Ruthless Charmer (13 page)

She slowly came to a halt, her head bent backward, exposing her slender neck. Julian swallowed a lump of strong desire as he gazed unabashedly at that neck, the slope of it into her shoulders, the rise of a generous bosom—

Her unexpected laughter startled him, a joyous laugh that spilled over the terrace and into the night. She stumbled backward a step or two, smiling as she lowered her head. Bowled over by her brilliance, Julian felt his heart suddenly hammering against his chest, his blood coursing hot through his veins. She sipped from the flute, then turned toward him, her eyes registering her surprise when she saw him standing there, watching her.

And God help him, she smiled. She smiled at him, freely and honestly. Swaying a bit on her feet, she lifted the flute to her lips and drained it, then pointed the empty glass at him with a playful frown. "Really, one shouldn't spy. It's quite rude."

"Was I spying?"

"You were," she said, and absently twirled the flute between slender fingers.

"No. Not spying. Merely enjoying the air."

"Mmm
. . .
it is wonderful, isn't it?" she asked, sighing, and glanced at her empty flute. Then at him. "Are you going to drink that?" she asked, and pointed to the flute he had forgotten he held.

"Not presently." He walked out onto the terrace, handing her the champagne. With another gorgeous smile, Claudia drank, her lips touching the crystal where his had been. In the dim light, her eyes fairly shone, as if lit from somewhere deep within. There was no loathing in her expression as there was last evening, but. . . curiosity? Amusement? He bent his head to one side, considering her. "I must be dreaming," he said flatly.

Claudia arched her brows and handed him her empty flute. "What an odd thing to say. You aren't dreaming, my lord."

He shook his head and carelessly set the empty flute on the edge of a planter. "I must be dreaming because I think you are actually being rather . . . civil. Dare I say pleasant? Am I dreaming?"

A luscious grin spread across her lips. "Oh no, you are not dreaming. Merely delusional," she said, and laughed lightly. "However, I must thank you for your generosity—"

"Ah!" he exclaimed, and nodded knowingly. He had sent the bank draft for her girls' school early that afternoon. "There is a reason for your kindness."

Claudia smiled coyly. "Yes, well, you were quite generous." The creamy skin of her neck began to flush. "I am in your debt."

For the amount he had given her? That caused him to grin broadly. "I rather like the sound of that," he said, laughing. "But you should know that your indebtedness comes for a paltry sum."

"Really?"

He nodded.

She rose up on her tiptoes and whispered, "Five thousand pounds?" And slipped down again. "But that is quite a lot of money! It should take me weeks to raise such a sum. But you . . . you just gave it to me!" she exclaimed, casting one arm wide. "Just gave it to me . . ."

And it was worth every bloody shilling, too, just to see her smile—even if it was one helped along by a flute of champagne. "Claudia?" he drawled, "how much champagne have you drunk?"

She laughed again, cast a beaming grin to the sun and the moon above her head. "Harrison has such fine champagne, has he not?"

"Yes, and quite a lot of it, apparently."

She turned her beatific smile to him; he felt it shimmer down his spine and land firmly in his groin. "Quite a lot," she agreed with an emphatic nod.

It was also a contagious smile—it spread to his own lips as he moved closer to her. "You are a bit into your cups, my dear, and I'm afraid there is only one thing to be done for it."

Claudia immediately stepped back, and laughing, he caught her elbow. "Don't fret—I am hardly going to accost you." No matter how badly I want to. "I had in mind a dance or two . . . just until you are feeling your old, demon self."

Claudia laughed as he slowly pulled her toward him. "You taught me how to waltz, do you remember?"

"I remember."

Her smile faded; she peered up at him, as if seeing something in the distance. "I was a demon then, too. And you . . . oh, you were terribly handsome."

If she hadn't been quite so far in her cups, Julian might have read more into that throaty whisper. But he merely chuckled. "As opposed to now?"

She flashed another, terribly alluring smile. With the tip of her finger she touched the knot of his neckcloth. "Now I think you are devastatingly handsome." Those words banished every gentlemanly instinct from his head. But before he could even react, she added lightly, "for a rake," and giggled devilishly.

"Demon's Spawn," he muttered, straining to hold himself from kissing the smirk from her lips.

"Libertine," she shot back, and suddenly leaned into him, asking breathlessly, "Dance with me?"

Claudia wanted to dance under the moon and the stars, even if they were rather crude renditions, just as they had years ago at Kettering Hall. Julian didn't think that such a grand idea and muttered something about stars and demons and trouble. But when the strains of the string quartet's waltz drifted out onto the terrace, he very gallantly bowed, smiling when she managed a clumsy curtsy. She slipped one hand into his and placed the other on his shoulder.

"Hmm
. . .
it appears I might have to count the steps for you."

She snorted. "Dance, will you?"

With a chuckle, he pressed his hand against the small of her back and swept her into the rhythm of the waltz. He moved as gracefully as she remembered, leading her easily, twirling her one way and then the other so effortlessly that Claudia had the sensation of floating. She smiled up at the moon and the sun and the stars painted above her head, watching the bright colors blur into a kaleidoscope. The champagne had muddled her mind a bit, making her feel all woozy and shiny and wondering if perhaps he wasn't such a very bad rake. And she liked dancing with him; she liked the way his arms felt like iron beneath her fingers, the way his hand rode the small of her back. She just wasn't quite sure why that made her giggle.

"I don't think I've ever seen you so relaxed," Julian remarked.

Oh, she was relaxed, all right. Practically weightless.

"I had rather thought you might never grace me with your smile again."

That was ridiculous and made her laugh as she lowered her gaze from the ceiling to look at him. His dark eyes were fixed on her lips; a strong shiver ran down Claudia's spine. "Why, I smile all the time, sir. From sunup to sundown practically, and particularly in the mornings when Randall brings me tarts."

A corner of Julian's mouth tipped upward. "Tarts, is it? I would have thought you learned your lesson. You recall, don't you, that you once ate your weight in them? You had a bellyache so ferocious that I had to send for Dr. Dudley. I should hope at the very least you learned to pace yourself."

She laughed gaily; what an absurdly faulty memory he had! "You have us all smashed together in your head, don't you? Can't remember one from the other. That was Eugenie."

"I don't have you all smashed together, I assure you," he said, his smile fading softly. "There is one that stands out from all the others—one that I can't seem to get out of my head."

Her initial assumption was that he meant Valerie by that, but his black eyes seemed to pierce her, boring down, down, down, into her very heart, and she realized that he was speaking of her. She missed a step—something she hadn't done in years—and Julian expertly righted her without missing a beat or taking his eyes from her. Heat and an odd sense of fear rumbled like thunder into her core. He was toying with her, seducing her for the sake of the chase, wanting to use her for God knew what purpose. "Why?" she suddenly blurted. "Why are you doing this to me? Why are you suddenly everywhere that I am?"

His response was to pull her closer so that their bodies touched—his thigh pressed to hers, her breasts to his chest. His hand curled around her fingers, gripping them tightly. "Because I can't get you out of my mind, Claudia! I haven't in a very long time and I am sick to death of pretending you aren't there."

All right, she was suddenly having trouble breathing. He was lying! Julian Dane thought of no one but himself—he certainly didn't moon over women! Oh God! This was too confusing! She couldn't think now, and curse Mary Whitehurst for so relentlessly begging her to come along tonight while her husband was away! She should have known this was the sort of affair he would attend!

"Are you all right?"

No, she was not all right. She forced herself to look at him. "Do you remember the night of Eugenie's wedding ball?" she suddenly asked. Julian's brows dipped into a confused frown, but he nodded. "You asked me to stand up with you for the first waltz." A moment passed; he blinked. There was no recognition in his eyes, nothing in his expression that suggested he remembered it at all. Claudia felt her heart begin to sink a little. "You . . . you asked me to stand up, and when it was over, you asked me to save another dance for you." There. It was out, one of the tentacles in the root of her distrust. But Julian only looked puzzled, and the heat quickly spread to her face and neck.

"I don't understand. Do you mean to say that I requested a second dance but did not claim it?"

Heat that was turning to fire—he looked appalled. "You . . . you just. . . yes. That is what happened." Her face was flaming. Really, she could use a bit of champagne just now!

"It is?"

Perhaps the earth would open up and swallow her whole. Having stated his horrid perfidy aloud she felt completely ridiculous. Ridiculous and pathetically silly. "You wouldn't understand," she muttered miserably.

"You are quite serious, aren't you?" he asked, his voice incredulous.

Claudia realized they had come to a halt at the edge of the terrace. "What I am trying to say"—she closed her eyes for a moment, tried to concentrate—"is that I have known what you are for years now."

He dropped her hand, folded his arms across his chest as his eyes narrowed with obvious displeasure. "You have known what I am for years now." It was a statement of incredulity, not a question.

"Ah . . . yes," she said, sounding terribly unsure.

"And that would be?"

Now was hardly the time to dissemble, she thought wildly and muttered, "A rake."

The expression in his eyes darkened. An absurd sense of panic welled up in her.

"A word, madam," he growled, and snatched her wrist, dragging her across the terrace, down into the garden, marching along at quite a clip toward the hothouse in the corner of the grounds. Claudia moved almost unconsciously, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion, her heart warring mightily with what was left of her good sense.

Halfway there, he seemed to think better of dragging her and hauled her into his side, clamping an iron arm around her waist and steering her onward. "I've come to the conclusion that you are not only the Demon's Spawn, you are also woefully ignorant of men. And let me just add that this discovery is rather astonishing, what with the way you topple men over like chess pieces everywhere you go."

"What?" she gasped as he reached for the door of the hothouse and pushed it open. "I don't topple them!"

"The bloody hell you don't," he said, and pushed her across the threshold of the hothouse, following right behind. "I could list them all if you'd like," he continued sharply as he rooted around a table, producing a candle. Lighting it, he swung the door shut with his foot and held the candle high. "Benjamin Sommer, Daniel Brantley, Maurice Terling, Colin Enderby—"

"Oh!" she fairly shrieked, insulted that among the list of suitors was the invidious Baron Enderby. "Colin Enderby has never darkened my door, and if he ever does, Randall is quite clear that he is to shoot upon sight!"

Julian paused to place the candle on a workbench. "I beg your pardon, Lady Claudia," he said, dipping into a mocking bow, "I surely meant to say the Duke of Gillingham. Or the Marquess of Braybrook. Or the Marquess of—"

"All right!" Claudia snapped, and pressed her forehead into her palm. "Honestly, I don't know the point of all this!"

"The point," he said, his voice noticeably softer, "is that I confess that I can't get you out of my mind, and you respond with some perceived cut from a half dozen years ago. You think that makes me a rake, and I think you haven't the slightest idea of what a rake is."

"I know what a rake is," she said slowly. "I know what you and Phillip used to do. I know where you went. .. ." Her throat felt thick; she didn't want to think of Phillip now.

Julian said nothing for a long moment. "I hope to God that isn't entirely true," he muttered. So did she.

"But it doesn't change anything," he said, the gravel crunching beneath his shoes as he moved toward her. She looked up when he reached her; he took her hand and folded it into his. "It surely doesn't change the fact that I can't get you out of my mind," he said, reaching for her temple to brush his knuckles into her hair. "When the sun comes up, I think of you. When it sets, I think of you, and every moment in between, it seems."

Even though his words were absurdly sentimental, they made her heart race erratically. It was racing so badly that she feared it would fail her. His fingers twined in a strand of lose hair, untangled it from her earring, then trailed down her neck, to her shoulder, gently caressing her skin. "When you walk into a room, everything else ceases to exist for me. I think about how you would feel in my arms or lying beneath me," he added quietly. "I think about how you would feel if I were deep inside you and your body surrounded me."

She was going to faint. "I d-don't believe you," she stammered.

He said nothing, let his gaze scorch her with its intensity. His hand slipped around the nape of her neck and he gently pulled her forward. Oh no. He was going to kiss her and make her mad with longing all over again. She didn't want that. . . oh yes, she did! She wanted it with every fiber of her being; wanted it as badly as if it were the air she needed to breathe.

"You are afraid to believe me," he softly corrected her, and his other hand slipped around her back, urging her into his chest. Julian trailed the pad of his thumb across her lips. "You are afraid of me."