Page 12 of Escape of the Scoundrel (Escape #1)

A s Sanderly’s gloved fingers closed over hers, the other men muttered behind her. Harriet did not care.

She walked just a little shakily beside him to the centre of the empty dance floor.

Why is no one else here?

As though she had asked aloud, Sanderly answered. “Your—er...suitors were so busy competing with each other, that they are only now making a dash to find other partners who will almost all feel insulted. Everyone else was too busy gawping at the indecent scene around you.”

Other couples were walking onto the floor at last, so she did not feel quite so exposed.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I did not handle it well. There were just suddenly so many of them, so close... It reminded me—” She broke off for his eyelids swept down suddenly.

At the pianoforte, Lady Grandison began to play the introduction. So that is where she went . Harriet did not exactly jump when Sanderly’s arm encircled her waist, his hand resting lightly at her back, but it felt like a jolt of electricity, causing her breath to catch in shock. She laid her fingers very warily, very lightly on his shoulder.

“It reminded you of the inn,” he said tonelessly, although she glimpsed an odd bleakness in his eyes.

“Oh, no,” she blurted. “Actually, you saved me from that too, because it was just beginning when you shooed them all away.”

“What was just beginning?”

“My foolish panic. When I was very small, I got lost in a busy market and was foolishly frightened amongst all the noise and the press of people, and when they noticed and tried to be kind to me and find out who I was with, it was even worse because they all spoke at once and I could not understand any of them, just that they were strangers pulling me this way and that, and there were so many of them I could not breathe .”

At some point during her tale, they had begun to dance. It began so smoothly she had barely been aware of it for the shame of her confession. She merely followed him blindly, instinctively. Now she realized how wonderful it felt, moving and turning with him in perfect unison. She had never felt so graceful, so...

Oh goodness, I am drowning in those eyes. No man should have eyes so very beautiful ... “You knew about my stupid upset, didn’t you? Both times.”

“I used it,” he corrected. “Particularly the first time. I believe I really do apologize for the assault.”

“It was nothing,” she said dismissively, even while heat crept into her face. “Just a kiss.”

To her surprise, laughter blazed into his eyes, lightening his whole face. “A knock-out blow, Miss Cole. I concede.”

“To what? What did I say?”

“However ill he behaves, no man likes his attentions to be described as nothing or just a kiss . Even if you are angry, we expect you to be secretly overwhelmed with pleasure and gratitude.”

Harriet, whose memory of the kiss was so vivid that she could almost feel it now on her mouth, said hastily, “At all events, you dance excellently. I have forgotten I never waltzed before this evening.”

“My self-respect is restored.”

She laughed and he spun her around to the music. A sense of magic began to creep over her, a happiness that had no cause except the man who held her, who brought this physical exhilaration she had never experienced in dancing. They talked occasionally, with touches of humour and fun, but mostly she just felt and wished the dance could go on forever.

This is the happiest I will ever be ...

“It is ending,” he said at last. “Shall I take you in to supper or restore you to your godmother? Or even my sister who will probably keep you safe.”

She could not bear it to end. She did not want to be with anyone else.

“I believe I would appreciate a little fresh air.”

“To avoid the first crush of the dining room.”

“Yes,” she said gratefully, although it was not true. “Besides, it is not so long since we dined.”

She supposed he was practiced at slipping quietly away from crowds with the woman of his choice. Somehow that didn’t matter either. Only being with him mattered. No one else here would advise her to trust him. And yet she did.

Mingling with the crowd, somehow never letting them get too close, he guided her in the vague direction of Lady Grandison, then quietly through the adjoining door to the garden room.

As the door closed behind her, she was in darkness. Removing her hand from his arm, he held it and drew her forward as though he could see perfectly well. Perhaps he could, for they bumped into nothing. She was barely aware of her surroundings, only of him .

A curtain swished and moonlight shone through the glass. A bolt slid back and a breeze stirred her hair as she stepped outside onto the terrace.

Still he held her hand and she was too happy to withdraw it. They stood very close together, gazing upward at the moon, at the silver glow it cast over the terraced lawns and the lake beyond, at the gently rustling trees on the other side.

Her ears sang with silence. His warmth invaded her, his clean, masculine scent of citrus and earth beguiled her. A strange, delicious weakness was seeping through her, and yet along with it came desperate longing, a need so powerful that she didn’t know what to do with it.

“Better?” he asked, his voice soft as ever, yet oddly husky. Could he feel it too, this magic, this wonder?

Of course he does not. He is a man of the world who has known a hundred women. He only feels sorry for me, and perhaps ashamed.

She didn’t want him to be ashamed.

“Much better,” she replied. Her heart thundered in her breast as though trying to beat its way out.

Involuntarily, she tightened her grip on his hand and felt his thumb glide across her palm in an absent caress. Or did he mean it? Probably not, for he made no move to take her in his arms. When had his mere company become not enough? Despite what everyone thought of him, he was too kind, too honourable, to take advantage of her.

“I didn’t mind, you know,” she blurted.

At least he turned his head to look at her. By the light of the moon and the candlelight seeping from the drawing room windows, she could make out the sharp bones and deep hollows of his cheeks, the glittering of his ridiculously beautiful eyes.

“Mind what?”

“Your kissing me. I know I should, because you only did it to be insolent and annoy your friends, and to secretly give me your key to be safe, which was extraordinarily kind. But I regard it as a new experience. No one has ever kissed me before like that.”

“Then is the matter done with?” he asked softly. “Or would you like to experience it again?”

She swallowed. “Again, if you please.”

His lips quirked. He turned toward her, raising her hand which he placed on his shoulder before tipping up her chin with one gloved finger. He bent his head slowly, giving her time to escape, perhaps, but she only parted her lips in anticipation. She felt his quickened breath on her cheek, her chin, caught a hint of wine...

Oh God, do it, kiss me!

She would have reached up to press her lips to his, if only to break the tension, only she was afraid of ruining the moment.

If the moment ever came.

“You are too sweet,” he said huskily. “I should not touch you.”

“You are touching me,” she pointed out. Stupid, stupid...

His lips curved in his rare, genuine smile, laughing at her perhaps, but she did not care for his mouth finally touched hers, a soft, gentle glide that deprived her of breath and made her stomach leap. Then she gasped as his warm hand closed around her nape—when had he removed his glove?—and his mouth fastened, soft and gentle and utterly devastating.

It was nothing like the kiss at the inn, which had been insolent, arrogant. This one gave , caressed and coaxed. In wonder, she let him explore with his lips, even kissed him back. Her whole stomach melted into delicious weakness. Deep, sensual pleasure flowed through her from his mouth into hers. The touch of his tongue, the slow, invasive caress of his lips...

The kiss grew stronger, deeper. The touch of his body sent flame licking through her. She slid her hand from his shoulder to his nape, grasping at his hair. And still he kissed her, on and on. And she kissed him back with every instinct she possessed, praying it would never end.

It had to, of course, if only to let them draw breath. When his mouth finally released hers, she seemed to have difficulty opening her eyes, afraid she had dreamed the whole thing. But no, his warmth was still here. His arm lay solidly at her back, his fingers still now on her neck, his chest against her breasts. She fluttered her eyelids open, and there were his amazing eyes, fixed on hers with an unguarded expression that looked like...bewilderment.

He raised his head, his lashes closing down like a veil, while slowly enough for it to appear reluctant, he loosened his arms and dropped them to his side.

“Well,” he said. “An experience for us both. I assure you I will treasure mine. You had best go back alone. I don’t believe I have upset your hair or your gown—such astonishing restraint on my part—though I would seize some lemonade to cool your rosy lips. Goodnight, Miss Cole.”

Dismissed.

It was not obedience that turned her away from him. It was sudden pain and a kind of stunned indignation. He had reduced the beauty of their moment back to the insolence of the inn, which at least she knew how to deal with. She might not have the key to his room this time, but she knew how to walk away.

And yet as she did so, head high, with deliciously tingling lips and devastation in her heart, she knew it was he who was really walking away.

***

S ANDERLY HATED HIMSELF .

He was used to that, though not to the strength and fury of this surge. He had known not to touch her, not after that first time at the inn had unnerved him. And yet, like a fool, he had given in to it just because she wanted it. Because she liked him.

Idiot. The girl was nineteen years old, though she might as well have been Lily’s age for all the experience she had of the world. She probably thought he would marry her now, but dear God, she did not deserve that fate.

He had to get away from here. Africa had never shouted so loudly. Time to pack. Again.

Only, he still couldn’t. Because of Bab and her damned mess and the duel that had seemed her only way out. Perhaps Grandison and Martindale would sort out some reconciliation between them, though they would have to find a way that still spiked Illsworth’s guns.

Could that be done with threats and oaths and solicitors’ letters? He had better find James and direct him. Then, with luck, he could be gone in the morning, and never trouble Harriet Cole again.

But she had troubles that did not involve him. She had unspeakable Cousin Randolph, and her only honourable escape from him—as she saw it—drudgery in a school that may or may not agree to house and educate her sisters.

These thoughts took him twice around the outside of the house at high speed. He re-entered via the small terrace where the children had had tea and into the main hall. He strode purposefully toward the staircase, where he met Grandison coming down.

Sanderly did not expect people to look pleased to see him, and Grandison didn’t.

Sanderly bowed slightly. “I wonder if you could spare me a few minutes of your time, sir?”

Grandison scowled. “I have already given enough of my time this evening to the nonsense of this duel, and I have no desire to waste any more.”

“Actually, it isn’t about the duel, though I apologize for that. It seemed the only solution, as I hope Martindale has already explained to you.”

Grandison regarded him with some suspicion, for he had forgotten to drawl and sneer. There seemed to be no time for such charades.

“Come into my study,” Sir John said abruptly and stalked across the hall, leaving Sanderly to trail after him.

The study, revealed as Grandison lit the nearest lamp and turned it up, was a small but comfortable room with a desk and chair, shelves full of ledgers and pamphlets, and two comfortable leather armchairs which Grandison indicated with a gesture of one hand.

Sanderly sat.

“Brandy?” Grandison said, sloshing liquid from an old decanter into two glasses without waiting for a reply.

“Thank you,” Sanderly said politely, which earned him another glance of suspicion.

“Martindale told me about the insult to his wife, your sister. I never realized Illsworth was such a scoundrel, and I quite understand the necessity of discreet satisfaction. However, I will tell you what I told Martindale. I will not have my wife’s hospitality abused in such a way. You must take your quarrel elsewhere. Though you may be assured Illsworth will not be invited or received again.”

“Your friends are your own business, sir. I would not presume to interfere. And I shall meet Illsworth beyond the boundary of your land if you tell me precisely where that is.”

“For such a purpose, the boundary is imaginary,” Grandison snapped. “The world will know the quarrel began here at Grand Court.”

Sanderly took a sip of brandy. “The world need not know at all. I don’t propose to make the event something Illsworth will ever brag about, and the discretion of Martindale and myself is assured. I regret I cannot offer you more than that if I am to shut Illsworth’s malicious mouth before I leave the country.”

Grandison frowned. “I have just given you the best excuse I can not to fight him at all. Am I to understand you do not wish me to reconcile you?”

Sanderly twisted his lips. “Is that what you thought I wanted of you? What a paltry fellow I am. No, my business with you is quite other. Well, strictly speaking it is not my business at all. I understand Miss Cole is your wife’s goddaughter. She appears to be a somewhat quixotic creature, so I am not certain she has explained to you or your wife precisely how her cousin has behaved toward her family.”

“Precisely? No. But I know enough. What is your interest, my lord?”

“Oh, I have none. I merely have a quite uncharacteristic dislike of bullies, and I am fairly sure this Randolph is one such creature. I am equally certain that he is abusing his position, probably with more than mere unkindness as his motive, and that the involvement of solicitors in their affairs would be beneficial to Miss Cole and her family.”

“I have already written to my solicitors,” Grandison said stiffly. “I believe I know my duty to my wife’s goddaughter.”

Sanderly leaned forward and set his glass down on the desk. “In that case, I shall trouble you no further on the matter. I propose to be out of your hair by the day after tomorrow. Unless you can persuade Martindale—and Illsworth—that the involvement of solicitors in keeping his lordship’s malicious person away from my sister is also better than duelling. If you manage that—and I am aware it is a tall order—your reward will be my departure a day early.” He rose and bowed. “My thanks for your time. Good evening.”