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Authors: Alexandra Ivy

Some Like It Wicked (Hellion's Den) (10 page)

BOOK: Some Like It Wicked (Hellion's Den)
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For God’s sake, what man would not take advantage of a moment of privacy? Which of them would not hope to taste of her innocence?
His gut was burning with an odd fear as he burst out of the ballroom and hurried down the hall. The two had disappeared but he never halted as he thrust open door after door to inspect the rooms within. He had reached the very end of the hall when he at last burst into a large library to discover Jane standing in the center of the chamber.
That burning became a flame of searing anger as he watched Mr. Barnett carefully fold the maiden in his arms and drop his head for a kiss.
Blinded by his flood of outrage, Hellion did not even realize he was moving until he had the young gentleman firmly by the throat and had soundly punched him in the nose. With a squawk of dismay Mr. Barnett flopped to the floor, his hand rising to cover his bludgeoned snout.
“Hellion, for God’s sakes,” Jane gasped in startled tones. “Halt this at once.”
Hellion did not even bother to turn, his black gaze locked upon the scoundrel who dared to lay his hands upon this woman.
His woman.
“Return to the ballroom,” he gritted.
Mr. Barnett awkwardly scrambled to his feet, still holding his wounded nose.
“Now see here. You cannot . . .”
“Return to the ballroom or be prepared to meet me at dawn.”
The younger gentleman swayed in horror, nearly returning to the carpet as fear spread across his pale features.
“There is no need for violence,” he sputtered, regarding Hellion’s grim countenance with dismay.
“I fear I am a rather violent sort of chap.”
“Really, Hellion,” Jane protested from behind.
His gaze did not waver from the pasty countenance. “The next occasion you attempt to lure Miss Middleton alone I will lodge a bullet in your arse. Do you understand?”
“I . . . yes, yes. Quite.” Backing toward the door, the gentleman performed a wary bow. “Miss Middleton.”
He disappeared with gratifying haste, and Hellion slowly turned to ensure that Jane had not swooned or keeled over from her horrid tribulation. She was bound to be distressed by the entire ordeal.
Rather surprisingly she seemed her perfectly composed self. Unless one counted the faint hint of color in her cheeks and the decided glint in her eyes.
“Would you kindly explain what that was about?” she demanded.
“Are you harmed?” he growled, quite prepared to follow Mr. Barnett and punish him for any injury to this woman.
“Of course I am not harmed. It was merely a kiss.”
His brows drew together as he stepped toward her slender form. Merely a kiss? Merely a kiss?
Had she lost her wits entirely?
“That lecher is fortunate I did not wring his scrawny neck.”
“Mr. Barnett is not a lecher,” she ridiculously argued. “He happens to be a very respectable gentleman.”
Hellion clenched his fists. Damn it all. Why was she taking this so calmly? Did she not realize that the gentleman had been intent upon seducing her?
“He lured you to this room, did he not? Hardly the behavior of a respectable gentleman.”
Her chin tilted in a manner that boded ill. “If you must know, I asked him to show me the library.”
A bolt of shock raced through Hellion. “What?”
“He spoke of an Egyptian mummy that Lord Standwell had recently acquired and I told him that I wished to view it.”
He manfully resisted the urge to reach out and give her a sharp shake. Gads, he had thought this woman intelligent. By far the most intelligent female he had ever encountered. Now the depths of her stupidity stunned him.
What if he had not noted her leaving the ballroom?
What if she had been left to the mercy of the scoundrel?
“That was very foolish, Jane,” he chastised in sharp tones. “To be alone with a gentleman is an invitation for intimacy. I hope you have learned your lesson.”
Far from appreciating his timely warning, the contrary woman abruptly placed her hands upon her hips and regarded him with a forbidding frown. Almost as if she were angry with him. Which was ridiculous, of course.
“I am not stupid, Hellion. I knew precisely what would occur when I requested Mr. Barnett to escort me to this room.”
“You knew?”
“At least I hoped.”
Hellion gave a slow shake of his head, not at all prepared to accept that Jane had deliberately allowed that man to handle her in such an intimate fashion.
“You desired that buffoon to maul you?”
At least she possessed the grace to blush. “I wanted him to kiss me, yes.”
The anger that still simmered in his blood became dangerously overheated. “Why?”
“I should think it was obvious.”
Obvious? The only thing obvious to Hellion was the fact that he would throttle any male stupid enough to poach upon his territory.
“Humor me,” he gritted.
As if sensing the brittle danger that filled the shadowed library Jane reached out the tip of her tongue to wet her dry lips.
The unwitting motion only fueled the heat attacking Hellion. A heat that was edged with a pure, unrelenting male possession.
“I cannot choose a husband if I do not know if we will suit in all aspects of our marriage.”
He reached out before he could halt himself, grasping her shoulders in a tight grip.
“You have chosen Mr. Barnett?” he rasped.
Her expression hardened. “Not as yet.”
“But you wished to kiss him?”
“Yes.”
His fingers instinctively tightened. Walk away, Hellion, he silently told himself. His emotions were too tightly wound. First from his ugly encounter with his uncle followed by the shock of witnessing Jane in the arms of another man. He was not at all his rational self.
But, of course, it was the very fact that he was not his rational self that made him step close enough to feel the warmth of her seep into his chilled heart.
“And did he please you?” he demanded in soft tones.
She faced him with that extraordinary courage, but not even she could entirely disguise her hint of unease beneath his brooding intensity.
“It was . . . pleasant.”
A shocking stab of relief raced through him. “Pleasant? A rather damning assessment.”
She pulled against his hold. “Hellion.”
“Did he make your heart race and your knees weak?” he murmured, shifting his hands to her back so that he could pull her against his already aroused body.
Her eyes widened at the determined desire etched onto his features. “Hellion, stop this.”
He growled deep in his throat. “Did he make you ache to feel him deep within you? Did you plead with him to press you to the ground and end your torment?”
“Mr. Barnett is a very respectable and kind gentleman,” she muttered.
He held her wide gaze with ease, noting the manner in which her eyes darkened with troubled awareness. Good, he thought in satisfaction. Barnett’s kiss may have been all that was pleasant, but it had not made her tremble with breathless anticipation. It had not stirred her darkest needs.
“He is not for you, Jane.”
“That is my decision to make.”
His lips twisted. “Do you think so?”
She swallowed heavily. “Hellion, what is the matter with you?”
He sucked in a sharp breath, needing desperately to brand this woman as his own.
“This . . .” he murmured, lowering his head to claim her lips in a kiss that could leave no doubt.
C
HAPTER
S
EVEN
From the diary of Miss Jane Middleton, May 17th, 1814:
Dearest Diary,
Desire.
Such a simple word for such a complicated emotion.
Lives have been destroyed by desire. Families broken.
Wars have been fought and kingdoms have crumbled.
Men have killed and women have sacrificed all for desire.
Desire has at times altered history.
It is one of the most powerful forces upon earth.
So why am I so troubled by the knowledge that I have been afflicted by the prevalent disease?
I had known, after all, that Hellion was a polished rake when I approached him. And a gentleman cannot logically become a rake without great expertise in stirring a woman’s passions. It was only to be expected that I would be a victim of his enchantment.
But logically knowing that I risked my first taste of lust and actually experiencing the sensations are two separate things entirely.
What a terrible bother it all is.
How am I to conduct my business when my thoughts are intruded upon by the memory of his kiss? Or enjoy a decent night’s rest when I toss and turn with the oddest ache?
Even worse, how am I to discover a husband when they all pale in comparison to Hellion?
Desire.
As far as I am concerned, it should be banned from decent society.
Seated at her desk, Jane absently rubbed her temple that was throbbing in a painful manner.
It was a pain she had endured for several days.
Ever since her confrontation with Hellion at Lady Standwell’s ball.
Blast the annoying man, she silently seethed. He was ruining everything. Not only by his untimely intrusion into the library just when she had managed to convince Mr. Barnett to kiss her, but now every gentleman in the Ton was terrified to even come near her.
How the devil was she to discover a husband when every eligible male feared they would be hauled onto the field of honor by the deadliest shot in England?
It was all vastly annoying.
Jane abruptly grimaced.
Of course, if she were being perfectly truthful with herself, she would acknowledge that her throbbing temple was not entirely caused by her sudden lack of suitors.
Against her will the memory of that shadowed library seared through her mind.
She had not lied when she said that Mr. Barnett’s kiss had been pleasant enough. The world had not stopped spinning, but she had not been repulsed. It seemed quite enough at the time.
And then Hellion had pulled her into his arms and she had melted like a mindless fool.
All thoughts of eligible gentlemen and the need to marry were seared from her mind as she had allowed herself to drown in the dazzling pleasure. She wanted him to press her closer, to put an end to that dreadful need that was clutching deep within her.
It was not until she had realized that he had managed to slip his warm hands beneath her bodice and was caressing her in a shockingly intimate manner that she had been thrust back into reality.
Wrenching herself from his grasp she had fled the library and returned to her home. But even as she had fled she had realized that she could deny the truth no longer.
She would never discover a gentleman while Hellion remained in her life, she had grimly accepted.
How could she when every suitor paled in comparison? And when his kisses inflamed her to the point that she could barely tolerate the touch of another?
It was obvious she would have to put an end to their ridiculous bargain. As long as he was near she would never choose another.
And the sooner he was gone the better.
A heavy sigh broke into her brooding thoughts, and lifting her head Jane watched as Anna paced from the window back to the heavy bookcase.
The woman had arrived nearly half an hour ago, but beyond attempting to wear a hole in the carpet she had made no effort to claim Jane’s attention. Instead she appeared lost in her own brooding thoughts.
“Anna, I do wish you would have a seat,” she said wryly. “You are making me nauseous.”
Coming to an abrupt halt Anna grimaced as she perched upon the edge of a nearby chair.
“Sorry.”
“Is something troubling you?”
“You could say that. I . . . it is Lord Bidwell.”
Jane felt a jolt of shock. She had been so distracted by her troubles with Hellion that she had entirely forgotten the thin-faced gentleman and the threat he posed to her reputation.
“Dear heavens. Have you discovered anything of his intentions?”
Anna clenched her hands upon her lap. “Not a blasted thing.”
“But surely if he intended to blackmail me he would have done so by now?” Jane demanded, not at all eager to add further troubles to dwell upon.
“Who is to say what is brewing in his devious mind?” Anna retorted in dark tones. “He might very well be waiting until you believe you are safe. Or even hoping to discover even more discreditable evidence before approaching you.”
Jane conjured a weak smile. “You are not very comforting.”
“Do not fear. I shall deal with Lord Bidwell.”
There was a dangerous edge in Anna’s voice that had Jane regarding her with a worried frown. It was unlike the sweet-tempered young woman to be anything but cheerful and ready to laugh at whatever might come. She did not like to think that she had unwittingly placed the poor girl into a situation that might cause her distress.
“Anna.”
The woman gave a vague blink. “Yes?”
“I do not wish you to take any risk to yourself or your reputation for me,” she said slowly. “I would never forgive myself if you were harmed.”
Surprisingly Anna appeared more offended than relieved by her words. “I am not a child, Jane. I am perfectly capable of making the decision of what risks I shall take and being fully responsible for any consequences.”
“Of course.” Jane’s frown deepened. “Forgive me.”
There was a moment of silence before Anna heaved a deep sigh. “No, it is I who should be apologizing. I am in a foul mood. It is that . . .”
“What?”
“That man.”
Jane regarded her in puzzlement. Really, Anna was not at all herself. “Lord Bidwell?”
“Yes.”
“What has he done?”
An astonishing blush abruptly flared beneath Anna’s pale skin. “Nothing.”
Jane slowly stood and walked toward her friend. There was something going on between Anna and Lord Bidwell. Something that was decidedly intriguing.
“Anna?”
The woman reluctantly lifted her head to meet Jane’s probing gaze.
“He is just so annoyingly smug,” she at last blurted out, her blue eyes dark with an emotion that Jane did not think was mere annoyance. “How I would love to outwit him.”
“Are you certain that is all you desire?” she asked softly.
“What do you mean?”
Jane paused, debating whether to probe into Anna’s troubles or not. Heaven knew that she had made enough of a mess with her own life lately. She was hardly the one to offer out advice to anyone.
At last the shadows that her friend could not entirely hide forced Jane to speak. She could not allow Anna to be miserable without at least attempting to offer her assistance.
“Are you attracted to him?” she asked cautiously.
The blush became a fiery red at the direct question. “I . . . gads. Yes. I do not know how it occurred. One moment he was the enemy and the next . . . I was in his arms and I thought I might swoon. It is humiliating.”
Jane smiled ruefully at the grudging confession.
Less than a month ago she would have scoffed at the absurd notion that a woman of sense could be swept off her feet by something so illogical as desire. Surely only susceptible nitwits believed in such nonsense?
Now her heart swelled with sympathy.
“You are too hard upon yourself,” she said kindly.
The sweetly rounded countenance hardened with self-disgust. “No, I am not. Only silly widgeons allow themselves to be gulled by a rake. A sensible woman should be capable of keeping her wits, no matter how delightful a gentleman’s kiss might be.”
Jane gave a sharp laugh, her hands pressing to her churning stomach. “I have discovered that the most sensible maiden is not immune to the power of a rake.”
Anna widened her eyes in dismay at the obvious bitterness in Jane’s voice. “Oh dear, not you too?”
Jane gave a vague shrug. “I suppose it was inevitable. Still, I do not intend to allow myself to brood upon the matter. I have far more important matters to occupy my attention.”
As if anxious to grasp an opportunity to change the rather depressing conversation, Anna peered upward with an expectant expression.
“How does the search go?”
Jane briefly thought of the numerous gentlemen who had crowded about her since Hellion had brought her into fashion.
Oddly she found the thought just as depressing as brooding upon her absurd desire for a rake’s seduction.
“Slowly.”
Anna appeared genuinely surprised. “But you have been nearly mobbed by eligible gentlemen.”
“Yes, I know.”
The woman leaned forward. “Jane, what is it?”
She grimaced. “Perhaps I am being too exacting in my standards, but . . .”
“But what?”
Jane took a moment to consider her response. Against her will she had forced herself to concede that Hellion had managed to wane her desire for other gentlemen. But why? It was not just the undoubted passion he stirred within her. Nor his practiced charm. She was not that shallow.
No. It was more his manner of speaking to her as if she were an equal rather than a slow-witted child, and his sincere approval of her habit of flouting the rigid strictures that bound women in roles of submissive weakness.
“I suppose I should like to discover a husband who possesses a modicum of intelligence who does not also presume that because I wear skirts I must be wholly without wits.”
A rather wistful expression rippled over Anna’s countenance. “Yes.”
Jane abruptly wrapped her arms about her waist, feeling a cold chill inch down her spine. “There must be one gentleman among the Ton who will suit me. I must simply be patient.”
Anna rose from the chair and gently reached out to touch her arm. “You will find him, Jane,” she said with a faint smile. “Now, I must be on my way. I promised my aunt that I would accompany her to a poetry reading. I must have been out of my wits.”
Jane chuckled, determinedly shaking off the cloud of doom that threatened to take permanent residence about her.
“Perhaps it will not be so horrid.”
Anna tugged on her gloves with a grimace. “The poems are entitled, ‘An Ode to the Prince, Our Glorious Leader into Battle.’”
Jane could not prevent a revealing shudder. “Ugh.”
“Precisely.” Anna heaved a tragic sigh. “I shall see you this evening.”
 
 
Hellion paced.
He fumed.
He growled deep in his throat.
He even glared so fiercely at a mincing dandy that the poor buffoon tumbled into a passing servant and sent a tray of champagne cascading over a gaggle of unfortunate matrons.
Hellion never noticed.
Instead his dark, smoldering gaze continued to sweep over the growing crowd in search of a slender woman with a gamine countenance and enough contrariness to drive a reasonable gentleman batty.
Where the devil was she?
For three days he had attended one tedious function after another with the thought that Jane was certain to be present. He had even called at her town house on several occasions, only to be told that Miss Middleton was cloistered with her man of business.
At first he had been concerned.
He worried that his rather demanding kisses in the library might have frightened her. She was, after all, an innocent and not at all accustomed to the overwhelming force of raw desire.
He should never have allowed his frustrated passions to gain control of him.
As she had continued to avoid him, however, his concern had faded and an unexpected, wholly unexplainable fury had seized him.
His kisses may have been heated, but she had not been entirely submissive. In fact, for a brief, heart-stirring moment she had been with him all the way.
Even now he could still feel the ready response of her satin lips and the press of her slender body arching against him.
It was maidenly panic that had forced her hasty flight.
So why did she presume to treat him as if he were carrying the latest plague?
Nearly snarling in his seething frustration Hellion prowled the edges of the Marlow’s dance floor, his forbidding expression keeping even the most determined encroacher at bay.
And then, across the room, he caught sight of the familiar dark curls and ghastly ball gown.
At last.
He stilled as his instincts came into full alert. A predator who had just spotted his prey.
She stood alone for the moment, but he did not allow himself to give into impulse and pounce at once. He had learned his lesson during his last heated confrontation with the minx. Instead he forced himself to regard her rigid expression and the manner in which she clutched the ivory fan.
It was obvious that she was not her usual calm self. There was an air of nervous tension in her slender form and a wariness in her sharp glances about the room.
He would have to approach with care, he grudgingly acknowledged. One wrong word and she might bolt into the night.
BOOK: Some Like It Wicked (Hellion's Den)
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