Amanda Quick: Dangerous

Sebastian had been amused by the fawn-colored gown she had worn earlier that evening. The pale brown shade had been distinctly unflattering on Prudence. It had failed to bring out the brilliance of her emerald eyes and it had dulled her honey-colored hair. The de­mure cut of the high neckline and the brown roses that decorated the skirts had marked the gown as having been sewn up in the country. No fashionable London modiste would have dressed a client in such a countrified style.

Prudence had evidently found her fan to be a nuisance. Instead of wielding it in the fine art of flirtation, it had dangled uselessly from her wrist. Her spectacles had, of course, only added to the spectacu­larly unstylish effect she had managed to achieve.

But Sebastian had seen beneath the surface of Prudence's outland­ish facade. His father had been an explorer, a skilled observer of the customs of distant peoples and of the terrain of foreign lands. He had taken his family with him on his travels and he had trained Sebastian well in the science and art of observation.

It is in the details that one sees the truth, Jonathan Fleetwood had often explained to his son. Learn to look for them.

Tonight Sebastian had seen that Prudence's hair was richly threaded with gold. He had observed that she had a generous, laugh­ing mouth and an amusing little nose. There was a firm, assertive quality to her catlike chin that he found intriguing. And he had looked deep into the bottomless green pools of her eyes.

He knew that compared to the great beauties of the ton her looks could only be called passable. She was not a diamond of the first water, yet she had been the only woman he had been aware of in that ballroom tonight.

Sebastian allowed his thoughts to drift to the rest of Prudence, mentally skimming a hand over her as if he were about to undress her and take her to bed. She was slender, but gracefully rounded in all the right places. He had seen enough of her in her modest ball gown to know that her breasts would be shaped like small, ripe, exotic fruit, perfectly suited to his palm and to his mouth. The scent of her, a mixture of fresh flowers and natural womanly fragrance, still lingered in the carriage, filling his head.

He would kiss her again soon. If he had any decency he would resist the impulse, but no one expected decency from the Fallen An­gel. Just as well. He was not certain how much he possessed, himself.

What he had in abundance was a deepening sense of the gray, formless cold that threatened to engulf him from the inside out. The only way to forget about it for even a short while was to occupy him­self with his amusing little hobby. He must take it up again, and soon.

First, however, there was the matter of Prudence's brother.

The carriage came to a halt at the front door of the club Sebastian favored. He had memberships at most of the best establishments, but this was the one where he always felt most comfortable. Probably because it was not one of his cousin's preferred haunts.

He got out, went up the steps, and into the warmth of the well-appointed masculine retreat. Several heads turned as he walked into the card room. A ripple of interest passed through the large crowd gathered about the gaming tables. Sebastian knew that gossip of the impending duel had probably reached every club in St. James.

A tall, thin blond man detached himself from a game of whist and strolled across the room to join Sebastian.

Sebastian watched him closely and was quietly relieved to see that Garrick Sutton's gaze was clear again tonight. Sutton appeared to be overcoming his practice of losing himself in strong spirits, a habit he had brought back with him from the war.

"What's this, Angelstone? I thought you were spending the rest of the night at home preparing yourself for your dawn appointment."

"I've changed my mind, Sutton. There will be no dawn engage­ment. I want you, as one of my seconds, to convey my most abject apologies to Mr. Trevor Merryweather."

Garrick's mouth fell open in dumbfounded amazement. Sebastian smiled. It was worth apologizing to young Merryweather just to see the amusing effect it would have on everyone.

Garrick was one of a very small handful of people Sebastian called friend. Sebastian included Garrick in the select group because he was one of the few people who had accepted Sebastian without reservation two years ago.

After a lifetime spent abroad, Sebastian had at last been obliged to come to England. His ever-expanding business investments had made it necessary to establish his headquarters in London, the very center of the social world that had once turned its back on his parents.

His financial power had brought him in contact with any number of people who were anxious to claim friendship. But he knew that behind his back they called him the Fleetwood bastard. They had gossiped with relish about his father's scandalous affair with an actress all those years ago. They had talked of how the title would eventually go to Sebastian's cousin, Jeremy, because of Jonathan Fleetwood's unsavory and irresponsible connection with a cheap lightskirt.

During that time Garrick had been one of the few people who did not want anything from Sebastian except friendship. He had also been one of the few who had no interest in the old scandal or in the legiti­macy of Sebastian's birth.

Garrick had been carrying deep, invisible scars from the war. He had felt an instinctive bond with Sebastian, who, he must have sensed, carried scars of his own. Neither man spoke much of the past. It was not necessary.

"Are you serious?" Garrick demanded. "The Merryweather boy challenged you over a mere trifle. You did nothing except dance with his sister."

"I am aware of that," Sebastian said quietly.

"Are you telling me you're going to let him get away with that?"

"I have it on excellent authority the young man is hotheaded and not very wise in the ways of the world."

Garrick snorted. "Then you may as well teach him his first les­sons."

"I am inclined to leave that task to someone else."

"I don't understand this." Garrick grabbed a bottle of port and dashed some of the contents into a glass. "Not like you to let an upstart young pup get away with this kind of thing. What's going on, Angelstone?"

"I've changed my mind, that's all. There's nothing more to it than that. Tell Mr. Merryweather that I have no interest in meeting him at dawn."

Garrick eyed the port he had just poured as if surprised to find it in his hand. He carefully put the glass down again without tasting the contents. He looked at Sebastian. "I know damn well you aren't afraid to meet him. You're bound to best him in the encounter. The boy has no experience in this sort of thing."

Sebastian smiled thinly. "Which makes the whole event something of a bore, don't you think?"

Garrick's brows rose. "No doubt. But what's going to happen the next time you elect to dance with the Original? And I know there will be a next time, Angelstone. I saw the look in your eye tonight when you spotted her in the crowd. Haven't seen you react that way to a female before."

"If Merryweather sees fit to issue another challenge—"

"Which he will, especially when he sees how quickly you apolo­gized after this one."

"Then I shall simply convey another apology," Sebastian con­cluded easily.

Garrick's blue eyes widened. "Damnation, man. You'd give him a second apology?"

"And another after that, if necessary. I have discovered to my astonishment what appears to be an inexhaustible supply of gentle­manly remorse, Sutton. I do believe I can continue to apologize as long as Merryweather can continue to issue a challenge."

"Good God." Understanding dawned in Garrick's eyes. He started to grin. "In other words, you're going to amuse yourself with his sister as long as you please and Merryweather will be helpless to force a duel because you will simply apologize every time he issues a chal­lenge."