Wick mingled, charmed and schmoozed with over half the gathered attendees before the bell for dinner had even been rung.

“Mrs Long—” he lifted the back of the wealthy widow’s hand and kissed her knuckles “—it’s been a pleasure. Please allow me to escort you to your table for dinner.”

Mrs Long, who was inching towards the tail end of sixty-five, blushed like a schoolgirl and fluttered her fake eyelashes in admiration of the young stud on her arm.

“You’re a cad, Wick Austen, and if I didn’t know better I’d think you were after my Ernest’s money, but seeing as that old fool only left me enough to keep one estate running, I fear you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“Nonsense,” Wick laughed roguishly. “Can’t a man enjoy the company of a beautiful woman without being accused of slipping his fingers into her purse?”

Mrs Long’s blush turned fiery at the innuendo, and she tapped his chest with her free hand.

“Behave yourself, you whippersnapper. I’ve got girdles older than you. Now, why don’t you find yourself a young lady nearer your age to whisper sweet words to, I’m sure there are plenty of fine ladies here tonight.”

An hourglass figure draped in cherry red silk cut through the crowds in front of them, and Wick lost any words he was about to say. Mrs Long followed his awestruck stare and smiled to herself before stating, “Lydia Bennet will eat you up and spit you out, young man.”

“I can hold my own,” he stated, never once taking his eyes off the dark-haired woman with plump lips that matched her dress.

Mrs Long slipped into the seat that Wick pulled out for her and wrapped her hand around his, before slipping a twenty-pound note into his palm.

Wick finally paid attention to the older lady and looked down at the cash in his hand.

“What’s this for?”

Without blinking, Mrs Long looked up innocently at his face and said, “The taxi you’re going to need when you crash and burn with Miss Bennet.” Then she snickered and waved off a gaping-mouthed Wick before turning her attention to the others at her table.

Wick looked at the note in his hand and contemplated giving it back complete with some witty retort, but it was twenty pounds after all, and he slipped it into his suit pocket and made his way to the woman in red. Halfway there, and close enough to see the small diamond stud in her nose that glittered in the diffused light from numerous candelabras, an Armani clad man approached Lydia and slipped his hand around her waist before guiding her to her seat.

Wick swallowed down his defeat at a lost opportunity, and turned on his heels to make his way to his table, throwing nods at everyone he recognised on the way.

“Were you beaten to the punch, brother?” Darcy asked as Wick slid into his seat next to him. Bing had been allocated to a different table with their parents, so the only person Wick knew well on theirs was Darcy. Looking at the wealthy men and women surrounding the oval table topped in crisp white cloth, Wick knew he’d be familiar with all of them by the end of the night, and hopefully have enough interest to set up a few meetings. Still, he had his original plan to instigate, but there was plenty of time for that.

“Huh?” he replied. Hoping that by faking it Darcy would drop the subject, but he knew better. Darcy was like a dog with a bone.

“I saw you making a beeline for the younger sister. Such a shame you didn’t get the chance to make her acquaintance.”

“The night is still young, Darce, just like me. You on the other hand…”

“There’re five years between us Wick, in age, at least.” Darcy took a sip from his wine and couldn’t help but add, “Maturity-wise, we are worlds apart.”

Wick snorted loudly and drew the attention of the woman on his right, Mrs Beaver-Wetter he believed, but with a name like that he couldn’t be sure.

“Mature?” he asked incredulously. “Uptight more like it. I could stick a piece of coal up your arse and have a diamond within a week.”

“Might solve your money worries,” Darcy retorted immediately, shocking his brother with the glint in his eye. Maybe he’d had more wine than Wick realised because it was rare for his older brother not to fly off the handle at any barbs Wick dared to throw his way.

On catching the direction of Darcy’s stare a few moments later, Wick realised that his good mood had nothing to do with alcohol consumption and more to do with the eldest Bennet sister who was currently making her rounds with the guests and getting closer to their table every second.

“Like what you see brother?”

Darcy blinked and his face shuttered. “Ice Princesses aren’t my thing. I prefer a warm flesh and blood woman in my bed, not a slab of the arctic tundra.”

Wick allowed himself to observe Eliza for a moment and saw nothing of the woman Darcy believed her to be. To every person she greeted she was warm and inviting, and like both her sisters she had the Bennet’s striking blue eyes, but her features were more defined than Jane’s soft prettiness and Lydia’s sensual exoticness.

“What makes you say that? You two have never met, have you? Or is this another Darcy snap judgement?”

Eliza moved out of view and took her seat at a table with her sisters. The servers began to bring out the scallop starters, and Darcy turned to his brother and said, “It takes more than a fine pair of eyes to entice me, especially when the woman those eyes belong to could freeze off your balls with one look.”

“So you have met?”

Darcy picked up his silverware and before taking his first bite replied, “Oh, she made quite the impression, and I can’t wait to return the favour.”

* * *

Lydia was bored out of her brain.

Conrad was too busy networking to pay her any attention. Jane was diligently flitting around and making sure everything was perfect, and Eliza, as always, avoided Lydia as if she had some airborne venereal disease.

Lydia pushed her food around her plate for a few moments, then gave up and polished off her third glass of wine. She contemplated calling over a server for a refill, having decided the wine on the table not worthy of drinking—overpriced vinegar she’d declared it after one sip—but the doors to the bar beckoned her instead. So, she made her excuses to her table mates, although no one seemed to be paying her any attention, and got up to leave. Conrad’s hand snapped out to catch her wrist, and the bite of pain in his touch was a warning—one she didn’t appreciate.

With fire in her eyes, she looked down at the man beside her.

“That’s sweet,” she began, her words innocent but her tone venomous. “Have you finally realised you have a date with you tonight or are you just worried I may do something to jeopardise all the sucking up you’ve been doing to the conservative Lord Fortnum?”

Conrad’s eyes blazed behind the expensive, thick frames of his glasses. He had twenty-twenty vision, but he thought they made him look more sophisticated. Lydia thought they made him look like the pompous prick he was.

“Sit and eat.”

That’s another thing about Conrad, he thought himself alpha, when in fact he was nothing but a controlling bastard with a tiny penis.

“No thank you, I think I’d rather drink.”

Lydia shook his grip free and strode through the tables with purpose, not looking back even once. She could feel over half the room staring at her back so she added some extra sway to hips. Let them gossip. Boring old buggers with nothing better to do with their time than abuse their staff or spend their money on ridiculous things like fountains and ice sculptures. She’d heard enough of their pointless drivel tonight that it would take a vat of wine to drown out all their blathering.

Lydia approached the empty bar and found it unmanned. Not bothering to wait, she lifted the pass and slipped behind the counter. The wines were all stocked in fridges low to the floor, so she bent at the knees to drop down to eye level, causing the slash in her silk dress to ride high on her thigh. Spotting the bottle she wanted, she grabbed it and stood, coming face to face with a male guest who was looking at her with the kind of hunger most men did.

He was about her age, handsome she supposed, in his rented suit that pulled tight over his broad shoulders and fell a little short on the cuffs.

No money. Shame.

She dismissed his gaze immediately and turned around to find a corkscrew.

“I’ll take a Dirty Martini,” the man to her back said, the smile in his voice evident with every word.

Lydia remained silent and focused on her task, spotting a corkscrew in a small tray of implements just below the counter.

“Isn’t it rude to ignore a paying guest?” he continued, his tone still humorous.

Lydia rolled her eyes even though he couldn’t see her and punched the tip of the corkscrew into the cork. As she twisted, he continued to talk to her back.

“Careful,” he warned. “You’re going to force it into the bottle, and the trick is to get it out, or you’ll spoil the wine.”

Her hand paused mid-twist, and she turned to face the man once more. She stared at him for a beat, until his face began to look uncomfortable under her gaze and she watched him fight the need to squirm under her scrutiny.

“What are you looking at?” he queried, attempting to mask his discomfort under bravado, but Lydia knew men. She knew how to entrap them, seduce them or even scare them away.

Passing her gaze from his waist to the top of his head and back to his eyes, she stated flatly, “Your father’s incorrect use of a condom.”

The man’s gaze widened briefly before sharpening, and Lydia awaited his response, enjoying this game more than she’d thought she would.

“Are you trying to insult me?”

“I would love to—” she continued, twisting hard against the corkscrew and watched him gloat when the cork slid deeper into the neck of the bottle before plopping into the liquid below. Unperturbed she finished, “—But I fear I would not do as well as nature already has.”

Expecting a harsh rebuttal, Lydia was pleasantly surprised when the man threw his head back and laughed. He had the kind of laugh that promised good times, naughty times. When he tipped his head to look at her once more, his gaze was piercing, and she felt foolish to have thought him only handsome.

“Wick,” he said with a confident hand stretched out towards her, and she couldn’t help but take it, her previously conceited glare melting into a smile.

“Wick Austen, and it’s more than a pleasure to have made your acquaintance, Miss Bennet.”

Their palms touched and Lydia fell unusually quiet. It wasn’t often, if ever, that a man’s reaction left her speechless.

“If you’re bored at any point tonight and intend on causing further mischief, be sure to find me.”

He ran his thumb against the sensitive skin of her inner wrist before slowly releasing her hand and walking away.

“Oh,” he threw over his shoulder, his head tilting enough for Lydia to see his profile and strong jaw. “You’ve ruined that bottle. I suggest stealing another.”

His lips twisted up, and with that one gesture, Lydia swore she now knew how all the men who’d fallen prey to her felt over the years.

Gotcha, the look on Wick Austen’s face said, and Lydia thought he could be right because she was almost certain she would seek him out later.