Rogue Countess (2 page)

Leif’s scowl was darkly serious. “Be careful, Anna. He is not a green lad.”

“And I am no longer a sad little girl of sixteen,” she countered as she turned and cast a confident wink over her shoulder, then swept away in a dramatic rustle of satin and silk.

“You may as well be,” Leif muttered vehemently behind her.

Chapter Two

Jude wasn’t sure how his old friend had managed to drag him along to the masquerade tonight. But here he was, in the middle of a sparkling ballroom filled with the elite members of England’s aristocracy, and all he could think was that some things simply never changed.

He had arrived in London only a few days ago and had intended to stay in town only long enough to conduct some personal business before departing for the Blackbourne family seat in the country. Although he had sent advance word to his mother of his impending return to England, it had been impossible to be exact on his arrival date, so he was not surprised to find that she was not in London awaiting his return. He’d immediately sent his regards to Silverly, advising he would be in Essex soon.

His mother’s reply arrived the next day and assured him that time had done nothing to soften her firm resolve to always put the needs of the earldom before personal wishes. She did not express delight in his return nor bitterness over his long absence. Instead she sent a list of invitations she had accepted on his behalf and insisted he “pay honor to the proper hostesses before even considering leaving town for the country.” She urged him to remember his duty to the Blackbourne name and claim his rightful place among society first and foremost.

Jude had promptly tossed the list into the wastebasket. He had been doing things his own way for far too long and had no intention of spending his first weeks back in England going to balls and soirées.

Yet here he was.

He swept a glance over the breadth of the ballroom and felt like an observer of a theater performance. Set out under the glittering lights and elaborate decorations, a dramatic production was in play. Flirtatious costumed ladies giggled breathlessly, liberated by the assumed anonymity of their elaborate masks. Gentlemen, young and old alike, prowled the edges of the ballroom, looking for an easy conquest to enliven their evening. The expansive cast of characters sashayed about in their brightly colored costumes, dressed as gypsies, revolutionaries, Roman gods and goddesses, birds of paradise and topiary. They spouted the appropriate lines, laughed on cue and seemed perfectly willing to play the parts they had been given.

When it came down to it, the setting didn’t much matter. A London ballroom, a Florence courtyard or a Constantinople palace, the drama remained the same. The roles never changed, only the people who played the parts.

How many of the fortunate souls before him felt trapped by the strict dictates of their wealth, position and family lineage? How many yearned for a treasure they believed to be out of their reach because the structure of society deemed it so? To put British society on a scale with the caste system in India was a terribly unfair comparison, but Jude couldn’t ignore the marked similarities. Hadn’t his own life taken a drastic turn when the duty and honor that had been passed down through generations of English nobility betrayed him?

At least his belief in such a betrayal had allowed him to justify the decisions that led him away from the life to which he had been born.

As he had numerous times in the last couple years, Jude felt an immense welling of gratitude for finally seeing the truth and power of his own choices. Choices that had ultimately led him back to England. Very soon he would retire to the Blackbourne ancestral estate, and he would take up the reins of responsibility he never should have tossed aside.

In the meantime, surely he could endure one night amongst the ton. At the very least it was a game to which he knew all the rules.

And just how to break them.

His gaze traveled swiftly over the bright and colorful chaos of the crowd around him. So familiar and strange, yet he did not anticipate any surprises.

Perhaps that is why the woman affected him with such jolting intensity.

She was standing alone, a striking vision, and when Jude saw her, he felt as if the floor had dropped out from under his feet. It was her stillness that first claimed his notice. In the mingling, dancing, laughing crowd around her, her complete and focused stillness stood out. That and the vivid azure dress. The elaborate corseted gown shaped her lovely curves in a way that made his mouth go suddenly dry. Her inky black hair was twisted high on her head with a few teasing curls falling gently against the upper curve of her creamy breast.

Jude could not look away. After that initial moment of visceral shock, a tight breath of expectation formed and slowly, deliberately expanded into a fully perceived understanding that tonight had been fated to reveal something unusual. The way she stared back at him, even with the bright mask covering most of her face, was fiercely alluring. He could feel her gaze in the warming of his skin and the sudden humming of his blood.

Did he know her?

She smiled and he felt a response deep in his loins.

Surely not. He would never have forgotten a woman with such striking sensual impact. He had known many beautiful women. But he had never before encountered a female who so easily ignited such an instant and elemental physical reaction within him.

“Ah, here we are.”

Jude was reluctant to look away from the woman in blue, but the exclamation of the man beside him swiftly recalled his attention. He glanced at his friend.

Michael Gerard, Marquess of Rutherford, had not changed much over the years. Handsome, resourceful and charming only when he chose to be, he had come into his title and inheritance as a boy and had been taught from a very young age to expect the privilege and position afforded him by his wealth and title. Rutherford had tracked Jude down at his hotel that very morning with a familiar combination of dry humor and arrogant expectation. He had convinced Jude to accompany him to the costumed ball, if only to stir up a little excitement in the stale town. The marquess had thought it would be supremely amusing to gather up the fellows for a bit of a reunion.

Rutherford gestured lazily toward two men who had just entered the ballroom. “Whitely and Grimm, the old devils. They must have gotten my notes.”

Jude followed his gaze.

Lord Grimm was an average fellow in every way. Medium height, medium brown hair and light brown eyes. And now at nearly thirty, he had grown thicker around the middle and started to look like an exact replica of his father. Jude hoped it was only in appearance since he remembered the old man to be a terrible puritan who had despaired of the day his son met up with Rutherford’s bunch.

Lord Whitely was the opposite of Grimm. Women swooned over his angular features, black hair and bright green eyes. The man used to take every advantage of his looks and had been an unrepentant rake, claiming the innocence of countless young women before sweeping them aside in pursuit of the next conquest.

Eight years ago, they had been a careless group of young men, fresh from university, convinced of their own wit, virility and invincibility. Life had been about late nights carousing around town, stopping in at favorite pubs and gambling dens and dance halls. It had been filled with high-society parties overflowing with not-so-innocent debutantes eager to sneak away from their chaperones and trade a little grope and tickle for a few whispered love words.

And Rutherford had been their leader. Likely because he always knew where the best parties were, always had a solid stash of French wine and always had some wild prank up his sleeve if the usual round of entertainment got too dull.

Jude was intrinsically aware of how far away those days were. Strange how the most inconsequential decision, such as accepting a glass of warm milk before bed, could change the course of one’s life so drastically.

His smile was genuine as he faced the approach of his old friends.

“What the hell brought you back?” Grimm demanded jovially.

Rutherford glanced at the man with droll reproach. “You do recall that Sinclair is now the earl. Did you think he would neglect his duty?”

“Forgive me for pointing it out, but the earl died more than a year ago,” Grimm argued. “I would have expected to see you then, if you had intended to return.”

“I was not in a place where the post could reach, I’m afraid,” Jude explained. “As it was, I had already decided to come back when I learned of my father’s unexpected passing.”

He didn’t add how he would give anything to regain the lost opportunity to reconcile with his father. If he had been home, he might have been with his father on the hunt the day he died. Somehow, he might have prevented the horse from throwing him.

Jude took a deep and practiced breath to diffuse the tension that crawled up his spine and tightened the muscles of his throat. He had to believe everything happened for reasons he might not be privy to. Every choice led to a new outcome. His father’s decisions eight years ago had contributed to the situation which ultimately led to Jude’s departure from England. Being fully honest with himself, he knew that his choice to return could not have come any sooner than it did. He hadn’t been ready.

Reconciliation with his father would have to come in another way.

“I’m not sure I would’ve come back.” A wily grin accompanied Whitely’s declaration. “From what we used to hear, you’d been living like a traveling sultan with women fighting for your favor wherever you went.”

Jude chuckled as was expected and answered, “An exaggeration, I assure you.” A slow smile spread his lips. “Then again, you probably never even heard the half of it.”

The other men laughed as Jude had intended.

“Oh, don’t hold out, Sinclair,” Whitely insisted with a lecherous grin. “You have to tell us about the orgies in France, or those sisters in Russia. Twins, weren’t they?”

“Right.” Grimm jabbed a fist at Whitely’s shoulder. “Good God, why would you give up such excitement? And why the hell hadn’t we heard anything of your adventures in so long? There was some speculation that you met an unfortunate end.”

“I nearly did,” Jude replied and the corner of his mouth curled ruefully away from his smile.

The last eight years of his life could easily be split in two very different portions. A rebellious fire fueled the early years and had driven Jude into an existence of meaningless hedonism. Nameless women, dangerous escapades along waterfronts and in back alleys and the steady descent into numbing opium addiction.

His friends were not interested in hearing about those times when he emerged from an alcohol and opium induced fog, not knowing where he had been or what woman’s perfume and sweat scented his skin. Or the day when he found himself on a ship bound for India, mistaken for someone else and suffering the pain of his body releasing its fierce dependence on the sweet drugging smoke.

“I assure you, the stories you heard were likely very selective,” he drawled with a suggestive and rakish smile, allowing his companions to assume what they would. The truth of the last few years were only valuable to himself and were not nearly as titillating as what they could conjure with their depraved imaginations.

Whitely shook his head in amazement. “I’m lucky if I can get out to my club once a week, let alone travel the world conquering the hearts and parting the thighs of countless foreign beauties.”

“That’s because you’ve got a chain attached to your hind leg, mate,” Rutherford interjected with the superior attitude of a fox that had not yet been caught and had no intention of getting anywhere near the type of trap that had so effectively snared his friend.

Grimm guffawed. “That’s right, and the other end of the chain is wound tightly around the delicate wrist of your little wife.”

“True,” Whitely admitted readily, clearly accustomed to the ribbing. “But I’ve got to say, mates, I’d rather crawl into bed with my delightful wife than pass out in a pile of hay after drinking all night with you cads. Besides, we all know why Grimm stays away from home as often as he does.”

Rutherford laughed and Grimm’s face turned sullen. Grimm had never been as good as Whitely at taking good-natured criticism.

As the other men went into another round of personal insults, Jude found his attention drawn back across the room. The blue of her dress was a vivid beacon in the myriad chaos of colors, and his gaze found her easily.

She was no longer alone.

A young gentleman stood partially in front of her, as if to block her off from the rest of the room, either as a subtle means of protection or as a show of possession.

Jude guessed it to be the latter.

Their heads were tilted toward each other as they appeared to be discussing something very private and personal, and her slim hand rested against the man’s face in a gesture clearly meant to soothe. These two were very comfortable with each other.

Disappointment pierced Jude’s awareness. The deep attraction he felt for the mysterious woman surprised him. It had been ages since he had felt such an intensity of desire for anything.

The masked woman glanced coyly over her shoulder and met his eyes for just a second. He saw the sexy little smile peeking out from beneath the turquoise and magenta feathers of her mask. Then she turned and walked away from her companion, disappearing into the crowd.