“Did it end as poorly as my imagination suspects?”
Blackwell still hadn’t released her wrist, and his thumb now caressed the underside of her palm, sending tendrils of warmth spreading through her. He leaned in close, until his warm breath tickled the shell of her ear. “Worse,” he murmured.
“Oh my…”
Taking her words as shock and dismay over the situation in which he’d landed himself, the viscount sought to reassure her. “Do not fear. There were no lasting ill effects from the lark.”
“I am glad to hear it,” she replied a little less steadily than she’d hoped before tipping the last of her champagne between her lips. Blackwell immediately relieved her of the glass and set it down beside his on the unoccupied half of the bench they’d claimed upon their escape from the ballroom.
She knew she never should have ducked away with him—should never have allowed herself to be alone with this man—but it felt so good to laugh freely outside of her home, and withouta dozen eyes upon her weighing her every movement. And Lord Blackwell…he was far from a chore to look at and interact with. He was witty, sarcastic, and unbearably handsome. She had enough sense to recognize that he was a man who would cut a swath through London Society without trying, and she should keep her wits about her, but his candor was so refreshing as to be irresistible.
His lightly sun-bronzed skin and dark hair, the sharp angle of his jaw and elegant nose, the sultriness of his fathomless chocolate eyes, all served to draw her in; however, his deep chuckle, winning smile, and effervescent sense of humor kept her there. He made it nearly impossible for Victoria to regret her poor judgment when she snuck away with him. And, when his eyes met hers, as soulful as a loyal hound’s, her lungs stuttered.
“I sense you are in need of a friend here in London, Miss Rockford.” He spoke low and soft, just like his touch upon her wrist. “I should like very much to be that friend for you, if you would allow me to.”
How had this man read her so well when he’d known her for so short a time? She’d spent weeks in London without anyone making her feel so comfortable, so much herself, and it was tempting to allow it. She’d come close with Lady Morton, but she couldn’t very well cling to the duchess like a barnacle—she had her own life to attend to, and Victoria had more dignity than that. She also missed New York. She missed her friends. And he was offering her a way to feel a little less alone.
She’d have been a fool to turn it down, wouldn’t she?
As long as she kept her head about her and maintained realistic expectations, why couldn’t she enjoy the possibility of friendship with this viscount? Besides, even if he turned out to be a bore, looking at him wasn’t a chore in the slightest.
The corner of his lips tilted in a hint of a self-deprecating smile. “I would understand if your hesitation were due to what is said about me in the gossip columns.”
“No!” she cut him off. She couldn’t deny that she had read about “Viscount B” in the gossip rags. Many of the tabloids utilized nicknames and abbreviations to help prevent libel suits; he, Marquess K and Lord B, were mentioned often as charmers, flirts, and toeing the edge of what was proper behavior. His account of the jousting incident was confirmation that those tabloids were, indeed, describing the man before her. But, if she were honest, she hadn’t read anything that made her think she should run far away from him. And wasn’t she the last person who should be hesitant to form a friendship with someone over what was written about them? Besides, the viscount had been nothing but solicitous and charming, and who was she to turn down an offer of friendship? Another friend for the duration of her stay in England was an enticing prospect. She’d made the acquaintance of several women whom, given enough time, she might see herself forming a friendship with, but none of them had been quite so forthcoming as to outright request this sort of attachment from her.
“I would like very much for us to be friends,” she finally said. Perhaps, when she looked back on that night, Victoria might think herself foolish or overeager, but she’d been so unexpectedly annoyed by what the tabloids were saying and how she was treated in certain Society circles that she couldn’t help but grasp this straw that had been offered to her. She would not leap blindly, but she would take it for what it was. Viscount Blackwell made her laugh, and she desired at least the opportunity to see if their companionability might last beyond this evening in the shadows.
Besides, the dimpled, surprisingly boyish grin he gave her in return did odd things to her heart…and she quite liked that as well.
Chapter Four
Thanks to hisnumerous connections, it was no difficulty for Rafe to discover which event the Rockfords would be attending next and wrangle an invitation for himself. Now that he’d caught Miss Rockford’s attention, he knew the trick lay in keeping it. He had to set himself apart from the other men pursuing her…bynotdirectly pursuing her.
Oh, of course, he’d set his sights upon her, but to attempt to perform an open seduction would make him no better than those bloodhounds from whom she’d fled at the ball. No. He had to offer her what the other did not. He’d witnessed the gleam in her eyes when he’d extended the possibility of friendship; he knew it was the way past the defenses she’d built to guard herself against the other fortune-hunting Englishmen, and into her good graces. Luckily for him, she was far less aloof than reports had led him to believe. Her laughter came more easily, her smile was broader, and even her shoulders relaxed somewhat when she was not beneath the assessing eyes of London’s unforgivington. Having spent his entire life beneath their scrutiny, he knew it could wear down even the hardiest of souls—to throw a young woman unused to the customs and culture into the fray was surely overwhelming. Rafe knew he had to become the sanctuary for Victoria in London’s shark-infested waters.
As Rafe scanned the crowd at the Atkinson dinner soiree, he felt that description was quite apt, indeed. Men circled desirablewomen like predators. Girls and their chaperones huddled together like schools of brightly colored, well-coordinated fish. The matrons watched him warily as they guarded their broods; the chits eyed him desirously like a shiny lure cast into their midst, irresistibly tempting despite the obvious danger. For his part, Rafe had eyes for only one creature of the American variety.
Eventually, he spotted Miss Rockford on the far end of the long, narrow parlor. She was dressed in diaphanous blue of the richest hue he’d ever seen. She dripped with matching sapphires and diamonds—not a single paste gem to be found on her person. Elegance and refinement were the words best used to describe her that evening…until Rafe caught sight of the cut of her gown. It was daringly low-cut and revealed a great swath of her flawless decolletage. While the skirts floated around her legs like the froth of an agitated sea, the bodice was so form-fitting that there was no way the garment wasn’t a bespoke piece from the finest modiste. It cradled her bosom to perfection, hiking the pale globes up for his attention, barely covering enough of her to conceal her nipples. And that sent his mind down a dangerous path.
Delicious.
Thatwas the adjective his stuttering mind latched onto and decided to apply—quite appropriately—to the American heiress.
Not since he’d been a lad had he gone so long without a bed partner. He’d broken off his latest arrangement the minute he decided to pursue a wealthy heiress to fill his depleted coffers. Lesser men might not have taken that step, but that was the only point where Rafe drew a line. If he were finally going to seriously court a woman, he might as well do it properly. Now, faced with Miss Rockford’s deliciously enticing wares, his pulse began to throb in a most concerning manner.
Rafe knew he had to keep his wits about him if he was going to be successful in his venture. He couldn’t allow his lust to drive his actions, no matter how tempting the prospect was.
“Miss Rockford,” he drawled as he approached her from just behind her left shoulder. Was it his imagination, or did her eyes glitter at the sight of him?
“Lord Blackwood,” she greeted him and tilted her head up and to the side, as if both amused and perplexed by his appearance.
Rafe bowed over her hand with all the charm and grace he possessed. “A true pleasure to see you again so soon.”
“You have been introduced?” inquired a man’s deep voice.
Rafe straightened to find a tall, dark-haired man watching their exchange with narrowed eyes. From the looks of it, he’d recently returned from retrieving a refreshment for Miss Rockford. Though the men were of similar height, Rafe stood a little straighter when he realized the newcomer likely outweighed him by nearly a stone. He was as broad as one of the ships his family owned.
“We have,” Miss Rockford answered. It did not miss Rafe’s notice that she did not remove her hand from his…not even when her brother’s hazel eyes snagged on their point of contact. “At the ball earlier in the week—the one you were unable to attend.”
