On a Wild Night c-8 Page 4

  "How fascinating." Helen opened her eyes wide, then smiled. "Very well. You have my permission to dispense your favors as you wish-not that you'd listen to any edicts otherwise. But beware!" She slanted him an arch glance as she turned to greet another guest. "You know what they say of rakehells visited by a sudden urge to reform."

  He didn't know and didn't need to. The warning faded from his mind as he ambled through the crowd, ostensibly looking the ladies over, in truth watching just one.

  She hadn't seen him, or so it appeared; he'd yet to see her gaze turn his way and she'd given no sign of recognition. She continued to engage the three others and Carmarthen, although he was looking more worried than entranced.

  Martin had to admit she was a dab hand at entrancing. Her smiles, her laughter-which he couldn't hear but wished he could-the lively chatter, the gaiety dancing in her eyes, all served to project the persona of a confident young lady brimming with sparkling, bubbling charm. Indeed, she reminded him of the very best champagne, fine wine subtly effervescent, deepened by just the right touch of age to the point where it promised liquid gold on the tongue and glory to the senses.

  He couldn't tell if she knew he was present. Couldn't tell if his suspicion that her current situation had been staged with him specifically in mind owed more to his arrogance than reality.

  His prowl carried him beyond her line of sight. The crowd between them thinned; he could see her clearly, yet she didn't turn his way. Instead, she laughed-light, airy, a sound both joyous and earthy, it carried to him. Caressed him, enticed him, as it did the other men before her.

  It didn't matter if she'd schemed to capture his attention. She had it.

  Amanda felt him approach; like a storm sweeping in, his very nearness had her tensing. The sensation unnerved her; she fought not to whirl and face what her senses screamed was danger-if she did, she'd give her game away. Then he halted beside her, his towering figure excuse enough for her to break off her tale and glance his way.

  She let recognition flow across her face, let pleasure light her eyes. No difficulty there-he looked even more sinfully handsome in full light, in more formal attire than he'd worn the previous night. She smiled and held out her hand. "My lord."

  Brazenly, she left it at that-let him, and the others, make of it what they would. He took her hand and she curtsied. He raised her; eyes on hers, he inclined his head. "Miss Cynster."

  Her smile ingenuous, she struggled to keep her fingers from fluttering in his, too wise to attempt to retrieve her hand until he deigned to let her go.

  He released her; she drew in a quick breath and launched into the introductions. "And I believe you'll remember Mr. Carmarthen."

  "Indeed."

  Reggie favored him with a wary look and a polite nod. Dexter's gaze lingered on Reggie's face, then he turned it, smoothly, on her. "I admit to surprise at encountering you here. I thought, after your most recent foray into such realms, caution would… how does that saying go?… overcome valor?"

  He's here! He's here! And he took the bait! Her eyes locked on his, Amanda ruthlessly cut off the delirious litany; he might be here, but he wasn't yet snared. And if she wasn't careful, she might be the one in a coil.

  As if pleased he'd remembered their last meeting, she smiled. "I did toy with the notion of attending Lady Sutcliffe's ball, yet"-she swept her smile over her three now earnest would-be cavaliers-"formal engagements do pall when one has spent so many years in the ballrooms." She glanced again at Dexter. "It seems a waste not to avail oneself of the more varied divertissements offered by such as her ladyship. So much more entertaining. I daresay you find it so yourself?"

  Martin held her gaze and debated whether to call her bluff. "My tastes, admittedly, lie somewhat beyond the diversions provided by the ton's hostesses. However, I wouldn't have imagined such esoteric distractions would hold much allure for a young lady such as you." Her chin lifted, her eyes sparkled, with challenge, with humor. "On the contrary, my lord. I've a definite taste for wilder pastimes." Her smile confiding, she briefly touched his sleeve. "I daresay you haven't heard, living retired as you do."

  "Wilder pastimes, heh?" Cranbourne grabbed the opening. "Heard a tale of wild doings at Mrs. Croxton's last night."

  "Indeed?" Amanda turned to Cranbourne.

  Martin watched as she encouraged all three gentlemen to dazzle her with their wildest suggestions. He might live "retired" but he knew what he was seeing. Carmarthen was growing increasingly nervous. Yet if he, Dexter, bowed and walked away, would she continue on this path? If he declined to be her protector, would she go on without one? What sort of net was she weaving-how much was true, how much for his confusion?

  Not that it mattered; he was more than capable of dealing with her whatever tack she took. And she clearly needed someone to watch over her, someone with more muscle than dear Reggie.

  Cranbourne, Fitzgibbon and Walter were intent; given how long she'd spent allowing them to entertain her, they'd expect her shortly to choose from among them. And contrary to what she was expecting, accustomed as she was to the rules pertaining in ballroom and drawing room, a charming dismissal would not be well received.

  Reaching out, he took her hand; surprised, she glanced his way, throwing Walter, concluding some tale, off his stride. "My dear, I promised Helen-Lady Hennessey-that, given this is your first visit, I would make sure you became acquainted with all she has to offer." He looked into Amanda's blue eyes as he placed her hand on his sleeve. "It's time we strolled on, or you'll never see all before dawn." He glanced at Walter, Cranbourne and Fitzgibbon. "I'm sure these gentlemen will excuse you."

  They had little choice; none was game to challenge one of Helen's edicts, a fact Martin had counted on. The three made their adieus, then withdrew. Martin considered Reggie. "I believe Miss Cynster would like another glass of champagne."

  Reggie looked at Amanda.

  Who nodded, ringlets dancing. "Yes, I would."

  Frowning, Reggie flicked a glance at Martin. "Just as long as you don't do a bunk while I'm gone."

  Martin suppressed a grin; perhaps Reggie was not as spineless as he'd thought. "She'll be in this room, but we'll be strolling." He paused, eyes on Reggie's. "It's not wise to remain stationary for too long."

  He saw horrified comprehension dawn, then Reggie nodded. "Right. I'll find you." With a disapproving glance at Amanda, he headed for the secondary salon.

  Martin scanned the room, then lowered his arm and waved Amanda on before him. Keeping her hand on his arm-keeping her that close-would be unwise. He wanted it seen that she was under his protection in the social sense; the last thing he wanted was for her ladyship's guests to imagine that protection extended to a more personal state.

  As she walked ahead of him, tacking slowly through the crowd, she glanced back at him. "Are you really friends with Lady Hennessy?"

  "Yes." Helen was another who had the entree to the ton but had chosen to turn her back on it.

  Amanda slowed. "What did I do wrong?"

  He caught her eye, realized she meant the question to be as simple as it sounded. "If you spend much more than fifteen minutes conversing with one man, it will be inferred that you're interested in pursuing some of those wilder pastimes you mentioned with him."

  Her beautiful face blanked. "Oh." Facing forward, she continued their slow amble. "That's not what I intended."

  She paused to acknowledge a greeting; he performed three introductions before they moved on. Closing the distance between them, he bent his head and murmured, "What did you intend?"

  She stopped; he nearly walked into her. Halted with a bare inch between her shoulders and his chest, her silk-clad bottom and his thighs. She looked back and up at him, met his eyes.

  He fought an urge to slide his arms about her and draw her back against him.

  "I want to live a little before I grow old." She searched his eyes. "Is that a crime?"

  "If it is, half the world's guilty."

  She looked forward
and started strolling again. He took a firmer grip on his impulses, then followed. She glanced back. "I understand you've had a great deal of experience in 'living.'"

  "Not all of it pleasant."

  She waved airily. "I'm only interested in the pleasurable aspects."

  Her tone was straightforward, not facetious. She intended to seek out the pleasures of life while avoiding the pitfalls.

  If only life was that simple.

  They continued their peregrination, stopping to spend a few minutes in this circle or that before moving on again, she a foot before him, he prowling, relaxed but watchful, in her wake. He doubted she'd encountered many pitfalls to date; her faith in life, in its ultimate joy, remained undimmed. The light in her eyes, the exuberance of her smiles, all spoke of innocence intact.

  It was not his place to shatter it.

  Reaching an empty space by the side of the room, Amanda turned. "Actually, speaking of life's pleasures…"

  He halted before her, broad shoulders blocking her view of the room. He met her gaze, and raised a too-knowing, distinctly suspicious, odiously superior brow.

  She smiled up at him. "I was thinking I might ride the mare tomorrow morning. Early. In the park. Do you think your groom could oblige me?"

  He blinked, once; she smiled more brightly.

  And prayed it wasn't too soon to play that card. Elusive as he was, if she didn't set up another meeting, he might, after tonight, simply fade back into the shadows-and she would have tonight's work to do again.

  His face was unreadable. Eventually, he said, "Connor mentioned Upper Brook Street."

  "My parents' house is Number 12."

  He nodded. "I'll have my groom wait for you with the horses at the corner of Park Lane. After your ride, he'll return the mare to my stables."

  "Thank you." She smiled gratefully, too wise to suggest that she would much prefer his company to that of his groom's.

  "What time?"

  She wrinkled her nose. "Six o'clock."

  "Six?" Martin stared. It was nearly twelve now, and at six in the morning, the park would be deserted.

  "I'll need to return home before the regulars get about." She glanced up at him. "I don't want my cousins to see the horse and ask where I got her."

  "Your cousins?"

  "My male Cynster cousins. They're older than me. They're all married and have turned dreadfully stuffy."

  Martin inwardly kicked himself for not making the connection sooner. Admittedly, there were a lot of Cynsters, and he'd never heard of any girls. All the family members he'd previously encountered had been male.

  The Bar Cynster-that's what they'd been called. When he'd first come on the town they'd been little short of gods, lording it over the ton's ladies. But now they'd all married… he hadn't met a single one in the past year while he'd been creating his own fiefdom in the world in which they'd previously reigned supreme.

  He frowned. "You're first cousin to St. Ives?"

  She nodded, her gaze open, direct.

  If any of her cousins had been about, he would have handed her into their care forthwith, cutting short her adventures. Infinitely safer all around. However, she was here now and they weren't.

  They both turned as Reggie neared, a champagne flute in one hand.

  Lips compressed, Martin nodded. "Very well. Six o'clock at the corner of Park Lane."

  At six o'clock the next morning, it was dull, gray and cold. Amanda's heart soared as, perched on the exceedingly frisky mare, she trotted toward Mount Gate-and the figure perched atop a huge horse waiting impatiently under a tree just inside the gates.

  Clad in her riding habit, she'd slipped out of her parents' side door and hurried up the street. Reaching the corner, she'd found the groom waiting as arranged. Hopes dashed, she'd lectured herself against expecting too much too soon. Dexter knew she was out riding-one day he'd be tempted to join her.

  She'd apparently tempted him enough. Mounted on a magnificent roan gelding, Dexter held the fractious horse effortlessly, long, muscular thighs clamped to the beast's sides. He was wearing a conventional riding coat over buckskin breeches and boots; cantering up, she thought he looked wilder, definitely more dangerous than he had in evening clothes.

  His hair was rakishly disheveled, his gaze disconcertingly acute. He wasn't frowning, but looked distinctly grim. Joining him, she got the definite impression he wasn't pleased to be there.

  "Good morning, my lord. I didn't expect to have the pleasure of your company." She smiled sunnily, delighted to be able to make the comment truthfully. "Are you game for a gallop?"

  Martin eyed her impassively. "You'll find that I'm game for almost anything."

  Her smile brightened before she looked away. "Let's head down to the Row."

  Martin flicked a glance at his groom. "Wait here."

  They set out in unison, trotting across the lawns beneath the trees. She busied herself trying out the mare's paces. Martin watched, relieved to note she was a competent horsewoman-not that he'd seriously expected less from a Cynster, female or not.

  "From what Connor said, I take it your cousin-I can't remember which one-still has an active interest in horses."

  "Demon." She experimented with the mare's reins. "He's got a stud outside Newmarket, now. He breeds racehorses, and Flick rides them."

  "Flick?"

  "His wife, Felicity. She's a wonder with horses-she helps train them."

  Martin couldn't settle that image in his mind. The Demon Cynster he'd known would never have let a mere woman near his mounts. He shook that conundrum aside and refocused on the one at hand. "So if Demon sees the mare, he'll recognize her."

  "Even if someone else sees her and describes her. Nothing is more certain." Amanda glanced at him. "That's why I can only ride this early, when there's no one else about."

  Martin hid a grimace; he couldn't fault her reasoning. However, the knowledge that she would be riding in the deserted park had been enough to wake him even before the ungodly hour had arrived; the mental images evoked had made falling asleep again impossible. So here he was, despite the fact he'd had no intention of dancing attendance on her.

  He didn't delude himself that the next morning she rode would be any different.

  If the ton learned she was riding with him alone, so early in the morning, there would be whispers and raised brows aplenty, but she was an experienced, sensible, well-bred twenty-three-year-old; her reputation would be examined, but would not, by the fact of their riding alone in a public place, actually be blemished. Her family-her cousins-would not be pleased, but she and he would have to transgress more direfully to invite intervention.

  On the other hand, if her cousins learned that he'd known she was riding alone in the deserted park, and had done nothing beyond roll over and fall asleep, then, he was sure, he'd be the recipient of remarkably speedy intervention.

  He couldn't decide if it was a lucky circumstance that the latter scenario would never take place. The only fact that lightened his grim mood was the certainty that she hadn't realized what his position was. Her delight at finding him waiting for her had been transparently genuine; she hadn't counted on seeing him. At least he had that much rein to work with.

  He glanced at her as she made the mare prance, then dance, then drew the horse back into line.

  "She's wonderfully responsive."

  He looked at the sky-it was the color of black pearls, night softening its hold before the approaching dawn. "If we're going to gallop, we'd better get on."

  She set the mare for the tan track specially prepared for galloping. Turning onto it, she shot him a glance as he brought the roan alongside, then sprang the mare. She surprised him, but the roan went with her; the mare was fast but the roan's longer strides quickly closed the distance until they were riding neck and neck. The park was empty, silent and still as they thundered down the track. The roan would have outdistanced the mare but he held the horse back. So he could see her face, see the unfettered joy that lit her fea
tures, sense the exhilaration that gripped her.

  The heavy pounding of the hooves swept up and over them until it echoed in their blood. The air whipped past them, slicing through their hair, leaving skin tingling, eyes bright.

  She slowed; ahead the tan ended. They eased from gallop to canter, finally dropping to a walk; their mounts blew horsey breaths in the quiet stillness. Harness jingled as the roan shook his head; Martin turned back toward Mount Gate, running an expert eye over the mare as he did.

  She'd pulled up well. So had her rider.

  He'd seen too much feminine beauty to be easily susceptible, yet luxurious colors and even more textures never failed to catch his eye. Her velvet habit was the color of her eyes; he hadn't been able to appreciate the shade earlier but the light was strengthening-as she turned to him, smiling, dizzy with delight, he saw her clearly.

  Under a jaunty cap the same color as the habit, her hair caught the first light of dawn and reflected it in shades of pure gold. Last night, when the curls had been piled high, he'd imagined her hair to be shoulder-length. Now he could see it had to be longer-mid-back, at least. A display of sheening, lustrous curls, the mass was caught up, anchored under her cap, loose ends brushing her throat, wisps curling lovingly about her small ears.

  Her hair made his palms tingle.

  Her skin made him ache.

  The ride had tinged the flawless alabaster a delicate rose. He knew if he touched his lips to her throat, if he skated his fingers over her bare shoulder, he would be able to feel the heat of her blood coursing beneath that sumptuous skin. Knew desire would evoke the same effect. As for her lips, parted, rosy red…

  He dragged his eyes from her, looked across the park. "We'd better get back. The regulars will soon be arriving."

  Still catching her breath, she nodded and brought the mare in beside the roan. They walked, then trotted. They were within sight of the groom, waiting by the gates, when she murmured, "Lady Cavendish is hosting a dinner tonight-one of those affairs one has to attend."

  Martin told himself he was relieved. No need to feel obliged to play knight-protector tonight.