Seducing an Angel Read online

  He held out his arm for her hand.

  It was a long-fingered hand encased in a white glove. It might never have wielded an axe, Stephen thought. It might never have wielded any weapon with deadly force. But it was very dangerous nonetheless.

  She was very dangerous.

  The trouble was, he really did not know what his mind meant by telling him that.

  He was going to waltz with the notorious Lady Paget—and lead her in to supper afterward.

  He would swear his wrist was tingling where her hand rested on his sleeve.

  He felt stupidly young and gauche and naive—none of which he was to any marked degree.

  The Earl of Merton was taller than Cassandra had thought—half a head or more taller than she. He was broad shouldered, and his chest and arms were well muscled. There was no need of any padding with his figure. His waist and hips were slender, his legs long and shapely. His eyes were intensely blue and seemed to smile even when his face was in repose. His mouth was wide and good-humored. She had always thought that dark-haired men had a strong advantage when it came to male attractiveness. But this man was golden blond and physically perfect.

  He smelled of maleness and something subtle and musky He was surely younger than she. He was also—and not at all surprisingly—very popular with the ladies. She had seen how those who were not dancing had followed him wistfully with their eyes during the last two sets—and even a few of those who were dancing. She had seen a few glance his way with growing agitation as the time to take partners for the waltz grew close. Several, she suspected, had waited until the last possible moment before accepting other, less desirable partners.

  There was an air of openness about him, almost of innocence.

  Cassandra set one hand on his shoulder and the other in his as his right arm came about her waist and the music began.

  She was not responsible for guarding his innocence. She had been quite open with him. She had told him she remembered seeing him yesterday. She had told him she had deliberately discovered his identity and just as deliberately collided with him a short while ago so that he would dance with her. That was warning enough. If he was fool enough after the waltz was over to continue to consort with the notorious Lady Paget—axe murderer, husband killer—then on his own head be the consequences.

  She closed her eyes briefly as he spun her into the first twirl of the dance. She gave in to a moment of wistfulness. How lovely it would be simply to relax for half an hour and enjoy herself. It seemed to her that her life had been devoid of enjoyment for a long, long time.

  But relaxation and enjoyment were luxuries she could not afford.

  She looked into Lord Merton’s eyes. They were smiling back at her.

  “You waltz well,” he said.

  Did she? She had danced it once in London a number of years ago and a few times at country assemblies. She did not consider herself accomplished in the steps.

  “Of course I do,” she said, “when I have a partner who waltzes even better.”

  “The youngest of my sisters would be delighted to take the credit,” he said. “She taught me years ago, when I was a boy with two left feet who thought dancing was for girls and wished to be out climbing trees and swimming in streams instead.”

  “Your sister was wise,” she said. “She realized that boys grow up into men who understand that waltzing is a necessary prelude to courtship.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “Or,” she added, “to seduction.”

  His blue eyes met hers, but he said nothing for a moment.

  “I am not trying to seduce you, Lady Paget,” he said. “I do beg your pardon if—”

  “I do believe,” she said, interrupting him, “you are the perfect gentleman, Lord Merton. I know you are not trying to seduce me. It is the other way around. I am trying to seduce you. And determined to succeed, I may add.”

  They danced in silence. It was a lovely, lilting tune that the orchestra played. They twirled about the perimeter of the ballroom with all the other dancers. The gowns of the other ladies were a kaleidoscope of color, the candles in the wall sconces a swirl of light. Behind the sound of the music there were voices raised in conversation and laughter.

  She could feel his heat, flowing into her hands from his shoulder and palm, radiating into her bosom and stomach and thighs from his body.

  “Why?” he asked quietly after some time had elapsed.

  She tipped back her head and smiled fully at him.

  “Because you are beautiful, Lord Merton,” she said, “and because I have no interest in enticing you into a courtship, as most of the very young ladies here tonight do. I have been married once, and that was quite enough for this lifetime.”

  He had not responded to her smile. He gazed at her with intense eyes while they danced. And then his eyes softened and smiled again, and his lips curved attractively upward at the corners.

  “I believe, Lady Paget,” he said, “you enjoy being outrageous.”

  She lifted her shoulders and held the shrug, knowing that by doing so she was revealing even more of her bosom. He really had been the perfect gentleman so far. His eyes had not strayed below the level of her chin. But he glanced down now and a slight flush reddened his cheeks.

  “Are you ready for marriage?” she asked him. “Are you actively seeking a bride? Are you looking forward to settling down and setting up your nursery?”

  The music had stopped, and they stood facing each other, waiting for another waltz tune to begin the second dance of the set.

  “I am not, ma’am,” he said gravely. “The answer to all your questions is no. Not yet. I am sorry, but—”

  “It is as I thought, then,” she said. “How old are you, Lord Merton?”

  The music began again, a slightly faster tune this time. He looked suddenly amused again.

  “I am twenty-five,” he told her.

  “I am twenty-eight,” she said. “And for the first time in my life I am free. There is a marvelous freedom in being a widow, Lord Merton. At last I owe no allegiance to any man, whether father or husband. At last I can do what I want with my life, unrestrained by the rules of the very male-dominated society in which we live.”

  Perhaps her words would be truer if she were not so utterly destitute. And if three other persons, through no fault of their own, were not so totally dependent upon her. Her boast sounded good anyway. Freedom and independence always sounded good.

  He was smiling again.

  “I am no threat to you, you see, Lord Merton,” she said. “I would not marry you if you were to approach me on bended knee every day for a year and send me a daily bouquet of two dozen red roses.”

  “But you would seduce me,” he said.

  “Only if it were necessary,” she said, smiling back at him. “If you were unwilling or hesitant, that is. You are so very beautiful, you see, and if I am to exercise my freedom from all restraints, I would rather share my bed with someone who is perfect than with someone who is not.”

  “Then you are doomed, ma’am,” he said, his eyes dancing with merriment. “No man is perfect.”

  “And he would be insufferably dull if he were,” she said. “But there are men who are perfectly handsome and perfectly attractive. At least, I suppose their number is plural. I have seen only one such for myself. And perhaps there really are no more than you. Perhaps you are unique.”

  He laughed out loud, and for the first time Cassandra was aware that they were the focus of much attention, just as she and the Earl of Sheringford had been during the last set.

  She had thought of the Earl of Merton and Mr. Huxtable yesterday as angel and devil. Probably the ton gathered here this evening were seeing him and her in the same way.

  “You are outrageous, Lady Paget,” he said. “I believe you must be enjoying yourself enormously. I also believe we ought to concentrate upon the steps of the dance for a while now.”

  “Ah,” she said, lowering her voice, “I perceive that you are
afraid. You are afraid that I am serious. Or that I am not. Or perhaps you are simply afraid that I will cleave your skull with an axe one night while it rests asleep upon the pillow beside mine.”

  “None of the three, Lady Paget,” he said. “But I am afraid that I will lose my step and crush your toes and utterly disgrace myself if we continue such a conversation. My sister taught me to count my steps as I dance, but I find it impossible to count while at the same time conducting a risqué discussion with a beautiful temptress.”

  “Ah,” she said. “Count away, then, Lord Merton.”

  He really did not know if she was serious or if she joked, she thought as they danced in silence—as she had intended.

  But he was attracted—intrigued and attracted. As she had intended.

  Now all she needed to do was persuade him to reserve the final set of the evening with her, and then he would discover which it was—serious or not.

  But good fortune was on her side and offered something even better than having to wait. They danced for a long while without talking to each other. She looked at him as the music drew to a close and drew breath to speak, but he spoke first.

  “This was the supper dance, Lady Paget,” he said, “which gives me the privilege of taking you into the dining room and seating you beside me—if you will grant it to me, that is. Will you?”

  “But of course,” she said, looking at him through her eyelashes. “How else am I to complete my plan to seduce you?”

  He smiled and then chuckled softly.

  4

  STEPHEN was feeling dazzled and uncomfortable, amused and bemused.

  What the devil had he run into tonight—quite literally?

  Had she really noticed him yesterday from beneath that dark veil of hers while he and Con had been noticing her, and then singled him out this evening and quite deliberately collided with him so that he would have little choice but to waltz with her?

  I know you are not trying to seduce me. It is the other way around. I am trying to seduce you. And determined to succeed, I may add.

  Because you are beautiful, Lord Merton.

  I would rather share my bed with someone who is perfect than with someone who is not.

  Her words echoed in his mind, though he could hardly believe he had not dreamed them.

  He offered his arm when the music ended, and she linked her hand through it rather than setting it along his sleeve in a more formal manner. The ballroom was emptying fast. Everyone was heading toward the dining room and the salons to either side of it. Every one was ready to eat and rest from the exertions of dancing.

  And everyone was looking at the two of them. Or at least, since most people were too polite to stare openly, everyone was aware of them, focused upon them. It was not something he was imagining, Stephen knew. And it was understandable. Lady Paget’s arrival at Meg’s ball, uninvited, had caused a considerable stir.

  He was not embarrassed by the fact that he was with her. Indeed, he was glad of it, since his escort would save her from any open insult or the cut direct, at which so many members of the beau monde excelled. He did not know any of the facts of Lady Paget’s case, but Meg and Sherry had not turned her out. Indeed, they had gone out of their way to make her feel welcome. It behooved all their guests, then, to show her courtesy at the very least.

  He spotted a small unoccupied table with two chairs squashed into one side of the salon to the left of the dining room and led Lady Paget toward it.

  “Shall we sit here?” he suggested.

  Perhaps it would be more comfortable for her here than at one of the long tables in the dining room, where she would be very much on public view.

  “Tête-à-tête?” she said. “How clever of you, Lord Merton.”

  He seated her at the table and went into the dining room to fill a plate for each of them.

  Had she really been offering herself to him as a mistress? Or did her intentions extend only to tonight? Or had he misunderstood altogether? Had she simply been joking with him? But no, he had not misunderstood. She had openly talked about seducing him. Lord, she had asked him if he was afraid she would kill him with an axe while his head was upon the pillow beside hers.

  Someone caught hold of his arm and squeezed it tightly. Meg was beaming up at him.

  “Stephen,” she said, “I am so proud of you. And of myself for having raised my only brother to be a gentleman. Thank you.”

  “For …?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “For dancing with Lady Paget,” she said. “I know what it is like to be a pariah, Stephen, though no one has ever quite ostracized me.

  “We all owe one another good manners, especially when we are making judgments upon one another based solely upon gossip and rumor. Will you sit with us for supper?”

  “Lady Paget is in the next room, waiting for me to bring her a plate of food,” he said.

  “Oh, good,” she said. “Nessie and Elliott have gone to look for her. They intended inviting her to join them. I am proud of all of you. Though I suppose you are all doing it as much for my sake as for Lady Paget’s.”

  “Where is the Marquess of Claverbrook?” he asked.

  “Oh, he has gone to bed,” she said. “The foolish man insisted upon being in the receiving line and sitting and watching the first two sets, even though he was desperately tired and hates social occasions even when he is not. And then he started grumbling about the fact that we were going to allow the waltz. No one ever allowed anything so improper in his day. Et cetera, et cetera.” Her eyes twinkled. “That was it. I banished him to his bed. Duncan swears that I am the only person who can manage his grandfather, but so could everyone else if they were not so afraid of him. He is a veritable lamb beneath all the ferocity.”

  Stephen joined the line at the food table and filled two plates with a variety of savories and sweets in the hope that Lady Paget would like at least some of them.

  When he returned to the salon, she was fanning her face, a haughty, contemptuous smile playing about her lips. All the tables around her were occupied. No one was talking to her or even about her—not audibly, at least, but it was obvious to Stephen that everyone was very aware of her. He guessed that some of the people there had chosen the salon deliberately because she was there, so that they could report on her behavior in drawing rooms across London for the next week or so and complain of the outrage of having had to share a supper room with her.

  Such was human nature.

  He set one plate in front of her and seated himself opposite with the other. Someone had already poured two cups of tea.

  “I hope,” he said, “I have brought you something that you like.”

  She glanced down at her plate.

  “You have,” she said in that low, seductive voice of hers. “You have brought yourself.”

  He wondered if she always talked so outrageously.

  She was probably—no, she was undoubtedly the most sexually attractive woman he had ever set eyes upon. Her heat had seemed to envelop him all the time they waltzed, though she had danced quite properly and had not once tried to close the distance between their bodies.

  “Were you afraid I would not return?” he asked her. “Have you been feeling very conspicuous and self-conscious?”

  “Because everyone here is expecting me to draw an axe from beneath my skirts and twirl it about my head while letting out a bloodcurdling shriek?” she asked him, her eyebrows raised. “No, I take no notice of such nonsense.”

  She was very forthright. But perhaps she had discovered that the best defense was often offense.

  “Gossip usually is nonsense,” he said.

  That scornful smile still hovered about her lips as she selected a lobster patty from her plate and lifted it to her mouth.

  “Usually,” she agreed, raising her eyes to his as she bit into the patty. She chewed the mouthful and swallowed. “But sometimes not, Lord Merton. You must wonder.”

  He could only follow her lead.

  “If yo
u killed your husband?” he said. “It is none of my business, ma’am.”

  She laughed—and several heads turned openly their way.

  “Then you are a fool,” she said. “If you are going to allow me to seduce you, you ought perhaps to have a healthy fear of what I might do to you when your guard is down and you are naked in my bed.”

  She was becoming more outrageous. He hoped he was not flushing.

  “But perhaps,” he said, “I am not going to allow it, ma’am. Indeed, I do not believe I would ever allow myself to be seduced. If I were to take a mistress or a casual lover, it would be something I chose to do because I wished it and because she wished it. It would not happen because I had fallen a mindless prey to a seductress.”

  He really did not have any appetite, he realized as he looked down at his own plate. Why had he piled so much food onto it?

  And why was he having this conversation? Had he really just spoken those words aloud to a lady—if I were to take a mistress or a casual lover …?

  Had he completely lost all sense of propriety? Outspoken and notorious as she was, she was still a lady. And he was still a gentleman.

  “And I do not fear you,” he added.

  Perhaps he ought to. Perhaps what he had just said to her was so much hot air. He had never kept a long-term mistress, though he was by no means a virgin. He had often slightly envied Con, who always seemed to find a respectable widow with whom to conduct a discreet affair when he was in town. A few years ago it had been Mrs. Hunter, last year Mrs. Johnson. Stephen was not sure if there was anyone this year.

  If he himself was now considering taking a mistress or a lover—and, Lord help him, he was considering it—was it because he had suddenly chosen to do so quite deliberately and rationally in the middle of a ball or because he had been seduced into doing so by a woman who was quite blatant about her intentions?

  She was not at all his type, he reminded himself. Not the type of woman he would ever consider for a bride, anyway. But he was not considering her for a bride.

  Unbidden, an image of what she would look like naked on a bed flashed into his mind, and he felt an alarming tightening in the area of his groin.