Helen Dickson - A Scoundrel of Consequence

Cassandra did not want to be persuaded. She did not want to dance with him. She did not want to become better acquainted. Still, if it meant a large subscription to the institute, then she could at least be pleasant to him for a short while. Besides, if sufficiently provoked, he might be tempted to risk creating a fuss to gain what he sought.

When William saw her hesitate, he smiled. ‘Come, Miss Greenwood. People are beginning to stare. Your reticence only heightens my determination. I will have this dance, otherwise I might very well change my mind about the size of my donation. The amount will be considerably smaller than it would be if you were to partner me on the floor. Should your colleagues at the institute find out, they would never forgive you.’

Quite unexpectedly she smiled pleasantly and William almost reeled under the impact. Her eyes seemed to contain sparkles of light and a soft rose tinted her cheeks. Her lips parted over even, white teeth that shone, and a small dimple in her cheek caught his eye. Her smile deepened, and so did the dimple. He was momentarily transported and utterly speechless.

‘I suppose I could dance with you for the sake of civility.’

‘And a generous donation,’ he was quick to point out.

‘Of course—but this sounds very much like blackmail to me, Captain Lampard.’

‘You might say that,’ he murmured softly. ‘I would prefer to call it persuasion.’

‘Very well. I am persuaded. I surrender.’

Decorously presenting her with his arm, he laughed. ‘I was hoping you would,’ he said quietly. ‘If we continue in this fashion, Miss Greenwood, we might even become friends.’

Cassandra smiled thinly. ‘I would advise you not to place any wagers on that, Captain Lampard.’

‘I might be tempted,’ he said, with more meaning than she realised, leading her forward on his arm as the musicians played a waltz. ‘I am not averse to the odd gamble.’

A sudden hush settled over the guests as those present turned, anxious to appease their curiosity. What they saw amazed them. Cassandra Greenwood was taking to the floor with Lord Lampard—well, he always had been able to charm every female within sight—and it went to prove that the prim Miss Greenwood was no different from the rest after all. But the fact that she was to dance with Captain Lampard—his first dance since returning to London—caused other gentlemen she had declined to dance with in the past to consider their attraction. Aware of his reputation as a rake, they were admiringly speculative.

Taking Cassandra in his arms, William’s hand slid slowly, possessively, about her trim waist, drawing her close. ‘I sincerely hope you were telling the truth when you said you do know how to dance, Miss Greenwood, otherwise you will make a laughing stock of us both,’ he murmured, his wicked, sensual mouth turning upward in the faintest of cynical smiles.

‘Just because I don’t usually dance, doesn’t mean that I don’t know how to, so lead the way, Captain, and I will follow.’

‘My pleasure, Miss Greenwood. My pleasure. For this one dance, forget your institute, your children and your fund raising and be a young lady of the ton, intent on enjoying herself. Take it from me, it’s more fun than trying to extract money from society’s elite.’

So saying, William whirled her round the floor. His senses were alive with the elusive perfumed scent of her, to her supple young body. Getting to know Miss Greenwood could be very pleasurable indeed. Deliberately, he drew her closer so that his hips brushed hers and he felt a tremor pass down her spine. His imagination began to run riot and he dwelt on the thought of what it would be like to plunder those soft lips and make love to her. His blood stirred hotly and his body was beginning to react in such a way that he had to force the thoughts aside.

It would have surprised—and gratified—him to know that Cassandra’s thoughts were not so very different from his own. Beneath her fingertips, his beautifully tailored claret jacket was without a crease. Smelling pleasantly of sandalwood and brandy, he moved with elegance and grace, but, light as his arms were, she could feel the steel beneath.

Her eyes were level with his broad, muscular shoulders. Every inch of his tall frame positively radiated raw power and leashed sensuality, causing her to remember every scandalous story she’d ever heard about him. Handsome, sinful—strangely the thought excited her. How could she claim uninterest in the man when his mere presence could so effectually stir her senses? Lifting her gaze to his ruggedly hewn features, she met his knowing eyes, seeing something relentless and challenging.

‘You dance well, Captain Lampard.’

‘Suddenly you’re an expert?’

‘I know the difference between good and bad. Tell me, do you always get what you want?’ Cassandra asked.

‘Usually,’ he replied. ‘Perhaps because I’m totally selfish, arrogant, inconsiderate and a complete scoundrel—or so I’ve been told by those who know me. It’s the way I was raised, you see—having people pander to my smallest needs, to gratify my every whim.’

Cassandra slanted him an arched glance. ‘What you really mean is that you were a spoilt child. Still,’ she quipped, ‘you’re a male, so I would expect no less.’

The dance ended and he released her, but the warmth of his touch lingered. He escorted her to where Lady Monkton was seated beside other matrons who had gathered to gossip and nibble on sweets. A tall woman, with the family’s fairness and a majestic bearing, Lady Monkton looked up when they approached, pleasure lighting her features.

‘Cassandra, my dear, how nice it is to see you take to the floor at long last—and with Captain Lampard. I had almost given up on my niece,’ she said not unkindly, although she never stopped reiterating her disappointment that Cassandra refused to let her arrange her début. ‘You must excuse her. She has no social graces—only social causes.’

‘Which is to be admired, Lady Monkton.’

‘I’m happy you think so, Captain Lampard. You know, you are far too handsome for your own good. You are enjoying yourself, I hope?’

‘Indeed, Lady Monkton. Thank you for inviting me.’ William’s smile and the way he bowed over the elderly lady’s hand was the epitome of politeness and charm. ‘May I say that you are more beautiful than ever.’

Lady Monkton laughed lightly, and Cassandra was certain her cheeks flushed beneath her rouge.

‘Flatterer. I must say that I—and every lady present—are delighted by your reappearance in the ton. It’s long overdue. London will be a far more exciting place with you in it. Thank goodness you have Bonaparte beat.’

The musicians were beginning to play another refrain. Not to be let off lightly, William turned to Cassandra.

‘Miss Greenwood, may I have the pleasure of dancing one more waltz with you?’

Cassandra drew back, intending to decline. ‘Why—I—’

‘Of course you must, Cassandra,’ Lady Monkton was quick to interrupt, relieved to see her niece taking an interest in the frivolous things other young ladies seemed to delight in. ‘Two dances with the same partner is socially acceptable, so off you go now and enjoy yourself.’

Cassandra shot a look at her aunt, seeing the shrewd, uncannily knowing expression pass over her. Beaten, on a sigh she turned and moved away.

‘I’m only asking for another dance—one more dance, Miss Greenwood,’ William murmured, taking her arm and propelling her back towards the dance floor. ‘Nothing more intimate than that.’

‘It’s a good thing, too, Captain Lampard. No matter how generous your donation, anything more intimate than a dance is definitely out of the question. I don’t think I even like you.’