came to a halt, but he still hadn’t released her. “This is the second time you’ve gotten in my way, dragon,” he said, his voice a drawling caress. “I don’t like being frustrated.”
“You’ll have to get used to it as long as I’m around. I’m not letting you near Miss Hetty.”
“Why not? Clearly the girl will be married for her money. With that background her pretty face won’t be enough to lure much of a title, which must be her father’s intention.”
“True—” Annelise said, tugging her hand from his strong hold surreptitiously. His gloved hand was still on her arm and he didn’t seem in any mood to let her go. “—but with the money then she can at least find a respectable suitor, and you, sir, do not qualify as such.”
“Ah, but not everyone likes respectable. I’m convinced Miss Chipple is enjoying the consternation she causes when she flirts with me.”
“I’m not enjoying it,” Annelise said crossly. “Will you please let go of me?”
“Not yet,” he drawled. “I came to this insufferably boring party for the sole purpose of furthering my suit with your flighty young heiress and you’ve botched that entirely. I think you and I have to come to an understanding.”
“I consider that highly unlikely.”
“I intend to marry your silly little charge. I need the money, and I have little doubt that she’d choose me above all the men she’s met so far in London. She has a fascination for danger, and anything you say to discourage her will have the opposite effect.”
“I won’t argue with that.” Why wouldn’t he release her? Why did the warmth of his hand spread through the thin kid gloves he was wearing so that it almost seared her skin? “You’re quite dazzling in a tawdry, ne’er-do-well sort of way,” she continued, “but it’s not going to be her choice.”
She’d managed to silence him. He stared at her in astonishment. “Tawdry?” he choked.
“Young girls are always attracted to rakes,” Annelise stated in practical tones she was far from feeling. “Which is why wiser heads rule attachments of this sort. If her father doesn’t realize how unsuitable you are I’ll make certain he’s informed of it. You’ll have to look elsewhere for your fortune.”
She didn’t like that gleam in his eyes. Beautiful eyes, tinged with green and gold, and sly like a cat’s. “I don’t know of any other heiresses who’ve chosen to arrive in London this season,” Montcalm said. “Unless you’re possessed of a tidy income, dragon—”
“I haven’t a penny.”
“Too bad. I could have enjoyed making you eat your words,” he murmured in a voice far too affectionate. He reached up and flicked the lace cap surrounding her face like a nun’s wimple. “And what the devil is this? You weren’t wearing it in the park this afternoon.”
“I wasn’t wearing anything at all in the park this afternoon.” The moment the words were out of her mouth she could have bit them back, but he did no more than raise an eyebrow. “That is, I ran out without a hat or cloak. I am a lady of a certain age and this lace cap denotes my position…”
He ripped it off her head and sent it sailing over the side of the terrace. She watched it drop to the ground with mixed feelings. It was made of very fine lace. It made her feel eighty years old, and she was not yet thirty. “Exactly what color is your hair, dragon?”
Enough was enough. “Gray,” she snapped, yanking her arm from his. He still didn’t release her. She took a deep, calming breath, picturing herself as a starched and disapproving governess. “Mr. Montcalm, you have no interest in what color my hair is or whether or not I have a fortune. I am certain you have an innate sense of who is worthy prey for your schemes, and I hardly qualify. I realize I frustrated your plans for the evening, and while I can’t apologize, you can surely see that this is getting us nowhere. Please let go of me and I’ll return to the party.”
There was an absolute stillness about his face that made her stomach tighten nervously. He was an astonishingly handsome man—there was no doubt of that whatsoever. With his high cheekbones, exotic green eyes and soft, beguiling lips, it was little wonder that he managed to enthrall an impressionable young thing like Hetty Chipple. Indeed, if Annelise were ten years younger and just a little more foolish she might be distracted, at least momentarily, by the laugh lines around his eyes, by the way he looked at a woman, which doubtless had to be dispensed to all women in his vicinity because he could hardly be looking at her in any particular way, could he? He had nothing to gain.
“Ah, dragon,” he murmured. “You underestimate yourself. You do your best to convince the world that you’re a stiff old maid, when I doubt you’re much older than me.”
“I beg your pardon! I’m twenty-nine!” she said, goaded. Deliberately, she realized belatedly.
“Not such a great age after all. Then think of me as a wise elder, dispensing advice. Don’t enter into battles you can’t win. You’re outmanned and outgunned when it comes to Hetty Chipple. I will have her. I don’t care what lengths I have to go to in order to marry her, but I’ve never been one to be squeamish. I’m afraid I can be quite ruthless.”
She believed him and her own sense of certainty began to falter. She had never been a coward or a quitter, but this was starting to look like a fight she might lose. And indeed, what business was it of hers? Josiah Chipple wanted his child to marry well, but he wasn’t thinking in terms of her happiness, only social success. And while Christian was a rake, he was from a family as old as hers, and would be a viscount before long. All she had to do was persuade Josiah that it would do and she could cease to worry. Cease to have anything to do with this difficult man except to nod politely when he visited his fiancée. Whether she’d be called upon to help guide her through a lavish society wedding was something she didn’t care to consider. Someone else could come in and restrain Mr. Chipple’s more exuberant lack of taste.
“Do you love her?” she asked, feeling a small amount of hope.
“Good God, woman, of course not!” he said, clearly appalled. “I don’t believe in love. At the best there’s affection and a certain carnal compatibility, but that hardly equals love. Do I strike you as some sort of romantic poet? I’m much too hardheaded for that.”
“She needs to be loved,” Annelise said in a small voice.
He stared down at her. “Does she indeed?” he said after a moment. “Maybe she just needs to be kissed.”
She didn’t even have time to let the words register. He hadn’t released her arm, so it was a simple enough matter for him to sweep her unsuspecting body against his, pushing her farther into the shadows of the terrace, up against the cool stone wall, and kiss her.
Sheer astonishment kept her motionless, but then, he didn’t appear to expect much participation from her. He still kept his iron grip on her arm, but his other hand cupped her chin gently as he pressed his lips against hers, the cool kid gloves strangely enticing against her face. But nothing as strange as the unexpected softness of his lips, brushing against hers, kissing with slow delicacy that left her in a trance, unable to move. Her eyes fluttered closed as she floated.
“Lesson one,” he whispered against her lips. “Now time for lesson two.” And he tilted her chin down, so that her mouth opened beneath his, and he kissed her that way, a deep,
