The Reckless One (17 page)

Lord Tunbridge intended seduction. An unfortunate intention in Favor’s estimation, as nature had not endowed him with those attributes she found necessary for a man to be considered desirable. At least to her.

Warm toffee-brown eyes that crinkled at the corners,
they
were alluring. And glossy dark hair that became ringlets where it touched a strong, broad neck. And a lean, square jaw. And a wry wit. And an impetuous devil-may-care streak. The sort of temperament a man who chased after rumored treasure must own. Now
those
were tempting.

Tunbridge made a guttural sound, drawing Favor’s attention. He’d posed beside a lichen-covered outcrop, his hand braced at head level on the rock, one leg bent foot forward, toe angled just so. He leered down at her where he’d seated her, like an actor onstage playing to the front row audience.

“You’re a vastly pretty gel, Miss Donne.” One of his gingery brown brows rose while the other dipped.

Whatever was she doing here with him? She’d been enjoying her freedom so much that she’d simply floated blithely along with the current and that current happened to have contained Lord Tunbridge.

When his eyebrows’ acrobatics failed to entice her, he tried a different tack. “I’ve always been partial to black-haired chits.” He wet his lips. “Bespeaks a fiery temperament, a passionate nature, and an adventuresome—”

Enough of this rubbish,
Favor thought.

“My hair isn’t black. It’s actually quite light,” she said blandly. “I dye it.”

He dropped his hand and straightened, his expression slackening in surprise. “Oh?”

“I’m sorry to disappoint but I’d hate to have you think I’d … led you on. Now, Lady Fia,” she added naughtily,
“she
has naturally black hair. I’m sure you noticed. Such a pretty
child.”

“I don’t wish to discuss that hell-bred bit of baggage.” Tunbridge’s nostrils pinched and his eyes narrowed.

The change in demeanor was so startling and so abrupt that Favor was taken aback. She’d assumed Tunbridge nothing more than Lady Fia’s pathetic, lovelorn castoff. She saw now a dangerous man, his expression revealing he was well aware of her mockery.

She scrambled to her feet, the huge bell of her skirts hampering her efforts. His thin fingers closed about her upper arm.

“Allow me.” He helped her to rise, his thin frame belying the strength in his grip.

She murmured her thanks, and this time
she
was the recipient of the mocking gaze. He did not release her.

“Miss Fia has a powerful parent,” Tunbridge said. “It allows her a latitude of behavior that others shouldn’t emulate, because they haven’t the same guarantee that their taunts will go unanswered.”

She’d been a fool and now she needed to retrieve the situation. “You’re correct,” she apologized. “It was unconscionable of me.”

“Unconscionable.” He tested the word, disliked it. His grip tightened. “Stupid.”

“That, too.” She agreed wholeheartedly. Her thoughts raced to find some way out of the danger. “I set a barb without thinking. It’s just that this past week I, too, received a setdown from one I … I am interested in. It rather makes one sharpish.”

She’d caught him off guard. His fingers loosened. “You?”

She looked past him, as though pride kept her from meeting his gaze. “Yes. Me.”

“But, who?” he asked, clearly surprised. “You haven’t shown any favoritism among your followers. In fact, there’s even a betting book dedicated to naming the man who first—”

He stopped. Apparently even Tunbridge still owned some decorum, for he obviously regretted revealing what Favor imagined were wagers on who would first bed her. Not that such things mattered. Not if she could use them to her advantage.

“First what?” she prodded sweetly, pleased to have him off balance. “Shall we say, ‘breach my defenses?’ ” She twisted. He let her go.

“Yes,” he admitted.

“I wouldn’t expect you or your lot to have identified my …” Favor let the sentence hang. “He isn’t one of your number.”

Tunbridge stared at her a second before bursting out laughing. “Don’t say he’s a groom or a stable boy? Not a footman! Good God, you’re not another Lady Orville, are you?”

“No!” she snapped.

Tunbridge’s amusement faded. A speculative gleam entered his eyes. “I could make quite a tidy sum if I was to correctly name the fellow who’s captured your fancy, Miss Donne.”

Of course. Pleasure palace it may well be, but first and foremost, Wanton’s Blush was an exalted gaming hell. And Lord Tunbridge one of its deepest players.

“You … you rakehell!” Favor breathed in high dudgeon, not in the least displeased with the direction the conversation had taken. She had adroitly sidestepped a potentially ugly confrontation and in doing so set up a perfect opportunity to further pique Carr’s interest.

All she had to do now was name Carr her would-be swain. Tunbridge, eager to find favor with Lady Fia’s sire, would run to him immediately with the news.

What man could resist knowing he was a lady’s rumored object of fascination?

“We could, say, split the winnings,” Tunbridge suggested slyly.

She gasped. Not because she was shocked but because she couldn’t think of anything else to do. She couldn’t give up Carr’s name quite that easily. Not if she was to be believed. Favor, who was as adept at tale-telling as any minstrel, knew the value of good timing.

Tunbridge sidled closer and she presented him with her back. He touched her lightly on the shoulder, a furtive, conspiratorial touch, nothing of passion in it. She made herself stand still. She felt him bend his head close to hers. His breath tickled her ear.

“Just a first name?”

Now was the time. She’d only to whisper a forlorn “Ronald” to draw Carr to her as surely as iron filings to a magnet. She’d misplayed Carr last night. She’d said the right things, she’d endured his touch, and she’d listened to his every word. But without enthusiasm. He’d known it and it had made him suspicious.

She could easily rectify that error.

Say his name.
Tunbridge pressed her shoulder encouragingly.

“Who is he?” he whispered.

She conjured his face, preparing to whisper the answer but instead of Carr’s haughty, handsome visage it was Rafe’s face that formed behind her closed eyelids.

No,
she thought desperately.
Not Rafe. Carr. Say it.

Her lips parted. She took a breath. “He’s—”

Tunbridge’s hand was snatched from her shoulder.

At the same time she heard him make a sound of angry protest. She spun around. Her heartbeat quickened; happiness raced through her.

Rafe stood before Tunbridge, smiling. It took Favor a second to realize Rafe’s smile was far from pleasant.

“Sorry, dear fellow,” Rafe drawled. “Didn’t want to see the lady’s shoulder dampened by your … enthusiasm.”

The delight she’d experienced on seeing him, a delight she was in no way prepared to examine, faded. He was deliberately provoking Tunbridge. Reality doused her in cold truths. She’d had the matter well in hand. His interference could only cause trouble and the great lout didn’t seem to realize that most of that trouble would be his own.

“You insolent cur!” Tunbridge spat.

“At least I don’t drool,” Rafe answered lightly, but his posture was far from nonchalant. He stood in an attitude of readiness, body angled sideways, weight forward, and arms loose at his sides.

“Who the hell are you?” Tunbridge demanded.

“Just another worshiper at Miss Donne’s shrine.”

Tunbridge looked as confused as he did angry. Abruptly Favor saw Rafe through Tunbridge’s eyes. For Carr’s guests, appearance was of paramount importance. Rafe, attired in worn, somewhat shabby but well-cut clothes, clearly hadn’t the means for dandification.

“The hell you say! What do you mean by interrupting this lady and myself?” Tunbridge said. “Can you not see we were engaged in a private conversation?”

“Really?” Rafe asked innocently. “I’m
de trop,
am I?”

“Decidedly.”

She had to do something and quickly. Rafe mustn’t provoke Tunbridge any further. The man was rumored to have skewered five men to their deaths.

“Oh!” she said.

Neither man appeared to hear her breathy gasp of distress.

She redoubled her effort. “Oh! My!
You!”

At this squawk both men turned. Rafe frowned, apparently displeased she’d interfered with his masculine posturing. She ignored him, keeping her attention on Tunbridge and saw the moment comprehension seeped into his expression.

“Him?”
Tunbridge breathed.

She nodded, eyes wide, not having to reach very deep to produce a shuddering inhalation. “Him.”

“Lucky bastard!” Tunbridge said admiringly, new appreciation in his expression.

“What the devil are you talking about?” Rafe demanded.

“Please.” Favor lifted her head, striving to emulate pride before the fall. “As you are a gentleman, Lord Tunbridge, I ask you to honor my confidences.”

Tunbridge, all eager anticipation, slumped as if she’d pulled a trump card from nowhere in a game of hazard. “Well …”

“Sir!”

“Yes. Fine. Confidence shall be kept. Blast. Damn. Hell.”

She didn’t believe him for a minute. But she did believe that at this moment he honestly believed he would keep her secret. He’d at least that much of honor left. That’s all she needed. A little time in which Rafe might get away. The rash, impetuous …
man.

“Your language, sir, is not fit for this lady’s ears,” Rafe said.

Favor, who’d heard far worse from Rafe, stared at him, trying to discern if he’d suddenly decided to make a jest. Clearly not. He was glaring at Tunbridge, who stood poised to fly to his confederates and learn the identity of the big, ill-dressed man he’d somehow overlooked these past weeks. He looked about as trustworthy as a cat near an open bird cage.

“My pardon,” Tunbridge muttered hurriedly. “Disrespectful of me. I am unspeakable. A pig. Forgive me, Miss Donne and Mister … Mister? Sorry, sir. I didn’t catch your name—”

“You didn’t and you won’t!” Favor stated emphatically. “Not from either of us, Lord Tunbridge! Please, sir. Leave us!”

Luckily Raine finally decided it might prove wise to take his cue from her. He positioned himself between Favor and Tunbridge, his attitude growing even more threatening. “I believe you heard the lady’s request, Tunbridge. Leave.”

Tunbridge looked from one to the other. “Damn!” he burst out. “I don’t know why you won’t reveal the fellow’s name. Since he’s a guest of Carr’s it won’t be all that bloody hard to discover and you’ll save me a bit of time.”

Favor placed her fingertips over her chest and closed her eyes. “I will not make my tender heart the object of filthy speculation,” she whispered dramatically.

“What?” Rafe’s head snapped around.

“Fine,” Tunbridge bit out, and without another word stalked off in the direction from whence they’d come.

They waited in silence until Tunbridge disappeared, before turning to face one another.

“What the hell was that all about?” Rafe asked in bewilderment.

Favor burst out laughing.

She braced her hands on her knees, laughing in that full rich way of hers and there was nothing he could do but smile and then chuckle and then laugh himself. And that was the last thing he’d been expecting to do.

When he’d seen that ass’s hand on her he’d reacted instinctively, viscerally, jerking it away from her. He’d expected her to be furious that he’d thwarted her
tête-à-tête.
But when she’d turned he’d seen the welcome in her expression, the surprised second of—God help him—what looked like joy in the smile that sprang full blown to her lips … for
him …

And later while he tried to figure out what sort of lies she’d been telling Tunbridge so that he could appropriately play his part, she’d caught his eye and the immediate sense of understanding, the lightness of it, had been like homecoming.

The realization rushed into his thoughts and soul, filling the empty and hollow parts of his life. When he was with Favor, his past did not exist. He felt no anger or bitterness or hatred. He thought of Carr and his mother without choking on the need for redress or recompense. His eye turned out, toward the morrow: not in, toward the past.

And now she made him laugh.

What more could she do to him?

Except make him love her.

“Ah! Me,” she finally sniffed, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand. She sighed and smiled at him. “Well, you’d best be off before Tunbridge comes hurrying back bringing witnesses to my deflowering.”

“What?”

Favor valiantly withstood another wave of laughter.

“Oh, yes. That’s what he was doing whispering in my ear, trying to coax from me the name of the fellow who’d caught my fancy.”

She nodded happily, unaware of the havoc she was causing in his heart. “They’ve a betting book on it, you see. Poor Tunbridge, after discovering he was not destined to be my paramour, decided he might as well make the best of the situation and find out the name of the fellow who was. Being a lady, I, of course, declined to name names and refused to say more than that my beau was not among Tunbridge’s circle of friends. Then you arrived. I could not have asked for better timing.”