Seduction & Scandal. Charlotte Featherstone

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СКАЧАТЬ who keeps pestering me to write naughty scenes in my novels.”

      “I’m merely living vicariously through you.”

      “Ah, Lucy, there you are. I do believe you promised me this dance.”

      Lucy pressed her eyes shut at the sound of the duke’s voice. “First names are far too personal, Your Grace,” she admonished as Sussex came to them. “It isn’t at all proper.”

      “Neither is standing up a gentleman to whom you promised a dance.” Sussex’s smile could only be described as mischievous as he held out his hand to Lucy. “You will excuse us, Miss Fairmont?” he asked, but he didn’t take his gaze off Lucy. “I’m afraid I’ve been waiting all night for this dance.”

      Isabella laughed as the duke steered her cousin to the floor. After watching Lucy step into the proper dance frame with the duke, Isabella realized that this might very well be her one and only opportunity to escape. It was hot and stuffy, and she would give anything for a chance to go out onto the terrace and smell the crisp fall leaves.

      Careful not to garner any notice, she made her way to the terrace and the French doors. Opening the glass door, she stepped outside, breathing deep of the damp night air. The fog was rolling in from the Thames, blanketing the earth with gray mist. Moroccan lanterns hung from the branches of the trees, the candlelight shining with a muted, hazy glow through the mist. Beyond the terrace and the trees lay a rose arbor whose leaves had begun to turn brown. Beyond the arbor was a maze. There she would find privacy and quiet.

      Lifting her skirts, she ran down the steps, thankful that the chilly night had deterred guests from going outside. No one would see her slip into the maze.

      Growing up in Whitby, on the sea, had inured her to the dampness. There was nothing like the crisp air to clear one’s head. And her head most certainly needed to be cleared. All she seemed capable of thinking about was the enigmatic Earl of Black.

      Rounding the corner, she walked deeper into the maze, where the stone bench would lay waiting for her. It was her favorite place, and tonight she needed its familiar comfort.

      “Oh,” she cried as she saw someone sitting there. That someone looked up and Isabella stopped, her breath frozen in her throat. “Lord Black.”

      He uncurled his tall frame from the bench and slowly rose. “Miss Fairmont.”

      “I … I did not mean to intrude upon your privacy. I had no idea—”

      “Do not concern yourself. I only needed a moment’s reprieve from the stuffiness in the ballroom. And you?”

      “The same, I’m afraid.”

      “Will you join me?”

      Inanely she looked to either side of her. There was no one outside. It was black as pitch. It could ruin her reputation if they were to be discovered alone and in the dark. And the orchestra was loud. Even out here she could hear the violins. Would anyone hear her if she screamed?

      “I realize it’s all rather untoward to be out here alone—with a man you’ve just met, but I am loath to give up this spot. Rather ungentlemanly of me, isn’t it?”

      “Indeed it is, my lord.”

      He smiled at her honesty, and she saw that he had dimples. For some reason she could not stop staring at them—at him. “I’m willing to share this spot. Will that suffice?”

      She was sure she could not hide the wariness in her eyes, or the watchful stiffness in her body. She should say no. But her lips could not seem to form the word.

      “I will not hurt you, Isabella.”

      The intimacy of her name, said in his deep voice, made her shiver. How had he known it? But then again, it seemed that Lord Black knew a good deal about her.

      “Will you not join me?”

      She was being silly. Besides, she could not seem to deny him when he looked at her like that. Like what? she asked herself as she walked to the bench. Like a fox after a hare, was the answer.

      “Are you cold?” he asked as she sat down next to him. Her train bunched up, the lilac silk spilling onto his thigh. She went to move it, but he stilled her hand, and instead smoothed the silk over his knee. “Shall I lend you my jacket?”

      “I’m fine,” she said, shivering. Curious, she wasn’t at all cold.

      He moved away from her and began shrugging out of his velvet jacket. “No, I insist,” he said, covering her naked shoulders. “You might catch your death out here.”

      She stilled, their gazes collided and he moved, inched closer to her.

      “That was not in the best of taste, was it?”

      “That depends, were you making a jest of what you read in my journal?”

      His gaze flickered over her face, coming to rest on her mouth. “No. I was not referring to your writing. Forgive me, Isabella?”

      She looked away, unable to think as once again the butterflies began to circle. The way he said her name was so soft, so lulling. There was something about him that pulled at her, made her will no longer her own.

      He captured her chin with his fingers and forced her to look back at him. “I should not have read your journal, but I confess I could not stop.”

      “Was it so engrossing then?” she asked, trying to make light. But there was nothing light and frivolous about Black. He was purposeful, intense and the way he was gazing down upon her made her shiver.

      “I … want to know you. Everything about you.”

      Her lips parted, yet nothing came out. She was shocked. Mesmerized.

      “Would you let me, Isabella?” His voice dropped as he pressed closer, the moment intimate and wildly exciting. “Would you let me learn everything about you? Discover you as I want?”

      His gaze, blistering with intensity, burned through her skin, warming her to the very core of her being. Inside, her body seemed to bloom, to open like the petals of a rose in the sunlight. She knew what he wanted, the innuendo of his words. And she admitted that somewhere deep inside her, she wanted to know him, too.

      There was a strange, almost magnetic pull between them. They were strangers, yet he spoke to her familiarly—not at all gentlemanly. She should be shocked, outraged. They had just been introduced, yet Isabella felt as though she had known him forever. As if her soul recognized him from another time and place.

      Gathering the edges of his jacket around her shoulders, she luxuriated in his scent, which wafted up from the fabric, mingling with her perfume. It made her think very dangerous thoughts—thoughts that did not entail running from him.

      This was much too dangerous. She should put an end to it, and opened her mouth, but the words still would not come. Instead, she said, “Quid pro quo, then?”

      His smile was slow and sensual, and she saw the glint of victory shining in his eyes. “Very well, you go first.”

      “What is the real reason you are out here?”

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