The Wedding Clause Page 5

  “Later, my beauty.”

  She reached up to stroke his hand that still lay against her bodice. “You have promised that since you so unexpectedly called upon me. I begin to wonder what it truly is you desire from me, Hart.”

  He bent his head to stroke his lips over her cheek even as he covertly glanced toward the distant box. “A few hours of your time.”

  “Why?”

  “I should think that would be obvious.”

  “I thought it was. Now I begin to wonder.”

  “I . . .” Abruptly realizing that Lady Falker was now seated alone in her box, Hart straightened with a frown. “Where the devil did she go?”

  “Is something the matter, my lord?”

  “Nothing that need trouble you,” he muttered, his brows drawn together. Had Molly fled the theatre? It did not seem at all in keeping with her stubborn temperament. Indeed, he had presumed that she would rather roast in the netherworld than reveal that he had managed to injure her pride. Still, there was no mistaking the fact that she was no longer seated next to her companion.

  Hart determinedly attempted to stir a measure of pleasure. This was precisely what he desired. Molly would soon be a source of pity and amusement throughout London. An unbearable situation for any woman.

  “Really, Hart, you are the most provoking gentleman,” Celeste protested at his side. “I am unaccustomed to being treated with such obvious disregard.”

  Reluctantly turning to regard the exquisite countenance now marred with a frown, Hart bit back a sigh of frustration. With Molly now suitably put into her place, he could no doubt devote the rest of his evening to pleasure. All sorts of delicious, wicked pleasure. Unfortunately, he discovered it annoyingly difficult to concentrate upon the beautiful courtesan.

  “Forgive me.” He conjured a smile. “I fear I am rather distracted this evening.”

  The courtesan’s expression was decidedly knowing. “Who is she?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Celeste laughed softly at his wary expression. “I was not allowed the formal education of your fine lady acquaintances, my lord, but I do comprehend all there is to know of gentlemen. The only thing that could possibly distract you from me is another woman.”

  He gave a discomforted cough. Blast. He could hardly argue the truth of her accusation. It was most certainly another woman distracting him. Although not in the manner she suspected. Or at least, not entirely in the manner she suspected.

  “Celeste, I . . .”

  His soft apology was never completed as the curtain to the box was unexpectedly thrust open and a slender golden-haired angel swept toward his seat.

  “Hart, what a lovely surprise. I did not know you would be here this evening.”

  Rising to his feet, Hart swept his gaze over the woman who was supposed to be cowering in shame. Grudgingly, he conceded that she appeared remarkably pretty in the soft rose gown with her hair in a braided knot that allowed several wisps of gold to brush her ivory skin. Not even the militant glitter in the dark eyes managed to dim her glow of sweet innocence. And that scent . . .

  Abruptly realizing that he was actually leaning forward to catch a whiff of her lavender aroma, Hart sternly stiffened his spine. Dash it all. This woman was the enemy. If he desired to be sniffing at a woman, he possessed a perfectly trained courtesan who was ready and decidedly willing.

  With a well-practiced effort, Hart forced himself to adopt his normal air of casual nonchalance as he peered down his nose at the audacious chit.

  “Molly.”

  She flipped open her ivory fan as she regarded him with a stiff smile. “Why did you not tell me you were coming to the theatre, you naughty boy? Poor Georgiana will be so vexed with you.”

  Hart’s brows slowly lifted. He was not certain what he had expected. Shrill accusations. A slap to the face. Even being pushed over the edge of the railing. Certainly not this brittle charm.

  “Will she?”

  “Oh, yes.” She moved toward him in a coy fashion. “She abhors such a crush, but I simply could not come by myself.”

  “Indeed? I begin to wonder if there is nothing you will not dare,” he mocked in dark tones.

  Her chin thrust upward. “Very little, you will discover.”

  She had no need to convince him, Hart acknowledged with a wry flare of amusement. He was beginning to suspect she possessed more foolish courage and sheer daring than any person he had ever before encountered.

  Gads, what other woman would have brazenly approached him when he was in full public view with his mistress?

  He folded his arms over his chest. “Perhaps you did not notice, my love, but I am rather occupied at the moment.”

  The dark eyes flashed before she was rigidly resuming her air of insouciance. “How could I not notice such a lovely companion? Will you not introduce us?”

  “Introduce . . .?” His brows snapped together. For God’s sake, did the woman have no decency? “No. I blasted will not introduce you. It would hardly be proper.”

  “Oh, fudge. What is a bit of impropriety between us, Hart?” she taunted as she gave a saucy toss of her head and turned toward the woman watching them in speculative silence. “Good evening, I am Miss Conwell, Hart’s fiancée.”

  The famous green eyes widened as Celeste glanced toward Hart’s stony features. “Fiancée?”

  “Yes, indeed,” Molly plunged heedless onward, either oblivious or impervious to the sudden silence that had descended upon the theatre. “Is that not so, my dear?”

  He gave a lift of one broad shoulder. “If you wish to make the claim.”

  “But of course I do. What woman would not desire to claim a gentleman of such noble virtue, such unwavering integrity, and such obvious morality?”

  “No doubt a wise one,” he purred, not at all certain how he could be so bloody furious and yet so amused at the same moment.

  “Well, we have already ascertained that I have never been particularly wise,” Molly murmured, and then as the curtain upon the stage began to rattle open, she audaciously moved to plant herself in the seat he had just vacated. “Ah, I believe the performance is about to commence.”

  Hart snapped his brows together. “You cannot remain here.”

  “Why ever not? Although I would never wound Georgie’s tender sensibilities the view from your box is far superior. I promise I shall not trouble you a wit.”

  “Molly,” Hart gritted.

  “Yes, Hart?”

  “I would like a word with you in private.”

  “At the intermission, my love,” she promised with an airy wave of her hand.

  A taut silence descended until there was suddenly a rustle of heavy silk and Celeste moved toward the back of the box. With swift movements, Hart was crossing to block her retreat.

  “You are not leaving?” he demanded in low tones.

  Expecting her to be infuriated by the ridiculous situation, Hart was startled when he realized that the green eyes were glittering with a wicked amusement.

  “Unlike you, my lord, I know when I have been clearly routed.” She gave an elegant lift of her shoulder. “Besides which, I make a point of never appearing so close to a woman younger than myself. It is hardly good for business.”

  Hart grimaced, knowing that he was not nearly as disappointed at having the beautiful Impure slip from his grasp as he should be. In truth, it was rather a relief to know he would not be forced to invent some flimsy excuse for why he would not be spending the night in her charming arms.

  “I will have my coach take you home.”

  Her expression became wry. “Do not bother. I shall have no difficulties in discovering another to take your place.”

  “No, I suppose not,” he murmured, reaching out to take her hand and lift it to his lips. “Forgive me.”

  Unexpectedly, she pulled her fingers free to lightly stroke his cheek. “Save your pity for yourself, Hart. I have a feeling you will need it.”

  * * *

  Despite
her most fervent efforts, Molly discovered she was unable to make out more than a low mutter of conversation behind her. Was Hart attempting to convince the beauty to remain? He could not, after all, be particularly pleased to have his evening of wicked debauchery brought to such an abrupt and unpleasant end. Even if he was merely using the courtesan to rid himself of an unwanted fiancée.

  Or perhaps Celeste was attempting to convince Hart to leave with her . . .

  A sudden ball of dread lodged in her stomach.

  Good heavens. She had not considered the possibility that her fiancé might simply abandon her in the box while he openly left with his mistress.

  If he truly desired to humiliate her, there could be no more effective means. Why society would no doubt talk of the crushing blow for years to come.

  Gripping her fan so tightly that the delicate ivory threatened to snap, Molly heard the curtain at the back of the box slide open. She even forgot to breath until at last the sound of footsteps drawing inexorably closer could be detected over the wild beat of her heart.

  So, he had not left. Only then did she manage to suck in a measure of air to her tight lungs. Air that was swiftly lost when warm, male fingers gripped her bare neck in a firm, unshakable grasp.

  “Are you certain you desire to sit so close to the edge, my love?” he whispered, bending until his lips brushed her ear. “I would not desire to have you tumble over the edge.”

  Firmly telling herself that the warm flutters in the pit of her stomach had nothing to do with his lingering touch, nor the soft brush of his lips, Molly stiffened her spine.

  “Oh, I would not fear, my lord. I would only return.”

  “Rather like the plague, hmm?”

  “A hardly flattering comparison for your fiancée,” she muttered. “No wonder your rather tawdry companion felt the need to flee with such haste.”

  “Tawdry.” His low chuckle seemed to pour directly down her spine. Worse, those disturbing fingers had softened their grip until he was gently stroking the tender skin of her neck. “Do I detect a note of jealousy?”

  “Certainly not,” she denied, her tones ridiculously unsteady. Then, as she realized that not even a stark raving fool would believe she was indifferent toward the strikingly beautiful courtesan, she gave a restless shrug. “No, that is not entirely true. I cannot imagine there is any woman who would not envy such beauty. It is only a pity that she has been forced to trade upon her loveliness to survive.”

  Behind her Molly could feel Hart stiffen, as if caught off guard by her reluctant confession. Slowly, he withdrew his hands and moved to take the seat next to her. He did not, however, make any attempt to appear as if he were interested in the actors who were even now moving about the stage. Instead he turned to fully face her, his arm casually draped over the back of his gilt-edged chair.

  “Celeste appears content enough.”

  Molly turned her head to encounter his gaze that was unnervingly piercing. Despite the vast crowd, many of whom were no doubt avidly watching their exchange, they might have been alone in the shadowed box. A rather disturbing sensation.

  Still, she could not afford to reveal any hint of unease. Not to Hart, or the jaded members of the ton.

  “Because she is paid to seem content,” she retorted in a thankfully firm tone. “I do not believe any woman can be happy offering herself to an endless string of gentlemen.”

  “Morals from you, Molly?” he lightly mocked.

  “Sympathy, my lord. I happen to know what it is like to be alone and forced to fend for oneself. A woman possesses few choices. If not for your grandmother, I do not know what would have become of me.”

  His features hardened at her words. “If you hope to stir my softer emotions, my love, let me assure you that I have none.”

  She rolled her eyes at the vast understatement. He might as well have reminded her that the sky was blue. “Of course not. You are the Heartless Viscount, after all.”

  “Precisely.”

  “You appear to take great pleasure in your reputation,” she retorted with an unwitting frown. “I presume you must enjoy being feared.”

  “It is preferable to having others presume me to be a fool.”

  “Ah, yes. Everyone must be out to take advantage of you, eh Hart?”

  He deliberately allowed his gaze to sweep over her slender form, lingering for a moment upon her soft lips.

  “Enough that I have learned to protect myself.”

  The insult was as subtle as a slap to the face, but Molly refused to rise to the obvious bait. Instead she slowly tilted her head to one side.

  “How lonely you must be.”

  “Lonely?”

  “A gentleman who never trusts another must always be lonely.”

  He stiffened, almost as if she had hit a vulnerable nerve, but before she could be certain he was stretching out his legs and returning to his façade of impenetrable ease.

  “I manage to muddle along.”

  “Yes, but are you happy?”

  His gaze narrowed. “Are you?”

  Molly bit her lip at the swift rejoinder. Of course she was not happy. Her brother was in mortal danger. She was forced to deceive and challenge a gentleman who disturbed her in a manner she found difficult to comprehend. And the peaceful existence she had always dreamed of at Oakgrove seemed to grow ever more distant with each passing day.

  It was rather ironic really. Unlike many of her friends, she had never rebelled against the future that was expected of a young lady of society. She did not long for adventures or daring flirtations. She did not particularly desire to travel about the world or be the toast of the Season. All she wanted was a husband who would treat her with kindness and respect and a family to call her own.

  Simple dreams, and yet she might as well have wished for the moon.

  “Touché,” she muttered.

  Hart stilled, searching her pale countenance with a searing intensity. And then, as if not entirely pleased with his inner thoughts, he gave a faint shake of his head.

  “Tell me, how did you meet my grandmother?” he abruptly demanded.

  “I met her at a charity tea that I was attending with Georgie,” she readily answered. And why should she not? She had nothing nefarious to hide. Well, at least not in her dealings with Lady Woodhart, she silently amended. “She claimed that she had been great friends with my grandmother in her youth and asked me to visit her at her home. I believe she enjoyed reminiscing of her younger days.”

  “And you, of course, pretended a vast enjoyment in such reminisces?”

  “There was no pretense.” Molly met his gaze squarely. Whatever this man’s suspicions, her love for Lady Woodhart had been utterly genuine. “I very much enjoyed hearing of my grandmother’s youthful antics. Not all of us are so jaded and cynical as you.”

  He slowly leaned forward, his eyes glittering in the shadowed light. “I should not be so cynical if you had not insinuated your way into my grandmother’s household.”

  She itched to rap her fan against his skull. Thankfully, it was her favorite fan and she was not about to have it broken upon thick granite.

  “Lady Woodhart desired a companion and I was in need of employment. There was nothing deceitful about the arrangement.”

  “And why would the sister of a Baron be in need of employment?”

  Molly’s heart nearly stuttered to a stop at the unexpected attack. Although she had learned to deflect even the most pressing questions concerning her brother, she discovered herself shifting uneasily in her seat. Hart was not at all like others. Not only did he possess a shrewd intelligence, but he was also a relentless opponent. If he sensed even the smallest hint of suspicion in regard to Andrew, then he would not halt until he possessed every sordid detail of the truth.

  “My family has always been in financial straits, as I am sure you must be aware,” she at last managed to retort between stiff lips.

  “And yet according to rumor your brother is living quite splendidly, if r
ather reclusively, somewhere in Europe. Does he not see that you are provided for?”

  “I . . . prefer to remain independent.”

  Hart made a sound of disapproval deep in his throat. “So, your worthless fribble of a brother has abandoned you and to recover the position lost to you, you conceived a plot to use my grandmother to restore you to the life of luxury.”

  His condemning words should not have troubled her. She had heard such accusations from him endless times over the past months. But oddly she found herself batting back ridiculous tears.

  No doubt it was simply her frustration at having her brother so ruthlessly disparaged without being allowed to defend him, she told herself sternly. It could have nothing to do with his seething dislike toward her. Or his determined insistence to believe the worse in her.

  “Believe what you will, my lord.”

  “Oh, I intend to.”

  Realizing that she was actually trembling with the force of her emotions, Molly abruptly rose to her feet. She had accomplished what she had set out to do. Whatever the whispers tomorrow, they would not speak of her humiliation, or of Hart’s disdain for his fiancée.

  “If you will excuse me, I believe that I will return to Georgie.”

  He lifted himself upright, his hand reaching out to grasp her arm. “I thought that you claimed I possessed a superior box?”

  “Superior, perhaps,” she muttered, determinedly drawing her arm from his grip. “But there is a rather foul stench in the air. Good night, my lord.”

  Chapter Five

  Molly chose the back parlor after awaking late and breaking her fast upon toast and tea. It was not that she was hiding, she reassured herself sternly. Or avoiding any visitors that might stray past Lady Falker’s lovely home, though in truth her sleepless night had left her in rather an ill humor.

  It was quite simply that she preferred a measure of privacy when she worked upon her charcoal sketches.

  On the whole Molly was remarkably modest. She did not believe her pale features and golden hair possessed more than a passable beauty. She had never thought herself above moderate intelligence. And the inner strength that had allowed her to survive after her brother’s foolish disaster she considered more a consequence of necessity than any true gift.