After the Kiss (17 page)

Him
. What was he doing here? How dare he follow her!

Eliza gestured with her chin. “What is that soldier doing here, Charlie?”

“Who? Oh, Captain Wharton? I invited him. He does wonders for that uniform,” Charlotte said, eyeing him appreciatively. “Do you not think him handsome?”

“The man is a rogue, a rake, a seducer of women,” Eliza retorted. She ought to know. He had almost seduced her. If Julian had not interrupted them …

Charlotte pursed her lips. “I see you have heard the rumors about Captain Wharton. I suppose he is something of a rake. But one cannot expect perfection in everything.”

“Fiddlesticks,” Eliza muttered. “He is coming this way.”

Charlotte caught Eliza’s elbow before she could escape. “Stay and meet him.”

“I have—” Eliza cut herself off. Julian had warned that under no circumstances must she tell anyone, especially not the Countess of Denbigh, what had transpired
to cause her delay in arriving at Somersville Manor.

Now here
he
was to remind her of her entire disastrous detour. She felt like telling Charlotte that the Beau’s reputation did not do him justice. She knew firsthand how beguiling he could be. Why, the man could give lessons in seduction!

The man could give lessons …

It was as though someone had brought a branch of candles into a darkened room. Here she stood, desperate to make Julian fall in love with her and without an inkling of how to accomplish it. And who should arrive but the most infamous rake in London. Captain Wharton was just the person to ask for advice! The Beau was practiced at seduction. He could teach her exactly how to win Julian’s heart.

Her brow cleared, and her lips curved in a welcoming smile. “Captain Wharton. How lovely to see you again.”

Since the moment he had entered the ballroom, Marcus had been captivated by the sight of Miss Sheringham. He was annoyed with himself for being so spellbound by the chit. She was not even pretty, with those odd-shaped, tawny gold eyes, and cheekbones that left hollows below, and a too-wide mouth.

And she was dressed all wrong.

The chit was wearing scarlet. Young ladies wore white, or pale pastels. He had seen the pointing fingers, heard the titters behind her back at the unseemly choice. He blamed the Countess of Denbigh for not taking her protégée to task. Unfortunately, the countess
was as little inclined to follow the rules as he knew Miss Sheringham to be.

The square bodice was not cut low, but with Miss Sheringham’s ample bosom, it did not have to be. The puffed sleeves sat at the very edge of her shoulders, leaving a great deal of deliciously bare skin. She looked like a courtesan in a roomful of virgins.

Her hair was stacked on her head in touchable, flyaway curls that dripped onto her nape, and she wore two-inch-high red satin pumps. With the extra height at top and bottom, she was taller than every unmarried man in the room, except himself. She had even surpassed Julian by an inch.

That had provoked a great deal more staring and pointing. Personally, he could not be sorry for either addition. He fought the urge to replace those curls at her nape with his lips, and he wanted desperately to feel how her body would fit against his when they were nearly the same height.

He had watched her from the second-floor balcony above the ballroom since the party had begun, long enough to know that no one except Julian had signed her dance card. He suspected the countess would inveigle her husband to dance once with the chit. But it was plain Miss Sheringham had not taken. Foolish, foolish gentlemen. They had chosen the pretty shells and left the pearl behind.

He could not resist such easy treasure.

You promised you would stay away from her. You made special plans to avoid her
.

So why was he walking toward her now, like a moth drawn to flame, unable to resist the light. Like a lemming toward the cliffs above the sea?

Marcus could have been entertaining himself with a host of beauties. But none had her husky voice. Or her forthright gaze. They giggled and simpered and cast coy glances at him from above their fans. He found them insipid. And boring.

He wanted to hear her voice. See her eyes. Touch her silky skin. Put himself inside her.

“Captain Wharton,” the countess said with a warm smile. “Here I was, ready to introduce you to a friend of mine, when I suddenly discover you two have met before.”

Miss Sheringham had caught her lower lip in her teeth. Did she not realize how tempting she looked? Then he realized what the countess had said. “Yes,” he said. “Miss Sheringham and I have met.”

So, the chit had let the cat out of the bag. How much had she said?

“My cousin, Major Sheringham, introduced us earlier this evening,” Miss Sheringham said without a blink to reveal the lie.

So, their encounter in London was still a secret. He had spent a great deal of time pondering what would have happened if they had not been interrupted. He would have sworn Miss Sheringham was relieved to have escaped his company that day. Now she appeared almost happy to see him. Had she had second thoughts? Did she regret the interruption of their tryst as much as he did? He bowed over the hand she held out to him. “Miss Sheringham.”

“Captain Wharton,” she replied.

The Countess of Denbigh looked significantly at the orchestra tuning up on a raised dais and back to Captain Sheringham. He had never seen such blatant
manipulation. It would be simple to ignore the young countess. She should know the Beau never danced with eligible young ladies.

The orchestra began playing the first strains of music. A waltz. He would be able to hold Miss Sheringham in his arms. He would be able to see just how well their bodies fit together. He held out his arm. “Would you care to dance, Miss Sheringham?”

“I do not think—”

The countess nipped Miss Sheringham’s rebellion in the bud. “Of course she will. Why else come to a dance?”

“To gossip,” Miss Sheringham snapped, darting daggers in Miss Whitcomb’s direction.

Marcus watched the Diamond staring at Miss Sheringham, obviously talking to a group of young people behind her fan. The ladies tittered nervously, and the gentlemen flushed as red as mangel-wurzels, except for Julian, who merely scowled.

The countess sent Miss Sheringham a warning look, and she bit back whatever trenchant wit she had been about to share.

“Shall we?” Marcus held out his arm, and Miss Sheringham placed her gloved hand on it.

Before they were halfway to the dance floor, she whispered, “I must speak with you privately, Captain Wharton. Can you maneuver us onto the terrace?”

As impossible as it seemed, she apparently wanted to resume their dalliance. But she had picked entirely the wrong time and place. If he left with her, the Diamond would be sure to notice. He preferred his affairs to be more discreet.

“I think not,” he said.

He whirled her into the dance, vexed that he was attracted to someone so naive. Did she not realize the compromising position she would be in if they were discovered kissing on the terrace? Regrettably, he did.

“I must speak with you,” she insisted.

“I am not going anywhere alone with you, Miss Sheringham.”

She looked up at him, her eyes glowing with excitement. “I need your help, Captain. You cannot refuse me.”

He pulled her close to escape another waltzing couple and felt her warm breasts pillow against his chest. His body responded so quickly, it was all he could do to separate them before she discovered his arousal. “What kind of help?” he growled.

“I wish to learn how to seduce a man.”

He nearly collided with a palm tree. He managed to dance her beyond it and out onto the empty terrace. Exactly where he did not want to be. Especially with her.

He halted abruptly, grabbed her hand, and pulled her after him to a place where the light from the ballroom did not reach. Another couple was already there before them. He hid Miss Sheringham’s face against his uniform and backed away, then led her down the steps from the terrace, gravel crunching underfoot, into the gardens beyond.

He did not stop until they were well into a high hedge that had been cut into a maze. Lanterns had been placed above the walkways within the maze, but there were plenty of shadowed places where couples could find privacy. He saw a stone bench and led her toward it. He sat her down—ungently—and stood before
her, his hands behind his back, rather like a stem father before his wayward daughter.

“Now, Miss Sheringham. I believe I must have mistaken what I heard. Would you mind repeating what you said?”

“I want to learn how to seduce a man.”

He rocked back on his heels. “I see.” What he saw was that she was up to some mischief and intended to include him.

“I thought you would,” she said happily. She bounced up and crossed to him, removing the space he had put between them. “It is because of Julian, of course. I am in love with him, but he hardly notices I am alive. I want to make him fall in love with me. You can teach me how.”

He cleared his throat. “It seems you are under a misapprehension, Miss Sheringham.”

Her fisted hands landed on her hips, and she tapped her red satin pump on the stone walkway. “You cannot tell me you do not know how to seduce a woman.” She poked him with a pointed finger. “You are forgetting I have firsthand experience. I know how effective your methods are.”

“I would never—”

Her hand flattened against his uniform, and he felt his heart speed up beneath it. “It stands to reason the same techniques could be applied by a woman with a man.”

“I never said—”

She grabbed his arm with both hands. “You’re Julian’s friend. You want him to be happy, don’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then you must help me! I will make him a good wife, I promise you.”

Marcus stood without speaking, unwilling to be interrupted again. When she remained silent for more than a moment, he said, “There is one fatal flaw in your plan.”

She took a step back and looked at him, a V of concern between her eyes. “What is that?”

“I presume you want Julian to fall in love with you?”

“Correct.”

“I am afraid I cannot help you with that, Miss Sheringham.”

“But—”

He cut her off before she could touch him again. “I can teach you how to
seduce
him,” he clarified. “I cannot teach you how to make him
fall in love
with you. They are not at all the same thing, you know.”

“Oh.” She sank onto the stone bench. “Oh, dear. I was so sure … I was certain … How could I have made such an error in calculation? You are right, of course.”

The delightfully eager face she had shown him only moments before was painted in gloom. Her shoulders sagged, and she put a hand to her forehead, as though she felt faint.

“Are you all right, Miss Sheringham?”

“No,” she whispered.

He wanted to rescue her from desolation. He wanted to kiss her and caress her. He wanted to do with her what he was known best for doing with women. He wanted to ravish her.

He did not know what was stopping him. She was
vulnerable. It would not take much. A soft word, a softer touch, and she would be his. He could take her right here on the ground. He knew how to make her crave what he had to offer her. She would forget all about Julian.

She loves Julian
.

He swore under his breath. Honor had reared its head at a particularly inconvenient moment. Julian had rejected Miss Sheringham. That ought to be enough to leave the way clear for him.

In this case, it was not.

Miss Sheringham clearly still had her sights set on his friend. Until she gave up on Julian, he was not free to pursue her. So he might as well help her.

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “I could teach you a few things that might work to garner Julian’s attention. Once you have him by your side, he cannot fail to notice what a prize you are.”

Her head came up. Her shoulders squared. Her eyes gleamed bright with hope. “Do you think so?”

“It is worth a try.”

“Thank you, Captain. Thank you!”

She leaped up from the bench and threw herself toward him before he could curb her exuberance. His arms naturally encircled her waist. And he had his answer. She fit against him perfectly in all the right places.

“Enough of this,” he said, pushing her away. “Someone might come along and get entirely the wrong idea.”

She grinned. “I imagine so.” She hugged herself, forcing her bosom even farther out of the low-cut
gown, and beamed at him. “Where shall we start? What should I learn first?”

“I will think about it and let you know,” he said. “Right now, we must return to the ballroom.”

“But I want to get started right away. Tonight.”

“It should suffice that we have disappeared for a few minutes together,” Marcus said with a rueful twist of his mouth. “Unless I am very much mistaken, the gossips—Miss Whitcomb comes to mind—will have pointed out to your cousin that we are missing together. He should be looking for us at this very minute. I suggest—”

“Eliza? Are you in here?”

“It’s Julian!” she hissed.

“Over here, Julian,” Marcus answered in a loud voice.

“What are you doing?” Miss Sheringham whispered. “He will be furious with me.”

“He will notice you. And that is the point, is it not, my dear?”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh. I see.”

“However, I suggest we head back in his direction, and please, Miss Sheringham, stop chewing your lip. Your cousin is liable to misinterpret the reason it has become so swollen.”

“Oh.” She touched her damp, swollen lower lip. “You mean he will think you have been kissing me.”

“Exactly.”

“Perhaps a little jealousy—”

He pulled her to a stop. “A word of warning before you play at seduction, Miss Sheringham: it is a dangerous game. The consequences can be deadly.
Do not underestimate Julian. He has killed men for less reason than the one you would offer him.”

“But Julian would never—”

“Julian would kill me as certainly as he would any other man for an insult to your honor. Never doubt it, Miss Sheringham. It will make this game safer for both of us.”