Wild and Wanton (3 page)

His eyes returned to her face, and only then did she manage to get command of herself. ‘Is that what Mr. Hammond thought? Did he think I was rising to the defense of a friend who had . . . I don't quite know how to put this.'

‘Served her usefulness and been dropped?' he supplied for her.

‘Yes, that's what I mean.'

‘But in your case, that's not so?' he queried speculatively.

‘No. I've heard stories about Nick Farraday's amorous entanglements. Who hasn't?'

His smile turned wry. ‘Sometimes I think that on dull, no-news days the media says to
itself,
let's find out what Nick Farraday is up to. But I'm straying from the point. If you aren't personally acquainted with a woman who has given her favors and ceased to amuse, why the intense dislike of Nick Farraday?'

He was easy to talk to, and she hadn't realized how obvious she had been. Her hatred of Nick Farraday for his part in her brother's downfall and eventual death was so deep that it was almost an intrinsic part of her, something so accepted that she'd felt no need to cover it up. But she wasn't here for revenge; that wasn't her style. She had no devious plot in her mind. She had just wanted to see for herself what manner of man Nick Farraday was. And perhaps she had been curious to see if his apartment was as luxurious as Phil had described it to her in his letters. Her wish had been granted, and she now saw that the apartment did indeed live up to her brother's rave reviews.

‘Why the antagonism?' he repeated when no reply seemed forthcoming.

She searched for the words that would let her answer within the bounds of truth, but without giving anything away. ‘I suppose I dislike him because it doesn't seem right for one man to have so much.'

‘Him?' The query had a teasing inflection. ‘Ah . . . yes!' Something about his smile disturbed her. ‘Have you never coveted wealth?'

‘Never!'
she declared emphatically.

‘I find that hard to believe. What are your interests?'

‘I don't know what that's got to do with what we're talking about, but I'll answer anyway. I like reading and music.'

‘And you have never wished to possess any particular, expensive book? You have never yearned with all your heart to be sitting in one of the highest-priced seats at some much acclaimed performance? Have you never wished you could donate an expensive piece of equipment to a hospital, or fill a hungry child's stomach in some far-off, deserted corner of the world?'

‘Of course I have!' she replied testily, caring for neither the strange effect he had on her nor the turn of the conversation:

‘Then you
have
coveted wealth, because these things, whether desired for personal pleasure or from noble intent, have the same thing in common: both require money.'

‘You have a clever tongue. I imagine you could talk your way out of a prison.'

‘I've done a lot of things in my time, willingly and unwillingly, but that has never been asked of me.'

Her mind backtracked. ‘What did you mean by the . . . er . . . interesting part?' she ventured delicately.

‘What interesting part?' The line of his mouth was suspiciously straight. Was he
teasing
her?

‘When you butted in just now, you said you didn't think that Mr. Hammond had said enough to make me blush because he hadn't got to the interesting part.'

He
had
been teasing her, because he came back with, ‘I didn't think you'd let that one drop. I'm quite prepared to tell you what I'm certain Greg was about to say. But first I must remind you that you'd given Greg permission to speak frankly.'

‘So I had! I'd forgotten about that. Perhaps you'd better not tell me.'

Her lowered eyes came up again when she heard him say, ‘Would you have me break my golden rule?'

‘What golden rule?'

‘Never to leave a woman unsatisfied.' Her flush at the sensual undertone deepened as he added, ‘Would you have me deny your burning curiosity?'

‘No,' she croaked.

‘We're back to the scorned woman bit. Not the woman herself—she knew the score—but someone who feels she's justified in feeling hurt and anger on behalf of someone she is fond of. It's my belief that Greg was going to point out that there can be no justification for that kind of reaction by acquainting you with a fact so basic that you shouldn't need to be told: It always takes two. And I can go one better than Greg. Nick Farraday has his faults,
and
no one is in a position to know that better than I, but taking a woman to his bed who needs to be tutored on the finer points is something he does
not
have on his conscience. I can vouch for the truth of that.'

Only one man could ‘vouch for the truth of that,' and that was Nick Farraday himself. There was an outcry in her head, a protest that splintered to pierce the bubble of excitement that had been steadily rising within her at being in the company of this magnetic man. The disappointment was as acute as her sharply indrawn breath, and a hundred times more painful.

‘You must have found this all very amusing . . . Mr. Farraday!'

She wasn't surprised. You could only fool yourself for so long. It had been there all the time, a blighting shadow of thought pressing ever closer, telling her that she wasn't in the company of Nick Farraday's bodyguard, but the man himself!

Oddly enough, he didn't suddenly grow horns, as her image of him had dictated he should. The mesmeric voice was as smooth as ever as he continued. ‘Even rakes have a code of honor. A gentleman must never introduce the pleasures of womanhood to an innocent girl unless his intentions are as pure as she is. It's a code I have had no difficulty in adhering to. But then, perhaps that's because curious minds in eager young bodies are like . . . gold
dust,'
he said, reaching out and touching the pale gold of her hair.

‘You could have told me who you are,' she said, jerking away from his fingers.

‘I didn't set out to deceive you. Who did you think I was?'

‘A bodyguard.'

‘I haven't got one. Never felt the need.'

‘Such assurance has a very arrogant ring to it. Aren't you afraid that one day someone will attempt to harm you, Mr. Farraday?'

‘I'll take my chances. And the name's Nick. I don't recall catching your name.'

‘Lindsay Cooper,' she submitted frostily, searching his face as keenly as she had searched Greg Hammond's to see if he remembered that Phil's name had been Cooper and was making a connection.

It was her first name he meditated over. ‘Lindsay,' he said, rolling it softly over his tongue. ‘The name is almost as alluring as you are.' He put his head to one side and looked at her through narrowed eyes. He was studying her almost as an artist would. ‘Yes,' he said. ‘Indeed, very . . .
alluring
.'

Why the hesitation? Why the emphasis? Why
alluring?
What was going on in his head? What did it mean? It was surely just coincidental usage of a word. He wasn't looking at her as the Allure girl. What she'd said to Jim Bourne about being chosen by Nick Farraday had been a joke. She had as much
chance
of being selected Miss Allure as she had of flapping her arms and finding that she could fly.

Chapter Two

Without warning or explanation, Nick Farraday grabbed hold of her and propelled her across the room.

‘Where are you taking me?' Lindsay demanded, hoping the alarm she felt hadn't crept into her voice as she struggled to free her wrist from his fingers. They reached a door, and it became apparent to her that they were going through it. ‘Mr. Farraday,' she implored, ‘you can't walk out on your own party.'

‘I'm the host; I can do what I want. And I thought I told you, the name is Nick. Mr. Farraday sounds too prim.'

‘I
am
prim,' she retaliated furiously, wondering how he was managing to abduct her, as it were, why no one offered to stop him. It must have been obvious that she was being dragged out against her will. Two possible reasons for this general apathy occurred to her. Either no one questioned Nick Farraday's actions, or, in this crush, no one had noticed their exit. She supposed she could have screamed, but that seemed undignified, and although he was acting outrageously, she
didn't
really think he had any evil intentions. She changed her mind rapidly when she found herself being pushed into a bedroom.

Not
his
bedroom, she surmised, unless he liked soft pink lamps and frilly drapes. She wasn't given the chance to see more than that, because she was immediately dragged into an adjacent dressing room. Still keeping her imprisoned with one hand, he used the other to open the door of a closet. After rifling through its contents impatiently, he drew out a white dress. Holding it out to her, he said, ‘Put this on.'

‘I will not!'

‘Sorry, did I forget to say please?'

‘You could get down on your knees, and the answer would be the same.'

‘Then don't put it on. Just take off the dress you're wearing. And I'm not unaware of what you can't possibly be wearing underneath.'

‘Just what kind of man are you?'

‘One who's losing his patience.'

‘
You
are? I should have thought that was
my
right. I'm not staying here to be ordered around in this indecent way.'

‘You've got it all wrong. I'm just trying to point out that you'd look more decent naked than in the dress you've got on at the moment. Haven't you any idea how you look, or should I say
what
you look?'

‘Even if I do look like what you're implying, you don't have to act upon it.'

‘I'm
not!'

‘I'm too much of a lady to tell you what I think you are. I'm getting out of here. Fast.'

‘The girl is right. I would leave if I were in her place.' This new voice came from the bedroom. A woman's voice, which even to Lindsay's astonished ear seemed to carry the delicacy of illness.

Lindsay's breath left her in a rush of relief as the hands that had seemed bent on ripping her black dress off her back suddenly loosened their hold. Nick Farraday called out, ‘I thought you were asleep. I was going to wake you when I'd talked her into putting on something more suitable.'

‘I hardly thought you were going to seduce the poor girl in my dressing room. And you can have no idea what these eyes have seen. In any case, I prefer to judge for myself, so bring her forward this instant to be introduced.'

‘You heard,' Nick Farraday said to Lindsay in resignation as he swept her back into the bedroom.

‘Nearer, child,' the voice that had summoned them instructed. As Nick's hand released her, Lindsay hesitated several feet from the gilded four-poster bed.

There was comfort in the realization that, as Lindsay now discovered, the voice wasn't delicate because of some temporary affliction, but because of the age of the speaker.

Looked down upon by painted cherubs,
propped
up against a mound of silk pillows that bore the very famous monogram
L. D
., for Luisa Delmar, founder of the House of Delmar, was a very old lady. Nick's grandmother must have been in her eighties, yet her skin was as smooth as porcelain, and as white, save for the delicate tint of pink in her cheeks. Her eyes were a shrewd and penetrating blue, not the tropical blue of Nick Farraday's, but the blue of an English sky. Her face was surrounded by a mass of baby-fine, silky white curls. She wore a pink silk, quilted bedjacket with her monogram exquisitely embroidered on the pocket. Her hands, all that gave away her advanced age, reposed tranquilly upon the bedcovers and were heavy with rings. Her swollen fingers gave evidence of rheumatic pain, and Lindsay wondered if the rings ever came off.

The woman held out one hand to Lindsay, who, for two reasons, was afraid to take it in greeting. In the first place, she was in awe of meeting such a great lady. And secondly, she was fearful that all but the lightest clasp would cause pain. Hence, she was delightedly surprised by the steely grip she encountered. Then Luisa Delmar bid her to turn round.

This done, with Lindsay all too aware of the sparkle in Nick's tropical-blue eyes, she had to swallow to meet the paler ones of his grandmother.

‘Mmmmm. Pity you aren't taller. On the
other
hand, you do have the grace of movement which height brings, and you're all there in the right places. Nick has an unfortunate and most infuriating habit of invariably being right. Who backed you into that dress? The color is fantastic, the perfect foil for your fairness. But the style! Oh, my dear!' Luisa said, shuddering delicately.

‘Never mind the dress,' Nick Farraday instructed. ‘Remove it from the body in your mind and then tell me that you don't see what I see.'

A dry chuckle found its way up the old woman's throat. ‘Dear boy, I'm positive that I don't see what you see.'

‘Don't be naughty, Luisa,' he said turning to Lindsay, Nick Farraday further admonished, ‘Don't encourage her.'

‘How am I encouraging her?' Lindsay gasped.

‘By blushing.'

‘Wouldn't you blush if someone mentally stripped you?'

‘I doubt it very much. Did I?'

Damn him! Lindsay's blush deepened as she remembered how she had envisioned him in swim-trunks against a backdrop of white sand and blue sky.

‘What are you mumbling about?' Luisa Delmar demanded querulously. ‘You know my ears aren't as good as they used to be. Speak up!'

‘Don't
count on that,' Nick Farraday counseled Lindsay in a wicked aside before turning back to the bed. ‘Yes, Luisa. Now, look at Lindsay and see it. Woman awakening. The bud about to blossom. You've got to agree that she's perfect.'