Their Wicked Ways (13 page)

Darcy’s face swam into view. 
The careless grin that curled his lips did not reach his eyes.  Those hazel
orbs were glittering with anger, accusation … need. “Fancy meeting you here,
darlin’,” he drawled.

Chapter Fourteen

Bronte gaped up at Darcy
guiltily, dumb struck.  Before her disordered mind had managed to wrap itself
around the fact that she’d decided that what she did, or with whom, was none of
his affair, they were separated by the group of merrymakers.  Darcy resisted
the pull, his determined smile vanishing as he was swept to the center to take
his turn as blind man.

Bronte took advantage of his
distraction, working her way toward the rear of the crowd.  She spotted Nick
before he spied her and managed to elude him, falling into Lord Fairfax’s
clutches instead.

“I promised you a stroll in
the gardens,” he murmured, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm and leading
her toward the stairs.

As relieved as she was to be
rescued from Nick, whom she had no doubt would give her a thundering scold, she
had no desire to be alone in the gardens with Lord Fairfax.  He did not seem to
be suffering unduly from too much spirits, but he had not behaved quite as
gentlemanly as she’d expected that he would.  “You said the balcony,” she
reminded him.

“It will be cooler in the
gardens, however, and you look a little flushed.”

“I don’t have my wrap and I’m
certain it would be too cool in the gardens,” Bronte retorted, trying
unsuccessfully to pull free.

To her relief, dinner was
announced before he’d managed to whisk her from the room.  “I should eat,” she
said quickly.  “I’m sure that must be why I’m feeling a trifle lightheaded.”

He bowed his head slightly. 
“I will escort you to dinner then … first.”

And then home, Bronte added
mentally.  Either that or she would hail a cab, for she’d decided she had had
quite enough adventure for one night, particularly now that Darcy and Nick had
arrived.

Apparently dinner had been
announced in the salon downstairs first among those who’d chosen to play cards
instead of joining the revelers upstairs, for the room was already crowded when
she arrived with Lord Fairfax.  Fearing Nick or Darcy or both would arrive at
any moment, Bronte was focused far more on the entrance to the salon than on
the task of filling her plate from the buffet.

“You were hungry,” Lord
Fairfax murmured.

Bronte glanced at him in
surprise, discovering to her embarrassment that she’d filled her plate with
enough food to feed two people when, in truth, she was far too nervous to be
hungry at all.  She smiled with an effort.  “I am.”

His eyes narrowed, becoming
almost predatory.  “I find I’m famished myself.”

Bronte would’ve liked to
think he was referring to food, but there was much in his expression to
indicate otherwise, and she felt herself blushing again.  His eyes gleamed.

“I find you quite
irresistible.  You do know that?”

Surprise flickered through
her at his candor.  Before she could decide how to respond, he spoke again. 
“You must tell me sometime why it is that you are always so surprised when you
discover someone finds you attractive.”  He guided her toward a table with two
vacant seats.  “It’s refreshing, to say the least, to find a beautiful woman
who does not seem to have any awareness of that fact.”

Bronte couldn’t help but
chuckle.  “I expect that is because my mirror tells me otherwise,” she said,
taking a seat.

Lord Fairfax settled beside
her.  Leaning close, he murmured.  “Your mirror lies to you.”

Repressing a responsive shiver
as his warm breath caressed the side of her neck and ear, Bronte smiled,
feeling slightly more comfortable with the ‘normalcy’ of his flirtation. 
“Mayhap it is only that I still see so much of the thin, freckled girl with the
frightful shock of red hair that everyone used to tease me about unmercifully,
but I cannot see that the years have improved me beyond passable.  I confess,
though, that I had not thought you as shallow as to be carried away with
nothing but what you perceive as beauty.”

He did not look the least
affronted.  “But I am a shallow fellow for I must confess it was your
appearance that prompted me to demand an introduction.  Imagine my surprise and
delight to discover there was far more to you than luscious curves and a
pleasing countenance.”

A jolt of shock went through
Bronte at his blatantly sexual comment.  He chuckled at her expression.

“It is that touch of wide
eyed innocence that appeals to me most, I think … beyond the intelligence and
the lively sense of humor, which I find almost as delightful as....”  His gaze
strayed from her face to her bosom.  “…the rest of you. The innocence in your
eyes makes it difficult to imagine you ever having warmed any man’s bed, and
yet there is a sensuality about you that makes it equally difficult to believe
that you would be one of those cold fish I am forever hearing my cronies
complain about.

“I would think that it would
take any man, even one as jaded as I, a very long time to grow weary of your
charms.”

The clatter of a plate
penetrated Bronte’s shocked dismay.  She and Lord Fairfax both glanced around
instinctively at the sound.

Smiling grimly, Darcy
sprawled in the chair across from them.  “I’d wondered where you’d gotten off
to, darlin’.”

Bronte studied him uneasily,
wondering if he’d overheard Lord Fairfax.  From the glitter in his eyes she
thought it possible.  On the other hand, he scarcely looked much angrier than
he had earlier.  “Lord Fairfax was kind enough to escort me to dinner,” she
said shakily.

Darcy’s eyes narrowed on Fairfax. 
Whatever he was about to say, however, remained unsaid as Nick wandered up and
settled in the chair beside him.

“What a surprise to see you
here,” Lord Fairfax murmured dryly, eyeing Nick coolly.  “But then, where there
is one, the other is not far behind.  I’d thought you and Olivia were quits,
Cain.”

Nick’s face hardened.  “I
hadn’t thought my affairs of public interest.”

Lord Fairfax shrugged. 
“Olivia was a bit maudlin about it … insisted upon bending my ear.  I assure
you, I had no interest in the tale, but then I’m sure you’re aware that it can
be difficult extricating oneself from such a situation.  You did … ah … comfort
her when St. James’ interest waned, did you not?”

Bronte glanced uneasily from
one man to the other, realizing that, for all that they were behaving with
excruciating politeness, there was a very definite undercurrent of violence in
the air.  In vain, she cast about in her mind for something to say to distract
them from the course they seemed bound upon.

Fate stepped in in a most
unexpected manner.

Two very male hands lifted
her skirt and slid up her legs to her thighs.  Bronte jumped, her eyes widening
as her legs were wrenched apart and the rough scrape of whiskers abraded the
sensitive flesh of her inner thighs as a head was thrust between her legs. 
Letting out a yelp, she surged to her feet, slapping at the bulge beneath her
skirts.

The man, who’d apparently
passed out beneath the table sometime before their arrival, obviously too
inebriated to know where he was much less retain any semblance of coordination,
sprawled at her feet.

Nick, Darcy, and Lord Fairfax
were on their feet in an instant.  Darcy literally leapt the table, tipping it
over and sending dishes, glasses and food in every direction.  Seizing the man,
he lifted him from the floor by his neck, pinning him to the wall and commenced
to pounding at his face with his other fist.  Around them, half the guests
gaped, too stunned to react at all.  Several women screamed.  A number of other
chairs fell over as other men surged to their feet to see what was happening.

Nick and Lord Fairfax each
grasped one of Bronte’s arms almost simultaneously, apparently both having
decided it would be best to remove Bronte quickly from the scene.  Before it
resulted in a tug of war, however, Nick settled the dispute by slamming his
fist into Lord Fairfax’s jaw in an uppercut that was so swift and so powerful
it rocked Lord Fairfax’s head back on his neck.  His eyes rolled up in his
head.  His knees wobbled, and he went down like a felled tree, catching the
edge of yet another table and upending it.

Grasping Bronte’s hand, Nick
dragged her from the room and down the hallway, his stride so rapid Bronte had
to run to keep up.  He said nothing to her as they waited on the steps for his
carriage to be brought around, but his gaze was damning and Bronte withered
under that hard stare.

Still under the influence of
a little too much punch, embarrassed, revolted at the assault, and feeling an
onslaught of fresh guilt for attending a party she knew now was nothing more
than a decadent sexual romp, Bronte found she couldn’t meet his gaze.

Shivering as much from the
coldness of his condemning gaze as from the chill night air, Bronte wrapped her
arms around herself, trying to still the quaking that seemed to delve deeply
inside of her.

Once they were settled inside
his carriage, Nick looked her over.  “Were you introduced to young MacFarland
before he thrust his face between your thighs, or was that your introduction?”

Bronte felt her cheeks
color.  She sent him a resentful glance.

“Why did you go when I
expressly asked you to keep your distance from that woman?”

Bronte sent him a look.  “You
forbade
it!”

His lips tightened.  “Was
that it then?  To show me that you would do as you pleased … even if it is
dangerous?  Foolhardy?  Have you any notion at all of what ‘parlor game’ they
were playing downstairs?”

She didn’t and he had to know
she hadn’t been downstairs at all.

“They were using ether on one
another.  I saw two insensible women carried off upstairs while I was looking
for you.”

Bronte swallowed against the
surge of dismay that swept through her.  She’d heard tales of such things, of
course, but she hadn’t believed they could possibly be true.  She shuddered to
think what might have happened if she’d allowed anyone to talk her into going
downstairs.

Regardless, she resented
feeling as if she owed him any explanation, and still she found herself trying
to excuse her behavior.  “She invited me.  I thought … I thought it was only
that you did not like it because she was your mistress,” she managed to say,
though her chin developed an annoying wobble before she’d managed to finish
speaking.

“I did not like it because
there is very little that she and her set will not attempt and you are no match
for such as them, even though you seem to think yourself very worldly.”

“You would know!” she said
accusingly.

His face hardened.  “I
would.”

Bronte turned her head to
stare out the window, trying to regain control of her wayward emotions.  “I was
… curious,” she said in a small voice.

“About what?”

Bronte swallowed with an
effort.  “To see if I could understand what you and Darcy saw in her.”

He remained silent for so
long that Bronte finally glanced at him.  It was dim within the carriage,
despite the street lamps that lit the interior intermittently, but she could
see that his expression was stony and unreadable.  Finally, he held out his
hand.  “Come here.”

Bronte studied him a moment
in surprise and finally placed her hand in his.  He pulled her across the
space, settling her across his lap.  Without even thinking about it, Bronte
looped her arms around his neck and dropped her head against his shoulder just
as she had when they were children and he’d offered to comfort her.  She found that
it was just as comforting to be held by him now as it had been then.

It was odd that she’d
forgotten the many times he’d held her while she cried, stroking her back
soothingly, murmuring words of sympathy and encouragement.