His Wayward Ward - A Regency Novella (Risque Regency) (5 page)

Eliza stared up at Carlton, frustrated. ‘But I do not want to be in London for so long.’

‘The time will fly by,’ he assured her, those gray eyes glinting. ‘And I am sure Bath will be waiting for you upon your return. Or will you be returning to Suffolk?’

‘I… I don’t know.’ How could she? She had thought she would be planning her marriage to Grayson by the end of the Season. If anything, she would be going to Taunton, where Grayson had a (perfectly respectable) house.

‘Plenty of time to work it out,’ his lordship murmured. ‘Now… what can I get you to drink? Some ratafia?’

‘I can manage, thank
-
you.’ Eliza was cross with her guardian despite the fact that he had not actually done anything. Actually, the fact that he had
not
done anything had annoyed her even more. In her more rational moments, Eliza had to admit the man was behaving with surprising generosity. More than a few of her friends at the picnic had been envious that she was to go up to London. She knew most girls would be thrilled by the prospect of a Season in London, even if it was an abbreviated one, especially as Aunt Flora had mentioned that Carlton had one of the finest houses in Mayfair.

‘Nonsense. I insist on cooling those warm cheeks.’

‘Oh,’ she said, half turning away from him, ‘you’re impossible!’

‘And you’re tired and hungry,’ he returned quietly. Taking her elbow, he led her to a quiet corner that managed to enjoy a slight breeze, thanks to the partially open window behind it. It was exactly what Eliza had been craving – of course – and she sat with bad grace.

Did the man never do anything wrong?

Despite her protestations, Carlton insisted on collecting refreshments for her, as there was such a crush around the table. Eliza watched his broad, retreating back with simmering resentment. Naturally, the crowd of people seemed to melt away when he approached. She noticed how Lady Bellingham stopped to have a word, laughing at something he had said and she never laughed at anything. At least, Eliza had certainly never seen her do so. She was great good friends with Lady Sternham, that pillar of propriety, but she simpered up at Carlton as if she were some schoolroom miss.

And she wasn’t the only one. Eliza had heard the term that the entire world loves a rake and so it seemed to be with Carlton. Girls who she knew to generally behave with complete propriety flirted behind their fans with him; going out of their way to throw themselves in his path even though
t
it was not the done thing to talk to a gentleman unless the proper introductions had been made. Whatever magic he wielded over the assembled company, making them smile or give way or stop to speak to him,
it
appeared unconscious, as natural to him as breathing. Eliza leaned back in her chair and watched in disgust as the room rearranged itself around Lord Julius Carlton.

He returned with a full plate and a cold glass, but instead of sitting beside her, which would have been extremely irritating, he gave her a bow and excused himself, which irritated her even more.

She only glimpsed him occasionally after that. It wasn’t until the last dance of the night, a waltz, which was making a daring appearance in Lady Bellingham’s ballroom despite the fact that it had been accepted at Almacks for almost a year, that Eliza met Carlton again.

As the dance did not involve changing partners, Grayson always tried to secure her hand as it was an opportunity to embrace, even if it were but lightly and he had been heading purposefully towards her but somehow, Lord Carlton was there before him.

He looked Grayson over thoughtfully and smiled. ‘My dear Mr. Henry. I’m sure you do not mind.’

And he held out his hand towards Eliza.

She should not have accepted it. Afterwards, she had no idea why she did. She certainly should not have left poor Grayson standing on the sidelines, his face reflecting equal parts chagrin and frustration. He watched as Carlton swept her onto the dance floor, immediately absorbed by the twirling bodies while the music curled around them like an enchantment.

From the moment his arms had encircled her, it had been as if she were in a dream. The waltz was still considered scandalous by some of the more fusty old dowagers, because it allowed for a degree of intimacy between the dancing couples that was not quite considered proper. Until she had danced with Carlton, Eliza had thought that rather ridiculous. But there had been something intoxicating about dancing with one of the more unrepentant rakes in England; the way they moved together, bodies perfectly in step. And all the while she was conscious of his touch; one hand clasping her own, the other resting against her back.

His body moved with the easy grace she had come to associate with him, lithe and smooth and he carried her along with him so that they glided effortlessly around the floor. His touch was light, but she was intensely aware of it, intensely aware of
him
; the scent of male, the closeness of that hard, lean body…

She spent the first few minutes staring at his neck cloth, thoughts in chaos. Did Grayson hold her this close? She could not remember. She could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of her gown, just as she could feel the slow, subtle caress of the hand on her back, light as a feather but sinfully sensuous.

Apparently, she had remained silent for too long, staring fixedly ahead, not daring to look up at him.

‘It is a very
fine
neckcloth, I will admit,’ There was a hint of laughter in his voice. ‘But I would very much like it if you’d look at me Eliza.’

The request made her lift her eyes quickly; his face was so close! ‘I am concentrating on my dance steps!’ Oh, why did she sound so breathless?

Innocuous words. Why, then, did Eliza feel as if he were talking about something else entirely? After staring at his neckcloth, she now found herself wanting to stare at his mouth. Well shaped and firm, there was a hint of the sensual about it. Or was that just wishful thinking on her part?

I do not even like this man!

‘Truly. But he had already danced with you tonight, whereas I had not had the pleasure. And while I am sure I am no Grayson Henry, I hope that I do not disappoint as a partner.’

Disappoint? Oh, really, he was playing with her. He must know that he was an excellent dancer. ‘I’m sure Grayson will understand.’

‘Really? I doubt I would, but then, I would never have let you be taken from me in the first place.’ The words were unexpected and they started a slow burn of heat in the pit of her stomach. Eliza had no idea what was happening to her but she suspected
he
knew and the knowledge made her feel exposed and vulnerable.

‘I believe you’re behaving badly, my lord, which even you must know is most discourteous when one is trapped on the dance floor.’

‘I have a habit of behaving badly,’ he admitted. ‘Perhaps you should teach me how to mind my manners.’ The words teased her, a low, smoky rumble stoking the fire within a little bit more. ‘While there is a lot a man like me can teach you, I’m sure that you could educate me in a
ll
manner of things.’

What did he mean? Eliza searched his face, trying to interpret his words. ‘I doubt anybody could teach anything, my lord,’ she said quietly, after a moment, ‘you seem to have a great deal of knowledge about the world that is a mystery to me.’

Something flickered in his eyes and she saw a swift blaze that was strangely exhilarating, yet terrifying at the same time. ‘Sometimes a mystery should be explored, Eliza.’

That voice, smoky rough and darkly seductive. Suddenly, it felt as if they were the only two people on the dance floor, locked in a moment that was so intimate something deep inside Eliza shivered with anticipation. She was scared of him, scared of what he could do to her. But more than that, she was scared of herself and her body’s intense reaction to him. Somehow, they had drifted closer, the bodice of her gown grazing his coat, causing the sensitized nipples beneath to pucker and tingle. Her entire body felt as if it were clenched, waiting for something more and her footsteps faltered…

…to be smoothly picked up by Carlton, who held her a little tighter as he guided her around the floor without a misstep.

His breath was warm against her ear, ‘be careful, little one.’

Careful… but taking care around Lord Carlton was proving to be very difficult, especially when caught up in the waltz. With his arms around her, his voice a husky drawl in her ear, Eliza had no trouble understanding how some unfortunate could forget everything, just to taste what that voice and those hands, were promising…

The dance finished and a part of her regretted it. She had felt dazed; lightheaded, almost
,
and vaguely knew that she had just experienced a master of seduction at work.

It was not until she’d returned home and was in the privacy of her bedchamber that anger had taken over, burning away her uncomfortable feelings of shameful arousal. Eliza lay fuming in her bed and cursed herself for her foolishness. She had no idea what Carlton had thought he was doing, but it was clear that he was wicked through and through, for what kind of man flirted so outrageously with his ward?

No, she thought, turning over in the bed and pummeling the pillows for the third time in as many minutes. If Carlton thought she was the kind of girl he could play
those
kinds of games with, he could think again.

What had possessed him?

Carlton sat before the fire in his library, nursing a glass of Madeira while he tried very hard not to remember how a pair of velvety, pansy eyes had stared up at him, startled and uneasy. Her full, pink lips had been slightly parted, an invitation that most men would have been hard pressed to ignore, while her body, so close to his own, had been even harder to resist. There was no doubt that little Eliza was enchanting and, gazing down at her face, he had been unexpectedly stirred by all that... innocence.

Which was odd because Carlton’s taste did not run to ingenuous young misses, no matter how alluring they were.

He had not really set out to flirt with Eliza, but when he had seen her irksome suitor heading towards her, devilment had prompted him to intervene and claim the last dance for himself. His interview with Mr. Henry had been unexceptional – clearly, the young man had been keen to impress Carlton with what an excellent husband he would make - but Carlton had managed to remain unimpressed. There was something about Mr. Grayson Henry that his lordship did not care for.

By the time Henry had left, Carlton had already decided to have his secretary investigate the young man’s financial affairs. Eliza was old enough to marry – of that there was no doubt – but she came with a tidy little fortune and he would be remiss in his duties if he did not take a closer look at the pretty milksop she had decided to marry.

Holding his glass up to the firelight, he swirled the golden liquid inside it absently. It seemed that everything he had done since arriving in Bath was uncharacteristic, from offering to put up his two wards for what was left of the Season, to going to that dreary soiree of Lady Bellingham’s. His usual entertainments were more along the lines of card parties, hunting parties and adult parties, to which girls like Eliza Percival were never invited. Yet in the past forty-eight hours he had behaved with singular respectability.

Carlton sighed as the clock chimed two. He was notorious for seeing the dawn in, but retiring seemed like an excellent idea, especially if he was to collect his two wards and a very reluctant Flora Fitzwilliams on the morrow, to begin their journey up to London.

He smiled, a twisted quirk of the lips. ‘Much more of this and I’ll be taking warm milk up to my bed instead of a warm woman.’

But the thought of a warm woman only brought on images of Eliza Percival again and he pushed them ruthlessly away. Rake though he may be, it would not do to sully the girl no matter what his inclinations might be. And he was honest enough to admit that his feelings towards the chit were curiously mixed; he enjoyed being provocative, teasing her until she snapped at him.

What he had not bargained for was how she would feel in his arms…

‘Bed, fool,’ he whispered, heading for the door. And pray God that his dreams were as innocent as Miss. Eliza Percival.

Chapter Four

London was a whirlwind of balls, card parties, routs and picnics. As Eliza had been presented to the Prince Regent at his more informal court in Bath, she was able to enjoy an entrée into London Society immediately and it swallowed her whole, leaving her breathless. She had thought Bath to be an endless round of gaiety but it was nothing compared to what was waiting for her in the capital.

Lord Carlton had arranged his very comfortable coach for the trip to London, providing them with refreshments to ensure the journey was as pleasant as possible. Even Aunt Flora had reluctantly admitted that Carlton did not stint on anything and he had put himself out to be perfectly amiable; barely responding to her jibes, which annoyed her to an unreasonable degree. As he and Edward had ridden beside them for the most part, Eliza had had plenty of time to contemplate the man’s fine profile; a little too much time.