Twice a Rake (9 page)

“Be patient. Go find a lady you already know. A
reputable
one.” Jonas lifted an eyebrow in warning. “Dance a set or two. I’ll locate Miss Hyatt’s chaperone.”

Quin made a gesture that could have been a nod of agreement, but wasn’t anything, really, and Jonas left him. When had patience ever been a virtue he possessed? Never. Wasn’t likely to become one at the moment, either.

He crossed his arms over his chest and glared. Dancing was the last thing on his agenda. Christ, he didn’t even know any reputable ladies. Not in Town, at least. No, he would stand where he was and wait for Jonas to locate the minx’s bloody chaperone, and then somehow get an introduction. And then…then what?

Then his life as he knew it would end. A chill washed over him.

A gentleman he had met at the first ball of the Season and then promptly forgotten walked over in his inflexible attire and opened his mouth to speak.

Quin’s icy glare had just the effect he desired. The dandy snapped his jaw closed, turned on his heels, and scurried in the other direction.

Jonas had better hurry. The longer Quin had to sit and wait, the more uncomfortable he grew. And when he was uncomfortable, Jonas knew as well as anyone that Quin was capable of doing downright anything, including any number of things that he shouldn’t.

He continued to watch Miss Hyatt. Perhaps stare would be a more accurate term. Or devour.

Her eyes fairly shone in the candlelight. She leaned in and whispered something into the smaller, fairer young lady’s ear, and then they tittered and faced his direction. Two other ladies sidled up alongside them and divulged what he could only imagine to be some delicious piece of gossip before moving on.

Miss Hyatt and her companion looked boldly across at him. Quin inclined his head to them. He thought—nay, he was certain—Miss Hyatt bobbed a tiny curtsy back in his direction.

Very promising, indeed.

Could that gossip have been warning them to stay away from the blackguard across the way? This might be easier even than he’d anticipated.

A group of men he’d never seen before moved in his general direction. One of them, a tall and lanky fop with prettier eyes than most women, bowed to him. Quin gave no response at all. He had no intention of being distracted from Miss Hyatt. Finally, they took the hint and left.

A squat man with hair in desperate need of being tamed moved in front of Miss Hyatt and her friend. He bowed low to them and spoke for a few moments. Probably some suitor asking for a dance. Possibly even one he’d read about in Miss Hyatt’s scandalous journal.

The orchestra started to play a reel, and couples moved to the dance floor, taking up their positions. The bushy-haired gentleman led Miss Hyatt out, and another cad went over to collect her companion.

Regardless of the short man’s identity, he couldn’t pose much of a threat. Aurora Hyatt would never give him a second thought, based on the reactions she wrote to the men of her acquaintance. Besides, she was in love with Quin. He was more certain of that fact than ever.

Granted, he’d only known of her existence for a few hours. But that was beside the point.

Since Jonas
still
had not returned, Quin made for the card room, at least for the remainder of the set. Perhaps he could find a decanter of brandy. Surely Eversley kept some spirits about. He was in luck. A well stocked sidebar sat just behind the
Vingt-et-un
table. He poured a glass, motioned to the dealer to deal him in, and played away the next hour or more.

Until Jonas found him. “What, pray tell, are you doing in here and not in the ballroom dancing?”

Quin took another sip of his brandy before answering. “Enjoying myself. You’d do well to do the same. If anyone is in need of a drink to loosen up, it would be you. Care to join me?” He moved to get up and pour Jonas a drink.

Jonas appear somewhat less than amused. He turned to the dealer. “Deal him out.”

When everything had been settled at the table, Jonas took hold of Quin’s arm and rather forcibly pulled him from the room. When they were out in the hall and away from eavesdropping ears, Jonas faced him and wrinkled his nose. “Devil take it, Quin, you’re well into your cups. I’ve just spoken with Miss Hyatt’s aunt, Lady Sedgewick, and she had agreed to an introduction after dinner. But now…”

“Now what?” He’d be damned if anything or anyone was going to ruin his plans that evening. Especially some crabby old biddy.

“She’ll never agree to it. You’re completely ape-drunk. She’ll smell you from halfway across the ballroom.” Jonas shook his head. “I think you’ve gone and done it this time.”

Quin didn’t like his friend’s tone. Like he’d given up. Just like everyone else. “Gone and done what?” His words were slow, even.

When Jonas finally looked up at him, his eyes were pained. “I can’t rectify everything for you. Not when you keep throwing everything I’ve done away.”

“No one asked you to rectify anything. You did this.” Quin pushed away and ripped at his cravat, tossing it to the floor. “You insisted on making me
presentable
, honorable. You put me into these blasted clothes and dragged me all over Town.”

How could this be happening? His one friend. The one person in the world that was always on his side. It was almost unbelievable.

Quin wanted to run. He wanted to throw his bloody coat in Jonas’s face and leave. Like he always had. Like he always would.

He had to get out of there. Before…

“Don’t run away. For once in your life, be a man.”

No. No, Quin wouldn’t be that bastard. Not tonight. He had a purpose tonight. A mission. He’d be damned if he let anything stand in the way of finishing what he started, at least this one time. Least of all himself.

He shoved past Jonas, almost knocking him over with the force of his shoulder.

“Stop, Quin.” Jonas tugged on his arm, but Quin shrugged it off.

“Go to the devil.”

But instead of going out the front doors and leaving, he turned at the grand hall. Quin plowed into the ballroom, daring anyone and everyone with his eyes to try to stop him. No one did. They all scurried out of his path like rats in sudden light, clearing his way to the one thing he would stop for.

Aurora Hyatt.

~ * ~

“Oh, dear good Lord.”

Lord Quinton was walking toward her and looking positively murderous. Not to mention looking straight at her.

He was devilishly handsome. Her imagination had done the man no favors at all. His black overcoat pulled sinfully tight across his chest and arms, revealing muscles taut as leather. And that hair—it had to have been streaked by the god of the sun. It was long enough to fall loose around a rough, square jaw, dipping even lower to brush against the open neck of his shirt.

She’d never seen anything like it in all her life. As he barreled closer to her with fluid and purposeful strides, Aurora noticed a few dark hairs peeking out above the open shirt collar. Good gracious, where was his cravat? The gossip rags would rip him to shreds in the morning. And then—
then
—her eyes moved lower, to the ripples displayed above his Hessians. Lord Quinton’s thighs looked to be as big around as her waist.

Everything about him seemed so formidable. So dangerous. So
possessive
. His eyes were trained upon hers, blue so dark it nearly matched the midnight sky. Hungry. Piercing.

“This is not good. Not at all,” Rebecca hissed in her ear, all the while tugging at her arm.

But Aurora couldn’t move. Her slippered feet were stuck in place, like the roots of a giant oak that had been growing for so long they nearly reached the Orient. “He’s going to kill me. Why is he going to kill me?”

“Don’t worry about that. Just come with me right this instant or your father will most certainly do it instead.”

But it was too late.

Her heart felt like a thousand frogs trying to leap up through her throat. If she wasn’t careful, she might cast up the contents of her stomach all over those gloriously polished boots.

“Miss Hyatt?” He bowed low to her, taking the tips of her gloved fingers into his hand and bringing them to his lips for the most chaste of kisses. “Might I request the honor of the next dance?”

A dance?

He wanted to dance.

Not string her up by her toes and drag her behind his horse for miles in order to drop her from the side of a cliff. Not send her out to be trampled by a sea of frenzied cattle. Not burn her alive at the stake.

Thank God.

She breathed, for the first time in what must have been almost a minute. But then again, he also didn’t want to grab her by the knot in her hair and drag her bodily back to his cave.

Too bad.

“Aurora,” Rebecca said firmly at her ear. “This is madness. My lord, this is entirely inappropriate”

“Yes, I’d love to dance with you.”

His eyes, which she had yet to look away from, flashed with what could only be described as satisfaction. He took the whole of her hand into his own. The scandalous heat of palm against palm threatened to burn straight through her glove to her very soul. Finally, her feet moved beneath her and she fairly floated alongside him, dislodging her other arm from Rebecca’s grasp.

“I believe,” he said to her softly, “this dance shall be a waltz.”

A waltz
.

She was bound to burst into flame if any more of their bodies touched. Even with the small distance between them, his warmth engulfed her. Somehow, her body wanted to be closer, as though it had a mind and wants and needs of its own.

He turned her to face him and placed her hand against his shoulder, pulling the other more fully into his. And then his free hand was at her waist, drawing her into the inferno of his arms.

Aurora heard no music. She saw nothing but him, Lord Quinton, staring down at her with an intensity she’d never experienced. He smelled of brandy and heat. She was nearly intoxicated just from his sheer proximity.

After moments or hours, she would never know, she finally found her tongue. “My lord, how did you know who I am?” What a foolish, silly question. She was a ninny. What did that matter? Not a whit.

“I would imagine in the same manner you knew who I am.” His eyes bored into her. “You do know, do you not?”

She would be perfectly content to never take another breath so long as he never stopped looking at her like that. Aurora tingled everywhere he touched her, with the delicious gooseflesh spreading through her limbs, up to her head, and then plummeting all the way down to her toes—which somehow curled beneath her.

“Yes. You are the mysterious Lord Quinton.” And he would think her an utter dolt if she did not manage to remove the derisible grin from her face. There was also the rather embarrassing problem of a blush spreading over her cheeks and all the way to her bosom. The heat flowed like gauze in the wind. She looked down to see how bad it was, only to realize too late she had drawn his gaze to that very same place.

“That I am.” He stared at the low bodice of her gown, or rather at the display just above it, for an inordinately long period of time. Finally, his eyes moved slowly up her chest to her neck, to her chin, to her lips—where they paused yet again.

She felt parched. She needed something—
something
—something to calm her nerves and to cool her off. Yet all she wanted to do was move closer, still.

Aurora licked her lips.