton, and promenaded her—rather, held her upright—the appropriate distance around the room. All around him swarmed ladies and gentlemen of the ton’s lower rungs. He scowled at several of the less savory gentlemen. Lucia shouldn’t even be here. She belonged among the refinement of the duke’s ball.

  Finally free of the skittish miss, he grabbed a glass of claret—couldn’t expect any gin in a place like this—downed it, and stepped onto the freedom of the terrace. The air was fresh and invigorating compared to the strangling heat of the milling crowds in the ballroom. Gripping the cold stone banister, he peered over the dark gardens. It was a starless night, as most in the city were, and the light from the brassy ballroom spilled onto the terrace, blending with the weak glow from several cheap, colorful Chinese lanterns. Taking a deep breath of the brisk air, Alex ran his hands roughly through his hair. He was just managing to sort his thoughts when he felt a warm hand caress his back.

  Lucia.

  He spun around, only to be faced with another lady altogether.

  “Well, I can see I’m not who you’d hoped for,” she said, her voice low and breathy. “But I trust I’m an acceptable substitute.”

  Alex scoured his brain for her name. Behind her, the open French doors of the ballroom cast her in stark light. She was plump, curvaceous, her hair an unnatural shade of blond. Her lips were full and pouty, and she wore rouge to enhance her features. Cheap. Easy. She was exactly what he needed right now.

  Then why was his lip threatening to curl with distaste?

  “I certainly hope you haven’t forgotten me because I haven’t forgotten you, Alex.” She purred his name, hands crawling to rest on his chest.

  “Amelia.” Like a bad habit, the name tumbled effortlessly from his lips.

  She huffed. “I must say, your manner used to be somewhat warmer.” She licked her lips.

  “My mind was on something else.”

  “Or someone else.” She pouted. “I saw the way you were looking at the Dashing chit tonight. You used to look at me that way, and I can assure you, you’ll get better results from me.” Her gloved hand snaked across his chest, inching downw
ard toward the flat of his stomach. Her other hand toyed with the hair touching his collar, twirling it about her plump fingers.

  Thoughts flooded his brain. She’d been his lover several years before. They got on well, but he’d broken it off after only a few encounters because—well—because that was what he did with women like Amelia. He’d had his share of mistresses, but he tired of them quickly and ended the affairs before the women came to expect too much.

  Amelia was definitely the kind to expect too much. True to form, she pressed up against him, her actions bold even for the isolated terrace. Alex felt nothing for her. The once-hot fire of attraction had been replaced by the icy smoke of distaste. He opened his mouth to rebuff her when he heard a gasp.

  Bloody hell.

  Chapter 8

  “Oh!” The exclamation sounded tight and strangled. Cracking his eyelids open, Alex looked past Amelia to Lucia—her expression shocked and indignant. He closed his eyes again, unable to believe even he could have committed enough sins to warrant this much misery. Whatever mistakes he had made, he didn’t deserve the scene that was coming.

  “Excuse me,” Lucia began, “I—I—” She broke off and turned to leave.

  “Miss Dashing.” Alex cut her off, barely resisting the urge to grasp her arm. “May I introduce Mrs. Amelia—” He stopped, realizing his mistake too late. A woman of Lucia’s station did not associate with members of the demimonde, even the more reputable ones like Amelia Cox. Lucia’s jaw dropped, and her eyes widened.

  “Mrs. Amelia Cox,” he finished weakly. Lucia stared at him almost a full ten seconds before recovering herself, turning to his former lover, and bowing very, very slightly.

  Amelia was far more gracious in her curtsy, taking the opportunity to exclaim, “How fortunate! I was just asking Alex to introduce us.”

  Alex winced at her familiar use of his name.

  “I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance,” Amelia said, seeming to enjoy his discomfort. “I find that it’s always to one’s advantage to form new acquaintances, don’t you agree, Miss Dashing?”

  Alex grimaced, Amelia’s gloating tone ramming his mistake home.

  “Yes, of course,” Lucia replied, her voice stiff as her spine. “If you will excuse me.”

  “No, Miss Dashing, pray excuse me.” Amelia put a hand on Lucia’s arm. Lucia stared at it pointedly. Amelia only smiled. “Don’t leave on my account. I was just going back inside.” Flashing him one last smile, she brushed past Lucia and disappeared through the French doors into the ballroom.

  Alex took a breath, preparing for the coming storm. Lucia stood perfectly still, then, raising her chin a notch, she sliced him a withering glare.

  “Good night, sir.”

  Alex blinked. That was it?

  She whirled on the heels of her white satin slippers, but before she’d taken two steps, he clasped her arm.

  “Let go!” she hissed, trying to wrest her arm away.

  Ignoring her struggles, he tugged her into the shadows at the end of the terrace. “That introduction was thoughtless,” he heard himself say, and she stopped fighting. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” But he did know. He’d been thinking that he had to do something—anything—to stop Lucia from leaving.

  She stared at him, the surprise in her eyes at his apology turning to frosty disdain. “Your romantic liaisons are certainly none of my affair, but in the future refrain from introducing me to your Cyprians!” She yanked her arm free.

  “She’s not my mistress.”

  Lucia snorted.

  Alex clenched his jaw. “All right. We were lovers once. A long time ago.”

  “It didn’t look like a long time ago.”

  “Take my word for it.” With a glare, he dared her to doubt him. “Now tell me what you learned from Seaton.” He slid smoothly into the change of topic, hoping she’d follow suit. She gave him one last fulminating stare, then relaxed, leaning against the terrace banister. Casually, Alex propped a hip beside her. He was close enough that her arm touched his tailcoat, and he could almost smell the cinnamon and vanilla scent clinging to her.

  “Nothing I didn’t already know,” she said, gazing at the twinkling gardens. “Seaton genuinely believes, as I do, that John left for a tour of Greece.”

  “How do you know he believes that?”

  She eyed him through lowered lids—a purely seductive gesture. Unintentional? He doubted it. Hell, she’d probably used it on Seaton.

  “I told Seaton I was worried because I hadn’t heard from John in some time. He became concerned as well.”

  Alex shrugged. “So?”

  “So!” She threw him an impatient glance. “So, if Seaton knew John was in London, secluded with some trollop, he would have tried to ease my fears,” she explained slowly, her voice pedantic. “He’d tell me that I’d surely hear from John soon and not to worry my pretty little head.” She waved a hand. “Men can’t bear to see a woman in distress. If they can reassure her, they always will.” She fluttered her eyelids, almost a mock of her earlier seductive gesture.

  Alex raised a brow at her latest naïve observation.

  “Seaton didn’t reassure me,” she said with a decisive nod. “He was concerned about John, too. In fact, he even offered to look into the matter.”

  Alex started forward. “I hope you disabused him of that notion.”

  “I told him that I’d call on him if I required further assistance.” She gave him another flirtatious glance. “Does that meet with your approval, Lord Selbourne?”

  He leaned against the banister again. “Yes. Unfortunately, nothing you’ve said is of much use to me.”

  “What do you mean?” She straightened, hands flying to her hips. “I just told you—”

  “It means I’m no further in my investigation than before.”

  “We are no further in our investigation than before.” She pointed a finger at him. “And you’re wrong. I’ve just ruled out the possibility that John is in London.”

  “I’ll make that determination after I visit John’s tailors and the other shops he patronizes in the morning.”

  “But that’s wasting precious time. John must have left for the Continent. As I see it, the only matter to be discussed is our next step.”

  She would see it that way. At that moment Alex could have cheerfully reached out and strangled her. He settled for taking firm hold of her arms. Leaning close for emphasis, he said, “I am only going to say this one more time, so listen closely, Lucia. I do not want nor need your help in this matter.”

  His glare met hers, but instead of cool disdain, he felt a flush of heat radiate from her. Her breathing had shallowed, and he became aware of the softness of her breasts, pressed intimately against him. Her arms above her white satin gloves were warm, the skin itself coming alive in response to his touch. He caressed her arm lightly with his thumbs, liking the feel of her softness under his callused fingers.

  He wanted her—more than he cared to admit. The realization hit him like the smack of heat from an inferno. She irritated and intrigued him all at once, and the mixture of emotions was confusing as hell. He knew one sure way to sort it out.

  He moved his hands down her arms. It would take only the smallest movement to place his hands on her waist, then her hips, then…

  He focused on her mouth, and she chose that moment to open it in reply. Alex placed one finger over her lips, and she gasped at his touch. In the weak light from the Oriental lanterns, her eyes shone wide and luminous.

  And dark. They were dark with desire and promise. If he looked too long, he could drown in the deep waters of her eyes, incapable of breaking free to the surface.

  Unable to stop himself, he stroked her sensitive lower lip with the pad of his thumb. He wanted to lose himself in her, if only for the moment. Her lips were rosy against the bronze skin of his hand, and he paused, absorbed by the contrast. She parted her lips then, and his thumb grazed her front teeth. He felt her tongue taste his skin tentatively,
and he wondered who was seducing whom.

  Their gazes locked again, and Alex felt her shiver as she closed her eyes. His thumb traced a path from her lips across the elegant bones of her jaw and cheek, and he cupped her face in his palm, leaning close, wanting to feel the fullness of her lips under his.

  “Lucia?”

  She stiffened.

  “Lucia?” Her name was just audible over the swells of the orchestra.

  “Where has she got to? Lucia!”

  Alex felt her jerk away, saw her eyes fly open in sudden recognition. He immediately released her, stepping back to put more distance between them.

  “It’s Dandridge,” she whispered. “After what happened last night at the Pools’, he can’t find me with you.”

  “He won’t.” Alex slid to the French doors, careful to stay in the shadows, and peered inside. “He’s coming this way. If you go inside now you can intercept him.” He made a gesture to hurry her, but she only stared, her eyes searching his face. She looked as if she would speak and then her tongue darted out, licking her bottom lip where he’d caressed her. Alex gripped the coarse brick of the building behind him to stop himself from taking her in his arms again. If she didn’t leave soon he was going to kiss her, and to hell with Dandridge.

  Gritting his teeth, he forced out. “Go now before I change my mind and—”

  Lucia ran to the door.

  “Who was that woman, Lucia?” Reginald said. They were sitting in his carriage, and Reginald had his arms crossed petulantly over his belly.

  “What woman, darling?” She tried to sound innocent, glad her face was partly hidden by the dimness of the carriage interior. “Miss Seaton?”

  He frowned at her, his displeasure almost audible. “No, Lucia. This…woman was not a lady. She spoke with you on our way out. And you acknowledged her.”

  Lucia squeezed her eyes shut. She’d been hoping Reginald hadn’t seen that awful Amelia Cox speak to her as they took their leave of the Seatons. The smell of cheap perfume and the woman’s whispered words assaulted each one of Lucia’s senses, even now, a half mile away.