Mischief

by Amanda Quick

  Imogen spotted Matthias first. “Ah, there you are, Colchester. We have been waiting for you. Patricia is a huge success. Horatia and I have been obliged to beat off her admirers with a large stick.”

  Several of the young gentlemen laughed uneasily, their wary gazes on Matthias.

  “Indeed.” Matthias surveyed Patricia, who smiled at him rather anxiously, as though she awaited his verdict. Imogen kicked Matthias’s ankle with the toe of her dancing slipper. He glanced at her and saw from her expression that he was supposed to say something more. “I can certainly comprehend why Miss Waterstone and her aunt have had to protect you. Congratulations, Patricia. You are a diamond of the first water tonight.”

  Patricia blinked in surprise. Her cheeks turned pink and relief shone in her eyes. She visibly regained a measure of confidence. “Thank you, sir.”

  Selena gave a husky laugh. “The on-dit is that your charming sister has promised every dance, Colchester.”

  “Excellent.” Matthias looked at Imogen. “Well, then, that’s that. May I have this dance, Miss Waterstone?”

  “Of course, my lord. I would be delighted.” Imogen swung around and led the way toward the dance floor.

  With a sigh, Matthias reached out, seized hold of her elbow, and dragged her to a halt. She gave him a startled glance.

  “Is there something amiss, my lord? Did you change your mind?”

  “Not at all. I merely thought it might be pleasant to walk out onto the floor at your side rather than to follow you as if I were a hound on a leash.”

  “Oh. Sorry. Take your time, sir. I did not mean to rush you. Occasionally I forget that yours is not an athletic nature.”

  “I am grateful for your understanding.” Matthias guided her to the dance floor with a firm grip and took her into his arms. “You appear to be in fine form tonight.”

  “I enjoy excellent health, sir. Always have.”

  “I am delighted to hear that.” Matthias applied sufficient force to take charge of the waltz. It was a challenge. “I was, however, referring to your looks rather than your health. That gown is extremely attractive on you.”

  Imogen glanced down as if she had forgotten what she was wearing. “It is quite lovely, isn’t it? Madame Maud made it. Horatia tells me that she is very exclusive.” She looked up. “I’m sure you’ll be pleased to learn that Horatia thinks Patricia has been well received tonight. The invitations will no doubt pour in tomorrow.”

  “I owe you and your aunt a debt of gratitude for taking charge of Patricia’s social life.”

  “It was no trouble at all, sir. Horatia tells me that Lady Lyndhurst has invited Patricia to attend her Zamarian salon which meets tomorrow. Quite a coup. She will meet any number of young ladies her own age there.”

  “I doubt that she’ll learn much about ancient Zamar, however,” Matthias said dryly. “Selena’s salon is nothing more than a fashionable amusement.”

  “I see.” Imogen’s brows drew together in a frown of concentration as she attempted to steer him in a different direction. “Well, there is no great harm in that, my lord.” She sounded a trifle breathless from her exertions.

  “Perhaps not.” Matthias glanced past her shoulder and saw that Hugo had led Patricia out onto the floor. “But there may be a problem with young Bagshaw’s attentions. I shall speak to Patricia tomorrow about him.”

  Imogen’s eyes widened. “What on earth is wrong with Mr. Bagshaw? He seems a very respectable gentleman.”

  “I suspect his interest in Patricia is motivated more by his wish to avenge himself against me than it is pure admiration of my sister.”

  “What in the world are you talking about, sir?”

  “It’s a long story.” Matthias whirled her around in a wide, sweeping circle that brought them close to the French doors. “Suffice it to say that young Bagshaw holds me accountable for his father’s decision to blow his brains across the wall of his study.”

  “You cannot be serious. What happened?”

  “Arthur Bagshaw lost most of his fortune in a shipping venture that failed. The night he learned of the loss he came to The Lost Soul. He was very drunk and sunk in melancholy. I suppose he had some notion of recouping his losses at my gaming tables. I refused to let him play.”

  “That was very decent of you, sir. Bagshaw obviously could not afford to lose whatever money he had left.”

  “I don’t know how decent my action was,” Matthias said dryly. “Bagshaw and I quarreled. He went home and took out his pistol. That is all there is to the tale.”

  “Dear God,” Imogen whispered. “Poor Hugo.”

  Matthias brought her to a halt. “Hugo blames me for what happened. He believes that his father lost his fortune in The Lost Soul.”

  “You must set him straight at once, sir.”

  “Some other time.”

  “But, Matthias, this is really too—”

  “I said I’ll take care of the matter some other time. At the moment I wish to speak to you.”

  “Certainly, my lord.” Imogen unfurled her fan. She began to wave it industriously. “It is a trifle warm in here, is it not?”

  “Have a care with that weapon.” Matthias drew her out through the terrace doors. “I have recently witnessed its destructive capability.”

  “What?” She frowned at the fan and then her face cleared. “Oh, I collect you saw my unfortunate little mishap a few minutes ago. It was not my fault, sir. The footman was standing directly behind me. We never saw each other until it was too late. Just one of those things. That’s why they call them mishaps.”

  “Indeed.” Matthias eyed the colorful lanterns that decorated the terrace and then elected to steer Imogen down the steps and deep into the night-shrouded gardens.

  “Well, sir? What did you wish to discuss?” she asked when he brought her to a halt behind a tall hedge.

  Matthias hesitated, listening closely to make certain that they were alone in this portion of the vast gardens. “I have just come from my club. You were right about Vanneck. He has indeed taken your bait. There are rumors of a consortium being formed to find the Queen’s Seal.”

  “But that is wonderful, sir. Why are you so anxious?”

  “Imogen, I don’t like it. Vanneck is being extremely secretive.”

  “Well, naturally. Just as one would expect. He will not want such a project being bandied about all over Town.”

  “The only reason I learned of his plans is that he approached an acquaintance of mine who told me what was afoot. I suspect Vanneck is deliberately attempting to keep me in the dark.”

  “Calm yourself, Colchester.” Imogen tapped the sleeve of his coat with her folded fan in a gesture that was no doubt intended to reassure him and shore up his nerve. “Everything is well in hand.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “Because it’s true. My scheme is unfolding just as I envisioned it would.” Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

  Matthias studied her face in the moonlight and felt the hunger rise within him. “Imogen, is there any chance that I can make you see how dangerous this scheme is? Any possibility of talking you out of going forward with it?”

  “I’m sorry, Colchester,” she said gently. “I know how nervous you are, but I have come too far. For Lucy’s sake, I cannot abandon my quest for justice.”

  “Lucy meant a great deal to you, did she not?”

  “She was my best friend,” Imogen said simply. “Indeed, after my parents died, she was my only friend.”

  “What of Drake?” he made himself ask.

  She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  He cradled her face between his hands. “He was your friend too. Do you sometimes dream of him? Do you wonder what might have been between the two of you if he had not seen you in that bedchamber with Vanneck?”

  She stilled. “No. Never.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Whatever feelings I had for Alastair died the night he turned away from me in disgust because
of what he thought he’d seen.” Her eyes narrowed. “He never gave me a chance to explain. He never once questioned his own conclusions. I could never, ever feel any warm emotions for a man who had so little faith in me.”

  Matthias tipped her head back so that he could see her moonlit eyes. “Do you think that you could ever learn to feel some warm emotions for me?”

  Her lips parted in shock. “Matthias? What are you saying?”

  “Too much, I suspect. Perhaps it is past time for talk.” He bent his head and covered her mouth with his own.

  The need that had been simmering inside him exploded without warning.

  Her mouth tasted as exotic and sweet as the effervescent springs of Zamar must have. Matthias crushed her close, abruptly desperate to feel the soft, firm curves of her thighs pressed against him.

  Imogen gave a small, muffled cry. “Matthias.”

  For an instant he feared she would push herself away from him. He was seized by a terrible desperation, gripped by a need that emanated from the darkest, coldest regions inside him.

  It seemed to Matthias that in that shattering moment his fate hung in the balance.

  And then her arms went eagerly around his neck. Relief surged through him. He freed her mouth long enough to gaze into her eyes. A familiar sensation roared through him. This was what he had felt when he discovered the great columns that marked the entrance to the ancient ruins of lost Zamar.

  “Imogen?”

  She smiled at him with longing and feminine promise.

  He brushed his mouth against hers. She trembled and returned the kiss with an enthusiasm that threatened to deprive him of breath. The music and the laughter from the ballroom receded into the distance. Matthias’s concentration narrowed until the only thing that mattered was Imogen.

  Without releasing her lips, he stripped off his gloves and dropped them heedlessly on the ground. Then he curved his hands around her shoulders and slowly eased the tiny sleeves of her gown aside.

  She shivered when the small, high-waisted bodice slipped downward, freeing her elegant breasts.

  “Matthias?”

  “You are beautiful,” he whispered. “You remind me of the pictures of Anizamara painted on the walls of the library of Zamar. Full of life and warmth.”

  She gave a shaky laugh and buried her face against his shoulder. “You will not believe this, sir, but I have had the oddest dreams of late. In them, you seem to become Zamaris or he becomes you. I cannot tell which.”

  “It would seem that we share our interest in Zamar even in our dreams.” He fitted his hands to her waist and lifted her straight up off the ground. The movement brought her breasts to the level of his mouth. He took one firm nipple between his teeth and sucked gently.

  “Matthias.” She clutched at his shoulders and held on as if for dear life. “What are you doing?” Her voice rose as he circled her nipple with the tip of his tongue and then bit down very gently. “This is … surely this is …” She floundered into breathless silence.

  He released the dainty fruit and turned his attention to the other nipple. He felt her fingers dig into his shoulders. The moan that went through her aroused him as nothing else had ever done.

  Imogen began to rain frantic little kisses in his hair.

  Matthias glanced around and spotted a garden seat. He carried Imogen to the stone bench and sat down with her in his arms. Her skirts tumbled over his breeches. He tugged the flounced hem of her gown up above her knees.

  “Whatever are you about, sir?” Imogen demanded as he slid one hand between her warm thighs. “Is this some strange Zamarian lovemaking technique?”

  “What?” The scent of her filled his head. He could not seem to concentrate on her words.

  “In one of your articles in the Zamarian Review you alluded to a scroll that you discovered that described certain customs of the Zamarian matrimonial bedchamber.”

  “Could we discuss this later, my sweet?” He kissed her throat.

  “Yes, of course.” Imogen turned her face into his coat and clung to his lapels. “It’s just that this all feels so odd.”

  “On the contrary.” He nibbled on her earlobe. “It feels incredible.”

  “I have often wished that you had published more detailed information of your discoveries on the subject of Zamarian marital relations. I read several times the one article that you wrote, but I was always left to wonder just what you meant when you hinted that the Zamarians were quite uninhibited.”

  “Kiss me, Imogen.”

  “Oh. Yes, of course.” She lifted her head and parted her lips.

  He took her mouth again and at the same moment cupped the hot, damp flesh between her legs.

  Imogen screamed softly in surprise. Matthias swallowed the sound. She awkwardly tried to close her legs, but she succeeded only in trapping his hand. He probed carefully and she relaxed against him in a rush of pulsing excitement.

  He eased one finger into her softness. “You are so warm and tight.”

  She shivered in his arms. Tiny muscles clenched gently against his finger. He thought that he would lose what little remained of his self-control.

  “Matthias, this is so … so …” She sipped air and tightened herself. Her head fell back. Her turban slipped off and dropped to the grass.

  Over and over again Matthias drove his finger deep, pushing through the constricting, glovelike passage. At the same time, he used his thumb on her small, hidden jewel.

  With a startled cry Imogen convulsed and came apart in his arms.

  He held her close, glorying in her response. He was on the brink of exploding inside his breeches, but he managed to hold himself in check. Later, he promised himself as he cradled her fiercely to him. His turn would come later. Right now the only thing that mattered was that she had found her satisfaction in his arms.

  After a moment Imogen stopped trembling, although she still gripped the edges of his coat with such force that he knew the expensive fabric would be crushed. He absently noted that his cravat had somehow come undone. Imogen’s hair spilled around her shoulders.

  Matthias realized that although he ached with unsatisfied desire, he felt young and free, as he had not felt in years.

  Imogen slowly raised her head to gaze at him with eyes made huge by sensual wonder. She smiled up at him from the curve of his arm. “That was the most astounding thing that I have ever—”

  Voices, those of a man and a woman, interrupted whatever it was Imogen had been about to say. The reality of their precarious situation hit Matthias with the force of freezing rain. He realized that the other couple was only a few feet away. All that stood between Imogen and discovery was the tall hedge.

  “Hell and damnation,” he whispered.

  He stood up with Imogen in his arms and quickly set her on her feet. There was no need to warn her. He could see that she had heard the voices. She grabbed futilely at her drooping bodice.

  The voices moved closer. Soft laughter from the woman. A murmured comment from the man.

  Matthias started to reach down to scoop up his gloves and then realized Imogen was having trouble adjusting her gown.

  “Here, let me do that.” He managed to drag the tiny sleeves back up onto her shoulders. Her breasts disappeared. There was nothing he could do about her loosened hair, however, or the turban that had fallen to the grass. She was the very picture of a woman who had just been locked in an abandoned sensual embrace.

  “Come.” He took her hand, intent on getting her away from the scene before the other couple came around the corner of the hedge. Imogen stumbled as she clutched his hand.

  “Colchester.” Selena, followed by Alastair Drake, rounded the hedge at that moment. “And Miss Waterstone. What are you two doing … ? Oh, dear.” A slow, knowing smile curved her lips. “Never mind. I can see perfectly well what you are doing.”

  “Imogen.” Alastair stared at her with a shocked expression.

  Matthias stepped in front of Imogen in a vain effort to concea
l her, but he knew the damage had been done. He saw Alastair’s eyes go to a dainty dancing slipper and the turban that lay next to his discarded gloves.

  Selena gazed at Matthias’s loosened cravat and gave a rich, amused chuckle. “Well, well, well. I do believe that we have interrupted some very interesting researches into the subject of ancient Zamar, Mr. Drake.”

  Alastair was tight-lipped. “So it would seem.”

  “You have indeed interrupted something quite interesting,” Matthias said. “But it was not a scholarly investigation. Miss Waterstone has just consented to become engaged to me. You may be the first to congratulate us.”

  Chapter 8

  She was standing in her uncle’s sepulchral library. This time she could feel a chill wind. She saw that the window was open, allowing the night to flow into the chamber. A stone sarcophagus loomed in the shadows. She was certain that it had not been there the last time. The lid had been removed. There was something inside. Something dangerous.

  She started toward the sarcophagus and then paused when she felt the hair on the nape of her neck stir. She knew that he was in the room with her again. She turned slowly and saw Matthias/Zamaris. The moonlight gleamed on the icy silver in his hair. His austere features were in deep shadow.

  He held out one elegant hand. Blood glistened on his fingers. “Lies,” he whispered in a darkly sensual voice. “Do not believe the lies. Come to me.”

  “It is a disaster.” Imogen shoved aside the memories of her latest disturbing dream and forced herself to concentrate on the crisis. “He has ruined everything. My entire scheme is in a shambles.”

  “Calm yourself, dear.” Horatia, seated in a chair with her embroidery, peered at her over the rims of her spectacles. “I'm certain Colchester knows what he is about.”

  “Rubbish.” Imogen threw her hands up into the air and stormed across the study. “It’s a bloody disaster, I tell you. This morning everyone in Polite Society believes that Colchester and I are engaged.”

  “You are engaged, dear. The announcement last night made it quite official.”

  Imogen flung out a hand and accidentally struck a scented sweet jar off its stand. It bounced on the carpet and rolled under the desk. The dried herbs and flowers that had been inside fluttered to the floor. She paused briefly to glower at the small heap of faded roses and bay leaves.