To Ruin a Rake (14 page)

He could follow her, but it might be looked upon unfavorably.
Have some self-control, man.
If she wanted to tease him a bit and whet his appetite, who was he to deny her the pleasure? There would be time aplenty to satisfy his curiosity later. At midnight, to be precise. He watched her until she disappeared into the crush.

In the meantime, he had business to attend to: Harriett. He’d been looking for her all evening, but had yet to spot the troublesome tyrant. She was here. He’d confirmed her presence and that of her younger sister earlier through an acquaintance. But where was she?

Searching the crush, he strove to pick her out from among the bright silks and merrymaking. He meandered about the edges of the room, looking carefully at those seated along the walls. She was not among them and neither was she hanging about in the gallery above. Perhaps she was in the powder room? Or perhaps his friend had been mistaken.

He was surprised to find himself disappointed at the thought. Truly, he’d hoped to find her and negotiate some sort of truce—as a means to introduce her to several unmarried acquaintances, of course. Having encountered his as-yet mystery woman, his trepidation at the prospect of seeing Harriett had waned. A good thing, too. Still aroused by her, he now wondered how he could ever have been stirred by someone like Harriett.

He’d been without a woman for far too long. That must be it. Lack of intimate female companionship had taken a toll on his judgment. Since William’s death, he hadn’t felt like maintaining a mistress. They required great amounts of attention, patience, and money. The latter he could now give in plenty. The first two had been in short supply for some time.

That was all about to change, however. He was required to marry within the year, and the mystery woman seemed as good a candidate as any. If luck remained on his side, he would satisfy his brother’s mandate to marry
and
his request to look after his betrothed.

If he could ever manage to find Harriett, that is.

Having nothing better to do, he again went up to the gallery to see if he could pick out his nameless lady. But though he looked and looked, she was nowhere in sight. At first he thought nothing of it, but as it drew closer to midnight he began to grow concerned.

Just as he was about to go down to search her out, a flash of teal caught his eye.
There!
She was on the far side of the ballroom amid a cluster of ladies. He observed as she drew one of her fellows aside. After a few moments of what looked to him like urgent pleading on the part of his mystery woman, the pair parted company with the group and made for the exit.

Dismay filled him. She was leaving? Now? Determination rushed in to displace despair. Not without his first learning her name, she wasn’t. He took the stairs two at a time, heedless of the startled looks from those he brushed past, and headed for the same exit. There they were up ahead. He knew better than to call out. If she had decided to leave before the midnight reveal, then it must mean she wanted to keep her identity a secret.

Moving among those loitering in the hall, he followed the pair out. The foyer was all but empty, and he breathed a curse for the lack of cover. Hiding behind a potted orange tree, he listened as the two talked.

“What shall I tell Papa when he asks where you have gone?”

“Just say I wasn’t feeling well and decided to wait in the carriage. Tell him it was a headache brought on by all the noise. He knows I am accustomed to quiet. And it isn’t as if I’m actually leaving. I’ll be waiting for you. I’m just going to take a short nap, that’s all.”

The mystery woman’s companion—her sister, apparently—stopped and put her hands on her hips. “Honestly, Harriett. You cannot avoid Russell forever. Running away will only aggravate the problem as he seems to delight in chasing after you. You must confront him and tell him you are not interested.”

Roland’s skin went icy and hot all at once.
Harriett.
She’d called the woman
Harriett
. He peered through the leaves in disbelief. Maybe they had worn similar gowns and he’d made a mistake...but no, it was the very same gown he’d admired earlier tonight.

And the woman wearing it—Harriett, he reminded himself with growing chagrin—was just as fabulously beautiful, just as alluring. He watched as she removed her mask. Without her customary stern expression, she was bloody stunning.

“I
will
think about it, Cat, but right now I really must get out of here,” said Harriett, darting a nervous glance about the room. “Please make my excuses.”

The one called “Cat” rolled her eyes. “I cannot believe I am aiding you in your cowardice.”

“Please, Cat? I don’t often beg you for help, but please? Just this once?”

“Very well,” grumbled the other. “What shall I tell Lord Russell when he asks where you’ve gone?”

“Don’t bother with him,” said Harriett in a rush. “He didn’t recognize me. At least I don’t think he did. That’s the whole point of my leaving before midnight. I don’t want him to know it was me.”

Roland didn’t think she was talking about Lord Russell, but nonetheless doubt crept in. Could he be mistaken?

Regardless, he now knew who his mystery woman was. What to do with the knowledge escaped him at the moment, however. He needed time to process the discovery and decide his next move.

“Do whatever you must, but make sure Papa doesn’t come out to fetch me back inside,” continued Harriett. “I cannot explain now, but suffice it to say that if I were to be seen unmasked tonight it would be catastrophic.”

The other girl’s eyes narrowed. “Something
else
is going on here, isn’t it? What have you done?”

“Oh, not
now
!” wailed Harriett. She propelled her sister back toward the ballroom.

“All right!” said Cat, digging in her heels and turning. “You needn’t push me. I’ll go.” She jabbed a finger at Harriett’s chest. “But you owe me, and make no mistake—I shall one day call in your debt.”

“Yes, fine,” said Harriett. “I shall be your slave when the time comes. Just go!”

“I shall remember you said it,” said her sister, laughing.

Harriett’s shoulders sagged in obvious relief. After a moment’s hesitation to make sure her sibling was headed in the right direction, she resumed her journey to the entryway.

The instant the footman had taken her request for her carriage and gone outside, Roland knew what he had to do. Quiet as a mouse, he retreated back into the hall—following Cat, but making sure not to alert her to his presence. As soon as she disappeared into the ballroom, he took off at a run back toward the foyer, deliberately making as much noise as possible. “My lady kitchen maid!” he shouted just as Harriett finished tying her mask back on.

The panic in his quarry’s eyes was gratifying. Now that he was armed with her identity, he recognized the look. Oh, she knew
exactly
who he was. The knowledge galvanized his resolve. If the lady wanted to play with fire, then she was about to get scorched. “I looked for you, but you never came. Are you leaving now, so soon?”

“I—I began to feel ill, my lord.” Her smile was shaky, and her face below the mask had grown pale.

He had no sympathy whatsoever. “How unfortunate. Allow me to escort you to your carriage.” Inside, he chuckled with glee as her expression grew even more frantic.
That’s right. The game will be up the moment I see the crest on your carriage door, and you know it.

Indeed, she began to balk. “No, no. I wouldn’t wish to keep you from the festivities, my—”

“Nonsense,” he cut in. “I insist. It would be unchivalrous of me to let you go unaccompanied in your condition.” He watched as she swallowed, as her eyes darted about the room.
Run, little rabbit. Run.

“Well, I suppose I might sit for a moment and see if I can regain my constitution,” she replied, eyeing a bench near the exit.

“An excellent idea.” He grabbed her hand and placed it over his arm. “I shall keep you company and see to your every comfort.” Instead of heading toward the bench, however, he led her to a cushioned couch off in the corner. She perched on its very edge. With deliberate intent, he sat close to her, causing her to scoot toward the end and deeper into it, effectively trapping her.

“I don’t suppose you would be so kind as to fetch me a glass of water.”

He’d seen it coming. “Your wish is my command. You there!” he bellowed to the footman, who’d just returned. “My lady requires a glass of water. See to it at once.” The woman beside him shrank farther into the cushions as the servant rushed to do his bidding, again leaving them alone. “There. It is taken care of.” Inching closer, he peered into her eyes. “Tell me, how are you feeling now? Any better?”

She nodded, seeming unwilling—or unable, perhaps—to speak.

He almost felt sorry for her. At that moment, a grandfather clock on the other side of the room struck the hour. The sound of distant cheering filtered in from the hallway leading to the ballroom. “It is midnight, and yet we still wear our masks.”

“Oh, let us keep them on,” she said, bringing a protective hand up to her face. “It heightens the excitement, don’t you think?”

No. He did not. But he played along. “As you wish,” he said, giving her a toothy grin. “Believe me, I won’t argue. If anything, I should like nothing more than to indulge your penchant for excitement.” Giving her no other warning of his intent, he bent and captured her mouth.

~ * ~

Harriett couldn’t breathe for the riot of sensation running through her as his lips came down over hers, as he trapped her beneath his heavy warmth. Part of her wanted to shove him away and bolt for the door. Another part of her, the stronger part, wanted quite the opposite.

William had always been so cool and courteous, so gentlemanly, so self-controlled and—in retrospect—chaste. He’d kissed her twice, both instances no more than a brief brushing of the lips to seal a commitment. Once, when he’d asked her to marry him and again when they’d made the announcement to her family. He’d certainly
never
held her thus, all close and tight and...

She flinched as Manchester ran the tip of his tongue across her bottom lip. When she opened her mouth to object, he took advantage and deepened the contact. A low moan rumbled in his chest. Harriett was astonished to hear the sound echoed by her own, ragged voice as he began...
tasting
her. Even more astonishing was the unspeakable heat mounting between her legs with every slow stroke of his tongue against hers.

How could she have ever made so much of William’s kisses? That she’d sighed and mooned about for days afterward seemed ridiculous in light of what she was experiencing now. The realization hit her that although she’d loved William deeply, she hadn’t felt any passion for him. Theirs had been a logical, amiable pairing based on a deep friendship and shared ideals—not passion.

Is that what I feel now?
For William’s brother?

The thought was as effective as a bucketful of icy water. Shoving hard, she wrested free of his embrace. In doing so, her mask came askew.

His eyes did not widen with alarm or narrow with anger. Nor did he utter any exclamation of dismay. Instead, he slowly reached up and pulled the mask down the rest of the way, fully exposing her face. With the same deliberate slowness, he then removed his own. His unwavering leonine gaze held her, pierced her.

He’d known it was her the entire time.

“Again, the lady behind the mask turns out to be…you,” he said in a silken voice. “What an interesting night this has been. You knew it was me from the very beginning, didn’t you?”

She refused to speak, but then she knew he wasn’t really looking for an answer.

“You play a very dangerous game in baiting me, my lady kitchen maid,” he said, his mouth twisting into a wry smile. “Tell me, what was the purpose of your little charade? Mm?”

Now
he was looking for an answer. “At first I did not know it was you,” she lied. “I thought you were—”

“Don’t patronize me,” he grated, coming closer. “I neither look nor sound anything like Lord Russell.”

With horror, she realized he had been eavesdropping on her conversation with Cat. He’d heard everything. Squaring her shoulders, she wrapped the tatters of her dignity about her like a shield. There was nothing for it but to tell the truth. Well, some of it, anyway. “Fine. Yes. I knew it was you. When you failed to recognize me, I thought it best to allow you to continue in your ignorance. I didn’t want you ruining my evening—as you are now doing.”

His expression did not change, save that his eyes darkened. “So you again deceived me.”

Infuriating man! “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” she spat. “You’ve been anything but honest in your dealings with me, Your Grace.”

“I have never pretended to want anything other than your swift removal from both the Hospital and my life.”

“Why? Why do you want me gone so much? Have I not managed your responsibilities well enough for you?” She waited, but he said nothing—what could he say to the unvarnished truth? She knew she ought to get up and walk away, but now that she’d started, she didn’t much feel like stopping. “Your opinion of me is quite clear, Your Grace. And it is based largely, if not all, on erroneous assumptions. You think you know me, but you do not. Not at all.”

“Yes, well, that much became evident tonight,” he said drily. “You put on quite a performance. Rich himself would have been impressed. Had he witnessed it, he probably would have offered you employment on the spot. I would applaud, but I fear the urge has already passed. I confess I didn’t think you had it in you. Though I suppose every woman, even the lowliest kitchen maid, has her moments.”