Lady Lissa's Liaison (15 page)

Langford obviously did not believe her, but he was too much of a gentleman to remark upon that fact.

"So be it, then," he murmured, bowing graciously to her, his blue eyes soft on hers. "I shall claim the next dance then, and the next waltz, yes?"

Lissa, just wishing for this uncomfortable moment to be over with, nodded. "Yes, of course, Lord Langford."

Langford's private smile at her deepened, and then, with a practiced gentleness Lissa found disturbing, he lifted her gloved hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it before begging off. To Wylde, he said, "You heard the lady, sir. The next dance is
mine."
With that, he moved through the crowd of dancers, heading for the side of the room.

Wylde watched him go, his lips tightening into an even darker line. "What an insufferable fool," he muttered. "You will not be dancing with him. Not tonight or any other."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Yes, of course I
heard
you, but I do not believe what you just uttered. How dare you even assume to tell me with whom I can and cannot—"

"Not now," Wylde cut in. "The music has fully begun, and your guests, Lady Lissa, are staring. Let us not disappoint them, hmm?"

As though his purpose had increased a thousandfold, Wylde wrapped one arm possessively about Lissa's waist, took her other hand firmly in his and then swept her fully into the waltz.

Lissa was forced to endure the lacing of his long fingers with hers, of their bodies meeting. She hadn't realized how cold she was until she felt his warm body mold with hers, had not realized what a shockingly
intimate
dance the waltz truly was until she'd danced it with Wylde.

There seemed to be just the two of them, the outer world beginning and ending with his arm encircling her waist. Lissa's nose reached to the height of his shoulders, but she saw nothing beyond them other than a dizzying blur of light from the massed candles in the huge crystal chandeliers above.

Lord Wylde said nothing, waiting as Lissa recovered herself and caught the rhythm of the dance, eventually moving to his smooth lead.

He stared down into her eyes, then moved his head closer to hers, so that his lips hovered near her left ear. "Very well, Lady Lissa," he whispered, his breath making a stray lock of her bright hair tremble,
"now
you may say whatever it is that is on your mind."

Lissa forcefully ignored how the
rest
of her body trembled with his whispered words. "I am
thinking,
" she whispered furiously, "what a perfectly improper person you are being this night, sir!"

"Easy now," he crooned, his fingers threading more tightly between her own, "your jaw is clenching, I fear. We wouldn't want your guests to get the wrong impression about our dancing together, would we?"

Lissa felt at the end of her tether. She'd been under a huge strain from the moment she'd espied Lord Wylde standing in the doorway with that dark look of hell-bent intention on his unmatchable face, and now, unfortunately, she was beginning to wear beneath that strain. If his lordship had come to queer her game, he was doing a remarkable job!

"You treated Lord Langford most shabbily, sir," she whispered hotly, not deigning to comment on his mention of her guests and what they did or did not think of her dancing with him.

"Yes, I did, didn't I? Would've liked to have done more than that, too."

"How very barbaric your behavior is this night!"

"I shan't disagree. Cast the blame on all the years I have spent in seclusion."

"I shall cast the blame where it belongs, sir; directly at your own feet."

Wylde whirled her about in a perfect turn. "Cast whatever you like, wherever you wish," he said. " 'Twill make no difference, Lady Lissa. Langford is no more than an ugly slug in a very dirty pond. In truth, I've the urge to crush him beneath my boot toe."

Lissa drew in a sharp gasp. "Sir, I will remind you that his lordship is an invited guest here this evening!"

"Unlike
myself."

Lissa blanched at the intended rub. "H-had I but thought you would reply in the affirmative, sir, I would have sent an invitation."

"Oh?" Clearly, he did not believe her.

"Y-yes. Of course."

"You could have issued the invitation in person," he suggested. "This morning, for instance. While the two of us were alone in my river hut... 'Twould have been a most opportune time, don't you think?"

Lissa's mouth formed a frown even as a definite blush suffused her cheeks. He was playing a cat-and-mouse game with her, and obviously enjoying every moment of being the cat.

"To be quite honest, sir, my mind at that time was not on an invitation, or the lack of one. It was instead focused on angling, handmade flies and—and such."

"Such as what
,
Lissa?"

His use of her Christian name unsettled her. "The locket," she said, not liking where this conversation was threading.

"Ah, yes. Your precious locket. The thing that is perhaps more priceless than any of Prinny's jewels, or anything in Carlton House. A locket you cannot even fully describe. I should love to one day view this all-important piece of jewelry, Lissa"

"Then simply catch the trout that ate it, sir!" she snapped. "And how dare you presume to address me by my Christian name?"

"I dare a great deal—considering what the two of us shared in my hut. Do you remember
that,
Lissa? Do you remember how I touched you...
here?"
He pulled their clasped hands toward her face, touching one gloved finger to the soft bow of her upper lip.

Lissa pulled her face back. " 'Tis clear your boldness knows no bounds this night."

He merely smiled at her—a controlled lifting of his mouth that did not fool her. Lissa decided miserably that she ought to have stayed abed this morn instead of going out in search of
this
man. To think she had at one time sought to use him to her advantage....

What a perfect fool she'd been! He was beneath contempt, was, in fact, everything vile she'd learned about him over the past few weeks.

"A penny for your thoughts, Lissa," Wylde murmured into her ear.

For everyone watching it no doubt appeared as though he was whispering some sweet nothing to her, sharing a private thought, a sultry compliment, perhaps.

Lissa stiffened. She had had quite enough of Lord Wylde's duplicitous dance.
"You go too far, sir,
" she said through clenched teeth.

"Not nearly as far as
you
have gone."

Lissa drew back, horrified, as she stared up into his impossibly black eyes. She knew then for certain what she'd only suspected the moment he'd arrived, unannounced. Her heart fell.

"You have heard the rumor," she said, a part of her fearing his verbal answer.

"Aye, Lissa," he growled, head dipping as he whispered once more into the shell of her ear, this time more insistently, "I have heard how you so boldly cast your name with mine."

She swallowed convulsively as the sound of his ragged voice funneled inside of her. "I—I can explain," she began.

"Of course you can, and you
will."
It was not just a statement, but a threat. Wylde suddenly danced her toward the French doors opened onto the terrace.

"What are you
doing?"
Lissa demanded.

"We are going to have this out."

"On the terrace? For all to see?"

"Isn't that what you wished for? For everyone to see us together, Lissa? To draw conclusions about the two of us?"

His very insistence caused Lissa to clamp her mouth shut in abject horror. She felt the eyes of everyone upon them.

Appalled, she could not believe that his lordship intended to make such a show as to waltz her right out of the room.

But he did exactly that.

He danced her toward the opened doors, twirled her once beneath them, then moved her artfully just a step into the patterned darkness and cool night air....

Amidst a slanting of light from the chandeliers, he paused, gathered Lissa's body closer to his, and then he kissed her for all to see!

It was not like their kisses at the river hut—at least, not like their final kisses there had been. No, this kiss had nothing to do with eliciting a response in Lissa, but had everything to do with
making a statement to one and all of her gathered guests! In fact, it was over before it had begun.

As the strains of the waltz played out to a final note, Wylde, his mouth still touching hers, neatly whirled Lissa out of sight from the assemblage, into a shaft of darkness at the other end of the terrace.

Lissa yanked out of his hold.
"What a nasty trick!"

"You think so?" he murmured, content for the moment to let her back away.

"Yes, I do! What a foul and utterly devious ploy to play upon me!"

Something snapped in his darkling gaze."No more devious than the one
you
masterminded upon
me,
Lady Lissa. Tell me," he demanded, "had you thought of forming a liaison with me before or
after
you begged me to catch the trout that ate your locket?"

With his accusation she felt a sudden, undeniable revolt of her stomach. Lissa clapped one hand to her mouth, not certain she wouldn't be violently ill.

"Obviously, plots of deceit do not sit well with you, do they, Lissa? At least, not ones that go awry." His voice was hard, unrelenting. "Allow me to take a chance at assuming what you are feeling at this moment, my lady. I suspect there is revulsion and guilt, not to mention anger. I suspect your anger is greatest of all."

Lissa sucked in huge gulps of air, forcefully blinking back the tears that threatened to choke her. She willed herself not to crumble, not to play the caught, scheming female Wylde obviously thought her to be.

"I can explain—" she began.

"I am counting on that," he cut in.

She glanced out into the darkness, feeling as gloomy as the night was black. "You must think the worst of me," she said after a long moment of silence.

"I'd like to. In fact, I ought to."

It was the tug in Wylde's voice that caused Lissa to look back at him. "But?" she questioned.

"Ah. You would like if there was a 'but' on my part, wouldn't you, Lissa? It would resolve you of your own play in this. Would make you feel better."

Drat him,
Lissa thought, for turning the tables on her, for making her feel so hideously miserable. She stubbornly turned her head, glancing at a black wall of night and nothingness.

"I—I did not mean for things to turn out as they have," she said.

"Of course not." His voice was tombstone cold. "You simply wished for your name to be linked with mine. You wanted all to believe you were in the throes of some sort of new love, but hoped to do so by not having to spend more than just a morning in my ugly presence.
Admit it, Lady Lissa of Clivedon Manor, you sought to make a perfect puppet of me."

"No!" she insisted, turning back toward him. "That wasn't the whole of it, n-not really. Maybe at first was, but... but not after I'd met you. You
must
believe me."

"Given the circumstances, it is deucedly difficult to believe anything you might have to say." The heat that poured out of him at that moment threatened to smite her. He moved suddenly toward Lissa, his body just a dark shadow in the deep night.

Lissa instinctively backed away, pressing her body against the rail. 'Twas a foolish response, for she merely aided him in pinioning her to that blasted rail.

Lissa felt the heat of his lean, whipcord body pressing in against hers. His hands were on her shoulders, his thighs brushing and then stilling against her own. She drew in an astonished breath.

Wylde ignored that breath.

There was nothing but the two of them. Nothing but this heated moment.

How very foolish that Lissa had entertained the notion of using this man to her own advantage, thinking to deter her other suitors by his presumed presence in her life. Gad, what an idiot she'd been!

He
was the lone wolf she should avoid! Not Chesney, not Langford, nor even any of the other men who had come to find her in the wilds of Derbyshire.

Worse, she was an even bigger fool for not considering how Lord Wylde could color her life—how one look, one
touch
from him, could make her become clay in his very capable hands.

Lissa yanked her head to the side, trying to drag herself out from under the spell he could weave about her. But she was wrong to believe she could banish the bewitching effect he held over her senses.

With all the fury of a hurricane, it hit Lissa that Gabriel Gordon, the sixth Earl of Wylde, could stir her heart like no other.

Though he was no stranger to duels, had left a would-be bride alone at the altar and had left that female alone when she killed herself, was a man who had abandoned his parents at the times of their deaths, and had made a name for himself as being nothing but cruel and dispassionate, Lissa felt her heart being enslaved by him.

Surely she'd gone mad, she thought. This was preposterous! There was no reason or even rhyme to her feelings for this man. By all accounts she should hate him.