A Breath of Scandal (13 page)

Lara is a Gypsy
, he reminded himself. Not fit to take her place as the wife of an earl, no matter how beautiful or desirable. Society would never have accepted her. Lara would have been miserable as the ostracized wife of an earl. Her wild spirit would have withered and died beneath the strictures demanded by polite society.

Visions of Lara’s wanton dancing jarred his memory. With vivid clarity he recalled her lithe, golden body whirling and spinning to a Gypsy refrain. Her blood was hot, her passion stunning, and Julian couldn’t bear the thought of another man having her. But his bloody responsibility to family and country made Lara’s gift of herself impossible to accept on a permanent basis.

Julian’s thoughts were interrupted when Emma burst through the door without knocking. “What did you say to Rudy? He left here in a stew. I swear, Julian, if you’ve ruined this for me I’ll never forgive you.”

Julian heaved a weary sigh. Life was so damn complicated. As head of the family his responsibilities were enormous. So many people depended on him that he almost wished he could return to the simple life as Drago the Gypsy.

“You are young, Emma. There are better men than Blakely to choose from among the
ton
. I’ll see you at dinner,” he said dismissively.

His head was already buried in a ledger when he heard Emma slam out the door.

Dinner that night was an uncomfortable affair. Emma’s anger simmered to a fine froth, and Aunt Amanda’s quiet disapproval of Julian’s overbearing ways grated on his nerves. He excused himself before dessert and paced his room until it was time to dress for that night’s social event.

The rout proved boring and a waste of time as far as Julian was concerned. It didn’t improve his mood when Emma disappeared into the garden with Rudy while Julian was sniffing out the traitor from among his peers. He learned nothing that night, nor was there an attempt made upon his life. Perhaps he expected things to happen too soon. Frustration gnawed at him. He knew he was handling Emma all wrong but hadn’t the slightest idea how to rectify the situation without giving in to Blakely’s ridiculous request to court her.

The following weeks were lost in a social whirl. Julian renewed his acquaintance with men he considered prime suspects in his investigation while at the same time keeping an eye on Emma, who, to Julian’s consternation, appeared seriously enthralled with Rudy Blakely.

Briefly Julian considered taking another mistress, but he quickly discarded the idea. He had neither the time nor the energy to devote to a mistress in his present circumstance. Besides, after Lara, the thought of bedding another woman was distasteful. The Gypsy wench had ruined him for another woman. She had bewitched him, and he couldn’t shake off her spell.

Julian had been in London a month when Emma informed him at the breakfast table about the ball they were to attend that night to introduce the Earl of Stanhope’s daughter to society.

“Do you know Lord Stanhope’s daughter well?” Julian asked conversationally as he perused the morning paper.

“I’ve never met her. Few even knew Lord Stanhope had a daughter until he invited the
ton
to her coming-out ball. I suppose she’s been rusticating in the country until now.”

“Ummm,” Julian said, resigning himself to a boring evening of simpering young women and eagle-eyed mothers looking for eligible husbands for their daughters. He supposed the Stanhope chit was cut from the same cloth.

Julian entered the ballroom of the sumptuous Stanhope mansion situated next to Hyde Park on Park Lane. The line of carriages waiting their turn to discharge their prestigious guests had delayed their arrival, and the ballroom was already crowded to overflowing.

Julian knew Lord Stanhope slightly but didn’t see him in the crush of people. He headed over to join a group of peers while Emma and Amanda wandered toward some women acquaintances. The talk was boring and Julian drifted off, looking for other diversion. A crowd of men clustered around a man and woman caught his attention. Curious, he wandered over in their direction. Standing on the edge of the crowd and craning his neck, he felt an odd thrum of excitement pass through him.

Lord Stanhope stood in the center of the eager crowd, beaming down at the woman on his arm. She was turned away from him so that Julian couldn’t see her face. She was small, her curvaceous body clad in a stunning silver gown that showed to advantage her dark hair and golden complexion. A chill of recognition raised the hairs on the back of Julian’s neck. The young woman raised her head and smiled at one of her admirers. Julian gasped. He felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. Hard.

Lara. As if drawn by the hand of fate, Lara found him over the sea of heads. Their gazes clashed and held. Julian could tell she hadn’t expected to see him here, for her skin paled and her eyes grew impossibly wide.

What the bloody hell was Lara doing with Lord Stanhope? Julian wondered. He gave a snort of disgust. Obviously the fiery Gypsy wanton had followed him to London and found herself a protector. Lord Stanhope, a widower, had probably been an easy mark. No one even remembered his wife, and his rich daughter would soon be auctioned to the highest bidder.

Damn! Damn! Damn! How dare she! It didn’t take her long to climb from one bed to another. He had taught her passion and she had learned her lesson well. But why had Lara come to London to find another lover? Wasn’t Rondo good enough for her?

Lara’s knees were shaking. If not for her father’s sustaining presence she would have run for the nearest exit. She hated this posturing and pretense. The men vying for her attention did so out of curiosity, not because they thought her wife material. She’d seen the mothers whispering behind their fans, no doubt commenting on her dark skin and unusual eyes. Even the young ladies her age stared at her as if she were dirt beneath their feet.

Lara knew her dowry was sufficient to guarantee her a husband, but the man who asked for her hand would have to be in desperate need of funds to take a half-Gypsy bride. Poor Papa, she silently lamented. He had such high hopes for her. She knew he would be disappointed if she didn’t marry one of these posturing fops. But Lara was adamant. If she couldn’t have Drago, she didn’t want anyone.

Lara summoned a polite smile for Lord Denby, who had just complimented her dress, and wished they would all disappear. Their empty flattery left her cold.

Suddenly Lara felt a finger of apprehension crawl up her spine. Her anxious gaze scanned the crowd of would-be suitors and met the dark, enigmatic gaze of the man she had given up hope of ever seeing again. He was staring at her so intently that her knees began to buckle beneath her and she grasped her father’s arm for support.

“Lara, dear, are you ill?” Lord Stanhope asked as he supported Lara’s sagging form.

“It’s so close in here, Papa,” Lara whispered. “Might I go to the ladies’ retiring room?”

“Of course, my dear. I will escort you there myself.”

He executed a maneuver that led them away from the ballroom and crowd of admirers. “You are a success, Lara,” Stanhope gloated. “You have all the young men falling at your feet. I knew you’d be popular. I have such high hopes for you, daughter. You’re a welcome addition to society.”

I care nothing about society
, Lara thought. She hated to disappoint her father, but these adoring young men didn’t have marriage on their minds. She was astute enough to know that they were more interested in her as a mistress than a wife. How could Papa be so blind?

When Lara had encountered Drago’s gaze over the heads of her admirers, she’d wanted to crawl into the woodwork. He’d looked stunned and angry, though he had no reason to be angry with her. She was the one who had suffered after he’d left her without a hint of remorse or regret.

But he’d looked so wonderful it was all she could do to tear her eyes from him. He was dressed in expensively tailored evening clothes: light blue satin coat, silver waistcoat, gray trousers, white stockings, and leather shoes with buckles liberally sprinkled with stones that looked suspiciously like diamonds. Nothing about him reminded her of Drago, unless it was his brilliant midnight blue eyes.

“I shall wait here and escort you back to the ballroom,” Lord Stanhope said when they reached the retiring room.

Lara shook her elegantly coifed head. “No, Papa, return to your guests. I will rest a moment and find you when I feel more confident of myself. This is all so new.”

Stanhope kissed her forehead. “I’m proud of you, daughter. You’re the picture of your lovely mother. Had I known of your existence I would have married Serena and brought you both to live with me. I pray you forgive me for not making things right with your mother before she died.”

“I had a good life with Mama. I lacked for nothing. ’Tis as much Mama’s fault as yours that you did not know about me until I was thirteen.”

Stanhope smiled. “I promise to make it all up to you. There must be one worthy man among these young puppies making moon eyes at you. Don’t stay too long, you will be missed.”

Lara slipped inside the retiring room, relieved to find it empty. As far as she was concerned, the only man worthy of her was Drago, and he didn’t want her.

Lara hid inside the retiring room as long as she dared before inching the door open and stepping out into the hall.

“It’s about time,” a familiar voice drawled. “We need to talk.”

“Drago.”

“Aye, my wanton little Gypsy.” He grasped her arm and pulled her toward the open French door leading from the hallway directly into the garden. Once outside, he dragged her through the sweet-smelling flowers and into a maze of hedgerows. He didn’t stop until they reached a moon-drenched gazebo at the center of the maze.

Roughly he swung her around to face him. “What the bloody hell are you doing in London? Did you follow me here?”

Lara couldn’t believe her ears. Drago’s accusation made her furious. He was the one who had abandoned her, so why was he so angry? If looks could kill, Drago would have already met his maker.

“H
ow dare you manhandle me!” Lara blasted.

“I’d like to do more than that,” Julian growled. “Why did you follow me to London, you little fool? It didn’t take you long to find a new protector.”

Lara’s mouth fell open. Drago’s cruel, unjust accusation nudged her anger into full bloom. She shook herself free of his grasp and started to walk away. But it was not to be. Drago renewed his hold and dragged her up against him.

“Stanhope is an old man. Does his soft shaft please you?”

“Arrogant bastard,” Lara hissed. Finding Drago at her ball was shock enough, but to have him speak to her as if she were a common whore was insulting. Who was he? And what was he doing at her party? How did he come by an invitation? He was dressed like a fine lord and acting like an idiot.

Enough was enough. Before she had time to change her mind, she hauled back and slapped Drago across the face.

“Go away, Drago,” she spat. “You know nothing about me. Why should you care what I do? You left me without a backward glance. Did you ever think of me once during the weeks since we parted? I don’t know who you are, or how you came by an invitation to Lord Stanhope’s party, but I suggest you take yourself off and leave me alone before I call a footman to evict you.”

A nerve twitched in Julian’s jaw, but other than that, he gave no sign that she had hurt him. Judging by the way her hand stung, the blow should have been painful.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “What happened, Lara? You weren’t a whore when I left you. Did you discover you couldn’t do without a man in your bed? I’m surprised you didn’t turn to Rondo.” His eyes narrowed. “Or did you? Perhaps you decided to seek your fortune in higher places. I understand Stanhope is a wealthy widower. He won’t marry you, spitfire. Earls seek wives from their own ranks.”

“You disgust me, Drago. I believe you owe me an apology.”

Julian stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “For what must I apologize?”

“There are so many things I can’t begin to name them. For one, you called me a whore. For another, you accused me of following you to London when it never occurred to me to chase after someone who cared so little for me.”

“Then explain what you’re doing in London.”

“This conversation is beginning to bore me. There should be a law preventing pompous, overbearing asses from circulating in polite society. Excuse me, I must be getting back. Lord Stanhope will come looking for me if I don’t return to the ballroom soon.”

“Let him look,” Julian growled as his arms tightened around her. “Shall I remind you how it was between us? Would you like a small demonstration of how it feels to be kissed by a real man?”

Panic shuddered through Lara. If Drago kissed her she’d never find the will to stop with just one kiss, and knowing Drago, he wouldn’t, either. Lara didn’t know this elegantly dressed gentleman. He looked like Drago yet he wasn’t Drago in any of the ways that counted. His demeanor was more commanding, more tyrannical. Less admirable.

“Kiss me, Lara.”

“No! I don’t know you.”

He gave her a feral smile. “You know me, Lara, and you know my kisses. You tempt me beyond reason.”

His mouth slammed down on hers. His kiss was hard, almost brutal, as if he were punishing her for showing up in London and complicating his life. The kiss went on forever, until her mouth softened beneath his and his lips became coaxing and gentle, just like the Drago she remembered from the Gypsy camp. His hand found her breast. He squeezed gently, then tormented the nipple with the pad of his thumb. A moan slipped past Lara’s lips. Abruptly he dragged his mouth away and removed his hand, holding her at arm’s length and staring at her so intently she wanted to melt.

“Go back to your own kind, Lara,” he commanded. “I have no time for you.”

“I did not follow you to London, Drago, so ease your mind of that notion. You made it perfectly clear that you didn’t want a Gypsy wife. By the way, what name are you using in London? I assume ’tis not the one I gave you. Drago is a Gypsy name and you look like no Gypsy I’ve ever seen. What kind of skullduggery are you involved in? Have your enemies found you yet?”