Tempting Bella (Entangled Scandalous) (4 page)

“I didn’t used to think so, but it certainly has its advantages at the moment.” She’d been able to slip into town, mostly unnoticed, and Orford had taken to vaguely introducing her as his cousin, which she was, albeit a few times removed. Except for Lady Florinda, her old finishing-school friend who she planned to meet for a quiet luncheon, almost no one in town would recognize her. Except for her father, of course, and a few of his cronies, who she planned to steer clear of.

“I demand satisfaction.” Orford’s voice broke into her thoughts. Reclaiming his mace, he inclined his head toward Bella. “My dear?”

She shook her head, irate with herself for allowing talk of
him
to cause the twinge in her throat. “I am bored with billiards. Let Monty play with you.”

Monty turned at the sound of his name from where he stood behind Tabby assessing her painting. He walked over and picked up a stick. “Very well. Your play first, Orford.”

Folding her legs beneath her, she waited for the pain in her chest to recede back to an ever-present dull ache. Chin in hand, she watched her friends. They had traveled together these last two years, this group of misfits who, for the most part, had no one else in the world who cared for them.

Bella’s gaze flitted out the window, her mind returning to the masculine specimen from the opera who plagued her thoughts. With his inky curls and wide, impervious jaw, he wasn’t terribly handsome like Orford, who possessed refined features and a lean elegance. The man had a dark complexion and was of average height, with a powerful physique and serious countenance. He’d been smartly attired in fine-cut clothing, the dark formal wear and snowy cravat providing a sumptuous contrast with his smooth caramel skin. But what drew her most were his eyes. Slightly hooded and fringed with dark velvet lashes, they were the purest green she’d ever seen—bright pools that shone against his bronze skin, radiating both strength and kindness. And when he’d focused that keen gaze on her, it was as if the sand had shifted beneath her feet, leaving her completely at the mercy of an approaching swell that promised danger, but also something sublime.

“My lady, you have a message.”

Lost in her thoughts, she’d not heard Hastings, the butler, approach. She looked up to find him standing before her bearing a silver tray. Taking the note, she scrutinized the firm, sweeping curves that formed her name. Not recognizing the seal, she unfolded the foolscap and scanned its contents. When their meaning became clear, the words began to whirl on the page.

“What is it,
m’petite
?” Josette sat up on the chaise, her eyes alert. “You have lost all color in your face.”

Orford and Monty paused from their game to look at her. Even Tabby stopped painting, her round, dark eyes fixed on Bella. Forcing a weak laugh, she waved the missive in the air. “It is from Sebastian. He has summoned me home. It seems my husband has found a use for me after all.”

…

Sebastian reluctantly made an appearance at Lady Claymont’s musicale a few days later. The occasion marked the inauguration of the society matron’s newly renovated ballroom at her Curzon Street mansion, but he’d come for his brother, Will.

Lucius Penrose’s distinguishing mop of fiery-red hair made him easy to spot, his coppery eyebrows rising in surprise when he caught sight of Sebastian. “This is hardly the kind of rout that entices you, Stan.”

Skimming the crowd, Sebastian nodded every so often when he caught the eye of an acquaintance. “My brother just completed a commission for Lord Claymont. It’s to be unveiled this evening.”

“I suppose it is of Lord Claymont’s favorite mount. Is the great artist in residence this evening?”

“He’d better be, as Will is the primary reason for my attendance.”

“And I thought you came for Amelia Claymont’s superior singing skills,” Pen said with a wicked gleam in his eye. Claymont’s plain eldest daughter was not known for her superior musical talents. Just then, a curvaceous widow with an impressive décolletage glided by, distracting Pen with her generous, sashaying hips.

Sebastian followed his friend’s gaze. “Wander away at your leisure, Pen. I’ll endeavor to run Will to ground.”

“Good of you to be so gracious, old man. After all, we cannot all be saints,” he said, disappearing into the throng. Sebastian moved about the public room searching of his younger brother, but Will was nowhere to be found. Giving up, Sebastian resolved to get a quick look at the painting and then be on his way.

Lady Claymont came bustling over once she spotted him. “Your brother sent a note saying he’s been unavoidably detained. However, he did promise to make an appearance after dinner in time to hear Amelia sing.”

Sebastian bowed with utmost courtesy. “I do look forward to it, Lady Claymont. What a treat, indeed.”

The lady beamed. “In the meantime, should you like to see the painting, you will find it in my husband’s study.”

He made his way there and, upon finding the study empty, entered to examine the massive painting. Will had outdone himself. Standing at least eleven feet high, the composition magnificently captured the prancing thoroughbred’s sense of movement and grace. Everything about the animal seemed to be in motion, from its wind-tousled mane to its swaying tail.

“The animal shows more personality than most people,” said a woman’s voice from behind him. “He would probably be better company, too.”

He turned toward the source of the clear, confident voice and froze. The woman from the opera.

The lovely creature’s eyes widened in recognition. “Oh, so it is you again,” she said pertly, her sun-burnished brown eyes assessing him with amused interest.

His heart picked up speed. She looked as entrancing as the first time he’d seen her, perhaps even more so. This evening, she wore a gown of purple silk with golden embroidery along the generously cut neckline. He forced himself not to stare at the soft swell of her pale breasts. “So it is.”

Seeming amused by his formality, she favored him with an arresting smile before gazing up at the portrait. “The artist is very clever.”

“He is undoubtedly talented.” He had to force his eyes away from her to concentrate on the painting, but couldn’t resist casting a sidelong glance at that incomparable face. “But clever? How so?”

She tilted her head, assessing Will’s work. “He was commissioned to paint Lord Claymont’s mount. This could have been an indulgent, pedantic piece. Instead, it is a remarkable piece of work with such adroit composition and attention to detail.” She turned to him with a dazzling smile that spoke of her satisfaction. “His vision is uncompromising. He made it his own and in doing so demonstrates an incredible mastery of his craft.”

“A woman gifted with uncommon beauty and a keen mind. Are you a student of art?”

She laughed again, her golden-brown eyes sparkling. “Hardly. I appreciate beautiful things.” Her eyes returned to the painting. “And am fortunate enough to be able to indulge myself on occasion.”

“You’re a collector.”

She kept her gaze on the painting. “I have not collected any of Will Stanhope’s works as of yet, but he truly is a forward thinking artist.”

Will
? Sebastian thought his brother’s nickname rolled too easily off the woman’s pillowed lips. “Have you made the artist’s acquaintance?”

She perked a perfectly arched brow and seemed to consider the question. “I suppose you could say that. In a manner of speaking.”

His brother knew this woman? His gut twisted a little. Just how well acquainted were they? She was obviously enamored of Will’s work. Sebastian had witnessed firsthand the number of women who threw themselves at artistic types like his brother.

“There you are, Stan—” Pen popped his head into the study, stopping abruptly after catching sight of the woman. He cast an inquiring appreciative look in her direction. “Oh, do excuse my interruption. Dinner is being served,” he announced without taking his frankly admiring eyes off the woman. “Adelaide says you promised to escort her to dinner.”

The last thing Sebastian wanted to do was leave. What he really desired was to slam the study door in Pen’s face, hopefully blackening at least one of those impudent eyes. Instead, he merely bowed in her direction. After all, he already had a wife and couldn’t even offer to escort this woman to dinner since they’d not been formally introduced. Longing to thrash Will for being late, he resolved to waylay his brother as soon as he arrived to ensure the proper introductions were made.

“Pray do go on. I will make my way in a few minutes. My escort is to meet me here.”

Her escort? Sebastian noticed she did not refer to her husband. The ignorant oaf apparently allowed this remarkable woman to flit about the metropolis escorted by other men.

Later, after supper, when Will still had not made an appearance, Sebastian decided to depart. Taking leave of his hostess, he turned into an empty hallway off the main public rooms.

“Why, Sebastian Stanhope,” chirped a breathy female voice, “you are not trying to sneak away, are you?”

Masking his annoyance, he turned and executed a cordial bow before Jacintha Belfield’s modest, but overexposed, bosom. “Lady Hawke,” he uttered with cool civility. “How exceptional you look this evening.”

The stunning blonde flicked her fan open in a practiced flirtation. “Exceptional enough to tempt a saint?”

“I trust Lord Hawke is well?”

“Well enough.” Irritation sparked in her pale blue eyes at the mention of her current husband, an aging marquess forty years her senior. “But his lordship is most unsatisfactory in some areas, as you are aware.”

He ignored the insinuation, and its unspoken invitation. “Do give him my regards.”

She drew closer on a husky laugh. “You would do better to give them to me.”

The once-familiar scent of her perfume reached him, recalling lust-soaked hours of mindless pleasure and startlingly inventive bed play. “As always, it is kind of you to offer, Jacintha, but I must decline.”

Coming even nearer, she brushed her hand between his legs. To Sebastian’s disgust, his body responded even as he stepped away. “I am married, Jacintha.”

“As am I.”

“All the more reason for restraint.”

“One is hardly married if his wife stays abroad for years and never warms his bed.” Her fingertips teased along his forearm. “She’s a fool, that wife of yours, to leave you unattended. It wasn’t so long ago that you allowed me to satisfy your needs.”

“Our circumstances were different then. You were between marriages and I had yet to take a wife.”

“You are a most entertaining lover,” she said with a languid blink. “I will always welcome your attentions.”

His body’s natural inclinations hummed in response. Blood rushed to his nether regions, eager for a lusty bout of tupping, even as the thinking part of him dashed all hope of it. “You honor me.” Forcing a stiff bow, he turned to go. “I regret I must depart.”

“As I recall, you were well pleased by my skills.” Her silky voice followed him down the hall as he rounded a corner. “A vigorous man like you cannot go without forever.”

He quickened his pace, eager to be away from her.

“Are you running away?”

“What?” He caught sight of her—the mystery woman—in an alcove off the large hallway. He pulled aside the curtain that hid most of the cozy space. “Are you hiding?”

Her wicked smile singed his already sensitive loins. “Yes, I most assuredly am.”

“Why?” he asked with sincere curiosity. “Are you in need of rescue?”

“But I asked you first. Why are you running from Lady Hawke?” She tilted her adorable chin downward as she assessed him. “I met her earlier this evening. I understand her charms are most sought after.”

He savored the sight of her, allowing her vivacious energy to drift over him. “Not by me.”

“A discriminating man. How refreshing.” Her eyes sparkled. “Most will do anything for a beautiful woman.”

She should know. He guessed most men would be willing to do anything for her. And she seemed well aware of her own staggering appeal. What a dangerous combination.

“Darling?” Jacintha’s voice drifted from around the corner.

Without thinking, he stepped into the alcove and pulled the curtain closed behind him, casting her a sheepish look as they listened to Jacintha wander past the alcove. Once the danger had passed, the woman laughed. Not a practiced, quiet laugh of a lady, but a throaty, unabashed sound. He frowned momentarily and then saw himself through her eyes. The absurdity of a grown man hiding from a woman prompted him to smile. They both enjoyed the private joke for a moment.

Her delicate scent—this time of lavender instead of jasmine—reached him. Longing surged. He wanted her. Not just to bed her, but to talk and laugh with her, to know her thoughts and to feel her warmth as she slept next to him. Seeming to sense the change in him, the laughter left her eyes. The obvious magnetism between them surged, swelling the air. “Neither of us should be here.” Her words were almost a whisper.

He took her hand, reveling in its petal-like softness, admiring the delicate lines and tapered fingers. He pressed a light kiss near the base of her thumb, his lips lingering a beat longer than they should, before letting her slip away. “You have the right of it, of course. Dishonor is not an option. For either of us.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath at his tacit acknowledgment of the sensual lure between them. They quieted for a moment—gazes meshed—listening to the buzz of conversation from the nearby public rooms and the occasional spates of laughter, muted by distance. A languorous heat stretched between them. The color in her face grew more radiant. Her luxuriant lips parted slightly, her breathing became more apparent. Every part of his body pulsed.