Cheryl Holt (10 page)

The set concluded, and she headed for the buffet table. He followed her, and he rippled with an unaccustomed excitement. He was ecstatic at having the chance to speak with her, to chat and gaze into her pretty green eyes, which had him wondering if his recent trials hadn’t left him a bit deranged.

Whenever he was in the mood, he had plenty of female companionship. After all, he wallowed with thieves and whores, so it was simple to find a trollop, but it had been an eternity since he’d parlayed with a woman of Miss Burton’s caliber.

The last dance he’d attended had been held a few days before his arrest, and it was still vivid in his memory. There’d been so many girls present, girls like Miss Burton from wealthy, respectable families, who had teased and flirted. To his astonishment, a wave of nostalgia swept over him, as he conjectured—for the first time
in ages—over what his life would have been like if he’d eluded disaster.

He shoved the silly reflection away. It was pointless to ruminate over the past, futile to wax on about what might have been, and he scolded himself to buck up, to steel himself against any heightened sentiment. Miss Burton symbolized all that he abhorred. If she was fetching, if she was sweet and pleasant, so what?

She had just grabbed a plate when he stepped in behind her, standing much too close, her skirt billowing around his legs. To ascertain who had arrived, she peered over her shoulder, and she smiled.

“Hello, Mr. Duncan,” she greeted, referring to him by the fake name he’d provided.

“Hello, Rebecca.” He used her given name, and it flustered her, but she didn’t comment, and he took it as a propitious beginning.

“We meet again.”

“Yes, we do, and you must call me James.”

She gaped about, as if wanting someone to tell her it would be all right, and her consternation was an indication of how sheltered she’d been. She was so innocent, and the realization thrilled him. Her naïveté had her ripe for the plucking, would make her so much easier to seduce.

He let his masculine appreciation wash over her, let her sense his admiration and regard, and she was startled by his blatant interest. Clearly, no man had ever assessed her as he was doing.

Did Alex Marshall care about her, at all? Had he ever looked at her and seen anything besides a means to increase his vast fortune? Had he ever evinced the slightest awareness of her as a woman?

Apparently not.

James leaned in, delighted to note that she was extremely rattled.

They enjoyed an unusual affinity. He felt it, and she felt it, too, and she was perplexed by the commotion their nearness generated. The air around them sparked with energy, and he could barely keep from reaching out, from resting a hand on her waist. It would have been so natural to touch her.

He’d had his share of naughty flings, many more than a bachelor ought. Desperate situations threw desperate people together, so he’d fornicated with many hopeless women who’d lost all, who were anxious for the solace that human contact could render.

He’d learned how to satisfy a female, and he had no qualms about utilizing his dubious skills to ruin Rebecca Burton. While she’d be humiliated in the end, the journey would be marvelous—for both of them.

“I want to be alone with you,” he whispered.

“What?” Shocked by his suggestion, she peeked around to ensure that no one had eavesdropped. “You’re mad.”

“No. I’ll be outside. In the garden, behind the gazebo.”

His focus dipped to her mouth, and he stared at her ruby lips until she recognized his carnal intent for what it was.

“I can’t,” she claimed.

“Why not? Who’s to prevent you?” Before she could refuse, he added, “In five minutes. I’ll be waiting.”

He left without glancing back, so he didn’t know if she watched him go, but he was fairly certain she’d come. He was an astute judge of character, and where she was concerned he had enhanced perception. She’d been intrigued
by his bold advance, and she’d be eager to converse, if only to remind him that she was bound to Stanton.

Exactly seven minutes later, she walked onto the verandah.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” he muttered. She was a fool to join him, and he was a fool to have asked, but he couldn’t desist. Whatever happened, he wouldn’t be sorry for how it evolved, though she would be.

She was too trusting and gullible, so she’d never suppose that there might be a devious plot in progress. In her privileged life, nothing bad had ever transpired, so it was beyond her comprehension to consider that he had ulterior motives.

She strolled into the yard and skirted the gazebo. Once she was concealed from the house, she murmured, “Mr. Duncan?”

He crept up and slipped his fingers into hers. She gasped with surprise, and he guided her off the path so that she was hidden with him. He studied her, evaluating her curvaceous figure, the nip and curve of her waist and hips. The bodice of her dress was cut low, to reveal a fabulous swell of bosom, and he was disturbed by how fervently he desired her.

It was his plan to trifle with her, to escort her down a road where she dare not travel, but it was to be a game for him, and his abrupt level of yearning had him worried. What might he do in order to possess her? To what lengths would he go to make her his own?

Any despicable behavior seemed possible, which was saying a lot. Over the previous decade, he’d proven himself capable of many nefarious deeds. When the circumstances required it, he could maim or murder, could rob or ravage, without restraint or remorse.

Could he blithely harm her? Or was there a flicker remaining of the boy he’d been, of the gentleman he’d been raised to be?

He didn’t think so. His honorable tendencies had been buried, but with how she was gazing up at him his dormant conscience was stirred, and he tamped down any feelings of guilt.

He wouldn’t be affected! Couldn’t fret over what would become of her after he was finished! Alex Marshall deserved to lose something he valued, and what could be more appropriate than it being Rebecca Burton?

“Mr. Duncan—” she started, but he interrupted.

“James,” he said. “My name is James.”

“I’m engaged. I can’t be out here with you.”

“No one knows. It’s all right.” He led her farther into the shadows. She hesitated, not actually following, but not declining, either, and he soothed, “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”

“What is it you want from me?”

“I had to see you.”

“But why?”

“Because you’re the most stunning woman I’ve ever met.” It wasn’t some petty falsehood voiced to further his scheme. She was magnificent.

“Me? Stunning?”

“Yes.”

She was bewildered at the compliment, and James was convinced that Marshall had never expressed any flatteries. His spirits soared. There wasn’t a female alive who didn’t relish being informed that she was special, and Rebecca was no different from any other. She’d soak up his praise like a sponge.

“You shouldn’t say such things to me,” she admonished.

“Why not? It’s the truth.”

“But I’ve been betrothed for so long that I feel like an old, married lady. I’m grateful for your attentions, but you can’t address them to me.”

While she was protesting his conduct, she hadn’t stomped off in a huff. “You’re not married—yet.”

“No, but my fiancé would never approve of my chatting with you.”

“Stanton can go to the devil,” he vehemently declared. “Has he ever told you how beautiful you are? Or how superb you look with the moonlight shining on your hair?”

“No.” She was perplexed anew, as if it had never occurred to her that Stanton ought to have been more effusive.

“You’re a terrible match for him. He’ll make you so miserable.”

“Really, Mr. Duncan”—she chuckled nervously and tried to pull away—“you’re too presumptuous.”

“But I had to speak out. After we were introduced, I couldn’t be silent.”

“About what?”

“Have you any idea why he hasn’t wed you before now?” James had no clue, but he was prepared to articulate any prevarication. He was determined to plant seeds of doubt, to spin the strands of his web.

“No, and if you’re about to give me some horrid reason, I will never believe you.”

“He has so many other women that he doesn’t need to tie the knot. He’s too busy philandering.”

“You’re lying.”

“He keeps a mistress whom he adores, and he has no intention of splitting with her after the ceremony. Could you carry on like that? Could you turn a blind eye as he sneaked out, night after night, to be with her?”

For the briefest second, it seemed he’d misplayed his hand, that she’d slap him and flee, but her shoulders slumped and she whirled away.

“So it’s true then,” she mumbled.

“What is?”

“I overheard a remark once, about Alex and. . . and. . . how he entertains himself when I am in the country. I’ve always wondered if it meant what I suspected it did.”

“If you marry him, he won’t stop womanizing. He’ll break your heart each and every day.”

“I’m sure he will,” she glumly agreed.

“I can’t stand that this is to be your conclusion.”

She was so wounded by the news that he felt as if he’d kicked a puppy, and he couldn’t bear that he’d upset her. He drew her into his arms and snuggled her to him, and as he caught himself brooding over how marvelous it was to hold her, he chased the absurd notion away. When he was around her, he had to be cautious.

Their physical magnetism created feelings that weren’t real, made him perceive facts that weren’t accurate. She was merely a distraught female, one of many he’d comforted over the years. He had a soft spot for women, but he couldn’t let his empathy interfere with his plans.

Yet he couldn’t deny that the moment was tremendously pleasurable, and he wallowed for as long as she was inclined to linger. Finally, she shifted away. Her eyes glistened with tears, and he swiped at them.

“You don’t have to marry him,” he advised.

“Of course I do,” she insisted. “It’s all arranged. It’s been arranged my entire life.”

“But you don’t have to go through with it.”

“What would I do with myself if I didn’t?”

“You could come away with me.”

He was amazed by how fast they’d arrived at the dangerous juncture. It was an outrageous offer. Would it take root and grow?

She’d been groomed to wed Stanton, but deep down, was that what she wanted?

Had she ever contemplated throwing off the chains that bound her? Had she ever yearned for an adventure? Was she feeling trapped and manipulated? Or was she content to proceed down the path that had been chosen for her?

“Come away?” she mused. “With you?”

“Yes.”

“To where?”

“To wherever you’d like to go.”

“We’d just tot off? The two of us on a wild lark?”

“Yes.”

“If you weren’t a friend of Ellen’s, I’d say you’re a fortune hunter.” She laughed at the prospect, as if it was fun to suppose he had such a base character. “I’m beginning to worry that I should be on guard around you.”

“Are you rich?” he asked casually, his expression curious.

“Yes. Didn’t you know?”

“No, and I don’t need your money. I have plenty of my own.” The assertion was a fib. He had savings that would eventually buy a house for Ellen and support her
so that she never had to work again, but he hadn’t reached that point.

“What—precisely—do you do for a living?”

“I’m in imports and exports.”

It was a vague answer that gave no hint of the dock-side thievery and smuggling that made up his criminal enterprise. He would commit any sin for cash, and he had no reservations about stealing from the wealthy sods who brought in the chattels that lined their fat purses.

“So we’d sail off on one of your ships?”

He didn’t have any ships, but he was perfectly willing to let her assume he did. “Yes. We could travel to Jamaica or America or India. We could do whatever we pleased, and we’d never have to come back.”

Strangely, he was excited by the lie, and he pondered what it would be like to run away with her. He thought he’d abandoned any hope of leading a normal life, but for a fleeting instant he regretted the loss of that opportunity for an ordinary existence. With a woman like Rebecca Burton at his side, a man could do anything.

“Mr. Duncan . . . James . . .” She sighed. “I’ve met you twice, and I’ve conversed with you for a total of about fifteen minutes. You’re mad to presume I’d consider such an escapade, and I’m astounded that you’d suggest the possibility.”

She tried to appear insulted but failed, and from her demeanor he was positive he’d touched a nerve. Perhaps she wasn’t as eager for her pending nuptials as she had to maintain.

“I want you to be happy,” he contended.

“I am happy.”

“Are you? With a fiancé who doesn’t care about you? Who doesn’t love you?”

“He loves me.”

“Has he ever told you so?”

“He doesn’t have to.”

Which meant he never had. “If you were about to be mine, I’d tell you every second.”

“You would, would you? You’re an incredible romantic.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? Especially if there’s a chance I could end up with you.”

She sighed again. “I should go in. By loitering here, I’m only encouraging you in your folly.”

“It’s not
folly,”
he quietly stated.

“Yes, it is. You’re wrong to have approached me, and I’m wrong to have listened.”

“There’s a splendid attraction between us. I feel it, and I know you feel it, too.”

“But we’re adults, so we needn’t act on it.”

“What if we did? What if we cast caution to the wind and forged ahead?”

“I’m sure disaster would result.” As if cataloguing his features, she studied him, then said, “Good-bye.”

She stepped away, but he had to stop her, had to provide her with a reason to sneak off in the future, and he was betting on what it could be.

“Good-bye,” he replied, and he leaned down and kissed her, his lips lightly brushing hers, her warm breath coursing across his cheek.

It was extremely chaste, but it was fantastic. The world was reduced to its barest elements: him and her and the hushed night.