One Night of Passion (9 page)

Well, almost.

When he hadn’t let go of her for such a long time while they stood entangled at the top of the stairs, she’d have sworn she felt sparks running between them—as if their bodies already knew how well they fit together.

Yet it hadn’t been enough to keep him.

She glanced at the ladies around her, some fluttering fans with the grace of butterflies, catching a man’s attentions with their artful movements, others able to entertain their admirers with their witty remarks.

Georgie cursed silently again. What did she know about flirtation? What did she know about any of the arts of luring a man?

Little to nothing.

That humbling insight was only made worse by the realization that now she’d have to search in earnest . . . or give up and go home. As she glanced at the rather desolate collection of men in the room, the latter option became very appealing. Colin was the handsomest man among them, though his cousin ran a close second.

The rest of the crowd carried such a foul air of debauchery about them that they made the idea of marriage to Lord Harris almost palatable.

That was until the crowd parted a bit and two gentleman started sauntering in her direction.

And one of them she knew.
Uncle Phineas
!

Egads,
she thought, ducking behind a potted palm and peering out between the fronds.
What is he doing here?
And who could he be with?

Then it struck her who she was staring at.
Her
betrothed.
Lord Harris.

Who else could it be, given the looks of distaste and the wide berth the ladies were giving him?

Georgie thought she was going to be sick.

Her intended was a tall man, his face and limbs emaciated and yellowed. His scraggly shock of white hair was combed over in one direction so as to conceal his bald head. The attempt failed miserably.

He walked with a cane, which he used to poke at ladies who strayed within his reach. And when one of them squawked in dismay at being prodded in the bottom with the gold tip, he cackled and laughed until he wheezed like a blacksmith’s bellows. “Come along, wench,” he offered the offended woman. “I’ll give you a poke with something that’ll have you more than squealing.”

The woman turned her nose in the air and stomped off, amid laughter from the men in the area and Lord Harris’s raspy guffaws.

Georgie bit back the bile rising in her throat. This was her guardian’s idea of a good husband?

Oh, wait until I get my hands around your neck, Lord
Danvers,
she thought, plotting his demise in a hundred different torturous manners. If anything, seeing her intended buoyed her resolve to find a rake, but also imparted a new urgency to her search—she must find someone with all due haste and depart before Uncle Phineas spotted her.

Stepping out from her hiding spot, she started to move in the opposite direction when suddenly her path was blocked by none other than Colin’s three adversaries.

She didn’t have a chance to escape them, for they had her outmaneuvered, each man taking a point like a well-trained squadron.

“Hello there, pigeon,” the one called Brummit said. “We saw you cast off our old friend and decided to see if you were interested in some real sport tonight.”

Paskims shot the man a dark glance, but when he turned to her, he was all smiles.

“Please ignore my friend’s lack of manners.” He caught up her hand and drew it to his lips before she could stop him. “We really weren’t properly introduced. The name is Paskims. Captain Paskims, my dearest lady. And I think by the end of the evening you can rest assured you will find my company most compelling.” With a waggle of his brows, or with what she suspected he attempted to pass off as charm, he tried pulling her closer.

She plucked her hand back, hiding it in the folds of her skirt. Later she’d scrub it clean with lye soap, but right now she only wanted to back away from his advances.

But they’d planned their attack well, for only too quickly, Georgie found herself pinned to the wall.

Commander Hinchcliffe swept the other two aside. His brown hair held a burnished glow of copper in the twinkling light of the candles overhead. He exuded an overall power and strength in his wide shoulders, as if he dared anyone to challenge his authority.

And of the three of them, Georgie knew without a doubt, this man, the one Colin had called Remus, was the most dangerous.

“Commander Hinchcliffe, at your service, madame. It is lovely to make your acquaintance this evening,” he said, bowing curtly, but not reaching out to take her hand as Paskims had.

For that Georgie was thankful. His voice, even in just those few words, sent ripples of fear through her.

This was a man who would not be denied.

And she had no doubt what he wanted, as his assessing gaze swept over her with the calculated coldness of a northern breeze.

Whether or not he liked what he saw appeared to matter little.

And in that moment she wished that Mrs. Taft hadn’t been so honest in her description of what happens between a man and a woman—for the thought of any of these men touching her thusly was enough to make Georgie’s skin crawl.

Sometimes knowledge wasn’t the blessing that most claimed it to be.

“There seems to be some mistake,” she said as brightly as she could muster. “I see someone over there I was supposed to meet.” She tried to brazen her way through their line, but they held fast, tightening their ranks with practiced ease.

“Oh, not so fast pigeon,” Brummit said, blocking her escape with his outstretched arm. “Whatever else you’ve been offered tonight, it can’t begin to compare with what we’ve got in mind.” He smirked at his friends. “And if it’s the price that’s the problem, we’ve just come into our shares and are in a generous mood. That is, if you don’t make this difficult for us.”

His tone suggested that he hoped she would.

“Truly, I am engaged elsewhere, sirs,” she said. “It has been a pleasure to meet you.” Georgie tipped her head and tried to duck under Brummit’s arm.

But Commander Hinchcliffe was too fast for her. He caught her quickly and efficiently, hauling her back into their circle.

“Now that wasn’t very polite,” he said. “But telling.” He glanced at his companions. “We’ll have to stay sharp tonight, gentlemen. She’s a quick one.”

While Georgie had grown up with the rare and less refined tutelage of Mrs. Taft, the wharf and docks of Penzance had also been her schoolhouse. And as she’d gotten older, she’d learned to keep out of the way of men like these.

For what they had in mind, she suspected, wasn’t just a simple bedding. And that notion kindled a bundle of fears that reached all the way down to her toes.

She took a fevered glance around the room, trying to discern if Colin was anywhere in sight—though why she thought he’d come to her rescue she couldn’t fathom. Though it hardly mattered, for even if he was inclined to rescue her, he was nowhere to be seen.

Panic rose within her. What if he’d left with that other woman? The real Cyprian. The gorgeous redhead with all the airs and manners of a duchess?

Oh, why hadn’t she just given in to his offer to take her home? She’d let her foolish, stupid pride get in the way of her better judgment.

And then, when she was about to give up all hope, she spied Colin standing on the stairs near the doorway looking in her direction. He was about to leave and was taking one last survey of the room.

And indeed the redhead stood not too far away, watching Colin from behind her fluttering, lacy fan while expertly chatting away with Temple.

Georgie swiped at a wayward tear.

Please come back,
she prayed.
I was a fool not to
listen to you.

But it was too late. He’d turned his back and rejoined his party.

Temple frowned as yet another high-flyer flounced out of their way as they crossed the crowded the ballroom. “Dammit, Colin. That’s the fourth batch of likelies you’ve scared off. Will you quit telling them you have no money?”

“Well, neither do you,” Colin pointed out. On the ride over to the assembly hall, Temple had confided that he had had another falling out with their grandfather. The duke disapproved of Temple’s pursuits and regularly made his displeasure known by cutting off his young heir’s allowance.

“Yes, well, it is only a temporary financial setback,” Temple assured him. He cocked an assessing glance in Colin’s direction. “You didn’t have to give up all your money, did you?”

“All of it,” Colin lied. He knew better than to let his cousin know that he had even a farthing. Temple could charm and wheedle coins out of the hands of a beggar. And besides, he would, as always, be back in their grandfather’s good graces within a fortnight. “You’ll just have to do without tonight.”

Temple glanced once again after the lady. “That foolish chit practically begged me to set her up in new lodgings just last month. I thought for sure—”

“That she’d be ignorant enough not to have heard of my troubles, and therefore be an easy conquest?”

His cousin laughed. “I suppose so. Dash it all, even in my worst scrapes, I haven’t had this effect on the fair sex. Especially not
these
ladies.” Pausing for a moment, Temple tapped his chin with his lorgnette. “I wonder if I should try getting myself tried for treason? If only to get the packs of marriage-bent mamas off my back. You know, it might be just the trick to keep me free this Season.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Colin advised. “At least once I leave you’ll have a chance at some company tonight.”

“You are right there,” Temple agreed. “Still, I don’t like the idea of you going home—alone. Not on what was supposed to be your wedding night. Bad luck, I’m sure of that. I’ll tell you what,” he said. “You go stand over there—near that potted thing—and hide back a bit. Let me see if I can straighten everything out with that bit of muslin. I’ll tell her you were recently held captive in a seraglio and escaped with some lessons that would surprise even her jaded tastes.”

Colin laughed. “Don’t go to any bother. It probably would be better if I just left.”

Clucking at this notion, Temple shook his head. “That’s the old Danvers talking again. And if I remember correctly, we buried him on the way over. There must be some likely bit of muslin, a rare incognita, an extraordinary vestal who could tempt that heart of yours to do something other than beat wildly over a well-trimmed sail. And not that gel you keep glancing about to find again. She’ll be the ruin of you. She has that look about her.”

Colin shot him a glance worthy of his grandfather’s most withering stare, but it only made his irrepressible cousin laugh as he strolled toward the redhead and her companion.

He should have known his cousin wouldn’t give up until he’d found Colin a worthy match. Temple’s cure for anything that ailed one was the balm of a good woman. But not this time. Colin was ready to call it a night. He had much to do before he sailed, and there seemed no point in lolling about . . .

Except to find Georgie once again . . .

Nonchalantly he let his gaze sweep over the room, until his search came to an abrupt halt. There she stood, far across the room, her back to the wall and encircled by none other than Hinchcliffe, Paskims, and Brummit.

It was obvious from her fearful stance and the wide-eyed horror lighting her eyes that she was in over her head.

And drowning.

While it might seem the three officers were just trying to charm her, Colin knew the trio had more in mind than some “good sport.”

They’d probably singled her out for the sole reason that she’d been with him earlier.

Yet even as he was about to take that first step, the honorable one that would be his natural reaction, he stopped himself, Temple’s gloomy advice ringing in his ears.

. . .
One sometimes must look past one’s own desires.

Mayhap Temple was right. Lord knows his cousin had been at this devilish business long enough.

Colin tried to remind himself that he had a new reputation to maintain—that of a selfish, reckless bastard. He could ill-afford to become the noble knight in shining armor right now, particularly over one Cyprian . . . and especially in front of those three.

So he took a deep breath and turned his back on her.

His impossible, maddening, and enticing Georgie.

With a resolute heart he started for the door, but halfway there he made the mistake of looking back.

For there, on the flushed pink of her cheek, sparkled a great tear. Glowing like a beacon, it beckoned to him, and him alone.

Colin cursed. Cursed himself. Cursed his wretched honor. Cursed his responsibilities.

For there was nothing else he could do now . . .

Chapter 4

W
hat had she been thinking, coming to such a place? Georgie cursed herself for once again tossing the anchor over with the rope wrapped around her foot, as Captain Taft would have said.

If only she could just figure out how to get away from these three and then find a way to leave without Uncle Phineas catching her, she’d never, ever do anything this foolish, this reckless again.

“Gentlemen, I’m afraid there’s been a mistake,” a deep, rich voice said, the tone harboring an edge that would tolerate no resistance. “This lady is with me.”

Colin.

Slowly, Georgie turned her head and discovered that perhaps she’d made her vow a little prematurely. For she found herself staring into the wide, solid chest of the one man in the room who her made feel wickedly reckless.

Her gaze moved over his rich velvet coat, his straight, timbered shoulders, up past the carved jaw-line marred by that thin scar. She couldn’t help wondering what had caused it, and if she would ever know the secrets that seemed such a part of this mercurial man.

“What do you want, Romulus?” Hinchcliffe sneered. “I thought we were well rid of you and that cork-brained cousin of yours.”

Georgie wondered at the man’s nerve. From where she stood, eyeing the grim, dangerous set of Colin’s mouth, along with the rest of his hard and unforgiving features, she couldn’t fathom why the three just didn’t up and leave.