Read His Wicked Embrace Online
Authors: Adrienne Basso
His Wicked Embrace (37 page)
With her fingers resting lightly on his sleeve, Anne slowly descended the staircase. It was difficult to walk smoothly. The skirt of her costume was widely flared and jutted out stiffly from her hips, which were padded by great folds of cloth creating a drum shape. The stiff ruff that fanned out behind her head made quick turns of her neck impossible.
The dress might have been considered simple in Queen Elizabeth's time, but it was a far more elaborate and cumbersome outfit than Anne had ever worn. She only hoped that she would be able to move about the room with at least a hint of grace.
Lord Richard brought her to the edge of the ballroom, and they watched the glittering, brightly dressed crowd swirl pass them. The lack of conversation should have been unnerving, but instead Anne felt oddly calm. When he wasn't scrutinizing her, Lord Richard's powerful presence gave her an almost protected feeling.
Then he touched her arm. The warmth of his fingers easily penetrated the thin material of her sleeve, and pleasure flushed through her. How strange. The tingling sensations seem to run from the top of her head down to her toes. Anne took a deliberate breath and told herself to calm down.
She was acting like a green girl, an innocent child at her first grownup party. Lord Richard was merely leading her onto the dance floor. There was no need to be so flustered. Yet how odd that the warmth of his fingers had sent her heart racing.
Striving to gain her equilibrium, Anne muttered the first thing that popped into her head.
“Do you have an affinity for queens?” she inquired as they joined the set forming on the dance floor. “Is that why you partnered me for this dance instead of my sister?
“Redheads,” Lord Richard answered with a sly grin.
Anne felt herself blushing behind her mask. “Then I must in good conscience tell you the truth, my lord. I am wearing a wig.”
“I know.”
The rhythm of the music came together, and their dance began. Lord Richard slid his arm possessively around Anne's waist, and she stifled the cry of surprise in her throat, realizing for the first time that their dance was to be a waltz.
Anne chided herself for being so foolish. What was wrong with her? She had never been the belle of any ball, but she had danced the waltz countless times with many different men. She swallowed the apprehension in her throat and fixed her eyes on an imaginary point over Lord Richard's left shoulder. When the dance began, she was ready. Or so she thought.
It was like being awake during a glorious, exciting dream. He danced beautifully. Anne followed his lead naturally, gliding and twirling gracefully about the floor. As they whirled around the crowded room, Anne tried not to dwell on how Lord Richard made her feel. Every nerve ending was more taut, every touch more intense, every smell more pungent. He was somehow able to heighten all of her senses just by his close proximity.
He was so tall and broad and muscular. Even with her considerable height and even wider padded skirts, he easily dwarfed her. There was something intimate, almost forbidden, about the way he held her in his arms. She felt like his possession and was completely puzzled why that feeling brought her an unexpected rush of excitement instead of a logical sense of dismay.
A young buck sporting an eye patch and a lace-ruffled shirt barely missed colliding with them, but on the second circuit around the ballroom he knocked squarely into Anne.
The hand at the small of her back drew her closer.
“I've got you,” Lord Richard whispered softly.
Flustered, Anne raised her eyes. The tips of her breasts were touching his black evening jacket. A wave of acute tension fluttered through her chest and stomach. The voice of strict, proper training inside her head told her to pull away immediately, but Anne ignored it. Softly she pressed herself forward, helpless to control these crazy, newly awakened feelings.
The muscles across Lord Richard's shoulders went rigid beneath her fingers and his eyes grew dark. The look he gave her made Anne's skin feel hot, then cold.
He is going to kiss me,
she thought wildly. Rattled by the preposterous notion, all Anne's fogged brain could register was the simple truth that she very much wanted him to do so.
And I shall delight in kissing him back!
she thought wildly. Rattled by the preposterous notion, all Anne's fogged brain could register was the simple truth that she very much wanted him to do so.
And I shall delight in kissing him back!
“Pardon me,” the young pirate sang merrily, “I do hope I missed smashing your feet.” He grinned sheepishly as he danced away.
The cheerful apology effectively shattered the mood. Anne pulled herself back to a respectable distance, struggling to adopt an air of nonchalance that was total affectation. She nervously flexed her fingers and felt Lord Richard's strong muscles shift beneath her hands.
How very different his body was from hers. She remembered the time she had seen a group of farm workers laboring in the fields striped of their shirts, bronzed backs and chests, muscles straining with effort as they lifted and hauled.
Yet Anne strongly suspected that Lord Richard's unclothed form would put them all to shame. He was the very essence of male beauty. The artist in her longed to see and feel and explore this strange, intoxicating man at her leisure, yet the woman she was did not dare.
“That clod has stepped on your gown and torn a section of the hem,” Lord Richard growled.
Anne shrugged her shoulders. “He is merely enjoying himself. The pirate and pretty young shepherdess make a rather fetching couple, do they not?”
“With feet like that, he should be dancing with the sheep, not a shepherdess,” Lord Richard muttered, “in a barnyard.”
Anne smiled. “When the dance is finished, I shall order him to be imprisoned in the tower. Will that be sufficient punishment for his accidental crime of gown tearing?”
“You should hack off all his toes and feed them to the hounds,” Lord Richard insisted. “In retribution for his clumsiness and to ensure the safety of all the other dancing couples.”
Anne gasped. Lord Richard turned his head sharply, as if realizing for the first time that he had just expressed such a graphically violent sentiment to a lady.
He cleared his throat. “Forgive my lack of sensibility, Miss Paget. When one has witnessed the type of cruelty towards humanity that war brings, you occasionally forget that gentility still exists in the world.”
Anne's initial shock at his blunt words disappeared.
“Ah, but you forget, my lord, I am a warrior queen, accustomed to such violence,” Anne replied in a quiet, sensitive voice. She stroked his sleeve in a calm, comforting manner. “Did you fight at the battle of Waterloo?”
“No. I returned to England shortly after the battle of Talavera.”
“Talavera? It was a great victory for our cause, yet I suspect the newspaper accounts glossed over the horrors.”
“It was truly a respectable representation of hell itself. Nothing but fire, suffering, blood, and human sacrifices.” A distant, blank coldness entered Lord Richard's beautiful green eyes. “In the aftermath of other battles I had fought before that awful day, the usual salutation given upon meeting an acquaintance of another regiment was, 'Who has been hit?' After Talavera I simply asked, 'Who is still alive?' ”
“Were you wounded?” Anne asked in an emotional voice, feeling every ounce of Lord Richard's despair in her own gentle heart. “Is that why you returned to England?”
“I was unharmed.” Lord Richard's stoicism quickly returned. “My family needed me. So I came home.”
Anne's stroking hand of comfort stopped. An unexpected knot began to curl in her stomach. What sort of family had he returned to? A wife? The notion that he was married left a sour taste on her tongue, yet she could not in all honesty understand why she should care if he had a wife.
Perhaps it was because she felt such an intense attraction for him, and while it was madness to dream that Lord Richard might also find her attractive, it was a harmless fantasy. If he was married, however, the situation would become utterly distasteful, certainly immoral in Anne's unfashionable opinion.
“Is your wife here with you this evening, my lord?”
“I am a widower.”
Anne released the breath she had been holding. She was so intent upon hearing his answer that she barely noticed he spoke of his widowed state without any trace of emotion in his voice.
They twirled gracefully around the ballroom one final time. Anne felt a pang of regret pierce her heart when the last strains of the music died away. She had so enjoyed being held in his arms. She curtsied low and waited to be escorted to a quiet corner where she strongly suspected she would spend the remainder of the evening craning her neck searching for Lord Richard while pretending disinterest in his whereabouts.
But instead of returning her to the sidelines, Lord Richard steered her away from the crowd and out the open French doors. Heart thumping madly, Anne allowed herself to be led into the garden to a more secluded spot among the flowers and trees.
Now what? Would he pull her once again into his arms and steal a kiss? With uncharacteristic recklessness, Anne secretly hoped that was his intent. Still, she cautioned herself to be sensible.
She had never been overly disappointed by her lack of male admirers, but tonight she felt a perplexing need for Lord Richard to find her desirable. She wondered how it would feel to be wanted, just once, especially by this extraordinarily powerful man.
If she indulged this strange temptation, however, it must only be on this one magical night. Her future plans of freedom and independence would not be jeopardized by the complication of a male relationship.
“ 'Tis a lovely evening,” Anne volunteered, “though perhaps a bit warm. Is it usually this warm in Devon at this time of year?”
“It's July.”
“Well, of course I know what month it is,” Anne replied with a slight laugh. “I can assure you, my lord, the summers in Cornwall are never this warm.”
“Is that where you are from? Cornwall?”
Anne's step faltered slightly. “No. I grew up in Hampshire. We keep a house in London, but with the season nearly over Papa gladly accepted Sir Reginald Wilford's kind invitation to visit. He is a distant cousin of my mother's.”
Anne turned her head up toward the sky, deliberately avoiding Lord Richard's sharp green eyes. She had never before questioned the unusual way her family lived. Especially since the plan was of her own devising and necessary in order for them to remain members of polite society. Yet she felt uncomfortable telling Lord Richard the half-truths she had grown so accustomed to uttering.
“I am rather surprised,” Lord Richard replied. An undercurrent of accusation crept into his voice. “I have known Sir Reginald since I was a young boy. I always found him to be a somber and reclusive man, something of a hermit. I find it difficult to imagine him inviting a parcel of energetic relatives for a prolonged visit.”
“Goodness, you make us sound like a tribe of primitives,” Anne said. Her hand fluttered to her neck and she adjusted the stiff collar of her costume. “Sir Reginald has been most welcoming. My father has a keen eye for horseflesh and has been advising him on the acquisition of several prime mares. Mother has generously lent her assistance in the running of the household and shared some of her best recipes with Sir Reginald's cook. He remarked just last evening that he has never sat down to a finer table.”
Anne deliberately paused for a breath. Gracious, she was babbling. He must think she was the biggest fool, but Lord Richard's inquires into her personal affairs made her very nervous.
“I stand corrected, Miss Paget. Sir Reginald is indeed fortunate in his choice of houseguests. Pray tell me, what exactly do you do to enhance Sir Reginald's dull life?”
Anne decided she did not appreciate the mocking edge in Lord Richard's voice. She stiffened her spine and held his gaze steadily as she spoke.
“I keep my two sisters and my two young brothers out of doors as much as possible, and when they are inside the manor house I move them to an unoccupied section so Sir Reginald can enjoy the quiet he so treasures.”
Anne knew she had struck home with her answer by the slight frown that appeared on Lord Richard's handsome face. “You are a most resourceful woman,” he said at last.
“You need not sound so astonished, my lord,” Anne countered. “It takes only good manners and common sense to remain a pleasant houseguest.”
They came to a secluded section of garden surrounded by hedges. Without speaking, Lord Richard grasped her elbow and sat her down on the stone bench strategically placed inside the small maze. He immediately joined her, sitting closer than was strictly proper.
Anne breathed deeply of the night air. It was filled with the distinctive scent of rose mingling with an edge of expectancy. Senses heightened with almost unbearable anticipation, she waited.
“Will you remove your mask?” Lord Richard asked, reaching boldly for it.
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