A Lady's Guide to Kiss A Rake: Misadventures of the heart (4 page)

Jo’s smile froze. Goodness, they weren’t jesting. They did consider this a grand play and themselves the leading actors.

“We can even rehearse our parts in the mornings!” Holly exclaimed.

Willow gleamed. “Excellent! How fun it will be to tease your brother and watch his face turn purple before his temper explodes and he bellows at the furniture. He will be one of the leading acts without even knowing!”

Jo chuckled, their laughter contagious. “Then I must thank you for assisting me, even though it is for some silly wager.”

“Think nothing of it,” Poppy said with a grin. “We were prepared to die of boredom, but you have given us the perfect opportunity to provoke some trouble. It’s so seldom we venture to London.”

Jo regarded the girls in amused consideration. “So you are not intent on following your cousin’s footsteps into spinsterhood?”

“Good heavens no!” Holly said with the same excitement she did everything else.

Willow just shook her head with a slight smile. Of the three sisters, she appeared to be the most level headed, Jo decided.

“I cannot wait to fall in love,” Poppy said on a dreamy note.

Willow cocked her head to the side. “My cousin will marry yet, I do not believe spinsterhood is her fate. Neither is yours.”

“You don’t?”

All three girls nodded. It would seem Jo had been the topic of their discussion before.
Brats.
“I presume you believe I will be next to fall into the parson’s trap?”

Willow shrugged. “It is our view that our cousin will be the last to fall.”

Jo’s loud snort greeted their view. “I assure you, I have no intention of ever taking a husband.”

“You might not have a choice,” Poppy murmured. “This wager may yet leave you ruined.”

“Only if I get caught,” Jo snapped, annoyed by the direction of the conversation.

“Please do not think me presumptuous,” Poppy added hastily. “I do not believe you will get caught, but the possibility remains, and what Willow meant,” Poppy said giving her sister a pointed stare, “is she believes that all things happen in sets of three.”

Sets of three?
Preposterous.

“I for one do not believe in such drivel. And even if I do get caught, which I will not, I have a plan.”

Still, odd as it may seem, Jo could not help but feel as though fate was conspiring against her. As though with this wager, she had put events into motion that would lay waste to her reputation or her life as she had come to enjoy it.

Jo shook her head, as if the act itself would erase her thoughts. Theatrical. All this talk about acting and playwriting had made her melodramatic. Fate would not plot against her. In fact, the only person who might find it in his mind to collude against her in such a nefarious way would be her brother, but he was not one for diabolical scheming.

“It remains pointless to run from fate. We will just have to wait to see what it has in store for us,” Willow said wisely.

Yes, she was by far the most levelheaded of the three, even though she was the second born.

“Well, perhaps fate will allow me to win the wager.”

And Jo did wish to win. Years ago, she’d been courted once.  He’d never kissed her, but she allowed him to steal her heart and shatter it to pieces. It had been in that moment of devastating pain—pain only made worse by the fact that she lost something she realized she never had to begin with—that Jo vowed she would never let any man have that kind of power over her again. With this wager, she remained in control, with no chance of her heart being led astray.

A sudden sound akin to a caged animal stomping past the drawing room (one growling about females and suffocation) gave them pause. A smile tugged at Jo’s lips by the time they heard a door slam shut.

“Well, we have accomplished what we set out to do,” Poppy murmured and Jo laughed at the glint in the girl’s eye, her spirits high for the rest of the day.

Chapter 4

Lady Josephine arrived at the Wynter’s Ball on her brother’s arm promptly at midnight. The event was in full swing and indeed, a crush. Jo always preferred to arrive early at such gatherings, not because she deemed it to be good manners, but she enjoyed observing her peers as they arrived. Tonight, however, was the exception. She wished to make an entrance with her latest Madam De La Frey gown. 

Earlier this evening, Jo had hesitated when she saw the rich violet silk spread out over her bed. A symbol of elegance and grace.  Draped over her curves, it complimented her feminine shape, hinting at seductive temptation. The lustrous fabric glinted, reflecting the light of the ballroom, and adding to her appeal. Cut low, the luring skin promised to draw appreciative stares.

Jo felt naked beneath the eyes that penetrated her, including that of her brother, whose face turned four shades of red when he caught sight of her, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. She would have had a devil of a time keeping her brother from dragging her home if not for Poppy Middleton, who suddenly appeared at her side.

“It’s about time you arrived. I had begun to think your brother may have locked you in his dungeon.”

Brahm’s face mottled even more before he stomped away without a word.

“How rude!” Poppy exclaimed.

Jo laughed, taking Poppy by the arm. “My brother does not have a dungeon.”

“That you know of,” Poppy said with a saucy grin.

Jo led them into the throng, examining the crowd for familiar faces. “Do you think he noticed my entrance?”

Poppy snorted. “My dear, every gentleman in attendance noticed your entrance—even Craven. But that’s not all. The Marquis of St. Aldwyn’s jaw practically dropped to the ground when he caught sight of you descending the stairs. Then his face scrunched together in the most unhandsome way.”

“Oh dear,” Jo murmured with a frown. If Craven asked her to dance, as Belle predicted he would, St. Aldwyn may get it into his head to meddle in her affairs.

“I will put Willow on St. Aldwyn’s tailcoats. She will distract him, but to be honest, we may have trouble distracting that one.”

Jealousy reared its ugly head, but Jo tamped it down, annoyed she should even contend with such emotion. He meant nothing to her, so why should she be jealous if Willow batted her eyes his way?

“It’s this dress. It’s cut too damn low.”

Poppy chuckled at her use of language. “You should have seen his expression.”

The corners of Jo’s lips turned upward. It was a pleasant picture, in her current mood.

“How does your brother manage to keep all the gents at bay with one look?” Poppy asked, a little in awe.

“It’s a terrifying look,” Jo admitted as her gaze darted to her sibling. He made an intimidating figure with his dark scowl always in place. Gentlemen tended to be wary of his temper and reputable fighting skills, while the ladies fled at the sight of his heated glare (and her brother glared a lot). The result being people avoided him whenever possible. He appeared much too doom and gloom for his tender age of twenty-seven. But behind his hard exterior, a man of great passion existed.

“Where’s your cousin?” Jo asked, her gaze seeking her friend.

“Oh, she’s ogling the object of your wager.”

“How...like Belle.”

“You must recount all the details of his kiss when you win. I wish for nothing more than to be kissed by a rake.”

“If he even asks me to dance,” Jo muttered.

“Oh he will, I have no doubt, if not tonight then the next.”

It must be tonight.
Or Madam De La Frey may remove even more material from her next gown.

“Do not look now,” Poppy whispered urgently, “but Craven is making his way toward us.”

The girl’s face flushed with excitement and Jo’s heart fluttered in her chest.  This was it. “Has anyone else noticed?”

“No, Willow has maneuvered St. Aldwyn so that his back is facing us and Holly, well, I do not know what Holly is doing but your brother has just fled in the opposite direction. Holy saints, is she yelling his name?”

A syrupy string of laughter filled the air as Jo saw Holly running after her brother, and indeed, calling out his name. Oh, what she would give to see her brother’s face.

A sudden thought occurred to her and she grabbed Poppy’s arm in a tight grip. “I haven’t been introduced to the Earl yet.”

“What?” Poppy asked confused, her gaze still trained on her sister’s crescendo of catastrophe.

“He is heading our way and Lady Wynter is not accompanying him. Every pair of eyes will be drawn in our direction.”

Poppy waved a dismissing hand. “They will believe you have been introduced at some point. There is no reason for them to suspect otherwise.”

“Everyone except my brother,” Jo muttered.

She hadn’t given much thought to how Craven might approach her, only assumed that he would. Jo must have done a better job with her smolder than she suspected.

“Just remember, you are a woman of the night.”

“I am no such thing, Poppy!”

“If he believed that, he would not be approaching you.”

Poppy was right. A man of his stature and reputation would not be approaching her if he perceived her to be a simpering virginal miss. A truth proven when she found herself gazing up into a pair of icy blue eyes, so cold she would describe them as the devil’s eyes, though they were set in an angel’s face. For one brief moment, Jo forgot to breathe, but then she recalled she was supposed to be intriguing and mysterious—a woman of the night, as Poppy put it. In her best attempt yet, she plastered a coy smile on her face. With the slight upward curve of one side of her mouth, she remained silent, deciding it best to say nothing.

“Lady Josephine, may I have the pleasure of this dance?”  His voice was a soft rumble in his chest.

Her breath hitched in her throat when his eyes boldly roamed over her face before settling on her exposed skin. He held his arm out for her and Jo sent up a short prayer for her salvation. Because no force, no matter how big, would stop her brother from dragging her home if he witnessed her dance with Craven.

She did not answer, there was no need, only took his arm and let him lead her to the dance floor, where the orchestra had started a waltz. Over the years she had danced the waltz plenty of times, but in Craven’s arms the sensation felt wicked and sinful. She did not dare peer at anyone except him, mainly because she could not escape those mesmerizing eyes. She could feel the stares of curious onlookers on her back, hear the whispers and titters spread like a wild fire through the ballroom. At least, that is what Jo imagined she heard. She ought to kiss him right now, for after this dance she may never have the opportunity again.

Craven pulled her a fraction closer than propriety allowed, his eyes taking on a seductive glint. Jo recognized trouble when she saw it and if ever there was a man not to get embroiled with, even for one kiss, it would be him.

Now or never, Josephine
.

“While I admit your attention is flattering, my lord, I am somewhat surprised by it,” Jo murmured in what she hoped to be a husky voice.

She couldn’t tell whether her body “made love” to his as Belle so ridiculously suggested she should do, but it did not matter all that much. She had his undivided attention.

His eyes were hooded as he regarded her before he said, “After the way you devoured me with your gaze Lady Josephine, you can hardly be all that surprised.”

A smile touched her lips. “Devoured, my lord?”

“Do not play coy, Josephine, and call me Lucien.”

Every bone in her body quivered at the use of her Christian name. How utterly improper!

“I do not play coy,
Lucien
, and while I admit your physical form is something to be admired, I never had any intention to pursue my fantasies.”

His eyes widened but a fraction, but Jo noted it with satisfaction. Who would have imagined she would be so good at flirtation?

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

His voice had taken on a seductive tone, causing Jo’s mouth to run dry. “Perhaps,” she whispered, her gaze purposefully lowering to his mouth as her tongue darted out to line her upper lip. She was satisfied only when she heard his intake of breath.

“Is that so?”

Her eyes sparkled as she stared up at him. “Simply for a kiss.”

“I am intrigued by your daring, my lady, but how, may ask, will you achieve such a feat?”

A throaty laugh masked her surprise at his answer. What a perplexing man, that he would make her spell it out. “I will begin by luring you outside to the gardens.”

A smile tugged at his lips, his eyes alight with devilry. “Oh? And how will you manage that?” he asked with keen interest.

“I won’t need to manage it, Lucian.”

“Why is that?”

“You will follow me out, even if it is just out of curiosity.”

“With St. Aldwyn lurking in the shadows, are you sure?”

Jo gave him a droll stare. “Noticed that?”

“My dear, I doubt there is a person in attendance that hasn’t. They would have to be blind or not overly bright.”

A nonchalant shrug met his answer. “It is unfortunate the marquis has taken it upon himself to save society from my ministrations.”

“And what ministrations would that be?”

She leaned into him, her eyes gleaming. “I would tell you my lord, but then I would have to kidnap you. No telling what may happen to you after that.”

He rewarded her with a chuckle, his voice amused when he said, “If you do manage to lure me to the gardens, what are your plans? Do I need to fear for my life?”

“Well, being the blackguard that I am, and you being a man alone in the gardens, I will certainly take advantage of you.”

His lips quirked. “What a monster you are, my lady.”

“I prefer scoundrel.”

“A rake pursued by a scoundrel. The gossip rags will eat it up like butter cake.”

“Quite the understatement, I’m sure.”

Heat warmed her cheeks when he stared at her with those hawkish eyes of his. Could he see through her pretense? Was it even pretense anymore?

“This is a dangerous game you are playing, Josephine.”

Her amused gaze locked with his heated one. “I could say I do not play games, Lucien, but I’m enjoying myself too much to lie,” she murmured, causing another chuckle to rumble in his throat.

He twirled her quite suddenly and Jo had to suppress the bout of merry laughter wanting to burst from her chest. It had been too long since she last danced.

“Why have you never married?”

“I’ve no interest in marriage,” Jo answered, still caught up in the rhythm of their bodies moving together.

“So you would not consider becoming my wife?”

“I would run screaming for the hills.”

The rich sound of his laughter drew curious eyes from onlookers. It was so contagious in fact that soon Jo found herself wearing a silly grin. It was then, with a belated sense of awareness, that she realized he’d steered them toward the French doors. She resisted the urge to peek back and forth in a sudden surge of nervous tension.

I am a lady of the night
, she repeated in her head over and over until calm settled over her. 

“Would I make such a terrible husband?” he murmured over her head, his eyes examining the crowd.

“My aversion is not to you, but marriage itself.”

“Does that surly brother of yours share your view?”

“On the contrary, it gives him heart palpitations.”

That seemed to amuse him. “He would not force you?”

Jo’s sigh was one of dramatic fashion. “He may yet, but I like to believe that he knows me well enough that forcing marriage upon me would only result in his utter embarrassment.”

“Indeed?”

“We all have our secrets.”

“Perhaps I will coax some of those secrets from of you,” he drawled with a lazy smile, giving Jo the impression of a cat eyeing the cream.

“I do not part so easily with mine.”

They reached the French doors as those words left her lips and Jo hid her nervousness behind an arched brow. 

A mocking smile stretched across his face, daring her to refuse his obvious offer to take a stroll in the garden. With a small smile she stepped onto the terrace, his hand on the small of her back as he led her into the gardens for her very first kiss.

From a distance, Damien set course directly across the ballroom, following the most beautiful and infuriating woman known to man.  Or just to him.

She currently hung on the arm of Craven and Damien had to tamp down the urge to yank her away from the devil. When he first spied Craven approaching Lady Josephine and Miss Middleton, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him. What the hell was wrong with the chit? Craven would never approach a lady without provocation. He also refrained from consorting with proper ladies. Which meant Lady Josephine was up to no good. Again.