Invitation to Ruin (23 page)

That’s what scared him. He didn’t know how to deal with her.

He couldn’t recall any woman who was less afraid of him. Nor could he remember one who actually dealt with him as an equal, without trying to impress him or control him.

She
was
beautiful. But that didn’t explain why he wanted her so badly. Why he lusted after her almost to the point of obsession. There were plenty of beautiful and available women—he looked around him—here for instance. Women who’d do almost anything he asked without ties or commitment or risk of producing the next Earl of Wickham.

More likely it was the forbidden fruit aspect that was attracting him so strongly to Melissa.

He would resist her delights, and tomorrow, search for a new mistress. A woman who’d sate his desires and leave him immune to his wife’s temptations.

He looked around. He could start the hunt now. What better place than a sin club? As he gazed with heated blood at the naked rouged flesh on display, Melissa’s face flooded his mind. He pulled at his cuffs.

“Something bothering you?” his brother asked. “You’ve lost quite a lot of money tonight. That isn’t like you. Perhaps we should move to the settee to enjoy other entertainments.”

Anthony eyed the curvaceous redhead lying completely naked, prone, upon the divan against the far wall. At his stare, her lips parted in a beckoning smile, and her tongue slipped out from between moist pink lips. She swung her legs down to the floor and parted them, running her hand provocatively down between her thighs.

He hardened immediately at her blatant sexual invitation.

“She is a beauty, is she not, my lord?” Sabine’s husky feminine voice whispered in his ear as he sat, eyes firmly entranced by the woman pleasuring herself directly across from him. He had not seen or heard the Madam’s approach. “I
trust your marriage won’t diminish your attendance here. I’d hate to lose my best customer—so would Karla. As you can see she’s a true redhead.”

Anthony grinned. “My compliments, love, on your exquisite taste in women. As a matter of fact I might be in the market for a new mistress.”

Richard shoved back his chair. “Since when?”

“I am always open to offers for one of my girls.” Sabine smiled, money her favorite topic. “I’m pleased your marriage has not diminished your appetite.”

“I have no desire to be tamed, and I prefer my women wild and willing.”

“Karla will be as wild as you require. She doesn’t look as if she’s far from orgasm. You’d disappoint my other patrons if you interrupted her now.”

Both Anthony and his brother swiveled their heads to watch Karla, along with every other man in the room. Her breasts were heaving, her eyes were closed. Her hips were gyrating wildly, lifting off the couch as her fingers disappeared between her wet, glistening folds. She was emitting soft cries of passion, and for the first time in his life, Anthony was not aroused.

She came with one final scream and slumped back against the settee to a round of applause and catcalls.

He couldn’t hide from the truth, he, the infamous Lord of Wicked, was not in the mood for a woman … other than his wife.

So he shook his head, feigning regret. “Richard advising caution is probably sound advice. For the moment, I should remain faithful. The gossips have been fed enough tantalizing details for now. After a few weeks, the matter will be another question entirely.”

“Of course, my lord. Then I shall let you get back to your cards.”

Once Sabine left, Richard leaned close. “A most provocative display. Did it not tempt you?”

“It’s late. I’m tired. If you want her, take her.”

“Tired. I see.”

He resented the knowing look in his brother’s eye. Richard knew damn well Anthony would normally have to be dying before he turned down an opportunity to be serviced by a woman of such obvious skills and beauty.

He pushed back his chair and stood. “I’m going home. Are you coming?”

Richard smiled and cocked his head at Karla. “I think I’ll stay and play a while. At least one of us should be satisfied tonight.”

Anthony left the club to Richard’s laughter ringing in his ears.

A
nthony loathed balls of any kind, especially one where he and his hurried nuptials where the raging topic of conversation. He couldn’t blame them.

His trip to Madame Sabine’s, on his wedding night, had added fuel to the fire.
Idiot!

He propped one shoulder against the fashionable matron’s wall covered in the latest Parisian designs. He had no idea whose house he was in, nor did he care. Over the heads of the assembled throng, he studied Melissa across the room.

His wife needed none of the frippery or jewels that so many women seemed to prefer. Her plain, elegant, yet somehow seductive apricot-colored dress clung to her curves. Diamonds couldn’t be more alluring.

Her curls shone midnight black in the candlelight, piled loosely upon her head, with artfully arranged pieces twinning over her shoulders to rest directly above her lily-white breasts.

She was a woman of elegance and simplicity, and Anthony admired her taste.

He shook his head. Admired?

His teeth still ground at the memory of her calm acceptance at his behavior last night. This morning, she’d acted as if there was nothing unusual about a husband not sharing his wife’s bed on their wedding night.

For once, he was grateful the crowd packing the ballroom
gave him adequate cover.
Coward. You needed to converse with her
.

The wolves were circling.

He was in no mood to act the happy husband for the
ton
. He’d never cared one whit what anyone thought of him. Society had never cared for him; he certainly owed them nothing.

From the look of it, his Countess had forgotten him, her smiles charming every man in her vicinity. She did not understand they hovered for one reason only.

His more primitive self observed the men gathering about her through ever-narrowing eyes. When Lord Carthors swanned into contention, he inwardly swore. The rakes smelled blood—virginal blood. They knew he’d compromised Melissa and thought he didn’t care about her. Plus, she was Cassandra’s cousin. Men would likely think that Melissa was as enthusiastic for the sport as Cassandra.

Leaving her unattended was paramount to feeding her to the sharks. His mother’s warning had been correct.

Anthony was just about to push away from the wall and head in her direction when he felt delicate feminine fingers lightly touch his arm.

“Do you love her?”

A storm brewed in his chest. How dare anyone ask him such an impertinent question? Love? Love was a fleeting emotion used to appease women who wanted an excuse to indulge in passion. Once the desire was gone, love died as quickly as the passion.

He turned to set the interloper in her place, but his harsh words died when he saw the look of hope on her sweet face. She took a step back when noting the scowl covering his.

She stammered, “I’m sorry. I have been observing you watching her. I am not usually so forward, but Melissa means the world to me and I would see her happy.”

He stood silently assessing the young woman before him. She was tall, slender, with a full bosom. She was dressed in a rich blue dress that matched the color of her soulful eyes. She
could be a very pretty distraction. Why had he not noticed her before? Her auburn hair glinted in the flickering candlelight. “Lady Albany, is it not?”

She nodded her head. “She loves you, you see, and I would not see her hurt.”

Not only was the woman totally impertinent, she was rude with it. “For a lady I have never had the pleasure of knowing either in the biblical sense or otherwise, you seem to have no trouble attacking my character. Are you implying that I’d intentionally hurt her?”

Her face flushed with color. “Hurt is not always caused by the physical. Men do not always understand how easily they can wound, with a simple look or gesture.”

“Come now. Melissa is made of sterner stuff than that.”

“Forgive me. Obviously, I’ve made a grievous mistake in approaching you. I see that Melissa is simply another woman fooled by a handsome face and pretty lies. Like most gentlemen, you do not value that which you so easily gain.” She moved close, her chin lifting. “Do not hurt her, or I will do everything in my power to make your life miserable.”

He bit back the urge to laugh, her threat running off his back like bathwater. “I think you have been misinformed, my lady. She does not like me, let alone love me.”

“Then you must have done something recently to earn her dislike.”

“Nothing that any man has not done before me.”

“And that makes it right?” Her distaste was obvious. “You should take the time to learn the character of the woman you have been so fortunate to compromise.” She scornfully looked him up and down. “I pity you. You have won the most precious gift, yet you don’t have the courage to embrace it.”

He pushed off the wall and came to tower over her. “You go too far, Lady Albany. You may talk to your husband in that manner, but you will find I do not countenance insolence from anyone.”

She glared right back. “I find I don’t talk to my husband at
all. It makes for a very tiresome marriage. I suggest that you don’t make the same mistake. If you are man enough, get to know Melissa before discarding her, before trying to closet her at one of your country estates.” With that she gave him her back and glided away.

Anthony stared at Lady Albany’s straight spine as she walked away. Taking deep breaths, he clenched and unclenched his fists at his side. How had she known his plan?

Stirring, he moved to the edge of the dance floor and grabbed a drink from a passing servant.
If he was man enough!
Who the hell did Lady Albany think she was?

She’s in love with you
… Lady Albany was the second person to make such a claim. He gazed across at Melissa and drunk her in. She looked perfectly content, fending off the bucks surrounding her. He remembered back to the night he had mistakenly ended up in her bed. She’d had plenty of men vying for her attention that night, too. She had calmly held court, very practiced at dealing with those who became overly familiar, Lord Dashell being one of them.

Anthony seriously doubted that Melissa understood just how appealing the rakes within the
ton
found her calm, contained, disposition. Her ability to remain unfretted, with a cool demeanor, was having her would-be suitors lining up to accept her challenge. To be the man to make her lose control. To claim the honor of her passionate surrender.

Her behavior had established her as a prize to be won, and with the added gossip of her fall into his bed, the vultures who circled her were perfectly cognizant of the intangible cachet attached to winning her favors.

Unlike the gentlemen hovering around her like bees to a honey pot, he knew the exquisite pleasure of seeing her cool façade fracture as she surrendered herself to passion.

His temper bubbled up to the surface again. Lady Albany was right about one thing, Melissa was a gift. A gift wrapped and ready to open, but a gift to be opened only by him.

He headed in her direction ready to do battle with any man who thought otherwise.

As he strolled down the ballroom toward Melissa, he thought it ironic that under normal circumstances he would be assessing the room and the house for places where he might later whisk a lady who’d caught his eye, so that he might indulge in his favorite pastime—pleasure. Tonight, the lady who currently commanded his attention—every bit of his anatomy stood to attention as his primal male possessiveness emerged—he was more concerned with avoiding precisely those same pleasures.

He gritted his teeth and willed his sex to quiet down. The last thing he needed was for his wife to think she held any sway over him—any part of him.

   Melissa was holding her own against an annoying clutch of rakes when she glimpsed Anthony through the crowd. A whirl of emotions stole her breath, making her momentarily dizzy.

Trepidation, excitement, and a seductive thrill were a novel and unsettling mix. How could she be so angry with him, yet still be so delighted to see him?

She could tell from the scowl marring his features that he was not in an appealing mood. What on earth had she done wrong this time? She had stayed away from him, as directed the last time he’d deigned to talk to her, which had been early this afternoon.

Sternly ordering her stupid senses to buck up, she refocused on Lord Carthor’s tale. He was presently holding forth on the lawlessness that was invading the lower class in London, having had his late father’s pocket watch stolen by pickpockets last evening as he arrived at the theater.

The fact that most of the inhabitants flooding London’s streets lived in abject poverty, and stole simply to survive, seemed to have escaped his lordship’s notice.

Being the rogue that he was, however, just as he was expounding on the dangers of ladies traveling the streets unescorted, something she would not be stupid enough to do, he picked up her hand and placed a kiss upon it, declaring
that it was not even safe for ladies to travel even if adequately escorted. Melissa prayed he would release her hand before she had to make a scene and vigorously pull it out of his grasp. As Lord Carthors was about to open his mouth, a deep, menacing voice interjected.

“If anyone is to escort my mother and my wife home this evening it will be me.” A dark foreboding eyebrow lifted. “Unless of course you’d like to make my evening and argue over who has the right to that pleasure. It is too long since I have let my temper unleash and had the satisfaction of a good fight.”

A snort sounded on Melissa’s right—Lord Smithers, another rake of the first order, was smothering a laugh.

The younger gentleman knew when to retreat, and they made a space for Anthony beside her. That left her flanked by Anthony and Carthors.

Thinking to ease the tension, she smiled at Anthony and gave him the hand Carthors had dropped as if she had leprosy. Anthony bowed and placed a lingering kiss on her gloved hand, the pressure such that she could feel his lips all the way through the material. Her skin went all prickly as if she’d just dipped her bare toe into a cold fountain in midwinter. What was he doing?