To Love A Wicked Scoundrel. Anabelle Bryant

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      ***

      With reluctance, Isabelle conceded Meredith had played her part to perfection and accomplished exactly what she sought before they journeyed to London. Her stepmother struggled to contain her excitement at being asked to dance the last waltz of the evening with Lord Highborough. From what Isabelle could understand, having listened to the story several times in succession, Lord Highborough saw Meredith across the room and sent a footman to her directly. Isabelle had the sneaking suspicion that the earl’s refusal to adhere to convention as closely as etiquette dictated heightened his appeal with the ton. Having yet to lay eyes on the purported capturer of hearts, she reserved a cynical view of how all the discussion of his rakish appeal could possibly be warranted.

      She recalled an episode in Wiltshire when a cow broke loose on the county road. By the time the story reached Rossmore House it sounded as if a horrible, deranged monster roamed the streets and every civilised person needed to lock themselves up until the beast could be destroyed. Isabelle suspected Lord Highborough’s exploits had endured years of embellished and bloated acclaim akin to the lost cow episode. She doubted he was a rake or a rogue or any other label the ton attached to his name.

      She smiled with chagrin and glanced at her card. She had no partner for the upcoming country dance which was the last number before the much anticipated Lord Highborough waltz, so she strolled into the foyer where earlier she had spotted the lovely tulip arrangement. The ballroom was adorned in roses and violets, easily enjoyed in her home garden. The bouquet of tulips could only have been imported from Holland so she could never deny herself the rare treat of their fragrance.

      The bouquet proved to be everything she’d anticipated and curious if other rare flora begged to be discovered, she meandered down a nearby hallway and away from the bustling front foyer, delighting in each elegant arrangement found along the way. As she reached the end of a long corridor, she glanced around in doubt, unable to discern where she’d managed to bring herself within the large home. Straining to detect the orchestra, she heard instead the hushed whispers of two approaching party guests and, swamped with panic, opened the first door on her left. She swept inside and sagged against the closed panel with a sigh of relief.

      Isabelle quickly reclaimed her wits and noted she stood in a library. No sooner did she walk further into the room to admire the elaborate pattern of leaves and vines woven into the plush carpet, than she heard the knob turn and the door sweep open.

      ***

      Constantine closed the library doors with force, but the action did not assuage his emotion. He possessed a temperamental temper, if such a quality existed. Any number of things could happen and he held not a care of the mishap or the effort it took to right the matter. Not even the troubling situation of his missing paintings ignited his anger in as much as it challenged him to find a solution. But tonight, his smooth plan to insure he danced with the lovely stranger he’d seen standing under the archway, proved the disaster to spark his temper. The footman delivered his message to the wrong person. He discovered the error too late to rectify the situation and there was little help for it, as the lady accepted his invitation with unabashed enthusiasm.

      Lady Newby initiated introductions and while making the acquaintance of Lady Meredith Rossmore proved pleasant, by no means would he consider spending time with the overtly friendly widow. Her thinly veiled attempts at flirtation bespoke of the exact reason he preferred the study to the ballroom. To make matters worse, he’d kept an astute eye on the room for little over an hour and the magnificent beauty he sought was nowhere to be found. With every intention of enjoying another glass of Lord Rochester’s superior brandy, he planned to extend his apologies to the host and leave before dinner was served.

      He made long strides to the sideboard, a curse on his lips, and dropped his gloves on a nearby chair. So enmeshed was he in his frustration, he might never have noticed he was not alone, but a sudden intake of breath and the delicate scent of perfume assailed him and heightened his awareness. He replaced the brandy decanter and turned in the direction of the fireplace, unable to stop the slow, satisfied smile that curled his mouth. His temper dissipated completely and another more urgent emotion jolted to life.

      Before him, looking just a little surprised, stood the enchanting goddess he had noticed in the ballroom earlier. The unmistakable beauty with whom he intended to dance. When he tried to match eyes with her across the dance floor, she glanced over her shoulder, as if she believed he viewed someone else. The unexpected action struck him as so utterly charming it fueled his curiosity as to her identity further, but then the unforgiving crowd interrupted and prevented him from finding her.

      Now she stood half a room’s length away, a shimmering vision in soft green silk and delicate lace. Her hair, captured in a neat chignon, left a few wayward tendrils to dangle enticingly near her ear and neck. Candlelight caught in each delicate curl and reflected the colours of sunsets, rose petals, and passion. Vibrantly intrigued, he resisted the urge to reach forward and undo the lacy netting containing the fiery tresses. How long did her hair flow and what other shades of red would he find in the silky waves were he to act on impulse?

      He continued his assessment with a nonchalant sweep of the eyes.

      Her dress fit exquisitely, sheathing her in silky elegance without the flounces and ruffles so many women affected to enhance their figure. This gown hugged in all the right places, and he anxiously considered the women beneath the layers, underneath the lace and silk, the tapes and ribbons. She released a hitch of breath and he became distracted by the sheer chemisette covering her lush bodice. Her face was perfection. He could imagine how lovely the rest of her body would be.

      ‘What are you doing here? Have I interrupted a theft in Lord Rochester’s study?’ He had no doubt the beguiling beauty standing before him stole hearts as a preoccupation. ‘Or are you here awaiting a prearranged lover’s tryst?’ That too, posed a definite possibility.

      She startled for less than a heartbeat before she smoothly replied, ‘Nothing as interesting or exciting as you suggest, I assure you.’ Then after a short pause she continued. ‘Of course, I could ask you the very same question.’

      Caught off-guard by her belated challenge, Con smiled and strode further into the room. Her voice, melodic with a warm pitch, affected him in an almost sensual way and he had no way to explain the uncommon reaction. He stepped closer still, determined to ascertain the colour of her eyes. ‘I am after a late-night brandy.’ At least that was his original plan. He met her gaze, as silky as a lover’s caress.

      She let out a little sound that indicated she thought his answer complete rubbish. ‘You might have requested one from a passing footman in the ballroom.’

      He scoffed at her suggestion. If the servants proved as unreliable as earlier, he’d have been left unsatisfied once again. Clearly, the fates intended otherwise. ‘I meant to waltz with you this evening.’

      The lady pursed her lips as if she contemplated how to respond. Then vivid eyes matched his, twinkling with a touch of restrained amusement and viewing him as if he might be dimwitted.

      ‘Then you needed to write your name on a line.’ She raised her delicate wrist and the dance card stilled against her ivory skin.

      ‘I know.’ He grinned, acknowledging the foolishness of his response. Her inquisitive gaze met his and held. Then one narrow brow arched as if she awaited the rest of his explanation. ‘Things did not work out how I wanted them to.’

      Her lips dared a brief smile. ‘I take it you are accustomed to getting everything you want.’

      ‘Yes.’ He chuckled. Females usually vied for his attention and simpered in his company. The feisty verbal quips СКАЧАТЬ