Elizabeth Powell (18 page)

“Why, here she is, Lord Peverell,” came a sweet voice at Amanda’s elbow. “Dearest Lucy, where have you been? We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Amanda, startled, met the venomous green gaze of Mrs. Danvers. With the hostess was a tall, dandified man whose capucine-colored waistcoat glowed like a bright orange signal beacon from beneath his black evening jacket. Dark, carefully pomaded hair framed his sharp, pointed face. The dandy smiled wolfishly at Amanda and licked his lips.

“She is everything you said she was, Maria,” he drawled. “Fine as fivepence.”

The hairs on the back of Amanda’s neck stood at attention. “Excuse me, Mrs. Danvers, but I must find Captain Everly.”

“Oh, you needn’t worry about Captain Everly. He is well looked-after.” She twirled one bottle red curl around her finger. “Viscount Peverell has been very anxious to make your acquaintance. He’s a friend of the admiral’s, and quite a man of influence. I suggest you be very, very nice to him.”

Nice to him? What the devil was the woman up to? Amanda scanned the room with anxious eyes, trying to
spot a glimpse of Everly’s golden head, but to no avail. “I’m afraid, my lord, that Mrs. Danvers has misinformed you. I am with Captain Everly.”

“A spirited filly, eh? Even better.” Lord Peverell chuckled. His high, starched collar points framed his pointed chin like an extra set of canine teeth as his smile broadened. “Come along, m’girl, and I’ll make it worth your while. I’m certainly more flush in the pocket than an upstart baronet.”

Mrs. Danvers spread her fan and bent behind it to whisper something to the viscount. The man uttered a sharp bark of laughter.

“Quite so, Mrs. Danvers. A firm hand, indeed. I believe I shall enjoy this.”

His laughter cut across her nerves like a blade over a wound. Intuition told her to flee, whether she looked like a wild woman or not. She retreated a step. “Captain Everly is waiting for me,” she said, less firmly than she would have liked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” With a low, knowing laugh, Mrs. Danvers glided away.

Lord Peverell was suddenly by Amanda’s side, one arm snaked around her waist, his hand pressed indecently against the curve of her bottom. The tension knotted in her shoulders rose into her throat and came out her mouth as a shriek.

“Come, my dove. No need to play the innocent.” Peverell nipped at her earlobe.

“No!” Amanda looked wildly about, searching for someone who might come to her aid, but all she saw were amused expressions—if they even noticed her at all.

“Go ahead and struggle,” murmured Lord Peverell. His whiskers tickled her ear. “It makes the conquest all the more satisfying.”

The cold, gaping pit in Amanda’s stomach gaped wider as she realized she had to get herself out of this coil. Her fingers balled into a tight fist; she no longer cared about appearances.

 *    *    *

Too long. She’d been gone far too long. This arrangement brought to mind the uncertainty of steering ships through a fog bank—no one knew where the others were, what was going on, or if they’d sailed too close to the enemy. Time for him to reconnoiter. He threw his cards on the table and rose.

“I’m out, gentlemen,” Everly declared.

A sly grin stole across Lieutenant Hale’s face. “What, leaving already, Captain? A pity—I’ve almost recouped my losses from our last encounter.”

“As much as I’d like to continue this diversion, I’m afraid I have something better waiting for me. I pray you excuse me.” He inclined his head to the group, then took his leave.

“No wonder he seemed so distracted,” one of the other officers said with a chuckle.

“You’d be distracted too, Maitland, if you had that particular bit o’ muslin to warm your bed,” said another.

The nape of Everly’s neck grew hot, but he forced himself to maintain a sedate, nonchalant pace. He scanned the other tables, but saw no sign of Locke. His eyes narrowed. Where was the admiral? Had Amanda been discovered? Damnation—he should have been the one down in the study, the one taking this terrible risk.

The captain wrestled to keep his imagination in check, and his mind focused on facts. Having Amanda—Miss Tremayne—on his lap had scrambled his instincts. To institute an effective search, he must be methodical. He would make sure she wasn’t on this floor before he went downstairs.

“You’re not leaving us so soon, are you, Captain?” purred a female voice close to his ear.

Everly turned just as Mrs. Danvers attached herself to his arm. The redhead was intent on mischief; Felicia used to get that same cunning look in her eyes whenever she was up to something. A look that set off warning bells in his head.

“Not at all, Mrs. Danvers—”

“Maria.”

“Maria.” Everly’s polite smile grew tight at the edges. “I’m going to join Lucy. She’s expecting me.”

The woman parted her ruby-painted lips and ran the tip of her tongue over her lower lip. “Are you so sure of that?”

Everly frowned. Egad, the woman was like a leech—once she latched on, she was nearly impossible to shake off.

“What do you see in that die-away chit anyway, Captain?” continued Mrs. Danvers, without waiting for his reply. Jeweled rings flashed as she ran a hand over his chest. “I know an older, more experienced woman who would know how to fulfill your desire.”

Everly thought of Amanda’s sweetly curved backside pressed against his thighs, remembered the feel of her lips, the scent of her hair. Another rush of need engulfed him like a tidal wave. He shook himself and tried to conjure visions of snowstorms and ice to cool his ardor. What was he thinking? He should never have taken such liberties with her, and he knew it.

Mrs. Danvers must have seen his flush and mistaken it for anticipation; with a laugh, she twined her arms around his neck. “That’s better. Much better. I knew you’d come to see it my way.”

The captain stared down at the woman with narrowed eyes and disengaged himself from her embrace.

“Madam, I suggest you display your wares elsewhere—dockside comes to mind. Good evening.” Ordinarily he would use fire or a knife to remove a leech from his skin. This time, he hoped cutting words would suffice.

He heard Mrs. Danvers’s gasp of outrage just before a shriek split the air. Everly’s head snapped toward its source. Two figures—one tall and masculine, one petite and distinctly feminine—stood just inside the main doorway, locked in a close embrace.

“You seem very certain of your mistress’s affections,” snapped Mrs. Danvers. The angry red in her cheeks warred with her coppery hair. “It would seem she has other ideas.”

Closer scrutiny revealed that the woman in the doorway was struggling against the taller, more powerful man. With a jolt of alarm, Everly recognized her raven curls
and spangled muslin gown. He muttered an evil-sounding curse and launched himself toward the door.

He was no bear-garden bruiser, but he was handy enough with his fives; at the moment he wanted nothing more than to floor that jack-a-dandy who dared molest Amanda. As it turned out, the lady had no need of rescue. He watched as Amanda, pale-faced and terrified, cocked back her fist and planted the fop as sweet a facer as he had ever seen. The man screeched and covered his bloodied nose. Everly grinned in spite of himself; he should have seen it coming.

“You little bitch!” the dandy yelped, his voice muffled by his kerchief. “How dare you strike me!”

Amanda backed against the door frame, her eyes huge and wild. Her fist remained clenched, her muscles tight.

Everly stepped between them. “She gave you exactly what you deserved,” he said with no little heat. “I suggest you leave her alone.”

The viscount stared at the captain as though he’d lost his senses. “What does it matter to you? She’s a whore. Less than nothing.”

“You were poaching, Peverell. You’re lucky she didn’t serve you any worse.” Everly turned to Amanda. “Are you all right?”

“Get me out of this terrible place, Jack,” she replied in a low, strained voice. “Please.” She was shaking, although he could not tell if fury or hysteria were the cause.

Coldness gripped his vitals as anger and frustration warred with concern. If she had not blackmailed him into bringing her here, this would never have happened. Damnation!

“Did you find what you came for?” he rumbled.

Amanda nodded and gripped his arm. “Just get me away from here before I scream and run straight to Bedlam.”

Her skin was clammy, her face white as a new topsail. If they didn’t leave now, he wasn’t sure how either of them would react to any further complications.

Mrs. Danvers was tending to the still-yelping Lord
Peverell with a semblance of great sympathy. The other guests gawped and laughed at the spectacle, allowing Everly and Amanda to slip, unnoticed, to the main stairs. Perfect.

“Look lively,” Everly murmured in her ear. “We’ll slip away before Locke comes to investigate.”

Everly escorted Amanda down the stairs as quickly as his injured leg would allow, although she wanted him to move faster than he was able; she rushed ahead and tugged at his arm to hurry him along.

Everly resisted. “Trim your sails, before you break both our necks.”

He spoke more harshly than he’d intended, and she looked up at him like a frightened doe, tensed and poised to flee. A raucous caw of laughter erupted from the ballroom, and she flinched.

“Steady,” he murmured. He took her cloak from the footman and draped it over her shivering shoulders.

She nodded, and her curls bounced with the movement.

“Once we’re away, you can tell me everything,” he said as he led her down to the carriage. “Especially what has frightened you so.”

“It is worse than I imagined, Jack,” she breathed, her voice a hollow whisper. “Much, much worse.”

O
nce in the carriage, Everly did not mince words. “Well, what did you learn?”

“You’re vexed with me.” Amanda’s thin voice came from the corner, where she huddled in the velvet folds of her cloak.

“What do you mean?” The captain frowned as he considered her response. He had to admit that he had been more of a crosspatch in the past few days than he’d ever been in his entire life. All due to the influence of Miss Amanda Tremayne. She had a special talent for turning everyone’s life upside-down.

She stared at the floor. “The way you looked at me when we left. The … the way you kissed me.”

“I should not have done that. I was less than a gentleman, and for that I apologize.” Everly expelled his breath in a rush. He
had
been angry. Angry that she had put them both in such a precarious situation. Angry with her for being so attractive, and jealous of the way the other men had looked at her. And he had been afraid for her, fears which had been justified. Whatever the reasons, he should never have taken his frustrations out on her. Everly removed his bicorne and tossed it on the seat across from them. He shoved a hand through his hair.

She edged further away from him, pulling herself into a tight ball. “You had every right to be angry. I should never have tricked you into taking me to that party.”

The muscles at the back of Everly’s neck drew taut. “What do you expect me to say, Miss Tremayne? ‘Of course not, you were perfectly justified?’ What you did put both of us at risk. You are an innocent. You went
into that house knowing nothing about a courtesan’s trade, yet you were determined to play the part.”

“I realize that now. I thought I … that I could … Those men thought that I was just a pretty … thing … and they could do whatever they wanted to me.”

A soft sob came from the depths of her hood, and Everly realized that she was weeping. Sympathy and shame blindsided him. She was overwrought, and he had given her the full volley of his fury. Had the disaster with Felicia so hardened his heart? Had he become as ugly inside as out?

“Gently, now. Everything is all right.” He reached out a hand to her, and she did not pull away. He brushed back the edge of the hood to reveal her face. Moisture gilded her lashes. She tried to fight back the tears; she squeezed her eyes shut, but a solitary droplet escaped and trailed liquid silver down her cheek.

“I was … so … frightened. You were right. I should never … never have …” Gasps punctuated her words. Another tear followed the first. She raised a trembling hand to cover her face.

Everly reacted without thinking. With long arms, he reached out and drew her closer. To his surprise, she uttered a little cry and clung to him, her fingers clutching his lapels. She shivered within his embrace as he stroked her hair and murmured gentle words. “It’s over, Amanda. You’re safe. You’ll never have to go through an ordeal like that again.”

She snuffled and nodded, her face buried in the fall of his cravat.

Everly lifted her chin. Her eyes glazed with shock, Amanda stared at him, seemingly unaware of the tears streaming across her bloodless cheeks. Everly smiled and pulled his kerchief from his pocket. “Why do women never have a handkerchief when they need one? My cravat makes a sad substitute.”

“I fear I’ve wilted it.” Amanda took the kerchief and smiled back at him through her tears, a smile that hit Everly in his vitals like a shot. She was truly innocent. Unlike Felicia, nothing about Amanda was contrived.

“And I fear I’m going to kiss you again.” Everly drew his thumb over her quivering lower lip, fascinated by the lush curve of her mouth. He bent his head and tenderly brushed his lips over hers.

She did not stiffen, or pull way, or turn her head. He heard her soft gasp, felt her shift closer to him. That was enough to tempt him into a second kiss.

“Amanda,” he murmured.

Everly had every intention of controlling himself, of maintaining a chase and gentle embrace, but never before had a kiss tasted so sweet. He claimed her mouth and savored the salty sheen of tears that clung to her lips. A tiny moan escaped Amanda and she leaned into his kiss, her breasts pressed against his chest. Everly’s self-control began to shred like old sails in a storm.

This felt so … so right, even in this awkward pose—knees bracketed together, shoulders braced against the padded squabs, bodies twisted at strange angles to clasp each other more closely. That didn’t matter. All he could think about in that moment was her. Desire heightened every awareness; he reveled in the seductive scent of her skin, the feel of her body snuggled so intimately against his, the intoxicating softness of her lips. Heat surged through him and ignited a passion he had thought long dead. He shifted one hand beneath her cloak, laid it on her hip just above her pert, rounded derriere. He wanted her, and not just in a physical sense. True, her form was attractive. Very, very attractive. But what he felt went deeper than that. Everything about her—her loyalty, her volatile temper, her stubborn independence—combined to form the unique treasure that was Amanda. The woman he held in his arms. Damnation—she was a feast for the mind as well as the senses, and at the moment he wanted nothing more than to devour her. In a distant corner of his conscience, the remnants of his self-control nagged at him, but at the moment he was quite willing to throw all sense of caution overboard.