Chapter 12

“I want the supper waltz, too,” Fast said only seconds after they’d begun to dance.

Miss Fontenot laughed. “What makes you think I have it free?”

“If you promised it to somebody else, tell them you forgot that you’d already given the dance to me. But I don’t think you have.”

“For shame! Are you saying that I am not taking the ton by storm, my lord?”

“You’re taking me by storm, and that is all that matters.” Her lips parted and Fast smiled at the adorably flustered look. When she didn’t speak, he added, “I have only ever seen you dance once before—and that was with Avington last year. As far as I’ve seen—and I have certainly been paying attention—you have not danced with anyone else except me this year. Although I suspect that is from choice rather than circumstance.”

“You are flirting with me again.”

“I can’t help myself. You look downright edible tonight.”

Twin streaks of red stained her cheeks so suddenly that she looked almost as if she’d been slapped, but her voice was even and calm when she said, “Is that all it takes to interest you in a woman, my lord? An expensive gown and a fancy coiffure?”

He lowered his caressing gaze to her upper arm. “Those gloves don’t hurt, either.” Before she could reply, he said, “To answer your question, what you wear doesn’t make a damned bit of difference to me. I’d still be interested in you if you wore a burlap sack.” He gave her an evil smile. “Or better yet: nothing at all.”

“If you’re trying to make me blush you have already succeeded and can stop.”

Fast would have liked to tease her all night but decided to have mercy. “What is the occasion?”

“Occasion?”

“For the new gown.”

“Perhaps I am on the catch for a wealthy husband.”

Fast laughed.

“Why is that so amusing?”

“You strike me as a woman who has no use for a husband.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean I cannot see you promising before God to obey any man.”

“And that is how you view marriage—as an opportunity to exert dominance over your wife?”

“If you were my wife, I’d enjoy establishing a bit of dominance over you.”

She gave a startled, breathy laugh and looked away, for once disconcerted by his crude, suggestive comment.

Fast experienced a rare twinge of guilt for teasing her. She might be a sophisticated newspaperwoman, but she’d as much as admitted that she was still a maiden. “I apologize, I shouldn’t be so vulgar.”

Her head whipped around. “Why not? Because I’m a woman?”

“That, and also because you’re young.” And likely a maiden.

“I assure you, I am not a child.”

He smiled. “No? How old are you?”

“It is rude to ask a lady’s age.”

Fast laughed at her quick retort.

“How old are you ?” she asked.

“Given your investigative skills I suspect you already know the answer to that, Miss Fontenot.”

She laughed, her intensity giving way to amusement. “I do indeed. And far more besides.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Fast said dryly.

“So, you don’t talk to other young ladies the way you talk to me?”

“No.”

“Not even Miss Pascoe?”

“No.”

“Why is that?”

“Because she’s not the sort of woman who’d climb a mountain of packing crates to peer inside a brothel. Tell me,” he said, changing the subject, “why haven’t you been shadowing me lately?”

“Why? Do you miss me?”

“I’ll admit that your attention adds a sort of zest to my days. And nights.”

She snorted, clearly uninterested in flirtation, no matter how mild. “Why does Parker hate you so much?”

“What, you don’t know the story?”

“Would I ask if I did?”

Fast sighed. “He wrote a story about my grandfather years ago—this is when I was still a lad—and, as usual, he got a great deal of it wrong. My grandfather sued Parker’s employer and won. I dare say it was not pleasant for him, even though the money came out of somebody else’s pocket. So, I suppose the answer to your question is revenge . Which makes me suspicious as to why he has suddenly stopped haunting my every move.”

“You aren’t the only source of news in the city, my lord.”

“I’m glad to hear that he finally realized that.”

“Oh, he still wants stories about you, but I have my own fish to fry.”

“Indeed? What lucky fish they are to have your attention.”

She tilted her head. “Is that the best the King of the Rakes can manage?”

“You want my best?”

“Of course.”

“I save my best for the bedchamber, darling.”

She rolled her eyes.

Fast laughed. “I deserve that.”

“You do,” she agreed. “Tell me, why aren’t you asking Miss Pascoe for the supper dance?”

“What makes you think I haven’t and she turned me down?”

“I suspect she has been sternly instructed to reserve that set for the heir to a marquessate.”

He clucked his tongue. “That does not speak highly of my personal charm.”

“It wouldn’t matter if you had the charm of a chamber pot; Bryok Pascoe is determined to have you for a son-in-law.”

Fast laughed. “Thank you, Miss Fontenot.”

She shrugged. “It wasn’t meant to be an insult; it is merely the truth.”

“So young and yet so cynical.”

“I prefer the word pragmatic .”

“For your information, Miss Pragmatist, you are the first woman I have asked for the supper dance.”

She stared at him appraisingly, and Fast could almost hear the gears churning away in that clever mind of hers. “May I ask you something, my lord?”

“I am shaking in my dancing slippers, Miss Fontenot. You have never asked permission before; it must be a truly offensive question.”

“What if I promise not to include anything you say for the duration of this dance in any article? What if I promise you confidentiality? Will you answer my questions honestly?”

“Why, Miss Fontenot! Are you feeling ill?”

She gave him an exasperated huff. “Why don’t we just talk? I’ve heard that normal people do that on occasion.”

“Touché. Go ahead and ask and I’ll decide if I want to answer.”

“It’s common knowledge that the Vixen belongs to you, and yet I’ve never seen your name mentioned anywhere when it comes to prize money.”

Fast didn’t reply.

“You don’t want to answer that?”

“Oh, was that a question? Because it sounded like a statement.”

“And you sound like a grammar teacher.”

“I own the Vixen in conjunction with a partner, he has been content to accept all the fame and acclaim.”

“Piers Amory Gregg? Notice the way my intonation went up on the word Gregg, indicating it’s a question.”

“Yes, Gregg is my partner.”

“Interestingly enough, I’ve not been able to find a single piece of information about Mr. Gregg, for all that he claims to be English.”

“That is interesting.”

“Are you refusing to talk about him?”

“Questions about Mr. Gregg are his affair. I’m sure he’d be delighted to be the subject of one of your articles—why don’t you ask him?”

“I think he’s even more secretive than you are.”

“ Secretive has such negative connotations. I prefer the word private, ” he said, his words an echo of her earlier statement. “Why are you so curious about prize money, anyhow? Are you trying to discover how wealthy I am, Miss Fontenot?”

“I wouldn’t mind knowing.”

“If you want to know for personal reasons, then I will be happy to tell you.”

“Personal reasons? You mean am I hunting for a husband?”

“That is the second time you’ve mentioned yourself and husband hunting in the same sentence tonight. Dare I hope?”

She pursed her lips and shook her head, but a smile crept into her brilliant green eyes. “I may not be interested in matrimony, but I do hope some clever woman eventually hunts, traps, and takes your tail for a trophy.”

Fast laughed.

***

“Are you committed for the next set?” Lord Severn asked Lori as he led her off the dance floor.”

“That would be three dances you’ve asked me for in one evening. Even I know that is the ton equivalent of an instant betrothal.”

“Have no fear, Miss Fontenot, I’m not trying to trick you into marriage. I thought we might have a walk in Lord Archer’s garden rather than dance; it is one of the nicest in London.”

Lori cut him a sideways look. “Why are you being so polite and attentive to me?”

“I should hope I am always polite. As for attentive? Well, for purely selfish reasons.”

“Which are?”

He lowered his voice and leaned close enough that Lori felt his hot breath on her temple. “Because I enjoy your company.”

Lori shivered.

“Are you cold?” he asked, his voice rich with humor.

The blasted man knew he was the reason she was shivering. Arrogant rake.

“I will go for a walk with you,” she said. “My wrap is on my chair.”

He led her back to where she’d been sitting with Freddie—who was nowhere in sight and must be off with her charges—and picked up the lovely scrap of silk and draped it over her shoulders.

“There,” he said, offering her his arm.

Lori took it, feeling remarkably conspicuous as she walked beside him toward the French doors. No doubt that was just her nerves talking; after all, there were numerous other couples leaving the stultifying ballroom to take the air. But there was no denying that the viscount was a magnet for attention—especially the female kind—and they were attracting more than their fair share of speculative glances.

“Let us get away from the throng,” Severn murmured once they’d reached the terrace.

“You’ve been here often?” she asked as he escorted her toward a path lighted by lanterns that had been placed at enough distance to offer some privacy.

“Severn House is at the opposite end of the square—which I’m sure you know. When Percy and I were young, Lord Archer’s son was one of our playmates. We spent hours in this garden.”

“It’s beautiful out here,” she said, the air pleasantly crisp and intoxicatingly floral.

He stopped beside a fountain and turned to her. “ You are beautiful.”

Lori wished her heart didn’t behave so recklessly when he said things like that. She swallowed down the nervous flutters and looked up at him.

His hard mouth softened into a smile when she met his gaze. “Why do you write for Parker?”

“You’ve asked me that before. Why do you find it so astonishing that I work at a newspaper? Because I’m a woman?”

“No, because you seem far too clever to do such work.”

She refused to feel flattered by his words. “I work for him because he pays me.” Lori hesitated, and then added, “That money allows me to write the things I really like to write. Those things, unfortunately, don’t pay.”

“Oh? What do you like to write?”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, marveling at her own resistance to answering his question. Her aspiration to become a novelist was not a secret—not by any means—so why was she so reticent with this man?

“Novels,” she said, before she could lose her courage.

“What sort of novels?”

“Why do you care?”

He gave an exasperated laugh. “So very prickly! Why on earth would I ask if I didn’t care, Lorelei?”

“Who gave you permission to use my Christian name… Stand Fast?” she countered, pleased the quaver in her chest didn’t make itself known in her voice.

“ Mmmm ,” he rumbled, his pale eyes narrowing. “I like the sound of my name on your tongue.”

For some reason the word tongue sounded very wicked when he said it. “Your name is unusual, my lord.” It was a stupid observation, but all she appeared to be capable of at the moment.

He nodded slowly, his gaze suddenly dark and predatory.

Lori couldn’t stop swallowing, her mouth flooding with moisture as his pupils swelled. “Is it a family name? Was somebody in—Oh!” she broke off with a yelp when he reached up and cupped her jaw, the tips of his warm fingers resting on the back of her neck.

She didn’t move away. Indeed, it was a struggle not to take a step closer. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

“I want to kiss you,” he said, lightly caressing her cheek with his thumb. “Do you want me to?”

God help her; she did. “Yes.” Lori worried that she’d spoken so quietly that he might not have heard her.

But he must have, because his mouth lowered over hers.

Given his reputation, she had expected a forceful, aggressive claiming, but his lips were soft and gentle as they drifted over her mouth, learning the shape of her with a light tracery of kisses, teasing her until she pressed her lips against his.

He gave an approving murmur and angled his head so that she could reach him more easily.

So…this is what kissing was like.

“Lorelei,” he murmured, the word a warm feather brushing over her cheek. “Are you a siren… luring me to my doom?”

If he expected an answer to that question—or any other—he was destined to be disappointed, because a wordless grunt was all she could manage.

He chuckled softly and then claimed her mouth again, harder this time, his tongue slicking along her lower lip, his teeth gently nipping. The second kiss quickly grew more intense, his touch commanding and demanding and she quickly found herself towed beyond her depth.

One of his hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer while he cupped her head with his other hand, angling her for his pleasure. His body was enticingly hot and hard, and her hands behaved with a will of their own, stroking the fine wool of his coat, her fingers closing over his lapels so she could tug him lower and closer.

Lori gave a whimper of surprise when his tongue probed her slightly parted lips.

“Let me in, Lorelei,” he murmured.

How…shocking.

She opened to him and his hands molded her body to his, his tongue slick and hot. The myriad sensations that flooded her were as enticing as they were confusing and at first Lori felt overwhelmed, as if she’d been caught up in a sensory cyclone. But then…gradually, without even realizing it, she began to not only respond, but explore, caressing his tongue with her own and nipping his firm lower lip.

Lori’s mind was rarely still; even when she slept a non-stop parade of dreams consumed her. But right then, for the first time in her life, she was entirely in the moment, the masculine scent of his cologne mingling with the faint taste of port and the warmth of his hands until every single part of her felt alive .

And then he pulled away.

He chuckled when she tried to follow him, his big hand firm on her waist as he steadied her, the slight clench of his fingers commanding in a way that aroused, rather than annoyed, her.

Lori wrenched her gaze from his reddened, slightly parted lips to eyes. The startling blue of his iris was a mere sliver, swallowed by twin black pools of desire.

Desire for her.

The pulse at the base of her neck fluttered hard enough that she felt it. His gaze dropped to it briefly before lifting back up to her eyes.

“Come home with me, Lorelei.”