The Scoundrel's Secret Siren (17 page)

“I find it very tiresome, no matter how pretty it is. You always produce it from your coat when you are being particularly odious.”

He smiled at her, one of those rare smiles of genuine amusement. “I am very certain that I do not know what you mean. I cannot help it if you are so unworldly that you find my social manner to be odious. Snuffboxes are quite the rage.”

“Unworldly? Hah! Perhaps, but I don’t think that that bothers you in the least, Lord Winbourne. In fact, quite the contrary – else you would be much kinder to your dandy friends. No, I do not think you dislike my manner, unworldly though it may be.”

“Dislike it?” he asked, and suddenly his gaze was piercing, and his voice curiously soft. “No, I do not think that I dislike it in the least.”

Their gazes met for half a moment, and Lorelei suddenly wanted to sit next to him, touch his arm, and savour this strange and rare closeness. But she was also inexplicably afraid, which was unlike her and which she did not like. She wondered if he meant to get up and kiss her. For a moment she thought he might, but he seemed afraid of it too, or perhaps of what such a thing would mean for them.

She spoke to break the spell and to save them both, though she hated herself for it. “Well, then I think it very fortunate, my lord Winbourne, that I do not care for your opinion. It means that, should I choose it, I may have all the Society parties I like without fear of disappointing you with how jaded and worldly I have become.”

He looked at her a moment longer and then laughed again. “Parties? Will you be a hostess then, my dear Miss Lindon?”

“Just so! I shall have pianists and writers and the most fashionable people in town. My London house will be a veritable hub of Society. It is only a shame that Mr Brummell is no longer in England, for he would have made a famous guest!”

“Would you have even the disgraced Mr Brummell? After he called the Prince fat? He is still completely out of favour.”

“But, yes, of course. The Prince
is
fat,” said Lorelei matter-of-factly. “Mr Brummell was only in trouble for pointing that out.”

She did a bold thing then, and took a seat on the bench opposite Winbourne. He made no comment, expression unreadable. They spoke some more, and then she attended to her journal and he to his paper. Occasionally, she would look up and their gazes would brush together in a tender understanding, which would be gone as quickly as it had appeared.

Lorelei found it a trial to write in her journal, when the object of so many of her thoughts and woes sat directly before her, looking handsome in his brown day coat, and somehow extremely young. She had never seen him so relaxed before, perhaps because they had always met in company or in some mad, extraordinary circumstance.

It was a sobering and wonderful thought that, if his current behaviour was anything to go by, he did not consider her company akin to that of others, whom he found irritating. That made her wonder what he did think of her, and
that
thought was much too sad to contemplate, so she wrote about her breakfast instead, as if the strawberry jam and honey cakes were a thing worth preserving for posterity.

Lorelei did not ask about his shoulder, which her perceptive eyes noticed he still favoured somewhat, and he made no mention of it either. The warm breeze ruffled their hair and the strange truce hung between them undisturbed until Eloise came across the quiet pair while looking for her husband out in the gardens.

“Rose gardens, you know, are quite the traditional haunt of courting lovers, my dears,” their hostess teased. She was delighted at her find: Lorelei and Winbourne looked far too blasé and innocent. Lady Gilmont smiled knowingly. It was most intriguing, indeed.

Lorelei could only hope that the teasing meant that Eloise did not think that there was anything untoward between them. Lady Gilmont did not ask any questions, however, for which Lorelei was very grateful. It would be impossible to admit or explain matters to anyone else, when she herself did not quite know what was between herself and the earl – or what it might yet become.

Without a shadow of a doubt, it was the waltz, Lorelei would later decide, that was her utter ruination. She really had not an ounce of hope past that point.

She knew the steps, because she and Constance had invested an entire three months into badgering their dancing master before he would teach it them, his disapproval obvious in every word. She suspected he had also been a little frightened of the stern frown which Miss Fallon wielded with such finesse.

The waltz was no longer a shocking dance apart from in the eyes of certain disapproving dowagers, and though the sense of the forbidden that had been attached to it had made Constance and Lorelei giggle as they danced it with each other in Lorelei’s room, she had not truly understood why it should have such a reputation. Until now.

It was their last night at Gilmont and Eloise ended the enjoyable two weeks in fine spirits, with a ball. She had invited both the local gentry and some notables from London to her party. It said a lot for the lady’s charm and social standing that she was able to secure such a comfortable gathering with only a few weeks’ notice.

Lady Gilmont had been adamant that they have the waltz, which was how Lorelei found herself obliged to dance it with Lord Winbourne. After only a few seconds in his arms, she found that she suddenly understood everything about the breathless, sinful splendour of that dance.

It had all begun quite i
nnocuously. The
Lady Mary Ramsay
reel was being danced in the next room, the music pleasantly rising and falling. Winbourne had come over to join Lorelei, Julia and Lady Gilmont where they had stood quietly discussing the party.

“I must congratulate you, Eloise,” he’d said with only a slight hint of mockery. "It is certainly a very fine turnout. I have already glimpsed three patronesses among the other London guests.”

“You are all kindness, my dear Alastair.” His hostess had easily ignored the irony in his voice. “It is only a shame that Honoria could not attend.”

“Yes, I am distraught.” More ironic insincerity. Lorelei had tried not to look at him too closely.

“And we are to have the waltz next,” Lady Gilmont had said merrily, visibly enjoying herself.

“Mama would certainly disapprove of that!” Julia’s voice had been coloured with guilt and a surprising dash of mischief.

“Surely not, my dear! After all, it was introduced by the Countess Lieven herself. Who, I may add, is in attendance.”

“If it was approved at Almack’s, then it must be acceptable!” Winbourne had said gravely, his eyes alight with humour.

“You know what a stickler Honoria always is, begging your pardon, my dear Julia. I can hear her voice now, down the years from my own Season: 
It can be approved anywhere you like, my girl, but it is still a dance the familiarity of which breaks all bounds of good breeding. It is riotous and indecent!
” Lady Gilmont had exceptional talent for mimicry and her flawless impression of her sister did not fail to amuse.

“Well, then we had better prove that there is nothing untoward in it, hadn’t we? Come, Miss Lindon.”

Lorelei had been astonished, and so it seemed, had Julia who’d shot her friend an enquiring look. So shocked had Lorelei been by this petition for a dance that, before she’d known it, she was already on the dance floor with no notion of how she’d come to be there.

That was how she’d found herself in his arms in the middle of a public gathering. And the feeling of his arms around her, the nearness of him, would stay with her forever.

Suddenly, as his arm intimately encircled her waist and his body moved gracefully so near her own that, Lorelei had a very good idea of exactly why the waltz had been considered so dangerous.

She felt her blood pulse and the heat of his touch branded her skin through her shift and gown. It was most outrageous! The man even had the nerve to keep up a stream of polite conversation, in which she found it almost impossible to participate. And he knew just what he was doing because even as he spoke, he had the nerve to give her an indolent little smile.

It was as if her mind had somehow slipped out of control, wandering forbidden reaches Lorelei hadn’t even been aware she possessed. She wondered how he knew that he had managed to put her in a state – was her passion so clearly written upon her face for all to see?

The young woman had an irritating suspicion that he was playing another of his games at her expense. It made her stubbornly persist in the fruitless struggle to regain her reason – but it was so very tempting to let go. She was intoxicated by his potent masculinity.

Lorelei was quite correct in her supposition: Winbourne was well aware of the exact effect of his nearness on the young woman in his arms. It would have been impossible to miss, for her breath was unsteady and her delicate flush made her eyes brighter than ever. Her elegant bosom fluttered unsteadily, half-revealed, half-hinted at beneath the cut of her ball gown.

Winbourne’s eyes appreciatively took in the sight for a few moments before he forced himself to look back up, because the temptation to taste her skin was almost too much for his self-control. Her eyes were locked on his face and she seemed delightfully speech
less.

He had to resist the urge to draw her soft form nearer to his own, propriety and watching eyes be damned. And there were many curious eyes watching them, he knew. Yet as far as he was concerned, they barely existed. Lorelei was so little and fragile compared to him. Her delicate shoulders and pale throat made her appear entirely too vulnerable.

The earl was entirely at sixes and sevens to explain this strange compulsion to hold Miss Lindon within the safety of his arms. He had never felt so out of control of his desires and emotions before. Not even during his engagement had he felt so very inexplicably protective of a lady. Yet he felt drawn to this one, with a force he could neither explain nor resist.

His sentiments, whatever they may be, had long since outgrown his initial lust and curiosity, which had fed his need to possess her. She had captured him from that first moment he had met her on the road: the unexpected apparition with a laugh that pierced the grim darkness of his heart…

Then there were her teasing little glances and her lack of any interest whatsoever in his damned fortune. He knew that he ought to have let her go, withdrawn his attentions and let her find a more suitable man among the
bon ton
. Deuce knew, there were many men more imminently suited for her than he. Yet, he could not bring himself to let her go: instead, he was constantly fighting the urge to draw closer to her, to hold her, and to taste her honeyed kisses once more.

Winbourne had always been a man of sound reason, but somehow this need to possess her had become a driving force within him. Watching Lorelei give him an unguarded smile, her large eyes locked on his for a moment before she dropped her gaze, caused a stir of something in his heart – something he was determined to ignore!

Winbourne still could not read her, and it suddenly occurred to him that had he a lifetime in which to learn, he would never learn the whole of her – she would remain ever a fascinating mystery just out of his reach. The truly alarming tangent of this realisation was that he found the prospect surprisingly pleasing.

Lorelei felt his hand tighten on her waist as he spun them past the other couples and her eyes flew to his, which were filled with a sheer breathless desire.  She had been fighting her own inexplicable urge to move her hand along his fine broad shoulder a
nd bury it in his golden hair. She felt as though it would be only natural to rest her head upon his chest and inhale his masculine scent. Lorelei was quite scandalised at her own brazenness.

She did not understand where such improper thoughts had come from – for that kind of liberty was unthinkable. The very scandal of it! She tried to remind herself that her father would have been shocked, and terribly hurt, if his elder daughter were to make a spectacle of herself in front of such august company. She would be snubbed for being fast and forever taint the Lindon name, ruining Constance’s chances of making a good marriage, or even being u
ngrudgingly received in polite Society.

Lorelei was surprised to find the same warring confusion and desire flickering in the earl’s eyes. She forcefully reminded herself to breathe before she ended up adding further to the whole absurd situation by swooning clean away into his arms.

The thought of having to be carried to a settee encircled by his confident strength was very far from unappealing: she forced herself not to think of any further delights which might be had in the enigmatic earl’s embrace. She wondered if he was as skilled a lover as he was a dancer, for his movements were effortless and expert, so that she was left to feel as if she were floating.

Convinced that they were already making a spectacle of themselves, even though in truth no one was paying them any heed, Lorelei desperately tried to break the moment.

“Have you observed how well Julia dances tonight?  I daresay she has quite come out of her shell,” she remarked, doing her best to sound lively and unconcerned. Casual, even: as though dancing with a distant acquaintance.

He chuckled, making her senses tingle. “You are very eager to ruin the moment, Miss Lindon. I am sure my niece dances very elegantly: she has certainly had enough tutors to justify such an accomplishment, but you’ll permit me to say that I don’t give a fig for her dancing just right now. And do not think that I have missed that martial gleam in your eye – it is evident you mean to pick a quarrel, but I shall not let you. We do, after all, still have the second waltz of the set to dance.”

She gave him a dark look for foiling her attempt at nonchalance. It was the temptation that was the worst part, Lorelei reflected wistfully. This kind of temptation never ended well: well-brought up sensible young ladies did not crave the touch of notorious scoundrels. But she did crave
his
touch! She was most acutely aware of it when he was near, watching her with his enigmatic eyes and a knowing curl about his sensual lips.

In the last few days, she’d found herself quite unable to sleep for thinking of him. The feel of his skin on hers was like a most sensual kind of brand, and she could not seem to have her fill of it, for every encounter with the dangerous man only made her crave the next even more. Surely, this was not natural in ladies of quality!

She was behaving like some bit of muslin, and this always made her deeply ashamed of herself. She was certain such cravings made her the worst kind of jade, and she was grateful no one else could read her mind. Except Winbourne – sometimes she got the nasty sneaking suspicion that he knew
just
what she had been thinking. This made her feel that she would go up in flames out of sheer embarrassment, and try to cover her fluster by saying something entirely inane.

*

When they were inevitably separated by the polite need to socialise, Lorelei found her eyes straying not infrequently to the man who was the sole source of all her troubles. Noticing her friend’s unease, Julia did her best to quietly share all the most interesting tidbits about her aunt’s friends.

“Oh, you simply must come and meet Winny. The Baron Winapple, I mean. He is the dearest creature,” Julia said with an affectionate smile. “We have been acquainted since we were children, you know. His mama is a very sociable lady and moves in the same circles as mine. Why, he bears almost as much fuss as I about attending all fashionable events, though I have always thought that he does not mind it. ”

The Baron Winapple was easily the most noticeable guest in the room, due to his remarkable height. He was a blond man who towered over everybody.

“He often gets asked his height,” Julia said quietly with a shake of her head. “I understand he’s taken to giving very cutting set-downs to those who do. Mr Brummel himself would have been impressed. And he never dances – he is even more cutting to matrons who try to foist their daughters on him or force him to dance. No master of ceremonies has ever intimidated him into accepting that unhappy duty. I expect he will not dance even with his own wife, when he marries.”

It was difficult to imagine anyone forcing the baron to do something he did not want. He seemed entirely ensconced within his chair, as though he had every intention of remaining there all night. He did, however tap his feet and drum his fingers along with the music, which implied either a musical ear or a restless spirit. The somnolent look on his face implied the former – the baron did not look the least bit restless.

Julia shepherded Lorelei over to the Baron.

Before an introduction could be made, however, Mr Hunter came and requested Julia take a turn about the room with him, and Lorelei caught sight of the earl again. The earl of Winbourne ruled over the
ton
with a steely fist, though he barely seemed to do anything at all. A raised eyebrow from him could be the making or the undoing of anyone, from the freshest debutante to a staunch leader of
ton
.

Lorelei had seen many wilt beneath that supercilious expression and she was determined that he realise that she herself did not give a fig
 for the man’s judgement. She did not like it when people presumed to think themselves able to sway her reputation. Perhaps that had been her first mistake – her easy carelessness amused him, and it had managed do the impossible and hold the attention it had captured.