“You would do best to avoid guessing, your grace.”
Sebastian winced. “Right then, shall we?” His outstretched hand was invitation enough. She grasped it purposefully and flashed him a smile she knew her sister was famous for—the one that caused men to swear and women to gossip.
“Ah, I see Emma’s taught you well. Now, keep those smiles to yourself while I spin you around, and see if you can’t manage to enjoy yourself without manipulating everyone in the room.”
The rub.
Abigail twirled and twirled, but her mind hadn’t forgotten that Rawlings was in her vicinity. Awareness prickled down her spine, when suddenly the music stopped. Sebastian escorted her to the side of the room, away from other guests. Bending over her hand, he kissed it and left her to her own devices. Which was an entirely awful idea. He was obviously distracted to a fault. She laughed to herself. What a terrible chaperone the Angel Duke made.
****
Spellbound, Phillip watched. Strangely beautiful, immensely graceful. It seemed that the room had faded. It was her.
Only her.
Well, only her and that blasted Whitmore she was dancing with. Carefully, Phillip wove around the crush of bodies, finally stopping mere feet away from her and the dandy she was dancing with.
Whitmore threw a wolfish grin in Phillip’s direction then whispered something to the girl that caused her to laugh. But, he noted, she did not seem focused on Whitmore one bit. No her gaze scrutinized the crowds, looking for something. Dare he hope to be the object of her search?
He continued to watch. As her spell began to weave into his soul, he realized he was powerless to stop the feeling of rapture that descended into his chest. Entranced like never before, he took a step and then another. As he edged closer, it was as if the universe was communicating with him in some off-handed way.
Blonde hair cascaded across her bare shoulders. The siren smiled, a pronounced dimple appearing on one side of her face. Musical laughter poured out of her as she tilted her head back and closed her eyes, lost in the dance.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if this was the girl Whitmore was now betrothed to.
When the dance ended, she looked up at him. Their gazes locked for a lost moment, nearly stealing the breath from his chest. He held out his hand and waited, for the invitation was obvious even without being spoken. With a brilliant smile, she curtsied to Whitmore and took Phillip’s outstretched hand. He pulled her away from the crowds toward the gardens outside. Once they were away from the crush, she reached out to stop him.
“So you’ve found me after all? Did I not say we would see each other again soon?”
“Yes, I—”
“Ah, Rawlings!” Sebastian’s voice interrupted what he was about to say, irritating him to his very core. Could the blasted Angel Duke have timed it any worse? “I see you’ve been reacquainted then?”
Phillip blanched.
The siren lifted a haughty eyebrow in his direction.
So, his assumption was correct. He was going to be called out, and by Tempest no less. It seemed he would be on the opposite end of a pistol after all.
Sebastian gave him an odd look then addressed the girl in question. “You’ll have to excuse Lord Rawlings, my dear. Seems he was out in the rain this morning. Been out of sorts ever since.”
What the devil was she about? Had the world suddenly gone mad? Why wasn’t Tempest hitting him, and who was this glorious creature in front of him? The duke had said reacquainted. Phillip had assumed he meant from their previous assignation that morning. He suspected it had somehow gotten out that he and the beautiful temptress had shared a kiss in the rain. But then again, if it had been found out, Tempest wouldn’t be smiling like some idiotic fool.
It couldn’t get much worse.
“Tempest, there you are!” Renwick yelled above the crush.
Brilliant. Proven wrong yet again.
Lady Renwick followed her husband through the swarms of people and joined Phillip, Tempest, and the siren—for he didn’t know what to call her other than the name his dreams and lust had given her earlier that day.
“So how have all of you managed to become acquainted?” Phillip inquired, searching the eager faces around him for some hint as to the identity of the woman next to him.
Nicholas laughed and was the first to answer. “I do say, Phillip, haven’t known you to be such a wit.”
And yet, Phillip did not smile, nor did he laugh. It seemed impossible, but in that moment his eyebrows furrowed even more.
“Abigail. There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. How dare you leave your sister on the eve of your first ball.” The duchess rushed to her side and gave her a pinch in the arm before turning her attention to a very stunned and speechless Phillip.
“Rawlings, I have plans for you. I am sure my husband has shared my desire to see you wed?” Emma gave him a calculating gaze. Waiting, or so it seemed, for him to cower and nod his head.
Instead, Phillip was unable to speak. He was rendered mute as five curious sets of eyes darted in his direction. Being paralyzed was something out of the ordinary for the normally rakish Phillip Rawlings. Brain clear as mud, he opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Sebastian.
“Take pity on him, dear. He was out in the rain all morning.”
Emma grunted. “Why the devil were you in the rain?”
“Yes, my lord, why were you in the rain?” Abigail spoke up. All doe-eyed and innocent. Every gaze turned to her. What he wouldn’t give for the opportunity to spank that bottom of hers. Unfortunately, the image did nothing but give him a tightening in his groin and an all-around appalling feeling that he was lusting after Abigail, the girl in pigtails he used to tease. Abigail, who was seven years his junior. Abigail, his siren’s call, the woman who had kissed him in the park.
In that moment, Phillip decided to speak, and said the only thing he could manage without cursing or making an absolute spectacle of himself. “I think I need another drink.”
Chapter Four
My dear readers, it has come to my attention that the devil himself was dancing with the beautiful and innocent sister to the Duchess of Tempest. It begs the question, just where was her chaperone and what interest does the wicked man have? Some say they are family friends. Appalled they would even associate with such a heathen. Ladies, since it appears that the lecherous Earl of Rawlings will make a late manifestation this Season, might I suggest taking your prayer books along with you to the rest of the events?
—Mrs. Peabody’s Society Papers
Abigail could tell Rawlings was more than a little irritated with her. A look of fear seemed to flash across his face as well. It hadn’t occurred to her that he would be so upset. She hated to admit how it pricked her pride that he would be so irritated in her presence. It reminded her of days when she was younger, when she was left out of the games they so often played without her.
Childhood memories came rushing back. Managing a large smile, she swallowed pride and fear and asked him to escort her. She knew full well that if he said no, he would be inviting more questions, and the others would wonder if he was ill after all that sitting in the rain. Rawlings glowered at her, then offered his arm to her. Triumphantly, she accepted but did not speak until they were out of earshot.
“That was close,” she said.
Rawlings stopped abruptly. “Close? What are you trying to do, Abby? Ruin yourself completely before your first real Season on the marriage mart?” She watched, entranced by the way anger flashed in his crystal blue eyes. Men like Rawlings were dangerous. He moved with a panther-like grace unmatched by any man. Broad and muscular shoulders framed his body. Abigail had never seen a pirate, but she guessed they all looked exactly like Rawlings. All he needed was an eye patch and a sword in his belt. Dark hair curled around his ears, not at all in the current style. His appearance gave the casual observer the perception that he was anything but concerned about his manner of dress and his devil-may-care manner.
Rawlings broke eye contact and looked away. Entranced she watched his long fingers stretch around a crystal glass. Rawlings’ gaze seemed to scour the room, searching for anything and everyone but her.
“Why won’t you look at me?”
Cold blue eyes locked with hers, but it wasn’t the way she wanted him to look at her. In fact it was the exact opposite of what she expected. Lust, desire, desperation—that’s what she wanted to see. Instead, his face held no emotion but anger, and dare she suspect, irritation at her presence. Obviously he needed her more than she realized. Muscles tensed across his jaw.
Finally he spoke. “We will not discuss what happened in the park with anyone. Do you understand, Abby? I won’t have your reputation ruined. You do realize that even standing by me will cause enough gossip to last the rest of the Season.”
“Because you’re such a rake?” she offered.
“Because I’m the devil himself. Now go off and dance with a man your own age, and do not make me regret my decision not to say anything to your sister. Debutantes do not run around throwing themselves at strangers.”
Abigail stepped closer; his breath hitched in his throat. “But you’re no stranger. I’ve known you since I was just a girl in pigtails, remember? Surely being by your side cannot damage my reputation.” She laughed and leaned in a little closer. “It’s not as if I’m kissing you right now.”
****
Blast! So this was to be his punishment for leading such a debauched life? Seduced by an innocent of only one and eight? Phillip closed his eyes in vain effort to break his gaze from Abby’s face. She was beautiful. He hated to admit that even if he had known her identity, it would have taken Herculean effort for him not to give in to that kiss.
Luscious lips formed such a delicate mouth, begging to be kissed and suckled—a mouth that any man would kill to touch. Although petite, her body managed to have curves in all the right places. Swearing under his breath, he was unable to stop the betrayal of his dishonorable eyes as they raked over the succulent curve of her br**sts. Her simple white muslin dress left nothing to the imagination as it wrapped around her body provocatively, giving the impression that she would fit quite perfectly in his arms.
“Abby, go away.” His voice was husky. Oh, death take him, he could smell her. Intoxicating essence of rose water floated from her skin—it was magnificent. A tendril of silky blonde hair fell from her simple coiffure, making contact with her white shoulder. And that neck. Lust pounded through his veins; he was so angry and blasted aroused, he couldn’t see straight.
Naturally, Abby did not move a muscle, except to lift her arm to pull at the silky tendril and wrap it around a delicate finger. Could a man die this way? With a woman so tempting he might sell everything he owns for one night with her?
“I will not.”
“Will not?” What were they discussing again?
“Go away.” She smiled encouragingly. “I will not. I want to dance.”
Phillip scowled. “A lovely idea. Let me find someone of a suitable age and you’ll be off.”
“With you.” She touched his hand briefly.