that he was attentive, but his older brother appeared more aware of his wife. Second, she was not
quite as shy, as if she was getting a sense of the power of not just her beauty, but her intellect. As
Colton had pointed out, he had not selected some vapid chit just to get an heir.
It was hard to put a finger on the cause of her greater aura of confidence and poise, but very
interesting just the same.
Jostled by a dancing couple who had evidently imbibed more than their share of wine, Robert
broke from his reverie. At the moment, his brother’s marriage was not Robert’s deepest concern.
What he really wanted was to escape the predatory clutches of Maria Hampton. Since politesse
wasn’t really working to his advantage, he needed to change his tactics. It wasn’t that he didn’t
find the lady attractive—she was striking in an overblown, voluptuous way, with fiery hair, pale
skin, and a lush body—but unfortunately he was rather good friends with her husband.
Robert was aware enough of his own reputation, but one thing he did not do was bed the wives of
his friends. Even if they were couples who had mutual understandings when it came to infidelity,
he wasn’t comfortable with the idea. Casual liaisons were fine—he preferred them—but not if
they could potentially damage a friendship he valued.
So since he wasn’t going to oblige the lovely Maria, no matter how much she pouted, he needed a
diplomatic escape route.
He’d waltzed with his hostess two times already this evening, and had no intention of making it
three. Fortunately, they were near the French doors open to the terrace when the music ended.
Robert bowed and murmured, “Excuse me, my lady. I think a little fresh air is in order. Surely I
will see you a bit later.”
Maria caught his sleeve. “I’ll come with you. It is quite warm in here.”
“You have guests,” he reminded her, gently removing her clutching fingers. He’d heard that
husky tone in a woman’s voice many times before. “And while I understand Edmond allows you
a great deal of latitude, let’s not embarrass him.”
Before she could protest further, he turned and walked away, hoping he looked bland and no one
had noticed their momentary dissent. In his quest to escape, he collided with someone as he
reached the open doors, a young lady who was also seemingly intent on leaving the ballroom
with all due haste.
Well, if one had to bump into another person, it was always best (in his opinion) for them to be
female, soft, and strategically rounded in all the correct places. The titillating drift of a sweet
flowery perfume didn’t hurt either, he thought as he caught the young woman by the upper arms
and steadied them both.
“I beg your pardon,” he murmured, looking down into a pair of wide, blue-green eyes that held a
startled look. “Entirely my fault, I’m sure.”
“N . . . no,” she stammered. “It was probably mine. I was hurrying and not looking.”
The air outside smelled fresh and a nearly full moon poured broken light onto the flagstones as
thin, ethereal clouds drifted by. Compared to the closeness of the ballroom, it beckoned like
paradise. “I think we were both in a rush. After you,” he motioned.
“Thank you.” She walked out in front of him, her back straight.
He knew her, he realized, following her and admiring the graceful sway of her hips and the gleam
of dark, shining hair. She was related to his sister-in-law. No, perhaps not . . . not some distant
cousin, but a friend. What was her name?
Since it would be rude to simply walk away, he fell into step beside her as she headed toward the
path that led into the vast, ornamental gardens. In the distance, a fountain spilled water in a
musical spray of soothing noise.
Rose silk whispered over the stones and the young woman’s profile was outlined by the filtered
illumination from above. A rather nice profile, Robert noted absently, still searching for her name
and coming up blank. Tip-tilted nose, lacy fans for lashes, a smooth forehead, and a slender neck
above shapely shoulders. And a nice bosom. A very opulent bosom, in fact. He had quite an
appreciation of the female form and couldn’t help but notice the rounded fullness under the
bodice of her dress. He cleared his throat. “It’s much cooler out here, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she agreed almost inaudibly, her face still averted.
“The closeness of these affairs always makes me feel a little suffocated,” he murmured politely.
her friends, it wasn’t all that surprising he had only a passing acquaintance, but usually he was
good with faces and names.
The woman continued to avert her face so he couldn’t clearly see her features. Her behavior was
a little odd. She walked quickly, her hands lightly fisted in her skirts to keep the material out of
her way as they reached the descent into the gardens. She nodded. “Suffocated is the correct
word.”
She wasn’t referring to the temperature. He caught the implication easily enough from the faintest
hint of disgust in her tone. Hence her hurry, hence their dual purpose in escaping the festivities
inside. Robert couldn’t help it; he laughed. “There are different forms of suffocation, aren’t
there?”
“Yes, there are.”
“Your lack of air is due to a persistent male, I’d venture to guess.”
She nodded in answer, sneaking a quick look at him for the first time.
It was fast, just a swift turning of her head, and then she abruptly glanced away. Her betraying
gesture made him realize that he made this young woman nervous. There wasn’t anything
vaguely flirtatious about their exchange—quite the opposite—and there was no doubt she
recognized him even if he couldn’t recall her name.
Was he really painted so black that a young woman couldn’t walk ten paces in his company
without worrying he’d tarnish her reputation? It was a sobering thought, especially since he was
convinced she was one of his sister-in-law’s friends. What must Brianna think of him?
Automatically he offered his arm at the top of the shallow stairs since the young woman seemed
intent on the garden path. She hesitated for a moment and then put her fingers very lightly on his
sleeve.
Those slim fingers trembled, and when they reached the bottom, she dropped her hand with
unflattering alacrity.
Well, he was no saint, but he never despoiled innocent young ladies, so she was perfectly safe in
his company. He bit back the urge to say so, unaccountably irritated. From one extreme to the
other, he thought sardonically: first Maria’s brazen pursuit and now this trembling little ingénue
dodging an ardent suitor and running into him instead.
Shadowed paths snaked in several different directions, box hedges and towering rhododendrons
as borders, the early fall evening carrying just a hint of crispness. In light of how his companion
seemed to feel about his presence, Robert said coolly, “Perhaps you’d rather walk alone.”
That finally brought her head up and she looked at him fully, her eyes wide. “No—no,” she
stammered. “Not at all.”
He relaxed, and then stifled a laugh at his reaction as they began to stroll down the path to the
&n
bsp; right. Why the hell it mattered what some young—albeit pretty—chit thought of his morals—or
lack thereof—was beyond his comprehension. Gossip never bothered him. The opinions of his
family and a few close friends were all that counted. He didn’t consider himself above scandal or
below it—he just didn’t consider it at all. Half of what was said about him wasn’t true, and the
part that was true was no one’s business but his own. But if it kept London’s elite populace
entertained, there was little he could do about it. From the tender age of seventeen, when he’d
captured the attention of one of the stage’s most famous actresses and she’d made a very public,
very risqué comment about his sexual prowess, it seemed like he’d been doomed to notoriety. In
those days, he was still young enough to be mortified that his private life was fodder for the
gossip mill, not to mention chagrined that his mother would learn about his torrid affair, but it
had all worn off in time. At least Elise’s comment had been complimentary; nor had he had any
complaints since then. Indeed, his popularity with society’s reigning belles was very convenient
for a man who thoroughly enjoyed women.
Convenient with the exception of small incidents like this evening. Maria Hampton’s
presumption that he would betray a friend in exchange for a casual tumble annoyed him.
“I just got the impression you might not like my company,” he said mildly.
“I’m sorry.”
At her timid apology, Robert realized he was frowning. He looked into the lady’s upturned face
and noted she had bright spots of color in both cheeks, visible even in the wash of moonlight.
Consciously shaking off the image of the clinging Lady Hampton, he smiled. “Sorry for what?”
“I . . . don’t know, actually,” she responded, her blush intensifying.
Whoever she was, she was very attractive, he decided. Not beautiful like Brianna, with her
lustrous golden hair and perfect heart-shaped face, but quite striking.
Rebecca Marston. The name came back with sudden clarity. She was one of the Incomparables of
last year who had declined to marry, and—for those inclined to court with marriage in mind,
which he wasn’t—the challenge of this season. Her wealthy father was one of the most influential
men in British politics, and there were rumors of the possibility of an appointment as Prime
Minister in his future.
The man despised him. Robert knew it full well. That he was innocent of the perceived crime
didn’t really help the matter much, since Sir Benedict had made it scathingly clear that he
believed the worst.
Perhaps he and Miss Marston shouldn’t spend time alone in darkened gardens together. Robert
opened his mouth to excuse himself, when a voice called out from the terrace, confirming his
identification. “Miss Marston?”
Rebecca clutched his arm with unmistakable urgency. “Help me hide.”
His brows shot up. “Hide?”
“Please.” She glanced around, a clear look of panic on her lovely face. “I can’t take another
moment of Lord Watts this evening or I fear I will splinter into little tiny pieces.”
Robert knew the man and sympathized, recalling her hurry to leave the ballroom. Never one to
deny a lady a timely rescue, he glanced around, spotted a smaller path diverting off through the
hedge and pointed. “That way.”
She responded with alacrity, dashing in front of him, and though it would probably have been
more prudent to let her elude the exceedingly dull viscount on her own, Robert followed in
amusement. The path led around a small pond filled with fish and lilies but came to a dead end in
a tiny niche cut into the hedge. Here a bronze statue of Pan, flute and all, was flanked by two
small benches. On a warm summer day it was probably a pleasant place to sit.
Right now, it was shadowed and private.
Miss Marston halted and turned, peering past him. She said in a whisper, “Do you think he saw
me?”
Saw us, a practical voice in Robert’s head corrected. Together in a dark place alone.
Just what the devil was he doing?
“Miss Marston?” The call got a little bolder. And unfortunately, closer. “Rebecca?”
Damnation, it was really too dark for Watts to have identified them clearly, but he must have
caught hint of enough movement to see what path they chose.
Robert put his finger to his lips and took her arm, drawing her back into the shadows. He eased
her so her back was against the hedge and braced a hand on the sturdy bushes on either side of
her slender shoulders, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, “Play along and I’ll get rid of him.
Whatever you do, don’t speak and keep your face hidden.”
She nodded, her eyes huge and glimmering.
Robert was quite a bit taller and definitely broader, and with the uncertain lighting, he was fairly
certain no one would be able to distinguish her features. Sure enough, he could hear footsteps
coming their way and he knew it was just as important for him to get rid of Rebecca Marston’s
importunate suitor as it was for her to evade His Lordship. Why the devil had Robert followed
her? His unfathomable impulse would have some alarming consequences if they were caught
together alone in this sheltered alcove.
He lowered his head and his mouth just brushed her cheek. Not her lips, though he touched the
soft, tempting corner of her mouth and could feel the sweet exhale of her breath. It was an
imitation kiss, not the real thing.
Has she had the real thing?
No, not a thought appropriate to the moment.
“Put your hand on my shoulder,” he urged.
She did so, the light weight of her fingers settling hesitantly on his jacket.
As predicted, Rebecca’s hapless suitor stumbled into the little garden vignette, and Robert sensed
it took Watts a moment to spot the “lovers” in their false embrace.
Well, Robert thought, this was where his reputation actually could do him some good. No one
would think he had an innocent young woman backed up to a hedge for a leisurely dalliance. His
lovers were always experienced, sophisticated ladies, uninterested in a permanent entanglement.
Rebecca Marston didn’t fit that description at all, so Watts was unlikely to guess she was the
woman in his arms.
He lifted his head, turned just enough so Watts could recognize his features and said in a clear,
concise tone, “I would appreciate it if you would bugger off, my lord.”
“Oh . . . er . . . quite. My apologies, Northfield. Looking for someone . . . you know. I’ll . . . well,
just move along then.” The man sounded both apologetic and embarrassed. “Sorry. Didn’t expect
to find you here. Looking for someone else.”
Robert turned back without answering, ostensibly to resume kissing the young woman whose soft
body was pressed just close enough to his chest that he could feel the warm resilience of her
breasts through her gown and smell the haunting fragrance of what he registered with an
expertise born of much experience to be jasmine.
His very favorite.
She had exquisitely soft skin, he thought as he nuzzled her jaw and listened to that buffoon,
Watts, retreat down the path.
To his chagrin, he began to harden, his body reacting to her closeness and that tantalizing scent.
The voice of
reason reappeared, thanks to God. Of course she has lovely skin, a supple body,
shining hair that gleams in the moonlight. After all, she is . . . what? Nineteen? Twenty at the
most? Marriageable? Oh yes. And if her father noticed her departure from the ballroom and
decided to follow . . .
Considering how Sir Benedict felt about him, they might be facing each other with pistols at
dawn.
Abruptly Robert straightened and stepped back. “You might want to wait here for a few minutes.
I was thinking of leaving the party anyway, and will probably just retreat out the back gate.”
Rebecca Marston nodded, staring up at him, her lips just slightly parted. “Thank you. That was . .
. inventive.”
Her mouth glistened invitingly. And though her gown was demure, it still managed to showcase a
figure that was fashioned by nature to make a male take notice. Unlike some of the men of his
acquaintance, Robert didn’t prefer petite women. Though still too short to look him in the eye,
Rebecca was taller than average, and those breasts—well, he had a connoisseur’s eye, and naked,
he guessed they would be nothing short of spectacular. No wonder Watts was bumbling around
the gardens in search of her. She was a delectable young lady.
He might be just as foolish as Watts, standing with her there in the dark—the two of them alone,
no less—and fantasizing about touching her tempting person, his growing erection proof of the
lascivious direction of his thoughts.
Her undoubtedly untried, innocent person.
It was time to make a quick exit.
Robert essayed a flashing, careless smile. “My pleasure entirely.” Though bells of alarm raised a
racket in his head, he couldn’t help but say, “If you ever need assistance in escaping more
unwanted suitors, feel free to call on me.”
Then he swung on his heel and wisely walked away.
Chapter Three
The element of surprise is always useful. Keep in mind that men like variety. If you can provide
it, then they needn’t look elsewhere for diversion.
From the chapter titled: “Understanding Your Quarry”
“Do you mind,” Lea asked with one brow lifted askance, “telling me just what you were
thinking?”