Lessons From a Scarlet Lady (19 page)
And that easily, Rebecca found herself on his arm, her heart beginning to pound at the proximity, though thankfully she didn’t crash into him as they exited the dining room in a repeat performance of their last encounter.
A much better start than the last time they were alone together. There was no ravening Lord Watts hot on her heels either, she thought, not sure whether to be grateful to Damien or not. Clearly he found her infatuation with his younger brother diverting enough to interfere—or maybe he was just trying to spare himself her mother’s matchmaking.
Had Robert really been watching her through dinner? Rebecca slanted a glance at the tall man next to her through her lashes. Like the last time, she found herself quite lost for words. If there was a chance he found her even half as attractive as she did him . . . well, she needed to know if it was true.
She was
desperate
to know if it was true.
desperate
to know if it was true.
I need that dratted book. . . .
“It’s cool out. Would you like a wrap?”
His question made her jump for no reason at all. “Uhm, no . . . no, thank you. It was rather warm in there. Cool sounds delightful.”
“Your cheeks are a bit flushed.”
Of course they were. As Damien had pointed out, she blushed on a consistent basis in Robert’s presence. It was infuriating she couldn’t control it, and now even
he
had noticed it. How mortifying. “I’m quite well, I assure you.” It came out more tartly than she intended.
he
had noticed it. How mortifying. “I’m quite well, I assure you.” It came out more tartly than she intended.
“Indeed.” Robert followed her outside, looking very much the debonair rogue in his tailored evening clothes, a faint smile on his mouth. “So, do tell me, Miss Marston, are you enjoying the party so far? I notice my sister-in-law did you the favor of keeping the persistent Lord Watts off the guest list.”
“That’s because if she had invited him, Brianna knows I would have strangled her,” she said with feeling. “My parents consider him to be extremely eligible. My opinion differs somewhat.”
The cool air did carry an autumn chill, but it felt marvelous as it drifted across her bared shoulders. Clouds had gathered during the course of the day, the moon obscured by a haze. Nearby, a bird called in a low, mournful sound. Their footsteps echoed on the smooth stone, the huge terrace deserted except for their presence.
They were alone.
Well, for now. Her mother wouldn’t be content with the situation for long. Rebecca didn’t even want to think about what her father might do.
Robert cocked a brow in amusement. “And now they seem to favor Damien.”
He’d noticed that, too. Well, maybe she shouldn’t feel a rush of jubilation, a practical voice in her pointed out. It probably meant nothing.
All
the guests had no doubt noticed how her parents were thrusting her into the arms of his brother.
All
the guests had no doubt noticed how her parents were thrusting her into the arms of his brother.
“Yes.” Rebecca muttered. “Poor man.”
Robert laughed.
The sound held a compelling note she wished she could capture in music. There was something special about his face, too, when he gave that flashing signature grin that made her knees feel weak. Both his brothers were equally handsome, she supposed, but Robert’s charisma was what drew her. It was an energy, a vital force, and though she was hardly an expert on the subject of seduction, she’d guess if he owed his success with women to anything, it was that undeniable pull.
“He’ll survive. One tends to forget that my older brother gives advice to one of the most important men of our times,” Robert commented as they walked to the balustrade and he leaned a hip against it, turning to face her. “Damien doesn’t look wily, but he is. How neatly done was that back there? A quick rescue with one small but inventive ploy.”
Rebecca could not help but grimace. “I suppose by ‘rescue’ you mean him avoiding my mother’s more than obvious technique.”
“Actually, I was thinking more of myself and the determined Mrs. Newman. Do you really think she cares about a map of Manchuria? Myself, I doubt it. I wouldn’t guess geography is one of her interests. She seems to be more absorbed in the latest style of hats than mountain ranges in distant countries.”
“I rather thought you liked her.” Rebecca probably shouldn’t have said it, but it came out anyway. She hastily amended, “At least that was my impression.”
“Was it?” His tone was dry and his gaze flickered out over the shrouded back gardens. “Like most things in life, appearances can be deceptive.” He shrugged. “I don’t mean to sound ungallant. She is a pleasant enough young woman.”
Relief washed over her, for that hardly sounded like the observation of a lover. If they really had disappeared earlier for a romantic tryst, surely he wouldn’t now be quite so detached. He might have a reputation for indulging in casual affairs, but she hadn’t ever heard of him leaving behind a trail of broken hearts either. If he was that callous, he wouldn’t be so universally well liked, so if the careless lift of his broad shoulders was any indication, the mild flirtation hadn’t led to a seduction.
She had no right to feel relieved, she reminded herself.
She had no rights when it came to the man standing next to her at all.
“I see.” That was hardly a brilliant comment, but she wasn’t sure brilliant would ever describe her when in his company.
“Do you?” he asked in a soft voice, looking at her in a way that made her pulse flutter in her throat.
He could do that, she sharply reminded herself. Beguile with a look, a smile, a touch. It didn’t mean Damien was correct.
But it gave her hope he might be.
“I think so. We shackle ourselves sometimes with all the rules of politesse,” his companion murmured. “It might encourage someone to think there is an interest where, in truth, we are just being polite.”
Robert barely heard what she said.
Sable. That was the color of her hair. He’d been trying to define it all evening. Rich, dark, shining. It contrasted with the purity of her fair skin, and those long-lashed aqua eyes completed the tantalizing picture. Robert gave an inner curse. Damien thought he was being helpful, he was sure, by diverting Mrs. Newman.
It was not helpful in the slightest, for it placed temptation right under his nose.
As damn foolish as it was, Robert had found himself all too aware of the lovely Rebecca ever since her arrival, parents firmly in tow, the day before. This unprecedented attraction to an unmarried young lady had him unnerved. And he
was
attracted. If it wasn’t for Rebecca, he probably would have considered Mrs. Newman’s unspoken offer and spent a very pleasant night in her bed.
was
attracted. If it wasn’t for Rebecca, he probably would have considered Mrs. Newman’s unspoken offer and spent a very pleasant night in her bed.
Disconcertingly, his current fascination seemed to preclude a casual interest in another woman, and a moment like this didn’t help. Rebecca stood there and gazed up at him, the filtered light sliding across her face, her soft mouth just slightly parted, and he had to consciously stop himself from leaning in to her sweet scent. Luckily for him, her mother’s reaction hadn’t been much of a secret, so he doubted their little stroll would last long before someone was sent to rescue the innocent fair maiden from his nefarious clutches.
“At least Brianna doesn’t seem determined to fill our every waking moment with activities we are all too polite to decline.” She favored him with a tentative smile.
It was a shy, sweet curve of her mouth that made him realize just how little he knew about naïve young women. In his life, he’d made it a point to
not
know. He didn’t have a sister, he’d been not much more than a boy when he’d become involved with Elise, and it seemed from there his path had been set. Not necessarily in the wrong direction—or so he’d thought before—but now it came home to him that he’d slammed some doors behind him because of his choices. Respectability was a word he’d always viewed with amusement. Colton was respectable enough for all of them.
not
know. He didn’t have a sister, he’d been not much more than a boy when he’d become involved with Elise, and it seemed from there his path had been set. Not necessarily in the wrong direction—or so he’d thought before—but now it came home to him that he’d slammed some doors behind him because of his choices. Respectability was a word he’d always viewed with amusement. Colton was respectable enough for all of them.
It was unfortunate that his entire attention was now on Rebecca’s lips and her beguiling smile. It would have been better if he hadn’t had that brief almost taste of her.
He’d be damned if he didn’t want more. What would it be like to be the man to initiate the delectable Rebecca into the joys of sexual pleasure? Now
that
was a new fantasy. Virgins had never, ever interested him, not when there were so many experienced lovers eager enough for the casual type of liaison he preferred. But there was something about her, something besides her willowy body and admittedly spectacular breasts—an unconscious aura of sensuality perhaps, that told him she’d be a very satisfying bed partner if tutored properly.
that
was a new fantasy. Virgins had never, ever interested him, not when there were so many experienced lovers eager enough for the casual type of liaison he preferred. But there was something about her, something besides her willowy body and admittedly spectacular breasts—an unconscious aura of sensuality perhaps, that told him she’d be a very satisfying bed partner if tutored properly.
Bed partner for someone else, he reminded himself sharply, wondering what the devil was wrong with him. For her
husband
.
husband
.
Robert lifted a brow and endeavored to respond to her remark with nonchalance. “That is one of the beauties of being family. I would decline if Brianna tried to drag me into a game of charades or some similarly insipid pastime. As far as I know, other than a musical performance tomorrow evening, we aren’t to suffer any of the usual horrible affronts to our sensibilities. I believe one of the Campbells is going to mutilate Haydn or the work of some other composer who should be glad he’s dead and can’t hear the sacrilege.”
Something flickered in Rebecca’s expression. Then she said quietly, “Actually,
I
am to play.”
I
am to play.”
He felt immediately like a fool. Bloody hell, he was supposed to be charming to a fault, not a buffoon who insulted young women—in this case a rather intriguing and beautiful one. Brianna must not have told him which of the young ladies was going to play, because in his current state of what seemed to be an infatuation, if she had mentioned Rebecca, he would have remembered. Someone else must have said something about the Campbell sisters and gotten it wrong.
“My apologies.” He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Forgive me if you can, please. I’ve sat through one performance too many where I left with my ears ringing and cursing the man who invented the pianoforte. Still, it is no excuse to insult you, though it wasn’t intentional. I don’t suppose I should have maligned one of the Misses Campbell, either, without hearing her play.”
Instead of turning on her heel and walking away in affronted hauteur, Rebecca Marston laughed prettily, her tense manner easing. Her expression held a mischievous glint. “I don’t know, my lord, whether you realize you just issued me quite a challenge. It seems I must change your mind about young ladies and their musical skills. May I challenge you back?”
The unexpected reaction set him off balance. And by damn if he wasn’t looking at her tempting mouth again. “It seems to me you are the injured party, so how can I refuse?”
“Play with me.”
He stared, startled at the soft statement.
Play with me? God yes,
some wayward voice in his brain whispered.
I’d love to. Play with those full, firm breasts I know exist under your demure gown, twine my fingers in all that silky hair, kiss you breathless, part your thighs and sink my hard cock deep, deep into paradise. . . .
Play with me? God yes,
some wayward voice in his brain whispered.
I’d love to. Play with those full, firm breasts I know exist under your demure gown, twine my fingers in all that silky hair, kiss you breathless, part your thighs and sink my hard cock deep, deep into paradise. . . .
A very different voice, this one cold and practical, reminded him playing with virgins was a very poor idea. Playing with a virgin who had a powerful and protective papa (who despised him, no less) was one of the worst notions a man might take into his head. Besides, he was sure what she was suggesting didn’t follow at all along with his less than pure thoughts.
“Could you be a little more clear, Miss Marston?”
“Your brother tells me you are a talented cellist. I happen to have a piece of music for pianoforte and cello. How about a duet?”
The kind of duet he had in mind had nothing to do with keys or strings.
Had they been in London, he could have refused gracefully on the grounds that his instrument was not available. As it was, he did have his cello here at Rolthven, and if neither of his brothers knew that, his grandmother certainly did. He’d just insulted Rebecca, and as a gentleman he could hardly compound the sin with a lie. He wasn’t much for playing in public, but this gathering was small enough. Besides, there was something in the ingenuous wideness of her eyes that made him want to please her.
He was going to have to analyze that later.
“I haven’t played in a while, but I suppose I could oblige you.”
“Excellent. I will make sure you are given the music tomorrow morning so you can practice it a time or two.” A teasing dimple appeared in her cheek. “We wouldn’t want you to insult the composer by committing musical sacrilege, now would we?”
His laugh was spontaneous. “I don’t suppose I will easily live down that unfortunate remark, will I?”
He preferred women with a sense of humor. They made for more entertaining bedmates, for one thing, and had a tendency to not be as spoiled and haughty.
Damn all, his thoughts needed to stay
out
of the bedchamber when it came to Miss Marston.
out
of the bedchamber when it came to Miss Marston.
“Not when it was said to someone who takes her music seriously,” she told him. “I’m afraid I do.”
Fascinating. He did also, though it wasn’t something he shared with many people. For him it was private, the beauty of the cadence and sound a balm to his jaded soul. “Do you?”
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