Duke of Deception (Wentworth Trilogy) (4 page)

Derek shrugged away the pain that came with the reminder that his father never acknowledged a single one of his achievements. He could understand a father’s anger over a son’s rebellious youth. Derek himself couldn’t explain what had driven him to that bad behavior, unless it was to get a bit of the attention his father lavished on his younger brother, Anthony. But hadn’t he gone on to prove his worth? There was no point in thinking of that now, or ever again. He couldn’t change the past.

“Perhaps,” he replied. “But perhaps he wasn’t able to make amends. I can’t take his character failings personally. As for this business, he was trying to do what was best for his country, and I mean to finish that for him. So, from this point on, I become Captain Derek
Wainright,
American privateer. This ball is the perfect place to launch our drama. I can hardly wait for Act I to begin.”

“You’ll have to wait no longer,” Stephen said as the coach came to a halt in front of the Grantham mansion. “Take a deep breath, Captain Wainright. The drama begins.”

D
erek took in his surroundings in one quick glance. Intricately painted walls flanked the oval entrance to the ballroom, and finely crafted pieces of Hepplewhite furniture were scattered about. Above the music of the orchestra he could hear voices, laughter, and the clinking of crystal. Now that the moment was upon him, he felt a tingle of excitement that he was finally putting his plan into action.

His attire was as formal as Stephen’s, but the differences, some subtle and some not, were there. He’d opted for skintight black trousers paired with soft-soled Indian moccasins, his choices certain to set him apart from the aristocrats in their white breeches, stockings, and dancing pumps. His lawn shirt was practically transparent, and the simple tie of his cravat was an American style he much preferred over the immense, flowery bows worn by so many Englishmen. Forgoing a waistcoat, he sported only a black dresscoat, double-breasted and cut high in the front, with long tails in the back. His overly long dark hair was caught loosely in a black silk ribbon at the nape of his neck, a slightly outdated style, which, nevertheless, lent him a rakish air.

Stephen had chosen to dress more conservatively, for though Derek was to exhibit a devil-may-care attitude, it was imperative that Stephen maintain the appearance of respectable nobility as expected of the Earl of Aster. While the
ton
might enjoy the excitement of keeping society with an American privateer, they would never do so without the pretense of respectability that Stephen’s position and title offered. Stephen’s presence meant the difference between acceptance and ostracism, and both men knew it.

The entrance hall opened onto a raised dais, and as Derek stepped closer he could see down the sweeping staircase into a crush of glittering guests. The soft light from a thousand candles reflected back from the highly polished oak floor, casting a glow on the pale yellow damask wall coverings. The strong odor of beeswax mixed with smoke took him back in time.

He smiled, remembering his antics as a boy of fourteen, home after his last expulsion from school, when he’d hidden under a serving table during a ball given by his parents at Dorrington Hall. He passed the evening in rapturous delight, watching from underneath the tablecloth for tantalizing glimpse after glimpse of trimly turned ankles. His fun ended quite abruptly when his father’s shoes appeared and the tablecloth was snatched up.

He’d been thoroughly punished for his escapades, but the looks directed at him by some of the ladies as he slid out from under the table to his full height and strode arrogantly from the room had made that punishment worthwhile. Even at that age he’d been aware of the ladies’ interest in a fine physique. Lady Danders had winked at him in a most sultry manner when he nodded at her in passing. One week later she taught him the art of seduction.

Ah, the innocence of youth, he thought nostalgically. He turned his attention back to his surroundings and stepped up onto the dais for a better look.

He searched the crowd. Dark eyes under a fringe of red curls caught his gaze. Lord, she was a beauty, though too obvious for his tastes. As he began to look away, the girl dampened her lips with her tongue ever so slowly, and he realized from her provocative stare that the performance was for his benefit. She was little more than a schoolgirl, but her expression told him that all of her experience hadn’t come from the schoolroom.

Remembering the rogue he was supposed to be, he returned her coy gaze, casually looking her up and down, lingering for a long moment on her breasts. When he finally moved his gaze back to her face, he was amused to see that the shade of her cheeks now matched that of her hair. Yes, she was young. Young enough to think she could handle what she had started, too young to go through with it. He gave a shrug of boredom and looked away from her. It was then he realized he was the center of attention.

From the corner of his eye he saw Stephen hanging back, ensuring that nothing would distract the guests from their first look at the American privateer of whom they should have heard so much. Stephen’s plan was evidently working. Guests turned toward the staircase, conversations dropped to murmurs, and dancing couples slowed their movements as everyone stared unabashedly up at him.

Derek could guess at the thoughts of the women who stared boldly at his crotch, but he reminded himself that he wasn’t there for
that.
Then, as he began his descent down the staircase, movement caught his eye—a glimpse of palest pink silk, the slender curve of a young woman’s gloved arm as she set a drink on an offered tray. He stopped and stared while the room fell into silence.

As the guests followed the direction of his gaze, the hush gave way to whispers, but Derek was powerless to tear his eyes away from the lovely vision before him. He could not seem to move at all, and then he could not keep from moving in her direction. Many of the guests stepped back in confusion, giving him a clear path to the object of his attention. As the music of the orchestra died away to a few trailing notes, the whispers grew to a crescendo, and the vision in pink turned fully in his direction.

He was stunned by her natural beauty. The translucent glow of white skin kissed by pink, the contrast of dark hair pulled up and back in a cascade of soft, silky waves, and the innocence of wide eyes graced by arched brows as gentle as doves’ wings made her seem totally vulnerable and completely untouchable at the same time. He knew that approaching her was improper, but he couldn’t stop himself. And then he remembered he didn’t have to obey the dictates of English society.

He was, after all, an American privateer.

With each step, there was a fresh assault to his senses. The girl’s gown was but a mere blush of color and he knew it signified her purity. But she needed no such symbol. No one could look upon her and not realize instantly that she had never known the touch of a man.

But dear God, she was ripe for it.

The soft glow of her skin, the full, slightly parted lips, the graceful curve of her neck that gave way to a fuller curve of young, firm breasts just waiting to be suckled . . . A moan escaped him as he stiffened with arousal.

The girl’s eyes were entrancing, an amazing shade of blue—the startling blue of the cornflower fields at Dorrington Hall—and fringed with long, black lashes. There was no doubt he could lose himself in those eyes. They were so beautiful and huge and . . . scared.

Scared? She was scared? Her reaction baffled him, but even as he pondered her expression, he realized she must have heard the rumors or at the very least some of the whispers now circulating through the ballroom. From every direction he heard the words
seduction
and
plunder
and
fortune
being bandied about. If she believed even half of what she must be hearing, she could swoon. Judging from the look on her face, it was entirely possible that she might.

L
ucy stood frozen in place. The most magnificent-looking man she’d ever seen was headed straight in her direction. He had a splendid build from head to toe, displayed to perfection in expensively cut, form-fitting clothes.

Tall and undoubtedly strong, he moved with uncommon grace, yet he exuded a dangerous sensuality quite unlike any gentleman she had ever seen. She knew he must be the American captain that Sara—indeed, all of London—was gossiping about.

He commanded a certain respect simply by his countenance. It wasn’t merely his physical attributes that were so captivating, though his wide shoulders, narrow hips, and trim waist were certainly exceptional ones. It was more his demeanor, the power simmering just beneath the surface. He looked to be a man who knew what he wanted and if need be, took it, though it was hard for her to imagine him being refused anything he desired.

His face was bronzed and handsome, his jaw firm. His features denoted intelligence, determination, and more than a little arrogance. But it was his eyes that captivated her. His eyes were arresting, their intensity searing. He branded her with his stare.

Lucy’s heart hammered harder with each step he took in her direction. She couldn’t swallow, wasn’t even certain she was breathing. Her legs were paralyzed and trembling wildly at the same time, and she wondered what had come over her while she sought to master her emotions and her body. Never before had she reacted in such a manner to a man, but then, never before had she seen such a man as this.

Her mind was whirling. It was unbelievable that he would approach her this way, though there could be no doubt it was his intention. Had he no manners whatsoever? They had not been introduced! It was unthinkable. Her reputation would be in shreds. Even as the thought formed, she realized the irony of it since ruining her reputation was what she wished to do.

He stopped but inches from her, his tall presence overpowering. She caught the faint scents of wood-spiced cologne and starched linen and something else that she knew was his scent alone. His eyes were ravenous, as though he’d hungered for her all his life and was now determined to sate that hunger. For the first time in her life, Lucy thought she might swoon.

“May I have the pleasure of a dance?” His voice, seductive and melodious, caressed her even as his eyes ravished her. With a start she realized his eyes were gray—or were they silver? Who in the world had silver eyes?

She knew she should turn away or at the very least, drop her gaze, but she could do neither. Instead, she had an illogical desire to reach out and touch him, to assure herself that he was real. What in God’s name had come over her?

A voice startled her, drawing her from her jumbled thoughts.

“Ladies, what a pleasure to see you again. May I present Captain Derek Wainright to you? Captain Wainright, may I present Lady Louisa Barrick and Lady Sara Wharton.”

Lucy jerked her gaze from the American captain to see Lord Aster standing beside him. Where the earl had come from she had no idea, but judging from the harried look on his face, he must have raced like the dickens to reach them in time for introductions. A moment passed before she realized that Sara, whose face was lit with excitement, would not break convention and speak first, being the younger of the two girls.

Lucy forced her mind to the moment. Trying desperately to gain her voice, she began with a croak. “Yes, Captain Aster . . . I mean,
er
. . . Lord Wainright . . . Oh, my goodness.” Her voice gave way to embarrassed silence as her face flushed with heat.

The orchestra began to play, and before she could think or say a thing, the American folded her arm over his, guiding her onto the dance floor. She knew the eyes of every guest were upon her and consequently she stumbled, stepping soundly on his foot.

The privateer raised a dark brow, his silvery eyes glinting with amusement. “I hope you don’t mean to trod on my toes throughout the dance, this being my first one and all,” he drawled with a slight accent. “I do need to keep them in good order for the rest of the night.” He smiled down at her, all roguish good looks and easy manner, as she stared up at him, tongue-tied. “Come now. I can’t be as bad as all that,” he went on. “I won’t ravish you here on the dance floor, whatever you may have heard of me. But if I did, you just might enjoy it.”

Lucy gasped. Of all the impudence! Just who did he think he was, this American privateer? How dare he speak to her in such a manner. She glared at him and summoned her iciest tone. “I doubt if you were to ravish me on this floor that I would enjoy it, Captain. I am hardly an exhibitionist, and I prefer to take my pleasure in private.”

There. Let him think about
that.
Of all the arrogant conceit. But wait; she mustn’t anger him, not if she wished to be caught in a compromising situation with him next week. Confound it! Why couldn’t she think straight?

“You’re a woman after my own heart,” said the privateer, “but I would never have imagined that you were thinking what I was thinking.” He dropped his gaze, and she followed it to see her breasts fairly bursting from the neckline of her gown with every agitated breath.

“Oh!” Lucy said as she snapped her head upright. “You . . . you . . . ” She was aghast. Did the man actually believe she wished to be alone with him, or was he only pretending to mistake her meaning? As she put her mind to a retort, she realized he was maneuvering her closer and closer to the terrace doors.

She tried to think. An unlit terrace with a privateer might be exactly the thing. Or should she create a scandal by leaving him on the dance floor? No, that wouldn’t be scandalous enough to deter Lord Harlech from marriage, but it might cause her aunt to cancel further invitations, especially the invitation to the country party. Oh, for goodness sake. She had no idea how to go about this scheming. If only he would stop looking at her as though he planned to gobble her up, she might be able to decide. “Sir, please do not think—”

“That’s the good thing about me,” he said. “I try not to think at all. I just
do.”
With that declaration, he drew her through the open doors and onto the darkened terrace.

The moment they were hidden from the others, he pulled her into his arms, his lips capturing hers in a devouring kiss that left her weak and wanting more. The kiss gentled as his lips strayed to the softness of her cheek, her neck, her ear, his breath warm and urgent against her skin. He groaned, his hands slipping down to cup her bottom, lifting her up, rocking her gently against him. A thrill coursed through her, a thrill that began in her most private area and quickly spread throughout her body. The kiss turned passionate as the privateer once again claimed her lips, running his tongue lightly between them, until she parted them, seeking to give whatever it was that he sought.

Lucy’s entire body was a mass of delicious shivers and she surrendered to them. She wrapped her arms around him and held on for dear life. She knew her behavior was scandalous, and she didn’t care. She wished he would take her, there, then, not knowing exactly what that meant but knowing that whatever it was, she wanted it. Badly.