by a couple sprawled on a couch. The next open door revealed a drawing room. No food there either. A young dandy, perhaps no more than twenty, knelt at the feet of a gorgeous creature in a red gown cut low across a magnificent bosom. The severe smoothed-back style of her dark-brown hair emphasized her prominent cheekbones and, along with her almond-shaped eyes, gave her face an exotic look. The boy seemed to be sobbing, while the striking brunette patted his shoulder.
Tony started to back away, but she raised her head and their gazes met. She rolled her eyes heavenward with rueful smile of full lips and a glimmer of laughter in her dark eyes. An instant of connection, yet he was sure he’d never met her before. One thing he knew for certain, her melting brown eyes contained a cry for help. He bowed. “May I be of assistance?”
The boy raised his head. “She won’t have me.”
“I didn’t mean you, you puppy,” Tony said. “Madam, may I remove this watering pot?”
The young man sat up then, and fumbled in his pocket.
The woman handed him a scrap of lace. “Use this, Radcliffe. A man with puffy eyes and a red nose is rarely taken with any degree of seriousness.”
“A red nose?” The boy sprung from the couch and ran to the mirror between the two tall windows overlooking the square. “’Pon rep. You are right.” He dabbed at the offending aristocratic proboscis.
The blatant sensuality of the woman’s smile, as she watched the lad, held Tony captive. No wonder she had the youth on his knees at her feet. And her breasts? Well, they were magnificent. Glorious mounds of pale, soft flesh. He didn’t need another glance for confirmation. Didn’t care to look, because her smile intimated she’d discovered life’s greatest jest and hinted that if the right person found the key, she might share the joke. He wanted that key.
“Vanity,” she said, with a mock shake of her head at the lad. “It does wonders for a broken heart. I recommend cold water at once.”
Radcliffe spun around. “Cold water, madam? Will it not make it worse?”
She laughed, a throaty chuckle with a pulse-quickening effect. Had he lost his mind?
“Not at all,” she said. “Take the word of someone who has cried many tears.” She turned her amazingly liquid eyes on Tony. “Don’t you agree, sir?”
Tony smothered a smile as the young man paled. “Without a doubt. As one who has been the cause of many tears.”
The woman laughed outright. More heat to his blood. Good God, he’d never met a woman who so instantly aroused his interest. Aroused. An unfortunate word, with hardening results.
“Countess, you will forgive me if I go in search of cold water?” Radcliffe asked, returning to stand in front of her, much like a lad before a governess. “I will return. Then you will listen to me.”
“Try some ice,” Tony said. “I suggest you use it elsewhere on your anatomy. Cool your ardor. Can’t you see you are bothering the countess?”
“Am I, Countess?” Radcliffe asked with a boyish smile. Tony wanted to punch him in the mouth.
The woman smiled. “Darling boy, I am old enough to be your mother. Now run along and find a nice young girl of your own age.”
Radcliffe pouted. “You are not old enough to be my mother. She is ancient. And girls my age are dull.”
The boy needed a lesson in manners. Tony took a half step into the room. “The lady is being polite to protect your manly pride. I, on the other hand, have no such scruples. If you don’t leave now, you might find your nose a deeper shade of scarlet.”
The countess’s handkerchief held to his nose, Radcliff scuttled from the room.
The countess sighed. “I made a mistake in letting him speak to me alone. I had intended to let him down gently and instead, seemed to have raised his hopes. The dashing of them was hard, I think.”
“I apologize for my countryman, Countess.”
“Oh la, sir. No need for that. I’m as English as plum pudding, born and raised. ”
Not plum pudding. Perhaps baked apple with cinnamon or a succulent lemon curd, or a rich honey cake. He pulled back from the images and smiled. “I did wonder, given your lack of accent. I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself. Anthony Darby, at your service.” He bowed and as he rose, raised a brow in question. “Countess…?”
She inclined her head and held out her hand. “My deceased husband was a Russian count. I am recently returned to England. I was beginning to think I would require the help of a servant to release me from the poor boy’s clutches. Thank you for your timely intervention.”
A widow and thus available. Something feral and hungry sharpened its claws in Tony’s gut even as he noticed she had not supplied her name. Damnation, he was mad, because instead of bidding her farewell, he took her hand and pressed his lips to the filmy lace covering her fingers.
The view of creamy breasts rising from plush red velvet, and the shadows in their valley sucked the breath from his chest. Even so, he inhaled the subtle fragrance of lavender. “The pleasure is all mine.” He was surprised at the low growl in his voice
She tilted her head, a flicker of amber in warm brown eyes. Interest. Perhaps even challenge. Definitely not fear.
She withdrew her fingers slowly, lingeringly.
He regretted the loss. “I was looking for something to eat. May I escort you to the dining room?” He blasted well hoped food was laid out somewhere, because he needed something to counteract his lightheadedness.
“Why not?” she said, rising.
Only then, did the full glory of her figure reveal itself. Full bosomed, tall for a woman—almost his height in fact—and with long, elegant limbs, she embodied each and every aspect of female charm he preferred.
Perhaps he wasn’t in such a hurry to depart, after all. Dash it. Hadn’t he said less than five minutes ago that he didn’t want any commitments? He held out his arm.
Margaret put her hand on the sleeve of the man holding out his arm with élan, felt muscle and sinew beneath the dark blue superfine coat as they walked. An athletic man, as lithe and sleek as a racehorse. Quite beautiful, in fact. Unlike the bear-like Russians to whom she’d become accustomed, this man oozed finesse. And he was tall. Lovely and tall.
She studied his profile. Handsome in that narrow-faced, rather vulnerable English way, he’d looked too young at first glance. On closer inspection, the cynical mouth and the world-weary silver-gray eyes marked him as older. Around her age, or a little older, some thirty summers, she guessed. He glanced at her, caught her staring. The flicker of heat in the depths of his steely gaze had the same effect as too many glasses of champagne on her blood. A dizzy sort of breathlessness.
“I don’t suppose you know where we might find supper?” he asked with a heart-stopping smile, his deep voice hinting at seduction. The dark, wicked places in her body responded with a delicious thrill. This man positively created havoc on her senses.
“Aah,” she said, indicating the direction. “This is your first visit to Lady Falstow’s infamous establishment.”
