Samantha James (22 page)

It was a moment before the full import of her words reached Victoria. “You won’t be returning with us, Heather?”

“No, Mama. I’d like to remain on here in case…in case James Elliot is found.”

Victoria looked at her sharply. “Are you certain that’s wise, dear?”

“It’s something I have to do, Mama.” Heather was quietly determined.

Victoria nodded. “What about tonight? You’re certain you don’t mind attending Sophie’s ball alone?”

Heather’s mind sped straight to Damien. “I’ve no wish to hide away, Mama.”

“And I don’t think you should. That would simply fuel more gossip.”

“Besides, Paige will be there.” And Damien, too, no doubt, though Heather didn’t mention
his name aloud. But Mama had let it drop that Sophie had invited him.

Several hours later Heather stood near the street, waving the trio off. Her smile faded as she watched the carriage rattle away. She’d said she would attend Sophie’s ball, and so she would. But inside she was a quivering bundle of nerves. After this morning’s column in the
Gazette
, there would probably be even more gossip….

Damien had seen the column as well. He didn’t give a damn what was said about him, but he was furious at the affront to Heather. He paced before the windows in his study, while Cameron Lindsey looked on.

“I should have known this would happen,” he fumed. “Can no one do anything in this town without someone catching wind of it? By God, I can see why Heather prefers to stay in the country.”

Cameron stroked his jaw. “It occurs to me, my lord,” he said suddenly, “that this could be a boon.”

Damien rounded on him. “A boon? Are you mad, Cameron?”

“Think,” Cameron said quietly. “You wanted to make your presence known. But what if Elliot doesn’t know you’re here yet? What if he didn’t realize she was in Lancashire? Perhaps that’s why he didn’t seek her out there. On the other hand, if it’s known that the two of you are being seen together…she is his daughter! If he realizes who she is—”

“I see your point, Cameron. But you forget, it’s been over twenty years since he’s seen her.”

Cameron regarded him quietly. “I mean no dishonor toward the lady when I say this, my lord. But Heather Duval’s limp is rather uncommon. It might easily jar his memory.”

“So you think he might come to reunite with her.”

“Exactly.”

“So you think I should squire her about for all to see. For all to bandy her name about.”

“And yours,” Cameron pointed out. “It might well increase your chances of finding Elliot.”

Damien fell broodingly silent. A certain grimness had settled on his features. Cameron was right. If Elliot recognized Heather, it could well bring him near. Yet what Cameron proposed seemed so cold—so callous.

No.
No
. He couldn’t use her like this. He
wouldn’t
.

Cameron watched him closely. “You want to find him, don’t you?”

“I will find him.” Both Damien’s tone and his expression brooked no argument. “But I won’t use Heather like this, Cameron, and that’s all I have to say on the matter.”

Jack Scavenger didn’t have a difficult time locating James Elliot. Elliot had a reputation for meanness; his vile temper and penchant for drink were becoming well known in London’s back alleys.

He rapped sharply on Elliot’s door. It rattled on its hinges, then opened a crack. Elliot peered without, his eyes bloodshot, his face unshaven.

“What do ya want?” came the whiskey-laden voice.

“It’s me, Jack Scavenger. I’ve news o’ the earl.”

The door was flung wide. Jack stepped into a tiny, filthy room. Envy shot through him, for he’d have given anything to call a place such as this his own.

“What news?” Elliot demanded.

“Ye wanted to know where ’e goes, right? Who ’e sees?”

“That I did, boy.” Elliot raised a bottle to his lips. Liquid seeped from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away with the back of his hand.

“Well, I’ve seen ’im ’ere and about. Seems to spend a ’ole lot o’ time at the ’ome o’ the Earl o’ Stonehurst.”

Elliot scoffed. “That’s all ye got to tell me?”

Jack grinned. “Gossip says ’e’s got a ladybird, too.”

“I could care less who the bastard ruts with!”

Jack’s smile vanished. “Well, ye said ye wanted to know who ’e saw and where ’e went,” he said indignantly. “Now do ye want to know or not?”

Elliot gestured for him to proceed.

Jack’s smile reappeared, this time sly. “Just so ’appens I saw ’im the other night at Covent Garden—some easy pickin’s that night, I must say—and I saw ’im with his ladybird.” Jack scratched his head. “A beauty, all right. But ’twas odd to see one such as her with a gent like ’im, if ya know what I mean.”

Elliot grew impatient. “Why?”

“’Cause the girl’s a cripple, that’s why! Limped like this.” Jack gave an exaggerated mimic of her slow gait.

The bottle stopped halfway to Elliot’s lips. Slowly he lowered it. Sweet Christ. It couldn’t possibly be…or could it?

“This girl,” he demanded. “Did ye get a look at her? What did she look like? How old was she?”

“Now ’ow would I know? But I did see ’er. Dressed to the nines, she was—small, with hair as black as midnight—just like I said, a beauty. And I ’eard someone say somethin’ ’bout her eyes—the shade of violets, I think.”

Elliot surged to his feet. Heather, he thought.
Heather
.

“Do ye know anything more about this girl?”

“Aye,” Jack said smugly. “But it’ll cost ye.”

Elliot dug into his pockets and tossed him a coin. Jack held it up to the dingy light of the window, then shoved it deep in his breeches.

“Seems she’s the ward o’ the Earl o’ Stonehurst. Doesn’t come to London often, so they say, either of ’em. Live in Lancashire, they do.”

Lancashire. Bloody hell, it was her. It had to be. For an instant a vile rage flamed in Elliot’s veins, a rage so potent he shook with it. Had the brat spent all these years living in luxury?

Belatedly it struck him…she had been with Damien Tremayne…. A cunning smile spread slowly across his face. So the whining little brat was all grown-up, was she? Well, perhaps it was time the little bitch was of some use to him….

First, he would see for himself if it was her. And then…well, he wasn’t certain. But he would come up with something…

Only this time—this time he would be more careful than he’d been with Giles Tremayne.

Were it not for the fact that Heather had told Mama she would relay her message to Sophie, she might well have lost her nerve and decided not to attend Sophie’s ball. But Sophie was Mama’s dearest friend in all the world, and she would not disappoint her.

The ball was in full swing when Heather arrived that evening. Panic raced up her spine as she entered the home of the Viscount and Viscountess Wyburn. Could she do this alone? Society could be cruel. When she was with Mama and Papa, those she encountered were charming and polite, for no one would dare risk the wrath of the Earl of Stonehurst. But this was different. There was every chance she would be cut cold, and she did not relish the prospect.

It was Sophie who spotted her first. “Heather!” she cried, giving a wave and rushing across the salon. Sophie took her hand and stepped back.

“There, now. Let me look at you.” Soft brown eyes swept her up and down. “Oh, Heather, you look smashing!” Her husband, Donald, had joined them as well. “Doesn’t she, Donald?”

The viscount gave Heather a low bow. “She does indeed, my love.”

Heather smiled her thanks. She wore a gown of shimmering white satin, shot through with silver
threads. The hem of the full skirt was caught up here and there in embroidered bunches of pale lavender wildflowers. Once again, she felt half naked, for the gown exposed a considerable amount of decolletage. Her sable tresses were caught up in a loose topknot on her crown.

“Excuse me, ladies,” said the viscount, “but I see Jeremy Wyndham craves a word with me.”

Sophie turned to Heather. “Are Miles and Victoria on their way?”

Heather shook her head and quickly explained about the accident at Lyndermere. “A pity,” Sophie said, guiding her to the side of the ballroom. “But I’m so glad you came, Heather.” She cast a quick glance in either direction to make certain no one was listening. “I was afraid that silly column in this morning’s
Gazette
might keep you away.” Sophie’s eyes flashed angrily. “I confess, I saw red. Why, I was nearly your age when I wed. Everyone said I was on the shelf, but as you can see, they were wrong. And you should have seen the scandal when Victoria wed Miles. The gossips were hopping for weeks!”

She squeezed Heather’s shoulder. “I do run on at times, don’t I? All I mean to say is this, Heather—don’t let it trouble you, for no doubt tomorrow tongues will be wagging about someone else.”

Paige joined them, and the conversation turned elsewhere. Eventually she and Paige moved into the ballroom to sit. It was then that Heather spotted Damien. Her heart vaulted. He looked stunning, dressed all in black except for
the dazzling white of his shirt. He spoke briefly with Donald. When Donald departed, the scope of his gaze encompassed the guests.

Their eyes locked. The contact lasted but an instant; then he turned away to talk to a group of gentlemen.

For one awful moment Heather experienced the sheer, stark pain of rejection. Yet she knew in her heart it was better this way; after the article in the
Gazette
, the less talk about the two of them, the better.

Paige hadn’t noticed Damien’s presence. But others had, and already Heather could see heads bending. Turning. The flutter of fans. The hiss of whispers…a feeling of deja vu poured over her. It was just like it had been last evening at the opera. Only Damien wasn’t there to bolster her courage.

Beside her, Paige said brightly, “Oh, look. Sophie’s signaled the orchestra to start the dancing.”

Dimly she heard the strains of a waltz. As yet no one had moved to the dance floor. It was then she noticed that Damien had disengaged himself from the group of gentlemen. But a lovely blonde had snared his arm. His head was bowed low; it almost appeared as if hers lay nestled on his shoulder. The blonde darted a coy glance at Heather. A smile curved those crimson red lips—oh, a smile of sweet malice!

Heather tore her gaze away. There was a devastating wedge of tightness trapped in her chest. She had no claim over him, she reminded herself. Yet neither did she have the stomach to
watch him with another woman. Should she leave? The bend of her mind so inclined, she got to her feet.

Beside her, Paige tugged at her sleeve. “Heather,” she whispered.

Heather was busy reaching for her cane.

“Heather!” Paige spoke more loudly. She twined her fingers in one wide satin sleeve and tugged hard. Finally Heather took notice. She glanced down at Paige, who was nodding almost frantically toward the dance floor.

Puzzled, Heather turned slightly to see what she was about.

Damien stood there, in the center of the ballroom floor.

In some distant corner of her mind she knew the guests had gone utterly quiet. It was as if the entire world held its breath. Every eye in the ballroom was turned upon him…upon her.

But Damien…his gaze spoke to her alone.

Never in all her days would she forget his expression. It was a look that made her melt inside—a look that made the ground move beneath her feet.

And then he did something she never would have expected. Indeed, the last thing on earth she expected…

He held out his hand.

The world spun crazily. Heather felt she would surely faint. He couldn’t possibly want her to…to dance with him.

But the hold of his eyes was utterly commanding. Utterly irresistible.

She never even noticed that Paige had slipped her cane from her grasp.

Not ten steps separated them…. Swallowing, certain that her heart was lodged permanently in her throat, she felt herself begin to move.

He met her halfway.

Still, Heather was overwhelmingly conscious that they had captured the scrutiny of everyone present. At the very last moment, her strength seemed to desert her. She swayed.

Strong fingers closed around hers, warm and reassuring. A hard arm swept her close.

Her fingers fluttered on the broad sweep of his shoulder. “This is…absurd,” she said weakly.

No
, he nearly said.
This is love
.

Even the orchestra had been held spellbound. At a signal from Sophie, they began to play.

Damien arched a brow. “Shall we?” he murmured.

It all came back in a flash. Her feet began to move. Damien’s voice echoed in her mind.
One, two, three. Tiny, tiny steps
.

By then Sophie had snagged her husband and tugged him onto the floor. The smile she sent Heather was blindingly triumphant. One by one, other couples drifted onto the floor.

The tension that had nearly sapped her courage was suddenly gone.

“You’re doing splendidly,” he murmured in her ear.

“Ah, but I had an excellent teacher.” Her smile was dazzling.

His was quite wicked. “Oh, but it’s not quite the same as before, is it? As I recall, we were slightly less…encumbered.”

The remembrance of how they’d danced naked in her room flooded her. Two bright spots of color stained her cheeks, but her laugh was breathless. “We were, weren’t we?”

His arm tightened. He bent his head so that his mouth brushed her ear. Tiny shivers played over her skin. “Do you have any idea what I’d like to do to you, Miss Heather Duval?”

The huskiness in his voice made her feel beautiful and feminine, and it was a whole new feeling for her.

“Perhaps you’d like to tell me.” Her own daring was shocking—but delightfully so.

He kissed the side of her neck. “Oh, I’ll do
much better than that,” he said solemnly. “I’ll show you.” It was a promise, one he intended to fulfill to his most fervent, wanton desire…as well as hers.

As if on cue, the music ended. He pulled her hand into the crook of his arm. “Now, I would very much like to leave this place. I predict the gossips will have a feeding frenzy tomorrow, but I don’t care a whit.”

Heather turned shining eyes to his. “Nor do I.”

Good-byes to Sophie and Paige were quickly made. Within minutes they were heading outside toward Damien’s carriage. Heather’s heart was singing, and her feet felt light as air.

In the carriage, she sat next to him, her head tipped against his shoulder. Where they were going, she had no idea. Nor did she care. A sense of calm inevitability had come over her. They were together, and that was all that mattered.

It wasn’t long before the carriage drew to a halt. Heather stirred, raising a hand to push aside the velvet curtains. They’d stopped before a brick-fronted mansion with tall windows.

She glanced over at Damien. He watched her closely. “Where are we?” she asked.

“My home.” He opened the door and leaped lightly to the ground, then turned and held out his hand. “Don’t worry,” he said when she hesitated. “No one will know. My staff is very discreet.”

Heather placed her hand in his. “I am hardly a model of propriety for Bea, am I?” she murmured with a faint smile.

A short, balding butler admitted them.
“Thank you, William,” said Damien. “That will be all for the night.” The butler bowed and retreated.

Heather’s fingers were still laced tightly within his. She relied more on his touch than on sight as he pulled her through the shadows. She caught a glimpse of a magnificent staircase that split in either direction at the landing; then they passed through a set of double doors into a ballroom with a high, arched ceiling. Delicate scrollwork and dainty rosettes decorated the walls. The sweet scent of roses perfumed the air. An array of candles placed around the perimeter of the room spilled its golden aura all around. In the center of the floor were a round, lace-covered table and two gilt-trimmed chairs. There was fruit, a bottle of wine, and two crystal glasses.

Heather caught her breath. He’d planned this. He’d planned all along to bring her here. She felt suddenly giddy. Reckless. Dangerous. What else would the night bring? she wondered.

She couldn’t wait to find out.

Her gaze returned to Damien, only to find his regard hadn’t wavered.

A hint of a smile curled his lips. “I thought we’d have a celebration of our own. Do you mind?”

She shook her head. She felt strangely shy, yet awash with anticipation, too.

He poured the wine and extended a glass to her. “Are you hungry?”

Their fingers brushed as she took it. Current seemed to leap from the place where their skin met.
Yes
, she thought yearningly.
For you
.

She sipped the wine and nibbled on the grapes, then reached for a plump, ripe strawberry. On the last bite, juice dribbled down her chin as she bit into it. With the tip of her finger, she swiped at it, intending to bring the sweet liquid to her lips to lick it away. But at the last instant, Damien reached out and snared her wrist.

Questioning violet eyes met his.

“Let me,” he said. His eyes never leaving hers, he brought her fingertip to his mouth. He sucked gently, the tip of his tongue rough and wet. Everything inside her went weak. If she’d been standing, she’d surely have fallen into an ignominious heap.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

The waver of the candlelight cast intriguing shadows over the planes and hollows of his face. His tone was very grave. “You’re quite welcome.”

Standing, he pulled her to her feet and drew her into his arms. He smiled down into her startled features. “It wouldn’t be a ball without dancing.”

“But…we’ve already done so.”

“Ah, but we had an audience then. I much prefer it this way.”

He whirled her around in a tiny circle, just as before. Then all at once his arms came hard around her back. He lifted her full off the ground and spun her around and around in circles until she was dizzy and breathless and laughing, the sound chiming in the air like bells on a warm spring morn. She braced her fingertips against
his forearms, her head cast back, the long arch of her neck graceful and white and fragile. When at last he came to a whirling halt, she was still laughing.

He was not.

Her heart seemed to stop. Her laughter snagged in her throat. His expression was fierce and intent, almost hungry.

He let her slide down his body; for one heart-stopping instant, their hips were bound together. There was a stab of heat low in her middle. Even through the silk of her skirts, she could feel the aroused thickness of his manhood hard against her belly.

Time swung away.

The world narrowed into that one moment. His gaze seemed to possess her, reaching clear inside her very soul.

Then, with a muffled exclamation, he swung her up and into his arms.

Heather’s heart was beating so hard it threatened to choke her. Her breath tumbled out in a shaky rush. “Where are you taking me?”

There was a heated rush of silence. “To bed,” he said softly. “Any objections?”

A smile flirted at the corner of her mouth. “Just one,” she ventured.

He hiked a brow.

She linked her fingers behind his nape. “
Hurry
.”

Her fervent whisper nearly snapped his control. His arms almost crushed her. His head descended. He sealed their lips in a fiery kiss.
Their tongues danced together in an unbridled duel where each was the victor. They were both gasping when at last he dragged his mouth away.

With an odd little laugh he lowered her. The tips of her slippers grazed the floor. “To the devil with bed.” Warm breath raced past her ear. “I don’t think I can wait that long.”

His fingers were in her hair. In seconds it tumbled down her back. Lean hands cupped her shoulders. Heather felt her dress slide down her torso, slipping past her hips. Her chemise met the same fate. Soon she was naked.

Eyes like silver flames pored over her nakedness. Though he’d said he couldn’t wait, his regard was slow and thorough, a languid exploration that left no part of her untouched. Beneath the heat in his gaze, her nipples grew tight and tingly. His gaze lingered long and hard at the dark thicket at the base of her thighs; a restless questing began to pulse in that secret place hidden deep inside.

An arm hard about her back, he drew her to him. She shivered with delight when, with his thumbs, he traced slow, maddening circles around her breasts. At last he flicked her nipples; they sprang taut and hard, yet still it wasn’t enough. She wanted the hot, wet suction of his mouth there on those quivering peaks.

She gave a cry of frustrated yearning. “Damien!”

He kissed the baby-soft skin behind her ear. “What is it, sweet?”

She felt like pounding her fists against his chest. “I—I thought you had no patience!”

He smiled against her lips. “I suddenly find I’m blessed with an abundance of it.”

This time she did pound her fists against his chest. “Damien, please!”

In answer he lowered himself to his knees.

He filled his hands with the jutting bounty of her breasts. With his tongue he grazed the pouting tip of one breast. She cried out, a sharp sound of ecstasy. He made a low sound deep in his throat and tugged first one deep, straining circle into his mouth, then the other, leaving her nipples glistening and damp with the warmth of his tongue, his play a divine rapture.

But there was more.

His knuckles grazed the hollow of her belly. He trailed a line of scorching fire clear to the place that guarded her womanhood. Lean fingers slowly unfurled, tangling in thick, dark fleece.

His mouth traced the same shattering pathway.

With his hands he parted slender white thighs. With his thumbs he opened soft, pink folds.

Heather’s eyes were wide and dazed. His intent ripped through her brain. No, she thought fuzzily. Oh, no…

His breath wafted across the tender bud bared within…and then she felt the seductive sweep of his tongue.

A jolt of wanton sensation tore through her. Even as her mind rebelled, her body welcomed him. A quickening heat stormed all through her. She clutched at him, lest she tumble to the floor.

His tongue was a brazen, relentless invader, a dart of sheer flame, dauntless in its quest, cease
less in its pursuit. With torrid, lashing strokes, he plied pink, weeping flesh, the tiny kernel of flesh hidden in her cleft. Her fingers coiled in his hair. She arched against him, desperate for that elusive torment. Then at last she found it. Her limbs trembled, her body twisted as ecstasy exploded inside her. Piercing cries of bliss burst from her throat.

Damien caught her as she sank to the floor. He eased her down against the silken pile of her clothing. He disrobed quickly, pulling his clothing from his body. A crimson haze of passion surrounded him. His body was ablaze, his shaft pounding.

Heather’s eyes, smoky and dazed, drifted open as he eased down beside her. Triumph surged in his breast, for he knew he’d just given her the ultimate pleasure. He kissed her, his mouth wide, tasting anew her essence on his lips.

He exalted in the way her arms crept round his neck, the way she pressed her lithe young body against the heat and hardness of his. Only now it appeared that the tables had turned…

And indeed, a reckless abandon washed through Heather. With the pressure of her palm against the heavy satin of his shoulder, she eased him back so that she lay poised above him. The temptation to explore his body as he had explored hers was irresistible. She longed to return the splendor he evoked in her—longed to return it in full measure.

Her fingers slid over the smoothness of his shoulders, thrilling to the sleekness of his skin, loving the tight play of muscle beneath. One
small hand coasted down his chest, combing through the wiry mat of hair. Her knuckles skimmed the taut drum of his belly, an exploration that came ever closer to the part of him that held such fascination. His manhood surged, as if to seek her touch.

Heather stared in mingled amazement and admiration. Their outrageous conversation of the night before flooded back.

Her heart was in her throat. “Damien,” she whispered, “is there truly a difference? Are some men…larger than others?”

Damien half laughed, half groaned. His rod swelled still further, lengthening yet another inch.

Heather was in awe. “Oh, my,” she said faintly. “I cannot imagine that anyone would be larger than—than you.”

Her innocent words aroused him almost past bearing. “Touch me,” he said raggedly. He caught at her hand and dragged it down to that part of him she so inflamed, filling her palm, guiding cool fingers around his burning member. She needed no further urging.

And it seemed he’d taught her well.

The rhythm of her strokes brought him to the brink of rapture. He gasped with pleasure, struggling against the need to turn her over and plunge hot and hard in the damp silken prison of her flesh.

Nor was she finished.

A hand on his chest, she pushed herself upward. He’d thought her beautiful before, but she was exquisite. Slight, but with delectably full
breasts tipped with rose-hued nipples that were as sweet as they looked. Her hips flared out from a waist that was incredibly narrow. For one soul-stopping moment, she was poised above him, slender hands resting on her thighs.

The merest glimmer of a smile curved her lips. Slowly she bent forward. Her hair feathered over his thighs, the grid of his belly. Damien’s breath dammed in his chest. Dear God, surely she would not…

With the tip of her tongue, she touched him.

His heart slammed to a halt.

His hands twisted into the silk of her gown. He gritted his teeth against a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. She played him like a master, swirling and dipping, the soft suction of her mouth an exquisite torture he wanted never to end. He bore it with his head cast back, features taut and strained, his breath whistling through his teeth.