The Wedding Clause Page 7

  Avoiding the clutch of fluttering debutantes near the refreshment table and the ever-dangerous dragons that lurked near the potted palms, he at last threaded his way to the fluted columns. Only when he was standing directly behind his treacherous fiancée did he come to a halt and gently reach out to run his fingers lightly over the bare skin of her shoulder.

  Immediately outraged by the intimate touch, Molly whirled about, her eyes widening as she realized precisely who was making such a bold overture.

  “Hart,” she breathed in dismay.

  “Good evening.” With a smooth elegance, he grasped her hand and pressed his lips to her fingers in a lingering caress. Only when she gave a sudden shiver and snatched her hand away to rub it against the satin of her dress did he straighten to smile deep into her eyes. “May I say that you are appearing particularly delectable this evening?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Casually leaning against the fluted column, Hart folded his arms across his chest. He discovered it was rather fascinating to watch the play of emotions over her delicate profile. Anger . . . uncertainty. . . and a large dose of unease.

  “What any bedazzled fiancé would be doing,” he tormented in soft tones. “Basking in the warmth of my beloved’s smile. Or at least attempting to bask. You are rather clutch-fisted with your smiles, my love.”

  Not surprisingly, it was a scowl not a smile that his bride-to-be offered. “If you think to make a scene, Hart . . .”

  “A scene?” he interrupted with a lift of his brows. “I am not the one raising my voice like a common fishwife.”

  Clamping her lips together, Molly shot a covert glance toward the passing crowd. The guests were indeed ogling them, but Hart suspected that for the next several weeks the two of them would not be able to leave their homes without being gawked upon as if they were circus performers. Their mysterious engagement was bound to provoke rabid curiosity of the ton. Especially when they managed to behave as two lunatics rather than sensible, somber-minded citizens.

  “What do you want, my lord?”

  He leaned forward until he could fill himself with the warm scent of lavender. Then, unable to resist temptation, he reached out to stroke his hand along the length of her stubborn jaw.

  “I have warned you that is a dangerous question. Even more so when you are attired in a gown that arouses a gentleman’s deepest fantasies.”

  Even above the din of scraping violins and chattering dragons, Hart could hear the sound of her shocked gasp. A satisfied smile touched his lips. Good. It was about damnable time something managed to shock the hoyden.

  “Hart?”

  Rather distracted by the feel of warm silk beneath his fingers, Hart reluctantly met her wary gaze.

  “Yes?”

  “I . . . halt that at once,” she hissed, although her voice was far from steady.

  His lips twitched as his fingers swept down her throat to halt at the wildly fluttering pulse at the base of her neck. Silk and lavender. A most potent force.

  “Halt what?” he murmured.

  “Touching me as if I am one of your tarts.”

  A sudden laugh was wrenched from his throat. He had never possessed a tart that managed to anger and arouse him at the same moment. Nor one that haunted his thoughts with such tenacity.

  His eyes darkened as he swept his glance over her stiffly held body. “If you were one of my tarts then we would not be standing amongst this dull crowd. And we most certainly would not be wearing so many damnable clothes.” He deliberately leaned closer. “Why do we not slip into a quiet room so that I can properly demonstrate?”

  Blushing deeply, she abruptly stepped from his hovering proximity. “Certainly not.”

  “Why so adamant?”

  “In the event it has escaped your notice, I am not one of your concubines.”

  Leaning back against the column, Hart regarded her pinched expression. Despite her attempts to appear condemning, he did not miss the nervous fashion that her hands plucked at her skirts. Nor the uncertainty that darkened her eyes.

  Oddly, he discovered he had to battle a renegade flare of tenderness at her seemingly flustered innocence.

  “Ah, but you are my fiancée, which implies an even greater intimacy,” he pointed out softly. “Soon enough we shall be as close as a man and woman can possibly be. You shall be mine.” His gaze swept over her. “Completely and utterly, my love.”

  “I . . .” She touched her tongue to her lips as she regarded him warily.

  “Yes, sweet Molly?”

  With an obvious effort, she stiffened her spine and took a firm step backward. “How did you know that I would be here this evening?”

  It was not at all what Hart had expected. God’s teeth. She was supposed to be baffled and frightened. Fluttery. Weak in the knees. Certainly not sharp-witted and suspicious.

  He discovered himself abruptly cudgeling his mind for a suitable response. One that did not include the truth.

  “There are not so many entertainments at this time of year to make it difficult to deduce which you would choose.”

  She frowned at his smooth response. “I do not believe you.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “Then perhaps I am a mystic.”

  She met his gaze squarely. “It is more likely you are having me spied upon.”

  Hart gave a choked cough. Egads, could the blasted woman never respond as she was supposed to?

  “What a suspicious imagination you possess,” he managed to murmur in mocking tones. “Do you think I skulk about Lady Falker’s townhouse awaiting you to make an appearance?”

  “I do not yet know how you manage to follow me, but be assured that I shall discover your methods.”

  The realization that she was quite clever enough to ferret out the treacherous maid if she put her mind to it, Hart was swift to attempt to distract her.

  “What does it matter? Soon enough you will be my wife and not only will you be obliged to tell me of your schedule for every day, but I shall have to offer my approval.”

  Not surprisingly, she stiffened in obvious revulsion. She was certainly not a woman who would take well to a tight leash. She had been allowed to run willy-nilly for far too long.

  “Approval?”

  He offered a rather smug smile. “Most certainly. And I must warn you that during the first few months of our marriage I intend to keep you far too occupied to even consider entertainments. Indeed, I think we might retire to my hunting lodge to ensure our privacy. It will be the perfect setting to indulge our cozy explorations of one another.”

  The beautiful countenance seemed to pale for just a moment before a rush of color stained her cheeks a delicate rose.

  “I suppose you hope to frighten me with such talk?” she hissed between clenched teeth.

  Hart’s lips twisted in rueful humor. Of course he hoped to frighten her. Unfortunately, he was discovering it remarkably tempting to imagine having her at his isolated lodge. Alone with this angel he possessed the premonition that he could easily forget that she was a cold-blooded fortune hunter and simply indulge in the attraction that he had battled since she had burst into his life.

  Abruptly shoving from the column, Hart scrubbed away his unwelcome thoughts.

  “Frighten? Why should you be frightened?” he demanded softly. “I would rather hope you were filled with delight . . . anticipation . . .”

  “Fah.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Her features hardened with suspicion. “We both know that you have no intention of wedding me.”

  Hart shrugged. “Certainly you are not my first choice. Or even last choice, for that matter. But as you have pointed out on more than one occasion this marriage was my grandmother’s last request. I must now console myself with the one benefit of being tied to you for all eternity.” He paused, allowing his gaze to dip to the satin softness of her lips. “And it is a benefit I intend to enjoy to the fullest, my sweet.”

>   “Hart, this is . . .”

  “Ah, Molly. Here you are.” Abruptly appearing at Molly’s side, Lady Falker regarded Hart with a belligerent expression before turning toward her friend. “I fear that I have developed a shocking headache. I hope you do not mind if we leave now?”

  Molly did not even make an attempt to hide her relief. “Of course not. We shall go this moment.” Grudgingly, she turned to sweep Hart a shallow curtsey. “I hope you will excuse us, my lord?”

  “If I must.” Reaching out he took her hand to lift it to his lips, glancing into her dark eyes. “I will call on you tomorrow and we will go for a drive in the park.”

  “Actually . . . I . . .”

  “Yes, my dear?

  Longing to damn him to the netherworld, Molly was instead forced to curve her stiff lips into a semblance of a smile. She was, after all, determined to convince him that she intended to be his bride.

  “That would be lovely.”

  Hart smothered a chuckle at her jaundiced expression. Ah yes, soon enough he would have Miss Molly Conwell put properly into her place.

  And then he could have her out of his thoughts, and out of his dreams.

  Just as it should be.

  Chapter Six

  Molly had considered a dozen different excuses to avoid meeting with Hart. Every maiden was taught from the cradle the subtle, polite means of evading the more troublesome encroachers and less desirables that one was bound to encounter in society.

  Unfortunately, her training had never included how precisely a maiden was suppose to elude her own fiancé.

  No doubt a grave oversight of etiquette on the part of her governess.

  There surely must be some ghastly illness she could conjure? One that was suitably contagious and able to terrify off the most determined gentleman? A sudden rash or a few boils? Perhaps a convenient brain fever?

  In the end, she had come to the unwelcome conclusion that Hart would never be fooled. Even if she were upon her deathbed, he would presume it were some devious attempt to elude him. No, she could not reasonably put off her fiancé. Not without revealing that she was simply playing a desperate game of bluff.

  With a sense of foreboding, she allowed herself to be attired in a pretty buttercup gown that possessed a matching cape lined with fur. She complimented it with her sturdiest half boots and a bonnet with a high rim. She might be forced into riding with Hart, but she would be damned if she were going to freeze to death in the process, she told herself.

  At last as prepared as she was ever going to be, Molly left the welcome security of her chambers and made her way down to the front parlor. Once again she was struck by a sudden wave of unease. Not particularly surprising, she ruefully acknowledged. Not after last evening.

  She was accustomed to Hart’s contemptuous disdain. Heaven knew she had endured enough of it over the past year. But last evening, he had not been at all contemptuous. Instead he had been seductive and charming and utterly male. A potent combination that was bound to make any maiden go weak in the knees. Even a maiden who logically knew that his attentions were no more than a deliberate effort to frighten her into flight.

  Nervously, she paced from one end of the elegant room to the other, relieved when at last the butler appeared at the door. Surely any confrontation with Hart could not be worse than this constant fretting and stewing?

  “Lord Woodhart has arrived, miss.”

  “Thank you.” Smoothing her sweaty palms upon the heavy cape, she offered what she hoped was a confident smile. “Please tell his lordship I will join him in just a few moments.”

  The butler offered a stiff bow. “Very good.”

  Waiting until she was once again alone Molly sternly squared her shoulders. Hart was only playing a game. He could not rattle her unless she allowed him to do so.

  Repeating the words over and over, she slowly made her way from the large parlor and down the stairs to the black and white foyer. She even managed not to stumble when she caught sight of the large, impressively male form standing next to the door.

  Not that it was an easy task, she acknowledged as her breath threatened to lodge in her throat. Especially not when that dark, disturbing gaze moved with a slow, lazy scrutiny over her pale countenance and his lips curved into a tantalizing smile that had to be designed to halt a female heart.

  She bit her lip as she forced herself forward. It appeared that he was once again prepared to play the role of the devoted suitor. A knowledge that only tightened the nerves knotted in the pit of her stomach.

  As an enemy he was dangerous enough. As a seducer . . . well, it simply did not bear contemplating.

  “My angel,” he murmured with a faint bow. “As stunning as always.”

  Ignoring the stupid flutters of her heart, Molly briskly pulled on her soft leather gloves. “Thank you, Hart.”

  A wicked humor glinted in the dark eyes as if he were perfectly aware of the reaction she refused to reveal.

  “Are you prepared?”

  “Most certainly.”

  “Good.” With a nod toward the waiting butler, Hart gently grasped her arm and led her through the door that was promptly pulled open. In silence they moved down the steps, but as they neared the graceful Tilbury he suddenly glanced down with a mysterious smile. “I hope you do not mind, I have brought along a companion.”

  “A companion?” Allowing herself to be lifted onto the padded bench, Molly frowned until she at last caught sight of the small monkey who was cowering upon the floorboards. Her sharp unease was forgotten as she noted the elegant velvet coat that had been tailored to fit the furry body. “Oh . . . how adorable.”

  Swinging onto the carriage, Hart took the reins from the waiting groom, and then astonishingly he gave a low whistle that brought the monkey scurrying from his hiding place to climb happily upon his lap.

  “I presume that you recall this little scamp?” he murmured as he urged the fiercely large bays into motion.

  “Of course.” She watched in bemusement as the monkey clung to Hart’s arm, clearly quite devoted to his master. “I cannot believe that you kept him.”

  He flashed her an unreadable glance. “Would you have me toss him in the gutter?”

  “Certainly not. I merely assumed that you would have him returned to me.”

  “No doubt a far wiser choice considering he keeps my household in continuous chaos,” he retorted dryly. “Unfortunately Brummel would be devastated to be separated from me, would you not, old chap?”

  “Brummel?”

  “Well, he is such a dapper scamp, it only seemed fitting.”

  She was unable to halt the genuine smile that curved her lips. Who the devil would have ever thought that the Heartless Viscount would harbor a weakness for small, fuzzy animals?

  “I do not believe Mr. Brummel would discover it quite so fitting,” she pointed out.

  His lips twitched as he turned onto the busy London thoroughfare. “In his current state of disgrace, I do not fear his wrath. Besides which, Beau has always possessed a rather surprising sense of humor beneath his air of disdain.”

  “You are friends?”

  “Of a sorts,” he confirmed in offhand tones.

  Molly rolled her eyes as she settled more comfortably. Of course this gentleman was intimately acquainted with Brummel. He was no doubt bosom buddies with the Prince. Men of power and influence would always flock together.

  “Somehow I am not at all surprised,” she muttered lowly.

  He gave a lift of his brows at the edge in her voice. “You possess a dislike of poor Beau even after all the indignities he has suffered?”

  “I can hardly dislike someone I have never even encountered, my lord,” she retorted. “Mr. Brummel is hardly the sort to take an interest in a mere companion.”

  Oddly, his lips twisted with amusement at her tart reprimand. “Only because you did not cross his path. Had he suspected that my grandmother harbored a golden-haired angel with eyes the exotic darkness of a tropical nig
ht and the lips of a temptress he would have been camped upon her doorstep. If nothing else, he always possessed exquisite taste.”

  Molly smothered the most ridiculous urge to blush. The gentleman was a master of seduction, she sternly reminded herself. Of course he knew precisely what to say to make a maiden feel all warm and giddy.

  “Very pretty, Hart. But of course, I suppose a glib tongue is essential for all successful rakes?”

  Expecting him to be angered by her mocking retort, Molly was caught off guard when he merely chuckled with seeming enjoyment.

  “I do believe we have just been insulted, Brummel. Surely there must be a penalty for such impertinence?” he demanded of his tiny companion. “What is that? Ah.” He slowly smiled as he caught Molly’s reluctantly amused gaze. “Brummel insists that you must forfeit a kiss.”

  Her heart missed a strategic beat as she struggled to appear indifferent to his bold flirtation. A task made all the more difficult by the distinctly odd desire to glance at the chiseled male lips that no doubt knew all there was to know of kisses.

  “Indeed?”

  “Well, it is only justice.”

  She primly folded her hands in her lap. “You may inform Brummel that I do not offer kisses to ill-mannered beasts.”

  “I was not referring to the monkey,” he informed her softly.

  “Neither was I.”

  His laughter rang through the chilled air as he efficiently turned his team through the gate to the park. Just for a moment, Molly discovered her gaze lingering upon the elegant profile. He was always astonishingly handsome, even when he was glaring and stomping about. But with his features softened and a pair of unexpected dimples dancing next to his full lips, he was heart stopping.

  Abruptly, she turned her head to watch the handful of carriages that threaded through the various lanes. Very well. He was handsome. Achingly handsome. And undoubtedly charming when he desired to make the effort.

  That was no excuse to become a babbling idiot.

  “Ah, my dear, a direct hit,” he was murmuring as they bowled along the nearly empty path. “But while I am wounded, I will not be forgetting that I am due a kiss.”