The Blue Devil (The Regency Matchmaker Series) (4 page)

“If you think me a child because I am small of stature, then you are much mistaken. I assure you I am old enough to make my own decisions—”

Good
, Nigel thought.

“—and I am not afraid of being alone in the dark. Or of anything else,” she added, though the tremor in her voice belied her bold assertion. She was afraid, all right. But she wasn’t afraid of being alone, she was afraid of being alone with the Marquis of Blackshire.

Nigel frowned. Devil take it, he was not the scoundrel she thought he was, but how could he convince her of that without telling her exactly what had happened in that bedchamber upstairs and how he’d come to be there? For that he would not do. He would not besmirch Lydia’s reputation no matter how richly the miserable chit deserved it.

“How fares your foot?” he asked in a show of solicitude.

“What foot?” She pasted an unconvincing look of bemusement on her face.

“The one at the end of your leg. The one your pirate swain crushed under his clumsy feet.”

“What pirate?”

Nigel put his hands on his hips and waited for a different answer.

She coughed. “Oh. That pirate. Yes, well . . . I am certain you are in error once more. I . . . that is to say, he . . . he was such an accomplished dancer, so light on his feet that I’m not certain his feet ever touched floor. Much less my foot.”

“Then why did you howl?”

“Howl?”

“Yes, I heard you quite clearly. Ow. Ee. Me.” He crossed his arms over his chest and spread his feet, blocking her exit from the hedgerow. “How could I forget that? I heard you all right. Twice in one evening, in fact.”

“I do not know what you are about, my lord. I am—”

“You are lying.”

She scowled at him again. “And you are a demon.”

“A devil, actually.” Nigel threw her a wry grin. “But then, that does nothing to reform your opinion of me, does it?”

“Is that why you have pursued and detained me, to secure my goodwill? For if that is true, then I assure you your purpose is destined for failure. My opinion of you is firm, and we can have nothing to say to each other.”

“Perhaps you have nothing to say to me, but I have something I wish you to hear.”

“Then you shall have to write me a letter.”

“Fine. Tell me your name and direction, and I will post one with all haste.”

She stamped her foot and winced, then tried to slip past him, but Nigel blocked her way.

“Stand aside!” she ordered.

“Not until you listen to what I have to say.”

Her eyes blazed her fury. “I shall call for help. I shall scream. I shall—”

“You shall be married,” he interrupted her.

“I—what did you say?”

“You shall be married,” he repeated, “to me. For that is what will be required of us if you scream and bring the entire ballroom running.”

“We would not be expected to marry were I resisting you when they arrived.” She looked smug.

He could have sworn that in spite of her genuine ire, the imp was enjoying their verbal sparring. Her remarkable blue eyes shone with intelligent defiance, her creamy complexion glowed with a rosy fire, her bosom swelled rhythmically with the rapidity of her agitated breathing. She feared him. Yet she faced him like a truly worthy adversary. She had a wildness about her, an almost reckless impulsivity. Nigel was at once repelled by and drawn to her. He felt like a man about to go over a falls. A rushing sense of dread swept him onward.

Why was he prolonging this interview? He’d come out here to learn who she was, to discover her motives, and if at all possible, to convince her that what she’d seen upstairs had not been what she’d thought she’d seen. Why was he not confronting her more forcefully? Why was he playing this cat-and-mouse game with her?

He knew the answer all too well. He was enjoying himself. He did not want their verbal sparring to end. He did not want to part company with her just yet

What he wanted was to kiss her.

And unless his masculine instincts were seriously in error, his fairy queen was feeling the same attraction. The current between the two of them was palpable. He was close enough to see the pupils of her eyes, outlined in gold, expanding and contracting as her gaze left his eyes to land for a fleeting moment on his mouth, then on the bold triangle of bare chest he’d allowed to show as part of his highwayman’s costume. Nigel smiled. Despise him she may, but Nigel was absolutely certain she felt the pull of the current between them. She was fighting it, in fact.

And Nigel wasn’t about to offer her any help.

He stepped even closer, narrowing the distance between them to mere inches. “Crying out for help may not be your best course of action at this time,” he said.

Her breathing shallowed out, and her color deepened. “Oh?” Her eyes flicked to his lips again.

“Yes,” he said softly. “You see, screaming is quite impossible when one’s mouth is busy with other pursuits.” He bent his head toward hers.

She didn’t move. Their lips were almost touching when she said, “Was this your strategy with Lydia? Fascinate her with a kiss? Entrance her so that she would not scream when you . . . you—”

Nigel dropped his arms to his side. “What happened upstairs was not what you think it was.”

“Oh, come now. I did not fall off the turnip cart yesterday. You honestly think I’ll believe you did not lure Lydia upstairs to—”

“No. I don’t expect you to believe it, but that is exactly what I am saying. It was a terrible misunderstanding. I don’t know what Lydia told you, but—”

“You do not listen, my lord. Lydia and I are not acquainted. Or at least we were not, until tonight. I suppose we still are not, for she doesn’t know my name, and she left right after I—that is, right after we . . .”

“Right after you saved her reputation, you mean.”

She shook her head. “My role in this does not signify. All that matters is that Lydia is gone, and she does not know who I am.”

“That makes two of us.”

“You shall find out who I am at supper, at the unmasking,” she said.

Nigel watched her pulse leaping in her throat, and she swallowed reflexively and looked away. She was lying.

“So,” he said, taking a step forward, “you intend to stay at the ball through supper? You’re not trying to escape the unmasking?”

She rolled her eyes skyward. “How many times must I tell you? I am only taking a stroll—a brisk stroll—about the garden. The crush of people makes the ballroom uncomfortably warm.”

“It is warm outside, too.” Nigel moved forward again, and she stepped back.

“You jest! All signs point to a late frost. It is freezing out here.”

“Nay, my lady.” Having succeeded in backing her into the tall hedge, Nigel focused his eyes on her perfect, bow-shaped lips. “In fact, I think we are in for a thaw, for I feel warm all over.”

“You are trying to seduce me!”

He brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. She didn’t move, and he allowed his thumb to linger on her lower lip. “Is it working?” he asked softly.

Her eyes widened, and for once she was speechless. Nigel knew a part of her wanted him to seduce her. It was the perfect moment to kiss her. The perfect time to let nature take its course.

Unfortunately, at that moment, nature did take its course.

There was another scuffling movement at the base of the tree. And then a flash of white as a cat leapt out from under the hedge and pounced at something on the ground a few feet away. It missed its mark by a whisker. A small bird, only partially fledged, had fallen and was hopping about the ground, frantically searching for a way back to the safety of its nest. Nigel and the fairy leapt toward the tiny creature at the same time, scaring the cat, which fled for the safety of the hedge.

Nigel bent, gently caught the fluffy brown young bird. “It’s hours away from flying,” he said, stretching to place it on a lower branch from where it could rejoin its nest-mates. “There you are, little fellow. Go find your parents. They’ll be worried.” The fledgling chirruped as though it understood and disappeared into the dark canopy above. Nigel turned around.

Titania was staring at him, mouth open.

“What? What have I done now?” he asked irritably.

She shook her head, put one hand on her hip, and used the other to point into the tree. “What was that?”

He glanced upward. “A robin, I think.”

“You put him back in his tree!” It was an accusation.

“What else should I have done? What did you expect me to do with it? Let the cat take it?”

She swallowed reflexively. “I don’t know . . . I . . . I . . .”

Nigel saw her hesitation and knew she was trying to figure out how a man who could ravish a young woman against her will one moment might be the same man saving baby birds from neighborhood cats the next. The facts warred with her assumptions. Her desire warred with her logic. She was even more unsure of herself and her feelings than she had been before.

Nigel didn’t feel a moment of remorse for taking advantage of her uncertainty. He pulled her into his arms and took her mouth in a kiss that was at once gentle and demanding, slow and insistent. He kissed her as though they had all the time in the world. He kissed her as though he couldn’t wait another moment to possess her.

It was his best effort. It was the kiss women had betrayed their countries for.

She froze at first, but Nigel’s persistent attentions soon rendered her pliable. Her mouth gave way to softness, and she sighed, yielding to the desire coursing between them, winding her fingers through his hair and kissing him back, matching his movements with surprising enthusiasm.

Nigel’s hand moved over her narrow waist, up across her shoulders and the smooth skin at her neck. Meeting the masque she still wore, he fingered it a moment. He was going to take it off her himself, of course. He still couldn’t trust her to stay long enough for—

“
Meowwww!
” Nature interfered again, as something furry rubbed against his leg and then against hers. Their kiss broken, they both looked down.

“
Plurrt
?” The cat looked up at them both expectantly.

“She’s skinny as a fence post,” the fairy said, kneeling to pet the cat, who promptly crammed her head into Titania’s hand. “You did her out of her dinner, you know,” she said, casting a glare up at Nigel. “Not that I would have had you do otherwise, I suppose.” She looked back down at the cat. “My, aren’t you a pretty one? Such unusual markings—all white, I think, except for around your little belly—” As her hand moved under the creature’s black-furred underside, she stilled. “Oh, no . . . you’ve got kittens! You poor creature.” She looked up at Nigel again. “She would have taken that bird to her kittens. I wonder where they are. They cannot be too far away. If we find them, we can ask the cook for some scraps or a dish of milk.”

Without waiting for Nigel’s assent, she started casting about for the she-cat’s litter, looking under shrubberies and behind statuary. Nigel looked down at the cat, who licked her paw once and walked over to the hedgerow where she’d taken refuge before. She paused a moment to look up at him, flick her tail, and meow before ducking underneath.

Nigel chuckled. “I think I found them.”

The fairy approached and Nigel pointed at the black shadows underneath the thick yew hedge. “Well,” she said, “what are you waiting for? Get down there and see if that’s where she has hidden her kittens.”