To Challenge the Earl of Cravenswood (Wicked Wagers 3) (21 page)

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      “May I have the pleasure of this dance, Miss Goodly? That is, if your dance card is not already full.”

      His deep, rich, voice,-—rough with a bite, yet thoroughly intoxicating-–made her giddier than the cheap champagne she was drinking. She swung towards the tower of masculinity encapsulating her in his shadow, sending the bubbles splashing over the side of her glass.

The Lord of Wicked wished to dance with her. With her!

It was hard to remain composed with champagne dripping from her gloved fingers. “I don’t believe we have been formally introduced, my lord.” She tried to shake the drops off her gloves before she had to give him her hand.

Anthony’s wolfish smile made her grip the glass harder. “My brother, mother and I, are Lady Sudbury’s houseguests, as you well know. You were here when we arrived this afternoon. She’s kindly taken us in while my house is uninhabitable.” He raised a dark eyebrow. “You have heard about the fire?” 

All she could do was nod. Her tongue felt like dried bread.

“I saw you peering down over the banister when we arrived. No one but ourselves will know we have not been properly introduced.” His wicked smile widened. “It shall be our little secret.”

Melissa’s face heated as she stared at the large hand he held out to her. She gripped the champagne glass, looking around for somewhere to put her drink. She wouldn’t miss this dance for the world.

“Shall I take that for you?” Without waiting for a reply he pried the glass from her hand and beckoned a servant. Glass dispensed with, he turned his full attention on her. “Shall we?” and he offered his arm. 

The crowd of guests turned to vapor. All Melissa could see, feel, hear and sense was him.

She was blind to the glittering candles and immune to the music filling the ballroom. She simply let him guide her, his arms holding her gently in the waltz. His scent filled her being – sandalwood, whiskey and masculinity. Masculinity. He oozed it from every pore.

They twirled around the floor, unrespectable in their closeness. Melissa didn’t care. His lean hardness thrilled her.  The cut of his evening coat accentuated his broad shoulders. His breeches fitted like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Melissa had a wonderful imagination. 

His hulking frame and dark, brooding looks together with his rakish reputation, made most of the young ladies terrified of him... But up close, his arresting features held her spellbound. 

His black hair fell in thick waves almost to his shoulders, his fringe hanging low on his forehead, like a silk curtain shielding his eyes. In the candlelight, his eyes flickered from silver-gray to dark charcoal, so appropriate for such a renowned devil.

She couldn’t pull her gaze away. His eyes were disconcertingly direct and totally hypnotizing. The decidedly aristocratic nose, firm mouth and chin, declared that here was a man used to dominating his world, while the scar that marred the left side of his face contributed to the air of danger surrounding him.

The affect was like a mild stomachache, enough to make her tummy churn, but not enough to make her faint.

She wracked her brain for something intelligent to say but his nearness made her brain turn to mush. “Was your house badly damaged?” 

“Um… what was that?”

His attention seemed to be on another couple dancing across the floor. Melissa turned her head. Cassandra. Cassandra and Lord Spencer. Disappointment flooded her being. That’s why he’d asked her to dance. So he could keep an eye on Cassandra.

Everyone knew Lord Wickham was pursuing Cassandra to be his next mistress.

Irritation sharpened her words. “The fire, my lord. Was there a lot of damage?”

His eyes flashed with amusement at her tone. “Luckily only smoke damage. We should be able to move back to Craven house in a few days time, once the house has been properly aired.”

This time he kept his dark gaze on her, the attention making her heart pound. His eyes roamed her features and slid down over her breasts, where they lingered indecently. She felt the flush heating her cheeks. His lips curled in a rakish smile of recognition.

“Will you and your brother be staying with Lady Sudbury long? She is your cousin is she not?”

She tried to concentrate on his words, but he’d pulled her tight into his embrace in order to avoid another couple. She felt warm and delicate against him, her head barely reaching his chest.
Answer him you fool
. “I am unsure of how long we will be here. Cassandra is sponsoring me for the Season.”

“You wish to marry?”

She bit her bottom lip and lowered her gaze from his, too scared in case he saw the truth. “If I found the right man, then of course I want to marry. A home and children, isn’t that something everyone wants?”

He stiffened at her words and remained silent. She raised her eyes to his. They appeared even more shielded.

“I assume your brother has someone picked out for you?”

It was her turn to stiffen in his arms. “I do my own choosing, my lord.”

He smiled wryly. “Is that so?”

“I’m sure you’d not let anyone else make the most important decision of your life, why should I?”

He inclined his head, somewhat amused at her words. “I don’t envy your brother.”

How did she tell a peer of the realm, a man who’d likely marry for land, titles, or money that she would not marry except for love? 

All her life she’d been treated as an afterthought. She was a very late child, eight years younger than Christopher. Her parents, both dead, never really wanted her. They had their son and heir and that was all that mattered. Of course, their opinion changed when they needed looking after. Until their deaths, she’d dutifully seen to their every need. That was why, at her ripe age of one and twenty, this was her first Season and her first visit to London.

Upon her parents' deaths, she’d vowed she would never again let herself be someone’s obligation, a burden to bear, a person of no interest. She would never marry, not unless the man needed her, wanted her, and loved her.

With the dance finished, he escorted her back to the place he’d found her, ensuing another glass of champagne found its way back into her hand, and with a bow excused himself. His eyes already riveted back on Cassandra.

Melissa took a long sip from her glass.  

If she were alone, she would close her eyes and twirl, pretend he still held her in his arm. She'd dreamed of him asking her to dance again, and more—a nightly fantasy she dare not fool herself into believing would come true.

      Lord Wickham was not called the Lord of Wicked for nothing. As much as she mooned over him, she could never let herself fall in love with such a man, a rake of the first order. When she gave her heart, it would be to a man who wanted her beyond measure, a man who loved with all his heart and soul. A man who would cherish her forever.      

Melissa stood on the edge of the ballroom, drinking more champagne. The alcohol kept her senses heightened and gave her courage. Was she brave enough to engage him in further conversation? 

Melissa watched him from across the room. He did look a little frightening. Yet, his crisp white shirt and immaculately tied cravat lessened the severity of his attire; to the point that Melissa decided he was, quite simply, the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

Her body still trembled as if she’d just returned from an afternoon fox hunt. Her heart raced with excitement and her legs wobbled like custard. Lord Wickham was a heady mixture, especially coupled with the multiple glasses of champagne she’d drunk… 

A movement to her left captured her attention. Christopher. She turned, stumbled a bit but managed to catch her balance. How many glasses of champagne had she drunk? Four – five? Focusing on every step, she aimed for the Library-–away from her fast approaching brother.

Lord Christopher Goodly, Baron Norrington, reached her just as her hand clasped the latch.
More like ‘barren’. You’ve spent and lost everything we own
, she murmured under her breath.

“You will not run from me.” His brandy fumes assaulted her nose.

Perfect. He was drunk as usual. A small giggle escaped. For once, she too was a little worse for drink. However, she needed the alcohol for courage, not to escape the mess she’d made of her life, as was her brother’s crime.

“I was not running. I need some air.”

“In the library?” His hand clamped down on her shoulder and swung her to face him. “I don’t think so. Lord Wickham danced with you – danced the waltz with you. You are the only unmarried woman at the ball tonight to receive such an honor.”

She kept quiet. It would do her no good to explain that the only reason the Earl danced with her was so he could keep an eye on Cassandra. A stab of envy hit her squarely below her left breast.

She removed her brother’s hand from her shoulder before his sweaty palms stained her dress. They didn’t have enough money to buy another. “That does not signify anything, Christopher. Go back to your drinking and leave me be.”

He leaned in close and tried to smile. His face distorted, and he looked like an old man pained from gout instead of a man just under thirty. He poked her shoulder with his finger. “We are nearing the end of the season. You will marry, and marry soon. Either you will accept Lord Carthors, or you will ensure Lord Wickham maintains his interest.”

She drew a steadying breath and gripped the dresser beside her. Damn the champagne. “Lord Carthors is close to seventy and would likely die in my arms upon the wedding bed.”

“Precisely. Then we’d be rich.”

“No. I’d be rich.”

Her brother growled. “Don’t play with me.”

She tried to push past him, to escape the conversation. But his arm rose to cage her in. She was trapped by the door at her back, Christopher’s arm and the large dresser on her right. “I will not marry a decrepit old man to save your skin.”

He laughed in her face and sneered. “Not just my skin. Yours too. If not for Cassandra’s generosity, we would be in the poor-house. Let’s see how long your principles last when the men running such establishments start pawing you.”

She kept her face blank, refusing to show how his threat affected her, but her stomach churned at the thought of what lay ahead of them, if either she or Christopher did not marry well.

“Miss. Trentworth is here tonight. If you are so worried about our position in society, line your pockets by marrying her. Her father is rich. The textile King they call him. Mr. Trentworth is after a title for his daughter.”

He stood up straight. “I’m not going to marry any girl with a face like a horse’s arse. It is my duty to see my young sister married first. At one and twenty you’ll be left on the shelf if you are not careful.” He hesitated and his demeanor altered. “Come now. If Carthors is not to your liking, surely Lord Wickham is. He is handsome, rich, and in his prime.”

She stamped her foot. “Don’t be ridiculous. Even if I did - admire his lordship - The Earl is legendary in his abhorrence for the state of matrimony. He wants Cassandra as his mistress and I’m sure she’s willing to oblige. Why would he be interested in me?”

“You look exactly like Cassandra. He could take her as his mistress and you as his wife. His mother is determined he marry this Season. They need an heir. Wickham’s father has been dead ten years. Wickham is in his mid thirties. It’s time.”

Melissa’s hands fisted in the sides of her dress, to stop herself slapping her brother’s face. How could he be so indifferent to his own flesh and blood? He wouldn’t marry a woman not to his liking, yet he was quite willing to barter her off, giving her away to be used as a brood mare, so long as his debts were paid. Well, she had other ideas.

Seeing the determined look in her brother’s bloodshot eyes, she tried another tack. “What would Cassandra say if I tried to woo the Earl? Perhaps she wishes to marry him. If she becomes annoyed, we will be flung into the streets. I can’t see the Earl or any other man wanting to marry me then.”

His face paled at her words. Distracted by his thoughts, Melissa reached behind her and turned the latch. It released with a loud snap. Before she could escape, her brother grabbed her arm. “Then it will be Carthors. By the end of the season you will become engaged, either to a man of your own choosing or Carthors. Am I clear?”

Melissa fought the tears filling her eyes at his painful hold. “Let me go.” She tugged her arm free; the sound of the material ripping startled them both. “Perfect. Now look what you have done,” she snapped. Anger propelled her to defy him. “I won’t marry Lord Carthors. You’ll have to drag me kicking and screaming in front of the vicar to ever get me to marry that old leech.”

He simply smiled. “Not if I give you a few drops of laudanum. That would subdue you. You’d be pliant all the way to the altar.” Christopher crowded her against the doorframe. “Don’t underestimate me, Melissa. Come the end of the Season you will be married. To whom, is your choice. If you don’t want Carthors then pick someone else –- as long as they are rich.”

Melissa stepped into the library and slammed the door in her brother’s face. 

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Christopher swayed his way back across the ballroom, failing to notice the man stepping out of the shadows from the other side of the large oak dresser.

Richard had heard every word of the siblings’ conversation and it was as he thought. The plan he’d set in motion would be welcomed by all concerned – except his brother. He could live with that. Eventually, he felt sure; Anthony would come to thank him for his deception. 

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About Bron:

New Zealander Bronwen Evans grew up loving books She’s always indulged her love for story-telling, and is constantly gobbling up movies, books and theatre. Her head is filled with characters and stories, particularly lovers in angst. Is it any wonder she’s a proud romance writer?

She writes both historical and contemporary sexy romances for the modern woman who likes intelligent, spirited heroines, and compassionate alpha heroes. Her debut Regency romance, Invitation to Ruin won the RomCon 2012 Readers Crown Best Historical and was an RT Reviewers’ Choice Nominee Best First Historical 2011. To Dare the Duke of Dangerfield is a FINALIST in the Kindle Book Review Indie Romance Book of the Year 2012. Look out for her first Entangled Publishing Indulgence release in Fall 2012, The Italian Conte’s Reluctant Bride.