WANTON (8 page)

It was interesting how a fancy garment could change her status. No one ordered her to fetch any champagne! People were staring at Barbara—their host’s scandalous mother—but they were also trying to figure out the identity of Barbara’s companion. Amelia’s expression was blank and bored, but she definitely noted how men’s eyes gleamed with approval.

Their admiration imbued her with a confidence she hadn’t previously possessed. This was her father’s world, the one that had been denied to her. Why shouldn’t she make a grand entrance? Why shouldn’t she be welcomed by her father’s peers?

She and Barbara were announced, and heads turned, a sea of faces gazing up at them. Many lifted their glasses in toast to Barbara. She took it all in as her due—as if she were the queen rather than a disgraced vixen. Amelia watched Barbara carefully, hoping some of her aplomb would rub off.

They’d reached the ballroom floor, and Barbara leaned in and whispered, “Don’t forget what I told you about your fan. Look mysterious. Keep your wrist flexible.”

“I will.”

“You’re gorgeous,” Barbara beamed. “Have fun, darling.”

“I plan on it.”

Amelia was escorted about, introduced, asked to dance, asked to dine, asked to share a glass of punch. She accepted every offer, particularly the dancing. At Miss Peabody’s school, she’d been taught all the steps, but had had scant opportunity to ever perform them.

She was having a perfect time, feeling like Cinderella, but hours had passed, and there was no sign of Mr. Drake.

After a brisk set of dancing, she slipped away and went out onto the rear verandah. Far down from the main party, a parlor was lit, the windows open to let in the cool evening air.

She wandered down, and to her surprise, Mr. Drake was there, seated at a harpsichord and singing a very raucous, very risqué tune. There was a small group gathered around—Nanette Nipton among them—and they were very merry, laughing, joining in on the choruses. Mrs. Nipton was very proprietary toward Mr. Drake, standing close, whispering in his ear and occasionally resting a palm on his shoulder.

On seeing him exhibit such a marvelous keyboardist’s skill, Amelia was flabbergasted. She’d viewed him as an obstinate, rude dunce but, apparently, he had a positive quality, that being a very fine musical talent.

She couldn’t imagine how he’d ever focused long enough to acquire it, and for a lengthy interval she observed him. Ultimately, he finished with a flamboyant whisk of his fingers across the keys and declared himself parched and ready to imbibe. His audience had been gaily entertained, and they clapped their appreciation. He stood and bowed with a flourish.

Clearly, there were facets to his personality she hadn’t considered. Maybe he wasn’t a complete wretch. Maybe he had a few attributes that might make him worth knowing.

She wandered away, ambling down the verandah to return to the party. Before she reached the door, a man emerged, and she was unnerved to discover it was Mr. Drake. He was alone, Mrs. Nipton nowhere in sight.

He walked to the stairs as if he would proceed down into the garden. His path took him directly by her, and she braced, recognizing that this was the exact sort of encounter for which Barbara had been preparing her.

Amelia flicked her wrist, her fan whipping open precisely on cue. She waved it slowly, then started toward him. He nodded a greeting, not really seeing her, and she murmured, “Hello, Mr. Drake. Fancy meeting you here.”

He frowned, stumbled to a halt, and whirled around. He appeared greatly confused.

“Miss...Hubbard?”

“Yes?”

Evidently, she’d rendered him speechless. He searched for something to say, but couldn’t decide what it should be. Eventually, almost in accusation, he snarled, “What happened to you?”

“What happened?” she innocently replied. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play games with me, Miss Hubbard. You’re wearing a very expensive gown, and your hair is...” He was at a loss to describe her intricate coif, so he simply pointed at it. “What have you done to yourself?”

“I’m attending Lord Penworth’s ball, Mr. Drake. I could hardly come looking like a pauper.”

“You
are
a pauper, and I know my father. He’s much too miserly to have bought you any clothes.”

She chuckled and cooled her face with the fan. “No, he definitely didn’t buy me any clothes.”

“So where did you get them?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business. We’re not affianced. In fact, we’re not connected in any way at all, so you have no right to inquire, and you certainly have no duty to worry.”

“Are you still my father’s guest?”

“No.”

She moved away as if she’d continue on, but to her delight and amazement, he rested a hand on her arm to stop her.

“Where are you staying then?”

“With a...friend.”

“What friend?”

“Again, Mr. Drake, it really isn’t any of your business.”

“Perhaps not,” he agreed, “but you’re so naïve and unsophisticated.”

“If you keep complimenting me like that, I’ll get a big head.”

“You’re strolling around by yourself. You’re a lamb among the wolves.”

“Yes,” she grinned, “and I’ve met some very handsome, very rich wolves too. I’m having the night of my life.”

“Husband hunting, are you?”

“Absolutely,” she concurred, and she wasn’t lying.
He
was the husband she was hunting. He just didn’t realize it.

He pulled her nearer, and it was thrilling to stand next to him. He exuded a stimulating energy that charged the air—as if sparks might ignite.

“Where are you staying?” he demanded again, his voice low and urgent. “Who is this new...
friend
of yours?”

“Lord Penworth’s mother. I’m sure you’ve heard of her.”

He actually gasped. “You’re staying with Barbara Middleton?”

“Yes, and she’s teaching me everything she knows.”

His jaw dropped, as Barbara had hoped it would, and if Amelia hadn’t been working so diligently to seem calm and unaffected, she’d have laughed at his reaction.

“You can’t associate her!” he hissed.

“Why not?”

“She’s notorious. You’ll ruin your reputation.”

“Well, it’s mine to ruin, isn’t it? You declined our engagement, so it’s not as if I have any prospects.”

“But Barbara Middleton! Are you insane?”

“No. I’m having quite an enormous amount of fun.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know what to say, Miss Hubbard.”

“Don’t say anything. It’s none of your affair if I have friends of whom you don’t approve.”

“You’re racing down a very bad road.”

“Yes, and I expect I’ll crash before it’s all through.”

He studied her, assessing her dress, his hot attention focused on her bared bosom.

“What happened to the schoolteacher you were last week?” he asked.

“She was too boring. I buried her.”

“I believe, Miss Hubbard, that you’ve gone stark raving mad.”

“Yes. Isn’t it grand?”

She stepped in even closer so the front of her body was pressed to his for the briefest second. The charged air surrounding them sizzled with a heated intensity.

“It was lovely to see you,” she said, “but I’m very busy, and I must be off.”

She sauntered away, but she could feel his eyes locked on her bottom, and she bit down another grin. Barbara insisted men were thick creatures, and she was right. Amelia had simply exposed too much flesh, and Mr. Drake was bumbling like an idiot.

“Miss Hubbard!” he snapped from behind her.

“What?” She threw him a lazy look over her shoulder.

“You haven’t heard the end of this.”

“The end of what?”

“You have no father to guide you.”

“No, I don’t.”

“So...as your prior fiancé, I must warn you of the dangers you’re facing in befriending Barbara.”

“I understand the dangers, Mr. Drake,” she blithely quipped. “Barbara explained them all, so you needn’t fret about me. I’m fine.”

She swept inside without glancing back.

* * * *

“Is she at home?”

“Yes, Mr. Drake, she’s at home.”

“And...?”

“She’s not receiving visitors, but she’ll make an exception for you.”

“Wonderful.”

“If you’ll come with me?”

Barbara Middleton’s butler gestured to the stairs, but Lucas didn’t move.

“Where are we going?”

“Miss Hubbard is not dressed for company.”

“I thought you said she’d make an exception for me.”

“She will—in her boudoir.”

“Her boudoir?”

Lucas was so shocked that he nearly sputtered with outrage.

After bumping into Miss Hubbard the previous evening, he’d fussed and fumed all night. Then, first thing this morning, he’d forced himself to his father’s so he could find out what was occurring.

Apparently, Mrs. Middleton had asked to assume control of Miss Hubbard, and Lord Sidwell had agreed. He’d handed her over to Middleton without mulling the ramifications.

From what Lucas could surmise, Miss Hubbard had been staying with Mrs. Middleton for five days, and she was already inviting male callers up to her boudoir. It wasn’t even referred to as a bedchamber.

There were so many aspects wrong with the current situation that his head was spinning. Partially from Miss Hubbard’s swift plunge from the straight and narrow, but also from his trying to figure out why—precisely—it mattered to him.

She was his father’s mess, his father’s problem. Lucas had been very clear that he didn’t consider himself betrothed, so why would he care if she was flaunting herself to every libertine in the city?

He supposed his change of attitude was because of his recent encounter with his cousin, Rose Ralston. She’d been in dire straits and had begged him for assistance, which he’d been too lazy to provide. Due to his refusal, she’d suffered numerous catastrophes that could have been avoided if he’d been a tad more concerned about her. Her plight had given him a whole new perspective as to the perils of a woman who was alone in the world.

Miss Hubbard had fallen in with awful companions, and Lucas felt duty-bound to offer counsel, to save her from herself. The only other man available for the task was his father and that was the same as having no one at all.

Lucas would speak with her. He’d be firm and adamant and would furnish her with an opinion based on years of rough living and low reputation. Miss Hubbard needed to be showered with a heavy dose of reality, and she needed it right away.

But in her boudoir? In the middle of the afternoon? Why wasn’t she up?

He
was the hedonist.
He
was the type who caroused all night and slept all day. She should have been out shopping, strolling in the park, and making social calls. And the fact that she wasn’t, that she was still lounging in her bedchamber, underscored the necessity for his immediate intervention.

“If you’ll follow me, Mr. Drake?” the butler said.

“Show me the way,” Lucas replied with no small amount of aggravation.

The butler started off, and Lucas stomped along behind. They wound up the stairs to the rear section of the house, and Lucas took it all in—his fury growing with each stride.

Mrs. Middleton was an adulterer and trollop who had abandoned her family for decades, then had returned and wormed herself into her son’s life. Lucas had never met her, but her son, John, had gone to school with Aaron. John was very much like Aaron, stern, inflexible, unbending.

How John had ever let down his guard sufficiently to allow his mother to slither back was a mystery. He’d bought her her own residence, and it was beautifully appointed with bright colors and foreign influences, the exact sort of décor Lucas would have predicted such an unsuitable, unstable female would have purchased.

They stopped at the end of a quiet hall, and as the butler knocked on the door, Lucas heard feminine laughter from the other side.

“Miss Hubbard?” the butler said.

“Yes?” she answered.

“Mr. Drake is here.”

“Send him in. Make him comfortable in the sitting room. I’ll join him shortly.”

The butler motioned for Lucas to enter, and he stepped into what were obviously her private quarters. An extravagantly wasteful fire burned in the grate even though it was a perfectly warm summer afternoon.

There was a table in the corner, several decanters of wine and glasses laid out as if she was expecting many guests. With her having attended Penworth’s ball with Mrs. Middleton, she’d stirred plenty of interest. Lucas wouldn’t be surprised if half the men in London came sniffing around to get a better look.

Though he didn’t understand why, the prospect irked him enormously.

He went over to the table, poured himself a glass of wine, and plopped down in a chair to wait.

Presently, Miss Hubbard called, “Is that you, Mr. Drake.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

He glanced over as she pushed the bedroom door shut, but it didn’t close all the way. He could see into the room through a narrow crack. She was walking about, and he managed some quick glimpses of her.

To his astonishment, she was wrapped in a towel, as if she’d just climbed out of a bathing tub. Her arms were bare, her calves and feet were bare. Her lush brunette hair was piled high on her head, a few tendrils falling out of the combs to brush her shoulders.

He was viewing much more of her than he should have, and she didn’t realize he was. He told himself to be a gentleman and not watch, but he’d never been a gentleman and wasn’t about to adopt new habits at the ripe old age of twenty-five.

Shocking him even more, she dropped the towel, giving him a stunning peek at her curvaceous backside before she hastily moved out of sight. A moment later, she sauntered into the sitting room, having donned a slinky silk robe and nothing else. She’d pulled the combs from her hair, so the lengthy strands tumbled down in wild disarray.

She was gorgeous and sexy and completely different from the drab schoolteacher she’d been at Sidwell Manor. The changes were disturbing, were jarring, were...arousing. There! He’d admitted it. His cock was hard as stone.

“You caught me at a bad time,” she claimed. “I was bathing.”