A Game of Persuasion: Extended Prologue for the Art of Ruining a Rake (The Naughty Girls Book 3) (7 page)

He stopped her in front of a young man about her age. Coolly, she regarded the foppish stranger as if she’d permitted the introduction, rather than been forced to it.

“My lord!” the lad exclaimed, upon realizing Roman had condescended to speak to
him
out of all the other young hopefuls in the room. “And this divine creature…Miss Lancester, how do you do?”

At his recognition of her, she gave him a second once-over, trying to place him in turn. Given his fashionable garments, pomaded hair, and worship of Roman, he must be one of the young dandies who aspired to imitate the marquis. He wasn’t truly a boy, but similar to her in age.

He grinned at her with crooked teeth. “Viscount Kinsey, at your service. We haven’t been formally introduced, but I’ve seen you about. Lord Trestin’s sister, correct?”

She offered her hand and he bowed over it eagerly. She tried to maintain her air of remote allure, but she feared the atmosphere was spoiled by her reluctance. Was Roman truly so oblivious to her feelings that he meant to pair her with this fresh-faced viscount? Or was he subtly telling her that he had indeed understood when she’d said he meant something to her, and was turning her toward a more likely prospect?

She desperately thought back to her lesson with Miss Gray, for if he was aware of her infatuation with him, then at least he was finally
aware
. She needed to show him she was aware of him, in return. Not as a silly schoolgirl, but as a woman.

A woman.
Thinking about receiving Roman’s kiss was enough to send heat rushing to her face. Immediately, her tension eased as the familiar lust that always filled her when she thought about him coursed through her veins.
There.
That was the right emotion.

Languidly, she drew her gaze to Lord Kinsey’s. As if she had suffused him with air, he puffed up.
 

“You hail from Devon, if I recall correctly,” he said, his brow creasing thoughtfully. “How do you find London? I’ve always thought m’family ought to find a place in the country, but m’father says there’s not enough to occupy idle hands. Says that’s why they marry so young there. Do you like Devonshire cream?”

She blinked. Had she made him nervous, or did he always prattle on?

“I adore it,” she said, intrigued to hear her voice sounded as rich as the sweet concoction. “Why? Is Lady Gladish serving it?”

He cocked his head quizzically. “I don’t know. Do you think I should ask her? It
is
rather decadent, not quite a thing one serves at a dinner, but I imagine she has some somewhere.”

Lucy could almost taste the first bite of a pastry smothered in clotted cream. “That would be lovely. Do you think she has scones, too?”

He stood straighter. “I shall find out.”

She couldn’t help smiling as he went off to find Lady Gladish. She jumped when Roman reached for her hand and set it in the crook of his elbow.

Oh. Zeus. He was
touching
her. She’d done it! Her heart would surely gallop right out of her chest.

“If our poor hostess has made the grave mistake of forgetting to order a pot of Devonshire cream, she will never do so again,” Roman murmured, looking down at her. “I hope you are prepared to eat all of it, when it turns up at the table.”

Lucy grinned, pleased with herself. “That will give me no trouble, my lord.”

He laughed and patted her hand. “Good girl.”

Her heart raced even faster. Or perhaps instead of
a
galloping horse, it had become a herd. He’d sounded almost…appreciative.

She observed Lord Kinsey as he approached Lady Gladish across the room. Their hostess threw her hands up and immediately turned away, presumably to seek out her servants.

By degrees, Lucy calmed herself, willing the ringing in her ears to cease and her pulse to resume a more moderate pace.

Finally, she could hear her own thoughts again. Feeling rather smug, she turned back to Roman. “It seems Lord Kinsey has passed at least one test: he is eager to please me. What other paragon of masculinity have you in store?”

He rewarded her with a scowl quickly smoothed. “You need a man with more virility than Lord Kinsey.”

“Someone like…?” she prodded, enjoying herself now that they were alone, his entire attention focused on her.

He scowled again, sending a tremor through her belly. This time he didn’t try to mask his displeasure. “Someone like Lord de Winter. But he isn’t here, sadly.”

“Yes. Sadly.” Lucy could hardly contain her excitement at the frowns he’d just betrayed. Mayhap Roman did mean to introduce her to his friends. That didn’t mean he had to
like
it.

“I should see you back to Ashlin,” Roman said, spoiling her mood entirely. “He’ll wonder where you’ve been.”

Somehow, she didn’t think so. Trestin seemed preoccupied of late. “I’d rather see the terrace,” she replied, feeling bold.

Roman’s attention flicked to her, then away. His bearing became almost imperceptibly rigid. “The only guests out there are up to no good deeds, Miss Lancester.”

“You mean they are enjoying themselves?” Lucy turned toward the open French doors. Let Roman physically stop her.

He easily caught up to her. He didn’t, however, prevent her from moving in the direction of the pleasant breeze drifting through the doors. “You shouldn’t come out here. It’s inappropriate.”

“For whom? A girl of seventeen? Certainly not for a woman nearly five and twenty.”

As they stepped beyond the doors Roman glanced at her in surprise. “Are you that old?”

She laughed. Dear Zeus, her chuckle sounded velvety, almost inviting. Perhaps it was the alluring effect of the Chinese lanterns casting green and orange light across the gardens below. “I prefer to think of myself as experienced.”

It was his turn to laugh. “No, living to the ripe age of twenty-five is not experience. Otherwise, your brother would be a wiser man.”

She mentally sighed. They were back to speaking of Trestin, when she wanted only for Roman to think of her as a woman. “If I am naïve, I wish to remedy it. Furthermore, we have been out here a full minute and I’ve come to no harm.”

“There
is
danger out here,” he corrected her. He inclined his head in the direction of a darkened corner where two shadowy forms were entwined in an embrace. “See my friend Scotherby? He is married. He even has a mistress.” Roman leaned to whisper in Lucy’s ear. “Yet that woman he is with…is neither.”

Lucy’s eyebrows rose. Openly, she took in the balding man kissing the woman half-hidden behind a fern. “How can she be so brazen?”

Roman chuckled at her naïveté. “Every gathering, no matter how respectable, contains at least one woman who is willing to shirk propriety. It is a game men play: Find the woman most likely to let you into her bed…later.”

Lucy’s eyes widened. She wanted to be that woman—to him. “And you do this?”

He shrugged. “All men do.”

“All men,” she repeated, wondering if he was telling her this because he wanted her to know that
he
enjoyed it, or because he’d decided to take her under his wing. Like a younger brother, or an acolyte.

She turned to him, then impudently asked, “And what do the other women do while their immoral sisters play?”

He laughed. Then, to her great delight, he stepped closer to her, so that her arm brushed against his elbow. “Parade themselves on the Marriage Mart, I assume. I don’t know. I try to avoid moral women as much as is possible.”

Lucy could hardly think of anything but his nearness. His body seemed so…large. And warm. The faint trace of lemon soap wafted on the breeze, intimate and intoxicating.

She struggled to maintain her half of the conversation. “If what you say is true, then I think it sad. Girls of good breeding are raised with the solitary goal of enticing men into marriage. But these same men are being lured into vice. Indeed, many of them might not come at all to these insipid entertainments, if not for the hope of a clandestine meeting with a woman of less-than-pure intentions.” It truly was a depressing thought, especially when it came to Roman, who was a known libertine.

But that
was
where her plan came into play; she’d become one of those free-spirited women. And men did marry, eventually. Especially titled ones.

“I suppose when gentlemen are finally snared by the parson’s trap, they are usually forced into it by their responsibilities,” she mused.

Roman released her arm and rested his elbows against the balcony. The breeze tousled his golden curls, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Some of them want to wed. A few of them are forced.”
 

Lucy barely heard him. She was captivated by his handsome profile. His cheek was so close, she could kiss it. She curled her fingers into her palms lest she reach out and touch his sun-kissed skin. “It’s a miracle any proper lady ever marries, if men are always distracted by the improper ones,” she mused in a slightly shaky voice.

He looked at her. “You’re not concerned, are you? You would be married already, had you had your Season at eighteen, as planned.”

He was continually stealing her breath. It seemed he thought her winsome enough to attract a husband.

He was looking at her… As if he were
seeing
her.

Her tongue was entirely tied. If the moonlight had been brighter, he might have seen a blush across her cheeks. She didn’t know what to say or do, other than to cross her arms and lean over the balcony, herself.
 

It wasn’t romantic, but it seemed fitting, somehow. Their lips were certainly closer together. “Even at my advanced age?” she asked, breathless. “Am I not to lose hope?”

His eyes searched her face, the intensity of his gaze freezing her in place. “You may have any man you set your cap for, Lucy. It’s simply a matter of your brother agreeing to the match.”

Any man. Even
him
? She gulped.

Then she remembered to be aloof. She was desirable, and she desired him, but she mustn’t say anything gauche.

She trailed her shaking fingertip along the balustrade. “I do wish gentlemen wouldn’t be so…gentlemanly. Being forced to guess whether one’s affections are returned is ghastly.”

He shrugged away her attempt to draw his intentions into words. “They’ll like you. I introduced you to Kinsey already; after dinner, I’ll drag a few more up to snuff. Plenty of men are open to courting a pretty girl. They’ll thank me for the opportunity.”

Despite his calling her pretty—making her more than a touch weak in the knees—Lucy bristled. He might have finally realized she was a woman, but evidently, it was only because he’d been evaluating her for his friends.

There was only so much rejection one could withstand of an eve.

“I believe we’re being called in,” she said, frustrated by her complete lack of progress. With every step forward, it seemed she unearthed a new horror in her path.

With a swish of superfine he rose to standing, not the least ruffled by her abrupt end to the assignation—if that’s what it had ever been.

“Allow me to escort you in to dinner,” he said solicitously, offering the crook of his arm. The music had ended behind them.

She glanced at the men and women forming pairs inside the ballroom. “You’re a marquis, my lord, the highest-ranked guest here. It is your obligation to see our hostess in, not waste your efforts on a viscount’s sister.” In truth, she just wanted to be away from him and his matchmaking.

“Silly me,” he replied, unperturbed by her reproof. “Allowing beauty before duty. Accept my company only to the threshold, then.”

So silky smooth. But she was smarter now; she wasn’t as quick to interpret his escort as anything more than politeness.
 

Lucy barely touched her fingertips to the soft wool of his sleeve. His gait was easy as he led her inside. He nodded emphatically to acquaintances as they passed, without any indication he’d just been set down.

Almost as if… He didn’t care.

Chapter 3

AFTER A SLEEPLESS night, Lucy bounded down the stairs the next morning, her wrap and bonnet in hand. Trestin was away at Gentleman Jackson’s, continuing his lessons. Lucy intended to do the same. Last night had ended a disaster, but it had
started
wonderfully. She must focus on what she
had
accomplished, and not allow her ultimate failure to get the best of her.