My Runaway Heart (4 page)

A strange, giddy elation suddenly swept through Lindsay
and she smiled up at him, believing she might have found a kindred soul. "Yes,
amazingly it is true. Whatever afflicted me passed quite
quickly.
"

"A certain persistent young gentleman, perhaps?"

Wondering if other guests had seen so easily through
her ruse to fend off Lord Ambrose, Lindsay gave him a small nod.

"So I suspected. But no matter; at least you're
smiling again . . . a most entrancing smile. I can't allow you to leave without
first asking the most beautiful woman in London for a dance."

Lindsay scarcely heard Matilda's gasp for the wild
thundering of her heart; he had obviously heard Lord Ambrose's gushing
compliment, too. But the words this time hadn't sounded inappropriate at all,
thrilling her to her toes. In the next instant she was being led to the dance
floor, Matilda holding a glass of punch and gaping after them.

Lindsay thought her heart might burst from her breast
when he turned to face her, the chamber orchestra striking up a waltz as he
took her in his arms. And suddenly she seemed aware of everything and nothing
as the room began to spin around them in a dizzying blur
more
heady
than any swoon.

The strength of his arm at her waist, the powerful
breadth of his shoulder beneath her trembling hand. Her gloved fingers seemed
to burn in his strong warm ones, though she shivered as with cold. His
burnished dark blond hair gleamed in the chandelier's brilliant light, the
faintest gold stubble of a beard along his jaw. Was it soft, she wondered, or
prickly? The altogether disconcerting scent of him,
masculinity
and the subtle warmth of bay rum.

He was so tall, too, towering a full head above her,
and athletically lean; his face, so dangerously handsome, wasn't pale at all
like so many other gentlemen's but browned from the sun, showing clearly he spent
time out of doors. And always there was the incredible blue of his eyes, so
unusual a shade she had no idea how to name it. Name it . . . oh, Lord, here
she was, waltzing with a man whose name she didn't even know while Matilda was
probably alerting Aunt Winifred and perhaps the house guards as well!

"I fear, sir . . ." Lindsay swallowed, the
intensifying of his gaze upon her the moment she had spoken quite overwhelming.
"I fear we haven't been properly introduced. You know my name, but
I
—"

"Jared. Jared Giles, the Earl of
Dovercourt
."

"Jared," she said softly, thinking it was the
most wonderful of names. "I-I mean Lord Giles. After all, we've only met—"

"Ah, but we share a secret, don't we? I've seen
few women swoon as expertly and prettily as you. And that secret makes us
co-conspirators who should clearly call each other by their given names. Would
that suit you, Lindsay?"

He spun her then and she couldn't answer, his low,
intimate rendering of her name making her feel strangely light-headed, the crowded
ballroom flying past her as if they danced on air. For she felt as if she were
truly dancing on air, her silken slippers barely touching the floor, Jared held
her so closely.

Dear heavens, so closely that her breasts brushed his
chest, the rough velvet of his black evening coat rubbing as if against her
bare flesh and not the delicate satin of her gown. Stunned by such a wanton
thought and how decadent they must appear to the assembled guests, she
nonetheless did not try to pull away from him; in fact could not, as if
captured by some enchanted spell.

A spell she hoped would last and last forever. Lindsay
suddenly felt certain deep in her heart that she had found the hero of her
dreams. Her imagination as fired as her senses, she believed this man must know
everything about London—everything about the world, for that matter. As a spy,
no doubt well traveled, how could he not?

"You smile so beguilingly, Lindsay. What are you
thinking?"

His teasing half whisper filling her with reckless
abandon, she tilted her head and said very softly, "Only that I hope I
will see you again."

Heaven help her, she had said it, truly said it! Lindsay
exulted to herself even as nervousness gripped her, Jared's eyes darkening to
an unfathomable blue. Fearing she might have been too bold, too brazen, she
made to apologize for her forwardness, but his arm drawing her possessively
against him stopped her breath.

"Oh, I fully intend that we'll be seeing much of
each other,"
came
his low reply, his gaze raking
her face and then falling to her breasts. But his eyes didn't linger there,
once more meeting hers. "Tomorrow afternoon, two o'clock. A ride in Hyde
Park, with a chaperone, of course—"

"Oh, no, Aunt Winnie would never allow it."
The waltz nearly done, Lindsay rushed on breathlessly, sensing at last a chance
for adventure. "I suspect she doesn't particularly like you. I'm not sure
why, but I have another—"

"My notorious reputation?"

Reddening a bit, Lindsay nodded. "But I don't
think you're at all as she described."

"And how was that?"

Lindsay sighed, their conversation not progressing at
all as she would have liked, and there was so little time. "A blackguard
and a rake and—"

"A seducer of innocents."

"No, no, I was going to say a spy." Seeing
his expression suddenly harden, Lindsay felt an undeniable tension in his
embrace. "I'm sorry. I'm sure that's not something you wish to hear spoken
of so freely, but I think it's wonderful! How noble to serve your country in
such heroic fashion—how thrilling it must be for you!"

"If I were a spy, I'm sure it would have its
moments,"
came
the dry response. Lindsay took
heart that she actually saw a glimmer of amusement returning to his eyes,
although his face remained oddly grim. Hoping she might further cheer him, she
kept her voice light and engaging.

"Well, I'd love to hear about your adventures—and
I hope you still want to see me again no matter the dreadful things my aunt
said about you. But it can't be during the day; that won't do at all. Evening
would be better—yes, half-past midnight would be perfect. We're always home by
eleven. Aunt Winnie doesn't like staying out too late, and that would allow
plenty of time for everyone to retire. Then I could meet you outside my aunt's
town house at Sixteen Piccadilly."

"Meet me alone?"

"Of course, it's the only way. Oh, dear, I know it's
very presumptuous of me to even ask—" It was the most outrageous thing she'd
said since she'd been in London, but . . .

"Half-past midnight will be fine."

Lindsay met his eyes, exhilaration filling her. "Truly?
Tomorrow night?"

His only answer was a brusque nod as the final strains
of the waltz surged around them. Lindsay wondered if she might have broached
every rule of etiquette, because he stepped so stiffly away from her when the
dance was done. But he still held her hand, and her hopes soared that she hadn't
made an utter fool of herself when he lifted her gloved fingers to his lips and
gentle kissed them. Yet his gaze was anything but gentle, burning into hers
even as Lindsay heard an unmistakable voice cut through the rising din of
conversation.

"Oh, dear, oh, dear, whatever am I to tell Olympia
if she hears news of this night? She'll never forgive me, I'm certain of it!
Never!"

Lindsay grimaced, imagining the carriage ride home. She
turned to flee to her aunt's side, then glanced back to bid Jared good night.
But he had already disappeared into the throng filling the dance floor, nowhere
to be seen, leaving Lindsay to wonder if she had only imagined the last
incredible moments that had been the most exciting of her life.

***

"Will you '
ave
another
drink,
luv
?"

Jared narrowly eyed the tavern keeper's wife, the woman's
huge, pendulous breasts close to spilling out of her too-tight bodice as she
leaned over the table. A plump white hand slid suggestively along his arm.
Sooty eyelashes lowered over dark, sultry eyes. The tavern keeper himself
having gone upstairs to bed some time ago, his wife clearly meant to make Jared's
stay at their establishment as comfortable as possible.

And perhaps he might have accepted her lusty offer,
indeed had fleetingly considered taking her right here on the table as he had
last night, all the other guests gone to bed, too, but he had no stomach for
the woman's generous proportions this evening. Shrugging off her hand, he
swallowed the last of his wine and rose, barely giving her a glance as he
walked to the stairs.

"
Wot
, you mean I stayed
up all this time for
nothin
' to show for me trouble?"

Jared turned to see the woman's face flushed with
outrage in the dying firelight. Digging into his pocket, he found a coin and
flipped it onto a nearby table. She fell upon the silver crown like a vulture, her
expression ingratiating as she tucked the coin deep into her bodice.

"That was sweet of you,
luv
,
but I would have liked another tumble, if you want the truth of it. I'd risk
splinters in me bum at any hour for the likes o' you."

Smiling grimly, Jared offered a slight bow and turned
back to the stairs, but she made it there before him, her ample rump switching
from side to side as she made one last obvious attempt to entice him. But he
was already thinking again of another woman's figure, a younger woman with such
delectable hourglass curves that waltzing with her tonight had been the worst
sort of torture.

A torture, by God, that would end tomorrow night, his
burning thoughts of seduction having kept him up even later than usual, the
first pale rays of dawn sneaking glimpses through the Boar's Head tavern's
closed shutters. With a low groan he pushed open the door to his room and
kicked it shut behind him, not caring about the noise or whom he might awaken.

He made short work of his evening clothes, tossing them
onto a threadbare stuffed chair before dropping naked onto his bed. No matter
that this room was the best offered by the tavern; the air was chill, the
mattress lumpy, the blankets scratchy and thin, but he had slept in worse in
his day. And the place suited him more than any elegant Mayfair town house he
could have rented for the Season where busybody neighbors and fellow members of
the ton might watch his every move.

Suited, too, his notorious reputation, Jared thought
with a humorless laugh, throwing an arm over his eyes. What better place for a
rake such as
he
other than some latest conquest's
boudoir? He could imagine the furtive talk about his choice of lodging when he
could easily afford the finest of London's accommodations, and that suited him
as well. Such speculation kept idle, frivolous minds and tongues well occupied
and thankfully diverted from more serious matters so a man could go about his
work.

Another low, grim laugh broke the silence. Jared closed
his eyes and allowed the beauteous Miss Lindsay Somerset to once more overwhelm
his thoughts. She had been on his mind already, he hadn't been able to think of
much else since first setting eyes upon her at the
Oglethorpes
'
ball, so it came as no surprise to him that focusing upon her could so
completely and quickly enflame his senses.

He wanted her.

And he would have the minx tomorrow night, perhaps even
inside the carriage if she teased him as mercilessly as she had done tonight.
Her beguiling smiles, her willingness to allow him to hold her so closely in
his arms, her brazen suggestion that he meet her alone, that feigned swoon
which had clued him at once that Lindsay Somerset was a shrewd young woman who
knew how to manipulate and entice men.

He had met her kind before, his association in the past
with several comely chits fresh from the countryside having earned him the
reputation of a seducer of innocents. But those young women, not a blushing
virgin among them, had proved themselves from the first to be not so pure and
innocent and had welcomed his advances as skillfully as married ladies of the
ton offered him their sexual favors.

A fat purse and paid coach back to the country had
soothed conniving mothers and cuckolded papas, the cunning wantons quite happy
to settle down with a local squire or baronet once their fortunes were either
enriched or assured. But that hadn't improved his reputation, not that he gave
a damn. And seducing Lindsay Somerset wouldn't make matters any worse, and
would certainly ease his present discomfort . . .

Jared groaned to himself, almost wishing he had
accepted the tavern keeper's wife's lusty invitation. With great difficulty he
forced away tantalizing thoughts of Lindsay's breasts pressed against him,
breasts so creamy and full and perfectly rounded he could already feel their
ripe weight in his hands.

In mute agony, he forced away a heart-stopping vision
of her straddling him in the carriage, her slim white thighs gripping his hips,
his fingers slipping into the wet heat of her body while her silky blond hair
drifted over them like silver gossamer and her beautiful sky-blue eyes begged
him to take her.

With a low curse he threw himself onto his side and
yanked a blanket over his shoulder, Lindsay Somerset's soft red mouth yielding
utterly to his, her whimpers and breathless pants of sweet release echoing in
his ears even as he prayed somehow to get some sleep.

Chapter 4

"Lord, another ten minutes to go. Could this night
possibly drag on any slower?"

Lindsay's frustrated whisper was answered by the low,
rhythmic ticking of the mantel clock, which only made her pace her bedchamber
with mounting impatience.

She had been ready since half-past eleven, the town
house gradually falling still as a tomb, Aunt Winifred tucked into bed with her
nightly cup of hot chocolate, Matilda and the other servants retired to their
attic rooms. Truly, she had begun to wonder if that blessed hurdle might even be
breached!