Page 33 of The Hellion is Tamed
She grew more vexed by the second as she counted off the things about him she found attractive—the dusting of freckles on his cheeks, the glints of gold in his hair, the fiercely stubborn jaw, the long eyelashes that were invitingly flaxen at the tips.
Heavens, he’s handsome, she thought wretchedly.
Perturbed, she glanced to the railing at her side, noted something winking in the moonlight atop it. Looking closer, hiding her squint because she did, perhaps, need spectacles. An etched cufflink, a pearl earbob, a silver match case. Lined up along the marble railing like soldiers. Her laugh came quickly, nothing like the delicate interjection the duchess had instructed her to use to remain a ghost in the room, never attracting attention. “Did you steal these?”
He gave his flute a heedless toss into the bushes lining the veranda and trailed his finger along the stone wall as if the rough texture pleased him, then, finally, picked up the cufflink. Rotated the trinket between his nimble fingers without once looking down. “It’s possible,” he answered, his smirk diabolical. She could see the rookery rapscallion, clear as the mud that had daily coated her boots in her old life. How had thetonmissed that? Why, sly thievery was written all over his face. “A reasonable bet if you decided to wager.”
Emma smiled and reached for the earbob. From society toff to street urchin in the blink of an eye.Thiswas the charming, unpredictable man she could love, she reasoned, remembering how he’d dealt with Jonesy, tossing him about like a sack of flour with a reprimand that sounded like the Queen’s English. “You’re cracked, Simon Alexander, simply mad.”
“They see what they want, now, don’t they? A bandit among them, but they have no clue.” He dusted his hand down his lapels with a shrug. “It’s the nifty clothing, the blue-blooded background Julian prepared like a sumptuous meal for their partaking. They consume without thinking.”
She stepped back, perching her bottom on the balustrade, positive this was a breach in etiquette. “They do, indeed,” she said, alarmed his thoughts so closely matched her own. It would be the perfect time to ask how to navigate this disingenuous life…but she didn’t have the courage to delve into weightier topics with that sizzling kiss sitting like one of his stolen objects between them.
The cufflink glinted in the moonlight with each pass through his fingers. He wasn’t wearing gloves, and she couldn’t help but remember the pair shoved beneath her pillow.
“Your venture to Bethnal Green to save Mollie’s sister was fruitful, Emma, darling. She never encountered Mason Thomas. You got to her first. But the threat was an enduring one, so we secured Katherine a position with a dressmaker on Bond Street. We’ve also posted a footman, who can creatively kill a man in a dozen ways, outside the shop and her residence.” He tossed the cufflink in the air and caught it in his fist. “But after my visit, I don’t think this Thomas fellow is going to darken her door again.Anywoman’s door if she doesn’t beg him to.”
Emma’s breath hitched at his daring—and his use of the worddarling. “You went to see him?”
He shook his head.Not going there.
“They’re whispering about you saving women in St Giles.” Emma popped off the railing, moving closer to him. Close enough for his scent, soap and bay leaves, to skim her nose. What she smelled when she buried her face in his buttery kidskin gloves. “I could help you. Step in before the worst has occurred. Help you relocate the women once they’re in a safer situation. I know what that kind of desperation is like.”
The cufflink slipped from his fingers to the marble slabs they stood upon. “You’re not getting involved,” he said, bending to pick up the jewelry. “I have enough to worry about without that.”
“Like this Josie woman is involved?”
He looked up from his crouched position, and her breath caught. He was stunning, laid out there in silvery, stray moonbeams. Dark and light, shadows and hollows, mahogany eyes burning through her, his face carved in sage lines in the glow. Like a hero from one of her scandalous novels. Judicious, incensed, exquisite. She couldn’t have dreamed up someone so perfect if she’d tried. “How do you know this?”
She backed up a step at his ferocious expression, unease at his secrets being exposed. The dart of jealousy pierced deeply, sending rash words from her lips. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t travel inside the duke’s house, only notoutsideit. From one room to the other, I hear things. I pop in and out of closets quite handily. Sometimes only losing minutes. Maybe an hour.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed wearily and shoved to his feet. “Josie’s a friend. From long ago. From another life. That’s all you need to know.”
Emma dug the toe of her slipper in a crack in the marble. “Your partner in this rescuing operation. What a good friend to have.” If he’d done with this Josie what he’d done years ago with the countess, and the hundreds of women in between, according to the gossips, Emma was going to have a hard time being gracious, should they ever have the chance to meet.
Simon slipped the cufflink in his waistcoat pocket and, brushing aside his tailcoat, braced his hand on his hip. “Like all the friends you’ve made tonight. Viscount Gordon, Baron Thornton, the Earl of Hollingmark. Am I missing anyone? Christ, I’ve never seen Hollingmark laugh before, while you had him practically rolling on the chalked ballroom floor, the aged sod. But at least he released his hold on you long enough to take those breaths.” His lips tilting low, she watched in delight as Simon’s jaw tensed. “By tomorrow morning, you’ll be the toast of London. I’ve heard talk of a new moniker. Crimson something or the other, because of your hair. They’re idiots, the lot of them, but thetonknows a rare piece when they see it. They’re canny that way.”
Rare piece.And a society name, all her own. Emma shifted in her delightful silver slippers, pleasure shimmering through her. “You’re jealous,” she whispered, joy rounding her cheeks until they stung. “This is grand, to use one of your kind’s fancy words. Simply grand.”
Simon scowled, arm dropping, hand curling into a fist. “You’re daft. I don’t get jealous.”
Emma tapped the Soul Catcher lodged in his pocket, watching with escalating glee as it pulsed and glowed a clear, luminous blue. “Then why worry about how frizzy, old Hollingmark is squeezing me? It’s a waltz. Touching is allowed, isn’t it? I wonder why it’s such a shock when it’s not that shocking an affair, really. Nothing to get your knickers in a twist over, isn’t that right? Just like me with Josie. And the dozens of others you’ve been friendly with. No need to worry when they mean so little.” Bouncing on her toes, she trailed her index finger up his chest to circle the hollow at the base of his throat. Then she took a breathless pause, halting to straighten his impeccably knotted tie.
A tortured sigh slipped past his lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.
Emma tucked her finger inside his crisp shirt collar in a deliberate ploy and tugged at it. “It’s not like I’m going to let some musty earl of what-whose-it kiss me.”
Simon’s eyes flashed, but he kept his arms by his side. “Because the Dark Queen of the West End is so frugal with her kisses.”
“I used to be,” Emma whispered, daring him, daring herself. “But I’ve decided I should now take my pleasure where I please.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked in time with her heartbeat, but he made no move to accept her challenge. “Your grammar is quite improved. Emma Breslin is a fast learner. Better than I was. It was months before they managed to polish off even the first rough edge.”
“I want the change more than you, a young boy, could have. I long for the change, even as I worry what it’s doing to me to take it.”
She watched astonishment roll over this face. “Emma…”
She exhaled gently and pleated her silk skirt between her fingers, her focus dropping to her slippers. “The duchess has me read to her from the newspapers every morning after breakfast. Then they fix my grammar. Piper likes to go straight to the gossip columns. A wicked one, that girl. Like no viscountess I’ve ever imagined.” She lifted her gaze, trapping his before it could skip away. “The scandal rags are full of stories about the unwed Alexander. Reserved, but with incredible skill. With his hands. Volatile when pressed. A string of broken hearts scattered behind him. Who’s going to snare you, they venture to guess?”