A Little Bit Wicked Read online

  He raised a brow. “You mean fate, destiny, the ordination of the stars, something like that?”

  “Actually I was thinking more in terms of desire, need, unadulterated lust.” A grin sounded in her voice.

  “Lust?” He nodded slowly, ignoring a moment of surprise at her words. He had flirted with any number of women in his life, often with the explicit goal of eventually sharing their beds, yet he wasn’t certain he had ever met a woman whose nature was quite as direct as Lady Chester’s. It was most intriguing. “Lust can indeed be a powerful influence.”

  “And dangerous as well.”

  “I would certainly never force my attentions upon you.”

  “That is not the danger that concerns me.”

  “Or call on you if my presence was not wanted.”

  “I never thought—”

  He leaned close and lowered his voice. “Or drag you into my arms and kiss you until you begged for more unless I was confident you wished to be kissed.”

  “A wish prompted, no doubt, by lust.” She heaved a heartfelt sigh and trailed her fingers lightly over the lapels of his coat. “As I said, a very dangerous emotion.”

  “And yet”—he caught her hand—“not especially unwelcome.”

  “No, my dear Lord Warton.” She reached upward and brushed her lips across his so lightly, he wasn’t sure they had touched at all, then stepped away before he could react. “Not at all unwelcome. Besides, it is the element of danger that makes it all so much fun. Don’t you agree?”

  “I do.” He resisted the urge to make good on his threat to kiss her. He wanted nothing more than to feel her lips pressed against his and was confident she wanted the same. But there was something altogether too exciting about this game played between them on a darkened terrace in the cold of a winter night to allow it to end too soon. It was a tantalizing first course, an enticing prologue, a promise. And as such far too tasty to rush. “In that case”—he chose his words with care—“if indeed you and I choose to fall prey to the demands of lust or fate or what ever else we wish to call it, do I have your permission to call on you? Would you do me the honor of joining me for supper? The day after tomorrow perhaps?”

  “I fear I am otherwise engaged the day after tomorrow.”

  “The day following that then?”

  She shook her head. “I have a previous commitment.”

  “Four days from now then. Or five. Or next week if it suits you better.”

  “Is this the persistence you mentioned earlier?”

  He flashed her a grin. “Do you like it?”

  “It is most impressive. Very well then, shall we say five days from now?”

  “Excellent. I shall send a carriage—”

  “Oh, no. You shall join me for supper. At my home.”

  “Your home?”

  “On the field of play of any sport it is always best to have the home court advantage.”

  He laughed. “And I have always relished a good game. I shall count the days. Now.” He offered his arm. “It is entirely too cold for us to linger here any longer. I fear we shall soon lose all feeling in various appendages.”

  “Odd, I had not noticed the cold until now.”

  “You were no doubt basking in the warmth of my presence,” he said, a feigned note of humility in his voice.

  “Yes, I’m certain that was it,” she said lightly, then paused. “You’re not at all as I expected.”

  “Is that good?”

  “I haven’t decided. Besides, if I said yes it would go straight to your head, and I fear that would only exacerbate an already serious flaw in your character.”

  “We can’t have that.” He chuckled. “May I escort you back to the festivities now before we both freeze to death?”

  “Festivities might not be quite as appropriate a word as sentence, although bearing up under the offerings of Susanna’s—Lady Dinsmore’s—assorted nieces and nephews is a small enough price to pay for the privilege of her friendship. She entertains a great deal, and the diverse nature of the company she gathers is always interesting, even if the entertainment itself leaves something to be desired. I would never tell her that, of course. However”—she shook her head—“I think it’s best if we each returned as we left. Alone, that is.”

  “Surely you are not afraid of what people might say if we appeared together?”

  She laughed. “I am not the least bit afraid of what people might say. Goodness, I am often disappointed that they do not say nearly enough, although admittedly the tales of my exploits are somewhat exaggerated.”

  “And that does not bother you?”

  “Not at all.” She waved off his question. “If one is going to have a reputation, it might as well be as interesting as possible. Besides, I have not completely fallen off the edge of respectability.”

  “Ah yes, you are discreet.”

  “Indeed I am. I enjoy my position in society and I should hate to forfeit it with unduly scandalous behavior.”

  “Unduly scandalous?” He laughed. “As opposed to simply scandalous? Or ordinarily scandalous? Or merely scandalous?”

  “Precisely. It’s remarkable how forgiving society can be when one has a tidy fortune as long as one is not too outrageous.” Her voice carried an almost prim note, but he suspected she was holding back a laugh. “I have the wealth left to me by my parents and my husband. I have as well the freedom to do exactly as I please and the intelligence to understand what will be overlooked and what will not.” She paused. “I freely confess there are certain boundaries I have never, nor will I ever, cross.”

  “Aha! At last. Confession.” He chuckled in a conspiratorial manner. “It feels good, doesn’t it? The unburdening, that is.”

  “A great weight has been lifted from my shoulders,” she said wryly. “As I was saying, I am not afraid of the talk that will ensue if we are seen in one another’s company, but rather the commitment such an appearance would imply.”

  “Commitment?”

  She shrugged. “The moment we are linked together by gossip, well, we are linked together. There is an implied commitment of sorts in our appearing together that I am not yet prepared to make.”

  “I see,” he said, even though he wasn’t sure he saw at all. “Then you do not wish to…that is to say…I had the impression—”

  “I shall look forward to our evening together, my lord,” she said brightly in a manner that made him wonder if she would now pat his head as one did to appease an annoying child. “Now, if you will excuse me.” Lady Chester turned and started toward the door.

  “One moment if you please,” he said quickly.

  She paused and glanced at him over her shoulder.

  “You do understand, I fully intend to seduce you.”

  “Do you?” Her laugh was rich with delight and anticipation.

  “Indeed I do. Furthermore, I suspect—no, I am confident—that thought does not displease you.”

  “Are you certain your confidence is not misplaced?”

  He flashed her a wicked grin. “My confidence is never misplaced.”

  “Still, if I were to confirm your suspicion, it would take away any sense of challenge you might feel, and it is my suspicion that you are a man who quite likes a challenge. No”—she paused to emphasize the word—“a mystery.”

  “Challenges perhaps, but I’ve never been overly fond of mysteries.”

  “Then I shall take some of it away for you. Consider it, oh, say, a gift of sorts.” She opened the door, then looked back at him. “The appropriate word is not if, my lord, but when. Good evening.” She nodded, stepped into the house, and closed the door behind her.

  He stared for a confúsed moment, then realized exactly what she was saying. He smiled slowly.

  Lady Chester would indeed be a challenge. Not in the bedding, that was a foregone conclusion. But whereas with other women that was the end of the pursuit, he had the oddest feeling that, with this particular lady, it would be merely the beginning.
/>   “…’twas for her alone his ardor raged…”

  Judith slipped back into the parlor and for once was grateful for the endless length of Susanna’s nephew’s recitation. She took her seat with an apologetic murmur to the older lady beside her, who blinked several times in response, then smiled absently. Judith bit back a smile of her own. She had apparently awakened the woman.

  Out of the corner of her eye Judith noted Lord Warton’s circumspect return. He stood now in the back of the room: cool and collected, an observer of life, aloof and unaffected by the world around him. Still, it appeared he was not quite as cynical as he looked. A brief conversation on a terrace was far too little upon which to judge a man’s nature, but he was not exactly what she’d expected, given everything she’d heard about him as well as her own observances in the past. She’d been surprised to find he was a great deal more amusing than she’d suspected. She had fully expected to feel desire, but she hadn’t for a moment expected to laugh.

  And she had certainly never expected to now feel butterflies fluttering in the pit of her stomach. No, not butterflies. Butterflies were delicate, fragile creatures. What ever was tumbling about in her stomach was much more significant than mere insects. More like geese than butterflies. An entire flock of geese. Flapping and squawking and knocking about inside her. Why, if she dared to open her mouth at the wrong moment, no doubt a honk would sound and a feather would shoot from her lips. The image popped unbidden into her mind, and she choked back a laugh.

  The lady beside her leaned closer, her voice barely more than a whisper. “There, there, dear, it will be over soon and then we shall surely have a moment to compose ourselves before the next round of”—she heaved a resigned sigh—“entertainments.”

  “Perhaps it will be quite wonderful,” Judith said with a forced note of optimism.

  The older woman raised a skeptical brow, then turned her attention back to Susanna’s nephew.

  “…where the posies nod their graceful heads in a fond bid of adieu…”

  Judith smiled weakly and attempted to pay attention to the recitation. Or rather to look as if she were paying attention. Her mind was anywhere but on passionately delivered, yet nonetheless poorly written poetry.

  There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she and Lord Warton would soon share a bed. She had known that with an unerring certainty at her Twelfth Night Ball. There had been the strangest moment between them as if the air itself was alive with excitement. With promise. It would have been most disconcerting if it hadn’t been so exhilarating and just the tiniest bit dangerous. She wasn’t sure she had ever felt anything quite like it before. Although perhaps once, a long time ago, when she was very young and substantially more foolish than she was now. Oh, certainly, there was always a sense of anticipation when she embarked on a new adventure with a gentleman. Not that there had been that many gentlemen through the years. She was both discriminating and selective. Judith had to like a man before she joined him in his bed. Her lovers were first and foremost her friends in the beginning as well as at the end. And she could count on the fingers of one hand the number of friends she’d had in the years of her widowhood. Why, if one strictly defined both friend and adventure, it would not be necessary to include the thumb, and one finger would as yet be unused.

  She slanted a discreet glance at Lord Warton. He stared at Susanna’s nephew with an expression that was just a shade too polite to be truly called bored. The vaguest hint of a satisfied smile quirked up the corners of his mouth as if he knew she was watching. Judith jerked her gaze back to the poet, and an annoying flash of heat washed up her face. Good Lord, she was blushing. She couldn’t remember the last time that had happened either. At the advanced age of thirty she should be immune to blushing. It implied a loss of control that she rarely if ever experienced. Her position as a widowed baroness as well as her fortune and an innate sense of her own worth meant she seldom, if ever, and never if she had her way, was at anyone’s mercy. Blushing definitely put one under influences that could not be easily managed. It was most annoying.

  And the blame could be placed firmly on the arrogant, self-satisfied, undeniably attractive Viscount Warton.

  Still, Judith allowed a slight satisfied smile of her own, it was quite exciting and would no doubt become more so with every step toward each other they took. Indeed, one could argue there was something about an annoying man that made him practically irresistible. Judith had never found it so before, but then she wasn’t sure she’d run into the likes of Lord Warton before. There was much about the man yet to be determined, but it struck Judith that this was a man who was very much her equal. That too was unusual. Oh, certainly there was nothing unequal about the men she had chosen to be with in the past, although her previous adventures had always been very much on her terms. Lord Warton did not appear to be the kind of man to live by any terms other than his own. All in all, he was annoying, arrogant, and amusing. Oh, this held a great deal of promise indeed. Let the adventure begin.

  Chapter 2

  L ord Warton was annoyingly prompt but then she knew he would be. At this very moment he was awaiting her in her parlor although it was entirely too soon to greet him yet.

  Judith glanced at the clock on the ladies’ desk in her boudoir. Seven minutes more would make his wait an even quarter of an hour, an absolutely perfect amount of time for a gentleman to wait for a lady to appear. Less than that and she would seem far too enthusiastic for his company. Longer would be, well, rude.

  She drew a deep breath and assessed the image in her mirror yet again and acknowledged, yet again, that her reflection was practically perfect, at as least as far as those things she could control. Not a blond hair was out of place. The gown she had carefully selected for the evening had not rumpled or shifted since she had donned it in some defiant show of fashion rebellion to reveal more than she had intended or—God forbid—to conceal more than she had planned. In regard to an evening such as the one that lay ahead, what a lady revealed was every bit as important as the time she kept a gentleman waiting. A gown that concealed too much of a lady’s assets indicated to a gentleman she was not especially interested in anything beyond supper, while displaying too much would be interpreted to mean she was not merely willing but eager. Regardless of how she truly felt about what ever gentleman was at hand, Judith would allow him to see a certain amount of enthusiasm, but eagerness? She shuddered. That wouldn’t be at all proper. The absurdity of the thought struck her, and she grinned at the Judith in the mirror. Proper? There was nothing the least bit proper about inviting a man to join you for supper with the distinct—if unstated—intention of having him join you in your bed sometime after dessert was served. Or possibly even before. Which might well verge on improper but not substantially so, all things considered.

  Still, Judith did have certain rules she abided by, including what was and was not proper for the evening ahead. Certainly, those ladies of English society who blindly adhered to the regulations of appropriate behavior endorsed by Her Royal Majesty would not see anything whatsoever proper about an unchaperoned woman, widow or not, entertaining a handsome, dashing bachelor. However, to Judith’s way of thinking, in her younger days she had behaved exactly as expected for a young lady of good breeding and background and had, therefore, fulfilled any responsibility she’d had to continue to abide by standards she’d had no say in setting. She had married quite properly and respectably, if a bit young, to a nearly as young gentleman of good family and wealth who was, as well, she had thought, the love of her life. But he had died, and as she had not died with him, well, she saw no reason to spend the rest of her days behaving as if she had.

  What would Lucian think if he could see me now?

  The smile in the mirror faded just a touch. It was not the first time in the decade since Lucian’s death that the thought had occurred to her. Usually it arose unbidden, as it did to night, and as always the answer was the same. Her husband might well laugh with the sheer, unadulterated delight th
at had underscored so much of their life together and applaud her efforts and encourage her to live as fully as he had now that he was gone. Or he might become thoughtful, even appear sullen to someone who did not realize his melancholy was the hallmark of genius, and heralded his vanishing into the library to compose poetry she had loyally thought brilliant at the time and might think so now as well, although she had not read his poems for years. Or he might rage with a towering fury fueled by unwarranted jealousy, all the more terrifying for its rarity and its suddenness, and he would call her a whore and show her what men did with women like her.

  She shook her head to clear it of the memory. It was very long ago and scarcely worth remembering now. Besides, in the three brief years of their marriage she had seen his anger no more than a handful of times. He had laughed far more than anything else and had lived life with a fire she had not seen before or since. No, she thought firmly as she always did when these memories intruded, Lucian would have laughed and approved of her life and her choices. It served no useful purpose to think otherwise, and it was pointless to consider him now. Now she had the intriguing Lord Warton to consider.

  And what would he think when he saw her to night?

  She wrinkled her nose at the question. A nose a bit too sharp to be truly considered pert, but a nice nose nonetheless, situated on a face with even features, wide, appropriately spaced blue eyes; and a blush in her cheek only slightly augmented by a dash of powder. Up to this point in her life the combination of those features had been such that she was considered quite pretty. Indeed, she had on occasion been described as the epitome of English beauty. In truth, she noted little change in the mirror yet, although one couldn’t help but wonder how long she still had before pretty turned to handsome and eventually to “one wouldn’t know it to look at her now but she was considered quite a beauty in her youth.” There would come a day when she would glance into the mirror and note a wrinkle or two or twenty. There was nothing to be done about it, of course. She was thirty, after all. One simply had to accept aging as one did everything else in life that was inevitable: with a certain grace and humor. Besides, interesting women simply became more interesting with age. And while even as a child Judith had been pretty, interesting had come only with experience and maturity. As a quality, she thought it considerably more valuable than appearance. Still, it would be nice to retain a fetching appearance along with an interesting character.