Tempted By the Night (21 page)

“Did you hear what I said?” Quince was nattering on. “Dear heavens, girl, stop woolgathering and pay heed to what I am trying to tell you. You are in grave danger!”

“Danger?” Hermione shook her head. “I can’t see how.”

Oh, but she could. Of losing sight of everything she was supposed to hold dear and spending every night she could in his arms. In Rockhurst’s bed.

Quince waved at a passing hackney, the sleepy-looking driver appearing none too happy about another fare when all he wanted was to seek his bed, but then again, how could he pass it up when Quince offered him a shining piece of silver for the ride.

Hermione found herself bullied inside and prodded for directions.

“You little fool, do you know the danger you are in?” Quince said, the moment the hackney rolled away from the curb. “This is far worse than I first feared.”

“I am in no danger from him,” Hermione assured her, patting Quince on the arm. Really, the woman was overreacting. The earl would never harm her. “Just because he is the Paratus—”

“Sssh!” Quince warned. “Don’t say such things aloud. You have no idea who he is.”

“But I do,” she insisted. “I’ve been reading the book Mr. Cricks gave me, and I know all about the earl.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Besides, I think he loves me.”

“Loves you!” Quince glanced heavenward, in a gesture similar to what Hermione’s mother did when Grif
fin gambled a little too deep. She lowered her voice to furious whisper. “The Paratus is incapable of love.”

Hermione shook her head. “He loves me.”

“He does?” Now it was Quince’s time to turn the tables. “So why haven’t you told him who you are?”

“That is hardly the point,” Hermione said, glancing out the window, where the sky was starting to turn pink.

What was it her father had always said?
Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.

Well, that didn’t apply to this morning
, she told herself.

“Why haven’t you told him who you are?” Quince persisted. “Why isn’t this besotted lover of yours driving you home?”

“That is a rather complicated point,” Hermione said. “I can hardly tell him who I am. Then he’d feel compelled to—”

Quince’s brows arched, daring her to finish.

Offer for me.

Hermione shifted in her seat, feeling the heat of Quince’s probing gaze. Of course he would. It was the honorable thing to do.

But what if he wouldn’t?

“Exactly my point,” Quince whispered, as if Hermione had said it aloud.

“I don’t care if he were to offer for me or not, I love being with him. Why, just last night I saved him. We stopped two derga.”

“Yes, I know.”

“You do?” Hermione’s eyes widened. “You were there?”

Quince shook her head. “Thank heavens, no. But such news travels quickly. That is why I spent the better part of the night looking for you.” Quince huffed. “And imagine my surprise when I discovered
where
you were.”

Hermione blushed.

“And I wouldn’t be so quick to boast about stopping that pair of brutes. Derga usually come in tribes of twelve. There are ten others who will be happy to avenge their brothers’ deaths.”

“Ten more?” Hermione gulped.

“Good. I am finally getting through to you. This is no simple flirtation, my dear. All of Melaphor’s servants most likely know that you are wearing that ring, and any one of them could get it in their head to come seek it.”

Hermione glanced down at her hand, the simple band of silver looking quite plain. Hardly something to be sought by the very devil himself.

Quince leaned in and poked Hermione in the arm. “Have you thought that
he
might be using you to gain the ring for himself?”

“No-o-o!” Hermione sputtered, even as she remembered how he had stroked her hand, even pulled at the ring, joking that he would have to try yet again to loosen it.

“You cannot undo what is done,” Quince was saying, “but you have the power to stop it all. Before it is too late. You must disavow your wish. Then give me the ring, and I shall hide it where it will never be found again.”

“It won’t come off,” Hermione told her.

Quince took a deep breath. “You have only to disavow your wish. Disavow it, and you will be free.”

The carriage turned into Berkeley Square just as the sun arose, and Hermione felt the sunlight fill her, trembling and warm, and in an instant she reappeared.

“I’ve tried, Quince,” she said.

“It only works if it is what you truly want.”

And there was the rub. Hermione didn’t want to disavow her wish. She wanted to spend every night with the earl, just as she had this one. Entwined in his arms, holding him close, letting him make love to her until she thought she’d weep from the bliss of it.

“Truly, all will be well,” Hermione told her. “I think you are making more of this than is necessary. The earl will protect me, and I promise not to take any more chances at night.”

“No,” Quince admonished. “It must end now, before it is too late.”

The carriage stopped, and Hermione bounded down. The driver blinked, trying to figure out how he’d gained another passenger in the course of their travels. He gaped down at her, then, before he could collect his fare, clicked the reins and drove off at a frantic pace.

“Well, of all the cheek,” Hermione said, trying to discern whatever had made him look as if he’d seen a ghost. “Whatever was wrong with him?”

Quince nodded toward the front of Hermione’s gown.

Then in an instant all of Quince’s warnings gained some meaning. As she looked down at herself, a deadly shiver ran down her spine—a premonition of things to come if she’d been inclined to believe such things.

For the entire front was covered with the earl’s blood.

“Whatever is wrong with you, Minny?” Lady Walbrook asked for the thousandth time. “You are fidgeting. Try to stand coolly, calmly like a Diana or a Venus. Follow my example.” The lady drew herself up and stood as if she were in one of her dramatic productions.

Hermione forced a smile to her lips and did as her mother bid her. Jiminy! How was she supposed to stand still when the sun was about to set, and she was trapped in the middle of a crowded ballroom.

She’d put off her mother with one excuse after another all week, but tonight the countess would have none of Hermione’s dithering. She was going to the Abington ball and that was the end of it.

The only thing she could be thankful for was that
they were quickly approaching Midsummer’s Eve, and the days were now stretched to their longest hours.

Still, it would be the end of everything if she just vanished into thin air in front of the entire
ton.

Not that the past week hadn’t had its fair share of trials. She’d done as she’d finally promised Quince and stayed well out of Rockhurst’s path, but that hadn’t stopped the ache in her heart. Especially when her mother had spent every breakfast giving lengthy reports of Rockhurst’s odd behavior.

Furtively, she stole a glance at the window. Though she needn’t have looked. She could feel the sun creeping down toward the horizon, pulling her along with it. Only a few minutes more, and she’d disappear completely.

“Do you see Rockhurst?” her mother said to the matron next to her, fan fluttering wildly as she pointed across the room, her admonishment about statuelike poise forgotten. “Why, it is almost as if the man has gone mad!”

“I wager he has,” the lady said, peering at the earl through her lorgnette. “For I’d bet my best silk gown that he’s finally fallen in love.”

“The earl is in love?” Hermione’s mother pressed her lips together. “Why, this is terrible. I had such high hopes for my dear Minny. Well, I must go speak to him anyway, for my rehearsals are to start next week, and I can’t have him forgetting his promise to—”

Hermione stopped her ears to any more talk of the earl.

Rockhurst in her house? Beside her? She wasn’t
sure she was going to manage the next few moments of standing in the same ballroom with him—for right now she was a trembling mess of unanswered need.

Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him stalking through the room, scanning the lines of debutantes, waiting for the music to begin. She knew from her mother’s gossip that he’d ask as many as he could to dance, beg introductions of every likely and some unlikely misses, and then prowl on to the next Society event.

So while other ladies exhibited faint blushes and tender glances in his direction, all in an attempt to catch his eye, Hermione looked away. She didn’t need to see the man.

She’d been in his bed. Held in those long, strong arms. Felt him fill her, cover her, take her both gently and in a rough, hurried way that had left her breathless.

Her knees wobbled, while another, more private part of her tightened and trembled. She ground her teeth together and tried to think of something else.

Like his kiss…or his touch.

Oh, jiminy! This would never do. So she watched him as he paced about the ballroom, his wild-eyed gaze scanning the ladies lining the walls as if he were a wolf hunting for a likely lamb.

And when he wasn’t measuring each and every chit, he was watching the horizon.

Waiting for the sun to set.

Yes, she’d promised Quince she wouldn’t seek the earl out, for the lady’s warning had cast a shadow over her heart.

Have you thought that he might be using you to gain the ring for himself?

Oh, those terrible words left her filled with doubts as to why he sought her, but when she looked across the room at him, she had only one thought, and her doubts mattered not.

She wanted him. And for the first time all week, the ring trembled awake.

Soon. Soon we can be together.

But not until I find a way to get away from
Maman, she thought, glancing first at the window, and then at her mother.

If only she could disappear unnoticed and slip through the crowd. She would brush past him and whisper a seductive invitation.

Come with me, Rockhurst. Make love to me this night. I love you like no other, I want no other.

And he’d follow her, as sure as the sun was about to set. He’d follow her into the garden, where he’d pull her lustfully into his arms and devour her with his wicked kiss. Give in to her invitation. Spend the entire night making love to her.

To her. His Shadow. The woman he loved.

Yet into her thoughts sprang a voice not unlike that of Miss Burke’s.
He might love his Shadow, but you? Lady Hermione Marlowe? Now that’s a fine jest.

Hermione’s convictions wavered. Whatever would he do if she were to walk up to Lord Rockhurst and make the same invitation as herself, plain and odd Hermione Marlowe.

She pressed her lips together even as her toes began to
tingle. Oh, heavens, she only had another minute or two!

“Minny?” her mother whispered. “Whatever is wrong with you? You look as pale as a cod!”

“I don’t feel so well,” Hermione told her quite honestly. She never did as she made the transformation. “I think the room has grown terribly close.” She wavered again, her knees now trembling. She didn’t even dare look down at her slippers, for fear they were already gone from sight.

“Oh, heavens, girl. Don’t faint. You’ll make a spectacle of yourself. If you feel unwell, go out into the garden and take a few deep breaths.” Her mother prodded her toward the door, and Hermione needed no further urging. She fled through the crowd, weaving her way through the bejeweled matrons, pretty misses, and dazzling gentlemen until she came to the French doors that led to the garden.

They were already cracked open to let in some air, so it was nothing more to slip into the garden and into the growing dusk.

Rockhurst spied the hasty departure of a young lady out the garden doors, and his heart stilled. Then he glanced beyond the lady’s shoulder to the garden beyond. Bathed in hues of red and gold, it sang with the coming of night.

Shadow.

It had to be. And though there didn’t seem to be anything remarkable about this miss, he knew better.

For in minutes she’d move from being seen to unseen. And still unknown.

Not if he could reach her first.

For the past week he’d done nothing but search for her—through dull musicales, soirees, endless balls, even an entire Wednesday evening at Almack’s—all the while waiting for that moment when he’d feel her fingers slide onto his sleeve and hear her whisper an invitation that would take them all night to explore.

He’d ignored his duties, his obligations, and he’d thought he’d go mad with longing, all in search of a single flower amidst a garden of blossoms.

Until now.

Ignoring the scandalous gasps and the scathing glances as he trampled his way through the crowd, he was nearly to the door when a blundering fellow stepped into his path.

“Rockhurst! A-a-a-a word with you, my good man. About your treatment of Miss Burke! I’ll have you know
—”

Battersby.
Rockhurst heaved a sigh and tried to dodge past the fellow, but he was as obstinate as he was foolish.

“Miss who?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the garden. He had minutes, maybe only moments.

“Miss Burke! You were quite attentive to her last week at Lord Belling’s garden party, then you left her quite alone for the supper. Why, I’ll have you know I had to step forward and escort her myself! Had to play the knight to your rogue.”

“And that was a problem? I thought you favored the chit.”

“Favor her? I adore her! And to see her left in such embarrassing circumstances—”

“Battersby, I haven’t time for this. I left the path wide open for you. Might even have a chance to win her hand now. You should be thanking me instead of annoying me.” He leaned down until he was nose to nose with the man. “Because I would hate to have to take affront to the tone you are using and put a bullet through your chest before you even had a chance to propose.”

Battersby blinked. Then he blinked again, this time a light dawning in his dim brain. “Oh, well, hadn’t thought of it that way. Not at all. How right you are, Rockhurst. Always are.” He smiled widely. “Should have known you were there in my camp. Ready to help me along with the chit. I can see it now, you and I, breaking hearts wherever we go.”

He took the man by the shoulders and none-too-gently pushed him in the general direction of Miss Burke, not knowing if he was doing the man a favor or he should just challenge the fool and end his life before he did himself in by offering for Lavinia Burke.

A whisper of wind flitted through the room, bringing with it the scent of the garden beyond. Rockhurst needed no further reminders, taking giant, quick strides the rest of the way and sending one and all the haughtiest look of scorn he could muster, if only to save himself any more interruptions. Finally, he made it to the garden unencumbered, but one look over the garden wall showed all too clearly that the sun was down.

That and the fact that the small, narrow garden was entirely empty.

At least of any visible woman.

“Demmit!” he cursed, loudly and roundly. He was too late.

Her laughter did little too soothe his frustration.

“You almost found me out, Rockhurst,” she said in that teasing way of hers. “Almost.”

“I have another way to determine who you are,” he offered, trying to discern just exactly where it was she stood.

“And that would be?”

“I could kidnap you again and keep you in my bed.”

“And seduce me into revealing my identity? You are good, my lord. But it hasn’t worked so far—”

“I wouldn’t need to seduce you.”

“You wouldn’t?”

Was it he, or did she sound disappointed?

He grinned. “No, I’d keep you well satisfied just long enough for the hue and cry to be raised for a missing young lady. And then I’d know exactly who you are.”

“You are a rogue, sir,” she replied. “For then I would be ruined.”

“More so than you already are?” For she’d certainly ruined him for any other woman.

“Ah yes, but that is our secret.”

Secrets…there it was, the solicitor in her again, always finding the loophole to wiggle through. “It wouldn’t be tomorrow.”

“Have you not realized that my ruin could well have me banished to some remote part of Scotland?” She paused, and then he heard her slippers tripping lightly up the gravel. “And were I banished, my lord, with whom would you dally?”

Minx! She knew she had him.

“Do you really think I’d allow you to be banished?”

“Because this is
your
realm?”

“So it is,” he said, feeling his heart twist slightly as she drew closer. He’d never felt like this before with a woman. She left him aching like a greenling, acutely aroused and, at the same time, all too unsure of himself.

“And if I were banished, I couldn’t go out socially,” she whispered as she came right up in front of him. He didn’t need to see her to know that she was just a breath away.

He could feel her. Smell her. Nearly taste her.

“You don’t really go out socially as it is,” he teased. “Given your current predicament.”

“I don’t consider it a predicament,” she said huskily, her hand coming to slide up under his jacket, over his waistcoat and coming to rest over his heart. “I consider it a boon.”

“A boon? To be unseen by one and all?”

“I am seen by you, and I consider that the finest boon I could have ever gained with just one wish.”

“Then your wish has come true?”

“Not quite yet.”

“How so?”

“You haven’t made love to me yet this night.”

“The sun just went down,” he protested.

“Then why are we wasting time standing about here?”

He needed no further invitation, his mouth crashing down on hers in a bruising kiss. The chit had him hard and ready, and there was nowhere to go.

Cheap bastard, Abington. Not even a potting shed to be had.

“Isn’t there a gate?” she asked.

“No,” he told her. “Only one way in and out.” He started toward the French doors, her hand in his, but he stopped abruptly and shook a finger at her. “Leave Miss Burke be.”

“Must I?”

“If you want me to…” he whispered an erotic promise in her ear, and she teetered against him, her breath coming in quick little gasps.

“But—”

“No buts!” he told her. “You so much as bedevil one hair on her head—”

“I thought you didn’t like her.”

“I don’t,” he said. “But as you said before, you’d be wasting precious time.”

She laughed. “Devil!”

“Minx!”

They kissed again, her body rocking up against his, urging him to forget the demmed bed and just take her right that moment. He would if he hadn’t planned to carry her off. Take her back to his bed and pour champagne over her enticing body, then drink it from her silken skin.

Then he’d…

A racket of barking, then a pained “yelp” rose from beyond the house. Rockhurst immediately dropped her hand and stilled.

The sound was so fearsome, so plaintive. So unmistakable.

Rowan.
Howling as if the very fiends of hell had him cornered.

For they did.

Hermione raced after Rockhurst as he bolted from the garden, through the crowded ballroom, and out the front of the baron’s town house.

She hadn’t as easy a time negotiating the thick maze of guests, for he had breadth and height to his advantage, and she could barely stay in his wake before the crowd would swell back together, and she’d be cut off.

Finally, she gained the curb out front and spied him sprinting across the street, toward an alleyway.

“Rockhurst!” she shouted. “Wait for me.”

But he was oblivious to her cries, continuing headlong toward the commotion.

Rowan’s growls and barks sent an uneasy shiver down her spine, for she’d heard Dubhglas’s last words.