Dare to Love (24 page)

Dare grimaced before growling, “No. My wound is not troubling me. I am fine. Or I would be if you would stop smashing my possessions around.”

“Yes, sir. Terribly rude of me to bring in warm water and clean clothes. I should have known that you were choosing to spend the day in bed.”

Dare watched as the arrogant fool crossed to the window and threw open the drapes.

“Argh! Are you trying to blind me? Close them,” Dare screamed before sinking back into the pillows.

“So sorry. I had merely hoped to air out the room. It’s a bit stale today.”

“Well it will bloody well stay stale for the next several hours. I have no interest in being bothered. Go get me some coffee and then be gone.”

Dare groaned one last time as the man deliberately and noisily slammed the door shut. Pressing his hands to his temples, he tried to piece together the evening. He remembered Nivea waking him with a cool hand on his forehead. They talked. They kissed.

He turned toward his headboard and saw his cravat still tied to the bedpost. Ah, yes, he definitely remembered their liaison.

Then his dream came back to him. Nivea watching in horror as he smacked one of their children. Her disgust driving her out the door and into the arms of that Corknell fellow. She was no better than any other woman in his life. She had judged him, found him lacking, and left without a backward glance.

The worst part was, he had actually started to believe she might be different. That she might truly be sympathetic. But deep down, he knew she would never understand the ugliness, the anger, the violence that simmered beneath his surface. At the first sign of his true personality, she would turn tail and run. He had no doubt of that.

Although their relationship had, until this point, been far more enjoyable than he would have ever imagined, he realized it must come to an immediate end. This ill-fated trip had gone on long enough and it was high time he return to London and his normal life.

Strange how that thought brought a surge of pain to his chest.

Putting that sensation aside, he opened his eyes once more determined to leave at once. But as his head threatened to explode, he quickly shut them again. His departure would need to wait until tomorrow. The thought of riding in a jolting carriage was far too unsettling.

It was hours before he managed to pull himself together. Thankfully, Jackson had brought coffee and a headache powder that addressed most of his needs. After an extensive nap and a long soak in the tub, he decided to get dressed and attend the evening’s dance. Although he had no interest in participating, he was loathe to give rise to any rumors that he was unwell from his injury, or God forbid, that he had managed to drink himself stupid.

Starting tonight, he would return to his old self—Lord Landis, notorious rakehell. That would dash any hopes Nivea may harbor about a “next time.” She would learn she was just another in a long line of women.

He summoned Jackson to prepare an unrestricting, yet thoroughly rakish wardrobe. It took some doing, but the result was striking. He wore a midnight blue jacket that hugged his broad shoulders but did not need to be buttoned. His silver waistcoat, embroidered with indigo thread, was lightweight and flexible. His dove grey trousers sat low on his hips, below his wound. Setting off the ensemble was a deep sapphire blue pin embedded into his starched white cravat.

Jackson was just securing his queue with a blue ribbon when there came a knock on his door.

“Landis, you in there?”

“Yes, Horsham, what do you need?”

William opened the door and peered in. He was dressed in a drab brown jacket and trousers, only one step up from his usual riding attire, but what passed as fashionable for him. “We haven’t seen you all day. Just checking to see if you are all right.”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

“Good, happy to hear. We are all ready to depart for the evening’s soiree. You will be joining us?”

“Would I be wearing this if I weren’t?” Dare swept his hand over his attire.

“One never knows with you, my friend,” William answered with a chuckle. “Would you like us to wait for you? You can ride in my carriage.”

“No need. I will require a few more minutes. Go ahead and I will meet you there.”

“Very well,” he responded and started to pull the door shut. Then he popped his head back in. “Landis, just one more thing.”

“Yes,” he drawled.

“Keep away from my sister.” And he pulled the door shut.

Dare glared at the door. As Jackson moved to give his cravat a final adjustment, Dare slapped his hands away. “I’ll finish it myself. Go make yourself useful somewhere else.”

As he walked out, Jackson didn’t hide his judgmental smirk. Dare was not amused. Something had made William apprehensive. Had he seen Nivea leaving his room last night? Surely not. If William had the slightest suspicion his sister was ruined, Dare would be dragged to the church in irons.

It must have been a result of their ride together.

Well, there was no point in deluding himself anymore that Nivea was harmless. She was as dangerous as any woman he knew. Perhaps more so. He had been entirely too risky, dallying with her.

Good God, what had he been thinking? Obviously, there could be no more contact with her. Starting tonight, he would once again embrace the role of a devilish rouge, thereby crushing any of Nivea’s ridiculous expectations.

“Next time,” she had said. There would be no next time. No liaisons, no friendship, and certainly no marriage.

Giving his attire a final tug, he stormed out of the room. On his way to the front hall, he paused by Horsham’s study to consider downing a glass of whisky. When his stomach lurched at the thought, he made do with a large pinch from his snuffbox.

By the time Dare arrived at the blasted popinjay’s estate, carriages jammed the circular drive. Morrill was in the House of Lords and had attracted more of a crowd than Dare had expected.

He strode inside and scanned the ballroom with the sole intention of keeping a sizeable distance between himself and Nivea. This odd fascination had gone on long enough.

“Landis, over here,” Joseph called out, waving him over. He was standing with Nicholas’s father. That was a safe enough crowd. Landis could listen to them with half an ear while surveying the ballroom for more interesting entertainment.

Leaning back against a column, he noticed many of the same faces from the wedding. A few more nabobs had been invited, at the behest of the young Morrill pup.

He spotted Nivea almost immediately. She looked radiant tonight in a turquoise gown, a satin ribbon of cream gathering the fabric under her bosom. It was more form-fitting than her usual attire, giving the guests a healthy view of her charms.

Damn her. She was drifting from group to group, smiling and chatting like a demimonde. Where was the shy, retiring girl, cowering in the corner, peering at others on the dance floor? Why couldn’t she have crawled back into her ridiculously self-conscious shell? Instead, she seemed to be adopting a whole other persona right before his eyes.

He sneered as a thought hit him. No doubt she was bolstered by misguided dreams of the future. A future with him. Any minute, she would spot him, race over, and place a possessive hand on his arm. She would look up at him with adoring eyes and everyone would know.

Snap! The parson’s trap would be set and sealed.

A burning rage flared through his chest. It would be a cold day in hell before he allowed himself to be manipulated like that.

Turning, he spotted a more agreeable companion. An elegant redhead was standing alone near the edge of the dance floor. Her deep violet gown skimmed her curves as amethyst jewels sparkled at her neck. Excusing himself from the conversation, he strolled to her side and bestowed his most appreciative smile on her.

She glanced up at him with an answering gleam in her eye.

“Good evening, milady. Are you having an enjoyable evening?”

“Yes, milord, I am.” Her voice was low and husky as she asked, “Have we met before?”

He bowed low over her hand, before raising it to his lips. “No, I think not. I would certainly remember someone of your loveliness,” he purred. “I am Lord Landis, Dare to my friends. And you?”

“Lady MacNair.” She curtsied low enough to give him a full view of her décolletage. It was less impressive than some, but he was feeling generous enough to overlook that.

He locked eyes with her and said silkily, “I confess I was concerned the evening would be a trifle dull. But seeing you here has given me hope.”

She leaned closer, slanting her face up towards his. “Has it now? In what way?”

He noted a slight Irish lilt to her voice that he had always found intriguing. One of his more adventurous liaisons had been with a Celtic lass.

With his interest suitably spiked, he responded, “I have been trapped in the country for a few weeks and desperately miss the pleasures of London. Perhaps a dance with a bewitching redhead would sustain me.”

“A dance?” she answered, her eyes wide with feigned innocence, “Is that all you are hoping for?”

He chuckled. “It would be a start.” Running his gloved fingers over her arm, he whispered, “I’m told that I’m quite a good dancer. In fact, some ladies declare that one dance is not enough.”

She took a long slow look at him and purred, “Is that so?” Then with a sigh, she drew back. “Well, as intriguing as that sounds, I fear my husband would not approve. Here he comes now.”

Reaching out her hand, she drew an oversized bear of a man to her side. He had two glasses of lemonade clutched in his giant paws. He handed one to his wife before glaring at Dare.

She smiled sweetly at her husband. “Milord, this is Lord Landis. He was keeping me company in your absence. Lord Landis, this is Laird MacNair.”

MacNair growled as Landis bowed, as minimal as circumstances required. Never a stupid man, he realized there would be no benefit in pursuing this relationship. A large, possessive husband was rarely a good thing.

“Now that your escort has returned, I will once again join my friends. It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Lady MacNair.” He gave her a smirk, and she shrugged her shoulders and sipped from her glass.

He walked away, maintaining his haughty, unconcerned visage, masking the disgust that washed over him. How many more examples did he need to prove marriage was a ridiculous institution? Women were nothing but immoral hypocrites, keening for the respectability of a husband and hearth, and as soon as they have it, prowling for more excitement. Not one of them could be trusted.

Crossing the room, he kept a vigilant eye out for Nivea. He spotted her by the terrace doors. Even from this distance he could see her blue eyes sparkling with pleasure as she held an animated conversation with two older gentlemen seated along the wall. She leaned over to pat one of the gentlemen on the arm, treating Dare to a view of her rounded bottom, encased in a snug fitting skirt. He never remembered her looking so alluring. He could almost feel her soft curves pressed against him.

To his horror, he became aroused at the thought, right there on the ballroom floor. Good God, he hadn’t the control of a green boy.

As though she could sense him, she turned to look in his direction. He deftly spun on his heel and headed toward the dance floor. A quick glance to his right showed Miss Yorkshire heading toward him. Remembering the dreadfully dull conversation they had at the wedding, he was determined to give her a wide berth.

Thankfully, Joseph’s wife was only a few steps away, and he gathered her up and pulled her onto the dance floor.

She gave him the bemused look she reserved for him before politely asking, “So, Lord Landis, how are you feeling today?”

“Quite fine, madam. And you?”

“I am well, thank you.” Both fell silent as they promenaded through the pattern.

She was a nice enough woman, but since she was unable to provide Dare what he was looking for tonight, he didn’t feel the need to be particularly charming.

The dance was almost over when she said, “We missed seeing you at lunch today. I was afraid you were feeling poorly after your ride into town yesterday.”

He kept his face expressionless as he twirled her left and then right. “No, milady, I was eager to catch up on my correspondence. Matters demanded my attention.”

He kept his eyes on the couples in front of him and could sense her weighing the veracity of his response. But she didn’t question him, and they finished the rest of the dance in silence. When it was done, he thanked her and turned his attention back to his quest.

It didn’t take much effort. There was a delectable morsel standing a few steps away, waving her fan in his direction. Her soft blond curls brushed her cheeks, and her thick lashes dipped as she caught his eye.

Ahhh, this was promising. No chaperone in evidence, no husband nearby ready to sweep her away. “Good evening, Miss…”

She flashed a half smile, then cast her eyes downward. “Mrs. Fallows of Bristol, milord. Perhaps you remember meeting me at my husband’s estate last fall. We took a stroll around his orangery. He had a great love of citrus trees.”

He looked at her closer, trying to recall. She did appear familiar. It was then her word choice caught his attention. “Does he no longer have an interest in citrus?”

“He has no interest in anything, milord. He passed on soon after Michaelmas.”

He looked at her sharply, trying to gauge her response. Was she in mourning? As her gaze slid from his face down to his chest, and settled on his thighs, he knew he had his answer.

“Dance?” he asked, pitching his voice low.

“Certainly,” she purred and held out her gloved hand. He tucked it into the crook of his arm and led her onto the floor. The musicians had just struck up a waltz.

Finally
, the stars were aligning for a more promising evening.

Dare pulled her into his arms, letting his fingers skim the silken lavender fabric encasing her slim waist. Taking a deep satisfied breath, he began dancing.

She glided along in his arms, a small smile quirking up the corners of her mouth. He gently squeezed her fingers, and she looked up at him with breathless anticipation, a slight flush dancing across her skin.