Elusive Passion (6 page)

How would her pride withstand it when almost all
of London believed her to be just another whore? Women who at one time vied for her attention would snub her. Men would no longer try to woo her; they would expect her to give herself to them on demand.

The very thought of anyone trying to force himself on Varya made his blood boil. She might not be his mistress in actuality, but Miles intended to guard her as such. He knew very few would risk his fury.

He took another drink.

“You look as if you just had to shoot your favorite horse.”

Without looking up, Miles poured himself another glass. “Care for a brandy, Carny?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” his friend replied jovially, dropping into the chair opposite him. He ignored their third companion.

“For a man who has secured the most sought-after woman in town as his mistress, you look decidedly glum.” Was there an edge of jealousy in his voice?

Miles grimaced. “Jealousy is a childish quality, my friend.”

The blond man almost choked on his brandy. “Jealousy? Don’t be a fool. What the devil is the matter with you anyway?”

Miles smiled grimly. “My brand-new mistress, as you so thoughtfully pointed out to me.”

Carny shook his head, his smile fading into bewilderment. “I’m not understanding you at all. You out-swagger us all for Varya’s favors, have every tomcat in London green with envy, and I’m to believe that you don’t want her?”

Miles finished the brandy in his glass and immedi
ately poured himself another. He was beginning to lose feeling in various parts of his body, but not the parts he had hoped.

He laughed mockingly. “Oh, I
want
her.” The brandy gave his voice a slightly raspy edge. “I have serious doubts as to whether she would have me.”

His friend stared at him. Miles might have laughed at the expression of disbelief on Carny’s face were he not so bent on intoxication.

“But weren’t you found in Pennington’s study with your hands up her skirts?”

“Of course not!” Miles fairly shouted, appalled. Never mind that when he and Varya fell onto the sofa her skirts had indeed pooled up around her soft, white thighs. He could still feel the satiny smoothness of her breasts against his cheeks. He felt that part of his anatomy which was not yet numb begin to stir.

“That wasn’t my intention at all!” Several club members turned interested eyes toward them. He glared coldly at them until they turned away.

“Then why were you there?” Carny demanded in a sharp whisper.

The vehemence in his friend’s tone startled Miles. With a narrowed gaze that was beginning to blur a little, he regarded his friend. Why was Carny so interested in his relationship with Varya?

“Because we were trying to discover whether or not Pennington is connected with Bella’s murder,” he explained, exasperated. “Lud, man! How much have you had to drink?”

Miles could have sworn that his friend was laugh
ing at him. “Did you find anything at Pennington’s?” Carny asked.

“No, but later I discovered that many of our acquaintances are several hundred pounds richer this evening, having placed bets earlier as to whether or not ‘The Marquess of W would conquer the Elusive V.’” This time his gaze was steady as it met the gray eyes across from him. “Although I believe you suffered a bit of a loss.”

Carny winced and turned a dull crimson. He actually looked a little contrite, though he did not attempt to deny it. “I meant no harm.”

Miles’s jaw clenched. “You do not find making sport of a woman’s reputation harmful?”

Carny looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “She’s a musician, Miles! One step up from an actress, if that. Regardless of the fact that you are the first gentleman whose attentions she has accepted, everyone in London is well aware of what kind of reputation a woman like Varya has. A very loose one.”

Miles’s hand shot out and grabbed Carny by the cravat. His reflexes were surprisingly sharp for a man as drunk as he now was. He hauled his friend so close that their faces were almost touching. Just as suddenly, he thrust him back into his chair again.

Carny stared at him, his face ashen. He straightened his waistcoat as curious glances flickered their way. “I have no idea what has gotten into you. No doubt this will all blow over soon. Varya is a mature woman. Surely she knew what would happen. It has no effect on what everyone thinks of you.”

Disgusted by the other man’s cavalier attitude, Miles shoved back his chair and stood. Towering over Carny, he leaned down and met his puzzled gaze with eyes that looked as if they had been replaced by smoldering coals.

“I already know what everyone thinks of
me
, my friend. Obviously you all believe me to be a greater libertine than I could ever physically hope to be.” He straightened and began to back away. “What concerns me now—and God only knows why—is what everyone thinks of
her
.”

V
arya had never experienced the cut direct before. She couldn’t say that she found the experience a pleasant one.

The invitation to Lady Beckwith-Breyer’s ball had arrived several weeks earlier, long before her entanglement with Miles Christian. If she had known how differently people would treat her because of her association with the marquess, she would have stayed at home.

Her abigail, Amy, had gone to great lengths with her appearance—insisting not only on using curling tongs on Varya’s normally straight hair, but also on using cosmetics to heighten her already vivid coloring. As a result, her lips and eyes seemed larger, darker against the paleness of her complexion.

Varya had also labored over what to wear, finally deciding on a dark green satin gown with a low square neckline and cap sleeves. Her gloves and slippers had been dyed to match. Her only jewelry was a thick diamond collar and the diamond-studded comb securing the mass of curls on top of her head.

She didn’t even try to deny that she hoped to impress Miles with her appearance. Too late she realized her elegant apparel might make her appear to others as if she were trying to rise above her station as a mere musician, especially now that the whole town believed her to be Miles’s mistress.

If they only knew.

“Miss Varya…How lovely to see you.”

Lady Beckwith-Breyer greeted her with great cordiality—and anxiety.

“Thank you, Lady Beckwith-Breyer. It is a pleasure to be here. Tell me, are you well?” The lady was so pale and pasty-looking that Varya thought she would swoon.

“No, no,” her hostess replied a little too quickly, her eyes darting around the room. “I am fine, thank you. Please excuse me.”

It was then, as the older woman scurried away, that Varya caught several sly glances cast in her direction. The realization that
she
had been the reason for her hostess’s distress brought a deep flush to her cheeks. A lady could never be certain of how a fallen woman might be received in society, and no doubt Lady Beckwith-Breyer worried whether Varya’s appearance would ruin her party.

Embarrassed, Varya continued through the crowd,
hoping to find a friendly face. She spotted Lady Pennington and Lady Sally Jersey a few feet away, moving through the crowd toward her. After the scene in Lord Pennington’s study, Varya had no idea how the lady would receive her.

Lady Pennington raised her impeccably styled blond head, met Varya’s gaze coolly, and then looked away as if she hadn’t recognized her.

Varya felt the blood rush from her face. Her eyes were locked on Lady Pennington and Lady Jersey as they walked away from her. Lady Jersey didn’t even acknowledge her, but Varya could hear her tinkling laughter at Lady Pennington’s snub. They were laughing at her!

Mortified, yet outraged by their behavior and the malicious glances other guests were directing toward her, Varya turned to flee.

She whirled around and stumbled directly into the arms of Lord Pennington.

“Oh!” She jumped back as though she had been burned.

He caught her by the upper arms, effectively preventing her from tripping over the hem of her gown.

“Oops!” He favored her with a kind smile before releasing her. “Steady there, my dear.”

Varya smiled shakily. “Forgive me, Lord Pennington.”

“No harm done. Do not trouble yourself over it. Trying to make your escape, were you?”

She nodded. She tried to meet his gaze, but found it very difficult. She was so embarrassed.

“Well, can’t say that I blame you. Must be demmed
uncomfortable for you to be out in society this evening after that spectacle you made of yourself with Wynter in my study last night.”

Her eyes widened at the archness in his voice. For some reason his change of manner made it easier for her to raise her gaze to his.

Gone was the kind, older man who had kept her from stumbling. In his place was a very condescending aristocrat. He stared down his hawklike nose at her as if she were the lowliest of serfs. Had he looked at Bella the same way?

“You would have been wise to choose someone other than Wynter for your protector, Varya,” he informed her with a condescending air. “He’s not exactly known for his discretion.”

Her flesh seemed to crawl where his hand rubbed the expanse of bare arm between her sleeve and glove. No one—not even Ivan—had ever caused her to feel quite so dirty. She felt hot rage building deep within her.

“There are plenty of other gentlemen who can keep you in the same style as Wynter, my dear. Gentlemen who will not embarrass you by bringing you out of your customary sphere into society.”

Her jaw tightened. “Where I would obviously be an embarrassment.”

He smiled. “Exactly.” He stepped closer to her, so mere inches stood between them. “Evidently you understand the kind of arrangement I speak of.”

She nodded. “I believe so. You refer to the kind of arrangement where the gentleman supplies a lovely little house on the edge of town and pays all the ex
penses in return for a companion who waits on his every need.”

“Yes, that’s it exactly.” His eyes glittered hotly.

She smiled coyly at him. “By any chance, would you be offering me such an ‘arrangement,’ my lord?”

Lord Pennington licked his lips, his eyes riveted on her cleavage. Boxing his ears was a great temptation.

“I would be honored to win you away from Wynter, my dear.”

Fighting the overwhelming desire to break her fan over his head, Varya fixed him with a narrowed gaze. “And would you tuck me away in a house far from the prying eyes of society? Keep me your little secret?”

“Secret? What secret?”

Varya froze. In her anger she had not been aware of the hush that had fallen over the ballroom. Apparently neither had Lord Pennington, or he no doubt would not have propositioned her within earshot of the Marquess of Wynter.

Tearing her eyes from the earl’s ashen face, Varya raised her chin to meet Miles’s mocking smile.

It was a mistake. Her breath caught at the sight of him. He had brushed his hair into some semblance of order, save for one unruly burnished lock falling over his forehead. Instead of the formal knee breeches, he wore full-length trousers that emphasized the length and solid muscle of his legs.

“Lord Pennington was just telling me how much he admires your taste, my lord,” she replied with mock civility.

“Is that so?” His brow arched as he caught the meaning behind her words.

Their gazes locked and held. Under the glow of half a dozen chandeliers, his eyes seemed unnaturally bright. Staring into their hypnotic depths, Varya found it all too easy to forget about their delightedly scandalized audience.

He bowed over her hand. She couldn’t even remember offering it to him. He pressed his mouth against her knuckles. She could feel the warmth of his breath through her glove, and her stomach dropped as if the bottom had fallen out of it.

“You’ll excuse us, won’t you, Pennington?” Miles asked without looking at the shorter man.

The band struck up a waltz, and he drew her toward the dance floor without a word. He kept his eyes fastened on hers so intently that she found it impossible to look away.

Placing his hand on the small of her back, he pulled her much closer than he ought. She knew she should protest, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so. She liked being held by him. She liked feeling his thighs brush hers as he whirled her around the floor as if they were gliding on air. He was an excellent dancer.

“What did Pennington say to you?”

She lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. “Only that he would be pleased to have me once you were finished.”

“Bastard.”

The vehemence in his voice startled her. “Not to mention stupid. I am neither desperate nor blind, which I believe a woman would have to be to willingly share Lord Pennington’s bed. What Bella saw in him I’ll never know.”

A smile curved his wide mouth and his eyes glittered with amusement.

“No doubt there are some who wonder what you see in me.” He whirled her through a turn so quickly it made her head spin. “I confess to wondering the same thing myself.”

Varya’s heart pounded against her ribs. “As I am not your mistress, I cannot see that it matters.”

“Ah, but you are my mistress—as far as society is concerned.”

What difference did that make? It changed nothing between
them
—did it?

“You of all people, my lord, should know that hardly signifies,” she replied archly as they twirled around the floor. “Society will believe almost anything.”

“Lucky for us, hmmm? Otherwise we would be faced with the rather difficult task of explaining what we were doing in the study in the first place. No doubt it would make finding the murderer quite laborious for us.”

“Oh? So now
we’re
going to find the murderer, are we? Please don’t feel duty-bound to humor me now that a scandal has erupted, my lord. I’m sure I can continue the investigation on my own.” Why then didn’t she feel as certain as she sounded?

“Ah yes. You did
quite
well. Abducting men at gunpoint is a very efficient way to conduct any kind of investigation, love. I’m surprised you haven’t already unveiled the killer.” The humor in his voice was thinly guised. Why did he always seem to be laughing at her? And why was she so on edge around him?

“If it weren’t for me you’d still be in Pennington’s study peering behind his wife’s watercolors,” she hissed, fighting the urge to kick his shin. “And I am
not
your love.”

“Oh,
I
know that, and
you
know that, but everyone else…” He shrugged, allowing her to draw the obvious conclusion.

“Well, it didn’t take much, did it? Perhaps if you weren’t already renowned for your licentious behavior, the assumption wouldn’t have been so easily made!”

His face flushed; the good humor disappeared. “Perhaps if it wasn’t for your career, the assumption would not have been so ‘easily made.’”

“If it wasn’t for my career, my lord,” she ground out between clenched teeth, “I would never have come to London and Bella’s murderer would never be apprehended, because you still wouldn’t even know she was dead!”

That silenced him. A tiny muscle ticked in his jaw, and Varya was at once both pleased with herself for getting to him and fearful of his retaliation. Her body tensed for flight.

He steered her through another turn. “You will not create further spectacle by deserting me on the dance floor.”

“
I
will not create further spectacle?” She was shocked almost speechless by the absurd accusation.

“You should have known better than to come here tonight. You should have known the gossip would run wild.”

Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. “Believe
me, my lord, had I any inclination as to how I would be received here tonight, I would not have come. Do not concern yourself, however. They still adore
you
.”

Before he could reply, the music came to an end and the dancers began to drift away from the center of the room.

Miles regarded her impassively. “Indeed. Well, in the interest of not drawing any more attention to both of us I will leave you now, madam.” He bowed stiffly.

Varya didn’t even bother to reply or curtsy. Before he straightened, she was already halfway across the floor, the heat of his stare burning into her back.

Miles escaped the crowded confines of the ballroom into the cool night air. As the sounds and stifling heat of the ballroom faded, he inhaled deeply the scent of lilacs and roses. After enduring an hour of scrutiny and speculation, it was good to be outside alone in the dark.

He made his way to one of the darker corners of the terrace. Shrouded by shrubbery, it was no doubt for the sole purpose of providing privacy to desirous lovers.

Fortunately, he found the spot unoccupied and he eased himself down onto the bench with a grateful sigh. He pressed his fingertips to his forehead, rubbing away the ache that pressed against his skull. He was too old for the high drama he had been taking part in all evening.

How could he have behaved so badly toward Varya? One minute he had been teasing her, and the next they had been practically tearing each other’s
throats out. Never before had he been so deliberately cruel to a woman. But never before had a woman so provoked him.

What difference did it make whether she was or wasn’t his mistress? This public scrutiny was ridiculous. He was a single man. Varya was an unattached woman, not a chit right out of the schoolroom. Many of the people pointing fingers and making snide remarks were engaging in clandestine affairs with the spouses of friends, even having children by them. He lived in a society of hypocrites, and there was very little that could be done about it, other than wait for their interest to move on to something else.

Miles gazed up at the sky. It was a clear night, and the stars twinkled and glittered like diamonds. He watched as one of the stars streaked across the heavens. In the dark, he could pretend he was miles away from Varya rather than just outside the room where she was dancing with Lord Dennyson. Right at this very moment, he could almost pretend they had never met.

Almost.

Who was she? How had she ended up living with Bella in France? Her house and manners indicated that she was quite wealthy. She did not perform often enough to make a fortune from it, so where did the money come from?

More importantly, why did she get under his skin the way she did?

Perhaps because she was one of the few women he had ever met who hadn’t thrown herself—or her nearest relative—at him? He raked a hand through his hair
in frustration. He didn’t have any answers. Very unusual for him.

He sat there for quite some time, allowing the soft breeze to wipe away the sticky perspiration the heated ballroom and layers of evening wear had induced. It felt good finally to be comfortable and alone.

He didn’t give much thought to the voices that were approaching him until a female voice rang out with a very familiar accent.

“Just what is so important that we have to discuss it out here, Lord Carnover?”