One Wicked Wish by Anna Campbell

Chapter 14

On the fourth night of the house party, Lord Halston held a small ball for his guests and neighbors. He’d booked an orchestra from London and had the great hall of his elegant house bedecked in garlands of flowers to welcome the arrival of spring. For once, the weather cooperated, so he set lights in the gardens, in case anyone wished to wander the paths outside.

“Isn’t this just grand?” Imogen brought Stella a glass of champagne in the brief interval before the dancing started again. She looked charming in a leaf-green gown that would probably find its way to Stella in time. That pretty color would make her look bilious.

All night, Imogen had been a popular partner. Against Stella’s expectations, so had she. Nobody here seemed determined to make her sit by the wall. She was used to taking part in a set, so managed to perform tolerably well. At the assemblies in Gloucester, she often danced, but the company at the county town wasn’t so elevated.

“It is.” She accepted the wine and took a sip. It was inevitable that the dry, refreshing taste made her think of drinking champagne with Halston in his chambers. She’d never expected their affair to involve so much conversation.

When she’d agreed to come to the earl’s bed, she’d expected carnal pleasure. But she’d discovered a man not only of surpassing seductive gifts, but with a lively, curious mind. For years, Stella had starved for compatible company. How odd to find it in a dedicated debaucher. How odd and how dangerous.

Because those long, interesting discussions only deepened her hopeless infatuation with Grayson Maddox. She’d become so entangled in passion and fascination that she feared she’d never break free.

Over the last four days, Gray had offered her so much. But one thing that he hadn’t offered her was a good night’s sleep. Her attempt to hide a yawn drew Imogen’s attention.

“Are you tired?”

Was she tired?She was exhausted and edgy with physical bliss and the strain of hiding her affair from sharp eyes. Those sharp eyes included her cousin’s.

Stella felt as if these last few nights in Gray’s arms had stripped off a layer of skin. Everything was more vivid than usual, and the world away from him turned into an unfamiliar place. Brighter. Louder. Harsher. More invasive.

At least now, though, her body had adjusted to her lover’s attentions. After their first night together, every movement had been agony. Muscles she’d forgotten had protested at her wanton exertions.

“A little,” she admitted. “I’ll live.”

Stella wasn’t sure about that. She was so addicted to Halston’s touch that she feared she’d wilt into oblivion once she went back to London.

The day after tomorrow.

She shoved away the horrid thought of how fast her time in Buckinghamshire rushed away. Since their first night, Gray hadn’t mentioned the end of their affair either. But she’d noticed last night that his lovemaking held a desperate edge that was breathtakingly exciting. And a poignant reminder of how wretched life would be, once she left him.

“I’ve had problems sleeping, too.” Imogen’s voice dropped, although nobody paid them any attention. “I’m appalled to say it, but I think Lord Halston has rats. I swear I’ve heard things moving behind the wainscoting. It’s such a magnificent house, I’m surprised.”

Stella was glad that she wasn’t drinking her champagne. Otherwise she was likely to snort it everywhere, the way she’d made a fool of herself with her tea that first night at Prestwick Place.

“I’m sure it’s your imagination.” Goodness, Gray hadn’t exaggerated about how noise from the passage traveled. “Old houses always creak and groan.”

Imogen’s face set in stubborn lines. “No. Something is moving inside the walls. I wonder if I should mention it to Mr. Perrett.”

“Who on earth is Mr. Perrett?”

“Halston’s head gardener. He’ll know what to do. We’ve been talking about how to keep rats out of compost heaps.”

“Have you indeed?” Stella said faintly.

Imogen had seemed happy to spend her time with Lily, Elizabeth and Harriet. Stella had to admit that she’d been distracted, though, and hadn’t been the most assiduous chaperone.

She’d assumed that when Imogen wasn’t with her friends, she was pestering the outdoor staff. She wouldn’t get into much bother talking about gardens.

Unless…

“How old is Mr. Perrett?”

Imogen cast her a confused glance. “You ask the strangest questions.”

“Humor me.”

“Oh, Papa’s age least.”

Stella drew a relieved breath. In that case, she doubted that Imogen was developing an unsuitable tendre.

As if she had a right to criticize her cousin for unsuitable tendres. “Make sure you don’t interrupt his work.”

The music started again, and Lily Bilson’s brother approached to claim his dance. “Lady Imogen, I believe this is our waltz,” Ivor Bilson said, bowing.

He was a handsome young man with beautiful manners, but nothing about her cousin’s demeanor hinted that she viewed him as anything more than her friend’s older brother.

However preoccupied Stella had been with Gray, she remained convinced that Imogen had a beau. But as she glanced across the chattering throng, nobody raised her suspicions.

Stella had spent most of the evening doing her best to ignore Gray, which didn’t mean she wasn’t aware of where he was and who he spoke to. For a fleeting moment, her wandering attention settled on him, while she combed the room to find a candidate for the man who had put that sparkle in Imogen’s blue eyes.

It was impossible to miss Gray, even if he didn’t make her ache with desire. He was back to playing the satanic earl, all in black and so much taller than most of the other people in the room. He was talking to Lady Tierney, who had just danced with him.

He’d kept up his habit of not singling out any particular female guest. So far tonight, he’d danced with all the debutantes and their mothers, and a couple of older ladies who must be the local grandes dames. With his lean grace, he appeared to advantage on the dance floor.

Where didn’t he appear to advantage?

She was doomed. Even if she met a man who might want to marry her in the drab years ahead, how could anyone compete with Gray?

Imogen passed her half-empty glass to a hovering footman. “Stella, do you have a partner for this set?”

“No, I think I’ll sit and catch my breath.”

“I hope that’s not the case,” Gray said from just behind her. “I’d very much like to have this dance with you, Miss Faulkner.”

For one dizzying instant, the crowded, noisy room receded, and Stella heard nothing but the furious drumming of her heart. When she returned to the present, Gray held her arm and regarded her with a quizzical smile.

The one minute when she lost sight of him because she was worried about her cousin had to be the one minute in all this busy night when he sneaked up on her. Her shaking hand crept to where her pulse thrummed so fast in her throat, surely it must be visible.

“How nice, Stella,” Imogen said, showing no jealousy. Stella hoped that meant the girl hadn’t set her cap at Gray. She took Stella’s champagne glass from her and gave it to the same cooperative footman. “Lord Halston is a dream to dance with, and because you’re so tall, you’ll make a perfect match.”

Imogen had no idea how well Stella and Halston matched. She nearly lost her balance again, as she had a sudden disorienting vision of lying naked under the earl while he thrust inside her. She hoped to the devil that she wasn’t blushing.

Gray must share the thought, because those long black lashes veiled his green eyes and a muscle jerked in his cheek.

Stella struggled to regain her composure. She was well aware that where Gray went, attention followed. In truth, she wasn’t just flustered. She was annoyed. He must know what he asked was impossible.

“My lord, you do me too much honor,” she said stiffly.

“Not at all.”

“Stella would love to dance with you, my lord,” Imogen said, placing her hand in Mr. Bilson’s and letting him draw her away. She turned back to where Stella stood like a statue beside Gray. “She’ll try and tell you it’s not suitable because she’s a mere companion, but don’t listen to her.”

“I won’t,” Gray said with a smile. He was better at subterfuge than Stella was. Anyone observing him would note a casual interest. But she could see his eyes, and his eyes were hungry.

“You can’t do this,” she said in a furious undertone, wanting to pull away from his hold but knowing that if she did, people would notice.

His expression didn’t change. While the smile remained, neither his eyes nor his tone held any levity. Emotion roughened his voice. “I’ve danced with every woman in this room under the age of sixty so that now I can dance with the woman I want.”

She couldn’t help flashing him a look of longing. How could she not, when he said such wonderful things? “It’s dangerous.”

His eyes glittered down at her, sending messages that the polite interest on his face belied. “If we stand here any longer, we’ll attract much more attention than if you dance with me.”

She glanced around. So far, nobody was looking at them, but he was right. So she gave up and did what might not be wise but was certainly what she wanted. “Very well. Don’t make me look at you or everyone will know I’m besotted.”

“Silly girl,” he said with a teasing fondness that she feared she’d miss as much as she’d miss the touch of his hands and the power of his strong body.

“Because I’m besotted?”

“Because you think I’ll let you deny me.” He slipped his hand around her waist. His touch was familiar, as was her shiver of awareness when heat leaped from him to her.

“You won’t always get your own way.”

“I do when we want the same thing.”

It was true, plague take him. “I’m glad it’s a waltz,” she said as he swept her onto the dance floor.

His smile took on a sly tinge. “So am I.”

Her hand rested on his shoulder, and she gloried in his firm grip on her waist. Through their gloves, his touch was warm. A reminder of his hands on her during these last radiant nights. A promise of more radiance to come. “You arranged it.”

“After all, I pay the piper.” He swept her into a whirling turn, but she was already dizzy with a charged mixture of nerves and excitement. While it was risky to be so close to him in public, it was also delightful.

Imogen was right. He was a dream of a partner. As she twirled about the room, she felt like her feet had wings. Even better, the waltz gave them the illusion of privacy.

He went on. “By the way, I’m besotted, too.”

Shock made her stumble and for a few fraught seconds, only Gray’s strength kept her upright. “Oh.”

Her inadequate response widened his smile. With deft skill, he guided her between the other dancers, somehow always preserving a bubble around them.

“Oh, indeed.” He went on as if he hadn’t just made a declaration that rocked her world to its foundations. “You’re looking lovely tonight. In fact, you’ve looked lovely all week. I’ve been meaning to mention it. The other chaperones in London wouldn’t recognize this gorgeous apparition as their demure companion.”

“Thank you,” she said, more warmth filling her. There was something terrifically gratifying in knowing the man she wanted admired her appearance. Well, her clothed appearance anyway. Any niggling insecurities about whether he found her body unsatisfactory had faded during their first night together. He was too desperate to have her to suffer any complaints about her lack of curves. “Imogen insisted I act more like a guest and less like a servant.”

“Good for Imogen.”

For a sizzling second, she met his eyes then glanced away. “Stop looking at me like that. People will think you want to devour me.”

He gave a wry laugh, although he took her warning and glanced over her shoulder to nod acknowledgement to a couple who danced past them. “I do.”

She fought the urge to tangle her fingers in the black curls at his nape. “Later.”

“Yes, later.”

For a fashionable event, the ball had started early. In London, society gathered until well after midnight. If this party continued for the usual duration, it would be over by ten. Another deliberate choice, Stella now suspected.

For a few minutes, they lapsed into silence, enjoying their ease of movement. It was glorious to dance with Gray and yield to the demands of the music and the subtle press of his hand.

“I wish I could dance with you in London. You have no idea how often I wanted to fight my way through the serried ranks of dowagers to claim you as my partner.”

Startled, she looked at him, then away. If she spent too long gazing into those brilliant green eyes, she didn’t trust herself to conceal her attraction. “It would be lovely, but it would cause too much talk.”

Here in the country, she could relax her strict control a little. The guest list was small, and Gray had avoided inviting the ton’s worst gossips. In London, Stella would go back to being that prim, watchful, disregarded duenna. The thought was depressing.

Except Lord Halston hadn’t disregarded her, had he?

“It would, but that didn’t stop me wanting. That’s when I resorted to the gazebo solution.”

A choked laugh escaped. “Thanks to Imogen.”

“Thanks to Imogen.” He performed another swift turn and dared to bring her nearer.

Stella caught a drift of his scent, so evocative after hours of sensual exploration in his rooms. She drew it deep into her lungs, even as she forced herself to remember where they were.

“You’re holding me too close,” she said with audible reluctance.

“Damn it, Stella…” For one bristling moment, his grip tightened as if he considered dragging her upstairs. A thrill composed of fear and desire rippled through her. What a scandalous finale that would give to the ball.

He eased his hold, and they returned to the distance that propriety demanded of waltzing couples. His features set in uncharacteristically stern lines.

Stella swallowed to loosen her tight throat and fixed a bland expression to her face. Her smile showed a lamentable tendency to slip. “Now you look like you want to take me away and spank me.”

He didn’t smile back. “Don’t tempt me.”

She had a sudden picture of herself draped across his knees and his hands on her bare buttocks. The idea shouldn’t arouse her, but God save her, it did. When she shivered, she knew Gray noted her response.

The green eyes grew intent. “Does that interest you?”

She hoped that the heat rising in her face didn’t show or that if it did, people would blame the close atmosphere in the room. “I don’t know.”

He bit back a groan and for a second, there wasn’t a trace of artifice in his face. “Hell, Stella, there’s so much more that I want to do with you. Why are you going back to London so soon?”

A hammer crashed down on her heart, and the happiness she felt in his arms disintegrated to leave ashes behind. “Because I must,” she said in a dull voice.

She watched him bite back the urge to argue. It wasn’t the time or place. His hand pressed on her waist and when he drew her nearer, she didn’t have the heart to protest.

This time, the silence that fell between them didn’t vibrate with unspoken promises and illicit attraction. This time, the silence was burdened with a looming separation that neither of them was ready to face.

After a while, she licked dry lips and ventured a comment to break the brooding atmosphere. “This waltz seems to be lasting a long time.”

Gray, too, had regained his control, although she could feel his tension. “I told them to play all the repeats, then repeat the repeats.”

“I’m glad.”

He flashed her a surprised glance. “No complaints about the risks I’m taking?”

“No, no complaints,” she said in a reedy voice, as the musicians began what she recognized as the coda to the much-elongated tune. She caught Imogen’s eye across the room and plastered what she hoped was a carefree smile to her face.

“Will you join me on the terrace for some air?” Gray asked.

Although the temptation was powerful, she shook her head. “If you pay me any more attention, we’ll become items of interest.” She paused. “I’m sorry, Gray. I imagine affairs with your opera dancers are easier to manage.”

At least that made him smile. “Yes, you’re causing me a great deal of effort. You’d better make it up to me later, or I’ll have something to say about it.”

Her answering smile took more energy than it should. “I promise I will.”

“I wish I could take you upstairs now,” he said with sudden savagery, even while his expression remained neutral.

She didn’t answer as the dance finished and he led her toward Imogen. What was there to say?