Fortified in blessed seclusion by several brandies and a Cuban cigar, Lucas bowed as he rejoined the countess, who was running her hands over the keys of the elderly spinet in a corner of the room. "Evening, Mother. And where is our tender Terpsichore?"
She shot him a withering look, then winced as she feathered a trill. "This instrument is appallingly out of tune. I have been meaning to speak to you, Lucas, about the help. That silly Junkins overturned a sauceboat in Miss Grimaldi's lap at tea today."
Lucas tsked in sympathy. "And what was Miss Grimaldi's reaction to this disaster?"
"She held herself with perfect aplomb. Did you expect her to scold and demand Junkins's immediate dismissal?"
"It would have made an opportunity," Lucas said with frank humor. "None of my servants seems to hold our houseguest in much esteem."
"Why should they, when they follow their master's example?" Dulcie demanded sharply. "Those who were with me in the Cotswolds do not, I am pleased to say, share the native opinion. My Turner is quite taken with the girl. And I do not flatter myself that she is too easy to please."
"Oh, no, your Turner is a veritable dragon," Lucas agreed, and when the countess glared at him, grinned. "What? All I did was acquiesce."
"There are ways and ways of doing things," Lady Strathmere said darkly. The cloud vanished from her brow as Tatiana appeared in the doorway. "Do come in, my child! How ravishing you look!"
Lucas, turning to see the girl standing uncertainly on the threshold, was forced to conclude that the description was apt. The filmy green gown floated around her like a wind-raised sea; her gloves were sea-foam, ecru lace, their length emphasizing the delicate curves of her arms. The cherries at her bosom were gone; instead, his mother's amethysts dangled from her ears and at her throat, catching the candlelight and throwing it back against her shining hair. Amethysts were Russian stones, he recalled vaguely. Little wonder they suited her so well. "Ravishing indeed," he said, bowing, and was gratified to see her evident uneasiness increase.
"Milady," she said in a small voice, "I think I have the headache." She shifted in her kid shoes. "I beg that you excuse me for this evening."
Lady Strathmere turned resolutely toward the spinet. "That won't do, Tatiana. Lord Strathmere has been kind enough to take time from his busy schedule for this purpose."
"Yes, I know of this, but--"
"We've already kept him waiting. Come, come, my girl! I myself find dancing most soothing to the constitution."
Still Tatiana hesitated, her bosom rising and falling against the emerald silk. Lucas, encouraged by her obvious reluctance, held out his hand. "I daresay you won't credit it by what you've seen, Miss Grimaldi, but the chance to take a turn with me was once held in much esteem."
She ignored the hand. "Of that I have no doubt. Milady has regaled me with countless tales of your . . . expertise."
The way she paused to search for the word might have been put down to her unfamiliarity with English. But Lucas, observing the very slight sneer that curled her full upper lip, was not at all sure. Hackles rising, he said gaily, "What do we start with, Mother?"
"Something simple. The polonaise, in slow four-four."
He nodded, crossing the floor to Tatiana, sketching out the steps for her on the bright parquet. She was staring at his boots, spots of color high in her cheeks. So that blush was natural. Lucas found he was enjoying himself immensely. Again he offered his arm. "Shall we?"
"I think," said Tatiana, "I must use my hands to raise my skirts, so that I can see."
He shrugged as she gracefully did so. "If you like. Begin anew, Mother!" He listened as she did, on the sadly dissonant spinet. To his chagrin, Tatiana stayed with him perfectly. "Miss Grimaldi," he accused with a forced laugh, "you have been practicing on the sly!"
She shook her head. "No. But it is not so unlike a dance we do in--where I come from."
"Fancy that," said Lady Strathmere, intrigued. "Just like the card games. Oh, it is verily as the Preacher says, isn't it? There is nothing new under the sun."
"We'd best try it again, just to be sure you have it," Lucas said genially, though inwardly he was beginning to seethe. Was there nothing at which this baggage didn't excel?
Not, it seemed, in the field of dancing. They ran through the whole list of popular hops, from the bolero to the volta, with Tatiana needing scarcely more than three or four exposures to each to prove herself adept. She continued to hold up her skirts, keeping her eyes fixed on Lucas's feet--and he, gamely squiring at her side, could not help wondering what, if not a fear of failure, might have occasioned her attempt to cry off lessons with him.
He had his answer soon enough. "Well! There's nothing left but the waltz," Lady Strathmere decreed, glowing more than the dancers at this proof of her charge's fitness for society.
Lucas, torn between vexation and intrigue, held up a hand. "Some refreshment first. I've a powerful thirst. Miss Grimaldi, some lemonade?"
"If you will excuse it, I should rather have this over with."
He looked at her askance, but she had her head down, daintily tracing out the steps to the cotillion. "Mother?"
The countess, too, was contemplating Tatiana. "Such a long evening it has been for you, pet. I do think something cooling to drink--"
"No, thank you. I wish nothing."
"Well, I'll have a claret," said Lucas, heading for the sideboard. "Sherry, Mother?" She nodded, and he took it to her, then tossed back his wine.
"You'll find the waltz a tad different from the other dances," the countess was telling Tatiana. "Rather newfangled, and I must admit the first time I saw it, I was quite taken aback. But Mr. Brummell gave it his approval, and so it seems must we all! It is in three-four time." She rattled off a few bars of "Ach du lieber" as an example. "So, Lucas. Will you take her in arm?"
He set down his glass, approached, and grasped Tatiana's gloved hand in one of his, setting the other on her waist. She went worse than rigid at his touch. Her back arched; her teeth bared; the pulse at her temples stood out in stark blue lines. Lucas, looking down at her, glimpsed what had so far escaped him in the depths of her exquisite green eyes: a hatred for him so intense it was palpable. He released her abruptly, standing back a pace.
His mother glanced at him. "Did you lose the beat? It's this abominable instrument."
But Lucas's confoundment had naught to owe the spinet. Tatiana, freed of his hands, rearranged her lovely features in a neutral expression, eyes once again downcast. Only the heave of that shapely bosom gave any evidence of the storm of loathing he'd just witnessed.
He felt breathless. Like any other man, he'd been disliked on occasion--even, one might say, abhorred, particularly by the dandies who long ago envied his title and fortune. He'd fought several duels, two with outraged husbands. Yet even on their faces he had never beheld such hostility. You curious minx, he thought, why should I so repel you? He considered ending the lesson; then interest took the upper hand. What might happen if he took her in his arms again?
"Beg pardon, Mother," he said smoothly. "My tails were disarranged. Give us the start once more. One, two, three. One, two, three." Tatiana raised her gaze to him at last. Was her remarkable will enough to conquer such hatred? Apparently so. The emerald eyes were smoldering, but she let him lay his hands on her. Lucas could not resist. "The prospect of a grand duke must be powerfully alluring to you," he murmured, his voice masked by the music.
"On the contrary, milord," she replied, the undercurrent of Russian very thick indeed. "It is the prospect of being free of you that makes me work so hard."
"Then I must endeavor to match your efforts with my own," he said, and whirled her off so suddenly that she gasped.
She followed him. He had to grant her that. Even in her evident discomfiture, even though her teeth were gritted, she did not miss a beat as he swung her about at a dizzying pace. Lady Strathmere, glancing over her shoulder, obligingly quickened her playing to match his expert display. Lucas had never in his life had such a partner. She was stiff in his arms to the point of rigor mortis, yet she never faltered. His mother, watching with some alarm, cried out, "Lucas, do take heed! Mind the board; mind that chair!"
But Lucas, as perturbed by this peculiar creature's grace as he'd been by her display of rancor, only clasped Tatiana tighter, as though he could break her self-control by the force of his fingers. There had arisen in his loins a heat he'd never thought to experience again; the small, inflexible figure clutching his coat somehow had awakened all the rapacity of his flagrant youth. And yet no chit of the ton had ever flouted him this way. Yield. His heart pounded against hers as he spun her over the floor. Yield to me, by damn!
The music broke off abruptly. "Lucas," his mother chided, "you must let her breathe!"
He released her so suddenly that she stumbled, and had to clutch at the wall. "Lucas!" Dulcie cried. "I'm in horror at your manners! Has he hurt you, pet?" Tatiana shook her head mutely, steadying herself, reaching for a strap of her sandal that had worked itself free.
Lucas was in horror, too--at the sudden bulge in the front of his breeches, at the dizzying rate of his heartbeat, but even more at the repugnant longings that had crowded in on him as they danced. And shall love until I die, he'd sworn to his mother regarding Gillian. Now here he was, reduced to boyish quivers by this chit's pretty bosom, the invincible disdain in her jewel-bright eyes.
He made a bow, curt and formal. "Miss Grimaldi. Do accept my apologies. You've learned all I have to teach you. For the rest, you must rely on the many partners you will certainly attract. I bid you good evening. And to you as well, Mother." Then he stalked past them and through the doors.
He was her guardian. But could he protect her from her own reckless desire--for him?
A most reckless encounter...
Without warning, Lucas Strathmere's horse threw him into a snowdrift--at the feet of the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. So this was Tatiana, the peasant girl he'd risked his life to find. Clad in breeches, she had the bearing of a duchess and the unbridled sensuality of a peasant. Not even Lucas, Earl of Somerleigh, could imagine the consequences as he swept her to England, determined to transform her into a lady fit for the ton . . . and uncover the mystery of her past.
A most reckless passion...
She'd learn a proper lady's ways, wear a proper lady's stays--all the better to turn her disapproving guardian into a very improper gentleman indeed. As Tatiana conquered Brighton and brought the randy Prince Regent to his knees, suddenly everything changed: Someone was following her, someone who knew the truth about her past. And even Lucas couldn't protect her--or himself--from the greatest danger of all: flashfire desire, and the scandal she courted in his arms. . . .