It was her fault they were there, of course. She had a very bad tendency to try to fix things, Jane thought, and she’d always felt guilty that she’d let Miranda go out that night so long ago and not run screaming to her brothers. Because she’d kept quiet Miranda’s life had been ruined, and there’d been nothing Jane could do to make up for it.
Miranda would have laughed at her if she knew how guilty she felt. No, she wouldn’t—Miranda never laughed at her megrims. She was the best, dearest friend a girl could have, and Jane just wished she could give back even a tiny portion of all Miranda had given her.
She’d made her brave when she wanted to cower. She’d made her laugh when she wanted to weep. She made her dance when she wanted to sit in the corner, and now Jane had finally been able to do the same thing for Miranda.
Until she’d disappeared.
It took some doing to extricate herself from the dance floor. With the mask covering her plain, unremarkable face she suddenly had limitless partners, and she was exhausted from trying to sound like someone she wasn’t. It wasn’t that she didn’t like to dance. She loved to, with the right partner, but she seldom found anyone willing to stand up with her and to put the right attention and energy into the production. Mr. Bothwell was stiff as a board, and disliked dancing, and as an engaged woman she could scarcely stand up with anyone else. She’d hoped to have a lovely time even as she helped Miranda, but the anonymous dancing had been unsatisfactory, and if Miranda had decided to hide out then Jane was more than ready to leave. She simply had to find her first.
Escaping from the ballroom was her first task, and easier said than done. When she tried the open doors someone would catch her arm and spin her back onto the dance floor, and her demurrals were swallowed up by the noise of the crowd and the vigor of the orchestra. Eventually she gave up, moving instead toward the back of the massive ballroom. If Carrimore House were anything like the houses she grew up in, there was most likely a hidden door near the back to allow the servants to come and go.
She slipped into a corner near the back of the room, waiting, and eventually her patience was rewarded when a door opened in the wall. She darted through, startling the servant who’d opened it, and found herself in one of the back hallways, clearly meant only for the staff. No rugs on the floor, no pictures on the grim walls, and she panicked, looking for a way back. There must be a trick to the door, because it wouldn’t move. She looked to her right and to her left, but she had no idea which would be the best way to go, and she was frozen with indecision. She thought the grand staircase was to the left, and she headed in that direction. Not that she could actually leave—she had to find Miranda first. God willing, she might be there waiting for her.
Jane was dying from the heat. She slipped off the enveloping domino and mask, draping both over one arm as she made her way down the narrow hallway as swiftly as she could. If she were home she’d take the dancing slippers off her aching feet, as well. But she could hardly do that in the Carrimore’s house, so she persevered, until she came to the end of the hallway, with no obvious way out.
She stared around her for a moment, then recognized the outline of a door beside her. She pushed, and it opened, silently, into a dark, deserted room.
At least, she thought it was deserted. She heard the noise first, a quiet, scratching sound, and a faint light was coming from across the room. As her eyes adjusted, she could just determine the outlines of a huge bed, and she flushed with embarrassment, reaching behind her for the door to make her escape before whoever was in there realized their privacy had been breached. But the door had already swung closed again, and she turned, desperately trying to find the edge of it. Her fingers finally caught the slight rim, and she had just managed to pry it open when something loomed up behind her, and the door was pushed shut again.
Jane wasn’t the kind of girl who screamed, though she couldn’t help a smothered yelp of surprise. Smothered, because whoever had come up behind her had hauled her away from the door, back against a hard male body and one hand was clamped across her mouth.
They stood that way for a long moment, while she struggled to catch her breath. Her heart was beating wildly, there was no way she could disguise it. It was a far cry from the man behind her. His heartbeat was slow and steady, completely calm, as if sneaking up on young ladies and imprisoning them was something he did every day.
“Now what in the world is a lass like you doing wandering around the bedrooms, alone?” The voice in her ear was low, faintly amused. It wasn’t the voice of an aristocrat, but she knew a servant would never dare put his hands on her. “If I move my hand are you going to scream?”
She shook her head, as much as his imprisoning hand would allow. As he pulled it away he murmured, “Good girl.”
Of course she ought to scream for help, but she was so frightened she doubted she could make more than a squeak. Besides, the man hadn’t threatened her, and she’d told him she wouldn’t shriek. It would feel as if she’d broken a promise. She tried to clear her throat, struggling for her voice. “I was looking for someone,” she managed to whisper.
“Now what fool left you to find a bedroom all by yourself? If it had been me I wouldn’t have given you a chance to get lost. I would have had you tucked away beneath the sheets before anyone noticed we were gone.”
Color flamed her face. He was being absurd, she thought, saying such things to her. He wouldn’t have done it if he’d gotten a clear look at her. Men didn’t put their hands on her, risk their livelihood, whatever it might be, by assaulting a member of the ton. It was clear by his voice that he was not a member of the ruling class, but what was he? Who was he?
“I was looking for my friend,” she said in a stiff voice. “My female friend.”
“Oh, do not say so, lass!” he crooned. “I hate to see you wasting yourself on another woman when there are so many men who would worship at your feet.”
All right, she was getting annoyed, enough that it overshadowed her usual timidity. “The room is dark, whoever you are. If you got a good look at me you’d know that no one is worshipping at my feet.”
He was still pressed against her, and his body was warm in the cool room. She realized suddenly that one of the tall windows leading out onto the tiny balconies that adorned Carrimore House was open.
“Ah, but I saw you quite clearly. I have eyes like a cat—I can see in the dark.”
She wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, particularly since he didn’t let her move. “I don’t imagine you’re here for any good reason.”
“I’m afraid not.” He sounded almost apologetic. “I’m here for Lady Carrimore’s diamonds.”
She breathed in, shocked. “She’s wearing them.”
“Oh, that’s only a very small part of her diamonds. She has cases of them. Or she did. They now reside in a silk bag, and they’re damned heavy.”
“You’re a thief!” she gasped. “That’s awful.”
“Not particularly,” he said in a cheerful voice. “I make a good living at it. And you needn’t cry for the poor duchess. Her husband makes his money in the slave trade—those stones don’t belong to her.”
“Then who do they belong to? Are you going to send them back to Africa along with the stolen natives?”
“Of course not. They belong to me, as of fifteen minutes ago. I would have been long gone but I heard you fumbling about behind the walls and I wanted to make certain I was safe. And I am safe, aren’t I, me darling?”
She wanted to deny it. “Why would you think you were?”
To her amazement he turned her in his arms, suddenly, still keeping her tight against his body, and she looked up, trying to see him. “Because you’re a pirate at heart, lass. I can feel it. You aren’t going to turn me in. Are you?” His voice was low, his face so close. His fingers caught her chin and tilted it up to his face. “Are you?”
“I…I ought to,” she stammered.
She couldn’t see much of him. Just a broad smile, and the glitter of his eyes. “You know I’m going to kiss you, don’t you? I shouldn’t. But I can’t resist. And you’re going to kiss me back.”
She was more shocked by that than by discovering he was a jewel thief. “I most certainly am not! I’m engaged to be married.”
“I hope he appreciates you. That’s not much of a ring on your finger—you deserve far better.”
She hid her hand and the pathetic ring in her skirts. “It’s good enough for me.”
“No, it’s not. He’s not. But there’s nothing I can do about that. Brace yourself, lass.” His mouth covered hers, and she jerked in surprise.
It wasn’t an indiscreet pressure of his lips against hers. It was his mouth, hot and wet and open, and the fingers that held her chin stroked her, tugging it, and she tasted his tongue.
She froze, not certain what she should do. This was ridiculous, it was bizarre, it was shocking. She couldn’t scream, and she didn’t want to fight. He slowly seduced her with his tongue, sliding it against hers with a steady, sinuous rhythm that she felt in her breasts, the pit of her stomach, between her legs. It was a kiss that caught her soul, wrapped it up and stole it away from her, and when he finally lifted his head she was breathless. And so was he.
“He doesn’t even know how to kiss you,” he said, a mixture of regret and laughter in his voice. “Such a waste, lass.”
She looked up at him in the darkness. And then said something she never would have thought she’d utter, not in a million years. “Kiss me again.”
And he did. She was clamped against his hard body, and he was very strong, and he lifted her, with seeming effortlessness, carried her, and she thought he was taking her to the bed, and she didn’t care. He moved her across the room, kissing her so deeply her brain was whirling, and they came up against a solid surface, and she wondered if he was going to take her there.
He moved his mouth, trailing kisses along her cheek. “Goodbye, lass,” he whispered, his lips against her ear. And a moment later she was out in a hallway, alone, no sign of a door in the damask-covered walls.
She was shaking. She realized with shock that he’d managed to fasten her domino back around her neck, though he hadn’t bothered with the loo mask, and she quickly reached for the hood and pulled it low over her flaming face. She rested her forehead against the wall, trying to catch her breath, waiting for the pounding of her heart to slow. She could hear the noise and music from the ballroom, and she pushed away, moving toward it in a daze, walking until she came upon some of the guests, until she found a cushioned chair near a window. She sank into it, sitting there in breathless shock. And it was there Miranda found her.
“Where are we going?” she demanded.
“Someplace where we can talk. I have a small task to perform and I thought you could bear me company while I did it.”
“A task?” That seemed absurd. What kind of task did one have in the middle of a ball? And Lucien de Malheur had people to perform his tasks—she couldn’t imagine him exerting himself for anything less than monumental.
“I think it would probably be better if I didn’t explain too much. We simply need to keep guard in a hallway, keep anyone from going into any of the bedrooms.”
“Why would people go into the bedrooms?”
“Oh, child, how can you be a fallen woman and still such an innocent! The Carrimores are very liberal hosts. They make certain there are bedrooms available for couples who feel the need to fornicate.”
The word startled her, but she was determined not to show it. “Why should they?” she said in a caustic voice. “Why can’t they just go home?”
“Because most of them have a husband or wife they have to take home with them, not the one they want to fuck.”
She ripped her arm from his, moving away from him. “You disappoint me, Lord Rochdale,” she said in a shaky voice. “I hadn’t realized you had the same low opinion of me that others have.”
“Now why would you say that? Haven’t you ever heard that word before? It’s what those guests are doing, and using prettier words for it is being disingenuous. I meant no offense.”
She stared at him. “Now who’s being disingenuous? You can’t use a word like that without expecting a reaction, not to a young lady of the ton. But then, you know I’m not a proper young lady. The truth is when I was part of polite society I was protected from such harsh realities. Once I was considered persona non grata I had no idea how people conducted themselves. So why use such words with me? Were you planning on seducing me? Oh, excuse me. Were you planning on fucking me?” She’d never spoken that word out loud, and the very utterance of it made her faintly breathless, but she was too angry to care. She’d trusted him, fool that she was.
“I’ve made you very angry,” he said, sounding sorrowful. “I didn’t mean to. It’s only a word, Lady Miranda.”
“So is whore. Lightskirt. Trollop. Outcast. All only words.”
He appeared unchastened. “Not to mention monster. Abomination. Villain. You can be assured I know a great deal about the power of words. I hadn’t thought you were so vulnerable.”
She stiffened. “I’m not.”
“Of course you are. I apologize. I wouldn’t want anything to hurt our friendship.” He took her arm, and his hand covered hers, stroking her reassuringly.
She knew she should pull away again. But he was looking down at her, his pale eyes were like ice, sharp and hypnotic, and she’d given up so much already. She didn’t want to give him up as well, even though she knew she should. This man was truly like a scorpion, a poisonous sting when one least expected it.
And then, to her amazement, his fingers brushed her cheek, turning her stubborn face to his. “Forgive me?” he said softly, and she felt herself slipping again, under his spell.
No wonder they called him the scarred devil. The Scorpion, who hypnotized its victim before delivering that lethal sting. When he touched her face she felt more than Christopher St. John had ever managed to elicit from her. It was dangerous, it was seductive and it shocked her, but she couldn’t move. She stood perfectly still, staring up into his ravaged face, and he moved closer, and she wanted him to kiss her.
“Ooops, sorry, old man,” someone said from the end of the hallway, and the couple disappeared in a welter of giggles and whispered comments, but he’d already moved back from her, and the moment was over.
“Don’t worry,” he said in the soft, seductive voice. “They didn’t recognize you. They’re talking about me and what poor victim I’d lured up here.”
She took a deep breath. “Did you lure me up here?”
“Not at all. I asked you to accompany me while I helped a friend. Nothing secretive about it.” He nodded toward a pair of chairs tucked into the embrasure. “Do you mind if we sit while I continue to abase myself? I find it difficult to stand for too long.”
The last bit of offense vanished as concern flooded her. “Of course,” she said. “I should have thought of that. I’m sorry—when I’m with you I forget about…”
“Forget that I’m a monster?” He sounded amused but also faintly surprised. “If so, then you’re the only one.” He waited until she sat down, and took the chair opposite her. “While I, on the other hand, have to stare at that loo mask and wonder exactly what you’re thinking.”
She glanced at the empty hallway, then reached up and untied it, letting it drop into her lap before she raised her chin to meet his gaze.
“Ah, that’s much better. You’re quite lovely, you know.”
“I hadn’t realized your vision was impaired, as well,” she replied quite fearlessly. “I’m perfectly ordinary and you know it. Ordinary brown hair, ordinary shape and height, ordinary brown eyes.”
She startled him for a moment, and then he laughed. “I like it that you’re almost impossible to intimidate, Lady Miranda. My vision is perfect, and even stronger in the shadows. Are you that needy for compliments that you want to drag them out of me? Surely you’ve had more than your share?”
“Surely I haven’t,” she replied. “I’m considered quite ordinary. The only thing remarkable about me is my fall from grace, and I hardly think that’s an advantage.”
He looked at her for a long moment, and she felt his gaze like a touch, running from her dark hair, down her face and slender neck, over her breasts and her waist, down her legs to her feet and then back up again. It was a thorough examination, and if she’d been missish she would have blushed, but she withstood it calmly. And then he smiled.
“Someday,” he murmured, “I’ll tell you about yourself. But this is neither the time nor place.”
She opened her mouth to speak, when she heard a sudden thump against the wall of the bedroom opposite them, and a frown crossed her companion’s face.
“What was that?”
“A very clumsy mouse,” he grumbled. Another inebriated couple appeared at the end of the hallway, and he glared at them, so swiftly that they practically ran the other way. It happened too quickly for her to replace her mask. She could only hope it was too quickly for them to get a good look at her.
“A mouse?” she said dryly. He must be keeping guard for one of those illicit dalliances he’d talked about, making sure no one walked in on a friend who was in bed with someone else’s wife. But he had no friends, he’d said, no true friends. And he was hardly the type of man to do a favor for an acquaintance.
“A slow, clumsy mouse,” he said, leaning back. “Who needs to hurry up. In the meantime, why don’t you tell me about your family. You have brothers, do you not? Any sisters?”
She shook her head. “Just the three brothers. Benedick, the oldest, is the heir. He and his wife are expecting their second child. Charles is the middle brother, just returned from Italy with his new wife. And there’s my younger brother Brandon, whom I adore. He’s in Yorkshire right now with the rest of my family, but when he returns I’ll introduce you. I think he would love to meet you. I think my entire family would.”
A faint, cold smile crossed his face. “I imagine they would.”
She heard a muffled sigh from beyond the thin walls, the low murmur of voices, and she smiled. “Someone is clearly enjoying themselves. Is that why we’re standing guard?”
He blinked. “What makes you think we’re standing guard?”
“A favor for a friend, you said. I imagine you’re making sure no one interferes with his tryst. I’m guessing one party or the other is someone so well-placed that the shock of exposure would topple the government, and therefore for the sake of the kingdom we’re here to make certain no one walks in on them.”
He was clearly amused. “You think I care about the safety of the kingdom? Not likely, but I suppose that’s as good an explanation as any. If people come in search of an empty bedroom they’ll see us sitting here and head in another direction, making life a great deal simpler. But don’t we have more interesting things to discuss? For instance, why you greeted me with icy reproach? Have I done something to offend you?”
For a long moment she said nothing. And then she met his gaze fearlessly. “You’re playing the game…and I’m well out of it. I can simper and smile and say ‘of course not’ and you’d pursue it and I’d laugh and hide my face behind my fan. But I don’t have to do that anymore. I spent four hours alone in your company ten days ago, having a wonderful time, the best I’ve had since I can remember. We talked about everything, and I thought we became friends. Good friends. And then I heard nothing from you for ten days. I was left to assume that the feelings of friendship were one-sided and I’d been foolishly optimistic, and then you stroll into my life again as if nothing had happened.”
“I assure you, I don’t stroll,” he said, his voice cool. “So you’re angry that I haven’t paid enough attention to you?”
It sounded so petty. She should have simply lied, as everyone else did. “Yes.”
He surveyed her for a long moment. “Honesty is a very unsettling trait. It’s not something I’m used to.”
“I’m sorry. You have many friends, I only have one. I put too much importance on a simple conversation and…”
“Stop it!” he said sharply, his silken voice becoming harsh. He took a deep breath. “I didn’t pursue our acquaintance because I was afraid your family would get wind of it and interfere. And I didn’t want to embark on a friendship that would be terminated abruptly.”
“But why should my family object to our friendship?”
“My reputation precedes me. I’m afraid I’m quite notorious, and I’m known to have some most unsavory acquaintances. Most families bar me from the door.”
“My family doesn’t tell me what to do. I live my own life, independently. If we choose to be friends, then they have nothing to say in the matter.”
“Are you certain?”
“Of course I am.”
“Then ride with me tomorrow. In full view of everyone. At four in the afternoon, we’ll ride down Rotten Row and give the old biddies something to talk about.”
“Absolutely.”
There was an odd look in his pale eyes, one almost of triumph, but at that moment there was a muffled double knock on the wall, and the earl rose, leaning heavily on his cane. “Then that’s settled. May I drive you home?”
Miranda shook her head. “I came with my friend, and I need to find her.”
“Ah, yes. Miss Pagett with the miserable fiancé.” He was leading her away from the mysterious room, chatting amiably. “I’m afraid you’re having a very deleterious effect on your friends, Lady Miranda. You’re leading Miss Pagett astray.”
Miranda flushed. “I tried to stop her.”
“And yet, here you are, and for that I’m indescribably grateful. Shall we go in search of her?”
“No need,” she said as they turned the corner. Jane was sitting in a corner, her loo mask gone, an odd expression on her face. And then she saw Miranda and her relief was plain as she rose on unsteady feet.
“You go to her,” Lucien said, releasing her arm. “I doubt Mr. Bothwell would appreciate his future wife being introduced to the Scorpion. I’ll pick you up at four tomorrow. Be ready.”
“But…” He’d already walked away, disappearing into the crowds, and Miranda moved ahead, catching Jane’s trembling arms in hers.
“Jane, dearest, did something happen? You look upset.”
Jane’s laugh was a little shaky. “You won’t believe it when I tell you, but you’ll have to wait until we get back to the house. Let’s get out of here.”
Miranda cast one last look behind her, but Lucien de Malheur had disappeared. She turned back to her friend with deep foreboding. Jane was looking just as she ought to look—happy and excited and in love.
And Miranda knew that something was very wrong.