All's Fair in Love and Seduction

Chapter One

“Who is that standing next to Lady Windmere?” Lord Derek Creswell asked while his gaze remained fixed on the dark-haired beauty casting furtive glances at him over a lovely bare shoulder.

Derek had first glimpsed her at the Radcliffe ball the month past. Since then, he’d seen her at various other society events.

And he wouldn't mind seeing much more of her.

Lord Alex Cartwright angled his head in the direction of Derek’s stare and replied curtly, “Miss Elizabeth Smith.”

Normally, Derek would have wasted no time in seeking an introduction but something had cautioned against it. Perhaps it was the incongruity of innocence and sensuality packaged in a female form meant to make a man think of sin and nothing else.

By God, he’d been tempted, no doubt about that, but since he’d stop letting his cock take the lead in all things soft and female, he’d had to be content to admire her from afar.

“And?” Derek prompted, his attention still focused wholly on Miss Smith. It appeared the task of eliciting information from his friend would be an arduous one.

After a pause, Cartwright relented, replying as if reading points on a list. “Miss Elizabeth Smith. She’s Missy’s cousin twice removed. Her father recently came into a barony. This is her first Season.”

Lady Windmere’s cousin and thereby Rutherford's relation—though somewhat distant—by marriage.

Of all the bloody luck.

This made the situation particularly sticky if he chose to pursue her. He had to decide whether she was worth the headache of incurring Rutherford's wrath should things not go to the lady's satisfaction.

“She is stunning,” Derek remarked offhandedly in a belated and weak attempt to play down his interest.

Light brown eyes, red bow-shaped lips and skin like silk; almost as if she had been fashioned specifically with men in mind.

Derek had wanted her from the first time he'd seen her and tonight that want had become a relentless throb in his loins. He knew what that meant and like the departure of a long treasured friend, he bade a silent farewell to his good judgment.

“That she is,” Cartwright replied, his voice softening and somewhat bemused.

Perturbed, Derek shot him a quick glance, then turned and followed the direction of his friend’s narrowed gaze to discover Cartwright wasn’t looking at Miss Smith at all. His friend’s attention centered on one of the Rutherford twins. From that distance, Derek couldn't tell which as they appeared to be identical in every way save temperament. He imagined it was Charlotte, the quieter one, for there had always been an undercurrent of something between them. He hadn’t exactly known what but it was obvious now.

Lust. Passion. Affection?

For his friend’s sake Derek hoped he felt a healthy dose of the latter, she was Rutherford’s cousin by blood after all, raised by him since the age of fifteen. There existed a bond between them Rutherford wouldn’t have with his wife’s cousin. Not that Rutherford would stand to see Miss Smith trifled with.

Regardless, Derek was relieved his friend’s interest was not in Miss Smith. It wouldn’t do for them to be lusting after the same woman.

Derek returned his attention to Miss Smith and as if he'd willed it by the force of his gaze, she angled her head to peep at him for the fifth time since he’d arrived a half hour ago. Her eyes widened at his openly admiring regard, for in the past he’d been just as circumspect as she in their visual intercourse.

Their eyes met and held, and the awareness that had smoldered like a brush fire between them, threatened to burst into a conflagration of lust. Seconds ticked too slowly, too quickly before she looked away, her face flushed a violent pink. A heaviness settled in his loins.

“Arrange an introduction,” Derek demanded quietly, giving up all presence of casual interest.

Cartwright slanted a glance in his direction, one eyebrow rising above a lock of black hair resting low on his forehead. He did not immediately respond, instead appeared to be thoughtfully choosing his words. “I’ve met her…Miss Smith. She is not the worldly sort. And more to the point, she is practically Rutherford’s relation. If you’re looking for a dalliance, I think it best you set your sights elsewhere.”

How had Cartwright taken it as far as dalliance when he'd merely asked for an introduction? It wasn’t as if he meant to whisk her off to the gardens for a private ravishing. At least not that very night.

Caught!

The sheer weight of Lord Creswell’s regard initially made it impossible for Elizabeth to look away. His gaze pierced her through to her core, creating an ache that started in her chest and spiraled downward until her inner thighs clenched in an effort to contain it, find relief from it, only to find none.

After several breathless moments trapped under the heat of his penetrating stare, she summoned up what little of her will remained, managing to wrench her gaze away.

An image of him as he’d looked six years ago pushed to the forefront of her thoughts. He had been the kind of handsome that warranted second and third looks. But that first impression he’d made upon her fifteen-year-old heart paled in comparison to what he did to it now.

He’d grown only more handsome in the ensuing years, his dark hair cut shorter, his shoulders broader, his cheekbones more pronounced and jaw more squared. He had an air of maturity in his face that had been lacking in the twenty-three year-old man who had stood in her parents’ parlor, venom in his eyes and condemnation lacing his every word. Before her now—not but thirty feet away—was a man who would stand out in any crowd. In the prime of his youth, he wore his black and white tailored garments with the same ease as he carried himself. Before her stood a man of consequence; a man she could only gaze upon but never even think to have for her own.

The viscount didn’t know who she was and provided she kept her distance, he never would. But given the small and exclusive nature of the London ton, their paths would undoubtedly cross again. The prospect should have given her pause instead of causing an unwanted thrill to shoot through her.

“He is quite handsome is he not?”

Charlotte’s voice jolted Elizabeth from her thoughts that ever increasingly tended to center on the viscount.

“Who?” Elizabeth tried her hand at nonchalance but feared the effect was lost to the heat flooding her face. Her mother often said she wore her heart on her sleeve and one day it would be her undoing. If she should come undone, best it occur after her first London Season, well out of the vicinity of prying eyes and loose tongues.

“Alex,” Charlotte chided, with the ease of a friendship that numbered in years and not the month since their introduction.

It had taken the better part of only three days after Elizabeth arrived at Laurel House before Charlotte had confided her feelings for Lord Alex—infatuation-turned-to-love that now spanned three years.

After meeting Lord Alex, Elizabeth wasn’t the least bit surprised. With his piercing silver-gray eyes and dimple in his chin, the second son of the Duke of Hastings possessed looks and charm to spare. Truth be told, he and Lord Creswell shared a superficial resemblance, both tall and handsome, each with a thick black head of hair.

“Very handsome indeed,” Elizabeth agreed with a sage nod. She flitted another glance in the men’s direction but the group at their side had shifted. The back of Lord Stanton’s silver-streaked head now obstructed her view and his voice boomed, threatening to render her deaf in one ear.

“He is a good friend of Alex’s. I can arrange an introduction if you’d like.”

The offer was tempting. Elizabeth had dreamt of their meeting since her mother had informed her she was to have a London Season. Her father’s title had not only come with two entailed properties but a stipend of three thousand a year. A veritable fortune to a family who had thus existed in something close to genteel poverty.

“I’m certain Lord Creswell is deluged with admirers,” she replied evasively. Any sane woman would leap at the chance to meet the rich, handsome viscount, and the state of her mental acuity had up until that day, never been questioned. She’d very much like it to remain that way.

Charlotte chortled, the sound light and ebullient, which had Elizabeth chuckling in spite of herself. “You are quite right. He’s a particular favorite of the ladies.”

Their laughter faded under a companionable silence before Elizabeth spoke again. “Where can Catherine have got to?” She hoped her friend didn’t note and file the change of subject for precisely what it was.

Her question had the desired effect for Charlotte immediately went up on her toes and began scouring the room for her twin. A mass of golden curls secured loosely at her crown with pale pink hair combs bobbed as she twisted her neck from right to left and back again.

Situated at the rear of the estate, the ballroom stretched the entire width of the main house with the dance floor taking up a third of that acreage. A refreshment room conveniently adjoined the dance floor and four sets of French doors opened out onto a stone terrace. The private garden beyond was said to be one of the most beautiful in all of London.

The last they had seen Catherine, Sir William Kingsley had come to claim her for a dance. The set had finished some five minutes ago but as London was experiencing a July devoid of the rain that sometimes plagued the summer month, perhaps he had taken her outside for a stroll.

“She must have—” Charlotte began but broke off when she saw Lord Alex approaching. Apparently, women were rendered speechless in the presence of gentleman with excessive good looks—particularly the ones they happened to be in love with.

“Charlotte.” From his lips, her name was a greeting, a familiar address…and something more. His head dipped in a bow but his eyes never left her.

Charlotte stood momentarily mute, transfixed as her blue eyes drank him in. And not in huge gulps but in savoring sips, as if she’d learned not to gorge herself. Elizabeth could have been a piece of furniture for all the attention the two paid her.

Then as if remembering Elizabeth's no doubt unfortunate presence and his own usually impeccable manners, Lord Alex shifted his focus smoothly to her. “Good evening, Miss Smith. I hope you're enjoying yourself.”

“Thank you, my lord. I’m having a fine time.” How fortunate Charlotte was to have captured the affections of such a man for it was obvious her friend’s feelings were duly returned.

“Alex.” Charlotte’s belated greeting sounded like a breathless sigh, her pleasure as transparent as the polished crystal glasses used to serve the wine and champagne.

For several seconds, very little could be heard above the haunting notes of the waltz and the collective rumble of three hundred guests. The small circle they had formed in the back of the room fell into the kind of silence that brought about a lot of throat clearing and fidgeting of fingers and toes. Inclined to the latter on such occasions, Elizabeth found herself smoothing the lace edge on her blue satin skirts.

“My friend has abandoned me for the greater outdoors.” Lord Alex broke the thick silence, motioning with his head toward the gray London night beyond the terrace doors. “And suddenly I found myself surrounded by dewy-faced debutantes.”

Elizabeth noted the imperceptible stiffening of Charlotte’s form. Pleasure faded from her eyes. “So you are using us to escape.” Her tone made it an indictment, her pursed lips a rebuke.

Lord Alex’s smile faltered and his brow furrowed, clearly taken aback by her charge. Before he could open his mouth to ask the nature of his transgression, Elizabeth excused herself, pleading heat, thirst and hunger, any of which would be true. She hurried away with no true destination in mind just the knowledge that she was superfluous to any situation with Charlotte and Lord Alex in each other’s company.

Mr. Peter Finley was the next name on her dance card but before she returned to the floor for the next set she could use a breath of fresh air. Well it wouldn’t be terribly fresh. This was London after all. But it would have to do until she returned to the much cleaner Wilton air.

My friend has abandoned me for the greater outdoors.

The statement taunted her…lured her as she escaped the ballroom and stepped out onto the lit terrace. What she was doing was foolhardy, her actions putting her vaunted mental acuity under question.

But, she reasoned, she was one of the many Smiths in a city teeming with Smiths, Smyths and Smythes. With her widowed sister living in Dorchester and her parents in Wilton overseeing the renovations of their new residence, what reason would the viscount have to connect her with them?

None.

So what possible harm could come from a chance encounter at a party hosted by the estimable Lord and Lady Windmere?

No harm a’tall.

A rash of gooseflesh appeared when the cool night air struck the skin of her upper arms. Elizabeth gave an involuntary shiver as she took in the long stretch of the terrace, which sat as desolate and silent as the Yorkshire moors. She had expected to see Lord Creswell there in a wide-legged stance, a cheroot in his mouth and a trail of gray smoke rising up to mingle with the equally gray London air that settled above the city like a dark shroud.

Behind a six-tiered stone fountain where water trickled from the mouth of a playful dolphin, the garden landscaped into a maze of lofty hedgerows, shrubs of honeysuckle, and neat rows of yellow daisies and red roses. Toward the back of the property, three large elms offered shade to a white gazebo.

The scent of honeysuckle competed with the dank air and tonight was winning handily. Elizabeth inhaled the sweet fragrance deeply into her lungs as she ventured to the edge of the garden.

Slowly, she looked around and rolled up onto her toes in hopes of spying the viscount’s dark head above the first hedgerow. But for the buzz and chirps of nocturnal insects and the leaves rustling in the breeze, Elizabeth concluded she was quite alone.

“Where did he go?” she muttered to herself. Disappointed, she came down hard on the heels of her satin evening shoes.

“Were you looking for someone in particular?” drawled a deep masculine voice from behind her.