Ten Things I Love About You (4 page)

Unless …

Now this could be interesting. Maybe his clumsy lady had
already
been deflowered. Maybe she was on her way to meet her lover. The enterprising
gentleman would have had to have done a
very
good job of it the first time if he was getting a repeat engagement. Sebastian had it on the best authority that it was a rare girl who enjoyed her first time.

Then again, his scientific sample might be skewed. All of the women he’d slept with recently had had their first times with their husbands. Who were, almost by definition, bad in bed. Otherwise, why would their wives have sought out Sebastian’s attentions?

At any rate, as delicious as his ponderings might be, it was extremely unlikely that this young lady was on her way to meet a lover. Virginity was just about the only commodity allowed to the young and unmarried of the female persuasion, and they generally did not squander it.

So what was she doing out here? All by herself? He smiled. He loved a good mystery. Almost as much as a good melodrama.

“May I be of assistance?” he asked, since she hadn’t responded to his earlier greeting.

“No,” she said, giving her head a quick shake. “I’m sorry. I’ll be on my way. I really can’t—” She looked over at him then, and swallowed.

Did she know him? She certainly looked as if she recognized him. Or maybe she just saw him for what he was, something of a libertine, no one with whom she ought to find herself alone.

He could not fault her for that reaction.

He did not know
her,
of that he was sure. He rarely forgot a face, and he certainly would not have forgot hers. She was lovely in a wild sort
of way, almost as if she belonged out here on the heath. Her hair was dark and probably quite curly; the few tendrils that had escaped her coiffure formed loose coils that brushed against her neck. She looked as if she were easy to laugh, with an impish mouth—even now, when she was clearly flustered and embarrassed.

Most of all, she looked …
warm.

He found himself curious at this choice of adjectives. He couldn’t recall using it before, not about a complete stranger. But she looked warm, as if her personality was warm, and laugh would be warm, and her friendship, too.

And in bed … she’d be warm there, as well.

Not
that he was considering it. For all her heat, she radiated virginity.

Which meant that she was very much off-limits.

Someone in whom he had no interest. None. He couldn’t even be friends with the virgins, because someone would undoubtedly misunderstand or misconstrue, and then there would be recriminations or worse, expectations, and then he’d find himself off at some hunting lodge in Scotland, just to get away from it all.

Sebastian knew what he ought to do. He always knew what he ought to do. The difficulty—his difficulty, at least—was in the doing it.

He
could
rise to his feet like the gentleman he was, point her in the direction of the house, and send her on her way.

He could, but what would be the fun in that?

W
hen the dead body said, “Good evening,” Annabel had to face the grim conclusion that it wasn’t nearly as dead as she’d hoped.

She was happy for
him,
of course, not being dead and all that, but as for herself, well, his undeadedness was spectacularly inconvenient.

Dear Lord,
she wanted to moan,
the night only needed this.

She declined his offer of assistance, politely though it was made, and somehow managed to stagger to her feet without embarrassing herself any further.

“What brings you out on the heath?” the not-dead fellow asked conversationally, as if they were instead chatting in a churchyard, surrounded by all that was prim and proper.

She stared down at him. He was still reclining on the blanket—a blanket! He had a blanket?

This could not be good.

“Why do you want to know?” she heard herself ask. Which seemed to her to be proof that she’d lost complete sight of her sanity. Clearly she should have stepped around him and run back to the house. Or stepped over him. Or on him. But above all, she should not have engaged in conversation. Even if she ran right across the amorous couple in the garden, that
had
to be less dangerous to her reputation than being caught alone with a strange man on the heath.

If he was planning to attack and ravish, though, he gave no indication of being in a hurry to do so. He just shrugged and said, “I’m curious.”

She looked at him for a moment. He did not look familiar, but it
was
dark. And he was speaking as if they had been introduced. “Do I know you?” she asked.

He smiled mysteriously. “I don’t think so.”

“Should I?”

At that he laughed, then said firmly, “Absolutely not. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a perfectly delightful conversation.”

From this Annabel deduced that he was a rake and well aware of it, certainly not appropriate company for an unmarried lady. She glanced in the direction of the house. She ought to go. She really ought.

“I don’t bite,” he assured her. “Or anything else you’d need to worry over.” He sat up and patted the blanket beside him. “Have a seat.”

“I’ll stand,” she said. Because she hadn’t completely lost her sense. At least she hoped not.

“Are you certain?” He gave her a winning smile. “It’s much more comfortable down here.”

Said the spider to the fly. Annabel only barely managed to avoid letting out a squeak of nervous laughter.

“Are you avoiding someone?” he asked.

She’d been looking back toward the house again, but at this her head whipped around.

“It happens to the best of us,” he said, almost apologetically.

“Are
you
avoiding someone, then?”

“Not precisely,” he allowed, cocking his head in a way that was almost like a shrug. “It’s more that I’m waiting my turn.”

Annabel had
really
wanted to appear impassive, but she felt her eyebrows rise.

He looked at her, his lips curved into the tiniest smile. There was nothing wicked in his expression, and yet she felt it all the same, a shiver of anticipation, a hint of excitement pressing through her.

“I could give you the details,” he murmured, “but I suspect it wouldn’t be proper.”

Nothing that evening had been proper. It could hardly get worse.

“I don’t mean to make assumptions,” he continued smoothly, “but based upon the hue of your gown, I can only deduce that you are unmarried.”

She gave a quick nod.

“Which means that under no circumstances should I be telling you that I was out here with a woman who is not my wife.”

Oh, she
should
be scandalized. She really should. But she couldn’t quite manage it. He was
just so
charming.
He oozed it. He was grinning at her now, like they were sharing a secret joke, and she couldn’t help it—she wanted to be in on the joke. She wanted to be part of his club, his group, his anything. There was something about him—a charisma, a magnetism—and she knew, she just
knew
that if she could travel back in time, and in space, she supposed, to Eton or wherever he’d spent his formative years, he would have been the boy whom everyone wanted to be near.

Some people were just born with it.

“Who are you avoiding?” he wondered. “The most likely candidate would be an overly eager suitor, but that wouldn’t explain your flight all the way out here. It’s just as easy to lose oneself in a crowd, and far less dangerous to one’s reputation.”

“I shouldn’t say,” she murmured.

“No, of course not,” he agreed. “That would be indiscreet. But it will be much more fun if you do.”

She pressed her lips together, trying not to smile.

“Will anyone be missing you?” he asked.

“Eventually.”

He nodded. “The person you’re avoiding?”

Annabel thought of Lord Newbury, and his pricked pride. “I imagine I have a little bit of time before he starts searching.”

“He?” the gentleman said. “The plot thickens.”

“Plot?” she countered with a grimace. “That’s a poor choice of words. It’s not a book anyone would wish to read. Trust me.”

He chuckled at this, then patted the blanket again. “Do sit. It’s offending every one of my
gentlemanly principles that you’re up there while I’m reclining.”

She gave him her best imitation of arch confidence. “Perhaps you should stand.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly do that. It would make it all so formal, don’t you think?”

“Considering that we have not been introduced, formality might be just the thing.”

“Oh no,” he objected. “You have it all backwards.”

“Then I should introduce myself?”

“Don’t do
that,”
he said with the barest hint of drama. “Whatever you do, don’t tell me your name. It’s likely to awaken my conscience, and that’s the last thing we want.”

“You do have a conscience, then?”

“Sadly, yes.”

That was a relief. He wasn’t going to pull her off into the darkness, and he wasn’t going to maul her as Lord Newbury had done. Regardless, she ought to return to the party. Conscience or no, he was not the sort of gentleman with whom a young unmarried lady ought to be alone. Of that she was absolutely certain.

Again, she thought of Lord Newbury, who
was
the sort of man she was supposed to be with.

She sat down beside him.

“Excellent choice,” he applauded.

“It’s just for a moment,” she murmured.

“Of course.”

“It’s not you,” she said, feeling a bit cheeky. But she didn’t want him to think that she was staying because of him.

“It’s not?”

“Over there.” She pointed toward the side garden, flicking her wrist in a little wave. “There’s a man and a woman, er …”

“Enjoying each other’s company?”

“Exactly.”

“And you can’t get back to the party.”

“I’d really rather not interrupt.”

He gave her a commiserating nod. “Awkward.”

“Very much so.”

He frowned thoughtfully. “A man and a man would be more awkward, I think.”

Annabel gasped, although she didn’t really feel the indignation she ought. It was far too intoxicating to be near him, to feel included in his wit.

“Or a woman and a woman. I wouldn’t mind watching
that.”

She turned away, instinctively wanting to hide her blush, then feeling silly because it was so dark, and he probably couldn’t see it, anyway.

Or maybe he could. He seemed like the kind of man who could tell when a female was blushing based on the scent of the wind, or the alignment of the stars.

He was a man who knew women.

“I don’t suppose you got a good look at them?” he asked, then added, “Our amorous friends.”

Annabel shook her head. “I was really more preoccupied with getting away.”

“Of course. Very sensible of you. It’s too bad, though. If I knew who they were, I might have a better idea of how long they would take.”

“Really?”

“Not all men are created equal, you know,” he said modestly.

“I suspect I should not pursue that statement,” she said daringly.

“Not if you truly are sensible.” He smiled at her again, and good heavens, but it took her breath away.

Whoever this man was, he had been visited many times by the gods of dentistry. His teeth were white and even, and his grin was wide and infectious.

It was bloody unfair. Her own bottom teeth were a jumble, as were all of her siblings’. A surgeon had once said he could fix them, but when he’d come after her with a pair of pliers, Annabel had taken off running.

But this man—he had a smile that crept to his eyes, lighting his face, lighting the whole room. Which was a ridiculous statement, because they were outside. And it was dark. Still, Annabel would have sworn that the air around them had begun to shimmer and glow.

Either that or she’d drunk her punch from the wrong bowl. There had been one for young ladies and one for everyone else, and Annabel was quite sure that she … or at least fairly sure. It had been the one on the right. Louisa had said it was the right, hadn’t she?

Well, she had a half-half chance, at the very least.

“Do you know everyone?” she asked, because, really, she
had
to. And he had been the one to introduce the subject.

His brows rose with incomprehension. “I beg your pardon.”

“You asked for a description of the couple,” she explained. “Do you know everyone, or only the ones who behave with impropriety?”

He laughed aloud. “No, I don’t know everyone, but, sadly—even more sadly than the existence of my conscience—I know
almost
everyone.”

Annabel considered some of the people she had met in the last few weeks and gave a wry smile. “I can see where that might be dispiriting.”

“A lady of intelligence and discernment,” he said. “My favorite kind.”

He was
flirting
with her. Annabel fought back against the frisson of delight that seemed to roll across her skin. He really was quite beautiful, this man. His hair was dark, probably somewhere between walnut and chocolate, and it was dashing and unruly in the way that all the young gentlemen spent hours trying to achieve. His face was … Well, Annabel was no artist and never had learned how to describe a face, but his was somehow uneven and perfect at the same time.

“I’m very glad you have a conscience,” she whispered.

He looked over at her and even leaned forward a touch, his eyes alight with amusement. “What did you say?”

She felt herself blush, and this time she
knew
he could see it. What was she supposed to say now?
I’m so glad you have a conscience because if you decided to kiss me, I do believe I’d let you?

He was everything Lord Newbury was not. Young, handsome, witty. A little bit dashing, quite a lot dangerous. He was the sort of gentleman young ladies swore to avoid but secretly dreamed about. And for the next few moments, she had him all to herself.

Just a few more minutes. She would allow herself a few more minutes. That was all.

He must have realized that she was not going to tell him what she’d said, so instead he asked (again, as if this were an ordinary conversation), “Is this your first season?”

“It is.”

“And are you enjoying yourself?”

“That would depend upon when you asked me that question.”

He smiled wryly. “An indisputable truth, I am sure. Are you enjoying yourself right now?”

Annabel’s heart flipped in her chest. “Very much so,” she said, unable to believe how even her voice sounded. She must be getting better at the playacting that passed for conversation in town.

“I am so pleased to hear it.” He leaned toward her ever so slightly, his head dipping to the side in a gesture that was almost self-deprecating. “I do pride myself on being an excellent host.”

Annabel glanced down at the blanket, then looked back up at him with dubious eyes.

He gazed at her warmly. “One must be a good host, no matter how humble the domicile.”

“Surely you are not trying to tell me that you make your home on Hampstead Heath.”

“Gad no. I’m much too fond of my creature
comforts for that. But it would be amusing, don’t you think, for a day or two?”

“Somehow I suspect that the novelty of it all would fade with the morning light.”

“No,” he mused. His eyes took on a faraway expression, and he said, “Perhaps a bit after that, but not by the morning light.”

She wanted to ask him what he meant, but she didn’t know quite how to do it. He looked so lost in his own thoughts it almost seemed rude to interrupt. And so she waited, watching him with a curious expression, knowing that if he turned to her, he would see the question in her eyes.

He never did turn to her, but after a minute or so, he said, “It’s different in the morning. The light is flatter. Redder. It catches the mist in the air, almost as if it creeps up from underneath. Everything is new,” he said softly. “Everything.”

Annabel’s breath caught. He sounded so wistful. It made her want to remain right where she was, on the blanket beside him, until the sun started to rise on the eastern horizon. He made her want to see the heath in morning light. He made her want to see
him
in the morning light.

“I should like to take a bath in it,” he murmured. “The morning light, and nothing else.”

It should have been shocking, but Annabel sensed that he wasn’t talking to her. Throughout the conversation he’d prodded and teased, testing how far he could go before she turned prude and ran away. But this … It was perhaps the most suggestive thing he’d said, and yet she knew …

It hadn’t been for her.

“I think you’re a poet,” she said, and she was smiling, because for some reason, this brought her great joy.

He let out a short snort of laughter. “That would be lovely, were it true.” He turned back in her direction, and she knew that the moment was gone. Whatever hidden part of himself he’d dipped into, he’d put it back, boxed it up tight, and once again he was the devil-may-care charmer, the man all the girls wanted to be with.