The Care and Taming of a Rogue (9 page)

She had no idea why such a fascinating man claimed to be fascinated with her, but she was abruptly noticing the way that other people expressed their affection for each other; a touch of the arm, a hand at the small of the back, a brush of fingers against a cheek. And she wondered what Bennett Wolfe would do if she walked up and kissed him right on the mouth. Because she’d been thinking about doing that since the night they’d met. And she thought maybe he’d been considering the same thing, himself.

What the devil had he been thinking, to come to a place where the well-dressed horde gathered? Half the guests seemed to be speculating over whether he’d entirely invented the two books he’d written, while the rest wondered if he now meant to give up his life of adventuring and settle down to his estate in Kent with a wife.

He sent a glance across the ballroom. Phillipa Eddison stood out like summer, her yellow gown with its generous curves practically glowing among the more restrained colors of her peers. Heat slid through him, dark and primitive and undeniable. She knew all the rules of proper behavior, but thus far he’d observed that she had some difficulty following them. And he wondered how far astray he could lead her before she attempted to find the path again.

One of the chits bobbed a curtsy, blocking his way. “This is our dance, Sir Bennett,” she said, smiling brightly.

Already?
He knew enough about propriety to realize that he couldn’t dance only with Phillipa, but neither did he have to like it. With a sigh he set Kero into the leaves of a large potted palm. “Behave,” he said, placing a handful of peanuts into the hollow at the base of the fronds. “Let’s go, then,” he continued, glancing at the girl, and turned for the dance floor.

She fell in behind him, then hurried over to stand in the line with the other chits while he took his place with the gentlemen. For a moment he attempted to remember what the devil her name had been, but in truth the crowd had been so dense that he’d barely been able to glimpse the ladies who belonged to the dance cards he’d signed.

As the music began he bowed and turned, then held out his hand for her. “I read Captain Langley’s book,” she chirped as he circled her. “I would have been frightened at being stalked by a leopard, as well.”

“Mm.” He walked down the line, turned, and came back to her side.

“I’ve been wondering why you didn’t ride horses there? It would have been much faster than walking all that distance.”

“They wouldn’t fit in the canoes,” he commented, his jaw beginning to clench again.

“Oh.” She laughed uncertainly. “But you wouldn’t have needed the canoes if you’d had horses.”

Good God
. “I’ll consider that for next time.”

She smiled cheerily. “I’m so pleased I could help.”

He’d be more pleased when the dance ended. By the time it did, he’d heard all about English weather, as though he hadn’t grown up with it, and a listing of the young men whom she would consider should they ask for her hand in marriage. He was dismayed to hear that he’d made it onto that list.

As soon as the dance ended he collected Kero and resumed walking. He’d managed to avoid the quadrille, next, and then came his waltz with Phillipa. If he didn’t slow down until then, hopefully no other female would be able to maneuver him into the torture.

As he began another circuit of the room, he caught sight of the Duke of Sommerset cutting a swath in his general direction. For a man who’d spent so much time traveling to rather harrowing places under less than ideal circumstances, Nicholas Ainsley fit into Society rather well. Amazingly well, actually. He wore civilization like a comfortable overcoat—and Bennett suspected he could remove it just as easily.

“Captain,” the duke greeted, cutting him off with apparent ease from the trailing scavengers, “a word with you.”

In a moment they were out on the balcony overlooking the Fordham House garden. Kero left his shoulder to scamper along the granite railing, and Bennett took a deep, cleansing breath. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he said feelingly.

“One of the mysteries of the female mind,” Sommerset drawled with a short grin, “is how they will pursue an adventurer to the ends of the earth, but once they’ve caught him, they never want him to leave home again.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

“I remain uncaptured, though I suppose I won’t be able to put that off forever.” Steel gray eyes sent him a sideways look. “You’ve moved your things to Fennington’s residence.”

“I wanted to keep a closer eye on him and his publishing partner.”

Sommerset nodded. “I think that’s wise. And if you dispute the…exaggerations of the book at a later time, your association with Fennington will gain you more credibility.”

“So you called me out here to approve my living arrangements?”

Running a hand through his raven black hair, the duke snorted. “You’re supposed to be proving your worth to your peers. Small talk is essential to that.”

“Bugger small talk. What do you want?”

“You should stop by the Adventurers’ Club again, Bennett. You can snarl there to your heart’s content. Don’t do it in public.” With a sigh, Sommerset turned his back on the stone railing and leaned his hips against it. “Langley’s father is the Earl of Thrushell.”

“I know that. I heard about the amount of Langley’s likely inheritance for three years.”

“Yes, well, Thrushell’s petitioning to join the Africa Association. We require a two-thirds approval to add to the membership, and he hasn’t quite got it yet. But he will. His son’s book has gained us a great deal of favorable attention, despite the fact that he hasn’t actually contributed anything to either the Association or England. Except himself, of course.”

Cursing, Bennett pounded his fist against the railing. He knew what it meant; once Thrushell sat on the Association board, Langley would have the next available expedition. And the one man who knew for certain that Langley wasn’t fit to lead anything would never be allowed within a league of the Association, much less gain their support for another expedition. “I suppose you voted your approval,” he growled.

“I did not. I happen to believe your account, and I don’t want the father of a fraud helping shape the direction of African exploration. Nor do I want to be associated with that family when you’re able to recover your own standing.”

Bennett faced him. “Thank you.”

“You know, I had a chance to invite Langley to join the Adventurers’ Club back when we all thought you were dead. At times I admire my own perception.” He straightened, heading for the door back into the ballroom. “Don’t disappoint me, Captain.”

As the duke left the balcony, Bennett turned to look out over the torch-lit garden. Every instinct he possessed shouted at him to ride to Dover and get back his journals before Langley managed either to destroy them or to put them beyond his reach. He was fairly certain, though, that the journals weren’t with Langley. If he went charging about now, David would know precisely what he intended, and he would never see his writings again. He would never have proof that he had led the expedition while Langley had whined and bullied his way through the Congo and nearly gotten them killed on more than one occasion.

No, he needed to stay precisely where he was and make Langley wonder what game he meant to play. And he had to continue allowing his supposed peers to tell their harrowing stories of foxhunting and to chuckle at him behind his back. He would strike when the moment was right, and not until then.

All of which also allowed him to see to something that had taken hold of him and refused to let go, whatever the rest of his troubles. He meant to get his hands on Phillipa Eddison, and he meant to do it soon.

Chapter Seven

He stopped in front of her. “This is our dance,” he said, and held out his hand.

“Where’s Kero?”

“Back in the palm tree. She seems to like it there. Come along.”

Putting on a smile to cover her sudden nerves, Phillipa gripped his warm fingers and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “I’ll return in a few minutes, Mama.”

“Take your time, my dear. Your father has promised to keep me company.”

Curving his fingers around hers, Bennett pulled her toward the dance floor. “Your mother,” he said in a low voice, glancing past her. “She’s not well?”

“She’s recovering from a lung ailment. This is her first outing in over a fortnight.”

“You’re good to watch her.”

Phillipa tilted her head. “You wrote in
Walking with Pharaohs
that your mother died of a chill when you were nine. It made me feel…lucky, to still have mine.”

Green eyes held hers. “Thank you. You’re the first person I’ve met who’s mentioned that book without adding scorpions or poison adders into the same sentence.”

“It is an exciting book. Tomb robbers, desert treks, and pyramids and such. Do you truly think it was Bonaparte’s soldiers who shot the nose off the sphinx?”

“That was what the locals claimed. I think they may have caused part of the damage.” As they reached the dance floor, he faced her. “I don’t want to talk about pyramids,” he said, sliding a hand around her waist, and twining the fingers of his other hand with hers. The orchestra began playing, and he effortlessly swung her into the waltz. Oh, yes, he could dance.

Phillipa drew a breath, attempting to steady herself. This close, he smelled of leather and, surpris ingly, peanuts. Kero’s doing, she supposed. “Kero is behaving well,” she noted. There. Nothing about pyramids.

“She finds food exceedingly persuasive.”

“Is her stomach ever full?”

Bennett chuckled, an arousing, rumbling sound. “Not that I’ve noticed.” He drew her a breath closer. “Tell me, Phillipa, who’s been pursuing you?”

The question surprised her—everyone in Mayfair likely knew the answer to that question. Bennett Wolfe, however, had spent the previous three Seasons in the Congo. “No one’s pursuing me,” she answered.

A line furrowed between his brows. “What’s wrong with you, then?”

She snorted, ducking her head to cover the sound. Damnation, she thought she’d managed to stop that habit. Livi teased her about it enough. “I have a very lovely older sister who received all of the gifts of flirtation and charm.
I
received the gifts of short patience, short legs, and very little tact.”

He grinned. “And I repeat, ‘What’s wrong with you, then?’”

As she didn’t feel inclined to ruin this singular moment by delving into the various defects of her character, she shook her head. “I’d rather discuss your explorations.”

His arm muscles around her tensed a little, then relaxed again. “One question, then,” he returned. “Only one.”

Oh, that hardly seemed fair—or adequate. And aside from that, people were watching them. Watching him, rather, but they were attached at the shoulder and the hip. It was all very distracting. And exhilarating, actually. “Very well,” she said slowly. “Is there any place in the world that you call home? Not a house, since I know you own Tesling, but home.”

He blinked. “Nothing about leopards or crocodiles or hippopotami or cannibals?”

“No.”

They danced in silence for a long moment. He continued gazing at her, his intensely green eyes mesmerizing. It was as if he carried part of the jungle with him, as if it had sunk inside his soul and colored him from the inside out in its fierce shading. Beautiful. And she liked when those wild eyes looked at her.

“You are a conundrum,” he finally announced.

She smiled. People rarely said anything so flattering to her. “What about me puzzles you?” she asked, genuinely curious. To herself, she felt fairly straightforward.

“That is something I would have to show you,” he murmured.

Something in his tone made her blush. After all, she might be practical and logical, but she wasn’t ignorant or stupid. “Why did you return to London? You didn’t know you’d been declared dead, and John said your expedition crates went to Kent.”

“That is a second question, Phillipa.”

“You didn’t answer my first one.”

“Then which one do you want answered?”

She considered that. The first query was about him, while the second had at least a little to do with her. As she was still attempting to decide, though, the waltz ended. Cursing at herself for missing the chance to discover something insightful about this fascinating man, she halfheartedly applauded with everyone else and then headed across the crowded room in the general direction of her parents.

A hand cupped her elbow. “I’m not finished with you yet,” Bennett said in a low voice, cutting sideways through the tide of dancers, her in tow, with apparent ease.

“Where—”

“Stop asking so many damned questions.”

Phillipa snapped her mouth closed again, settling for frowning as they left the ballroom, hurried down the hallway, and pushed inside an empty upstairs sitting room.

“You agreed that I should ask you a question,” she finally snapped, pulling her elbow free.

He faced her. “
A
question, Phillipa. Not a barrage.”

“But—”

Bennett gave a half smile. “A complete conundrum,” he murmured.

Lifting both his hands, he stroked his fingers along her cheekbones, making her shiver. Softly he ran a thumb along her lower lip, then he leaned down and caught her mouth with his. The sensation—warm, soft, and electric—jolted through her. Phillipa closed her eyes, her breath stopping at the arousing heat that seemed to move from him into her. She tilted her face up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

With a low groan Bennett pulled free of her grip, only so he could close on her again. He’d wanted to kiss her for days, and even with the poor timing and the proximity of possible witnesses, he couldn’t wait any longer. He wanted to stroke his hands down her curves, rip the buttons from her pretty yellow gown, and slake himself inside her naked body.

Phillipa curled her fingers into his hair, opening her eyes to look up at him. “This is nice,” she murmured unsteadily, lowering her gaze to his mouth again.

She tasted like strawberries and desire. He bent his head to her again, teasing her mouth open, backing her into the wall and splaying his hand on her hips. Arousal crackled at him, sending heat spearing down to his cock. Christ, he wanted her.

Dimly he heard the music to a country dance begin. “I’m supposed to be dancing with someone,” he muttered, shifting his grip to pull her against him.

“What?” She leaned her head back, away from him. When he pursued her, she put a hand over his face and pushed. “Stop it.”

With a growl Bennett loosened his hold on her. “I’m not finished.”

“You have to go dance.”

“I don’t want to.”

Her brow furrowed, her dark brown eyes nearly black in the dim room. “Bennett, if you promised someone a dance, you have to dance with her. I would hate to be standing there, waiting for some man to appear after he’d already promised to do so.”

He tilted his head, reluctant amusement beginning to push past his frustrated lust. “I’m in the midst of kissing you, Phillipa, and you’re actually ordering me to go dance with some other chit whose name I can’t at the moment recall?”

“You promised.”

“And with whom will you be dancing?”

“I will be sitting with my mother.”

For a moment he considered that. If
she’d
had someone waiting for her, he was fairly certain he would have kept her there. She, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have any of the same reluctance where he was concerned. And then there was the question of why no one else found her as fascinating as he did. He didn’t have a very high opinion of her fellows, however, and it didn’t surprise him that none of them recognized how compelling she was.

Bennett released her and took a step back. “Let’s go, then.”

Just before he reached the door, she put a hand on his arm. “Will you be kissing her in here after the dance?”

“What?” The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. “No.”

She smiled, rocking back on her heels. “Good.”

That left him feeling a bit better. After all, that had been quite the kiss, if he said so himself. He sent her ahead, counted to ten, then left the sitting room. And immediately he wanted to return there again.

“Sir Bennett, Sir Bennett, we must take our places for the dance!” a young lady called, waving her dance card at him as soon as he walked into the ballroom.

What the devil was her name? Most of his attention was still on the vanished Phillipa. Miss Penny, or Perry, or something. “Shall we, Miss Perry?” he said aloud, sending up a quick prayer and offering his hand. “Apologies for my tardiness.”

Giving her female companions a look of complete triumph, Miss Perry took his hand and pranced onto the floor and into the dance with him. Apparently, then, he’d gotten her name right. She seemed to prance and bounce quite a bit. The up and down movements had the effect of rendering her bosom the most…noticeable part of her anatomy, but he began to wonder how she avoided putting out an eye.

“How are you finding London?” she asked brightly as she made the turn around him.

“It’s crowded,” he returned, sending a glance in Phillipa’s direction. Too many people dipped and bobbed between them for him to catch more than the most fleeting of glances. “And loud.”

“Oh, I would imagine it is, after the wilds of Africa. And so much more civilized.”

He could debate that. “I suppose so.”

“Lord and Lady Fordham always manage to host the event of the Season. Of course with no crocodiles or bare-breasted natives, it must seem quite tame.”

She was practically bare-breasted herself. They circled away from each other and joined again. “It has its challenges,” he observed, looking about again as they neared the end of the line of dancers.

There she was, sitting beside her mother and chatting amiably, the high color in her cheeks the only indication that she might be anything other than cool and collected. For a heartbeat her brown eyes met his before she vanished behind the crowd again. Lust rolled across him like a warm breeze.

“Have you been to the Tower menagerie?” Miss Perry pursued. “They have two lions there. And a giraffe. And some monkeys very like Kero.”

“I’ve seen them in the wild, Miss Perry. I do not need to see them in cages.” Truth be told, he felt too much sympathy for the animals. He felt rather like he’d been caged and put on display himself from the moment he’d returned to London. Every time he returned to London.

Her bright smile faltered a little, though she continued bouncing as enthusiastically as ever. “Do you know when Captain Langley will be returning to London? I should very much like to meet him.”

“I have no idea.”

“Oh.”

Finally the dance ended, and he used some of his hunting skills to disappear before she could demand that he introduce himself to her parents. He moved back against the wall and observed the ballroom. They all looked like a colony of ants, moving along the same trails, moving the same way, gathering gossip to use for and against one another as ants gathered leaves.

Under any other circumstances he wouldn’t have given a damn what any of them thought of him. Now, however, David Langley had pulled him into some sort of contest of competency and popularity before he’d ever realized a game had begun. Women still looked at him; with the remains of his reputation and most significantly his five thousand a year, he seemed to be quite the attraction. If all he’d wanted was sex, he could have a very large quantity of it.

But there was some indefinable…
more
that he seemed to require at the moment, and he knew where to find it. With whom to find it.

A reverberating screech yanked him out of his lustful reverie. He pushed upright. “Damnation.”

The palm tree in the corner of the ballroom shook like it was in the middle of a monsoon. “Kero,
siyo
!” he called, striding toward the fracas.

As he neared the tree, Kero leapt ten feet through the air to land in his arms. She put her head beneath his jacket, handing him a tattered lady’s glove at the same time.

“That beast tried to bite me!” a matronly female squawked, clutching at her ample bosom. “I was only attempting to be friendly!”

Bennett held up the glove. “Did you wiggle your fingers at her?”

“Well, yes. How else was I supposed to say hel—”

“She thought your fingers were grubs,” he interrupted, and handed the glove back. “They’re white, and about the same size.”