Carole Mortimer - Regency Scandal

But despite a thorough, albeit discreet, search, Pandora failed to see her amongst the other theatregoers …

‘Did you find what—or should I say, whom—you were looking for earlier?’ Rupert raised mocking brows as he personally attended to Pandora’s entrance into his carriage outside the theatre a short time later. His aunt and uncle had already departed, the Countess anxious to return home to check on the welfare of the youngest of her four children, who had been running a temperature earlier in the day; he made a mental note to send his little cousin Althea some tempting bonbons in the morning.

Pandora’s gaze remained cool as Rupert removed his hat before entering the coach and making himself comfortable on the seat opposite. ‘I wasn’t aware I was looking for anyone in particular, your Grace.’

His mouth thinned at her continued formality even though there was no one else present to witness it. ‘No?’

‘No, your Grace—’

‘I believe I have several times expressed my displeasure about being addressed in that priggish manner by you!’ An evening of attending the opera, even in the company of a woman as beautiful as Pandora Maybury and his favourite aunt and uncle, had done nothing to soothe the inner feelings of oppressive disquiet he had suffered since the events of yesterday evening.

If anything, he now felt even more restless …

Restless?

Or aroused …?

There was no denying the arousal he had experienced earlier this evening, when he had called to collect Pandora and looked upon her eyes of velvety-drowning violet in the pale beauty of her face, the deep blue of her gown lending a pearly luminescence to the bareness of her shoulders and the full swell of her breasts visible above its low neckline. The interminable hours of sitting immediately behind her in the theatre box, allowing him to admire those pearly shoulders and the vulnerability of her slender, unadorned neck, as well as having his senses invaded by the lightness of her perfume, had only increased that physical awareness.

A physical awareness which now caused Rupert to shift slightly upon his upholstered seat, in the hopes of relieving some of the discomfort he was experiencing from the full and firm swell of his arousal.

Pandora seemed completely unaware of Rupert’s physical discomfort as she continued to speak levelly. ‘And is the voicing of your so-called displeasure usually reason enough for others to cease doing whatever it is they are doing to annoy you?’

‘Invariably,’ he clipped with satisfaction.

She raised haughty brows. ‘Despite all appearances to the contrary, we have never so much as been formally introduced, your Grace.’

‘Rupert Algernon Beaumont Stirling, the Duke of Stratton, Marquis of Devlin, Earl of Charwood, etc., etc.,’ he drawled with all formality. ‘Your servant, ma’am.’

‘I very much doubt that.’

He raised his brows at her obvious scorn. ‘I am sure I could produce several ladies who might vouch for my having … served them very well, in the past.’

‘Besides which,’ there was a warm blush in Pandora’s cheeks as she continued firmly, ‘I don’t appreciate being used as a—a means of muddying the waters in regard to another … even less socially acceptable friendship in your life!’ The fullness of her top lip curled upwards in her displeasure.

So the little cat had claws, Rupert noted appreciatively as he looked across at her, his eyes gleaming silver slits under his lids. Claws, which he could all too easily envisage scratching at and digging into his muscled back as he pounded himself remorselessly into—

What the devil!

His interest in Pandora was as a means to an end—Patricia Stirling’s end, he hoped—and nothing to do with how much Rupert would or would not enjoy making love to her. Admittedly it would be an added bonus to his plans if, as Dante had advised, he could entice the beautiful Pandora into his bed, but it was not, by any means, a necessity.

‘You made a similar remark to me this morning.’ He eyed her with amusement. ‘If you are referring to my father’s widow, then I wish you would do so directly and cease these less-than-subtle hints.’

Those violet-coloured eyes glared her irritation. ‘Why should I bother to explain myself when you so obviously know precisely to whom I am referring?’

How could Rupert not know, when all of London seemed to be aware that he and his stepmother had been sharing the same residence since the death of his father nine months ago! If not the reason for it …

Only Rupert’s lawyer, Patricia Stirling herself, and Rupert’s two closest friends, Dante and Benedict, knew the reason for his having to suffer the Dowager Duchess’s continued presence in the ducal homes.

And his deceased father, of course, the besotted Charles Stirling, the seventh Duke of Stratton, and the gentleman wholly responsible for Rupert’s present dilemma.

A dilemma which Rupert, with Pandora’s assistance, now had every hope he might soon bring to a satisfactory end. ‘Things are not always as they appear, Pandora,’ he said evasively.

Pandora knew that, better than most! Although she failed to see how Rupert Stirling could possibly explain—even should he care to do so—his present living arrangements in such a way as to give them the appearance of being anything other than what they were: he and his widowed stepmother, a woman he was known to have been intimately involved with prior to his father’s marrying her, had been openly living together since that gentleman’s death.

Her gaze flicked over the Duke in dismissal. ‘I believe this evening has taken care of any obligation I may have felt towards you, and as I neither expect, nor desire, to see you again after this evening, the subject of your present unorthodox living arrangements is of little interest to me.’

‘Ah.’

Pandora’s gaze sharpened warily on the aristocratically handsome face opposite, not at all reassured by the humour she saw glinting in those pale grey eyes and the cynical twist to that sensual mouth. ‘What do you mean by “ah”?’

‘Yet another subject I feel it would be best we wait until we are alone to discuss,’ the Duke said with an expressive glance up to where his groom was perched upon the back of the coach.

Pandora couldn’t help but approve of the way Rupert had taken account of the presence of his groom. So many of the aristocracy paid little heed to the presence of their servants when in conversation, seeming to regard them as they might a piece of furniture: of use, but without emotions or opinions of their own. A mistaken belief that all too often led to the servants knowing more of the personal business of their employers than was either prudent or safe. As Pandora knew to her cost …

She shook her head. ‘I see no other opportunity in which we might ever converse alone.’

‘The opportunity will occur, Pandora, when you invite me into your home for a nightcap, as a way of saying thank you for taking you to the opera this evening,’ Rupert drawled.

‘An outing I had no wish to attend in the first place!’

‘Well … no,’ he conceded drily. ‘But it’s still polite to say thank you.’

Had Pandora ever met such an infuriating gentleman in her life before as this one? If she had then she did not recall it. And she would most certainly have remembered if she had ever met anyone who annoyed and irritated her as much as this particular gentleman did!

And what annoyed and irritated her most was that she knew quite well it wasn’t just those two emotions he made her feel …

Beneath the exasperation, there was a feeling of … of excitement, of awareness, that Pandora had never experienced before. A frisson , something, that made her aware of Rupert Stirling’s every move and mood, even when she couldn’t see him, as she hadn’t been able to in the theatre earlier. She had certainly felt his presence behind her, been aware of his warmth, the insidious smell of him, of sandalwood and lemons and that something else that was unique to Rupert, that warmth and smell stirring her senses until she was aware of every breath he took as well as every shift in posture he made.