CAD'S WISH Page 2

  She was no stranger to affluence and fine living herself. Her father, Sir Edmund Graves, had been a famous sailor and navigator, and through his travels, he’d grown quite rich too. If her life had been plodding down a more ordinary route, she’d never have been introduced to a female as disreputable as Miss Jones, but Hannah’s life had never been ordinary. She was honored to have won Miss Jones’s regard.

  It was hot and stuffy inside the mansion, but there was a verandah and a garden behind it, with lawns that sloped down to the river. She decided to step outside for a few minutes, and she began winding through the bursting mob until, finally, she was pitched out into a deserted hall.

  She walked down it, and eventually, she passed a dark parlor with French doors that led out to the verandah. She entered the room and went toward them when, to her great horror, she stumbled on a man and woman who were snuggled in the corner and locked together in a rousing kiss.

  She gasped with dismay, and they heard her. They halted and peered over, frowning and obviously irked to have been interrupted.

  A candle burned on a table, so she could clearly observe them, and they were two of the most beautiful people she’d ever seen. The woman was buxom and statuesque, her glorious red hair piled high on her head, styled dramatically with flowers and feathers.

  Her gown was cut very low in the front, her corset laced very tight, so she was almost falling out of the bodice. She exuded a sultry arrogance that Hannah couldn’t have displayed in a thousand years.

  The man was even more gorgeous—if that was possible. He was tall and fit, his chest broad, his waist narrow, his legs long. His hair was a striking blond color, the shade of golden wheat at harvest, and it was worn longer than was proper so it curled over his shoulders. She couldn’t discern the color of his eyes, but she predicted they would be very blue.

  His fingers were covered with ornate rings that sparkled as if they contained real diamonds. He was dressed formally, in a perfectly-tailored black suit, so he looked elegant and dynamic. Masculine vigor wafted over to where she was standing.

  He grinned at her and winked, as if they shared a secret, then he said, “May we help you?”

  She was astounded to have him speak to her, and she stammered, “I thought this parlor was empty, and I most humbly beg your pardon.”

  She lurched over to the French doors and practically somersaulted out onto the patio, and as she straightened and shut the door behind her, the amorous pair snickered, then the woman muttered, “What an annoying little tart…”

  Hannah had been sufficiently humiliated for one evening, so she didn’t dawdle to eavesdrop. She found some stairs and hurried down into the garden. There were lanterns hanging everywhere, and she strolled down to the river, enjoying the sight of the boats out on the water as they bobbed in the current.

  After a bit, she located a bench in a secluded arbor, and she sat down. It had a lovely view of the mansion. The windows were open and aglow from the chandeliers, so she might have been staring at a fairy palace.

  Music and laughter drifted out, and in one salon, dancing had started. Couples promenaded and twirled in circles.

  She smiled, charmed by the exquisiteness of London’s wealthy elite, and she was glad to have been included in such a lofty group. It made her feel as if she hadn’t totally abandoned the society into which she’d been born. Perhaps there was still hope for her to stagger back and retrieve a spot in it.

  She smelled smoke from a cheroot, and when she glanced around, there was a man nearby in the grass. He was gazing at the mansion too and hadn’t noticed her. As she studied him, she realized he was the handsome rogue who’d been nestled with the voluptuous goddess in that dark parlor.

  She wasn’t keen to have him see her. What could she say that wouldn’t sound idiotic? She yearned for him to finish his cigar and return to the house, but she’d never been lucky.

  He spun and, suddenly, he was looking right at her. For a moment, they both froze, and there was the eeriest sense in the air that the universe was noting the encounter. The hair on her neck prickled, and she was overcome by the most potent perception that her life was about to change.

  It was a terrifying thought that she shoved away.

  The past few years, she’d endured plenty of changes, and she hadn’t liked any of them. She’d rearranged her world, so there would be no more shocking developments. There was nothing about meeting a handsome man that could alter her quiet existence, so she was being ridiculous. As usual.

  He flicked his cheroot away and crushed the flame under the heel of his shoe, then he asked, “Were you spying on me when we were inside?”

  The rude question aggravated her, and she answered too petulantly. “Gad, no. I was trying to find an unlocked door. You were just…there. I apologize again for intruding.”

  “Women watch me constantly,” he conceitedly claimed. “Especially now. If you were spying, you can admit it. I won’t be upset.”

  “You are incredibly vain to imagine women watch you, and I categorically state that I stumbled on you purely by accident.”

  “You don’t know who I am? Really?”

  “No, I don’t know who you are.”

  He scoffed, then sauntered over and plopped down next to her.

  “I didn’t invite you to join me,” she said.

  “I don’t care. I never listen to women, and I never do what they want. I’m contrary that way.”

  “That news does not surprise me.”

  “What brings you to Sybil’s party?” He’d used Miss Jones’s Christian name, indicating a heightened familiarity.

  “I’m a business associate of hers.”

  “You? A business associate?”

  He gaped, as if the prospect of her being engaged in commerce was too bizarre to be believed, and she said, “It’s more correct to say she’s a customer of mine. I own a bookshop and lending library. She visits regularly.”

  “You’re a proprietor? How absolutely fascinating. What is your shop called?”

  “The First Page?”

  “Never heard of it.”

  His tone was snippy and condescending, but she could be snippy and condescending too when the situation required pomposity. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for being much of a reader, so I’m sure you wouldn’t have.”

  He shifted toward her, his focus intimate, probing, and even a tad naughty. “Why books?”

  “Why not?”

  “There can’t be much of a profit in it.”

  “There’s profit enough,” she said, which was a huge lie.

  At the end of the month, there was never a penny left over, and she operated on the edge of ruin. But then, she never made good choices. How could she have learned to be astute and capable? When had there ever been a role model who might have guided her in a better direction?

  She was twenty-five, a spinster getting by as best she could. Her mother had died birthing her, and her father, Sir Edmund, had been a detached parent who’d resided in London. He’d mostly been a stranger to her, and she’d been raised by lazy, inept nannies and governesses.

  Most days, she figured she was fortunate she could spell a few words and add a few columns of numbers. Her upbringing had been that unproductive.

  “You support yourself?” he asked. “Are you all alone in the world?”

  “Pretty much.”

  And she was alone—if she didn’t include her stepmother, Amelia, or Amelia’s useless husband, Winston. She didn’t mention them though. In case he knew either of them, she wouldn’t point out her connection to the horrid pair.

  “Isn’t it scary to be on your own?” he asked. “I’ve always been told that women are incompetent in all areas and shouldn’t be allowed to control any facet of their lives. How can you possibly manage by yourself?”

  “I will confess that it’s scary on occasion, but would you please not insult me with silly misconceptions about a woman’s lack of competence? If you are so ill-informed about my gender, I wou
ld rather not hear your opinion on the topic.”

  He smirked, a dimple creasing his cheek, and she had to concede that it rendered him even more handsome and mesmerizing. Who had sired such a magnificent human specimen? His masculine beauty was exhausting, and she should have leapt up and stomped off, but she stayed right where she was.

  He was meticulously assessing her, and she couldn’t recall ever being scrutinized so avidly. Particularly by someone who looked like a Greek god. It was a heady sensation to be so thoroughly evaluated.

  “You don’t want my opinion?” He seemed humored by the notion. “You’re a female and I’m a male. You’re supposed to welcome whatever comment I deign to share.”

  “You’re quite ridiculous, aren’t you?”

  “No one but you thinks I am.”

  “Yes, I’m positive you’re deemed to be stupendous,” she sarcastically muttered. She didn’t like to talk about herself, and men insisted they be the center of attention, so she moved the conversation from her to him. “How are you acquainted with Miss Jones?”

  “With Sybil? I gamble at her club.”

  Hannah’s jaw dropped. “You’re a member?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you engage in it for sport? Or are you an addicted fool who’s about to wager away all his possessions?”

  “I’m not addicted, and I couldn’t lose all of my possessions if I had a thousand years to try.”

  She snorted with disgust. Gambling was a terrible scourge among a certain dissolute crowd, and it was the reason she should have detested Miss Jones. It was sinful to encourage such recklessness, but Miss Jones had been kind and helpful to Hannah, so she refused to be snotty or moralistic.

  “You simply gamble as a hobby?” she asked.

  “Yes, and for the camaraderie.”

  “May I hope it’s your only vice?”

  “No. I have dozens of bad habits.”

  “Dozens of them? I find that hard to believe.”

  “I’m a notorious character, and you should pray you’re not observed sitting with me. Your reputation will never recover.”

  “I’ll just have to risk it,” she breezily said. “What are some of your vices? You look very normal to me. I doubt you’re as awful as you claim.”

  “Well, let’s see. I regularly drink to excess, and I race fast, sleek horses. I chase loose women, and I always have a mistress. I’m lazy, impertinent, obnoxiously arrogant, and completely unrepentant over any of my flaws.”

  She clucked her tongue with offense. “You’re deliberately trying to shock me. If I went inside and inquired of Miss Jones, she’d probably tell me you’re a pious vicar.”

  He laughed at that. “I’m not pulling your leg. I am truly one of the most infamous scoundrels in London.”

  “You declare it as if you’re proud to be horrid.”

  “I’m not proud or embarrassed. It’s simply a fact that I’ve never behaved myself. When indecency is so much more fun than decency, what would be the point?”

  “Have you a parent who might have molded you into a more proper condition? Or were you incorrigible from the start?”

  “My mother died early, so she didn’t have a chance to shape my conduct. But my father, in his day, was even more debauched than I am, and I definitely take after him. He’s slowing down a bit in what he views as his dotage, so I’m having to carry the torch on his behalf by living down to everyone’s low expectations.”

  “You shouldn’t brag about being a scapegrace.”

  “Should I lie and pretend to be a model citizen instead? Wouldn’t it be wrong to hide my proclivities from you? You might assume it was appropriate to chat with me.”

  “I stand warned, and I must admit that I’ve never met anyone as shameless as you.”

  “I could introduce you to my brothers. Or my father. My dreadful tendencies run in the family.”

  “You must have some intriguing relatives.”

  “Or perhaps it’s just a very corrupted bloodline.”

  “Perhaps. Who was the woman you were kissing in that parlor? Is she a trollop? Are there doxies roaming the halls and I wasn’t apprised?”

  “There are plenty of doxies in attendance, but then, Sybil manages a gambling club after all. She’s not exactly surrounded by saints.”

  “No, I imagine not.”

  “And since you’re curious, the woman in the parlor is my current mistress.”

  She studied him, and she couldn’t deduce if he was teasing her or not. “Your mistress?” She scoffed at the very idea. “You brought her to Miss Jones’s party? Are you hoping to distress me by announcing it? If so, I can’t fathom why you would.”

  “I’m not trying to distress you. I’m merely being honest about who’s here. You don’t seem to realize the base caliber of many of the guests.”

  “Apparently not, and you are the worst of the lot.”

  He grinned a devastating grin. “Most of the men were accompanied by their mistresses, rather than their wives. It’s the reality of Sybil’s world. As I mentioned, she’s not friendly with saints. They’re not allowed to gamble at her establishment.”

  Hannah sighed with dismay. When she’d accepted Miss Jones’s invitation, it had never occurred to her that scandalous people would make up the bulk of the guests, but she should have guessed. It was just that it had been an eternity since she’d worn a pretty gown, since she’d styled her hair, since she’d reveled at a fancy gathering.

  She hadn’t been able to resist the opportunity, and she wouldn’t question her decision. If she rubbed elbows with a few libertines, it wouldn’t kill her. Immoral behavior was not a disease that was catching.

  He shifted even nearer so their arms and thighs were touching all the way down. He was being much too forward, and she supposed she appeared naïve and provincial to him. She suspected he’d have a week of laughs at her expense.

  “What is your opinion?” he said. “Are you the only ordinary person here tonight?”

  She scowled. “Who wants to be referred to as ordinary?”

  “That was an awkward choice of word, wasn’t it? How about this: Are you the only honorable person here?”

  “From what you’ve told me, it’s beginning to sound like it, although I expect the new Mr. and Mrs. Ralston are extremely honorable too.” They were the newlyweds for whom Miss Jones was hosting the fete.

  “Well, Mrs. Ralston is honorable anyway. I’ve been acquainted with Caleb Ralston for years, and he’s a disgraceful wretch.”

  “How awful of you to denigrate him in his own home.”

  “Have you met him?”

  “No. I would have introduced myself, but I was too short to push through the crowd.”

  “He’s not quite as depraved as I am, but he’s a close second.”

  She glared with exasperation. “I won’t gossip about him, and I think I should head back inside.”

  “Have I upset you?”

  “No. I just don’t like you very much, so I don’t wish to tarry.”

  It was a horrid comment, the type she never uttered, but he was vain, arrogant, and very much out of her league. There could never be a benefit to dawdling with such a degenerate man.

  “My goodness!” he said. “You don’t like me? Women always love me. Why don’t you?”

  “You’re a scoundrel, and you’re working hard to make me blush, and I view it as reprehensible conduct. Would you excuse me?”

  “No, I don’t excuse you.”

  He leaned in and pressed her into the bench. If she’d been a wilting violet, she might have been terrified as to his intentions, but she sensed no menace. He was smiling, his eyes glittering with mischief.

  “What color is your hair?” he absurdly asked.

  “What an odd question.”

  “It’s so dark that I can’t tell for sure.”

  “It’s sort of brown and sort of lighter than that.”

  He frowned. “That’s no color at all. Is it red?”

  “No.
Chestnut is a prettier description.”

  “When you pull out the combs, is it curly and wild?”

  “Yes—if you must know.”

  “Who did you inherit it from? Your mother?”

  “Yes.” She’d died when Hannah was a baby, and no portrait of her was ever painted, so Hannah had had to rely on hearsay.

  “What about your eyes? What color are they?”

  “Green.”

  “Emerald green?”

  “I guess that would be correct.”

  He stunned her by reaching out and grabbing a strand of her hair that had slipped from her chignon. She didn’t normally try to control it—it was too much of a bother to pin it up—so she usually tied it with a ribbon. He wrapped the strand around his finger, and he drew her to him so he could study it more closely.

  For the strangest instant, Time seemed to stop, and she was once again riveted by the distinct perception that the universe was marking the peculiar interval. As to herself, she was frozen with excitement.

  England was a world of blond, blue-eyed girls, so she was very rare, and while her stepmother, Amelia, insisted she stood out when she shouldn’t, Hannah believed her hair was marvelous. She’d had so few opportunities in her life to be noticed, and she felt unique in a way she never had prior.

  “You’re a very…interesting female,” he eventually said.

  “It took you long enough to settle on an adjective.”

  “I thought I should be careful not to pick the wrong one.”

  “Must I be labeled merely as interesting? Perhaps I’d like to be told that I’m fabulously exotic.”

  “Are you?”

  “No.”

  They chuckled, then he released her and eased away. Their proximity had stirred the air around them, so it fairly crackled with energy, and she’d spend weeks pondering the thrilling encounter.

  “Shouldn’t you go inside?” she asked. “Won’t your mistress be searching for you? She can’t like it that you’re loitering in the garden with another woman.”

  “Isabella doesn’t get to complain when I’m flirting with someone else.”

  “She’s very understanding then, and we’re not flirting. I don’t know what we’re doing, but it’s not flirting.”