Never Tempt a Rogue: A Rogues' Rulebook Novella (3 page)

He reached up to hold her hand in place.

She reared back like a skittish pony, yanking away from him and creating the most enticing friction.

Her distance made him regret his brazenness. A little.

“I didn’t write the note. I don’t know who did, but I’m sorry he’s toying with your heart.” He
was
sorry. His throat ached with emotion, and that shocked him as much as how completely he enjoyed this woman’s sweet-scented nearness after being unable to think of anything but his brother’s death for months.

“My heart?” Her laugh wasn’t jovial like his, but brittle. He sensed sadness behind it. “This isn’t my note, Lord Lindsay. I’m here to chaperone my cousin, and I insist you stay away from her.” She retraced all the distance she’d just put between them, coming at him with her finger wagging like a chastising nanny. “I don’t even want you speaking to her, nor looking at her. I certainly don’t want you attempting to charm her. She is young and innocent. She won’t see through your false praise and heated looks as I do.”

It took a good deal more restraint than any rogue should be expected to possess not to reach for her when she turned to stomp away. He didn’t want her to go and take all that passion with her. His days had been marching past in bleary, colorless succession. She was a burst of vibrancy in a world that had gone gray.

Then, as if he’d drawn her with the sheer power of his desire, she turned back. But there was nothing soft in her expression. If anything, their whole encounter seemed to leave her more displeased with him than when she’d first stepped onto the balcony.

“Other men devote themselves to science, medicine, law, while you spend all of your time preening and convincing women to fall into your bed. How many hours do you waste practicing your lines before launching them on some unsuspecting young lady?”

Either he was losing his touch or his walls were weakening, because her words pierced him just as she intended them to. Banter, he enjoyed, but this was something else. Disturbing and miserable. He knew only that he did not wish her to walk away thinking the worst of him.

“Give me your cousin’s name, and I promise to steer clear of her.”

“Amelia Huntington.” She paused, as if watching for his reaction.

The girl’s name meant nothing to him, and he shrugged to indicate as much.

“I take it as a good sign that you don’t remember her. It gives me hope that maybe one day she’ll forget you too.” Her voice broke near the end of the sentence. Finally a bit of vulnerability slipping past her fearsome display. Then she dipped into a curtsy, as well executed as any he’d ever seen. “I leave you to your idleness, my lord.”

An idle blaggard, dear old Pater had once called him. Miss Felicity Beckett had taken his measure, it seemed, in the blink of her thick-lashed eyes.

Yet Alex had seen Felicity too. A man couldn’t stare at a woman, drink in every aspect of her face, and not see beyond her pretty features. Miss Beckett’s wrath was impressive to behold, but there was more. Sadness and softness. He wanted to know every detail, needed to understand why she stirred him as no other woman had for as long as he could recall.

As he entered the house and returned to his rooms to prepare for the evening meal, his step felt lighter. The pinch of weight on his chest had eased.

Yes, he was sure of it now. With Miss Felicity Beckett’s secrets to unravel, coming to his aunt’s house party wouldn’t be a pointless journey after all.

CHAPTER THREE

“Do you think there will be dancing?” Felicity tried to keep dread from infusing her tone. She was awful at dancing. Truly tragically bad. She’d wounded men with her dancing. Well, one man. But he was the vicar of their parish and hadn’t deserved to hobble around for weeks after she’d crushed his toes.

As a chaperone, she would normally be absolved from the necessity of dancing, but Amy had nearly bubbled over with excitement when informing her that Lady Forsythe insisted all of her guests dance. Before the fortnight’s end, there would even be a special dance that some members of the staff would be invited to attend.

“Lady Forsythe said the first dance isn’t until tomorrow. They’re preparing the ballroom already.” This Amy announced with an enthusiastic grin. The girl was clearly determined to adore every moment of this house party, and Felicity wanted to make the time as wonderful for her cousin as Amy expected it to be. Even if it meant suffering through an obligatory dance. And standing guard against the onslaught of charm from one very handsome viscount.

Now that she’d met him, Felicity understood why so many women fell under his spell. The viscount’s appeal wasn’t just to do with his height or face or compelling eyes. The man oozed a sort of enticing warmth, as if drawing near him would be as soothing as it would be exciting. He’d looked at her as if he knew her secret desires, and intended to fulfill every single one of them. His gaze, the tone of his voice, even the way he stood, signaled sensuality. He didn’t bolt up straight and stiff-necked like some gentlemen, but moved and stood with languid ease.

“Did you speak to Lord Lindsay?” Amy called the question over her shoulder, tossing it out as if the answer didn’t concern her at all.

“Yes, we had a brief conversation.” Felicity kept her head down, focusing on her evening glove as she tugged it up her arm.

“Then I won’t be dancing with him?”

“That seems the best course.” Should she tell the girl that Lord Lindsay didn’t remember her? That he’d claimed someone else had written the note? She couldn’t. Protecting Amy was the whole reason she’d accompanied her. “You’ll have no trouble filling your dance card, my dear.” More often than not, her cousin ended up with too many requests and had to turn gentlemen away.

“Then we should head downstairs. I can’t wait for the first dance on Saturday, whoever it may be with.”

Whether or not her cousin was unruffled by the turn of events, Felicity couldn’t tell. Amy was terrible at concealing guilt, but she had mastered the polite smile. Perhaps if they headed to the drawing room a bit early, Amy could salve any disappointment by making new acquaintances.

Felicity slipped a small folio of fiction under her shawl. Amy could chat with the other ladies and gentlemen while she caught up on
Jane Eyre
. She remembered her mother reading the book and had always wanted to read it herself.

“Do I look fetching, as Papa would say?” Amy patted the pinned coils of hair piled on her head. She wore a pink silk gown that set off her hair and eyes. She looked lovely.

“Fetching, without a doubt. Now stop fussing with your hair.” Felicity reached for her cousin’s hand, and Amy immediately clasped it tight.

“Any last words of wisdom from your etiquette book?” The girl was shaking, just a slight tremor along her jawline. She’d never shown a bit of interest in any etiquette book, but her late mother had taught her basic decorum. Amy knew how to behave like a lady, but she was young, given to emotion, and far too eager to fall in love.

Felicity scoured her mind for some fail proof rule she could extract from the first chapter of the
Etiquette for Ladies
. Nothing seemed as essential as calming Amy’s immediate worry. “Just breathe. You’ll be a success at this party. I’m certain of it.”

As they descended the stairs, Amy transformed from a nervous cygnet into an elegant swan. She caught the notice of two gentlemen who stood speaking in the hallway before they entered the drawing room, drawing their appreciative gazes like a magnet. Without a single misstep, she entered the drawing room and waited patiently for Lady Forsythe to make introductions.

Lady Louisa, the Forsythe’s daughter who’d befriended Amy during their first season, approached and the two young women took a spot on the settee. When two other ladies joined them and all four were engaged in conversation, Felicity secured a chair near the warmth of the fire and opened her book.

The story’s Mr. Rochester had just professed his love for his governess, Miss Eyre. As much as Felicity wanted the heroine to secure a stable future, something told her none of it would end well. If she’d ever believed in happy endings, Felicity didn’t anymore. She expected even her fiction to include disappointment.

“Some might call it rude behavior to read on your own while everyone else is engaging in conversation.”

Felicity didn’t jump when he spoke and pulled her out of Miss Brontë’s fictional world. His voice was too smooth, too low and appealing, and he wasn’t even looking at her. Thank goodness. Chatting publicly with the man would hardly help her convince Amelia to avoid him.

He stood off a short distance from her, looking out through a window onto the same balcony where they’d spoken hours before.

Without lifting her eyes from her book, Felicity whispered, “Interrupting someone who is reading is rude, and we shouldn’t be talking at all. We haven’t been formally introduced.”

Lord Lindsay glanced over his shoulder at his aunt, who was in the process of making introductions on the other side of the room. “My aunt will rectify that soon enough. She’s making the rounds.” He turned back toward the window. “What are you reading anyway?”

“
Jane Eyre
.” He’d probably never heard of Charlotte Brontë’s book. Felicity’s father had always disdained fiction, considering it a waste of precious time when there were so many books of anatomy, science, and history to read. Though Lord Lindsay had dabbled in authorship with his infamous publication, she suspected he found plenty of other ways to pass his time than lost in the pages of a book.

“My mother was quite fond of the Brontë sisters and forced my brother and I to read their books. What do you think of it? That novel frustrated her most of all.”

“Why? What happens?” Felicity frowned. The story had been progressing well so far. Miss Eyre’s fortunes had certainly taken a turn, as she was soon to be raised from lowly governess to mistress of Thornfield Hall, her employer and soon-to-be husband’s home.

“Oh, no. Never let it be said that I spoiled a novel for a lady.” The moment he whispered his reply, his aunt called out from across the room.

“Alexander, do stop staring at the shrubbery and come over here.” Lady Forsythe had gathered a coterie of young ladies around her, all wide-eyed and apparently eager to make his acquaintance. Felicity was grateful to find that Amy was not among the assembly. There was no need, since she’d been introduced to him at a ball months before and had fixated on the man ever since.

When Lord Lindsay and his aunt approached Amelia and the ladies gathered near the settee, Felicity tucked
Jane Eyre
away.

“You are acquainted with Miss Huntingdon, I believe. Her mother and I were childhood friends.” Lady Forsythe gestured toward Amy, whose jaw and mouth had begun trembling.

“Pleasure to see you again, Miss Huntingdon.” Somehow, he managed to cool his voice, uttering the words in the same rote tone many used for social niceties. Felicity detected none of the warm allure she’d noted during their earlier conversation.

“And you, my lord.” Rather than disappointing Amy, his attitude seemed to put her at ease.

Felicity, on the other hand, felt anything but easy when Lady Forsythe cast a look her way.

“Miss Beckett, have you been introduced to my nephew?”

“I have not had that pleasure, Lady Forsythe.” Felicity couldn’t tell from the blank expression on the viscount’s face whether he would betray her by divulging the way she’d confronted him on the balcony.

“Miss Beckett is Miss Huntingdon’s chaperone.” Lady Forsythe turned to her nephew to explain Felicity’s purpose, and Lindsay’s increasingly disinterested expression soured the moment. Until that instant, Felicity had never minded her role as guide and safeguard for her cousin, despite how unprepared she sometimes felt for the task. But the viscount seemed to be looking at her down his well-shaped nose. He even narrowed one clear gray eye to inspect her.

“You’re a bit young for a chaperone, Miss Beckett. Are you quite sure you’re up to the task?” The blasted man lifted his chin, as if even lowering his gaze to her level was too much to ask. The gesture reminded her so much of Thomas’s behavior on the day he informed her he’d inherited a barony that she had to stifle the urge to step on the toe of the viscount’s polished boot.

“Don’t be peevish, Alexander. Forgive him, Miss Beckett. Traveling always puts my nephew out of sorts.” The countess pulled Lord Lindsay away with an arm clasped around his as she spoke, and he followed dutifully. Or at least he did until they’d taken a few steps and he turned to offer Felicity a conspiratorial wink.
A wink!
Worse, he matched the impish gesture with a blatant perusal, taking her in from head to toe and infusing her body with heat. Warmth trickled down from the flush in her cheeks to the spot where her new shoes pinched against her feet.

“Shall we go into the dining room?” Amy’s question accompanied the sound of a low reverberation echoing through the room. Felicity had been so busy scowling at Lord Lindsay’s back, she’d missed the call of the dinner gong.

“Of course.” They joined the virtual parade of ladies side by side with their mothers or on the arms of obliging gentlemen and progressed down the hall.

“I can’t wait to see where we’re seated.”

Felicity glanced over to note whether Amy’s eyes were locked on Lord Lindsay, whose stature kept his head and shoulders in view, despite his distance ahead of several couples in front of them.

“Louisa says she asked her mother to place us near each other.” Amy turned to her and smiled without an ounce of guile.

Could her cousin have actually taken her admonitions about the viscount to heart?

They were seated at Lady Forsythe’s end of the expansive rectangular table. Every other room in the house was lit with gaslight, but the dining room glittered with sparkling glassware and sliver under an impressive candlelit chandelier.

“It’s all so pretty,” Amy said a high-pitched gush of excitement, and Felicity couldn’t disagree.

As her cousin turned her head from side to side to see who was seated where and engage in polite discussion with the ladies she’d met in the drawing room, Felicity forced herself not to stare, not to look down the long row of faces and see where
he
had landed. Right. He had to be seated to her right. She sensed him without looking for him, and that disturbed her almost as much as Amy’s infatuation with the viscount.

“I don’t care where I’m seated as long as it’s next to you,” a man’s deep voice announced.

Felicity sloshed wine from the glass she’d just lifted to her lips. Ruby droplets rained down on the pristine tablecloth next to her bowl of soup.

A woman giggled. No, not a woman. A young lady. Lady Louisa, the Forsythe’s daughter. She stood across the table from them pointing out a man’s place card to him. No, not a man. Thomas Reeves, Lord Kenniston.

Leaning in front of her, a footman blotted at the spots she’d made on the tablecloth and temporarily blocked Felicity’s view of Thomas. Which was useful, since she was struggling to resist blurting all the bitter sentiments that had been stewing in her heart for years.

“It’s just a bit of wine, cousin. Not to worry.” Amy whispered her reassurance as she patted Felicity’s hand.

But it was too late for reassurance, no matter how sweetly offered, because the footman stepped away from the table and Thomas glanced at the guests seated across the table from him. His eyes locked with hers. He’d begun to sip his wine too, but he didn’t slosh at the sight of her. He simply froze, glass held aloft as his eyes widened and his skin blanched to match his white tie evening attire.

“I trust you’ve been introduced to everyone, my lord?” Lady Louisa asked, beaming at his side.

“Yes.” He hissed, soothing the curtness of his reply by turning to the Forsythe’s daughter and beginning a conversation with her in low tones that Felicity was all too grateful not to hear.

Another footman replaced her spilled wine, but the sip she gulped down did nothing to cool her insides or soothe her frayed nerves.

How had she missed Thomas’s name when Amy recounted the guest list to her? Not that Amy would know to make any special mention of the baron. Outside of her father and his sister, none had been aware of their feelings for each other.

Dinner tasted like dust. Course after fragrant course was placed in front of her, but Felicity kept her eyes glued to her plate. She stared at her food, but tasting the fish or enjoying the peach dessert was out of the question.

Being the invisible chaperone who no one wished to engage in conversation allowed her to steady her breathing and sort her thoughts. By the time the dinner service had ended, and ladies and gentlemen were being directed into different drawing rooms, she was prepared to face Thomas for the remainder of the party. They meant nothing to each other anymore. She had a new life with the Huntingdons, and he clearly had his eye on an earl’s daughter. Never mind that Lady Louisa was a decade younger than him. The Forsythe’s daughter was precisely the kind of high born lady he told Felicity he would set his cap at, though she did wonder why he hadn’t been able to win the hand of such a lady in the four years since they’d parted.