An Affair Most Wicked (10 page)

A short time later he felt the sizzle of Miss Wilson’s approach. He turned slightly to watch her cross the room, her gaze locked on his from yards away, her eyes smiling with mischievous anticipation. His loins stirred with sensual awareness of her as a woman. He turned away from the laughing gentlemen to walk toward her.

They met in the center of the room, but did not settle there. Seger led her toward the wall.

“You wanted to hear about America,” she said cheerfully.

He grinned at her. “That, and whatever else you want to tell me about. I’ll listen to bible recitations if it would please you.”

Her whole face beamed. She gazed over her shoulder at the other guests and spoke softly. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”

“I wasn’t sure myself, but I’m glad I did. I had no idea that without the mask and ridiculous wig, you would be more beautiful than I had imagined.”

She sighed. “Still full of compliments, I see. I thought you might be more reserved in a more…
normal
situation.”

“You call this normal?” He glanced around. “I had forgotten how completely
abnormal
these things could be. No offense meant to the hosts.”

“I’m sure none would be taken. My sister is American, as you know, and I assure you, all this was a culture shock to her in the beginning.”

“And what about you? You’re American as well. What do you make of our English ways?”

She paused. “I don’t know yet. I’m still trying very hard to fit in. I wish I knew how to act blasé.”

“I’m glad you don’t.”

Clara smiled at the compliment. “May I just say that you have given me hope, my lord, that not everyone is as reserved as they pretend to be.”

He pushed away from the wall. “No, I suppose I am not as reserved as most of the people here tonight, and I can certainly feel the chill because of it. Perhaps we should take a turn about the room. I forgot that lingering in private corners for any period of time with unmarried ladies is frowned upon.”

He offered his arm to Miss Wilson. She laughed. “You certainly
have
been out of circulation if you’d forgotten something as fundamental as that.”

“I have indeed.”

They walked through the crowd, nodding politely at people as they passed.

“I heard about your court scandal three years ago,” she said quietly, when they were out of earshot of other guests.

Seger felt his eyebrows lift. “Good heavens, are all Americans as blunt as you? Don’t you know how to talk about the weather with gentlemen you’ve only just met?”

She touched his arm with the closed fan that hung on a string from her wrist. “Yes, but you and I have met before and we are beyond what is proper. To try and act otherwise would be hypocritical. Besides, I’ve already discussed the weather at least fifty times tonight, and your scarlet past is much more interesting.”

A smile touched his lips. “I suppose my scarlet past is the subject matter of most conversations here tonight. Were you shocked to hear about it?”

“I was, but I’m over it now. You see, I didn’t learn of it tonight. I learned of it from my sister a week ago, after she asked her husband about you.”

Seger glanced at the duke on the other side of the room. “And he knew everything? I’m surprised he invited me into his home.” He gazed down at Miss Wilson with a devious smile. “He doesn’t know what happened between us that first night, does he? Perhaps that was his motivation to bring me here—to either squash me like a bug or force me to propose.”

She laughed again. “No, my lord. My brother-in-law is a very open-minded man. He was on the fringe of good society himself at one time. He believes there is more to a person than what first appears on the surface. He believes in second chances. That is why he invited you.”

“Do you believe that, too?”

“Of course. People are not all good or all bad. They are more complicated than that, but we seem to have strayed off topic. I was hoping you would tell me about what happened three years ago and why you felt you could not reenter society.”

He shook his head in disbelief. It felt odd and out of kilter to discuss such a thing in a place like this, but Miss Wilson, he supposed, was not like other debutantes. She was not like any other woman he’d ever met, to be honest.

Nevertheless, she seemed genuinely eager to hear about it and far be it for him to disappoint a lady.

“It’s not that I felt I couldn’t re-enter,” he said. “I simply did not wish to. It was my choice, and I believe my lack of penitence exasperated certain self-righteous people who would have liked to see me beg.”

“So it was your pride that kept you out? You would not apologize?”

“Partly. But mostly, the scandal was more of a final straw. I had been displeased with society for a long time before that. As I told you before, I never wished to be a part of the Marriage Mart.” He was surprised he was telling her all this. It was not why he had come. He had intended to enjoy a lighter, more frivolous encounter.

“You don’t ever intend to look for a wife?” she said.

He felt his shoulders stiffen. “Not among society in this manner, when everything is a mad scramble for position. I admit I am jaded. When it comes to marriage, I will take my chances with fate.”

She seemed to accept that.

“But don’t you wish to hear about the actual scandal, my dear, or at least my side of it?” He wanted to steer her away from the deeper, more ancient issues regarding his lifestyle choices.

She looked him directly in the eyes. “Yes, I would like to hear your side.”

They moved to a vacant sofa in the corner and sat down. “First, tell me what you heard and I will tell you whether it’s true or not.”

Keeping her voice very low, she explained what she knew—that he had been called as a witness in a divorce case in court, to prove a lady’s adultery.

Seger leaned back. “All true.”

Miss Wilson’s voice lost its confident coquetry. She suddenly sounded like an innocent child. “So you
were
the lady’s lover?”

He did not flinch. “I was.”

She nodded and lowered her gaze to her gloved hands in her lap. She became very quiet.

Seger swayed closer to her. “You were very liberal a few minutes ago. Now you’re different. Are you horrified?”

She shook her head. “I’m not horrified. I knew it had to be true. Consider where I met you.”

He leaned back again. “Ah, yes, in a den of wickedness. So there you have it. My character unveiled. Be warned, I am depraved.”

“I was warned already. Many times, in fact, by you and by my sister and by my own self.”

His voice became a husky whisper. “So you know I am a scoundrel. Why, then, are you sitting with me?”

She seemed to consider the question for a long time, then she finally looked up and met his gaze. “If our acquaintance were of the more conventional sort, I would tell you that I am sitting with you because I believe no man is ever completely irredeemable. But since we are being liberal and honest and admitting to all kinds of depravities, I will confess that I am sitting with you for the plain and simple reason that I find you attractive.”

Seger smiled. The heiress was delicious. Her paradoxical combination of feral sexuality and sweet innocence was like ecstasy to his senses.

His predatory instincts began to hum. He leaned toward her, close enough that he could smell the fresh, clean scent of her skin. So close, that he was pushing the limits of propriety. “Then I believe we have something in common.”

She inched away from him and glanced around self-consciously. “And I believe, sir, that you should sit back. We are not at one of your Cakras Balls.”

Taking a deep breath to overpower the intense desire welling up inside of him, Seger forced himself to rise. He held out his hand. “You are absolutely right, and a bloody shame it is, too. Hungry?”

She gave him her hand. “Ravenous.”

He led her toward the buffet table. Seger picked a few red grapes from a large bunch and offered them to Miss Wilson in his open palm. Eyes never leaving his, she took one and popped it into her mouth.

He watched her moist, pink lips as she ate the grape, felt a stirring of arousal in his groin. What he wouldn’t give for the honest liberties of a Cakras Ball now.

Miss Wilson swallowed. “My lord, despite the fact that I’ve witnessed your debauched societal underworld, I will have you know that I am a respectable girl. Pardon me for saying so, but you shouldn’t be looking at me like that.”

“In my defense, you shouldn’t be licking your lips like that.”

She grinned, then became more serious. “I’m not looking for trouble.”

God, how he wanted to touch her. “You’re trying to tell me something.”

“Yes.”

“That you have no intention of taking any more risks?”

Just then, an older woman approached. Seger recognized her from the first night he’d met Miss Wilson. She was
the chaperone.

“Good evening, my dear,” the woman said. “You’ve found the grapes, I see. They are delicious, are they not?”

Miss Wilson seemed to tense at the woman’s question. Seger cursed to himself. No wonder he’d not missed the Marriage Mart. The frustrations were unbearable.

“My lord,” Miss Wilson said, “may I present Mrs. Eva Gunther? Mrs. Gunther, the Marquess of Rawdon.”

They greeted each other. It was clear to Seger that the older woman recognized him as well, though naturally she did not acknowledge it.

She stayed to make conversation for a few minutes, then gestured toward the other side of the room. “I believe there are some ladies who would like to make your acquaintance, Clara. Would you be so kind as to excuse us, Lord Rawdon?”

Seger recognized the obvious intent to pry her out of his company. He was not surprised. He smiled and inclined his head.

“Perhaps we can continue our conversation later?” Miss Wilson said.

“I’ll look forward to it.” He bowed and turned away.

The marchioness watched her stepson turn away from Miss Wilson. “They
have
met before,” she whispered to Gillian. “I’m sure of it. Did you see the way she traipsed across the room to talk to him? It was the crudest thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life. God help us all if she’s picked him out of the crowd.” Quintina glanced toward the fireplace, where a group of gentlemen were standing in a circle. “Why isn’t she hounding after the Duke of Guysborough, for pity’s sake? He’s the best catch in the room.”

“For the same reason as myself, I believe, Auntie. He’s not the one she wants.”

The marchioness clenched her teeth and sighed. “I hate to say it, Gillian, but you could learn a few things from the American gels, despite their brazenness. In fact, I believe that brazenness is precisely what has all our unfortunate gentlemen tripping over themselves to talk to them.” She squinted her eyes in disgust. “It’s because those gels are smiling and laughing all the time, telling stupid, unbelievable stories. My word, I
despise
Americans.”

Gillian regarded her aunt.

Quintina’s jaw clenched. “They don’t know their place. They are overconfident. They think they can buy their way in with the money they earn—
working,
might
I add? You have no idea how it broke my heart to see my family home go to a vulgar American laborer, who earned his fortune panning for gold. Panning! I hate that word. I’ve never so much as touched a pan in my life. Nevertheless, Americans remind me of leeches. They’re here to latch on. They don’t realize the greatness of England.”

“You forget Yorktown, Auntie.”

Quintina raised her chin. “Hmph. Do you have any stories to tell, Gillian? Have you never done anything wild or different? I heard for example that the duchess, before she came to London, went on a buffalo hunt once. She said she knew how to throw a tomahawk. What is a tomahawk, by the way, do you have any idea?”

Gillian shook her head.

“No, I didn’t think you’d know. It’s just as well. It’s probably an American sport of some kind.”

They sat down on a settee. “You’re going to have to try harder to
say
something,” the marchioness said to her niece. “And keep your head up. You never look at him when he talks to you.”

“I can’t help it, Auntie, I become nervous.”

She patted Gillian’s hand. “I understand, my dear, but you must endeavor to get over that. You must try harder to put a sparkle in your eye. It looks as if Seger is finally ready to move forward with his life. The fact that he came here this evening was astonishing, to say the least, so you must be the first to take advantage of this opportunity. Watch the American gels and see what they do. Perhaps I’ll have a few new gowns made for you, like the ones they are wearing. Would that help, do you think?”

“I believe it would, Auntie. Thank you.”

“Well, well, well,” she replied, patting her niece’s hand again. “It’s the least I can do. You have no mother to see to your future, and if she were alive—my dear, dear sister— she would want you to be happy, to get what you want. You’re a good girl, Gillian. You deserve a husband you can be proud of, and I would like to see our family’s bloodline continue in such a prestigious vein. I wasn’t able to give the marquess any children, but you could be the one to provide the next heir. We shall not give up hope, darling. Now do as I say. Watch the American, and see how she handles herself.”

As an afterthought, Quintina added, “She looks a little bit like Daphne, don’t you think? It’s rather disconcerting.”

Gillian turned her gaze toward Clara Wilson, the famous heiress, the sister of the Duchess of Wentworth. The girl was surrounded by a crowd of doting gentlemen, all of them laughing at her stories, enchanted by her smile, just as Seger had been only moments ago.

A tiny muscle twitched at Gillian’s jaw, and she squeezed her reticule so hard that she broke the looking glass inside it.

Chapter 7

“Is it time to continue our conversation, yet?” Lord Rawdon whispered in Clara’s ear.

He had come up behind her unexpectedly, startling her with the moist heat of his breath against the side of her neck. Her entire left side erupted in tingling goose-flesh.

Champagne glass in hand, she turned. “I’m willing if you are.”

He smiled and offered his arm. They walked into the music room where a German pianist was scheduled to begin playing shortly. “‘Shall we take our seats?”

“Yes.” Clara allowed him to lead her to the front row.

They were the first guests to sit down. The pianist’s assistant was arranging sheet music; a liveried footman stood near the open doors.

“You’ve been very popular this evening,” Lord Rawdon said. “Why is it that Mrs. Gunther has never dragged you away from any of the other gentlemen? She doesn’t disapprove of me, does she?” His last comment dripped with sarcasm.

Clara tried to attach an apology to her smile. “She is on a mission for my mother, I’m afraid. She wants to be sure I am married off to the highest ranking peer possible, and the most respectable.”

“Ah, and the respectable part… that is where I fall short.”

Clara tried to explain. “She’s a very proper lady. She comes from old money. Mother was thrilled when Mrs. Gunther agreed to accompany me to London. She knew Mrs. Gunther would have the highest standards conceivable, and she felt I needed someone with a very strong hand to lead me in the right direction.”

His eyebrows rose. “And she took you to a Cakras Ball?”

Clara gave him a quick heated glare, then returned her cool gaze to the front of the room. “That was a mistake, and I do
not
thank you for reminding me of it.”

His lips curled up in a sexy grin. “Now this is becoming very interesting. Your mother felt you needed a strong hand. I detect something naughty in your past.” He leaned forward and she felt his masculine presence roar like a lion beside her. “Why didn’t your mother accompany you herself?”

“Because she is with my sister, Adele, who is having her own first Season in New York.”

“You didn’t wish to debut in London together?”

Clara felt her spine bristle at the direction of their conversation, and his mischievous curiosity. Unlike most of the other Englishmen she had met, he had no qualms about asking intrusive questions. They were heading into dangerous territory.

“No,” she tried to explain. “We did not wish to debut together.” She glanced uneasily at him.

“I see,” he replied, his scrutinizing gaze moving all over her face.

“I wanted her to have her own special time,” Clara explained. “Without her older sister around. Things didn’t go that well for me the year before last. Hence Mrs. Gunther’s strong hand.”

Clara didn’t know why she was telling him this. It pointed back at her mistakes.

She supposed she felt that he of all people would understand.

Maybe that’s why she was so attracted to him. He didn’t make her feel inadequate. He lived by his own rules and did not judge her or anyone by society’s strictures.

Most people—if they knew the whole story—would call her fast or unprincipled, which she was not. Yes, there was a thrill-seeker lurking in her heart, but she was not fast. She believed in fidelity and she wanted a decent man for a husband.

That was her struggle, she supposed. Her desires weren’t quite as black and white as the rest of the world’s.

“How in the world could a Season not go well for you?” the marquess asked. “You are the most lovely creature I’ve seen since… well, since forever.”

She warmed at the compliment, but still wanted to be cautious where her heart was concerned. She stared straight ahead at the piano.

“What, no answer?” He leaned forward to try and urge her to look at him. “Don’t tell me you botched it up. Made a few social blunders?” He sat back and laughed. “Is that why you’re here? Because you can’t show your face in New York? That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

“Stop teasing me!” she said, slapping his arm with her fan. “I can certainly show my face. I just wished for different surroundings and fresh conversation this year, that’s all.”

He gave her an exaggerated nod as if he didn’t believe her. “You must realize that now you
have
to tell me what happened, and spare nothing, I need all the grisly details.”

She glared at him, astounded. “Sir, you are very rude. And there are no grisly details.”

“There must be. You’re blushing. There are red blotches on your neck, right there.”

He pointed at her cleavage.

Excitement swelled in her veins, but she forced herself to ignore it. She slapped his hand again. “Do you mind? You are uncontrollable!”

He smiled and leaned back again. “Yes, I suppose I am, but you still haven’t told me how you stumbled and landed on your face during your New York debut.”

“I did not land on my face.”

She said nothing after that.

He continued to stare at her, waiting.

“All right. A man proposed to me—a very unsuitable man my parents did not approve of. He did not move about in polite society.”

She felt rather than saw his face go serious. “That’s hardly your fault.”

“Some would argue that I encouraged him, and maybe I did. My sister had just married a duke and I was feeling pressured to follow in her footsteps and marry well.”

“So you rebelled.”

She clenched her jaw at the simple discernment, felt her nettle rise up. Not at the marquess, but at the plain, all too honest subject-matter of their conversation. Why were they talking about this? She had wanted to forget it.

Yet she had wanted to be an open book.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t give
me
that look. I’m on your side. I believe in a good rebellion from time to time. God knows the whole world has witnessed a number of my minor social revolts. You didn’t marry him, I take it.”

“Of course not.”

She chose not to tell him how close she had actually come. How her father had arrived just in time and caught her on a ship bound for Europe, with plans to get married on board.

Thank God for her father.

“The story has a happy ending, then,” Lord Rawdon said, whispering in her ear. “And you had an adventure. Good girl.”

Clara couldn’t help smiling as her anger began to drain away. The tension in her shoulders disappeared, and she was finally able to take a deep, calming breath.

The marquess was certainly relaxed about so-called scandals and social blunders, which was probably a good thing. She doubted she would ever tell any of the other London gentlemen what she’d just told the marquess. She certainly couldn’t imagine telling the Duke of Guysborough.

“So if your sister doesn’t succeed in America this Season,” he asked, “will she come to London next year?”

“Probably.”

He glanced in the other direction. “The newspapers were right, it is becoming a mad stampede for titles.”

Clara threw him a cantankerous look.

He chuckled. “What, that’s not why you’re here? To bounce back from your close brush with social pauperism and, like you said, marry well?”

She shook her head at his insolent manner. “I am here to find a decent and respectable man to spend my life with. It doesn’t matter to me if he has a title or not.” She shifted on the chair, raised her chin high. She felt his unwavering gaze on her profile and turned to look at him when she sensed his amusement. “You don’t believe me!”

Still smiling, he shook his head. “To be honest, no. You seem like the ambitious kind. The kind who wants the very best, especially after coming a little too close to disaster once before.”

“What I consider to be the ‘best’ might surprise you. Perhaps it has nothing to do with a mere accident of birth, my
noble
lord.”

She heard the sarcasm in her tone and knew she was the one being insolent now, but she couldn’t help it. It seemed like he was always teasing her and trying to provoke her. She suspected he liked to see her fight back. It amused him. She suddenly felt very American next to his Englishness.

And she could not deny the fact that this unrestrained dynamic between them amused her, too.

He crossed one long, muscular leg over the other. “I don’t think anything could possibly surprise me about you.”

Clara lowered her voice. “Why are you harassing me like this? It always feels like you want to get me into trouble. You say the most improper things. Or maybe it’s the way you say them.”

“Because I like to see your cheeks flush.”

Other guests, two by two, began to trickle into the room. Clara sat up straighter in her chair, resolving not to get pulled into the tempting heat of his flame just yet. She had to be more careful. She was still not sure she could trust the marquess to be “decent,” therefore she could not allow her passions to lead her into what might be a dangerous, ruinous place.

“I would prefer it if we changed the subject now, my lord.”

They said nothing for a few minutes.

Lord Rawdon stretched his legs out in front of him. He began to look bored. “All right, all right. A decent and respectable man you say. I guess that counts me out.”

He was unbelievable. “And you are no doubt relieved.”

“Intensely.”

The room filled up and they had to refrain from speaking so candidly with each other. It was time to stop, anyway. Clara recognized the marquess’s body language and the tone in his voice and knew that he was both pulling back and pushing her away. Their conversation had become too personal, and he wanted only to flirt with her.